The moment Lara's footsteps faded, Sarisa exhaled slowly. The kind of breath that didn't release tension but merely acknowledged it.
The garden beyond the window glowed with the soft colors of a nearing dusk, pale gold and silver shimmering off the mirrored stone.
Somewhere deep in the halls, Kaelith and Aliyah's voices still echoed one shrieking with delight, the other issuing bold, impossible commands.
Sarisa rubbed her temples.
It wasn't like she was that strict.
Right?
Her gaze lingered on the empty corridor. On the place where Lara had stood just moments before, boots scuffed, coat smudged with ash, eyes impossibly green and forever unreadable.
No. She wasn't too strict. She was… disciplined. Focused. Responsible.
She had to be.
Five years ago, Sarisa still wore half her robes backward when she rushed to meetings. She used to get tangled in her own chain magic while sparring. She laughed more. Smiled easily. Gods, sometimes she even took naps in the archives because she could.
But five years ago, her mother wasn't speaking of abdication.
Five years ago, no one whispered in council chambers about how dangerous her daughter might become.
Half-demon, they said behind shimmering veils. Unpredictable. Tainted.
And Sarisa couldn't always answer them. Couldn't always drown out the poison in their voices.
So she stood straighter. Spoke more cleanly. Trimmed her hair to perfection. Memorized court codes.
Rewrote policy in the dead of night. And around Aliyah… she became a storm in stillness. Stern words. Sharp tone. Always measured. Always restrained.
But sometimes like now she wasn't sure who she was measuring herself against anymore.
Was it her mother?
The council?
Lara?
Sarisa turned from the window, her gold-trimmed robes sweeping the floor. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the polished crystal lining the corridor walls. Elegant. Controlled. Regal.
But the woman in the glass looked tired.
And not from lack of sleep.
She stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her. Her bare feet made no sound on the ancient marble as she walked, but her presence etched in those glowing tattoos and dual-colored eyes did not go unnoticed.
Celestians bowed as she passed, ever proper, ever reverent. But reverence, Sarisa had learned, could easily hide disdain. And behind closed doors, they talked.
They all talked.
She heard it from the tutors. The servants. Even from her own aides.
"A shame about the girl's fire. So... uncultured."
"I heard she used her magic to light a councilor's beard once."
"It was black flame, wasn't it? Like the dead tyrants of the demon south?"
"What will happen if she snaps?"
Sarisa's fingers flexed at her sides.
They talked as if Aliyah were some accident of nature, something wild and barely contained.
As if she hadn't bled during the birth. As if she hadn't held her through her first night fevers. As if they hadn't all cheered and drank spiced wine at the naming banquet five years ago.
Fickle. That was the word.
And Sarisa had no time for fickle people.
She arrived at the central wing, where the council chambers loomed beneath domed crystal ceilings that pulsed with celestial light. The door was open, as expected.
The Council of Six were already seated in their designated crescents, wearing white, silver, and the kind of boredom that only came with excessive privilege.
Sarisa entered silently, letting the echo of her footsteps announce her. They all stood, bowing slightly. Her mother, seated at the highest point of the crescent moon dais, nodded once.
"Daughter," the Celestial Queen said. "You're late."
"I was retrieving Aliyah," Sarisa replied coolly, settling into her place.
Murmurs stirred like moth wings.
A few of the older councilors exchanged looks. The High Historian adjusted her veil with a clumsy twitch. Councilor Veysol, who always seemed just a little too smug, smiled as if that proved something about demon parenting.
Sarisa ignored them all.
"As you were," the Queen commanded.
Discussion resumed. Mostly logistics. Trade routes between the Celestial northern cliffs and the new mixed capital forming in the human-demon alliance.
Complaints about public access to teleportation circles. One young envoy even brought up festival safety now that more unusual citizens were permitted within Celestial cities.
Every word scraped against Sarisa's skin.
But she said nothing.
Diplomacy was about timing. Not emotion.
Then came the real topic.
"We must begin formal preparation for the transition of power," said her mother. Calm. Authoritative. Like she was reading a weather report, not altering the entire political landscape.
A councilor cleared his throat. "Is it wise to proceed so soon?"
"My health is not what it once was," the Queen replied, with a grace that made it sound like everyone else had simply not noticed the subtle decline. "And Sarisa has been trained her entire life for this."
Another voice added, "It is tradition for heirs to be wed prior to ascension."
Sarisa's spine stiffened.
Here it comes.
Her voice remained measured. "There are no such requirements in the Charter."
"There are no laws, no," the Queen agreed. "But tradition remains important. Especially now."
The silence that followed was not truly silent.
It was heavy. Loaded. Shifting.
Sarisa's mind raced. She felt the cool whisper of her chains, magically coiled under her sleeves, curling slightly in response to her mood.
Aliyah had played with them just days ago—laughing as the silver links floated through the air, creating constellations.
Now those same chains felt like iron bracing her lungs.
Her mother continued, slowly. "We found someone who could be a great spouse to you."
Sarisa didn't react outwardly.
But inside, something dropped.
Cold. Sharp.
Just like ice breaking off from the edge of a cliff.