Reborn as the Psycho Villainess Who Ate Her Slave Beasts' Contracts-Chapter 188 --

"Your Highness," Meriveth said warmly, too warmly. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. We know your schedule must be demanding."

"Sit," Elara said, taking her own seat at the head of the table. Ken positioned himself behind her right shoulder, silent and watchful. "What requires discussion?"

Meriveth settled back into his chair with the ease of someone who spent half his life in these rooms. "Several matters, Your Highness. First, the eastern trade treaty negotiations—"

For twenty minutes, they discussed trade routes and tariff adjustments. Standard policy debate. Elara participated minimally, letting them work through the details while she conserved energy. Her head throbbed steadily now, a dull ache that made concentration slightly harder than it should be.

She was rubbing her temple without realizing it when Hasting pivoted topics.

"—which brings us to the matter of tax redistribution," he was saying. "The northern provinces have been petitioning for relief, but without clear direction from the crown—"

"The Emperor has not issued guidance on northern taxes," Elara said, forcing her hand away from her head. "This is not within my administrative purview."

"Ah, but that’s the issue, isn’t it?" Meriveth leaned forward slightly. "His Imperial Majesty has been... preoccupied. And with no Crown Princess currently in position to handle these matters..." [1]

Elara’s focus sharpened despite the pain. "The previous Crown Princess is on sabbatical," she said carefully. "A temporary absence."

"Quite temporary," Lady Torven agreed, voice sweet as poisoned honey. "Nearly months now. With no indication of return."

"Which leaves a vacuum," Hasting continued. "Matters pile up. Decisions go unmade. The empire requires—"

"The empire requires patience," Elara cut in. "Crown Princess succession is the Emperor’s decision alone. Not ours."

"Of course, of course," Meriveth said smoothly. "No one would suggest otherwise. However, in the interim, perhaps other arrangements could be made. Alliances that would strengthen Your Highness’s position, provide additional support for administrative burdens..."

Something cold settled in Elara’s chest. Not fear—she didn’t process that. But recognition. She knew where this was going.

"Alliances," she repeated flatly.

"Marriage, Your Highness." Meriveth said it like he was offering her tea. "A strategic marriage would significantly enhance your standing at court. Provide military or economic backing. Show the Emperor that you’re serious about—"

"No." The word came out harder than intended.

The room went quiet.

Baron Ulrich tried next, voice placating. "Your Highness, if you would simply consider—we’ve prepared a list of suitable candidates. Lord Territh’s son has extensive military connections. Marquess Valen’s nephew controls three major trade ports. Even Duke Soren’s younger brother has expressed—"

"I said no." Elara’s head was pounding now, each throb making the nobles’ voices feel like needles. And they wouldn’t. Stop. Talking.

"Your Highness must understand," Lady Torven said, leaning forward with false concern, "your position is precarious. You have no mother’s family backing you, no established faction, no—"

"Your Highness needs protection," Hasting interrupted. "A husband with resources could—"

"The Fourth Princess is young," Meriveth added. "Beautiful. These are assets that should be leveraged while—"

"Enough." Elara’s voice cut through the overlapping chatter like a blade.

They stopped. All of them. Eyes fixed on her with varying expressions of surprise and—in Meriveth’s case—calculation.

The headache spiked. Heat was building under her skin now, subtle but unmistakable. The poison stirring. She had maybe two hours before it became obvious. Two hours to end this idiocy and return to her chambers before she started showing visible symptoms.

She stood. Slowly. Deliberately. Let them see her full height, her absolute lack of amusement. [1]

"Let me clarify something," she said, voice cold and precise. "I did not request this meeting to discuss my marital status. You requested it to discuss trade and taxes. We have now spent thirty minutes on actual policy and fifteen minutes on your transparent attempt to marry me off to your political allies."

"Your Highness—" Meriveth started.

"I’m not finished." The pain in her head sharpened, but she used it, let it fuel the ice in her voice. "You come to me with ’lists’ of suitable candidates. Men you’ve vetted and approved, whose families would conveniently benefit from ties to royal blood. You frame it as concern for my position, but what you actually want is access. Influence. A princess you can control through her husband."

Lady Torven’s face went pale. Hasting’s jaw tightened.

"The answer is no," Elara continued. "I will not be married off to strengthen your factions. I will not be leveraged as a political asset for your benefit. And I will certainly not be pressured into decisions about my own future by people who waited until I was occupied with administrative reforms to ambush me with marriage proposals disguised as policy discussion."

"Your Highness is being unreasonable—" Baron Ulrich tried.

"I’m being clear." Elara placed both palms flat on the table, leaning forward slightly. The movement made her head swim, but she held her ground. "If you wish to discuss actual policy—trade, taxes, infrastructure—submit formal proposals through Administrator Demorti. He will schedule appropriate meetings. But if you ever waste my time with another marriage ambush, I will ensure your access to this palace is permanently restricted."

Meriveth’s carefully neutral expression cracked slightly. "The Emperor may have opinions about Your Highness refusing advantageous matches—"

"Then the Emperor can speak to me directly," Elara said. "As is his right. You are not the Emperor. You do not speak for him. And you certainly do not decide who I marry or when." She straightened, each movement controlled despite the fever building in her blood. "This meeting is concluded. Leave."

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Ken shifted his weight slightly—not threatening, just present—and his hand rested on his sword hilt.

The nobles stood quickly, bowing with varying degrees of stiffness. Meriveth’s expression was thunderous. Hasting looked almost impressed despite himself. Lady Torven’s smile was gone, replaced by cold calculation.

They filed out silently.

The doors closed.

Elara stayed standing for five more seconds—long enough to be sure they were gone—then sat down heavily, one hand going immediately to her temple. The headache was vicious now, pulsing in time with her elevated heart rate. Her skin felt too warm, too tight.

"Your Highness." Ken’s voice was carefully neutral. "You should return to your chambers."

"Yes," Elara said. She didn’t move yet. Couldn’t quite make her legs cooperate. "That was... inefficient."

"That was necessary," Ken corrected quietly. "They were circling. Testing weaknesses. You shut it down before it became a pattern."

The System mouse reappeared, sitting on the table in front of her. "You also just declared war on three major noble houses while running a fever," it said. "So, you know. Mixed results."

"They started it," Elara muttered. Her head throbbed. "Coming here with their lists and their transparent manipulation..."

"And you ended it," the System agreed. "Very dramatically. Very effectively. Now can we *please* get you back to bed before you collapse in a hallway?"

Elara pushed herself to her feet. The room tilted slightly, but she compensated. "Ken."

"Your Highness?"

"If anyone else requests a meeting in the next twenty-four hours, tell them I’m unavailable. No exceptions."

"Yes, Your Highness." He moved to her side, not quite touching but close enough to catch her if she stumbled. "May I escort you?"