I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 165: Impossible to miss

The castle loomed ahead like a sleeping beast cloaked in obsidian and pride.

Elysia sat upright now, though her body still hummed from the gentle warmth of Malvoria’s lap and the lingering sweetness of strawberries.

But as the carriage wheels rolled onto the outer courtyard stone, the weight of reality began to settle around her shoulders like a cloak returned.

The guards bowed sharply as the carriage halted, and the driver stepped down, opening the door with all the reverence due to a queen and her consort.

Elysia paused, hands folded neatly in her lap.

Then it hit her.

Oh no.

She had completely forgotten about the decorations.

The roses.

The vases.

The ridiculous—no, charming—explosion of soft color she’d unleashed across the demon queen’s terrifying, formerly colorless lair.

It had started as a small idea. Something to fill the silence when Malvoria had left for that two-week mission. The castle, as she’d found it upon arrival, had been dark.

Austere. Designed to intimidate. High vaulted ceilings with cold, echoing stone. Sharp-edged furniture. Candles that flickered more like warnings than ambiance.

She hadn’t wanted to change the castle.

Just... warm it.

So she’d gone to the royal gardens and asked for help.

Light pink and beige roses, freshly cut, had been arranged in delicate vases and placed along the great corridors and at the foot of every grand staircase.

She’d chosen glass and ivory ceramics with soft shapes, each one placed with care, the petals always trimmed in the morning to stay fresh. freeweɓnovel.cøm

It hadn’t been a rebellion. More of a... gentle invasion.

But then Malvoria had come home, and things had happened—so many things—and Elysia had never asked what she thought of it.

Now, as she stepped out of the carriage and felt the familiar cool breeze of the castle grounds brush her face, she looked up at the massive arched doors—and the two pale pink rose bouquets hanging on either side in freshly polished sconces.

Oh gods.

This was going to be awkward.

Malvoria stepped out behind her, boots crunching against the flagstones. Her cloak snapped in the breeze, and she stood tall, regal, the very image of a queen—until her eyes landed on the doorway.

Her expression didn’t change.

Not immediately.

But Elysia noticed the way one perfectly sculpted brow lifted.

She couldn’t help it.

She burst into laughter.

"Something funny?" Malvoria asked without turning her head.

Elysia covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking. "I forgot. I completely forgot I did that."

Malvoria’s eyes finally slid toward her.

"The roses," she said slowly, voice measured. "They were... impossible to miss."

"Did you think they were an assassination plot?"

"I considered it."

Elysia chuckled harder. "You walked past all that and said nothing?"

"I assumed it was some obscure Celestial diplomacy ritual and decided it was best not to ask."

"You let the castle stay pink for weeks just to avoid a conversation?"

"I have fought archdemons," Malvoria said calmly. "I have battled ancient gods and negotiated with murderers. None of that prepared me for a debate about interior design with a half-dressed, opinionated human."

"That’s fair."

They stepped into the castle, and the scent of roses hit them at once—soft, subtle, laced through the cool air like a lingering memory. The grand hall stretched ahead, light filtering through the stained glass windows and casting delicate color on the dark stone floor.

Beige and pink vases stood between imposing columns, small pools of gentleness in a palace built of iron and shadow.

Elysia smiled proudly.

Malvoria stopped walking.

"Elysia," she said, finally breaking her silence. "It’s... weird."

"Weird how?"

Malvoria gestured vaguely at the delicate floral arrangements. "This looks like a tea room for old high priestesses on their third reincarnation. Not a throne hall."

"I think it’s charming," Elysia replied, stepping past her. "You could use a little more color in your life."

Malvoria’s jaw tightened. "You are color."

"Exactly."

"I didn’t say that was a compliment."

"Oh, but you’re still not taking the roses down."

Malvoria opened her mouth and then shut it.

Because she wasn’t taking them down.

She’d had every opportunity, every resource, and every right to restore the halls to their cold, brooding glory.

But the flowers were still here.

Still trimmed.

Still watched every day as she passed by, refusing to be ignored.

Elysia glanced over her shoulder and grinned. "You like them."

"I tolerate them."

"Which, for you, is practically a love poem."

Malvoria exhaled sharply, and Elysia didn’t need to turn around to know her patience was unraveling like an old ribbon.

That’s when a familiar voice purred down the hallway.

"Well, well," said a rich, amused tone. "Someone’s glowing."

Malvoria turned instantly. "Mother."

Veylira, ever the storm in silk, stood at the top of the grand staircase with her red hair coiled into a crown-like twist, violet robes cascading down her body like liquid dusk.

Her skin glowed with subtle glamour, and her eyes—so much like Malvoria’s—glinted with undisguised mischief.

Elysia groaned quietly.

She was not ready for this.

Veylira descended with the grace of someone who had been watching the entire exchange from the shadows and was now choosing the most inconvenient moment to appear.

"I felt the carriage arrive and thought, surely my daughter hasn’t returned smelling like roses and looking suspiciously pleased with herself," she said, her smirk widening.

"But here you are. And here’s Elysia. Smiling. Pink everywhere. I wonder..."

Malvoria stepped forward, already bristling. "Don’t."

Veylira tilted her head. "Don’t what?"

"Don’t imply. Don’t insinuate. Don’t smirk."

"But I do those things so well."

Elysia tried very hard not to laugh again and mostly failed. "Good morning, Veylira."

"Oh, please," Veylira said, sweeping toward her. "Call me Mother. Everyone will, eventually."

Malvoria groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"MOTHER."

"Yes, darling?"

"Go bother your servants."

"I already did. They said I was being unbearable. So naturally, I came to see you."

Elysia leaned closer to Malvoria and whispered, "I see where you get it."

"I will murder you in front of witnesses," Malvoria muttered back.

"Aw. So romantic."

Malvoria turned to glare at her mother, who had now made a lazy circle around one of the rose vases and was gently sniffing the petals.

"You two had a productive trip, I assume?" Veylira said lightly, eyeing the lipstick smudge still barely visible near Malvoria’s jawline.

"We walked," Malvoria said flatly.

"Mm-hmm."

"We hiked."

"Of course."

"We talked."

"That’s what we’re calling it now?"

Malvoria actually hissed.

Elysia, giggling openly at this point, leaned against the nearest column and watched as Malvoria all but stalked toward her mother like a wolf chasing a very smug fox.

"I will exile you," she said.

Veylira grinned, entirely unaffected. "If you do, please send me somewhere warm."

"I’ll send you to the bottom of the eastern ocean."

"That’s dramatic."

"You raised me."

"And look how beautifully you turned out."

"Out!"

Elysia had to cover her face as Malvoria herded her mother who was still grinning and teasing every step of the way toward the side wing of the hall.

The whole thing was absurd, chaotic, ridiculous and it made something warm settle in her chest.

She liked this side of Malvoria.

She liked seeing her flustered, imperfect, and unguarded.

She liked her here, in the palace, with the scent of roses and the quiet promise of something that might actually last.

And then, from the far end of the hall, a new voice cut through the laughter.

"Can we talk, Elysia?"

Her smile vanished.

She turned.

Thalor stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.