The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 309: Part III

In the infirmary, the atmosphere was far gentler.

Mira woke to the soft light of the morning, the scent of antiseptic herbs lingering in the air. Her body still ached with the memory of the Ravencrests’ cruelty, but the terror had begun to recede.

Ryse was there. He was always there. He was currently occupied with a tray of breakfast, his movements surprisingly delicate for a man who spent his days breaking bones.

"Is Lady Eris preparing?" Mira asked, her voice a raspy whisper as she tried to sit up.

Ryse reached out, his hand steadying her shoulder with a firm but careful grip. "She is. The noblewomen have her in their clutches. You’ll see her later, once the formal nonsense is over."

Mira offered a small, tired smile. She thought of Eris, the woman who had hunted through the dark of Nevareth to find a lowly maid. "She must be beautiful today."

"She’s a queen," Ryse said, his eyes softening as he looked at Mira. "She’s always beautiful. But she’ll be happier when she has you back by her side."

The morning wore on, a symphony of tension and performance. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

To the city, it was a day of festive beauty, a mask of blue banners and silver bells. To the victims in the Outer District, it was a bitter pill, a mandatory joy that felt like an insult to their grief.

And in the palace, the predators continued to circle. Every gesture was watched, every loyalty was tested.

Eris stood in her chambers, her skin cold, her heart hot, performing the role of the perfect bride while the fire within her screamed for a way out. She missed Soren. She missed the man who didn’t ask her to be a statue.

...

The afternoon air in the palace did not merely sit; it vibrated.

By the stroke of noon, the quiet labor of the morning had erupted into a choreographed madness. Servants moved in undulating waves, bearing sculptures of enchanted ice that hummed with a low, blue light.

Crystalline arrangements of frost-flowers were bolted to the walls, their petals so sharp they could draw blood from a careless sleeve.

In the kitchens, the heat of the ovens fought a desperate, losing war against the ambient chill of the stone, as hundreds of brace of pheasant and silver-scaled mountain trout were prepared for a guest list that grew by the hour.

Amidst this frozen chaos, the news of Eris’s morning ritual traveled through the palace like a draft.

Soren was in the high solar, reviewing a security map with his commanders, when Aldric leaned in, his expression one of deeply rehearsed boredom.

"The Future Empress has completed the Waking Ritual," Aldric murmured. "The elders report she didn’t flinch. Not once. Though I suspect she’s currently planning which specific wing of the palace she’s going to incinerate first as penance."

A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of Soren’s mouth. He knew the agony of the stone slab, he had stood upon it for his own coronation. "She has more iron in her than most of my generals, Aldric."

"And more heat," Aldric replied, checking a ledger. "Which makes the fact that she sat in a bath of slush for your sake either very touching or a sign that she’s finally lost her mind. Personally, I’m betting on the latter. Weddings do that to people. I’ve already had to stop three different chamberlains from weeping into the ceremonial wine."

Soren’s smile faded into something softer, a quiet ache of sympathy. He hated that she had to endure the North’s biting traditions to prove her worth to a court that didn’t deserve her.

Caelen, however, did not find the news amusing.

He heard of the ritual from a passing group of noblewomen while he was loitering near the library. The description of Eris, standing bare-footed on ice, her skin turning the color of a winter sky, sent a jolt of protective fury through him.

She shouldn’t have to do this, he thought, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. In Solmire, she would be bathed in oils of jasmine and rosewater.

He felt a sharp, bitter pang of jealousy that she was suffering these indignities for Soren, for a throne that wasn’t his. It was a jagged reminder that her endurance was no longer a gift for him to cherish.

The tension of the day was broken only by the persistent, clumsy intervention of the palace’s least dignified resident: Bjorn.

The great white wolf, usually a symbol of imperial terror, had decided that the wedding decorations were a personal affront. Or perhaps, a very elaborate set of toys.

A crash echoed through the East Gallery. A group of servants shrieked as Bjorn emerged from behind a pillar, a garland of frozen ivy tangled in his fur and the head of a delicate ice-swan clenched firmly in his jaws.

"Bjorn! No! That’s for the High Altar!" a steward wailed, chasing the beast with a silk broom.

The wolf merely huffed, a sound like a bellows, and took off at a gallop. He collided with a three-tiered crystalline arrangement, sending shards of ice skittering across the floor like diamonds. Soren, coming down the grand staircase, stopped to witness the carnage. Instead of fury, a low, rumbling laugh escaped him.

"Let him have it," Soren called out to the frantic staff. "The swan was too smug anyway."

"Your Majesty," Aldric sighed, appearing at his shoulder. "That ’smug’ bird took three artisans four days to carve. If the wolf eats the groom next, don’t expect me to find a replacement on such short notice."

While the wolf sowed chaos, Rael was sowing a different kind of confusion.

The boy had been trailing after Caelen all afternoon, his eyes wide as he watched the palace transform. "Father," he asked, pulling at Caelen’s sleeve as they passed a fountain being frozen into a jagged spire. "Why does Mother have to sit in cold water? Doesn’t she get a tummy ache?"

Caelen knelt, trying to find a version of the truth a five-year-old could digest. "It’s a tradition, Rael. It shows everyone how strong she is."

"But she’s already the strongest," Rael countered, his brow furrowing. "And why does everyone keep bowing? My neck would get tired." He reached into his pocket, touching the wooden phoenix he had brought. "Can I make a gift too? Soren is making a flower. I want to make her something that doesn’t melt."

Caelen felt a lump form in his throat. "I think she’d like that more than anything in this palace, Rael."