The Villainess Wants To Retire Chapter 151: Entry to the Palace

Now, dear reader, if you thought the courtyard drama was the end of the entertainnt for the day, you clearly underestimate the capacity of palaces to generate chaos at the most inopportune monts. For what followed was not the dignified procession one might expect after such a montous confrontation, but rather a cody of errors that would have made the gods themselves weep with laughter.

Or perhaps just weep. The gods, I’ve found, have rather poor senses of humor.

The mont Soren and Eris began their ascent toward the palace entrance, the machinery of imperial hospitality lurched into motion with the kind of organized frenzy that only well-trained servants can achieve. They materialized from doorways and corridors like snow materializing from clear sky, a veritable swarm of efficiency in matching livery, each one moving with purpose born of years of service and the absolute certainty that failure to perform one’s duties would result in consequences best left uncontemplated.

"Your Majesty," one particularly harried-looking steward announced, bowing so low his nose nearly touched his knees, "the chambers have been prepared for Lady Eris as instructed. The Blue Wing, as you specified, with views of the aurora gardens and—"

"The heating runes have been reinforced," another servant interrupted, practically vibrating with the need to prove their competence. "We’ve added extra braziers, adjusted the thermal regulation, and ensured that—"

"Fresh linens from the southern provinces," a third chid in, "because we thought northern weave might be too—"

"That will be sufficient," Soren said, his tone carrying just enough authority to stem the tide of overeager explanations. "Lead the way."

The procession reford itself with remarkable speed, servants flanking them on either side, others rushing ahead to open doors, still more trailing behind with luggage that had been transported separately. It was, Eris noted with so amusent, rather like being swept along by an avalanche made of silk and determination.

The palace interior unfolded before them like a dream carved from winter itself.

Where Solmire had been all warm stone and captured sunlight, the Ice Palace of Nevareth was a study in cold magnificence. The entrance hall stretched upward into shadows, the ceiling so high it seed to disappear into its own darkness, held aloft by pillars that appeared to be carved from single pieces of translucent ice, though Eris suspected they were actually stone enhanced with magic so old it had beco indistinguishable from the material itself.

Light filtered through from sowhere, she couldn’t quite determine the source, casting everything in shades of blue and silver that made the world feel suspended, caught between twilight and dawn. The floors were polished to such perfection that they reflected the ceiling above, creating the dizzying impression of walking through infinite space, sky above and sky below, with only the thin reality of marble keeping one grounded.

Tapestries lined the walls, each one depicting scenes from Nevareth’s history in thread so fine it might have been woven from frost itself. Battles fought on frozen lakes. Queens crowned beneath winter stars. Dragons of ice rising from mountain peaks, their scales catching light that made them seem almost alive.

It was beautiful in a way that Solmire had never been. Not warm, not welcoming, but beautiful nonetheless. The kind of beauty that existed for its own sake, that needed no witness to justify its existence, that would remain perfect and terrible and magnificent whether anyone was there to appreciate it or not.

"Impressive," Eris murmured, and ant it.

Soren glanced at her, sothing soft flickering across his expression. "Wait until you see it during the aurora nights. The palace was designed to capture the light, channel it through the ice-work. The entire structure glows."

"Showing off, Your Majesty?"

"Absolutely."

They turned down a corridor lined with windows that looked out over what must have been gardens, though calling them such felt inadequate. Ice sculptures rose from beds of winter-blooming flowers, each one unique, each one sohow alive despite being carved from frozen water. The aurora gardens, the steward had called them, and Eris could see why. Even now, in daylight, there was sothing ethereal about them, sothing that suggested they would be even more spectacular under different light.

The procession continued, servants peeling off at various intervals to attend to their duties, until only a small group remained, the head steward, two ladies-in-waiting who had been assigned to Eris’s service, and a few guards maintaining respectful distance.

They were perhaps halfway down the corridor leading to the Blue Wing when Eris heard it.

A sound like distant thunder, or perhaps avalanche, growing rapidly closer.

She had exactly enough ti to register the noise, to see Soren’s expression shift from calm contentnt to dawning realization, before chaos arrived in the form of approximately two hundred pounds of enthusiastic frost-wolf.

Aldric appeared first, rounding the corner with the kind of harried expression that suggested he had been trying and failing to prevent exactly what was about to happen. Beside him trotted what could only be Bjorn, though "trotted" was perhaps too dignified a word for the loping, joyful gait that suggested barely contained excitent.

The wolf was massive, larger than any natural wolf had a right to be, with fur so white it seed to glow against the blue-tinged corridor. His eyes were pale gold, intelligent and bright, and fixed with laser focus on the two figures ahead.

Soren saw him and stopped, his face breaking into a genuine smile, the kind that made him look years younger. He opened his arms wide, the gesture welcoming and warm.

"Bjorn! Co here, boy, I’ve—"

But Bjorn was already moving.

The wolf launched forward with all the grace of an avalanche and approximately the sa level of consideration for anything in his path. Aldric made a desperate grab for his collar and missed. The guards tensed but held position, recognizing their Emperor’s pet even if said pet was currently behaving like a creature possessed.

Soren’s arms remained open, his smile widening in anticipation of the reunion.

And then, in what can only be described as the most devastating betrayal in recent imperial history, Bjorn dodged around him entirely.

Not even a pause. Not so much as a sniff. Just a complete and utter dismissal of the man who had raised him, fed him, probably given him so ridiculously embarrassing nickna in private.

The wolf’s target was singular, absolute, and completely unexpected.

Eris.