Chapter 157: Chapter-157

The world tilted.

Elara dimly felt the edge of the desk slam into her ribs as her legs gave out, then hands caught her, several at once, voices blurring together.

“Your Highness!”

“Call the physician!”

The ceiling spun overhead as they carried her—out of the office, down the corridor, through doors she couldn’t focus on. Heat roared under her skin, like she’d swallowed a furnace. Every heartbeat pushed fire deeper.

By the time they laid her on her bed, her clothes were damp with sweat. The familiar crimson canopy above her looked distant, like she was seeing it through water.

A cool hand pressed to her forehead. Another lifted her wrist.

“Step back,” an older male voice said tightly. “Give me light.”

Lanterns flared as someone snapped their fingers. Elara forced her eyes open.

The imperial physician knelt beside the bed, hair white, hands steady—but his expression was anything but calm. He checked her pulse once, twice, then again, frowning deeper each time. He uncorked a vial of clear liquid, let a single drop fall on the red stain still faintly clinging to her fingertip.

The droplet hissed, turning black.

He inhaled sharply.

“…Your Highness,” he said, voice low, “this is not ordinary poison.”

Petra—standing at Elara’s bedside, face pale—leaned forward. “Can you cure it?”

The doctor swallowed. “This mixture is designed to slip past detection and kill the imperial bloodline. It burns the meridians, devours mana, and anchors in the heart.” He hesitated, clearly weighing his words. “All standard antidotes will only slow it for a few breaths. I… cannot neutralize it.”

Petra’s fingers clenched in her skirt. “There has to be *something*.”

The physician’s gaze flicked to Elara’s face, then away. His next words came out almost reluctantly.

“There is… one method. An old imperial remedy. Crude, but effective in some recorded cases.” He paused. “The poison binds to active magic and stagnant blood. The only way to draw it out is to force your body to cycle power and vitality rapidly—through dual circulation with a partner of strong constitution. In simple terms… sharing a night with a man, or men, whose energy can carry and dilute the poison out.”

The room went silent.

Petra stared at him as if she’d misheard. “You mean… the only cure is—”

“Yes.” He bowed his head. “If nothing is done, by dawn her heart will stop. If her body is pushed into continuous circulation, there is a chance she will survive. Without it, there is none.”

Heat pounded in Elara’s ears—but beneath it, her mind clicked into motion as cleanly as ever.

Hours. Limited options. Path A: die. Path B: don’t.

She exhaled slowly. When she spoke, her voice was rough from the poison, but steady, and something in it had changed—deeper, colder, carrying a weight that made even the physician straighten unconsciously. The air seemed to tighten around her, like the room itself recognized a ruler.

“Petra.”

Her administrator jerked, then snapped to attention. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Find men willing to stay the night.” Elara’s eyes, half-lidded with pain, were still razor-sharp. “Make sure it’s more than three.”

Petra choked. “M-more than—”

Elara turned her head slightly. Even that small motion radiated authority, the kind that didn’t ask, only decided. For a moment, with her hair damp around her face and the faint shimmer of mana still clinging to her skin, she looked nothing like a sick girl and everything like an emperor from an old legend—someone born to sit above armies and kingdoms, even while half-dead.

“Petra,” she repeated, calm and absolute. “The poison isn’t small. One man won’t be enough to break it down. We need volume. Constitution. Loyalty.” A tiny, humorless curl touched her lips. “And we happen to have a group bred exactly for that.”

Realization hit Petra’s eyes. “The… beast knights?”

“Who else?” Elara murmured. “They’re already bound to my mana. Their bodies can take overload. They don’t question orders.” She drew a slow, painful breath. “Ask who is willing. Don’t force them. But we don’t have time to be shy.”

Petra’s face flushed a mix of embarrassment and horror at the number, but she didn’t argue again. She bowed so deeply her braid nearly brushed the floor.

“…Understood, Your Highness. I’ll go at once.”

She spun on her heel and all but ran from the chamber, heart hammering. *More than three?* In any other court, the scandal would have been enough to topple a dynasty. But the memory of Elara’s eyes—sharp, unyielding, utterly unafraid of death—drowned Petra’s hesitation.

Minutes later, the knock came again.

“Enter,” Elara said.

Petra stepped inside, a little breathless, and behind her filed five beast knights in full uniform. Ken was first—towering, steady, golden eyes locked on Elara with open concern. Mahir stood beside him, fox ears taut and focused. Two wolf-eared knights flanked them, jaws set, and a dark-haired panther-type closed the line, his movements silent and smooth.

“All five volunteered immediately,” Petra said quietly. There was still a hint of shock in her voice; she hadn’t expected it to be this easy. “I explained the risk. None of them hesitated.”

The knights went to one knee in unison, armor chiming softly.

“Your Highness,” Ken said, head bowed. “Command us.”

Their collars glowed faintly, reacting to her presence. Elara pushed herself up a little against the pillows, ignoring the doctor’s protest. Even half-propped, she seemed to fill the space, her gaze sweeping over them not like a frightened woman grasping at survival, but like a sovereign assigning roles on a battlefield.

“Good,” she said, and the single word rang with quiet, undeniable power.

The poison still raged inside her, but her aura cut through it—calm, absolute, imperial. In that moment, no one in the room saw the “useless” Fourth Princess. They saw someone else entirely: a future ruler who refused to die just because her enemies had found a clever toxin.

“You five stay,” she ordered. “Everyone else out.”

The physician opened his mouth to object, then caught her eyes and thought better of it, bowing low before retreating. Petra hesitated only a heartbeat longer, then followed, pulling the doors closed behind her.

Outside, the corridor buzzed with whispers.

Inside, under the heavy canopy and the dim light of enchanted lanterns, Elara faced the five kneeling knights, poison burning, will unbroken.

Silence settled over the room—heavy, charged. Only the sound of Elara’s breathing and the faint clink of metal from five collars broke it.

The beast knights were still kneeling, heads bowed. Up close, she could see the tension in their shoulders, the way their ears twitched, how their hands were clenched into tight fists against their thighs. They were warriors who’d walked through battlefields without blinking, yet under her gaze, they looked… almost hesitant.

Good, she thought. They should be.

Elara pushed herself up against the pillows, ignoring the ache in her limbs. The poison still burned, but under it, something colder had surfaced—a hard, cutting clarity. Her expression, usually blank and detached, had sharpened into something else entirely. Distant. Regal. Dangerous.

“Look at me,” she said.

Five pairs of eyes rose at once.

Ken’s steady amber gaze, Mahir’s sharp fox-like stare, the twin icy focus of the wolves, and the panther’s dark, watchful intensity… all of them met a version of Elara they had never seen before.

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