CHAPTER 101: UNFAMILIAR FEELING

Kyone let the water drift down her body.

The bath was warm, far warmer than she was used to in her frozen dominion, and yet it was... refreshing.

Each drop carried with it something that wasn’t hers, a power that seeped into her skin and repaired the faint scratches she bore.

Her skin looked a lot more fresh than before, and it felt that way too.

She exhaled, pressing her palm against her thigh as she watched bruises dissolve into pale skin, dried cuts knit back together as though they’d never existed.

’So this is the power of holy magic,’ she thought bitterly.

Her lips pressed tight until she bit down on them. ’It isn’t fair...’

Her entire life had been the battlefield.

She hadn’t known laughter as a girl, hadn’t known the softness of being courted, hadn’t known anything other than the clash of steel and the sight of men dying under snowstorms of her making.

She lived with blood in her hair, the screams of comrades in her ears.

That was her youth.

That was her womanhood.

And when she had finally ascended to godhood — finally, after giving her bones, her breath, her soul to battle... did she receive peace?

No.

They bound her with new chains.

The elders of her people declared her ascension a sacred duty.

They made her watch over the Winter clan, shackled her power to the icebound lands, ordered her to use her divinity to erect the impenetrable wall that would cage her region off from the rest of the world.

Her reward was responsibility.

Her freedom, taken.

And worst of all, every patriarch who followed would kneel before her, receive a sliver of her divinity, and when they died — oh, she buried them herself with the Ice.

Again and again, watching mortal men fall into graves while she lingered because she was a goddess..

She was tired. Tired of being revered, tired of being used, tired of being feared.

So yes — when she saw the way Azel touched Nyala, the way his lips softened for her, the way he pulled her close, it cut her.

It was a wound deeper than any blade.

He had offered her his strength on the battlefield, matched her blow for blow, and fi if they continued, even if her strength was reduced, he could have surpassed her .

He had claimed her without knowing.

And yet, he looked at Nyala with a warmth he had never spared for her.

She wanted that.

She needed that.

She didn’t know how to name the desire, but she knew she could no longer keep silent.

Kyone turned off the stream.

The water evaporated at her command, leaving her skin dry and gleaming.

She reached for the folded garments Nyala had handed her earlier.

The other goddess’s taste was curious — soft fabrics, warmer shades, almost scandalously close to mortal fashion.

The tunic she tried on stretched tight over her chest, hugging her figure.

She tugged it into place, glancing at her reflection in the mirror.

"Do I need to impress him?" she whispered, half in disbelief, half in determination.

When had she last cared about how she looked?

On the battlefield she had been armored steel and snow.

Now she was... dressing for a man.

With an unsteady sigh, she gathered her courage and stepped back into the chamber.

Azel lay on the bed, one arm draped over his forehead, staring at the carved ceiling above him.

His chest rose and fell evenly; perhaps he was drifting toward sleep.

Nyala was absent — for now.

The opportunity made Kyone’s heart beat against her ribs.

She walked softly, her steps carrying no sound on the rug.

Her hands twitched at her sides as she hovered near the bed.

Then, acting on instinct and fragments of overheard tales from mortals long ago, she sat on the edge and carefully guided his head into her lap.

Her heart stuttered.

The great warrior, the man who had shaken her divine body in combat, was now resting against her thighs.

And then he smiled.

"Cute," he muttered, eyes still half-lidded as if caught between dreams and wakefulness.

When they opened fully, he looked up at her with a spark of amusement that made her cheeks flush crimson.

"I... I only want you to be more comfortable," she said, her lips trembling.

She could command blizzards, shatter armies, and yet her voice cracked now like that of a nervous maiden.

Azel hummed softly and let himself settle further against her.

She swallowed.

Her hands hovered before finally resting against his shoulder, even though it was awkward, Azel could feel the protectiveness from the gesture.

"Can you tell me about the Hero?" he asked suddenly.

Kyone blinked.

The shift jarred her.

Talking about fights was safe.

It was her language.

She straightened unconsciously, pride threading into her posture.

She thanked the man inwardly for noticing how nervous she was.

The request stirred memory, and her lips curved into a smile before she even realized it.

"Well," she began, "let’s say the Hero was the first man to make me bend over and fu—"

She stopped herself a second too late.

Azel’s eyes widened.

His body stiffened.

He looked away so fast she could almost hear his neck crack. "I... suddenly don’t want to hear this."

Panic flared in her chest.

She reached down, gripping his tunic as though it were her lifeline.

"No, no! I didn’t mean it like that!" Her voice was high, desperate. "I meant that he beat me so badly! Please don’t be angry with me!"

Her words tumbled like clumsy soldiers tripping over each other.

A goddess of ice and war reduced to stammering in fear that she’d offended a man.

’Why the hell is she overreacting?’ Azel thought, his brow twitching.

But he caught her gaze, saw the genuine worry there and relented.

He exhaled slowly. "I’ll forgive you just this once."

Relief flooded her.

She bowed her head so quickly her hair spilled like snow across his chest. "Thank you, esteemed husband!"

The words made him flinch.

Esteemed husband?

He had barely survived her battlefield affection, and now she was crowning him with titles.

Kyone, oblivious to his discomfort, pressed on with renewed confidence.

"As I was saying — the Hero was someone who assisted the Starbloom during the wars. To call him strong... that was understatement. That would be very disrespectable to him."

"If you asked me what I would call him, it’s Undefeated."