The Villainess Wants To Retire

Chapter 568: Arrival

The heavy, iron-studded gates of Solmire ground opened with a familiar, tectonic rumble, revealing the pale stone and vibrant autumnal banners of the capital.After the suffocating, soot-stained atmosphere of Nevareth, the air here felt thin and sharp, carrying the scent of pine and distant woodsmoke.

It was the smell of home, yet as the carriage wheels rattled over the cobblestones, Caelen felt a distinct, jarring disconnect. The city hadn’t changed, but the man returning to it had.

A small army of officials had already assembled in the courtyard, their colorful robes a stark contrast to the utilitarian furs of the North.

News of the royal party’s approach had traveled ahead via fast riders, and the machinery of the Solmire welcome began to turn with its usual, reliable precision. It didn’t matter that an empire was crumbling weeks away; here, protocol was the only god that never slept.

Caelen was out of his saddle before his horse had fully stopped. He moved toward the carriage door just as the step was lowered.

Ophelia descended with the slow, calculated care of a woman carrying a heavy burden.

She was nearly eight months along now, her pregnancy undeniable, her silhouette changed into something both fragile and formidable.

"Careful," Caelen said, reaching out to take her arm before any footman could intervene.

He didn’t wait for her to ask.

He began barking instructions to the gathered staff with a rapid-fire intensity that bordered on frantic.

"The cushioned chair. I want the solar warmed immediately. Fetch the personal physician, not the apprentice, the Master. She needs a tonic of red-leaf and rest."

He gave the orders for the particular kind of care that usually had a name, reparations, but he didn’t say it. Everyone understood.

The King was overcompensating.

Ophelia accepted his hand and his instructions with a passive, chilling grace.

She didn’t thank him, nor did she protest the fuss. She simply watched him through hooded eyes, performing an internal assessment he couldn’t see.

She saw the guilt in the set of his shoulders. She saw the fear in the way he wouldn’t quite meet her gaze for more than a second.

It was the performance of a husband who knew he had failed the foundational tests of his office and was now trying to win back the grade with extra credit.

She filed that assessment away in the cold, quiet part of her mind where she kept her secrets.

We are home now, she thought, her fingers tightening slightly on his sleeve. Things will be different here.

The officials were closing in, their mouths open to begin the long, tedious process of reabsorbing their King into the bureaucracy of the state.

Before they could reach him, Ophelia leaned in close. Her voice was a mere thread of sound, directed only at him.

"Caelen."

He turned, startled by the sudden intimacy of her tone. "What is it? Are you in pain?"

"I want us to begin sleeping in separate chambers," she said.

The words landed like a physical blow.

Caelen’s expression went slack, the specific startlement of a man hit by a projectile from a clear sky. "What? Why? What’s happened?"

"Nothing has happened," she replied, her voice as flat as the stones beneath them. "I am nearly eight months pregnant, Caelen. My sleep is disrupted. I am uncomfortable. The heat of another person in the bed is... taxing. I need the space to rest without the pressure of your presence."

"We can arrange for more pillows, or a larger frame," Caelen began, his mind racing for a logistical solution to an emotional problem.

"There are ways to make the suite more..."

"No," she interrupted. It wasn’t a request; it was a decree.

Caelen looked into her face and found it a fortress.

There was no room for discussion, no crack for a compromise to take root. The guilt he had been carrying since Nevareth, the guilt of the kiss he hadn’t stopped, the guilt of the woman he had left behind in the snow, arrived right on schedule.

He had taken so much from Ophelia. He had taken her peace, her security, and her husband’s focus. He couldn’t take her comfort, too.

"As you wish," he said, his voice thick.

They parted then, moving in opposite directions. Ophelia was led toward the east wing, while Caelen was swallowed by the sea of officials and directed toward the council room.

Ophelia’s new chambers were larger than her old ones, the proper Queen’s rooms, appointed with gold leaf and heavy silks. Maids bustled about, fussing over the temperature of the tea and the fluff of the duvets. Ophelia ignored them. She stood at the window, watching the sun dip toward the Wildwood borders.

Separate rooms, she thought. Separate schedules. No one watching at night.

As the maids began to unpack the trunks, Ophelia reached into the small, velvet-lined satchel she had kept at her side since they left the frozen fortress.

She touched the small, cold object inside, the one she had secured after her final meeting with Bianca. Her expression wasn’t one of guilt. It was one of absolute, terrifying purpose.

The council room felt smaller than Caelen remembered. The familiar faces of his lords were gathered around the long, polished table, a mountain of parchment and ledgers waiting for his sign-off. It was the physical manifestation of a kingdom that had continued to breathe while he was away playing at war and heartbreak.

Lord Aldren, the senior official, rose with a stiff, formal bow. "Welcome back, Your Majesty. The council offers its deepest gratitude for your safe return and for the health of the Queen. Solmire has felt your absence."

Caelen took his seat at the head of the table. "Where is Rael?"

"In the nursery, Sire," Aldren replied. "The boy was exhausted. He has been returned to his familiar things."

Caelen nodded, though his heart felt heavy.

The boy had asked for Eris three times on the long trek south. He had asked if she was coming to play. Caelen hadn’t had the words to explain that the Eris was currently holding the world together with a Soren.