Soren stepped slightly aside, granting a sliver of space, not to pull away from me, but to make room for Caelen to approach.
Like this was his home.
Like I was the one interrupting.
Caelen offered a tight smile, his voice too light to be real. "Soren. I thought your arrival wasn't scheduled until a few days later."
"It wasn't." Soren's eyes never left Caelen's. "But I was curious. You know how I get."
"I do." Caelen gave a faint chuckle, the kind that men like him gave when they needed to pretend the room wasn't charged. "Still making a dramatic entrance, I see."
"You know me."
They clasped arms like brothers. Like nothing had changed.
Like I wasn't standing there between them, skin still humming with wine and frost and the ache of something shattered.
I stared at Caelen.
And suddenly the robe felt too thin. The room too full.
Because this was the first time I'd seen him since I came back.
The man who killed me.
Not with kindness.
Not with mercy.
But with purpose.
With a blade.
And gods, I let him.
I wanted to die in his hands, wanted the final moment of my fire to be the end of a story I was never allowed to rewrite.
And now?
Now he stood there in front of me, eyes skimming past like I was a painting he'd grown tired of looking at.
It twisted something in me.
Pain. Memory. Shame.
Because even now, I couldn't hate him.
Not truly.
Caelen was still my greatest obsession.
I'd spent my life clawing at his heart, manipulating him, controlling him, trying to force love out of a man who only ever wanted peace.
And still… I wanted him to look at me.
Just once.
Like I mattered.
But he didn't.
Of course he didn't.
So I smiled.
Sharp. Controlled. Queenly.
Then turned without a word.
And left.
_-_-_-_-
Eris left without a single word.
No final smirk. No clever farewell. No slow turn of the head to see if they were still watching.
She simply walked away, robe flowing behind her, snowish hair wild down her back, her steps silent against the stone. The room didn't breathe until she vanished around the corner.
Soren Nivarre watched every step.
His expression didn't change.
But inside?
Something shifted.
It had been five years since he first saw her, five years since that fire-cloaked woman stood beside Caelen at the Treaty Summit like a goddess carved from heat and hatred. She hadn't spoken much then. But the silence had done more than words ever could.
He remembered the tension in her jaw. The disdain in her eyes. The way the court seemed to tilt around her like they weren't sure whether to bow or brace for flames.
Back then, he'd dismissed her.
Assumed the stories were true, that she was nothing but fury in human form. That she made his best friend's life a waking hell. That her love was just another kind of war.
But now?
Now she moved differently.
She still burned... gods, did she burn, but the fire didn't lash anymore.
It lingered.
It watched.
It felt… cold. Not in temperature, but in ache. In restraint.
There was something new in her eyes tonight.
Not rage.
Not power.
Loneliness.
And Soren knew the shape of it.
Because he'd worn it too.
He took a slow breath, eyes fixed on the path she'd taken, wondering, quietly, just how wrong he'd been about her.
"Long journey?" Caelen's voice broke through his thoughts.
Soren blinked, turning slightly. "Mm. Uneventful. My men prefer the direct routes. Less fuss."
Caelen chuckled. "Still all discipline and frost, then."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
Before Caelen could reply, footsteps echoed from the corridor, and a voice far too light to belong in war halls followed.
"Soren?"
Ophelia.
Soft as ever. Composed in powder blue and pearl, hair braided over her shoulder like she had just walked out of a painting commissioned to soothe empires.
She moved with that same grace, the kind meant to charm, not threaten. And when she smiled at Soren, it was with the polite fondness of someone meeting an old friend, not a potential enemy.
"You arrived early," she said, her voice laced with curiosity. "The Treaty Ceremony isn't until the end of Pyrosanct."
"I wanted to spend a little more time in the warmth of Solmire," Soren replied smoothly. "Nevareth's snow gets… predictable."
Ophelia laughed lightly, gesturing for a servant to take his cloak. "We'll have a suite prepared for you. I trust you'll find it suitable."
"I'm certain I will."
As the attendants moved to escort the emperor and his guards deeper into the palace, Soren offered one last glance toward the shadowed halls Eris had disappeared into.
And this time?
He didn't blink it away.