The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 167: A Different Feast

The main course arrived with considerably less ceremony than the first, which was perhaps appropriate given that the assembled nobility had just witnessed what amounted to a carefully orchestrated declaration of war wrapped in wedding announcements and polite applause.

But the servers, bless them, maintained their professional composure as they swept through the Winter Hall bearing platters that actually smelled like someone in the kitchens understood the fundamental concept of seasoning.

Roasted meat, carved from one of the massive ice bears that roamed the Northern Reaches, had been prepared with considerably more care than one might expect from a court that typically favored aesthetic presentation over actual flavor.

The meat was rich and dark, roasted until the exterior carried that perfect char while the interior remained tender, seasoned with herbs that grew in the brief summer months and winter spices that burned pleasantly on the tongue.

Winter vegetables accompanied the meat, roasted until their natural sugars caramelized into something that bordered on decadent. Root vegetables pulled from frozen ground, their flavors concentrated by the cold, glazed with honey and butter until they gleamed like amber. Even the presentation suggested someone had put actual thought into making this meal memorable rather than simply politically significant.

Spiced wine followed, served hot enough to steam in the cool air, carrying notes of cinnamon and clove and something darker that suggested the cellars had been raided for their finest vintage.

The kind of wine meant to warm blood and loosen tongues and perhaps make the nobility forget, just for a moment, that they’d spent the past hour choosing sides in a conflict that might very well tear the empire apart.

At the high table, Eris reached for her wine goblet with hands that remained perfectly steady despite everything that had just transpired. She’d stood before an entire court, challenged the woman who effectively ruled an empire, and emerged not just unscathed but victorious.

And now she was expected to sit and make pleasant conversation while eating roasted bear meat as though the past hour had been nothing more than a minor social inconvenience.

She felt Soren’s hand on her thigh before she registered the movement.

Not the polite, barely-there touch from earlier. This was deliberate, possessive, his palm pressing warm against the fabric of her dress, thick long fingers spreading to claim more territory than was strictly appropriate for a formal dinner. Higher than before. High enough that if anyone had been able to see beneath the table, there would have been considerable scandal.

His voice, when it came, was pitched low enough that only she could hear, barely more than a breath against her ear.

"That was the most arousing thing I have ever witnessed Your Majesty."

Eris kept her expression carefully neutral, though something hot that had nothing to do with her inherent fire flared in her chest. She picked up her fork with deliberate precision, examined the roasted vegetables as though they were the most fascinating thing in the room.

"Control yourself," she murmured back, not looking at him.

His thumb traced a slow, maddening circle against her leg, the touch burning through silk and making her supremely aware of exactly how thin the barrier between his skin and hers actually was.

"I am controlling myself," he replied, his tone suggesting he found this entire situation tremendously entertaining. "If I weren’t, we would have left already. Likely before dessert. Possibly before the main course. Definitely before I had to watch you dismantle the most powerful woman in Nevareth with nothing but words and perfect timing."

Despite her best efforts, despite decades of practice maintaining composure under pressure, Eris felt heat rise to her cheeks. Actual, visible heat that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the absolute absurdity of discussing this at a state dinner while hundreds of nobles pretended not to watch their every move.

She took a sip of wine to cover it, the spiced heat doing nothing to cool the flush spreading across her skin like wildfire.

Soren, because he was observant and terrible and apparently determined to make this evening even more challenging than it already was, noticed immediately. Satisfaction bloomed.

"You’re blushing."

"I am not," Eris said flatly, still not looking at him, focusing intently on cutting her meat into precise, even pieces.

"You are. It’s delightful. Do it again."

She turned to look at him then, her expression perfectly composed except for the dangerous glint in her gold-touched eyes. When she spoke, her voice was sweet as poisoned honey.

"I will stab you with this fork."

"Promise?"His smile widened, became more genuine, more devastating. "Though... I must say... personally I prefer eating you with my bare hands."

For just a moment, Eris forgot they were surrounded by hundreds of watching eyes, forgot that every gesture would be analyzed and dissected and reported throughout the empire. For just a moment, she wanted to laugh, or possibly strangle him, or perhaps both simultaneously.

Instead, she returned her attention to her meal with exaggerated focus, ignoring the way his hand remained on her thigh, warm and present and absolutely improper.

Around them, the feast continued with the kind of forced normalcy that suggested everyone was desperately trying to pretend the past hour hadn’t fundamentally altered the political landscape.

Nobles engaged in careful conversation, their voices pitched to carry just far enough to be overheard by the right people.

Alliances were being tested, reformed, reconsidered. Every word, every gesture, every glance carried weight that would echo through the coming days.

But beneath the careful choreography of court politics, something else was happening.

The congratulatory line was forming.

It started subtly, as these things often did. Duke Konstantin rose from his table with the unhurried deliberation of a man who’d already calculated exactly how this interaction would benefit him.

He approached the high table with his considerable bulk moving smoothly despite his age, his merchant’s mind already tallying potential trade agreements, beneficial arrangements, opportunities that came from being the first to publicly ally himself with the new power structure.