I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 168: You don’t have to listen to him

Elysia slammed the door open so hard that it bounced off the wall and nearly hit her on the rebound.

Malvoria blinked from behind her desk, one brow rising as the room seemed to fill with a sudden, invisible thunderstorm. A breeze of wrath, wild and unruly, accompanied Elysia inside like an angry spirit too proud to knock.

She looked like she was mid-eruption. Her hair, still a bit damp from earlier, had frizzed around the edges, strands clinging to her temples.

Her cloak flared dramatically behind her like a banner of war, and her boots stomped across the polished obsidian floor with enough force to make the vases on the bookshelves tremble.

Malvoria did not move.

Mostly because she wasn’t sure if this was an argument she had to be in or if she’d just been conscripted into the role of emotional support furniture.

Elysia didn’t even look at her as she stormed past the desk, muttering something sharp under her breath in what sounded like three different dialects—including one Malvoria was fairly certain hadn’t been spoken since the last celestial schism.

Then Elysia turned to a small bench in the corner and kicked it.

Full force.

The bench skidded a few inches.

She kicked it again.

Malvoria stood. "That bench is three centuries old."

"It’s also in my way," Elysia snapped, marching back toward the middle of the room, arms flailing as if trying to physically expel all the emotions crawling under her skin.

"Did the bench insult your bloodline?" Malvoria asked mildly.

Elysia whipped around, eyes blazing. "Don’t start."

Malvoria held up both hands, palms open. "Not starting. Just observing."

Elysia let out a frustrated sound and ran both hands through her hair before promptly collapsing onto the edge of a chaise like a war general who had lost a battle to common sense.

Malvoria studied her.

Red cheeks. Wild breathing. Glare sharp enough to cut steel.

Yup. This was an emotional hurricane.

She walked slowly toward her, careful not to provoke the territorial energy radiating from the chaise like a heat wave. "Thalor?"

"He’s annoying," Elysia spat. "He treats me like I’m twelve. Like I haven’t been through war. Like I don’t know what I’m doing. As if I’m some naïve little puppet who just stumbled into your arms by accident!"

Malvoria considered that, then said, "You did quite literally stumble into my arms three days ago on the trail."

Elysia threw a pillow at her.

Malvoria caught it one-handed, eyes narrowed slightly, then walked over and plopped herself down beside Elysia with the cautious grace of someone approaching a very volatile magical artifact.

"Do you want me to have him escorted out?" she offered, tone dry.

"No," Elysia groaned. "Then he’ll just martyr himself emotionally for weeks. You don’t know how dramatic he can be. He once made an entire speech about the ’burden of paternal love’ because I came home with a scraped knee."

Malvoria blinked. "That explains so much."

Elysia let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob and flopped sideways into the cushions, covering her face. "I hate that he thinks he can still tell me what I feel. That he’s so sure you’re some monster waiting for me to drop my guard."

Malvoria hesitated.

Then did something she didn’t normally do.

She opened her arms.

Not in a grand gesture. Not like a dramatic lover from a play. Just a quiet, awkward arc of comfort.

Elysia didn’t even hesitate.

She rolled into her like a storm crashing into a mountain, her arms winding around Malvoria’s middle, her face buried in her shoulder.

Her body was still vibrating with emotion anger, shame, exhaustion but the moment her skin touched Malvoria’s, the tremors softened.

Malvoria held her.

Stiffly at first. Then more naturally, arms wrapping tighter, hand stroking slowly up and down her back. It wasn’t something she was used to comforting. Emotions were things to manage, not hold. But for Elysia... she’d try.

"You don’t have to listen to him," Malvoria said softly. "Not now. Not ever."

"I know," Elysia mumbled into her shoulder. "It’s just—he used to listen to me. Used to trust me. Now he looks at me like I’m being controlled."

Malvoria pulled back just enough to tilt her chin up. "Are you?"

Elysia frowned. "Of course not."

"Then let him look."

Elysia stared at her. fгeewebnovёl.com

Malvoria brushed her thumb gently over her cheek. "He’s not the one who gets to decide who you are now."

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Elysia leaned up and pressed a brief kiss to the underside of her jaw, just where the shadows pooled along Malvoria’s throat.

"You’re getting better at this," she whispered.

"At what?"

"Feelings."

Malvoria groaned. "Please never say that again."

"Feelings," Elysia repeated with relish.

"I will throw you into the koi pond."

"There’s no koi pond here."

"I will build one, then throw you into it."

Elysia grinned and leaned against her again, more relaxed now, her body warm and curled into Malvoria’s side.

For a long moment, they just sat like that, breathing in the silence. The office, once filled with tension and spy reports and royal pressure, now felt a little less like a command center and more like a small piece of peace carved out of the day.

Eventually, Malvoria stirred.

"It’s almost time for dinner," she said gently. "Go cool off before."

Elysia mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "traitor," but she stood anyway, stretching her arms over her head.

"I’ll go wash my face," she muttered, padding toward the door.

Malvoria watched her go, then leaned back on the chaise, sighing through her nose.

She was definitely going to need wine.

Malvoria remained sprawled on the chaise, eyes fixed on the door Elysia had just walked through. The silence in her office felt heavier now, like it missed the heat Elysia carried with her.

She let her head fall back against the cushions, exhaling slowly. There was still tension curled under her ribs, but it wasn’t from Elysia’s anger—it was from what waited outside this fragile calm.

The throne room. The council. Zera.

She dragged a hand over her face and muttered, "One disaster at a time." Then she stood, adjusted her collar, and prepared to face the rest of the evening.