I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 231: She is ours

The room still smelled like heat and lavender and new life.

Malvoria couldn’t stop staring at her daughter.

Kaelith.

The name felt right, tasted right like it had always existed, waiting patiently in the void of destiny until this precise moment. Until now.

Wrapped in a pale silk blanket embroidered with silver runes, Kaelith lay nestled against Elysia’s chest, her tiny hands curling instinctively, her miniature red horns barely more than nubs, nestled beneath a halo of white hair streaked with crimson.

Purple flames circled the child lazily, harmless and majestic. They didn’t burn the bed linens. They didn’t start fires. They simply existed like an extension of the child’s breath.

Malvoria felt something uncoil in her chest, something ancient and primal. It wasn’t just love. It was the instinct to guard, to destroy, to protect with the kind of violence only a mother and a queen could manifest.

Her hand remained on Elysia’s, her thumb brushing small, absentminded circles against her knuckles.

She’d never felt anything so fragile, so fierce, and so complete in her life. Elysia had been her reason before. Now they had become a reason together.

She was so entranced she didn’t hear the door creak open.

"Oh," came Veylira’s voice, soft and reverent. "Is she...?"

"She’s perfect," Malvoria said, her voice raw and hushed.

Faelira was just behind her, flanked by Malvoria’s grandmother and several healers. They moved gently, slowly, as if they’d entered a sacred space.

The air shimmered faintly with magic—the warding runes in the nursery had come alive the moment Kaelith cried.

Protective spells wrapped the room in gentle arcs of light, pulsating in rhythm with the newborn’s heartbeat.

"Can we—?" one of the healers began, stepping forward slightly.

Malvoria stood, smooth and sharp as a blade drawn from its sheath. Her wings flicked with unconscious authority, the fire behind her eyes simmering to the surface.

"No," she said simply.

The room froze.

"She just entered this world," Malvoria continued, her voice calm but resolute. "She doesn’t need a hundred hands on her. Not today."

Elysia tilted her head up from the pillows, her expression a strange mix of amusement and tenderness.

"Protective much?" she teased softly.

Malvoria didn’t even hesitate. "She’s mine."

"She’s ours," Elysia corrected, smiling.

Malvoria’s shoulders loosened slightly, a breath escaping her as she sat again on the edge of the bed, her hand trailing toward the tiny bundle between them. "Yes. Ours."

Veylira raised both brows. "Well, that’s settled then. No one’s touching the tiny volcano queen without a full military escort."

"Or a signed peace treaty," Malvoria added dryly. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

The older woman laughed but made no move forward. Even her grandmother, who looked like she wanted desperately to scoop the baby into her arms, simply sighed and leaned against the doorframe.

"She’s born of flame and legacy," the old queen said. "That kind of power doesn’t come quietly. She’ll need time."

Malvoria glanced at her daughter, watching as one of Kaelith’s eyes fluttered open. Just for a second. Just long enough for Malvoria to see a flash of stormy grey—her own color, etched perfectly into her child’s soul.

"She’ll have time," Malvoria murmured. "We’ll give her that."

A gentle knock came from behind the door, and Lara poked her head in, looking strangely uncharacteristic—less chaos, more awe.

"I brought more strawberries," she said. "I figured the baby might be hungry."

"She doesn’t eat strawberries," Malvoria said with a huff.

"I meant Elysia," Lara rolled her eyes and walked in, holding a gold-rimmed bowl. "Also, wow. That’s... a baby."

Elysia chuckled weakly. "Very observant, Captain."

"She looks exactly like both of you," Lara said, lowering her voice, as if afraid the baby might explode if startled. "Like she could incinerate a nation or cry because her socks are the wrong color."

"She will cry for both," Malvoria muttered. "Simultaneously."

"I think she’s perfect," Elysia whispered, her lips brushing Kaelith’s forehead.

And Malvoria’s heart twisted again.

The protectiveness was still there, roaring under her skin like molten stone, but now it blended with something deeper. The bone-deep joy of knowing her world had changed forever and that for the first time—she welcomed the change.

"She’ll never be alone," she said softly. "Not one moment."

"You’re going to smother her," Lara mumbled behind a strawberry.

"Say that again, and I’ll smother you first."

Elysia coughed to hide a laugh. "She might take that literally."

"I always take things literally," Malvoria said, then tilted her head at Lara. "Especially when it comes to threats and strawberries."

Kaelith made a tiny sound, a hiccup or a sigh and everyone in the room stopped breathing again.

Malvoria touched the baby’s horn gently, reverently. "She’ll be strong."

"She’ll be loved," Elysia added.

"She’ll be feared," Veylira said under her breath.

"Like her mother," Malvoria agreed.

"Which one?" Lara grinned.

Malvoria turned, slowly, eyes narrowed. "Out."

Lara didn’t wait to be asked twice.

As the room emptied slowly grandmother with one last backward glance, Veylira mumbling about ordering another round of protection spells, and the maids cooing softly Malvoria found herself alone again with Elysia and their daughter.

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t heavy.

It was sacred.

She reached out, brushing her fingers along Kaelith’s hair, amazed at how soft it was.

"She’s real," Malvoria whispered.

Elysia leaned against her, eyes beginning to close from exhaustion. "She’s ours."

Malvoria nodded, placing a kiss on Elysia’s temple, then another to Kaelith’s forehead. She didn’t care that tears were rising again. She let them fall, quietly, warmly.

In her arms lay a future worth burning the world for.

Malvoria was watching the slow rise and fall of Elysia’s chest, her queen drifting in and out of exhausted sleep.

The weight of the last few hours still clung to the air like smoke after a storm. She had thought the palace walls had already known power, already held history.

And then Kaelith had cried her first breath.

A sudden, sharp wail pierced the silence.

Malvoria’s head snapped down. Her daughter’s tiny face had scrunched, her soft grey eyes clenched shut, her small fists waving in frustration.

The purple flames flickered again, flaring gently without heat, reacting to the spike of emotion.

Malvoria reached out instinctively, lifting the baby carefully. "What is it, little flame? You’ve only just arrived, and already you’re making demands."

Beside her, Elysia stirred and blinked slowly. "Is she crying?"

"No," Malvoria deadpanned. "That’s just her war cry."

Elysia let out a sleepy laugh and held out her arms. "Give her here."

Malvoria passed her over with extreme caution, as though Kaelith might shatter in her hands—though she knew the child already held the strength of two worlds.

Elysia shifted in the pillows and unfastened the front of her nightgown. Kaelith latched immediately.

Malvoria watched, silent.

A different kind of magic filled the room. Softer. Ancient. Sacred.

And Malvoria had never seen anything so beautiful.