Reborn as the Psycho Villainess Who Ate Her Slave Beasts' Contracts-Chapter 46 --

Around them, courtiers watched out of the corners of their eyes. Some whispered behind napkins. Others pretended not to notice anything at all.

At one point, the Emperor raised his glass.

"To family," he said. "In conflict or in concord, blood remains blood."

Everyone drank.

Elara did too, after watching his face for even the slightest hint of amusement. If he wanted her dead at this table, he wasn’t stupid enough to do it with a toast in front of witnesses.

She took a measured sip and set the glass down.

Under the table, her hand was steady.

They talked of safe things and unsafe things wrapped in polite language:

- Eleana mentioned bandits on the river routes, smiling as she did.

- Sera asked about the specifics of the preservation magic, her questions precise and a little too sharp.

- A noble asked whether Elara planned to return "soon," emphasis too obvious.

She answered with the same calm tone every time.

No tremor. No visible fear.

If this was a test—to see if she would flinch, break, beg to stay—she refused to give them what they wanted.

At the end of the meal, as people began to rise, the Emperor’s voice cut through the noise.

"Elara."

She paused.

"You leave in five days," he said. "Do not embarrass me in front of my merchants."

"Of course not," she said. "I intend to make you very rich."

That earned the smallest ghost of a smile from him.

"Then don’t die," he said. "It would be inconvenient."

"Understood."

She bowed, turned, and walked out between Eleana’s watchful gaze and Sera’s unreadable one.

The fox knight fell into step behind her as the doors closed.

She didn’t sag. Didn’t let the mask slip.

Not yet.

She’d made it through dinner with potential killers on both sides and half the court waiting for her to crack.

.

.

.

The beast knights met in the lower armory after midnight, a place where no servants wandered and no nobles bothered to look. Twenty-five warriors gathered in the lamplight, still wearing their ceremonial armor despite the late hour.

The fox knight stood at the center. The wolf knight—Captain Lyra, the eldest among them—leaned against a weapons rack with arms crossed. The hawk knight, youngest and sharpest-tongued, sat on a barrel looking simultaneously bored and tense.

"Port Crestfall," Lyra said flatly. "For a year."

No one responded immediately. They didn’t need to. They were all thinking the same thing.

Three hundred years. Three centuries of beast knights serving within palace walls, protecting royals from court intrigue, political poison, and family betrayals. They’d never left. Not once. Not for wars, not for diplomatic missions, not for anything.

Until now.

"She can command it," said one of the younger knights—a bear knight with scars across his knuckles. "Royal blood gives her that right."

"Right doesn’t make it less insane," the hawk knight muttered. "Taking all twenty-five of us out of the palace? The other princesses will have a fit. The Emperor might actually intervene."

"The Emperor approved her departure," the fox knight said quietly. "He knows what that means."

"Does he?" Lyra straightened, her grey eyes hard. "Or did he approve thinking she’d take a few guards and maybe one or two of us for show? This is different. This strips her household protection entirely and relocates it across the empire."

"She’s been targeted," another knight said—a lynx knight, voice soft but firm. "Professional assassins in her chambers. If we stay here and she goes alone, she’s dead within a month."

"If we all go with her, the palace loses a quarter of its beast knight force," Lyra countered. "That destabilizes everything. The other royals will see it as an insult. As overreach."

"Let them," the fox knight said. All eyes turned to him. "Princess Elara didn’t ask for opinions. She gave an order. We’re bound by oath and blood to obey our assigned royal. That’s the foundation of what we are."

"I know what we are," Lyra said sharply. "I’ve been a beast knight for forty years. Don’t lecture me on oaths. I’m talking about consequences."

"Consequences happen whether we like them or not," the fox knight replied. "Our duty is to her. Not to palace politics. Not to the other princesses. To her."

Silence fell.

The wolf knight and fox knight stared at each other—old authority against new certainty.

Finally, Lyra exhaled. "You actually believe in her. Don’t you?"

The fox knight didn’t hesitate. "Yes."

"Why? She’s been functional for two weeks. Before that she was dying. Before that she was a joke."

"Before that doesn’t matter anymore." The fox knight’s voice was steady. "She survived an assassination attempt through quick thinking. She’s built merchant alliances in days. She’s navigating court politics without breaking. And she’s getting out before this place kills her. That’s not weakness. That’s intelligence."

The hawk knight snorted. "Or desperation."

"Desperation that works is still strategy," the fox knight said.

More silence.

Then the lynx knight spoke up. "I’ll follow her. If she’s smart enough to leave, she’s smart enough to be worth protecting."

One by one, others nodded.

Lyra watched them, then finally sighed. "Fine. We go to Port Crestfall. All twenty-five of us, into the unknown, breaking three hundred years of tradition." She looked around at her warriors. "But we do it smart. We scout the barge before boarding. We rotate watch schedules. We assume every port stop is a potential ambush. And we keep her alive long enough to prove this wasn’t the stupidest decision we’ve ever made."

Agreement rippled through the group.

"Five days," Lyra said. "Use them. Check your gear. Say goodbyes if you have them. Prepare for a year outside these walls."

As the meeting broke up, the fox knight remained behind with Lyra.

"She’s not like the others," he said quietly.

Lyra studied him. "No. She’s not. Question is whether that’s enough."

"It will be."

"Your confidence could get us all killed."

"Staying here was already killing her," the fox knight said. "At least this way, we’re choosing the danger."

Lyra almost smiled. "When did you become philosophical?"

"When I started protecting someone worth the effort."

***

Meanwhile, two floors above, Elara sat up in bed.

Something was wrong.

She’d been trying to sleep—unsuccessfully, as usual—when the feeling hit her. That crawling awareness that things weren’t where they should be.

She lit the small lamp beside her bed and looked around.

Everything looked normal. Her three packed trunks sat against the wall. Her desk was organized exactly as she’d left it. The wardrobe doors were closed.

But something was ’off’

Elara stood and walked to the trunks. She ran her hand along the first one—the clothing trunk. The lock was still engaged. The leather straps were...

She stopped.

The buckle on the left strap was fastened one hole tighter than she’d set it.

Her breath caught.

She checked the second trunk. Documents and tools. The lock was fine, but there was a scratch near the keyhole that hadn’t been there before. Fresh metal showing through old brass.

The third trunk—preservation materials—sat exactly as she’d left it. But when she knelt and looked closely at the floor, there was a faint scuff mark in the dust that hadn’t been there when she’d gone to bed.