I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 240: A day in Veylira’s life

Veylira woke at precisely 5:04 a.m.

Not because she had to, not because any duties called for her at that hour, but because she chose to. She believed in dominating the day before it had the audacity to wake up fully.

By 5:06, she had already summoned a scribe demon to dictate three responses to letters she hadn’t received yet.

At 5:15, she was mid-stretch in her violet silk nightgown, delicately slicing through the air with one leg in a move that would shatter most spines—if anyone was watching.

And someone was.

"You’re practicing your dramatic entrance pose again," came the croaky voice of Zormuul, her long-suffering elderly chamberlain, from the hallway.

"It’s called a power stance, Zormuul," she snapped back. "I’ll be striking it dramatically on balconies when Kaelith becomes Queen of Everything."

"She’s two weeks old."

"She’s already mastered judgmental stares and combustion. I have a schedule to keep."

Zormuul sighed and vanished down the hallway, muttering about retirement.

By 5:30, Veylira had dressed in a robe so unnecessarily embroidered with amethyst phoenixes that it gave mild headaches to anyone who looked directly at it.

She selected her accessories like she selected weapons sharply, with intent to intimidate.

At 6:00, she brewed tea with a flick of her fingers, ignored it entirely, and stormed into the west study where Malvoria’s paperwork towered like a haunted cathedral of stress.

She did not announce herself. Veylira never announced herself.

With the grace of a seasoned war mage, she charmed half the floating scrolls into sorting themselves, signed four political decrees in her daughter’s handwriting, and rejected a noble’s request to marry a lava elemental—all in fifteen minutes.

Then she dusted her hands, smoothed her robe, and exited without a trace. Malvoria, she knew, would find her desk mysteriously half-finished and mutter something like I guess I’m getting better at this.

Veylira allowed that delusion.

By 7:30, she was standing outside the nursery, hands behind her back, breathing slowly and preparing for combat.

Because Thalor would arrive any minute now.

And he always brought apples.

She hated apples.

Sure enough, as the hour struck, the human king’s voice echoed down the hallway.

"I brought the apples Kaelith likes!"

" She is not old enough to eat them! She don’t even have teeth yet" Veylira shouted through the door before he could knock.

"She love to play with them," he replied cheerfully, opening the door with that infuriating royal humility.

Veylira was already inside, rocking Kaelith in an enchanted floating cradle while reading her a dense tome entitled The Art of Strategic Imperial Conquest (Illustrated Edition).

Kaelith blinked at her, unimpressed, and drooled.

"She’s already developing excellent posture," Veylira said proudly.

"She blinked twice when I entered," Thalor beamed. "She recognizes me!"

"She was rolling her eyes, Thalor."

"She doesn’t even know what sarcasm is!"

"She’s your granddaughter, of course she does."

Thalor sighed and reached into his robe, pulling out a tiny rattle shaped like a swan. "I carved this. With my hands."

"Oh no," Veylira muttered. "You’re doing rustic bonding gifts again."

"She likes them."

"She eats everything. Last week she tried to consume her own foot."

"It’s because she’s curious!"

Veylira turned to Kaelith. "You’re not a goose, my darling. You don’t have to chew yourself to understand the world."

Kaelith sneezed and accidentally ignited the corner of the conquest manual.

Veylira batted the flame out with practiced ease. "Good girl. Only burn the parts that aren’t useful."

Thalor chuckled. "You’re spoiling her."

"Obviously."

They bickered like that for an hour.

Kaelith dozed and snorted. Veylira held her like a diplomat holding a priceless relic. Thalor eventually sat on the floor in his royal robes and told stories about fish.

Veylira rolled her eyes, insulted three generations of his ancestors, and secretly took mental notes of which stories made Kaelith gurgle with interest.

At 9:00, Thalor left to attend "a meeting of grave diplomatic importance," which probably meant tea with Elysia.

Veylira exited a few minutes later and found herself intercepted by Faelira.

"She walked again," Faelira said flatly.

Veylira squinted. "Elysia?"

"No. Kaelith."

Veylira blinked. "She doesn’t walk."

"She kicked so hard her cradle rolled three feet. If that doesn’t count, I don’t know what does."

Veylira tilted her head, amused. "She’s going to be unstoppable."

"She’s going to be loud." Faelira passed her a scroll. "The palace needs to restock flame-retardant blankets. We’re out."

"I’ll double the order. Make them pink. It soothes Elysia."

Faelira nodded. "You’re doing more than you let on."

"I deny everything," Veylira replied, brushing past her with the arrogance of someone who has already bribed the palace staff to never mention the thirty-seven things she’d fixed before breakfast.

By midday, Veylira had returned to her quarters, devoured a disturbingly spicy fruit salad, reviewed the guard’s teleportation protocols, and sent three unsigned reprimands to nobles who dared suggest Kaelith be raised neutrally.

She was about to begin writing a new lullaby in Draconic (as a bonding activity) when a sealed letter appeared on her desk.

No stamp.

No sender.

Only her name in an old, looping script she hadn’t seen in decades.

Veylira stared at it.

The temperature in the room dropped not from magic, but from something colder. Memory.

She opened the letter.

The parchment inside smelled faintly of lavender and ashes.

---

Dear Veylira,

It’s been a long time. Longer than I’d like to admit. Honestly, I wasn’t sure this letter would ever reach you, or if you’d even bother to read it if it did.

Still, here I am, writing to you as if the years haven’t stacked themselves like stones between us. Maybe I’m a fool for hoping words on paper can bridge the distance I created. Maybe not.

I heard that Malvoria got married. That’s... surprising, and somehow not surprising at all. She was always too powerful for her own good, too full of that fierce fire that never quite fit into the world we tried to build for her.

I imagine the ceremony was grand, dramatic, probably unforgettable—just like her. And you. And I.

More than that, I heard you’re a grandmother now.

Well. So am I. Since, after all, Malvoria is my child too, no matter how far I ran or how much you both had to carry after I left.

I think about her often—more often than I dare to say out loud. I wonder what kind of ruler she’s become, whether she still laughs the way she used to when she was small, or if she ever asks about me at all.

I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. If she hates me, well... that would be fair.

Do I regret what I did? Not entirely. That sounds harsh, I know. Cold. But it’s the truth. Leaving was a terrible thing to do—I won’t argue that.

It was selfish, cruel even. But I did it because I believed, in that moment, that it was the only way I could survive.

I was wrong, maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that we never divorced. Technically, legally, magically however you want to spin it—we’re still married.

I don’t say that to provoke you. I say it because I’ve never really known how to stop feeling bound to you, even now.

I feel you in every quiet hour, every time I close my eyes and wonder what might have been if I had stayed. You were my heart once. Maybe you still are, beneath all the dust and bitterness.

I’m not asking to be forgiven. I’m not even asking to be welcomed. But I am asking—genuinely, humbly—if I could see my granddaughter. Just once.

I want to look into her eyes and see if there’s a part of me there, however small. I’d like to meet the future, if you’ll allow it. I’ll respect whatever answer you give, Veylira. I owe you that much, at the very least.

With all the complicated pieces of my heart,

Lucindra

---

The room was silent.

Veylira did not move for a long moment.

Then, without a word, she walked to the hearth.

Held the letter above the flame.

And dropped it in.

It burned quickly, curling into glowing ash. Not a trace of it remained.

Veylira stared into the fire, lips pressed in a cold, unreadable line.

"Over my dead body," she whispered.

And turned away.