The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 376: Morning of the hunt

The morning air in the Nevarian highlands did not simply blow; it stung, carrying the scent of pine resin and the promise of a long, arduous week in the saddle.

Soren had barely slept, despite the fact that Eris had spent the night anchored against him, her breathing a soft, rhythmic tide that should have lulled him into a stupor.

Instead, his mind had remained a jagged landscape of calculation. He had watched the moonlight crawl across the floorboards, thinking of Caelen’s eyes and the dark residue of the spell that had nearly claimed his wife.

By the time the sun began to bleed a pale, sickly gold over the horizon, Soren was already up. He left a brief, messy note on the nightstand

A small absence for a necessary distraction. I’ll see you at the gates and headed for the courtyard.

The departure for the Great Winter Hunt was usually a spectacular affair, but today, it felt like a trial by fire. Outside, the royal hunting party was gearing up, the sound of clinking mail and stamping hooves filling the air. And, as always, Aldric was there to ensure that even a sovereign felt like a schoolboy.

"Your Majesty, the protocol for the first night’s encampment requires a double perimeter, and I have yet to see the updated scout rotations for the eastern ridge," Aldric was yapping, his voice a persistent, needle-like drone. He followed Soren like a shadow, a scroll clutched in one hand and a stern look of paternal disappointment in his eyes. "Furthermore, the supply of salted venison is—"

Bjorn, sensing his master’s rising blood pressure, let out a sharp, booming bark that echoed off the stone walls. It was a clear rescue attempt, the massive wolf stepping between Soren and the advisor with a low, protective huff.

Aldric didn’t even flinch. He turned his head with robotic precision, his eyes narrowing at the beast. "And you, Bjorn! Do not think you are spared from this lecture. Your discipline in the field has been lackluster at best. Last spring, you chased a hare into the middle of the diplomatic lunch!"

Bjorn’s ears flattened, and he looked at Soren with a look of pure betrayal as Aldric began lecturing the wolf on the finer points of "field etiquette." Soren took the opportunity to edge toward his horse, but Aldric caught him with an uncanny sixth sense. "The Emperor does not flee from administrative duties, Soren!"

In the background, Ryse was laughing so hard his shoulders were shaking, leaning against a pillar as he enjoyed the rare sight of his master being bullied by a man half his size. Even Jorel was chuckling nervously into his hand, murmuring to a nearby junior officer about how the trio of Emperor, advisor, and wolf were easily the strangest sight in the Northern territories.

The tension was finally broken by a different kind of arrival.

The heavy doors leading from the living quarters creaked open, and Eris stepped into the light. She wasn’t wearing the flowing emerald silks of the previous night. She was dressed in a sleek, practical hunting outfit of dark leather and fur-lined wool, designed for movement and warmth. Mira trailed behind her, clutching a heavy fur cloak and looking significantly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of luggage the servants were already loading onto the pack horses.

As the servants moved, Mira happened to catch Ryse’s eye. Her heart gave a sudden, violent thud against her ribs, and she looked away quickly, her face flushing a deep, brilliant crimson.

Bjorn, however, had no such reservations. The wolf immediately abandoned Aldric’s lecture, trotting toward Eris with his tail wagging so hard his entire hindquarters swayed. He nudged his massive head against her hand, letting out a soft, pathetic whine for attention.

"Hello, you big rug," Eris teased, her voice warm for the first time that morning. She scratched him vigorously behind the ears, making the beast close his eyes in canine ecstasy.

Soren followed his pet, his brow furrowing as he looked at the servants loading Eris’s gear alongside the men’s heavy hunting packs. "What are you doing?"

Eris didn’t look up from Bjorn. "Isn’t it obvious? I’m coming with you."

Soren’s protective instincts, already frayed from the night before, flared instantly. "Eris, no. This isn’t a leisure stroll. The mountains are treacherous this time of year, and we’re going deep into the frost-zones. It’s dangerous, and frankly, it’s going to be miserable."

Eris finally looked up, her gaze flat and unimpressed. "I can take care of myself if you’re worried about me getting in the way, Soren. I’m a fire mage."

"It’s not just that," Soren countered, trying to find a logical foothold. "I’m just not sure you’d enjoy it. It’s long days in the saddle and sleeping in tents."

"I’m not here to hunt animals," Eris said, her tone final. "I’m here to take a breather. I’ve been cooped up in this palace for too long, surrounded by politicians and... other distractions. I need the air." She paused, her eyes flickering to his with a pointed, sharp intensity. "Also, I need the exercise to build the stamina needed for—well, you know."

Soren’s mouth snapped shut. He looked away, his ears turning a telltale shade of pink, looking guilty as hell. He knew exactly what she was implying about their nightly "stamina" sessions. He cleared his throat, unable to argue against that particular point.

"Fine," he muttered, trying to salvage some authority. "But you’re riding with me. On my horse. I want you within arm’s reach." He reached out, intending to draw her close or perhaps simply scoop her up and end the debate.

Eris planted a hand firmly against his chest, pushing him back. "No. I’m taking my own horse, Solara."

Soren pouted, a genuine, dark-eyed look of offense crossing his handsome face. "You’re very mean to me today."

Eris snapped him a look so sharp it could have shaved stone, and Soren immediately fell silent. He stood back, crossing his arms like a petulant child while Eris signaled to a nearby officer to bring her mare from the stables.

A few minutes later, Solara was led into the courtyard. The white mare was a vision of grace. As soon as she saw Eris, she let out a soft whinny and tossed her head, her coat gleaming like polished snow. Eris’s face lit up with genuine joy as she approached her "best friend," stroking the mare’s nose.

Bjorn immediately joined the reunion, standing beside the horse and nuzzling her shoulder with a familiarity that caught Eris by surprise.

"Are you two already best friends?" Eris asked, watching the wolf and horse interact.

"Bjorn likes to hang out at the stables when I’m busy," Soren explained, his voice losing its edge as he watched the animals. "He’s friends with a few of the mounts, but Solara seems to be his favorite."

While the royals were occupied with their pets, a smaller, more frantic exchange was happening near the supply wagons. Mira nervously approached Ryse, her hands hidden behind her back, her face so red she looked like she might burst into flames.

"M-Master Ryse," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

Ryse turned, a playful grin on his face. "Yes, little Mira? Come to see us off?"

Mira didn’t answer. Instead, she thrust a small, folded piece of cloth toward him. "It’s a handkerchief," she blurted out, her words tripping over each other. "I made it... for good luck. In the hunt."

Before Ryse could even take it or utter a single word of thanks, Mira turned on her heel and skedaddled, disappearing back toward the palace as if the hounds of hell were at her heels.

Ryse stood frozen, holding the delicate cloth, which was embroidered with a small, messy blue snowflake. "How am I supposed to thank her if she disappears like that?" he whispered to himself, a slow, genuine blush creeping up his own neck.

Nearby, a group of junior soldiers started hooting and teasing him, nudging his shoulders. Ryse immediately tucked the handkerchief into his inner pocket, his face hardening in a mock scowl.

"S-Shut up, all of you! It’s just for luck." But even as he denied it, his hand stayed over his heart where the gift rested. "I’ll have to get her something in return," he muttered, his mind already drifting to what kind of mountain flower or rare stone he could find for her.

Finally, the horns sounded ... a deep, resonant blast that signaled the start of the journey. Soren mounted his massive grey stallion, his eyes lingering on Eris as she swung effortlessly onto Solara.

The party began their departure, the rhythm of a hundred hooves beating a tattoo against the frozen ground.