I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 203: You’ve changed

Six months later...

It was hard to believe how much had changed in half a year.

If someone had told her, back when she surrendered herself to save her father, that she would one day be married to the Demon Queen, living in her castle, pregnant with her child—she would have laughed. Or stabbed something.

But now?

Now the days moved in gentle rhythm, her world softening in the edges that used to feel like blades.

Six months of growth, of breath, of shifts so subtle they only made sense when she looked back.

Malvoria’s obsession with her growing belly had evolved into something both comical and touching.

Every time Faelira visited once a week without fail, Malvoria would stand guard beside her like a demon sentinel, arms crossed, expression sharp... until the moment she heard the baby’s heartbeat or felt a kick.

Then she melted.

The once-fearsome queen reduced to a puddle of wide-eyed awe and reverent whispers.

Sometimes she’d place her ear against Elysia’s stomach for hours, listening, murmuring to the child, forgetting entirely that there were meetings, wars, and negotiations waiting for her attention.

Veylira and her grandmother had taken over most of her duties without complaint—Veylira with her usual stoicism, and Grandmother Saelira with her chaotic, sarcastic delight.

"About time someone else ran this place," Saelira had said. "I ruled empires while breastfeeding. Malvoria can’t handle a kick without crying."

Elysia had nearly choked on her tea.

Then there was Zera and Seraphina.

Still imprisoned. Still silent.

Elysia had gone down to the dungeon more than once, hoping for a sliver of something—remorse, regret, even hatred. But they hadn’t spoken.

Seraphina wouldn’t even look at her.

Zera had only said, "You chose your side."

Malvoria thought she should have executed them both.

"You’re too kind," she had muttered one night, curled against Elysia’s back. "Too good. They betrayed you, hurt you, tried to kill you. But you give them mercy."

"I don’t know any other way," Elysia had whispered. "Killing them won’t bring peace to my heart." freёwebnoѵel.com

Thalor, at least, had softened.

He wasn’t exactly affectionate—not yet—but he spoke to her more, lingered in her chambers after visits, sometimes even asked about the baby. Elysia liked to believe he was trying. In his own wounded, proud way.

The orphanage had been another point of light.

Kael and the other children were thriving now—thanks to the regular food and supplies Malvoria had personally sent.

Elysia had started visiting other orphanages too, walking through dusty halls and cold kitchens, peeling back the veneer of demon nobility to see where funds were truly going.

She found corruption. And she exposed it.

Malvoria handled the consequences.

No one dared steal from children again.

Then there was Arvandor.

Malvoria had done something no one expected—she gave it support.

Not with weapons or demands, but with resources. Gold. Building teams. Protection.

Elysia had cried when she saw the new blueprints for the castle walls.

It wasn’t perfect. The people of Arvandor still didn’t trust the Demon Queen, and perhaps they never would. But the work was being done. And one day, Thalor would return home to his people.

But not yet.

Not while his daughter was still here. Not while the kingdom of demons was about to change forever.

Today had been another check-up with Faelira.

The morning sun had flooded the high windows of the healing chamber, draping the stone floor in warm, honey-colored light.

The air smelled faintly of lavender and crushed herbs—soothing, calming. Outside the glass, the gardens were waking up: roses stretching toward the light, dew glittering across the leaves.

Elysia sat on the cushioned examination chaise, silk robe unfastened just enough to reveal the full swell of her belly.

There was no hiding it now—not beneath robes or layers or strategic shadows. Her pregnancy was visible, proud and present, rounding with each week that passed.

It shifted her balance, changed the way she walked, the way she breathed, even how she slept.

Faelira stood nearby, dressed in soft forest-green robes that caught the light with delicate shimmer.

Her hands glowed faintly as she reached forward, her fingers skimming just above Elysia’s stomach, not quite touching. The warmth of her magic hummed softly through the room, like a distant lullaby or the first notes of a song no one else could hear.

"You’re doing beautifully," she murmured, her voice like velvet. "The baby is strong. Very strong."

Elysia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her hand moved instinctively to her belly, where just this morning she had felt another flutter—a tiny, defiant kick.

"They’ve been very active lately," she said, smiling faintly. "Especially when Malvoria talks too much."

Faelira chuckled. "Then they already understand how to manage a queen."

Elysia was about to respond when the sound of footsteps approached the open archway. She looked up, expecting the familiar sweep of black cloak, the flash of grey in Malvoria’s eyes—but it wasn’t her.

Thalor stepped into the chamber.

For a moment, he looked out of place. His robes were richly embroidered in Arvandorian blue and silver, his long hair tied neatly back.

His expression was unreadable, eyes cool and assessing as they landed on her, then drifted to her stomach. There was a pause—just long enough to make the silence stretch too far—before he moved closer.

"I thought Malvoria would be here," he said.

"She was called to a council meeting last-minute," Elysia replied. "It’s the first one she’s missed."

Thalor nodded slowly. "I see."

Faelira, perceptive as ever, offered a quiet bow and murmured, "I’ll give you both a moment," before stepping out of the chamber, leaving the warm silence in her wake.

Elysia adjusted her robe slightly but didn’t move from the chair. Her father remained standing, as if unsure whether to sit or simply observe.

His eyes were still fixed on her belly—no longer with disapproval or veiled anger, but something else.

Something softer.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing vaguely toward her.

Elysia blinked, surprised, but nodded. "Of course."

He approached, slowly, carefully. When he knelt beside her, she caught the subtle tremor in his hands as he reached out. His fingers, calloused and steady, rested against the curve of her belly—lightly, reverently.

A few seconds passed.

Then the baby kicked.

Thalor’s eyes widened slightly, and his breath caught in his throat.

Elysia smiled. "They do that a lot."

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the place where his hand rested. Then, quietly, he said, "You were like this once. Strong. Constant movement. Your mother used to say you were already fighting battles before you were born."

Elysia’s heart gave a painful squeeze.

"You’ve changed," he said finally, his voice low. "I can’t say I understand everything that’s happened. But... I see you. I see the woman you’ve become. And I see the life you’re carrying. I... don’t want to be on the wrong side of that anymore."

For a long moment, Elysia couldn’t speak. Her throat tightened.

"I don’t need you to understand everything," she said, her voice just above a whisper. "But I want you in this child’s life. If you want that too."

He looked up at her and there was a flicker of something that hadn’t been there in months.

Hope.

"I do," he said. "I want to be here."