I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 160: We’ll come back

The world had shifted.

Not just around them—but within her.

Elysia lay on her back, half-curled against the quilt, her skin still tingling in the places Malvoria had kissed, touched, claimed.

Her body hummed with magic, but it wasn’t hers—it was warm and dense, threaded through her veins like sunlight in deep water. It smelled faintly like fire and salt and wind.

Her fingers found a patch of grass near her hip and curled into it, grounding herself, even though she already knew she’d never forget the way Malvoria had said her name.

Whispered it. Growled it. Gasped it.

The air still felt saturated with something more than heat—thick with magic, reverent silence, and the remnants of shared breath. Her pulse, though slower now, still beat in rhythm with another’s.

Malvoria’s.

They hadn’t spoken much afterward. Words felt too fragile, too imprecise for what they’d just done—again, and then again, as if something ancient had taken root in them both and wouldn’t be sated by just one moment of surrender.

The canopy above them had changed.

Elysia noticed it first when she stretched lazily, blinking up at the now-dim sky through the vast branches of the heart tree. The leaves were no longer pink.

They were red.

A deep, flushed crimson—like blood, or flame, or the inside of a secret kept too long.

Her breath caught.

"Malvoria..."

A quiet hum answered from beside her. Malvoria lay on her side, half-propped on one elbow, one leg draped loosely over Elysia’s thighs.

Her braid was messy, wild from Elysia’s hands. Her skin held that post-magic glow, the kind that shimmered under the last fingers of light before nightfall. But it was her eyes that held Elysia.

They glowed.

A fierce, luminous red deeper than usual, like something had broken open inside her and refused to close again.

Elysia reached up and brushed a strand of hair from Malvoria’s cheek.

"The leaves..."

Malvoria followed her gaze upward, then made a low sound that could’ve been a chuckle—or maybe regret.

"Ah," she said.

Elysia arched a brow. "That’s it? Just ’ah’?"

Malvoria’s smile crooked sideways. "I might’ve let a bit too much of my magic out."

Elysia laughed, breathless. "A bit?"

Malvoria rolled onto her back, the quilt shifting beneath them. "It’s a heart tree. It reacts to magic offered in love. And... I might’ve been generous."

Elysia tilted her head. "They were pink before. Now they’re—what, crimson?"

"They’ll turn pink again. Eventually."

"Is that a metaphor?"

"Yes," Malvoria said dryly, "but also literal. It’s just... remembering what we gave it."

Elysia looked back up at the leaves, glowing like lanterns in the fading light. She reached toward them, not to touch, but simply to feel the way they vibrated in the air.

Magic still clung to everything her skin, the grass, Malvoria’s breath.

The world was quieter now. The birds had stilled, replaced by the low murmur of wind threading through the high mountain trees.

The shadows had stretched long, wrapping around the edges of the clearing like curtains drawing closed.

"I suppose we should go back," Elysia said, though she didn’t move.

Malvoria sighed through her nose. "I hate that sentence."

"I thought you liked practicality."

"I tolerate it."

Elysia grinned. "That’s such a queen answer."

"You love it."

"I might."

Malvoria turned toward her, elbow braced in the grass, and leaned down to press a soft, unhurried kiss to Elysia’s temple.

"We’ll come back," she murmured. "Promise."

Elysia felt her throat tighten. She didn’t trust promises. But this one under these trees, with the magic still whispering in her bones it didn’t feel like the kind people broke.

It felt like something sacred.

Malvoria reached into a small satchel that had somehow survived their many distractions, and withdrew a folded parchment etched with runes.

One side was stitched with silver thread, the other darkened with charcoal ink.

"A teleportation seal," she said, meeting Elysia’s eyes. "I keyed it to the cabin before we left."

Elysia sat up slowly, tugging her travel jacket loosely around her bare shoulders. "You planned all this."

Malvoria arched a brow. "I don’t improvise intimacy, Elysia."

There was no arrogance in it. Just truth.

