The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 317: WEDDING DRESS

ERIS

The chimes had reached a fever pitch, their crystalline resonance vibrating through the very stones of the palace.

Within the chambers, however, a sudden, suffocating hush fell as the six attendants stepped back, and the high priestess drew the silk shroud from the mannequin.

I forgot to breathe.

Even having seen the sketches, even having felt the weight of the fabric during the fittings, the reality of the gown stole the air from my lungs. It was not a dress; it was an act of war.

The base was a deep, translucent ice-blue that seemed to hold the depth of a frozen sea, shimmering with a silver-white frost gradient that climbed from the hem like a slow-moving blizzard.

The corset was a structural masterpiece, a frozen cascade of water that nipped my waist until I was a sliver of glass.

Every inch was encrusted with crystalline embellishments that didn’t just catch the light, they shattered it, throwing tiny, prismatic diamonds across the stone walls.

The sleeves were long, dramatic, and heavily beaded, looking like thousands of frozen dewdrops suspended in time, clinging to my arms by nothing but magic and prayer.

And the skirt—it was massive, a sprawling mountain of translucent, shimmering fabric that moved with the heavy, liquid grace of an ice floe. As I moved, the gown sparkled as if I had been dusted with fresh, undisturbed snow.

"It is time," the priestess whispered, her eyes wide with a reverence that felt like fear.

It took all six of them to dress me. Their movements were precise, surgical. Every layer was a barrier; every lace was a tether. The weight was substantial, a physical reminder of the empire I was about to shoulder but strangely, it felt right. It felt like armor.

As they pulled the final corset ties, the pressure was so immense I felt my heart hammer against my ribs, trapped in its silver cage. They adjusted the sleeves, arranged the sprawling lake of the skirt, and then stood me before the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

I didn’t recognize her.

The Fire Queen of Solmire was gone. In her place stood an Ice Empress... breathtaking, terrifying, and utterly inevitable. My skin was marble, my hair a crown of frost, my body draped in the very essence of winter.

Then came the final piece.

They brought the crown forward. It was a headpiece of jagged, crystalline formations, like frozen branches reaching for a winter moon, integrated into a veil of sheer, silver-spun mist.

It was delicate and sharp, a crown of thorns disguised as beauty. When they placed it on my head, the weight settled into my skull, a cold finality.

I was ready. Outwardly, I was a goddess of the frost. Inwardly, my palms were sweating against the silk, and my heart was racing toward a cliff I couldn’t see.

"Stand here, Your Highness."

"Do not touch the crystals."

"The procession begins in five minutes."

There was no peace. No pause. Just the relentless, mechanical motion toward the altar.

---

The massive oak doors of the preparation chamber swung open, and I stepped out into the vaulted corridor.

Caelen was there.

He was leaning against the opposite wall, waiting. I don’t know why he was there... perhaps some lingering, masochistic need to see the end of his own story. But as I emerged, time didn’t just slow; it stopped.

I saw the moment the breath left him. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked at me... at the dress, the crown, the ethereal, otherworldly vision I had become and he looked like a man who had just realized he had traded the sun for a handful of dirt. He was dumbstruck, his eyes wide and hollow.

The silence between us was a physical weight, heavy and jagged with the ghosts of everything we had destroyed. Something flickered in my chest, an old familiarity, a sharp pang of the girl I used to be but I smothered it with the ice of my gown.

"You look..." Caelen finally found his voice, though it was hoarse, a ruined thing. "I don’t have words, Eris. I don’t think words were made for this."

"Thank you," I said. My voice was a polite, distant chime.

"Eris, I—" He took a step forward, his hand reaching out instinctively.

"Don’t," I snapped. The word was a sliver of ice.

He stopped. The silence returned, more painful than before. He looked like he wanted to say everything... to beg, to scream, to apologize for every sword-thrust and every cold word. But he looked at the crown on my head and saw the distance for what it was. Infinite.

"Be happy," he said finally.

I looked at him then. I really looked at the man who had been my heaven and my hell. "I’m trying to be," I said.

I walked past him, the massive skirt of my gown hissing against the stone like a winter wind, erasing the space he occupied.

"Mother!"

A small, high voice broke the tension. Rael came running down the hall in a tiny, formal suit of midnight blue.

He looked like a miniature prince, his golden eyes wide with wonder. He skidded to a halt a few feet away, his jaw dropping.

"You look like an ice princess!" he whispered.

I couldn’t help it. The mask cracked. A genuine, aching smile broke through the paint and the powder.

I knelt down carefully... a feat that required the strength of my entire body against the corset and the weight of the silk.

"Do you like it, my sweet flame?"

Rael nodded with such enthusiasm he nearly lost his footing. "You’re the prettiest! You look like the stars!"

I reached out and picked him up, mindful of the delicate crystals on my sleeves. I didn’t care about the dress then. I didn’t care about the priestesses’ warnings.

I held him close, his small, warm body the only real thing in a world of artifice. I kissed his cheek, burying my face in his neck, and for a second, the emotion threatened to shatter me.

My heart squeezed so hard it hurt.

I set him down gently, straightening his tiny jacket. Then, a heavy, familiar padding echoed in the hall. Bjorn emerged from the shadows, his white fur groomed until it shone. He let out an enthusiastic howl, his tail wagging with enough force to stir the air.

He was wearing a collar of braided silver. The ring-bearer.

"Are you ready to carry the rings, Bjorn?" I asked, acknowledging the wolf’s excitement.

Bjorn huffed and bumped his head against my hand, a silent, loyal solidarity. Rael grabbed the wolf’s thick fur, his face serious now. "We’re ready, Mother. We’ll be very good."

I watched them run off toward the front of the procession... my son and the wolf, the two strangest, most precious parts of my new life.

As they disappeared around the corner, I stood up. My composure was fraying at the edges. I felt the hot sting of tears behind my eyes and blinked them back fiercely. I couldn’t ruin the makeup. I couldn’t let the mask slip now.

I breathed deeply, feeling the silver ribs of the corset bite into my flesh.

This was happening.

This was real.

In moments, I would walk down an aisle of ice and swear myself to a man who might be my salvation or my final ruin. I adjusted my veil, the crystalline branches of my crown catching the light one last time.

Then, I turned toward the cathedral doors.