The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 272: THE PROTEST EMERGES

Dear Reader,

If you had walked through Nevareth’s outer districts that morning, you would have sensed it before you saw it, the way tension gathered like storm clouds before breaking.

It began quietly, as most dangerous things do.

In the common markets where displaced families bought bread with coins they couldn’t spare, a merchant named Aldus spoke too loudly. Not shouting, not yet, just... projecting. Making sure his words carried to the crowd gathering around his modest stall.

"Two hundred and twenty four souls dead," he said, shaking his head with practiced grief. "Two hundred and more souls burned by fire demons. And who benefits? Who walks free while we bury our children?"

A woman beside him, Goodwife Vena, district organizer, her daughter among the casualties, nodded with tears tracking down weathered cheeks. "The Fire Bride. She brings her cursed magic to our ice-blessed empire, and hell itself follows."

The words spread like frost across glass. Shop to shop, street to street, carried by those who’d lost everything and needed someone to blame. Viktor’s carefully planted seeds from the midnight meeting were already bearing fruit, watered by genuine grief and desperation.

"I heard she helped with reconstruction," someone said uncertainly. "Used her fire magic to forge materials, melt ice for water, "

"Performance," Aldus cut in smoothly. "Playing the hero after bringing the disaster. Classic misdirection. You think demons appear by coincidence? Fire calls to fire. She summoned them, then pretended to save us to make our Emperor look the fool."

Master Toren from the smithing guild, his son and entire workshop lost, joined the growing conversation. His voice carried authority from decades of respected work. "The Emperor is bewitched. Has to be. Soren Nivarre was wise once, cautious, protective. Now he risks everything for foreign alliance with woman whose reputation preceded her. The Tyrant of Solmire. The woman who burned her own citizens without mercy."

The crowd was swelling now. Thirty people, forty, more joining as the conversation grew louder, more agitated. Someone produced a hastily made banner: PROTECT OUR EMPEROR in crude letters.

They began moving. Not planned exactly, but collective momentum born of shared fury and grief seeking outlet. Through the market square, gathering more bodies as they went. Past the merchant district where wealthy shop owners watched from windows with calculating expressions, some sympathetic, others opportunistic, all noting which way the wind was blowing.

"No Fire Bride!" someone shouted, and the chant caught like kindling.

"No Fire Bride! No Fire Bride!"

The radical ice purists had positioned themselves strategically throughout the crowd, not leading obviously, but amplifying, intensifying, turning mourning into rage. Theron the Pale moved among them like ghost, whispering in ears, encouraging the boldest voices.

"Remember the fallen!" The new chant emerged organically, spreading backward through the growing mass of people. "Remember the fallen! Remember the fallen!"

They crossed into the inner city proper, their numbers now approaching sixty, seventy. Guards watched nervously but didn’t intervene, these were citizens, not criminals. Grieving families exercising their right to petition the throne, however loudly.

The palace gates loomed ahead, pristine white stone and ice sculptures that seemed to mock the destruction still scarring the outer districts. The contrast was stark, beauty and wealth untouched by the fire that had consumed the commoners.

The crowd pressed against the gates, chanting, shouting, waving their banners. Some wept openly. Others looked ready for violence, grief transforming into something darker, more dangerous.

"Bring out the Emperor!"

"Let us speak to Soren!"

"Protect him from the witch!"

The palace guards formed defensive line, hands on weapons but not drawing them. This was delicate, citizens had right to protest, but the situation was deteriorating rapidly. One wrong move could turn mourning into riot.

Commander Ryse appeared at speed, taking in the scene with military assessment. He dispatched guard immediately to alert the Emperor while trying to calm the crowd with raised hands and reasonable voice.

"Citizens of Nevareth! His Imperial Majesty hears your concerns, "

"He hears nothing but her lies!" someone shouted back. "The Fire Witch has poisoned his mind!"

"She murdered our families!"

"Send her back to Solmire!"

Inside the palace, Soren and Eris received word simultaneously. They’d been in separate meetings, Soren reviewing reconstruction budgets with advisors, Eris interrogating another of Vetra’s minor supporters who’d decided cooperation was preferable to destruction.

They converged in the entrance hall, Soren already moving toward the gates with dangerous cold radiating from him, frost forming on marble beneath his boots.

"I’ll disperse them," he said flatly. "They’re grieving, but this crosses into threatening imperial authority. A show of force now prevents worse violence later."

Eris caught his arm, stopping him mid-stride. "No."

He turned to her, ice-white eyes flashing with barely contained fury. "They’re calling for your blood, Eris. They’re threatening, "

"I know what they’re threatening." Her voice was calm, controlled, the tone she’d used commanding a kingdom. "And dispersing them with imperial authority proves their narrative correct, that you’re blinded, that I’ve made you tyrant. It makes martyrs of their grief."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"I’ll address them myself."

Soren looked at her like she’d suggested walking into dragon’s mouth. "Absolutely not. You saw how they reacted at the reconstruction site. This is worse, organized, angry, on the edge of violence. If one person throws something, if the crowd turns, "

"Then you’ll be there to stop it." Eris met his eyes steadily. "But I won’t hide behind palace walls while they paint me as monster. If they want to accuse the Fire Queen, they can do it to her face."

They arrived at the gates together, Soren’s entire demeanor screaming danger while Eris walked with composure that suggested afternoon stroll rather than facing potential mob.

The crowd saw them and the chanting intensified.

"No Fire Bride! Remember the fallen! Protect our Emperor!"

Ryse looked relieved and terrified in equal measure. "Your Majesty, Your Majesty, the situation is volatile. Perhaps addressing them from secured position, "

"Open the gates," Eris said clearly.

The guards looked at Soren for confirmation. He hesitated, every instinct screaming to keep her safe, to disperse the crowd and deal with this through official channels.

But Eris was already stepping forward, and he knew with cold certainty that nothing would stop her from facing this directly.

"Open the gates," Soren confirmed quietly. "But keep formation. At the first sign of violence, we extract her immediately."

The gates swung open slowly, revealing Eris standing calm and composed in deep burgundy that looked like dried blood in the morning light. The crowd surged forward slightly before guards held them back with raised spears, not threatening, just maintaining distance.

Silence fell gradually as people realized the Fire Queen herself stood before them, not cowering behind palace walls but meeting their accusations face to face.

Eris raised one hand, and the last whispers died.

Then she spoke.