Chapter 375: A fool

The doors to the imperial bedchamber clicked shut, sealing the world of frost and betrayal outside.

Soren did not set Eris down immediately; he carried her to the edge of the sprawling bed as if she were made of spun glass, only releasing her once her feet met the plush rug.

The air in the room was still brittle, the temperature a few degrees lower than normal, a testament to the lingering storm in Soren’s veins.

He didn’t stand over her with his usual towering confidence. Instead, he sank to his knees on the rug before her, a position so vulnerable and uncharacteristic for the Emperor of the North that it made Eris’s breath catch.

He looked haunted. The predatory sapphire light in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by a raw, hollow fear that made him look younger, stripped of his titles and his icy bravado.

He looked like a man who had watched the horizon collapse and was still waiting for the impact.

Eris reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as she cupped his face. His skin was frigid, but he leaned into her touch with a desperate, crushing intensity. She had never seen him like this… the playful, teasing Ice Emperor had been replaced by something fragile.

“Soren,” she said, her voice a calm anchor in the quiet room. “I’m fine. I’m right here.”

He pulled back just enough to stare into her eyes, his hands clutching her wrists as if he were afraid she might dissipate into smoke if he let go. “I don’t believe you,” he whispered, his voice jagged.

“I felt it, Eris. Even from the corridor. That… that black rot. He was trying to take you. He was trying to do something to you.”

Eris felt a small, tired chuckle bubble up in her chest. The dramatic flair of Soren never failed to emerge in a crisis. “You are being incredibly dramatic,” she said, though her heart softened at the sight of his distress.

To prove her point, she reached up and began to scratch lightly behind his ears, the way one might soothe a particularly large, temperamental hound. “What must I do to prove to you that I am perfectly fine? My fire burned it out before it could even settle.”

Soren’s eyes closed, and he let out a long, shuddering breath, nuzzling his face into the palm of her hand like an obedient pet seeking sanctuary. The tension in his shoulders began to bleed away, replaced by a heavy, somber exhaustion.

“Kiss me,” he murmured against her skin.

Eris gave him a flat, unimpressed look, her eyebrows arching. “So, you aren’t actually traumatized anymore. You’re just looking for an excuse to kiss me.”

Soren didn’t deny it. A small, guilty smile tugged at the corner of his mouth… the first flicker of the old Soren returning to the surface. He looked up at her through his lashes, still leaning into her hand. “Is it working?”

Eris sighed, the weight of the night pressing on her, but the sight of his vulnerability was a debt she felt compelled to pay. Feeling a mixture of genuine affection and a nagging sense of guilt, she granted his wish.

She leaned forward, pulling his face toward hers, and kissed him. It wasn’t the frantic, hungry kiss of their earlier encounters; it was slow, grounding, and full of a quiet promise.

But even as she held him, her mind began to spiral. The warmth of Soren’s body was a comfort, but it couldn’t drown out the echoes of Caelen’s accusations.

The moment you decided to take her from me, our friendship ended.

The weight of those words settled into her bones like lead. In her first life, she had been bitterly jealous of the bond between Soren and Caelen.

She remembered how easily Soren could make Caelen laugh, a feat she could never achieve no matter how hard she tried. They had been brothers in arms, a legendary duo that defined the strength of their generation.

And now, because of her… because she had survived, because she had accepted Soren’s offer… that brotherhood was a pile of ash in a frozen garden.

A deep heaviness settled over her. She hadn’t Intended to alter the story this drastically. She had just wanted to live. But now, everything had spun beyond the reach of her predictions. Maybe I should have just disappeared, she thought, the guilt gnawing at her. Maybe it would have been better if I’d stayed a ghost in the shadows.

Later, as they settled back into the bed after a quiet, tense dinner, the silence of the room offered no peace. Soren was asleep beside her, his presence a steady heat, but Eris’s mind was circling the dark magic she had felt. Caelen was a warrior, a man of steel and strategy, but he had never possessed an ounce of magical affinity. The idea of him casting a spell was absurd.

