Birthing Legends: My Womb Creates SSS Monsters-Chapter 148: Is Gin HallucinaGing?! The King Is Totally Her Type! — Part 2.

Chapter 148: Is Gin HallucinaGing?! The King Is Totally Her Type! — Part 2.

The sun dipped behind the jagged palace towers, casting long shadows across the training grounds. The azure fires had faded, but the heat in Gin’s chest remained.

The evening was designed for "Recuperation." In the plush side courtyard, harps played gentle melodies. Soft wine was served in silver cups. The palace staff brought out stone strategy boards, hoping to calm the nerves of the new women.

But Gin was a hunter, and right now, she was the one being hunted by her own mind.

She sat cross legged on a silk cushion, a carved game piece gripped so hard in her fingers that the wood groaned. Her eyes were fixed on the board, but she didn’t see the carved warriors. She saw the way the King’s jaw had set when he threatened the knight. She smelled that scent, manly dragon scent of him.

She dropped the piece. Shuna’s pink eyes snapped toward her, wide as a grape popped into her mouth.

"You’ve been holding that piece for two minutes."

Gin blinked, gold flecked eyes snapping back to the present.

"...What?"

"You’re not even playing the game anymore, Gin. Your mind is back in the dining hall."

"I am playing!"

"You just moved that piece back to the square it started on."

Gin froze, her obsidian skin warming.

"S-Shut up, Shuna."

Later, the women were guided to the Great Baths. Steam rose in thick, white clouds from the heated mineral pools. The water rippled gently, reflecting the flickering torchlight on the stone walls. It was supposed to be a place of silence and peace.

Gin sat submerged up to her chin. The heat of the water usually relaxed her muscles, but tonight, it felt like it was boiling her alive. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard that deep, vibrating growl:

"You are precious to me."

She groaned and sank beneath the surface, bubbles rising as she tried to drown the memory of his hand on that woman’s shoulder.

She surfaced, gasping, only to find Shuna staring at her from across the pool.

"Oh, wow," Shuna said, shaking her head.

"What?"

Gin snapped, wiping water from her boy cut blonde hair.

"You’re doing it again. The ’Stupid Face’."

"I’m bathing, Shuna! It’s a bath!"

"No, you’re staring at a wall like it’s the most handsome man in the world. Your brain left your body three hours ago. It’s currently at the King’s feet."

Gin unleashed a massive wave of water with her palm, drenching Shuna.

"I said shut up!"

Dinner was an exercise in frustration. Gin poked at a succulent piece of roasted boar. Usually, she would have devoured it in seconds. Now, she chewed the same bite twenty times, her eyes glazed over.

Shuna leaned in, her pink hair damp and messy. She whispered mischievously,

"So... Should I ask the Head Servant to arrange a ’private audience’ for you? I bet the King likes girls who catch falling mothers."

Gin choked, coughing violently as a piece of meat went down the wrong way.

"What?! No! I—I hate him! He’s a tyrant!"

"Your heart is beating so loud I can hear it from here." Shuna giggled.

While the Nursery settled into a tense quiet, the Grand Celebration Hall was screaming with life.

Tonight was a festival of power. The elite of Drakaria were gathered under crystal chandeliers that dripped with light. Among them, the House of Asulfang had brought their native Wyrmutt—wolf sized beasts from the northern mountains that paced restlessly at their feet.

House Leaders in heavy silks whispered about land and richness. The warriors who had been bruised and burned by Draculeus earlier that day were now dressed in formal tunics, their house crests—Citrineclaw, Crimsonscales, Asulfang, Silverspine, Blackheart, Verdantwings—gleaming.

Then, the massive doors groaned open. The music faltered. The laughter died.

Drakovitch walked in.

He didn’t wear a crown; he didn’t need one. His presence alone forced every head in the room to bow. He walked to the raised platform. He looked out over the nobles.

"My friends... my generals... my loyal houses. Tonight is the first step of our restoration."

He paused, letting the silence grow heavy.

"I am aware of the whispers... About my... methods."

A few men stiffened. A noblewoman lowered her glass. Several councilors exchanged nervous glances.

Drakovitch smiled faintly.

"I know what you say in your private manors. That your King has grown... desperate. That he has grown... dishonorable. That these ’breeding programs’ are a sign of insanity."

He locked eyes with a high ranking Councilor named Morgant, who immediately looked at his shoes.

"Tell me... am I not also a half-blood? My father was Dragonborn. My mother was human—no, worse than that, a slave, scorned by all of you. And yet... here I stand. Alive. Only alive. And your King."

No one dared speak.

"To insult the possibility of my children... is to insult me."

His voice dropped to a dangerous calm.

"And insulting your King... is a dangerous game."

He let the threat hang in the air until the nobles were trembling. Then, he let out a short, dark laugh.

"Relax. I did not summon you here to execute you. If I wanted that, none of you would have walked through these doors to share wine with me. I called you here to show that true greatness cannot be pushed down."

Drakovitch turned toward the massive doors behind the stage. He raised a hand, his eyes gleaming with a father’s pride and a conqueror’s joy.

"My firstborn. The proof of our future. The first Dragonborn of the New Age."

The hall held its breath.

"Enter!"

The massive doors behind the stage opened slowly. From the darkness beyond them, a single figure stepped forward.

Draculeus.

He walked with calm, measured steps. Tonight he was dressed not as a warrior, but as royalty. White silk robes flowed around his tall frame, layered with intricate embroidery and lined with gold thread. Jewels and ornaments decorated the fabric, each piece carefully placed.

Eleven gemstones shimmered across his chest and shoulders. Each one reflected the color of the eleven heads of Tiamat. The jewelry did not look excessive. On him, it looked natural.

His silver hair fell neatly over his shoulders. His sharp jawline and flawless features carried both the elegance of nobility and the quiet danger of a dragon.

The moment he stepped fully into the hall... People stopped breathing. Noblewomen clutched their fans. A few gasps escaped the crowd. Even hardened warriors blinked in surprise.

He was... beautiful.

Not simply handsome, but overwhelmingly striking, the kind of beauty that made hearts skip and thoughts scatter. Draculeus stopped beside his father. Drakovitch placed a hand on his shoulder proudly.

"My son. My Firstborn."