Chapter 418: Eris. Focus.

The click of the door as Aldric exited was like a starting pistol that neither of them wanted to fire.

Silence rushed into the room, heavy and airless. Soren stood frozen behind his desk, his fingers still awkwardly splayed across the scattered papers he’d tried to straighten. Eris stood ten feet away, her hand clutching the festival document as if it were a shield.

They simply stared.

Seconds stretched into what felt like hours, the tension building until the air felt thick enough to choke on.

He looks so tired, Eris thought, her chest tightening with a sharp, unexpected pang. When did those shadows under his eyes get so deep? Has he even eaten since the arrest?

She wanted to go to him, to press her palms against his cheeks and force him to close his eyes, but her feet felt rooted to the floor. Say something, Eris. Don’t just stand here like a statue.

Soren’s pulse was a frantic drumbeat against his ribs. She’s here. She’s actually standing in my office. Why is she looking at me like that? What do I say? How do I… don’t be an idiot, Soren. Say something. Anything.

The moment was electric, uncomfortable, and desperately fragile. Neither wanted to break the stare, yet both were terrified of what might happen when the silence finally shattered.

Soren was the first to find his voice, though it sounded rusty, as if he hadn’t used it for days. He cleared his throat and stood up fully, his posture correcting itself into a formal, imperial stiffness.

“Eris,” he said. He paused, his heart leaping into his throat at the mere sound of her name. “What brings you here?”

The tone was polite. It was professional. It was the voice of an Emperor addressing a colleague, devoid of the warmth that usually characterized their private moments. It was safe, and it was devastatingly distant.

Eris felt the formality like a physical blow. He’s being formal with me. Her chest constricted, a knot of anxiety forming in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t tell if she hated the distance or if she was grateful for the protection it offered her own bruised ego.

She decided to push the feelings aside. If he wanted business, she would give him business.

“I needed to see you about something,” she said, stepping forward. She matched his tone, her voice clear and devoid of the longing that was currently clawing at her throat. She held up the silk-wrapped bundle. “This arrived today.”

“Of course,” Soren said. He gestured toward the seating area near the window… two high-backed, velvet chairs flanking a small low table. It was a more intimate space than the massive, barricade-like desk he usually occupied. “Please, sit.”

They moved toward the window in a choreographed dance of avoided eye contact. Even in his state of emotional wreckage, Soren’s instincts as a gentleman didn’t fail him.

He stepped behind her chair and pulled it out, his fingers brushing the velvet. It was a simple, practiced gesture, but the proximity made his skin hum.

Eris sat gracefully, the silk of her skirts hissing against the chair.

“Would you like tea?” Soren asked, standing awkwardly by the table. “I can have a servant… ”

Tea? Eris thought, her jaw tightening. He’s offering me tea like I’m a visiting dignitary from the southern isles? Like I’m not the woman who shares his bed?

“No, thank you,” she said aloud. Her voice was composed, perfectly matching his, though she hated every syllable of the charade. “I won’t take up much of your time.”

Eris slid the vellum document across the table. “This arrived this morning. The messengers seemed to think it was urgent, but I find myself at a disadvantage. I need you to explain what this festival is, exactly.”

Soren took the document. He didn’t really need to read it; he had authorized its delivery, but he used the moment to look down, buying himself precious seconds to compose his features.

“It’s the Winterkeep Festival,” he began, his voice steadying as he fell into the familiar rhythm of explaining Nevarethian tradition. “It is the most significant celebration in the North, held every year just before the Long Dark sets in. It’s a mix of communal feasting and ancient rituals meant to steel the spirit for the months of deep winter ahead.”

As he spoke, he detailed the festivities: the ice sculpture competitions that lined the main thoroughfares, the communal meals where the wealthy shared provisions with the poor to ensure no one entered the dark months hungry, and the exchange of practical gifts… thick wools, cured meats, and sturdy boots.

“There are games… ice skating on the palace lake, sledding for the children. And storytelling,” Soren continued. “The bards pass down the history of the First Frost. There is music and dancing until dawn, mostly as a way to keep warm and celebrate the last of the light.”

“And our involvement?” Eris asked, watching his lips move.

“The Emperor and Empress must open the ceremony,” Soren explained. “We sign the ceremonial decrees that officially open the markets. There is a symbolic ritual called ’Breaking the First Ice’ at the palace fountain. It’s meant to bless the season ahead. We are also expected to attend the public feast for at least an hour to show the unity of the crown.”

Eris nodded, taking it all in, but her focus was beginning to fray.

As Soren spoke of “symbolic rituals” and “market decrees,” Eris found herself staring at his hands. His long, elegant fingers were tracing the edge of the parchment… the same hands that had gripped her waist with bruising possessiveness. The same hands that had traced the line of her throat while he whispered her name in the dark of their bedchambers.

She remembered how those hands felt when they weren’t holding quills or treaties. She remembered how many potions she had taken this month alone because of how many times he had lost his legendary Northern control and finished inside her, his breath hot against her ear.

Those hands… she thought, a sudden, traitorous heat blooming in her lower belly. How can he look so innocent, so tired, when he is a literal devil in bed?

ERIS. FOCUS.

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