Chapter 100: Chapter-100

The secretary fixed his glasses and looked at her with the expression of a man who had seen too much and slept too little.

“Your Majesty,” he said carefully. “I just heard a rumor. That you are planning to marry… another person.”

Heena’s pen stopped.

’Which bastard told him?’ she thought viciously. ’I’m going to find whoever leaked that and feed them to Estov’s dragon.’

Outwardly, she just smiled. “What are you talking about? Who told you such nonsense?”

The secretary adjusted his glasses again. “Your Majesty. I want to know the truth. You know I always find out eventually.”

Heena studied him for a moment, then shrugged. “Well. Yes. I was… considering it.”

The secretary turned around and started walking toward the door.

“Fine,” he said. “I resign.”

Heena moved so fast she blurred.

She caught him around the waist—literally grabbed him with her good arm—and yanked him back. “Wait! Where are you going?”

He stopped, looking down at her hand on his waist, then up at her face. “Your Majesty. I am tired. I am leaving. I cannot handle—” he held up six fingers “—another sixth person.”

He tried to step forward again.

Heena tightened her grip, pulling him back with all her strength. “Wait, wait, wait! Why? What happened? What did I do?”

The secretary looked at her with the hollow eyes of a man who had processed too many expense reports for five imperial consorts.

“Your Majesty,” he said slowly, enunciating each word. “The five consorts have already caused enough administrative nightmares. Their territories, their demands, their constant petty rivalries, the paperwork when they damage each other—” he shuddered visibly. “And now you want a ’sixth’? Please. I am already damned tired. I could not handle one more child.”

Heena blinked. Then her smile turned coaxing.

“Come on,” she said. “I’ll give you a ten percent raise.”

The secretary looked at her. Just looked at her. Then slowly, deliberately, he shook his head.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “you need to control yourself. You need to think about sustainability.”

He looked her up and down with the clinical assessment of an accountant evaluating a risky investment.

“I know that you are strong,” he continued. “But having such… ’vitality’ that you think you can handle six men? Do you think you—”

“Twenty percent,” Heena interrupted, her composure cracking slightly. “I’m raising your salary by twenty percent.”

’Click.’

It was like watching a switch flip.

The secretary’s expression transformed instantly. His eyes—which had been dull with exhaustion—suddenly lit up like someone had shoved stars into them. He smiled, bright and worshipful and utterly mercenary.

“Six men?” he said, his voice now ringing with enthusiasm. “Your Majesty should marry ’six thousand’ men! You are so beautiful! So gorgeous! So wealthy! You could have the entire empire if you wanted, Your Majesty! If you desire, I would even lick your shoes clean!”

He actually started to kneel.

“No, no!” Heena hurriedly took three steps back, hands raised. “It’s fine! Really! No shoe-licking required!”

The secretary beamed at her, already pulling out a scroll to begin planning. “Shall I draft the marriage contract immediately, Your Majesty? I know seven different ceremonial formats! We could have the wedding within the month! Which territory should we grant him? What titles? Oh, this is so exciting—”

Heena covered her face with her hands and groaned.

She was going to need a raise too. To bribe someone to deal with ’him’.

.

.

Two days remained before the Marus delegation would depart.

The palace was buzzing with preparations for the traditional farewell banquet—a grand affair ostensibly meant to “entertain and honor” the envoys before their long journey home. In truth, it was just another high-class party: endless courses of food, flowing wine, musicians playing until the early hours, nobles showing off their finery and gossiping about who was sleeping with whom.

But everyone could see it.

Prince Larus was not ready to leave.

He still smiled for the diplomats and dignitaries. He still attended meetings, still charmed the court ladies with stories of his kingdom’s sun-drenched shores and golden deserts. But the maids whispered about the way he’d linger in the gardens long after sunset, staring eastward as if he could see his homeland—or perhaps wishing he couldn’t. His laughter sounded a little hollow. His blue eyes, once so bright, now carried a shadow that hadn’t been there when he first arrived.

The palace noticed.

Heena noticed.

***

The evening of the farewell banquet arrived.

The grand hall glittered even more extravagantly than usual—chandeliers dripping with crystal, tables laden with exotic dishes from every corner of the known world, flowers imported from distant greenhouses arranged in towering displays. Musicians tuned their instruments in the gallery above. Servants darted like shadows, ensuring every detail was perfect.

Heena approached the massive entrance gates from the inner corridors, her gown for the evening a deep sapphire blue that made her pale skin glow and her dark hair shine like polished obsidian. Simple but stunning diamond earrings caught the light. Her wrist was fully healed now, no longer bandaged, though she still wore a thin silver bracelet as a reminder.

She reached the doors.

The guards stationed there snapped to attention.

And as always, one of them drew a deep breath and bellowed:

“**PRESENTING! The mighty ruler of this kingdom! The sun that shines above us all! The master of the entire realm! Her Imperial Majesty, the Fourteenth Empress—CELESTE!**”

Heena stopped dead.

Every. Single. Time.

She turned to the guard, who was already bowing so low his nose nearly scraped the floor, and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“How,” she asked the universe in general, “do you people even *remember* that monstrosity? And why must you *shout* it like you’re announcing the apocalypse?”

The guard peeked up at her, still bowed. “It is tradition, Your Majesty.”

“Tradition can die in a fire,” Heena muttered. She had, in fact, issued a decree weeks ago banning the use of her full imperial surname in announcements. Not because it wasn’t beautiful—it was—but because the damn thing was fourteen syllables long and sounded like someone had tried to cram an entire empire’s history into one word. Even *she* couldn’t remember it half the time. Celeste was elegant, simple, perfect. Why ruin it with a family name that required a deep breath and a running start?

“From now on,” she told the guard firmly, “it’s just ’Her Majesty, Empress Celeste.’ No titles. No sun metaphors. No realm-mastering. Understood?”

The guard swallowed. “Y-yes, Your Majesty.”

“Good,” she said. “Now open the doors before I change my mind and make you recite poetry instead.”

The doors swung open.

Heena stepped inside.

***

The hall fell silent as if someone had flipped a switch.

Every conversation stopped. Every glass paused halfway to lips. Every noble turned toward the entrance.

Heena walked forward at her usual unhurried pace, letting them look. She had long since learned the value of these moments—the weight of a room holding its collective breath, the way silence itself could become a weapon.

Her eyes swept the crowd, cataloging faces, noting alliances, marking those who looked away too quickly or smiled too brightly.

Then she saw him.

Standing with people around him.

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