The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 323: Apologies/Gossips

The Grand Hall of the Winter Palace was a tempest of silver and sapphire.

The air was thick with the scent of spiced mead and the frantic, rhythmic hum of thousands of voices. It was the sound of an empire trying to process a miracle... or a catastrophe.

"Did you see the way he looked at her?" a countess whispered, her fan fluttering like a trapped moth. "It wasn’t just duty. It was... terrifying."

"Those vows," a general murmured, leaning close to his wine. "They spoke like people who have already bled for one another. I’ve never seen the Emperor so—"

"Happy," his wife interrupted, her voice soft with shock. "He looked genuinely, dangerously happy."

But for Eris, the walls were closing in.

The massive ballgown, which had felt like armor in the cathedral, now felt like a silken tomb. The corset was a cage of silver ribs that denied her every third breath, and the weight of the crown was a dull ache at the base of her skull.

The faces... the fawning, the fearful, the curious blurred into a kaleidoscope of predatory eyes.

She needed out.

With the practiced grace of a shadow, she slipped behind a heavy velvet tapestry and vanished into a private corridor. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

She moved quickly, her heavy skirts hissing against the stone like a warning. She didn’t look back; she didn’t have to. She knew the pull of her own fire would bring him.

She ducked into a small, candle-lit sitting room, the door clicking shut behind her. She leaned against the wall, her head tilted back, her lungs burning as she tried to force air into a chest that was bound too tight.

The latch clicked again.

Soren stepped in. He didn’t look like the stoic Emperor of the North now; his crown was slightly askew, and his eyes were dark with a frantic, focused energy.

He didn’t say a word. He reached back and turned the key in the lock, the metallic thud sounding far too final in the small space.

Eris pushed off the wall, her golden eyes narrowing. "What do you think you’re doing, Soren? We have a reception to attend."

He didn’t answer immediately. He leaned against the door, his gaze dragging over her from the crystalline branches of her crown to the shimmering hem of her skirt.

A slow, wicked grin pulled at his mouth—the kind of grin that belonged to the man who had traded barbs with her in the dark, not the sovereign who had sworn oaths in the light.

"Your breasts look like they’re trying to escape that dress," he remarked, his voice a low, gravelly vibration.

Eris gasped, a flush that had nothing to do with the cold creeping up her neck. She glared at him, though the edge of it was softened by a flicker of heat.

"Pervert," she hissed. "I’ve been married to you for less than an hour and you’re already showing your true colors."

Soren pushed off the door, approaching her with a slow, predatory deliberate. "I showed you my true colors long before we stood before Serah, Eris. I’m just showing you *more* of them now."

His grin faded, the mischief replaced by a sudden, devastating softness. He stopped just inches from her, the scent of cedar and winter-air rolling off him in waves. He looked down at her, his posture suddenly shy, almost boyish.

"Can we... do it again?" he asked, his voice barely a breath.

Eris tilted her head, enjoying the way his confidence seemed to waver under her scrutiny. "Do what, your Majesty? We’ve already traded rings and blood. What more could you possibly want?"

"This," he whispered.

He leaned down, catching her lips in a kiss that was soft, brief, and tasted of mead. He pulled back just an inch. "And this."

He kissed her again, longer this time, his hand coming up to cup the back of her neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind her ear.

"And this."

The third kiss was deep, hungry, and full of the possessive claim he had shown at the altar. Eris felt her knees weaken, her fingers curling into the heavy fabric of his doublet. She forced herself to push him back... gently, but firmly.

"You already got what you wanted," she panted, her voice sounding far more breathless than she liked.

"Not even close, your Majesty," Soren murmured.

He didn’t move away. Instead, he slowly sank to his knees.

He almost towered over her even as he knelt, the sheer physicality of him overwhelming the small room.

He took her hands in his... the ones still marked with the silver scars of their union and began to kiss them. He was slow, deliberate, his lips grazing her knuckles, her palms, the pulse point at her wrists.

He looked up at her through his lashes, his blue eyes dark with a worshipful, terrifying hunger. It was a look of total surrender and absolute dominance.

Eris had to look away. The air in the room had turned thick, and she could feel a bead of sweat tracing the valley between her breasts. This man was unfair. He was a weapon designed specifically to dismantle her.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his lips pressing against the center of her palm.

"For what?"

"For doubting you. For asking if you were sure about this. For being a fool who didn’t trust that the sun could actually want to stay in the ice."

He kissed her hand again, his eyes never leaving hers. "This all still feels like a dream I’m going to wake up from."

Eris looked back at him, the weight of his sincerity more suffocating than the dress. "Soren," she interrupted, her voice tight.

