Chapter 262: Inappropriate Thoughts

ERIS

The fire inside me was calmer now, tamed by Soren’s ice into something manageable rather than consuming.

Hours in that bath had worked… my core temperature had dropped from dangerous to merely warm, divine power settling back into dormant state rather than threatening to burn me alive from within.

But in place of that calm, something else refused to settle.

The shameless urge to pounce on Soren.

Asides from the absolutely inappropriate timing, this terrified me more than Pyronox ever had, more than demons or politics or assassination attempts.

Because this was one of the things I’d been afraid of… my own overwhelming feelings threatening to swallow sense and reason whole.

As we both climbed out of the water, my eyes betrayed me. They scanned Soren’s body without permission, noting every line of muscle carved by years of training, every droplet of water sliding down pale skin that looked like marble given warmth.

And lower, impossible to miss, his member protruded with obvious intent despite the cold water we’d been sitting in.

It seemed to have a mind of Its own.

Heat that had nothing to do with divine fire flooded through me.

My own desires threatened to consume what little restraint I’d managed to build, especially as I watched water trickle from his longer hair… when had it gotten longer?

It made him look less boyish and mischievous and instead more dangerous.

I actually liked him better with longer hair.

Gods, what was wrong with me?

I slapped myself mentally, physically recoiling from my own thoughts. Reminded myself sharply of the work that needed doing… Vetra’s network to dismantle, nobles to turn, evidence to gather, a political war to wage and win before the wedding in five days.

No time for this. No space for desire that made my hands shake and my chest tight.

We returned to his bedchamber where new clothes had been laid out for both of us… someone, probably servants who knew better than to linger, had prepared everything we’d need. Simple garments, comfortable rather than formal. Nightclothes, really, since proper rest was clearly the goal.

I expected Soren to tease me. To offer help with laces or ties, to make some comment about bodies and proximity and how we’d just spent hours pressed together in bathwater.

Instead, he smiled weakly.

“I’ll give you the privacy you need,” he said quietly, gathering his own clothes. “Change in here. I’ll use the other room.”

Then he disappeared through a door I hadn’t noticed before, leaving me alone.

I was almost disappointed. Almost wanted him to stay, to push, to make this easier by being impossible rather than considerate.

But I changed quickly into the lighter garment… soft linen that felt like clouds against skin still sensitive from temperature extremes.

Just as I finished, maids entered with trays upon trays of food. Roasted meat, fresh bread, cheese, fruits I recognized and some I didn’t, wine and water and what looked like honeyed tea.

Soren emerged from the other room fully clothed as well, simple dark trousers and loose shirt that somehow made him look more dangerous than imperial regalia ever had.

“You should eat Your Majesty,” he urged gently. “And rest. Your body needs fuel to finish healing.”

That’s when I noticed it.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. The usual spark of mischief or warmth or whatever emotion he typically radiated had dimmed to almost nothing.

There was sadness clinging to him like frost on windows, heavy and visible despite attempts to hide it.

Of course he wasn’t his usual self.

He’d just lost hundreds of his people. Most of them died screaming while demons tore through districts he’d sworn to protect.

The weight of that failure, regardless of who was truly responsible, rested entirely on shoulders already carrying an empire.

Guilt twisted sharp in my chest.

I wanted to comfort him. Desperately. But I had no idea how… had never really comforted anyone in either life except myself, had never learned the words or gestures that eased other people’s pain.

As the maids filed out silently, Soren moved to follow them toward the door.

I felt reluctant. Physically reluctant to watch him leave, to be alone in this massive chamber that smelled like him, to let him carry whatever grief he was drowning in without at least trying to help.

“Soren.”

His name left my mouth before I’d decided to speak it.

He stopped immediately, turning back with expression that tried for curious but landed closer to hopeful.

My tongue tied itself into knots. What was I supposed to say? How did people do this… this comforting thing, this reaching across space between two tired souls and offering something that helped rather than hurt?

My stomach twisted anxiously. I didn’t even know what expression I was wearing right now, what my face was doing while my brain screamed incomprehensible suggestions.

Eventually I gave up.

“Never mind,” I muttered, looking away. Then added quickly, almost too quiet, “Don’t overwork yourself.”

Soren’s response came with attempt at his usual playfulness, though even that felt weak, worn thin by exhaustion.

“I’m happy you’re worrying about me. But you should focus on yourself first.” He paused, then added with ghost of his normal teasing. “Though I am energized now that I got to feel your warm body pressed against mine for such a long time.”

Heat flooded my face instantly. Damn him… he was doing this on purpose, trying to distract me from his own pain by embarrassing me instead.

“Leave,” I ordered, voice coming out sharper than intended. “Now.”

He chuckled as he walked away, the sound almost genuine but not quite reaching whatever depth real laughter should touch.

The door closed with soft click.

I finally exhaled, releasing breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

His room was beautiful. Elegant without being ostentatious, every detail chosen with care… pale blue walls, white furniture, windows that overlooked snow-covered gardens. And I was sitting in his bed. Actually in it, surrounded by his scent, his space, his private sanctuary.

Without thinking, I leaned down and sniffed his sheets.

Caught myself immediately.

“I must be losing my mind,” I muttered aloud. “This is Pyronox’s fault somehow.”

Narrator:

Somewhere in that beautiful cage inside Eris, the dragon was thinking: How am I to blame for this?

Eris:

I started eating, forcing food down throat that wanted to close with anxiety and guilt and feelings I couldn’t name.

The meat was perfectly prepared. The bread still warm. The fruit sweet enough to make me remember that pleasure existed outside of survival and strategy.

A knock interrupted the quiet.

A guard entered after I called permission, bowing slightly. “Your Majesty, Duchess Maren Kristoff requests audience with you.”

I understood immediately what this meant.

Maren was defecting. Breaking from Vetra’s faction, coming to offer allegiance or information or both.

Smart woman… she’d seen which way the wind was blowing during that council session and decided to jump ship before it sank completely.

“Tell the Duchess I’ll see her tomorrow afternoon,” I said, calculating quickly. Tomorrow gave me time to plan the conversation, to decide what I wanted from her, to be rested enough to read every micro-expression and lie. “She’s welcome to visit then.”

The guard bowed again and left.

I returned to eating, mind already spinning with possibilities.

Maren’s military connections. Her influence over younger officers. Her reputation for pragmatism over ideology. All useful. All potentially crucial for what came next.

Five days until the wedding.

Five days to prove that the villainess could win without burning everything to ash.

I smiled into my wine glass.

This was going to be interesting.

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