Lara tossed Kaelith gently onto a patch of grass, earning a dramatic squeal and a declaration of "Traitor to the Empire!" before Aliyah pounced and chaos resumed.
Tag had devolved into a three-way war involving clumps of sacred moss, handfuls of flower petals used as "explosive powder," and a moment where Kaelith tried to recruit a confused butterfly to her side.
Lara couldn't stop laughing.
Her coat was on the ground. Her boots were off. Her knees were stained green. And for the first time in weeks, the weight in her chest felt light.
Manageable. Like maybe things weren't so complicated when you stopped overthinking and started letting kids climb you like a training dummy.
But then she looked up.
And saw Sarisa.
Still on the bench beneath the shade tree. Still elegant. Still silent. Her hands folded neatly on her lap, head tilted slightly toward the sound of laughter—but her eyes…
Her eyes weren't on the children.
They were on Lara.
Lara froze mid-laugh.
For a second, just a second she saw something in Sarisa's expression that didn't belong to the Queen-to-be. It wasn't disapproval. Or calculation. Or that perfectly neutral mask she wore in meetings.
It was… something softer. Something sad. Something real.
And before Lara could think better of it, she stood up, brushing off her trousers, preparing to walk over and ask—
"Ex-Captain!" a voice called.
Lara turned just as two Celestial guards approached through the side path, their silver armor reflecting the sunlight like they'd just rolled through a mirror factory.
"We're here to inform you," one of them said stiffly, bowing his head toward Sarisa before continuing, "that dinner will be served in forty-five minutes in the High Hall."
Lara sighed.
Of course.
It was never just dinner in the Celestial castle. It was an event. Every time. Gold napkins, crystal goblets, some painfully delicate fruit sculpture no one actually wanted to eat.
And seating arrangements that might as well be battlefield strategy maps.
"Is this one of those 'no elbows on the table or you'll be assassinated' kind of dinners?" she asked.
The guard blinked. "It is a formal gathering of high-ranking nobles and court officials."
"So that's a yes."
Sarisa stood gracefully. "Thank you. You're dismissed."
The guards bowed and vanished down the path like ghosts with good posture.
Aliyah groaned from the grass. "Noooooo. Not another fancy dinner!"
Kaelith mirrored her friend's suffering. "Can't we just have soup? Like normal people?"
Lara chuckled. "You'll survive. Just pretend your fork is a sword and duel anyone who talks too much."
Aliyah looked intrigued. "Are you allowed to do that?"
"No," Sarisa said flatly.
"Yes," Lara mouthed behind her back.
Sarisa caught her.
She said nothing. But the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her.
Then, smoothly, she walked over to the girls and crouched beside them. "You both need to wash up and change."
Aliyah made a noise halfway between a snort and a growl. "But we're not dirty!"
Kaelith looked down at her hands, which were covered in grass stains and what might be cookie crumbs from breakfast. "Define dirty."
"I mean," Lara offered, "I did just see Kaelith trying to wrestle a caterpillar using a flower petal."
"It was a sacred duel," Kaelith insisted.
Sarisa arched an eyebrow. "Bath. Now."
"But—"
Before Aliyah could finish her protest, Sarisa stood and lifted her effortlessly into her arms.
Lara watched as Aliyah made a dramatic show of squirming and whining—right up until her head hit Sarisa's shoulder.
Then she smiled.
Her little arms looped around Sarisa's neck, and her whole body relaxed like a cat finding its favorite pillow.
Lara tilted her head, smiling.
"I thought you were an adult now, Aliyah."
Aliyah's eyes peeked open. "I am. But even adults like being carried."
"Oh, is that how it works?"
"I'm just conserving energy," she mumbled. "For later. Strategy."
Sarisa gave her a long, sideways look. "You're going to fall asleep halfway through dinner again, aren't you?"
"Nope." Beat. "Maybe."
Kaelith was watching the exchange with big, fascinated eyes.
"I want to be carried too."
"Ask Aunt Lara," Sarisa said, already walking toward the inner garden gate.
Lara held out her arms. "Hop on, Your Royal Sparkiness."
Kaelith ran full speed and leapt into Lara's arms like a missile, knocking the wind out of her.
"Didn't have to jump that hard," Lara wheezed.
Kaelith grinned. "Sorry. I was testing trajectory."
Together, they followed Sarisa down the path toward the guest wing.
The halls were quiet as they walked, sunlight streaming through arched crystal windows. Kaelith had started humming some kind of battle song under her breath, while Aliyah whispered strategies for avoiding shampoo.
When they reached the ornate double doors of the royal bath chamber tall, carved with stars and celestial beasts Sarisa pressed her palm to the seal.
The doors parted with a soft chime, releasing a wave of fragrant steam and the sound of enchanted fountains.
Inside, the room shimmered with pale marble and warm golden light. A sunken pool at the center steamed gently, surrounded by soft towels, trays of pastel soaps, and enchanted brushes that hovered patiently nearby.
Aliyah's eyes lit up. "Can we make bubble armor?"
Kaelith clapped. "Yes. And bubble swords!"
Sarisa sighed in the most dignified way a mother could sigh. "Try not to flood the west wing."
The girls ran in, boots discarded, giggling as they stripped off their moss-and-magic-stained clothes and dove into the pool with two loud splashes.
Water sloshed.
Soap scattered.
A brush yelped.
Lara chuckled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Well. That's one way to purify the royal bath."
She turned—and found Sarisa standing beside her.
The steam softened her features, gave a faint glow to her skin and the golden constellation tattoos winding down her arms. She wasn't smiling, but the severity had faded from her face.
The laughter of their daughters echoed behind them, blending with the splash of water and the faint sound of enchanted towels rearranging themselves.
And just like that, without planning it, without intention—
They were alone.