I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 243: Are you suggesting I go dating?

Veylira had been in her office since dawn.

The first light of the day had long since passed through the tall crystal-paned windows, painting the room in hues of gold, then fading into the cool silver of late afternoon.

Now, warm amber candlelight flickered along the inky surface of the desk, casting her features in a soft, deceptive calm.

The room itself was silent, save for the occasional rustle of parchment or the faint hiss of enchanted ink drying.

Two letters lay unopened on the far corner of her desk. Their edges were fraying now, from how often she moved them—tapping one against the other, shifting them to the corner and then back again.

She hadn’t even bothered to break the seals. She knew who they were from. freewebnσvel.cøm

Lucindra.

The first letter had burned in her hand. The second and third remained, untouched, like vipers coiled and waiting.

Veylira exhaled slowly, deeply, leaning back in her chair. She pressed her fingertips against her brow.

The weight behind her eyes wasn’t fatigue it was memory. That exhausting thing that clung like perfume you couldn’t wash off.

She had trained herself for decades to never let the past in.

So why—why now?

The door opened with a soft click.

Only one person dared to enter without knocking.

Saelira.

"Why do you look like you’ve been told your dress is off-season?" the Grand Empress asked, sweeping in with her usual elegance and venomous wit.

She wore deep indigo today, embroidered with the pattern of stars in descent—an outfit that somehow managed to look both regal and like she could assassinate someone without spilling a drop of blood.

Veylira didn’t respond at first.

Saelira took one look at her, narrowed her eyes, then closed the door behind her with a decisive click. "You’re sighing again."

"I don’t sigh," Veylira muttered.

"You do sigh. You do it with the force of a hurricane wearing pearls."

Veylira looked away, jaw tight.

Saelira walked to the desk, leaned down slightly, and plucked one of the letters from the corner.

She didn’t have to read the name to know.

"Ah," she said, voice sharp as a blade softened only by time. "The bitch writes again."

"Saelira."

"No, no. I will be vulgar about this. Don’t you dare take the high road now, not when she walked out on you in the middle of the Night Rebellion, took half the treasury, and left nothing but a singed love note and a broken bed frame!"

Veylira sighed. Again.

Saelira raised an eyebrow. "Do not defend her."

"I’m not defending her," Veylira snapped, sharper than she meant to. Then, quieter: "I just don’t... understand why now."

"She’s a coward," Saelira said flatly. "And cowards get brave when time finally smacks them in the face."

Veylira leaned back in her chair, eyes tracing the grain in the blackwood desk. Her fingers played with the edge of her wine goblet, untouched for hours.

"She says she wants to see Kaelith," Veylira murmured.

"I want to see a volcano erupt over the Celestial Capitol but I don’t send them letters."

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of Veylira’s lips. "You’ve always hated her."

"No. I adored her," Saelira said, stepping around the desk and sitting on the edge like it belonged to her. "She was charming. Beautiful. Witty. A lying, irresponsible disaster. A perfect demon wife."

"She had her reasons."

"Oh, sweetling, don’t fall into that pit." Saelira’s voice gentled slightly, a rarity from her. "She had a choice. We all had reasons. Some of us stayed. She didn’t. She vanished when you needed her most."

"I had Malvoria," Veylira said softly.

"Yes. You raised a queen. Alone. And you did it damn well. But don’t twist that into a justification for her absence. You did it in spite of her. Not because of her."

Veylira stood abruptly, walked to the fireplace, and stared into the flames. Her back was ramrod straight, her hands clasped behind her.

"I haven’t thought about her in years," she said.

"That’s a lie."

"She hasn’t mattered in years."

"That one’s better."

There was a long silence between them.

The kind that came not from discomfort, but from truth.

Saelira rose gracefully, walking slowly toward her.

"Why didn’t you burn the others?" she asked, voice quieter now.

Veylira hesitated.

Then: "Because part of me still wants her to apologize."

"She won’t," Saelira said gently. "She’ll twist the blade, offer a smile, and ask for tea."

"She says we’re still married."

Saelira scoffed. "Please. That’s like saying a wine stain is still grape juice."

Veylira let out a soft, exhausted breath.

"I hate that she still makes me feel like this. That I still—" Her voice caught, and she cut it off with a shake of her head. "I should have buried her memory when she left."

"You did. But corpses have a way of clawing back up."

They both stood in silence again. The fire crackled, throwing gold across Veylira’s face.

"You’re still beautiful, you know," Saelira said suddenly.

Veylira blinked. "What?"

"Don’t pretend you didn’t hear. You still have the cheekbones of a goddess and the glare of a woman who’s planning political extinction over breakfast. You’re terrifying and radiant. You deserve someone who doesn’t vanish."

Veylira turned to look at her, eyes guarded. "Are you suggesting I go dating?"

"I’m suggesting you don’t let a ghost rewrite your worth."

There was something unspoken in the way Saelira looked at her then. Something fond, and not entirely unfamiliar.

"I’m too old for that," Veylira muttered.

"Oh, darling. We are immortal. You’re just hitting your prime."

For a moment, Veylira allowed herself to laugh.

Not the composed chuckle she gave nobles or the sharp one she used to intimidate generals.

A real laugh.

The kind she hadn’t let herself feel in a long, long time.

Saelira smiled and stepped back. "Whatever you decide, burn that last letter. Do it for yourself. Not because she doesn’t deserve to be heard—but because she already was. And she didn’t listen."

Veylira didn’t respond. Not right away.

After Saelira left, silent as a breath, Veylira turned to her desk.

She picked up the remaining letter.

Lucindra’s handwriting. Flowing. Beautiful. Just as manipulative as it had always been.

She held it over the flame.

Paused.

And whispered, "Not this time."

The parchment curled, caught fire, and turned to ash.

She watched until the last ember faded into nothing.

And this time, she didn’t flinch.