I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 186: Happy birthday

The night of the banquet finaly began.

The grand entrance hall of the demon palace had been transformed into a dazzling theatre of elegance and menace.

Every inch gleamed under the glow of floating chandeliers—each crystal a shard of magically-suspended starlight, casting fractured beams over the obsidian walls.

Silks the color of midnight and ember swayed from the high arches. The scent of spiced wine, roasted meats, and enchanted orchid blossoms hung thick in the air.

Malvoria stood at the top of the staircase, her hands folded behind her back, the heavy doors below swinging open and closed again and again as nobles, warriors, and foreign dignitaries spilled into the palace.

The marble beneath her boots shimmered with ancient runes etched in gold, pulsing softly to welcome those with proper blood or invitation.

A hundred conversations echoed through the hall laughter, greetings, the clink of rings and weapons. She noted every voice. Every pair of eyes.

Her suit was tailored to perfection deep black with a high-necked collar fastened in silver and a sharp scarlet lining that peeked only when she moved.

Subtle embroidery of infernal sigils spiraled up the cuffs like smoke. Her sword, ceremonial tonight, rested at her hip like an old friend dressed for a party.

Her hair was pulled back into a sleek braid, adorned with a clasp of dark ruby shaped like a thorned crown.

She looked like a ruler. Untouchable. Imposing.

But inside, her mind was a battlefield.

She had doubled the guards, tripled them in the garden and west halls. Hidden sentries, cloaked in shadows and soundless enchantments, were placed among the guests.

The scouts had returned with no concrete answers, but that was what frightened her most.

A plan with no visible shape was a plan already halfway completed.

Malvoria’s eyes scanned the crowd from above. Laughter. Toasts. Silk and steel and carefully practiced smiles.

And near the banquet chamber doors, standing alone and already scowling, was Thalor.

He totaly didn’t look happy to be here.

He wore his crown like it weighed a hundred pounds and glared at every demon who dared greet him with anything short of reverence.

He had refused formal robes and instead wore muted royal blue trimmed in grey colors that belonged to a country in mourning, not in celebration.

Malvoria’s mouth twitched in dry amusement.

At least he showed up.

"Your Majesty!"

The cry pulled her attention back as a group of nobles approached, glittering and overly perfumed.

She barely suppressed a sigh. Vultures, the lot of them. Always circling, always seeking some advantage—whether through flattery, gossip, or sheer, exhausting persistence.

"Ah, Queen Malvoria," said Lord Ven, his voice nasal and syrupy. "May I offer you my most profound birthday blessings. You grow more radiant each century."

Malvoria forced a smile, though her patience was already fraying. Centuries? She was twenty-nine. Not even three full decades, and these insufferable fools spoke as if she had clawed her way from the depths of antiquity.

"She’s not even thirty-five," muttered the woman beside him.

Malvoria’s lip curled. Thirty-five? She might have incinerated them on the spot if she thought it would rid her of their presence. Were they truly this stupid, or was it simply their instinct to drown her in saccharine nonsense?

"Semantics," Ven sniffed, then launched into a rambling tale about the last time he attended a banquet with celestial envoys and how the ambassador had accidentally seduced a goat shifter.

"—and then, if you can believe it, the goat proposed marriage! Quite the scandal, but the wine was magnificent."

Malvoria blinked slowly. Was there a single brain cell among them? Did they all share one between court gatherings?

She should have had them replaced with something more useful—perhaps well-trained crows. At least crows had the decency to bring her gifts.

Another noble, this one dressed in layers of glittering amethyst, leaned in far too close.

"Your Highness, may I say, the embroidery on your suit tonight is divine. Did you commission that from Vassari’s atelier in Duskspire? I must know. I’ve been waiting six months for a consultation and—"

"I don’t think it’s embroidery," said a third, squinting. "It’s probably cursed thread."

"Is that dangerous?"

"I hope so."

Malvoria considered throwing herself down the stairs. It might be less painful than enduring this conversation.

She kept a polite, dead-eyed smile in place instead, her gaze drifting again—past the banners, past the flames in the sconces.

And then finaly saw Elysia and time slowed.

Elysia stood at the far end of the hall, just beyond the curve of the archway, a small velvet-wrapped box cradled carefully in both hands.

Her dress was deep red—blood-wine and crushed velvet, smooth and regal with delicate gold embroidery that traced vines across the bodice.

Sleeves fell off her shoulders in loose silken drapes, framing the curve of her neck and collarbone.

Her silver hair was styled in loose waves, pinned slightly to the side with a cluster of crimson gemstones. Her lips were stained the color of dark cherries.

She was, quite possibly, the most beautiful thing Malvoria had ever seen.

But there was more.

In her eyes—a flicker of something Malvoria couldn’t name. Not fear. Not sadness.

Something deeper.

Like Elysia had made peace with something, but hadn’t told anyone else.

Malvoria’s breath caught in her throat.

She stepped away from the nobles without a word. They were boring after all.

The room blurred as she descended the steps.

And then Elysia looked up and saw her, and her lips curled into the smallest, most nervous smile.

"Happy birthday, Malvoria," she said, her voice quiet but steady, the gift held forward like an offering.

Malvoria reached out, fingers brushing Elysia’s as she accepted the package. The velvet was soft. There was weight to it.

But she didn’t look down.

She couldn’t take her eyes off her wife.

Elysia inhaled, her shoulders drawing back slightly as if preparing to launch herself into battle.

"There’s something I need to tell you," she said.

And just like that, the music, the conversation, the flickering lights—all of it faded.

The ballroom might as well have vanished.

Malvoria looked at her.

And knew, whatever came next, nothing would ever be the same.