The air near the banquet hall shimmered with anticipation. Lara found herself half-listening to the murmur of courtiers and the rhythmic clatter of servants setting plates in the great hall beyond the doors.
Gold banners drifted overhead, and through the arched windows sunlight spilled in, catching the jewels on the palace walls and fracturing into a thousand dazzling motes.
She had just checked Aliyah's sash for the tenth time—fidgeting for something to do—when the sharp click of boots announced Elysia's arrival.
Malvoria's wife was resplendent as always, white hair swept up, violet eyes full of sly humor.
She wore a gown of midnight blue embroidered with subtle flames, regal and warm at once.
Kaelith immediately darted over, grabbing Elysia's hand, and the two began whispering secrets as if plotting the next great coup.
Malvoria arched a brow at her wife, and Elysia rolled her eyes with practiced patience. "If Kaelith is caught hiding frogs in the dessert again, it's on you this time," she warned.
Kaelith beamed, thoroughly unrepentant.
Aliyah, vibrating with excitement, tugged Lara's hand, and Lara reached out without thinking, only to find Sarisa's hand there as well.
The three of them an odd, fragile, stubborn triangle stood together as the last of the procession lined up outside the great doors.
Lara felt the weight of the moment. Not the pressure of court expectation, though that pressed in from all sides, but something softer, more vital: a pulse of pride and longing as she watched Aliyah, poised and radiant, take her place at Sarisa's side.
The doors opened just a crack and out stepped the Celestian queen, statuesque in robes the color of winter dawn, her golden tattoos gleaming.
Her eyes swept over them, landing briefly on Lara before turning to Sarisa and Aliyah.
"Princess Sarisa. Princess Aliyah," the queen intoned, every inch the monarch.
"You will enter together. The court must see its future mother and daughter, Celestian and Demon, united as one. The rest of you will be announced in turn."
Aliyah's eyes went wide, but Sarisa knelt to squeeze her hand. "You can do this. Just like we practiced. Head high, slow steps, big smile."
Aliyah nodded, swallowing her nerves. She let go of Lara's hand with only a little reluctance. "You'll come in after?"
Lara knelt, looking her daughter dead in the eye. "I'll be right behind you. Just imagine all the stuck-up nobles are wearing chicken hats."
Aliyah giggled. Even Sarisa cracked a smile.
With a nod from the queen, the music started—a silver note rising through the hush of anticipation. The herald's voice boomed through the hall, clear and steady.
"Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Sarisa of the Celestian Realm, and her daughter, Princess Aliyah."
The doors swung wide. For a moment, Lara had a perfect view—Sarisa, all golden poise and grace, leading Aliyah forward like a goddess leading the sun.
The crowd surged to its feet in a wave of color and sound. Aliyah hesitated just a breath at the threshold, then squared her shoulders and marched forward, face bright and brave.
They were breathtaking. The golden dress on Sarisa shimmered with every step, her silver and aqua eyes catching the light, her golden tattoos glowing faintly beneath her skin.
Aliyah was a spark beside her, her gold and red dress billowing as she walked, her little chin held high, every inch a princess.
Lara's heart did something strange, twisting with pride and a strange ache. This moment was worth every scar.
The court watched as Sarisa and Aliyah ascended the dais, pausing before the Celestian queen. A hush fell, heavy and expectant.
The queen spoke—formal words of lineage and unity, anointing Aliyah as the bridge between demon and celestial, between future and past.
The crowd's applause was thunderous, echoing off marble and glass.
Then the herald boomed again, "Her Imperial Majesty, Queen Malvoria of the Demon Realm, and Her Highness, Princess Kaelith , accompanied by Her Royal Consort, Elysia of Arvandor!"
Malvoria, Kaelith, and Elysia swept in with a riot of color and energy. Kaelith, in her miniature general's uniform, saluted the crowd with all the gravity of a born commander, which set off a wave of laughter.
Malvoria winked at the front row of demon nobles, earning a round of whispers. Elysia, regal as ever, gave the most perfunctory of bows, as if daring the entire assembly to find fault.
Lara, however, received no announcement, no title. She was not the spouse, nor the princess, nor the queen. Just the general. Just Aliyah's "other mother."
She waited until the pageantry receded, then slipped through the side entrance, her own boots making no sound as she crossed the threshold.
Inside, the hall was a riot of gold and red, banners trailing from the balconies, musicians arrayed like a living mural along the wall.
At the far end, a dais had been set with two grand chairs—one for Sarisa, one for Aliyah. But beside them, to Lara's private delight, stood a miniature throne, gleaming and small.
