What remains unsaid

The silence after Lara's arrival was thick enough to chew.

She stood in the doorway, one hand on the lunch tray, acutely aware of the weight of the room pressing in on her.

The air was scented with jasmine tea and a hint of lemon from the empty plate by Sarisa's elbow.

Sunlight streamed through the tall window, making the marble tiles glow and illuminating every small, awkward detail—Vaelen's relaxed posture, Sarisa's hunched shoulders, the pile of paperwork now much reduced.

They looked… comfortable, Lara realized. Not romantic, exactly, but easy with each other. Too easy.

The memory of Sarisa's red-rimmed eyes last night burned behind Lara's own. Was it just exhaustion, or had she already found a way to laugh again?

Lara's jaw tensed. She tried to will herself to speak, but her tongue felt clumsy.

Vaelen rose smoothly, dusting imaginary crumbs from his sleeve. "Lady Sarisa, thank you for the company. Captain." He nodded to Lara, that infuriatingly polite smile never faltering.

His eyes flicked between them for a split second, as if weighing the battlefield, before he quietly excused himself. "I'll let you two have some time. More paperwork awaits elsewhere, and I mustn't deprive the realm of my magnificent penmanship."

He collected his own tray, bowed to Sarisa, and slipped from the office with the graceful speed of a man who knew exactly when he'd outstayed his welcome.

The door shut with a muffled click. Silence expanded in the space he left behind.

Lara set her tray down on the edge of the desk. She didn't sit. She couldn't. The urge to pace—to move, to do something—buzzed in her muscles.

Instead, she ran a hand through her hair and forced herself to survey the scene as if it were a map: documents stacked neatly, teacups with dregs cooling, honey pot almost empty, an extra spoon resting near Sarisa's hand.

Evidence of laughter lingered in the air, and it made Lara's throat ache.

Sarisa didn't look up. She was still hunched over her desk, pretending to read something in the corner of a parchment she had just signed. Her jaw was set, her shoulders rigid beneath her formal jacket.

Lara took a deep breath and counted to five before speaking—she couldn't afford to make things worse.

"Sorry for interrupting," she said finally, her voice coming out rougher than she'd intended. "Didn't know you'd have company."

Sarisa's pen didn't pause. "It's your castle too, technically. You don't have to knock."

"Still. Didn't want to… you know. Step on any toes." Lara picked at the edge of the tray, avoiding Sarisa's eyes. "I brought lunch. For you. Didn't know you already ate."

Sarisa made a quiet noise, something halfway between a sigh and a "thank you." She didn't look up.

Lara cleared her throat. "I, uh, didn't make it myself. The kitchens were eager to help—said you needed something sweet, and honestly I think they just wanted to meddle in royal drama."

That earned the barest twitch at the corner of Sarisa's mouth. It vanished almost instantly.

Lara couldn't stand it. The polite distance. The way every word felt like it might shatter if she raised her voice above a whisper.

She sat, finally, in the stiff chair across from the desk, and found herself staring at her own hands. Her fingers were still stained faintly with grass from the garden earlier. She hadn't even noticed until now.

"Look—" she began, and then stopped, searching for the right words.

Sarisa's eyes flicked up, cool and steady. "Yes?"

Lara's voice was gentler now, colored with something uncertain. "I just wanted to apologize. For last night. For… everything."

The room held its breath.

Sarisa's expression was unreadable. "It's not the first argument we've had, Lara."

"No, but it's the first time I saw Aliyah and Kaelith plotting my exile at breakfast," Lara tried to joke, but it fell flat between them.

Sarisa's lips pressed into a thin line. "They're protective. Children see more than we think."

Lara nodded. "Yeah. They told me I had to say sorry. To you. Or I wasn't allowed to be the dragon in their castle."

Sarisa's mouth twitched again, but she only nodded, taking another steadying breath. "So that's why you're here. Diplomatic mission from the castle's smallest rebels."

Lara shook her head, wincing. "No. Not just that. I… I'm sorry, Sarisa. I lost my temper. I was angry and jealous and probably more than a little childish. You didn't deserve that. You've got enough to deal with, and I made it worse."

Sarisa finally set down her pen. She folded her hands atop the desk and looked at Lara for a long, searching moment.

"I didn't tell you about the marriage because I didn't think you'd care," she said, the words soft but sharp. "You always made it clear we were just… raising Aliyah. Co-parents. Partners. Not lovers. Not a couple."

Lara flinched. "Yeah. I know."

"Did you want something different?" Sarisa asked. Her voice was so calm that Lara almost missed the hope—or fear—beneath it.

Lara's hands curled into fists. "I don't know what I want. I just know I don't want to lose what we have."

"What do we have, Lara?" Sarisa's tone was tired, but not cruel. "Because it's not enough for me to just… wait. Forever. While my mother plans my life, and you run away from every feeling that gets too close."

Lara swallowed. "That's not fair."

Sarisa arched an eyebrow, echoing her mother's regal posture. "Isn't it?"

Lara had no answer. The question hung between them, heavy and real.

Sarisa exhaled, the sound shaky. "I can't keep pretending it doesn't hurt when you pull away every time things get real. When you joke, or vanish for days, or treat my life like a sideshow you can walk in and out of whenever you want."

Lara looked at her—really looked. There was pain in Sarisa's eyes, an exhaustion that went deeper than sleepless nights and paperwork. It was the ache of someone who had waited too long for something that never came.

Lara's next words were quiet, vulnerable. "You're right. I was selfish. I never thought you'd… move on."

Sarisa's voice barely rose above a whisper. "You never thought I'd be chosen by someone else?"

Lara flinched again.

Silence fell. The kind of silence that only exists between two people who know each other too well.

Lara stared at the lunch tray. The food, untouched, seemed like an offering left at the wrong altar. "I'm sorry," she said again, and this time it was everything she had.

For a long moment, Sarisa just watched her.

Finally, Lara let herself ask the question she'd tried to avoid, the one that had haunted her since last night. Her voice was low, trembling with something she still couldn't name.

"Do you really want to marry that man?"