One hour later, the palace had settled into that strange, heavy quiet that only came in the late afternoon, when even the servants seemed to move more softly and every room felt full of waiting.
Sarisa had taken the tray back from the dungeon with careful, controlled hands, had forced herself to walk and not run, to smile at no one, to say nothing that would betray the fact that her heart was still somewhere underground with Lara.
She had gone straight to her chambers after that, locked the door, and stood under hot water until her skin turned pink and the lingering scent of damp stone, broth, and chains finally faded from her body.
It hadn't taken the memory with it.
Now, clean and only half-dry, she stood in front of her mirror fastening the last clasp of a pale silver gown.
Her hair was still damp at the ends, falling in loose waves over her shoulders. She looked composed again. Regal. Untouched.
It was a lie so polished it almost offended her.
A knock sounded at the door.
Sarisa froze for a second, fingers still on the clasp at her throat. For one foolish, impossible heartbeat, she thought Lara. Then reason returned.
Lara was still in the dungeon, still chained, still bruised and furious and hungry for freedom.
Another knock.
Sarisa finished adjusting her sleeves, smoothed her expression into something neutral, and crossed the room. When she opened the door, she had to stop herself from visibly recoiling.
Vaelen looked like shit.
Damn, Lara had gone hard on him.
The bruising along his jaw had darkened into an ugly purple-black bloom, and the cut at his brow had been stitched but not quite successfully hidden.
There was still a bit of swelling at one cheekbone, and one side of his mouth pulled slightly when he tried to smile, which made him look less princely and more like a nobleman who'd lost an argument with a very determined staircase.
In Sarisa's head, a traitorous voice whispered: good.
Outwardly, she only inclined her head. "Vaelen."
He gave her a careful, almost pained little smile. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."
You are, she thought.
"No," she said politely. "Come in."
He stepped into the room with the slow caution of someone newly aware that his body could hurt in fascinating places.
Sarisa closed the door behind him and turned, remaining at a distance. She had no desire to be trapped near his wounds and his kindness at the same time.
Vaelen looked around the chamber as though he expected to find some visible sign of her distress laid out on the furniture.
"I came to see how you're doing," he said. "With… Lara's situation. It must be difficult."
The moment he said Lara's name, something sharp moved behind Sarisa's ribs. She did not sit. Neither did he.
"It is," she said simply.
His expression softened. "I imagined it would be. Whatever happened between you and her, she is still Aliyah's other parent. And your co-parent." He paused delicately, searching for the least offensive way to say something intrusive. "You've been tied to each other for a long time."
Sarisa folded her hands loosely before her. "Yes."
Vaelen nodded, as though he were reassuring a nervous animal. "I want you to know I understand. This cannot be easy for you. Despite everything, I would never ask you to stop caring about someone important to your daughter."
It was such a carefully generous thing to say that Sarisa almost hated him for it.
Almost.
Instead she watched him, trying to decide whether he actually believed his own performance. Whether this was genuine concern or a subtle way to place himself in the role of comforter while Lara sat in chains below the palace.
He took a cautious step closer.
"You shouldn't go through this alone," he said.
Sarisa's spine stiffened. "I'm not alone."
For the first time, something unreadable flickered in his face. Not anger. Not exactly. Something closer to frustration, quickly hidden beneath concern.
"Of course," he said. "I only mean… I'm here. For you. If you need someone to rely on."
He said it kindly. Warmly. Like a man offering safety.
The problem was that safety felt like a room with no windows.
Sarisa looked at him properly then. At the bruises Lara had left on him. At the careful gentleness in his hands. At the way he stood, politely not crowding her, politely making himself available, politely acting as if the future were already settled.
She thought, with a sudden wave of irritation: gods, even his sympathy is boring.
Vaelen must have mistaken her silence for softening, because he stepped closer again, slowly enough that she could have moved away without making it seem like a rejection.
He opened his arms.
Sarisa stared at him.
"Vaelen," she said warningly.
But he only gave her that pained, understanding smile and said, "Just a hug. You look like you need one."
She did not want one, well not with him.
Not from him. Not with Lara still underground. Not while the whole palace was balancing on lies. But refusing outright would create another scene, another thing to explain, another tension she did not have the strength to manage right now.
So she let him.
Vaelen wrapped his arms around her carefully, as though she were made of spun glass. It was not unpleasant. It was not invasive. It was not even especially unwelcome in a technical sense.
It was simply wrong.
Sarisa stood there in the circle of his arms and felt nothing except a strange, flat awareness of how much she wanted this to be over. His embrace was warm.
His hand at her back was gentle. He smelled like clean linen and medicine and the faint sharp scent of healing salve.
And still, in the deepest part of her, her body remained unmoved. Unclaimed. Waiting for a touch that did not feel like an obligation dressed as kindness.
Vaelen drew back after a moment, perhaps sensing that she had not exactly melted into him.
He tried another smile. "There. That's better."
No, Sarisa thought. It really isn't.
Then he did something that made her entire body go cold.
"We should probably start getting closer," he said, tone still light and reasonable. "Given the wedding. We will have to be intimate at some point."
The words dropped into the room like something rotten.
Sarisa stared at him.
For a second, she honestly thought she might have misheard him. Maybe the headache from the sedative had come back.
Maybe all the blood in her body had rushed to her ears and translated his voice into something more offensive than intended.
But no. Vaelen was still standing there with his bruised face and his gentle hands and his calm, perfectly sensible expression, as if he had just suggested they coordinate seating arrangements.
Intimate.
At some point.
As if it were inevitable. As if the body was just another estate to be transferred through legal ceremony.
Sarisa felt her mouth smile before the rest of her caught up. It was not a warm smile.
"I see," she said.
Vaelen, idiot that he was, took that as encouragement.
"I only mean," he went on, "that perhaps it would help if we did not treat each other like strangers. There is no need to rush, obviously. I would never pressure you. But if we are to build a marriage, some… closeness… should begin before the ceremony, don't you think?"
Sarisa's hands were very still.
In her mind, she saw Lara in chains. Lara half-starved and bruised, still joking. Lara saying, you should have eaten too. Lara kissing her in a cell like the world had not yet beaten them.
Then she looked at Vaelen, standing in her room talking about future intimacy as if he were negotiating trade routes, and thought:
You poor, delusional bastard.