I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 299: That’s motherhood

Elysia hadn’t meant to come alone.

She’d meant to wait until Kaelith was truly asleep until the castle had gone still, until the last servant had finished sweeping rose petals from the hallway and muttering about royal absurdity.

But her body had moved on its own, guided by something quieter than urgency, but stronger than instinct.

The corridors were dim now, lit by gentle rune-lights along the base of the walls, casting pale gold halos on every polished surface.

The storm of the day the queen’s visit, the biting tension, Kaelith’s delightful interruptions had passed. But the atmosphere hadn’t quite settled.

Something still trembled in the air.

Elysia knew grief when it lingered. She knew how it could curl inside the bones of a place. And she knew where it was strongest tonight.

She stopped in front of the nursery chamber reserved for Sarisa and Aliyah and knocked lightly once. No answer. Another. Still nothing. She waited another few heartbeats before quietly nudging the door open.

The room smelled of lavender and warm stone. One of the enchanted candles had dimmed to a low, flickering pulse beside the carved bassinet, where Aliyah slept bundled in celestial blue, her soft breathing the only sound.

And beside the crib, seated in the armchair with one hand resting on its edge, was Sarisa.

She looked like marble in moonlight composed at first glance, silver hair falling over one shoulder in elegant waves, her shoulders square, posture regal. But Elysia had learned long ago how to look past the surface.

Sarisa’s cheeks were too pale. Her lashes slightly clumped.

And the unmistakable shine of dried tears lingered in the hollow of her eyes.

"Sarisa," Elysia said gently, stepping into the room and letting the door fall closed behind her.

Sarisa didn’t startle. She turned her head slowly and gave a soft, weary smile.

"You have that healer’s tread. Quiet enough to haunt."

"Didn’t mean to sneak," Elysia replied. "Just wanted to check in."

Sarisa nodded once. "I assumed someone would. Raveth threatened to tie me to the bed and make me sleep earlier."

"That sounds like her."

"I wouldn’t put it past her."

Elysia crossed the room and lowered herself onto the plush footrest beside Sarisa’s chair.

They sat like that in silence for a long moment. Only the rustle of Aliyah’s breathing, the quiet hum of magic stitched into the cradle’s frame.

Then Sarisa said, very softly, "Did you ever hate your mother?"

Elysia blinked. "Sometimes," she said honestly. "But I think it was more complicated than that. I hated what she wanted me to be. What she saw when she looked at me."

Sarisa’s fingers curled slightly.

"She saw a mirror. I see a war."

Elysia watched her quietly.

Sarisa looked down at her daughter, her voice barely a whisper. "What if I become like her?"

"You won’t," Elysia said without hesitation.

"You can’t know that."

"I can."

Sarisa turned toward her, and for the first time all day, the mask cracked.

"I love her," Sarisa whispered. "Gods help me, I do. Even when she’s cold. Even when she slices with her words. Even when she’s used me as leverage for court favor—there’s still that part of me that waits for softness. That hopes for it. And I hate that I still want her approval."

Elysia didn’t speak. She just reached over and placed her hand gently over Sarisa’s.

The contact was soft. Steady. Real.

"I’m afraid I’ll raise Aliyah to crave something broken," Sarisa went on. "That she’ll feel like she has to earn love instead of just... being allowed to have it."

"She won’t."

Sarisa’s voice trembled. "How can you be sure?"

"Because she has you," Elysia said. "And you’re already terrified of hurting her. That’s not something your mother ever felt, is it?"

Sarisa was silent.

"You love her," Elysia said. "Not because she’s perfect. Not because she’s your queen. But because she’s yours. That’s the difference."

Sarisa looked at her daughter again, breath catching slightly in her chest. "She’s so small. So defenseless. And already tied to so many legacies."

"She’ll break them."

"She’ll have to," Sarisa whispered. "Before they break her."

Elysia squeezed her hand. "You won’t let that happen. Neither will we."

Sarisa let out a slow breath. "What if the courts never accept her? What if they call her monster or mistake or threat?"

"Then we teach her how to bite back," Elysia said simply. "With words or magic or the right kind of smile. We teach her where her roots are—demon, Celestial, and everything in between. And we show her there’s strength in all of it."

For a long moment, Sarisa didn’t speak. Her fingers tightened around Elysia’s.

Then, without warning, she leaned forward and rested her forehead against Elysia’s shoulder.

It wasn’t a breakdown.

It wasn’t surrender.

It was trust.

