Chapter 44: Chapter-44

Heena rose to her full height, the chair scraping back like a drawn sword. She stepped forward, placing herself between Ashton and the two consorts, her unbuttoned shirt forgotten, her posture radiating absolute authority.

“Maybe you’re forgetting something,” she said, voice soft but laced with venom. “I never gave you the position of ’husbands’. You’ve always been consorts. That’s ’it’.”

Kieran opened his mouth—

“And as for ’demoting’ you to concubine?” Heena continued, smile turning razor‑sharp. “Dear consorts, I don’t think it’s wrong at all. The things you’ve done… if I dragged every last one into the light, even eight generations of your families dying horribly wouldn’t be enough to wash the stain clean.”

Her eyes bored into them, cold and unyielding. “As for how ’faithful’ you’ve been… do you want me to pull the reports? Every meeting, every whispered plot, every coin siphoned to your little pet project? Shall we compare? See if my punishment is too big… or if your ’crimes’ outweigh it?”

[This time she said it especially for Kieren]

Dead silence.

Both men went pale. Kieran’s hand dropped from his sword hilt. Adrian’s fingers twitched toward his fallen ledger, but he didn’t dare move.

They knew.

They didn’t understand ’why’ she hadn’t executed them already—why she hadn’t paraded their poison plot through the streets, branded their families traitors, fed them to the coliseum beasts. But they knew one truth, bone‑deep:

If word ever leaked—if even a ’whisper’ escaped that the Empress’s own consorts had tried to murder her—no amount of heroism, no battlefield glory, no noble blood would save them. Their entire lineages would be butchered. Generations of their kin slaughtered. Their family names cursed, spat upon, erased from history. Bloodbaths upon bloodbaths couldn’t cleanse the shame.

Heena let it sink in. Let the fear root deep.

Then she turned her back on them—ultimate dismissal—and sat down again, picking up her quill as if they were already gone.

“Door’s that way,” she said without looking up. “Don’t let it hit you on the way out.”

Kieran and Adrian stood frozen another heartbeat longer. Pride warred with self‑preservation.

Self‑preservation won.

They bowed—stiffly, silently—and retreated. The door clicked shut behind them.

Ashton let out a low whistle from his perch on the desk. “Eight generations? Dramatic. I like it.”

Heena snorted, dipping her quill in ink. “They earned every word. Now get off my paperwork, you menace.”

He grinned but didn’t budge. “Make me.”

In the corridor outside, Kieran slammed his fist into the wall again. This time, blood smeared the stone.

“She ’knows’,” Adrian hissed, voice shaking. “Everything.”

Kieran wiped his hand on his cloak, eyes murderous. “Then we move faster. No more waiting. Ashton first. Tonight.”

Adrian nodded grimly, adjusting his spectacles. “The poison vial is ready. Guards bought.”

Their footsteps faded down the hall, plotting shadows lengthening.

System 427, invisible on the chandelier, winced. “Host, their threat levels just spiked to critical.”

Heena didn’t look up from her work. “Good. Let them come.”

Her smile was a promise of ruin.

Heena’s System 427 couldn’t directly counter the White Lotus system’s cosmic power—that thing was too strong, borderline ’illegal’ by Bureau standards—but he ’could’ track where the male leads were. Not constantly; the energy drain was too high. Five, maybe six location pings per day, tops. So while he couldn’t see ’what’ they were planning, he could map their movements.

But the shadow guards? They were something else entirely.

These weren’t ordinary spies. Duke Adrian—who’d controlled intelligence networks in this empire for ’years’—couldn’t even ’sense’ them. They moved like ghosts through stone and shadow, breathing in rhythm with their targets’ heartbeats. Heena had already deployed them: three to four shadow guards per consort, rotating shifts, logging every whisper, every bribe, every midnight meeting.

And tonight, those reports painted a very clear picture.

Heena sat in her private study, lamplight catching the edge of the rolled parchment in her hand. Ashton lounged in the chair across from her, one leg draped over the armrest, reading his own intelligence summary with mild interest.

“They’re not even trying to be subtle anymore,” he remarked, flipping a page. “Hiring the ’Crimson Veil’? That’s overkill.”

Heena’s eyes scanned the report again. The consorts hadn’t hired some random street thugs or desperate mercenaries this time. They’d gone straight to one of the top three assassin guilds in the empire—the Crimson Veil. Specialists in high-profile kills. Their trademark? Absolute loyalty to client anonymity. If a Veil operative was caught, they’d bite through a poison capsule hidden in their molars before the first question was even asked. No interrogation, no confession, no trail leading back to whoever paid.

Nearly foolproof.

“And the timing,” Heena murmured, setting the report down. “They chose the bath hour.”

Ashton raised an eyebrow. “When you’re alone, unguarded, and—” he smirked, “—naked. Smart bastards.”

It ’was’ smart. The imperial bathing chamber was one of the few places the Empress was expected to have complete privacy. No guards inside. No attendants unless summoned. Just Heena, hot water, and steam-clouded vulnerability. The perfect window for assassination.

System 427 materialized on the desk, ears flicking nervously. “Host, the consorts are already preparing to leave the capital. All five submitted formal requests this morning to return to their territories. Urgent business, they said.”

Heena’s smile was cold. “Of course they did. Establish alibis before the body’s even cold. If I’m found dead in my bath tonight, they’ll all be conveniently miles away, attending to ’urgent provincial matters.’”

Ashton snorted. “Kieran cited ’northern border unrest.’ Adrian claimed ’trade route audits.’ Lucian’s excuse was ’western garrison inspections.’ Raphael said ’temple rites in the countryside.’ And Damien—” he laughed outright, “—’intelligence gathering in the southern ports.’ They couldn’t even coordinate their lies to sound less suspicious together.”

“They don’t need to,” Heena said quietly. “Separately, each excuse is legitimate. Together, it’s a coordinated retreat. But unless someone ’knows’ they’re all fleeing at once…” She tapped the report. “Most of the court will just see diligent consorts attending to their duties.”

System 427’s tail drooped. “So what do we do? Cancel the bath? Double the guards? Set a trap?”

Heena leaned back, fingers steepled. The lamplight turned her eyes to dark gold, unreadable and dangerous.

“We let them come,” she said softly.

Ashton’s grin widened. “Oh, I like where this is going.”

System 427 hovered beside the steaming bath, golden mane practically vibrating with anxiety. But Heena just smiled, serene as a goddess painted on temple walls.

Soon, night fell.

And Heena had done… ’nothing’. No shadow guards posted at the doors. No extra security. No traps. Nothing.

There ’was’ a problem with using the shadow guards, after all. She had fifty total—each one undeniably loyal, the kind who’d bite through their own throats before betraying the Empress—but that was precisely the issue. She’d already deployed them across the empire: tracking consorts, monitoring SerapHeena, infiltrating noble houses, gathering intelligence. She had a handful left in reserve, but if she used them tonight and they ’died’ or were even ’seen’, it would expose one of her most valuable assets.

She couldn’t afford that. Not yet.

Besides… she really wanted to see what these bastards would try.

The imperial bathhouse was absurdly luxurious—bigger than the entire mansion she’d been awarded as a mayor in her previous life.

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