The violin's melody wrapped around Elysia like a silken noose, tightening with each measured step.
Malvoria's hand on her waist burned through the thin fabric of her dress, the heat of that touch spreading across her skin with every shift of their bodies.
The warmth didn't stay where it started—it crawled upward, curling around her ribs, coiling low in her stomach until it became impossible to ignore.
The queen's grip was firm, controlling, as though she was holding herself back.
Their steps moved in perfect sync across the marble floor. The polished surface reflected the glow of the floating lanterns above them, casting shifting shadows with every turn.
Malvoria's fingers flexed slightly at Elysia's waist.
The subtle change should've gone unnoticed. But Elysia felt it—oh, she felt it. The sudden increase in pressure sent a shiver racing along her spine, tightening the air between them.
The queen's scent—leather, steel, and something darker, warmer—filled the small space that separated them.
And that space was vanishing.
Malvoria's grey eyes never left hers.
The dance was slow. Deliberate. And far too intimate.
Elysia's heart hammered against her ribs.
She should've spoken. Should've stepped back. Should've broken the tension coiling tighter with each passing second.
But she didn't.
She couldn't.
Because despite everything—despite the hatred she swore she felt, despite the war and the blood and the chains—this felt... good.
Her skin hummed beneath Malvoria's touch, an ache building beneath the surface. Her body moved instinctively to the rhythm the queen set, responding to the slight shifts in pressure from that gloved hand.
The violin's tempo slowed, the bow gliding across the strings like a sigh.
Malvoria's fingers flexed again.
The sensation sent a shock through Elysia's veins. Her breath caught in her throat.
The queen's jaw tensed.
Without breaking the rhythm of the dance, Malvoria turned her head slightly toward the musicians in the corner.
"Leave," she commanded.
The violin screeched to a halt. The musicians exchanged nervous glances but didn't dare question the order. Instruments were hurriedly lowered, bows tucked away, footsteps retreating toward the door.
The door creaked shut.
Silence fell.
The only sounds were their breathing and the soft scuff of Malvoria's boots against the marble as the dance continued.
The absence of music should've broken the spell.
Instead, it deepened it.
Without the melody, every sound sharpened—the whisper of silk brushing silk, the faint creak of leather as Malvoria's fingers tightened against her waist, the soft hitch of Elysia's breath when the queen's thumb shifted ever so slightly along the seam of her dress.
The pressure of that thumb, subtle but deliberate, made Elysia's knees weaken.
Her heart raced with confusion, with something that felt perilously close to anticipation.
Malvoria's gaze dropped to her mouth.
The moment stretched, thick and suffocating.
"You're learning," Malvoria said softly. Her voice was low, rough, vibrating through the air between them.
Elysia swallowed. "I..." Her words trailed off when Malvoria's thumb pressed more firmly into her waist.
The dance shifted.
Malvoria guided her into a slow turn, and the movement pulled their bodies closer—so close that Elysia felt the queen's breath against her cheek.
Malvoria's hand on her waist slid lower, the leather of her glove gliding over the silk. The pressure wasn't innocent. It wasn't a guiding touch anymore. It was something else—something hungry.
Elysia's breath hitched again.
The queen's other hand still held hers, but the grip had changed. It wasn't just leading anymore; it was anchoring.
Elysia could feel it—Malvoria's struggle for control.
Her own pulse answered it with a traitorous quickening.
The next step brought them chest to chest.
The contact sent a jolt through Elysia's entire body.
The silk of her dress was thin—too thin to muffle the solid warmth of Malvoria's body pressing into hers.
The queen's thumb shifted again, tracing a slow, circular path over the curve of her hip.
Elysia's legs turned to water.
Her mind screamed at her to stop this.
To push Malvoria away.
To say something sharp and cutting.
Instead, she exhaled shakily and let her eyes flutter shut.
The warmth of Malvoria's palm seeped into her skin through the fabric, the rough texture of the glove igniting sparks that spread outward in waves.
The hand at her waist shifted again—lower this time, until Malvoria's thumb skimmed the top of her thigh.
Elysia's breath caught.
Malvoria heard it. She felt it.
Because the queen's body tensed for the briefest of moments—like a predator scenting weakness—before her hand moved again.
Elysia bit her lip.
This isn't happening.
This shouldn't feel this way.
And yet, she didn't stop it.
The deliberate pressure of Malvoria's thumb traced slow, tantalizing circles along the curve of her thigh.
Their movements slowed until they were no longer dancing, merely shifting against each other in the empty, echoing ballroom.
Elysia forced her eyes open.
Malvoria's gaze was already on her.
The grey was darker now, like storm clouds gathering before a downpour.
Her breathing was heavier than it should have been after a simple dance. The muscles along her jaw twitched, betraying the strain of whatever war she was fighting internally.
Elysia couldn't look away.
The queen's hand moved again, inching higher.
The tension snapped taut.
Elysia's own breath faltered. The ache in her chest deepened, sharp and hot.
Malvoria's fingers twitched against her thigh. The motion was so small, so subtle, and yet it sent a tremor racing through Elysia's body.
She knew she should step back.
Break the moment.
Reclaim the distance.
But when Malvoria leaned in just a fraction closer, her lips parting slightly as though about to speak or do something else Elysia's body betrayed her completely.
She didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't resist.
The queen's hand tightened with bruising intensity for one unbearable moment—
And then Malvoria released her.
The sudden absence of that grip left Elysia swaying, knees weak and pulse erratic.
Malvoria stepped back, face carefully blank.
Only the storm in her eyes remained.
Her chest rose and fell with each breath as she stared at Elysia for a moment longer.
"It was good," she said again, voice hoarse.
Then she turned on her heel and strode away, boots striking the marble with clipped precision.
The ballroom doors closed behind her.
Elysia stood rooted to the spot, skin still humming from where Malvoria's hands had been.
Her legs trembled beneath her, her breathing uneven.
The silence of the ballroom swallowed her whole.
Her fingers brushed the spot on her thigh where Malvoria's thumb had lingered.
The heat was still there.
She sank onto the cold marble floor, mind spinning, body trembling.
And as the memory of Malvoria's touch replayed itself over and over in her mind, she realized with a cold jolt that scared her more than anything:
She hadn't wanted it to stop.