I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 122: I’m not jealous of my solders

Malvoria hates this.

Hates the way Elysia fits so easily into this world, the way she laughs without hesitation, the way the demon soldiers grin at her like she's one of them.

She tells herself it's not jealousy.

But the fact that she's even thinking about that means she's lying to herself.

Her jaw tightens as she watches the scene unfold before her.

Elysia—her wife—was standing there, effortlessly charming the soldiers, her silver hair catching the light, her violet eyes bright with amusement as they spoke.

She looked comfortable, looked like she belonged, like she wasn't the same guarded, sharp-tongued woman who had first arrived in Malvoria's castle ready to fight her at every turn.

No, this was different.

This Elysia was relaxed, at ease, engaging with them as though she had always been a part of their world.

Malvoria hates it.

Because Elysia has never looked at her like that.

Not once.

With Malvoria, Elysia was always on edge, always ready to bite back, always walking some delicate line between resentment and reluctant attraction.

But here—with them—she glowed.

The irritation burned beneath Malvoria's skin, slow and simmering, twisting into something uglier than she was willing to admit.

And then—

"Didn't know you could smile, Your Majesty," one of the soldiers dares to say, glancing at Malvoria with a grin.

The words are spoken boldly, with the kind of audacity only soldiers who had spent their lives on the battlefield could possess.

A silence falls between them.

Malvoria raises a single brow, her expression carefully blank, but there's an unmistakable weight in the way she looks at him.

The soldier shifts ever so slightly, like some deep part of his instincts is reminding him who exactly he just spoke to.

But before Malvoria can so much as part her lips, Elysia laughs.

Not a polite chuckle.

A full, genuine laugh.

And something inside Malvoria snaps.

"Oh, come on," Elysia says, nudging the soldier playfully. "She smiles. Sometimes. Maybe."

Malvoria narrows her eyes at her. "Do I?"

Elysia smirks. "Rarely."

The soldiers laugh.

Malvoria does not.

Instead, she crosses her arms, gaze drifting over the lot of them. "I see I've been far too lenient with my soldiers if they think they can joke so freely in my presence."

The laughter dies down quickly.

One of them clears his throat. "You are very approachable, Your Majesty," he says—clearly a lie, but a smart one.

Malvoria doesn't bother to respond.

She just watches as Elysia grins at them, so effortlessly slipping back into their camaraderie.

Her stomach tightens.

This was stupid.

It didn't matter that Elysia was closer to them than she was to Malvoria. It didn't matter that she laughed more easily with them, that she seemed lighter, happier. It didn't matter.

None of this mattered.

And yet.

Yet.

Malvoria hates that she cares.

She hates the way her fingers twitch at her side, how her teeth grind together, how a quiet, insidious voice at the back of her mind whispers:

Why doesn't she ever smile like that for you?

The thought pisses her off.

And she's had enough of this.

Without another word, she turns on her heel and walks away.

Elysia, caught up in whatever teasing exchange she had been having, doesn't immediately notice.

But the second she does, Malvoria hears her footsteps rushing after her.

"Malvoria—"

She doesn't slow down.

"Malvoria."

The second time, Elysia's hand grabs her wrist.

It's not forceful, not demanding.

But it's enough.

Malvoria stops.

For a moment, she says nothing, staring down at the hand on her wrist.

Elysia hesitates, as if realizing how bold she had just been.

Malvoria slowly lifts her gaze to meet hers.

There's a long pause.

For a second, Malvoria wants to say something cruel, something sharp, something that will make Elysia's smile vanish just as quickly as it had appeared with the others.

But then—

She exhales.

"Stay close," she says instead, voice deceptively calm.

Elysia blinks. "What?"

Malvoria tilts her head slightly, gray eyes unreadable. "I won't chase you if you get lost."

Elysia scoffs, pulling her hand back. "You say that like I—"

She stops.

Because Malvoria has already turned away and started walking again.

There's no real bite in Elysia's next exhale, no true irritation in the way she falls into step beside her.

And as they continue forward—

Side by side—

Malvoria doesn't miss the fact that Elysia is walking just a little closer than before.

The village was alive.

The scent of sizzling meats, charred spices, and the faint, almost electric tang of enchanted goods filled the air. Voices—bartering, laughing, calling out from stalls—rose and fell like the rhythmic pulse of a living, breathing thing.

Malvoria had walked through this marketplace before, many times. It was not a new sight to her.

And yet, this time felt different.

Because Elysia was here.

And despite everything—despite Malvoria's presence, despite the weight of her status and the ever-watchful eyes around them—Elysia looked like she was enjoying herself.

She wasn't tense, wasn't wary the way she often was in the castle.

Instead, her eyes flitted from stall to stall, taking in the strange demon delicacies, the vivid, unnatural colors of fruits that shimmered faintly under the marketplace lanterns.

One stall in particular caught her attention.

It was small, nestled between a butcher's shop and a cart selling enchanted trinkets. The merchant, a lean demon with dark crimson skin and curling horns adorned with silver piercings, stood behind rows of glowing blue fruit, their smooth skin pulsing with soft luminescence.

Elysia stopped.

Malvoria noticed the way her expression shifted, how curiosity flickered across her features as she reached toward one.

The merchant, noticing her interest, grinned. "Ah, a fine choice, Your Majesty," he said, his voice warm and inviting. "A rare delicacy from the southern isles. It tingles on the tongue—like lightning, but sweeter."

Elysia's fingers brushed the fruit, and she tilted her head slightly. "Lightning?"

"A mild sensation," the merchant assured her, "not painful. Just enough to wake you up."

Malvoria, standing beside her, barely paid attention to the words.

Her focus was on Elysia.

The way she bit her lip in thought. The way her fingers lingered on the fruit's smooth surface, seemingly debating whether or not to try it.

Then, in a movement that was entirely too natural—too unthinking—Elysia plucked one from the display and handed the merchant a coin.

Before she could so much as lift it to her lips—

Malvoria took it.

Elysia blinked, startled. "What—?"

Malvoria ignored her.

The fruit was cool in her palm, its glow casting a faint shimmer across her fingers. She turned it over, inspecting it with a look of mild disinterest, even as her other hand subtly flexed—feeling for any unusual magical signatures.

It wasn't intentional, this gesture.

Not something she had planned.

And yet, it felt natural.

Automatic.

Protective.

Only when she was sure—only when she had tested the feel of it, the scent of it—did she finally bring it to her lips and take a bite.

The fruit burst in her mouth, sweet and sharp, with a sensation that was neither painful nor ordinary. A soft tingle spread over her tongue, something akin to static dancing across her taste buds, a fleeting crackle of energy before melting into pure, rich sweetness.

It was good.

Malvoria chewed thoughtfully.

Then, after a moment, she turned and held the fruit out toward Elysia.

"It's fine."

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Elysia just stared at her.

Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Her violet eyes flickered between Malvoria's face and the fruit in her hand—half-eaten, the mark of Malvoria's bite still visible on its glowing surface.

Something in the air shifted.

Something small, something that shouldn't have mattered.

But it did.

Elysia took the fruit back slowly.

And then, after a hesitation that was just long enough to make Malvoria's gaze linger—

She lifted it to her mouth.

And bit into the exact same spot Malvoria had.

A ripple of something unspoken passed between them.

The crowd, the merchants, the stalls, the soldiers standing nearby—it all faded into the background.

For a moment, there was only this.

Elysia chewing, her expression shifting slightly at the sensation.

Malvoria watching, her grip tightening imperceptibly at her side.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them looked away.

It was small.

But it lingered.