Chapter 236 --236
All the corrupt high priests from the previous Church administration had been sent away—arrested, exiled, or simply dismissed. Heena had hired the most prominent and genuinely devout high priest from another empire to oversee the palace church.
This man was not a bastard, not a fake, not a political appointee. He was a literal high priest who genuinely believed in God with every fiber of his being. He was a completely devout follower who had spent forty years in religious service, and he took spiritual discipline *very* seriously.
He definitely wasn’t there because of any male lead halo, nor because of political support from the palace. He literally, genuinely believed in God and strict religious observance.
And so Raphael’s whole life turned into living hell.
He couldn’t eat spicy food—too indulgent for the soul. He couldn’t consume meat—killing animals was against the pure path. He couldn’t eat fried food—grease and oil were worldly pleasures. He couldn’t even eat proper salt—only rock salt was permitted, and sometimes it was far too salty, other times it had no salt at all.
It was literal culinary torture.
The daily schedule was equally brutal: wake at 4 AM for dawn prayers, cold water baths regardless of weather, six hours of prayer and meditation, two hours of copying religious texts by hand, simple meals of unseasoned grain and vegetables, more prayer, then sleep on a hard wooden bed with no cushions.
No books except religious texts. No music. No conversation beyond what was absolutely necessary. No comfort whatsoever.
The high priest explained kindly but firmly: "This is the path to spiritual purification, my son. You have asked to atone for your sins, and atonement requires sacrifice."
Raphael, trapped by his own guilty conscience and his public commitment to this path, could only nod and accept.
Taking care of him wasn’t a big deal for the palace—he was just one consort in an isolated building with one strict priest. Easy to manage, easy to forget about.
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As for Adrian and Kieran, Heena had essentially left them alone.
Adrian’s main power base had always been his connection to the northern military through his father’s influence. And now that his father’s power was weakened—stripped of wealth and authority through the divorce settlement—Adrian was weakened too.
He spent his days trying to rebuild connections, writing letters to former allies, attending military strategy sessions where he was increasingly ignored. Without his family’s backing, he was just another educated nobleman with opinions nobody particularly valued.
Kieran was in a similar situation. His mother’s divorce had shattered the carefully constructed alliance between his family and several northern territories. He still had his personal combat skills, but political influence? Gone.
Both men essentially had to fend for themselves now, managing their own affairs with drastically reduced resources and influence.
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As for Lucian... well.
After his mother’s divorce was finalized, she had requested a private meeting with her son.
Lucian had arrived expecting perhaps an emotional conversation, maybe some tears, possibly even reconciliation.
Instead, his mother had beaten him.
Not symbolically. Not verbally.
Physically beaten him.
She’d grabbed a heavy wooden cane—the kind used for walking by elderly people—and she’d attacked him with the fury of a woman who’d endured decades of humiliation and betrayal.
She’d struck him across the shoulders, the back, the legs, screaming about his cowardice, his silence during her divorce proceedings, his failure to defend her even once.
And then she’d brought the cane down on his left knee with such force that something had audibly cracked.
Lucian had collapsed, screaming, and she’d stood over him with cold satisfaction and said: "Now you know what it feels like to be broken. I hope you think of me every time you limp."
Then she’d walked out, leaving him bleeding and injured on the floor.
Palace physicians had treated him, but the damage was permanent. The knee would never fully heal. Lucian would walk with a pronounced limp for the rest of his life—crippled in one leg.
And of course, Heena had done nothing to intervene or punish Lucian’s mother.
Because no matter if she was Empress, ruler, sovereign authority—you could never come between a mother and son in matters of familial punishment. Even God wouldn’t dare interfere in that sacred relationship.
So Heena had simply let it happen.
Lucian could still do his consort duties—attend ceremonies, fulfill social obligations—but being crippled was a massive problem for someone whose identity had been built on grace, elegance, and physical perfection.
He’d gone from being the most beautiful, most sought-after consort to being the one people pitied or avoided looking at directly.
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But Heena wasn’t finished with her revenge on the consorts.
Oh no.
She’d recently introduced a new element to torment them: younger male companions for their mothers.
Beautiful men, carefully selected and trained to be exactly the type each duchess would find attractive. Men who were kind, attentive, genuinely interested in these women who’d been ignored and abused for decades.
For Kieran’s mother—who valued strength and loyalty—Heena had introduced a retired military officer, handsome and respectful, who treated her like a queen.
For Adrian’s mother—who craved intellectual conversation and emotional depth—Heena had found a scholar and poet who actually listened to her thoughts and opinions.
For Lucian’s mother—who wanted passion and excitement after years of cold neglect—Heena had arranged for a charismatic merchant with a talent for making her laugh.
For Damien’s stepmother—who simply wanted peace and genuine affection—Heena had introduced a kind estate manager who brought her flowers and asked about her day.
And all four women were now on the verge of remarriage.
The consorts were about to get stepfathers—men who were younger, kinder, and far more attentive than they’d ever been to their mothers.
The irony was exquisite.
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Through all of this political maneuvering and personal revenge, Heena was calmly sitting in her office, signing documents.
Work, work, work. Always work. Non-stop work.
The only person who truly caused her ongoing problems was Damien. He still had his spy network, still had hidden resources, still occasionally tried to create trouble.
But whenever he caused a problem, Heena had developed a simple solution: she would identify and destroy one of his secret business headquarters.
When that happened, Damien would be frantically busy for several months dealing with the financial and organizational fallout, trying to rebuild what she’d destroyed.
And just when he’d get everything stabilized and start causing trouble again, Heena would blast another one of his operations.
It was remarkably effective. Damien simply didn’t have the time or energy to seriously irritate her anymore—he was constantly playing defense, trying to protect what little power base he had left.
As for Kieran and Adrian—well, as mentioned before, they were already busy trying to survive their drastically reduced circumstances.
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Heena spent half of each month working in her office.
Secretary Chen absolutely refused to let her leave. The moment she tried to escape, he’d appear with another stack of documents and a cheerful smile that promised suffering if she didn’t comply.
And the moment Heena finally managed to hit her head on her pillow at night, she would fall asleep instantly.
Don’t call her an old woman—anyone who signed as many documents as she did would be exhausted. Her brain was completely drained by the end of each day.