NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 46: The defeated yield
Malvoria sat in the dim glow of her chambers, the heavy silence pressing against her like an unseen force.
The castle was alive beyond her walls—the murmurs of servants, the distant clang of armor, the faint echo of a lute playing somewhere in the lower halls.
But she heard none of it.
Her thoughts were still tangled in the moment from earlier—the weight of Elysia in her arms, the warmth of her body pressed against hers during the dance.
The way her breath had hitched, her violet eyes widening as if caught between defiance and surrender.
It was infuriating.
She should not be thinking about this.
And yet, the memory clung to her, refusing to be discarded like an old battle plan.
With a sharp exhale, Malvoria pushed herself up from the chair, shoving the thoughts away with the force of will she had honed over years of war. It was almost time for dinner.
A necessary function, nothing more. She would eat, maintain appearances, and keep her mind on what truly mattered—the kingdom, the war, the future.
Not the princess with silver hair and unreadable eyes.
The bath chamber was warm with steam, the scent of burning embers lingering from the enchanted stones that heated the water.
Malvoria stripped off her tunic and trousers, tossing them aside carelessly before stepping into the bath. The hot water licked at her skin, soothing the tension in her muscles but doing little to quiet the storm in her mind.
She submerged herself for a brief moment, the heat pressing in from all sides, as if it could burn away the thoughts she refused to acknowledge.
When she surfaced, she exhaled sharply and reached for the soap, the rough texture grounding her. She washed quickly, efficiently, her movements precise and methodical. No lingering, no indulgence. Just necessity.
Minutes later, she stepped out, water dripping from her skin as she wrapped a cloth around herself and made her way back to her chambers.
She dressed in a deep crimson tunic embroidered with gold accents, the fabric tailored to fit her form without restricting movement. Black trousers and boots completed the look, giving her the air of authority she always carried.
When she stepped out of her chambers, the corridors were quieter than before. The castle was shifting into its evening rhythm—guards rotating shifts, courtiers retreating to their rooms, the scent of roasted meats and spices filling the air.
Dinner.
Malvoria hadn't realized how late she was until she entered the grand dining hall and found herself the last to arrive.
That was unusual.
She had never been the last to enter any room before.
Elysia was already seated at the long table, her posture stiff, her eyes fixed on the plate before her. Zera was beside her, arms crossed, a glare burning into Malvoria the moment she stepped inside.
Malvoria ignored it.
She had faced worse glares than that.
Instead, her gaze found Elysia.
She expected her to meet her stare, to challenge her, to remind her that this dinner—this entire arrangement—was forced upon her. But she didn't.
Instead, Elysia averted her gaze, staring intently at the goblet in her hands as if it contained the answers to every question in the world.
Interesting.
Malvoria strode to her seat at the head of the table, lowering herself into the carved wooden chair with a slow, deliberate grace.
The servants moved instantly, filling her goblet with wine and presenting the evening's meal—a rich spread of roasted pheasant, seasoned vegetables, fresh bread still warm from the ovens.
The hall was quieter than usual, the tension thick enough to taste.
Zera was still glaring, her fingers tapping against the table with barely restrained aggression.
Elysia had not looked at her once.
Malvoria smirked, lifting her goblet to her lips.
The wine was dark, rich, laced with a subtle spice that warmed the back of her throat. She set it down slowly, letting the quiet stretch.
"Enjoying your meal?" she asked, her voice smooth, deliberately measured.
Elysia hesitated, her grip tightening on the goblet before she answered.
"Yes," she said. A single word, clipped and careful.
Zera scoffed. "Strange. Didn't think captivity came with such fine dining."
Malvoria turned her gaze to Zera, arching a brow. "Would you rather eat in the dungeons?"
Zera's jaw tightened.
Malvoria smiled, taking another sip of her wine.
The servants moved quietly, refilling goblets, placing new dishes on the table. The scent of spiced lamb filled the air, mingling with the flickering candlelight that cast long shadows against the stone walls.
Malvoria let the silence hang for a moment longer before speaking again.
"You've been avoiding my gaze all evening, princess," she mused, setting her goblet down.
Elysia's fingers tensed around her utensils, but she didn't look up.
"I don't know what you mean," she said, her voice carefully neutral.
Malvoria hummed, tilting her head slightly. "I think you do."
Elysia finally met her gaze then, but it was brief—too brief. A flicker of something in her violet eyes before she looked away again, focusing on the food she was barely eating.
The memory of the dance resurfaced.
The way she had trembled beneath her touch.
The way she had stayed still, breathless, waiting.
Malvoria smirked.
"Perhaps the fitting was too much for you," she said, her voice quiet but pointed.
Elysia's hand clenched on her fork, but she said nothing.
Zera, however, had had enough.
"You really think you can do whatever you want, don't you?" she snapped, turning toward Malvoria fully now. "You think just because you hold all the power, you can take whatever pleases you?"
Malvoria leaned back slightly, fingers drumming against the arm of her chair.
"Is that not the way of war?" she mused. "The victor takes. The defeated yield."
Zera's eyes burned with fury.
"Elysia is not something to be taken," she snarled.
Malvoria's gaze flickered toward Elysia, watching her reaction.
But the princess didn't move. Didn't speak.
She simply sat there, her expression unreadable, her hands gripping the edge of the table as if holding herself together.
Malvoria tilted her head.
"You misunderstand, Zera," she said, her voice low, smooth. "I do not take what is unwilling."
A heavy silence followed.
Elysia exhaled softly, almost imperceptibly, before pushing her plate away slightly.
"I'm finished," she murmured.
She stood, her movements controlled, but Malvoria saw the tension in her shoulders, the stiffness in her spine.
She was running.
Or at least, she was trying to.
Malvoria allowed it.
For now.
As Elysia turned toward the door, Malvoria spoke again, her voice quiet but firm.
"Have a good night, Elysia."
The princess hesitated.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Then she continued walking, disappearing through the doorway, leaving Malvoria with nothing but the lingering scent of lavender and the ghost of her own unspoken thoughts.