The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 378: Night Camp

The encampment took shape with the practiced efficiency of a legion. Situated near a wide clearing and shielded by a phalanx of ancient, thick-trunked pines, the site offered both a vantage point and protection from the biting alpine winds. Large, heavy-canvas tents were erected, their stakes driven deep into the frozen earth.

Soren’s first instinct, as it had been since they left the capital, was the absolute comfort of his wife. While the men hauled crates and sharpened spears, the Emperor of the North was personally supervising the interior of Eris’s quarters.

He paced the small space, fussing over the placement of extra fluffy hide furs and ensuring the softness and comfortability of his wife.

"It’s a bit damp near the entrance," Soren muttered, shifting a rug an inch to the left. "I should have brought the silver-lined silks for the inner layer."

Eris sat on a folding stool, chin propped on her hand, watching him. Her expression remained neutral, her eyes trailing his frantic movements, but internally, a small, stubborn part of her was preening.

There was a strange, novel satisfaction in being the center of such frantic, high-stakes domesticity. After a lifetime of having to fight for every scrap of security, having a mage fuss over the thickness of her blankets felt like a quiet victory.

By the time the moon began its ascent, the party had settled. The camp hummed with the low vibration of men eating and cleaning gear. Perimeter fires were lit, their orange flickers casting long, dancing shadows against the dark forest wall.

Guards stood at their posts, breath visible in rhythmic puffs of white, while Soren and his senior officers remained the only ones still pulsing with a restless, alert energy.

Eris slipped away from the warmth of her tent for a moment to visit the picket line. Solara stood comfortably among the other mounts, her white coat almost glowing in the dark. Eris reached out, stroking the mare’s velvet nose and feeding her a small piece of dried apple she’d pocketed from dinner.

"You like it out here, don’t you?" Eris whispered, her voice a soft murmur that only the horse could hear. "No walls. No whispering courtiers. Just the cold and the stars."

Solara nuzzled Eris’s palm, letting out a low, vibrating huff of agreement. Eris rested her forehead against the mare’s, enjoying the simple, honest connection.

From the center of the camp, Soren watched them, a cup of mulled wine forgotten in his hand. He felt a sudden, sharp pang of irrationality.

I am jealous of a horse, he realized, his jaw tightening. A four-legged, hay-eating animal has her undivided attention.

Bjorn, sensing the absurdity of his master’s thoughts, let out a huff and slumped down at Eris’s feet, his massive tail thumping the snow. He was guarding both the Empress and the mare, his golden eyes scanning the treeline with a steady, predatory focus.

Inside the command tent, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of leather and old ink. Soren spread a series of detailed vellum maps across a makeshift table, his officers gathered around him.

Ryse stood to his right, his face a mask of stoic professionalism. To his left was Jorel, his gratitude to the Emperor still evident in the sharp attention he paid to every word. Joining them was Captain Thyren, a man whose reputation for brilliant forest tactics was only slightly overshadowed by his inability to keep a straight face.

"So," Thyren said, tapping a finger on the Eastern Forest. "We go in, we kill some elk, we don’t die. Simple. Unless the elk decide to learn archery, in which case we’re in trouble."

Ryse didn’t even blink. "The elk will not learn archery, Thyren. Focus."

Soren ignored the banter, marking the map with a charcoal stick. "Our primary objectives are reserves for the winter and tracking migration. The blizzard hits in a week or so. We have that long to stock the palace larders."

He outlined the target species: the massive Snowback Elk for meat, the fast Frosthorn Deer for antlers and hide, and the Icefeather Hens that nested in the lower thickets. But as he spoke, his voice grew lower, more solemn.

"There are things in these woods we do not hunt," Soren warned, his eyes moving over the ’Off-Limits’ zones. He pointed to the Deep Woods. "The Elder Elk is sacred. If you see one as large as a house with antlers like frozen trees, you bow your head and walk away. The Vargra packs... Bjorn’s kin... are to be left in peace. They hunt via telepathy; if you provoke one, you provoke the pack."

