Dragon King's Harem Chapter 287. The Witch Tribe's Delegation I (Patreon)

Dragon King's Harem Chapter 287. The Witch Tribe's Delegation I

The night had draped its comforting veil over the palace, and the echoes of the celebration had faded into the background. The soldiers, who had stood as guardians throughout the festivities, now found solace in rest. My wives, too, had retired to their respective chambers, their laughter and camaraderie from earlier replaced by the embrace of slumber.

Yet, for me, the night remained alive with purpose. While others surrendered to dreams, I found myself seated at my desk in my office. The stack of documents before me was a reminder of the responsibilities that came with leadership, the weight of the empire's affairs resting squarely on my shoulders.

With a furrowed brow, I meticulously scanned through the reports, my eyes absorbing the details, searching for any hint of urgency. The recent celebration had momentarily diverted my attention, but now, as the quiet of the night settled in, it was time to confront the matters that required my immediate consideration.

Earlier, in the midst of the festivities, I had also stolen a moment to speak with the prime minister, his presence an assurance that the capital had been overseen in my absence.

Leaning back in my chair, I allowed my gaze to wander out of the window. The view before me was picturesque, a scene of an empire that thrived under my rule. Yet, despite the tranquility that the view suggested, my mind was a swirling tempest of thoughts, each one demanding my attention. Among them, a pressing matter was the upcoming visit to the Healer tribe—an excursion that I estimated would span a few days.

A sigh escaped my lips. As the breeze played with the curtains, a sense of nostalgia tugged at my thoughts. I reflected on my previous life, a time when my days were filled with a simpler lifestyle.

'At a time like this… I miss my previous relaxed life,' I thought.

A soft knock on the door broke the rhythm of my thoughts, drawing my attention away from the documents scattered on my desk.

"Your majesty, can I come in?" The voice was Al's, resonating with a tone of respect and urgency.

"Come in," I responded, my curiosity piqued by the seriousness in his voice.

The door creaked open, and Al entered, his presence commanding the room's attention. A swift bow, a gesture of etiquette and acknowledgment, was his greeting before he began.

"Sorry to disturb you, Your Majesty. I want to talk about the witch king."

His words hung in the air, bearing the weight of a topic that stirred emotions and tension. Al's demeanor, usually marked by casual ease, now carried the gravity of the issue at hand. His formality, though unusual, signaled the significance of this conversation.

"Speak," I commanded, giving Al permission to elaborate on the matter.

"The witch king just sent his delegation when you went to war with the orcs," Al's voice broke through the quiet of the room, his words punctuating the air. "His proposal was the same. He asked about your condition and his proposal to make his last daughter your wife."

My fingers steepled beneath my chin as I absorbed Al's report. The witch king's actions were as predictable as they were unnerving. His intentions had always been shrouded in mystery, and his attempts to forge alliances through marriage were a strategic move that held both promise and peril.

"Where is he now?" I inquired, my gaze locking onto Al's as I awaited his response.

"He left two days ago," Al replied, his tone even and composed. "The delegation has also heard about your victory over the orcs and minotaurs. So I predict he wants to report this to the king. The witch king might be seeing you in the near future."

A sigh escaped me, a mixture of resignation and exasperation. The witch king's schemes were a dance I had become all too familiar with, a complex choreography of political maneuvers and power plays. His last daughter, a piece on his chessboard, was the latest pawn he sought to employ in his quest for supremacy.

"Right… more trouble," I muttered under my breath, the weight of impending negotiations settling upon my shoulders.

"How about your investigation?" My question hung in the air, a thread connecting us to the delicate intricacies of the realm's ever-shifting landscape. "Do you already know what his real intention is?" I probed, my curiosity piqued.

Al's expression remained measured, a reflection of his professional demeanor. He cleared his throat before responding, his voice carrying a blend of caution and certainty. "I can only say he needs a strong alliance, especially given the heated politics within his own kingdom."

I nodded, absorbing the gravity of his words. The machinations of royalty were often veiled in layers of intrigue, each decision a calculated step on a treacherous path.

"The king's wife is dead due to illness," Al continued, his gaze focused as he painted a vivid scene. "And his brother-in-law has withdrawn his family's support for the king. You remember how big that family’s influence, right?" He paused, giving me a pointed look that spoke volumes.

“Yes.” I nodded again. The support of influential families could mean the difference between maintaining the throne and descending into chaos. The politics of bloodlines and alliances could shape the destiny of a kingdom, a notion that resonated through generations.

"Several smaller families have also withdrawn their support," Al added, his voice carrying a weight of significance. "He finds himself in a precarious position, seeking stability amidst a shifting landscape."

"So... he wants to use me to maintain his position?" The words tumbled from my lips, heavy with a mix of realization and incredulity.

Al's nod was a subtle confirmation, his expression a blend of understanding and wry amusement. "Yes. Something like that," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of cynicism that revealed his own skepticism regarding the witch king's intentions.

"The question is, is this valid?" I mused aloud, my gaze fixed on the intricate patterns of the carpet beneath my feet. The question hung in the air, a riddle that demanded a thoughtful solution. “How much can I trust this information?” I asked him.