I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 218: Supervising

Malvoria had fought in twenty-seven battles, quelled five rebellions, and brokered peace with kingdoms that once sent assassins after her name.

But nothing not even war councils with drunk warlords or fighting blindfolded in the southern campaign had prepared her for the sight of Elysia.

Elysia sitting cross-legged on a paint-splattered cushion, surrounded by swatches of fabric and magically levitating wood panels, giving the most serious expression in existence to a piece of lavender velvet.

"I’m just saying," Elysia began, tapping her chin thoughtfully, "this one catches the light better. It’ll make the cradle feel like it’s glowing."

"It’s a piece of cloth," Malvoria deadpanned.

"It’s a statement," Elysia corrected, tossing the swatch toward her wife with queenly defiance. "A soft statement."

Malvoria caught the fabric, examined it like it had personally offended her, and then exhaled dramatically. "Fine. Lavender glow-statement curtains. It’s not like I’m the one who has to wake up with them blinding me at night."

"You won’t even be sleeping in the nursery," Elysia muttered.

"I might. If you throw me out of bed again."

"I was dreaming! I thought you were a thief."

"You elbowed me in the ribs!"

"You should have moved faster!"

Veylira, across the room, rolled her eyes so hard the stones on her earrings shook. "You two are impossible."

Malvoria didn’t look up. "And you’re wearing a robe that looks like a dying phoenix."

"I am a phoenix."

"A dying one."

Elysia broke into a snort of laughter, clutching her side. The baby, clearly amused, gave a soft thump inside her belly, and she placed a palm over the bump, smiling.

"Someone agrees with me," she said smugly.

Malvoria turned, eyes locking on her wife’s glowing face. Gods, she was radiant. The sight of her laughing, surrounded by swatches and scented oils and charms meant for newborns, made something deep and fierce bloom in Malvoria’s chest.

She would carve kingdoms open with her bare hands for that smile.

A carpenter floated over with a panel of demonwood engraved with swirling patterns.

"We’ve drawn up both options for the carvings—this one’s more flame-based, and the other leans celestial, like Her Majesty requested."

Malvoria frowned. "The flame one is—"

"Celestial," Elysia interrupted, pointing decisively at the softer panel.

Malvoria blinked. "I was going to say that."

"You were not."

"I was absolutely going to say that."

"You were squinting at the flames."

"I squint at everything! That’s my thinking face."

"That’s your judging face."

"You say that like it’s a bad thing."

"You have one face and it’s always judging."

Malvoria huffed and reached for the celestial carving, brushing her fingers along the intricate moons and stars etched into the dark grain.

"Fine. We’ll go with this one. But I’m etching runes in the frame. You can’t stop me."

"Only if they’re protective ones."

"I’m not going to curse the cradle, Elysia."

"I didn’t say that!"

"You implied it with your eyes."

"Stop being dramatic!"

"Look who’s talking."

Veylira threw her hands up. "You two could argue about which way up is up."

Malvoria and Elysia both turned and said at the same time, "It depends on the gravity field."

Veylira groaned and muttered something about cursed soulmates.

And yet, despite the playful bickering, the room was filled with something rare: warmth.

As the hours passed, they added little touches to the cradle design—lavender silk curtains with silver tassels, celestial carvings on the posts, a base of layered flameproof wood imbued with subtle wards.

The protective runes Malvoria etched glowed faintly with her magic, humming with strength but wrapped in gentleness.

One of the carpenters carefully added cushions embroidered with silver stars, while another floated in a soft netting canopy dyed to match the cradle’s lining.

At one point, Malvoria caught Elysia just staring at the half-finished cradle with this quiet, misty look in her eyes.

She came up behind her and wrapped her arms gently around her waist, nuzzling the side of her neck.

"What are you thinking?" she murmured.

Elysia leaned back into her, her voice soft. "That... this feels real now. Not just politics or duty. Just us. Preparing for someone."

Malvoria kissed her temple. "Someone who’ll have your eyes."

"And your temper."

"Heaven help us."

They stayed like that, in a bubble of sawdust and sweetness, as the cradle took shape.

When Elysia sat down to rest again, Veylira walked over with a mug of warm fruit tea and set it beside her daughter-in-law without a word.

"I still think you two are dangerously dramatic," she said.

"But we make beautiful cradles," Elysia replied with a smile.

Malvoria snorted. "Let’s not push it. We supervised a beautiful cradle."

"We made decisions," Elysia said.

"You argued and flirted," Veylira added.

"It’s a team effort," Malvoria said dryly.

And in the midst of their banter, a series of loud footsteps echoed down the corridor.

The door burst open. freēnovelkiss.com

A wave of palace staff poured in , maids carrying silver trays, guards bearing enchanted platters that floated, glowing, above their hands, and in the center, a cook proudly holding a towering cake with thick berry frosting and tiny sugar flames dancing along the sides.

Elysia blinked. "What... is all this?"

One of the maids grinned. "You two have been in here for hours. We thought you might need a feast."

"And dessert," said the cook, beaming.

Malvoria blinked at the sight of the glittering feast being laid out over the crafting tables.

Roasted vegetables in glowing glazes, warm bread with spicy butter, strawberry tarts, seared meats wrapped in fragrant leaves, and in the center, that ridiculous, glorious cake.

Malvoria turned to her wife and smirked.

"Well," she said, "we do deserve a reward for surviving each other."

Elysia took her hand, laughter dancing in her eyes. "Let’s eat before the baby starts kicking from jealousy."

Malvoria grinned and turned toward the waiting staff. "Alright, you heard her. Everyone eats."

The maids already setting down steaming trays beamed as though they’d just been knighted. One rushed forward with a silver dish of honey-glazed root vegetables and practically sang, "For you, Your Majesties."

Another floated a bowl of seasoned rice wrapped in enchanted leaves that kept it perfectly warm. "With a touch of spice—gentle enough for the Queen Consort!"

"Are those the candied lotus petals?" Elysia asked, eyes lighting up.

"They’re the last batch from the east orchard," a guard said proudly, unrolling a cloth bundle of utensils as if revealing ancient relics.

Malvoria sat beside Elysia on the plush bench they’d dragged close to the cradle project, tearing off a piece of herb bread. "You lot are more dramatic than us."

"You say that like it’s a bad thing," one maid quipped, biting into a tart.

Malvoria raised her cup in mock salute. "To drama and good food."

Everyone echoed it with a cheer, and for a moment, the room was nothing but warmth and laughter.

Plates passed hand to hand, stories slipped between bites, and the baby, soothed by the mood, gave a single soft kick as if approving.

And then—

The door creaked open.

Lara stepped in, hair tangled, armor smudged with ash, and a dent in one shoulder plate. She stared at the crowd, blinking like she’d stumbled into the wrong timeline.

Malvoria raised an eyebrow. "You look like you wrestled a fire golem."

Lara held up a finger, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

"Don’t ask questions," she croaked, then stumbled toward the nearest chair.

Silence fell. Then a maid gently pushed a tart into Lara’s hand.

She bit into it with the desperation of a survivor.

No one asked.