I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 85: Do I look like I’m alright?

The scent of freshly cooked food filled the kitchen, rich and tantalizing, but Malvoria barely noticed.

She stood stiffly near the massive stone counters, arms crossed, watching as the kitchen staff bustled around her with an ease she did not possess.

The air was thick with the heat from the stoves, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, and the sizzling of meat in large iron pans.

She didn't belong here.

And they knew it.

"You look like a lost child," one of the head chefs commented dryly, barely glancing up from where he was expertly slicing roasted meat. "Did the throne room kick you out?"

A burst of laughter followed his words, and Malvoria shot him a glare.

"I'm here for food," she said, her voice clipped.

The chef smirked, wiping his hands on his apron. "Oh, really? I assumed you were here to practice your cooking skills."

More laughter.

Malvoria's scowl deepened.

"Food," she repeated. "Now."

The chef raised a brow but didn't argue. He turned, motioning for the servants to prepare a tray.

"Who's it for?" he asked, though something about the way he said it suggested he already knew.

Malvoria hesitated.

She could lie.

Say it was for herself. Say it was for a visiting noble.

But the kitchen staff were annoyingly sharp. They'd see through it.

So, instead, she said nothing.

The staff, predictably, exchanged looks before a younger cook grinned. "For the queen?"

Malvoria tensed.

More knowing looks.

"Oh, how romantic," another teased.

"You're bringing her food?" The head chef chuckled. "Now that's a sight I never thought I'd see."

Malvoria rolled her eyes. "You're all insufferable."

A servant set a tray in front of her—grilled meat, fresh bread, roasted vegetables, and a small pot of warm broth. Everything was arranged too neatly, as if even the food was mocking her for what she was about to do.

She grabbed the tray, ignoring the staff's barely concealed amusement, and turned to leave.

"Try not to drop it!" one called after her.

Malvoria almost turned back to incinerate them.

Instead, she exhaled sharply and stepped into the dimly lit hallway, tray balanced carefully in her hands.

As she walked, her mind raced.

What am I doing?

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She had never done this for anyone. Not her soldiers, not her advisors, not her mother—no one.

She didn't bring people food.

She ordered it.

Had her command been given earlier, a servant would have already brought this to Elysia's room. There was no need for Malvoria to be doing this herself.

And yet, here she was.

Walking down the corridor, moving slowly—so slowly it was almost ridiculous—to ensure nothing spilled.

Pathetic.

And yet, she didn't stop.

Didn't turn back.

Because somehow, after everything, she was still walking forward, still doing this.

It made no sense.

She should have distanced herself by now. Should have left Elysia to recover on her own, to handle her own well-being.

But she couldn't.

The memory of Elysia's bruised wrists, the fire in her exhausted eyes, the way she had looked at Malvoria before she kissed her—

Malvoria exhaled sharply, pushing the thought away.

She reached Elysia's room and paused, shifting the tray slightly.

Ridiculous.

This was ridiculous.

But she knocked once before pushing the door open.

The moment she stepped inside, her gaze immediately found Elysia—still sitting on the bed, her arms crossed, her expression furious.

Malvoria stopped in her tracks.

Ah.

She had no idea how to deal with this.

She knew how to handle rage in battle, knew how to crush her enemies beneath her heel, knew how to silence opposition with a single glare.

But dealing with an angry Elysia?

That was new.

That was...

Uncharted territory.

Elysia's violet eyes burned as she glared at Malvoria, her posture stiff, radiating irritation.

Malvoria slowly glanced at the tray in her hands.

Then back at Elysia.

Then back at the tray.

Perhaps she should have sent a servant after all.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

Malvoria shifted slightly, then—finally—broke it.

"...Are you all right?"

Elysia's glare could have set the entire castle on fire.

Malvoria had faced warlords, assassins, and beasts from the depths of hell itself—but this?

This was somehow worse.

She stood there, tray still in hand, as Elysia's violet eyes burned with frustration, her lips pressing into a thin, very unimpressed line.

Then, slowly—deliberately—Elysia arched a brow. "Do I look like I'm alright?"

Malvoria blinked.

Then, very calmly, she looked Elysia up and down.

The answer was obvious.

Her face was still marked with faint bruises, her wrists bore the remnants of restraints, and the barely restrained rage in her posture made it abundantly clear that no, she was not all right.

But something about the sheer audacity of her question—delivered with all the venom of a noblewoman unimpressed by a bad wine selection—made Malvoria exhale slowly through her nose.

She adjusted her grip on the tray. "You look alive."

Elysia's eyes narrowed. "Not the answer I was looking for."

Malvoria stepped forward, placing the tray on the small table near the bed. "Then don't ask questions with obvious answers."

Elysia huffed, crossing her arms, sinking further into the pillows.

Malvoria took a seat at the edge of the bed, watching her.

Elysia was angry. That much was clear.

But it wasn't the all-consuming, seething rage of before. It was more... irritated frustration. Like she was mad about something she wasn't entirely sure how to deal with.

Malvoria tilted her head. "Are you angry at me?"

Elysia scoffed. "Why? Because you saved me?"

Malvoria shrugged. "People have been angry at me for less."

Elysia shot her a flat look. "Oh, I believe that."

Silence stretched between them for a moment.

Then, Elysia sighed, rubbing her temples. "I just—" She exhaled sharply. "I don't like being helpless."

Malvoria studied her, the weight behind those words settling in the air between them.

She understood that.

Far more than she would ever admit.

"Then don't be," Malvoria said simply.

Elysia glared at her again.

"I tried," she snapped. "Remember? I was planning to stab you before you ruined that plan."

Malvoria smirked. "You were planning to stab me and still let me touch you like that?"

Elysia's entire face turned red.

"Shut up," she muttered, looking away.

Malvoria chuckled, satisfied with the reaction.

Good.

At least she was distracting her from whatever else was brewing in that overactive mind of hers.

She reached for the tray, pulling it closer. "Eat."

Elysia blinked. "I can feed myself."

Malvoria ignored her, breaking off a piece of the soft bread, dipping it into the warm broth. "I know."

Then, without warning, she pressed the piece of food to Elysia's lips.

Elysia froze.

Her lips parted—probably to argue—

But Malvoria didn't give her the chance.

She simply pressed the bread forward, forcing Elysia to take it before she could complain.

Elysia gasped, eyes wide, muffled protests failing her as she begrudgingly chewed.

Malvoria smirked, utterly unbothered.

At least now, Elysia wasn't talking back.