November 1, 2026

Dragon King's Harem Chapter 599. A Worse Court Than Mine I

Morning came. I stared at the ceiling for several seconds and wondered whether I could declare the entire day illegal. Because today meant politics. And politics meant headaches.

Still, I eventually dragged myself out of bed, washed up, changed into proper royal attire, and sat down for breakfast. A king couldn't negotiate peace between two potentially hostile kingdoms while looking like a corpse that had crawled out of its coffin. Besides, I needed food.

Evelina apparently agreed. She approached me while I was eating and wrapped her arms around my shoulders from behind, pressing a soft kiss against my cheek. Then another. Then she hugged me again.

I glanced up at her. "You're unusually affectionate this morning."

"You're unusually stressed." She smiled sweetly and placed a cup of steaming tea beside my plate. "Drink this. It'll help you relax."

I eyed the cup suspiciously. "Is it medicinal?"

"Herbal."

I obeyed. The tea tasted pleasant enough, carrying a faint sweetness and a calming fragrance. Warmth spread through my chest as I swallowed, easing some of the tension in my shoulders. Not bad. Maybe today wouldn't be completely miserable.

Then Marissa approached.

"Here." She placed a small embroidered pouch in my palm.

I blinked. "What's this?"

"An aromatic pouch. I prepared it using calming herbs and a little botanical mana."

I brought it toward my nose. A delicate fragrance drifted out, something between fresh flowers, cool rain, and the faint sweetness of forest leaves. That was nice.

"Keep it with you," Marissa explained. "The fragrance should help reduce stress."

I looked at her. "How bad do you think today's meeting will be?"

Marissa smiled. The kind of smile that suggested she already knew the answer and had decided not to ruin my breakfast.

Before I could question her further, Sela appeared with another plate. More meat. More bread. And something that looked suspiciously like enough food to feed a small military unit.

I stared at the mountain of food. "Are you preparing me for negotiations or hibernation?"

She folded her arms. "A full stomach makes people less irritable."

I considered that. Well. Worth trying. I took another piece of roasted meat, inhaled the aroma from Marissa's pouch, and drank Evelina's tea. Three wives. Three different approaches to keeping their husband from becoming a diplomatic catastrophe.

Unfortunately, their combined efforts were about to face an opponent even more terrifying than Elowen. The Dwarven Royal Council.

Two hours later, I discovered something important. Tea was useless. Aromatic pouches were useless. A full stomach? Also useless. Because no amount of food in Igixar could prepare a man for this level of stupidity.

Here I was. Sitting inside a temporary council chamber with Seraphel beside me. Well, not exactly beside me. We occupied separate seats arranged below the elevated throne platform, facing the assembled dwarven nobles. The original royal council chamber had suffered enough damage yesterday to qualify as an archaeological site, so they had moved the proceedings into a smaller administrative hall.

Smaller. Not quieter.

The dwarves apparently believed that the volume of one's voice directly determined the legitimacy of one's political argument. And everyone wanted to be legitimate.

Seraphel sat gracefully in her chair, wearing a crimson royal gown with delicate golden embroidery. Her long hair fell neatly over her shoulders, and her posture remained elegant despite the increasingly ridiculous discussion unfolding before us.

Meanwhile, I sat in my own chair, wearing dark royal attire, with my hands resting calmly on the armrests. A perfect picture of dignity.

Inside my head? I was committing approximately seventeen imaginary murders.

We weren't sitting on the throne platform because neither of us ruled the Dwarven Kingdom. That distinction mattered. We were foreign monarchs invited to observe and mediate, not conquerors arriving to appoint a puppet. I had no intention of giving these nobles an excuse to accuse me of stealing Durharn's crown. Although, at this rate, I was beginning to understand why conquering kingdoms was so popular among villains. It was probably easier than attending their meetings.

The succession debate had already produced three major candidates. The first belonged to an influential military house. A respectable dwarf with an impressive record, substantial support from lesser nobles, and apparently enough popularity among ordinary soldiers to make him the favorite.

A candidate people actually liked.

Surely this would be simple. Because several high-ranking officials opposed him. Not many. Just enough.

Unfortunately, those officials controlled important parts of the kingdom's administration, military logistics, and treasury. Which meant that even if the popular candidate received the crown, his reign could become a magnificent exercise in political sabotage. A king who couldn't command his own ministers was merely a man wearing expensive metal on his head.

The second candidate looked competent. Experienced. Educated. His supporters presented records of successful provincial administration, economic reforms, and years of service to the kingdom.

Wonderful. Except the lower-ranking nobles disliked him. And apparently a significant portion of the civilian population considered his house arrogant and detached from ordinary dwarven life.

The third candidate?

Also competent.

Also experienced.

Also disliked by enough people to make his coronation potentially troublesome.

I listened to their supporters argue for what felt like several lifetimes. Each candidate had strengths. Each had weaknesses. And every faction seemed determined to describe its preferred candidate as the only dwarf in the entire kingdom capable of breathing without assistance.

My court wasn't perfect. I had arrogant nobles. Stubborn officials. People who disagreed with my decisions. But at least most of them understood that when the kingdom faced a crisis, arguing over who deserved the prettiest chair wasn't necessarily the highest priority.

You guys have a worse court than mine!

I wanted to scream it.

Yesterday, these people had argued about whether Elowen's and Seranaya's corpses could be returned to the Nymph Tribe.

Today, they were arguing about the throne.

Tomorrow? What? Would they argue about whether the palace should have windows?

I inhaled slowly. Marissa's aromatic pouch rested inside my coat. I discreetly touched it. Calm. Relaxation. Forest fragrance. Very nice. Didn't work.

And the succession debate wasn't even the worst part. That honor belonged to the growing demands for retaliation against the nymphs.