I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 293: That’s more than being present

Two months laters....

Lara had never stayed anywhere this long before.

Two months.

That was longer than most of her missions, longer than most of her flings, and longer than the attention span she gave most formal rooms without an exit she could leap through.

But here she was.

Still in the castle.

Still by Sarisa’s side.

And the strange part was—she didn’t want to leave.

The castle was almost complete now. What had once been scaffolding and half-spelled stone had transformed into something alive.

Walls gleamed with warm golds and reds instead of the cold blacks of Malvoria’s childhood home.

There were curved doorways, enchanted lanterns shaped like starlight blossoms, and windows that poured sunlight into even the deepest halls. It didn’t look like a fortress.

It looked like a place someone could belong to.

And Lara, despite herself, did.

She walked the halls like she was part of them. She tested the defenses every few days, trained guards at sunrise, and shared her opinions on the nursery layout like it was a battlefield schematic.

Sarisa’s request to remain here for the birth hadn’t surprised her—but Lara’s own reaction had.

She’d said yes without hesitation.

Because something had shifted.

Something real.

She hadn’t expected to care this much.

Not just about the child.

But about Sarisa.

At first, she told herself it was duty.

That she was staying for the kid. The future. The promise she made in that quiet hallway.

But it didn’t take long to realize it wasn’t just that.

Sarisa was... impossible to ignore.

Smart in ways that made Lara second-guess her jokes. Graceful in ways that didn’t make sense when she was eight months pregnant.

Wickedly funny, especially when mocking Celestial etiquette. And above all honest, in that careful, deliberate way that Lara hadn’t known she needed.

Turns out, Sarisa wasn’t all silk and obligation.

She hated court politics. She called half the high priests "fluffy-robed parasites." She once threw a ceremonial plate out the window because it had "too many sacred grapes" on it.

She read banned history books in the garden. She preferred fruit juice to wine. She cried when she watched Kaelith fall asleep in her lap.

She was complicated.

And Lara found herself watching her more often than she wanted to admit.

Lara had grown up believing that love was something that flared and burned, then faded. That bonds were forged in battle and laughter, not in quiet afternoons and steady routines.

But here she was.

Brushing Sarisa’s hair back when the heat got too much.

Arguing with chefs to make her exact cravings (spicy dumplings, always spicy).

Threatening to gut anyone who raised their voice near her.

And feeling, every time she laid her hand gently against the curve of her belly, that something far deeper than instinct was growing there too.

The castle’s west wing had just been opened that morning.

Lara had tested every window. Every door. She’d walked the perimeter twice and installed a small knife beneath the tea table near Sarisa’s chair, just in case.

Now she stood on the balcony just above the garden, watching Sarisa read.

The late afternoon sun hit her hair just right—threads of gold woven through moonlight.

She was frowning slightly at the pages of some Celestial treatise, making small, unimpressed noises.

Lara leaned her arms on the railing.

"She’s reading again," came Malvoria’s voice from behind.

Lara didn’t turn. "She’s always reading."

"She likes the garden," Malvoria said.

"She likes the quiet."

"You like watching her."

Lara didn’t answer.

Malvoria stepped beside her, not pushing.

"I see how you are with her."

"Protective."

"No. Present."

Lara finally looked over. "You’re the sentimental one now?"

"I rebuilt a castle around a baby," Malvoria said dryly. "I’ve earned the right."

They shared a brief, knowing smile.

"She doesn’t want to go back," Lara said after a pause. "Not to the Celestial court."

"I know."

"You think they’ll try to make her?"

"They always try."

Lara’s grip tightened on the stone.

"I won’t let them."

"I know," Malvoria said again, and this time there was pride in her voice.

That evening, after dinner after Sarisa had laughed too hard at one of Veylira’s scathing jokes and eaten three of Elysia’s caramel pastries Lara helped her back to her rooms.

The stars were out by the time they reached the corridor. Kaelith had already been tucked into bed, and the halls had gone quiet except for the soft buzz of warding spells humming at the edges of the new walls.

"You walk like someone carrying a comet," Lara muttered, offering her arm.

Sarisa took it without protest. "I am carrying a comet. With feet."

They reached her chamber, and Lara helped her lower herself onto the sofa beside the window.

Sarisa exhaled, stretching one arm across the back.

"I didn’t think it would be like this," she admitted. "Being so... slow. Needy."

"You’re not needy," Lara said, crouching in front of her. "You’re building a person. That’s hardcore."

Sarisa snorted. "Thanks for the poetry."

Lara rested her hand gently against her stomach. The baby shifted beneath her touch, a slow, reassuring movement.

"I meant it," Lara said. "I didn’t think I’d care this much. Not just about them. About you."

Sarisa blinked, caught off guard for once.

"Lara..."

But she didn’t get to finish.

Because a sound interrupted her.

A soft splash.

Followed by a slow, spreading dampness across the cushion.

Sarisa looked down.

So did Lara.

There was a pause.

Then:

"Oh stars," Sarisa whispered.

Lara blinked.

"Did you just—?"

"My water broke," Sarisa said, voice very calm.

And then, with utter serenity, she added: "I hate everything."

Lara jumped to her feet.

"Stay here. No, wait, don’t—do not move. I’ll get help. And towels. And Malvoria. And Elysia. And Veylira. And—why do we have so many stairs?"

Sarisa covered her face with one hand. "Why did I let you near me during childbirth?"

"Because you love chaos," Lara called, already running.

Sarisa groaned. "I do. Gods help me, I do."

And outside the window, the stars shimmered a little brighter.

Something new was coming.

And neither of them would be the same again.