CHAPTER 34: FASCINATION

The Emperor and the Flame Beneath the Stars

When the queen left, so too did Soren’s interest in the festivities.

He’d stayed, at first, out of courtesy, or so he told himself, watching the fireworks bloom above the amphitheater, the sky painted with molten gold and crimson. The crowd’s cheers rose like waves. Caelen was there, carrying Rael, his hand wrapped protectively around his son. Ophelia leaned close, smiling at something the boy said.

And Soren, though he stood among a thousand burning torches, felt cold... In a strange way.

He did not need to ask why Eris had vanished. The answer sat before him, laughing and alive.

So when the toasts were made and the wine overflowed, he offered a faint smile, an easy excuse, that the air was too thick, that Nevareth’s nights were cooler and left his men to enjoy the feast in his stead.

The whole kingdom was still pulsing with celebration as he made his way back toward the palace, the citizens bowing as he passed, their whispers trailing after him like smoke.

He ignored them all, though his steps slowed when he reached the marble bridge that curved toward the palace gates. From there, the city shimmered below, its concentric rings alive with firelight and color. And yet, despite its beauty, there was a stillness in the air that felt wrong.

Eris had not returned to her chambers.

For reasons he himself couldn’t explain, he was certain of it.

He asked, quietly, of the guards stationed along the inner walls, not as a command, but as a passing curiosity. One of them, a young man with ash still smudged on his cheek, hesitated before answering.

"Her Majesty was seen heading toward the north cliff, Your Grace. Past the archives... the old observatory, I think."

Soren nodded once, dismissed the guard, and began to walk the other way.

At least, that was his intent.

Yet a few steps later, his feet betrayed him. The thought of her alone in a place where the stars themselves came to die tugged at him with an ache that reason could not quiet.

So he turned back, quietly, slipping into one of the servant corridors, and along the way, stole a flask of Solmirian fire–wine from an unattended table.

By the time he reached the observatory, the festival’s roar had faded to a faraway hum. The night a was slightly cooler here, wind threading through the cracked glass dome.

She was there.

The queen... She stood by the railing, the city spread below like a burning map, her face illuminated by the faint gold of the torches far below.

For a moment, he simply watched her. The proud tilt of her chin. The calmness that felt less like calm and more like exhaustion. He thought of the fire that had consumed her days ago, how it had threatened to devour her whole, and how, even then, she had looked beautiful in her ruin.

He approached quietly, the crunch of gravel underfoot giving him away.

"You’ve chosen quite the place to hide," he murmured.

Eris didn’t turn. "I wasn’t aware I was hiding."

"Then what do you call sitting alone in the dark, high above a city that worships you?"

She said nothing. The wind pulled a strand of her pale hair across her cheek.

Soren lifted the flask, swirled it idly. "Wine," he said. "Thought it might be appropriate. Or ironic."

That earned him a glance, at least... cool, sharp, unamused. "If you’re hoping to share, you might want to keep your distance. My kind doesn’t drink well with yours."

"Ah," he smiled faintly, taking a slow sip. "Then I suppose I’ll just keep you company while I drink alone."

Her eyes returned to the city. "You don’t seem the type to enjoy silence."

"Only when it feels this heavy."

And for a while, neither of them spoke.

The stars wheeled overhead. The torches below flickered like a thousand heartbeats.

And between them, in that half–forgotten observatory, the frost of Nevareth met the flame of Solmire... not in battle like their ancestors, but in something quieter, sadder, more human.

Soren didn’t ask her what she was thinking. He already knew. Loneliness had a way of making itself visible... even in someone who had mastered the art of appearing untouchable.

So he only said, softly, "For what it’s worth, Your Majesty, you looked far more alive down there than you do up here."

Her lips curved, not a smile, exactly, but something that wanted to be one.

"Alive," she murmured. "That’s a generous word."

He could have told her then, that he’d seen her dying in his vision, that he’d felt her grief like a brand pressed to his own chest. But instead, he took another sip of the wine and let the silence settle once more.

Because sometimes, the only way to understand fire... was to stand close enough to feel it, and still choose not to run.

The observatory lay steeped in quiet wonder. The dome’s fractured glass caught the reflection of a thousand city fires below, splintering them into rivers of gold.

The air smelt faintly of old dust and wind, and the stars above seemed almost close enough to touch, though perhaps, dear reader, neither of them would have dared.

