The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 384: HATE

ERIS

I didn’t hate him. Honestly, I didn’t. But watching Soren, the absolute monarch of the most powerful empire in the North, dissolve into a puddle of dramatic despair was far more entertaining than it had any right to be.

"I don’t hate you," I said, my voice level and calm as I began to unlace my leather bracers.

"You DO!" Soren’s voice cracked, echoing off the ancient pines. He looked like I’d just told him I was planning to set his favorite horse on fire. "You actually want to see me die! You want me to freeze out here in the dirt while you luxuriate in the earth’s warmth!"

I didn’t answer. I just pulled the leather from my arm and started on the other.

"Is this revenge?" he demanded, pacing a frantic circle in the snow. "For the bow lesson? I admitted I was a creep! I admitted the instructional breathing was a lie!" He stopped suddenly, his eyes widening with a sudden, wild suspicion. "No, someone paid you to do this!"

"Paid me?" I asked, looking up with one eyebrow arched.

He began gesturing wildly, his hands cutting through the freezing air. "Who sent you to me? Who?! Was it the Southern lords? Did they offer you a province to break my heart in the middle of a forest?" He stepped closer, his face a mask of tragic realization. "Do you hate my guts that much, Eris?"

I stopped. I looked him dead in the eye, my face a perfect, cold sheet of glass.

"Yeah," I said, my voice dripping with a flat, clinical deadpan. "You’re right. I actually hate your guts."

The light in his eyes didn’t just flicker; it went out. He looked physically wounded, his shoulders dropping as he took a half-step back. "Eris, "

"Don’t fucking disturb me," I added, turning my back on him and walking toward the gap in the rocks where the steam was thickest.

I didn’t look back, but I could feel the weight of his devastation behind me. I knew the officers were watching.

I just didn’t care. I needed the water.

The rock formation acted as a natural cathedral, trapping the heat and the silence. As I undressed, the biting mountain air stung my skin, making the promise of the water even more alluring.

I slipped into the turquoise pool, a soft sigh escaping my lips as the geothermal heat reclaimed my limbs. It was perfect, naturally heated by the vents below, the surface of the water shimmering under the light of a thousand stars that peeked through the opening above.

The steam rose in thick, lazy plumes, curling around the dark rocks. In the distance, I could hear the faint, muffled sounds of the camp and the occasional howl of a wind that couldn’t reach me here.

This was nice. It was quiet. It was peaceful.

Alone.

I leaned my head back against the smooth stone, closing my eyes. I lasted exactly two minutes before the guilt started to itch.

Maybe I went too far, I thought, the image of Soren’s wounded expression flickering behind my eyelids. He looked genuinely hurt. Stupid, dramatic emperor. He’s like a child who was told the moon isn’t made of cheese.

I shifted in the water, the ripples feeling hollow. The truth was, my fire magic was humming at a high frequency, making the hot water feel almost... excessive.

I found myself missing the way his skin always felt like a cool silk sheet against mine, the perfect ice to balance my internal furnace. I missed his terrible, poorly timed jokes. I even missed his hands, which were usually trying to be "instructional" in ways that made my pulse jump.

Stop it, I told myself, splashing a bit of water on my face. Enjoy the peace. You fought for this.

The peace lasted another thirty seconds.

I heard the heavy, rhythmic thud of footsteps on stone. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t have to. The air in the grotto suddenly plummeted by ten degrees, the steam thickening as the cold met the heat.

Soren appeared at the edge of the pool. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t look at me. He was completely naked, his pale, muscular form looking like a statue carved from the very ice he commanded. With a solemn, funereal grace, he slipped into the water on the exact opposite side of the spring.

He sat there, submerged to his chest, his arms crossed over his powerful torso. He stared fixedly at a patch of moss on the far wall, his jaw set in a line of pure, unadulterated sulking.

I watched him through the steam, my lips twitching. Who is this man? I wondered. He was currently the most powerful creature in the North, a dragon-blooded warrior who could level a city, and he was sitting in a pool like a toddler who had been denied a second helping of dessert.

The silence stretched. It was heavy, laden with the kind of tension that usually precedes a thunderstorm. The water rippled slightly between us, the heat of my side of the pool clashing with the chill radiating from his.

Predictably, he broke first.

He glanced at me, his sapphire eyes darting toward my face before snapping back to the moss. He shifted, his shoulders tensing. A moment later, he looked again, lingering a second longer. He saw me watching him, saw the amused, knowing expression on my face, and he let out a long, defeated sigh that sent a cloud of steam swirling toward the stars.

"If you’re going to kick me out, you might as well knock me unconscious first," he muttered, finally looking at me. His expression was piteous. "Make it quick. Painless. I’ll just... drown myself here. A tragic end for a tragic man."

A soft laugh escaped me, the sound echoing off the rocks and breaking the heavy spell of his drama. "No need for that," I said.

Soren’s head tilted, a spark of hope igniting in his eyes. "...Really?"

"Really." I shifted, moving toward the center of the pool where the temperatures met in a perfect, lukewarm embrace. I opened my arms slightly, the water swirling around my shoulders. "Come here,"