Elysia woke up to the soft glow of dawn filtering through her windows, stretching lazily as reality settled in. Yesterday's conversation—no, declaration—from Malvoria played on a loop in her mind.
"Let's go on a date."
For a brief moment, she half-convinced herself it had been some bizarre fever dream. But no, as she dressed and made her way toward the castle entrance, there Malvoria stood, waiting.
And damn her.
Malvoria was not in her usual regal attire. Gone was the heavily embroidered uniform, the polished armor, the layers of fine fabric that screamed of power and authority.
Instead, she had opted for something far more practical—form-fitting dark trousers, sturdy leather boots that laced up her calves, and a sleeveless black tunic tucked beneath a deep crimson vest, cinched at the waist with a belt that held a dagger and various survival tools.
