Reborn as the Psycho Villainess Who Ate Her Slave Beasts' Contracts

Chapter 412: Chapter-412

The morning sun broke over the capital, casting sharp, golden light through the massive, arched windows of the imperial palace’s grand corridor. Elara walked with a slow, measured pace, her boots striking the marble with a rhythmic, unyielding click that seemed to quiet the whispers of the servants long before she even came into view.

She had returned to the main palace quarters.

For the last few weeks, she had stayed primarily in the isolated administrative wing and the distant training grounds, creating a physical distance that the nobility had foolishly misinterpreted as a permanent retreat. But Elara did not retreat; she merely adjusted her coordinates based on immediate necessity. Now that the foreign delegations had arrived and the domestic council was attempting a coordinated political ambush, her presence in the heart of the empire was required once more.

She wore a simple, structured uniform of deep charcoal—completely devoid of the elaborate silk sashes or glittering jewels of a traditional princess, yet tailored with a sharp, military precision that commanded immediate deference. Attached to her lapel was a single, heavy silver crest: the emblem of the Empress Regent.

When she had handed the active duties of the throne to Samuel, she had not entirely relinquished her legal authority. She remained the Empress Regent, a constitutional anchor designed to ensure that if the young emperor ever faltered, or if the state faced an existential crisis, the supreme authority of the crown would instantly revert to her. The nobles had conveniently tried to forget this title, treating her merely as an unmarried royal wildcard. Today, she would remind them that titles were not ornaments; they were legal realities.

As she turned the corner leading toward the grand antechamber of the throne room, a tall, imposing figure stepped into her path, his posture rigid. It was Ken.

His dark hair was neatly brushed back, and he wore the formal uniform of the Imperial Guard’s senior command. His expression was completely professional, stripped entirely of the lazy, intimate warmth he usually displayed within the confines of her bedchamber. He didn’t look at her lips; he didn’t look at the faint marks on her neck. He looked directly at her eyes with the cold, disciplined focus of a soldier waiting for orders.

"Master," Ken greeted, his voice low, smooth, and perfectly level. He bowed from the waist—exactly fifteen degrees, the precise requirement for a senior officer addressing the Empress Regent. "The grand hall is entirely filled. Minister Harrison has already lined up the envoys from the five kingdoms. Samuel is on the throne, but his pulse rate is elevated; he has already asked for your administrative brief twice this morning."

"Samuel focuses too much on the atmosphere of the room rather than the data on the parchment," Elara replied, her voice a flat, freezing monotone that didn’t alter in the slightest as she looked at him. "Did Instructor Mahir complete the perimeter logs for the third cohort?"

"He did, Master," Ken said, his eyes remaining steady, completely adhering to the boundaries she had brutally reinforced the night before. "He is currently stationed at the eastern gatehouse, supervising the deployment of the heavy ballistae. His focus is absolute."

"Good. Emotional volatile variables are an unnecessary luxury in a military command," Elara stated clinically. "You will take your position behind the left side of the throne. Do not speak unless a physical security breach occurs."

"Understood, Master."

Ken stepped aside, turning smoothly to trail two paces behind her left shoulder as she approached the massive, gold-leafed doors of the throne room. The two towering guards stationed at the entrance didn’t wait for her to command them; the moment they recognized the glacial, empty depth in her eyes, they threw their weight against the iron handles, pulling the doors open with a resounding echo.

The chatter inside the grand hall died instantly.

Hundreds of nobles, ministers, and foreign dignitaries turned their heads as one. The atmosphere in the room, which had been buzzing with a smug, calculated confidence, turned thick and heavy. Samuel sat atop the elevated marble dais, the heavy golden crown resting on his brow. The moment his eyes landed on Elara, his shoulders visibly dropped in a mixture of profound relief and immediate apprehension. He knew his sister didn’t enter this room to observe; she entered to execute a strategy.

Down in the center of the floor stood Minister Harrison, flanked by five incredibly handsome, elegantly dressed young men—the foreign princes. They stood like prized stallions, their postures perfectly curated to project wealth, talent, and royal dignity.

Elara didn’t look at their faces. She didn’t look at Harrison’s triumphant smirk. She walked straight down the center carpet, her gaze fixed entirely on the space beside the throne. She didn’t ascend to the seat of the monarch; instead, she stepped onto the secondary platform reserved for the Regent, her presence instantly drawing the focus of the entire room away from the crown itself.

"Empress Regent Elara," Minister Harrison spoke up, his voice booming through the vaulted ceiling as he bowed deeply, though his eyes carried a sharp, scheming glint. "Your arrival is most fortuitous. The council was just presenting a matter of vital state security to His Imperial Majesty. As the last unmarried lady of the bloodline, the security of our borders and the future of our succession rest heavily upon your choices. Five sovereign nations have brought forth their finest sons, offering unprecedented alliances."

He gestured grandly to the men beside him. The Northern prince, a tall man with sharp, icy blue eyes and a dusting of silver embroidery on his dark coat, stepped forward, bowing gracefully.

"We believe," Harrison continued, his tone dripping with a carefully constructed net of social pressure, "that for the absolute stability of the realm, and to prevent any future friction among the noble factions, the Empress Regent must choose a consort today. To refuse would be to reject the very peace you fought to build."

The nobles in the gallery murmured in unified agreement, a low, oppressive wall of sound designed to corner her. They expected her to stay silent, to reject them with an angry outburst that they could use to label her a tyrant, or to look to Samuel for an escape she wouldn’t find.

Elara let the silence stretch for five full seconds, her empty glass-bead eyes scanning the council until Harrison’s smirk began to falter under the weight of her stare.

"Your logic regarding the necessity of border stability is sound, Minister Harrison," Elara finally spoke, her voice cutting through the room like an iron wedge, perfectly flat and devoid of any defensive heat. "However, your understanding of a consort’s functional value is severely limited."

The Northern prince raised an eyebrow, his smooth, handsome features tightening slightly at her cold delivery.

"Demerti," Elara commanded, not turning her head.

Demerti stepped forward from the shadows of the pillars, carrying a leather-bound folio bearing the official seal of the Regent’s office. He handed it directly to the foreign ministry’s scribe, his movements quick and professional.

"I have already reviewed the proposals," Elara stated to the stunned silence of the court. "The Western Kingdom’s maritime routes, the Southern Coalition’s grain subsidies, and the Eastern alliance’s silver treaties are sub-optimal compared to the Northern Coalition’s mineral yields. Therefore, as Empress Regent, I accept the proposal of the Northern Coalition."