He moved his finger toward the Frozen River. "The Drogar are active here. Those bears refract light; you won’t see them until they’re on top of you. We withdraw if a Drogar crosses our path. No exceptions."

Thyren leaned in, his grin fading slightly. "What about the Yarokh? The White Orcs have been sighted near the Northern Ridge. If their skin is glowing blue, it means they’re on a warpath."

"They are bound by honor codes," Soren said. "We don’t cross their boundaries, they don’t cross ours. The same goes for Stryvaal sightings. If you see a shadow that looks like one, it’s already too late to fight. Just hope it isn’t hungry."

"The Empress," Jorel interjected, his voice tinged with genuine concern. "She will be safe here at the base camp during the deep-woods treks, yes?"

Soren’s eyes snapped toward him, his pupils narrowing into draconic slits. "She stays with me. Always. She goes where I go."

Ryse let out a faint, dry smirk. "First he’s jealous of the horse, now he’s jealous of the very danger of the woods taking her attention. You’re becoming quite predictable, Your Majesty."

Soren didn’t deny it. He simply adjusted the map, his silence more telling than any rebuttal.

The meeting ended late, the fire in the command tent burning down to glowing embers. Soren walked back toward Eris’s tent, expecting to find her tucked beneath the layers of fur he’d so painstakingly arranged.

The tent was empty.

He stepped back outside, finding Bjorn sitting near the entrance. "Where is she?" Soren asked.

The wolf stood, his tail wagging with a sudden, frantic energy. He let out a low bark and headed toward the dark fringe of the forest, weaving through the trees with the ease of a ghost. Soren followed, his hand resting on his sword hilt, his senses heightened.

They broke through a dense thicket into a small, hidden clearing. At the center was a frozen lake, its surface as smooth and dark. Standing at the edge was Eris.

The scene was ethereal. Swarms of frost flies... tiny insects that glowed with a pale, starlight blue... swirled around her, illuminating her loose hair and the fur of her cloak. The moonlight hit the ice, reflecting upward to bathe her in a shimmering, silver radiance. She looked less like a displaced Empress and more like an ancient spirit of the wood.

Soren stopped, the breath catching in his throat. He just watched her for a moment, the sheer, haunting beauty of her presence stealing the words from his tongue.

The silence was shattered by Bjorn. The wolf, unable to maintain the gravity of the moment, let out a joyful bark and rushed toward Eris, his paws sliding across the slick ice as he tried to stop.

Eris turned slowly, a faint, teasing smile on her lips as she looked down at the panting wolf. "How disobedient you are, Bjorn. Just like your master. I told you to sit still and wait for me."

Soren stepped out from the shadows, a soft laugh escaping him. "He has a talent for ignoring direct orders when he thinks there’s something more interesting to see."

He closed the distance between them, his boots crunching on the snow. Eris turned fully to face him, her expression shifting back to that blank, unreadable mask. "I’d appreciate it if you didn’t wander off like that," Soren said, though his voice lacked any real bite.

"You worry too much," Eris countered, pulling her cloak tighter. "I just wanted some quiet time. Alone."

"I can give you quiet," Soren murmured, stepping into her personal space. The frost flies swirled around them both now, their tiny lights reflecting in his sapphire eyes. "But I won’t give you ’alone’."

Before she could offer a retort about his overprotectiveness, Soren leaned in. He kissed her, the cold of the mountain air clashing with the sudden, searing heat of his mouth. He deepened the kiss, his hands coming up to cradle her face, his thumbs tracing the line of her jaw.

Eris made a small sound of protest, her hands coming up to push against his chest, but the resistance was half-hearted and faded within seconds. Her fingers curled into the wool of his tunic, pulling him closer as the silence of the lake swallowed them whole.

Finally, Eris pulled away, her breath hitching, her cheeks flushed a brilliant, telltale pink that even the moonlight couldn’t hide. "We should go back," she said, her voice uncharacteristically small. "The men will notice."

"Let them notice," Soren teased, but he took her hand anyway, leading her back toward the camp. He didn’t stop grinning the entire way, enjoying the way she pointedly looked at anything but him.