Unless he had an artifact, she mused, staring at the ceiling. Something like the ring Caelen wore.

Where would Caelen get such a thing? The answer was immediate and chilling: Vetra. Only the woman had the knowledge and the spite to use a spell like that.

Eris closed her eyes, her resolve hardening even as sleep began to pull at her. She didn’t know the specifics of the spell Vetra used, but the stench of her influence was all over this night.

I need her gone, Eris thought, her final conscious moment a cold, sharp vow. I need her out of this palace for good.

While the Empress slept, Caelen was drowning in fire.

He reached the heavy doors of the new chambers where Vetra had been moved… farther from the royal family, but not far enough. He kicked the door open, his breathing a series of wet, agonizing rasps.

Vetra was sitting by the hearth, calmly sipping tea as if the night weren’t screaming around them. She looked up, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.

“You left out a few details,” Caelen growled, his voice a ghost of its former self. He held up his hand, where the ring was now a glowing, angry red, the metal fused to his blackened skin. “The magic is turning on me.”

Vetra tilted her head, her expression one of faux innocence. “Is it? I had no idea the ring had such a… volatile temperament.”

“You’re lying,” Caelen spat, staggering toward her.

“And you are a coward,” Vetra countered, her voice turning sharp. She set her tea down with a delicate clatter. “You had her in your arms. You had the power to take what you wanted, to fix your broken little life, and you flinched. Blame yourself for the pain, King Caelen. It is the weight of your own hesitation.”

The words hit him, but he pushed through the fog of agony. “Give me the solution. How do I stop the drain?”

Vetra leaned back, nonchalant. “There is none.”

Caelen’s blood went cold, the fear finally giving way to a lethal, desperate clarity. In one fluid motion, he drew his sword, the steel singing as he leveled the point at Vetra’s throat. He used the tip to flick the teacup from her hand, sending it shattering against the stone floor, before pressing the blade back against her skin.

“Tell me again,” he hissed. “Tell me there is no cure while I decide how much of your neck I need to cut.”

Vetra chuckled, a dry, papery sound. “Love must have made you a fool. Do you think I am afraid of a man who is already half-dead?”

Around them, the air began to shimmer with black ice… a dark, distorted reflection of Soren’s power. But Caelen didn’t flinch. He had spent half his life sparring with an ice mage like Soren; a witch’s parlor tricks weren’t enough to make him blink.

“I’ve dealt with Soren’s rage since we were boys,” Caelen said, pressing the tip harder until a single, crimson drop of blood slid down Vetra’s throat. “You think a little magic smoke is going to shake me? Tell me the cure, or we both die in this room tonight.”

Vetra’s smile slowly vanished, her eyes narrowing as she realized the man before her truly had nothing left to lose. “The only cure is to complete the spell,” she said, her voice dropping to a low hiss. “The ring is a bridge. It cannot remain open. You must touch her and speak the final word, or it will continue to drink from you until there is nothing left but a husk.”

“I won’t do it,” Caelen said, his hand trembling with rage. “I’ll expose you first. This is dark magic. Forbidden. If I’m going to die, I’ll make sure Soren knows exactly who gave me this ring. I’ll make sure you’re burned before my heart stops.”

Vetra’s smile returned, but this time it was triumphant. “You can’t.”

Caelen sneered. “Watch me.”

“No, Caelen,” Vetra said, leaning into the blade with terrifying confidence. “The blood I took from you earlier? It wasn’t just to cast the spell. It was to bind you to a contract. You are physically incapable of mentioning my name or my involvement in this to the Emperor. Go ahead,” she challenged, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Try to say it. Try to tell him what I did.”

Caelen opened his mouth, his mind screaming Vetra did this, but his throat locked. His tongue felt like lead, his vocal cords refusing to vibrate. He tried to force the sound, his face turning purple with the effort, but only a dry, silent wheeze escaped his lips.

He slumped back, the sword clattering to the floor as he realized the depth of the abyss he had fallen into. He was dying, and he was silenced.

“You’re a fool, King of Solmire,” Vetra whispered, smoothing her robes.

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