The weight of the dress fitting clung to Elysia long after the seamstress and her assistants left.
She could still feel the silk against her skin, the ghost of Malvoria's touch lingering where those gloved fingers had brushed the embroidery. The heat of it seemed imprinted into the fabric, no matter how she tried to shake it off.
You look like a queen.
The words echoed in her skull, unwanted and persistent.
Her pulse hadn't settled since Malvoria had walked away. She needed air. She needed distance.
She needed to remember who she was before all this.
The gardens.
The thought struck her as she paced the room. She'd seen them from her window—dark, sprawling, with towering hedges and strange, bioluminescent flowers that glowed faintly in the twilight. A place that felt separate from the oppressive stone walls.
Elysia grabbed a shawl, draped it over her shoulders, and slipped out of her chambers.
The hallways were busy with preparations—maids carrying armfuls of crimson ribbons, stewards muttering over parchment scrolls. No one stopped her as she made her way toward the gardens.
The moment she stepped through the archway, the cool air kissed her skin, sharp and clean compared to the stifling corridors.
The Demon Queen's gardens were deceptive in their beauty.
At first glance, they looked like any royal garden might—carefully manicured hedges, paved stone paths winding through beds of vibrant flowers. But the closer she looked, the more unsettling the details became.
The roses, black as ink, pulsed faintly like breathing creatures.
The flowers lining the path glowed softly, shifting colors when brushed by the wind. Their fragrance was sweet but tinged with something metallic, like blood.
Elysia trailed her fingers over a low hedge. The leaves were smooth but unnaturally cool.
She walked deeper into the labyrinth of stone paths, letting the eerie beauty distract her from the storm in her head. The tension in her chest slowly unwound as she inhaled the crisp night air.
She passed under a canopy of twisted, pale branches. The moonlight turned her silver hair into a mirror-like cascade that caught in the corners of her vision.
Who am I becoming?
That dress. Those preparations. The constant reminder that she wasn't just a prisoner; she was becoming part of this world.
The world that had burned hers to the ground.
She stopped beside a fountain carved from black stone. The water glowed faintly, casting rippling shadows across the marble bench beside it.
Elysia sat, wrapping her arms around herself, and closed her eyes.
The wind stirred the leaves overhead. The faint sounds of distant activity from the castle faded to a dull murmur.
She exhaled slowly.
"Escaping the wedding preparations?"
Her eyes snapped open.
The voice was low, smooth—familiar.
Elysia turned her head.
Malvoria stood a few feet away, partially illuminated by the glowing flowers.
Her black tunic hugged the sharp lines of her torso. Her trousers were tucked into knee-high boots scuffed from use, and her hair was loose again, falling in a dark curtain around her horns.
Those grey eyes caught the pale glow and reflected it back, cold and sharp.
Elysia's heart lurched.
"I needed air," she said stiffly, straightening on the bench. "Is that forbidden here too?"
"Breathe all you like," Malvoria said, stepping closer. "It won't change what's coming."
The words hit like a slap.
Elysia's hands clenched on her lap. "I know."
Malvoria tilted her head. "Do you?"
"I don't exactly have a choice," she snapped. "You made sure of that."
Malvoria's lips curved into a faint smile. "Survival requires sacrifice."
"Easy for you to say."
Malvoria took another step closer. "You think I haven't sacrificed anything?"
Elysia's laugh was sharp and bitter. "Like what? What have you sacrificed, Malvoria? You have everything. Power. This castle. My kingdom."
"Everything comes with a cost," Malvoria said, her voice low. "Even power."
"So, what? I'm supposed to feel sorry for you?"
Malvoria didn't answer immediately. She stepped around the fountain, her boots crunching softly over the gravel path.
The tension in the air shifted.
Elysia followed her with her eyes, heart pounding harder with each step Malvoria took toward her.
The queen moved like a predator—slow, deliberate.
When she reached the other side of the fountain, she stopped. Her gaze locked with Elysia's, unblinking.
"You hate me," Malvoria said softly.
The statement wasn't a question.
"Of course I hate you," Elysia bit out. "You destroyed everything I loved."
"I know."
The simplicity of the words made Elysia flinch.
Malvoria came closer. The glow of the flowers painted her face with silver shadows, emphasizing the sharp line of her jaw, the curve of her horns.
"So why do I care if you hate me?" Malvoria murmured.
Elysia's breath caught.
The question hung between them like a blade suspended by a thread.
"I…" Her voice faltered. "I don't know."
Malvoria's lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Neither do I."
The queen moved closer still.
Elysia felt the heat of her body through the cool night air.
Her instincts screamed at her to move. To stand. To put distance between them.
But she didn't.
She couldn't.
Malvoria's scent—leather, steel, and something faintly smoky—filled the space between them.
"You're afraid," Malvoria said, voice barely above a whisper. "Aren't you?"
"I'm not afraid of you," Elysia said quickly.
Malvoria's eyes darkened. "No?"
"No."*
Malvoria leaned down slightly. Her hand came to rest on the stone bench beside Elysia, fingers splayed. Her knuckles brushed Elysia's thigh.
The touch sent a jolt through her.
"Liar," Malvoria said softly.
The word sliced through Elysia's defenses.
She should have pushed her away. Should have stood. Should have turned and walked back to the safety of her chambers.
Instead, she stayed frozen as Malvoria's gaze dropped to her lips, lingered there, then returned to her eyes.
Elysia's pulse hammered in her throat.
The tension coiled tighter, pressing around them like invisible bonds.
The space between them narrowed to nothing.
Don't move.
Don't breathe.
Malvoria's gloved hand shifted on the bench. Her thumb grazed the edge of Elysia's thigh, just enough to make her shiver.
The heat from that touch spread through her like wildfire.
"Why does it matter to you if I hate you?" Elysia asked, her voice cracking.
Malvoria's expression shifted, the faint smirk slipping away. For a moment, she looked... lost.
"I don't know," she whispered.
The honesty in those words unnerved Elysia more than anything else.
The night air was cold, but her skin burned where Malvoria touched her.
The queen leaned in slightly, her breath brushing Elysia's cheek.
The tension stretched taut.
Then—
"Your Majesty!"
The voice shattered the moment like glass.
Malvoria straightened instantly, stepping back as though she'd been burned.
Elysia exhaled shakily, heart racing.
A demon servant stood a few paces away, eyes wide, clearly aware they'd interrupted something.
"What?" Malvoria snapped.
"The... floral arrangements," the servant stammered. "Lady Veylira wishes to confirm the final design."
Malvoria's jaw tightened. "Tell her to do whatever the hell she wants."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The servant bowed and fled.
Malvoria lingered for one more second.
Her eyes met Elysia's again—dark, unreadable, but filled with something that made Elysia's breath catch.
"One week," Malvoria said, voice rough.
Then she turned and left, her steps brisk, her shoulders tense.
Elysia sat frozen, her body still humming with the aftershock of that almost-moment.
The night air suddenly felt suffocating.
Her lips tingled with the memory of Malvoria's breath.
She didn't know if she was more relieved or disappointed that the queen hadn't kissed her.