ERIS
Of course he would find me here.
The night was filled with silence, the kind I thought even my thoughts would respect. But no... a stray emperor had wandered into my solitude. Deadly, yes. Lost, perhaps. Or maybe simply dumbstruck.
I almost laughed at the sight of him standing there, perfectly carved in moonlight, like he belonged to another world entirely. And yet he asked, so politely, to sit in my little garden of self-pity.
No. Not yet.
"You speak of mercy," I said, turning my face slightly toward him, lips curved. "Curious word, Emperor. Do you know, when I was dying... burning, writhing, coming apart from the inside out... I asked for mercy too. And it was denied of me."
His eyes narrowed, confused, but he didn't answer.
"Tell me, then," I continued, savoring the shape of my words, "what would a man like you know of mercy? You, born of ice and silence. You who never burned."
He surprised me by stepping closer, folding his hands behind his back like a scholar at debate. "I have read the old texts of our fathers' fathers," he said quietly. "They define mercy not as kindness, but restraint. To kill when one can, and chooses not to. Perhaps it is less foreign to me than you think."
I arched a brow. "Ah, so we quote dead people now."
"You began it."
He caught my meaning too easily.
It pricked at me, in a way. His quickness. Most men sputtered when I tangled them in words. Soren slipped through with ease, like water through stone.
I turned away, letting the moonlight strike only my cheek. "Then perhaps you should restrain yourself, Emperor. Spare me your company."
"And yet," he countered smoothly, "you haven't dismissed me."
A sharper smile touched my lips before I could stop it. "Perhaps I enjoy watching you stumble."
"I wasn't aware I had."
I turned at that, finally meeting his gaze full. And gods... he wasn't bluffing. His eyes held not just ice, but understanding. Not complete, not perfect. But enough to follow me here.
For a moment, I let silence test him. Then, at last, I shifted to the side of the bench, my robe brushing over the marble as I made room.
He sat, deliberate, precise. Always composed.
And I wondered, not for the first time, what exactly he wanted. Why he wandered from Caelen's wing into mine. What he was looking for among my flowers and ash.
And why I let him.
"Why is the Queen of Solmire sitting alone in her garden at this hour?" he asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
I didn't even turn. "Can a queen not take her own quiet moments? Or must even my solitude be weighed and measured?"
He gave a soft sound of amusement. "Of course you may. I only… never thought you were the kind of person who thinks."
The insult landed without hesitation.
I turned my head then, slowly, and let my eyes burn into him. Silent. Sharp. A stare that had made generals sweat and priests pray.
His composure faltered. "That was… poorly said. Forgive me."
The laugh slipped out of me, low and cruel. "Twice in one night? The great Emperor of Nevareth apologizing to me? At this rate I'll start charging for it."
He tilted his head, watching me. "Perhaps you should. I suspect your treasury would overflow within a week."
"Then tell me," I asked, shifting so the moonlight glinted off my eyes, "why are you here? Do you know it is a crime to be seen in my wing without my permission?"
For the second time, he faltered. And again, an apology. "Then I must beg it once more."
I smirked. "What a curious thing. You could freeze me where I sit, and yet you bend so easily to words. Why?"
"Respect," he answered simply.
"Or fear?"
He didn't deny it.
And I realized in that moment that his cold bled from him in waves. It soothed the fire seething inside me without him even trying. Perhaps that was why I let him linger. But even as I thought it, I knew it didn't matter. None of it did. He wasn't real. Neither was I. We were only what someone else had written us to be.
I wondered, if he had the choice, would he carry this burden again? This crown of ice, this prison of power?
His voice pulled me back. "You know, I can practically feel your stare burning through my skin."
I scoffed. "Exaggeration."
He smirked faintly. "Observation."
I allowed myself a thin smile. "Then you're far too sensitive."
"Or perhaps you're far too relentless."
"Perhaps."
I leaned back, watching him through narrowed eyes, my mind still tangled in the thought that none of this was real. That I wasn't real. A queen on a stage, dancing to a script scribbled by some faceless, bored mortal.
I wondered, then, what Soren would do... if it had been him who died as the villain, him who woke up in that place of truth, stripped bare of the Illusion that he was flesh and blood.
The idea gnawed at me until I finally spoke.
"Tell me something, Emperor. Imagine this—" I swirled the wine in my cup, letting it bleed like blood beneath the moonlight. "What would you do if you discovered that everything about you was false? That you were nothing more than the result of someone else's imagination. A story. Your fate written for you, beginning to end."
His eyes sharpened, but I continued, savoring each word. "And then... you were given a second chance. To live it all again. Knowing the ending already. Knowing you were a puppet from the start. What would you do?"