The golden doors swung open with a heavy groan. Two guards in imperial armor stood at attention, their voices booming through the vast dining hall.
"Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Celeste Ravencourt!"
Heena stepped through, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
The dining hall was massive—vaulted ceilings painted with ancient battles, crystal chandeliers casting warm light over a table long enough to seat thirty. But tonight, only six chairs were set. Five on one side, one alone on the other.
Her five husbands stood at their seats, and damn, the holograms didn't do them justice.
Prince Kieran was closest—tall, broad-shouldered, silver hair pulled back in a warrior's knot. Those ice-blue eyes tracked her movement like a predator watching prey. His hand rested casually on his sword hilt. Not threatening, just... ready.
Beside him, Duke Adrian adjusted his glasses, dark hair perfectly styled. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, golden eyes cold and distant. A ledger sat by his plate—even at dinner, he worked. Probably calculating how much her funeral would cost.
General Lucian didn't bother hiding his disgust. Scarred face, muscular build barely contained in formal attire, he looked like he'd been dragged from a battlefield. His jaw clenched as she approached.
High Priest Raphael at least tried to appear neutral, his beautiful face serene, white-blonde hair almost glowing in the candlelight. But those violet eyes held judgment. She could practically hear him praying for her soul.
And Lord Damien at the end—the pretty one with the poison expertise. Black hair, sharp green eyes that missed nothing, and a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He raised a wine glass slightly, almost like a toast. Or a promise.
"Gentlemen," Heena said, her voice clear and steady. Not the timid whisper the original Celeste used. "How lovely that you all decided to join me tonight."
She walked to her isolated chair, silk dress flowing behind her. Every eye followed her movement. The servants along the walls looked nervous, probably expecting an explosion.
The original Celeste would've been shaking, desperate for their attention, begging them to sit closer. She'd make awkward conversation, drink too much wine, and cry herself to sleep after they left.
Heena? She sat down like she owned the place—because technically, she did.
"Please, sit." She gestured gracefully.
They sat in perfect unison, like they'd rehearsed it. Probably had. Five powerful men, unified in exactly one thing: their hatred for her.
Servants rushed forward with the first course. Heena noticed the slight tremor in the young girl's hands as she poured wine into the empress's crystal glass. Red wine, expensive vintage, probably from Adrian's private collection.
Also definitely poisoned.
Heena didn't touch it yet, watching her husbands instead. Kieran ate mechanically, military precision in every movement. Adrian barely touched his food, focused on the papers beside his plate. Lucian drank heavily—his third glass already. Raphael said a quiet blessing. Damien watched her, that unsettling smile still in place.
"I heard the northern borders are secure," Heena said casually, cutting into her food. "Your soldiers performed admirably, Prince Kieran."
Kieran's fork paused mid-air. He looked at her like she'd sprouted a second head. The original Celeste never asked about military matters—she'd been too busy whining about being ignored.
"...Yes," he said slowly, suspicion clear in his tone. "We drove back the raiders."
"Good. And Duke Adrian, the trade negotiations with the eastern merchants—are they proceeding smoothly?"
Adrian's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "Since when do you care about trade?"
Heena smiled, unbothered. "I've always cared about the empire. Perhaps I was too focused on the wrong things before." She took a bite of food, letting that sink in. "I'd like to review the treasury reports tomorrow. There are some expenditures I want to understand better."
Now all five were staring at her. Even Raphael looked confused.
"You want to review the treasury?" Adrian repeated, like she'd suggested burning it down.
"I am the empress." Heena met his golden eyes steadily. "It's my responsibility, isn't it?"
Silence fell over the table, thick and uncomfortable. This wasn't the script they'd prepared for. The desperate, emotional woman they'd planned to kill was gone, replaced by someone who actually seemed competent.
Damien leaned back in his chair, studying her with new interest. "You seem different tonight, Your Majesty."
"Do I?" Heena reached for her wine glass, fingers wrapping around the stem. She saw the flicker in Damien's eyes—anticipation. "Perhaps I've had time to reflect on my mistakes."
She lifted the glass, swirling the deep red liquid. All five men tensed imperceptibly. Lucian's hand moved toward his knife. Kieran's posture shifted, ready to move. Adrian closed his ledger. Raphael's lips moved in silent prayer. Damien's smile widened.
They were waiting. Waiting for her to drink. Waiting for the poison to take effect. Waiting to watch her die.
Heena brought the glass to her lips, maintaining eye contact with Damien across the table.
"To new beginnings," she said softly.
And drank deeply.