I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 314: We’re home

Elysia sat in the soft hush of dusk, arms wrapped around her knees, watching the first few stars struggle through the still-glowing sky.

Malvoria, beside her, was gathering the remnants of their picnic: folding the blanket, tucking the half-empty wine bottle and cheese into the basket, shaking out crumbs for the birds.

Reluctance tugged at Elysia’s chest. She wanted to press pause, to stretch this day until it filled a year, a lifetime—just her, Malvoria, the silver thread of the river, and the hush of the wild valley.

But Kaelith’s bright face flickered through her mind, the way she always woke from sleep asking for them, as if absence itself were the strangest dream.

Malvoria, catching her gaze, smiled. "It’ll still be here. Next year. Or next week, if we want." She squeezed Elysia’s hand, then stooped to pack the last tart. "Let’s go home."

Elysia helped, laughing as Malvoria made a show of wrestling the blanket into the basket. They rinsed plates in the river, dried their hands on wildflower-scented grass, and finally shouldered their bags.

The teleportation shard Saelira had provided pulsed warm and steady in Malvoria’s palm, ready to take them back across miles and kingdoms to where their daughter waited.

A last glance—one more sweep of river, moss, and flowers in moonlight—then Malvoria drew Elysia close, spoke the travel word, and the world spun around them in a wash of blue light.

They landed in the teleportation chamber with a soft rush of displaced air. Candlelight flickered along the walls; the hush of midnight hung heavy.

For a moment, Elysia listened—half-hoping for chaos, half-bracing for it. But the corridor was silent except for the distant tick of a clock, the faint creak of wood.

Malvoria grinned, raising a finger to her lips. "Maybe everyone’s already asleep. What are the odds Kaelith hasn’t burned anything down?"

Elysia returned the grin, a current of nervous affection running through her. "Fifty-fifty. Or maybe sixty-forty, in favor of fire."

They padded quietly down the stone halls, their footsteps swallowed by plush carpets. The castle felt different without Kaelith’s shrieks or the hum of servants—sleepier, older, as if the walls themselves were dozing off.

They set their basket on a side table near the main entrance, each moving instinctively in sync, shedding coats and shoes by the door.

Malvoria paused, listening. "Where do you think they are?"

"Kitchen, if there was dessert. Or the library, if my father’s trying to be responsible." Elysia tipped her head, sniffing the air. "Do you smell—" she broke off, nose wrinkling, "—smoke?"

They exchanged a look and hurried on, winding toward the sitting room where Thalor had promised to keep Kaelith entertained.

The closer they got, the more obvious the scent became: not the sharp panic of real fire, but a faint, lingering singe—like someone had gotten a little too close to a candle.

Elysia pushed open the door and stopped in her tracks, one hand flying to her mouth to stifle a laugh.

The scene was absurd: Thalor lay sprawled on the velvet settee, one leg dangling off, shoes abandoned, mouth slightly open as he snored. His royal blue robe—already two sizes too big—was smudged and distinctly singed at the hem.

His once-immaculate white shirt bore a series of small, sooty holes, and a crust of what looked suspiciously like jam clung to his chin.

On the thick rug at his feet, Kaelith was curled on her side, using a plush dragon as a pillow.

She wore only her undershirt and socks—one blue, one green—and her hair stood out in wild curls, a faint smell of singed feathers wafting up from the tips.

Around her, a circle of broken crayons, cookie crumbs, and a battered deck of playing cards marked the epicenter of her personal storm.

A burnt candlestick stood in the middle of the coffee table, wax melted into a lopsided sculpture.

Elysia blinked. On the mantel, one of the family portraits hung crooked, its frame darkened with what looked like a soot-smudged handprint.

Malvoria clapped a hand to her forehead. "I leave for one day..."

Elysia bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "At least nothing’s on actual fire. Yet."

They moved softly into the room, careful not to wake either mischief-maker. Malvoria knelt by the settee, inspecting her father-in-law with mock concern. "Is it possible to die from too much Kaelith?"

Elysia grinned, dropping to sit beside her daughter. She brushed a strand of hair from Kaelith’s cheek, heart melting at the sight of her peaceful little face, jam-smeared and wild. "She looks so innocent when she’s asleep."

