I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 230: Welcome to the world

The chamber was quiet, save for the sound of her breathing.

Labored. Steady. Then uneven again.

Elysia gripped the edge of the velvet-lined headboard, her fingers curling so tight her knuckles turned white.

Sweat clung to her temples, beading along her brow, tracing warm lines down the curve of her jaw.

The contractions came in cruel waves—sharp, coiling pain that stole her breath and left her gasping for air between each surge.

Malvoria’s hand was in hers.

That was the one anchor, the one weight that kept her grounded in this moment—this terrifying, raw, unstoppable moment.

Malvoria hadn’t said much. Her sharp tongue, for once, had failed her. Her silence wasn’t cold or distant it was thick with fear. With awe. With something more sacred than words.

"You’re doing great," Malvoria finally whispered, her voice cracked around the edges. "You are... magnificent."

Elysia wanted to laugh. To cry. To scream. But all she managed was a choked breath as another wave of pain hit her like fire inside her bones.

She tilted her head back, eyes fluttering open just enough to see the gentle halo of light flickering around the ceiling. The room felt vast and small at once, a universe of waiting breath and half-held hopes.

Faelira moved with precision her touch light but practiced, her eyes glowing faintly with the silver of her elven magic.

There were wards on the walls, woven into the stone like invisible lace. Lavender spells, thick with old magic, pulsed slowly beneath the floor.

Malvoria’s grandmother had placed them there herself, muttering about safety, about lineage, about legacy.

Veylira had nodded grimly, arms crossed, her face unreadable but hands trembling just slightly.

Another contraction.

Elysia bent forward with a gasp, her grip on Malvoria’s hand tightening until their knuckles met bone.

"Almost," Faelira said calmly, wiping her hands with a cloth dipped in sacred water. "The child is moving. She is close."

"She?" Malvoria echoed in a whisper, wide-eyed.

Elysia blinked through the haze. There had been no confirmation. No divine prophecy. Just instinct. But somehow, hearing it aloud struck her heart with something too tender to name.

She cried then not from pain, but from sheer disbelief. A daughter. A child of fire and legacy and soft kisses under starlight. Born of war and love both.

Another push. Another scream. She arched, the pain flaring through her spine like lightning.

Malvoria cupped her cheek with her free hand, brushing away tears that had slipped free. Her fingers trembled. "You’re almost there, love. You’re almost—"

A pulse.

Magic surged through the air not from the midwife, not from Malvoria.

From her.

It wasn’t like the other times her magic had burst free, wild and violent. This was softer—controlled, but immense.

Purple flames coiled like silk ribbons from her fingers, not hot, not angry, but alive. Faelira stepped back, not in fear but reverence, as the flames swept gently across the room, lighting every sigil, making them glow like stars.

The baby was coming.

With a strength born of desperation and raw devotion, Elysia pushed one last time.

A cry split the silence.

High and sharp and real.

Then came a hush so profound, even the magic paused to listen.

Faelira moved quickly, wrapping the small, perfect bundle in embroidered cloth. Elysia, trembling and drenched in sweat, leaned back, her chest heaving, her eyes wide and wet and unblinking.

Malvoria couldn’t speak.

Faelira turned toward them slowly, reverently, and in her arms was a child unlike any the palace had ever seen.

Hair as white as snow, streaked with fierce crimson like threads of flame. Small, delicate red horns curved just above her forehead, and her eyes when they opened were the color of thunderclouds: deep, endless grey.

But what stunned everyone most... was the flame.

Purple. Gentle. Burning softly around her small frame like a halo. freёweɓnovel.com

"She... she’s okay?" Elysia asked hoarsely, her voice cracking.

"She is perfect," Faelira whispered, her expression unreadable but eyes glistening. "A daughter of old magic. A child of two realms. She is whole."

Malvoria collapsed to her knees beside the bed, her hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking.

Elysia looked down at the tiny girl placed in her arms. The warmth of her was immediate. Consuming.

A flickering pulse against her chest, familiar and new at once. The child blinked once, slowly, as if seeing the world for the first time and in those eyes, Elysia saw everything.

The pain. The fire. The fear.

The love.

"Welcome to the world," Elysia whispered, her voice cracking. "Kaelith."

The name felt right. Like it had always been waiting for her. Like this was always where they were meant to arrive.

Kaelith blinked again, tiny lips parted in what might have been the shadow of a smile.

Malvoria reached up, stroking Elysia’s hair before lowering her hand to their daughter’s impossibly soft cheek. "She looks like you," she murmured.

"She looks like us," Elysia corrected, eyes still fixed on their daughter.

There was noise then—laughter and weeping outside the door. Veylira’s voice barking orders to maids, Malvoria’s grandmother sobbing loudly, "I told you she’d be born during a storm of magic!"

But inside the room, the storm had passed.

And what remained was light.

Elysia couldn’t take her eyes off her daughter.

Kaelith nestled against her chest, impossibly warm and small, wrapped in layers of silk and love.

The purple flames that had once terrified the palace now curled protectively around the child, flickering gently with each breath. They didn’t burn—they glowed. Soft and sacred.

She’d never known she could feel this much at once. Exhaustion. Awe. Terror. Wonder. It swelled inside her, pressing at the corners of her heart, threatening to overflow.

Malvoria was still kneeling beside the bed, one hand brushing over the fabric that swaddled their daughter.

Her other hand reached for Elysia’s, fingers interlocking like they had a thousand times before but never like this. Never with a child breathing between them.

"She’s real," Elysia whispered, voice hoarse. "She’s ours."

Malvoria looked up at her then, and for once, there was no mask of control or calm calculation.

Her eyes shimmered—grey like storm clouds at sea, but brimming with emotion she didn’t even try to hide.

"I would destroy the world for her," Malvoria said, her voice low. "For you both."

Elysia laughed softly, her body aching but heart light. "You won’t need to. We’ll build a better one instead."

Kaelith let out a tiny sigh.

And in that moment, everything was perfect.