CHAPTER 68: KISS

I studied him through the haze of torchlight, every bit of frost-kissed nobility standing there in the dark, as if he belonged to the night itself. His words still lingered between us, soft and sharp like the echo of a blade drawn too close to skin.

"Why do you need my help?" I asked finally, my tone a mix of irritation and disbelief. Surely this wasn’t the same man who’d nearly brought the court to its knees an hour ago. Surely not the same emperor who’d bled nobility and arrogance in equal measure.

His eyes didn’t waver. "Because I admire your cruelty."

No mockery. No smirk. Just simple, unnerving sincerity.

It should’ve been an insult. It wasn’t.

It felt like acknowledgment.

For a heartbeat, I didn’t know whether to laugh or burn him alive.

No one had ever said they admired that about me, not even Caelen, who’d built half his reign from the shadow of my ruthlessness. But Soren said it like he was talking about beauty. As if the word itself were a crown he was placing on my head.

I folded my arms, pretending the heat in my cheeks was from the nearby torches. "You’re insane," I muttered.

He smiled faintly. "That’s not a no."

The arrogance was infuriatingly charming. And worse, he wasn’t wrong. Something about his proposition gnawed at me. It wasn’t the danger, it was the purpose. The challenge. The promise of doing something again that mattered. I’d been drifting since the abdication, a ghost of my own ambition. Now, he’d dropped a map at my feet.

But still, he needed reminding who he was dealing with.

"And what," I said slowly, tilting my head, "if I refuse?"

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

"I have one card up my sleeve remaining."

My eyes narrowed. "Oh?"

"The wish you owe me," he said, calm as ever, "from the duel I won."

Ah. There it was.

The reason behind his insolence.

The root of his audacity, the proposal, the request, the entire evening’s spectacle.

I should’ve known.

Of course he’d cash it in eventually.

I exhaled through my nose, every bit of me simmering between annoyance and reluctant amusement. "You really are unbearable," I said.

His lips twitched. "I’ve been told."

For a long moment, I just stared at him, weighing the words between us. He thought he had me cornered, how adorable. So I smiled. Sweetly. Dangerously.

"Fine," I said, voice smooth as silk. "I’ll consider your request."

His expression brightened just slightly... before I added,

"But not without a condition."

"Oh?" he asked, intrigued, his tone equal parts wary and curious. "What condition?"

I leaned back against the bench, letting the firelight catch the edge of my smirk.

"You must get on your knees," I said softly, "and kiss my feet."

He blinked. The night itself seemed to still.

The very word themselves...

It was blasphemy, treason, even.

A ruler of Nevareth kneeling before someone who was no longer a queen?

Unthinkable. Unacceptable. Unheard of.

Which was precisely the point.

I wanted to see if the self-proclaimed Emperor of Ice, Soren Nivarre, the man who’d challenged me before an entire ballroom, would dare melt for me now.

And I waited.

Because I was certain he wouldn’t.

He shouldn’t.

But a small, wicked part of me almost hoped he would.

The silence stretched between us, thick, heavy, impossible to read.

He didn’t speak. He just stared, that familiar calm cracking slightly as the weight of my condition settled on him. I expected a laugh, or maybe a smirk. Something arrogant. Instead, I got nothing. Just silence.

The kind that crawled under your skin and waited.

I folded my arms and tilted my head, pretending I wasn’t enjoying this more than I should. Watching him squirm for once was a delicious reversal of fate. "Well?" I teased, voice dripping with mock impatience. "Lost your confidence already, Emperor?"

I’d meant it as mockery, a jab meant to restore balance after his humiliating display at the ball. I wanted him flustered, wanted to see that immaculate composure of his crack, even just for a heartbeat.

‎

‎And it worked.

‎At least, I thought it did.

He didn’t reply. He blinked once. Twice. Then began to move.

Closer.

And closer.

Until the night’s chill clung to the air between us, until I could feel the quiet thrum of his magic brushing against my skin.

Each step echoed softly against the marble floor, deliberate and measured.

I straightened, instinctively defensive, masking my sudden unease with a glare.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice coming out sharper than I intended.

He didn’t answer.

