The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 327: Gifts and Toasts

The celebration reached a crescendo as the next part of the celebration began, but before the noble children could begin their trek to the high table, Soren stood. The movement was sharp, pulling the collective gaze of the room toward him like a magnet.

"Before the presentations begin," his voice boomed, rich and steady, "I have a gift of my own for my Empress."

He signaled to an attendant, who brought forward a heavy object draped in white silk. With a flourish that held a hint of a boyish grin, Soren unveiled it. The hall gasped. It was a lotus, carved not from stone or wood, but from the purest, most translucent glacier-ice.

It looked exactly like a bloom frozen in the heart of a winter pool, its petals so thin they appeared to vibrate with the light, and a faint, magical glow pulsed from its center like a captured heartbeat.

Eris leaned forward, her composure fracturing into genuine surprise. "You made this?"

"Ever," Soren murmured, his eyes locked on hers. "For you."

She reached out, her fingers brushing the crystalline edges. The cold was sharp, a grounding reality beneath her touch, and for a moment, the crown felt lighter on her head. "It’s beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you," he replied, loud enough for the front rows to catch, sparking a fresh wave of delighted applause. It was a traditional gesture, but the care in the craft spoke of hours spent in a cold forge, thinking only of her.

"The children’s offering!" the Herald announced, breaking the intimate spell.

One by one, noble children between the ages of five and ten approached. They were a parade of velvet and lace, clutching small, crude ice sculptures with shaking hands.

Some were barely recognizable as wolves or stars, but Eris accepted each with a nod of her head, her fingers brushing their small, cold hands.

Then, Rael stepped forward.

The boy was a small, determined blur in his ceremonial tunic, clutching a sculpture so tightly his knuckles were white. He didn’t wait for a formal introduction; he ran straight for the high table.

Eris didn’t think; her arms simply opened, and Soren was there a second later, lifting the boy onto her lap as she sat. Rael settled there with a natural ease that made the breath catch in Eris’s throat.

For a heartbeat, she sat stiff, the weight of her son a terrifying, precious reality. What do I do? she thought, her fingers hovering over his shoulder.

Rael didn’t notice the hesitation. He shoved his sculpture toward her face...a lumpy, jagged thing that might have been a flower if one squinted. "I made you a flower, Mother!"

"Uncle Soren helped me with the petals," Rael chattered, his voice high and proud, "but I did the stem all by myself! Do you like it?"

"I love it," Eris whispered, her voice tightening with an emotion she couldn’t name.

Soren leaned over, his hand large and warm as he tousled Rael’s dark hair. "You did excellent work, little wolf."

"Really?" Rael beamed, leaning back against Eris’s chest.

"Really," Soren confirmed.

The three of them sat framed by the silver and ice of the thrones, a tableau of a family that had never been supposed to exist. Eris felt her heart squeeze... A physical, painful expansion.

This is what it could be, she realized. She actually laughed when Soren pointed to a jagged bump on the sculpture and asked if it was a dragon, only for Rael to indignantly insist it was a very important petal.

The moment was beautiful, and therefore, it had to end. The formal procession of the Great Houses began. Duke Konstantin and various provincial governors approached with flowery speeches and boxes of gold, jewels, and ancient tapestries.

"King Caelen Caldrith and Queen Ophelia of Solmire," the Herald intoned.

The atmosphere in the hall shifted, a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the ice. They approached with a stiff, practiced grace.

Caelen carried an ornate gift box of dark Solmire oak, while Ophelia walked with her hand like a claw on his arm, her smile a fixed, porcelain mask.

"On behalf of Solmire, we congratulate Emperor Soren and Empress Eris," Caelen began. His voice was steady, the result of years of training, but his eyes were a disaster.

They kept drifting to Eris, lingering on the bare skin of her waist, the curve of her throat, and the way Rael sat comfortably in her lap. "May your union bring prosperity to both our lands."

He was looking directly at her, and he was failing to hide the hunger. It was a desperate, starving look... the gaze of a man watching someone else eat a feast he had thrown in the dirt.

Soren watched him back. He wasn’t threatened; he was amused. He felt a dark, triumphant satisfaction settle in his chest. Hmm, he thought, guess I have to amp it up even more.

He made a silent note to be even more devastatingly affectionate for the rest of the night, just to ensure the Southern King felt every ounce of his loss.

Eris accepted the gift with the distance of a glacier. "Thank you for your generosity, King Caelen."

The "King" felt like a slap. Caelen bowed, his face tight, and led Ophelia back to their seats, his shoulders hunched as if he could still feel the heat of the fire he no longer possessed.

After the gifts came the toast to the new bride.

"The Imperial Toast Ritual will now commence!"

Servants moved like ghosts in the periphery, distributing goblets of hand-blown ice-crystal. The wine within was a deep, translucent violet, blessed by the temple and smelling of crushed mountain berries and winter spice. Soren stood first, his presence commanding the room into a taut, expectant silence.

High Priestess Serah rose with her staff of frozen wood, her ancient face a map of the North’s history. "I toast to the union blessed by Aenithra herself," she intoned, her voice echoing in the vaulted rafters. "May ice and fire bring balance to this empire, and may the stillness of the peaks find peace in the heat of the hearth."

"To the Emperor and Empress!" the hall roared, a thousand crystal cups catching the light as they were drained in unison.

The toasts followed in a rhythmic succession of power and sentiment. Duke Konstantin stood, his formal Nevarethian accent thick and grounding. "On behalf of the noble houses, we welcome Empress Eris with open hearts. May her fire warm our frozen halls where they have grown too cold." It was a genuine olive branch, a signal to the other lords that the "Fire Queen" was now their sovereign.

Then came the silence. A heavy, airless weight that pressed against the lungs of every guest as the Herald announced, "King Caelen Caldrith of Solmire."

Caelen stood slowly, his movements jagged, like a man forced to walk toward his own execution. Beside him, Ophelia’s jaw was a white line of tension. The hall was so quiet one could hear the hiss of the torches.

"I’ve known Eris... Empress Eris... for many years," Caelen began, his voice strained and thin. He swallowed hard, the sound audible in the stillness.

"I’ve seen her strength, her determination. I have seen her burn." He looked directly at her then, unable to stop the bleeding of his own heart.

"Emperor Soren is... fortunate." The word caught in his throat, a jagged shard of glass. "May you both find happiness."

What he left unsaid was a deafening roar in the room... a confession of regret that hung in the air like smoke. He raised his goblet and drank as if it were hemlock, sitting heavily while Soren watched him with the cool, predatory detachment of a man who had already won.

A representative of the common folk stood next, a gray-haired man with calloused hands and a voice that didn’t tremble.

"We common folk... we heard tales of the Fire Queen. But today we see our Empress. Thank you for choosing us." It was simpler than the flowery noble speeches, and it hit Eris harder, a sudden moisture stinging her eyes that she quickly blinked away.

Finally, Soren stood. He did not look at the crowd. He looked down at Eris, his blue eyes dark and drowning with everything he had spent years trying to suppress.

"I could speak of duty, of empire, or the strength of our alliance," he said, his voice carrying to the furthest corners of the hall.

"But those are just words. The truth is simpler." He paused, his thumb tracing the back of her hand. "You consume me, Eris. You fascinate me. Every moment with you feels like standing at the very edge of the fire."

He raised his goblet high. "And I would burn gladly. To my Empress. To the woman who changed everything."

The explosion of applause that followed was not just polite; it was a primal, thunderous acceptance. Eris felt the flush deepen on her cheeks, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

Soren sat and reclaimed her hand, his fingers interlacing with hers with a possessive strength that promised he was never letting go.