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

"Your Highness!" Ken’s voice finally broke through the static, sharp with urgency. "Don’t try to move. Just—just breathe. I’m getting help."

She wanted to respond. Wanted to tell him about the danger, about the logical certainty that this was a setup, that someone was going to strike while she was helpless.

But her mouth wouldn’t cooperate. Words dissolved before reaching her tongue.

The room spun faster. Her heart stuttered—one beat too fast, the next sluggish, rhythm collapsing into chaos. Magical energy sparked along her skin, visible even through her blurred vision as faint blue-white traces that danced like static electricity.

Ken lowered her onto the bed, his movements careful despite obvious exhaustion. She could see sweat beading on his forehead—or was that just visual distortion? Everything bled together, reality and hallucination mixing until she couldn’t distinguish between them.

"I need—" He turned toward the door. "I need to get the healer. You’re—this is getting worse."

Elara’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping around his wrist with strength that surprised them both. The magical contact flared brighter, blue sparks jumping between their skin.

Ken hissed in pain but didn’t pull away.

"Don’t... leave," she managed to force out. Each word was a battle. "Not... safe. They’re... coming."

"Who’s coming?" Ken’s voice gentled, the tone you’d use with someone delirious. "Your Highness, no one can get past the guards—"

"Poisoned me. Will... finish..." Her grip tightened, nails digging in. "Not... stupid. Strike now... while..."

She couldn’t finish. The thought slipped away like oil on water.