The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 182: MIDNIGHT AFTER

ERIS

Consciousness returned slowly, like wading through honey.

For a blissful handful of seconds, I didn’t remember where I was or what had happened. There was only the soft glow of bioluminescent light painting patterns across my closed eyelids, the distant sound of water flowing over stones, and a bone-deep exhaustion that suggested I’d survived something physically demanding.

And then memory crashed back in with all the subtlety of a collapsing building.

The forest. The conversation. The way Soren’s eyes had glowed with ice magic and barely restrained desire. His hands on my body. His mouth everywhere. The way he’d systematically taken me apart with nothing but his fingers and his voice and his absolute refusal to let me maintain any dignity whatsoever.

The way I’d fallen apart. Repeatedly.

Heat flooded my face so quickly I was surprised I didn’t actually combust. My entire body went rigid with mortification, every muscle tensing as I replayed what had just happened in excruciating detail.

What had I done?

No, worse... what had I let him do?

I’d begged. Actually begged. Me. The Fire Queen who’d burned men alive for less than disrespect, reduced to whimpering please while Soren smiled down at me like a man who’d just won every strategic objective he’d set for himself.

Which, to be fair, he probably had.

The phantom sensation of his terrifying size between my thighs pressed together made me shift involuntarily, and immediately I regretted moving because apparently every nerve ending in my body had decided to file a formal complaint about recent activities. There was a pleasant soreness that made certain facts about what we’d done impossible to ignore, even if I desperately wanted to pretend the past hour hadn’t happened.

Where does he even get these ideas?

The thought slipped through unbidden, accompanied by a fresh wave of heat that had nothing to do with my inherent fire magic. Even Caelen, during the brief periods our marriage had been physical rather than purely political torture, had never been that... creative. That thorough. That absolutely determined to watch me lose every shred of control I’d ever possessed.

And the worst part... the absolutely unforgivable part... as usual, was the fresh wave of realization that underneath the mortification, buried beneath layers of embarrassment and the screaming awareness that I’d just crossed about seventeen different lines I’d sworn not to cross...

I’d enjoyed it.

More than enjoyed it. Had wanted it. Had responded to every touch, every word, every deliberate torment with a desperation that suggested my body had been waiting for exactly this kind of attention and had decided my brain’s objections were irrelevant.

Traitor. My entire body was an absolute traitor.

I forced my eyes open, blinking against the soft glow surrounding us, and immediately realized I had a more pressing problem than existential crisis about my terrible life choices.

I tried to sit up, and fabric that should have been covering important parts of my body did absolutely nothing of the sort.

My shift.... What remained of it... hung in tatters across my torso. The torn edges framed my exposed chest like the world’s most obscene portrait, and I was suddenly, viscerally aware that I was essentially topless in a glowing forest beneath a palace while lying next to the Emperor of Nevareth who had caused this entire situation.

"What am I supposed to wear back?!" The words came out sharper than intended, panic and mortification mixing into something approaching genuine anger.

Beside me, Soren made a sound that was absolutely, unmistakably a laugh.

Not even trying to hide it. Just outright laughing at my distress like this was the most entertaining thing that had happened to him all evening.

I turned to glare at him, and found him propped up on one elbow, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. His hair was disheveled and his clothes were rumpled in ways that suggested exactly what kind of activities we’d been engaged in.

But he was fully clothed. While I was decidedly not.

"This is your fault," I hissed, trying to hold the torn fabric together with one hand while maintaining what little dignity I had left. "You tore it.. Like some kind of—of—"

"Like some kind of what?" he asked innocently, though his eyes were dancing with amusement. "Say it Your Majesty. I want to hear what creative insult you’re about to call me."

"Perverted barbarian," I supplied acidly.

"Mm. I’ve been called worse." He sat up fully, movements lazy and satisfied like a cat who’d just caught something particularly tasty. "Though usually not by someone who was moaning my name approximately fifteen minutes ago."

My face went nuclear.

Before I could formulate a response that wouldn’t involve setting him on fire, which I was genuinely considering, he was already moving. Shrugging out of his outer coat with efficient movements, then pulling his tunic over his head in that annoyingly attractive way men did, all casual strength and zero self-consciousness about being bare-chested.

Not that I was looking. I absolutely was not noticing the way muscle shifted under pale skin, or the way the bioluminescent light painted him in shades of blue and green that made him look carved from winter itself.

"Here." He held out the tunic, his expression still carrying that insufferable amusement. "Wear this."

I snatched it from him with more force than necessary, immediately turning my back to struggle into it while trying to maintain some modicum of modesty despite the fact that he’d literally had his hands and mouth on every exposed inch approximately twenty minutes ago.

The tunic was warm from his body heat, far too large on my frame, and smelled overwhelmingly like him, that distinctive scent of ice and something else I couldn’t quite name but had apparently memorized anyway.

I hated how much I didn’t hate it.

Once I was relatively decent, the tunic falling nearly to my knees, sleeves hanging past my fingertips, I tried to stand.

My legs had other ideas.

