CHAPTER 216: CRUEL LESSON

"—and I still think the entire tradition is ridiculous," Eris was saying, her tone caught somewhere between exasperation and grudging acceptance. "Hunting magical beasts to prove we’re compatible? What’s next, fighting each other to the death to see who gets to plan the wedding menu?"

Soren opened his mouth to respond, likely with something that would escalate her irritation into actual violence, when a voice cut through the air like a knife through silk.

"Your Majesty!"

The voice was bright, musical, carefully pitched to carry just the right amount of breathless excitement and demure respect. It was also unmistakably familiar, and Soren felt his spine stiffen even before he turned.

Bianca Virelya swept toward them with the practiced grace of someone who’d spent years perfecting her entrances. Her midnight-blue hair caught the weak winter light, her furs arranged to flatter rather than function, her entire bearing suggesting she was the protagonist of this particular scene rather than an uninvited interruption.

She approached with single-minded focus, her green eyes locked on Soren as though Eris simply didn’t exist... or worse, as though she were merely part of the scenery, background decoration easily dismissed.

"Your Majesty," Bianca repeated, slightly breathless now as she reached them. "I was hoping to catch you before the procession departed. I tried to see you yesterday, but your guards said you were occupied with wedding preparations, and I—"

Soren turned slowly, deliberately, his expression settling into something that might have been a smile if smiles could promise frost and pain in equal measure.

It was the kind of expression that should have stopped Bianca mid-sentence, that should have sent warning bells clanging through her mind, that should have reminded her exactly who she was addressing.

But she was too caught up in her own narrative, too focused on executing whatever plan she’d constructed in her mind, to notice the danger.

"I made you something," she continued, pulling a small wrapped package from her furs. Her voice had shifted higher, softer, taking on a quality that Eris recognized immediately as calculated sweetness, the vocal equivalent of honey laced with arsenic.

"A good luck charm for the hunt. I embroidered it myself, the pattern is from—"

She moved closer as she spoke, her hand reaching out to touch Soren’s arm, her body angling in a way that pressed her chest against his sleeve with practiced casualness, her eyes widening into what was probably meant to be an appealing, helpless expression.

Eris watched this performance with fascination. It was like observing a moth determinedly flying toward a flame while convinced it was actually a pretty flower.

The techniques were textbook, the elevated voice to sound more feminine and vulnerable, the physical proximity to establish intimacy, the gift-giving to create obligation, the wide-eyed innocent look that men apparently found irresistible.

She’d used similar tactics herself in her first life, back when she’d been young and stupid enough to think such things worked on men... And by ’men’ Caelen in particular... who didn’t want to be caught.

Those tactics didn’t work then either.

"I was so worried when I heard about this hunt," Bianca was saying now, her fingers curling into the leather of Soren’s sleeve, her voice dropping to something meant to be intimate and concerned.

"Such a dangerous tradition, and for..." She paused, her gaze finally acknowledging Eris’s existence for the briefest moment before dismissing it again. "Well. It seems like such a risk for someone of your importance to take. For a woman who..."

Another pause, this one more pointed. "A woman who may not be worth such effort."

The temperature around them dropped.

Not metaphorically. Actually, measurably dropped, frost spreading across the ground in thin fingers, the air going sharp and cold enough to sting lungs.

Different from the existing cold they had been breathing in.

Soren’s small smile vanished completely, replaced by an expression of such absolute zero that even Eris felt a chill run down her spine. His eyes, normally warm when looking at her, cool but polite when dealing with court matters went flat and dead and terrifying.

"Repeat that," he said quietly, his voice carrying despite its softness, each word precisely enunciated and sharp as breaking ice. "What you just said. About the woman I’m marrying."

Bianca froze, her hand still clutching his sleeve, confusion flickering across her features. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Soren was always gentle with her, always kind, always...

"I said—" she started, then faltered as his gaze pinned her in place like a butterfly on a board.

"You implied," Soren continued in that same terrifyingly quiet voice, "that my future Empress is not worth the effort of tradition. That she is somehow unworthy of the honor this empire extends to her. Is that correct?"

His height seemed more pronounced suddenly, the way he looked down at her transformed from merely observing to actively judging, finding her wanting, dismissing her importance with the same casual ease one might dismiss a speck of dust.

Bianca’s breath caught. This wasn’t... this couldn’t be... Soren didn’t look at people this way. At least, he’d never looked at her this way. The cold fury in his eyes was something she’d heard about, something she knew existed in stories about the Ice Emperor’s ruthlessness, but she’d never believed she’d be on the receiving end of it.

"I... I didn’t mean... " She stumbled over her words, lowering her gaze instinctively, unable to maintain eye contact with that arctic stare. "I apologize, Your Majesty, I only meant—"

"You meant exactly what you said." Soren’s hand came up, carefully peeling her fingers from his sleeve with the kind of delicate precision one might use to remove something contaminated.

"Let me be absolutely clear, Lady Bianca, since you seem to be operating under several dangerous misconceptions."

He released her hand, and she pulled it back as though burned, clutching it to her chest.

"The woman standing beside me," Soren continued, his voice still quiet but carrying enough ice to freeze oceans, "is Eris Igniva. She is the future Empress of Nevareth. She has earned that title through intelligence, strength, and political acumen that outmatches most of my court combined. When you insult her, you insult me. When you suggest she is unworthy, you question my judgment as Emperor. Do you understand the repercussions of such disrespect?"

Bianca was shivering now, and it had nothing to do with Nevareth’s cold. Her mind scrambled desperately for purchase, for some way to make this make sense. Soren had always been sweet with her. Always soft. Always treated her like she was special, important, worthy of his attention.

Why was he acting this way because of that Solmire bitch?

"Your Majesty, I—" she tried again, but her voice came out small and broken.

A soft, warm laugh interrupted the moment.

Bianca’s head snapped up to see Eris covering her mouth with one hand, her shoulders shaking with genuine amusement.

"Soren," she said, her tone carrying gentle reproach that somehow made the situation even worse, "stop threatening the poor girl. You’re being terrifying."

She stepped forward, her expression shifting to something that might have been sympathy if it weren’t laced with unmistakable entertainment.

"You should be nicer, especially since she clearly has feelings for you. It’s cruel to crush someone so thoroughly."