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

Chapter 429: Chapter-428

"Right," Julian whispered, a strange, breathless laugh escaping his lips as he took a slow step backward toward the exit. He held up his hands in a defensive gesture, his pride completely shattered but his mind finally understanding the true depth of the cage he was in. "Right. Four hours. My mistake. I’ll... I’ll check the registry next time."

"A logical decision, Prince Julian," Elara said, her hand reaching out to smoothly close the heavy oak door. "Return to your coordinate. The audience is concluded."

With a soft, definitive *click*, the lock slid back into place, leaving Julian alone in the cold, dark hallway, staring at the blank wood with wide, completely stunned eyes. Inside the room, Elara turned back toward the warm lamplight, entirely unconcerned with his shock, as Ken and Mahir stepped forward to pull her back into the shadows.

Julian managed to maintain his perfect, rigid posture for a few more yards, his boots clicking evenly against the marble until he finally rounded the corner into the abandoned, torch-lit corridor of the gallery wing. The moment he was out of the guards’ sight and away from the prying eyes of the night servants, his strength completely gave out.

His knees buckled. He collapsed against a heavy stone pillar, his back sliding down the rough masonry until he hit the floor.

He closed his eyes tight, but a single, bitter tear escaped, tracking a hot line down his pale cheek. He wasn’t a fool, nor was he an innocent boy who didn’t understand the dark realities of the high courts. He had known from the very beginning that marrying into a foreign royal family would come with hidden costs. If he had been an only son, his father would have protected his dignity at all costs. But Julian had too many brothers. He had known since he was a teenager that if he were sent away to another kingdom to secure a treaty, his future wife might already have other men by her side.

But knowing the theory of royal convenience didn’t do anything to numb the raw, physical shock of seeing it. Today, it literally felt like his chest was being hollowed out.

Mahir’s cunning, smug smirk flashed behind his eyelids, followed closely by Ken’s lazy, mocking laugh. Julian’s hands balled into tight fists, his knuckles cracking. He wanted to go back there. He wanted to beat them both to a bloody pulp, to wrap his hands around their throats and strangle the arrogance right out of them. But he couldn’t do a single thing. He was a political hostage in a golden cage, and those two monsters were the supreme commanders of the very guard holding the keys.

He covered his face with both hands and let out a scream. But it was a completely voiceless scream, a silent convulsion of agony and fury that stayed trapped inside his throat. He was in so much pain, his entire body shaking with a helpless, burning anger that had nowhere to go.

Nothing had changed for him since the day he crossed the border. Even when he first met Elara, he could tell she didn’t care about him—she looked at him like a tedious chore. Yet, despite her coldness, a stupid, desperate part of him had still secretly wished for her to be his only solace in this foreign land. He had hoped that once the treaties were signed and the noise died down, they might find a quiet, mutual peace together within the royal family.

Now, sitting alone on the cold palace floor, Julian felt like the biggest fool in the empire. He had put all his thoughts, all his pride, and his entire mind onto just one woman, dreaming of a tranquility that had never actually existed.

The next morning, the capital was buried under a foot of fresh, heavy snow, but inside the palace, the gears of the empire moved without a single delay.

Julian stood at the tall window of his private study in the eastern wing, holding a cup of black coffee that had already gone completely cold. His silver hair was brushed back with his usual neatness, and his slate-grey tunic was immaculately pressed. On the outside, he looked exactly like the nonchalant, untouchable northern prince who had arrived weeks ago. But his ice-blue eyes were hollow, staring blankly at the servants shoveling the courtyard below.

He hadn’t slept a single wink. Every time he closed his eyes, the image of those dark finger marks on Elara’s pale skin and the smug, mocking faces of her knights burned into his mind.

A quiet knock on the door broke his trance.

"Come in," Julian said, his voice entirely flat and devoid of its usual playful cadence.

The door opened, and one of his personal northern attendants stepped into the room, bowing deeply. "Your Highness, the foreign ministry has sent over the finalized seating arrangements for the mid-winter solstice banquet tomorrow night. They require your final verification."

Julian didn’t turn around. "Leave it on the desk."

"Yes, Your Highness. Also..." The attendant hesitated, lowering his voice. "The Grand Duke’s spies in the capital sent a bird this morning. They want to know if you have successfully managed to... soften the Empress Regent’s disposition toward our trade guilds."

A bitter, cold smile touched Julian’s lips, though he kept his back to the servant. *Soften her disposition.* His family still thought he was playing the charming prince, slowly winning over a stubborn woman with smiles and courtly manners. They had no idea he was dealing with a literal machine who allocated her body to her guards like a calculated supply distribution.

"Tell them the arrangements are moving exactly according to the treaty’s timeline," Julian said quietly. "Nothing more, nothing less. Dismissed."

The servant bowed and left, the door clicking shut.

Julian finally turned and walked over to his desk, looking down at the parchment layout of the banquet hall. Right there, at the very top of the grid, his name was written in a neat box directly to the right of Elara’s. Tomorrow night, the entire court would watch them sit together on the high dais, dressed in matching imperial black, looking like a flawless, legendary couple.

He picked up his fountain pen, his knuckles turning slightly white as he stared at her name.

He had spent the night crying, screaming in silence, and breaking his own pride into pieces on the cold floor. But as the sun had risen over the snow, a new, hard boundary had settled into his chest. He was done hoping for a romance that was never going to happen. He was done wishing for her to look at him with a human spark. If she wanted an asset, he would give her an asset. He would wear the black coat, he would smile for the foreign ministers, and he would play the perfect fiancé on her board.

But as he slashed his signature across the verification form, his ice-blue eyes narrowed into a sharp, dangerous line. He would survive this court, and he would keep his crown. He didn’t need her solace anymore. He just needed to play the game better than anyone else.