NTR: King gets Cucked-Chapter 5: The Crowning Ceremony

Zyran stirred awake to the soft sensation of a delicate hand brushing his face. A pair of coral-blue strands tickled his cheek as Nyra's turquoise eyes gazed down at him.

"Good morning, love," she whispered, her lips curving into a soft smile.

Zyran sighed and stretched, feeling the warmth of another body beside him. Althea's arm was lazily draped around his waist.

"I knew you'd be late," Nyra said with a pout. "You and Althea are such deep sleepers."

Zyran sat up, brushing Althea's arm aside as she stirred and groaned softly.

"You could have come to my chambers instead," Nyra teased, her cheeks flushing faintly. "Come on — the ceremony starts soon. I'll help you get ready."

Althea stretched her arms above her head, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders. "You're such a worrier, Nyra," she teased. "Relax — we still have time."

"We don't," Nyra insisted. "The ceremony is in an hour."

Althea yawned, completely unconcerned. "That's plenty of time."

Zyran smiled faintly, watching the contrast between his wives. Nyra, anxious and attentive, while Althea remained playful and carefree. It was comforting — grounding — even as the weight of the day settled over him.

⸻

The great hall was packed with nobles, generals, and diplomats from neighboring kingdoms. The stained-glass windows cast colorful patterns on the marble floor as the morning sun streamed in.

Zyran walked down the aisle between rows of armored knights and council members. Althea and Nyra followed on either side of him, radiant in flowing white dresses adorned with gold.

As he reached the front of the hall, Zyran's eyes scanned the crowd. Drucila was nowhere to be seen. He frowned — but no one else seemed to care.

The ceremony was swift and cold. The High Priest barely spoke above a whisper as he crowned Zyran. A weight settled on his head as the crown of Draconia was placed upon him.

"All hail King Zyran," the High Priest declared.

The hall erupted into polite applause — but Zyran could feel the emptiness behind it.

⸻

After the feast, Zyran sat in the council chamber. The room was dimly lit, with the advisors and Viceroy Durin seated before him.

Durin, massive and intimidating, lounged in the chair meant for the king. His black armor was custom-made — no ordinary forge could craft something to fit his enormous frame. The golden runes etched into his dark skin shimmered faintly under the torchlight — remnants of an ancient race whose secrets only Emperor Damon seemed to understand.

Lord Alex sat at Durin's right, a thin smirk on his face. Across from him were Evrin and Ian, both lounging carelessly. Karlos sat at the end of the table, leaning back with a casual air of disinterest — but his sharp eyes betrayed his calculating mind.

Ian, the Minister of Finance, stood and cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, the kingdom's financial situation is... dire. Trade has declined, and our debts to Grimgaard are growing."

Zyran's jaw tightened. "And our natural resources?"

Durin chuckled darkly. "Controlled by Grimgaard, of course." His golden eyes glinted dangerously. "We've received new orders — the Empire demands increased taxes to fund their eastern campaign."

Alex's smirk deepened. "I'm sure the king will find a way to satisfy his imperial overlords."

Zyran's fists clenched beneath the table. "And the merchants?"

"They're withdrawing from Draconia," Ian said bluntly. "We've become too unstable to trust."

"How could this have happened?"

Durin leaned forward, his dark smile widening. "Perhaps it's a matter of leadership."

Zyran's knuckles whitened. "You're saying this is my fault?"

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"Not at all," Durin replied smoothly. "You've only just been crowned. But... perhaps you lack the strength to hold the crown."

Ian snickered. Alex smiled thinly. Evrin said nothing — his gaze cold and impassive.

Zyran felt his face heat with shame. "What do you suggest?"

Karlos's voice cut through the tension. "Perhaps... a loan."

Zyran turned toward him, his brow furrowing. "From Grimgaard?"

Karlos smiled faintly. "No. From my personal contacts." His gaze sharpened. "A favor for our new king."

Zyran hesitated. "And the terms?"

Karlos's smile deepened. "Reasonable."

Durin's low chuckle filled the room. "I'm sure His Majesty will think of something," he said, his golden eyes glinting with cruel amusement.

Zyran's jaw tensed. "That won't be necessary," he said firmly. "I'll find a way."

Durin's smile sharpened. "Of course. I have faith in you."

Karlos's expression darkened slightly, but he said nothing.

As Zyran stood to leave, Karlos added, "Your mother could always appeal to the Emperor on your behalf. I'm sure Emperor Damon would be... accommodating."

Zyran's body stiffened. His heart pounded in his ears as he fought to steady his breathing. "That won't be necessary."

Durin chuckled. "Pity."

Zyran turned and left the chamber. Behind him, the advisors' laughter echoed down the hall.

⸻

Zyran walked toward the castle gardens, his thoughts storming beneath the surface. His crown felt heavier now — each word from Durin and the advisors driving it deeper into his skull.

He reached the gardens and paused beneath the archway.

Althea knelt beside a bed of crimson roses, her golden hair falling over her shoulders. She hummed softly as she brushed her fingers over the petals, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow on her skin.

Zyran's chest tightened at the sight of her.

For now, he would endure. For her.

But the storm was coming.