Ken had finished cleaning the pan and set it on its hook and was sitting at the small table with his hands around a cup that had gone cold.

They had not spoken in a while.

"She read the assessment," Mahir said, eventually. Not a question.

"She confirmed everything," Ken said.

"She’ll come back."

"Yes."

Another silence. The torch on the wall moved slightly in a draft that came from somewhere the architecture didn’t explain.

"Do you think—" Ken started.

"Yes," Mahir said.

"You don’t know what I was going to ask."

"You were going to ask if I think she’s worth it."

Ken was quiet for a moment. "Are you going to answer?"

Mahir looked at the ceiling. His tail moved once against the upholstery — not the reflexive warmth of seeing her, the other kind, the slower and more considered kind.

If Elara had known that "Empress" was simply another word for "Target for Desperate Social Climbers," she might have stayed in bed. Between the soul-crushing mountain of paperwork and her physically demanding late-night sessions with Mahir and Ken, she was running on fumes.

She was acutely aware that her human body couldn’t match the freakish stamina of beastmen. Even when she was the one holding the metaphorical—and literal—leash during their BDSM plays, the sheer physical exertion left her drained. The beastmen didn’t seem to have a "stop" button, and the empire definitely didn’t have one either.

To keep the gears of the state turning while her administrators looked like they were one step away from a funeral pyre, Elara had begun hiring commoners. She found they worked twice as hard for half the ego. She tucked them into roles as secretaries and assistants, slowly building a system of her own. She was careful, though; she wouldn’t hand out high-ranking titles to just anyone without experience. She preferred her own trained "Shadows" and the exhausted-but-loyal administrators who were currently scattered across cities like Ling and Liang, managing her merchant groups and information networks.

But the real headache wasn’t the economy—it was the nobles.

A few weeks ago, these old bastards were red-faced with rage at the thought of a woman on the throne. Now that she was settled in, they had pivoted with terrifying speed. They didn’t want to overthrow her anymore; they wanted to marry her. Suddenly, the palace was crawling with noble sons being thrown at her like free vegetables at a closing market.

Every walk through the garden became an obstacle course. Elara would be heading toward a meeting when a young lord would suddenly "trip" over thin air, sprawling out on the marble in front of her. He’d look up with a practiced, pitiful expression, murmuring about how her radiance had blinded him.

They were hitting every trope in the book. She dealt with the "Stoic CEO" types who glared at her with intense, smoldering eyes; the "Submissive Pets" who practically whimpered when she walked by; and the "Golden Retrievers" who trailed her with annoying, sunny optimism. It was so transparent it was insulting.

Even her own guards had turned it into a game. As she passed a corridor, she could hear them whispering behind their helmets, placing bets on whether the next suitor to "accidently" run into her would be the Brooding Poet or the Arrogant Knight.

By the time she reached the dungeon to see Mahir and Ken, she felt like she’d survived a war. She collapsed onto the sofa, the luxury of the room mocking the "prison" status of its inhabitants.

"You look like you’ve been chased by a mob," Ken remarked, turning from the stove with a smirk. "Did the paperwork finally grow teeth?"

"Worse," Elara groaned, rubbing her temples. "The Duke of Oakhaven’s son tried to ’rescue’ me from a butterfly earlier. He fell into a fountain. On purpose."

Mahir chuckled, his tail swaying lazily as he watched her. "The price of the crown, Your Majesty. Everyone wants to be the one to ’tame’ the Empress. Though, I think they’d be horrified if they saw what you actually do with your free time."

Elara looked at the two of them—well-fed, rested, and safe from the matrimonial circus upstairs. "I’m considering making the dungeon larger," she muttered. "If I have to see one more noble son ’accidentally’ lose his shirt in the hallway, I’m sending him down here to wash your dishes."

Her smile had vanished moments ago, replaced by a weary, dangerous sort of amusement. She leaned back, watching them with narrowed eyes. "So, tell me. While I’ve been out there dodging marriage proposals and saving the economy, what have you two been planning in your little five-star cell?"

The air in the room shifted, the domestic warmth of Ken’s cooking being replaced by a heavy, syrupy tension. Mahir didn’t hesitate; he moved with the fluid grace of a predator who had spent days coiled and waiting. He sank to his knees in front of her, the chains on his ankles clinking softly against the plush rug. Without a word, he lifted her leg, his touch firm yet reverent. He pressed a kiss to the top of her foot, his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made the chaos of the nobles upstairs feel like a distant, fading dream.

"Nothing, Your Majesty," he murmured, his voice vibrating against her skin as he leaned his weight against her knee. "We have just been waiting for the moment the world finally let you go, so you could come back to us."

Elara didn’t pull away. Instead, she let out a long, shuddering breath, the exhaustion in her muscles beginning to melt into a different kind of heaviness. She turned her gaze lazily toward Ken. He had abandoned his post at the stove, stepping closer until he was looming just at the edge of her personal space.

She shifted her position, leaning her head against her hand on the armrest, her eyes hooded as she watched him. The "Empress" mask was slipping, leaving only the woman who was tired of being hunted by men she didn’t want.

Ken leaned forward, his face coming into the light, his expression stripped of its usual playful smirk. There was a raw, hungry honesty in his eyes that no noble son could ever hope to mimic.

"I have been missing you, Your Majesty," he said, his voice a low, rough growl that skipped down her spine. "So many days is a long time to keep a beast in a cage, even one as nice as this."

Elara felt the corner of her mouth twitch. This was the only place in the entire empire where she didn’t have to worry about someone tripping over their own feet to impress her. Here, the danger was real, but it was a danger she owned.

"Is that so?" she whispered, her fingers trailing absently along the velvet of the armchair. "And here I thought you two were enjoying the vacation. It seems I’ve underestimated how much you’ve missed your... duties."

The air in the room grew thick and heavy. Elara sat on the sofa, her face calm and cold like always. No smile. No softness in her eyes. She looked at Mahir and Ken with the same flat stare she used for paperwork.

Mahir knelt in front of her without being told. He lifted her leg gently but firmly. He pressed his mouth to the top of her foot, then slowly kissed up her ankle and calf.