Malvoria didn't even know why she was here.
One moment, she had been buried in work, drowning in logistics and plans, her mind occupied with everything except the silver-haired princess.
And the next—
She was standing outside Elysia's chamber, her knuckles still tingling from knocking on the door, the weight of her presence pressing against the quiet space between them.
She had no plan.
No reason.
Her body had moved on its own, her instincts guiding her before her thoughts had even caught up.
Elysia stood before her, freshly bathed, the dampness of her silver hair still clinging to the ends, curling slightly against the deep blue fabric of her dress. The scent of the oils from her bath still lingered in the air, something soft and warm, clinging to her skin like a whispered temptation.
Malvoria forced herself to keep her expression neutral.
To pretend she wasn't bothered by any of it.
That she wasn't looking too closely.
That she wasn't noticing the subtle way Elysia's breath hitched at the sight of her, or how the princess's violet eyes widened slightly before she masked whatever emotion had flickered through them.
This was stupid.
What was she even doing?
Malvoria didn't make pointless visits.
She didn't linger in places without reason.
And yet, here she was, standing in Elysia's doorway like some fool who had wandered into a trap of her own making.
The air between them was thick with something unspoken.
Something dangerous.
Malvoria cleared her throat, straightening her posture, slipping back into the mask of cool indifference that had always served her well.
"The fight was good," she said, her voice steady, controlled.
A statement. Nothing more.
Elysia blinked, as if momentarily thrown off by the simplicity of it.
Then, she tilted her head slightly, crossing her arms in a way that was almost defensive.
"You mean for someone fighting with one hand?"
Malvoria smirked. "I mean for you."
Elysia's lips parted slightly, but she didn't respond right away.
Malvoria could feel the weight of her gaze, the way it trailed over her, lingering on the sharp edges of her uniform, the black and red fabric that clung to her form, the hint of armor that decorated her shoulders.
She was used to being looked at.
Used to being feared.
Admired.
Worshiped.
But this—
This was different.
And Malvoria hated how much she liked it.
She clenched her jaw slightly, stepping forward without thinking.
Elysia didn't move.
Didn't step back.
Didn't look away.
The air was charged now, crackling like a storm waiting to break.
Malvoria was too close.
Or maybe—
Elysia was too close.
She should leave.
She should say something sharp, something cold, something to shatter the moment before it became something neither of them could walk away from.
And yet—
She caught something in the air.
Something wrong.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, her senses sharpening as something foreign tugged at her instincts.
A scent.
A scent that was not hers.
Malvoria's entire body stiffened.
It was faint, barely noticeable beneath the scent of lavender and bath oils.
But it was there.
And it was hers.
Not Malvoria's.
Zera's.
The realization hit her like a blade to the chest, something primal snarling beneath her ribs before she could even think to stop it.
They had been close.
Too close.
Close enough that the warrior's scent clung to Elysia's skin, wrapped around her like an unspoken claim.
Malvoria hated it.
And she would not tolerate it.
Before she even processed her own movements, before logic could take hold, she was already acting on instinct.
Her hands moved fast, faster than thought, gripping Elysia's wrists and pinning her to the wall.
A sharp gasp left the princess's lips, her violet eyes widening as she was suddenly trapped, caged between Malvoria's body and the cold stone behind her.
Malvoria leaned in, close, close enough that their breaths mingled, close enough that the heat of her anger, of something else, burned between them.
Her voice was low, a dangerous growl beneath the surface.
"You seem to be forgetting something, Princess."
Malvoria's grip tightened slightly against Elysia's wrists, the warmth of the princess's skin beneath her fingers only fueling the fire burning through her veins.
The scent was still there.
Lingering.
Mocking.
She shouldn't care.
She shouldn't feel anything about this—about Elysia reeking of someone else, of that warrior who had the audacity to act like Malvoria's claim meant nothing.
But Malvoria wasn't someone who tolerated disrespect.
And right now, Elysia's scent was wrong.
Her eyes burned as she leaned in closer, her voice dangerously low. "Do you think this is a game?"
Elysia's breath was steady, but Malvoria could see the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers twitched beneath her grasp. "Let me go."
"Not until you explain," Malvoria murmured, her tone smooth but edged with something sharp. "Why does your scent reek of her?"
Elysia blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question, as if she hadn't even considered it an issue. "What?"
Malvoria inhaled slowly, the scent of Zera clinging to Elysia's skin like a silent insult.
It was subtle—faint beneath the oils from her bath, beneath the soft lavender that Malvoria had briefly liked when she first stepped close. But now?
Now it was a problem.
Elysia exhaled sharply. "It was just a hug."
Malvoria's eyes narrowed. "A hug?"
Elysia held her gaze. "Yes. Friends hug each other all the time."
Malvoria let out a quiet, humorless laugh, her grip not loosening. "Do they?"
Elysia rolled her eyes. "Yes."
Her defiance was almost impressive.
Almost.
But Malvoria wasn't amused.
Her blood still simmered, that instinctive part of her—the one that took what was hers—growing increasingly impatient.
Her voice dipped into something lower, something silk-wrapped steel. "You seem to forget," she murmured, "that you are not just anyone, Elysia. You are my future wife."
Elysia flinched.
Just slightly.
Just enough for Malvoria to notice.
The words had landed.
But Elysia—being Elysia—wasn't one to back down so easily.
"That's not my choice," the princess said, her voice level but firm. "It's yours."
Malvoria's jaw clenched. "Then act like it."
"By not hugging my friend?"
"By not letting your 'friend' act like she has a claim on you."
That was it.
That was what had truly set Malvoria off.
It wasn't just the scent.
It was what it meant.
It was the way Zera had pushed her aside, the way she had slapped her hand away, the way she had looked at Elysia like Malvoria was nothing more than an obstacle.
Malvoria wasn't an obstacle.
She was the one who decided.
She was the one who ruled.
And if Zera thought she could simply challenge her—challenge what belonged to her—then she was sorely mistaken.
Elysia exhaled, her gaze searching Malvoria's for something—understanding, patience, anything—but Malvoria wasn't offering either.
Not today.
"It was just a hug," Elysia repeated, softer this time. "Nothing more."
Malvoria stared at her for a long moment, the space between them suffocating.
She should let her go.
She should.
But her hands wouldn't move.
Her body refused to step back.
Because some irrational, infuriating part of her didn't believe her.
Or maybe—
Maybe she just didn't care.