The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 355: Memory

The walk back to the guest chambers was a hollow, echoing ritual. Caelen walked a step behind Ophelia, his eyes fixed on the rhythmic swing of her skirts, his mind a static-filled void.

She didn’t ask about the dinner, or the way his jaw had been set so hard he looked ready to crack a tooth.

She didn’t ask why he hadn’t touched his food.

She simply walked, her own silence a heavy, resigned weight between them.

They entered their shared suite. Rael was already a dead weight in his father’s arms, his breathing deep and rhythmic.

Caelen moved to the small adjoining room, lowering the boy onto the bed with a gentleness that felt like a ghost of his former self.

He tucked the thick furs around Rael’s shoulders, lingering to press a kiss to the boy’s forehead. Here, in the quiet, Rael was still his—untainted by the politics and the rot of the Nevarian court.

"Are you coming?" Ophelia’s voice drifted from the main bedroom. She was already slipping beneath the covers, her eyes searching his in the dim lamplight.

Caelen paused at the threshold, his hand on the doorframe. "In a moment. I need... air. The halls are stifling."

Ophelia looked at him, her gaze lingering on the tightness in his shoulders. She knew it was a lie. They both knew the air in the guest wing was as cold as a tomb. But she simply nodded, pulling the blankets up to her chin. "Don’t be long."

"I won’t," Caelen said.

He stayed until her breathing evened out, until the room was silent enough to hear the settling of the castle stone. Then, he slipped out.

The West Wing was a skeleton of its former glory. Since Soren’s decree, the servants had begun to avoid it, and the torches burned low and guttering in their brackets. Caelen moved through the dark corridors, his pulse a frantic, irregular drumbeat.

He reached the heavy doors leading to the Regent’s private wing and stopped.

This is a bad idea. The thought was loud, rational, and persistent. She is a viper. She is the woman who broke Soren, and she will break you too. Turn back. Go to your wife. Go to your son.

But then, the memory of the afternoon came rushing back like a flood of ice water. He saw the way Eris had arched her back on that desk. He felt the cold, territorial weight of Soren’s gaze.

He remembered the marks... the violent, fresh evidence of another man’s mouth on her skin. He remembered the dinner, Soren’s smug, loaded words, and the way he had carried her off like a prize of war.

The humiliation was a physical ache, a burning heat that pushed aside the cold of the hallway.

Fuck it.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Vetra’s chambers were bathed in the flickering orange glow of a dying fire. She was seated by the window, silhouetted against the frost-patterned glass.

A scroll lay open in her lap, and a steaming cup of tea sat on the low table beside her. She didn’t turn when the door clicked shut.

"I was wondering when you’d arrive," Vetra said, her voice a smooth, satisfied purr.

Caelen stood in the shadows of the doorway, his heart hammering. "You knew I’d come."

"Of course," she finally turned, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her face. "A man can only take so much before the pride cracks, King Caelen. And Soren has always been... excessive with his triumphs."

She gestured to the plush velvet chair opposite her. "Sit. Tea?"

"No," Caelen said, his voice flat. He didn’t want her hospitality. He didn’t want her tea. He crossed the room and sat, his body rigid. He got straight to the point. "How can you make Eris belong to me again?"

Vetra let out a soft, melodic chuckle. "Your impatience is almost cute. It’s the hallmark of a desperate man."

She set her cup down with a delicate clink. "Soren must really be testing your sanity. What did you see today, Caelen? Or perhaps it’s what you heard?"

"Focus on what I’m here for," Caelen snapped. His voice was firm, but his eyes were wide with a frantic, internal light.

Vetra raised her hands in a mock gesture of surrender, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Very well. To get the old Eris back... the one who would have walked through fire just to catch your eye... we must reverse time for her."

Caelen froze, his brow furrowing. "What?"

"Reverse time," Vetra repeated, relishing the confusion on his face.

"What does that mean?" Caelen’s voice rose, edged with alarm. "Magic like that... it’s myth. It’s impossible."

Vetra chuckled, leaning her head back against the chair. "I don’t mean it literally, of course. Bending the fabric of time itself is a feat even the ancients struggled with. Though..." she paused, a thoughtful, distant look entering her eyes. "I beg to differ. The right mechanism simply hasn’t been discovered yet. But that is a conversation for another century."

She leaned forward, her gaze locking onto his. "What I mean is: we wipe her memories."

Caelen froze again. The silence in the room became absolute, broken only by the crackle of a log shifting in the grate.

"Wipe them?" Caelen whispered.

"Every memory of the last year," Vetra said, her voice dropping to a persuasive, hypnotic register. "The war, the marriage to Soren, the... affection she currently feels for him.

We return her mind to the state it was in before she ever stepped foot in Nevareth. When you were her sun and her stars. When she was your devoted, slightly mad wife."

"The only way to do that..." Vetra continued, ignoring Caelen’s horrified expression as if they were discussing the weather, "...lies within you my dear."

Caelen stood abruptly, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. "I can’t do this. I’m a King, not a... a butcher of minds." He turned, heading for the door with long, frantic strides.

"Can’t you?" Vetra’s voice was soft, but it carried to every corner of the room.

Caelen paused, his hand trembling as it hovered over the door handle.

"Imagine it, Caelen," she said, her voice like silk over a blade. "Imagine how happy you’d be again. No more looking at her and seeing a stranger. No more watching her look at Soren with that... disgusting, contented glow."

Caelen’s hand tightened on the latch.

"Imagine Eris loving no one but you," Vetra continued, standing slowly and walking toward him. "The way she used to. That fierce, consuming devotion that used to exhaust you. Wouldn’t you give anything to have that back? To be the center of her world again?"

Caelen’s shoulders sagged, his forehead leaning against the cool wood of the door.

"No more watching her with Soren," Vetra whispered, standing right behind him now. "No more hearing about their nights together. No more seeing his marks on her throat and knowing you didn’t put them there. No more humiliation."

Each word landed like a physical blow, bruising his pride, reopening the wounds Soren had spent the day salt-rubbing.

"Just you. And her," Vetra breathed. "The way it should have been if you hadn’t been so foolish. I’m giving you a second chance, Caelen. A chance to fix your mistake."

Caelen’s hand dropped from the door. He stood there for a long moment, his chest heaving, the darkness of the room pressing in on him. Slowly, agonizingly, he turned around.

The light of the fire caught the wetness in his eyes. He walked back to the chair, his movements heavy and defeated. He looked like a man who had already died and was simply waiting for the burial. He sat down, his hands hanging limp between his knees.

"What do you need?" he asked, his voice hollow and dead.

Vetra smiled. It was the smile of a cat that had finally caught the mouse, but hadn’t yet decided how to kill it.

"Smart man," she said.