The thunder of applause still rang in Lara's ears as the engagement ceremony surged into its next act: congratulations, toasts, laughter that sounded just a little too sharp at the edges.
Nobles pressed forward in glittering tides, and even Malvoria face unreadable for once swept up Kaelith and went to join Elysia near Sarisa and Vaelen.
The gold of the ballroom seemed brighter now, dizzying and hot, every mirror reflecting Sarisa's new ring back at Lara from a thousand directions.
Lara stood at the edge, almost swallowed by the crowd. A few well-meaning guests offered her brief, awkward smiles; others looked right through her, as if a general could be invisible in a room full of peacocks and politicians. It didn't matter.
She didn't want to talk. She just needed to breathe.
With a measured calm she didn't feel, Lara slipped through a side archway and out onto the balcony that overlooked the palace gardens.
The air was crisp—cooler than the ballroom, tinged with the distant perfume of late-blooming roses and damp stone. She gripped the railing and leaned forward, letting the cold iron bite into her palms.
Above her, stars shivered in the dark velvet sky. Somewhere below, a fountain burbled. The world felt very far away.
Lara closed her eyes and counted her breaths, trying to separate the ache in her chest from the sounds of celebration drifting through the open doors behind her.
She had expected pain, maybe even disappointment. But she hadn't expected the sense of emptiness—the realization that some chapter of her life had just ended in a rain of applause, and she hadn't been the hero or the villain, just a name in the credits.
You should be happy for her, Lara thought. You should be proud. She tried, but the words fell flat.
The memories came—flashes of other nights, other dances. Chasing Aliyah and Kaelith through moonlit corridors, Sarisa's hand warm in hers, shared laughter echoing in the dark.
Arguments that had ended in half-mumbled apologies and tangled blankets.
The slow, careful way Sarisa used to look at her, as if Lara was the only person in a room full of ghosts.
She blinked hard, swallowing back the knot in her throat. It's better this way, she told herself. Sarisa will be safe. The world will see her as a queen, not just a mother or a lover or a scandal.
Still, the disappointment lingered, a bruise beneath the surface. Was she sad? Yes. Angry? Maybe. Mostly, she felt lost. For the first time in years, there was no next battle, no enemy to fight, no reason to draw her sword or raise her voice.
A familiar presence settled beside her, so quiet she almost didn't notice at first. Lara glanced sideways and found her mother leaning against the railing, cloak pulled tight around her shoulders, eyes full of old, tired wisdom.
"Not a bad view," Veylira said softly, surveying the gardens as if they were the only thing worth watching. "You always did like it better out here."
Lara let out a shaky breath, grateful for the calm her mother brought. "Too many people in there. Too many eyes."
Veylira hummed in agreement. "They never look at the things that matter. That's their first mistake." She paused, studying Lara's face with a scrutiny that was both loving and merciless. "You look like you lost a war."
Lara managed a small, bitter smile. "Maybe I did."
Her mother nudged her shoulder, gentle and unhurried. "You fought the wrong battle. That's all. Doesn't mean you lost."
The words twisted inside her, both comforting and painful. Lara looked out over the hedges, watching the lanterns flicker along the garden paths.
"I thought I could handle it. Be happy for her, I mean. I thought… if she was safe, if the world accepted her, that would be enough."
"And is it?"
Lara hesitated. "I don't know. Sometimes I want to leave, just… disappear. Let them have their happy ending."
Veylira snorted. "If you wanted to leave, you would've already. That's never been your problem, Lara. You're stubborn as an ox and twice as hard to push away."
She softened, voice gentle. "But running doesn't heal a wound. You're allowed to be sad. You're allowed to want more."
The truth of it made something twist in Lara's chest. "She looked happy."
"She looked strong," Veylira corrected. "There's a difference."
Lara shook her head. "What am I supposed to do, Mother? Stand in the shadows for the rest of my life? Watch her love someone else?"
Veylira's eyes sparkled with a trace of mischief. "You could, but it would be dreadfully boring. Besides, I've never known you to wait patiently for anything, let alone love."
She reached over and squeezed Lara's hand. "Sometimes we don't get the ending we thought we wanted. Sometimes we have to make our own."
A wry, broken laugh escaped Lara's lips. "You make it sound easy."
"It isn't," Veylira agreed. "But you're not alone. Not unless you choose to be."
They stood together in silence, the hum of the banquet a distant, unreal thing.
The cold night air settled into Lara's bones, and for the first time, the ache inside her felt like something she could carry—a scar, not a wound. The pain didn't vanish, but it eased. She had survived worse.
She turned to Veylira, voice low. "Thank you."
Veylira squeezed her hand again, then straightened, her eyes sharper. "You know, I think I'll go see if the wine inside has improved since the last time I was here. Don't stay out too long."
Lara nodded, watching her mother disappear back through the doors. She lingered, savoring a few last breaths of cold, untainted air. The stars wheeled above, uncaring and eternal.
She could hear the music rising again, the faint thunder of dancing feet, the echo of toasts and laughter.
Aliyah's giggle, sharp and clear, drifted up from the ballroom. For a moment, Lara almost convinced herself that she could go back inside, paste on a smile, and pretend that nothing had changed.
But then came the sound that shattered everything—a scream, sharp and terrified, followed by the crash of silver on stone. The music faltered. Shouts rippled through the crowd.
Lara's body moved before her mind could catch up. She sprinted through the doors, boots skidding on marble, senses narrowing to the single thread of chaos unfolding at the center of the hall.
Nobles scattered like startled birds. The Celestian queen's voice cut through the din, commanding but strained.
Lara's eyes locked onto the dais—Sarisa was there, standing stiff as a statue, and beside her, Vaelen with a look of pure shock.
And there a shadow moving too fast, too close. A man in servant's livery, face twisted with desperation, arm drawn back, the glint of a knife in his fist.
Time slowed. Lara saw every detail: the flash of steel, the wildness in the attacker's eyes, the way Sarisa instinctively stepped back but not fast enough.
The crowd recoiled, frozen, and the guards fumbled for their weapons too far, too late.
Lara didn't think. She lunged, closing the distance in three heartbeats, every muscle straining. The man's hand came down, blade slicing through air, only inches from Sarisa's side.
Lara caught his wrist, grip ironclad, wrenching the arm upward. The knife shuddered, teeth of steel trembling just above Sarisa's golden dress.
A heartbeat, a gasp—then everything crashed into motion.
Lara looked up, meeting Sarisa's stunned, wide eyes, the world tilting wildly out of orbit.
For that instant, all the pain, longing, and fear of the past melted away, replaced by the bright, primal knowledge that she would always, always choose Sarisa, even if it meant standing between her and the blade.
Not today. Not ever.