I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 119: Malvoria’s shirt

Elysia exhaled as she stepped out of the bathroom, her fingers still gripping the edge of the towel wrapped around her body.

Her mind was reeling.

They had done it again.

She had let it happen again.

Her skin still tingled from Malvoria's touch, her legs felt weak, and if she closed her eyes for even a second, she could still feel the heat of Malvoria's mouth trailing over her neck, her lips pressing against places they shouldn't.

This was dangerous.

It was becoming a habit.

One she should run from.

One she should avoid.

And yet...

Elysia swallowed hard, shaking off the thought.

She had more pressing matters at the moment.

Like the fact that she was still in Malvoria's room.

And that she had nothing to wear.

Her gaze swept across the chamber, the air heavy with a quiet kind of power.

The room was massive but cold, its walls a deep, stormy gray, the stone smooth and polished. There were no paintings, no unnecessary embellishments—everything was precise, controlled.

The furniture was sparse but undeniably regal: a large obsidian desk near the window, a towering bookshelf filled with leather-bound tomes, a sleek, high-backed chair by the hearth. Even the bed—huge, draped in black silk—was immaculate, not a single wrinkle in sight.

It was so different from her own chambers, where warm candlelight flickered against soft curtains, where bright tapestries hung against golden walls, where plush pillows and books scattered the surfaces.

Elysia bit her lip.

They were supposed to be going to the orphanage soon. She couldn't exactly walk out in a towel, but slipping through the halls naked under a cloak wasn't much better.

Her gaze landed on the large black dresser in the corner.

Would Malvoria mind?

Probably not.

Would Malvoria notice?

Absolutely.

Elysia sighed. Whatever.

She padded over to the dresser and pulled open the heavy wooden doors, revealing a meticulously arranged wardrobe of black and deep crimson. Every piece was elegant, structured, commanding—each tailored to perfection.

Crisp shirts lined the left side, their collars perfectly folded. Suits and long, military-style coats hung beside them, each embroidered with dark silver filigree, symbols of rank and power stitched subtly into the fabric.

There wasn't a single casual piece in sight. No loose tunics, no comfortable loungewear, nothing remotely soft.

Until—

Her fingers brushed against something different.

A black shirt, tucked neatly on a lower shelf. Unlike the other garments, it wasn't pressed into rigid perfection. It was... simple.

Curious, Elysia picked it up, unfolding it.

The fabric slipped like liquid through her fingers—soft, absurdly smooth. Silk, maybe. Or something even richer.

It was worn in a way the other clothes weren't, the edges slightly frayed, the material broken in from years of use. It smelled like Malvoria.

Spice, smoke, something dark and earthy.

A scent that was entirely her.

Elysia inhaled before she could stop herself.

Gods.

This was a bad idea.

But before she could second-guess herself, she pulled the shirt over her head.

The fabric swallowed her. The hem skimmed her thighs, the sleeves slipping well past her wrists. It was huge. Ridiculously so.

She turned toward the mirror, her reflection almost comical.

Elysia clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

This was stupid.

And yet...

It felt strangely intimate.

The shirt smelled like Malvoria, felt like her, wrapped around her in a way that sent an unwanted shiver down her spine. It was the first thing in this room that felt lived-in, that carried a history beyond its pristine perfection.

She needed to get back to her own chambers.

Before her thoughts spiraled further.

Elysia shook herself and strode toward the door, yanking it open—

Only to freeze.

Malvoria was there.

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, golden light from the sconces casting sharp shadows across her face.

And she was staring.

No—

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She was devouring Elysia with her gaze.

A slow, burning once-over, starting at her damp silver hair, lingering at her exposed collarbone where the shirt had slipped just a little too low.

Then lower, tracing the way the oversized fabric drowned her frame, how it barely covered what it needed to. Her bare legs. The way her skin still carried the remnants of their last encounter.

Malvoria's jaw tightened.

Her lips parted slightly, as if about to say something—

Then her eyes darkened.

Something shifted in the air, something thick and tangible.

Oh no.

Oh no no no—

Elysia cleared her throat loudly, stepping forward, desperate to break whatever spell Malvoria had just put herself under.

"I—" Her voice came out too fast, too forced. "I need to go to my room to get dressed."

Malvoria didn't respond.

Didn't move.

Just blinked, slow and deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey.

Elysia took a step past her, brushing against her arm—

Malvoria's head turned sharply, tracking her movements.

Elysia's breath hitched.

She needed to leave. Now.

"Alright then," she blurted, voice an octave too high—before bolting.

She didn't look back.

She didn't need to.

Because she could still feel Malvoria's gaze on her.

And gods help her—she liked it.

She practically sprinted down the hall, ignoring the heat crawling up her skin, ignoring the way Malvoria's gaze had felt like it had touched her.

When she finally reached her room, she yanked the door open, only to startle a poor maid who had been quietly dusting the bookshelves.

The maid jumped, dropping her cloth with a gasp.

"Oh—! My Queen!"

Elysia winced. "Sorry! Didn't mean to scare you."

The maid placed a hand over her chest, exhaling in relief. "I—It's fine. Just unexpected."

Elysia quickly shuffled past her, desperate to get dressed before Malvoria decided to hunt her down.

Her fingers skimmed over her wardrobe before she finally pulled out something suitable.

A simple yet elegant dress, fitted at the waist, with long sleeves that billowed slightly before tightening at the wrists.

The fabric was soft, a mix of white and muted gold embroidery, with delicate details sewn into the hem. It wasn't overly extravagant, but it was refined, comfortable—something that felt like her.

She slipped it on, taking a deep breath as she fastened the final clasps, smoothing the fabric over her hips.

Finally, she felt like herself again.

She turned back toward the door, nodding at the maid who was still recovering from the near heart attack Elysia had given her.

"Thanks for your hard work," Elysia said, offering a small smile before slipping out.

When she reached Malvoria—who was exactly where she left her, standing in the same spot—Elysia straightened, inhaling deeply before saying—

"Let's go."