nanakawaichan
patreon
Dragon King's Harem Chapter 447. Uncomfortable
🕑 Added 2025-04-25 19:23:30 +0000 UTCDragon King's Harem Chapter 447. Uncomfortable
Argod’s PoV
I lay on the bed.
Well—“bed.”
It looked like one. Soft silk sheets, probably handwoven by snow elf artisans with way too much time on their hands. The carved headboard reached up like frozen lilies blooming in midwinter, and a floating charm hovered above it, glowing gently with supposedly “temperature-regulating” magic. Elegant, sure. Comfortable? Not even close.
Technically, it wasn’t freezing. But it still felt like someone had taken a giant freezer, made it fancy, and called it a room.
I closed my eyes anyway. Tried to pretend the cold wasn’t creeping up my spine like a passive-aggressive ghost.
I needed rest. Real rest. The kind that restored not just mana, but sanity. I had a plan to execute soon—one that required sharp focus, unshakable strength, and maybe a small miracle. But the moment I let my body relax, that bed, with all its high-end craftsmanship, started draining warmth like a polite little death trap wrapped in blankets.
Nope.
I groaned, cracked one eye open, then both. A soft puff of breath escaped into the chilly air, disappearing against the glittering ceiling of crystalline panels.
“I swear I’m going to enchant this thing with lava crystals,” I muttered, rubbing my face. “Or build my own bed out of basalt and dragon bone.”
Across the room, by the wardrobe, Jyne was going through her clothes like she was prepping for battle. Which was kinda right.
The wardrobe glowed with a warm amber enchantment, totally at odds with the room’s frost aesthetic. She held up two cloaks for inspection. One was indigo with pale runes embroidered along the hem, graceful and elegant. The other—deep crimson, fox-fur lining, probably enchanted to block a blade and look stunning doing it.
“I wonder which one’s best…” she mumbled, frowning thoughtfully.
I sat up. Didn’t bother announcing myself.
With a flick of will, I triggered Shadow Walk. Space folded, shadows pooled beneath me—and just like that, I stepped out right beside her.
“Crimson one,” I said, casually pointing.
She gasped and nearly dropped both cloaks. “Your Majesty! I thought you were asleep!”
I folded my arms, frowning. “I tried. But that bed feels like lying on a frozen prayer slab. It’s not even cold cold, just… fake warm. It looks cold and it feels cold. Even my tail’s refusing to rest.”
Jyne chuckled, way too amused. “It’s not that cold.”
“It looks cold. That’s enough,” I said flatly.
“You want me to bring in a hearthstone?”
“If another elf shows up with a ‘winter-inspired comfort charm,’ I’m setting this room on fire and calling it ‘interior design,’” I grumbled.
She grinned and set the crimson cloak aside. “You still need to rest. Want me to warm the bed for you?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is that a tease, or an offer?”
“Both,” she replied, not missing a beat.
I smirked, about to fire back with something clever when the atmosphere shifted.
Not just the air.
The mana.
It hit like a low tide pulling out. A wave of pressure, rolling in from nowhere. Heavy. Ancient. The kind of presence that didn’t sneak—it announced.
The charm lights above us dimmed just a little, and the ambient magic in the walls shifted like it was bracing for something. Even the protective barriers adjusted, subtly warping to accommodate whatever was coming.
Jyne froze.
I felt it in my chest. Like a voice without words, calling out. A very specific flavor of power.
Witchcraft. And authority.
“Callum Shadowsoul,” I muttered under my breath.
Jyne looked up sharply. “The Witch King? Here?”
I nodded slowly, stepping toward the glass balcony doors. Pulled the curtain just enough to peek through.
No chaos. No ceremony. Not even a visual.
But the mana—oh, it was him. A ripple that only a handful of people in this world could create. Thick like ink. Cold like prophecy.
“He just arrived,” I said. “Didn’t even need to see him. I felt it.”
Jyne moved beside me, face serious. “You didn’t know he’d come?”
“Didn’t even suspect,” I replied. “And Callum doesn’t do surprises unless he’s playing the long game.”
There was no knock. No horn. No loud magical fanfare. That was the scary part. When a man like him walked in silence, the world usually screamed later.
Jyne’s hand brushed my arm. “Maybe he’s here for the wedding?”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s here for something worse.” I exhaled hard, jaw clenched. “Callum doesn’t care about celebrations. He moves for leverage. For advantage. If he’s stepping into elf territory, it means something’s off-balance—and he wants a piece.”
A darker thought dropped into my head like a stone.
Al.
Shit.
If he saw Callum—if they were even in the same room—
“Al... He’ll snap,” I said aloud.
Jyne’s brows furrowed. “Almeric? Is it that bad?”
“Worse,” I muttered. “Callum’s presence alone is a walking trigger for him. They’ve got history. Deep, messy, dangerous history. If they cross paths without warning, it won’t be pretty.”
“You have to talk to him. Now,” she said firmly.
“I will,” I said, already pulling on my cloak. “Before we’re cleaning up magical shrapnel and explaining to the snow elf queen why her throne room smells like ozone.”
The tension in the room tightened around me like a noose. I couldn’t sit still anymore. I had to move.
I opened the door. My guards were waiting. Two dragon soldiers flanking the hallway, silent as statues—but their posture shifted the moment they saw my face.
They felt it too.
I nodded once, and they fell in step behind us.
No words. No commands.
My mana was doing all the talking now. Flaring in sharp pulses. We weren’t just walking anymore—we were storm-chasing.
I needed to find Al before he did something reckless.
Before Callum pushed the wrong button.
Before this whole palace turned into a battlefield with marble columns flying like dice in a tavern brawl.
Callum Shadowsoul wasn’t just another royal visitor.
He was a piece of the old game.
And the moment he set foot here, the board changed. The rules changed.
And I needed to decide fast whether I was going to play…
…or flip the damn board over.