The parchment glowed between her fingers as she activated it, runes sparking once in a soft red flare.

The wind shifted sharply, and Elysia felt that familiar ripple in the air the tension of space folding, the world bending just enough to let them through.

They stepped into the circle together.

In a blink, the mountain clearing vanished.

Warm wood and the scent of spice met them. The cabin welcomed them back like an old friend quiet, low-lit, its hearth casting golden flickers along the walls.

Elysia stepped out of the teleportation circle and glanced around. It was strange—she had woken here this morning, uncertain and restless. Now, it felt entirely different.

The air smelled like home.

Malvoria moved first, shrugging off her cloak and hanging it by the door. Her fingers still glowed faintly from the teleportation, the magic not yet settled.

Elysia watched her for a moment watched the way her shoulders rose and fell, the way she moved more carefully now, as though something unspoken had shifted between them and couldn’t be ignored.

Not that either of them wanted to ignore it.

Elysia turned and wandered into the kitchenette. She found a simmering pot of stew likely spelled to reheat once they returned and ladled it out into two bowls.

Malvoria joined her a moment later, setting down two glasses and a bottle of red wine she’d probably brought along without mentioning it.

They sat at the little table.

It should’ve felt awkward. Rushed. The kind of accidental intimacy people trip into and then scramble to undo.

But it didn’t.

They ate quietly at first, the only sound the soft clink of spoons and the crackle of fire. The stew was simple—root vegetables, tender meat, hints of thyme and clove—but comforting.

After a few minutes, Elysia looked up.

Malvoria was watching her again.

Not with hunger.

Not with calculation.

Just... watching.

"What?" Elysia asked.

Malvoria leaned forward slightly, voice quiet. "It feels different."

Elysia didn’t pretend to misunderstand. "It does."

"Not just the magic," Malvoria continued, fingers tracing the edge of her glass. "Not just the sex."

Her voice dropped lower, almost hesitant.

"It’s the way you looked at me afterward."

Elysia inhaled slowly.

"And how did I look at you?"

Malvoria’s lips quirked, faint and crooked. "Like you meant it."

The truth settled between them like another log tossed into the hearth—sudden, warm, glowing.

"I did," Elysia said.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

No teasing.

No walls.

Just the knowledge that something had changed between them, something they’d both been circling for far too long.

This wasn’t their first time. But it was the first time after saying the things that scared them. After touching without armor. After laying themselves bare in more than just body.

And that changed everything.

---

After dinner, Elysia wandered to the hearth and stood before it, arms folded as the heat licked at her skin.

Her hair had begun to fall loose again, silver strands curling at the ends. Behind her, she heard the sound of wine being corked, the rustle of linens as Malvoria tidied the table with quiet efficiency.

And then a presence behind her—warm, close, and familiar now in a way that made her breath catch.

Malvoria’s hands slipped around her waist, resting lightly, barely a weight at all.

Elysia leaned back into her.

They stood like that in silence, watching the fire.

"I don’t know where this is going," Elysia whispered.

"Neither do I."

"But I’m not afraid of it."

Malvoria’s chin rested against her shoulder. "Good. Because I’m already in too deep to go back."

Elysia turned in her arms, her expression unreadable—but her hands were certain as they found Malvoria’s hips, her waist, her jaw.

"So am I."

They kissed again—slow and sure, the kind of kiss built not from fire but from the warmth that comes after, when the embers glow deep and steady.

When they pulled apart, Malvoria rested her forehead against Elysia’s.

"We’re moving fast," she murmured.

"I know," Elysia replied.

But neither of them stepped away.

Instead, Malvoria reached for her hand and led her to the bed, where soft sheets and heavy quilts waited, where the scent of pine lingered in the wood.

They didn’t make love again—not yet. They just lay there, side by side, hands entwined between them.

The night deepened.

Outside the cabin, the wind whispered through the trees.

Inside, the silence was peaceful.

And beneath the soft glow of firelight, two women who had once circled each other like opposing storms finally found a place to land.