The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 315: Dawn of the Union

The ice chimes did not ring this morning; they sang.

Usually, the bells of Nevareth were a single, cold strike... a reminder of the passage of time in a land where time often felt frozen.

But today, as the first grey light bled over the jagged teeth of the mountains, the chimes erupted in a cascading melody that rolled down from the cathedral spires and through the winding, frost-rimmed streets of the capital. It was a sound of glass and silver, announcing to every district, every tavern, and every grieving home that the day of the Union had arrived.

The Empire woke with a collective jolt.

In the city below the palace, the night had never truly happened.

Thousands of servants and artisans had worked through the dark by the light of glow-crystals, their breaths blooming in white clouds as they positioned the final ice sculptures.

Hundreds of them now lined the processional path... knights of frost, dragons of translucent crystal, and delicate birds that seemed to shiver in the wind.

At the center of it all, the Temple of Aenithra, a massive cathedral carved from the living heart of a glacier, glowed with an inner, ethereal light, waiting to receive the sacrifice of two souls.

Even in the Outer Districts, where the blue memorial lanterns still lay scattered like fallen stars, the people rose.

Some moved with resentment, their hearts still heavy with the weight of the dead; others moved with a sharp, desperate curiosity. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

But all were compelled. One did not ignore the day the Sun was swallowed by the Frost.

The palace Itself was a hive of controlled madness. In the kitchens, the heat was so intense it threatened the structural integrity of the floor above, as feasts for thousands were prepared in a frantic, rhythmic dance of steel and flame.

Musicians in the Great Hall tuned their instruments, the low hum of cellos and the sharp trill of flutes filling the air. Guards in silver-plated armor stood in triple shifts, their spears rhythmic against the stone, eyes scanning every shadow for the discord Eris had so carefully sown.

It was magnificent. It was overwhelming. It was a trap draped in silk.

ERIS

I opened my eyes before the bells began.

My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs. I hadn’t slept... not really. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Rael’s small, reaching hand. I heard Caelen’s desperate, pathetic pleas. And most of all, I felt the cold, lingering weight of Soren’s doubt. Is he sure? The question had looped in my mind until it felt like a bruise.

I didn’t have time to dwell on it.

The doors to my chambers didn’t open; they were invaded. A flood of elder noblewomen, high-ranking priestesses, and silent, efficient maids poured in, bringing with them the scent of frost-herbs and sacred oils.

"Your Highness, the hour is upon us," the lead priestess murmured, her voice like dry parchment.

I was ushered toward the bathing pool, the water so cold it was thick with slush. I was stripped, my skin bared to the biting air, and scrubbed with salts that stung like needles.

They poured even more oils over me than yesterday... scents of cedar and winter-lily... that were meant to mask the smell of the South, the smell of the flame.

I endured it in a silence so profound it felt like a shield. I felt less like a woman and more like a sacrificial blade being polished for the altar.

Then came the fitting.

The undergarments were layers of ice-silk, engineered by spellweavers to pull the heat from my skin, keeping me at a temperature that wouldn’t melt the delicate enchantments of the gown. They were cold, a second skin of frost that made my breath hitch.

Then came the corset. It was a structural marvel of silver ribs and reinforced silk, designed to look like a frozen waterfall.

Three women stood behind me, their faces set in grim masks of concentration as they hauled on the laces.

"Deeper, Your Highness," one muttered.

I gripped the edge of the dressing table, my knuckles white. I could barely breathe. The structure was so tight I felt my ribs groan, my lungs restricted to shallow, panicked sips of air. Fitting, I thought bitterly. The Empire wants me breathless. It wants me contained.

I said nothing. My face remained a mask of serene, golden indifference.

The next two hours were a blur of pulling hands and sharp instructions. My hair was gathered into elaborate, gravity-defying braids, woven through with silver thread and tiny, jagged ice crystals that caught the light with every movement of my head.

My face was painted with a pale, ethereal wash... makeup that made my skin look like marble, my eyes rimmed with silver and blue to mimic the look of frost on glass. My lips were a pale, ghostly pink, almost white.

The goal was clear: erase the Fire Queen. Make her look like a creature born of the North, a daughter of the glacier who had never known the warmth of a summer sun.

"Turn here, Your Highness."

"Lift your chin. No, higher."

"Hold still. Do not move the veil."

I stood in the center of the room, a doll of ice and silk. Voices swirled around me, telling me who to be and how to stand. I wanted one moment of silence. One breath where I didn’t feel the weight of a thousand years of Northern tradition pressing down on my shoulders.

I got none.

I looked in the mirror, and for a heartbeat, I didn’t recognize the woman staring back. She was beautiful, yes. Radiant. But she looked cold. She looked like something that could shatter if you touched it too hard.

I took one shallow breath, the corset biting into my skin, and closed my eyes.

Let them dress the doll, I thought, the fire in my blood flickering beneath the ice-silk. But they forget. Even a doll of ice can be used to cut.

The bells reached a crescendo outside. The dawn was over. The wedding had begun.