Lara got out of the queen's solar feeling like she had swallowed a furnace.
Her cheek still burned where the queen had slapped her, but that wasn't what made her vision feel too sharp around the edges.
No, it was the words. The cold, clean cruelty of them. As if Sarisa were a title first and a woman second.
As if Lara were some animal to be distracted with flesh and sent away with a pat on the head. As if love could be bargained out of a room like unwanted furniture.
Fuck that damn queen.
Lara stalked down the corridor with all the elegance of a thunderstorm. Servants flattened themselves against the walls as she passed. One poor page nearly dropped an armful of books.
She didn't apologize. Didn't look at anyone. Her hands were opening and closing at her sides, knuckles aching for something to hit, something that would crack under pressure and make the rage feel simple again.
She should have gone outside.
Instead she kept walking, half blind with anger, replaying every second of that conversation.
What do you want more woman to fuck I can give you that if you leave my daughter.
The insult landed fresh every time it crossed her mind.
Lara turned a corner too hard and slammed straight into someone.
There was a startled noise, a flash of blue and silver, and the other person went down hard onto the polished floor with a curse.
Vaelen.
Perfect.
He sat there for a stunned second, one palm braced on the marble, dark hair slightly disheveled, blinking up at her like he couldn't decide whether to be offended or embarrassed.
Lara didn't move to help him up. She just stood over him, breathing hard, every violent instinct in her body abruptly given a face.
Vaelen looked up properly then, taking in the expression on hers.
He should have shut up.
Instead, smoothing one hand over his jacket as he got to his feet, he said, "Hmm. Do you have a problem?"
Lara stared at him.
He was trying to sound calm. Amused, even. But there was a sharpness under it now, the careful pleasantness of a man who had decided he was tired of pretending not to notice something.
Lara tilted her head. "Move."
Vaelen's eyes flicked briefly to her cheek, to the fresh red mark there. Something ugly and satisfied lit behind his gaze for a second before he covered it.
"I asked you a question."
"And I gave you an answer." Lara's voice was low and flat. "Move."
He didn't.
Of course he didn't.
The corridor was empty except for them, the nearest guards wisely distant. Light fell in long bars through the windows, painting the floor between them gold and white.
Vaelen straightened his cuffs, gathering himself. He wasn't a coward, Lara would give him that. Stupid, maybe. But not a coward.
"You've been in a mood since yesterday," he said lightly. "Since before that, actually. I'm beginning to think this isn't about me bumping into you."
Lara smiled without humor. "You should stop thinking, then. You're not very good at it."
He let out a short breath, almost a laugh. "That's funny. Coming from you."
There it was. The challenge.
Lara folded her arms. "You got a point to make, prince?"
Vaelen looked at her for a long moment. "I think maybe I do."
His voice stayed quiet, but whatever soft, harmless thing he usually wore like armor was gone. What remained was something tighter, meaner. Not stronger. Just pettier.
"You've had your fun," he said. "I know enough to see that much. The looks, the…attachment. Sarisa's kindness toward you. The way her daughter clings to you." He shook his head once. "But this ends. It has to."
Lara's jaw locked.
"Careful," she said.
Vaelen went on as if she hadn't spoken. "You think because you've been around her for years that gives you some claim. It doesn't. You are her bodyguard. The mother of her child, yes, but that is not the same thing."
Lara laughed once, but there was no warmth in it. "No? And what are you, exactly? A wedding invitation with hair?"
His face changed.
Good, Lara thought. Bleed.
At last, a little anger showed in him. "I am the man she is going to marry."
"On paper."
"In front of the gods, the court, and the realm," he snapped. Then, regaining some of his composure, he added more softly, "The difference matters."
Lara stepped closer.
Vaelen held his ground, though his throat worked once before he spoke again.
"You can glare at me all you like," he said. "But in three months she'll be mine in every way that matters."
Something inside Lara went still.
Not calmer. Not better.
Still in the way a forest goes still before lightning hits.
Vaelen must have seen something in her face, because he hesitated. For one intelligent second, Lara thought maybe he'd stop. Maybe he'd realize he had pushed this as far as it should go.
Then he smiled.
It was a bad smile. Small and smug and cruel in a way that didn't suit him at all.
"I can't wait to marry her so I can fuck her—"
Lara hit him.
There was no warning. No clever comeback. No restraint.
One second Vaelen was standing there with that ugly little smile on his face, and the next Lara's fist connected with him hard enough to crack the air.
The sound that came out of him was not even a shout, just a choked burst of shock as his body lifted clean off his feet.
He flew backward into the wall.
Marble shattered.
Dust exploded into the corridor in a white cloud, chunks of stone crashing down around him as he went through the decorative paneling and hit the other side in a ruin of blue silk, broken plaster, and splintered wood.
The whole palace seemed to jolt with the impact.
Lara was already moving forward, breath heaving, fists still clenched, every muscle in her body singing with the need to hit him again, harder this time, until that sentence was ground out of existence.
Then a voice cut through the dust and ringing silence.
"Lara, what are you doing?"