Sarisa had grown used to surprise her life was a revolving door of unexpected visitors, strange magical scrolls, or little girls covered in cake.
But nothing, nothing in years of diplomacy and chaos, had prepared her for the sight of Lara disheveled, wild-eyed, and very much present suddenly blinking into existence in the center of her private chamber while she, Sarisa, stood completely naked by her bed.
For the space of a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Sarisa's mind was still in the afterglow of hot water and scented oil, her body relaxed and vulnerable, her hair falling loose and wild down her back, golden tattoos glowing along her arms and collarbone.
She'd been reaching for her robe, not expecting a soul, let alone Lara, to appear in a shimmer of demon magic.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, there was only silence—the kind that roared louder than any battle cry.
Then Sarisa's skin flushed from throat to cheekbones in a single wave. She lunged for her robe, snatching it up and dragging it around herself, cinching the sash so tightly she almost cut off circulation.
The silk clung to her damp skin, barely containing the shiver of adrenaline and embarrassment.
"LARA!" Her voice bounced off the walls, sharp with shock and something rawer, more vulnerable. "What in the seven hells are you doing—why—are you even looking—turn around!"
Lara, to her credit, whirled so quickly she nearly spun out of her own boots. She flung her hands up, eyes squeezed shut as if she'd seen a basilisk. "Sorry! Sorry, I swear, I didn't mean—my magic—it's not—I was just—oh gods—"
But her momentum carried her a step too far. Her heel caught on the edge of the thick carpet, and she toppled forward with all the subtlety of a falling statue.
Papers, a small stack of books, and a delicate vase of roses went flying. There was a crash, a muttered curse, and Lara landed on her knees, face still pointed determinedly away from Sarisa.
Sarisa winced, both from the crash and from the absurdity of it all. "For the love of—open your eyes and see what you've done! That was a gift from Elysia!"
Lara cracked one eye open, then quickly clamped it shut again, red-faced and mortified. "I'll—uh—I'll pay for it. Or fix it. Just tell me where to look. Or not look. Or—" She sounded like she'd swallowed her own tongue.
Sarisa, robe barely clinging to her shoulders, glared daggers at the broad expanse of Lara's back.
"Are you serious? I'm about to have a heart attack, you're knocking things over like a wild beast, and you can't even look at me like an adult?"
Lara's head dipped lower. "You're naked!"
Sarisa gave a short, exasperated laugh. "You think I don't know that? I live here! Why would you teleport into my room? Do you have any idea how inappropriate—"
But she stopped short as Lara, shifting in her crouch, managed to upend a small jewelry box and the lamp beside it. Both clattered to the floor, rolling beneath the bed.
Lara finally opened her eyes, just enough to peer at the damage, still determinedly not looking at Sarisa herself. "I swear, Sarisa, I didn't mean to. I was trying to go to my room. My magic—"
"Oh, enough with the excuses." Sarisa stalked across the room, pulling her robe tighter, intent on damage control. "You're worse than Aliyah on a sugar rush. Just get up, will you?"
Lara obeyed, scrambling to her feet, and in the process brushed past the bedpost with a thud.
Her movements were all wrong stiff and uncoordinated, as if she'd forgotten how her own limbs worked. Her face was crimson, eyes darting everywhere but at Sarisa.
And then Sarisa saw it—the unmistakable bulge pressing against the front of Lara's trousers, a shadow beneath the fitted fabric. For a moment, she stared, utterly nonplussed.
"Are you serious?" Sarisa's voice was flat, almost disbelieving. "Now? In the middle of this?"
Lara blanched, mortification written across every inch of her face. "It's not—gods, I'm not—this isn't on purpose, I swear. It just happened—"
"Oh, it just happened?" Sarisa snapped, not sure whether she wanted to laugh or scream. "You barge into my room, destroy half my things, and now you're—aroused?"
Lara's hands fluttered in the air, defensive and desperate.
"I didn't want—look, it's not about you, or maybe it is, but it's not like I'm thinking—" She trailed off, choking on her words, the tips of her ears going red.
The absurdity was almost too much. Sarisa pressed a hand to her forehead, torn between anger and a wild urge to laugh. "Of all the times, Lara. Truly, you have a gift for making a disaster out of nothing."
Lara stumbled back, half toward the door. "I'm sorry! I'll go, I'll just—uh, sorry, Sarisa, I'll leave—please just forget this—"
She fumbled for the handle, practically tripping over her own feet. In her haste, she managed to smack her knee against the dresser, sending another book sliding to the floor. "Ow—damn it, I'm sorry, I really—gods, this is—"
Sarisa stood perfectly still, arms crossed, expression a thundercloud of disbelief and irritation.
She'd thought herself immune to embarrassment after a lifetime in court, after birthing and raising a child with Lara of all people. But this—this took every last bit of her composure and shook it by the shoulders.
As Lara finally reached the door, she paused, half in and half out, looking utterly defeated. "I really am sorry, Sarisa. I didn't mean—any of this. I'll fix your vase. I'll stay out of your way."
Sarisa didn't answer at first. She studied Lara—really looked at her. Beneath the clumsy apologies and the blush, there was genuine contrition.
There was also longing, raw and unspoken, hidden in the way Lara couldn't meet her gaze. It was almost funny, if it hadn't been so frustrating.
Finally, Sarisa exhaled, letting her shoulders drop. "Just… close the door on your way out, alright? And next time, try to check where you're teleporting."
Lara nodded rapidly, stammering out another apology before vanishing into the corridor, the door shutting a bit too loudly behind her.
For a long time, Sarisa stood in the center of her chaotic, half-destroyed room, the echoes of Lara's presence still buzzing in the air.
Her heart was pounding, her mind racing with a thousand conflicting feelings—irritation, amusement, desire, and a familiar ache she hadn't wanted to admit.
She tightened her robe and walked to the window, breathing in the night air. Below, the palace gardens stretched dark and peaceful.
Somewhere out there, Lara was probably mortifying herself in a hedge, vowing never to look Sarisa in the eye again.
Sarisa couldn't help it—she laughed, softly at first, then helplessly, all the tension leaking out with each breath. She pressed a hand to her lips, shaking her head.
What am I going to do with you, Lara? she thought. And what am I going to do with myself?
Because the worst part—the very worst part—was that for just a moment, seeing Lara, flustered and helpless, wanting and afraid, Sarisa hadn't felt angry at all.
She'd felt alive.