The Villainess Wants To Retire

Chapter 5: Madwoman Reborn



Narrator:

"AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Eris Igniva laughed. No, not softly. Not politely. She laughed like a madwoman reborn. Because she was. She laughed not because she lost her mind. But because she found it.

"May the gods be damned!"

Her laughter was a sound too loud for the hour, too sharp for the golden dusk. It rang through the garden like cracked glass, high, jagged, and utterly devoid of sense or sanity.

The servants froze.

Every single one of them, from the eldest handmaid to the trembling scullery girl with her water pail still half-lifted, held their breath.

No one moved.

Because Eris Igniva never laughed without reason.

And every courtier, every servant, every bleeding soul in Solmire knew exactly what her laughter had always meant.

One: she was in a good mood.

Two: someone was about to be turned to ash beneath the Solmire sun.

And the sound she made now… it was the kind of laugh that promised both.

Mira, the young maid who had remained by her side, flinched as Eris tilted her head back, teeth bared, shoulders shaking. Not with weakness.

With something far, far worse.

Power.

She looked like a woman who had already seen death, danced in the arms of gods, and come back with secrets buried behind her eyes.

And still, still, the Queen of Solmire laughed.

Until the court went silent. Until even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Until one of the handmaids whispered, barely audible, "Stars preserve us…"

And even then, no one dared ask why. Because they indeed knew Eris Igniva did nothing without purpose. And today… something had changed.

As Eris Igniva's laughter ebbed into silence, the garden remained frozen.

No one dared speak.

No one dared breathe too loudly.

The birds, as if sensing something unnatural, had long fallen quiet. The sky, painted in the soft blush of evening, cast an eerie glow across the stones and petals. It should have been a peaceful scene.

It wasn't.

The Queen of Solmire stood amidst it all, still as stone. Her shoulders straight. Her chin lifted. Her golden eyes staring into something far beyond the reach of mortal understanding.

The elder handmaid, Mistress Talia, stepped forward. Slowly. Cautiously.

Her heart pounded in her chest like a war drum.

She bent low into a deep curtsy, her joints creaking with the weight of age and dread. "Your Majesty," she said softly, trying to summon a tone of concern. "Shall I fetch, "

"What is she up to now,"

Talia thought bitterly beneath the veil of her voice. "Whose ashes are we about to sweep clean this time?"

She witnessed clearly how the Queen had collapsed in this very garden just minutes earlier, mid-step, mid-breath, her silk skirts brushing the herbs as she dropped to the ground like a lifeless doll. For a moment, Talia had thought it over. That Pyronox, the great flame god, had finally claimed the mad woman he should have taken years ago.

The entire kingdom would've rejoiced.

Solmire would have wept with joy.

She prayed then, silently, viciously, that Eris would not rise again. That the cursed reign of blood and fire would end in the arms of jasmine and silence.

But now she stood. Laughing. Alive.

And that was somehow worse.

Talia bowed deeper. "Your Majesty, if you'd allow us to, "

"Leave."

The word came sharp. Cold. Not shouted. Not repeated.

Eris Igniva didn't raise her voice.

She didn't need to.

The command rolled like thunder.

Talia flinched. So did the others.

Every maid in the circle scrambled, tripping over hems and shoes as they retreated like rats from a drowning ship. No one lingered. No one asked for confirmation. They had all learned the hard way: Eris did not like repeating herself.

And when she did… it was the last thing you heard.

Only Mira paused, glancing back, but a single glance from the Queen made her avert her eyes and rush after the others.

As soon as the garden cleared, murmurs began to ripple from behind hedges and stone archways. The kind of bitter whispers only cowards shared when they were just out of reach.

"She's finally snapped."

"She laughed like a cursed thing."

"She should've stayed dead."

"She's more dangerous now, I can feel it, "

"What if she was possessed this time?"

They spoke in hushes and fragments, but fear clung to every word. Because it wasn't just the madness that terrified them. It was the unpredictability.

Eris Igniva had always been terrifying. But now?

Now she was unknowable.

"She needs to be watched," one footman muttered to the others as they huddled behind a pillar. "If she's plotting something again… His Majesty needs to be informed."

