The Dragon King's Hated Bride
Chapter 130: Culprit

Chapter 130: Culprit

>>Ariston

I smiled thinly. "Business."

He raised a brow, clearly not expecting that answer.

"I’m here to invest," I said smoothly, flicking a finger along the rim of my glass. "Word is this tavern provides a wide variety of services. That kind of reach—and discretion—comes with value."

The demon leaned back, studying me again, this time with something closer to interest than lust. "You’re not wrong," he said. "The tavern’s got a reputation. One of the better ones."

Then his gaze narrowed slightly, and his voice dropped.

"But lately... well, folks have been falling ill. Not just headaches or bad hangovers. Real sickness. Some think it’s cursed. Maybe you should reconsider."

I tilted my head, feigning surprise, then slowly swirled the drink in my hand.

"I’ll be the judge of that," I said coolly. "I intend to speak with the owner tonight. I like to look people in the eye before I spend my coin."

I brought the glass to my lips again, meeting the demon’s gaze over the rim as I drank deep. The liquid flared sweet and hot down my throat.

"So far?" I said, letting my smile return, slow and confident. "The drinks are excellent. And I feel fantastic."

The demon let out a soft, low chuckle.

"Oh, you’re bold. I like that."

"Good," I replied, setting the empty glass down with a soft clink. "But I’m not here to be liked." Clearly telling him he was wasting my time.

Then I turned to isolate him.

The tentacle demon didn’t take well to being ignored.

After a few more attempts at coy remarks and subtle touches—each one met with a blank stare or a disinterested sip of my drink—he finally scoffed under his breath and slithered off, his pride clearly bruised. I didn’t watch him go.

He wasn’t the first, nor the last.

Throughout the night, they came like flies to honey. All kinds of demons approached me—each of them trying a different angle: charm, coin, power, pleasure. I answered them all the same way.

"If you’ve got nothing to offer, don’t waste my time."

It was starting to become a mantra.

By the time the hour turned deep and the music slowed into a heavier, darker rhythm—more heat than sound—I was tired of hearing myself say it.

The tavern had taken on a different tone. The air grew thicker. The patrons high, looser. Drinks had begun to take their toll. Some customers stumbled, others disappeared behind red curtains and illusioned doors.

I kept my seat.

My back ached. The wig was itching again. And the damn tail wouldn’t stop swaying.

Then the cushion beside me shifted with a heavy thump.

I turned my head—half-dreading what I’d find—and saw a broad, muscular form settling into the booth beside me. A minotaur. Massive, dark-furred, with gold rings along one horn and a deep scar running from brow to jaw. His eyes were amber, but sharp—too sharp for a drunk.

Oh?

Drakkar mentioned a demon like him, saying he was a suspect.

"I’m not interested," I muttered, not even trying for elegance anymore. "At this point in the night, I’m already exhausted."

The minotaur chuckled, deep and warm. "Relax, little thing. I didn’t come for that."

I gave him a sideways glance.

"I heard you’re here to invest," he said.

I groaned quietly and leaned back. "Yes. That’s right. I was hoping to speak to the owner, but the bloody bastard just isn’t showing up."

The minotaur grunted. "No surprise. He’s not much of a businessman."

That caught my attention.

"Oh?" I said, raising a brow.

"Arrogant. Spoiled. He owns this place, sure—but he doesn’t care about it. Cocky as hell, always off chasing wars or seducing someone or pretending to play noble when it suits him."

My lips curled slowly. I turned my gaze to him fully now, studying the hard line of his jaw and the bitterness in his tone.

"Sounds like someone’s got a grudge against the dragon prince," I said evenly.

The minotaur didn’t answer right away.

But the look in his eyes said plenty.

Now that...

That was interesting.

"Personally," the minotaur said, voice low and gruff, "I’ve got no grudge against the prince."

He leaned back, arms crossing over his broad chest, the faint scent of smoke and leather rising from his fur.

"But it does piss me off," he continued, eyes scanning the room, "that some spoiled royal gets to play bar owner, soak in coin, and doesn’t give a damn that his customers are getting drugged or poisoned. Not even pretending to care."

With a snap of thick fingers, he signaled to a passing waiter.

"Bring the lady something exquisite," he said firmly.

The demon waiter gave a short nod and vanished into the crowd.

I exhaled slowly through my nose, keeping my expression level. "That’s the choice of the people, though. No one’s forcing them to come here. If they want to risk it, that’s on them. You can’t blame the owner for that."

To my surprise, the minotaur didn’t argue. Instead, he nodded, the weight in his shoulders shifting.

"Fair enough," he rumbled. "Still doesn’t make it any less frustrating."

He leaned in slightly, his gaze calm but intent. "You want something better to put your coin into? Come to my place. My tavern’s smaller, yeah—but our service is clean, sharp, and no one gets left sitting for hours wondering if the owner even exists."