The moment I put weight on them, they trembled, and I staggered like someone who’d been at sea for weeks and had forgotten how land worked. The soreness in my thighs made itself known with enthusiastic clarity, and I barely caught myself before falling directly back onto the moss.

Soren was there before I’d fully registered the movement, hands steady on my waist, supporting me with the kind of easy strength that shouldn’t have been attractive but absolutely was.

"Easy," he murmured, and there was actual concern threading through the amusement now. "You’re not going to make it back on your own."

"I’m fine," I lied, trying to pull away and immediately proving myself wrong when my legs wobbled again.

He didn’t bother arguing. Just swept me up into his arms with zero warning, one arm under my knees and the other supporting my back, as though I weighed nothing more than a particularly angry cat.

"Put me down," I said, but there was no real force behind it. My body had apparently decided that being carried was significantly better than attempting to walk, and was currently staging a mutiny against my dignity.

"No." He started walking toward the exit, his steps steady despite carrying my weight. "You can’t walk. I’m not leaving you here. Therefore, I’m carrying you. Accept it."

I could have argued. Could have insisted on my independence despite the clear evidence that I was currently about as steady as a newborn foal.

Instead, I made what was possibly my first intelligent decision of the evening and just... let him.

Let my head rest against his shoulder. Let my body relax into his hold. Let myself pretend, just for the walk back to my chambers, that being held like this was something I could allow myself to want.

I even closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep, which was a cowardly move but saved me from having to make conversation or acknowledge what had just happened or deal with any of the approximately seven thousand complicated feelings currently fighting for dominance in my chest.

Soren said nothing, but I felt him smile against my hair. Knew he was perfectly aware I was faking. But he played along, adjusting his grip to be more comfortable, moving through the passages with steady confidence.

We passed fewer people at this hour... whatever hour it was, I’d completely lost track of time... but those we did encounter went absolutely silent. I felt their stares even through closed eyelids, heard the rustle of fabric as they bowed or stepped aside or did whatever one did when the Emperor walked Past carrying his future Empress in his arms at an ungodly hour with her wearing nothing but his tunic.

This was going to be gossip for weeks. Possibly months.

I couldn’t bring myself to care.

Finally, after what felt like both an eternity and not nearly long enough, we reached my chambers. He stopped at the door, and I felt him shift my weight slightly as he presumably reached to open it.

But he didn’t put me down immediately. Just stood there, holding me, in what felt like deliberate prolonging of contact.

"Need help getting to bed?" His voice was pitched low, teasing but with genuine offer underneath.

That snapped me back to full awareness. My eyes flew open and I pushed against his chest with enough force that he had to either set me down or drop me.

He chose the former, lowering me carefully until my feet touched solid ground.

"Absolutely not," I said firmly, already reaching for the door handle. "You’ve helped quite enough for one evening."

"Have I?" His smile was absolutely wicked. "Because I could think of several other ways to help—"

"Out." I pointed down the corridor with one hand while using the other to keep his oversized tunic from sliding off my shoulder. "Now."

He laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender, but he was already backing away. Slowly. Deliberately. Making a show of his reluctance to leave.

When he reached the curve in the corridor, he paused. Then, with the kind of theatrical flair I was beginning to recognize as characteristic, blew me a kiss.

I slammed the door.

But not before I saw his grin widen at my reaction.

Alone in my chambers at last, I leaned heavily against the closed door, letting my forehead press against the cool wood. My breathing was slightly uneven, my heart still beating faster than it should be, every nerve ending still singing with the memory of touch and heat and absolute loss of control.

What had I done?

More importantly... what was I going to do about the fact that I wanted to do it again?

I pushed away from the door, stumbling toward my bed like someone who’d been drugged. My body felt heavy, exhausted in ways that went beyond merely physical.

Everything that had happened... the feast, the confrontations, the forest, Soren... crashed over me in waves until I couldn’t tell which emotion was strongest.

Embarrassment. Satisfaction. Fear. Desire. Confusion. All of them tangling together until I couldn’t separate one from another.

But underneath everything else, one thought emerged with crystal clarity:

My real work began tomorrow.

Whatever complicated feelings were developing between Soren and myself... whatever lines I’d just obliterated... none of that changed my purpose here. I’d come to Nevareth to help remove Vetra’s influence, to do something meaningful with whatever time I had left, to prove I could be more than just the monster Solmire had celebrated being rid of.

Everything else... including the Emperor who’d just thoroughly proven he could make me forget my own name... was secondary to that mission.

I repeated that thought like a mantra as I finally reached my bed and collapsed into it, still wearing Soren’s tunic because I was too exhausted to change properly.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I would figure out how to be a proper future Empress while also systematically dismantling a political power structure and maintaining appropriate distance from a man who’d just proven he could reduce me to helpless pleasure with nothing but determination and apparently very creative ideas about what one could do without actual penetration.

Tomorrow.

Tonight, I would just sleep. And definitely not dream about ice-blue eyes and clever hands and the way he’d smiled while watching me fall apart.

Definitely not.

I was asleep before I could even convince myself that lie had any chance of being true.