Chapter 174: Chapter -174

The maids exchanged gleeful glances and immediately started hurling slippers everywhere with far more enthusiasm than necessary.

’THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP’

Slippers rained down like some kind of absurd hailstorm.

Within minutes, the council chamber looked like a bizarre combination of an art supply store and a shoe warehouse that had exploded.

Every servant in the vicinity had somehow found an excuse to linger nearby, their faces alight with anticipation. This was going to be ’legendary’ gossip.

“Everyone out,” Heena said sharply. “Now.”

The servants fled, though their faces showed clear disappointment at missing the actual show.

Heena turned to face the nobles, who were all standing frozen, looking at the mountain of slippers and the rows of ink pots with mounting horror.

“You guys,” Heena said conversationally, “really seem to enjoy throwing ink and slippers and whatever else you can get your hands on, right? You ’love’ this kind of thing.”

The nobles’ faces went even paler, if that was possible.

“So I thought,” Heena continued, her smile becoming absolutely vicious, “why not make it official? Let’s play a game!”

“Your Majesty—” Duke Ashford started weakly.

“Here are the rules,” Heena interrupted, speaking over him. “You will all be locked in this room for exactly two hours. During those two hours, you will continue throwing ink and slippers at each other—just like you were doing before. With ’enthusiasm’.”

She gestured grandly at the supplies.

“At the end of two hours, I will unlock the door. Whoever has the ’cleanest’ face and robes—meaning whoever was best at ’dodging’—will be declared the winner and allowed to leave immediately with no consequences.”

The nobles looked slightly hopeful.

“However,” Heena continued, and the hope died instantly, “everyone who is covered in ink—which I assume will be most of you—will have their entire family history investigated. Ten generations back. Every transaction. Every deal. Every tiny little rule you’ve ever bent.”

“YOUR MAJESTY, PLEASE—” multiple voices cried out.

“That’s an imperial decree,” Heena said flatly, cutting off all protests. “Effective immediately.”

She turned to Secretary Chen. “Secretary Chen, do you wish to remain in this room with these distinguished nobles?”

Secretary Chen—who was absolutely not an idiot, whatever his other faults—immediately shook his head with exaggerated horror.

“Of course not, Your Majesty!” he said, backing toward the door. “How could I, a mere lowly secretary, presume to remain in such a ’grand’ room with such ’high-class’ people? I am far too inferior for such company!”

He bowed deeply and scurried after Heena as she walked toward the exit.

The nobles rushed forward, trying to stop them, trying to protest, trying to ’reason’—

The heavy council chamber doors slammed shut.

’CLANG.’

The lock turned with a very final-sounding ’click’.

From outside, a guard’s voice boomed: “THE TIME STARTS NOW! TWO HOURS!”

Inside the room, the nobles looked at each other with pale, horrified faces.

“This is insane,” Duke Ashford whispered.

“We can’t actually—” Marquis Thorne started.

“EVERYONE JUST STAY CALM—” Lord Pemberton began.

’SPLAT.’

Baron Wessex—still traumatized from earlier and apparently having some kind of stress-induced breakdown—had grabbed an ink pot and thrown it directly at Count Morrison’s face.

“IF I’M GOING DOWN, YOU’RE ALL COMING WITH ME!” he screamed hysterically.

Count Morrison, now dripping with black ink, let out a roar of rage and grabbed three slippers.

“YOU LITTLE—”

’THWACK THWACK THWACK.’

And just like that, the battle began.

—

Outside the council chamber, every servant, guard, and staff member in the vicinity had mysteriously found urgent business in that particular hallway.

They weren’t ’technically’ listening at the door.

They were just… happening to be nearby. Coincidentally.

The sounds coming from inside were ’magnificent’:

“TAKE THIS!”

’SPLAT.’

“OW! MY EYE!”

’THWACK.’

“STOP THROWING SO HARD!”

’CRASH.’

“WHO THREW THE INK POT?! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO THROW SLIPPERS!”

“THERE ARE NO RULES ANYMORE!”

’SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT.’

“THIS IS UNDIGNIFIED!”

“YOUR FACE IS UNDIGNIFIED!”

’THWACK THWACK.’

“AAAAAHHHHH!”

Despite the council chamber having ’excellent’ soundproofing—magical wards specifically designed to keep sensitive political discussions private—the sheer ’volume’ of chaos inside was overwhelming the enchantments.

Every shout, every impact, every cry of outrage echoed through the corridors.

Knights who were supposed to be standing at attention were grinning.

Maids were giggling into their hands.

Even the stern head butler had a tiny smile on his usually severe face.

This was going to be talked about for ’years’.

Heena and Secretary Chen walked to her office, the sounds of noble warfare fading behind them.

“Your Majesty,” Secretary Chen said, his professional mask finally cracking into a full smile, “that was possibly the most brilliant thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

“I’m going to make you process tax documents for a month,” Heena replied.

“Worth it,” Secretary Chen said immediately.

Heena couldn’t help it—she laughed.

—

Two hours later, the guards unlocked the council chamber doors.

What emerged could only be described as a scene from a nightmare.

Every single noble looked like they’d been dipped in ink and beaten with slippers.

And not just ’covered’ in ink—’dripping’ with it. Black ink ran down their faces, soaked their hair, stained their expensive robes until the original colors were unrecognizable.

Duke Ashford had ink in his ’ears’.

Marquis Thorne’s beard was completely black and dripping.

Baron Wessex looked like he’d bathed in an inkwell.

And the ’slippers’—

Oh god, the slippers.

Every noble had bright red welts on their faces in the exact shape of slipper soles. Some had multiple marks—layers of slipper impacts creating abstract art across their cheeks and foreheads.

Count Morrison had a perfect slipper print on his forehead. And another on his left cheek. And what looked like three overlapping marks on his chin.

Lord Pemberton had slipper marks on both cheeks that made him look like he had bizarre facial tattoos.

Duke Remington had somehow been hit so many times that his entire face was just one giant bruised slipper-print collage.

Not a single person had escaped unscathed.

They stumbled out of the chamber, dripping ink onto the marble floors, leaving slipper-shaped marks everywhere, looking absolutely ’defeated’.

The assembled servants took one look at them and immediately started coughing to cover their laughter.

Several maids had to turn away completely, their shoulders shaking.

One young knight actually bit his hand to keep from laughing out loud.

Heena appeared from her office, took one look at the noble council, and said in the most serious voice possible:

“Gentlemen. You all look ’terrible’. Clearly, no one won the game.”

She turned to Secretary Chen. “Investigation orders for all noble families represented here today. Ten generations. Begin immediately.”

“YES, YOUR MAJESTY!” Secretary Chen said, already pulling out forms, his face absolutely gleeful.

“Your Majesty, please—” Duke Ashford tried to protest, but he was dripping so much ink that it ran into his mouth mid-sentence and he started coughing.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of all that ink,” Heena said sweetly. “Perhaps you should go clean up? You’re making a mess of my floors.”

The nobles, completely defeated, their dignity destroyed, their faces looking like abstract slipper art, could only bow (which caused more ink to drip everywhere) and shuffle away toward the bathing facilities.

As they left, Heena heard one maid whisper to another: “I can’t believe Duke Ashford has a slipper mark on his ’bald spot’—”

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