Chapter 90: Chapter-90

The one who had been hunting him.

The one Estov had given half his cultivation to before everything went wrong.

The message was clear: ’I’m here.’Heena stared at the porcelain head for a long moment, then very calmly closed the box, set it aside, and poured herself a drink.

“That ’bastard’,” she muttered.

Estov hadn’t just failed to do his job—he’d brought his own personal disaster into ’her’ world. And now she had to deal with whatever unhinged revenge plot this obsessive ex was planning while also managing everything else.

“At least my investment in Larus was the right call,” she said to no one in particular.

System 427, who had been watching the whole thing, said nothing.

There was nothing ’to’ say.

—

Currently, Heena and Larus were sitting in one of the palace gardens, a small table set between them, afternoon sunlight filtering through the trees overhead.

Heena took a sip of her tea and paused.

She blinked.

Took another sip.

“…This is actually good,” she said, surprised.

She hated tea. She ’hated’ it. Every single world she’d been in that had these formal tea-drinking scenes—nobles sipping delicately, protagonists bonding over tea ceremonies, romantic moments framed around steaming cups—she had suffered through them all with gritted teeth, forcing down bitter, flavorless liquid and pretending it was refined.

Why couldn’t anyone in these worlds just drink ’coffee’? Or soda? Literally anything else?

But this—

This was ’different’.

She looked down at the cup, then back up at Larus. “Is this milk tea?”

He smiled, that easy, genuine expression she was getting used to. “It is. It’s made differently from the usual tea here. You don’t just pour hot water over leaves and call it done—you actually boil it with the milk and spices. Takes longer, but it’s worth it.”

“It’s delicious,” Heena said, taking another sip. She meant it.

Larus’s smile brightened. “My mother used to love it. I learned to make it as a child because she’d request it constantly. We’d have it with breakfast—tea and toast, tea with fried snacks, tea with sweets. It became a habit.”

Heena found herself smiling back without thinking about it. “Your mother sounds like she had good taste.”

“She did.” Larus leaned back in his chair, relaxed. “She passed a few years ago, but I still make it the way she taught me. Reminds me of her.”

The conversation flowed easily from there.

Heena didn’t have to ’plan’ what to say next. Didn’t have to calculate her responses or weigh every word for political implications. With Larus, things just… happened. Naturally. Like talking to an actual person instead of a chess piece.

Over the past week, she’d learned a surprising amount about him.

He loved jewelry—genuinely loved it, not as a status symbol but because he found it beautiful. He’d shown her his collection once, dozens of rings and bangles and earrings, some passed down through his family, some he’d commissioned himself. He wasn’t embarrassed about it. Didn’t try to justify it as “royal tradition” or make excuses. He just liked wearing pretty things.

He also loved flamboyant clothing. Bright colors, intricate embroidery, cuts that were daring by this empire’s standards—slits up the side, open backs, sheer fabric layered over solid. Modern, almost. Heena had caught herself thinking more than once that his outfits would fit perfectly in a high-fashion magazine back in her original world.

He adored animals but couldn’t take care of them. Loved playing with dogs and cats, would stop to pet every stray that crossed his path, but freely admitted he couldn’t handle the responsibility of actually ’raising’ one.

“I love them,” he’d said, laughing, “but the moment they need to be fed or cleaned up after, I panic. I’m useless at it.”

He was sensitive to strong smells. Perfume, incense, even heavily scented flowers—they all made him nauseous. Everything he wore, everything in his rooms, was mild. Subtle. Carefully chosen not to overwhelm.

And he ’loved’ the smell of rain.

Heena had discovered that by accident. They’d been walking through the gardens when one of the groundskeepers started watering a flowerbed, and Larus had stopped mid-sentence, eyes closing, breathing in deeply as the scent of wet earth rose into the air.

“That smell,” he’d said, voice soft, almost reverent. “I could live in that smell.”

Heena had watched his face—completely unguarded, genuinely happy—and realized she hadn’t seen him look like that before.

“I love it too,” she’d admitted. “Petrichor. The smell of rain on dry soil.”

He’d opened his eyes and grinned at her. “Petrichor. I didn’t know there was a word for it.”

“There’s always a word for the things worth naming,” Heena had said.

They’d stood there together in silence for a while, just breathing in the scent of damp earth and fresh water, and it had felt—

Easy.

—

As for her consorts—

There had been changes. Small ones, subtle ones, but changes nonetheless.

Kieran had stopped glaring at her quite so openly. Adrian had started attending council meetings without that pinched, disapproving expression. Damien was still unsettling, but he’d stopped making pointed comments every time she entered a room.

Lucian had barely changed at all, but that was expected.

Raphael, though—

Raphael had started requesting audiences with her.

Not often. Maybe once every few days. And she always had an excuse ready—meetings, paperwork, prior commitments—but he kept asking. Politely. Persistently.

He never made a fuss when she declined. Just bowed, thanked her for her time, and left.

But the fact that he kept ’trying’ was notable.

The others had given up. Or redirected their attention elsewhere. Or simply accepted that the Empress was no longer the woman they’d married.

Raphael hadn’t.

Heena wasn’t sure what to do with that yet.

For now, she was content to let him keep asking and keep declining.

She had more important things to focus on.

Like the fact that Prince Larus had just asked if she’d ever considered expanding the palace gardens to include a dedicated rain garden—plants specifically chosen to thrive in wet conditions, designed to capture and celebrate rainfall.

“We have one in Marus,” he was saying, eyes bright. “It’s my favorite place in the entire palace. When it rains, the whole garden comes alive. The sound, the smell, the way the water moves through the channels—”

Heena found herself leaning forward, genuinely interested. “Could we build one here?”

“Easily,” Larus said. “I could draft the plans if you’d like. I’m not an expert, but I’ve studied enough to know the basics.”

“Do it,” Heena said immediately. “I’ll assign you a budget and a crew. If it turns out half as good as you’re describing, it’ll be worth it.”

Larus blinked, surprised. “You’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Heena took another sip of her tea. “I like the idea. You clearly know what you’re talking about. And frankly, this palace could use something that isn’t just politically functional.”

Larus laughed—loud and delighted, the sound echoing across the garden.

“You know,” he said, still grinning, “I think I’m actually going to enjoy being here.”

Heena smiled back.

“Good,” she said. “That makes one of us.”

But even as she said it, she realized it wasn’t entirely true anymore.

She was starting to enjoy it too.

Just a little.

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