Heena held up her good hand.
"Stop," she said.
He stopped.
She looked at him for a long mont, then smiled.
"I will triple your salary," she said.
He blinked.
"And," she continued, "you may hire seven more secretaries. Your choice. Whover you want. Pay them whatever you think is fair. I don’t care. Just finish all this work."
For a heartbeat, he just stared at her.
Then his entire expression transford.
He dropped into a bow so deep his forehead nearly touched his knees, and when he straightened, his eyes were shining with the fervor of a man who had just been handed the keys to heaven.
"Your Majesty!" he said, voice ringing with sudden, passionate sincerity. "Why should you even need to do this work? Of course we, the secretaries, are the ones responsible for it! The Empress’s duty is only to rest and enjoy her life! We live to serve!"
Heena gave him a thumbs-up with her uninjured hand.
"That’s the spirit," she said. "Now get out and let finish my breakfast."
He practically ’sprinted’ from the room, clutching his stack of docunts like they were sacred texts, already muttering to himself about hiring protocols and office layouts.
System 427 stared after him, then turned slowly to look at Heena.
"Host..." he said weakly. "You just bribed him into doing your job."
"I ’delegated’," Heena corrected, popping another piece of papaya into her mouth. "There’s a difference."
"You tripled his salary."
"And he’s worth it," she said. "Did you see the look in his eyes? That man is going to build an entire administrative empire out of sheer enthusiasm. I’m investing in infrastructure."
The system had no response to that.
Heena finished her fruit, wiped her fingers delicately on a napkin, and leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh.
"This," she said, "is how you run an empire. Smartly. Efficiently. And with as little personal labor as possible."
System 427 floated down to her shoulder, tail drooping. "I feel like this is going to backfire sohow."
"Then we’ll deal with it when it does," Heena said. "Until then, I’m going to enjoy the fact that I have a broken wrist, a valid excuse, and a secretary who just beca the happiest man in the palace."
She stood, cradling her injured arm, and headed toward the door.
"Now," she said, "I’m going to take a nap. A real one. For at least three hours. If anyone tries to wake , I’m promoting that secretary to Grand Chancellor and letting him execute them."
System 427 sighed.
Sowhere in the administrative wing, the newly enriched secretary was already sketching organizational charts and humming to himself.
And in her chambers, Heena finally, ’finally’ got the rest she deserved.
System 427 had assud "enjoying life" ant Heena was going to sleep.
He was very, very wrong.
.
.
.
Instead, he found himself floating in a private chamber—one of the smaller, more secluded lounges in the west wing—watching seven gorgeous n dance in clothes so sheer and transparent they might as well not have existed at all. They moved like water, like silk, bodies swaying to the soft music of a flute player tucked discreetly in the corner. Their movents were graceful, sensual, designed to captivate.
And captivate they did.
Heena sat in a plush chair at the center of the room, legs crossed, her injured wrist resting carefully in her lap. In her good hand, she held a small bunch of grapes, popping them into her mouth one by one with the lazy satisfaction of soone who had absolutely no intention of doing anything productive for the next several hours.
The dancers smiled at her, leaned toward her, their eyes promising things that made even System 427 blush.
"Host," the lion finally said, unable to hold it in any longer. "Didn’t you say earlier that you have five husbands and you’re ’not interested’ in these things?"
Heena didn’t even look at him. Her eyes stayed glued to the dancers.
"Uninterested in ’them’," she clarified, waving a grape vaguely in the direction of where her husbands probably were. "I said I’m not interested in ’them’. But who said I’m not interested in their ’dance’?" She smiled, slow and satisfied. "Look at this. How beautiful."
System 427 stared at her in disbelief. "Host, the delegation from the Northern Empire is coming in four—no, ’five’ days! Shouldn’t you be preparing? Planning? Strategizing?"
Heena nodded absently. "Yeah, yeah. That’s exactly why I’m doing this."
The system blinked. "I don’t follow."
"For peace of mind," Heena said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "For soone to work efficiently, they need their mind to be fresh. And right now, my hand hurts. So I need to refresh my mind so my hand will stop hurting."
System 427 opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. "That’s... not how pain works, Host."
"Of course it’s hurting," Heena said, completely ignoring him. "That’s ’why’ I’m looking at them. If I’m distracted, I won’t think about my hand. If I don’t think about it, it won’t bother . Perfect logic."
She popped another grape into her mouth, eyes tracking the blue-clad dancer who was currently doing sothing with his hips that defied normal anatomy.
System 427 gave up.
With a sigh, he floated down to settle on the armrest beside her, manifesting a tiny illusion of grapes for himself. If his employer was going to enjoy herself, why shouldn’t he?
He tilted his head, studying the dancers critically. "The one in blue is quite handso," he remarked.
Heena nodded in agreent. "Very tasty."
They sat in companionable silence, host and system, watching seven n put on a performance that would have scandalized half the court and delighted the other half.
One of the dancers—the one in deep crimson, with dark eyes and a smile that promised sin—leaned closer, reaching out as if to kiss her hand.
Heena smiled, leaning forward to et him halfway. Her fingers brushed his warm skin—
The door ’slamd’ open.
Heena’s eyes went black.
The music cut off mid-note. The dancers froze. System 427 vanished in a puff of startled light.
"Who the ’hell’ dares—" Heena started, voice sharp enough to cut glass.
Then she saw who it was.
Her soul left her body.
Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, hair pinned in a severe bun, wearing a gown that looked like it had been tailored specifically to radiate disappointnt, was ’her’.
The Dowager Duchess Marianne.
Heena’s nominal aunt. Not blood, not by birth, but the woman the previous Emperor had called "sister" and treated as family. The woman who had loved the original Celeste like a daughter, who had tried—and failed—to guide her away from ruin.
And also the one person, in all the palace, in all the empire, that both the previous owner ’and’ Heena herself were genuinely, viscerally ’afraid’ of.
The Duchess’s sharp eyes swept the room: the half-naked dancers, the grapes, the incense, the ridiculous opulence of it all.
Then her gaze landed on Heena.
"So," she said, voice cool and cutting, "instead of attending to your duties as Empress, you’re ’enjoying yourself’ here."
Heena swallowed.
For the first ti since arriving in this world, she had absolutely no idea what to say.
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