Eris did not smile when the door closed, though the corners of her lips ached to curve. The thrill coiled inside her like a serpent roused from sleep, restless, eager. For the first time in years, the weight pressing on her shoulders felt as though it could be lifted.
The prospect of walking away, of abandoning crown and court alike, was intoxicating. She did not show it too much though, of course; Eris Igniva never allowed her face to betray more than she intended. But the fire in her blood hummed with a different kind of heat now… not rage, not cruelty, but anticipation.
Then the thought struck her. Rael.
A silent ache tugged at the iron walls of her chest. She would leave him behind. Her son, the boy who recoiled from her touch, who looked at her as if she were something monstrous. And yet, he was still hers. She had bled to bring him into this world, and she had burned for him in ways no one would ever know. She would miss him. Gods, she would miss him.
Perhaps she would see him once more before she vanished. A final look. A goodbye he would never understand.
She let the thought linger only a moment before pushing it aside. Sentiment had never served her well.
She looked around her chamber, the walls suddenly feeling too warm for her.
"Perhaps I should take this outside." She concluded silently with a little grunt as she picked herself up from the ground where she sat comfortably to plan her disappearance all night.
Beyond her chamber walls, the palace was already seething. Whispers slithered through corridors like smoke through cracks:
The Queen had collapsed and stopped breathing…
The Queen laughed like a madwoman when she awoke…
The Queen refused to attend the Pyrosanct council…
The Queen had summoned the High Keeper in secret.
But none of the words ever dared to reach outside the palace. For the faintest rumor to reach Eris herself would result in Pyronox-knows-what.
Each tale twisted in the telling, each word spreading faster than the last. Servants spoke behind closed doors, courtiers exchanged wary glances, and guards muttered prayers under their breath. Suspicion thickened the air of Solmire like an oncoming storm.
And all the while, Pyrosanct drew nearer.
While the meeting held, preceded by the King consort himself,
The solarium hummed with silken voices, the air heavy with rosewater and sugared pastries. Ophelia sat at the head of the tea table, framed by sunlight streaming through glass panes, her smile as soft and inviting as ever.
The noblewives had gathered, their jeweled fans fluttering as fast as their tongues.
"They say the Queen collapsed in her own gardens," one whispered, eyes wide. "And when she awoke… laughing, like a woman possessed."
"Not only that," another added eagerly, "word came in this morning, she refused to attend the Pyrosanct council. Sent word that they should decide without her. Imagine!"
"And the High Keeper… summoned like a servant, right there in the morning, dragged to her chambers as though he were some common scribe."
Their voices lowered in scandalized unison. "Blasphemy."
And then, almost as if rehearsed, their gazes shifted to Ophelia.
"Poor Lady Ophelia," one of them cooed, reaching across to squeeze her hand. "To live in the shadow of such cruelty. You are a blossom in the fire."
"Yes, enduring her spite year after year," another chimed in, sighing heavily. "Yet you remain graceful, unburned. Truly, an angel."
Ophelia lowered her lashes, her expression modest, though her heart fluttered at their words. Their pity was sweet, sweeter than the tea in her cup. But still, something pricked at her conscience.
Eris was cruel, yes, but people like the ones seated before her often sharpened the stories until they gleamed like daggers. They carved her into a monster even sharper than reality.
She set her cup down delicately. "Her Majesty is not as cruel as she seems. The last time I saw her… she seemed different, somehow. Changed."
The chorus of fans snapped shut.
"You are too kind, my lady," one said, shaking her head. "Do not be fooled. The serpent sheds its skin, but it is still a serpent."
"Yes," another agreed quickly. "Do not mistake deception for change."
Ophelia smiled, serene as a saint. Yet their flattery still warmed her, even as guilt tugged quietly at the edge of her heart.
The conversation shifted like a breeze through curtains.
"And what of Nevareth's Emperor?" a lady asked slyly, her fan hiding the curve of her mouth. "Word is: he arrived last night, did he not? I remember him from years ago… already striking then. It is said he has grown taller, sharper still. A beauty to rival even Pyronox himself."
Soft laughter rippled around the table.
"He hardly seems real," another sighed. "That face, that presence. Almost ethereal. Especially with those beautifully haunting blue eyes. Oh! How I melt so easily under them."
"Be careful not to upset your husband." Another cautioned.
"Even the king consort," a bolder voice broke in, "handsome as he may be is no match. The ice emperor's beauty needs no effort."
Silence. The words hung in the air like a dropped blade.
Every gaze shifted, wary, toward Ophelia.
"Ah-" The speaker flushed, fumbling. "Forgive me, my lady. I meant no—"
Ophelia's smile did not waver, though her fingers tightened imperceptibly on her cup. Inside, irritation flickered. There was truth in the words, and that truth stung. Soren was just that good looking.
Her voice, when it came, was sweet as honey. "It matters not. Emperor Soren may dazzle the world with his looks or his power, but to me, Caelen is the most handsome of them all. I would not trade him for any emperor, nor any throne."
The noblewives gushed at once, nodding furiously.
"Of course, of course."
"Have you seen the way he looks at our dear Ophelia? I certainly remember! He wants her."
"You are far too good for the ice emperor, my lady."
"Have you not heard? Some say he is spoiled, a womanizer, using his charms to entrap foolish girls."
Their voices overlapped, weaving together into a scandalous chorus that swelled through the hall. Yet none of it held Ophelia's attention, save for the single, perilous thread: a whisper that Soren's gaze had lingered upon her, not idly, but with a hunger that bespoke desire.
Could it be so? She wondered, the thought striking her like a forbidden spell, half dreaded, half longed for.
And then, a shadow lengthened across the terrace.
The women froze.
The iceborne himself was passing along the garden path, pale cloak brushing against the blossoms, his stride unhurried, expression distant, entirely unaware of the venom whispered in his wake.