I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 305: Special instructions

The sun had softened by the time lunch faded into memory. A golden hush filtered through the castle windows, spilling into the sitting room where Elysia found herself curled on a plush velvet sofa beside her father.

Kaelith, their whirlwind of a daughter, was darting around the thick rug, clutching a wooden dragon in one fist and a handful of ribbons in the other.

There was something sweet about the quiet, something both rare and precious. It had been so long since she’d been alone with her father just the two of them, and, of course, Kaelith, whose concept of "alone time" was to make as much noise as possible.

Thalor sat back, watching Kaelith with the indulgent amusement of a man who had survived many years of parenthood.

His hair was a little grayer than Elysia remembered, and his eyes always so kind, so full of stories were edged now with gentle lines.

But he seemed younger, too, buoyed by joy at being surrounded by family.

"So," Thalor said, finally breaking the easy silence. "Are there any special instructions before I become the most important person in your daughter’s life for a day?"

Elysia grinned. "There are a few things you should know, actually. Kaelith... she’s wonderful. She’s also a menace."

"Like her mother, then," Thalor teased, nudging her with his elbow.

Elysia rolled her eyes. "She has her own brand of chaos. First—she’s been showing some unusual magic. Her fire isn’t red like mine—it’s purple. And she’s... well, she’s still learning control. So if anything starts smoldering, don’t panic. Just grab the sand bucket by the window."

Thalor looked immediately delighted. "Purple fire? That’s quite the talent. Your mother would have loved that."

Kaelith, as if on cue, waved her toy dragon in the air and shouted, "Fiyah!" Nothing burst into flames, but the curtains rippled as if they sensed trouble brewing.

Elysia lowered her voice, more serious now. "She also runs. Fast. For a ten-month-old, I mean it—she’s like a tiny thunderbolt. If she’s quiet for more than a minute, check under the tables or behind the big curtains. And—"

"Let me guess," Thalor said, smiling, "she likes climbing?"

"She’s part mountain goat," Elysia replied. "And lunch with her can sometimes be... difficult."

Across the room, Kaelith hurled her dragon, which bounced off the wall and skittered under a settee. She immediately began crawling after it, bottom wiggling in the air.

Thalor watched her with a grandfather’s patience. "She’s perfect," he said simply, and Elysia’s heart squeezed.

She leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment, letting herself feel just a little bit like a daughter again. "I missed you," she murmured.

Thalor squeezed her hand. "I missed you too. More than you can imagine. You, and Malvoria, and this little force of nature."

Elysia smiled, feeling some of the weight of the years between them lift. "How is Arvandor?"

A broad, proud smile lit up Thalor’s face.

"Flourishing. Truly. Better than I dared hope. Malvoria’s help and the funding she arranged... it changed everything." He paused to smile.

"People are no longer afraid to see demons on our streets. Trade is thriving. The schools are filled with children from every background—human and demon alike. The new city gates are nearly finished; I brought a painting to show you. The artists captured the blue tiles you suggested."

Elysia’s chest tightened with happiness—and a touch of longing. "I wish I could see it."

Thalor’s eyes sparkled. "You’ll come visit soon. Both of you. Maybe even bring Malvoria and Kaelith for the Festival of Lanterns. The people would love to see the princess, you know."

Elysia let herself imagine it: Kaelith darting among the lanterns, Malvoria marveling at the rebuilt city, laughter echoing through Arvandor’s winding streets. "We’ll come. I promise. It’s time she saw where her family began."

Kaelith reemerged from under the settee, face smudged with dust but triumphant as she waved her dragon in the air. She trotted back to Thalor, climbing onto his lap without hesitation and presenting him with the toy.

Thalor accepted it gravely. "Thank you, princess. I’ll guard him with my life."

"Mine," Kaelith said, tapping his nose.

Elysia grinned. "She’s very into ownership these days."

Thalor winked at Kaelith. "You sound like your mother. Or your other mother. Both have strong opinions on what’s theirs."

Kaelith giggled, patting his cheek, then clambered down again, busy with new mischief.

Elysia’s laughter faded into a softer, more thoughtful silence. She studied her grandfather’s face, trying to hold this moment—a rare, ordinary joy.

