People came and went

Malvoria sat at the head of the long, grand dining table, her fingers drumming idly against the polished black wood.

The flickering violet torches cast a warm glow against the dark stone walls, reflecting in the gleaming silverware and the deep crimson goblets filled with aged demonwine.

It was a lavish setting—one fit for a queen.

One fit for the winner.

Malvoria was patient. She had been waiting for Elysia to arrive, her thoughts strangely preoccupied with how the princess would look in the dress she had chosen.

She knew it would suit her.

She had an eye for these things.

Her gaze drifted to the only other occupant in the room—King Thalor, seated stiffly at the opposite end of the table, his face a mask of thinly veiled contempt.

His blue eyes had not left her since he had been escorted in. He had been glaring at her in unwavering silence, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair with enough force to make his knuckles turn white.

Malvoria, of course, didn't care.

After a moment, she exhaled through her nose, breaking the silence.

"You're going to see your daughter," she drawled lazily, tilting her head slightly. "Could you at least try to be happy?"

Thalor's expression darkened. "Happy?" He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You expect me to be happy when my daughter is being paraded around like some trophy in your castle?"

Malvoria merely arched a brow. "Paraded?" She gestured vaguely to the dining hall. "She's having dinner, not being dragged through the streets in chains. I'd say that's rather generous of me, wouldn't you?"

Thalor scoffed, shaking his head. "I don't need your twisted idea of generosity."

Malvoria smirked, leaning back slightly in her chair. "No? Then perhaps I should have just let her starve instead. That would have made you feel better?"

Thalor's jaw tightened. "You think you have won because she's here?" His voice was low, almost dangerous. "You think dressing her in fine clothes and seating her at your table makes you her equal?"

Malvoria's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Equal?"

She laughed, deep and rich, resting her chin on her hand as she studied him with interest.

"I don't need to be her equal, King Thalor," she murmured, her tone syrupy sweet. "I only need to be her queen."

Thalor flinched.

Ah.

There it was.

A crack.

A flicker of something deeper beneath the rage.

Malvoria leaned forward slightly, her golden eyes locking onto his. "And she will be mine," she said smoothly.

"No matter how much you fight it, no matter how much she resists, this is already decided. You should be thanking me—I could have killed you, but instead, I let her keep you."

Thalor let out a slow breath, his expression unreadable. "And what does she get in return?"

Malvoria smirked. "Me."

Before Thalor could respond, the grand doors to the dining hall swung open.

Malvoria's gaze immediately shifted, and the moment she saw her, a satisfied smirk curled across her lips.

The dress was perfect.

The deep royal blue contrasted beautifully against Elysia's pale skin, and the silver embroidery shimmered like liquid moonlight as she moved. The fabric hugged her frame in all the right places, elegant yet strong, regal yet delicate.

It suited her far too well.

Malvoria had chosen it perfectly.

Elysia stepped forward, her violet eyes scanning the room, landing first on Malvoria—her gaze sharp, unreadable—before flicking past her, searching.

Then she saw him.

King Thalor.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

The tension in the room shifted, thick and heavy, the silence stretching like a drawn bowstring.

Malvoria exhaled softly, rolling her shoulders before sighing dramatically.

"You can go see him," she said, almost bored. "It's not forbidden."

Zera, standing just behind Elysia, stiffened slightly but said nothing.

Elysia hesitated only a moment longer before stepping toward her father.

Malvoria watched, amused.

She wanted to see how this would unfold.

Malvoria watched as Elysia crossed the grand dining hall, her every step measured, her movements graceful despite the weight of the moment pressing down on her.

King Thalor remained seated, tense, his sharp blue eyes locked onto his daughter as if he hadn't truly believed she was real until now.

And then, without hesitation, Elysia moved.

She closed the remaining distance between them, and the moment she reached her father, she hugged him.

Malvoria observed the embrace with detached curiosity.

Elysia's arms wrapped tightly around Thalor's shoulders, her fingers gripping the fabric of his tunic like she was afraid he might disappear if she let go. Thalor hesitated for only a moment before holding her just as fiercely, his hand cradling the back of her head as if he could shield her from everything that had already happened.

Malvoria expected the moment to pass quickly.

It did not.

It dragged on, lingering in a way that should have been insignificant to her.

She had no real interest in such emotional displays.

She had seen countless families torn apart in war, seen daughters weep for fallen fathers, seen parents abandon their children to save their own skin.

People came and went.

Bonds were easily severed, no matter how tightly they were held.

Malvoria had learned that young.

Her own mother had been proof enough of that.

Not Veylira—not the mother who raised her, who sharpened her mind, who taught her how to wield power as effortlessly as breathing.

No, the other one.

The one who had left.

The one who had walked away and never come back.

Malvoria barely remembered her anymore. A vague shape in her childhood, a voice she had long since forgotten.

She supposed, at some point, it had hurt.

But that had been years ago.

She had long since grown out of the foolishness of attachment.

Now, watching Elysia cling to her father as if he were the last tether to something meaningful, Malvoria found herself distantly wondering how long it would take for her to realize how pointless it was.

People left.

People always left.

Either by choice or by force.

But she said nothing.

She simply leaned back in her chair, propping her chin against her fist as she idly swirled the goblet of demonwine in front of her.

Let them have this moment.

It would change nothing.