I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 288: I think we’re finally home

6 months later...

"Can you please leave my castle?" Saelira snapped, the edge of her voice sharp but laced with a familiar weariness. "I’m fucking tired."

Elysia looked up from her scrolls, blinking as Kaelith bolted past like a miniature hurricane, silver-red curls bouncing, her chubby feet slapping furiously against the polished stone floor.

A vase toppled in her wake. Again.

"I’m working on it," Elysia said, voice calm in a way only deep maternal exhaustion could afford.

Saelira groaned and flopped dramatically into the armchair closest to the window. Her long navy sleeves trailed behind her like wilted banners.

"Six months. Six. I have not had a moment of silence since that child figured out what feet are for."

Kaelith screeched pure joy, pure chaos and launched herself into Malvoria’s arms across the room.

Malvoria caught her smoothly, scooping her up with a practiced motion that didn’t interrupt her conversation with the architect holding a bundle of crimson-dyed blueprints.

"She wants turrets," Elysia called out to no one in particular. "More turrets. Like twelve."

"Thirteen," Malvoria corrected without looking up.

Saelira sighed so deeply it rattled the windowpanes.

The estate had survived Lucindra’s downfall and its own share of dramatic history, but nothing had prepared it for a toddler with fire magic.

A boundless energy, and two queens who had turned Saelira’s grand ancestral home into a temporary war council, nursery, and construction planning headquarters all at once.

Six months had passed since the throne room cracked apart beneath their feet. Six months since Lucindra had vanished in a storm of fire and betrayal. Six months of ash, memory, and rebuilding.

And still—no rest.

But Elysia didn’t mind.

Not truly.

Not when every sunrise came with the sound of Kaelith babbling nonsense as she dragged plush griffons across the courtyard.

Not when every evening ended with Malvoria curled against her in the sitting room, tracing sketches for the castle’s western wing while Kaelith slept between them.

They were exhausted.

But it was a good kind of tired.

The new castle was rising from the earth like something grown rather than built—organic, deliberate, and nothing like the cold fortresses of the past.

Malvoria had refused traditional demon architecture. "No more black stone. No more spires that scream ’I drink blood and yell at clouds.’" Her exact words.

So Elysia suggested sandstone from the southern cliffs, streaked with warm tones of gold and rose. "Let it reflect the light," she said. "Not devour it."

Malvoria agreed instantly.

The first stones had been laid by their own hands. Symbolic, yes but deeply grounding. Lara had taken pictures. Raveth pretended to gag.

Veylira had said nothing but lingered longer than necessary before adding her own handprint in molten silver on one of the interior beams.

Now the castle walls stood high enough to catch the wind.

The outer gardens had already been mapped—flourishing with moonpetal vines, starroot blossoms, and little wooden paths for Kaelith to totter through with careful eyes.

Malvoria insisted on enchanted lights that would glow with her daughter’s laughter. "That way, we always know where she is. Or at least where she was fifteen seconds ago."

Elysia handled the interiors.

She wanted warmth.

So every room had windows—wide, arched, and lined with spellglass to keep the cold at bay.

The kitchens were designed in a circle, centered around a hearth large enough for ten people to gather. Not a place of efficiency. A place of gathering.

Bookshelves lined hallways. Nooks with cushions and enchanted quilts. Fireplaces with stories built into the runes etched in their mantels. It wasn’t a castle.

It was a home masquerading as one.

Kaelith’s room was the first finished.

The ceiling shimmered with a sky illusion that changed with the hour dawn-pink in the morning, deep indigo at night.

Her crib was carved from silverroot wood, ringed with soft enchantments and one protective rune from each member of their family.

She still refused to sleep in it.

Most nights she curled up between Malvoria and Elysia, head tucked under Malvoria’s chin, her toes pressed into Elysia’s ribs.

And they let her.

Every time.

"I heard you’re adding a second bathhouse," Saelira muttered one afternoon as she joined Elysia by the herb beds.

Elysia looked up from a list of tile samples. "We have guests. And Raveth takes up space like a sea lion."

"You’ve replaced a murder hall with three reading rooms," Saelira noted.

"Yes."

"A throne that didn’t move for four generations with a sofa that sings lullabies."

"Yes."

Saelira paused. "Good."

Elysia smiled.