"Yes," someone else agreed. "She could set the palace ablaze in her sleep."

"We should send word."

"I'll go," said a third, a young steward named Ralen, sharp-eyed and lean, who'd once delivered letters between wings of the palace and had seen the King Consort up close.

Ralen hesitated, then glanced toward the opposite wing.

"I know where Caelen is," he said. "I'll tell him."

And without another word, he slipped away, toward the east wing of the palace where King Consort Caelen Caldrith resided, unaware that the woman he'd buried in smoke and silence now stood again… not cleansed, but sharpened.

The eastern wing of the palace was bathed in warm light and silence.

Compared to the west, where Eris Igniva's chambers stood like a storm waiting to break, the King Consort's quarters were a sanctuary. The air smelled of sandalwood and polished marble. White curtains fluttered from the high windows. Soldiers and servants moved like shadows, efficient and quiet, their armor cleaned, their voices hushed.

It was peaceful. Breathable. Almost absurdly normal.

In the private garden, surrounded by olive trees and trimmed hedges, King Consort Caelen Caldrith sat reclined on a cushioned bench, his arm lazily draped along the back. His son, a small boy of five with dark curls and stubborn fire in his eyes that resembled his mother's, ran barefoot across the grass, chasing a wooden toy horse.

Near him, seated on a softer bench of her own, Ophelia watched with a soft smile.

She was dressed simply, but even in simplicity, she carried elegance. Ivory linen, modest jewels. A ribbon in her braided honey colored hair. Her face was serene, her green eyes always kind. The staff adored her. The nobles pitied her story and praised her grace. Even the guards, hardened as they were, said she was the light that balanced the madness of the palace.

She was everything Eris wasn't.

"He's faster today," she said gently, watching Rael tumble into the grass and burst into giggles.

Caelen smirked. "He gets that from me."

Ophelia hummed. "I suppose. Though he certainly has his mother's temper."

That made Caelen pause, just for a second.

He leaned back with a quiet scoff. "He'll grow out of that."

She didn't reply, but her smile dimmed a little. Instead, she turned her gaze back to the boy, who now held his toy like a sword and charged a small bush as if it were a great beast.

Caelen glanced at her sideways, and then, almost shyly, said, "I'm glad you stayed today."

Ophelia looked at him, her smile returning like a soft light. "I always do."

Their eyes held for a beat too long.

Then came the knock.

Firm. Urgent.

Caelen's brow furrowed. "Enter."

The door creaked open, and Ralen stepped in, breathless from the walk, his uniform slightly askew. He bowed immediately.

"Your Majesty, forgive the intrusion. But… there's news about the Queen."

Caelen blinked. "Eris?"

Ophelia straightened, quiet and watchful now.

"She collapsed earlier today," Ralen explained, voice low and quick. "In the western gardens. The maids thought she was dead because she stopped breathing."

Caelen's expression didn't shift. "And?"

"She woke up." A pause. "But… different."

Now Caelen's eyes narrowed. "Different how?"

Ralen hesitated, then said, "She laughed. Loudly. Uncontrollably. Like a madwoman. And not the usual outburst, it seemed… worse."

Caelen's jaw clenched.

Ralen continued. "The staff's shaken. They say she's not herself. They think she's planning something."

Caelen exhaled, long and annoyed. "She's always planning something. That's not news."

"But, "

"I don't care," Caelen cut him off. "Let her play whatever mind game she's weaving. I'll tear it apart like I always do."

Ophelia's soft voice cut through the tension. "Maybe you should go see her."

Caelen turned, incredulous. "Why?"

"She's your wife," she said gently. "And she just collapsed."

"She's my problem, not my wife," Caelen muttered. "And I'd rather spend my time here, with you, and my son, than waste a second on whatever mess Eris has dreamed up this time."

Ophelia said nothing. But something flickered in her eyes.

Ralen bowed again, sensing he had worn out his presence. "Understood, Your Majesty."

"You're dismissed," Caelen said curtly.

And Ralen left as quietly as he had come, back through the corridors where light gave way to shadow. Toward the wing where Eris Igniva had awoken from death, laughter still clinging to the air like smoke.


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