Chapter 354: Lovesick

Soren floated down the hallway, his boots barely seeming to touch the floor. He wasn’t just walking; he was oscillating on a frequency of pure, unadulterated triumph.

His ice magic, always a mirror to his internal landscape, had abandoned its usual sharp, jagged geometry. Instead, tiny clusters of frost crystallized in the air around his head, swirling into undeniable, shimmering hearts. Pale blue snowflakes formed delicate cardiovascular patterns, bobbing in his wake like loyal, frozen pets.

He was completely unconscious of the display. His mind was a frantic loop of a single scene: the friction of the desk, the heat of her skin, and the glorious, sharp tug on his scalp.

She grabbed my hair, he thought, his heart doing a rhythmic thud against his ribs. She actually pulled me. Called me out like I was some errant squire.

He let out a sharp, breathy laugh, grinning like a complete idiot at a suit of armor as he passed it. Most men would be offended by such a lack of “imperial respect.” Soren wanted her to do it again. Immediately.

He breezed into his private office, the ice hearts trailing after him like a bridal train.

Aldric didn’t even look up from his ledger at first. He simply sighed, a long, weary sound of a man who had seen too much. “Please stop acting like a lovesick fool, Your Majesty. It’s bad for the upholstery and worse for your reputation.”

Soren collapsed into his chair, his head lolling back with a dreamy, glazed expression. “I never knew marriage could be so wonderful, Aldric. Truly. It’s a revelation.”

He sighed happily, the sound echoing in the vaulted room. “My wife is so mean to me. I love it. I absolutely love it.”

“Masochist,” Aldric muttered under his breath, his quill scratching aggressively against the parchment.

Soren ignored the jab, leaning forward and planting his elbows on the desk, his eyes bright.

“Aldric, you’re too uptight. You’re like a frozen lake that hasn’t seen the sun in a century. You need to fall in love. You need someone to drag you by the hair and tell you to get back to work.”

“I am perfectly fine exactly as I am,” Aldric said, his voice flat.

Soren reached across the desk, placing a hand on Aldric’s shoulder with dramatic, theatrical weight. “You should consider it, my dear friend. The thrill, the madness, the way your blood turns to liquid fire… ”

Aldric stared at the hand on his shoulder, then up at Soren, entirely unimpressed. “I don’t want to. I like my blood exactly the temperature it is, thank you.”

“You’re just too shy to fall in love,” Soren teased, his grin widening. “That’s the problem. You’re a closet romantic hiding behind a wall of taxes.”

“I am not shy… ”

“You should be more like Ryse,” Soren continued, relentless in his euphoria. “He’s taken a liking to that Mira girl. Even he’s found a spark in the dark.”

Aldric slammed his ledger shut, the sound like a gunshot. “You should stop focusing on my love life and focus on the Empire. Or perhaps your own wife, if she hasn’t already strangled you with those curtains you insisted on.”

Soren’s laughter was cut short as Aldric leaned in, his expression turning professional. “Speaking of lovesickness. King Caelen came by earlier.”

The hearts in the air flickered, then vanished. Soren’s posture straightened, his eyes narrowing. “Oh?”

“He was looking for you,” Aldric said. “I tried to turn him away, but he was… persistent. Insisted on seeing you directly regarding the southern passes. So, naturally, I directed him to the Empress’s office.”

Aldric watched Soren closely. “Did you run into him?”

Soren leaned back, his face a masterpiece of feigned innocence. He blinked slowly, his expression blank. “Caelen? No. I didn’t see him at all. Must have missed him in the corridors.”

Aldric frowned, rubbing his chin. “Strange. He should have found you. The hallway is a straight shot.” He shrugged. “Perhaps he changed his mind and went back to his rooms. He looked… unwell.”

“Perhaps,” Soren said, already pulling a stack of provincial reports toward him.

But internally, his mind was a dark, satisfied hum. Oh, I saw him alright. I saw the look on his face.

…

Dinner that evening was served in the small, formal dining hall… a space designed for intimacy that now felt more like a pressurized chamber.

The two couples sat opposite each other: Soren and Eris, radiant and tactile; Caelen and Ophelia, stiff and brittle. Little Rael sat between his parents, the only source of warmth in a room that felt sub-zero. The silence was thick, punctuated only by the clink of silver against porcelain.

