The Villainess Wants To Retire Chapter 347: THE FIRST ASCENT

The light that filtered through the high, arched windows of the Imperial bedchamber was weak, a pale, sickly silver that signaled the true beginning of the Long Dark. There was no sun to greet the morning, only the oppressive weight of a sky that had forgotten how to be blue.

Inside the room, the world was reduced to the space beneath the heavy velvet furs. Eris woke slowly, her body anchored by a familiar, radiating heat. Soren was still deep in sleep, his face buried in the crook of her neck, his breath a steady, warm puff against her skin. For a heartbeat, she allowed herself to simply exist in the quiet. No war, no magic, no ex-husbands. Just the solid weight of a man who refused to let go.

Then, the clock in the corner chid, and reality hit her like a physical blow.

Today. First day in office. First public appearance. First imperial council.

Fuck.

She tried to slip out of the cocoon, but the mont she shifted, the arms around her tightened with instinctive precision.

"No," Soren grumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"I have to get up," Eris sighed, though she didn’t fight him as hard as she should have.

"Five more minutes." He mumbled it into her skin, his lips grazing her collarbone.

"You said that yesterday. And the day before. For three days, Soren."

Soren finally opened his eyes, his pupils blown wide and dark as he grinned up at her. "And it was the most glorious three days of my life. Can you bla for wanting a fourth?"

"Soren. Council. Today. Now." She pushed at his chest, her palms eting the hard planes of his muscles.

He groaned, a dramatic, long-suffering sound, and reluctantly uncoiled his limbs. "Fine. But for the record, I am officially lodging a protest against the concept of governance."

Eris sat up, and the protest she lodged was purely internal. Every muscle in her body scread. Her core ached, her thighs felt like lead, and a very specific, localized throb reminded her that the Emperor was, indeed, a man of legendary stamina.

"Noted," she managed, gritting her teeth against the soreness.

The morning was a blur of high-stakes maintenance. The maids arrived, led by the Head Lady’s Maid, a woman whose professionalism was a suit of armor. Still, Eris didn’t miss the way their eyes flicked toward the rumpled sheets, the battlefield of the last seventy-two hours. They tried not to look at her neck. They failed.

They all know, Eris thought, closing her eyes as she was led toward the steaming bath. Every servant, every guard, every stable boy. I am the Empress who scread so loud the East Wing got an education.

The warm water was a godsend. It was infused with healing oils that slled of wintergreen and eucalyptus, designed to soothe battered flesh. But even the finest Nevarian alchemy couldn’t quite erase the evidence of Soren’s... thoroughness.

As the maids scrubbed her skin, one accidentally brushed a dark, flowering bruise on her hip. Eris winced, her breath hitching.

"Forgive , Your Majesty," the girl whispered, her face turning crimson.

"It’s fine," Eris said through gritted teeth. It wasn’t fine. Everything hurt. Walking was going to be a chore. Sitting was going to be an ordeal. Soren is a monster disguised as a man, she thought, though a traitorous part of her mind added: A very, very talented monster.

Once dried, the real work began.

"Your Majesty... the marks..." the Head Maid murmured, surveying the damage with a clinical eye.

"I am aware," Eris said, her face burning.

The marks were a map of possession. Bite marks on her shoulder, bruises on her wrists from where he had pinned her, and hickeys that reached dangerously close to her jawline. So were fading to a yellow-green, but others, the ones from the "restless" garden incident, were a fresh, vivid purple.

They chose a high-necked gown of deep Nevarian blue. The heavy silk felt like a shield. Silver embroidery traced the bodice, and long sleeves covered the faint shadows on her wrists. The collar was stiff, pressing against her throat to hide the worst of the marks, though the sheer number of jewels they had to layer on, a sapphire choker and a heavy silver necklace, was almost comical.

"You look beautiful, Your Majesty," the maid said, stepping back.

Eris looked in the mirror. She looked regal. She looked cold. She looked like an Empress. But beneath the silk, she felt like she’d been mauled by a wolf.

They managed a quick, quiet breakfast in the private parlor. Eris ate her porridge with a stiff spine, while Soren watched her with a look of predatory satisfaction that made her want to throw her spoon at him. He looked perfectly refreshed, the bastard.

"Ready?" he asked, standing and offering his arm.

Eris stood, and her legs imdiately sent a formal complaint to her brain. Her gait was off; she was moving with a rigid, gingerly caution that made her spine look too straight.

"I look like I got hit by a carriage," she hissed as they stepped into the corridor.

Soren leaned down, his breath warm against her ear. "You look like you were thoroughly loved, beloved. There’s a difference."

"Shut up."

"Are you still sore?" he asked, his voice louder now, carrying to the guards who had snapped to attention. "I can carry you if the walk to the Council Chamber is too much, "

Eris dug her nails into his forearm, her eyes flashing fire. "Finish that sentence and I will find a way to set you on fire despite your ice magic."

He laughed, a low, rich sound. "Worth it."

The walk through the palace was a gauntlet. Servants stopped to bow, their heads low, but Eris could feel the weight of their stares. She could hear the whispers starting the mont their heels clicked past. She felt like a walking advertisent for Soren’s virility.

Then, she felt it, a warm, slow slip of fluid between her legs. Her face went from pale to incandescent. She tried to maintain her stride, to act as if she wasn’t currently leaking the Emperor’s "enthusiasm" into her expensive silk undergarnts.

"Breathe," Soren whispered, squeezing her hand.

"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "You’re not the one who, "

"Who scread my na loud enough for the ancestors to hear?" He grinned. "No, that was definitely you."

"I hate you."

"No you don’t."