CHAPTER 208: BIANCA MEETS ERIS

Eris

The gardens were peaceful in a way I hadn’t expected to find in Nevareth.

After days of political maneuvering, endless lessons with Aldric about imperial protocol, and the constant weight of courtiers’ gazes following my every move, the silence here felt like a luxury. The afternoon sun... weak and pale as it was this far north... cast long shadows across paths of crushed diamond-dust that sparkled underfoot like captured starlight.

I’d been examining the ice roses for the better part of an hour, fascinated despite myself by their impossible existence. In Solmire, flowers were living things that bloomed and died with the seasons, their beauty temporary and therefore precious. These northern blooms were different... eternal, crystalline, grown through magic I didn’t fully understand. They caught the light and threw it back in fractal patterns, blue and white and pale purple, beautiful in the way winter itself was beautiful: cold, perfect, untouchable.

My fingers hovered over a midnight-blue specimen, not quite touching, admiring the delicate architecture of petals that would never wilt, never fade, never die.

Much like me, I supposed. Trapped in a body that housed something far older and more dangerous than mortal flesh should contain, counting down days to an ending I couldn’t prevent.

The thought brought back that unsettling sensation from last night... that cold, foreign presence that had rippled through me while Soren had me pinned against his office door like an absolute maniac. The memory made heat crawl up my neck despite the winter air.

Gods, that man. One moment he’d been discussing trade agreements with perfect imperial composure, and the next he’d had me pressed against wood with both my legs wrapped around his waist and his hands...

I cut the thought off sharply, feeling my temperature spike. Not the time. Definitely not the place.

But that strange feeling lingered in my mind like an aftertaste. That sense of something ancient and hungry turning its attention toward me from somewhere far below, somewhere deep. It had passed so quickly I’d almost convinced myself I’d imagined it, a product of stress and too many sleepless nights.

Almost.

The crunch of footsteps on gravel and a voice yanked me from my spiraling thoughts.

I turned, instincts honed by years of assassination attempts immediately cataloging the approaching figure: female, young... maybe early twenties, expensive clothes tailored to accentuate without being vulgar, posture carefully controlled to project confidence without arrogance, smile that didn’t quite reach calculating green eyes.

Stranger. But moving through the palace gardens with the ease of someone who believed they belonged here.

My guards, stationed at a respectful distance to give me the illusion of privacy, straightened slightly but didn’t intervene. Whoever this woman was, she’d been cleared by palace security.

She stopped a few paces away, and I had a moment to take in the full picture: midnight-blue hair that was absolutely stunning and almost certainly magical in origin, ice-blue dress that probably cost more than most families yearly budget, features arranged in an expression of practiced warmth.

Pretty. Very pretty. The kind of beauty that opened doors and softened hearts and got men to make stupid decisions.

I should know. I’d weaponized my own appearance often enough.

The woman executed a perfect curtsy, holding it for precisely the appropriate duration before rising with the kind of grace that spoke of endless etiquette lessons drilled into muscle memory.

"Your Majesty," her voice was sweet, warm, utterly false. "Forgive my intrusion. I’m Lady Bianca Virelya. I’ve traveled from the Border Territories to attend your wedding."

Virelya.

The name hit me like cold water, and suddenly several pieces clicked into place.

I knew that house... of course I did. The Duke of the Border Territories, military powerhouse, one of the empire’s most strategically important families. They commanded the frontier between civilization and the wild lands beyond, the buffer zone where magical beasts and occasional hostile forces tested Nevareth’s borders.

But more than that, I remembered the feast. When Vetra had challenged Soren’s decision to marry me, throwing every objection she could manufacture at him like weapons.

And she’d mentioned the Virelyas specifically. Claimed they’d already selected a bride for the Emperor. Lady Bianca, daughter of Viktor Virelya. A match that made perfect political sense... military alliance, pure Nevareth bloodline, a girl raised to be an empress.

And then Soren had gone and chosen the foreign fire witch instead.

Oh.

Oh, this was going to be entertaining.

I let my expression shift into something pleasant and welcoming, matching her false warmth with my own practiced version. "Lady Bianca. Welcome."

She moved closer, and I watched her assess me with the subtlety of a merchant evaluating merchandise. Taking in my golden eyes, my pale hair, the way my presence seemed to warm the air around me despite the winter cold.

Trying to understand what Soren saw in me. What I had that she didn’t.

The thought almost made me laugh. She reminded me so much of my younger self... that naïve girl in Solmire who’d thought she could force her way into Caelen’s heart through sheer determination and proximity, who’d believed that wanting something badly enough would make it real.

Cute. If she weren’t clearly cunning, or at least attempting to be.

"Your Majesty is even more beautiful than the rumors suggested," Bianca said, and there it was... the compliment laced with subtle venom. "Though I suppose the stories about fire queens always tend toward the dramatic."

Translation: You’re attractive, but probably not actually as special as people claim.

"How kind," I replied, my smile never wavering. "I do hope I haven’t disappointed. People’s imaginations can be so creative when they discuss women they’ve never met."

Her green eyes flickered... a spark of something sharp beneath the sweetness. "Not at all. If anything, you’re exactly what I expected. Strong. Confident." A delicate pause. "Foreign."

There it was. The reminder that I didn’t belong, that I was an outsider in these frozen halls, that she had every right to be here where I was merely tolerated.