I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 241: Silent meeting

The cradle had been moved.

It sat now in the corner of Malvoria and Elysia’s chamber, flanked by protective sigils etched in silver flame and draped with sheer veils enchanted to mute sound and maintain warmth.

The blanket inside was soft enough to make clouds jealous, and the tiny figure curled at its center Kaelith, wrapped in a haze of sleep and faint purple embers was quiet. Blessedly quiet.

Which was the only reason this covert meeting was possible.

Malvoria sat cross-legged on their massive bed, back against a mountain of velvet pillows, her left hand resting over Elysia’s where it lay in her lap.

The rest of their council of absurdity occupied the nearby armchairs and chaise lounges like overstuffed royalty at a secret tea party.

"Keep your voices down," Malvoria whispered, her voice barely a breath. "If she wakes up, this whole meeting goes to the Abyss."

"She’s the size of a large melon," Lara muttered from a floor cushion, "but sleeps like a cursed relic. It’s unnatural."

"Because I warded the cradle," Malvoria hissed. "You’re welcome."

"I’m still not convinced she isn’t telepathic," Thalor murmured, glancing at Kaelith with deep awe, as if she might float up and start giving divine instructions.

"Only when judging people," Veylira muttered without looking up from the scroll of guest names she was reviewing. "She gets that from me."

Malvoria’s eyes narrowed slightly. Veylira had been... strange all day. Not in the usual, imperious, I’m managing everything without telling you way.

There was something tight in her shoulders. Something distracted behind the eyes, like she was hiding a storm behind a smug smile.

Malvoria couldn’t pin it down. Yet.

"So," Saelira said lightly, perched on the edge of the window seat with a glass of cherry cordial, "let’s talk about colors."

"Gods no," Malvoria muttered. "I am not sitting through a three-hour debate about flower arrangements again."

"But darling," Saelira purred, "this is the first public announcement of your heir. We must establish aesthetic dominance. The Celestians will bring floating crystal doves. We can’t be outdone."

"They did bring glowing fog to the last summit," Thalor noted. "I walked into a wall."

"They did that?" Lara whispered in horror, eyes wide. "I thought I’d been hexed!"

"You were drunk," Malvoria said.

"I was culturally adapting."

"You jumped into a fountain and declared yourself Queen of Moonlight."

"I was diplomatic."

Malvoria massaged her temples.

Elysia leaned closer to her and whispered with a small smile, "You’re doing great."

"I hate this family."

"You adore this family."

"I’m regretting giving birth to Kaelith."

"You didn’t."

"I could have. With magic."

"Shhh," Elysia said, kissing her temple.

Malvoria groaned quietly and turned back to the group. "Fine. Decorations. Veylira, what’s the current concept?"

Veylira didn’t respond immediately.

She blinked, just a fraction too slowly, then held up the scroll. "I’m thinking midnight blue and ember gold. Flame lilies. Crystalline arches. Subtle, elegant. Majestic. The usual."

Malvoria nodded, though something prickled at her skin. That pause. Veylira didn’t pause.

"And invitations?" Elysia asked.

"We’ve divided them into tiers," Veylira replied smoothly. "Demon High Houses. Celestian Nobles. Human Royal Envoys. Trade representatives. Magical academia. And of course, a few dignitaries from allied neutral regions."

Saelira sipped her drink. "Will we be inviting the Celestian Crown again?"

Lara’s face went pale.

"No," she whispered. "No, no, no."

Malvoria raised an eyebrow. "What’s the issue now?"

"She’s still out there," Lara hissed, curling into herself like a hunted raccoon. "Princess Serisa. With her golden tattoos and her beautiful insults. She smiled at me like she wanted to murder me with etiquette."

"You did seduce her," Thalor pointed out mildly.

"I first thought she was just a high-ranking swan wrangler!" Lara whisper-shouted.

"It was a warning," Veylira said without looking up.

"She said she wanted to see me again!"

Malvoria smirked. "Maybe to collect your head."

Lara groaned and buried her face in a cushion. "I can’t go back there. The Celestians send me threatening poetry. They deliver it in baskets. With feathers."

"Feathers?" Thalor echoed.

"White. One for every mistake I’ve made."

"I counted thirty-two," Saelira said fondly.

"I was polite!"

"You called her hair silken moon moss," Malvoria deadpanned.

"It was silken! And mossy!"

Veylira, still flipping through her scroll, muttered, "If she tries to sleep with another diplomat, I’m revoking her travel privileges."

"Too late," Saelira said, stretching. "I’ve already heard whispers from the Sea Court. Something about a siren named Bryssa and ’bubbling rapture.’"

"Not my fault!" Lara squeaked.

Malvoria let her head fall back against the pillow. "This is why I wanted to elope."

"You did elope," Elysia said sweetly.

"I meant permanently."

Thalor cleared his throat. "I could invite a bardic ensemble from Arvandor. Something gentle. Traditional. Harps and all that."

Malvoria gave him a flat look. "Our daughter breathes fire, Thalor. She will scream at harps."

"She’s refined."

"She tried to eat her own sock this morning."

"Curiosity is the first step of genius."

"She then set it on fire."

"Destruction is the second step," Veylira added. "Classic arcane progression."

Malvoria looked around the room, taking in the mixture of chaos and fondness.

This was how her life was now—a mess of arguments whispered around sleeping infants, debates about floral dominance, and subtle games of who loved Kaelith the most.

But her eyes flicked back to Veylira.

Something was wrong.

She was too composed. Too poised. Her responses were smooth, but there was no glint. No cutting remark, no smug flick of the eyes. Something had shifted.

Malvoria narrowed her gaze.

"You’re hiding something," she said suddenly.

The room went still.

Veylira didn’t blink. "I’m hiding your mother’s taste in upholstery."

"Don’t deflect."

"I’m not."

"You flinched earlier."

"I don’t flinch."

"You paused."

"I was thinking."

"You never think," Malvoria snapped then added quickly, "out loud, I mean."

Elysia gave her a warning squeeze.

Veylira finally looked up, meeting her daughter’s eyes with a slow smile. "Malvoria. If I were hiding something, do you think you’d be the one to catch it?"

Malvoria’s jaw locked.

She hated that smile.

Because it meant she was hiding something—and she thought she was doing a better job than Malvoria could ever uncover.

Saelira, ever the chaos goddess, decided to rescue the conversation. "What about food?"

"Oh no," Elysia whispered. "Not this again."

"I think we should serve something memorable," Saelira purred. "Nothing says ’welcome to the future ruler of demonkind’ like a flaming soufflé that screams."

"They scream?" Thalor asked in horror.

"If you season them right."

"I vote for a chocolate fountain," Lara muttered into her pillow. "No feathers. No princesses. Just molten joy."

"Kaelith will try to dive in," Elysia said.

"And I will allow it," Malvoria whispered proudly.

"Of course you will," Veylira muttered, folding the scroll and tucking it away with finality. "Because you’re your mother’s daughter."

Malvoria didn’t answer.

Not out loud.

Because her mind was already back on that pause. That flicker of tension. The way Veylira had avoided her gaze—not with guilt, but with something more dangerous.

History.

Something had surfaced.

And Malvoria didn’t know what it was.

Yet.

But she would find it.

Even if she had to set the entire west wing on fire to uncover it.

She glanced at the cradle, at the quiet hum of her daughter’s breath.

For Kaelith, she would tear apart the past.

And she would start with her mother.