Demonic Dragon: Harem System - Chapter 720

Chapter 720: That’s because you’re not jealous, right?
“Mercedes Vaintz…” Strax repeated the name slowly, savoring each syllable as if they were notes of a song he loved to tease her with, just to see her squirm between irritation and surprise.

The Monarch looked away, not because she was embarrassed… but because it did something to her. Something she wasn’t prepared to admit—not to him, not to herself.

Strax gave a slight, almost tranquil smile, the kind of smile that came right before the next inevitable tease.

But not this time.

He just took a deep breath, relaxed, warmth emanating from him like a small, living bonfire amidst the ice.

“Mercedes, then,” he said. “Now that’s more like it… it feels like I’m finally talking to someone real, and not a crowned ice tower.”

She rolled her eyes with a sigh, fighting the urge to smile again.

He seemed dangerously good at it.

After a few seconds of comfortable silence—a rare occurrence between them—Strax took a step back, gazing at the sky still bright with the artificial sun he had created.

“So,” he murmured, “I think I’ve thawed enough for today.”

Mercedes frowned slightly.

“Are you leaving?”

Strax smiled.

“For now.”

He turned aside, already walking toward the corridor leading to the palace interior.

“I have someone to see.”

Mercedes raised her chin, regaining some of her icy composure.

“The redhead?”

Strax chuckled softly.

“My wife, Mercedes. Wife.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hands. “If I don’t show up soon, she’ll storm the palace and give you a beating just for breathing near me.”

An almost imperceptible blush rose across the Monarch’s pale cheeks—part irritation, part… something she preferred to ignore. “Hm. I understand,” she murmured, trying to sound neutral, but her gaze betrayed a hint of… jealousy?

Or perhaps it was just curiosity.

Mercedes Vaintz didn’t easily—or clearly—show her emotions.

Strax started walking.

But he stopped.

He turned his head over his shoulder, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement and genuine interest.

“We’ll talk again later,” he said. “There’s a lot I want to know about you. About your kingdom. About what’s really going on here.”

She swallowed hard.

“And you think… I’m just going to tell you?”

“Ten minutes,” he replied with that indecent confidence, “and you tell me everything.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“How presumptuous.”

“I know,” he said, with a smile that should have been illegal.

He made a casual gesture toward her.

“I’ll be staying at the palace for a few days. So if you want to talk, discuss politics, exchange barbs, threaten me…” his eyes gleamed, “…or just take advantage of the fact that you’re finally feeling warm… I’ll be around.”

Mercedes felt a shiver run down her spine—not from the cold, but from his tone.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” she retorted, crossing her arms. “I haven’t decided anything yet.”

“Of course not,” Strax replied, already turning his back to leave. “You only said ‘for now’ about three times. It’s practically a polite yes.”

“Strax…” she said in a tone that was half warning, half… a plea for him to stop toying with her like that.

He raised his hand in a lazy wave, without even looking back:

“Later, Mercedes.”

And he walked down the corridor as if it were his home, his castle, his world.

Mercedes stood alone on the balcony, the golden warmth reflecting off her skin, his name echoing in her mind—and the feeling that, for the first time in a very, very long time…

…the ice inside her had begun to crack.

Strax walked down the corridor illuminated by the golden reflection of his own artificial sun—now trapped somewhere distant in the palace sky, like a small, unsettling reminder that he didn’t belong in that realm, but still marked it. The warm glow trickled down the honey-blue walls, creating long shadows that seemed to move behind him.

He wasn’t exactly in a hurry.

But the rhythm of his steps said he knew who was waiting.

The bedroom door was heavy, carved with runes that told stories of frozen glory—which Scarlet had probably completely ignored the moment she decided to push it open and occupy the space in her own way.

Strax opened the door slowly, like someone entering their own home after a day that lasted ages. The room was hot—too hot by any palace standard—and perfumed with something he recognized immediately: her scent in the air. A sweet, metallic mixture, fire and flower, as if Scarlet had burned her own perfume into the atmosphere just to let everyone know she was there.

She lay on the king-size bed, legs crossed, body relaxed on white sheets that almost gleamed against the contrast of her skin. Crimson lingerie, almost as red as the name she bore. Her hair loose like a small flame scattered across the pillow.

Scarlet raised a slow gaze, one of those that analyzes, measures, and judges before you even open your mouth.

“It took you long enough,” she said, without even trying to hide the air of someone who owns the place.

Strax closed the door with a soft click.

“I was talking.”

“With the Monarch.”

He arched an eyebrow, already pacing the room while taking off his gloves.

