One month had passed, and Sarisa could not have described precisely what had changed only that everything had, and yet, in some small, stubborn way, nothing had.
Lara had transformed into the perfect bodyguard, a shadow at the appropriate distance, always watchful but never hovering, her presence both comfort and ache.
Sarisa had grown used to glancing up from her desk or a council bench and seeing Lara stationed at the wall, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room, never quite meeting Sarisa's own.
It was a new sort of pain, this careful distance—respectful, yes, but marked by longing, the echo of something not yet spoken.
Their daily life had fallen into a pattern. Lara handled paperwork with the brusque efficiency of a general, then vanished from Sarisa's side the instant her work was done.
And yet, if Aliyah and Kaelith wanted to play, Lara would always join them clumsy, sometimes awkward, but warm and attentive.
She seemed to have made a silent vow: she would be everything Sarisa needed, except for what Sarisa most wanted. The boundaries between them were clearly drawn, and Lara never crossed them.
Vaelen was there too—ever patient, always kind, stepping up with a sincerity that Sarisa appreciated more each day.
They worked well together, discussing council reforms, public projects, even the mundane details of court life.
If there was a heaviness in his eyes, Sarisa chose to ignore it, and the unspoken subject of their wedding was set aside, postponed with a quiet mutual agreement.
It was almost easy to pretend, with the rhythm of daily duties and family routines. But nothing could last forever.
The morning sun filtered through the stained-glass windows of the council chamber, casting bands of sapphire and gold across the long table.
Sarisa sat at its head, flanked by the Celestian Queen and Vaelen, with advisors scattered along the sides.
At the back of the room, Lara stood in uniform tall, composed, unreadable, the picture of discipline.
The conversation, as ever, had turned to politics. The Southern island had sent an invitation, as was custom, for the annual debrief between Celestian royalty and the southern nobility.
This year, they had insisted that only Sarisa herself should attend, to honor their traditions and avoid offending the islanders' famously prickly pride.
A queen-to-be must learn to walk among her people, to command respect without the trappings of her entire court.
"We do not wish to cause offense," intoned one councilor, his hair as white as his robes, his voice dusty with age.
"But the Southerners expect a certain… intimacy in their diplomacy. It would not do for the entire retinue to descend upon them. Just the princess—and perhaps one bodyguard, for the sake of appearance."
Sarisa frowned, fingers drumming on the table. "One week is a long time to be away from the capital. And from Aliyah."
Her mother, regal as always, fixed her with an appraising look. "That is the sacrifice of leadership, Sarisa. The Southern islanders can be capricious, but they are loyal once won. You must meet them halfway."
Vaelen nodded supportively. "We have prepared every document, every ceremonial gift. You will be well received. And Lara is the best choice as escort, both for her strength and her—" he paused, searching for a word, "—discretion."
At the mention of Lara's name, Sarisa glanced over. Their eyes met for the briefest second—Lara's gaze steady, unreadable, before flicking away.
The moment passed, but Sarisa felt it settle somewhere in her chest, both comfort and loss.
"But what about Aliyah?" Sarisa pressed, unwilling to let the subject drop. "She's only five. She's never been apart from me for so long."
Malvoria, who had been silent until now, offered a lopsided smile. "Don't worry, Sarisa. Elysia and I will take care of her. We've raised Kaelith this long, haven't we?" She winked at her wife, who was lounging at the opposite end of the table, legs crossed, the picture of relaxed elegance.
Elysia gave a serene nod. "Aliyah will be fine. In fact, she'll probably come home with a few more stories than you expect."
Sarisa half-laughed, half-groaned. "That's what I'm afraid of."
Her mother leaned forward. "The arrangements have already been made. You and your bodyguard will leave in two days' time. The council will manage affairs in your absence. Vaelen will keep things running smoothly."
Vaelen nodded, gracious as ever, but Sarisa caught a fleeting sadness in his eyes. She understood it—she shared it. It was hard to let go, even for a short time.
The rest of the meeting continued in a blur of logistics—supplies, travel arrangements, ceremonial attire, a careful list of topics to discuss with the southern lord.
Sarisa signed and sealed documents, her mind only half on the words. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Lara always at a distance, always careful not to intrude, yet always there.
She's always there, Sarisa thought, her chest tight. But never close enough.
The meeting finally ended, councilors dispersing in polite murmurs. The Celestian Queen departed with two advisors, and Vaelen stayed behind to gather notes, promising to visit Sarisa in her study later to finalize details.
Sarisa waited until the chamber was nearly empty before turning to Lara. For a moment, neither spoke, suspended in a delicate silence.
She wanted to say something thank you, or I'm nervous, or even will you sit with me?—but the words tangled on her tongue.
Instead, she straightened her papers, finding safety in routine. "We leave in two days," she said quietly. "I hope you're ready for another week of diplomatic boredom."
Lara allowed herself a small, lopsided smile. "If there's trouble, I'll find it. If not, I'll make sure you don't fall asleep in the meetings."
Sarisa laughed, surprising herself. "I'd like to see you try."
They left together, falling into step. The castle corridors were busy with preparations, servants rushing, guards double-checking supply lists.
Sarisa led the way to her private study, where Aliyah and Kaelith were waiting, sprawled on the floor in a nest of blankets and pillows, playing some invented game involving dragons, princesses, and a suspicious amount of cookie crumbs.
"Mama!" Aliyah squealed, launching herself into Sarisa's arms the moment she entered. Kaelith followed, more measured but no less eager, wrapping her arms around Sarisa's waist.
Sarisa held them both, drinking in the warmth, the laughter, the innocence. She pressed kisses to their foreheads, her heart aching at the thought of leaving, even for a week.
"Are you really going away, Mama?" Aliyah asked, her eyes wide, voice trembling just a little.
Sarisa knelt, gathering both children close. "Just for a little while. Lara will be with me, and you'll stay here with Aunt Malvoria and Aunt Elysia. I'll come home as soon as I can. And you can write me letters, alright?"
Kaelith nodded, solemn. "We'll take care of Aliyah. And the garden. And the kitchen—maybe. But you have to come back with a story about pirates. Or sea dragons. Or both."
Sarisa smiled, heart melting. "Deal."
Lara, silent but ever-present, crouched down and ruffled Aliyah's hair. "Be good, chaos-maker. Don't make your aunts cry."
Aliyah grinned. "I'll only do it a little."
Malvoria and Elysia appeared at the door, arms crossed, eyes bright with amusement.
"We'll take care of them," Malvoria promised, flashing her teeth in a grin that was equal parts comforting and terrifying. "Go be a queen, Sarisa."