The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 157: The Wolf’s Devotion

SOREN

I stood outside her chambers, attempting to project the kind of calm patience expected of emperors while internally counting the minutes with the restraint of a child waiting for festival sweets.

This was ridiculous. I was the Emperor of Nevareth. I had negotiated treaties that shaped the fate of nations. I had faced down military threats that would have made lesser men flee. I had survived Vetra’s upbringing, which alone should have qualified me for sainthood.

And yet here I stood, nervous as a boy at his first formal dance, waiting for a woman to emerge from a room so I could walk her down a corridor.

Pathetic, really.

A bark echoed down the hallway, followed by the distinctive sound of claws scrabbling against marble. I turned just in time to see Bjorn come barreling around the corner, his entire body vibrating with excitement, tail wagging so hard his rear end swayed with the momentum.

He skidded to a stop beside me, panting happily, and stared at the door with the kind of focused intensity usually reserved for hunting.

"She’s not even out yet," I told him, though I knew it was pointless. Bjorn had apparently decided that Eris was the most fascinating thing he’d ever encountered, and no amount of logic was going to dissuade him from this position.

The wolf ignored me entirely, his attention fixed on the door like it might open through sheer force of will.

I looked down at him, at this creature I’d rescued years ago from a trap in the northern mountains. He’d been barely more than a pup then, half-starved and vicious, snapping at anyone who came near. It had taken months to earn his trust, longer still before he’d stopped treating every stranger as a potential threat.

Bjorn was, by nature, asocial. Shy, even, in his own dignified way. He tolerated the palace staff because they fed him. He accepted Aldric’s presence because Aldric had proven himself useful during hunts. But affection? Immediate, overwhelming, embarrassingly obvious affection?

That was unprecedented.

And it was all directed at a woman he’d met approximately three hours ago.

"I don’t understand you," I said conversationally. "You’ve known me for years. I saved your life. I feed you. I let you sleep on furniture that costs more than most people’s houses. And yet you meet her once and act like she hung the moon personally."

Bjorn’s tail wagged harder, still staring at the door.

I sighed, crouching down to his level. "Listen, you spoiled brat. I need you to understand something." I lowered my voice conspiratorially, as though sharing a secret. "Eris is mine. Mine. I can’t share her with you. So whatever this is, this instant devotion, you’re going to need to dial it back."

Bjorn turned his head to look at me, his golden eyes distinctly unimpressed. Then he growled. Actually growled, low and warning, like I was the interloper rather than the man who’d literally raised him from puppyhood.

The betrayal was almost impressive in its completeness.

"Well, I don’t care if you growl at me," I said, straightening up and attempting to maintain some shred of dignity. "You can be as offended as you like. Eris is mine, and that’s final."

"I wasn’t aware," a voice cut through the air, smooth and dangerous as silk over steel, "that I had become a possession."

My breath caught.

The door had opened without me noticing, too focused on my absurd argument with a wolf to hear the latch release. And there, framed in the doorway like some artist’s masterwork brought to life, stood Eris.

The dress was... the dress was...

My brain, usually so reliable with words, stuttered to a complete halt.

Red. Deep, arterial red that should have clashed with her pale hair but instead made her look like winter fire given human form. The fabric caught the light as she moved, shifting through shades of crimson and wine and something darker, richer, that had no name in any language I knew.

The cut was elegant, sophisticated, the kind of thing that spoke to Nevareth’s finest tailors and their understanding of how to dress a woman of power. Fitted through the bodice to emphasize rather than conceal, flowing from the waist in a way that suggested movement without restriction. Sleeves that looked like they’d been woven from moonlight and mercury.

And the neckline.

Gods help me, the neckline.

It was designed to be daring, certainly. Low enough to draw the eye, high enough to maintain propriety. The kind of calculated risk that made statements at court functions.

Except Eris’s body had apparently decided that "daring" was insufficient and had escalated directly to "devastating."

Her breasts strained against the bodice with the kind of architectural defiance that suggested the seamstresses had severely miscalculated their measurements. The ruby pendant resting between them seemed almost superfluous, a decorative accent to something that needed no enhancement.

Every breath she took threatened to turn the evening from diplomatic to scandalous.

I tried to speak. Failed. Tried again.

My mouth had forgotten how words worked.

Bjorn’s sharp bark snapped me back to reality, and I blinked, heat flooding my face as I realized I’d been staring. Openly. For far longer than was remotely appropriate.

Eris’s gaze shifted from me to the wolf, one elegant eyebrow arching. "It seems the beast—"

"Bjorn," I interrupted automatically, then immediately regretted it as her eyes snapped back to me, sharp as blades.

The look she gave me could have flash-frozen a lake. But beneath the irritation, I caught something else, a spark of amusement, maybe, or perhaps just the electric thrill of someone who enjoyed keeping people off-balance.

That look sent electricity racing down my spine, pooling hot and insistent in my core. I’d made her annoyed, and somehow that felt like an achievement.

She held my gaze for one more pointed second before continuing, her tone arch. "It seems Bjorn follows you everywhere you go."

I cleared my throat, trying to remember how to function like a rational adult. "He’s usually very clingy. Especially when I’ve been away for a long time. Apparently, he missed me."

"Hmm." Eris tilted her head, considering the wolf who was now sitting at perfect attention, staring up at her with undisguised adoration. "I wonder who he takes after."

The implication landed with perfect precision. Heat crept up the back of my neck, and I found myself torn between embarrassment and the ridiculous urge to laugh.

She wasn’t wrong.

"You look," I said, changing the subject before I could say something truly embarrassing, "like winter itself decided to take human form and chose violence as its aesthetic."

Her lips curved, just slightly. "Is that meant to be a compliment?"

"The highest," I assured her. "You’re going to terrify half the court and seduce the other half, possibly simultaneously."

"Good," she said simply. "That was the intention."

I offered her my arm, and after a moment’s consideration, she took it. The touch sent warmth spreading through the fabric of my coat, a reminder that beneath the ice-appropriate dress, she was still fire made flesh.

"Ready?" I asked.

"For political warfare disguised as hospitality?" Her smile sharpened. "Always."

We began walking, Bjorn trotting contentedly at her other side, and I found myself thinking that if this was how the evening started, the feast itself was going to be absolutely fascinating.

Or a complete disaster.

Possibly both.