After the shock of dinner, Sarisa found herself moving through the palace on instinct alone.
The laughter still rang in her ears—the children's voices echoing off marble and glass, the peculiar relief in their wild, honest joy.
She clung to Aliyah's small hand as they left the banqueting hall, Kaelith bounding ahead toward Malvoria and Elysia, already bickering about which bedtime story would be read.
The corridors were quieter now, washed in the soft glow of enchanted lanterns. A hush had settled over the castle, as if the very stones were waiting for something to change.
Sarisa drew Aliyah closer, letting her daughter's chatter wash over her as she guided them toward the private wing.
Aliyah was still full of questions. "Mama, are you really going to marry Vaelen? Will I have to call him Dad?" She wrinkled her nose. "I don't want a new dad. I like things the way they are."
Sarisa knelt, smoothing Aliyah's hair back from her face. "You'll always have me. No matter what happens, you're my daughter. No one will ever change that."
Aliyah seemed satisfied by that. "Can Lara still live with us? I want you both. You and Lara and me."
Sarisa's heart twisted. "We'll see, darling. Now, time for your bath."
Aliyah huffed but allowed herself to be ushered into the bathing chamber. Sarisa helped her out of her dress and watched as Aliyah splashed into the warm, scented water, giggling as the enchanted soaps shaped themselves into clouds and animals.
"I'm a dragon!" Aliyah announced, breathing bubbles toward the ceiling.
Sarisa managed a tired smile. "Not in the bath, please. The maids would never forgive me for the scorch marks."
Aliyah laughed, then began a series of elaborate games involving cloud-fish, a bubble serpent, and several doomed rubber ducks. For a few precious minutes, Sarisa simply watched her, letting the day's worries slip away in the steam and gentle sounds.
But the peace was short-lived.
A measured, familiar cough sounded from the hallway. Sarisa's back straightened on instinct—the posture of a royal daughter summoned by her queen.
Her mother stood framed in the doorway, tall and composed, her presence as cold and stately as ever. The glow of the lamps cast sharp shadows over her face.
"Mother," Sarisa said, her tone polite, almost serene.
The queen glanced at Aliyah, still playing in the water, then fixed her eyes on Sarisa. "May I have a word, Sarisa? Alone."
Sarisa nodded, stepping out into the antechamber. She shut the door behind her, suddenly aware of her damp hair, her tired eyes, the strange, wild scent still clinging to her skin. She folded her hands in front of her, the model of a dutiful daughter.
Her mother didn't waste time.
"Let's not talk about the children's little…outburst at dinner. I'm sure there's some logical explanation for it. Perhaps they were confused. Or simply being…playful."
The queen's gaze was cool, assessing, almost dismissive. "Of course, it's impossible that you would allow anything inappropriate to happen under this roof. Isn't that right, Sarisa?"
There was a heartbeat of silence. Sarisa felt the old reflex, the familiar, poisonous need to please, to avoid scandal, to preserve the fragile peace of the court.
She drew a careful breath, keeping her tone even. "Of course, Mother. You're right. The children have vivid imaginations. There's nothing to discuss."
The queen regarded her for a long moment, searching for cracks in her mask. Whatever she saw, it must have satisfied her—she nodded once, briskly, as if sealing a pact.
"Good," the queen said, her voice softening by a fraction. "We must think of the realm, Sarisa. Appearances matter more than anything. I trust you understand that."
Sarisa bowed her head, heart sinking. "I do, Mother."
Satisfied, the queen moved on, the topic shifting as easily as one might adjust a chess piece.
"The wedding date is set. Three months will pass quickly. I expect you to begin preparations at once—the guest list, the dresses, the ceremonial rites. Vaelen is a good man. He will bring stability, respect, and power to our court. It is for the best. For you, for your child, for everyone."
Sarisa kept her eyes on the floor. "Yes, Mother."
The queen's tone gentled—just slightly.
"You've always been sensible, Sarisa. Not like your father's side, with their unruly passions. Remember, we serve something greater than ourselves. You will do your duty. You always have."
Sarisa nodded, unable to summon a response. The words tasted bitter, hollow in her mouth.
"Good night, daughter," the queen said finally. "I trust you'll have no further distractions."
Sarisa waited until the sound of her mother's footsteps faded down the corridor before letting out the breath she'd been holding.
Her shoulders slumped. For a moment, she leaned against the wall, head tipped back, the weight of the day—of duty, of secrets, of longing—pressing down on her.
Aliyah called from the bathroom, breaking the spell. "Mama, I'm done! The water's getting cold!"
Sarisa composed herself, pushed the door open, and helped Aliyah from the tub. She wrapped her in a towel, dried her hair, and helped her into her softest nightgown.
They made their way to the bedroom, Aliyah chattering sleepily about dragons and cloud-fish and the magical adventure she would have in her dreams.
Sarisa tucked her in, smoothing the blankets over her daughter's small body. She sat on the edge of the bed, running her fingers through Aliyah's hair until the child's breathing slowed, her eyelids fluttering closed.
For a long time, Sarisa simply watched her sleep. She wondered how much Aliyah truly understood—the tangled web of politics and desire, of longing and denial, of everything Sarisa had given up and everything she was still afraid to claim.
She lay down beside her daughter, letting the warmth of Aliyah's small body lull her toward rest.
But her mind wouldn't settle. Images of Lara—her mouth, her hands, the wild light in her eyes—kept drifting through the darkness. The memory of her mother's words echoed in her chest, cold and final as a locked door.
It was for the best. For everyone.
But as the hours passed and the palace grew quiet, Sarisa found herself wishing—for the first time in a long while—that someone would choose her, not for the best, not for the realm, not for duty, but simply for herself.