The Villainess Wants To Retire Chapter 416: Brand Of Shame

The scream ripped through the air as Bianca appeared on the upper balcony. She had seen the arrest from her window. Her mind, already frayed, could only process one thing: the Emperor’s n were taking her last connection to power.

She rushed down the stairs, toward Jorel, her hands glowing with a jagged, unstable blue light.

"You can’t take him!" she shrieked. "Tell His Majesty to co here himself! Tell him to look at !"

The guards didn’t engage with her; they were trained to ignore the hysterics of nobles. They continued to haul Viktor toward the waiting carriage. This dismissal was the final spark.

Bianca lashed out, muttering a spell under her breath. A spear of jagged, black-tinted ice erupted from her palm, striking one of the guards in the shoulder. The man cried out as the ice bit through his armor, blood blossoming across the blue fabric.

Jorel’s eyes narrowed. "Restrain her. Attacking the Imperial Guard is a capital offense. Treason. Arrest her as well."

Bianca’s eyes went wide. The reality of the shackles, of the damp, dark cell, finally broke through her delusion. As two guards moved toward her, she didn’t surrender. She scread, a high, piercing sound, and slamd her palms into the ground, another spell blooming on her tongue. A wall of mist and frost exploded outward, blinding the n.

Jorel countered with a wave of his hand, a gust of wind clearing the fog, but the space where Bianca had stood was empty. She had vanished into the dense ornantal shrubbery of the estate.

"Search the grounds!" Jorel commanded. "But get the Duke to the palace first. He is the priority."

Viktor was dragged away, his protests echoing through the silent courtyard. He looked back at his house, his legacy, and saw only the imperial soldiers stripping the Virelya banners from the walls.

Bianca was not found that morning. She had disappeared into the labyrinth of the estate’s wooded acres, a ghost in a tattered nightgown.

By midday, the news had hit the Capital like a thunderclap.

First Vetra, the woman who had held the North in a velvet grip for a decade. Now Viktor Virelya, one of the wealthiest and most influential dukes in the empire. The ssage was clear: no one was safe. No na was too old, no fortune too large, and no connection too deep to protect a traitor from the Emperor’s reach.

The estate sat in a state of stunned, hollow silence. The servants whispered in the kitchens, already looking for new positions, knowing the na Virelya was now a brand of sha.

Fear began to spread through the noble districts. n who had accepted Vetra’s "gifts" or Viktor’s "favors" began to look over their shoulders, wondering if every clank of armor in the street was the sound of Jorel and his scroll.

The purge had begun. And as the sun set over the frozen peaks of Nevareth, the people of the Capital realized that the Emperor wasn’t just defending his throne, he was burning the old world to the ground to make room for the new one he shared with Eris.

...

The imperial sitting room was bathed in the soft, bruised purple of a Nevareth afternoon. Eris sat by the window, the heat of her own body creating a faint fog on the glass that overlooked the frost-dusted ramparts.

She had spent the last hour attempting to make sense of the trade manifests Soren’s advisors had sent her, but the numbers kept blurring into the image of a silver crown and sapphire eyes.

She was restless. The Grimoire sat on a side table, its dark pulse muted for once, but the silence of the room was far more oppressive.

She missed the grounding weight of Soren’s presence. She missed the way the temperature in the room would drop just enough to make her fire feel like a comfort rather than a burden.

A soft knock at the door broke her reverie.

"Enter," she said, her voice regaining its imperial sharpness.

A young servant entered, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the carpet. He carried a ceremonial bundle wrapped in white silk and bound with a silver cord.

"Your Majesty," he murmured, "a docunt requiring your personal signature. The High Council insists on the Empress’s endorsent before the moon turns."

Eris took the bundle, her brow furrowing. "I was under the impression the Emperor was handling all state endorsents this week."

"This is... specific, Your Majesty," the servant replied.

Eris untied the cord and unrolled the vellum. Her eyes scanned the elegant, looping script. It wasn’t a trade manifest or a military decree. It was a list of opening ceremony protocols, requests for temple approvals, and a detailed itinerary for sothing called the "Winterkeep Festival."

"Why am I signing this?" Eris asked, a confused frown deepening.

"For the upcoming Festival, Your Majesty," the servant explained, shifting his weight. "It is the protocol for the imperial presiding."

"The what?"

Eris searched her mory. In Solmire, the transition to winter was a ti of mourning and stockpiling, a somber season of endurance. She had never heard of a celebration dedicated to the cold.

The servant’s eyes widened slightly. "The Winterkeep Festival, Your Majesty. It is the major annual celebration of the North. It is held just before the arrival of the Long Dark. It is a ti for the people to witness the unity of the crown."

His explanation was too brief, a re sketch of a tradition that clearly held massive weight in Nevareth. Eris looked back at the docunt. Her signature was expected next to Soren’s. She was expected to stand beside him in front of thousands of people, performing rituals she didn’t understand in a role she still felt like an interloper in.

"What is expected of ?" she pressed.

The servant looked pained. "I... I am only a ssenger, Your Majesty. The Lord Chamberlain usually handles the specifics, but he is currently busy with the preparations."

Eris felt a spark of sothing that wasn’t quite frustration, but rather a convenient, burning opportunity. She tapped the vellum against her chin.

"I see. This is far too complex for a brief explanation," she said, her voice composed and matter-of-fact. "I will speak to the Emperor about this directly. I need proper clarification before I attach my seal to such an extensive event."

Internally, her heart was thundering.

I JUST WANT TO SEE HIM. The thought was so loud it was a wonder the servant couldn’t hear it. I miss him so much I feel like I’m burning from the inside out. I need to see his face. I need to know why he’s hiding from .

"This is legitimate business," she told herself as she dismissed the servant with a nod. "I cannot sign a docunt I don’t fully comprehend. It is my duty to understand the customs of my subjects. The empire requires this eting."

She stood up and moved to the mirror, smoothing the skirts of her gown and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She took a deep, steadying breath. It’s just business, Eris. Professional. Direct. She kept telling herself that, even as her hands trembled while she gathered the docunts.