The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 359: Honeymoon?

The weak, pale light of the Long Dark filtered through the heavy velvet curtains, casting the bedchamber in shades of bruised violet and slate. Soren woke first, the silence of the room punctuated only by the soft, rhythmic puff of Eris’s breath against his collarbone.

She was tangled in his arms, a chaotic and beautiful mess of silk and skin. Her chest was pressed flush to his, her legs intertwined with his in a way that made it impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

Her white hair was a wild spill across the silk pillows, and her skin, pale and luminous even in the shadows, was a map of his devotion, marked and remarked by the hours they had spent in the dark.

The physical knot of their union had finally subsided during the small hours of the night, but Soren hadn’t pulled away. He stayed close, his arms wrapped around her protectively, anchoring her to him.

I could stay like this forever, he thought, his heart swelling with a quiet, fierce contentment. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want the sun to rise, or the council to call, or the world to exist beyond the four posts of this bed. For the first time in his life, he felt entirely, perfectly safe.

Eris stirred against him, her eyelashes fluttering against his skin before she let out a low, sleepy mumble. "...Soren?"

"Good morning, beloved," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of her shoulder.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes half-mast and heavy with dreams. "Is it morning already?"

Soren let out a small, amused huff. "Barely. The sun won’t be visible for hours, and even then, it’ll only be a ghost on the horizon."

Eris blinked, her gaze drifting toward the sliver of light between the curtains. "Is that...?" She sat up slightly, the furs sliding down to her waist, and pointed toward the window.

Eris slid toward the edge of the bed, pulling a stray sheet around her as she peered out at the world.

Beyond the glass, the sky was a heavy, suffocating grey, but the air was filled with white. Snow was falling in thick, silent clumps, a relentless blanket that had already transformed the jagged peaks and frozen gardens into a pristine, rounded wilderness. It was beautiful in its hostility, a quiet, white death that smothered everything it touched.

"It’s really coming down," Eris murmured, her voice filled with a southern girl’s lingering awe of the north.

Soren slid up behind her, his chest a warm wall against her back as he pulled her back into his embrace. "It’ll get worse. This is just the beginning of the mid-winter swell. By tonight, the drifts will be higher than the courtyard gates."

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his voice muffled and playful. "It means we’re trapped inside, Empress. Whatever shall we do with ourselves?"

Eris fought the smile tugging at her lips, leaning her head back against his shoulder. "Work, probably. There are provinces to manage and a winter relief fund that needs your signature."

Soren groaned, the sound vibrating through her body. "Must we? The world is literally disappearing under a mountain of ice. Surely the tax reports can wait."

Eris turned in his arms, her expression mock-stern. "We’re rulers, Soren. Not runaways. Yes, we must work."

"Even on our honeymoon?" he pouted, his lower lip out just enough to be irritatingly charming.

Eris paused, her brow furrowing. "...This is our honeymoon?"

Soren grinned, his blue eyes dancing. "Well, we can’t exactly travel to the coast in this weather, and I’ve successfully kept you in this room for three days. I’d say this counts as a honeymoon by Nevarian standards."

Eris considered this, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "I suppose that’s fair. It’s certainly been... eventful."

"So," Soren said, his voice hopeful as he began to pull the furs back up. "We can stay in bed?"

"No," Eris said, already sliding out of his grip and reaching for her robe.

Soren slumped back against the pillows, looking like a kicked hound. "Worth a try."

They dressed lightly, eschewing the heavy velvet and restrictive corsetry of formal court life. Eris chose a loose, soft gown of deep emerald wool, throwing a fur-lined robe over it to ward off the lingering chill of the stone floors. She left her hair down, an unusual move that made her feel exposed yet strangely relaxed, and wore no jewelry, not even the heavy rings of her office.

Soren followed suit, donning simple trousers and a linen shirt, his crown left forgotten on the bedside table. His hair was a mess of blonde waves, and he looked younger, more human, without the trappings of the Frost Throne.

Eris tried to walk toward the sitting room, but three steps in, her breath hitched and she winced, her hand flying to the wall for support.

"Come here," Soren said immediately, his voice dropping the playfulness for a tone of soft command.

Eris looked back at him, her eyes narrowing. "Why?"

"Because you can barely walk," he said, already closing the distance between them.

Before she could offer a single word of protest, he scooped her up in a classic bridal carry. He was gentle, careful not to jostle her sore limbs, his strength effortless.

Eris let out a long, dramatic sigh but didn’t fight him. She looped her arms around his neck, resting her head against his chest. "I’m not an invalid, Soren."

"No," he said, carrying her through the double doors into the private sitting room. "You’re just thoroughly loved. There’s a difference."

Eris felt the heat bloom in her cheeks. "Shut up."

"Never," he grinned.

He set her down gently on a plush velvet couch situated directly in front of a roaring fireplace. The room was spacious and warm, the scent of burning cedar and orange peel filling the air. But as Eris settled in, she blinked at the sheer volume of clutter.

"When did all these arrive?" she asked, gesturing to the piles of gifts that occupied every available surface.