A few days had passed, and the castle felt different.
It wasn’t that anything looked changed—at least not on the surface. The sa guards patrolled the halls.
The sa golden light pooled through the upper windows in the afternoon. Malvoria’s cloak still hung on its usual hook, and the scent of cedar and demonsteel still lingered faintly in the corridors.
But sothing in the rhythm of it all had shifted.
Maybe it was the weight of what Elysia carried now—quiet, hidden beneath silk and bone, small but undeniably present. Every day, her body whispered reminders.
A skipped al made her lightheaded. Too much tea made her nauseous. And once, a maid walked past with a tray of smoked at and she had to excuse herself before throwing up into a very expensive vase.
Still, she hadn’t told Malvoria. Not yet.
Because Malvoria’s birthday was in three days.
And Elysia wanted it to be perfect.
She wanted her gift to matter—not just sothing beautiful, not just sothing practical, but sothing that said everything without needing words.
Sothing that said: I see you. I trust you. I am with you.
But what did one give a demon queen who owned half the continent and looked terrifyingly flawless even when grumpy?
A crown? Too boring.
A new sword? She had twelve.
A frad sketch of Elysia wearing nothing but confidence? ...Tempting.
Which brought her to the demon village. With Malvoria’s mother.
The mont the carriage pulled into the market square, Elysia had known this was either the best or worst idea of her life.
Possibly both.
The air buzzed with life. Demons bustled between stalls made of blackwood and bone-marble, peddling everything from glowing fruit to enchanted fabrics that shimred between dinsions.
The air was heavy with spice, the scent of roasting at, and the faint burn of magic on the wind.
Veylira stepped out of the carriage like a queen descending into chaos, a smirk already tugging at her lips.
She wore a sleek traveling gown the color of eclipse shadow, and a silver sash with embroidered runes that made at least three rchants flinch.
Elysia followed, trying not to trip on the cobblestones.
"I’m just saying," Veylira began without preamble, "you’re overthinking it."
"I’m not. This is Malvoria. I can’t just give her a fruit basket and a nice letter."
"No, but you could get a really sexy outfit and wear it at night."
Elysia nearly tripped. "Veylira!"
"What?" Veylira’s grin widened as they passed a stand selling polished skull goblets. "She’d love it. She’d worship it. You know how intense she gets when you wear anything remotely scandalous."
"That’s not the point. I want sothing aningful."
"aningful and sexy isn’t mutually exclusive, darling. Trust . Her other mother once bought a jeweled whip—"
"I am begging you to stop talking."
Veylira cackled.
They passed a stall with singing glass flutes, another with spellbound mirrors that whispered complints in demonic when you looked into them.
One vendor offered "pocket-sized doom," but when Elysia asked what it did, he winked and said, "Depends on your enemies."
Nothing felt right.
Too silly.
Too sharp.
Too... impersonal.
They moved deeper into the village, the stalls becoming older, less polished. The market beca narrower, the goods stranger.
Old demon won sat behind counters with faces like carved bark, their eyes glowing faintly under hoods of starlight-threaded fabric.
That’s when she saw it.
Nestled between two pieces of old armor and a cracked stone bowl—almost hidden.
A dagger.
But not just any dagger.
It was short, curved slightly at the tip, the blade black as night and veined with silver. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather, and along the spine of the blade were intricate runes that shimred faintly with ancient magic.
She could feel the protection spells humming through the air like a low, silent chord.
It didn’t shout power.
It breathed it.
Slow. Steady. Unshakable.
She reached out, and the mont her fingers touched the hilt, sothing passed through her—like a pulse of recognition.
"Where did this co from?" she asked the rchant, a demon with three curling horns and molten eyes.
"It was forged in the Obsidian Forges of Kael’thura," he said, his voice like gravel. "Carried by queens, lost in war. Found again in the ruins. It bonds to the one who carries it."
Elysia looked down at the runes. They shifted slightly under her gaze.
Veylira peered over her shoulder. "Oh, this is nice. Ancient, dramatic, vaguely threatening—very Malvoria."
Elysia smiled faintly. "It’s more than that."
She could feel it.
This wasn’t just a weapon.
It was a promise.
Trust. Partnership. Loyalty.
The reflection of everything they had fought for.
It was perfect.
She purchased it on the spot, wrapped it carefully in enchanted cloth, and tucked it into her satchel. Veylira insisted on stopping for spiced dumplings and a bottle of demon honey wine, "for the nerves," but Elysia barely noticed.
She couldn’t stop thinking about the gift.
About the mont she’d give it to Malvoria.
About what else she would say that night.
She imagined them in their chambers. Firelight on the walls. Malvoria’s expression shifting from curiosity to realization. The feel of her hand brushing Elysia’s stomach. The look in her eyes.
Will she be happy?
Elysia didn’t know.
Malvoria carried so much. Weight beyond weight. Duty beyond understanding.
Would this child be another burden?
Or sothing else?
Sothing more?
She wanted to believe it would be joy.
That the woman who held her at night, who kissed her so tenderly behind closed doors, would look at her not as a queen but as Elysia, and feel only love.
The thought terrified her.
And thrilled her.
As they rode back to the castle, Veylira sipped from the bottle and grinned at her sideways.
"You’re glowing, you know," she said.
"I’m covered in dust."
"Glowing," she repeated. "It suits you."
Elysia didn’t answer.
She just placed a hand gently over her stomach again.And hoped the woman she loved would see the gift in it all.
The carriage rumbled gently over the stone path, the village behind them now a shimr of lantern light in the dusk.
Elysia leaned her head against the window, one hand resting over her satchel, the other curled beneath her shawl. Her thoughts were a quiet storm—daggers and birthdays and futures she couldn’t yet na out loud.
Across from her, Veylira swirled the last inch of honey wine in her goblet, watching Elysia with the kind of look that made her nerves hum. It was sharp, but not cruel. Patient. Knowing.
"You’ve been awfully quiet since we left," Veylira said, voice light.
"I’m just tired."
"You’re glowing."
"You said that earlier."
"I ant it earlier."
Elysia smiled faintly but didn’t reply.
The silence stretched again. Then Veylira leaned forward, setting her goblet aside. Her gaze drifted curious, calculating then settled on Elysia’s midsection. Gently, without speaking, she reached out and placed a hand over the slight curve of her belly.
Elysia’s breath caught.
It wasn’t much. Not enough to show. But still sothing.
"You’re pregnant," Veylira said softly.
Elysia blinked at her. "You—how did you...?"
Veylira gave her a fond, almost amused smile. "I’ve carried life. Twice. You don’t forget the way the magic changes."
Elysia stared, lips parting slightly.
"I didn’t read your mind," Veylira added with a chuckle. "It’s more instinct than anything. You feel... different. Radiant. And your magic is ever so slightly off-kilter. Just enough for soone like to notice."
Elysia placed her hand over Veylira’s. "I haven’t told Malvoria yet."
"I guessed that too." She paused. "She might not have sensed it."
"Why not?"
"Because she’s not looking for it. She’s too distracted. Focused on keeping you safe from the world outside. She wouldn’t think to check the world within."
Elysia lowered her eyes. "Do you think she’ll be happy?"
Veylira squeezed her hand gently. "Malvoria loves deeper than she lets on. If you give her this news with your whole heart... she’ll give you hers in return."
Elysia nodded, eyes bright.
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