The dining room glowed with quiet malice.
Not overt. Not even verbal. But Lara had been in enough battlefields to recognize a threat when she walked into one and tonight, it came dressed in shimmering robes and crystalline chandeliers.
The High Hall of the Celestial palace was long and narrow, its white walls etched with gold filigree so fine it looked like starlight frozen in glass.
At the center stood an impossibly long table carved from living moonwood, surrounded by high-backed chairs that made everyone look like they were being judged from a courtroom throne.
And in a way, they were.
Because this wasn't a family meal.
This was a presentation.
A test.
A warning.
Lara knew it the moment the doors opened and the nobles turned to look.
All of them.
Too many eyes. Too much quiet.
Not just curious glances either but measuring ones.
Lara kept her shoulders loose, her hands at her sides, and her eyes forward as she walked beside Sarisa, who had changed into a high-collared gown of midnight silk.
Her moonlight hair was bound in silver chains now, her tattoos carefully masked by shimmering sleeves.
Aliyah walked between them, small and defiant in her dark formal tunic, one red eye already narrowed at the crowd like she knew this wasn't a real dinner.
Kaelith trailed behind with a butter roll already stolen from a servant's tray. She winked at Lara. Lara winked back.
The Queen—Seraphina's mother, the ruling monarch of the Celestial Realm was already seated at the head of the table. Regal, icy and Composed.
Her gown was silver, but dull, like moonlight drained of warmth. Her hair, braided in a crown, held not a single loose strand. Her expression was unreadable.
"Daughter," she said as Sarisa bowed with perfect form. "Welcome."
"Mother," Sarisa replied calmly. "Thank you for hosting us."
The Queen's eyes slid toward Lara.
"Ex-Captain," she said flatly. Not cold. Not warm. A single degree above room temperature.
"Queen," Lara returned, inclining her head just enough to be polite.
They sat.
Kaelith and Aliyah were placed on the far end, beside a nervous-looking scribe who had clearly been tasked with "child engagement" and was now deeply regretting every life choice that led him here.
Lara ended up next to Sarisa, across from three nobles who wore expressions like someone had tracked mud into their church.
Silence.
Tense, starched silence.
The kind where every clink of cutlery felt like a battle cry.
Lara reached for her water. Her fingers brushed the stem of the glass with perfect precision. She could play noble. When she wanted to.
But she didn't smile.
And no one smiled at her.
One noble coughed, clearly uncomfortable.
Another leaned to whisper something behind his fan.
A third—one with golden eyes and a face like he permanently smelled something sour—didn't even bother hiding his disapproval.
And still, no one said anything.
Until the Queen cleared her throat.
"I received a report," she said casually, "that young Aliyah set fire to a hallway two weeks ago."
Sarisa tensed beside her.
"She was experimenting with shape compression," Sarisa answered smoothly. "It's a form of early magical channeling. The fire was contained."
"And the week before that?" the Queen asked, folding her hands. "When she disrupted a prayer ritual to summon a flame wolf?"
"She said the priest insulted her drawing," Lara offered, finally breaking her silence.
"Indeed." The Queen turned toward Lara fully now. "That's quite the defense."
"She is four," Lara said flatly.
"Four is precisely the age when habits form," the Queen said. "When patterns begin to settle. Wouldn't you agree?"
Lara's red eyes narrowed just slightly.
Sarisa placed a hand on the table, steadying the energy before it could shift too sharply.
The Queen continued, "Which is why I must express concern about her… guidance."
Silence again.
The nobles nodded in that quiet, eerie way that made Lara want to break a plate just to remind them what noise felt like.
"I understand," the Queen said, voice calm, "that she is half-demon. That her temperament may reflect this."
Lara's jaw flexed.
"But I had hoped," the Queen added, glancing to Sarisa, "that she would also reflect the discipline and refinement of her Celestial lineage. Unfortunately, I fear she is beginning to follow… another example."
The implication dropped like a blade.
Lara didn't flinch.
Didn't look away.
Just took another slow sip of water.
Sarisa's voice, when it came, was neutral. Measured. Painfully correct.
"Mother, Lara is not the reason for Aliyah's behavior."
The Queen smiled faintly. "Of course not. But children mirror their surroundings. And if their surroundings are—" she hesitated, ever so slightly, "—too permissive, then correction becomes difficult later."
Lara set down her glass.
Very gently.
"Are you suggesting I'm a bad influence?" she asked, voice low and calm.
The Queen looked at her as one might observe a malfunctioning machine.
"I'm suggesting," she said, "that the child might benefit from more firmness. From clearer expectations. From boundaries."
"She already has those," Lara said.
"They appear to be… flexible."
"She's a child."
"She's the heir to a throne. And she is being raised by someone who—" she paused delicately, "—does not always respect rules herself."
Sarisa shifted beside her. "That's enough."
But the Queen wasn't done.
"She speaks like you," she said to Lara. "Walks like you. Laughs like you. Do you find that charming?"
Lara smiled. Slow. Dangerous.
"I find it powerful."
"Power," the Queen replied, "without discipline, is a liability."
The words were quiet. But they echoed through the chamber like thunder.
Lara leaned back in her chair, red eyes fixed on the Queen.
"So you'd rather she be obedient than extraordinary."
"I would rather she survive."
The words hit harder than expected.
Because under everything under the judgment, the veiled insult, the silken precision—was something real.
Fear.
Lara didn't say anything.
She couldn't.
Sarisa looked down at her plate, her expression unreadable.
Across the table, one of the nobles finally spoke. "Perhaps the child would be better served in more exclusive schooling. Away from... less structured influence."
Lara turned her head slowly.
"Say that again," she said softly.
The noble blinked. "I—"
"Because if you're suggesting taking her away from me, we're going to have a different kind of dinner."
Sarisa's hand brushed her arm. A warning. A plea.
Lara breathed once.
Twice.
Then looked away.
The Queen nodded. "I appreciate your passion, Ex-Captain. But passion must not outpace reason. For your daughter's sake, I hope you remember that."
And just like that, she turned her attention to the next noble, as if none of it had happened.
As if she hadn't just cut open something tender and left it to bleed across a silver plate.
Lara sat still, hands folded in her lap.
And across the room, Aliyah laughed at something Kaelith said loud, pure, wild.
It echoed over the glass and gold.
And Lara thought:
Let them all hear her.
Let them choke on it.