Elysia stood just beyond the grand double doors of the ceremonial hall, her fingers clenched tightly around the delicate lace of her gown.
The weight of the moment pressed down on her, each passing second a reminder that soon—too soon—she would walk through those doors and face what awaited her on the other side.
Malvoria.
Her breath caught involuntarily at the thought of the Demon Queen.
A few minutes ago, Elysia had seen her. And for one fleeting, infuriating moment, her mind had betrayed her.
She looked hot.
The thought had struck her like a bolt of lightning, unbidden and unwelcome. The way Malvoria's black and crimson suit had hugged her figure, the sharp angles of her jawline, the smoldering gray of her eyes framed by those unruly waves of red hair.
It wasn't fair. No one had the right to look that good, especially not today—not when Elysia needed every ounce of focus she could muster.
