I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 63: Why does it feel like I’m losing you

Elysia stared at Zera, her heart pounding in her chest as the weight of their shared history settled over her like a heavy cloak. Three years. Three years of whispered promises, stolen moments, and unwavering loyalty.

Zera had always been there—through battles, heartbreaks, and everything in between. The memory of their first kiss, stolen beneath the ancient oak in the palace gardens, flickered through Elysia's mind like a distant flame.

She sighed softly, the tension in her shoulders easing ever so slightly. "I love you," she whispered, the words feeling both comforting and agonizing as they left her lips.

Zera's eyes softened, the hurt still evident but now mingled with a flicker of hope. "Then why does it feel like I'm losing you?"

Elysia shook her head, stepping closer. "You're not losing me," she replied firmly. "This... everything that's happened—it's complicated. But my love for you hasn't changed."

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The silence between them stretched, heavy with unsaid words and lingering emotions. Finally, Zera nodded, though uncertainty still clouded her gaze.

"I need some time," Elysia whispered, turning toward the door. "I need to clear my head."

Zera didn't stop her.

Elysia made her way through the winding corridors of the castle, each step echoing against the stone walls.

She needed to escape the weight of her thoughts, to find solace in something tangible—something that didn't involve politics, betrayal, or the conflicting pull of her heart.

The training grounds.

It had become an unexpected refuge for her. From the first time she had trained with the demon soldiers, she had earned their respect not through titles or power, but through sheer determination and kindness.

She treated them as equals, laughing with them, sparring with them, and never pulling rank. They had grown to admire her, and she found comfort in their camaraderie.

As she approached the training yard, the familiar clang of swords meeting filled the air, accompanied by the rhythmic thud of boots against the packed earth.

The sight of the demon soldiers each one fierce and disciplined—brought a faint smile to her lips.

"Queen Elysia!" one of the soldiers called out, a grin spreading across his face as he lowered his sword. "Back to put us all to shame again?"

Elysia chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Hardly. But I could use a good spar."

The soldiers gathered around, their expressions eager. Training with Elysia had become a highlight for many of them—not just because of her skill, but because of the genuine respect she showed them.

She stepped onto the training field, the weight of a practice sword familiar in her hand. The cool metal grounded her, the leather-wrapped hilt fitting perfectly in her grip.

"Who's first?" she asked, her violet eyes gleaming with determination.

A burly demon with curved horns and a mischievous grin stepped forward. "I'll take that challenge."

Elysia nodded, falling into a ready stance. The other soldiers formed a loose circle around them, murmuring bets and playful taunts.

The first clash of blades rang out, sharp and clear. Elysia moved with precision, her sword meeting her opponent's strikes with practiced ease.

She could feel the tension in her body ease as she focused solely on the dance of battle—the swing of the blade, the rhythm of her footwork, the adrenaline surging through her veins.

Her opponent lunged, and Elysia sidestepped gracefully, bringing her sword up in a swift counterstrike. He barely deflected in time, grinning despite himself. "You're faster than last time."

Elysia smirked. "I've had practice."

Their blades met again in a flurry of strikes, the sound of steel on steel echoing through the yard. Elysia's movements were fluid, each step calculated, each swing deliberate. She lost herself in the rhythm, her mind clearing with every parry and thrust.

The other soldiers cheered and laughed, shouting encouragements and teasing the combatants. Elysia felt a flicker of warmth at their support, grateful for this moment of normalcy amidst the chaos of her life.

As the match continued, Elysia's breathing grew heavier, but she relished the challenge. She pushed forward, forcing her opponent to retreat step by step. With a final, precise strike, she disarmed him, sending his sword clattering to the ground.

The soldiers erupted into applause, and Elysia offered a hand to her fallen opponent, who accepted it with a grin. "One day, I'll beat you."

"I'll be waiting," Elysia replied with a chuckle.

She barely had time to catch her breath before another soldier stepped forward, eager for a turn. Elysia welcomed the challenge, the weight of her thoughts momentarily forgotten in the heat of battle.

Each spar brought a new opponent, new techniques, and fresh adrenaline. Elysia moved with grace and precision, her sword an extension of herself.

She countered every attack, adapted to every strategy, and pushed herself harder with each match.

The soldiers admired her skill, but more than that, they admired her determination. She wasn't just a princess—they saw her as a warrior, one who fought alongside them, one who earned their respect through action rather than title.

Elysia felt a rare sense of peace as she trained, the worries that plagued her mind pushed to the back for just a little while longer. But as she prepared to face her next opponent, her concentration wavered.

Malvoria.

The name whispered through her mind, unbidden and unwelcome. She could still feel the weight of the dagger in her hand, the tension in the air as she tried—and failed—to carry out her plan.

She remembered Malvoria's gaze, sharp and knowing, and the overwhelming sense of helplessness that had followed.

Her grip on the sword faltered for just a moment—a moment too long.

Her opponent seized the opportunity, delivering a swift strike. Elysia tried to counter, but her focus had slipped.

The flat of the blade struck her side, knocking the wind out of her as she stumbled back, her sword slipping from her grasp.

She landed hard on the ground, the impact jarring her body and sending a sharp pain through her arm.

The yard fell silent for a heartbeat before the soldiers rushed to her side.

"Queen Elysia! Are you alright?" one of them asked, concern evident in his voice.

Elysia winced, sitting up slowly. "I'm fine," she muttered, though the throbbing in her arm suggested otherwise.

One of the soldiers extended a hand to help her up, but Elysia waved him off gently. She needed a moment to collect herself.

As she sat on the ground, cradling her injured arm, the weight of her thoughts came crashing back down on her.

What am I going to do?