The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 117: Suggestion

SOREN

She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

Even now, especially now. Days from death, her power sealed away, her fire extinguished. Staring down at her own palm like she was witnessing the concept of cold for the first time, and finding it more precious than any crown, any kingdom, any conquest.

My chest ached with it. Too full. Too much. It felt like my heart might splinter my ribs, like the organ itself had grown too large for its cage, expanding to hold emotions I’d spent a lifetime convincing myself I wasn’t built to feel. It pressed against bone, desperate for more room, more space, more everything, because loving her required more than a human heart could contain.

I wanted to kiss her.

Wanted it so fiercely my hands trembled with the effort not to. Every muscle fought the instinct to bridge the space between us, to tell her, without words, without restraint, how afraid I’d been, how close I’d come to losing her, how the idea of existing in a world without her was like being asked to breathe underwater.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t. Not yet. Not while she was still healing, still learning what it meant to be cold, still trying to understand the absence of flame that had defined her entire life.

So I held her instead.

Listened as she murmured to herself that freezing was beautiful, that cold could be something worth craving, and I memorized every word. Because this... this was Eris stripped bare of armor, without walls or masks or the sharp edge she used to keep the world at bay.

This was her truth.

And it was undoing me in the gentlest, most devastating way.

"Maybe you’re right," I said finally, voice rougher than I meant. "Maybe you’ve been in the water long enough."

Her eyes snapped up to mine, startled. She’d expected me to argue, to insist she stay submerged for the full time the river demanded, to be the practical, careful man I always was when it came to keeping her alive.

But practicality could go to hell.

She wanted out. Wanted to feel cold somewhere that wasn’t drowning her. And gods, I wanted to give her everything she wanted, even when it was reckless, even when it went against reason.

"But we’re staying in the cave," I added, shifting her weight against me because holding her was easier than watching her stumble on unsteady legs. "A few days, at least. Until you’re steady again."

She opened her mouth, ready to argue, as always but I was already moving.

Wading toward the bank, her body cradled close, both of us dripping with water that shimmered blue-white until it met stone and dimmed to ordinary liquid again, bound by normal rules that didn’t dare exist in the river’s current.

I stepped onto the crystalline shore and stopped. Looked around.

Now it had to be livable.

Not just survivable... survival was second nature to us... but livable. A space where she could rest, not merely exist on the edge of collapse.

Magic answered when I called.

Not the war-forged kind I’d unleashed on the Syvrak. Not the divine surge I’d used to command the river. This was gentler. Domestic, even. Ice magic meant for creation rather than destruction, for comfort rather than conquest.

Frost bloomed from beneath my boots, spreading over the cave floor.

Not slick, treacherous ice, but something different, solid, textured just enough for grip, faintly warm despite its frozen nature. It lifted itself into a smooth platform a short distance from the water’s edge, high enough for runoff to drain away, wide enough for two people to stretch out side by side.

Then I raised the ice above it.

It arched upward in sweeping curves, forming a crystalline alcove that would shield us from drafts while leaving the front open to the river’s glow. The walls shimmered with etched patterns that caught and scattered the light, making the entire structure pulse as if alive.

Next came the furs.

Not conjured from nothing, even I had limits but drawn from the energy in the air, from the moisture, from the divine residue that lingered in every stone here. White, soft, thick enough to insulate without smothering, they layered across the platform in a bed of warmth born from frost.

Then the frost-woven blankets.

They looked like spun silver and felt softer than any fabric ever crafted by mortal hands. They didn’t melt. Didn’t decay. They held heat instead of stealing it, magic made tangible, permanent, eternal.

I studied the space, ensuring every detail was perfect, comfortable, safe, worthy of her.

"If you’re waiting for my approval," Eris murmured dryly from my arms, "it’s adequate."

I looked down at her.

That faint smirk. That spark of humor. Just enough to tell me she was impressed, though she’d rather swallow fire than say it outright.

Gods, I couldn’t get enough of her.

I carried her into the alcove and laid her carefully among the furs, making sure she was steady before I pulled back, creating distance that felt like a small act of self-preservation.

She immediately frowned.

"What?" I asked, even though I already knew.

"These clothes." She pinched at the soaked fabric clinging to her skin, her disgust clear. "They’re heavy. Uncomfortable. I feel like I’m wearing half the damn river."

I couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped me. I understood more than I wanted to admit.

I was soaked too, and the steady sound of water dripping from my clothes was starting to drive me absolutely mad.

But the only solution that came to mind was... not ideal.

Definitely not ideal.

I said it anyway.

"We could strip naked and hold each other for warmth."

It came out teasing, light, like a joke. Like it wasn’t something I was seriously considering, because if I admitted that the idea of her body pressed against mine was the best thought I’d ever had, I’d lose what little self-control I still had.

Eris went still.

Then color flooded her cheeks.

Not the angry red that signaled her temper or her fire waking. Not the heat of fever or the flush of power. This was something else, soft, human, spreading down her neck in a delicate wash that made her look almost shy.