I narrowed my eyes, intrigued despite myself. "I’ll think about it."

"You should," he said. "Sooner or later, you’ll see this place for what it is. You’ll get sick too. Or worse—someone’ll slip something in your drink."

Then he stood.

I blinked, surprised by the sudden movement. "Leaving already?"

"Got work to do," he said simply, rolling his shoulders as he prepared to disappear back into the haze of bodies and noise.

Before I could say anything else, the waiter returned, holding a dark crystal glass filled with something sparkling like molten garnet. He slid it toward me on the table, giving me a slight bow before vanishing again.

I stared at the drink. The deep red liquid shimmered faintly, almost alive, catching the low light of the room. Behind it, the minotaur’s form disappeared into the haze, his horns the last thing visible before the crowd swallowed him.

Slowly, I reached out and wrapped my fingers around the glass. Cool. Smooth.

I brought it to my lips and took a sip.

Sweet at first. Then sharp. A hint of spice.

But as soon as I swallowed—

I paused.

Something wasn’t right.

My fingers tightened around the glass.

The music faded just slightly in my ears.

And my heart—

My heart skipped a beat.

The moment the bitter edge struck the back of my throat, I knew.

It wasn’t just alcohol or spice or magic—it was wrong. Something oily and cold began to bloom in my chest, a creeping fog trying to dull my limbs and swallow my thoughts.

Panic spiked through me like lightning.

I stood up so fast the stool toppled backward with a sharp clatter. My heart thundered against my ribs, and before I even realized what I was doing, I flung the half-finished glass to the floor.

Shatter.

The sound cracked through the tavern.

Conversations died instantly. Music stuttered and choked. Laughter fell away. The entire room seemed to suck in a breath as the crystal exploded into sharp red shards, wine—or whatever that was—spilling out like blood across the polished floor.

Dozens of eyes snapped toward me, startled, suspicious.

Even the minotaur, who had nearly reached the exit, halted in his tracks. Slowly, he turned, his broad form silhouetted against the dim light of the door, his eyes locking on mine from across the room.

I barely noticed.

A barmaid rushed over, her heels clicking across the floor. She was young, with silver eyes and a flustered expression.

"Ma’am—what happened?" she asked quickly. "Are you all right?"

I pointed to the shimmering pool of red on the floor, breathing hard. "Someone drugged my drink."

Her eyes widened slightly. Without hesitation, she crouched and dipped a finger into the puddle. She brought it to her lips, paused, then frowned.

"...Tastes normal to me," she said, glancing around. "Expensive. Strong. But not drugged."

Murmurs erupted like wildfire.

Whispers. Skepticism. Curious stares sharpened into judgment.

I clenched my jaw, lifting my chin against the swell of attention. "No. It was drugged. I know what I felt." My voice rang out, cutting through the crowd. "Someone in this tavern tried to drug me."

The tension snapped.

People stood from tables. Staff whispered to each other in quick, sharp tones. One of the bartenders moved toward the back door and bolted it. A succubus near the curtains gasped and clutched her partner’s arm. The energy shifted hard—uncertainty curdling into alarm.

A male server climbed onto a nearby table and raised his hands. "Everyone stay calm! We’ll be locking the doors while we investigate the claim! No one leaves until this is sorted."

The crowd groaned, complaints beginning to rise.

And then—

"What happened here?"

That voice cut through the room like steel.

I turned, and there he was—Drakkar, finally.

Leaning against the doorway like he’d just sauntered in from a dream. Loose shirt half-buttoned, silver jewelry glinting along his horns, cloak fluttering faintly as though the air moved for him alone.

He looked from me to the broken glass, then to the frozen crowd, and lifted one eyebrow.

His golden eyes locked on mine.

Drakkar stepped forward through the parted crowd, the sharp gleam in his eyes giving no clue to his thoughts, only the weight of his authority pressing down on the room like a storm about to break.

"I heard," he said coolly, his voice carrying to every corner of the tavern, "that you’re accusing someone from my bar of drugging your drink."

I straightened, still keeping one hand braced against the table to steady the slight tremor in my limbs. My face, however, was calm—collected.

"Yes," I said. "And I don’t make baseless claims. I’ve trained my palate for years. My tongue can detect the tiniest trace of poison, magic, or alchemical tampering. Whatever was in that drink was not natural."

Drakkar’s mouth curled into a small, sly smirk. "Is that so?" he drawled. "Then by all means... point out the culprit."

A hush fell.

Every eye turned toward me once again.

I slowly raised my hand, letting the tension build—then extended one finger.

Straight toward the minotaur.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

The minotaur’s eyes widened. "W–What? No—I didn’t—" His voice cracked with disbelief as color visibly drained from his face. "I offered the drink, yes, but I didn’t touch it! I just—"

I cut him off, slowly shifting my hand—pivoting my finger to the side, past him.