I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 323: You have to learn to share

Stepping into the orphanage always felt like entering a new world—one noisier, messier, and brighter than any palace.

The stone corridor beyond the door was narrow and perpetually a little sticky with jam, and the painted handprints along the walls were only occasionally the same color as the ones in the entryway.

Laughter echoed from the high-beamed ceiling above, and the air smelled of old wood, chalk dust, and someone’s very recent attempt at baking.

The children were everywhere. As soon as they spotted Elysia, the wave began—tiny feet pounding, wings flapping, tails swishing, shrieks of "Lady Elysia!" rising in a joyous, unbroken chorus.

Even Malvoria, who had faced armies without flinching, took half a step back at the onslaught.

Elysia was swarmed almost instantly. A pair of little girls with silvery horns flung themselves around her legs.

A boy missing a tooth tugged on her sleeve, jabbering about a cat he’d found in the alley; three more formed a determined chain around her waist, chanting "Story! Story! Story!" until Elysia was forced to sit on a creaking bench simply to remain upright.

Kaelith, still perched on Malvoria’s hip, went stiff as a board. Malvoria felt the tension radiate through her daughter’s small frame: Kaelith’s brows drew together, her tiny hands clenched, her purple eyes narrowed in a look that promised chaos.

Kael, for his part, joined the mob, wriggling onto Elysia’s lap and claiming a spot with a proud, "She said I could help tell the story, remember?" His grin was radiant, his little horns gleaming in the sunbeams slanting through the window.

The moment Elysia hugged Kael to her, Kaelith made a sound somewhere between a growl and a squawk—a truly impressive hybrid of demon, infant, and the world’s tiniest dragon.

Malvoria tried not to laugh. "You’re not going to burst into flame, are you?" she whispered to Kaelith, who did not reply but glared at Kael with undiluted suspicion.

Elysia, already half-buried beneath children, caught Malvoria’s eye with a helpless grin. "A little help?"

"I’m not risking life and limb," Malvoria teased. "You’re on your own, love."

The scene in the main room was one of cheerful, undisciplined anarchy.

The long table by the window was littered with crayons, scattered bread crusts, and what looked like the exploded remnants of a craft project gone rogue—glitter sparkled in the sunlight, sticking to everything (and everyone).

The caretakers hovered in the doorway, their faces a mixture of pride and exasperation.

Kaelith wriggled to the floor and, with surprising purpose, stomped toward Elysia, who had just started reading a picture book at the insistent urging of half the crowd.

Kaelith muscled her way between two older girls, wriggled up onto the bench, and wedged herself into the small space between Elysia and Kael.

Kael looked startled but scooted over without protest. Kaelith seized Elysia’s arm, pressing her cheek against it, and fixed the other children with a look of grim triumph.

Elysia, unbothered, read aloud. "’And the brave little gryphon flew over the mountain—’"

"—and found the sparkly egg!" yelled one of the children, nearly upsetting the book in excitement.

"Not yet, Alon!" another girl scolded. "You always skip ahead!"

Kaelith, meanwhile, reached over and snatched the corner of the book, refusing to let anyone else touch it.

Malvoria settled on a stool nearby, watching the fray with undisguised amusement.

There was something endearing in her daughter’s possessiveness—even if Kaelith was seconds away from launching a full-scale coup for sole custody of Elysia’s attention.

The other children, however, were seasoned veterans in the art of visitor wrangling.

Undeterred by Kaelith’s scowl, they resumed their barrage: questions about dragons, demands for more stories, the presentation of artwork (some of which depicted "the Queen" with improbably large horns and heroic capes).

Kaelith tried to rebuff them with glares, but found herself surrounded—her mother’s lap was not a private island, and the population was rising.

Kael, sensing his rival’s distress, attempted diplomacy. "Do you want to color with me, Kaelith?" he offered, proffering a stubby purple crayon.

Kaelith glowered, considered, then yanked the crayon from his hand and brandished it like a scepter. "Draw," she declared.

Kael beamed, delighted by her acceptance, and together they set to work—though Kaelith insisted on drawing exclusively on Elysia’s sleeve, much to Elysia’s mock dismay.

"Your Majesty, are all demon children this territorial?" asked a shy boy with bat wings, eyes wide with curiosity.

"Only the best ones," Malvoria replied, with a wink that sent the boy giggling back into the pile.

Meanwhile, Kaelith’s campaign of maternal annexation escalated. When Elysia offered hugs to the group, Kaelith climbed higher onto her lap, positioning herself like a fierce (if tiny) guard dog.

