The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 434: Ice-skating

Eris’s heart was pounding with such force it felt like a bird trapped in a cage, battering against her ribs. Her face was burning... not with the steady, controlled heat of her magic, but with the searing, humiliating flush of raw embarrassment.

What is wrong with me? she screamed internally. In public. In the middle of a festival. I kissed him like... like I wanted to devour him.

She tried to take a steadying breath, but the cool air did nothing to quench the fire in her blood. The want was still there, an insistent, heavy ache between her thighs that felt entirely indecent.

She was an Empress, a ruler, a woman who prided herself on her iron self-control. Yet, with one touch from Soren, she had nearly unraveled in a dirty alleyway.

The realization was the most terrifying part. In her past life with Caelen, she had believed she had reached the peak of human desire. She had felt an insatiable pull toward him, a need she thought was her limit.

But that was nothing. Compared to what she felt for Soren, her history with Caelen was a flickering candle next to a forest fire. Soren didn’t just want her; he matched her. He took the cake, the bakery, and the entire wheat field. It was a discovery of a new side of herself... a depth of need and a capacity for desire she hadn’t known existed. It was exhilarating, yes, but mostly it was terrifying. He had a power over her that Caelen never possessed: the power to make her forget herself.

Soren didn’t stay in the alleyway. He was stunned, certainly, and his body was vibrating with a frustration that was almost painful, but he wasn’t about to let her run. He followed her like a persistent, loyal hound, weaving through the thickening crowds of the festival.

Why did she run? he wondered, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and hope. Did I do something wrong? Did I push too hard? He kept the charcoal-grey hood of her cloak in his sights, his long strides easily eating up the distance she had tried to put between them. Behind him, at a discreet and respectful distance, his guards followed, their eyes sharp for any threat even as they gave their Emperor the space he clearly needed to chase his wife.

The market square opened up into a massive, cleared arena where the crown jewel of the festival’s physical activities was located: the ice rink. It was a masterpiece of Northern magic, a smooth, gleaming surface of deep sapphire ice that was magically maintained to stay perfectly level and slick regardless of the temperature.

Low ice walls, intricately carved with runes of stability, acted as a barrier. Benches lined the perimeter, where citizens sat to change into skates, and small stalls nearby sold steaming cups of spiced cream and honey-cakes. Lanterns on tall posts glowed with a soft, amber light, reflecting off the ice to create a scene of pure winter magic.

People were everywhere... children racing, couples gliding hand-in-hand, and mages performing graceful, spinning demonstrations in the center.

Eris finally slowed to a halt at the edge of the rink. Her chest was still heaving, her hood pushed back just enough to reveal the wonder in her eyes. She watched the skaters with a quiet, intense curiosity. She saw people flying across the ice with a grace that seemed to defy gravity.

In Solmire, ice was a rarity, a luxury kept in cellars. Here, it was a playground. The want to be part of it... to experience this fundamental piece of her new home... overrode her embarrassment.

Soren reached her side a moment later, slightly breathless himself. He didn’t mention the kiss or her flight. He simply stood beside her, watching the skaters reflect in the amber of her eyes.

"Do you want to try?" he asked, his voice gentle, devoid of any teasing edge.

Eris glanced at him, then back at the ice. "Yes," she said, her voice simple and honest. "I do."

Soren raised a hand, signaling the guards who lingered in the shadows. Within minutes, they returned with two pairs of the finest skates the palace could provide.

The boots were a work of art: black leather lined with thick white fur, reinforced with rune-etched silver plates. The blades were slightly curved, glowing with a faint blue light that promised stability and grip on the enchanted ice. They were elegant, functional, and undeniably imperial.

Eris sat on one of the benches, and to her surprise, Soren knelt in the snow before her. He took her foot in his lap, carefully lacing up the boots, ensuring the fit was snug but comfortable.

He looked up at her, a sudden, wicked glint returning to his eyes. "You know," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive vibrato. "The way you’re breathing right now... and the way you looked in that alley... it makes me feel things that are quite difficult to manage in public."

He tightened a lace with a sharp tug. "I fully intend to demand a thorough repayment for this torture once we are back in our bedchamber."

Eris’s face turned a shade of red that rivaled a Solmire sunset. "Soren!" she hissed, pushing his face away with her hand. "The guards are right there!"

Soren chuckled, standing up and putting on his own skates. He could have simply walked on the ice... he was the Ice Emperor, after all... but he wanted to be her equal today. He wanted to feel the rhythm of the blades with her.

Eris stood up, her ankles immediately feeling like they were made of jelly. The blades were thin, and the ice was unforgiving.

"I can do this," she muttered, her pride flaring as she waved away Soren’s reaching hand.

She took her first step onto the rink. Her legs went shaky, her arms flew out for balance, and she performed a frantic, wobbling dance that looked like a newborn fawn trying to walk on a frozen pond.

"I’m fine!" she snapped, even as her left ankle buckled dangerously.

A second later, her blade caught a rut. She tipped forward, her arms flailing as she prepared for a humiliating face-plant.