Malvoria had not planned for this.
She had walked into the room with a simple goal—get Elysia into
decent
clothes. Nothing more, nothing less. It was a small thing, something beneath her notice in any other situation.
And yet, here she was.
Pinning Elysia to the bed.
Malvoria could feel the way Elysia's body tensed beneath her, the way her breath hitched but didn't tremble. She wasn't terrified—no, she was
angry
.
Furious, even. But there was something else crackling between them, something thick and suffocating, something neither of them wanted to acknowledge.
Malvoria was
too close
.
She could see the flickering torchlight reflected in those violet eyes, could see the way Elysia's silver hair spread across the dark sheets beneath her.
She was stunning.
And for the first time in years, Malvoria felt like
she
had lost control of a situation.
This was
not
how it was supposed to go.
She had meant to intimidate Elysia, to remind her of where she was, of
who
she was dealing with.
And yet, Malvoria found herself caught in this unbearable heat, her body betraying her with the slow burn of frustration and something far more dangerous.
She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to focus, to shove back the unwelcome surge of desire creeping up her spine.
What are you doing?
She had never been weak when it came to getting what she wanted. She was a conqueror, a queen, a warrior. She had taken what she desired without hesitation, without complication.
But this?
This was
messy
.
This was
Elysia
.
She had told herself it didn't matter that the princess was beautiful. She had told herself that this was about politics, about
power
, about securing her rule and ensuring Arvandor never rose again.
But the way Elysia was looking at her now—lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling just a little too quickly—was unraveling something deep inside her, something she wasn't ready to name.
Malvoria clenched her jaw, forcing her grip to loosen, just slightly.
She had already lost control once tonight—when she had made Zera kneel without lifting a finger.
The girl had irritated her, had
challenged
her in a way she hadn't expected. And now, Malvoria could feel the remnants of that frustration bleeding into this moment.
She hadn't come here to threaten Elysia.
She hadn't come here to force
anything
.
And yet, here she was, dangerously close to doing something she could not take back.
She inhaled sharply, forcing the heat in her veins to cool.
She wasn't going to
touch
Elysia. Not like this.
She was not her father.
She was not a mindless brute who took what she wanted without care for the consequences.
No.
She would win Elysia a different way.
She pushed off the bed, standing up with a smooth, controlled motion.
Elysia's breath was still uneven, her violet eyes burning with something fierce, something unreadable.
Malvoria turned away, picking up the dress from where she had placed it earlier.
She held it out, her grey eyes dark, her voice low and
commanding
.
"Just wear the dress."
Malvoria left the room without another word, closing the door behind her with more force than necessary. The sound of it echoed down the dimly lit corridor, but it wasn't enough to silence the storm raging inside her.
She had
lost
control.
Her fingers twitched at her sides, the heat of Elysia's body still lingering on her skin, an unwanted ghost of a moment that never should have happened.
This was not how things were supposed to unfold.
She had gone there to make the princess
comply
, to ensure she was properly dressed, to remind her that her place was no longer among the free. Instead, Malvoria had walked straight into
something else entirely
, something neither of them had been prepared for.
She had never let anyone make her falter before.
And yet Elysia—
a mere human princess
—had nearly undone her in seconds.
Malvoria exhaled sharply, pressing her thumb against her temple as she stalked down the corridor, the heels of her boots striking the polished obsidian floor in a measured, deliberate rhythm.
She needed to get away from that room.
She needed distance.
If she stayed even a second longer, she might have done something neither of them were ready for.
And then—
She saw
her
.
Zera.
The warrior was still there, standing against the far wall with her arms crossed, her blue eyes narrowed, filled with barely contained hatred.
Malvoria's lips curled slightly, her temper already dangerously thin.
Of course,
she
was still here.
Of course, she
hadn't
left.
A lesser demon, a lesser soldier, would have avoided Malvoria entirely, would have lowered their gaze, would have stepped aside.
But Zera was not a lesser soldier.
No, Zera was a
problem
.
She had
always
been a problem.
Loyal to Elysia beyond reason. Defiant beyond logic.
Reckless
beyond self-preservation.
And right now, she was standing there, staring at Malvoria like she wanted to slit her throat.
Malvoria didn't slow her steps.
Didn't acknowledge her.
Didn't
care
.
If Zera had
any
sense, she would let her pass.
Because if she
dared
to speak—
If she
dared
to provoke her right now—
Malvoria would
kill her
.
With no hesitation. No second thought. No regret.
Her hands curled into fists, her jaw tightening as she strode past.
Zera stayed where she was, unmoving.
But Malvoria felt her glare burning into her back as she disappeared into the depths of the castle.