Reborn as the Psycho Villainess Who Ate Her Slave Beasts' Contracts-Chapter 209 --

Elara stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against stone with a harsh sound.

Her expression was completely blank. Empty. But there was something in the way she moved—mechanical, purposeful, wrong—that made the System’s sensors go haywire.

"Host?" it said nervously. "Where are you going? You should rest. Should I call Cullens? Why are you—"

Elara didn’t answer.

Just walked toward the door with swift, determined steps.

The System followed, bobbing anxiously in her wake. "Host, talk to me. What’s happening? Are you feeling another episode? Your magical pressure seems stable but—"

Nothing.

Elara walked through corridors with single-minded focus. Knights bowed as she passed. Servants pressed themselves against walls and curtsied. She acknowledged none of them. Just kept walking, eyes fixed ahead, jaw set.

The System was genuinely panicking now. "HOST. You’re scaring me. What are you doing? Where are we going? ELARA—"

She reached her private chambers.

Mahir stood guard at the door—the wolf-eared knight, tall and broad-shouldered, who’d been on evening rotation. He straightened immediately when he saw her approach.

"Your Highness," he said, bowing. "Is everything—"

Elara grabbed his collar.

Yanked him forward with strength that shouldn’t have been possible for someone her size, using momentum and surprise to pull him off-balance. He stumbled through the doorway and she followed, one hand on his uniform, the other slamming the door shut behind them.

The lock engaged with a heavy click.

"Your Highness, what—" Mahir started, genuine confusion and alarm in his voice.

Elara released his collar only to shove him backward. He hit the edge of the bed and sat down hard, more from shock than force.

"No one is allowed to disturb me," Elara said, voice carrying through the heavy door to the guards outside. "I’ll come out on my own. That’s an order."

Silence from the corridor. Then the sound of footsteps as the other guards repositioned themselves further away, giving privacy they didn’t understand but were commanded to provide.

Inside the room, Mahir stared at Elara with wide eyes.

She reached up with both hands—one pulling at her own collar, loosening the high neck of her formal regent’s coat. The other shrugging out of the jacket entirely, letting the heavy garment slide off her shoulders and drop to the floor with a muffled thud.

She stood there in just the thin undershirt and trousers, looking at Mahir with absolutely cold, empty eyes.

"Strip," she said flatly.

Mahir’s face went through several expressions in rapid succession—shock, confusion, embarrassment, concern. His ears flattened against his skull. "Your Highness, I don’t understand—"

"Strip," Elara repeated. "Remove your uniform. Now."

"Your Highness, if this is about—if you’re experiencing an episode—we should call Cullens, we should—"

"I’m not experiencing an episode." Her voice was completely flat. Clinical. "My magical pressure is stable. My cognitive function is clear. This is a conscious decision. Now follow the order or I’ll remove your uniform myself."

Mahir’s hands went to his collar, fingers shaking slightly. "Your Highness... are you certain? You don’t have to—"

"I’m giving you a direct command." Elara’s gaze was like ice. "Are you refusing?"

The collar at his neck pulsed once—not painfully, just present. Reminding him what he was. What she was. What the hierarchy demanded.

Slowly, Mahir began unfastening his uniform jacket. Removed it with careful movements. Then the undershirt beneath. His movements were hesitant, uncertain, clearly uncomfortable but unable to refuse a direct order from a princess he was bound to serve.

When he was bare-chested, he stopped. Looked at her. "Your Highness, please. Tell me what’s happening. What you need. I can help but I don’t understand—"

Elara walked to the bed and sat down. Cross-legged. Posture rigid. Expression absolutely cold.

"Crawl," she said.

Mahir’s eyes went wide. "What?"

"Get on your knees and crawl to me."

A flush spread across Mahir’s face—embarrassment, confusion, something else he was clearly trying to suppress. His ears were flat against his skull, tail rigid behind him.

"Your Highness, I don’t—this isn’t—"

"That’s an order."

The collar pulsed again. Stronger this time.

Mahir’s jaw clenched. Then, slowly—humiliation visible in every movement—he dropped to his knees. Lowered his hands to the floor. And crawled forward, moving on all fours across the carpet toward the bed where Elara sat watching with those empty, terrible eyes.

When he reached the edge of the bed, he stopped. Looked up at her from his knees, face flushed with shame and confusion.

"Your Highness," he said quietly. "What are you doing?"

Mahir knelt at the edge of the bed, looking up at Elara with eyes that mixed confusion, shame, and unwavering loyalty. His fox ears were pinned flat against his skull, tail rigid behind him. The magical collar at his neck glowed faintly, a constant reminder of his position.

Elara stared down at him.

Her expression was utterly, completely cold. Empty of warmth, empty of compassion. Her dark eyes regarded him like he was an object. A tool. A thing to be used.

"Head down," she said flatly. "Forehead to the floor."

Mahir hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then obeyed, lowering his head until his forehead touched the carpet, hands still at his sides, body tense with humiliation.

Elara watched him for several long seconds. Let the silence stretch. Let him feel the weight of her gaze, the absolute power she held over him.

"Look at me," she said finally.

He lifted his head immediately, eyes meeting hers.

"You exist to serve me," Elara said, voice like ice. "To obey me. To protect me. To ground my magic when I require it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Mahir said, voice hoarse.

Her hand moved. Fast. Without warning.

’Slap.’

The sound cracked through the quiet room. Mahir’s head snapped to the side, cheek immediately reddening. His eyes widened in shock, but he didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Just looked back at her, stunned but obedient.

"Do you ’understand’?" Elara repeated, colder.

"Yes, Your Highness," he said again, quieter this time.

She slapped him again. Harder. The other cheek this time. His head rocked, but he held position.

"You will not question my orders," she said. "You will not hesitate. You will not suggest alternatives unless I request them. Your purpose is obedience. Your pleasure is in obedience. Do you understand?"

’Slap.’

"Yes, Your Highness."

Her handprint stood out starkly on his skin now. He was breathing harder, chest rising and falling rapidly, but his eyes never left hers. Never showed defiance.

"Good." Elara uncrossed her legs, the thin shift riding up her thighs. "Now prove it."

She spread her legs slightly.

Mahir’s eyes dropped immediately to the exposed skin, the implication clear. His throat worked as he swallowed hard.

"Your Highness—"

’Slap.’

"Don’t speak unless spoken to."

Mahir’s mouth snapped shut. He nodded once, eyes dark with something that was equal parts shame and need.

"Crawl closer," Elara ordered.

He did, shuffling forward on his knees until his face was inches from her thighs. Close enough to feel her heat. Close enough to smell her arousal.

Elara’s hand went to his hair, fisting the rust-colored strands roughly. "Head between my legs. Now."

Mahir obeyed instantly, moving forward until his face was pressed against her inner thigh. His breath was hot against her skin, coming in short, ragged bursts.