Five days could change everything. Sarisa had always known it, but never quite like this—not in the way the world could shrink and fill with laughter, with bruised knees and secret grins, with the reckless, electric pleasure of two bodies learning how to say yes after so many years of maybe.
Five days, and the southern island felt like a separate lifetime, one she could almost pretend belonged only to them.
Now, as the carriage rumbled along the sunbaked road to the teleportation circle, Sarisa rested her head against the velvet seat and stared at Lara across from her.
Lara sat sprawled in the opposite corner, shirt half-buttoned, eyes closed, looking so damn satisfied and infuriatingly smug that Sarisa almost wanted to kick her ankle—almost.
The sunlight made Lara's new scars shine, her bracelet glinting against bronzed skin.
"I think your hair is still full of sand," Sarisa murmured, voice low, only for Lara.
Lara cracked one eye open, lips quirking. "Better than hay. The last place we did it—"
"Don't," Sarisa hissed, cheeks coloring. She shot a glance at the driver—mercifully, he was half-deaf and utterly disinterested. "We said we wouldn't talk about it. Not until we figure out what to do."
Lara stretched, her knuckles grazing the roof. "Just saying, Princess. We're out of condoms. You think that was a sign?"
Sarisa rolled her eyes, but she felt warmth blooming low in her belly at the memory. "The universe demands self-control. It's about time you learned some."
"Where's the fun in that?" Lara teased, eyes glinting. But then she sobered, tracing the line of the window with a thumb. "Are we really not going to tell anyone?"
For a long moment, Sarisa just watched the landscape whip past: olive groves and rocky hills, sheep grazing under distant thunderheads. The carriage rocked gently, the road home both too short and too long.
She tried to find her voice, but what could she say? That she wanted to freeze the world in the southern sun, keep the rest of her life at arm's length? That she'd never felt so alive—or so afraid?
"We can't. Not yet," Sarisa said at last, picking at the edge of her sleeve. "Too much at stake. Too many people with opinions. And Aliyah—"
Lara nodded, lips pressed thin. "You're right. She deserves more than rumors."
There was a beat of silence. The carriage wheels thunked over a rut, jostling them together.
For a moment Sarisa let her knee brush Lara's, breathing in the familiar scent of smoke and spice. They'd been reckless in the south, greedy for each other in the lull between dangers, but already the old carefulness was creeping back.
Lara broke the silence first, her tone teasing but just a bit wounded. "Should we pretend to be professional when we get back? Maybe I'll salute you every time we meet."
Sarisa snorted. "I'd pay to see that. You can't keep a straight face for more than five seconds."
"Bet I could." Lara lifted her chin, putting on her best "general" voice. "'Your Highness, permission to…escort you to your quarters.'"
The innuendo wasn't lost on Sarisa, and for a moment she could only laugh—quiet, breathless, achingly fond. "Careful, General. You're already on thin ice."
The words lingered, dancing between caution and promise. They'd danced around this for years—almosts, what-ifs, the easy excuse of duty and danger.
Now, everything felt fragile, something precious balanced on the edge of discovery.
Sarisa glanced at the passing olive trees, at the distant clouds. "Do you think they'll know? The court, I mean. That we're…different."
Lara shrugged. "They always think things, Princess. Let them. Only Aliyah matters." Her voice softened.
"Gods, I can't wait to see her. She'll have a million questions. Bet she started a coup while we were gone."
Sarisa's smile was almost shy. "I missed her. Every night."
Lara's own smile gentled, and for a moment she looked every inch the vulnerable girl she'd never been allowed to be. "I missed both of you."
They lapsed into silence again, the carriage rolling onward, both lost in memories of the week.
There had been laughter—Sarisa, breathless and helpless, as Lara tried (and failed) to ride a southern pony twice too small for her.
There had been rough hands and softer moments: Lara braiding Sarisa's hair by lamplight, Sarisa tracing every new scar on Lara's body, counting the ways they'd survived.
There had been fights, too—over who would do the talking, who would keep watch, who would dare say the words first.
But every night, it ended with them tangled together, desperate to make up for all the stolen time.
She wondered what would change when they returned. Would they be braver? Would they hide behind routine?
The carriage slowed as they neared the teleportation circle, a marble platform set into a grove of olive trees. The magic in the air shimmered, humming along Sarisa's skin. She straightened, smoothing her gown, and reached for Lara's hand.
"Ready?" she asked, voice steady despite everything.
Lara squeezed her hand, grinning. "Yeah."
They stepped from the carriage and into the dappled shade. The teleportation circle was ringed with petals, left by local children for luck.
Sarisa murmured the incantation, feeling the world tighten around her—then burst into sound and color as they appeared in the receiving hall of the Celestian castle.
Home.
There was no welcome party, just the hush of afternoon light, the distant clatter of servants, and the muted, almost nervous anticipation that hung over everything in the capital.
Sarisa drew herself up, slipping easily back into the mask of Princess. Lara did the same, falling into step at her side—a little too close, their wrists brushing, but nothing more.
The first person to find them was, of course, Aliyah. She burst into the hall like a tiny, unstoppable storm, Kaelith close behind her, both in matching tunics smudged with ink and crumbs.
"Mom! Mama!" Aliyah shouted, barreling into Sarisa's arms before she could say a word.
Sarisa scooped her up, breathing in the scent of wild child and sunshine, pressing kisses to her hair. "You've grown three inches in five days, I swear."
"I grew taller and I learned a new spell and Aunt Malvoria says Kaelith can almost fly now but I think she's cheating—" Aliyah paused, peering up at Lara. "Did you bring me anything? Did you kill a pirate?"
"We made bracelets! And we had cake every night!"
Lara leaned down, producing the tiny soulmate bracelet from her pocket and tying it around Aliyah's wrist. "For you, troublemaker. Made by both of us."
Aliyah beamed, showing it off to Kaelith. "Look! Now we're all matching! That means we're stuck together forever, right?"
Sarisa hugged them both, heart impossibly full. "Exactly. Nothing will break us apart."
There were, of course, questions—where had they gone, what had they seen, why did they look so tired and so happy at once? Sarisa answered as honestly as she could, leaving out the parts that belonged only to her and Lara.
The rest of the day was a blur of reunions, updates, and obligations. Malvoria swept in, smirking and sharp-eyed, teasing them both with too-knowing glances. Elysia lingered at Sarisa's side, pretending not to notice when Sarisa squeezed Lara's hand a little too tightly.
As the sun set and the palace filled with the hum of evening, Sarisa stole a quiet moment on the balcony, watching the city lights flicker below. Lara joined her, silent at first, then reaching to rest a hand at the small of Sarisa's back.
"We're home," Lara whispered, voice rough.
Sarisa nodded, leaning into her. "We are. For now."
They stood that way until the moon rose, until the stars blinked awake and the palace felt, for a moment, like a place they could belong—messy, complicated, full of secrets and hope.
And as Aliyah's laughter echoed from somewhere inside, Sarisa let herself believe that maybe—just maybe—the world would let them keep what they'd found, even if only for a little while.