Sarisa was somewhere between waking and dreaming when the first knock rattled her door, three soft raps that floated through the haze of sleep.
She grumbled and rolled over, dragging her pillow close, determined to ignore the world a little longer.
She'd been up too late the night before, nerves singing, mind haunted by too many questions—about safety, about the future, about the way Lara's eyes had lingered in the chaos of her room.
A second knock, a little louder. She buried her face in the linen, inhaling the faint scent of her own perfume.
If it's another crisis, they can wait. She was queen-to-be, not a miracle worker, and surely even the most desperate diplomat could survive another hour without her.
But the knocking persisted, insistent yet oddly… careful. Not the brash pounding of a soldier, not the timid tapping of a servant. Something in the rhythm pricked at her, pulled her closer to consciousness.
She mumbled into her pillow, "Come in," half hoping whoever it was would lose their nerve and go away.
Instead, the door creaked open. There was a moment's pause, the sound of quiet steps—soft but unhurried.
Sarisa forced her eyes open, blinking against the pale light seeping through the curtains. Her room was cool, the golden drapes still drawn, her favorite robe draped over the back of a chair.
She pushed herself up on one elbow, hair tangled, nightdress loose on her shoulders. At first, she saw only a tall, familiar silhouette carrying a tray.
She blinked again, and the figure resolved itself: Lara, impossibly early, looking awkwardly determined, balancing a breakfast tray with both hands.
Of all the things Sarisa had expected, this wasn't even on the list.
She sat up straighter, tugging the covers around her. For a heartbeat, she didn't know what to say.
"Lara?" Her voice cracked, low and hoarse. "What—what are you doing here? It's—" She glanced at the pale sliver of sunlight on the carpet. "It's barely morning."
Lara hesitated at the threshold, tray in hand. She looked… different, somehow. Not in uniform, not armored, but softer—hair pulled back, plain shirt, dark trousers. No sword, no visible weapons, only that restless energy humming beneath her skin.
"I, uh, brought you breakfast," Lara said, voice rough with uncertainty. She lifted the tray a little higher, as if offering proof. "You didn't eat much yesterday, and… well, I thought you might want something. Before the day gets crazy."
Sarisa's gaze fell to the tray: tea, bread, fruit, little comforts arranged with almost comical care.
For a moment, her heart did something strange a flutter in her chest, too sudden, too hopeful. Butterflies. She felt ridiculous.
Lara moved further inside, setting the tray on the low table by the bed. She stood there, fidgeting with her sleeve, avoiding Sarisa's gaze.
"I, um…" Lara cleared her throat, searching for words. "I finished all your paperwork this morning. Sorted it, signed the ones I could. There's only a small pile left for you."
She smiled, quick and nervous. "See? I can be useful for something other than breaking vases and… um… embarrassing myself."
The room hung with silence, awkward and thick. Sarisa pushed herself upright, tucking her legs beneath her, trying to remember how to breathe normally.
Part of her wanted to smile, to tease Lara for being so out of character, but the memory of yesterday held her back—a cage slamming shut around her heart.
She forced her tone light, hoping it would break the tension. "Are you feeling alright? You're never up this early. And breakfast, paperwork… Should I be worried? Did Malvoria put you up to this?"
Lara shook her head quickly, a flush coloring her cheeks. "No, I just… I wanted to help. And to say sorry."
Sarisa's heart gave another foolish flutter at that, but she tamped it down. "For which part?" she asked, not unkindly.
Lara winced. "All of it. Yesterday—everything. The fight with Vaelen, the mess in your room, the—" She faltered, her eyes flicking away.
"The way I've been acting lately. I know I make things difficult for you. And I… I don't want to be that person. I want to do better."
Sarisa watched her, emotions churning—too many to name. She'd waited so long for Lara to say something like this, to acknowledge the strain between them. Yet now that it was here, she didn't know what to do with it.
She fiddled with the tea cup, turning it in her hands. "You don't have to change for me, Lara," she said quietly. "I never asked for you to be someone else."
Lara stepped closer, earnestness in every line of her face. "Maybe not. But I want to. I want to be someone you can rely on. Not just for Aliyah, or for the council, but for you. I'm… sorry. For all the ways I've let you down."
The confession hung between them, fragile and real. Sarisa's walls trembled; the cage around her butterflies shook.
She met Lara's eyes, searching for a lie, but found only truth—messy, honest, vulnerable. For a long time, she'd thought Lara incapable of this sort of apology. Maybe she'd been wrong.
"Thank you," Sarisa said, voice softer now. She poured herself some tea, hands trembling just a little. "This is… nice. Unexpected, but nice."
A faint smile ghosted across Lara's lips. "I'm full of surprises."
Sarisa managed a quiet laugh, though the ache from yesterday still pressed at her ribs. "You're definitely that."
The conversation stumbled into another silence, but this time it felt different—not so jagged, but tentative, full of questions neither dared ask aloud.
Sarisa sipped her tea, savoring the comfort, letting herself enjoy the moment even as part of her still braced for disappointment.
Lara broke the silence first, voice gentler than Sarisa remembered. "You know, when I first met you, I thought you were terrifying."
Sarisa arched a brow. "And now?"
Lara's mouth quirked. "Still a little terrifying. But also…" She hesitated, then shook her head, the rest of the thought unfinished. "You've always been the bravest person I know."
Sarisa let that settle, warmth blooming in her chest. She set her cup down, wrapping her arms around her knees.
The butterflies rattled in their cage. Don't hope for too much, she warned herself. Don't let yourself want what you can't have.
She forced her voice steady. "Thank you. And… I'm sorry too. If I've been hard on you. Things have been difficult lately, and I'm not always—" she glanced at her hands "—good at saying what I mean."
Lara shook her head. "You're better at it than I am." She shoved her hands in her pockets, looking oddly small for such a tall, powerful woman. "Just… I'll try harder. I promise."
For a heartbeat, Sarisa let herself imagine what it would be like if things were simpler. If there were no councils, no fiancés, no thrones waiting for her. If she and Lara could be just two people, sharing tea in the pale morning light.
But life was never simple.
A distant clock chimed, breaking the spell. The castle was waking. Soon, the day would sweep them both back into its relentless tide.
Sarisa finished her tea, then finally met Lara's eyes. "Thank you, Lara. For the breakfast. For the apology. It… means more than you know."
Lara nodded, awkward and earnest. "I'll let you get ready. There's a lot to do, I know."
Sarisa smiled, a real smile this time—small, but bright as sunrise. "There always is."
Lara turned to go, pausing with her hand on the door. For a moment, she looked like she might say something else, but thought better of it.
"Have a good day, Sarisa," she said instead.
"You too, Lara."
The door closed softly behind her.
For a while, Sarisa just sat in bed, hands wrapped around her knees, heart fluttering in her chest. The butterflies weren't caged anymore—they were awake, restless, alive.
She closed her eyes, holding on to the warmth of the moment, letting herself hope—for just a heartbeat—that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for them after all.