Chapter 493 --493
The Empress’s smile remained fixed, though it looked a fraction more rigid than before. "How about having some tea and water before I let you go to your duties? It is only proper for the palace to host you correctly."
Heena really was in her absolute most ruthless era. Knowing she was living on a rapidly ticking clock thanks to her brain tumor gave her an incredibly freeing, zero-regrets attitude. Why on earth should she care about offending anyone when she was already dying anyway?
She looked directly into the Empress’s eyes, her own face breaking into a soft, overly sweet smile.
"Oh, no, no, Your Majesty, it is quite fine," Heena replied, her voice perfectly light and airy. "After all, the time I would have been given to sit down and enjoy tea and water... I just spent it standing outside your door. I think I have already received more than enough hospitality for one morning."
The Empress’s jaw physically clenched. The muscles feathered tightly under her perfectly powdered skin for just a millisecond before she forced her expression back into a serene calm.
But that microscopic slip was exactly what Heena wanted to see. She was actively prodding the beast. Any normal noble would have been terrified to speak to the Empress like that, but Heena was intentionally testing the limits of this ’benevolent, pitiful mother figure’ persona. She wanted to see exactly how much truth lay behind the immaculate mask.
First of all, Heena didn’t buy the Head Maid’s punishment for a single second. She absolutely did not believe that a seasoned palace servant would ever dare to make the Vanguard heir stand outside like a stray dog without the Empress’s explicit, calculated permission.
Secondly, Heena was deeply suspicious of the harem’s political dynamics. According to the intelligence she had gathered, the Empress was universally praised for her boundless kindness. Yet, hilariously, in all these years, the Emperor did not have a single favored concubine to rival her. He supposedly spent the vast majority of his time exclusively in the Empress’s courtyard, doting on her and playing with her child.
Who in their right mind would believe that was solely because he loved her so purely? The political math simply didn’t add up.
Even if it was true love, Heena refused to believe that a fiercely intelligent woman holding the absolute power of the Empress would ever benevolently ’share’ her man with a harem and remain perfectly sweet and unjealous about it. It defied basic human nature. There were no Mother Teresas or Saint Marys sitting on golden thrones. You did not survive the bloodbath of the Imperial Court with a heart of pure gold.
And if this Empress truly did possess such a beautiful, flawless, saintly heart... Heena fully intended to push her until that heart cracked wide open.
### ’’The Cracking Mask’’
The silence in the opulent room grew so heavy it felt as though the air itself had solidified.
The Empress stared at Heena, the terrifyingly perfect smile still plastered across her delicate features, but the warmth in her eyes had completely evaporated. For a fleeting, microscopic moment, the grand illusion of the benevolent mother of the empire shattered, revealing the cold, reptilian gaze of a woman who had clawed her way to the top of a mountain of corpses.
She saw Heena not as a grieving daughter or a sickly child, but as a direct, unyielding threat.
"You truly are the spitting image of the old Marquis," the Empress finally said, her voice dropping a fraction of an octave, shedding some of its sickening sweetness. She slowly picked up her porcelain teacup, taking a delicate sip to mask the tension in her jaw. "The Vanguard has always possessed a... ’unique’ bluntness. It is a trait the Emperor values deeply on the battlefield. Though, one might argue it is less suited for the delicate harmony of the inner palace."
"Harmony is a beautiful concept, Your Majesty," Heena replied smoothly, her dark, fox-like eyes locking onto the Empress. "But my grandfather always taught me that true peace is only achieved when your enemies are too terrified to draw their swords. I suppose my family is just used to a different kind of etiquette."
The Empress slowly lowered her teacup. The porcelain clinked sharply against the saucer.
"Indeed," the Empress murmured, her gaze entirely unreadable. She gracefully raised her hand, signaling to the shadows of the room. A eunuch, who had been holding his breath in the corner, immediately scurried forward carrying a small, intricately carved silver tray. Resting on the velvet cushion was a heavy jade token inscribed with the Imperial crest.
"This is the official seal of the Royal Tutor," the Empress stated, gesturing gracefully toward the tray. "His Majesty has decreed that you are to instruct the Ninth Prince in military strategy, martial discipline, and the honorable ways of the Vanguard. The boy is... spirited. He has a brilliant mind but lacks the stern hand required to mold it. The Emperor believes the Marcuset family’s legendary discipline is exactly what the Prince needs."
Heena looked at the jade token. ’Spirited’ was court-speak for an unruly, spoiled brat who terrorized his previous tutors. The Emperor wasn’t just giving her a job; he was handing her a political landmine. If she failed to control the prince, the Vanguard looked weak. If she punished the prince too harshly, she risked the wrath of the Imperial family.
It was a flawless trap.
Heena reached out and picked up the heavy jade token, its cold surface a stark contrast to the boiling heat of the chili broth still lingering in her stomach.
"I am deeply honored by Their Majesties’ absolute trust," Heena said, her voice completely devoid of any actual honor. She smoothly stood up, the deep wine-colored silk of her robes falling perfectly into place. "I assure you, I will treat the Ninth Prince with the exact same level of ruthless discipline that my grandfather used to forge the Vanguard army. He will learn... quickly."
The Empress’s eyes narrowed slightly at the thinly veiled threat. "I expect nothing less, Lady Seera. The eunuch will guide you to the Ninth Prince’s pavilion. You are dismissed."
Heena offered a perfectly measured, entirely superficial nod—no bow, no curtsy—and turned her back on the most powerful woman in the empire.
The moment Heena stepped out of the suffocating, incense-filled pavilion and into the crisp morning air, her body immediately betrayed her.
A sharp, electric spike of agony shot from the base of her skull straight behind her eyes. Her vision swam, the white marble of the courtyard blurring into a blinding, harsh glare. The aggressive painkillers were fighting a brutal war against the expanding tumor in her brain, and the chemical toxicity was making her stomach violently heave.
She paused near a massive, carved stone pillar, resting her hand against the cold surface to ground herself.
’"Host, your heart rate is spiking to dangerous levels,"’ the System’s voice echoed urgently in her mind. ’"The chemical suppressants are putting massive strain on your liver. You need to sit down."’
’’Shut up,’’ Heena commanded fiercely, gritting her teeth. She closed her eyes, forcing her breathing into a slow, rhythmic pattern. ’’I cannot show a single ounce of weakness here. The Empress’s spies are watching every step I take.’’