The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 493: Bait

"Somewhere useful," Ophelia replied over her shoulder, her voice trailing back like a silken thread. "Somewhere she’ll come. The guest chambers in the east wing."

As they navigated the winding passages, the sounds of chaos grew sharper. Bianca’s suspicion bubbled over. "Are you sure this is a good place? We’re heading right toward the heart of the guest wing."

Ophelia didn’t slow down. Her answers were measured, each word a deliberate brick in the narrative she was building.

"Eris has a son, Bianca. Rael. With this level of chaos erupting, she won’t stay to fight the mages or the guards. Maternal instinct is a predictable, powerful leash. She will come for him. She’ll be vulnerable, distracted, and most importantly—alone."

A slow, predatory smile spread across Bianca’s face. The logic was flawless. An ambush at the door of the nursery was the perfect trap.

Eris would be so focused on the child she wouldn’t see the blade until it was buried in her ribs. "My ambush will be perfect," Bianca whispered, her eyes gleaming with an eager, jagged light.

They reached a strategic intersection near the guest chambers. It was a perfect vantage point; a deep alcove sheltered by an ancient, faceless statue offered enough shadow to conceal two people.

From here, they could see the door to Rael’s room clearly. Ophelia positioned herself, testing the sightlines with the professional detachment of an assassin. She looked satisfied.

The silence that settled between them was heavy, charged with the anticipation of the kill.

Bianca’s hand was buried deep inside her cloak, her fingers clutching something tightly. She thought she was being subtle, but she was a novice playing at games of shadow.

Ophelia noticed. She noticed the way Bianca’s shoulder was hunched, the way her grip never wavered. "You seem confident," Ophelia observed, her tone casual, almost conversational.

Bianca glanced at her, her chin lifting. "I am."

"Eris is powerful," Ophelia continued, her voice light as she leaned against the cold stone of the alcove. "If what you said about her is true, that she carries a powerful entity within her... then she has the fire. I’ve tried to think how one would even manage to kill her. It seems... impossible. Even for someone like you."

The bait was set. Bianca’s pride, always her greatest weakness, surged to the surface. She wanted Ophelia to know she wasn’t just a pawn; she wanted the Queen to see that she held the winning hand.

"Not impossible," Bianca said, her voice dripping with smugness. "With the right tool."

She drew her hand from her cloak. In her palm lay a dagger that seemed to drink the meager light of the corridor. The blade was obsidian, etched with runes that pulsed with a faint, black-red glow. It looked ancient, heavy with a power that made the air around it feel thick and oily.

"It’s an enchanted blade," Bianca boasted, holding it up so the runes caught the torchlight. "Vetra made this specifically for Eris while she sat in that cell. One stab. It doesn’t matter where. It will poison her instantly. It’s infused with a spell that bypasses all her protections—it ignores the dragon, ignores the fire. It targets her essence directly and poisons her directly."

Ophelia stared at the dagger, and for a moment, the mask of the "Gentle Queen" slipped.

Her reaction was internal, a cold, sharp recognition. That’s it. She didn’t just want Eris dead. She knew that simply killing the girl might turn her into a martyr in Soren’s eyes.

Ophelia’s plan was more exquisite.

She didn’t want to poison Eris’s body; she wanted to poison her legacy. If she could use that blade to force Eris to lose control, to revert into the fire-breathing monster the world feared, then Soren and Caelen would have no choice. They would be forced to drive the sword home themselves. Soren would have to kill the monster Eris had become.

The dagger was only halfway to its true purpose.

Ophelia had to have it.

"It’s beautiful," Ophelia whispered, her voice breathless with a perfectly performed awe.

"The craftsmanship... the runes... I’ve never seen anything like it." She reached out, her hand trembling slightly in a display of feigned fascination.

"May I... may I hold it? Just for a moment? I want to see the etchings up close."

Bianca hesitated. The dagger was her insurance, her one piece of leverage. But Ophelia looked so harmless, so genuinely impressed.

"I won’t be long," Ophelia reassured her, a light, self-deprecating laugh escaping her lips. "Unless you don’t trust me? We’re allies, aren’t we? I saved you from the guards that night. I’m the only reason you aren’t in a hole beneath the North Tower."

The social pressure was a vise. To refuse would be an insult to the woman who had protected her. Bianca, thinking herself the master of the situation, extended her hand. She offered the dagger hilt-first. What’s the harm? she thought. She’s just a queen who plays with flowers.

Ophelia’s fingers closed around the hilt. The moment the obsidian touched her palm, she felt the hum of Vetra’s malice vibrating through her arm. It was a connection, a weight that felt right.

Ophelia’s expression changed. It didn’t happen all at once; it was a subtle shift in the set of her jaw, a hardening of her eyes. She turned the dagger over, appreciating its balance. Then, she looked at Bianca.

The smile that spread across Ophelia’s face was bone-chilling. It wasn’t the kind smile of a protector or the conspiratorial grin of an ally. It was predatory. It was triumphant. It was the smile of a wolf that had finally stopped pretending to be a sheep.

Bianca’s blood ran cold. The realization hit her like a physical blow to the stomach. Oh no. Oh fuck. What have I done?

"Give it back," Bianca said, her voice cracking as she tried to sound commanding. She reached out, her hand shaking.

Ophelia didn’t move. She held the dagger casually, as if she had owned it for a century. She let out a soft, genuine laugh that was more insulting than a slap. "No."