I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 78: I’m here to take my wife back

Hours Earlier

Malvoria stood in the shadows of a desolate clearing, her form hidden beneath a dark hooded cloak.

The disguise was near perfect—her usually striking red hair was hidden beneath a layer of illusion, her glowing gray eyes dulled to a muddy brown. Even her sharp horns were gone, masked with magic. She looked nothing like a queen. Nothing like a threat.

And that was exactly what she wanted.

The courier stood before her, shifting nervously. A wiry man with unkempt brown hair and clothes that reeked of sweat, he kept glancing around as if expecting something to go wrong.

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He should be afraid.

Malvoria extended a satchel filled with heavy gold coins, watching as he greedily snatched it from her hands.

His fingers trembled as he checked the contents, counting quickly, his lips moving in a silent tally.

"It's all there," Malvoria muttered, forcing her voice to sound rough, common. "Now where's the girl?"

The courier barely looked at her, too distracted by the fortune in his hands. "You'll get her after we secure our escape," he muttered.

Malvoria exhaled through her nose, biting down her rising fury. She couldn't kill him yet—not before he led her to the hideout.

"Fine," she grumbled, shifting her weight. "Where do you take the money?"

The courier shot her a suspicious glance. "Why do you care?"

She sneered, feigning annoyance. "Because I don't trust rebels with money. If you try to run with it, I will find you."

The courier snorted but turned away, satisfied enough with the exchange to ignore her presence. "Not my problem," he muttered, tucking the gold beneath his cloak as he walked toward the dense treeline.

Malvoria followed.

The fool didn't even realize he was being stalked.

Malvoria trailed him through the winding forest paths, her steps eerily silent. The man hummed under his breath, counting the coins in his mind, so certain that he had won.

Pathetic.

They had made a grave mistake taking what belonged to her.

By the time they reached the outskirts of the hideout—an abandoned fortress deep within the cliffs—Malvoria had already decided how this would end.

She struck swiftly.

Her dagger sliced through the courier's throat before he even had time to scream. His body jerked, eyes wide with disbelief as he gurgled on his own blood. The satchel of gold slipped from his grasp, landing with a dull thud against the rocky ground.

Malvoria crouched, wiping the blade clean on his sleeve before pocketing the money again.

They never should have touched her.

She stepped over the body and made her way toward the hideout.

The rebels didn't notice her at first.

The hideout was larger than she expected—old stone walls covered in moss, wooden barricades reinforced by steel. Armed guards patrolled the entrance, their postures relaxed, unaware of the storm about to descend upon them.

Malvoria assessed them quickly.

Eight guards outside. Likely more within.

They weren't ready for her.

She moved fast, her disguise flickering away as she stepped into the light. The first guard barely had time to register her presence before her claws tore through his chest, crimson splattering against the cold stone.

The others turned at the sound of his dying gasp—too slow.

Malvoria twisted, dodging a sword aimed for her ribs, and grabbed the attacker by the throat. With a flick of her wrist, she snapped his neck, tossing his body aside like a broken doll.

Panic erupted.

"She's here!" one of them shrieked, scrambling backward.

Malvoria smiled, her fangs glinting in the torchlight.

They rushed at her, swords and axes swinging wildly, but it was pointless. She moved through them like a wraith, her strikes precise, ruthless. Limbs fell, blood pooled at her feet.

A few tried to run.

Malvoria didn't let them.

She raised her hand, fire surging in her palm—dark, crackling, hungry.

And then—

BOOM.

The explosion ripped through the hideout, sending a shockwave that shattered the walls, sending debris flying in all directions. The ground trembled beneath her feet, and the air filled with the scent of burning wood, of smoke, of death.

The rebels screamed.

Flames devoured the entrance, forcing those inside to stumble out, coughing, weapons raised.

Malvoria stood among the wreckage, her gray eyes glowing like molten silver, her horns gleaming beneath the firelight. She could feel their terror.

Good.

She took a step forward, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

"I'm here to take my wife back."

Smoke curled through the air, thick and suffocating, as Malvoria stepped over the charred remains of the hideout's entrance. The scent of burning wood and blood mixed together, creating a stifling atmosphere, but she didn't slow down.

Her claws flexed at her sides, blood still dripping from her previous kills, but her mind was focused on one thing.

Elysia.

She moved with purpose, her boots crunching over broken stone as she pushed deeper into the ruins. The rebels had scattered—those who were still alive, at least—but she knew better than to think the fight was over.

Cowards didn't face their enemies head-on. They hid, they ran, and when cornered, they used hostages.

And Elysia was their most valuable one.

Her eyes flickered over the dim corridors, her senses on high alert. She could hear the faint echoes of movement ahead—shuffling, hurried footsteps, the rustling of cloth.

Malvoria followed the sound, her grip tightening on the hilt of her blade.

Then she heard it.

A sharp intake of breath. A muffled sound of pain.

Her body reacted before her mind fully processed it, her pace quickening as she turned a corner and stepped into a dimly lit chamber.

And there—

Elysia.

She was still bound to a chair, her silver hair tangled, her face bruised and bloodied. Her wrists were raw from the restraints, her violet eyes glaring at the figure standing in front of her.

A woman.

The woman turned at the sound of Malvoria's entrance, her lips curling into a slow, mocking smirk.

"Well," she mused, tilting her head. "That took you long enough."

Malvoria's rage burned hotter.

She was going to tear her apart.