Elysia didn’t move. She simply held her, breathing quietly in sync with the rhythm of the room.

"You’ll be okay," she whispered.

For a moment, everything felt still.

The kind of stillness that didn’t come from silence, but from something deeper—connection, presence, shared understanding.

Sarisa remained leaning against her shoulder, eyes closed, breath even. It wasn’t weakness that had brought her there it was weariness.

The honest kind. The kind that came when a woman had carried far too much for far too long, and was finally letting herself rest.

Then—

A soft, wobbly cry cut through the hush.

It started as a whimper.

Then came again, louder, more insistent.

Sarisa lifted her head slowly. "Aliyah..."

The baby stirred in her bassinet, face scrunching, fists waving gently through the folds of her blanket. Her little mouth opened in a half-hearted wail that rose into something stronger. Needier.

"She’s hungry," Sarisa said, eyes going wide with sudden panic. "I—oh gods, I haven’t—I mean I know how, I’ve studied the theory, and the healers gave me herbs and said—" She stopped herself, blinking quickly, clearly trying not to spiral.

Elysia reached over, placing a hand on her arm. "It’s alright. Breathe."

"I don’t even know if I have enough milk yet," Sarisa said, flustered, glancing between Elysia and the baby like one of them might have the solution written on their forehead.

"You do," Elysia said gently. "Trust me. She’s only a day old. She doesn’t need much yet. But she needs you."

Sarisa swallowed. "I haven’t even held her that way yet. The wet nurse offered earlier, and I said no—I wanted to try first, but I panicked, and now—"

"You’re still in shock," Elysia said softly. "Everything today. The queen. The birth. Your own heart racing in ten directions at once. Of course you haven’t settled into this yet."

Aliyah’s cries were growing louder now, shrill and unmistakable.

Elysia stood and moved to the cradle.

She lifted the newborn carefully, wrapping her tighter in the soft starlight-patterned cloth, and brought her over to Sarisa.

The baby calmed slightly in Elysia’s arms, though her mouth still searched, hungry and confused.

"Here," Elysia said, easing Sarisa back against the armchair’s cushions. "Let me help."

She guided Sarisa’s hands, letting her support the baby’s small head and body. Sarisa stared down at Aliyah like she might break in her arms.

"She’s so tiny," she murmured.

"Kaelith was the same," Elysia said with a soft smile. "Like holding a firefly. I was terrified I’d drop her."

"You? Terrified?"

"I nearly cried," Elysia admitted. "Malvoria was the one who taught me how to do this. Can you imagine? The big, scary queen gently lecturing me on nipple positioning."

That pulled a small laugh from Sarisa, shaky but real.

Elysia helped her adjust the baby’s wrap and shift the tunic Sarisa wore until Aliyah, with one last fussing sound, latched properly.

Sarisa inhaled sharply. "Oh."

"It can sting a bit at first," Elysia said. "You’ll get used to it. And she’ll figure it out, too. It’s all trial and error."

Aliyah suckled quietly now, small hands resting against her mother’s chest.

Sarisa stared down at her, something raw and vulnerable shining in her eyes.

"I didn’t think it would feel like this," she whispered.

"Like what?"

"Like... being undone."

Elysia didn’t speak for a moment. She simply sat beside her again and watched the way Sarisa cradled her child. The way her spine relaxed. The way the furrow in her brow slowly eased.

"That’s motherhood," Elysia said eventually. "It undoes you. Rips you open. Not just physically. Emotionally. You’re never the same. But somehow... you’re also more."

Sarisa let out a slow breath. "And you chose to do it again?"

Elysia laughed softly. "Not exactly. Kaelith was a surprise. But I would choose her a thousand times now."

Aliyah’s eyes fluttered closed as she suckled. Her cheeks moved in slow, determined pulls. Her breathing was soft and content now.

Sarisa looked down at her daughter like she was witnessing a miracle.

Maybe she was.

"I didn’t think I’d be able to do this," she said. "Not really. I said I would. I told Lara I would. But deep down I thought... I’d fail."

"You haven’t."

"She deserves better."

"She has better. She has you."

Sarisa looked at Elysia then, not like a queen, not like a diplomat, but like a woman holding her entire world in her arms.

"I’m so scared," she whispered. "What if I ruin her?"

Elysia took her hand again. Squeezed it.

"Then we’ll fix it," she said. "Together."

And in the quiet of that nursery, with candlelight dancing across stone walls and two babies asleep in nearby rooms, the future didn’t feel so overwhelming.