There were a thousand ways to bleed off anger—hunting, running, burning something to ash with a flick of her wrist—but nothing worked quite so efficiently for Lara as a brutal hand-to-hand sparring session.
Tonight, she found herself in the demon wing's old training hall, facing down Raveth—her mother-in-law in every way that mattered, even if no one dared to say it aloud. The old torches flickered on black stone, the air thick with dust and adrenaline.
Veylira watched from the shadows, her expression unreadable, arms crossed as if she were both amused and judging. Lara ignored her, focused instead on the way Raveth grinned—a wolfish, hungry thing.
Raveth had been a commander for a century, and Lara knew that meant she'd have bruises in the morning, no matter how fast she was.
They circled, bare feet padding on worn mats, both of them shirtless—scars and muscle and power on full display. Raveth's midnight hair was tied back, her arms covered in old battle-marks.
Lara rolled her shoulders, her own body tight, a slow burn of fury and want tangled in her chest.
"You're hitting harder than usual, kid," Raveth said, her voice wry as she threw the first jab. "Someone piss you off or are you just showing off for your mother?"
Lara ducked, countering with a low sweep. "Maybe both. Or maybe you're just getting old."
Raveth barked a laugh, dodging. "Careful, little general. Old people hit back."
They traded blows, fast and brutal—Lara's fists quick, Raveth's counters heavier, more patient.
Lara's thoughts kept drifting, unwanted, to the dinner table, to the way Vaelen had leaned toward Sarisa, his smile too eager.
She couldn't shake the memory of Sarisa's mother announcing the wedding date, the polite applause, the quick stab of jealousy in her own gut.
"You gonna tell me what's eating you?" Raveth taunted, ducking a wild right hook. "Or should I guess?"
Lara grunted, trying to push the heat down. "Nothing. Just need to hit something."
"Yeah, I can tell. You fight like a woman trying not to cry." Raveth sidestepped, landed a slap to Lara's shoulder—just enough to sting.
Lara bared her teeth, going in harder. "Keep talking, old woman. I'll show you a real punch."
"Uh-huh. Bet you're just mad because your little princess is marrying someone with better hair." Raveth's smile widened. "Maybe he'll keep her so satisfied you'll finally get some peace."
Lara's fist connected with Raveth's ribs, making the older woman grunt, but Raveth just laughed it off.
"You gonna let him fuck her on the wedding night?" Raveth teased, voice carrying, just to get a reaction. "Maybe they'll even make you watch. Could save you the trouble of lying to yourself."
"Shut up," Lara snarled, her punches coming faster, less controlled. Raveth blocked one, let another graze her cheek.
"Bet they'll have another kid, too," Raveth said, relentless. "You'll get to babysit, maybe. Unless Sarisa wants a real family, not just a co-parent who runs away every time things get messy."
Something twisted deep inside Lara. She lunged, got Raveth in a headlock, but Raveth was too slippery, twisting free and landing a solid knee to Lara's thigh.
Lara cursed, driving forward again, anger and embarrassment turning her movements ragged.
"Don't worry," Raveth went on, grinning like a demon possessed.
"You can always find yourself a nice little wife who'll make you tea and patch you up after you lose. I'll send you a wedding gift. How do you feel about decorative pillows?"
Lara rolled her eyes, sweat stinging. "Are you done?"
"Not even close. Want to hear what happens after Sarisa marries Vaelen?" Raveth feinted left, caught Lara with a hard right.
"He'll take her on diplomatic tours, all those fancy parties. And you? You'll be right here, hitting old ladies, wondering why your chest hurts every time you see them together."
Lara's jaw tightened. She threw a brutal punch, but Raveth caught her wrist, twisting, then let go. Lara stumbled back, chest heaving.
"Maybe it's not anger," Raveth said, almost gentle. "Maybe it's jealousy. Maybe you're in love and too stupid to say it."
Lara scoffed, wiping blood from her lip. "Love is for poets. I'm just…tired."
Raveth tilted her head, smirking. "Tired of lying, maybe. Or tired of being afraid. You know, some of us don't get a second chance. If you let her go, someone else will pick up the pieces."
Lara felt her fists clench. "If Vaelen's what she wants, then fine."
"Bullshit," Raveth snapped. "If she wanted him, you wouldn't be hitting me this hard."
They traded another flurry of blows—hard, almost savage, both women refusing to back down. Lara's knuckles ached. Raveth's laughter echoed, wild and approving.
"So what are you gonna do, General?" Raveth pressed. "Let the pretty prince win? Or fight for what you actually want?"
"Maybe I'll just knock you out and get some peace," Lara shot back.
Raveth grinned. "Try it."
Lara threw a wild haymaker. Raveth dodged—barely—and Lara's momentum carried her forward, off-balance. Raveth took the opening, sweeping Lara's legs out from under her. Lara landed hard, air knocked from her lungs.
Veylira snorted from the sidelines, but didn't intervene.
"Nice," Lara gasped, rolling to her feet. "Didn't know you had that in you."
Raveth winked. "Learned from the best."
They circled again, tension crackling in the air. Raveth's eyes narrowed, teasing replaced by something sharper.
"You ever think about what happens when Sarisa has another kid?" Raveth taunted. "Maybe she'll name it after Vaelen's grandmother. You'll get to be the godmother. How sweet."
Lara's temper snapped. "You know what, Raveth? Maybe you should be worrying about your own wife and leave mine alone—"
The words hung in the air, sharp and dangerous.
Raveth's smile vanished. For a moment, there was only silence.
Then, with one lightning-quick move, Raveth's fist connected with Lara's face—a punch hard enough to rattle teeth, eyes, and all the ugly truth inside her skull. Lara staggered, blood blooming in her mouth.
Veylira's laughter was sharp and satisfied.
"Dumbass," Raveth muttered, rubbing her knuckles. "Next time, don't wait until you're about to lose her to admit what she is to you."
Lara wiped the blood from her lip, her heart pounding with something dangerously close to hope. Maybe she was an idiot. Maybe she was in love.
But hell if she was going to admit it in front of both her mothers.
She just grinned, blood on her teeth, and spat onto the stone.
"Round two?" she asked, voice hoarse.
Raveth just shook her head, laughing. "You're hopeless. And that's why I like you."
As the torches flickered overhead, Lara wondered if maybe—just maybe—she was finally ready to stop running.