Dragon King's Harem Chapter 450. Untouched

Dragon King's Harem Chapter 450. Untouched

A few hours passed in a blur—fast and slow all at once.

One moment I was still pacing in Al’s room, breathing fire through clenched teeth about what-ifs. The next, I was back in my own, staring down at the folded ceremonial suit laid out across my bed like it might bite me.

The palace staff had done their job. Again. Everything gleamed. My boots had been polished until they practically shimmered. My black and crimson suit—stitched with threads of dragon-scale silk and accented with obsidian clasps—rested like it belonged to a man who actually gave a damn about elven tradition.

I didn’t. Not really.

But today? Today, optics mattered.

Jyne was already dressed—leaning by the full-length mirror, adjusting the dark sapphire clasp on her shoulder cape. It shimmered, deep navy with a trail of frost-thread embroidery sweeping along the hem.

Sela stood near the window, fingers lightly brushing the edge of her own dress—a snow-petal white ensemble that contrasted beautifully with her warm skin and dark hair. Gold earrings dangled from her ears, shaped like tiny drake wings. She looked elegant, composed.

They were my wives.

I glanced at the suit one last time, sighed, and started changing. Royal events were always a balancing act between form and function. The obsidian dragon sigil over my chest glowed faintly with enchantment.

As I adjusted the collar, I caught Jyne’s reflection in the mirror behind me. She gave a slow, appreciative nod.

“You look dangerous,” she said.

I smirked. “That’s the point.”

Sela stepped closer and brushed a stray piece of lint off my shoulder. “Try not to burn anyone until after dessert,” she said, half-joking.

“No promises,” I muttered.

Al had already gone ahead. I ordered him to blend in—just enough to avoid attention but not enough to seem suspicious. Hopefully, he wouldn’t punch the wrong face before the main event.

The time came.

The moons had risen.

Three tonight, aligned just slightly off from one another like sisters in conversation. Pale silver, dim gold, and the faintest touch of violet. The sky outside was dusted in stars, cold and glittering above the snow-covered city like the breath of forgotten gods. The ceremony wasn’t set in the daylight like most tribes preferred—sunrise weddings for hope and life and clarity.

Not here.

The snow elves honored the moon.

Mystery. Stillness. Reflection. Secrets.

Of course they’d choose moonlight to swear vows under. Of course.

The path to the ceremonial hall was already bustling with movement, lanterns hovering like slow-moving fireflies along the archways. Frost roses bloomed magically along the inner walls, their petals tinted with mana, glowing faintly blue as we walked. Guards bowed low as we passed. Their armor glittered silver, etched with house sigils and snowflake motifs.

My cloak trailed behind me. Heavy. Regal. Embroidered with dragon tribe crest that pulsed softly with heat. The girls walked one on each side—Jyne to the right, Sela to the left.

When we reached the threshold of the great hall, the doors opened with a slow, deliberate groan. Magic swirled outward in a burst of cool wind scented with sacred herbs—juniper, mint, and something faintly metallic like fresh snow on steel.

The guard stepped forward and raised his voice.

“Now arriving—His Majesty, Argod of the Royal Dragon Lineage. King of the Dragon Tribe. Protector of Igixar. The King of Kings. “

Yeah. That was a mouthful.

Inside, the guests stood immediately. All of them. A full spread of nobility and dignitaries—elves, dwarves, fae ambassadors, even two lizardkin in ceremonial robes that looked like they’d rather be anywhere else.

All rose and bowed. Some deeper than others.

I nodded once. No smile.

The servant approached and gestured toward the high-backed chair reserved for me on the side balcony of the ceremonial floor—close enough to witness, far enough to remind people I was not part of the elven order.

I took my seat. Jyne and Sela settled beside me.

It had begun.

The music was soft, drawn from crystal instruments. The bride had yet to arrive. The groom stood already at the altar, Curtis, dressed in white and silver. Regal. Too perfect. He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to.

I watched him.

I watched the guards. The placement of the guests. Everything.

All already in motion.

Every piece was on the board.

All I needed… was one single moment.

The tension was subtle, quiet, woven into the lace of diplomacy and celebration. I could taste it. Everyone smiled too easily. Everyone clapped a beat too late. Even the magic in the walls felt stretched thin.

And then— He came.

The air shifted before he entered. A hush moved like a ripple over the crowd, like a sudden pressure drop right before a storm breaks.

And there he was.

King Callum Eldridge Shadowsoul.

Witch King. Puppetmaster of a thousand silent strings.

He walked in wearing robes of deepest ink, trimmed with starsilk and stitched with floating enchantments. His crown wasn’t a crown—it was a circlet of obsidian thorns, just jagged enough to bleed a man if he forgot who he was.

He looked… exactly the same.

Unaged. Untouched. Unmoved.

Except for one thing.

When his eyes fell on me—when he saw me—he paused.

A perfect flicker of surprise.

Manufactured. Scripted. But expertly delivered.

He placed a hand to his chest. “Ah,” he said, voice like warm smoke. “Your Majesty. What a… remarkable surprise.”

I didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

He approached, gliding through nobles like a wraith in fine silk.

“I hadn’t heard you’d be attending,” he said, stopping just a step too close. “And yet, here you are. Gracing the ceremony with your… legendary presence.”

“I go where I’m needed,” I replied. “Even uninvited.”

A beat passed.

Then he smiled. Not wide. Just enough to show it was a game.

“Indeed. The world is full of… surprises tonight.”

I leaned back, letting him see the fire behind my eyes. “Let’s hope none of them explode.”

His smile tightened—only slightly. Enough that I knew he understood. Enough to let me know he’d play carefully.

Behind him, his entourage fanned out. Shadow-cloaked witches, advisors in silence-draped armor, all watching, all listening.

Callum turned, ever so politely, and walked to his seat.

The moment passed.

But the board?

The board was lit.

And the first move had been made.