NTR: King gets Cucked-Chapter 18: Harvest Festival

The crisp embrace of autumn had settled over Draconia, heralding the arrival of the much-anticipated Harvest Festival. The capital shimmered under the glow of lanterns and torches, a spectacle of merriment and grandeur. It was the first grand celebration since Zyran's coronation, and he was determined for it to proceed flawlessly. His people deserved a respite, a night of festivity and joy, and he would ensure they had it.

Preparations had been meticulous. The entire palace bustled with activity, from servants rushing to finalize the grand feast to artisans setting up elaborate decorations. Althea and Nyra, along with their attendants, had been deeply involved, making certain their appearances were nothing short of regal. Drucila, as expected, remained secluded in her chambers, indifferent to the revelry.

To add to Zyran's delight, Viceroy Durin had been summoned to Grimgaard by the Emperor himself. Without the viceroy's oppressive presence, the festival seemed even more promising. For the first time in a long while, Zyran felt that things were stabilizing. Soon, perhaps, everything would be as it should.

The evening finally arrived. The great hall of the palace was flooded with nobles, merchants, and high-ranking officials, all clad in their finest attire. The scent of roasted meats, spiced wines, and freshly baked bread filled the air. The herald stepped forward, raising his voice over the murmuring crowd.

"Presenting, His Majesty, King Zyran of Draconia!"

The sound of horns and rolling drums accompanied the announcement as Zyran strode into the hall, exuding authority and charm. He took his seat at the grand throne, and moments later, the herald continued.

"Presenting, Her Majesty, Queen Althea!"

Althea entered gracefully, clad in a deep crimson gown embroidered with gold, her golden hair shimmering under the candlelight. She took her place to Zyran's right.

"Presenting, Her Majesty, Queen Nyra!"

Nyra followed, a vision in sapphire blue, her coral-blue locks cascading over her shoulders. She sat to Zyran's left, her presence gentle yet striking.

The ceremony commenced. Nobles from across the kingdom approached in turn, presenting offerings—tributes of the harvest, lavish gifts, and tokens of fealty. Zyran accepted them with measured gratitude, exchanging brief words with each noble.

Evrin Brightwood, one of his advisors, stepped forward, presenting bags of the finest wheat from his lands and a masterfully crafted sword with a sapphire-encrusted hilt.

"I trust this will serve you well, Your Majesty," Evrin said with a bow.

Zyran nodded. "Your generosity is noted, Lord Brightwood."

Advisor Ian followed, gifting a silver dagger adorned with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. "A weapon worthy of a king," he declared.

Then came the final noble—Karlos. The room grew silent as he approached. He first presented Zyran with corn from his estate, a humble yet symbolic gesture. But then, shifting his attention, he stepped toward Althea. With a dramatic flourish, he revealed his true gift—a breathtaking set of pearl jewelry, a necklace with matching earrings.

"May I?" he asked, though he did not wait for an answer.

With deliberate ease, Karlos draped the necklace around Althea's neck, his fingers grazing her shoulders and arms. He leaned in, whispering something meant only for her ears. Whatever he said made Althea's cheeks flush crimson. A murmur rippled through the crowd, the weight of their stares pressing down upon her.

Zyran's jaw tensed. Karlos's audacity was staggering, yet he restrained himself, unwilling to taint the evening with conflict. Althea quickly stepped back, offering a polite, if not slightly uneasy, "Thank you."

Karlos smirked, his voice laced with an exotic smoothness. "A queen deserves to be adorned in nothing but the finest."

His gaze flickered toward Zyran before he melted into the crowd, leaving behind whispers and lingering tension.

The moment passed, but its impact remained. The drums rolled, signaling the next part of the evening—the dance.

Zyran, determined to shift the atmosphere, took both Althea and Nyra's hands, leading them to the center of the hall. The trio swayed in unison, their movements a display of harmony. Soon, he danced alone with Althea, then Nyra, the transitions smooth and practiced. Other nobles joined in, filling the floor with elegant twirls and rhythmic steps.

Althea, now seated, sipped on her wine as she observed Zyran and Nyra. A shadow loomed beside her. Karlos had returned.

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"Would you grant me a dance, Your Majesty?" he asked.

With the entire hall watching, Althea had little choice but to accept. He wasted no time, pulling her onto the dance floor. His hand found her waist, guiding her with a firm hold, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered words far from chaste. She shivered—not entirely from discomfort.

Zyran's smile faltered as he caught sight of them. Karlos's hand had strayed lower than it should, his closeness far too intimate. Nyra, sensing his shift in mood, leaned in and whispered something reassuring. Yet, Zyran could not ignore the sight before him.

Enough.

Striding toward them, he stopped just short of Karlos and Althea. With a measured tone, masking his irritation, he spoke.

"May I have my wife back?"

Karlos smirked, but after a brief pause, he released Althea. She hesitated only a moment before stepping into Zyran's waiting arms.

And just like that, the dance resumed—but the air had irrevocably changed.