I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 184: Tell me what is going on

The council chamber was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting elongated shadows across the stone walls.

Malvoria sat at the head of the obsidian table, her fingers steepled beneath her chin, eyes narrowed as she listened to the report. Before her stood a young guard, his armor slightly askew, beads of sweat forming at his temple. freewebnσvel.cøm

"Your Majesty," the guard began, voice wavering slightly, "our patrols have observed unusual movements near the capital. Old strongholds, previously thought abandoned, show signs of recent activity."

Malvoria’s gaze sharpened. "Details," she demanded.

The guard swallowed hard. "Scouts report flickering lights during the night, suggesting fires or lanterns. Tracks have been found leading to and from these locations, though we haven’t identified to whom they belong. Additionally, there have been whispers among the villagers of strangers asking questions about the castle’s defenses."

A muscle in Malvoria’s jaw tightened. "Whispers? Strangers? I need specifics, not tavern tales."

The guard’s face paled. "Apologies, Your Majesty. The information is scarce, and those we question seem fearful, reluctant to speak."

Malvoria exhaled slowly, reigning in her growing frustration. The banquet was in two days, a time meant for celebration, not for chasing shadows. Yet, these reports of rebel activity threatened the very peace she sought to maintain.

"Increase the patrols," she ordered, her voice cold and commanding.

"I want eyes on every road, every alley, every whisper of movement. If these rebels are plotting something, we will uncover it. Dismissed."

The guard bowed hastily and exited, leaving Malvoria alone with her thoughts. She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples.

The weight of the crown had never felt heavier.

Yet, amidst the political turmoil, another concern gnawed at her. Elysia. Her beloved had been acting... different.

There were moments when Malvoria would catch her, a distant look in her eyes, her hand resting gently on her stomach.

At night, when Malvoria reached out, Elysia would sometimes hesitate, a fleeting moment, but noticeable.

And then there was Veylira. The demon queen’s mother had always been enigmatic, but lately, there was a knowing glint in her eyes, especially when she glanced between Malvoria and Elysia. It was as if she held a secret, one she found particularly amusing.

Determined to get answers, Malvoria rose from her chair and made her way through the winding corridors of the castle to Veylira’s chambers. She knocked once before pushing the door open, not waiting for an invitation.

Inside, Veylira lounged on a chaise draped in crimson silk, a goblet of wine in hand. She arched a delicate brow as Malvoria entered. "Daughter, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

Malvoria crossed her arms, fixing her mother with a piercing gaze. "Something is going on with Elysia. You’ve noticed it too. Tell me what you know."

Veylira took a slow sip of her wine, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Ah, young love. So full of mysteries and surprises."

Malvoria’s patience was wearing thin. "Mother, this is not the time for games."

Veylira chuckled, setting her goblet aside. "Oh, but life is a game, dear. And you’re so much fun to tease."

Malvoria pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling deeply. "If you have information, share it. Elysia’s well-being is at stake."

Veylira rose gracefully, approaching her daughter. She placed a hand on Malvoria’s cheek, her eyes softening.

"Trust is a delicate thing. Sometimes, it’s best to let secrets reveal themselves in their own time."

Malvoria searched her mother’s eyes, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. But she knew Veylira well enough to understand that pressing further would yield no results. With a resigned sigh, she stepped back.

"Very well. Keep your secrets. But know this—if anything harms Elysia, there will be consequences."

Veylira’s smile widened. "Duly noted, my dear. Now, go to your wife. Perhaps you’ll find the answers you seek in her embrace."

Malvoria left the room, her mind a whirlwind of unanswered questions and looming threats.

The banquet approached, and with it, the promise of both celebration and potential peril. She needed to be vigilant, for the sake of her kingdom and the woman she held most dear.

Malvoria left Veylira’s chambers with the beginnings of a headache curling behind her eyes.

Her mother had, as usual, said everything and nothing in the same breath—teasing, dancing around the truth like it was a formal partner in some infernal court waltz.

There had been no confession, no confirmation, just that sly, infuriating smile and an evasive pat on the cheek.

She was still stewing in that silence as she turned the corner toward her and Elysia’s chambers.

The thought of sinking into the quiet warmth of their room, of holding Elysia for even a minute, soothed the ache in her chest. She didn’t want to think about Zera, or rebels, or Elysia’s growing hesitation. Not tonight.

But fate—annoying, persistent fate—had other ideas.

"Your Majesty!" a breathless voice called just before she reached the hallway leading to the royal wing.

Malvoria turned slowly, jaw already tight.

A maid stood there—young, flustered, gripping the hem of her apron like it was a lifeline. She bowed deeply, nearly tripping over herself.

"What is it?" Malvoria asked, her voice flat.

"I—I’m so sorry for stopping you, Your Majesty. Truly. But we need your guidance on the seating arrangements for the banquet." she paused to breath.

"Lady Yssara has sent another request to be moved closer to the main table, and Lord Rhavor insists he’ll only attend if he’s seated far away from her." MAlvoria internaly sighed.

" Also, the musicians have asked if they may bring in a third harpist, and there’s a debate about whether the meat should be served with blueflame glaze or citrus-mint reduction—"

Malvoria held up a hand.

The maid froze mid-ramble.

"I’m assuming none of these issues are matters of state security?"

"N-no, Majesty."

Malvoria exhaled slowly. "And yet, you came to see me."

"I—We didn’t want to bother your wife," the maid added quickly, "since she seemed... radiant today. And you did say the banquet must be perfect."

That was true. She had said that. Repeatedly.

Because for all her stoic distaste for ceremony, this year’s banquet mattered. Not just because of her title, or the politics behind who was invited and who would be watching. But because Elysia had been planning something.

She knew it. The way her wife’s eyes lingered when they talked about the night, the way she avoided questions about the gift.

Something was coming. And Malvoria, for once, wanted it to be perfect for her.

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Fine," she said at last. "Lead me to the chaos."

The maid’s face lit up with relief, and Malvoria allowed herself a moment to mourn the peaceful evening she had almost had.

Then she turned and followed the girl down the hall, her boots echoing against polished stone.

The banquet was in two days.

And if rebels didn’t ruin it from the outside, the nobles and harpists might very well ruin it from within.