The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 382: Teacher

The sun didn’t so much rise on the next day as it did reluctantly stain the grey sky a bruised shade of pewter. Deeper into the second zone, the forest had abandoned the pretense of hospitality. The pines here were gnarled, ancient things with bark like dragon scales, and the silence was no longer peaceful, it was predatory. It was the kind of silence that had teeth.

Eris rode Solara in the center of the column, her fire magic humming beneath her skin like a volcano. She wasn’t ignoring Soren today, partly because the silence of the woods was unnerving enough without adding a domestic cold war, and partly because she’d already squeezed the metaphorical juice out of that particular lemon. Soren, for his part, was vibrating with a cautious optimism. He stayed close, his eyes constantly scanning the ridgelines where the shadows seemed to move with a life of their own.

"Notice how the birds have stopped?" Soren murmured, leaning toward her. "Usually, the frost-jays are screaming by now."

"Maybe they’re just smarter than us and stayed in bed," Eris replied, though she felt the way Bjorn’s hackles remained perpetually stiff. The massive wolf wasn’t wagging his tail today; he was a silent, silver shadow, his ears swiveling toward sounds that hadn’t happened yet.

Despite the eerie atmosphere, the hunt itself was going suspiciously well. By midday, the packhorses were already laden with Frosthorn Deer and braces of arctic rabbits. The men were efficient, the kills were clean, and the quotas were being met with a speed that should have been cause for celebration.

"Too easy," Soren muttered, pulling his stallion to a halt near a frozen tributary. He looked at a cluster of tracks that seemed to vanish into mid-air. "Something feels... off."

"Don’t jinx it," Eris snapped, though she felt it too. The forest felt like a held breath. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

"Your Majesty, we’re making excellent time," Ryse noted, riding up with a blood-smeared tunic and a satisfied expression. "If we keep this pace, we’ll have the winter stores filled before the first snowflake of the blizzard hits."

Soren didn’t look reassured. His instincts weren’t just prickling; they were screaming. But with the sky already beginning to darken behind the jagged Frostspine peaks, light died early in these canyons, he made the executive call to set up camp at a site they’d just discovered: a natural anomaly tucked into a defensive horseshoe of rock.

It was a hot spring. A small, steaming pool of turquoise water bubbled up through the permafrost, surrounded by a ring of black, heated stones. It was a tactical miracle, providing both warmth and a clear line of sight.

As the tents went up in a protective circle, Eris found a quiet spot on a fallen log near the edge of the steam’s reach. She was currently engaged in a very serious, very focused battle with her bow. She held a cloth and a vial of oil, methodically wiping down the wood with a grim intensity that suggested she knew exactly what she was doing.

She didn’t. She had no idea how to maintain a bow. She was mostly just rubbing the wood until it got shiny, hoping no one noticed she was treating a weapon like a piece of dining room furniture.

Soren approached, moving with that annoying, silent grace of a man who had spent his entire life in the woods. He stood behind her for a moment, watching her aggressively polish the riser. "You’re very dedicated to that bow," he noted, his voice laced with a dangerous amount of amusement.

Eris didn’t look up. "Maintenance is the key to precision."

Soren felt the corners of his mouth twitch. He knew for a fact that she’d been using the oil meant for saddle leather. "Is that so? And here I thought you were just trying to make it reflective enough to use as a mirror."

Eris finally looked up, her gaze flat. "Did you want something, or are you just here to provide unsolicited commentary?"

"I want to teach you," Soren said, his eyes dancing. "You have the instinct, but your form is... well, it’s Southern."

Eris arched an eyebrow. "Is there anything special? You pull the string, you let go, the thing dies."

"Come see."

Soren led her a short distance from the main camp, near the steaming rocks of the spring. He marked a series of trees with charcoal.

The furthest was an ancient, frost-blackened pine nearly a hundred and twenty yards away, a distance that seemed impossible given the shifting mountain winds.

Without a word, Soren drew his Imperial Bow. He didn’t seem to aim; he simply became part of the weapon. Thrum. The arrow vanished into the mist and buried itself dead center in the charcoal mark.

"Lucky shot," Eris remarked, though her heart did a little traitorous skip at the display.

"Try it," he challenged, handing her the bow.

Eris took her position. She squared her shoulders, drew the string, ignoring how much heavier his draw weight was, and released. The arrow hit the tree, but it was a good six inches off-center.

"Not bad," Soren murmured, stepping into her space. "For a beginner."

"Shut up," she hissed, reaching for another arrow. "Don’t call me that."

"Yes ma’am but let me show you how it’s done properly."

Soren didn’t stand beside her. He stepped directly behind her, his chest pressing against her back, his taller frame enveloping hers. Eris stiffened immediately. "I can adjust my own stance, Soren."

"Your stance is too narrow," he ignored her, his hands sliding down to her hips and firmly widening her feet. The heat of his palms through her leather trousers was distracting, to say the least. "You need a foundation like the mountain, Eris. Not a reed in the wind."

He reached around her, his arms caging her in. His fingers covered hers on the bow, his calloused skin a sharp contrast to her own. He was so close she could feel the vibration of his chest when he spoke.

"And your grip," he whispered, his lips a breath away from her ear. "Too tight. You’re choking the wood. Hold it like a lover, not a prisoner."

Eris’s brain was currently a chaotic mess of fire and static. He’s not teaching, she realized, her jaw tightening. He’s flirting. He’s absolutely, shamelessly flirting while holding a lethal weapon.

"Breathe in slowly," he instructed, his voice dropping into that low, intimate rumble that usually preceded something far less educational. "Feel the tension in the string. It’s not your enemy; it’s your strength."

He adjusted her arm, his chest rising and falling against her shoulder blades. "Release when you exhale. Now."

Eris released. The arrow shrieked through the air and slammed into the very center of the charcoal mark, splitting the wood with a satisfying crack.

"See?" Soren said, his voice smug as he lingered in her space, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder. "I’m an excellent teacher."

Eris didn’t lean back into him. Instead, she stepped out of his embrace with a sharp, calculated grace and turned to face him. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes flashing with a wicked, amused light.

"You’re a terrible teacher," she said, her voice flat.