I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 51: Preparation ( Malvoria)

The soft, irritating shuffle of footsteps and the faint clinking of trays pulled Malvoria from the restless haze of half-sleep.

She groaned softly, burying her face deeper into the silk pillow as though the luxurious fabric could shield her from the inevitable intrusion.

It was too early.

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But the incessant murmur of voices just beyond her door—and the familiar, far-too-cheerful tone of her mother—told her that resistance was futile.

Damn it all.

The events of last night still clung to her mind like smoke after a fire, impossible to dispel. She had barely slept, her thoughts ceaselessly circling around what the day would bring—what she would bring.

Elysia.

Her name alone sent a sharp pang through Malvoria's chest. She scowled into her pillow. How infuriating that someone so fragile-looking could have such an effect on her. She wasn't meant to care. This wasn't supposed to matter.

But it did. And she hated it.

The sharp knock at her door was both expected and unwelcome.

"Your Majesty," came the gentle voice of one of her maids, far too polite for this hour. "It's time."

Malvoria's eyes flicked open, piercing gray reflecting the faint light streaming through the thick curtains. She let out a slow, reluctant breath, sitting up and running a hand through her long red hair, which fell in wild waves down her back.

The door creaked open before she could respond, and in flooded a small army of maids, their faces bright with excitement—and, much to Malvoria's growing irritation, amusement.

"Good morning, darling," came a voice dripping with mock sweetness.

Malvoria groaned aloud this time. "Mother."

Veylira, ever the picture of refined mischief, swept into the room in a gown of midnight silk embroidered with silver threads that shimmered like starlight. Her red hair, perfectly styled, made her sharp gray eyes stand out even more as they sparkled with thinly veiled glee.

"It's your wedding day!" she sang softly, clearly reveling in Malvoria's discomfort.

Malvoria swung her legs over the side of the bed, glaring at her mother. "I'm aware," she muttered. "I wasn't struck by amnesia overnight."

Veylira chuckled, settling gracefully into the chaise near the window. "No, but one might think you'd rather be unconscious, judging by that expression."

"Would that I were," Malvoria grumbled, stretching her toned arms above her head and letting out a sharp exhale.

Her muscles, usually coiled and ready for battle, felt tight from the lack of sleep. She rolled her shoulders, the faint glow of her runic tattoos barely visible under her sleepwear.

"Did you even sleep?" Veylira asked, though the smirk on her face indicated she already knew the answer.

Malvoria shot her a sharp look, her crimson horns catching the morning light. "Not all of us have the luxury of blissful ignorance."

"Ah," Veylira teased, resting her chin on her hand, "so you were thinking about her."

Malvoria's jaw clenched. "No."

"Oh, please." Veylira laughed softly, clearly enjoying herself. "It's written all over your face. My terrifying daughter, the Demon Queen herself, losing sleep over her blushing bride."

The maids giggled softly behind their hands, though they were careful not to meet Malvoria's steely gaze.

"I'm not losing sleep over anyone," Malvoria snapped, standing and pacing toward the window. She pulled back the heavy curtain, squinting at the bright morning light that spilled into the room. "I simply have... a lot on my mind."

Veylira's grin only widened. "Mmm, yes. 'A lot on your mind.' That's certainly one way to describe being hopelessly smitten."

Malvoria shot her mother a glare that could have curdled milk. "I'm not smitten."

"Of course, darling. Whatever helps you sleep at night." Veylira's eyes sparkled with delight. "Oh, wait—you didn't sleep."

Malvoria let out an exasperated sigh, dragging a hand down her face. She needed to get her walls back up—her cold, unreadable mask that had kept her untouchable for years. Today wasn't about feelings or uncertainties. Today was about power, strategy, and securing her rule.

Even if her mother was hell-bent on making it unbearable.

"Enough," Malvoria said sharply, her tone regaining its usual chill. "Let's get this over with."

