Don't be too hard on her

Time had always seemed pliable around Lara—sometimes quicksilver, sometimes molasses, but never so treacherous as now.

In the instant Lara's sword cracked across Vaelen's arm, Sarisa's mind shrieked to a halt.

The clang of wood on flesh, the shouts of soldiers, the collective inhalation of onlookers every sound distorted, slowed, as if the world itself was uncertain how to proceed.

Lara's expression was not the face Sarisa knew. There was no familiar mischief, no warmth. Instead, a strange, cold flatness dulled her gaze, as if she were a stranger in her own body.

For a moment, Sarisa saw something frightening an edge, a darkness that did not belong.

And Vaelen dear, gentle Vaelen clutched his bleeding arm, eyes wide, not in fury but confusion, his lips pressing together to swallow a cry.

Sarisa forced herself to move, to break free of the crowd's paralysis, pushing past stunned recruits until she dropped to one knee beside Vaelen, the world narrowing to the throbbing wound and his pale, sweating face.

"Let me see," she said, her voice sharper than she intended. She barely registered the other soldiers' movements, nor Lara's stammered attempt at explanation, but she heard her own heartbeat thundering in her ears.

Vaelen unwrapped trembling fingers from the gash. It wasn't deep, but it was already swelling—a livid bruise spreading beneath torn fabric.

Sarisa pressed her palm around the wound, calling up a trickle of healing magic, enough to stop the blood.

"What happened?" she demanded, looking up at Lara, whose face was contorted with shock and horror. "What in the stars were you thinking?"

Lara shook her head, jaw clenched. "I… I don't know. It was like—something else. My arm, it just—" Her voice faltered. "I would never—"

"Don't lie to me," Sarisa snapped, harsher than she meant, pain and fear sharpening her words. "You know better. He's not a soldier—he's my—" Her words caught in her throat. "He trusted you."

Lara's face flickered with something like agony. "I'm not lying, Sarisa. I don't know what happened. My body—it wasn't mine—"

But Sarisa turned away, refusing to listen to more excuses. It was easier, safer, to be angry.

To protect herself from the cold, creeping fear that this wasn't just a mistake, that something in Lara could snap and hurt the people Sarisa cared about.

She slid her arm under Vaelen's shoulders and helped him to his feet, ignoring Lara's outstretched hand.

The Captain and several guards fell in beside her, but she shook them off with a wordless glare.

The crowd parted, whispering. Kaelith and Aliyah looked on, silent for once, eyes huge. Sarisa forced herself not to show weakness. She could not, would not, let the palace see her shaken.

"Come on," she murmured to Vaelen, guiding him toward the entrance to the nursery wing.

"We'll get you cleaned up. It's nothing. Just a scratch." But her voice betrayed her, wavering despite her best efforts.

Behind her, Lara trailed like a shadow, orders and protocol binding her in place. Sarisa wanted to scream—at the court, at her mother, at fate, at Lara for making everything so complicated, so dangerous, so unpredictable.

The palace halls felt too small, too bright. The nursery wing a place of gentle lullabies and healing suddenly bristled with tension.

The nurses rose at once, gathering bandages and warm water. One, a kindly older Celestian with silver hair and gentle eyes, met them at the door.

"Injury?" the nurse asked, voice calm. She inspected Vaelen's arm, her hands gentle and sure.

"Nothing serious," Sarisa managed. "He took a bad hit during training."

The nurse nodded, motioning for Vaelen to sit. She peeled back the sleeve, cleaning the wound with cool water, dabbing away the blood with practiced efficiency.

The injury, now visible in the golden afternoon light, was ugly but not deep—a bruise blooming around the scrape, a cut that would fade with magic and care.

Sarisa hovered, unable to sit, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. She could feel Lara's presence just beyond the nursery door—too close, too present, and yet not present at all.

Vaelen watched her, his gaze soft despite the pain. "Sarisa, I'm fine. Truly. It was an accident."

But Sarisa shook her head, unable to shake the memory of Lara's cold, empty stare. "It shouldn't have happened. She should have more control than that. She's better than that."

Vaelen reached for her hand, his touch warm and grounding. "You worry too much. I've been through worse scrapes playing with Kaelith and Aliyah." He offered a lopsided smile. "You should see the bruises Kaelith gives me when we fence."

That almost won a smile from Sarisa, but the ache remained. "Still. She needs to answer for this."

The nurse finished her inspection, weaving a light healing spell into the bandage. "He'll be sore, but there's no lasting damage. I'd recommend rest, and perhaps less excitement for a few days."

Vaelen squeezed Sarisa's hand, lingering longer than strictly necessary. "Thank you. For caring."

She felt her cheeks warm, awkward beneath the nurse's approving glance. "It's my duty."

Vaelen laughed softly, but there was something in his eyes—something grateful, something gentle—that made Sarisa feel exposed.

He leaned forward, surprising her, and wrapped her in a brief, grateful embrace. It was chaste, respectful, but his gratitude was genuine.

"Thank you," he whispered again. "For worrying about me."

Sarisa stiffened for a heartbeat, then allowed herself to relax into the hug, letting herself be held—not as a princess, not as a future queen, but as a friend. It was comforting, steady. Safe.

When she pulled back, she was met with the nurse's knowing smile. "He'll be well cared for. Why don't you get some air? There's only so much you can do here."

Sarisa nodded, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek. "Yes. Of course. If you need me—"

"We know where to find you, Your Highness."

With one last glance at Vaelen—who gave her a small, reassuring nod—Sarisa turned and stepped out into the corridor.

Lara stood there, hands clasped behind her back, face a careful blank. Sarisa regarded her coolly, biting back all the questions, accusations, and fears warring in her chest.

"What did the nurse say?" Lara asked, her voice rough, not quite meeting Sarisa's eyes.

"It's not deep," Sarisa replied, keeping her tone distant. "He'll recover."

A tense silence stretched between them.

Lara shifted her weight, the uniform somehow making her look both imposing and diminished. "Sarisa, you have to believe me. I didn't mean to hurt him. Something was wrong—I could feel it. It was like I wasn't even—"

But Sarisa held up a hand, the gesture sharp. "Not now, Lara. I can't… I can't do this right now."

Lara's jaw worked, as if she wanted to protest. But then she fell silent, shoulders slumping, defeated.

Sarisa took a deep breath, pushing back the urge to scream. "Go back to your quarters. I'll deal with you later. And don't go near Vaelen. Not until I say so."

Lara nodded, eyes dark with pain. For a moment, Sarisa almost reached out—almost offered comfort. But she couldn't, not with her heart pounding and her mind racing with doubt.

She watched Lara go, the long, powerful stride now hollowed by shame.

When she reentered the nursery, Vaelen was already chatting with the nurse, a picture of calm. But as he caught Sarisa's eye, he gave her a look that was both apologetic and encouraging.

"Don't be too hard on her," he murmured, keeping his voice low. "People make mistakes. Even heroes."

Sarisa managed a small, brittle smile, but it felt fragile—too much had changed in just a few moments. "I'll try."