Malvoria watched as Elysia fumed, her glare sharp enough to cut through steel.
It was ridiculous.
The way her cheeks were slightly puffed out, her lips pressed in a thin line, her purple eyes sparking with frustration—it was almost adorable.
Almost.
Malvoria cleared her throat, forcing herself back to reality.
This was not something she should be thinking about.
She had already let things spiral too far.
Saving Elysia had been necessary. Ensuring her survival, practical. Even treating her wounds had made sense.
But this?
Bringing her food? Teasing her? Feeding her?
This was the kind of thing she shouldn't be doing.
Because it led to attachment.
And attachment was dangerous.
Malvoria knew that better than anyone.
She had spent years ensuring that nothing—no one—could be used as leverage against her. She had built her power on the foundation that she could not be swayed, that she could rule without the weight of unnecessary emotion.
