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Dragon King's Harem Chapter 410. Maybe I Should Try Too
🕑 Added 2024-12-12 21:25:05 +0000 UTCDragon King's Harem Chapter 410. Maybe I Should Try Too
Glasha’s PoV
Glasha stared at the door long after the Dragon King had left, the heavy wood now silent and still. She should have returned to her embroidery—the steady motion of needle and thread usually gave her a semblance of peace—but her hands remained motionless in her lap. Her dark eyes were fixed on the closed door, her thoughts swirling in a way she hadn’t allowed them to in a long time.
It wasn’t that his visit had unsettled her, not exactly. If anything, it had left her feeling strangely calm. The anger that had burned so brightly in her chest for months seemed dimmer now, like a fire that had finally run out of fuel. The resentment was still there, simmering quietly, but it was no longer consuming her.
She hadn’t expected him to apologize—not for the war, not for what had happened to her tribe, not even for his rude behavior when they first met. He wasn’t wrong, after all. As much as it stung to admit, Glasha knew she’d forced his hand. Her father’s ambition and her brother’s recklessness had left her tribe in a position where defeat was inevitable. If she’d been in his place, would she have acted any differently? Probably not. She might have even been harsher.
Her fingers twitched against the embroidery hoop in her lap, but she still didn’t move to pick up the needle. ‘No,’ she thought. ‘An apology would have felt hollow.’
What he’d given her instead was something else—something she hadn’t expected. A glimmer of hope, faint but real. It wasn’t in his words, though those had been kind enough. It wasn’t even in his touch, gentle as it had been. It was in the way he’d looked at her, not with pity or condescension, but with respect. With understanding.
‘What am I supposed to do with that?’ she wondered, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes for a moment.
The memories of their first meeting were still vivid in her mind. The battlefield had been chaotic, the air thick with the stench of blood and fire. He had been ruthless, decisive, every movement calculated to end the conflict as quickly and efficiently as possible. She’d hated him then, with every fiber of her being. Hated his strength, his confidence, his ability to strip her of everything she’d ever known with a single command.
But that man wasn’t the same one who had just left her chamber. The Dragon King she had met today was… different. Gentler. More human.
Her gaze drifted back to the embroidery in her lap. The symbol of her tribe stared back at her. But now, for the first time, it didn’t feel like a symbol of defeat. It felt like a challenge. A question. ‘What will you do next, Glasha? Will you let this define you, or will you rise above it?’
She sighed, setting the hoop aside and standing. The room felt too quiet, too confining. She crossed to the window, the afternoon light spilling over her as she looked out at the sprawling palace grounds below. Everything here was so different from her home. The architecture, the people, even the air—it all felt foreign. But she couldn’t deny its beauty.
Her thoughts drifted back to his invitation. Dinner with him and the others. The idea filled her with equal parts dread and curiosity. She wasn’t ready to face them, not entirely. Evelina’s gentle gaze, Sela’s energetic presence, Marissa’s cool composure—they all intimidated her in their own way. But she’d agreed. And for some reason, the thought of backing out didn’t sit right with her.
‘He’s trying,’ she thought, her fingers brushing against the windowsill. ‘Maybe I should try too.’
But it wasn’t just about him. It was about herself. About finding a way to heal the wounds that had festered inside her since the war. She wasn’t sure what the path forward looked like, but she was beginning to realize it wasn’t something she could navigate alone.
And that realization was almost more unsettling than the wounds themselves. Glasha had spent her entire life knowing what was expected of her. As the daughter of an orc king, she had been raised in the shadow of a father who wielded power ruthlessly and a mother who had clung desperately to hope in a world that gave her none. Glasha’s place had always been clear—at least, until now.
She leaned against the windowsill, the cool stone grounding her as her thoughts drifted. This palace was so different from her father’s stronghold. There, every moment had been a battle—if not with enemies, then with the expectations her father had placed on her. Here… here, she simply existed.
No one demanded anything of her. No one looked at her with fear or with expectations she couldn’t meet. It was strange, unsettling even, but also freeing in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.
‘Argod is better than my father,’ she thought. The truth of it settled heavily in her chest, undeniable and yet difficult to accept. Argod, the man she had once viewed as her enemy, treated her with more respect than her own blood ever had. He didn’t belittle her. He didn’t try to manipulate her. He didn’t demand anything she wasn’t willing to give. Except the first time, of course.
Her gaze drifted out over the palace grounds, her thoughts swirling like a storm. Here, she wasn’t a pawn in someone else’s game. She wasn’t a symbol of power to be paraded around or a tool to be used. She was… just Glasha. And that, more than anything, terrified her.
Back home—if she could even call it that anymore—there had been structure, however cruel. The constant pressure to prove herself, to rise above her circumstances, to survive under her father’s iron rule. She hated it, but at least it gave her purpose. It gave her a reason to keep fighting.
Here, there was no pressure. No demands. No expectations. And in the absence of all that, she felt… lost.
Her thoughts turned to her mother. Her mother had always been kind. But kindness hadn’t saved her. Glasha could still see the moment it all ended—the look in her mother’s eyes as her father’s rage consumed her. That memory was a scar she would carry forever.
And yet, even with that pain, her mother had taught her something invaluable. “Strength isn’t just about winning,” she had said once, her voice soft but firm. “It’s about choosing who you want to be, even when the world tries to decide for you.”
Glasha clenched her fists. Here, in this unfamiliar palace, surrounded by people she barely knew, she had a chance to decide. To choose who she wanted to be. But the question remained—who?