He looked up, hopeful. "Yes?"

"The dress is too tight," she groaned, her hand going to the silver waterfall of the corset. "I can’t breathe. It’s been killing me for hours, and if I have to stand in this room for one more minute, I am going to set this palace on fire just to create an exit."

She looked at him, her eyes desperate. "I need it off. Now."

Soren blinked, the romantic intensity of the moment shattered by her blunt, fiery reality. A slow, unrepentant grin spread across his face. He stood immediately, his height once again casting a shadow over her.

"Well," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "We certainly can’t have the Empress suffocating on her first day. Let me help."

Eris turned her back to him, her fingers reaching up to steady her crown. "Don’t make it strange, Soren."

"Too late for that," he chuckled.

His hands were surprisingly gentle as they reached for the intricate, silver laces at her back. He moved with a focused precision, his fingers grazing the skin of her spine, sending shivers through her that had nothing to do with the cold.

"Turn around," he whispered, the first lace falling loose.

...

The Grand Hall was a cacophony of expensive perfume and cheap shots. Now that the main attraction had vanished behind a locked door, the vultures were finally picking at the leftovers of the ceremony.

"I’ve seen Soren lead a winter campaign through the jagged peaks without a cloak, but today?"

Duke Konstantin Vael leaned over his goblet, his voice a conspiratorial wheeze. "The man looked like he was about to start hyperventilating. Every time Eris took a breath, he looked at her like she’d invented the concept of air. It’s embarrassing. Our ruthless Emperor has been replaced by a lovesick hound."

"A hound?" Duke Elian Stormwatch snorted, leaning back. "More like an attention-starved puppy. If she’d pointed at the floor, he’d have curled up on her hem right there in the cathedral. I nearly laughed when he adjusted her veil, he was shaking so hard I thought the crystals would rattle off."

"And what about the Southern Ghost?" Konstantin gestured with a jagged diamond of ice toward Caelen.

"The King of Solmire looks like he’s attending his own execution. He’s sitting there with a face like curdled milk while everyone watches him lose. It’s better than the theater. And poor Ophelia, pity her, truly. To be the woman who has to go home with a man who clearly wants to be the one kneeling in that sitting room right now."

Near the refreshment tables, a cluster of Northern lords were whispering with far less decorum.

"Where is the Lady Bianca?" a Baron asked, leaning in. "The ’Designated Bride.’ The woman we were told for years was the only one refined enough to sit beside him?"

"Oh, haven’t you heard?" Lord Ryker smirked, swirling his wine. "Rumor has it she’s currently redecorating her father’s guest wing. With a hammer. Someone told me they heard a scream from the Virelya quarters that sounded like a banshee with a stubbed toe."

"Poor Bianca," another nobleman mocked, though his eyes were alight with malice. "She spent a decade perfecting her ’Ice Queen’ posture only to be replaced by an actual Fire Queen. It’s the ultimate insult. She’s probably realized by now that Soren doesn’t want a woman who acts like a statue; he wants the one who threatens to burn the gallery down."

"I’d pay fifty gold marks to see her reaction when she saw that dress," Ryker added. "Eris looked like a goddess of the high peaks. Bianca would have looked like... well, a very pretty pigeon in comparison."

Nearby, Ryse and Aldric were in their own world of sharp-edged banter.

"Ten gold marks says he’s currently trying to feed her grapes and asking if the air is too cold for her," Ryse muttered, nudging Aldric. "The Great Iceborne Emperor, reduced to a personal servant. I’ve never seen a man fold so fast. It’s a spectacle really. Though, to be fair, in that dress, I’d probably forget my own name too."

Aldric chuckled, though he kept his eyes on the crowd. "He’s gone, Ryse. Irretrievably. He’s following her around like she’s the only light in the world."

Ryse glanced at Mira. "What do you think, little shadow? Your Queen has turned our Emperor into a lapdog."

Mira stood between them, her small frame almost swallowed by the shadows of their heavy capes. She didn’t snap at them. She didn’t look them in the eye.

She just stared at her feet, her fingers twisting a loose thread on her sleeve. When she spoke, it was a tiny, whispered thing, barely audible over the roar of the party.

"He’s just... he’s just being kind," she murmured, her voice soft and shy, lacking any of the sharpness of the nobles. "He looks at her like she’s... like she’s not a monster. That’s all."

She let out a small, hesitant giggle as Ryse made a face at Aldric, the sound light and fragile. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and went back to her quiet vigil, the girl who had seen too much but still found a way to smile at the absurdity of it all.

"I’ll go check on that emperor-shaped problem," Aldric said, adjusting his finery as he made for the chamber housing Soren and Eris.