“You feel the ice, is that it?”

“I smell trouble on you,” Scarlet replied, resting her chin on her hand. “And I sense when you come back with the kind of humor that only appears when you’re trying to impress someone.”

Strax let out a short, low, almost intimate laugh.

Scarlet had this irritating talent for piercing any mask he tried to wear.

He began to unfasten the top of the garment—slowly, always slowly—as if he were dismantling an armor that had been made for him and against him at the same time.

“So?” she pressed, impatient to wait. “How was it?”

Strax dropped the garment onto a chair, approaching the bed.

The warm light of the fireplace (which Scarlet probably lit just to make him sweat) painted his face orange—and he knew very well how much more dangerous that made him.

“It was… interesting,” he said, resting his hands on the foot of the bed.

Scarlet narrowed her eyes.

“Interesting is a word you only use when you want me to ask more.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Great. Then tell me.”

Strax tilted his head, a crooked smile slowly appearing.

“She told me her name.”

Scarlet blinked, showing little emotion—but he saw it.

The micro-reaction.

That almost-nothing that betrayed how much attention she paid to everything that had to do with him.

“Ah,” Scarlet murmured. “So you made progress.”

“I wasn’t even trying.”

“Because of course people just open up to you, don’t they?”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “You have this habit of making people… relax. Or let their guard down. Or tell you secrets just because you smile that stupid way.”

Strax took a few more steps closer, removing another piece of clothing with the same irritating slowness as before.

“Are you jealous?”

She gave a small—dangerous—smile.

“I don’t get jealous of snow, Strax.”

“But she’s not snow.”

“No,” Scarlet agreed, her finger distractedly tracing her own knee. “She’s beautiful. Cold. Powerful. And probably completely obsessed with control. In other words… exactly the kind of person who’s bothered by you.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“It’s an observation.”

He laughed—and began to unbutton another zipper, slowly, as if offering a visual answer to a silent question.

Scarlet followed the movement with her eyes, impatient, but also appreciating the rhythm.

“You said it was interesting,” she returned to the subject. “Why?”

Strax shrugged.

“She’s… unique.”

Scarlet raised a finger.

“‘Unique’ how? Because ‘unique’ can mean a lot of things, and I don’t like half of them.”

Strax stopped at the edge of the bed, looking directly at her. The heat between them was palpable, even without a touch.

“She has a different body,” he finally said. “Possibly a unique physique.”

Scarlet blinked slowly, assessing the phrase as if it were a riddle.

“Different like… you like?”

“Different like I’ve never seen.”

Scarlet sat up, supporting herself on her elbows, her hair falling over her shoulders like liquid flames.

“Strax, if that was supposed to reassure me, you’re terrible at it.”

He laughed again, sitting on the mattress with the weight of someone who knows that space, that woman, that dynamic.

“I’m not trying to reassure you.”

“Great. Because it’s not working.”

Scarlet stretched her leg slowly, touching the tip of her foot to his arm—gentle, but full of intention. He didn’t flinch. He never flinched from her.

“So,” she continued, “you find the Ice Queen interesting.”

“I do.”

“And does that bother you?”

“Not at all.”

“And it should.”

Strax leaned slightly toward hers, the air between them becoming thick, charged with something electric.

“Why?”

Scarlet smiled slowly, mischievously, deliciously confidently.

“Because I know you,” she said. “And I know when you’re playing games with someone… and when someone starts playing games with you.”

Strax watched her for long seconds.

She never missed a chance to turn the tables—and he never complained.

“Scarlet,” he said, his voice too low to be casual.

“Hm?”

“I’m not interested in her the way you’re thinking.”

“You’re not?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Then why are you talking about her body?”

“Because it’s different. And because I’m curious.”

He smiled. “And because you asked for details.”

She huffed, but the smile didn’t fade.

“Strax…”

“Scarlet…”

Their names always sounded sharp when spoken like this—almost a dance, almost a threat, almost a kiss.

Scarlet pulled the sheet aside, making a space beside her.

Not as an invitation.

As an order.

Strax stepped in with the naturalness of someone who already knew exactly where he belonged.

She stared at him, her face inches from his, her warm breath brushing against his skin.

“Just to be clear,” Scarlet said, in that warm tone that always preceded an attack or a caress that felt like an attack, “I don’t care about her.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not jealous either.”

“I know.”

“But…” She moved her face a little closer. “Don’t talk about a woman’s body to me, you bastard!”

Strax smiled, “That’s because you’re not jealous, right?” He asked, smiling.