CHAPTER 225: PDA

The smile that accompanied the wave was radiant, delighted, completely at odds with the massacre he was currently wearing.

Eris felt her face heat despite the cold, despite exhaustion, despite every rational reason her body should not be reacting this way.

Her heart kicked into a rhythm that had nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with the fact that this man, this powerful, dangerous, apparently unhinged man, looked at her like she was the only thing worth noticing in the entire assembled crowd.

She was too aware of him. Had been since their first meeting, if she was honest, but the awareness had grown with each interaction, each moment of vulnerability, each instance where she’d seen beyond the emperor to the person underneath who seemed determined to make her believe she deserved kindness.

It was deeply inconvenient. Potentially catastrophic. Absolutely not something she had time or emotional capacity to process right now.

So she did what any sensible woman would do when confronted with overwhelming feelings: she ignored him completely, turning her attention to the priests with deliberate focus, pretending she hadn’t seen the wave or the smile or the way his entire demeanor had shifted for her benefit.

Soren took a step in her direction, clearly intending to close the distance between them, then seemed to register his current state. He looked down at himself, at the blood, at the stained clothing, at the general disaster of his appearance and his expression shifted to something like distress.

Right. Perhaps rushing to greet his future wife while covered in evidence of enthusiastic murder was not the best diplomatic choice.

He changed direction, heading instead toward the area where servants had set up bathing facilities, his movements still carrying that loose-limbed satisfaction of someone who’d burned off excess energy in the most visceral way possible.

The crowd watched this entire exchange with poorly concealed fascination. Whispers rippled through the assembled nobles, servants, priests, everyone who’d witnessed the brief interaction between their blood-soaked Emperor and the fire queen who’d deliberately snubbed his greeting.

When both Eris and Soren emerged from their respective areas cleaned and changed, her in fresh furs that actually fit properly, him in ceremonial robes that managed to make him look regal rather than ridiculous, the energy around the altar shifted into something more formal, more ritualistic.

Soren made a beeline for Eris the moment he was presentable, ignoring everyone else with the single-minded focus of a man who’d thought about nothing but reunion for the entire trek back from his kill site.

"You’re alive," he said, reaching her side with speed that suggested he’d been physically restraining himself from running.

"Observant," Eris replied dryly, though her lips twitched with suppressed smile.

"And successful." His gaze dropped to where she’d secured her Star-Shard, then back to her face. "I never doubted, but I’m still relieved."

"How touching. I’m sure your concern was entirely selfless and not at all motivated by the political disaster if I’d died on the eve of our wedding."

"Oh, it was completely selfish," Soren agreed cheerfully, leaning closer, his voice dropping to something intimate enough that nearby observers had to strain to hear. "I’d miss the way you threaten to murder me at least twice daily. No one else does that with quite your level of creativity."

"I could start with demonstrations instead of threats."

"Please do. I’m curious whether you’d use fire or more creative methods."

"Soren—"

"Yes, My Lady?" His smile was absolutely shameless, delighted by her exasperation.

"You’re being inappropriate."

"I’m being affectionate. There’s a difference."

"We’re in public."

"Everyone’s already watching. Might as well give them something interesting to witness." He leaned closer still, his breath warm against her ear, voice pitched to carry to her alone. "Besides, you like it when I’m inappropriate don’t you? Like when you try to look annoyed but you’re actually—"

"If you finish that sentence, I will demonstrate exactly what kind of creative murder methods I’ve been considering."

His laugh was low and rich and entirely too pleased with itself. "Later, then Your Majesty. When we’re appropriately private, I’ll remind you of all the inappropriate things you actually enjoy."

Eris’s face heated again, and she was abruptly, painfully aware of exactly how many people were observing this exchange. Her temperature spiked, a visible shimmer in the air around her that made nearby snow melt in a perfect circle.

From the crowd, murmurs rose not scandalized, but fascinated, almost approving. This was their Emperor, who could freeze blood and end rebellions without breaking composure, blushing like a lovesick fool while flirting with a woman who literally made the air around her heat from embarrassment.

It was rare. Unprecedented, really. Imperial weddings were typically exercises in political theater, two strangers bound by duty, performing prescribed roles, maintaining dignified distance until producing heirs became necessary. Affection, if it developed at all, came later, quietly, never displayed for public consumption.

But this, this open dynamic, this playful antagonism, this obvious mutual attraction despite their attempts to maintain composure, this was something else entirely. This looked like two people who genuinely wanted each other, who’d chosen this union for reasons beyond political calculation.

The crowd didn’t quite know how to process it, so they did what crowds always did with unprecedented events: they gossiped furiously while pretending not to stare.

High Priestess Serah cleared her throat with enough volume to cut through the murmuring, her staff thumping against black ice with authority that demanded attention. "If the Emperor and his bride are quite finished..."

Soren straightened with exaggerated dignity, though his hand found Eris’s and refused to release it. "By all means, High Priestess. We’re ready for whatever ritual torture Aenithra demands next."

"It’s not torture," Serah replied with the patient tone of someone who’d dealt with irreverent emperors before. "It’s sacred tradition that binds your futures together through divine witness."

"So... torture, but with better marketing."

Eris elbowed him, hard enough to make him grunt. "Behave."

"That’s asking a lot."

"I’m aware."

Serah’s lips twitched despite her best efforts to maintain ritual solemnity. "The Star-Shards, please."