The Villainess Wants To Retire

Chapter 578: Meeting

The pale, thin light of a Nevareth morning filtered through the heavy velvet curtains, painting long, slate-colored streaks across the imperial bed.It was the kind of light that didn’t warm so much as it revealed, the fine dust dancing in the air, the tangled sheets, and the sudden, jarring reality of another person occupying the space.

They woke at the same time.

There was the gradual stirring, the soft transition from dreams to wakefulness and the specific, synchronized awareness of two rulers who had spent a lifetime listening for the world to break.

The first few minutes were quiet. Eris didn’t move, and neither did Soren.

They simply lay there in the grey dawn, the weight of each other’s presence acting as a physical anchor.

It was the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled with explanations or apologies. It was enough, for a heartbeat, to simply exist in a room that wasn’t a battlefield or a void.

But mornings in the capital were not designed for lingering.

The world began to assert itself in small, mundane ways, the distant chime of a clock in the hallway, the muffled sound of servants beginning their rounds, the inevitable pull of duty.

Soren was the first to shift. He sat up, the cold air hitting his skin, his silhouette sharp and dark against the window. He looked at her once, a lingering, searching look, before he stood to meet the day. The reprieve was over.

Soren emerged from the imperial wing an hour later, his face set in the familiar, stony mask of the Emperor. He was prepared for the council, for the dukes, and for the mountain of paperwork that surely awaited him.

He was not, however, entirely prepared for the man standing in the corridor.

Aldwin was simply there. He wasn’t leaning against a wall or pacing; he was just present, his hands tucked into the voluminous sleeves of his robes, his white beard a stark contrast against the dark stone. He looked as if he had grown out of the masonry itself.

Soren stopped. For a fleeting second, the Emperor’s mask slipped. His expression softened into something significantly younger, the specific look of a man seeing a ghost from a time before he had been forced to become a weapon.

Aldwin looked him up and down with the unhurried, clinical attention of a master examining a flawed piece of work.

"You look," Aldwin began, his voice like dry parchment rubbing together, "considerably worse than when I last saw you."

It was a classic Aldwin opening, the mild, blunt observation of a man whose version of affection had always been rooted in the absolute, often uncomfortable truth.

"And you look exactly the same," Soren countered, his voice rasping slightly. "Which is to say, ancient. I’m starting to believe you’re a structural element of the academy that they simply forgot to catalog."

A dry, wheezing sound passed for laughter in Aldwin’s throat.

It was a brief exchange, but it carried the immense weight of two people adjusting to the reality of being in the same room after years of distance.

The silence that followed was comfortable, seasoned by a decade of history.

"Your wife welcomed me," Aldwin said, his eyes twinkling with a suppressed sort of mischief.

"With considerably more grace than I expected, given her reputation." He paused, tilting his head.

"I suspect her reputation was never entirely accurate. Or, perhaps, she has simply found something worth being graceful for."

Soren said nothing, but a sudden, fierce heat climbed up his neck. He blushed, hard, the color staining his jawline as he looked pointedly at the floor.

The silence told Aldwin everything. It was a loud, screaming admission of exactly how much Eris mattered.

"You made a good choice, Soren," Aldwin said, his voice dropping the teasing edge.

"Whatever your reasons were for going after her... the instinct was sound. She is the anchor you didn’t know you needed."

"We have much to discuss," Soren said, pivoting away from the topic of his heart with practiced ease. "The things I saw in the North... the things she has found here."

"I know," Aldwin nodded. "Whenever you are free."

"After the council," Soren promised. "We will talk properly."

He didn’t make it ten paces before Aldric found him.

He looked like a man who had been holding up a collapsing ceiling for a month and was finally seeing a support beam arrive.

He was relieved, yes, but there was also a slight, lingering reluctance in his stride. He had been managing the capital well alongside Eris, and he knew it; giving back the reins always felt a bit like losing a limb.

"Sire," Aldric said, falling into step beside him. The updates began immediately, a rapid-fire succession of logistics and political movements.

"The border reinforcements are holding. The grain shipments from the south have been rerouted through the mountain passes to avoid the flooding. And the King of Solmire departed with his party two days after you left for the provinces."

Soren nodded, absorbing the data.

Aldric paused. He hesitated a beat too long, his eyes flitting toward the imperial wing they had just left.

"Has Her Majesty... told you anything? Of note? Since your return?"

Soren slowed his pace. "Told me what, Aldric?"

He looked at his secretary, and Aldric read the expression instantly. The genuine, flat blankness in Soren’s eyes was the answer to the question Aldric was actually asking. The realization landed heavily.

"Nothing," Aldric said, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Never mind. It was a minor administrative query. The council is waiting, Sire. They’ve been in the chamber for twenty minutes."

He pivoted back to business with the speed of a man fleeing a fire, burying his nose in his documents. Soren watched him for a second, filing the strange interaction away.

Aldric knew something. And Aldric was waiting for Eris to be the one to say it.

The doors to the council chamber swung open, and the atmosphere inside shifted instantly from a low, anxious murmur to a sharp, expectant silence.

The remaining tribunal was assembled: Duchess Maren, looking as if she hadn’t slept in a week; Duke Konstantin, scowling at a map; and the Dukes Frostholm, Klaus, and Stormwatch.

They were surrounded by magistrates and advisors, all of them wearing the specific expression of people who had been waiting for the only person capable of making a final decision to finally show up.

The questions began before Soren even reached the head of the table. What had happened at the border? What was the status of the northern wall?

Soren answered the logistical questions with cold precision. He spoke of the provinces he had stabilized, the traitors he had executed, and the supply lines he had restored.

But when the questions turned to his disappearance, he shut them down with a single, icy look.

"That is a separate matter," he said, his voice echoing in the vaulted ceiling. "One that involves high-level magics and imperial security. It will be addressed in time. For now, we focus on the immediate recovery."