Eris felt the weight of it more than anyone. In her pocket, her fingers brushed against the small pin she’d found. She looked at Caelen, noting the way his hands shook as he lifted his wine glass, and the way he wouldn’t meet Soren’s eyes.

The pin, she thought, the realization settling like lead in her stomach. It’s his. He was there. He saw everything.

She felt a flash of heat… part embarrassment, part irritation. She was tempted to pull the pin out and slide it across the table, to demand to know why he was lurking in the shadows like a common spy.

But she looked at Ophelia’s pale, strained face and decided against it. Some wounds didn’t need salt.

“Caelen,” Soren said, his voice casual, as if they were discussing the weather rather than a psychological execution. “I heard from Aldric that you wanted to see me earlier? My apologies for missing you.”

Soren smiled, a sharp, suggestive thing. He was playing the part of the oblivious host perfectly, yet every word was a barbed hook.

Caelen’s voice was so tight it sounded like a wire about to snap. “Yes. You must have been… busy.”

The sarcasm was a blunt instrument.

Soren’s smile only deepened. “Indeed. Very busy. Important… imperial matters require a great deal of hands-on attention.”

There was a loaded, suffocating pause. Eris and Ophelia exchanged a quick, pained glance. Neither asked for clarification. They both knew the subtext was a battlefield.

“Mama! Mama, guess what!”

The tension shattered as Rael bounced in his seat, his eyes wide and excited. Eris turned to the boy with a look of profound gratitude. “What is it, little flame?”

“Papa showed me the biggest ice sculpture today!” Rael shouted, his small hands gesturing a wide arc. “It was a dragon! With wings and teeth and everything!”

“Did he now?” Eris asked, her voice softening instantly.

Rael nodded so hard his hair flopped over his eyes. “And Bjorn tried to eat it! But it was too cold and he sneezed and got frost on his nose!”

Eris couldn’t help the genuine laugh that escaped her. “Poor Bjorn. He should know better than to eat dragons.”

“And then we went to the kitchens,” Rael continued, his words tumbling out in a rush. “And Cook gave me honey cakes, but Papa said I could only have two but I had three because… ”

“Because you’re sneaky?” Eris teased, leaning in.

Rael grinned with a gap-toothed pride. “Yes!”

Eris became completely absorbed in the boy, her previous irritation vanishing. She asked him about his lessons, listened to his rambling stories about the palace dogs, and smoothed his hair with a gentle, instinctive affection. She was soft, maternal, and undeniably radiant in the low light.

Caelen watched her. He didn’t eat. He just watched the way her eyes lit up for the child… the way she listened as if Rael were the most important person in the Empire.

I wish I was the one sitting next to her, he thought, a familiar, agonizing ache blooming in his chest. I wish she looked at me with that softness. I wish I hadn’t thrown it all away.

Dinner finally groaned to a halt. Rael was yawning, rubbing his eyes as he leaned against Caelen’s side, half-asleep.

Soren stood first, his chair scraping against the floor. “We should retire. It’s been a long day, and the Empress has much to prepare for tomorrow.”

He turned to Eris, and before she could even push her chair back, he moved.

In one smooth, shockingly informal motion, Soren scooped Eris up. He didn’t carry her in his arms; he hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of grain, one arm locked firmly around her thighs to keep her in place.

“Soren!” Eris cried out, her face instantly flushing a deep, mortified crimson as she dangled down his back.

Soren looked at Caelen and Ophelia, his expression the picture of regal politeness. “If you’ll excuse us, my wife and I have some private matters to discuss. I bid you both a wonderful evening.”

He turned and waltzed out of the room, his stride long and confident.

“Put me down, you giant oaf!” Eris yelled over his shoulder, her fists thumping uselessly against his back. “Soren! This is embarrassing!”

“Goodnight!” Soren called out over his shoulder, ignoring her protests with a cheerful wave of his free hand.

Caelen was left at the table, his fists clenched so hard the wood of the table groaned. He was burning with a jealousy so potent it felt like a physical sickness. He watched them disappear, the sound of Eris’s indignant shouting fading into the distance.

“Shall we go?” Ophelia asked softly, her voice small and hurt.

Caelen didn’t look at her. He didn’t even seem to realize she was there. He just stared at the empty doorway. “…Yes.”

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