It was almost lunch time when Sarisa finally forced herself out of her room.
The palace corridors were quieter at this hour, wrapped in that polished midday stillness that always made everything feel staged.
Sarisa walked through it all with her back straight and her hands loosely folded before her, every inch the princess she had been trained to be.
Inside, she felt tired enough to splinter.
She had not expected the hollow ache in her chest to follow her quite so fiercely after leaving Lara that morning.
Knowing Lara was there, alive, thinking, moving through another castle under another sky, while Sarisa returned to this polished prison of duty and wedding plans and careful lies… it sharpened everything.
When she reached the small private dining room, the doors stood slightly open.
Voices drifted through the gap.
Her mother's and Vaelen's.
Sarisa slowed automatically. She had not meant to eavesdrop, but then, neither of them had ever shown much concern for what she meant.
"…I simply think she will calm down in time," Vaelen was saying, his tone low and cautious, as though he were trying to soothe a dangerous animal through a cage. "She is angry now, yes, but once the wedding is closer—"
He stopped.
The silence changed.
Sarisa knew before stepping through that they had seen her.
She entered anyway, face composed.
The room was set for three. The queen sat at the head of the table in pale silver, elegant and immaculate as ever, while Vaelen had taken the seat to her right.
The sight of them together in the soft noon light made something cold move through Sarisa's stomach. They looked so calm. So ordinary. As if the last month had not happened at all.
Her mother was the first to smile.
It was a small smile. Controlled. Measured.
"Well," she said lightly, "look who finally decided to stop sulking."
Sarisa did not answer.
She moved to her seat and sat with smooth precision, her gaze passing over neither of them for longer than courtesy required.
If her silence irritated the queen, she gave no open sign of it. Sarisa reached for the folded napkin, set it in her lap, and looked down at the arrangement of cutlery as if it required great concentration.
The queen watched her for a moment longer.
Then, to Sarisa's surprise, she said, "Well. Sorry for yesterday. I might have overdone it."
The words landed with such perfect wrongness that Sarisa looked up before she could stop herself.
Her mother's expression remained calm, almost mildly regretful. Not ashamed. Not soft. Just… tidy.
As if what had happened in the carriage had been a regrettable lapse in etiquette rather than a slap that had ended something fundamental between them.
Sarisa's mouth opened slightly.
She had expected many things from this lunch. More pressure. More insinuation. Another conversation about heirs or duty or what was "best."
She had not expected an apology, especially not one so polished it might have been prepared in advance.
Vaelen glanced between them, clearly relieved by the queen's tone, as though he believed this strange performance of normality might actually work.
Sarisa wondered if he was that naïve or merely that desperate.
At last she said, very evenly, "I see."
It was not forgiveness. Barely even acknowledgment. But the queen nodded as though the matter had been settled into something manageable.
"Good," she said. "Then let us not ruin lunch."
The servants entered with the first course.
The whole thing took on an even stranger quality after that. They spoke, all of them, as though yesterday had been no more than a minor disagreement.
No voices were raised. No accusations passed beneath the table. No one even mentioned Lara, exile, or the carriage.
The queen asked whether Sarisa had slept. Vaelen inquired after Aliyah in that soft, considerate tone of his.
A servant poured wine. Another replaced a spoon. The room was filled with the sounds of a family meal and none of the truth beneath it.
It was disorienting.
Sarisa answered when she had to, but each response felt like she was speaking through glass. She kept waiting for the performance to crack, for her mother to let some sharper edge show, but the queen remained composed.
Almost pleasant. Vaelen was the same. Careful. Attentive. Watching Sarisa with the same patient expression that had begun to wear on her nerves not because it was cruel, but because it was relentless.
"How was the jeweler's box this morning?" the queen asked at one point, cutting neatly into the fish on her plate. "I assume the ring has been sent to be resized."
Sarisa had forgotten all about the ring box waiting on her dressing table.
"Yes," she said.
"And you are satisfied?"
No, she thought.
Instead: "It is suitable."
Vaelen smiled a little at that, perhaps remembering how quickly she had chosen it. "I rather liked that you selected it so decisively."
Sarisa took a sip of water. "I'm glad one of us found joy in the process."
Vaelen gave a soft laugh, as though that were wit rather than warning. "Not joy. Relief, perhaps. It felt like progress."
The word made her want to leave the table.
Progress toward what? A wedding she did not want? A future being built on top of her like a burial mound?
Her mother intervened before the silence could deepen. "The invitations to the southern houses have all been confirmed. If the weather holds, the ceremony should take place without complication."
Without complication.
As if nothing in Sarisa's life had ever existed except complication.
She looked from her mother to Vaelen and found herself almost fascinated by their ability to speak around disaster. It was a skill, perhaps. A royal one. The art of pressing white linen over a wound and pretending it counted as healing.
When the second course came, Vaelen tried again.
"I heard Aliyah is spending the day at Malvoria's castle," he said. "That seems to have pleased her."
Sarisa stilled, though only for a breath. "Yes."
"She is fond of it there."
"She is fond of people who do not treat her like a problem," Sarisa said before she could stop herself.
The words were not loud, but they landed.
Her mother's fork paused.
Vaelen looked down at his plate at once, suddenly finding it extremely deserving of his full attention.
Sarisa realized what she had said only after the silence settled around it. She could have softened it. She could have smiled and pretended it was a joke.
She did neither.
The queen resumed eating first. "Children are often drawn to novelty."
Sarisa almost laughed at that. Aliyah, reduced to novelty. To a child's shallow whim. How convenient.
Lunch went on.
That was the strange part. It simply… continued. The queen discussed floral arrangements for the outer courtyard.
Vaelen mentioned an elderly aunt from one of the allied houses who might cause trouble over seating.
A servant brought fruit and sugared pastries. Someone asked whether the musicians had been confirmed.
And all the while Sarisa sat there with the surreal feeling that she had somehow stepped into a version of her own life where truth had been carefully removed, leaving only the shape of it behind.
She answered. She nodded. She kept her face calm.
Inside, she kept thinking of Lara laughing softly into her hair that morning. Of the warmth of her bed. Of the way she had looked when she said I'd do absolutely anything you want, Sarisa.
The contrast made the room feel colder.
By the time the meal neared its end, Sarisa wanted only to leave and lock herself somewhere quiet enough to breathe.
Vaelen, however, seemed to mistake the absence of open war for improvement.
He set down his glass and looked at her with that earnest, careful warmth she had grown to dread.
"I thought," he said, "that perhaps tonight might be different."
Sarisa looked at him.
His smile deepened, hopeful and composed. "I organised a romantic dinner for tonight."