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

Elysia sat on the cold marble floor of the ballroom, her back pressed against the polished surface, legs sprawled out before her like a discarded marionette.

Fifteen minutes had passed. Maybe more.

Her head still spun, thoughts tangled into knots she couldn't loosen. The chill of the floor seeped through the thin fabric of her dress, but it did nothing to cool the heat still simmering beneath her skin.

The warmth of Malvoria's hands lingered like a phantom sensation—gloved fingers pressing into her waist, her thigh, the memory of each touch etched into her body.

Fuck.

The word echoed in her mind like a dull, irreverent bell.

Her breaths came unevenly, sharp and shallow as though she'd just run up the tallest tower of the castle.

Her pulse, erratic.

Her mind, chaotic.

The tension of that moment—of Malvoria's breath near her ear, of the slow, deliberate path her thumb had traced—clung to her like silk threads woven too tightly around her chest.

She clenched her fists.

Why?

Why did it feel like this?

It wasn't as if she'd never been kissed or touched before.

Zera had kissed her. Held her. Whispered soft, teasing things in the quiet hours of the night when they could still pretend the world outside didn't exist.

But that—

That had never made her feel like this.

The heat had been there with Zera, yes. A pleasant warmth, comforting, familiar.

What she'd felt with Malvoria was different.

It was wild. Unpredictable. Dangerous.

And somehow... better.

That realization hit like a punch to the gut.

Her heart stuttered in response.

No.

No, no, no.

This couldn't be happening.

She hated Malvoria.

Malvoria was the enemy. The woman who had burned her home, slaughtered her people, and chained her to a future she never wanted.

The wedding wasn't something to anticipate. It was a transaction. A conquest sealed with silk and blood.

But then why—

Why did the memory of Malvoria's touch linger so stubbornly?

She pressed her palms against her temples.

She needed to get a grip.

The wedding.

The wedding.

It was just a few days away.

A few days until she stood beside the Demon Queen in front of hundreds of demons, vowing loyalty to a kingdom that had destroyed her own.

 A few days until she was expected to smile and wear that cursed dress with its mocking crimson flames.

She groaned aloud and let her head fall back against the marble with a soft thud.

Fuck it.

She didn't want this.

Didn't want the weight of it all pressing down on her ribs until she couldn't breathe.

Didn't want Malvoria's voice to echo in her head every time she closed her eyes.

Didn't want her body to remember that touch like it had been branded into her skin.

The door creaked open.

Elysia jerked upright, her muscles protesting the sudden motion.

Her father stood in the doorway.

King Thalor of Arvandor—once proud and unyielding, now a shadow of the man she remembered. 

His face, once sharp with confidence, was etched with deep lines of worry. His posture had always been unbending; now, his shoulders sagged beneath the weight of defeat.

The guards behind him made no move to stop him. Malvoria must have granted him limited freedom within the castle.

"Father?" Elysia's voice cracked.

He stepped inside and closed the door softly behind him.

"Elysia." His eyes scanned her face, brow furrowing. "Why are you on the floor?"

"I—" She hesitated, cheeks burning. "I was... thinking."

His gaze sharpened. "About the wedding."

The words felt like a splash of ice water across her skin.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, standing shakily.

"I had to talk to you." His voice was urgent, low. "This wedding—it has to be delayed."*

Her stomach tightened. "Why?"

Thalor crossed the room in three strides and gripped her shoulders. His hands trembled. "Because something is wrong. Malvoria's intentions go beyond politics. I can feel it."

Elysia swallowed hard. "She said it's about stability. About preventing rebellion."

"That's what she wants everyone to believe."* His grip tightened. "But I know that woman. I've seen her on the battlefield. She doesn't marry her enemies. She crushes them."

"She already did crush us."* Elysia's voice came out harsher than intended. "We lost, Father. This marriage is just her final act of dominance."

"Exactly." His eyes darkened. "And when it's done, she won't stop with us. She's building something bigger. Arvandor was just the beginning."

The words sent a chill through her. "What are you saying?"

Thalor's gaze flicked toward the windows as though expecting spies to be lurking in the shadows. "I've heard the guards talk. Malvoria isn't just consolidating power here—she's planning something beyond Arvandor. She's gathering forces along the eastern borders."

"For what?"

"I don't know." His jaw clenched. "But I do know this: she didn't choose you just for political convenience. There's something about you she wants."

Elysia's heart skipped. "An heir," she whispered. "That's all she said she needed."

Thalor shook his head. "No. It's more than that. I can feel it."

The certainty in his voice made her stomach turn.

She wanted to dismiss it. Wanted to believe that Malvoria's ambitions were exactly what she claimed—cold, strategic, and nothing more.

But the memory of the war room map came back to her. She'd glimpsed it once when passing by. The borders were marked with subtle red lines that hadn't been there before.

And the northern forests—

The rebels.

She knew they existed, even if no one spoke of them openly. Zera had mentioned whispers of survivors gathering beyond the mountains.

Could her father be right?

The warmth of Malvoria's hand on her waist intruded again.

The possessive way she'd touched her.

The look in her eyes that was more than strategy. More than control.

Something deeper. Darker.

"Elysia," Thalor said, voice breaking. "Please. Delay the wedding. Give us more time to figure out what she's planning."

Her chest constricted.

"How?" she asked. "Do you really think she'll just... agree to postpone it?"

"We'll find a way."* His eyes shone with desperation. "We can't let this happen."

Elysia bit her lip.

The idea of delaying the wedding was tempting. So tempting.

But what if her father was wrong?

What if this was just another futile act of resistance, like all the others that had failed before?

The thought of Malvoria's reaction to such a request made her skin crawl.

The queen was not a woman who tolerated obstacles.

And if they tried to delay—if they were caught—there would be consequences.

For her father. For Zera.

For herself.

Her thoughts spiraled.

The tension that had gripped her during the dance returned with suffocating force.

Malvoria's touch. Her father's fear. The invisible chains tightening around her wrists.

The walls of the ballroom seemed to close in around her.

"Elysia." Thalor shook her gently. "Please."

She met his eyes.

His desperation was a mirror of her own internal turmoil.

"I..." She hesitated. "I don't know."