The silence between them was warm.
That rare kind of quiet that didn't feel empty—just full. Full of the things they didn't need to say right away.
Full of breath, and closeness, and the faint hum of magic running low and steady through the walls of the castle. Malvoria sat on the edge of the bed, her back straight at first, composed like always.
But then Elysia had leaned her head on her shoulder.
And it was over.
Everything inside Malvoria, every tension and calculation, just… slipped.
She turned her face slightly, her temple brushing the soft silver of Elysia's hair. The scent of her soap: jasmine and something faintly citrus settled into the air between them.
"Your hair's still damp," she murmured, running her fingers gently through the loose strands.
"You say that like you're going to dry it with fire magic."
"I've considered it."
"You burned your people for being nuisance."
"It was before."