‎

‎Soren stood a few paces from the queen, his long fingers curled around the silver flask. It gleamed dully in the half-light, catching the occasional flicker from the torches below.

He could not decide which unsettled him more: the wine warming his throat, or the woman existing inches from him, barely moving, barely breathing, and yet somehow commanding the air around her.

Eris had the sort of new silence that drew attention like gravity. She did not need to speak; the world simply bent to hear her when she finally did.

"So tell me," she said at last, her voice quiet but sharp enough to pierce him. "What exactly about me has your interest, Your Majesty? You’ve been in Solmire barely two weeks, and yet I seem to find your gaze everywhere I turn. Even now, after leaving the crowd, you have one again found me. Last I recall, our acquaintance extended no further than trade treaties, diplomatic banquets, and the occasional disagreement about borders."

Her words might have sounded casual, but there was a flicker... something tight... in her tone. Curiosity, perhaps. Or a challenge.

Soren blinked, caught completely off guard. He had expected another long silence, not... that.

"I—" He cleared his throat, forcing a small, helpless smile. "You make it sound like I’ve been caught committing a crime."

"Have you?" she asked smoothly.

"Not yet."

The words escaped before he could stop them.

A sudden rare heat rose inside of him...curse the wine...

Then he looked down, pretending to study the flask in his hand. Caught between laughter and the sudden, unstoppable heat creeping up the back of his neck, Soren had no ready answer, no well-polished phrase to slip between her questions like a blade.

‎"Interest is too gentle a word for what you seem to think I feel," he said finally, voice low. "Let’s just call it... fascination."

‎

‎Eris arched an elegant brow. "Fascination," she repeated. "Am I a specimen, then? A relic to be studied?"

‎

‎He looked at her for a long moment, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "Perhaps that’s the problem... You’re something far more enchanting than either."

Her brows lifted, her expression utterly deadpan. But the faintest colour crept into her cheeks, betraying her calm.

"The wine must be getting to you," she said dryly.

"Perharps," he murmured. "Or maybe it’s just... you."

That earned him a slow exhale, half sigh, half something dangerously close to a laugh. She turned away again, and the starlight brushed the curve of her cheek like it envied his words.

"Why now, though?" she asked after a moment. "You’ve known me longer than a fortnight your majesty. We’ve crossed paths at councils, exchanged letters about armies and trade routes... yet suddenly you’re fascinated?"

‎He hesitated, eyes following the curve of her profile as it caught the firelight below. "I don’t have an answer for that," he said honestly. "Maybe something’s changed."

Her voice softened, though her face stayed still. "Then perharps things should go back to the way they were. It would be better that way."

The sentence pierced into him like a blade. He said nothing, though a faint ache pulsed somewhere beneath his ribs.

Better that way.

Perhaps it was.

But he found himself wondering, as he always did lately, what her lips might taste like when they weren’t forming words meant to keep him away.

He swallowed hard. The wine was truly treacherous tonight.

Eris tilted her head, studying the stars again, her beauty bathed in cold light.

Soren stared again, no not at the stars, but at her. Those sharp yet clumsy eyes tracing every delicate curve there was to memorize. She looked as though she might disappear if he blinked too slow.

And without a second thought...

"You look like you’re planning to vanish," he said quietly.

"Do I?"

"Yes. Like you’ve already decided where you’ll go, and the rest of us just haven’t caught up yet."

Her lips curved faintly. "Who knows what the future brings, Emperor of Ice?"

Something in her tone made his chest tighten. He wanted to tell her he could see the loneliness curling beneath that poise, the same kind he’d worn for years but he stayed silent.

So he spoke instead about safer things... how Solmire’s warmth differed from Nevareth’s cold, how both burned if held too long. Their words drifted, meandering between jest and truth until Soren, once again without realising, brushed too close to her heart.

"Caelen," he said softly, testing the sound. "You still... care for him?"

Her gaze didn’t move, but her fingers stilled where they rested. "Care?" she echoed. "That’s one way to name an old wound."

He said nothing.

"Yes." She continued quietly. "I do care for him."

He exhaled slowly, feeling the air shift between them heavier now unsure of what to say next.

That perhaps he was jealous? Or that maybe Cael was blind. But every time he has to remind himself that he couldn’t blame his friend for despising the woman who made his life hell.

Still.... he didn’t move away.

He simply watched her as the stars glimmered faintly above, thinking,

"If this is the monster they speak of, then I fear I have no wish to be safe."