Chapter 414 --414
"Good. Return to your cohort," Elara said, turning back toward her door.
Ken offered one final, respectful salute before turning on his heel and marching down the corridor, his heavy guard boots echoing with a steady, lethal cadence. He had his orders. The prince would be an asset on a ledger, kept in a cage of Ken’s own design, thoroughly isolated from the woman who had bought his territory with a signature.
Elara pushed the door to her chambers open, stepping into the quiet, sunlit room.
The air was different here in the main palace—cleaner, crisper, smelling faintly of lavender and beeswax rather than the cedar and musk of her administrative office. She walked over to her desk, where a fresh pot of tea was waiting.
Sitting in the chair opposite her desk was Mahir.
He was fully dressed in his high-ranking training uniform, his dark hair damp from a recent drill. His large hands were folded neatly in his lap, and his beast-kin ears were upright, twitching toward her the moment she entered. His long tail lay perfectly still on the carpet beside his chair. There was no growling, no lashing tail, and no frantic, territorial anger. The brutal lesson from the night before had settled deep into his core; he had been forcibly reminded of his place, and his half-beast nature had fully submitted to the iron hierarchy of his Master.
Elara sat down in her high-backed leather chair, her posture as straight and mechanical as ever. She poured herself a cup of tea, the liquid clear and hot in the porcelain cup.
"Instructor Mahir," Elara said, her eyes meeting his burning golden ones across the dark wood. "The perimeter logs for the third cohort were completed within the optimal timeframe. Your performance metrics have returned to an acceptable standard."
"Thank you, Master," Mahir said. His voice was low, rough, and entirely disciplined, stripped of the desperate, wounded tone he had used the night before. He looked at her with an absolute, unwavering devotion—the look of a hound that had been sharply corrected but still lived only to serve its tamer. "The ballistae at the eastern gate are fully calibrated. The defense grid is secure."
"Logical," Elara noted, taking a slow sip of her tea. "The Northern Coalition will be signing the treaty by noon. A prince of their house will be residing in the eastern guest wing. He carries zero authority and zero functional value beyond his name on the paper. You will ignore his presence entirely."
Mahir’s ears flattened for a fraction of a second at the mention of the prince, a brief flicker of his predatory instinct rising, but he instantly suppressed it, forcing his posture to remain relaxed. "Understood, Master. He does not exist to us."
"Correct," Elara said, setting her cup down with a soft, precise click. "He is an asset. Nothing more."
She looked at Mahir, then glanced toward the window where the mid-day sun was reaching its peak. Her mind was perfectly, beautifully quiet. The grand theater of the throne room, the frantic panic of the nobles, and the arrival of a foreign husband had caused absolutely zero ripples in her internal state.