Vol.1 Epilogue

“The Count will be here shortly.”

“Hah. Finally?”

Dinner had long since concluded. King Philip, who had accompanied Grand Duke Vizak to the Owin estate, glared at Kyle Blackburn as the dragon brazenly strolled into the detached residence’s study.

“What kind of manners is it to keep a guest waiting while you’re off fucking?” Philip snapped.

“I stepped aside so the two of you could enjoy yourselves,” Blackburn retorted, entirely unfazed by the monarch’s irritation. “And it seems you were having a very good time,” he added, punctuating the remark with an insolent tilt of his chin.

“Arrogant—ugh—bastard.”

“Is there any reason I should grovel to you?” You aren’t even my contractor.

Blackburn crossed his arms and leaned casually against the wall. He didn’t so much as blink at the obscene spectacle unfolding right in front of him—King Philip and Grand Duke Vizak engaged in a shameless, heated bout of sex. Instead, his expression remained as detached as a man watching insects mate.

It was so distracting that the Grand Duke, currently taking the King from behind on the velvet couch, was the first to try and pull away. But Philip quickly snatched at the retreating man. The lewd, wicked roll of his hips, clenching tight around the Grand Duke’s embedded length, refused to let him slip out. Philip, it seemed, cared absolutely nothing for Blackburn’s audience. Why bother saving face in front of a reptile?

“Don’t stop, Vizak.”

“Your Majesty,” the Grand Duke groaned.

He had already been trying to avoid the King, who had been throwing himself at him with relentless intent lately. Now, Vizak—the greatest swordsman on the continent—wore an expression of sheer helplessness. Today, his desires had been stoked by the muffled sounds of their host’s own vigorous intercourse echoing from afar, and he had succumbed to temptation. Yet, despite his surrender, he still hesitated endlessly at the King’s demands to finish inside.

“Hurry up. I told you I want a sixth.”

As if the spectator leaning against the study wall didn’t exist, the King forcefully yanked the Grand Duke closer, anti-climactically laying bare the truth behind the continent’s most rampant conspiracy theories. Kyle stared intently at the King’s abdomen, which bore the unmistakable, lingering traces of having housed a child five times already. Popping them out like that is a talent in itself.

A sullen, almost envious question slipped from the dragon’s lips. “How exactly do you do it?”

“What?”

“…”

“Ah. The pregnancy?”

In the end, Vizak lost to Philip once again. Abandoning his restraint, the Grand Duke ignored Blackburn entirely and began driving his hips forward with vicious, rhythmic force. Philip clung desperately to the shoulders of the man hurtling toward his climax, shooting a glare back at the dragon observing their tryst.

“You already know the method—ah! You have to use dragon words and your semen to reconstruct his body.”

“It isn’t working.”

“Shooting deep inside is the key. Are you doing it right?”

“I am shooting,” Kyle growled. “I’m finishing deep inside him every damn time.”

The optimal place to plant a womb within an adult human male was just beyond the colon. Kyle Blackburn was absolutely certain he had been thoroughly painting that exact spot with his essence; there was no way he could mistake the tight, suffocating friction of his glans snagging on those narrow curves.

“Then it must be the fault of the nest’s restrictions,” Philip guessed breathlessly.

At those words, Blackburn’s aura instantly darkened into something sinister, his furious black pupils dilating into a bottomless abyss.

“Ah, calm down. I know I made a mistake too. That’s why I’m cooperating with you like this.”

They were teetering right on the edge of their climax. Philip, his cheeks flushed a brilliant, overripe red, waved a hand in a gesture of insincere placation. Long ago, the man who had sold the young dragon to the Owin family was none other than this very King, a man who possessed the same blue-tinted black hair. But because the purity of Philip’s dark lineage was so diluted, his magical reserves couldn’t even begin to compare to Blackburn’s terrifying abilities.

It didn’t matter. The days of agonizing over it, of harboring bitter jealousy, were long gone. Yes, long gone, Philip giggled to himself.

“Anyway, is it really that good?” the King panted. “Makes me want to have a taste of him, too.”

“Try it,” Kyle replied with chilling indifference.

What a frivolous bastard. The dragon offered his deadpan response to the taunts of a King who had practically lost the physical ability to maintain an erection and top anyone anyway.

“I will butcher your entire nation the second you try. A Dragon Festival? Fine. I’ll gladly decorate it with blood and shredded flesh.”

“You’re no fun…”

“I am exercising an extreme amount of restraint just standing here.”

It was then.

At the precise second Vizak slammed deep inside Philip with a final, shuddering thrust, the third party of their conversation finally made his entrance.

Knock, knock.

After waiting a polite three seconds, Count Rochshan Owin opened the door and stepped into the study, establishing a bizarre four-way summit: a King, a Grand Duke, a Count, and a slave. What a peculiar combination.

Sweeping his gaze over the room, the young Count offered an arrogant, razor-sharp smile. At first glance, it was impossible to believe this was the same man who had passed out from sheer exhaustion after a brutal bout of sex. Only Blackburn, his eyes narrowing to slits, zeroed in on the vivid bite marks half-concealed beneath Rochshan’s crisp collar.

The Count immediately offered a flawless, impeccably polite bow. “Oh my. To think Your Majesty was also in attendance. I apologize for keeping you waiting for so long in ignorance. A sudden barrage of urgent matters required my immediate attention.”

“Ah, yes. You must have been incredibly busy with both public and private affairs,” the King drawled.

“But whatever brings you all the way out here…?”

Did you think sending only the Grand Duke would ruin your price negotiations? In response to the Count’s veiled barb, the King merely shrugged. In the brief window before Rochshan’s entrance, Philip had miraculously concluded his post-coital cleanup, looking perfectly dignified. He crossed his long legs, sitting comfortably on the exact velvet couch where he had been ruthlessly pounded only moments before, and set down a lukewarm cup of tea. Behind the couch, Grand Duke Vizak stood rigidly at attention like a carved gargoyle, possessing a taciturn nature entirely different from Kyle Blackburn’s.

“Well,” Philip began, resting his chin on his hand, “I have something to give you.”

“…I believe I already received it.”

“You tore it up, didn’t you?”

“…”

“Figured as much. So I brought another.”

With a casual flick of his wrist, the King pulled a card from his breast pocket and held it out. Forced to accept a direct gift from the monarch, Rochshan’s face contorted into a fierce scowl. This time, he didn’t even wait for the King to leave before he brazenly ripped the joint wedding invitation for the nest into pieces.

“I am absolutely not going.”

“Now, don’t be like that,” Philip coaxed. “I want to host an unprecedented, legendary wedding ceremony to drum up publicity for the festival. You should take the initiative and participate. The event needs a wealth of aristocratic guests to properly set the standard, doesn’t it?”

“There is no one in my household to send to a wedding.”

“You have at least one candidate standing right over there.” The King jutted his chin toward Kyle Blackburn.

At that, Rochshan cast a sideways glare at his exclusive slave, the knuckles of his clenched fist turning white as unconscious strength bled into his grip.

“I will absolutely not stomach the jealousy of watching anyone get married before I do.”

As if I’d ever let him go. If I’m destined to die an old bachelor, then Kyle Blackburn will be buried in the coffin right beside me.

The deeply twisted Count let out a sharp, derisive snort.