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Malvoria had ruled a realm soaked in blood, stood unshaken against war councils and assassination plots, and had once burned an entire battlefield to ash with nothing but her voice and the crackle of her flame.

But today, she was surrendering.

Not to an enemy. Not to weakness.

To love.

With a simple signature and an arched brow, Malvoria handed the thick stack of military ledgers to her mother, Veylira.

Then, without a word, she slid the diplomatic reports toward her grandmother, Saelira, who blinked behind her spectacles as if Malvoria had grown a second head.

"Excuse me?" Saelira's voice was sharp. "Did you just give me the entire tax brief from the Western border and a list of emissary visits for the next three weeks?"

"Yes," Malvoria said flatly.

"And the trade ledger?"

"Yes."

Saelira narrowed her eyes. "Do I look like your secretary?"