Malvoria huffed. "That’s how she gets away with it."

They exchanged a look, the sort of long-suffering amusement only parents could share. Gently, Elysia scooped Kaelith into her arms.

The little girl grumbled, curling tighter against Elysia’s chest, but didn’t wake fully—just tucked her head beneath Elysia’s chin and muttered, "No more frogs."

Elysia chuckled and pressed a kiss to her daughter’s brow. "No more frogs, starshine. Just bed."

She motioned for Malvoria to help and together, they tiptoed down the corridor, Kaelith limp and heavy in Elysia’s arms, her breath soft and even.

As they passed a window, moonlight spilled across Kaelith’s face, and for a second, Elysia saw the baby she’d once cradled in the dark, tiny and fragile, fire magic barely a flicker beneath her skin.

Now, Kaelith was a force of nature—chaos incarnate, sweet and stubborn, a little queen in her own right.

In their room, Malvoria turned down the covers and Elysia eased Kaelith onto her side. The girl stirred, clutching her dragon, but only mumbled something about "cake for breakfast" before settling back to sleep.

Elysia stood for a moment, watching her daughter breathe. Even with cookie crumbs in her hair, Kaelith was beautiful—hers, and Malvoria’s, and so much her own.

Malvoria slipped an arm around Elysia’s waist. "We did well, you know. Even if she’s a terror."

Elysia smiled, leaning her head on Malvoria’s shoulder. "She gets it from you."

Malvoria huffed a laugh. "She gets your stubborn streak."

"She gets both." Elysia pressed a kiss to Malvoria’s cheek. "And that’s perfect."

They lingered, unwilling to break the spell. Outside, the castle was silent—no more fires, no more shrieking, just the hush of night and the promise of sleep.

Eventually, Elysia let out a sigh and took Malvoria’s hand, leading her back to the sitting room.

Thalor was still there, snoring softly, one foot twitching with some private dream. The burned hem of his robe made Elysia smile.

Her father, king of Arvandor, reduced to a sleep-deprived babysitter, a living testament to the might of Kaelith’s will.

She shook him gently. "Dad. Time to wake up."

Thalor startled, eyes flying open, then blinked at Elysia and Malvoria. He took in the empty room, the remnants of chaos, and grinned sheepishly.

"You’re back! I—ah—everything went splendidly. She’s...ah..." He trailed off, noticing his singed robe. "She’s sleeping, right?"

Elysia couldn’t help it—she hugged him, fierce and grateful. "Thank you, dad. For everything. I know she’s a handful."

He hugged her back, rumpling her hair. "She is a joy and a menace. But she’s got your mother’s stubbornness, and your sense of mischief." He grinned, winking at Malvoria. "And her other mother’s ability to set things on fire with a single glare."

Malvoria held up her hands, laughing. "I deny everything."

Thalor chuckled, easing himself to his feet, stretching out the kinks in his back. "She’s in good hands. Besides, what’s a little singed robe among family?"

Elysia smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. "Still, thank you. We owe you a new robe." freeweɓnovel.cѳm

He waved her off. "Keep your robes. Give me more of these days—laughter, mischief, family. That’s all I want."

Elysia blinked away sudden tears, caught off guard by the ache of gratitude she felt for this man—her father, her daughter’s grandfather—who, for all his royal dignity, had never hesitated to let himself be covered in jam and soot for the sake of love.

Malvoria clapped Thalor on the back. "Next time, we’ll leave her with the Celestian Queen. See how she handles it."

Thalor’s eyes widened in mock terror. "Don’t do that to the poor woman."

They all laughed, the sound carrying through the sleepy halls.

At last, Thalor bade them goodnight, shuffling off in search of a warm bed and, no doubt, dreams of less hazardous royal duties.

Elysia lingered in the sitting room with Malvoria, basking in the quiet, the weight of the day settling around her like a soft cloak.

She looked at her wife, saw the reflection of her own happiness in those dark, mischievous eyes.

"We’re home," Elysia whispered.

Malvoria nodded, drawing her close. "We’re home."