Aliyah saw it first, letting out a squeal and tugging Sarisa forward to claim her seat. Sarisa pressed a kiss to Aliyah's hair and took her own place with the easy authority of someone born to rule.
The nobles swarmed, each bearing gifts, each outdoing the last. The demon dignitaries presented enchanted dolls, miniature swords, and a cloak woven with runes that shimmered like starlight.
The Celestians offered books, carved stones, jewelry, and a crystal globe that pulsed with gentle light.
The humans diplomatic, slightly awkward gave a painting of Aliyah and Sarisa that had been completed only that morning, capturing them mid-laughter in a field of lilies.
Lara hung back, arms folded, watching the spectacle. Kaelith and Aliyah made short work of the gifts, tearing into paper and boxes with the energy of two small storms.
Kaelith's sword clanged on the edge of Aliyah's throne as she brandished it in triumph, and the dignitaries recoiled in alarm.
Elysia and Malvoria took their place on the dais, their presence anchoring the row of queens and daughters.
For a moment, Lara caught Malvoria's gaze, and her friend grinned, tipping an imaginary glass.
Food was served, course after course: golden soups, roasted meats, sweet breads, platters of fruit and cheese.
Lara drifted through the room, exchanging nods with old friends and a few wary enemies. Some of the Celestians ignored her; others gave tight, suspicious smiles.
She found her place behind Aliyah's chair, where Kaelith had deposited a small plate of honey cakes "for emergencies."
She leaned down, stage-whispering, "Save at least one for me, or I'll steal your sword."
Aliyah stuck out her tongue, eyes sparkling. "I'll hide the rest in my throne!"
The music shifted, and at last, the herald called for the first dance.
Tradition demanded that the mother open the floor with the daughter. The musicians began a soft, circling waltz. Sarisa stood, offering her hand to Aliyah.
Aliyah slid off her tiny throne, and for a moment, the two stood in the center of the gleaming floor—gold and red, sun and moon.
Aliyah's small hand in Sarisa's, their steps tentative at first, then steadier as the crowd melted away.
Sarisa spun Aliyah with practiced grace, her golden skirts flashing; Aliyah giggled, eyes wide with joy.
Lara's heart stuttered again—this time with a bittersweet pride, a wish that this could last forever.
The nobles watched, some with delight, others with the kind of strained politeness that comes from being forced to celebrate a hybrid child's place at court.
But in that moment, it didn't matter. Aliyah glowed, Sarisa smiled, and the world seemed briefly at peace.
Kaelith pulled Lara's hand. "Why don't you dance, too, Aunt Lara?"
Lara ruffled her hair. "Someone has to keep the peace. Besides, your mother's watching me. She'd roast me if I tried to steal the spotlight."
Kaelith wrinkled her nose, unconvinced, but let it go.
The dance ended in a flurry of applause. Aliyah returned to her throne, breathless and beaming, and Sarisa took her place beside her.
For a little while, the banquet rolled on gifts, songs, speeches, and the steady, watchful gaze of the court.
Then, as if conjured by the very tension Lara tried not to name, Vaelen entered. The crowd parted for him as he moved with easy confidence, his suit a perfect match for Sarisa's golden gown.
The tailoring was impeccable, the gold filigree picking up the same sunlit motifs that glittered on Sarisa's dress.
He approached the dais with a composure Lara could almost admire. His eyes were for Sarisa alone, bright with anticipation and something like resolve. Lara felt the twist of unease return, low in her belly.
Vaelen bowed first to the queen, then to Sarisa, every inch the perfect suitor.
"Your Majesty, Princess Sarisa," he intoned, his voice carrying. "May I have this dance?"
The room stilled nobles whispering, the musicians pausing on a note. Sarisa glanced at Aliyah, who gave a conspiratorial thumbs-up.
Then she looked at Lara just a flicker, so quick only Lara would notice. Something unspoken passed between them again: regret, apology, pride. A promise broken by necessity.
Sarisa stood, smoothing her golden skirts. "You may," she answered, her tone even and regal.
She placed her hand in Vaelen's, and together they moved to the center of the hall, the crowd pressing in to watch.
The music began again, grand and triumphant. Vaelen guided Sarisa into the dance, their steps sure and measured, golden fabrics catching every light. Lara watched, hands in her pockets, a tight smile on her lips.
Aliyah leaned against her, whispering, "Are you sad, Mom?"
Lara shook her head, eyes never leaving Sarisa. "No. Just…proud. That's all."
But she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince—her daughter, or herself.