The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 343: The Smug Emperor

More time, he thought, his eyes darkening as he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest.

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‎He wasn’t a cruel man by nature, but when it came to Caelen, Soren found depths of pettiness he hadn’t known he possessed. He wanted the King of Solmire to stay.

He wanted Caelen to walk these halls and breathe the air that was heavy with the knowledge of what Soren was doing to his former wife.

He wanted Caelen to see the way Eris looked at Soren now... not with the guarded distance of a political pawn, but with the raw, dazed recognition of a woman who had been thoroughly claimed.

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‎He wanted to rub Caelen’s face in every inch of his failure. Every day the snow fell was another day Caelen had to endure the sound of Soren’s triumph.

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‎Soren wasn’t sorry. Not even a little.

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‎He leaned down, his shadow falling over her, and inhaled the scent of her skin... smoke and winter and him. He felt a surge of something ancient and territorial, a hum in his blood that demanded he go out there and show the world exactly who she belonged to.

...

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Soren stood by the bed, fully dressed in his formal black and silver furs, but he looked less like a disciplined monarch and more like a predator who had just finished a very long, very satisfying hunt.

He glowed with renewed vigor from possibly drawn from squeezing the fire out of Eris. His hair was not quite as perfect as usual, and he made no effort to adjust his high collar to hide the vivid red scratch marks that peeked out from beneath the fabric.

He looked down at Eris, a smug, possessive smile tugging at his lips. He was reluctant to leave... he would have happily stayed in this humid sanctuary for another three days... but the empire, unfortunately, required his presence.

He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. "Sleep well my beloved wife," he whispered against her skin. "I’ll return soon."

He exited the chambers, the heavy doors thudding shut behind him.

The transformation in the hallway was instantaneous. The two guards at the door snapped to attention, their spears clattering. Both men tried desperately to keep their eyes fixed on the opposite wall, but their gazes kept sliding, almost magnetically, to the Emperor’s neck.

"The Emperor!" a maid whispered from down the hall, dropping her laundry basket in shock.

"Look at his neck... "

"Are those scratches? From her nails?"

"The Empress marked him!"

Soren heard it all. Usually, he was a man of cold, terrifying privacy, but today? Today, he found the whispers amusing. He didn’t pull up his furs.

He didn’t quicken his pace. He walked with a slow, relaxed confidence, his expression one of pure, unadulterated satisfaction. He wanted them to see. He wanted the gossip to reach every corner of the frozen city.

By the time he reached the council room, the atmosphere was electric. Aldric, Viktor, and a dozen other high-ranking courtiers were waiting, their faces a study in suppressed curiosity.

As Soren entered, the room went dead silent. Everyone stared. Then, realizing they were staring at the Emperor, they looked away, then looked back again. It was a comedy of errors. The scratches on Soren’s neck were a silent testimony to a weekend of absolute carnal warfare.

Aldric, sitting at the head of the table, was the only one brave enough to break the silence. "Your Majesty," he said, his voice dry. "Glad you could finally join us. We were beginning to wonder if we should send a search party into the bedsheets."

Soren sat down, leaning back in his chair with a casual grace that radiated smugness. "I was occupied, Aldric. Priorities."

A particularly brave... or perhaps incredibly stupid... courtier cleared his throat. "And the Empress, Your Majesty? We... we hoped to see her as well."

Soren’s smile was slow and wicked. "Recuperating. She needs her rest." He paused, letting the silence stretch until every man in the room was imagining exactly why she needed rest. "I was... enthusiastic."

A wave of barely contained reactions rippled through the council. One minister began coughing into his handkerchief; another looked at his boots with a scarlet face.

Viktor’s eyes narrowed, his expression one of calculated distaste, but even he couldn’t deny the raw power Soren was radiating.

The Emperor wasn’t just a ruler today; he was a man who had claimed his prize and was daring anyone to say a word about it.

Caelen happened to be walking past the council room at that exact moment. The doors were open to let out the heat of the crowded room, and he stopped in the shadows of a marble archway, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He saw Soren.

He saw the scratches on the man’s neck, vivid and proud. He saw the way Soren was sitting... not stiff and formal, but relaxed, his legs stretched out, the confidence of a king who had just conquered a continent.

And then he heard it.

Recuperating.

Enthusiastic.

He heard the courtier’s nervous titters and Aldric’s amused snort. The humiliation was total. Soren wasn’t just fucking Eris; he was bragging about it to the entire world without saying a single crude word. He was making it clear that Eris was no longer the untouchable Flameborne Queen of Solmire. She was Soren’s wife. His partner. His equal in the dark.

Caelen wanted to burst into the room. He wanted to punch that smug, satisfied look off Soren’s face. He wanted to scream that Soren didn’t know her, didn’t understand her.

But he couldn’t move. Because the most painful part of the realization was that Soren did know her. He had unlocked a part of Eris that Caelen had never even been allowed to touch. Soren had every right to be smug.

Caelen felt a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, turning to see Ryse standing behind him, a knowing, almost pitying look on the Commander’s face.

"Beautiful day, isn’t it, King Caelen?" Ryse said, his voice loud enough to carry into the council room. "Though I hear the mountain pass is closed. Looks like you’ll be seeing a lot more of our Emperor’s hospitality."

Soren’s head turned at the sound of Ryse’s voice. His blue eyes locked onto Caelen’s across the distance. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look threatened. He simply raised his eyebrows and gave a small, slow nod of acknowledgment... the look of a victor acknowledging a spectator.

Caelen turned and walked away before anyone could see the tears of pure, impotent rage stinging his eyes.

Behind him, he could hear Soren’s voice returning to the business of the empire, calm and steady, as if he hadn’t just shattered a man’s soul with a single smirk.