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

Chapter 436: Chapter-435

The data introduced an immediate friction. For the first time since establishing her operational parameters, Elara felt a distinct urge to alter the current physical contact.

"Remove your hand, Commander," Elara said flatly.

Ken froze. His dark eyes narrowed, the lazy, confident heat in his gaze instantly hardening into something sharp and dangerous. He didn’t drop his hand right away; instead, his grip tightened by an incremental fraction, a silent, possessive reflex. "What?"

"Your current physical contact is unoptimized for the current setting," Elara stated, her vacant glass-bead eyes locking onto his with absolute, freezing authority. "The banquet is still active. The northern ambassadors are stationed within a fifty-yard radius. Any visible display of domestic proximity between the Regent and the Commander of the Guard will result in an immediate diplomatic discrepancy. Remove your hand."

Ken stared at her, his jaw tightening until a muscle leaped in his cheek. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled his hand away, letting his arm drop to his side. A cold, bitter smirk touched his lips. "The northern ambassadors," he muttered, his voice laced with a dangerous undercurrent. "Or is it just the northern prince? You’ve been acting different ever since he barged into your room last night, Elara. If that silver-haired brat is getting into your head, I can make sure he meets with an accident on his way back to the eastern wing."

"Prince Julian is a primary treaty asset," Elara replied, her voice an unyielding, level line. "Any damage to his physical person will result in a total collapse of the northern border alliance. If you threaten his security again, Ken, I will reallocate your command metrics to the southern outposts permanently."

Ken’s eyes widened slightly at the coldness of her threat. He stepped back, bowing his head in a tight, formal gesture that carried zero actual submission. "Understood, Master. I will return to the perimeter."

He turned and strode down the corridor, his heavy boots echoing angrily against the stone.

Elara didn’t watch him leave. She adjusted the severe collar of her midnight gown and walked back into the grand ballroom. The noise hit her instantly—a chaotic wall of string music, clinking glass, and high-pitched laughter. Her eyes automatically scanned the crowded floor, bypassing the ministers and the grand dukes until they locked onto a shock of spun-silver hair near the grand arched windows.

Julian was surrounded by three foreign envoys. He was laughing—a bright, clear, melodic sound that sounded completely genuine to anyone who didn’t know him. He was holding a fresh goblet of wine, his posture lazy and elegant as he leaned against a marble pillar, tossing out a witty remark that made the Baltic ambassador chuckle heartily. He looked entirely in his element. He looked like the untouchable, carefree prince who didn’t have a single care in the world.

But Elara’s vision was calibrated for details. She saw the way his left hand was tucked deep into his pocket, his knuckles pushing against the fabric so hard it was tearing at the seam. She saw the way his ice-blue eyes remained entirely fixed and dead, never once crinkling at the corners when he smiled.

She walked toward him, her velvet gown slicing through the crowd. The nobles instantly parted for her, bowing low as the Empress Regent approached, but Elara didn’t acknowledge them. Her focus was entirely locked on the silver-haired variable.

As she reached the circle, the foreign envoys instantly halted their conversation and fell into deep bows. "Your Imperial Highness," the Baltic ambassador murmured respectfully.

Julian didn’t bow. He slowly straightened up from the pillar, turning his head to look down at her. The brilliant, fake smile remained pinned to his face, but his ice-blue eyes flashed with a sudden, guarded sharpness. "Ah, Your Highness," he purred smoothly, his baritone voice a perfect, lazy caress. "To what do we owe the honor of your presence? Did a ledger catch fire, or did you simply miss the aesthetic value of your fiancé?"

The taunt was quiet, hidden behind his polite expression, but it hit Elara with that same uncalculated pressure.

"The envoys are dismissed," Elara said flatly, her vacant eyes never leaving Julian’s face. "The Prince and I require a private verification of the solstice logs."

The ambassadors didn’t dare to question her. They scrambled away instantly, bowing their way back into the crowd, leaving Elara and Julian standing alone by the tall, frosted window.

Julian watched them go, then turned back to her, his smile dropping into a cold, flat line. He took a slow sip of his wine, his posture returning to that rigid, defensive stance he had held on the dais. "You’re ruining my performance, Elara," he murmured, his voice low and bitter. "I was doing exactly what you wanted. I was keeping the borders happy. Why are you bothering me now?"

"Your verbal output on the dais contained a critical data point," Elara said, her voice dropping into the simple, unpolished tone he had demanded earlier. She didn’t use the technical terms; she kept her words bare. "You said I did not leave a single corner for you. Not even a small one."

Julian froze, his wine glass hovering near his lips. A dark, furious flush crept up his neck, his ice-blue eyes widening with a mix of shock and intense humiliation. He hadn’t expected her to bring it up again—not here, not in the middle of a crowded ballroom where anyone could look at them.

"Forget I said that," Julian whispered fiercely, his voice trembling as he set the goblet down on a nearby ledge with a sharp, angry force. "I was tired. I said something stupid. Go back to your knights, Elara. I’m playing the game now, just like you wanted. Let it go."

"I cannot let it go," Elara replied flatly. Her hand reached out, her pale fingers lightly touching the fabric of his black sleeve. "The machine in my head is... looping. It keeps thinking about your words. If you require a corner, Julian, I must calculate how to provide it. Your distress is causing a physical malfunction in my chest."

Julian looked down at her pale hand on his arm, then up at her vacant, dead glass-bead eyes. He saw the slight, almost invisible tremor in her lower lip, and the sheer, agonizing truth of her nature hit him all over again. She wasn’t playing with him. She wasn’t trying to be cruel. She was a bloodless, mechanical creature who was genuinely trying to solve a problem she couldn’t understand, using the only tools she had.

A choked, breathless laugh escaped his lips, a sound so full of raw, heavy despair that it cut straight through the loud ballroom music. He stepped closer, his broad frame blocking her from the view of the court, his silver hair brushing against her forehead as he leaned down to look straight into her unblinking eyes.

"You can’t calculate a space for me, Elara," Julian whispered, a single, hot tear finally spilling over his lashes, tracking down his pale cheek despite his best efforts to hold it back. "That’s not how hearts work. You can’t just give me ten percent of your schedule or a designated chair in your office and call it a corner. I don’t want a piece of your machine. I wanted *you*. But there is no ’you’ inside there, is there? There’s just a perfectly ordered castle with two monsters guarding the bedroom door."