It wasn’t just about rebuilding stone. It was about undoing expectation. About reshaping the very feel of a place. Lucindra’s reign had been sharp edges and narrow shadows.

Elysia wanted open doors. She wanted warmth at the center of the world.

"Do you think she’ll remember any of this?" Elysia asked later, watching Kaelith toddle across the construction site in her little dragon-scale boots. She looked so determined.

Like she might conquer something very small but very important.

Malvoria, standing beside her, folded her arms. "She won’t remember this."

"But?"

"She’ll remember what it felt like. Safe. Bright. Not because we told her it was but because it was."

Elysia glanced sideways. "You’re getting poetic again."

"I’ve been surrounded by architects for three weeks. They talk in metaphors."

Kaelith suddenly shrieked and pointed at a butterfly. Then chased it.

Straight toward an open pit.

Malvoria moved faster than wind, sweeping her up before the edge. Elysia winced, heart lurching even though she knew Malvoria would always catch her.

Kaelith blinked, blinked again—then laughed hysterically.

Malvoria exhaled. "She’s going to kill me before the foundation’s done."

"She’s her mother’s daughter," Elysia said.

They stood watching her for a while longer.

The castle rose behind them— caffolding draped in sunlight, banners half-hung, paint swatches on every third wall. A mess, but a living one.

And all around them, there was movement. Growth. Future.

Elysia took Malvoria’s hand.

"I think we’re almost there."

Malvoria squeezed it.

"I think we’re finally home."

Malvoria’s voice was soft—barely more than a breath—but it lingered between them like a charm, hanging in the sunlit air just long enough to settle in Elysia’s chest like warmth.

Elysia turned her head, kissed her on the cheek, and smiled. "We built something better than we ever imagined."

They stood there for a moment longer, side by side, watching as the castle’s south wing took shape.

Artisans moved like dancers in a silent choreography: stone layered, symbols carved, magic humming faintly as insulation spells were locked into the walls.

The golden sandstone shimmered with warmth, catching the late-afternoon light like a dream being woven brick by brick.

Kaelith squirmed in Malvoria’s arms.

"Are you trying to escape again?" Malvoria asked with mock suspicion, glancing down.

Kaelith gave a sudden, impish grin—the kind that always came just before chaos—and then pushed off her mother’s chest with surprising strength for someone with such short legs.

"Oh no you don’t—!"

But too late.

Kaelith slid down with a determined wiggle and landed on her feet, arms out like a tiny conqueror, her little dragon-scale boots scuffing the dust.

Then she was off again, a flash of silver curls and defiant energy, giggling as she tottered across the courtyard like she ruled it.

"Should we catch her?" Elysia asked, not moving.

Malvoria folded her arms, watching their daughter with amused horror. "She’s heading toward the painters. I’m giving her twenty seconds before something is permanently stained."

They didn’t chase her. Not yet. They stood and watched.

Kaelith ran toward a pile of cloth draped over fresh-painted balustrades, arms wide as if she meant to hug the entire world.

When she tripped because of course she did—she caught herself with both hands and blinked up at the sky like the clouds had betrayed her.

Then she sat down, legs splayed, and began patting the stones.

Elysia exhaled through her nose, a quiet, content sound. "She’s not afraid of anything."

"She doesn’t have to be," Malvoria said. "Not here."

The sun dipped lower.

The wind shifted gently through the scaffolding and flowers.

Kaelith stood again, wobbling slightly. She turned, facing them with a triumphant smile—her cheeks flushed, her arms covered in faint paint smudges.

Her eyes, those shimmering grey pools, found her mothers across the wide stone path.

She didn’t run this time.

She walked.

Clumsily. Slowly.

But deliberately.

And then she said "Mama."

The world stopped.

Elysia froze, heart caught mid-beat. For a split second, she wasn’t certain she’d heard it—wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the wind or her own wishful thinking.

But Kaelith’s gaze was locked on them.

And she said it again.

"Mama!"

Malvoria went still beside her, her eyes wide, stunned.

Elysia’s throat closed up.

Not because she wasn’t ready but because she had waited for this. For the moment a voice that had only ever cooed and shrieked finally spoke. Not a spell. Not a command.

A name.

Her name.

"Mama!" Kaelith called again, grinning with all her tiny teeth, like she knew what she’d done.