The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 379: First Hunt

The morning broke over the forest base like a sheet of cracked porcelain, pale and shivering.

As the hunting party stirred, the air was filled with the rhythmic crunch of boots on permafrost and the low, disgruntled nickers of horses being roused from their slumber.

Soren, resplendent in his silver-accented hunting leathers, practically radiated a desperate, golden-retriever energy that clashing spectacularly with the grim, frozen landscape.

He pulled his stallion alongside Eris as they began the slow trek into the first zone, his chest puffed out just enough to be noticeable but not so much as to look like he was trying, which, of course, meant he was trying very hard.

"Did you sleep well, my Empress?" he asked, his voice dropping into that smooth, velvet register he usually reserved for state dinners and seduction.

Eris didn’t even blink. She remained perfectly upright on Solara, her gaze fixed forward as if the Emperor of the North was nothing more than a particularly talkative gust of wind. Soren waited for a beat, his smile faltering only a fraction.

"The forest looks beautiful today, doesn’t it? The way the frost clings to the needles reminds me of the embroidery on your coronation gown."

Silence. Eris reached down, delicately adjusting Solara’s bridle before leaning over to whisper something into the mare’s ear that made the horse toss its head playfully. Soren’s brow twitched.

"That apple Solara’s eating looks delicious," he tried again, a note of genuine hurt creeping into his tone. "Should I be jealous? I don’t recall receiving any fruit this morning."

Beside them, Bjorn let out a huff and nudged Eris’s stirrup with his massive head. She immediately reached down, buried her fingers in the wolf’s thick neck fur, and gave him a fond scratch.

"Good boy, Bjorn," she murmured, her voice like honeyed silk, a sharp contrast to the wall of ice she was currently projecting toward her husband. Soren felt a spike of genuine panic.

What did I do? he wondered, his internal monologue spiraling into a chaotic mess of self-doubt.

Was it the kissing at the lake? Did I tease her too much about the stamina training? Is she actually angry, or is this some ancient southern torture tactic I wasn’t briefed on?

Eris, meanwhile, was having the time of her life. She could feel his eyes boring into the side of her head, could practically hear the gears of his brain grinding as he tried to solve the "Eris Puzzle."

It was intoxicating. For a long time, she had been the one reacting to his whims or Caelen’s betrayals, but now she held the leash.

He’s so predictable, she thought, a small, wicked spark of triumph dancing in her chest. Ignore him for five minutes and he starts questioning his entire lineage. Give him an inch of attention and he becomes an insufferable, preening peacock. Let’s see how he handles the silence.

Behind them, the officers were struggling to maintain their professional composure. Ryse nudged his horse closer to Thyren, his face a masterpiece of stoic amusement.

"Your Majesty seems... distressed," Ryse noted dryly. Thyren, who was currently biting his lip to keep from cackling, shook his head.

"Distressed? He’s about one more ’accidental’ shoulder-brush away from weeping. Look at his face. He looks like a kicked puppy who just realized his favorite bone has been hidden."

Jorel, ever the earnest soul, whispered nervously, "Did they have an argument? Should we intervene?"

Ryse laughed quietly. "Intervene? And ruin the best entertainment we’ve had since the summer solstice? Absolutely not. She’s dissecting him without a blade, Jorel. Just watch."

As they moved deeper into the East Forest, the environment began to shift with a heavy, atmospheric gravity.

The trees grew taller, their trunks wide as towers and draped in bark that looked like it had been forged from silver-plated iron.

The snow beneath Solara’s hooves deepened to a thick, powdery knee-height, muffling every sound until the only thing audible was the labored breathing of the party and the distant, haunting snap of shifting ice.

It was a sacred, ancient place. Frost flies, normally scarce, began to swarm in swirling, luminescent clouds, dancing between branches that hung with impossible crystal formations.

Ethereal auroras flickered in the daylight sky, faint ribbons of green and violet that shouldn’t have been visible but pulsed with a slow, rhythmic light.

The air grew so sharp It felt like breathing needles, and an instinctive hush fell over the men. Even the horses moved with a newfound caution, sensing the forest’s ancient awareness.

"These trees are over a thousand years old," Soren said, attempting one more foray into conversation as they passed a giant pine carved with symbols from an era before the first empire.

"Legend says the first Ice Emperor made a pact with the forest itself. My ancestors hunted here when Nevareth was just a cluster of huts." He looked at Eris, practically begging for a nod, a look, even a glare.

Eris simply adjusted her fur cloak and continued her silent conversation with Solara. Soren felt a piece of his soul wither and die.

They finally reached the primary hunting grounds: a massive clearing bisected by a frozen stream that sang with the muffled sound of water moving beneath thick ice.

Soren called for a halt, sliding off his stallion with a grace that was supposed to be impressive but mostly felt desperate.

"We divide into three teams," he commanded, regaining some of his imperial authority. "Ryse, take the East sector for Frosthorn Deer. Jorel, southeast for the smaller game, we need the fowl and rabbits for the winter stores. My team will take the Northeast. We’re going after the Snowback Elk." He looked at Eris, waiting for her to protest or ask to join a different team. She simply dismounted and walked toward the armory cart.

The distribution of weapons was a tactical affair, but for Soren, it was another stage for his "Please Notice Me" tour. He drew his Imperial Bow from its velvet casing, a masterpiece of Frostwood inlaid with silver runes and strung with Vargra sinew.

It was a weapon of kings, beautiful and lethal. He tested the string, letting out a sharp twang that echoed through the clearing. He turned toward Eris, holding the bow aloft like a trophy.

She was busy checking Solara’s hooves for ice. Soren’s shoulders slumped, his imperial bow suddenly feeling like a child’s toy.

Eris, refusing to be a mere spectator, requested a weapon of her own. Since no one had expected the Empress to actually participate, she was handed a plain, sturdy recurve bow and a quiver of standard arrows.

She tested the weight, looking entirely unconvinced. Truthfully, Eris was terrible with a bow, her specialty was incinerating things, not precision projectiles, but she’d sooner die than admit she couldn’t handle a simple piece of wood.

"The hunt begins," Soren announced, though his tone suggested the hunt was more of a secondary goal to winning back his wife’s favor.

As the teams split and moved into their sectors, Soren’s aura underwent a transformation he wasn’t even aware of. Inside his head, the mission was simple: Impress Eris. Be the best hunter. Make her look at me with those wide eyes again. But as he began to track the Snowback Elk, his heritage and centuries of warrior instinct took the wheel.

What Soren thought he was doing was being a skilled, competent hunter. What was actually happening was the activation of a primal apex predator.