When Elysia praised Kael’s new drawing, Kaelith dropped her own masterpiece (an abstract collection of purple fire marks) into her mother’s hands, demanding equal accolades.

Even when Elysia simply reached to smooth another child’s hair, Kaelith would intercept the gesture, grabbing Elysia’s fingers and refusing to let go.

The children found it hilarious. "She’s like a baby dragon!" said one, and soon they were pretending to flap wings and huff imaginary smoke, staging a gleeful game of "protect the hoard."

Kaelith, not to be outdone, produced a very real puff of purple flame, which shimmered and danced in the air before dissolving harmlessly—a trick that brought gasps and applause from her new audience.

Kael, who never could resist a show, attempted a small flame of his own. His came out blue and barely larger than a candle, but Kaelith patted his head approvingly, as if bestowing a royal blessing.

"Show off," Elysia whispered, grinning as Kaelith pressed a sticky kiss to her cheek.

"Mine," Kaelith replied, for what must have been the tenth time in the last hour.

Malvoria couldn’t help herself any longer. She scooped Kaelith up in one fluid motion, spinning her until the little girl shrieked with delighted outrage.

"You have to learn to share your mother," Malvoria teased, settling Kaelith on her hip. "There’s enough love to go around, little tyrant."

Kaelith gave her a look of deep betrayal, lips pressing together and brows drawing low—her most dramatic sulk yet.

She turned her face away, making a little huffing sound, and stubbornly refused to meet Malvoria’s eyes.

For a moment, it was almost comical how quickly her mood shifted from possessive glee to thunderous pouting. Malvoria tried to hide a smile, stroking Kaelith’s back in a slow circle.

"Oh, don’t be like that, little star," she coaxed gently. "Mama Elysia loves you, even if she hugs all the other little ones. And so do I."

Kaelith sulked harder, slumping against Malvoria’s shoulder like she was carrying the weight of the world.

Her little hands clung tight to the fabric of Malvoria’s tunic, her eyes peeking sideways to watch Elysia as she wiped glitter from her sleeve, surrounded by children.

The other kids kept darting glances at Kaelith too, as if unsure whether she was about to erupt with magic or tears. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

Malvoria, keeping her voice soft, said, "Look, Kaelith—they’re making up a new game. I think Kael wants you to join."

Kael, always observant, waved a little wooden sword in Kaelith’s direction, calling, "Come on! We need a fire-breathing princess!" His dark violet eyes sparkled with excitement, his curved horns tilted slightly forward as if inviting her into their play.

For a few long moments, Kaelith pretended not to hear. Her bottom lip quivered, eyes still clouded with that pouty resentment, but her attention was slipping.

The game in the center of the room was growing louder: children leaping between cushions, some pretending to be monsters, others brandishing imaginary shields and roaring out silly battle cries.

It was exactly the kind of wild, nonsensical chaos that Kaelith usually adored.

Malvoria nudged her gently. "I bet you’d be the best fire princess they’ve ever seen," she whispered. "Go show them."

Slowly, Kaelith unwound her fingers from Malvoria’s tunic and slid to the floor. She looked up at Malvoria once, searching for reassurance, and received a tiny wink and an encouraging smile.

Then, after a final, mighty sniff, she trotted over to the ring of children, her pride already mending.

As soon as Kaelith joined, the other children welcomed her as if she’d never been gone. Kael handed her the "magic" wooden sword, a girl with pointed ears offered her a spot atop a pillow "throne," and the rest began to chant her name in wild celebration.

Kaelith basked in the attention, her sulk dissolving like morning mist. Within seconds, she was grinning, shouting her own name louder than anyone, and playfully blowing the tiniest purple sparks into the air, to the delighted squeals of her new friends.

Malvoria watched with warmth blossoming in her chest. How resilient children were—how quickly heartbreak could be soothed by laughter and a bit of chaos.

She knew, watching Kaelith in the thick of the fun, that her little girl would always be a force to reckon with, but also that she was learning, in her own wild way, what it meant to belong to a world full of others.

Across the room, Elysia met Malvoria’s gaze, her expression gentle and proud. She slipped away from the group, winding her way over to Malvoria’s side.

"She’ll be all right," Elysia said softly, slipping her hand into Malvoria’s. "She just needed to be reminded."

Malvoria squeezed her fingers. "She’s a stubborn one. Wonder where she gets it?"

Elysia laughed quietly, resting her head on Malvoria’s shoulder for a moment. "From you. And maybe just a little bit from me."