Disgusting

The dinner continued, and Malvoria couldn't help but smirk to herself.

Of course, the food was excellent. She had the finest chefs in the entire realm—beings who had perfected their craft over centuries, demons who were paid handsomely to create meals that could rival those of the celestial courts.

The presentation, the flavors, the artistry—it was all perfect.

And watching Elysia eat, watching the way she tried to act unimpressed, was a quiet kind of victory Malvoria intended to savor.

She noticed everything.

The way Elysia took steady, measured bites, as if forcing herself to eat at a controlled pace.

The way her fingers twitched slightly when she tasted something particularly exquisite. The way her violet eyes flickered with reluctant pleasure at the burst of flavor on her tongue before she could school her expression back into something neutral.

She was enjoying it.

And Malvoria knew.

She didn't call her out on it. She didn't have to.

The knowledge sat comfortably in her mind as she sipped her wine, the rich taste lingering on her tongue as she observed the princess from across the table.

Zera, ever the thorn in Malvoria's side, was still tense beside her. She ate, but her every movement was calculated, as if expecting a trap at any moment.

The way she positioned herself—shoulders squared, sitting slightly turned toward Elysia—was a silent declaration of defiance.

It was almost amusing.

Almost.

Malvoria ignored her.

Instead, she focused on the final part of the meal.

The dessert.

She had ensured this part was special.

Not just for the sake of extravagance, but because she had done her research.

It had taken only a few inquiries, a few subtle questions directed at those who had once served in the Arvandorian palace, to learn of Elysia's preferences.

Her favorite fruit? Strawberries.

A simple thing.

But a detail Malvoria intended to use.

The doors opened once more, and the demon servants entered with trays of dessert, the soft clinking of silver and porcelain filling the air as they carefully placed each dish before them.

Malvoria watched Elysia closely as her own plate was set before her.

A delicate arrangement of rich vanilla cream and soft sponge cake, layered with fresh strawberries and drizzled with a dark, glossy syrup. A dusting of fine powdered sugar decorated the edges, creating a contrast against the deep red of the fruit.

A masterpiece.

A message.

The servants stepped back, awaiting the response.

Elysia's eyes fell on the dessert, and for a brief moment—so brief it almost didn't happen—her lips parted in the faintest flicker of surprise.

Malvoria smirked.

She had noticed.

She had recognized the effort.

But just as quickly as the moment came, it was gone.

Elysia's expression shut down, her fingers tightening slightly around the silver fork beside her plate.

She didn't speak.

She didn't thank her.

Of course not.

Malvoria didn't expect her to.

But the silence was enough.

She lifted her own fork, poised to take a bite—

And then—

The sound of porcelain shattering against the floor.

Malvoria's gaze snapped up just in time to see Zera, standing now, her fingers still curled from where she had just thrown the dessert to the ground.

The pristine, carefully crafted dish lay in ruins at her feet, the delicate layers splattered across the marble floor, the vibrant red of the strawberries almost violently stark against the dark stone.

A hush fell over the dining hall.

Malvoria's grey eyes darkened, her smirk gone.

The sharp crash of porcelain against the polished obsidian floor echoed through the dining hall, snapping the air into silence.

Malvoria's grey eyes narrowed, her fingers still curled around the stem of her wine goblet as she turned her gaze toward the source of the disruption.

Zera.

Standing beside her chair, jaw clenched, shoulders squared, her eyes burning with open defiance.

The shattered remains of her dessert lay in ruin at her feet, a mess of crushed pastry, smeared cream, and bruised strawberries staining the floor like spilled blood.

Malvoria inhaled slowly through her nose.

Tension crackled through the room, thick as a storm gathering at sea.

No one moved.

The servants remained still, watching the scene unfold with wide, uneasy eyes. King Thalor, seated beside Elysia, had gone rigid but did not interfere. He was watching closely, his sharp gaze unreadable.

And Elysia—

Elysia was staring at Zera, something unreadable flickering across her face.

Malvoria placed her goblet down with measured precision, the quiet clink of crystal against wood the only sound in the oppressive silence.

She did not raise her voice.

She did not slam her hands against the table.

She simply tilted her head, studying Zera as though she were something small and insignificant beneath her notice.

"Was there a problem?" she asked, voice deceptively smooth.

Zera exhaled sharply, her hands curling into fists. "This—" she gestured to the shattered remains of the dessert, "looks awful."

The words came out sharp, cutting.

Malvoria blinked slowly, her patience thinning by the second.

"Awful?" she repeated, her voice carrying the weight of something dangerous.

Zera didn't flinch. "Disgusting."

The demon chef, who had been standing nearby with the other servants, stiffened. His dark, curling horns twitched slightly, his red eyes flickering with something between offense and wariness.

But he did not speak.

He would not dare.

Zera scoffed, turning her glare to him. "You call yourself a chef?" she sneered, her tone dripping with disdain. "This looks like something a pig wouldn't eat."

The tension in the room shifted.

The insult was not just toward the meal—it was a direct challenge.

A deliberate provocation.

Malvoria's fingers twitched.

She was already standing before she realized she had moved.

Her chair scraped softly against the floor, her movements slow, deliberate, controlled.

Zera did not back down.

Malvoria could have laughed at the sheer stupidity of it.

But she didn't.

Instead, she took a step forward.

And then another.

The space between them disappeared in an instant.

One moment, Malvoria was still at the table, and the next, she was in front of Zera, her hand clamped around the warrior's throat.

The room shifted.

Elysia inhaled sharply, but she did not move—she did not interfere.

Thalor stiffened but did not speak.

The guards at the entrance tensed, awaiting orders, but none were given.

Malvoria did not squeeze.

Not yet.

Her fingers merely rested against Zera's throat, firm, pressing just enough to remind her who she was dealing with.

Grey eyes met blue in a silent war.

"I have tolerated you," Malvoria murmured, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. "I have allowed your presence."

Zera's jaw clenched, her hands twitching at her sides, but she did not struggle.

She was furious, but she was not stupid.

Not yet.

"But do not mistake my patience for weakness," Malvoria continued, tilting her head slightly. "Do not assume that because I have let you breathe freely, I will continue to do so."

She could feel Zera's pulse beneath her fingers—steady but fast.

Defiance still burned in her gaze, but Malvoria saw something else now, something lurking beneath the surface.

Recognition.

Realization.

Zera understood.

This was not a game.

This was not her kingdom, where she could throw around her arrogance without consequence.

This was Malvoria's castle.

And Malvoria did not tolerate disrespect.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then, slowly, Malvoria loosened her grip.

She did not release Zera—only allowed her a fraction of space, a small mercy.

Her grey eyes flickered to Elysia.

The princess had not looked away.

She was watching.

Not with fear.

Not with gratitude.

But with something else.

Something Malvoria did not have time to analyze.

With deliberate slowness, Malvoria stepped back.

The moment the pressure lifted, Zera inhaled sharply, her hands still trembling slightly at her sides.

But she was not finished.

Not yet.

Before Malvoria could fully turn away, Zera moved.

Not toward Malvoria—

Toward Elysia's plate.

In one swift, defiant motion, she grabbed Elysia's untouched dessert—

And threw it to the ground.

The porcelain shattered.

The elegant layers collapsed into an unrecognizable mess.

The strawberries, so carefully placed, now lay crushed against the black marble floor.

The silence that followed was absolute.