Chapter 89: Chapter-89

Heena smiled.

“May I ask for a dance, Prince Larus?” she said, voice carrying clearly across the suddenly quiet hall.

Larus’s blue eyes lit up. He set down his own glass and bowed, grinning. “Of course, Your Majesty. It would be my honor.”

He stepped forward, took her outstretched hand, and led her smoothly onto the dance floor.

Behind them, Raphael stood frozen, hand still half-raised, mouth still open.

The hall erupted in whispers.

’’’

There was a ’custom’ to this dance.

It was understood—an unspoken rule woven into the fabric of the empire’s social traditions—that the first dance of the evening was reserved for the person you loved most. Married women danced with their husbands. Unmarried ladies danced with their fathers or fiancés. It was a public declaration of affection, of priority, of ’place’.

For the Empress to bypass all five of her consorts and choose a foreign prince instead?

It could only mean two things.

Either she was favoring Prince Larus to an almost scandalous degree—signaling a potential political alliance, or worse, personal interest.

Or her consorts had lost their position entirely.

In both cases, the ones who lost were the five men standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching.

’’’

On the floor, Heena and Larus moved together with surprising ease.

He led confidently, his steps smooth and precise despite the cultural differences. The Marus Kingdom had its own traditions, its own styles of music and movement—yet somehow, he adapted seamlessly to the empire’s formal waltz.

Heena followed his lead effortlessly, her injured wrist resting lightly on his shoulder, her other hand in his.

They were ’smiling’.

Not polite, diplomatic smiles. Real ones.

Heena laughed at something he said—a light, genuine sound that rang out clearly in the quiet hall. Larus grinned back, spinning her once, the gold at his throat catching the light.

From a distance, they looked like newlyweds.

It had been ’months’—perhaps longer—since anyone in the court had seen the Empress smile like that. Bright. Unguarded. ’Happy’.

Some of the older nobles exchanged stunned glances.

“When was the last time she looked like that?” one whispered.

“Not since before the wedding,” another murmured back. “Not since she was still just a princess.”

’’’

Adrian’s hands tightened around his glass. “This is humiliating.”

“She’s making a point,” Damien said quietly, eyes never leaving the dance floor. “And we’re the punchline.”

Kieran’s fists were clenched so hard his knuckles had gone white. “She didn’t even ’acknowledge’ us.”

Lucian said nothing, but the muscle in his jaw was twitching.

Raphael, still standing awkwardly near the edge of the floor, finally lowered his hand and stepped back into the shadows, violet eyes dark with something that looked uncomfortably like grief.

’’’

The music swelled.

Larus spun Heena again, and this time she laughed outright—head tilted back, eyes bright, utterly at ease.

“You dance well, Prince,” she said as they came back together.

“As do you, Your Majesty,” Larus replied, still grinning. “Though I admit, I was worried I’d step on your feet. Our styles are quite different.”

“And yet,” Heena said, “here we are. Perfectly synchronized.”

His blue eyes gleamed. “Perhaps that’s a sign.”

“Of what?”

“That we’re more compatible than anyone expected.”

Heena raised an eyebrow, but her smile didn’t falter. “Careful, Prince. People are already talking.”

“Let them,” Larus said easily. “I’ve never been afraid of a little gossip.”

The music began to slow, signaling the end of the dance.

Larus twirled her one last time, then brought her to a stop, bowing low over her hand.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said. “That was the best part of my evening.”

Heena inclined her head. “Mine as well.”

She withdrew her hand and turned to leave the floor—

And finally, ’finally’, her gaze swept across her five husbands.

She didn’t smile.

She didn’t frown.

She just looked at them for one long, silent moment.

Then she walked past them, heading toward the refreshment table, leaving them standing there like furniture.

’’’

System 427, still invisible and hovering near the ceiling, covered his face with his paws.

“Host,” he whispered. “You just declared war.”

Heena picked up a new glass of wine and took a slow sip.

Heena lost control of her filter and said, voice sharp, “They literally ’cheated’ on me and you think I don’t have the right to enjoy someone else’s company? Ha! Maybe they’ve forgotten who runs this place. Oh, sorry—who ’rules’ this place.”

The system looked at her, ears twitching. He could tell she was half-venting, half-boasting, but what could he do? He worked for her. This was his job now.

“…Yes, Host,” he muttered weakly.

—

After that day, it became a pattern.

If you wanted to find Heena, you looked for Prince Larus.

They were always together—walking through the gardens, sitting in the library, reviewing trade documents in her office, drinking tea on the terrace. Talking, laughing, debating policy with the ease of people who had known each other for years instead of days.

Even the palace servants were stunned.

They had never seen the Empress smile this much. Never seen her ’relax’ like this, leaning back in her chair without that constant edge of vigilance, gesturing animatedly while she explained something, actually ’laughing’ at someone’s jokes instead of offering those thin, polite smiles she usually wore like armor.

And it wasn’t forced.

That was the part that confused everyone, System 427 included.

She genuinely ’enjoyed’ talking to Larus.

The system floated nearby during one of their garden meetings, watching Heena lean forward to point out something in a contract, watching Larus tilt his head and offer a counterpoint, watching them both pause and then burst out laughing at the same time over some shared realization.

“Host,” the system whispered into her mind, cautious, “are you… actually falling for him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Heena replied silently, still smiling as Larus made another comment. “I’m working.”

“This doesn’t LOOK like work!”

“That’s because I’m good at my job.”

But even the system wasn’t entirely convinced. There was something too natural about the way she spoke to Larus, too unguarded. Like she’d forgotten she was supposed to be performing.

—

As for Estov—her so-called secret weapon, her hidden blade—

That bastard had ’completely’ failed her.

She’d given him one job: weaken her consorts. Steal their influence bit by bit while they were distracted by her increasingly public friendship with Larus. Their protagonist halos would flicker when their attention shifted away from her, and in those moments, Estov was supposed to swoop in and take things. Contracts. Allies. Resources.

He’d managed some of it.

A few minor noble houses had quietly shifted their allegiance. A couple of trade deals had been redirected. Small victories.

But nothing ’significant’.

And then Heena found out why.

Someone had sent her a gift.

A box, wrapped in black silk, delivered to her private study with no note, no signature, nothing to indicate who it was from.

When she opened it, she found a severed head.

Not a real one—thank god—but a porcelain sculpture of one, painted in grotesque detail, eyes wide and lifeless.

It took her a full three seconds to recognize the face.

It was modeled after one of the novel’s male leads. One of the ’original’ male leads from Estov’s world.

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