His hands rose to his gloves, expensive things, lined with silver thread that caught the torchlight. He pulled at the fingers one by one, slowly, never breaking eye contact. The first glove came off. Then the second. He let them fall carelessly to the ground.

And his face,

His expression was unreadable in a way that made my breath catch. Not blank, not cold. Dangerous. Like winter itself had taken shape and decided to kneel.

There was something in his eyes that looked almost feral beneath all that practiced composure, something that promised he understood exactly what this meant and chose it anyway.

"What—"

The word broke halfway through as he dropped to one knee before me.

‎

The world itself seemed to stop breathing. The torches flickered, the wind fell silent. Even the distant hum of the palace disappeared as if it refused to witness what came next.

He lifted my leg, carefully, reverently, and his head bowed.

‎And then his lips met my skin.

‎

‎A soft, cool pressure against the arch of my foot. Reverent. Slow. Measured.

‎

‎It wasn’t just the shock that froze me, it was the contrast. The way his ice seeped into my fire, cooling it, taming it. A strange, electric calm rippled through me, the kind that left my pulse unsteady and my breath shallow.

‎

‎I stared down at him, my mouth parting slightly, words dying in my throat.

‎

‎My breath hitched.

Once. Twice.

He didn’t stop.

‎

‎Another kiss, higher, firmer. My breath hitched. His cold bare hand slid upward, steady, confident, until my foot rested against his chest. His heartbeat was slow. Mine wasn’t.

‎

‎It was absurd. Scandalous. Dangerous.

‎And yet,

‎

‎A part of me couldn’t look away.

‎

‎Perhaps he wasn’t just reckless. Perhaps he’d reached a kind of divine defiance, an audacity not meant for mortals, but for those mad enough to challenge the gods themselves.

‎And Soren Nivarre had always looked a little too comfortable playing god.

‎

‎His his lips began to trail even higher, closer, deliberate and unhurried. The act was not one of humiliation, but worship.

His hand moved higher, the touch more assured now, almost possessive. He guided my leg upward, past his chest, settling it against the curve of his shoulder. The pressure of it, the intimacy of the position, where his skin met mine, it burned... not with my fire, but with something far more dangerous.

I froze, completely undone.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He wasn’t supposed to do it.

My pulse hammered wildly, traitorous, as the air thickened around us, something charged, dangerous, sacred. It wasn’t butterflies I felt, it was eruption, a rush of liquid fire that started low and spread upward, clawing through my ribs like the dragon under my skin had stirred.

His mouth moved higher still, trailing a path that left cooling moisture in its wake. It grew slower, more intentional with each touch.

When his mouth lingered against the sensitive skin of my inner calf, when I felt the unmistakable heat and wetness of his tongue tracing a lazy path, something primal sparked to life inside me, raw and utterly inappropriate.

A hunger I hadn’t felt in years, shamless and demanding. Pure, unfiltered want that had no place between enemies.

By the time his lips pressed against my thighs, that heat had become an inferno, the kind that made my magic flare beneath my skin. I snapped out of whatever spell he’d woven, hand flying to his face to stop him before I lost myself completely..

"That’s enough," I managed to whisper, my voice unsteady.

He laughed, quietly, breath ghosting over my palm. It was soft and cool, but it made my entire spine shiver.

When I lowered my hand, his expression had changed, gentle, yes, but with a wicked glint curling at the corner of his mouth.

"Can’t handle your own request your majesty?" he murmured. "Or were you expecting me to decline such an offer?"

I glared, though it felt weak, heat crawling up my neck. "I should’ve known you were insane."

His grin widened, satisfied. "You did know. You just didn’t care until now."

The audacity of him. The sheer, divine recklessness. For a fleeting second, I wondered if he was defying me, or the gods themselves. Maybe both.

But the proof was right there before me: he’d done it. He’d meant it.

And in that moment, something unspoken settled between us.

He had proven his resolve.

I was... intrigued, against my better judgment.

A strange partnership began to take shape in my mind, not of love, but necessity. A contract of purpose. He’d have my cruelty, and I’d have something resembling meaning again.

Perhaps it wasn’t redemption I needed after all, just one last battle.

A final villain like myself to destroy.

A final story worth ending on.

Before the dragon inside me finally claimed what was left.