The corridors outside her mother's office seemed longer at night, the white marble bathed in cold moonlight, every echo of her footsteps a reminder that this place was as much a cage as a palace.
Sarisa pressed a hand to her heart, trying to calm the tightness that had taken hold there ever since her mother's words.
Let Lara go. Be brave. Vaelen is the right choice.
She found herself drawn to the balcony at the end of the hallway, a favorite spot from her girlhood. The doors stood slightly ajar, letting in the cool, fragrant air.
Sarisa stepped outside, closing her eyes, letting the quiet hush of distant city life and the perfume of midnight roses soothe her frayed nerves.
She braced her arms on the stone balustrade and inhaled, slow and deep, willing herself to calm.
It wasn't enough. The ache inside her refused to fade. Even the stars, spread out above her in impossible abundance, seemed to blur at the edges.
She heard footsteps behind her—a measured, gentle tread. She didn't have to look to know it was Vaelen.
His presence was careful, practiced, designed not to startle but to reassure. She wondered if that came naturally, or if it was a skill he had learned for the court.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head, offering a tired smile over her shoulder. "Just needed air. I suppose you heard the dinner went as expected?"
He gave a soft huff, something between a laugh and a sigh, and came to stand beside her. "I don't think I'll ever get used to the way your family does 'polite conversation.'"
Sarisa's lips quirked. "We're experts at making everyone uncomfortable, even each other."
They stood in companionable silence for a time, the night wrapping them in its hush. Then Vaelen spoke, gentle as ever.
"You don't have to do everything alone, you know."
Sarisa glanced at him, reading only kindness in his golden eyes. "Sometimes it feels easier. Fewer people to disappoint."
Vaelen smiled, not unkindly. "You'd be surprised what people are willing to forgive. Or share."
There was something in his tone—open, sincere, and yet unburdened by expectation. Sarisa found herself grateful for it, grateful for his steadiness when she was anything but.
He hesitated, then offered, "Would a hug help?"
Sarisa let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "Yes, actually."
Vaelen didn't move quickly, giving her space, waiting for her to turn. When she did, he gathered her into a gentle embrace—nothing possessive or demanding, just a strong, reassuring presence.
She let herself relax against him for a moment, closing her eyes, letting his warmth steady her.
"Thank you," she murmured, drawing back after a few heartbeats.
He nodded, giving her a final, comforting squeeze. "Anytime."
They shared a smile, quiet understanding passing between them. He left her with a parting nod, and Sarisa lingered a moment longer on the balcony, then returned inside, feeling a little more centered.
The pull of laughter and voices drew her down the hall toward the sitting room. As she approached, she heard Kaelith's shriek of triumph, Malvoria's mock outrage, Elysia's gentle laughter, and Lara's dry, resigned drawl. The chaos was unmistakable.
She slipped in quietly, standing just inside the door for a moment, soaking in the sight: Kaelith and Aliyah sprawled over cushions, cards scattered like autumn leaves.
Malvoria and Elysia shared the settee, Malvoria's arms folded as if she was determined not to let a five-year-old's rule-breaking unnerve her.
And Lara—gods, always Lara—was perched on the edge of the table, a stack of cards in one hand, a smudge of ink on her cheek, her smile tired but stubborn.
Aliyah saw her first and leaped up. "Mama Sarisa! Come play cards! We need more grown-ups—the rules are too hard for Kaelith and aunt Malvoria."
Malvoria made a show of being offended. "Excuse me, I am a master of the ancient arts of card-playing. My only weakness is children who cheat."
Kaelith stuck out her tongue and promptly rearranged half the deck. "You're just mad I have more purple cards."
Sarisa felt a smile tug at her lips. The warmth, the noise, the mess of family—it made everything easier. She found a space between Elysia and Lara, perching on the carpet beside Aliyah.
Elysia slid her a cup of tea. "Rescued from the dragons' den at last. How's the air outside?"
Sarisa sipped, savoring the flavor, letting herself settle. "Cool. Clear. Less treacherous than this table, apparently."
Aliyah leaned into her, grabbing her hand. "You have to learn the rules, Mama. There are a lot. And you can't win unless you're the queen or the dragon."
Kaelith piped up, "Or if you have the most cards. Or the best hair."
Malvoria rolled her eyes. "Truly, a contest for the ages."
Sarisa looked over at Lara, meaning to share a private smile, but Lara's eyes skittered away, her face shuttered.
Something in Sarisa's chest tightened, but she let it go, turning her focus to the children's enthusiasm.
The game devolved quickly into good-natured bickering. Kaelith attempted to declare herself queen three times in a row.
Aliyah insisted on distributing extra cards to Sarisa, and Malvoria muttered darkly about the absence of any coherent rules in the universe. Elysia simply watched, sipping her tea, serene as ever.
It wasn't until the third round, when Aliyah and Kaelith declared themselves joint victors, that Aliyah let out a mighty yawn, rubbing her eyes with a flourish. The adults stilled, suddenly aware of how late it was.
Aliyah tugged on Sarisa's sleeve. "Mama? Can I sleep with you tonight? And with Mama Lara? I want both of you. Kaelith can come too. Please?"
Kaelith immediately nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Slumber party!"
Malvoria made a mock-groan, but she was smiling. "I suppose the queens have spoken."
Sarisa glanced at Lara, whose brows shot up but who offered only a helpless shrug. "If the royal decree is issued, who are we to refuse?"
Elysia winked at Sarisa. "You're braver than I am. Good luck getting any sleep."
The children raced ahead, tumbling down the corridor in a storm of giggles. Sarisa and Lara followed at a slower pace, awkward in the way only old friends can be when new distance has grown between them.
In the bedroom—spacious, full of plush pillows and a great canopied bed—Aliyah immediately dove under the covers.
Kaelith claimed the center, Sarisa let herself be swept along, laughing as Aliyah clung to her side, one arm thrown around her waist.
Lara settled on the other side, looking oddly shy, her usual bravado muted by exhaustion. Sarisa found herself grateful for the dimness; it made it easier to hide the sudden rush of feeling.
The night was a tangle of limbs and whispers. Kaelith tried to tell a story, Aliyah countered with a plan for a new cherry fortress, and finally, with Elysia's gentle shushing from the doorway, both girls settled into heavy sleep.
For a while, the room was peaceful. Sarisa stared at the ceiling, listening to the slow, even breaths of the children, the faint rustle of sheets, the distant hoot of an owl.
Lara lay awake beside her, hands folded behind her head, gaze fixed on the moonlit window.
Sarisa wanted to speak, to reach out, to say stay, but the words caught in her throat. It was enough, perhaps, just to have this moment—fragile, sweet, and more precious for how temporary it felt.
Sleep claimed her at last, the warmth of Aliyah's arm around her waist, the gentle rise and fall of Lara's breath near her ear, anchoring her in a dream of what might have been.
She woke with a start to soft morning light and the quiet hush of an empty bed. The children were gone—no doubt already halfway to the kitchens in pursuit of honey cakes—and Lara's side was cool, the pillow unmarked, her presence vanished like a shadow before dawn.