One week later, Lara was still not back.
At first, Sarisa told herself there was nothing to worry about. Bandit chases sometimes took days, especially on the northern border, where the hills were a maze of caves and crumbling paths.
The first letter from Lara arrived two days after her departure—short, wry, scribbled in a hurried scrawl she knew by heart.
"Bandits are sneakier than I thought. Might take a little longer. Nobody's dead yet (except maybe the bandits if I get annoyed enough). Tell Aliyah to behave, and remind Kaelith that dragons don't eat honey cakes. I'll be back soon."
Sarisa had read the letter three times, searching for the cadence beneath the words—was Lara hiding fear? Frustration? Was this just her way of saying she missed them?
The days slipped by, each punctuated by new notes: sometimes a line or two sent by a courier, other times a smudged scrap tucked into a bundle of other reports.
"Tracked them to the river. They're moving every night, but I'm faster.""Tell Aliyah she's still not allowed to have her own sword.""Weather's terrible. Remind Malvoria I owe her a drink when I get back."
Lara's absence was a peculiar thing. It echoed differently through every room of the palace.
Aliyah grew more restless with every dawn, as if each day without Lara tilted the world a little further off its axis.
Kaelith visited often, and the two girls conspired ceaselessly—though even their pranks lacked their usual spark.
But if Sarisa felt the loss, she did her best not to show it. The world did not stop for longing. There was always work to do.
This morning, the sunlight filtered into her office through the high arched window, warming the stacks of documents on her desk.
But for once, the pile was thin—months of training with Vaelen at her side had worked its magic.
The last of the day's reports were waiting for her signature, and only a handful of council decrees needed her attention.
Vaelen sat nearby, dressed more simply than usual: no ceremonial sash, just a tailored blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his focus intent on reviewing trade agreements.
His presence was companionable, never overbearing. Sarisa had grown to appreciate his quiet sense of humor, the way he offered solutions without stepping on her authority. In another life, maybe this would have been enough.
Aliyah, meanwhile, had built a fort from the cushions and ledgers near the fireplace.
The office, normally a sanctuary of order, was dotted with toy soldiers, a plush dragon with one wing missing, and Aliyah's favorite velvet blanket trailing behind her like a royal train.
"Mama!" Aliyah popped up from the fort, her dark hair wild and her eyes bright. "Look, I built a palace for the dragon queen. But she needs guards. Can I use your pens?"
Sarisa bit back a laugh, casting a glance at Vaelen, who smirked behind a sheaf of papers.
"Only the old ones," Sarisa said, offering a cup full of inkless pens. "I need the rest for signing treaties. Otherwise, the real dragon queen"—she shot Aliyah a mock-stern look—"will come here and steal your honey cakes."
Aliyah grinned, undeterred. "Aunt Malvoria said the real dragon queen loves honey cakes more than peace treaties anyway."
"She's not wrong," Vaelen added, setting down his work. He watched Aliyah with genuine fondness, and Sarisa found herself grateful.
The affection he showed Aliyah was never forced; it was the natural patience of a man who believed children were both chaos and magic.
Sarisa returned her focus to her own work. The words on the page blurred now and then, her thoughts slipping to Lara despite herself.
One week was a long time, even for a seasoned fighter like Lara. The region had grown more dangerous, not only because of the bandits but the rumors of a rogue dragon.
She had debated more than once whether she should send a search party, but every letter from Lara insisted things were under control.
She reached for the next decree, letting her hand rest on the page a moment. Should I be worried? Lara had never been careless. She'd always returned. She'd always—
A small hand tugged at her sleeve, interrupting her spiral. "Mama, the dragon queen needs a banner," Aliyah declared, waving a half-gnawed quill.
Sarisa smoothed a loose lock of Aliyah's hair behind her ear. "And what will be on her banner? A sword or a cake?"
Aliyah's eyes glinted mischievously. "Both! The cake is for victory. The sword is for… scaring the bandits away!"
Vaelen chuckled. "Excellent priorities. You'll make a fine general one day."
Aliyah beamed at him, then scurried off to dig in her fort for a ribbon to serve as her banner.
Sarisa watched her go, heart heavy with love—and something sharper, more uncertain.
Vaelen finished reviewing his stack and set the papers aside. "You're distracted," he said softly.
Sarisa pressed her lips together, weighing what to share. She knew Vaelen was perceptive. He had not pressed her for affection or declarations of love, not once.
He simply… stayed. It was a rare, comforting kind of loyalty. But he was not blind.
She looked out the window, watching the sunlight dance on the gardens below. "I suppose I am. It's not like Lara to take this long."
Vaelen nodded, thoughtful. "She's stubborn. She'll return when she's ready."
"Or when she's finished what she started," Sarisa said, half to herself.
They sat together in silence for a time, listening to Aliyah's running commentary as she assigned jobs to her army of plush guards.
Finally, Vaelen spoke, his voice gentle. "Do you wish it were different? That it was her here instead of me?"
Sarisa glanced at him, surprised by his candor. She didn't answer right away. The truth was a complicated knot inside her chest.
"I… don't know. Some days I think yes. Others, I'm grateful for your steadiness. You don't ask for things I can't give."
He smiled, accepting the answer with a grace that made her ache for him, too. "I have loved you for a long time, Sarisa. I know how to wait. But if you ever want more—" He left the sentence unfinished, letting the possibility float between them.
Aliyah broke the moment by clambering into Sarisa's lap, waving her "banner" triumphantly. "Victory, Mama! The dragon queen's army is ready!"
Sarisa wrapped her arms around Aliyah, drawing her close. "Then the palace is safe."
They fell into a gentle rhythm for the rest of the morning. Vaelen read through trade figures, Sarisa finalized the last signatures, and Aliyah organized a coup among her plush soldiers, leading a valiant charge against the fortress of council memos stacked on the windowsill.
But as the day wore on and the sunlight shifted, Sarisa felt the unease return—a gnawing tension that not even laughter or paperwork could entirely banish.
When she sent Aliyah with a maid to the kitchens for lunch, she let her head fall into her hands, exhaustion pooling in her bones.
Vaelen set aside his papers, quietly crossing to stand beside her. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"She'll come back, Sarisa. She always does."
Sarisa nodded, but she didn't believe it—not quite. Not this time. And if she doesn't? The thought felt like a stone in her throat.
Vaelen gave her a quiet moment before he spoke again. "If you'd like to walk in the gardens later, I'll be here."
She offered him a small, grateful smile. "Thank you."
When he left, Sarisa let herself sit in silence for a while. The room felt too big, the walls too white.
The light had shifted; a bank of clouds passed over the sun, casting everything in gentle gray.
One week, she thought, fingers tightening on the edge of her desk. How long before I worry for real?
She rose and moved to the window, looking out across the lawns. Aliyah was down there now, waving her banner as she led a group of palace children in a mock skirmish.
For a moment, Sarisa was overcome by a longing so sharp it almost made her gasp, a wish for simplicity, for certainty, for the kind of love that never left.
But there were always duties. There was always waiting.
She watched the path to the north gate, hoping just for a moment to see a familiar, stubborn silhouette.
But the road was empty, and the only movement was the flutter of Aliyah's makeshift banner, stubborn and bright, in the spring wind.