I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 292: That’s how I see the futur

Sarisa was only a breath away now, her presence steady, unblinking. She smelled faintly of lavender and parchment, the strange duality of someone who could read four languages and command a warhost.

Lara had always respected that about her.

Still did.

But in this quiet moment—no council, no table between them—Lara realized something heavier sat in her chest. Not regret, exactly. Not guilt.

Just the weight of all the things left unsaid.

She ran a hand through her hair and looked away.

"I’ve been kind of a... stubborn ass," she said finally.

Sarisa lifted a brow. "Kind of?"

"Okay. A flaming, reckless, emotionally allergic ass. Happy?"

"Immensely."

There was a pause. A breeze stirred the curtain behind them, casting shadows on the stone floor like shifting memory.

"I meant what I said," Lara continued. "I’m not the marrying type."

"I know."

"It’s not about you. Not really. You’re... great."

Sarisa’s lips twitched. "That sounds almost sincere."

"I’m trying, alright?" Lara huffed. "I just—gods, I don’t even know how to explain it."

"Try."

Lara hesitated, then slid down the wall until she was sitting, legs stretched in front of her, boots scuffed from pacing.

Sarisa didn’t mock her. She simply joined her, lowering herself slowly, her hands resting on the curve of her stomach.

Lara glanced at her out of the corner of her eye.

"Look, I’m not afraid of commitment. Or responsibility. You’ve seen me fight. You’ve seen me bleed. I don’t run. I don’t abandon people."

"I know."

"But the idea of a wedding? Of... crowns, thrones, sealed vows and ceremony—it makes my skin itch. Like I’m being forced into someone else’s script."

Sarisa stayed quiet.

"I don’t want to be a queen," Lara said, more quietly now. "Not even by accident. Especially not of the Celestials. No offense."

"None taken."

"I mean, I like you—hell, I admire you but walking into that role would feel like... like I was stepping into clothes that were made for someone else. Tight. Shiny. Expensive. And wrong."

Sarisa tilted her head. "You realize you’ve just described about half the formalwear of my people."

"Exactly!" Lara exclaimed. "All of it—every robe, every title, every ritual it doesn’t feel like me."

She paused, lowering her voice again.

"But this child? They do. They’re already a part of me. I felt it the day you told me. That weird, terrified hope. I want to be in their life. Really in it. I want them to know me. To know you. To know they weren’t some political move or a mistake."

Sarisa turned toward her fully, her silver eyes suddenly very, very serious.

"That’s what I needed to hear."

Lara swallowed.

"I’ll be there," she said, hand over her heart.

"Every laugh. Every scraped knee. Every ’don’t touch that, it’s on fire.’ I’ll be the one training them to throw knives and read philosophy. Just... let me be that, without turning it into a parade."

Sarisa didn’t smile.

Not at first.

Instead, she studied Lara like a puzzle she’d solved a thousand times but still liked turning over for the challenge. Then, softly—

"Alright."

Lara blinked. "Wait, really?"

"You’re right. A title doesn’t make a parent." She rested a palm on her stomach. "And they won’t need a perfect palace. They’ll need two people who look at them like they’re the best thing that ever happened—whether or not those people wear matching rings."

Lara exhaled. "You’re sure?"

Sarisa smirked. "Would I really want to be married to someone who thinks formal robes are cursed?"

"Technically cursed," Lara corrected.

Sarisa laughed.

They sat in silence again, more comfortably this time. The tension had unraveled between them, like a ribbon cut clean through.

Outside, voices drifted faintly through the halls Kaelith laughing in the distance, someone clinking plates in the kitchens, Raveth’s unmistakable tone of exaggerated doom over dessert choices.

"I’ve been thinking a lot about the future," Lara said, after a while.

Sarisa glanced at her. "Go on."

"I don’t see a throne. Not mine, anyway. I see... land. Not big, not fancy. Just a stretch of somewhere we can protect. Gardens. A training yard. Maybe a forge."

Sarisa smiled faintly. "You want a homestead."

"Maybe," Lara said, a little sheepish. "With enough room to throw daggers without hitting anyone by accident."

"You hit that priest on purpose."

"Okay, but he deserved it."

Sarisa chuckled.

"I see a place," Lara went on.

"Where our kid can grow up with both of us. Me dropping them off for lessons in the morning, you rolling your eyes when I come back covered in grease because I’ve been fixing a gate that wasn’t even broken."

"You’d repair things just to prove a point."

"Yes."

"I see that."

Lara looked at her. "So you do see a version of this? Even without a crown?"

Sarisa nodded. "I see a future where they have two completely ridiculous, overprotective, deeply chaotic parents. One who prefers daggers to diplomacy. And one who knows how to keep the balance."

"And your court?"

Sarisa’s voice was quiet now. "They’ll adjust."

Lara exhaled, tension slipping from her shoulders. "You always were terrifyingly competent."

"I contain multitudes."

They sat for a long while, side by side on the stone floor, no longer saying much at all.

Just two women who had made something unexpected together—messy, strange, maybe even beautiful.

Lara finally tilted her head toward her. "You really think we’ll manage it?"

Sarisa gave a small, firm nod. "We already are."

The quiet after her words was warm—not fragile, but steady, like the kind of silence that only came when two people understood each other without needing more proof.

Lara shifted slightly, rubbing the back of her neck. "Can I...?"

Sarisa turned her head.

Lara gestured awkwardly toward her stomach. "I mean, can I touch?"

Sarisa didn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilted her chin with mock gravity. "You won’t declare a vendetta against my unborn child if they kick you, right?"

"No promises," Lara said, grinning crookedly.

Sarisa rolled her eyes, but she nodded.

Lara reached out, carefully, her calloused fingers hovering for just a breath before resting gently on the curve of Sarisa’s belly.

Warmth. Life.

And then—movement.

A tiny, undeniable flutter beneath her palm.

Lara’s breath caught.

"Woah," she whispered. "They’re... real."

Sarisa’s smile softened. "Very real. And very opinionated about meal times."

Lara didn’t pull away just yet.

She stayed there, hand resting over new life, something uncertain and perfect.

"I’m gonna try not to mess this up," she said quietly.

Sarisa looked at her. "Then you’re already doing better than most."