Reborn as the Psycho Villainess Who Ate Her Slave Beasts' Contracts-Chapter 204 --

"We found blood on the garden wall," Marcus added. "And tracks leading toward the outer palace district. We’re organizing search parties now."

Ken’s jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful. But his voice came out steady. "The conspiracy is larger than we thought, Your Highness. If they could get an enhanced assassin this deep into the palace, we need to assume multiple compromised positions."

They were doing it.

Actually doing it.

Creating the false narrative. Building the lie. Committing themselves to the cover story that would hide what she’d just done.

Elara felt something that might have been relief if she could actually feel relief.

"Good," she said quietly. "Coordinate with each other. Make sure the details align. And someone needs to alert the palace—the Emperor is dead. The Fourth Princess regent will address the court within the hour."

She turned to walk away—

And stopped.

Because something was wrong with her body.

Heat. Sudden, searing heat concentrated in her lower abdomen. Spreading upward through her chest. Down her thighs.

’Oh no.’

"Your Highness?" Ken’s voice, sharp with concern. "Are you—"

The episode hit like a freight train.

Elara’s knees buckled. She caught herself against the wall, one hand flat against the stone, breathing going ragged. The sword clattered from her other hand.

Not now. ’Not now.’

But the poison didn’t care about timing.

The arousal slammed through her system—chemical, artificial, overwhelming. Every nerve ending suddenly hypersensitive. The fabric of her clothes felt like sandpaper. The air on her skin burned.

"Host!" The System’s voice was panicked again. "Your magical pressure—it’s spiking—"

"I know," Elara gritted out. "I can ’feel’ it—"

Elara walked out of the Imperial chambers with measured steps, guards flanking her on both sides. Behind the closed doors, the Emperor’s body lay still and cooling, blood soaking into silk sheets, monitoring crystals dark and silent.

Within minutes, the official declaration would go out: *The Emperor is dead.*

But Elara didn’t wait for formalities.

She marched.

Down corridors. Through courtyards. Past shocked servants and confused guards who scrambled to bow as the Fourth Princess swept by with an expression of cold fury on her face—entirely manufactured, but they didn’t know that.

The Beast Knights followed in tight formation. Demerti hurried alongside, trying to keep up, face still pale from what he’d witnessed. What he was now complicit in.

They reached the Harem Gate.

It stood apart from the main palace complex—a separate building, smaller than the grand palaces where official consorts resided, but still substantial. Elegant architecture designed for beauty rather than power. High walls. Guarded entrance. Privacy maintained by strict protocol.

This was where the Emperor’s *other* women lived.

Not consorts with political power and noble bloodlines. Not empresses with armies of supporters. Just... women. Beautiful women. Women the Emperor had wanted and taken and installed in comfortable captivity.

The official count was ambiguous—ten? Fifteen? Maybe more? The Emperor had been a tyrant when it came to this particular vice. If he saw beauty, he claimed it. Lower nobility who couldn’t refuse. Bankrupt noble families selling daughters for imperial favor. Servants who caught his eye.

The consorts were beautiful, yes. But they came from powerful families. Had political protection. Maintained dignity through status.

These women had nothing but their beauty. And that beauty was *staggering*.

Elara pushed open the gate without ceremony.

The guards stationed there started to protest—"Your Highness, this area is restricted—male visitors are not permitted—"

"The Emperor is dead," Elara said flatly. "I’m investigating his assassination. Stand aside or be arrested for obstruction."

They stood aside.

Elara walked through.

And Demerti, following behind her, stopped dead.

Because the interior of the Harem was... *heaven*.

That was the only word for it.

Elaborate gardens spread in all directions—manicured paths winding between flowering trees, koi ponds with ornate bridges, pavilions draped in silk where women reclined in afternoon shade. The architecture was delicate, feminine, designed to showcase beauty at every angle.

And the women themselves—

Demerti’s breath caught.

Everywhere he looked: *peerless beauty*. Women with skin like porcelain, hair like silk waterfalls, features so perfectly arranged they seemed unreal. Some practiced calligraphy. Others played musical instruments. A few walked in pairs, laughing softly at private jokes.

All of them looked up as the Fourth Princess marched through with armed guards.

All of them went silent.

Because men weren’t allowed here. Ever. This was the Emperor’s private paradise, forbidden to every other male in the palace.

And now Beast Knights were walking through with swords drawn, following a princess who looked like she wanted to kill someone.

One of Elara’s servants—a young maid who knew the Harem’s layout—hurried ahead, guiding them deeper into the complex. Past the gardens. Through interior corridors where more women peered from doorways with wide, frightened eyes.

Finally, they reached a specific chamber.

Fifth Concubine’s rooms.

Elara didn’t knock.

She kicked the door open.

The heavy wood slammed inward with a crash that echoed through the Harem, the sound violent and jarring in this space designed for gentle beauty.

Elara stepped through, rage written across her face—manufactured, calculated, but convincing. Her eyes swept the room with cold precision, cataloging everything: expensive furniture, silk wall hangings, tea service laid out on a low table.

And sitting near the balcony, serene and untouched by the chaos:

The Fifth Concubine.

She was beautiful. Of course she was. Dark black hair fell in waves past her shoulders. Black eyes, deep and knowing. White dress that somehow made her look both innocent and dangerous. She sat with perfect posture, one hand resting elegantly on the armrest of her chair.

And she looked at Elara with complete calm.

"Would you like some tea, Your Highness?" Her voice was soft. Melodious. Like she was greeting an expected guest rather than facing an armed raid.

Elara stopped three paces into the room.

Stared at her.

The Fifth Concubine gestured gracefully to the tea service. "It’s freshly brewed. Jasmine with honey. The Emperor’s favorite." A pause. "Though I suppose that’s no longer relevant, is it?"

So she knew.

Already knew the Emperor was dead.

Which meant either she had incredible intelligence networks, or—

"You were expecting this," Elara said.

"Of course." The Fifth Concubine poured tea into two cups with movements so fluid they seemed choreographed. "The moment that foolish girl Lian didn’t return, I knew the plan had failed. And the moment the alarm crystals in the Emperor’s chambers went dark—" She smiled slightly. "—I knew *something* had succeeded. Just not what I’d intended."

She lifted one cup and took a delicate sip.

"I’m curious, Your Highness. Was it Lian who killed him? Or did you do it yourself?"

The Beast Knights went rigid. Hands on sword hilts. Ready to strike if Elara gave the word.

But Elara just looked at the Fifth Concubine with that same cold, empty expression.

"Your assassin killed the Emperor," she said. "Lian confessed to the conspiracy. You orchestrated both attempts. The evidence is clear."

"Is it?" The Fifth Concubine set down her cup. "Because I think we both know what actually happened in that chamber. I think we both know who’s lying."

"Careful," Ken said quietly from behind Elara. "Accusing a Princess of such a —"