I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 53: I do

Elysia stood just beyond the grand double doors of the ceremonial hall, her fingers clenched tightly around the delicate lace of her gown.

The weight of the moment pressed down on her, each passing second a reminder that soon—too soon—she would walk through those doors and face what awaited her on the other side.

Malvoria.

Her breath caught involuntarily at the thought of the Demon Queen.

A few minutes ago, Elysia had seen her. And for one fleeting, infuriating moment, her mind had betrayed her.

She looked hot.

The thought had struck her like a bolt of lightning, unbidden and unwelcome. The way Malvoria's black and crimson suit had hugged her figure, the sharp angles of her jawline, the smoldering gray of her eyes framed by those unruly waves of red hair.

It wasn't fair. No one had the right to look that good, especially not today—not when Elysia needed every ounce of focus she could muster.

She had shoved the thought away, locking it in the furthest corner of her mind where it couldn't distract her. She had bigger things to worry about.

Like the dagger hidden beneath the folds of her gown.

Her father, King Thalor, stood beside her, his arm linked with hers. His familiar presence was both a comfort and a reminder of why she was doing this.

For him. For Arvandor.

He had been speaking softly to her for the past few minutes, his deep, calming voice a steady hum in the background of her turbulent thoughts. She hadn't really been listening, too lost in the chaos of her own mind, until his next words broke through her haze.

"You know the plan."

Elysia blinked, her head snapping up to meet her father's steady gaze. His eyes, bore into hers, silently asking a question she already knew the answer to.

The plan.

Her fingers twitched at her side, brushing against the cool metal hidden beneath the layers of silk and lace. The dagger felt heavier than it should have, its presence a constant weight on her conscience.

She nodded.

It was a small gesture, barely noticeable, but Thalor saw it. His expression softened, and without warning, he pulled her into a tight embrace.

Elysia stiffened for a moment before melting into the familiar warmth of her father's arms. His hand cradled the back of her head gently, and she felt the faintest tremor in his hold.

"I'm proud of you," he whispered softly, his breath warm against her ear. "No matter what happens today, remember that."

Her chest tightened painfully, and she squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.

Don't cry. Not now.

Thalor pulled back slightly, pressing a soft kiss to her temple before releasing her just as the grand doors began to open with a slow, deliberate creak.

A swell of music filled the air, the soft notes of strings and flutes weaving together in a hauntingly beautiful melody. Elysia inhaled deeply, steadying herself as the eyes of every guest in the hall turned toward the entrance.

Here we go.

She stepped forward, her father's arm still linked with hers, and together they crossed the threshold into the grand ceremonial hall.

The space was breathtaking—tall, arched ceilings adorned with crimson banners embroidered in gold, walls lined with flickering candelabras that bathed the room in a warm, golden glow.

Rows of guests filled the hall, nobles and dignitaries dressed in their finest silks and jewels, their eyes wide with curiosity and awe as they watched the princess of Arvandor make her entrance.

Whispers floated through the air, soft murmurs that barely reached her ears but were impossible to ignore.

"She looks stunning."

"Absolutely radiant."

"She's so lucky to have Malvoria."

Elysia nearly rolled her eyes, the sarcastic retort forming in her mind before she caught herself.

Lucky? If only they knew the truth behind this farce. If only they knew what she was planning—what she had to do.

Her gaze flickered from one side of the hall to the other, taking in the sea of faces she barely recognized.

Some were familiar—nobles from her own kingdom, allies who had once fought alongside her father. Others were strangers, emissaries from distant lands, drawn here by the spectacle of this unprecedented union.

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But none of them mattered.

Because at the end of the long aisle, standing tall and composed, was Malvoria.

Elysia's breath hitched, and for a moment, her footsteps faltered.

Their eyes met across the distance, and the world around them seemed to fade into a blur of colors and sounds.

Malvoria's gray eyes were locked onto hers, unreadable but intense, like storm clouds threatening to break. There was something in that gaze that made Elysia's heart stutter—a challenge, a promise, a silent question that hung in the air between them.

Damn it.

Elysia inhaled sharply, forcing herself to keep moving. She lifted her chin, schooling her features into a mask of calm, though inside, her thoughts churned violently.

Don't think about how she looks. Don't think about her eyes. Focus, Elysia.

She could still hear the whispers around her, the soft gasps of admiration, but none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the weight of the dagger hidden beneath her gown and the plan she had sworn to carry out.

As she reached the altar, her father gave her hand a gentle squeeze before stepping back to take his place among the guests.

Elysia turned to face Malvoria, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure the entire room could hear it.

The officiant, an older man dressed in ceremonial robes of deep crimson and gold, stepped forward, raising his hands for silence. The music faded, and a hush fell over the hall.

"We are gathered here today," the officiant began, his voice steady and solemn, "to witness the union of Her Royal Highness, Princess Elysia of Arvandor, and Her Majesty, Queen Malvoria of the Demon Realm."

Elysia barely heard him. Her entire focus was on the woman standing before her—Malvoria, whose expression remained unreadable, though her gray eyes never left Elysia's.

The officiant continued, speaking of unity, of strength through alliance, of the merging of two worlds through this bond. But Elysia's mind was elsewhere, tangled in the weight of what was to come.

Then came the moment she had dreaded.

"The vows."

Malvoria was the first to speak.

Her voice, smooth and steady, echoed through the hall with the confidence of a ruler who feared nothing.

"I, Malvoria, Queen of the Demon Realm, vow to stand by your side through darkness and light, through war and peace. I vow to protect you, to honor you, and to claim no power greater than the bond we share today."

Elysia's breath caught at the words. They were rehearsed, formal, devoid of emotion. And yet, hearing them from Malvoria's lips sent an unfamiliar shiver through her.

It was her turn.

She swallowed, her throat dry, and forced herself to speak.

"I, Elysia, Princess of Arvandor, vow to stand by your side through darkness and light, through war and peace. I vow to protect you, to honor you, and to claim no power greater than the bond we share today."

Her voice didn't waver, but inside, she felt like she was unraveling.

Protect her? Honor her? The words felt like lies dripping from her tongue, but no one knew that. No one except her.

The officiant nodded, satisfied, and continued.

"With these vows exchanged, let the rings serve as a symbol of this union."

Malvoria produced the rings from a small velvet box, slipping one onto Elysia's finger with a smooth, practiced motion. Elysia followed suit, her hands steady despite the turmoil inside her.

Finally, the officiant's voice rang out once more, clear and unwavering.

"Do you, Malvoria, take Elysia to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," Malvoria replied, her gray eyes never leaving Elysia's.

"Do you, Elysia, take Malvoria to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

A heartbeat passed. Then another.

Elysia inhaled deeply, her violet eyes locking onto Malvoria's once more.

"I do."

The hall remained silent, the weight of the moment palpable.

Then, at last, the officiant spoke the words Elysia had been dreading.

"You may kiss now."