Reborn as the Psycho Villainess Who Ate Her Slave Beasts' Contracts-Chapter 189 --

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

The walk back was longer than the walk there. Each step required focus. The headache had spread, a band of pressure wrapping around her entire skull. Heat pulsed under her skin in waves—still subtle enough to hide, but getting worse.

[26:52:17]

Twenty-six hours. She’d lost two hours to that pointless meeting and gained six new political enemies.

Worth it, she decided. At least now they knew she wouldn’t be pushed.

They reached her chambers. Mira took one look at her face and paled. "Your Highness—"

"I know," Elara said, sinking onto the sofa. "Get Cullens. And Demorti. They should know it’s starting early."

Mira fled.

The System mouse settled on the cushion beside her. "You couldn’t just rest like a normal person," it said without heat. "Had to go intimidate nobles while poisoned."

"They needed intimidating," Elara said. Her eyes closed. "And I’m always poisoned now. That’s the baseline."

"Fair point."

Footsteps in the hallway—multiple sets. Cullens arrived first, medical case in hand, expression already shifting into professional concern. Demorti was right behind him, sharp eyes cataloguing her condition instantly.

"Your Highness," Cullens said, kneeling beside the sofa. "May I?"

She held out her wrist. He took her pulse, pressed fingers to her forehead, made a small concerned sound.

"Fever’s started," he confirmed. "Heart rate elevated. This is earlier than expected—" He shot a look at Demorti. "What happened?"

"Meeting with Count Meriveth’s faction," Demorti said quietly. "They attempted to pressure Her Highness into marriage negotiations. She... declined firmly."

"How firmly?" Cullens asked, still monitoring her pulse.

"Firmly enough that this servant expects three formal complaints to reach the Emperor by morning," Demorti said.

Despite the pain, Elara almost smiled. "They deserved it."

"They probably did," Cullens agreed. "But stress accelerates the poison’s cycle. You’ve burned through six hours of buffer time." He released her wrist. "The spike will hit sooner than projected. Tonight, most likely. Possibly within hours."

The countdown timer flickered, recalculating: [04:15:33]

Four hours.

"Wonderful," Elara muttered.

"I’ll have the containment chamber prepared," Demorti said immediately. "Cooling arrays, suppressants, guards rotated—"

"Do it," Elara said. Her head was pounding so hard now that even the dim light hurt. "Ken stays close. Everyone else in shifts. No human servants in the room once it starts."

"Already arranged, Your Highness."

Cullens was preparing something—a draught, dark liquid in a small vial. "This will help with the pain until the episode peaks. It won’t stop what’s coming, but it will take the edge off."

Elara took it without argument and drank. Bitter. Medicinal. It settled in her stomach like cold water.

"Rest now," Cullens said gently. "You have a few hours. Use them."

She nodded, too tired to argue.

Demorti bowed. "This servant will ensure preparations are complete. Your Highness need only focus on enduring."

They left. Ken remained, silent sentinel by the door.

The System mouse climbed onto her shoulder. "You know what the worst part is?" it said quietly.

"What?"

"You were right," it admitted. "That meeting was politically necessary. They were testing you. And you passed." It sighed. "But now you’re going to suffer for it."

"Worth it," Elara said again. She meant it.

"Yeah," the System said. "I know you do. That’s the problem."

Four hours later, when the fever spiked and her magic tore through her control like fire through paper, Elara held onto one clear thought before consciousness dissolved into heat and need and chaos:

At least Meriveth’s smug face had looked satisfyingly shocked when she’d shut him down.

Worth it.

Definitely worth it.

.

.

The heat came in waves.

Elara had retreated to the prepared containment chamber two hours before the spike hit—Cullens’ insistence, Demorti’s efficient coordination. The room was smaller than her regular chambers, walls reinforced with magical dampening arrays that glowed faintly blue in the dim light. Heavy curtains blocked the windows. The air was cooler here, almost cold, but it didn’t help.

She sat on the edge of the bed, hands gripping the sheets, focusing on breathing. In. Out. Controlled. Clinical. Just another biological process to endure.

The countdown timer had disappeared. Replaced by: [EPISODE ACTIVE - DURATION: 00:00:47]

Forty-seven minutes since it started.

Her skin felt like it was burning from the inside. Not painful, exactly—worse than that. It was *need*, raw and insistent, crawling through her nerves and demanding attention. Her magic writhed under her skin, pressing against her control like a living thing trying to break free.

She hated it.

Not with emotion—she didn’t process emotions correctly. But with the cold, analytical hatred of inefficiency. Of something that stripped away her ability to think clearly and turned her into a mindless collection of base responses.

"Your Highness." Ken’s voice, carefully neutral, from his position by the door. He was the only one in the room—the only one allowed. Beast knight, strong enough to withstand the magical drain when her control broke. Professional enough not to comment on what he was witnessing.

"I’m fine," Elara said. Her voice came out rougher than intended, breathless.

"Your magic is flaring," Ken said quietly. "You should lie down before—"

Another wave hit. This one stronger. Elara’s fingers clenched in the sheets as heat pulsed through her entire body, concentrated low in her abdomen. Her magic surged in response, flooding her channels so fast she gasped. The dampening arrays on the walls flared brighter, absorbing the excess, but it wasn’t enough.

She felt her control slip.

"Ken," she managed. "Out."

"Your Highness, I’m ordered to stay—"

"*Out*." The word came out sharper, more desperate. "I don’t want... I can’t..."

She didn’t finish. Couldn’t explain that having him there—having anyone there—while this happened felt like being flayed open. Like every shred of privacy and dignity was being stripped away while someone watched.

Ken hesitated. She could see the conflict in his face—orders versus her direct command. Professional duty versus whatever instinct told him she needed to be alone.

"I’ll be right outside," he said finally. "Call if you need anything."

The door closed.

Elara exhaled shakily. Alone. Good. That was—

The next wave knocked the thought apart.

Heat exploded through her system like wildfire. Her magic *screamed* for release, tearing at her control with claws she couldn’t see. The dampening arrays flared so bright they hurt to look at, draining power as fast as she leaked it, but still it built and built and—

She doubled over, forehead pressing to her knees, hands clutching the sheets so hard she heard fabric tear. Her breathing came in short, sharp gasps that didn’t bring enough air. Everything was too hot, too tight, too *much*.

The System mouse appeared in front of her face, expression serious for once. "Host, your vitals are spiking dangerously. You need to—"

"I know," Elara bit out. "I *know*. I can’t—control—"

"Stop trying to control it," the System said. "That’s making it worse. You’re fighting the surge instead of letting it discharge naturally. Your channels are going to rupture if you keep—"

"I don’t know *how* to stop," Elara said through gritted teeth. Because that was the truth. Her entire existence was built on control, on processing information and making optimal decisions. Letting go—surrendering to something irrational and mindless—went against every instinct she had.

Even if those instincts were killing her.

"Just breathe," the System said. "Stop fighting. Let the magic flow out instead of bottling it. The arrays will catch it."