Chapter 109: Chapter-109

Elara met his gaze without flinching. “Deserve is irrelevant. I’m competing whether I deserve to or not. The question is whether I’m capable of winning.”

“And are you?”

“Insufficient data to predict with certainty. But I’ve survived six months of assassination attempts, built profitable operations, and secured powerful allies. That demonstrates baseline capability.”

The Emperor’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “You answer like a military strategist, not a princess.”

“I answer honestly. Pretending capability I don’t have would be inefficient.”

“Indeed.” The Emperor gestured. “Return to your seat. Let’s see how honest you remain when the real test begins.”

Elara walked back to her chair. Duke Romian’s hand briefly touched hers—reassurance—as she sat.

“That went better than expected,” he murmured.

“The test hasn’t started yet. That was just preliminary assessment.”

“You think it’s still coming?”

“I know it is. Ten thousand gold bounty doesn’t disappear because the Emperor made conversation.”

She was right.

Ten minutes later, the first attempt came.

—

A servant approached their table carrying a fresh wine decanter. Young man, unremarkable features, moving with the practiced efficiency of palace staff.

Elara’s poison detection bracelet started glowing—faint blue light, barely visible.

Poison.

The servant poured wine for the noble beside them. Then moved toward Elara’s glass.

Duke Romian’s hand shot out, gripping the servant’s wrist. “Stop.”

The servant froze. “Your Grace? Is something wrong?”

“The wine. What vintage?”

“Imperial reserve, Your Grace. Year 1247.”

“Strange. Imperial reserve is typically served from sealed bottles, not open decanters.” Duke Romian’s grip tightened. “Unless someone needed to add something to it first.”

The servant’s eyes widened. He tried to pull away. Duke Romian held firm.

“Guards,” the Duke called out.

The servant dropped the decanter—it shattered on the marble floor, wine spreading in a dark pool—and reached into his jacket, pulling out a small blade.

He lunged toward Elara.

The fox knight moved faster. His sword intercepted the blade mid-strike, deflecting it away from Elara’s throat. Then his elbow connected with the servant’s face with a sickening crunch.

The servant collapsed, blood pouring from his broken nose.

Imperial guards rushed forward, seizing the man and dragging him away. The room erupted in shocked whispers.

“First attempt,” Elara said quietly. “Poison and blade backup. Conventional.”

“Are you alright?” Duke Romian asked.

“Uninjured. The detection charm worked as intended.”

The Emperor hadn’t moved from his throne. He was watching Elara with those cold, assessing eyes.

Testing. Still testing.

The dinner continued. Nobles tried to resume eating, though many looked nervous now. An assassination attempt at a formal imperial dinner was shocking even by succession battle standards.

Elara remained vigilant. That had been too easy. Too obvious. A professional assassin worth ten thousand gold wouldn’t make such a simple attempt.

Which meant the real attack was still coming.

Twenty minutes passed. Servants cleared the first course and brought the second. Nobles talked in hushed voices. Several of Elara’s sisters were staring at her now—Eleana with cold fury, Mingzhu with calculating interest, the younger princesses with fear.

Then the chandeliers went out.

Complete darkness. The dining hall plunged into shadow so absolute that Elara couldn’t see her own hand.

Screams. Nobles panicking. Chairs scraping. Glass shattering.

“Your Highness!” the fox knight’s voice, close. “Don’t move—”

A blade whispered through the air where Elara’s head had been a second before. She’d dropped instinctively, chair falling backward, rolling across the floor.

More movement. Multiple attackers. She could hear them—precise footsteps, controlled breathing, professional silence.

Duke Romian’s voice cut through the chaos: “Fourth Princess, signal now!”

Elara grabbed the crystal from her pocket and crushed it. Brilliant light flooded out—not enough to see by, but enough to signal her position to her knights.

Footsteps converged. The six beast knights who’d been positioned outside came crashing through the dining hall doors, weapons drawn.

The chandeliers flickered back to life.

Elara saw the scene in frozen detail:

Three assassins in servants’ clothing, all armed, all converging on where she’d been sitting. Duke Romian engaged with one, his ceremonial sword drawn, holding them back. The fox knight was fighting another, trading rapid strikes. The third assassin was turning toward Elara on the floor—

Her beast knights hit them like a wave.

Steel clashed. One assassin went down immediately, throat opened by a precise strike. The second tried to run and was intercepted, tackled to the ground. The third fought viciously but was outnumbered, disarmed, and forced to their knees.

The entire engagement lasted less than thirty seconds.

When it ended, three more assassins were subdued or dead, and Elara was standing again, breathing hard but uninjured.

The dining hall was chaos. Nobles cowering under tables. Servants frozen in terror. Imperial guards rushing in, trying to restore order.

And at the head table, the Emperor sat calmly, as if he’d just watched a mildly interesting theatrical performance.

“Impressive response time,” he said. His voice carried despite the chaos. “Fourth Daughter. Are you injured?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“Good. Continue with dinner.”

Continue with dinner.

As if three more assassination attempts—six total now—were just minor interruptions.

The nobles slowly emerged from cover. Servants began cleaning up broken glass and overturned chairs. The imperial guards dragged away the captured and dead assassins.

Duke Romian returned to Elara’s side. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Confirmed. No injuries.” She looked at him. “You drew your sword. Military commanders don’t typically carry swords to formal dinners.”

“I made an exception tonight. Given the circumstances.” He sheathed it. “How many more attempts do you think are coming?”

“Unknown. But the ten thousand gold bounty would attract at least five to eight professional teams. We’ve eliminated six individuals so far. Statistically, more should be coming.”

She was right.

The third attempt came during the dessert course.

One of the servers—a woman Elara recognized from palace staff, someone who’d worked there for years—approached with a tray of pastries.

The poison detection charm didn’t glow.

No poison.

But something felt wrong. The server’s movements were too controlled. Too precise.

Elara’s hand went to her signal crystal—but she’d already used it. No backup.

The server set down the pastries. Smiled. Then her hand moved faster than should have been possible, pulling a needle from her sleeve and stabbing toward Elara’s neck.

Duke Romian grabbed the woman’s wrist, twisting hard. Bone cracked. The needle fell.

But the server didn’t stop. She twisted out of Duke Romian’s grip—dislocating her own shoulder to escape—and came at Elara with her other hand, now holding a small glass vial.

Poison. Direct application.

The fox knight’s sword took her through the chest before she got within arm’s reach.

She collapsed, blood spreading across the white marble.

“That’s eight,” Elara said. Her voice was steady despite her elevated heart rate. “The bounty is becoming expensive to fulfill.”

Duke Romian looked at his hand—the one that had grabbed the server. There was a small scratch on his palm where the needle had grazed him.

“Damn,” he said quietly.

Elara’s stomach dropped. “You’re poisoned.”

“Apparently.”

“Fox knight! Get the palace physician. Now.”

The fox knight ran.

Duke Romian sat down heavily. “I don’t feel anything yet. That’s either good or very bad.”

“It’s bad. Fast-acting poisons don’t trigger symptoms until it’s too late to treat.” Elara grabbed his hand, examining the scratch. “How much exposure?”

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