I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 110: What are we?

The moment Elysia asked her question, Malvoria stilled.

Like a beast that had caught itself in a trap, like a predator that had moved too fast, too carelessly, only to realize that it had fallen into something it couldn't quite define, something it had no control over, something dangerous.

Her breath was still uneven, still tinged with the remnants of that bite, of the taste of Elysia's blood lingering on her tongue, rich and intoxicating, laced with something Malvoria had not expected, something that made the hunger inside her coil tighter instead of settling.

But the question.

That damned question.

"What even is all this?"

It was a question—but the wrong one.

It wasn't what this was.

It was what they were.

And the answer was infinitely more complicated.

Malvoria exhaled, long and slow, her hands still framing Elysia's waist, her body still pressed too close, too warm, too unwilling to move away just yet.

She could still hear the pounding of Elysia's heart, could still feel the faint tremor in her pulse, the lingering echoes of pleasure and confusion and something deeper, something more dangerous.

She should be careful.

She should choose her words with tact, with patience, with the kind of sharp-edged precision she had honed over years of war, of negotiations, of ruling a kingdom where a single misstep could be the difference between control and chaos.

But patience had never been her strong suit.

Instead, she let out a short, quiet breath, before tilting her head slightly, watching Elysia with something unreadable in her gaze, something caught between curiosity and frustration, interest and something far too close to amusement.

"That's a strange thing to ask," she murmured, voice low, smooth, teasing but only barely. "Considering you're the one who let me bite you without a single protest."

Elysia scowled instantly.

And Malvoria—Malvoria smirked.

Good.

Better to make her angry than to make her think too much.

"I wasn't exactly given a choice," Elysia shot back, trying to sound indignant, but failing spectacularly because Malvoria could still hear the slight breathlessness in her voice, could still see the way she refused to fully meet her gaze, could still feel the way her hands had clutched at her just moments before.

"No?" Malvoria raised a brow. "You didn't push me away."

Elysia's lips pressed into a thin line.

Malvoria hummed, leaning in just a little, just enough to watch the way Elysia's pupils dilated, the way she tensed, the way her throat bobbed slightly when she swallowed.

"You didn't tell me to stop, either," she added, just to watch Elysia react.

And oh, did she react.

A sharp, frustrated glare, a quick inhale, a tightening of her jaw that betrayed just how hard she was fighting not to let this conversation turn into something else entirely.

Malvoria liked that about her.

Liked that Elysia still thought she could fight her, that she could stand her ground when Malvoria had already won.

And yet...

And yet.

There was a weight in her chest that Malvoria wasn't sure how to name.

Because despite the teasing, despite the amusement she so carefully wielded like a shield, the question still lingered.

What even is all this?

The answer was obvious.

It had been obvious since the beginning, hadn't it?

They weren't enemies.

Not anymore.

Enemies didn't touch like this, didn't kiss like this, didn't breathe each other in like they were something worth craving.

Enemies didn't wake up tangled in each other's arms, didn't look at each other across war tables and feel the edges of their resolve fray, didn't hesitate when they should have been striking first, didn't let themselves get pulled into something neither of them had planned for.

Enemies didn't marry each other.

And that was the truth of it, wasn't it?

Elysia was not her enemy.

She was her wife.

Malvoria let the thought settle.

It was strange, in a way, how the realization didn't feel foreign.

Didn't feel unnatural.

Didn't feel like something that needed to be fought.

Because that's what Elysia was.

Not just a political arrangement.

Not just a pawn in a grander scheme.

Not just some fleeting indulgence.

She was hers.

She had been from the moment she stepped into Malvoria's kingdom, from the moment she had refused to kneel, refused to break, refused to let Malvoria be the only one who dictated the terms of this strange, impossible war between them.

And wasn't that the real problem?

Wasn't that the real danger?

That Malvoria was no longer sure who had conquered who.

That Elysia had already taken more of her than she should have.

That she had let this happen, let it build, let it consume, let it become something she could no longer control.

Malvoria narrowed her eyes slightly, studying the princess beneath her, studying the way her lips were still kiss-swollen, the way her pulse was still too fast, the way her silver hair was still messily spread across Malvoria's sheets like she belonged there.

Like she had always belonged there.

And maybe—

Maybe Malvoria was tired of pretending otherwise.

So she exhaled slowly, deliberately, then let her smirk return, slower this time, sharper, edged with something that might have been acceptance.

"You seem confused, princess," she said, voice quiet but not gentle, never gentle, never with her.

Elysia stared at her, waiting, hesitant, not sure where this was going.

So Malvoria gave her the answer she hadn't known she was looking for.

"You're my wife."

She let the words settle, let them hang between them, let them linger like a weight that neither of them could ignore.

Elysia flinched.

Just slightly.

Just enough.

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"You can try to twist this into whatever you want," Malvoria continued, watching her, gauging her, unwilling to let her escape this conversation now that she had finally found the words for it, "but at the end of the day, that's what you are. That's what this is."

Elysia's lips parted slightly, as if to argue—

But nothing came out.

No denial.

No rejection.

Nothing.

Because what could she possibly say?

What could she possibly argue when Malvoria was simply stating the truth?

So Malvoria let her smirk widen just a fraction, let her amusement flicker in the air between them like a lit match, let the tension build just enough to see if Elysia would be the one to break first.

And then, tilting her head slightly, letting her voice drop to something lower, something almost mocking, something edged with dark satisfaction, she said—

"Should I just call you my wife, then?"