Elysia's heart was pounding so loudly she thought Malvoria might hear it. The air in the room was thick with tension, the lingering warmth of the bath clinging to her skin, her damp silver hair sticking slightly to her shoulders.
Zera had already moved a few steps away from her, her body tense, but her gaze remained locked onto Malvoria.
The Demon Queen stood in the doorway, her presence as suffocating as it was undeniable.
In her hands, she held a dress.
Not just any dress—it was stunning. Deep royal blue, embroidered with intricate silver patterns that shimred under the flickering torchlight.
The fabric looked impossibly soft, expensive, sothing ant to be worn by soone standing on a throne, not a prisoner in enemy territory.
It caught Elysia off guard.
Why had Malvoria brought it herself?
Why had she co here at all?
For a mont, there was only silence.
Then, Malvoria's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Leave."
The word was directed at Zera.
Zera stiffened imdiately, her hands curling into fists. "I'm not going anywhere."
Malvoria let out a slow breath, as if she had expected this.
Elysia knew Zera was reckless, that she didn't care about authority, that she would rather die than bow to soone like Malvoria.
But Malvoria was not just soone.
She was a ruler, a warrior, and above all, a demon of terrifying power.
Malvoria didn't move.
She didn't lift a hand.
She didn't even blink.
And yet—
Zera gasped, her knees hitting the floor with a heavy thud.
Elysia's breath caught.
It had been effortless.
Malvoria had done nothing, and still, Zera had been forced to kneel.
Zera gritted her teeth, trembling as she fought against whatever invisible weight was pressing down on her. Her glare never wavered, her body straining against the unseen force, but it was useless.
Elysia's stomach twisted.
Malvoria's power wasn't just strength.
It was absolute.
"You will leave," Malvoria said, her voice low, unshaken, utterly in control.
Zera's breath was ragged, but she hated losing, and that much was clear in her eyes.
Still, even she knew when to retreat.
Slowly, painfully, she forced herself to stand.
She turned to Elysia, her expression unreadable, but her eyes burned with sothing fierce, sothing angry.
Then, she left.
But not before casting Malvoria one last glare, sharp enough to cut through steel.
The door closed behind her.
Elysia exhaled slowly, the silence between her and Malvoria growing heavier.
Malvoria did not look pleased.
Her grey eyes, usually filled with smug amusent or dangerous calculation, were darker now, sothing colder lurking beneath their depths.
But she did not speak of Zera.
She did not acknowledge what had just happened.
Instead, she took a single step forward, holding up the dress.
Elysia stared at it.
It really was beautiful.
Luxurious. Regal.
A dress fit for a queen.
And it made her sick.
She lifted her chin slightly, forcing herself to steady her breath.
"I don't want to wear that dress."
Elysia's words hung in the air between them, thick with defiance.
Malvoria did not respond imdiately.
Instead, she stood there, holding the dress with an almost unnerving stillness. The torchlight cast deep shadows over her sharp features, highlighting the cold calculation in her gray eyes, the barely restrained intensity in the way she breathed, slow and asured.
The silence stretched.
Elysia refused to look away, even as her heart pounded, even as the heat in the room felt suddenly suffocating.
She had ant what she said.
She would not wear that dress.
She would not be paraded around like so perfect, obedient little doll for Malvoria's amusent.
She had already lost so much—her ho, her kingdom, her freedom. This? This was sothing small, sothing insignificant in the grand sche of things, but it was hers to refuse.
Malvoria's lips curled into a slow smirk.
"You don't want to wear it?" she murmured, stepping closer.
Elysia swallowed.
Malvoria placed the dress down on a nearby chair, then rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt, exposing the intricate black tattoos that curled over the muscles of her forearms.
The movent was casual, but there was nothing casual about the way her eyes remained locked onto Elysia, nothing casual about the way she closed the space between them with slow, deliberate steps.
Elysia tensed.
Malvoria was not touching her.
Not yet.
But she could feel her presence, the heat radiating from her, the weight of her power pressing into the room like an invisible force.
"You misunderstand sothing, princess," Malvoria finally said, her voice low and smooth, as if she were explaining sothing simple, sothing inevitable.
She reached out, and Elysia flinched—only for Malvoria to grab the towel that had been loosely wrapped around her.
Not pulling it.
Just holding it between her fingers.
"You can refuse to wear that dress," Malvoria continued, her thumb brushing over the fabric, "but I will not have you walking around my castle barely clothed like this."
Elysia's breath hitched.
A slow heat crept up her neck, unbidden, unwanted.
"I don't belong to you," she snapped, stepping back, but Malvoria followed, relentless, unshaken.
"Not yet," Malvoria murmured.
Elysia clenched her jaw.
Malvoria tilted her head, studying her, as if she could see the fire raging beneath Elysia's carefully controlled expression, as if she could feel the way her pulse was betraying her.
"You're trembling," Malvoria observed, voice almost amused.
"I am not," Elysia hissed.
Malvoria smirked.
And then, without warning, she moved.
A blur of strength, of calculated speed—Malvoria caught Elysia's wrist and twisted, not painfully, but with enough force to throw her balance off.
Before she could process what was happening, she was falling—
No, pinned.
The air left her lungs as she hit the bed, Malvoria pressing her down effortlessly.
One knee between her legs, an arm caging her above her head, grey eyes glinting with sothing dangerous, sothing unreadable.
Elysia froze.
Her heart was wild.
Malvoria was not hurting her.
She wasn't forcing anything.
But the sheer weight of her, the controlled strength in her grip, the way she hovered just close enough to steal the breath from Elysia's lips—
This was power.
This was control.
And Elysia hated how it made her feel.
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