CHAPTER 217: PUPPY

Bianca’s face went crimson, humiliation mixing with fury mixing with desperate denial. Eris had just stated her private feelings out loud, exposed her vulnerability in front of the Emperor like it was something amusing rather than precious.

"That’s unfortunate," Soren said, his gaze finally leaving Bianca to settle on Eris with an expression that transformed from arctic death to warm intensity in the span of a heartbeat.

"Since I’m not interested in anything that isn’t you." He continued, moving closer to Eris.

The words hung in the air, a declaration so blatant and shameless that even Eris blinked in surprise.

"Gods, you’re insufferable," she muttered, but her lips twitched with the effort of suppressing a smile.

"And yet you’re here with me anyway." Soren’s expression had shifted into something that could only be described as pleased, not quite a smile, but close enough to suggest satisfaction at having successfully annoyed his fiancée while simultaneously making his complete disinterest in anyone else absolutely clear.

"I must have been drunk when I agreed to this," Eris said, turning and walking away with deliberate casualness, as though the entire exchange bored her.

"Maybe.. or maybe not," Soren called after her. "Perharps you were just swayed by my charm."

"Then I must have been poisoned. It’s the only explanation."

"That’s not how poison works—"

"Stop following me."

"I’m not following you. I’m walking in the same direction. It’s coincidental."

"Nothing about you is coincidental. You’re like a particularly persistent parasite."

"That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me."

Soren followed her without a hint of shame or hesitation, his entire attention focused on the woman who was currently threatening to set his hair on fire if he didn’t stop being so annoying, leaving Bianca standing alone in the snow.

She stood there, frozen, watching them walk away. Watching Soren... her Soren, the man she’d been promised to, the man she’d spent years preparing to marry... chase after another woman like a puppy desperate for attention.

And he was happy about it. Delighted by her insults. Amused by her threats. Completely, utterly focused on her in a way that suggested nothing else in the world mattered.

No.

No, this couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.

Soren didn’t act this way. Soren was composed, controlled, regal. He didn’t... he didn’t banter. He didn’t flirt openly. He didn’t look at people like they were the sun and he was willing to burn if it meant staying in their orbit.

There had to be an explanation. A rational one.

A spell.

The thought struck her with the force of revelation. Of course. That was it. That was the only thing that made sense.

Eris was from Solmire, and everyone knew Solmirans were skilled in fire magic. And where there was fire magic, there were other types of magic too—darker types, forbidden types, the kind that could bend minds and hearts and wills.

Love spells. Enchantments. Bewitchment.

That had to be it. Eris had ensnared Soren somehow, twisted his feelings, made him believe he wanted her when really he was just under magical compulsion.

That was why he acted so out of character, why he dismissed Bianca so cruelly, why he looked at that foreign witch like she was something precious instead of the dangerous interloper she really was.

Bianca’s hands clenched into fists, her burned palm throbbing beneath its bandage.

She had to save him. Had to break the spell before it was too late, before Soren destroyed himself and the empire for a woman who’d enchanted him into believing he loved her.

She would save him. She would expose Eris’s deception, reveal her for the manipulative sorceress she was, free Soren from her magical clutches and claim her rightful place at his side.

She had to.

Because the alternative, that Soren genuinely, truly, completely wanted Eris without any magical interference was unthinkable.

"That was painful to watch."

Bianca startled, turning to find several nobles had gathered at a respectful distance, their expressions ranging from pity to amusement to carefully neutral professionalism.

From their position near the supply wagons, Jorel, Ryse, and Aldric had observed the entire interaction with varying degrees of secondhand embarrassment.

"I almost feel sorry for her," Jorel murmured, though his tone suggested the sympathy was shallow at best.

"Almost," Ryse agreed. "But she brought this on herself. Anyone with eyes could see how His Majesty feels about the future Empress. Attempting to insert herself into that dynamic was..." He searched for words. "Spectacularly ill-advised."

Aldric shook his head. "She doesn’t want to see it. Can’t afford to see it, perhaps. Her entire future has been built around the promise of marrying the Emperor."

"With beauty like hers, she could find another man," Ryse pointed out pragmatically. "Any man she wants, really. Noble houses would line up for the chance to align with the Virelya family through marriage."

"You don’t get it," Aldric said quietly, his gaze still on Bianca’s rigid form. "She doesn’t want any other man. She wants Soren specifically. And that..." He paused. "That’s unfortunate for her."

"Why?" Jorel asked, though something in his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

"Because there can never be another man like Emperor Soren," Ryse supplied, his voice matter-of-fact. "Not in looks, not in power, not in status. She’s spent her life preparing to be his Empress, building her entire identity around that future. Accepting that it’s not going to happen would mean dismantling everything she believes about herself and her purpose."

"So she won’t accept it," Aldric concluded. "She’ll rationalize, justify, blame external factors maybe. Anything to avoid confronting the simple truth that he chose someone else and no amount of beauty, breeding, or determination will change his mind."

They stood in silence for a moment, watching Bianca finally turn and walk stiffly back toward the carriages, her posture screaming wounded pride and stubborn denial.

"This is going to end badly," Jorel predicted.

"Most things do," Aldric replied philosophically. "The question is just how spectacular the disaster will be."