The maids, sensing the shift in her demeanor, quickly sprang into action. They ushered her toward the bath chamber, where a large marble tub awaited, steam rising from the surface in lazy tendrils.

The water was infused with oils that carried the faint scent of sandalwood and spice—a grounding aroma that Malvoria found mildly tolerable.

She shed her sleepwear, the scarlet fabric pooling at her feet, and stepped into the bath with a low sigh.

The water wrapped around her body like a warm embrace, easing the tension in her muscles. She leaned back against the smooth edge of the tub, her crimson horns just barely touching the marble behind her.

Her mind, despite her best efforts, wandered.

Elysia would be getting ready now too.

She imagined her—silver hair cascading down her back, violet eyes filled with that familiar defiance, even as they softened when she thought no one was watching.

Malvoria's hand twitched under the water, remembering the feel of Elysia's waist beneath her fingers during that damn dance.

The way she had frozen, not out of fear, but something else. Something Malvoria wasn't ready to name.

She gritted her teeth, forcing the thoughts away.

The maids worked efficiently, washing her hair with fragrant oils and scrubbing her skin with soft cloths. Their chatter buzzed around her, though she barely registered it. Instead, she stared at the ceiling, her mind a battleground of conflicting emotions.

"Your hair is as fiery as ever, Your Majesty," one maid remarked softly, rinsing the crimson strands that floated in the water like ribbons of flame.

"Matches her temper," another whispered, earning a muffled laugh from the others.

Malvoria arched a brow. "I can still hear you," she said dryly, making them all freeze in place.

"Apologies, Your Majesty!" they squeaked in unison, though she could see their faint smiles in the mirror across the room.

At least someone's enjoying this day, Malvoria thought bitterly.

Once the bath was finished, she stepped out, and the maids quickly wrapped her in plush black towels.

They dried her hair with gentle hands, careful not to tug at the long, wild strands that cascaded down her back.

She was led back to her chambers, where the outfit for the day awaited—a meticulously tailored black suit with crimson accents that made her look every bit the formidable ruler she was.

The fitted trousers hugged her long legs perfectly, disappearing into polished black boots with silver buckles.

The crimson shirt was sleeveless, exposing her toned arms and the faint glow of the runes that lined her forearms—marks of her power, etched into her very skin.

A black jacket, adorned with crimson embroidery in swirling, flame-like patterns, completed the ensemble, the high collar framing her sharp features.

Malvoria admired herself in the mirror briefly, her gray eyes cold and calculating once more. She was ready.

But the maids weren't done yet.

They gently pulled her onto the stool before the mirror, carefully styling her long red hair into an intricate braid that circled the base of her horns before cascading down her back in a loose, fiery wave.

They placed her crown last—a blackened metal masterpiece with sharp points resembling frozen flames, inlaid with crimson gemstones that gleamed ominously in the light.

When they stepped back, Malvoria stared at her reflection.

She looked every bit the Demon Queen.

Unstoppable.

Untouchable.

Unfeeling.

She let out a slow breath, smoothing down the front of her jacket.

"Perfection," Veylira purred from behind her. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were actually looking forward to this."

Malvoria ignored her, standing and stretching slightly. She felt like a blade, sharpened and ready.

"Before you go," Veylira added, her tone suddenly softer, "there's one last thing."

Malvoria turned, frowning slightly as her mother approached, holding out a small velvet box.

"Really?" Malvoria deadpanned. "Now?"

Veylira chuckled. "Don't be so dramatic. It's not a love letter."

She opened the box, revealing two rings—simple bands of black metal with a single crimson stone set into each.

"The wedding rings," Veylira said gently, her voice unusually tender. "Take them."

Malvoria hesitated, her gray eyes narrowing as she stared at the rings.

The final piece.

She reached out, taking the box from her mother's hands, the weight of the rings heavier than she expected.

"Please," Veylira whispered, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips, "give these to Elysia."