Chapter 464: Chapter-464
He suddenly turned his piercing gaze toward the scholarly faction, his expression shifting into one of mocking severity. "Look at you fools! You high scholars and historians couldn’t even identify what these instruments were. You let them sit in the dark storerooms gathering dust, completely unaware of their true purpose and power. That dance was magnificent!"
Heena smiled softly, maintaining her flawless poise. "The form is not merely a dance, Your Majesty. It is deeply rooted in martial discipline. I chose to use it tonight to make the people in this hall physically feel what we feel on the frontier."
Her sharp phoenix eyes swept over the silent, enraptured nobility. "War is not just about swinging a blade or drafting strategies on a map. It is about that very first moment a young soldier steps onto the blood-soaked dirt. I wanted to recreate the chaotic rhythm of their heartbeats—the suffocating fear, the chilling shadow of death, the violent excitement, and the raw adrenaline. I wanted the entire capital to understand that exact feeling, even if just for a few seconds. I sincerely apologize if the intensity did not meet the court’s satisfaction."
Suddenly, a new, melodic voice echoed across the dais.
’’"It was the most magnificent thing I have seen in all these years."’’
The entire court froze. A collective, stunned silence fell over the Grand Mirror Hall.
It was the Empress.
The Emperor himself actually dropped his golden wine cup with a dull ’thud’ against the heavy oak table, turning to stare at his wife in absolute shock. The Empress had not spoken a single word in a public court setting for years, preferring to rule the inner palace in absolute, terrifying silence. Yet now, she was leaning forward, her golden tiara gleaming under the chandeliers as she looked at Heena with genuine, profound appreciation in her eyes.
"Lady Seerah," the Empress continued, her voice possessing a smooth, undeniable authority that commanded the room. "I must say, you have mastered quite a breathtaking art. If you have the time, I would very much like you to teach this discipline to my youngest son."
The Empress raised a slender, gold-ringed finger, pointing down the long royal table toward the Ninth Prince.
Heena followed her gaze. Sitting near the far end of the line was a striking young boy of about thirteen years old. He possessed the same breathtakingly handsome, sharp features as the Empress. However, at this exact moment, the young prince had both of his cheeks completely stuffed with roasted pastries.
Realizing that the sudden, dead silence in the room meant every single noble, warlord, and royal was currently staring directly at him, the Ninth Prince froze. His eyes went wide as saucers. He hurriedly swallowed the massive bite of food, frantically wiping grease from his mouth with his pristine silk sleeve.
He jumped up from his chair and offered a slightly clumsy, panicked bow to his mother. "O-Of course, Mother!" he managed to squeak out, though a piece of pastry was clearly still lodged in his cheek.
The Empress let out a soft, elegant sigh at her son’s display. "I certainly hope so."
She then turned her piercing gaze back to Heena, completely ignoring the bewildered Emperor beside her.
"How about it, Lady Seerah?" the Empress asked, her tone shifting from a simple request to an absolute, world-shaking decree. "I am formally offering you the position of Royal Tutor to my son."
### ’Gasp.’
A violent shockwave of whispers ripped through the hall. The traditional noblewomen looked like they were about to faint, and the ministers’ jaws practically hit the floor.
’’A Royal Tutor?!’’
It wasn’t just a teaching job. Becoming a Royal Tutor meant being granted unrestricted access to the inner palace, immense political immunity, and the direct, undeniable backing of the Empress herself. High-ranking scholars and powerful ministers would literally kill each other for a fraction of that influence—and the silent Empress had just casually handed it to the "wild" granddaughter of the Marcuset vanguard!
The Grand Mirror Hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The sheer magnitude of the Empress’s offer hung in the air like a suspended executioner’s blade over the political ambitions of every noble family in the room.
The old Marquis, sitting at the vanguard table, didn’t look shocked at all. Instead, he puffed out his broad chest, his smug grin returning with full, unbearable force. ’’Of course my granddaughter is a Royal Tutor now,’’ his expression screamed to the surrounding, pale-faced generals. ’’Are your grandchildren Royal Tutors? Didn’t think so.’’
Heena did not let the shock show on her face. She maintained her absolute, predatory composure, gracefully dropping to one knee—not the half-kneel of a general, but the deep, respectful bow of a newly appointed imperial scholar honoring the Empress.
"I would be profoundly honored, Your Majesty," Heena’s voice rang out, clear and steady. "To guide the Ninth Prince in the disciplines of the world is a duty I accept with the utmost gratitude. I promise to forge his foundation as strongly as the empire’s vanguard."
The Empress offered a rare, stunningly beautiful smile, nodding her head once. "Excellent. The decree shall be written by dawn."
The Ninth Prince, still trying to discreetly chew the last of his pastry, suddenly looked at Heena with a mix of sheer awe and mild terror. He had just watched her violently beat seven giant war drums with silk whips. ’’Is she going to make me do that?’’ he wondered, gulping hard.
The Emperor, finally recovering from his shock over his wife actually speaking, let out a booming laugh. "Well! It seems the Marcuset family has conquered not just the borders, but the inner palace as well! Let this be a night to—!"
’’CRASH!’’
The Emperor’s celebratory words were violently cut off.
A horrifying sound of shattering crystal and snapping wood echoed from the right side of the royal dais. Every head in the hall whipped toward the noise.
The Seventh Prince had collapsed forward, completely destroying his table setting. His golden chalice rolled across the white silk tablecloth, spilling the last dregs of the crimson wine, while his hands clawed desperately at his own throat.
"Brother?!" the Second Princess shrieked, jumping back as the Prince convulsed violently.
The sickly, frail facade was entirely gone, replaced by raw, unadulterated agony. The Seventh Prince’s eyes rolled back into his skull. A thick, horrifying stream of pitch-black blood poured from his nose and mouth, staining the pristine imperial silks. His skin had turned a ghastly, translucent gray, the veins bulging aggressively against his neck as he choked on his own ruined internal organs.
"Guards!" the Head Imperial Steward screamed, abandoning all protocol as he lunged forward. "Imperial Physicians! Get the Physicians immediately!"
The hall instantly descended into absolute pandemonium.
Nobles scrambled backward, knocking over chairs and spilling wine as they tried to get away from the royal dais. The heavy vanguard generals leaped to their feet, their hands instinctively flying to the hilts of their ceremonial swords, while the Imperial Knights swarmed the royal table, forming a desperate shield wall around the Emperor and Empress.
"Poison!" someone in the crowd shrieked in terror. "The Prince has been poisoned!"
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