I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 162: We have to leave

Elysia had said they were going to get ready.

She had meant it, too honestly, she had. Her feet had touched the wooden floor with real, determined intent.

There’d been brushing of hair, the casual threat of cold water to the face if Malvoria didn’t stop kissing her neck, and even a halfway serious discussion about whether black or navy was more intimidating when worn before noon.

But then she’d entered the bathroom.

And somehow, somehow, the concept of "getting ready" had been utterly, gloriously annihilated by what followed.

The bath had been her idea. A quick one. A soak, a scrub, and a dash of decency before facing the world.

She’d filled the deep copper tub with hot water, added a few drops of fragrant oil from the little bottle she’d found on the shelf, a citrus and cedar and had just sunk in when the door creaked open.

She hadn’t even opened her eyes when she said, "Don’t even think about it."

Too late.

Malvoria didn’t think. She entered—with the smug grace of a predator who knew damn well there was no escaping her.

What followed was less bath and more a waterlogged battle for dominance. There had been a moment of real effort on Elysia’s part, where she’d tried to tell Malvoria that this was not what they meant by ’getting ready.’

And Malvoria had nodded seriously, kissed her collarbone, and then proceeded to distract her in every conceivable way.

So now Elysia stood wrapped in a soft towel, hair still damp, body thoroughly exhausted in all the best and worst ways, facing the real challenge of the morning: choosing clothes.

"I’m trying to concentrate," she said aloud, glaring at the open trunk of garments near the foot of the bed.

"Mmhm," Malvoria replied from where she was lounging on the bed behind her, one arm draped dramatically across her stomach like a romantic heroine and the other extended to lazily toy with the end of Elysia’s towel.

"I mean it," Elysia said, swatting her hand. "We have to leave."

"You already said that," Malvoria murmured, utterly unrepentant. "You also said no distractions before dragging me into a bath and kissing me like a war criminal escaping justice."

"I did not drag you in! You climbed in like some unrepentant swamp witch and made noises that would’ve gotten us evicted from any respectable inn."

Malvoria gasped theatrically. "How dare you insult my bath etiquette. I am a demon queen. I have perfectly respectable bath noises."

"That’s not even a thing!"

"It is when I say it is."

Elysia groaned and pulled a tunic out of the trunk, only to hesitate halfway through putting it on when Malvoria’s gaze flicked up and down her body like a very slow, very smug scan.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you’re planning your next war strategy and I’m the battlefield."

Malvoria smirked. "Accurate."

Elysia yanked the tunic on and tied the waist with exaggerated violence. "You are impossible."

"I’m in love."

"With chaos."

"With you."

That earned Malvoria a shoe tossed gently at her stomach, which she caught mid-air like some kind of annoying predator bird.

Elysia turned back to the trunk and considered a second layer. The air up the mountain had been sharp the day before, and it would only get colder the closer they got to the higher paths.

She chose a fitted black jacket with silver trim and pulled it on.

Malvoria, meanwhile, had not moved.

"What are you wearing?" Elysia asked without turning.

There was a long pause.

"...nothing."

Elysia froze. Then turned slowly.

Malvoria was still gloriously, obnoxiously naked, the blankets pooled just below her hips, an expression of complete innocence on her face.

"Malvoria."

"Yes?"

"Put. On. Clothes."

"Convince me."

"I swear to every old god—"

"You already did that. In the bath."

Elysia threw up her hands. "This is why no one in your court dares question you. They’re all terrified you’ll seduce them into paperwork abandonment."

Malvoria finally, finally, rolled off the bed with the sinuous grace of a creature made entirely of night and irresponsibility.

She strolled across the room like she hadn’t just spent twenty minutes being a nuisance, opened her satchel, and pulled out her own travel gear.

Black pants, silver-laced boots, and a fitted dark vest over a wine-red shirt—because even in the woods, she looked like she’d walked off the cover of a forbidden romance novel someone would smuggle into a monastery.

Elysia sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to look while pretending she wasn’t definitely looking.

"Stop distracting me."

"You called me a swamp witch and now you want me to stop being interesting? Pick a side."

Elysia snorted, pulling on her boots. "I’ll pick exile if you keep talking."

"You can’t exile me. You like me too much."

There was a pause.

"...Unfortunately."

Malvoria smiled like she’d won something important and unnecessary.

They ate standing up, both of them too energized—and too wary of what might happen if they sat down again.

The meal was simple: bread, dried fruit, slices of cheese, and a shared cup of something dark and sweet Malvoria had poured from an unlabeled bottle.

It tasted like honey and memory.

When they stepped outside, the air bit softly at their cheeks. The clearing was quiet. The tree line shimmered with morning frost, but the sun was rising quickly, bathing the path in long golden light.

Elysia adjusted the collar of her jacket and looked around one last time.

The cabin stood behind them, quiet and worn and perfect in a way that made her chest ache.

She glanced at Malvoria, who was adjusting the strap on her cloak.

"That was really nice," she said, voice low. "We might... do that again sometime."

Malvoria sighed.

Then looked toward the winding path that disappeared between the trees and muttered, with all the suffering of a cursed soul:

"The magic carriage is waiting for us at the beginning of the mountain. We have a lot of walk to do."

Elysia stared at her.

Then cursed loudly enough to scare a squirrel out of a nearby tree.