I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 215: You’re not dangerous

"Everything will be alright."

That’s what she had said.

Malvoria had whispered it into the curve of Elysia’s shoulder two weeks ago, believing—no, needing it to be true.

But now, as another explosion rocked the south wing of the palace, shattering a once-pristine stained-glass window into a thousand shards, those words echoed back to her with bitter irony.

It hadn’t been alright.

Not even close.

She stood in the smoking corridor, shadows shifting at her back, ash still floating like snow through the air.

Two guards were on their knees, brushing glass from their armor. A maid was crying silently, her hands trembling as she cradled a small burn on her forearm. The wall behind them bore the jagged scorch marks of purple flame.

Uncontrolled. Wild. Elysia’s magic.

Again.

Malvoria exhaled slowly through her nose, trying to keep her expression even. She couldn’t afford to look shaken in front of the staff not when they were already terrified.

Not when whispers of the queen’s instability were beginning to curl at the edges of the court like smoke.

"Clear this up," she said quietly to the head of the guard. "Tell the healers to see to the injured."

"And Her Majesty?" he asked, cautiously. "Should she—be restrained?"

The look Malvoria gave him was enough to silence him mid-breath. Her voice dropped to something low and dangerous.

"She is my wife. She is carrying my child. She will never be restrained in this palace. Understood?"

The guard swallowed hard and nodded.

Malvoria didn’t wait for further questions. She turned sharply, cloak swirling behind her as she walked the now-familiar path back to the royal chambers.

Every step was weighted, heavy with frustration, with guilt, with the helpless ache of someone who could burn down nations but couldn’t calm a single trembling flame from the woman she loved.

It wasn’t Elysia’s fault.

That was the cruelest part.

Her magic had started fluctuating almost immediately after the last incident. First small bursts—stray embers in her sleep, delicate items reduced to molten puddles, lightbulbs flickering violently when she entered a room. But then came the purple flame.

Unstable. Feral.

And growing stronger.

Malvoria had stationed five guards outside their room not to protect the realm from Elysia, but to protect Elysia from herself.

She’d had the doors reinforced, dampening wards added to the ceilings, and even gone so far as to beg her grandmother for a stabilizing charm, which unsurprisingly had not worked.

"Demon children," Grandmother Saelira had said with an arched brow and a half-glass of bloodwine. "Always come out inconveniently gifted. You were no better, darling."

Even Veylira, who rarely looked flustered, had started avoiding the corridor when Elysia’s magic acted up.

And Malvoria?

Malvoria was exhausted.

Not from fear.

But from caring so damn much.

She stepped into their room and instantly ducked as a tendril of violet fire arced from the chandelier and nearly singed her hair.

"Gods—" she muttered, slamming the door shut behind her.

The room looked like a battle zone.

Bookshelves charred. A velvet chair still smoking in the corner. The mirror above the hearth had melted into a warped silver puddle.

And in the center of it all, Elysia sat cross-legged on the bed, surrounded by flickering flame, tears in her eyes.

"I didn’t mean to," she whispered. "I didn’t mean to, Mal."

Malvoria’s heart ached.

"I know," she said softly, crossing the ruined carpet toward her. "I know, love."

She sat beside her, reaching out through the flame, not caring if it burned. The fire recoiled at her touch then quieted, like a storm recognizing its queen.

Elysia let out a shaky breath, her hand trembling as it landed in Malvoria’s.

"I can’t control it," she whispered. "Every time I try, it just—it lashes out. Like it’s not mine anymore."

"It’s not," Malvoria murmured, rubbing slow circles into her palm. "It’s ours now. You’re sharing your body with someone who doesn’t know how to hold it back yet."

Elysia looked down at her rounded belly, now firm and unmistakable, the curve rising under the loose fabric of her gown.

"They’re too powerful," she whispered. "I can feel it. It’s not like before. They’re awake, Mal. Aware."

Malvoria swallowed hard.

She’d felt it too. In the moments Elysia wasn’t watching when she curled behind her in bed and touched her skin she could feel it.

Something stirring.

Something ancient. Vast. Not evil, not wrong... but impossibly big.

Their child was no ordinary heir.

And the kingdom wouldn’t survive if Malvoria didn’t find a way to control this before the birth.

Or worse during it.

"I need to do something," Elysia whispered again. "I need to stop it before someone else gets hurt."

"No," Malvoria said firmly, her voice a quiet thunder. "You need to rest. That’s my job."

Elysia met her eyes. "But you can’t protect me from me."

"Yes," Malvoria said, drawing her closer. "I can. I will."

Their foreheads touched.

Around them, the flames dimmed slightly, curling like shadows around the edges of the bed.

But the danger hadn’t passed.

Not even close.

Because if this was how powerful the child was before birth...

What would happen the day they were born?

Malvoria held her tighter.

And whispered into her hair, half a promise, half a threat to the gods themselves—

"I will not let this kingdom fall. I will not let you fall."

No matter what it cost.

Malvoria said nothing more for a moment. She simply pulled Elysia into her arms firmly, almost desperately.

It wasn’t one of those light, careful embraces they’d gotten used to since the pregnancy had made Elysia more delicate.

This was grounding. Fierce. A reminder that no matter how unstable the world or Elysia’s magic might become, Malvoria would hold her together piece by piece.

"I’ve got you," she whispered against Elysia’s temple. "You hear me? No fire, no curse, no damn prophecy is going to make me let go of you."

Elysia let out a soft breath. She didn’t cry this time. She just melted into the hug, her head tucked beneath Malvoria’s chin like she was finally safe.

A few moments passed in silence. Then Malvoria slowly pulled back, smoothing a hand down Elysia’s hair.

"Now," she said, trying for a lighter tone. "It’s time to eat before you burn down the ceiling again."

Elysia blinked. "I don’t think I’m hungry."

Malvoria arched an eyebrow. "You’re eating. For two."

Almost on cue, a gentle knock came from the door.

Three maids entered Mae, Vessa, and Orielle each carrying trays of food with the kind of reverence usually reserved for divine artifacts.

The scent of warm bread, honeyed root vegetables, roasted meat, and strawberry tarts filled the room, cutting through the last tendrils of smoke.

"We brought everything soft and comforting," Mae announced with a grin. "No heavy spices today. The little one might be setting things on fire, but they probably still prefer mashed pumpkin."

Orielle, the youngest, placed a tray carefully at the bedside. "And if you don’t eat at least half of this, Your Majesty, we’re going to report you to Veylira."

Elysia couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh.

Vessa chimed in, placing a bowl of strawberries, Malvoria’s constant offering near the pillows. "You’re not dangerous. You’re just too powerful for one room to handle sometimes."

"That’s a compliment," Mae added quickly.

Malvoria glanced at her sideways. "If she destroys my floors again, I’m making you scrub them."

The maids laughed, unbothered, and Elysia finally smiled it was refreshing.