Too much work

Malvoria sat in her office, drowning in an ocean of paperwork.

The heavy mahogany desk in front of her was buried beneath stacks of parchment—documents detailing everything from territory distributions to post-war negotiations.

The sheer number of reports, petitions, and logistical nightmares piled before her was enough to make even her head ache.

She sighed, rubbing her temples as she leaned back in her chair.

Who knew that winning a war would come with such an annoying aftermath?

With Thalor's kingdom crushed beneath her heel, there were countless loose ends to tie up—what to do with the newly conquered territory, where to place the survivors, how to integrate Arvandorian cities into her empire without causing complete chaos.

It was a logistical nightmare.

And to make matters worse, her mother had opinions about it.

Malvoria scowled as she recalled the conversation from just days prior.

The flashback was seared into her memory—a moment of humiliation that she would never forget.

She had been sitting in this very office, sipping her wine, feeling particularly victorious, when the heavy doors had swung open with an almost lethal elegance.

And there she was.

Veylira.

Malvoria's mother.

The only person in existence who could walk into her office unannounced and live to tell the tale.

Veylira strode in, her presence alone commanding enough to make the entire room feel smaller. Her deep crimson robes trailed behind her like a storm, her grey eyes sharp with disapproval.

Malvoria hadn't even done anything yet, but she knew she was in trouble.

Veylira didn't sit.

She merely crossed her arms and stared.

Malvoria sipped her wine, pretending not to notice. "I assume you're here to congratulate me on my flawless victory."

Her mother did not look impressed.

"If by 'flawless victory,' you mean destroying an entire kingdom without a plan for what to do after," Veylira said smoothly, "then yes, well done."

Malvoria exhaled sharply. "Oh, come on—"

"Malvoria."

That tone.

The mother tone.

Malvoria barely refrained from flinching.

Veylira stepped forward, placing both hands on the desk, leaning in slightly. "What, exactly, are you planning to do with the thousands of survivors now left without homes?"

Malvoria raised a brow. "Why does it matter?"

Veylira inhaled sharply, as if summoning every ounce of patience she had. "Because," she said, voice slow, measured, dangerous, "if you don't do something, you're going to have a rebellion on your hands in a matter of weeks."

Malvoria hated when her mother was right.

She had opened her mouth to argue, to dismiss the concern—

And then Veylira had smiled.

That smile.

That terrifying smile that Malvoria had inherited but would never use on her mother.

The room had felt colder.

"You will provide them with shelter," Veylira had said pleasantly. "You will ensure they are integrated properly. You will not let this turn into a disaster, or so help me, I will personally ensure you regret it."

Malvoria had gulped.

She had actually gulped.

And that was how she found herself stuck in her office, drowning in paperwork, because her mother was right, and now she had to figure out how to deal with all of it.

Malvoria groaned, rubbing her temples as she snapped out of the memory.

The sheer amount of work was overwhelming.

Maps were spread across the table, detailing the newly conquered lands, with notes scribbled in the margins about food shortages, supply routes, and city rebuilding plans.

Dozens of parchments were stacked into categories—one pile for military restructuring, another for tax adjustments, another for refugee integration (thanks to her mother's meddling).

She had letters to read, orders to sign, logistical reports to review.

And the worst part?

It wasn't even interesting.

Malvoria thrived in battle, in conquest, in the thrill of taking what she wanted with her own two hands.

But this?

This was boring.

She scowled at a particularly tedious report detailing grain distribution and shoved it aside.

Her fingers twitched with irritation.

Maybe she should go spar with the soldiers, burn off some of this frustration.

Or better yet—find an excuse to interrogate someone. That was always entertaining.

But no.

She had responsibilities.

Annoying, tedious, never-ending responsibilities.

Malvoria groaned again, dramatically dropping her head onto the desk.

Her horns thumped against the wood.

This was her life now.

War queen reduced to paperwork.

She was suffering.

A knock at the door interrupted her internal misery.

She lifted her head just enough to glare at the entrance. "What?"

The door opened, and a demon guard stepped inside, bowing slightly before straightening. His expression was carefully neutral, but Malvoria could already sense that whatever he was about to say would be interesting.

"The princess is training with the demon soldiers."

Malvoria blinked.

Slowly.

Then she sat up properly, her eyes narrowing as the words settled in her mind.

Elysia.

Training.

With her soldiers.

A slow smirk curled across her lips.

Finally.

Something worth her attention.

Malvoria pushed herself up from her chair with a fluid motion, stretching slightly as she stepped out from behind her desk.

Finally—something interesting.

She followed the guard out of her office, her pace unhurried but steady, her long strides carrying her down the winding corridors of her castle. The torches flickered as she passed, the violet flames casting sharp shadows against the obsidian walls.

She hadn't thought Elysia would integrate with her people so quickly.

If anything, she had expected the princess to remain distant, to cling to her father and that insufferable bodyguard, to refuse every opportunity to engage with the demons who now surrounded her.

After all, Malvoria had destroyed her kingdom.

Had taken her home, her title, her future.

It would have been natural for Elysia to resist.

Yet here she was—apparently training with her soldiers.

Malvoria's lips curled slightly.

Either the princess had more sense than Malvoria had given her credit for…

Or she was looking for a fight.

Both possibilities intrigued her.

As they neared the courtyard, the sound of clashing swords and sharp voices filled the air.

Malvoria stepped through the arched stone passage and into the open space, her golden eyes sweeping across the scene before her.

There was a crowd.

Demons lined the edges of the training grounds, their usual drills momentarily forgotten as they gathered to watch the match unfolding at the center.

And there—right in the middle of it all—was Elysia.

Her silver hair gleamed in the sunlight, her violet eyes sharp and focused. She moved with a warrior's grace, her sword flashing as she parried a powerful strike, her footwork precise and measured.

And the one facing her?

Malvoria's lips quirked upward in amusement.

Commander Varkos.

One of her best.

A towering demon with gray skin and curling black horns, his massive frame covered in dark armor. His blade was nearly twice the size of Elysia's, his strength enough to cut down even the fiercest of opponents.

And yet—

He was struggling.

Malvoria's eyes narrowed with interest.

Elysia was faster.

She moved like flowing water, her steps light, her reflexes razor-sharp. Every time Varkos swung, she was already gone, dodging just out of reach before retaliating with a perfectly placed strike.

Varkos growled, lunging forward, attempting to overpower her with brute force. His sword came down in a vicious arc—

But Elysia sidestepped at the last second, pivoting smoothly, her blade flickering in a blur of silver light.

Then—

A flash of movement.

A final, decisive strike.

And Varkos's sword was gone, sent flying from his grip as Elysia's blade stopped just short of his throat.

The courtyard froze.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then—

The demons watching erupted into murmurs.

Some surprised. Some impressed.

Varkos took a step back, his chest rising and falling as he processed his defeat. Then, after a long pause, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You fight well, Princess."

Elysia lowered her blade, her breath steady. "You do too," she said smoothly, though there was a spark of satisfaction in her eyes.

Malvoria chuckled softly.

The sound was enough to silence the murmuring crowd as every demon in the courtyard turned toward her.

Elysia's gaze snapped to Malvoria, her expression shifting from focused to wary in an instant.

Malvoria stepped forward, slow and deliberate, her eyes gleaming with something hungry.

"Can I have a fight too?"