But then Thalor’s expression shifted, a shadow passing behind his smile. "There’s something else," he said gently. "This year... it’s been nearly ten years since your mother passed."

Elysia’s breath caught. She’d known the date was coming—she always did, her body remembering before her mind caught up—but the mention still hit with a pang of old grief.

"I know," she said softly. "Ten years."

"She would be so proud of you," Thalor said. "Of all of this. Of Kaelith. Of how you’ve built your life." freewebnøvel.com

Elysia swallowed. "Sometimes I wonder what she’d think of Malvoria. Of everything I’ve done."

Thalor’s eyes shone, gentle and steady. "She would have loved Malvoria. Fierce women were her weakness, after all. She always hoped you’d find someone who’d meet you as an equal. Someone who’d love you without flinching."

Elysia blinked away a sudden prick of tears.

Thalor reached into his coat and drew out a folded letter, the parchment soft from many readings. "This was for you. She wrote it the year before she died. I meant to give it to you when you were older, but... maybe now is the time."

Elysia took it with trembling fingers, running her thumb over her mother’s elegant script. For a moment she couldn’t speak.

Thalor cleared his throat, voice a little rough. "This year, Malvoria arranged for a generous donation to help us restore your mother’s grave. She said it was her way of saying thank you—for raising you, for helping build the bridge that brought our worlds together."

Elysia’s eyes widened. "She didn’t tell me."

Thalor smiled. "She wanted it to be a surprise. The new monument is almost finished. The sculptors have outdone themselves—your mother’s likeness, standing above a bed of carved lilies. There will be a dedication next month, just after Kaelith’s birthday. If you want to come, the city would be honored to welcome you."

Elysia pressed the letter to her chest, her voice thick. "I’ll be there."

Kaelith, perhaps sensing the shift in the room, clambered into Elysia’s lap and patted her cheek. "Mama sad?" she asked, eyes wide and worried.

Elysia smiled through her tears, brushing Kaelith’s hair back from her face. "Not sad, little one. Just remembering."

Kaelith nodded gravely, then leaned in to plant a wet, clumsy kiss on Elysia’s nose. "Better?"

Elysia laughed, hugging her close. "Much better."

Thalor watched them with pride and a little longing of his own. "You know, I thought I’d never see this again. Laughter. Love. For years, the castle was too quiet. Now... now it feels alive."

Elysia looked at him over Kaelith’s head. "You gave me everything, dad. You let me find my own way. Even when it hurt."

Thalor shook his head. "You gave me hope, Elysia. And now you’re giving it to your daughter."

For a long moment, they simply sat—three generations bound by love and memory, with a legacy of loss running through their veins and something bright and unbreakable blooming in its place.

"Tell me about Arvandor," Elysia said quietly, needing something lighter.

Thalor brightened. "The fields are blooming again—after the demons helped irrigate the southern valley, the harvest was the best we’ve had in twenty years. People no longer lock their doors at sunset. We’ve had feasts, dances, and only two minor incidents involving spellcasting and runaway goats."

Elysia grinned. "Just two?"

He nodded, beaming. "The goats have grown wiser. Or perhaps the mages have."

Kaelith perked up at the mention of animals. "Goat!" she chirped. "Baa!"

Thalor laughed, swinging her up onto his knee. "Yes, goat. Maybe when you visit, we’ll find a baby goat for you to play with."

Kaelith looked ecstatic at the prospect.

Elysia tucked her mother’s letter into her pocket, feeling the strange, hopeful ache that always came with talking about the past. "She would have loved this," she said, mostly to herself. "All of it. All of us."

Thalor nodded. "And she’d have scolded me for spoiling my granddaughter, but I’d do it anyway."

Kaelith reached for his nose, giggling as he pretended to bite her fingers. "Grandpa funny."

Elysia watched them, heart aching with the simple joy of it all.

Outside, the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in a wash of gold and rose. Inside, the sitting room was filled with laughter, old stories, and the steady, comforting beat of family—imperfect, ever-changing, and stubbornly, gloriously alive.

And as Kaelith wriggled free to chase her dragon across the carpet and Thalor squeezed Elysia’s hand once more, she thought: This is how we remember.

She would tell Kaelith, one day, all the stories. Of a queen who built bridges. Of a city that learned to love. Of a world where chaos and joy walked hand in hand.