The Villainess Wants To Retire Chapter 363: Story time

The afternoon light was a bruised purple, the kind of heavy, low-slung glow that only existed in the North during the Long Dark. I settled onto the velvet couch, the cushions swallowing us both as Rael scrambled into the crook of my arm.

Between us sat a silver tray piled high with the kitchen’s best offerings: honey cakes glistening with amber glaze, candied winter berries that shattered like glass between the teeth, and flaky pastries stuffed with spiced cream.

I opened the heavy, leather-bound volu in my lap. It was an ancient thing, its pages slling of dry earth and spent centuries. Rael’s eyes went wide, his small hand reaching out to trace the gilded illumination of a dragon on the title page.

"The Beginning," I whispered, my voice dropping into a storyteller’s rhythm.

I began to read the story, the words tasting like smoke on my tongue. I told him of Pyronox and Aenithra, the divine dragons who breathed the first magic into the world. I did the voices, giving Pyronox a low, rumbling growl that made Rael giggle and press closer to my side, and Aenithra a cool, lodic chi.

"They turned blessings into blades," I read, my heart fluttering at the weight of the sentence.

As I spoke of the Great War and the cities vanishing under volcanic clouds, I reached out and snagged a honey cake. It was cloyingly sweet, the sugar hitting my bloodstream with a sharp, welco spike.

I realized, watching Rael munch on a candied pear while he listened with rapt attention, that I might actually have a sweet tooth.

Back in Solmire, I’d always been too guarded, too focused on the next threat to enjoy sothing as simple as a pastry. Here, with the wind howling against the glass and a warm child in my arms, the sweetness felt like a rcy.

Life wasn’t so bad afterall.

But as I reached the part where the dragons vanished, the words began to feel heavy.

The book claid they left in silence, shattered by grief, or were betrayed by man. I knew better now. I had felt Pyronox’s rage in the ritual chamber; I knew he had been bound, shackled, and drained.

But what about Aenithra?

The question drifted through my mind like a stray snowflake. If the Flaborn had been captured, what had beco of the Frostmother? The book offered no answers, only the haunting whisper that they might one day return.

My mind flickered involuntarily to Soren. I thought of the way his skin had shivered with that unnatural, diamond-like sheen last night.

I thought of his eyes, those vertical, slitted pupils that looked more like the illustrations in this book than any human eye should. And then, despite myself, I thought of the way he had felt inside .

The sheer, overwhelming size of him, the way he had seed to fill past any logical limit, and the way he had gotten... stuck.

A fierce, hot blush scorched my cheeks. I stared hard at the paragraph about the "Age of the Gifted," trying to drown out the mory of that strange, heavy fullness.

It wasn’t exactly painful; it was just... a lot. Get it together, Eris, I scolded myself silently. You are reading a bedti story to a five-year-old. Stop thinking about your husband’s anatomy.

I shifted Rael slightly, trying to refocus. He probably just has... a very impressive lineage. That’s all. It was a biological quirk of the children of Frost. Nothing more.

My thoughts drifted further to Orrian. I hadn’t seen the spirit since the coronation. He was probably off in so corner of the spirit realm, peacocking for a flock of lesser shadows or annoying another poor soul with his dramatic flair. I missed his snark, even if it usually made want to extinguish him.

By the ti I started the third story... a lighter tale about a fox who tried to steal the moon, Rael’s interruptions began to falter.

"Mama?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

"Yes, little fla?"

"Do the dragons... do they have honey cakes in the sky?"

I smiled, stroking the soft hair at his temple. "I imagine they have the biggest honey cakes you’ve ever seen. Entire mountains made of sugar."

Rael let out a long, contented sigh, his eyes fluttering shut. "I want... a sugar mountain..."

"Tired, little fla?" I asked softly.

"No," he mumbled, his head lolling against my chest. "Just... resting my eyes... for a second..."

Two minutes later, his breathing changed. It beca deep, rhythmic, and heavy. He was a warm, solid weight against my heart, his small hand still clutching the hem of my robe.

The silence of the room settled over us, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the muffled thrum of the wind outside.

I looked down at him, and a wave of fierce, protective exhaustion washed over . The last three days had been a blur of politics, passion, and the terrifying realization that I was now responsible for an entire Empire.

My body was still humming with the aftershocks of Soren’s intensity, and my mind was frayed from the encounter with Caelen.

I decided then that the empire could survive for an hour without its Empress.

I adjusted us carefully, leaning back into the deep pile of cushions. I kept Rael draped across , his warmth acting as a living blanket. The scent of the honey cakes lingered in the air, sweet and comforting.

I closed my eyes, letting the darkness of the Long Dark pull at my senses. As I drifted off, my last thought wasn’t of tax codes or pardons, but of the dragon Aenithra.

I wondered if she was cold, wherever she was. I wondered if she was waiting for soone to find her.

Then, the warmth of the room and the weight of the boy carried under. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, tucked away from the world and the growing shadows of the palace.