The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 415: Jewel of the North

The Virelya estate had always been a monument to calculated elegance, all white marble, blue silks, and precisely manicured frost-gardens.

But in the days following the imperial wedding, the elegance had soured into something stagnant and rotting. The air inside the manor felt thin, vibrating with a frantic, silent tension that mirrored the state of its inhabitants.

In the west wing, Bianca Virelya had retreated into a self-imposed exile that bordered on a haunting. She had locked herself in her private chambers, refusing all but the most essential of servants, and even they were beginning to flee.

Bianca was losing her mind. The rejection , coupled with the news of Soren’s public devotion to Eris during the ritual, had snapped the final thread of her composure. She paced the length of her balcony, her silk nightgown tattered at the hem, muttering a rhythmic, low-pitched chant of grievances.

The walls of her once-beautiful chamber were ruined. Using a jagged shard of a broken mirror, she had carved disturbing, repetitive images into the fine wood paneling. There were dozens of them: Eris Igniva wreathed in flames that looked like screaming mouths; Soren standing beside a figure that was supposed to be Bianca, their hands joined in blood; and crowns, dozens of jagged, obsidian crowns etched into the plaster.

"She took him," Bianca whispered, her eyes wide and bloodshot. "She burned her way into his bed. The fire-witch. The monster."

When a young maid entered to bring a tray of tea, she accidentally rattled the porcelain. Bianca moved with a speed that was feral. She didn’t scream; she simply lunged, her palm connecting with the girl’s cheek in a sharp, sickening crack.

"Don’t look at the walls!" Bianca hissed, her fingers digging into the girl’s arm.

The maid scrambled away, sobbing, leaving the tray to shatter on the floor. The servants were walking on eggshells, terrified of the woman who had once been the "Jewel of the North." Her true nature, sadistic, entitled, and dangerously delusional, was emerging like a bone breaking through skin. She was no longer a debutante; she was a predator caught in a cage of her own making.

"I should be Empress," she ranted to the empty garden. "I’ll kill her. I’ll tear the heart out of her chest and show Soren what true loyalty looks like. I’ll take my rightful place." 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

...

Downstairs, in the mahogany-lined silence of his study, Viktor Virelya was having a very different experience.

Initially, the news of Vetra’s arrest had sent him into a cold sweat. He had burned half his private ledger in the hearth that first night, his hands shaking as the ink curled into ash. But as the days passed and the imperial guards remained at the palace, his arrogance returned.

He was a master of the paper trail, or so he believed. He had spent years severing connections, using middle-men for his bribes and ensuring his illegal trade practices were buried under mountains of legitimate paperwork.

"Soren has nothing on me," Viktor muttered, pouring himself a glass of amber brandy. "He’s a soldier, not an accountant. He’s too busy chasing Vetra’s ghosts to look at the ledgers of an Archon Duke."

Despite the danger, Viktor was still meeting with the remnants of rebels. They met in the dead of night, men with old names and fading fortunes who resented the Fire Queen’s presence on the throne. Under Vetra’s previous directives, they were still planning a permanent "displacement" of the Emperor. Viktor believed they still had a chance. He underestimated Soren’s intelligence and, more importantly, he underestimated Soren’s fury.

Driven by a need to maintain some semblance of order, Viktor went to his daughter’s wing. He found her in the private garden, staring at a frozen fountain with a look of vacant intensity.

He stopped dead at the sight of her chambers. The carved walls, the smashed furniture, the smell of unwashed silk and madness.

"Bianca, get yourself together," Viktor commanded, though his voice lacked its usual bite. "The servants are talking. If word of this reaches the Capital, your reputation will be unsalvageable."

Bianca didn’t turn around. Her voice was a dry rasp. "He’s with her. Right now. In the palace. It should have been me. He’s touching her, Father."

"Be patient!" Viktor snapped, stepping toward her. "The trial will distract the Emperor. Vetra’s fall creates a vacuum, and we will fill it. You will get what you want eventually. We both will. Just stay out of sight until the dust settles."

Bianca spun around, her face a mask of hysterical rage. "You don’t understand! I can’t wait! Every breath she takes is a breath stolen from me! She’s with him now!"

She lunged at him, her nails catching the lapel of his coat. Viktor shoved her back, his face contorted with frustration. He looked at his daughter and saw a liability.

"Fine," he spat, adjusting his coat. "Rot here then. Lose your mind over a man who wouldn’t look at you if you were the last woman in the North. I have an empire to secure."

He turned to leave, his boots clicking on the stone, when the sound of the front gates being smashed open echoed through the estate.

A column of imperial soldiers, dressed in the midnight-blue and silver of the Emperor’s personal guard, marched into the Virelya courtyard. They were led by Jorel, now known for his unflinching loyalty to Soren and his lack of a sense of humor.

Servants scattered like mice, dropping brooms and trays as the soldiers formed a perimeter. Viktor rushed onto the front portico, his face flushed with indignation.

"W-what is going on?! Who sent you?!" Viktor barked, trying to draw himself up to his full, aristocratic height. "What are you doing on my estate? I am an Archon Duke of the High Council! This is a violation of- "

"Under His Majesty’s orders," Jorel interrupted, his voice flat and professional. He didn’t even look at Viktor as he unrolled a heavy scroll tipped with red wax.

"Viktor Virelya, Archon Duke of the Southern Reach," Jorel read. "You are under arrest. Charges: Systematic corruption, bribery of imperial officials, illegal trade of restricted mana-crystals, embezzlement of provincial taxes, and conspiracy against the crown."

Viktor’s face went from flushed to a deathly, translucent pale. The brandy glass in his hand slipped, shattering on the marble steps. "This is ridiculous! This is a fabrication! You have no evidence! I’ve done nothing wrong!"

"His Majesty disagrees," Jorel said, nodding to his men. "He has the ledgers you thought you burned. It seems your ’middle-man’ was fond of keeping his own records for insurance. You’ll have your chance at trial."

Two guards stepped forward, grabbing Viktor’s arms. He struggled, his dignity disintegrating into panicked shouts of "Treason!" and "I demand an audience!"

"Father!"