I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 210: You’ve been making friends

If one more syllable left that man’s mouth, Malvoria was going to incinerate the chair he was sitting on.

"...and the rune in the northeastern outpost is fundamentally flawed. As I was saying—if we adjust the second arcane layer to include a triple-knot binding sigil, then—Your Majesty, are you listening? The entire flow of our reinforcement route is dependent on—"

Malvoria dragged a claw-tipped finger slowly across the edge of the stone table. Her grey eyes were narrowed, the light from the magical map casting a dull red glow across her face.

She hadn’t blinked in over a minute. She was afraid if she did, she might lose what little patience remained in her bones.

Marshal Gorvek was a mountain of a man—not in height or muscle, but sheer width.

He was a war strategist who’d never set foot on a battlefield, preferring instead to eat, theorize, and speak at such unholy lengths it made her wish for spontaneous combustion.

And he was sweating. Profusely.

His chins wobbled as he continued gesturing wildly at the projected sigil overlay in front of them.

"If the courier units follow the glyph-aligned roads, they will bypass the leyline disturbance. But we must increase the logistical mana flow by twelve percent—"

"Twelve?" General Kaess interrupted, eyebrows twitching in disbelief. "That’s not mana flow. That’s political suicide. You want us to starve the western garrisons so you can draw prettier circles on a rock?!"

"It’s not about aesthetics," Gorvek huffed. "It’s about arcane integrity. If we lose structural flow, our entire war supply chain collapses!"

"And if we don’t get those weapons to the frontlines, we’ll be feeding our troops to rebel blades!"

Voices overlapped. The table pulsed with magical tension, the sigils fluctuating wildly as hands waved and commanders shouted over one another.

Scrolls were slammed, ink splattered, and at one point someone nearly flung a quill like a dagger.

Malvoria stared into the middle distance and seriously considered stabbing herself just to get out of the meeting.

Finally, when the ninth argument in less than an hour erupted over whether teleportation channels should pass through Hollowspike Pass or Daggerfall Ridge, she raised a single hand.

The room froze.

"I want every plan," she said in a low, dangerously calm voice, "written down. No more discussion. No more sweat. No more ink. I will review the best three proposals tomorrow morning."

Marshal Gorvek sputtered. "But—"

"Do I look like I care?"

He sat down so fast the entire table creaked.

Malvoria stood, her cloak sweeping behind her like a trail of living shadow. "Meeting adjourned."

Before anyone else could speak, she strode toward the teleportation circle stationed in the center of the war chamber. The demon rune beneath her boots flared to life, casting a halo of red light as the circle activated.

Home.

She needed to be home.

She didn’t even care if it was dinner time. If someone didn’t hand her a glass of wine and let her kiss her pregnant wife soon, she was going to take out her frustration on the nearest battalion.

As the magic whirred and reality bent, the scent of parchment and arguments gave way to the cool, rose-scented air of the castle.

Her boots clicked softly on polished stone as she emerged from the teleportation chamber. A few guards bowed and stepped aside, but she barely acknowledged them.

Then she heard it.

Laughter.

Not just one voice—several. Feminine, elegant, and undeniably... Celestial.

Malvoria’s eyes narrowed.

She hadn’t realized the delegation was still here.

She followed the sound down the corridor, her pace slowing. The hallway to the dining room glowed with warm candlelight, and the polished floor reflected the silhouettes of gathered guests.

The great doors to the dining room stood open, spilling light and laughter into the corridor.

And there they were.

The Celestials.

Still present. Still radiant. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

Still slightly terrified of her.

Malvoria didn’t miss the way the room shifted when she stepped inside. Conversations slowed. One of the Celestial women subtly tensed. A few glanced at the guards like they were preparing for something.

But in the center of it all, as always, was Elysia.

Glowing—not just from pregnancy, but from the joy of conversation, the soft curve of her smile, the gleam in her eyes as she laughed at something said by the younger Celestial across the table.

Gods, she was breathtaking.

Malvoria didn’t stop walking.

She went straight to her wife, her lips curving faintly. "Evening."

Elysia turned to her, surprised, and then her face lit up. "Malvoria."

Malvoria leaned in without hesitation and kissed her—soft and slow, but deliberate. A claiming.

A greeting. A promise. She could feel Elysia’s tension melt just slightly, could taste the faint sweetness of juice on her lips.

The Celestials, now wide-eyed, looked between them with varying degrees of intrigue and awkwardness.

Malvoria pulled back just enough to whisper, "I see you’ve been making friends."

Elysia laughed under her breath. "And you’ve been terrorizing marshals again?"

Malvoria grunted. "That man is more rune than brain."

She took the seat beside Elysia, casually draping one arm along the back of her chair. A servant immediately brought a tray of roasted meats and spiced vegetables. Across the table, one of the Celestials nodded politely.

"Your Majesty," she said, voice cautious. "Your wife was... most gracious in your absence."

Malvoria arched a brow. "Was she?"

"She fielded our questions with grace and dignity," another added. "And fended off quite a few of her guards to let us breathe."

"She’s always been terrifyingly competent," Malvoria murmured, reaching for a slice of blood-orange roast. "You just haven’t seen her properly angry yet."

Elysia elbowed her again, making Malvoria smile.

As the conversation resumed and the Celestials tried to relax again, Malvoria sat back and let herself enjoy the moment. For now, the rebel outposts and arcane battle routes could wait.

Right now, all she needed was this—her wife, a plate of food, a room full of people who at least pretended to behave, and the echo of Elysia’s laughter beside her.

Gods help the world if anyone tried to take that away.

She would burn them all for this peace.

---

Later that night, after what had felt like the longest dinner in recorded history with Celestials trying too hard to be polite, and Malvoria resisting the urge get away from the dinning room.

They were back in their chambers, curtains drawn, the glow of enchanted lanterns casting soft light across the bed.

Elysia’s head rested on Malvoria’s lap, her silver hair spilling like moonlight over her thigh. Malvoria gently traced patterns across her shoulder, fingers lazy and slow.

Elysia shifted, her hand drifting to her stomach.

"The baby is moving again," she murmured, voice soft and full of wonder.

Malvoria’s gaze followed her hand, her expression unreadable.

"It happens when I’m around strong magic," Elysia added. "Today, during the checkup with Faelira... and then again when the Celestials came. And now..." She looked up at Malvoria with a half-smile. "Now too."

Malvoria’s fingers stilled, then resumed their tracing. "Our child knows power. It’s in their blood."

Elysia hummed. "Do you think they’ll inherit fire? Or your demonic magic?"

Malvoria considered, her eyes briefly flicking to the faint flicker of their shared magic that seemed to linger in the air. "Maybe both," she said. "Or something neither of us has seen before."

Elysia’s eyes sparkled. "Maybe they’ll be a bridge between realms. Human and demon. Demon magic and flame."

Malvoria didn’t answer.

She just smiled—slow, small, secret.

And let her hand rest over Elysia’s belly, where their child stirred beneath warm skin and hope.