NOVEL NEXT Chapter 35: Two weeks
The heavy wooden door of Malvoria's office slammed shut behind her with a sharp, resonant thud.
She stood still for a moment, her eyes fixed on the polished obsidian floor beneath her boots. The rhythmic ticking of the enchanted clock on the wall filled the silence, counting seconds with a calm detachment that mocked the storm brewing inside her.
Her jaw tightened.
Two weeks.
The words echoed through her mind, reverberating against the walls of her carefully constructed defenses.
She hadn't planned to say it.
She hadn't planned for any of this.
But there it was—a decision made, spoken aloud, irreversible.
She would marry Elysia in two weeks.
Malvoria inhaled deeply, forcing her shoulders to relax as she crossed the room and dropped into the chair behind her desk. The worn leather creaked beneath her weight, familiar and grounding.
Her gaze landed on the neatly stacked reports spread across the surface. Supply routes for the newly annexed territories. Trade agreements being renegotiated with reluctant human merchants. Military reports detailing skirmishes along the border.
Work.
Endless, familiar, predictable work.
The kind of work she could bury herself in.
The kind of work she planned to bury herself in.
Because once the wedding was over, once Elysia was pregnant with the heir Malvoria needed, she wouldn't have to deal with the princess again.
That was the plan.
The only plan that made sense.
She would go through with the wedding, endure the uncomfortable ceremony, suffer through one night with Elysia—and then retreat back to the life she knew.
The life where emotions didn't matter.
The life where no one could make her feel like this.
Her fingers tightened around the quill on her desk, the delicate wood snapping with a sharp crack.
Shit.
She tossed the broken pieces aside and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples.
Why the hell had she said two weeks?
She could have postponed it for months. Could have demanded more time to prepare. Could have used the excuse of political logistics to delay it indefinitely.
But she hadn't.
Because the sooner it happened, the sooner it would be over.
And the sooner she could go back to her normal life.
A life without silver-haired princesses who smelled like lavender and rain.
A life without the sound of Elysia's voice echoing through her thoughts.
Fuck.
Her eyes squeezed shut.
It didn't matter.
None of this mattered.
All she needed was an heir. That was the entire point of this marriage.
A political alliance sealed with blood and lineage.
She didn't need a wife.
She didn't want a wife.
She needed a child to secure her rule, to solidify her claim over the conquered territories, to ensure her dominion remained intact long after she was gone.
That was it.
That was all.
And Elysia?
Elysia was nothing more than a necessary inconvenience.
A vessel.
A political tool.
Then why can't you stop thinking about her?
Her eyes snapped open.
That voice.
That insidious, nagging voice that had been whispering in the back of her mind for days now.
The voice that had made her step away from her desk earlier and walk to Elysia's room without any logical reason.
The voice that had made her grip the princess's wrists and pin her against the wall when she smelled another woman's scent on her skin.
Malvoria's jaw clenched so hard it ached.
The scent.
Her stomach twisted at the memory.
Zera.
The smell had been faint but undeniable—clinging to Elysia's skin like an invisible mark.
A claim.
The very thought of it made Malvoria's blood simmer with a sharp, possessive anger she didn't know how to name.
She hated it.
Hated the way it made her feel.
Hated the way her mind kept replaying the moment Zera had stepped between them in the training courtyard, slapping Malvoria's hand away like she had any right to interfere.
That woman was a problem.
One Malvoria could solve with a flick of her wrist if she wanted to.
But killing Zera would only make things more complicated.
And besides...
Elysia would hate you for it.
Malvoria exhaled through her nose and stood abruptly.
She paced to the window, staring out at the darkened courtyard below. The soldiers were training again, their swords glinting beneath the pale glow of enchanted lanterns. Their movements were sharp and disciplined.
Efficient. Controlled.
Unlike her thoughts.
The sooner this was over, the better.
In two weeks, she would say the words, place the ring on Elysia's finger, and claim her as her wife.
One night.
That was all it would take.
One night to secure an heir.
She wouldn't need to see Elysia after that. Wouldn't need to speak to her.
She could return to her office, to her endless work, to the comfort of her solitude.
Elysia could stay locked away in the east wing until the child was born.
And then—
Nothing.
No distractions.
No feelings.
No complications.
That was the logical course of action.
It was the only course of action.
So why did the idea sit like lead in her chest?
Malvoria's hand drifted to the hilt of the dagger at her hip, fingers tracing the cold, smooth metal.
She remembered the way Elysia had looked at her during the fight. The sharp focus, the fierce determination. The fire in her violet eyes.
She had been beautiful.
Strong.
Fearless even in defeat.
And she hated Malvoria.
The thought didn't sting as much as it should have.
Hatred was expected. Hatred was manageable.
Hatred didn't twist into something messy and uncontrollable.
What Malvoria couldn't handle was the idea that maybe—just maybe—that hatred might shift into something worse: indifference.
She didn't want to think about that.
Didn't want to think about why she even cared.
She turned away from the window and stalked back to her desk.
The reports sat there, waiting, demanding attention.
She forced herself into the chair and picked up another quill.
Work.
She would drown herself in work.
She would build fortifications along the new borders. Strengthen her armies. Allocate resources to solidify her rule.
Because soon, this would be done.
Two weeks.
Fourteen days.
That was all she needed to endure.
And then, once Elysia was pregnant, she could shove all of these distractions aside and go back to being who she was.
Who she had always been.
Cold. Detached. Unyielding.
The Demon Queen who conquered nations and bowed to no one.
Not even the princess who made her question it all.