I won’t fall for the queen who burned my world

The next morning arrived with a pale, golden glow filtering through the heavy curtains of Elysia's chambers. The sunlight did little to ease the knot of tension coiled in her chest.

The memory of the garden haunted her.

Malvoria's voice still echoed in her mind.

"Why does it matter to you if I hate you?"

"I don't know."

Elysia sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing her temples as the memory replayed for the hundredth time. The way Malvoria's breath had warmed her cheek. The way her pulse had tripped over itself when the queen's fingers brushed her thigh.

The tension had been suffocating. And confusing.

She didn't want to feel... anything when it came to Malvoria.

But her body hadn't gotten the message.

A sharp knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts.

"Princess?" came a muffled voice. "Your dance instructor has arrived."*

Elysia groaned. She'd almost forgotten.

Of course, she thought bitterly. Because being forced into a wedding wasn't enough. Now I have to dance through it, too.

She stood and straightened her shoulders before opening the door.

Outside, two demon attendants waited with faintly nervous expressions. Between them stood an older man with sharp, severe features, neatly combed silver hair, and tiny spectacles perched on his nose.

He was impeccably dressed in a tailored black jacket trimmed with crimson piping. His eyes assessed her with cool precision.

"Princess Elysia," he greeted with a short bow. "I am Master Alvinar, dance instructor to the royal court."

"Charmed," Elysia said flatly.

"The pleasure is mine," Alvinar replied without missing a beat. "Shall we proceed? The ballroom has been prepared for your lesson."

Elysia followed them through the halls, dread curling in her stomach.

The castle's ballroom was located in the southern wing. When the great double doors swung open, Elysia's breath caught despite herself.

The space was enormous.

The floor was polished obsidian marble, smooth as glass and patterned with faint, silver veins that caught the sunlight spilling through tall, arched windows.

Crimson silk banners hung from the vaulted ceiling, interspersed with floating lanterns that hovered without visible support, casting soft, golden light.

The ballroom smelled faintly of lavender and old wood. The echoes of their footsteps stretched across the cavernous room.

"Stand in the center, please," Alvinar directed.

Elysia obeyed, feeling absurdly exposed on the vast empty floor.

"Dancing is a language of control and grace," Alvinar said as he circled her, his voice precise and unhurried. "Every step is deliberate. Every movement communicates something to your partner."

He clapped his hands.

Two musicians in the corner adjusted their instruments—a violin and a piano. The violinist gave her a hesitant nod before drawing the bow across the strings.

A waltz began.

The melody was slow, measured. Elegant.

"We'll start with the basics," Alvinar said. "The royal waltz is traditionally danced at the wedding banquet. Begin with your left foot."

Elysia hesitated. "I haven't danced in years."

"Then we have much work to do," Alvinar said, extending his hand. "Shall we?"

She placed her hand in his. His grip was light but firm as he guided her into position.

"Place your right hand on my shoulder. Left hand in mine. Good. Keep your shoulders relaxed."

The moment she shifted her weight, he corrected her posture with an impatient click of his tongue.

"Straight spine, Princess. Your partner will lead, but you must maintain your own balance."

The violin's melody swelled as they began to move.

"Left foot forward. Right foot back. Good. Again."

The first few rotations were clumsy. Elysia's steps faltered, her feet bumping against Alvinar's more than once.

"Don't think—step. Feel the rhythm. Listen to the music. The waltz is a conversation. Let it guide you."

His words made sense, but her body resisted. Her legs felt stiff, her muscles uncooperative.

The music quickened slightly. Alvinar matched the tempo, guiding her through turns with efficient precision.

"Now the pivot—yes, good. Light on your toes. The dance is not a march."

Sweat gathered at the base of her neck as she focused.

The violin's melody curled around her like mist, the piano adding a rhythmic undercurrent that pulsed through the marble floor.

She stumbled again.

"Stop."*

Alvinar released her and stepped back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're overthinking every step. Dancing is instinct as much as skill. Relax your body."

"I'm trying," Elysia snapped.

"Trying isn't enough."*

Her jaw clenched. "I didn't ask for this wedding."*

"Perhaps not," Alvinar said, unruffled. "But you're here. And if you're to dance with Her Majesty in front of hundreds of witnesses, you will do so without looking like a flailing marionette."

Elysia scowled but said nothing.

"Again."

The music resumed.

The violin's voice was sharp and insistent now, like a command rather than a suggestion.

She inhaled deeply and tried to let the tension drain from her limbs.

Left foot forward. Right foot back.

Alvinar's instructions grew softer, more sporadic, until eventually, he said nothing at all.

Elysia found the rhythm.

Her body stopped resisting.

The floor became familiar beneath her steps. The music no longer felt like an enemy.

"Better," Alvinar said after a few minutes. "See? You can do this."

Elysia allowed herself a small, fleeting sense of pride.

"Good," Alvinar said. "Now let's add a turn."

The turn nearly undid her progress, but she caught herself in time, her body responding on instinct.

The room blurred slightly as they spun, the lanterns overhead swirling like stars.

"Excellent," Alvinar murmured. "Now, imagine this with every noble in the realm watching."

Elysia faltered.

Her step faltered just enough for Alvinar to pull her upright again.

"Eyes ahead," he ordered. "Confidence. Control. Even if you feel none of it, you must show it."

She tried.

The music swelled around them.

And then—

The doors at the far end of the ballroom creaked open.

The musicians faltered, the notes of the waltz splintering into silence.

Alvinar stiffened.

Elysia turned her head.

Malvoria stood in the doorway.

Her eyes locked onto Elysia's immediately.

She wore a black tunic again, though this one was simpler than usual. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, revealing muscular forearms inked with faint crimson sigils. Her hair was braided loosely, and her expression was unreadable.

The sight of her sent a jolt through Elysia's chest.

Malvoria's gaze drifted down to the position of their hands, then back up to Elysia's face.

"You're dismissed, Alvinar," she said.

The instructor hesitated. "Your Majesty, the princess is still learning—"

"And if she's going to dance with me," Malvoria said, voice low, "she should practice with me."

Alvinar bowed hastily and left without another word.

The musicians didn't move.

Malvoria's eyes flicked toward them. "Play."

The violinist swallowed hard and resumed the melody.

Malvoria approached.

Elysia's mouth went dry as the queen stepped onto the marble floor.

She stopped in front of her, extending a gloved hand.

"Shall we?"

Elysia's heart slammed against her ribs.

For a moment, she considered refusing.

But her pride wouldn't let her.

She placed her hand in Malvoria's.

The queen's fingers closed around hers with warm, unyielding pressure.

Malvoria's other hand came to rest at Elysia's waist, pulling her closer than Alvinar had dared.

The music swelled.

The dance began.

And this time, the tension was suffocating.

Hot.

Unrelenting.

Malvoria's eyes never left hers as they moved across the marble floor, their bodies brushing with every turn.

Elysia's pulse raced.

The floor blurred.

All she saw was Malvoria's gaze.

And when the queen's hand tightened slightly on her waist, a traitorous shiver ran down her spine.