I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 52: So fucking beautiful

Malvoria stood before the tall mirror, adjusting the crimson cuff of her tailored suit with meticulous precision.

Her gray eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned every detail of her reflection—the crisp lines of the black jacket that hugged her frame perfectly, the crimson embroidery that swirled like flames along the edges, and the gleaming silver buckles on her boots.

She looked every inch the Demon Queen she was meant to be.

Her long red hair, now styled into an intricate braid that wound around her crimson horns and cascaded down her back, shimmered like molten fire in the soft morning light.

She ran a hand through the loose strands at the end of the braid, her fingers momentarily pausing as an unbidden thought flickered through her mind.

Would Elysia like it?

She scowled at herself, pushing the thought away with a huff. It doesn't matter. Today wasn't about pleasing Elysia—it was about power, control, and securing what was hers.

And yet, no matter how many times she repeated that to herself, a restless flutter in her chest refused to be silenced.

A soft knock at the door broke through her thoughts. Malvoria's eyes flicked to the maid who stepped in, bowing deeply before speaking.

"Your Majesty, the crown you requested for Princess Elysia has been completed. Would you like to see it?"

Malvoria's heart gave a single, traitorous beat too fast. She straightened, smoothing down the front of her suit before nodding curtly. "Bring it in."

Two maids entered, carrying a velvet-lined box between them with the reverence one might give a sacred relic. They placed it gently on a small table near the window and stepped back, their heads bowed.

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Malvoria approached, her boots clicking softly against the polished floor. She opened the box slowly, the hinges giving a faint creak as the lid lifted to reveal the crown inside.

It was breathtaking.

Forged from blackened metal, the crown was delicate yet formidable, its sharp, flame-like points rising elegantly around the band.

Crimson gemstones, cut with precision, gleamed like embers set within the dark metal, casting faint glimmers of red light across the room.

Thin silver filigree wove through the design, subtle but intricate, adding an ethereal touch that softened its fierce beauty.

Malvoria's fingers brushed the edge of the crown, and for a moment, she imagined placing it on Elysia's silver hair. The contrast would be striking—midnight and moonlight intertwined.

Not yet, she reminded herself. This crown wasn't for today. It would wait until the ceremony was done, until Elysia was bound to her—not just in name, but in truth.

Only then would she place this crown on her bride's head, marking her as Malvoria's queen in every sense.

She closed the box with a soft click and nodded in satisfaction. "It will do."

The maids bowed again, taking the box away, and Malvoria turned to glance at the ornate clock on the wall.

11 a.m.

It was time.

A knot tightened in her chest, but she ignored it. She always ignored the things that threatened her control. With a final glance in the mirror, she strode toward the door, her expression cold and unreadable once more.

The castle was unusually quiet as she walked through the grand halls, the usual bustle of servants hushed by the weight of the day.

The sound of her boots echoed softly against the marble floors, each step deliberate and unhurried.

As she passed the tall windows, the sunlight streamed in, illuminating the crimson accents of her suit and casting faint reflections of her horns against the glass.

She caught glimpses of the courtyard below, where preparations were in full swing—flowers being arranged, banners hung, and guests beginning to arrive, their elegant carriages lining the path like jewels scattered on a velvet cloth.

But none of that mattered to Malvoria right now.

Her destination was clear.

She slowed as she reached the corridor leading to Elysia's chambers, her footsteps faltering for the first time all morning.

She stood before the door, staring at the polished wood as though it might yield the answers to questions she refused to ask herself.

Her breath hitched.

Get it together, she commanded herself. She was the Demon Queen, feared across realms. A simple wedding—no matter how significant—would not shake her.

And yet...

Elysia.

Malvoria let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders rising and falling with the weight of it. She steeled herself, pushing every shred of hesitation down into the darkest corner of her mind. Then, with a steady hand, she opened the door.

The sight that greeted her nearly stole the breath from her lungs.

Elysia stood near the window, bathed in the soft glow of morning light. Her gown, a deep midnight blue embroidered with crimson flames, hugged her figure perfectly, the sheer sleeves giving her an ethereal grace.

Her silver hair, styled into an intricate braid adorned with delicate silver pins, cascaded down her back like liquid moonlight.

But it was her eyes that held Malvoria captive—those violet eyes, filled with something Malvoria couldn't quite name. Defiance, perhaps. Or uncertainty. Or something deeper, more dangerous.

Beautiful.

No, not just beautiful.

So fucking beautiful.

The thought struck Malvoria with such force that, for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.

A flicker of heat, far more intense than any fire she could summon, coiled low in her stomach.

Damn it, she cursed silently. The wedding night could wait—but seeing Elysia like this made her question every shred of patience she thought she possessed.

Elysia turned, her violet eyes meeting Malvoria's gray ones, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them.

The tension between them was palpable, stretching tight like a drawn bowstring. Malvoria's heart thudded loudly in her chest, and from the slight widening of Elysia's eyes, she wondered if the princess could hear it too.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them moved.

It was as if time had frozen, holding them both in place, forcing them to acknowledge the electricity crackling between them.

Malvoria's fingers twitched at her sides, itching to close the distance between them, to reach out and—

A soft cough shattered the moment like glass.

Malvoria's head snapped toward the source of the sound, her gaze narrowing as she found Zera standing stiffly in the corner, her arms crossed, and King Thalor sitting in an armchair, watching them with a carefully neutral expression.

Malvoria's lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of irritation flashing in her eyes. She looked back at Elysia, who, to her surprise, was still watching her. The intensity in her eyes hadn't faded.

Another cough—pointed this time.

Malvoria sighed softly, breaking eye contact and straightening her posture. Her cold mask slipped back into place like a well-worn glove.

"I should go first," she said, her voice steady and devoid of emotion.

Elysia nodded, though Malvoria didn't miss the way her fingers trembled slightly at her sides.

Without another word, Malvoria turned on her heel, her long braid swaying behind her as she strode out of the room. She felt their eyes on her as she left—Zera's glare, Thalor's calculating gaze, and most of all, Elysia's silent stare that lingered in her mind long after she was gone.

The walk to the altar was a blur.

The grand hall, now transformed with crimson banners, golden chandeliers, and rows of seated guests, barely registered in her mind.

She saw none of it, heard none of it. Her thoughts were consumed by one thing—one person.

Elysia.

As she reached the altar, the whispers of the gathered nobles and dignitaries barely touched her ears. She stood tall, hands clasped behind her back, the picture of composed power.

But inside, the storm raged on.

Soon, she thought, her gray eyes flickering with an emotion she couldn't name. Soon, she'll be mine.