Larus’s forehead dropped to her shoulder blade. "Please... I—I can’t—"
"You can," she murmured, rolling her hips in a slow grind that had them both gasping. "You’re going to stay right here, letting use you like this, until I say otherwise."
One of her hands reached back to wrap around the base of him again, stroking in ti with the movent of her hips. The other braced on the desk for leverage. She could feel him pulsing, leaking steadily against her, the head nudging her entrance through the thin barrier of fabric every ti she rocked forward.
the tight, slick pressure of her thighs, the slow drag of her hand, the filthy little sounds she made every ti his cock slid along her clothed slit.
"Feel that?" she breathed, voice ragged with her own arousal. "That’s how much I want you. But you’ll wait for , won’t you, sweetheart?"
Larus could only nod frantically, lips parted on silent gasps, completely surrendered.
Heena smiled against the polished wood of the desk, predatory and tender all at once.
"Good boy. Now hold still... I’m just getting started."
But soon—far too soon—a knock sounded at the door.
Heena’s entire body went rigid with annoyance.
She had ’explicitly ordered’ the guards to let absolutely no one disturb her. Not servants. Not nobles. Not urgent ssengers. ’No one’.
Being interrupted yet again—when she’d ’finally’ managed to get so ti alone with her husband—made her blood boil.
She glared at the door and shouted, "GET LOST BEFORE I KILL YOU!"
Silence.
Then—
’Knock knock.’
Again. The audacity.
Heena looked at the door with genuine murder in her eyes. Beside her, Larus stood up quickly, automatically straightening his robes and jewelry, his diplomatic training kicking in even though he looked just as annoyed as she felt.
"I’m going to execute whoever that is," Heena muttered darkly.
And then the door opened.
Without permission. Without waiting for acknowledgnt.
Just—opened.
The Duchess swept in, her expression absolutely furious, her fan snapping open with a sharp ’crack’ that sounded like a whip.
Heena stared at her aunt with an expression of complete and utter disbelief.
’Are you KIDDING right now?!’
When she’d been a maid in soone else’s household in her previous life, nobody had ’dared’ enter rooms without permission. There had been privacy. Boundaries. Basic human decency about knocking and waiting for responses.
But here? Here she was the ’Empress’. The sovereign ruler of an entire empire. She’d given explicit orders that no one should disturb her.
And yet her aunt just waltzed in like she owned the place.
First, her aunt had found ways to embarrass her by enforcing ridiculous traditions. Now she was just ignoring direct imperial orders.
Heena looked at her aunt and said with barely controlled irritation, "Aunt. I distinctly rember teaching you that one must respect royal orders. What is the ’aning’ of this?"
The Duchess looked at her niece, and her expression was absolutely livid.
"I’m here," she said flatly. "That’s the aning."
"That’s—that’s IT?!" Heena sputtered. "That’s your explanation?! ’I’m here’?!"
"Stop ruining your reputation like this," the Duchess snapped, ignoring Heena’s outburst completely. "So many things have happened today and you didn’t even tell ! Didn’t inform ! Didn’t seek my counsel!"
She took a step forward, her eyes blazing.
"Tell the truth, Celeste. Did those bastard consorts try to poison you? Is that what this pregnancy scandal is about? Did they—"
"Aunt—" Heena started.
"ANSWER !" the Duchess’s voice rose to sothing sharp and dangerous.
And then—with a swift motion of her hand—the heavy wooden table and chairs in Heena’s office lifted into the air.
Just—lifted. Hovering. Suspended by pure magical force.
The System, who’d been floating nearby, let out a screech of terror and imdiately dove behind Heena, trembling.
Even Heena felt her eyes widen slightly. She’d known her aunt was powerful magically, but seeing it demonstrated so casually was still impressive and slightly terrifying.
The Duchess’s eyes were ablaze with fury, her magic crackling visibly in the air around her.
"They tried to poison you," she said, her voice dropping to sothing cold and deadly. "They tried to ’kill’ you. And yet they’re still alive. Still living in this palace. Still married to you. ’Why?’"
Heena glanced at Larus, who was standing very still, clearly recognizing that this was a family matter he shouldn’t be involved in.
"You can go," she said quietly to him.
Larus looked at the Duchess, then at Heena, clearly hesitant to leave her alone with soone who was literally levitating furniture in rage.
But he nodded respectfully and moved toward the door.
As soon as he left, the Duchess waved her hand again and a barrier of shimring light sealed the door behind him. Soundproofing magic—nobody outside would hear what was about to be discussed.
Then she turned back to Heena and took a step forward.
"Celeste," she said.
Just that. Just her na.
But the tone—the particular inflection, the cold fury underneath—made Heena’s body react involuntarily. Not her own reaction, but the original Celeste’s body mory. A tremor ran through her, an instinctive response to that voice.
Because the Duchess only used that tone when she was absolutely, devastatingly furious. When she was about to lose control completely.
"Aunt?" Heena said, trying to inject so levity into her voice with a slight smile.
"Did the five consorts," the Duchess asked with deadly precision, "try to poison you before this incident? Before today?"
"Aunt, what do you—" Heena started.
"YES OR NO," the Duchess interrupted sharply. "Did they attempt to poison you? I want a straight answer, Celeste. No deflection. No political maneuvering. Yes or no."
Heena looked at her aunt’s expression—at the barely controlled fury, the protective rage, the genuine fear underneath it all—and sighed.
"Yes," she admitted quietly.
For a mont, the Duchess closed her eyes, as if trying to contain sothing enormous.
Then she raised her hand and brought it down in a sharp motion.
’CRASH!’
The table and chairs that had been hovering slamd to the ground and shattered into pieces, wood splintering, fragnts scattering across the floor.
The System screeched again and burrowed further behind Heena, trembling.
Even Heena felt a spike of genuine alarm at the display of raw power and fury.
The Duchess turned to look at her niece, and her eyes were burning with barely restrained violence.
"What," she asked with terrifying calm, "was your response to their assassination attempt?"
Heena t her aunt’s gaze steadily. "I collected evidence. Docunted it. Stored it for future use if necessary."
"That’s it?" the Duchess asked, her voice rising. "They tried to KILL you and you just—what? Made a file about it?!"
"I couldn’t execute them," Heena explained calmly. "For political reasons that you know perfectly well, Aunt. Their families are too powerful. The narrative consequences would be—"
"I DON’T CARE ABOUT POLITICAL CONSEQUENCES!" the Duchess shouted, her magic flaring again, making the remaining furniture in the room rattle. "THEY TRIED TO MURDER YOU! My niece! My only remaining family! And you’re telling you just—what? Docunted it? Filed a report?!"
She took several steps forward, her hands clenched into fists.
"Do you have ANY idea what it was like when I found out? When I discovered that those ungrateful, treacherous, pathetic excuses for n had attempted to poison the woman I raised? The girl I’ve protected since she was a child?"
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