I swore I was just helping raise our daughter

Sarisa's hands trembled, just slightly, as she traced the sharp angle of Lara's jaw. The world had faded to the heat between them nothing but skin and breath and hunger.

Lara's body was glorious above her, every line and muscle brought to shimmering life in the lantern-lit room.

Sarisa's touch drifted lower, searching, teasing, until her fingers hooked beneath the elastic of Lara's underwear.

Lara stilled, a tremor running through her, eyes searching Sarisa's face for some last confirmation.

Sarisa's smile was wicked. "Off," she whispered, tugging playfully.

Lara hesitated, her cheeks flushed, eyes wild and dark. "Are you sure?" she breathed.

Instead of answering, Sarisa reached for the little pouch she'd stashed beside the bed, fingers closing around a smooth paper-wrapped ring—one of Elysia's magical condoms, impossibly reliable, impossibly convenient.

She held it up with a smirk, letting the moonlight glint off the silver-etched wrapping.

Lara's brows shot up. "What—Is that—?"

Sarisa couldn't help the little laugh that escaped her. "Planning ahead. Elysia made me pack them. She said, 'Never trust a diplomatic trip.'"

Lara shook her head, grinning despite herself, heat flickering in her gaze. "So you did know this would happen."

Sarisa pretended to pout. "It's called being prepared, General. Not that you'd know anything about that."

Lara snatched the packet, eyes glinting with mischief and a hint of disbelief. "You're a menace, Sarisa. A menace in royal silk. And apparently, naughty."

"Naughty?" Sarisa echoed, arching an eyebrow, even as she lifted her hips in invitation. "You're the one with your hand in my—"

Lara silenced her with a kiss, hard and deep and hungry, her hands finally finding their way under her own underwear, yanking them down with practiced impatience.

For a moment, Sarisa just stared up, breathless, as Lara rid herself of the last barrier between them.

Lara paused, the condom packet in her hand, eyes searching Sarisa's for any flicker of doubt.

Finding none—only a challenge and open want—she tore it open with her teeth and, with a look that was all rough promise, slid it on.

Sarisa's eyes never left Lara's face. She took in every line—the scar along Lara's hip, the tense flex of her arms, the wild, bright hunger in her gaze. It was like staring into a storm she'd begged to be swept away in.

Lara took her time at first, pressing Sarisa back against the cool sheets, tracing every inch of her skin as if she meant to memorize it. Sarisa's heart hammered as Lara's hands roamed, every brush of calloused fingers both worshipful and possessive.

But then, something shifted—the tempo changed. Lara's mouth claimed hers, fierce and unyielding, and Sarisa's arms went around her shoulders, pulling her in.

It was wild and hot and unpolished, a tangle of limbs and tangled sheets, the kind of mess that would have scandalized every etiquette teacher Sarisa had ever known.

She gasped as Lara's hips pressed against hers, the sudden pressure sending a shock of sensation through her. Lara's hand slid under her thigh, lifting her, angling her perfectly.

Sarisa could feel the strength in Lara—raw, pent-up energy barely held in check. Their bodies aligned, skin to skin, and then Lara was inside her, slow and deep, filling her so perfectly Sarisa arched off the bed with a moan that was half disbelief, half relief.

For a moment, everything stopped—there was only the sound of their breathing, the thunder of Sarisa's heart, and the way Lara's gaze pinned her in place.

A promise, a warning, a question: Are you ready for this? Are you ready for me?

Sarisa answered with her body, rolling her hips, digging her nails into Lara's back, pulling her closer. "Don't you dare hold back," she whispered.

Lara laughed, the sound raw and low, before snapping her hips forward, hard and fast and desperate.

After that, it was chaos. They moved together, a tangle of sweat and laughter and little gasps and curses.

Sarisa clawed at Lara's shoulders, bit at her throat, lost herself in the relentless rhythm. Every thrust was a challenge, every moan a victory.

There was no pretense, no gentleness—just need, pure and simple, centuries of tension burning away in the space between their bodies.

At some point Sarisa remembered to breathe, remembered that she was a princess with obligations and a reputation—but Lara's mouth on her breast, her thigh, her lips at Sarisa's throat made her forget everything but the moment.

She gave herself over completely, let herself drown.

Lara kept murmuring nonsense—words like "perfect," "mine," "can't believe this," hot little confessions lost in Sarisa's hair and the crook of her neck.

They didn't last long, not after so many years of want. Sarisa came undone first, a tight, shattering climax that tore a cry from her lips.

Lara kept going, riding her through it, until she broke too—body tensed, breath caught, her own release leaving her shaking.

For a long moment, they simply breathed together, sweat cooling on their skin, hearts pounding so loudly Sarisa was sure the whole castle could hear.

Lara collapsed onto the bed, her weight warm and comforting, her arm thrown across Sarisa's stomach.

Sarisa found herself laughing, a little hysterically, as the tension dissolved. Lara rolled onto her side, grinning, eyes bright with something wild and free.

"You're impossible," Sarisa whispered, running her hand through Lara's hair.

"You're trouble," Lara shot back, grinning. "A magic-condom-carrying, princess-of-chaos kind of trouble."

Sarisa pressed a kiss to Lara's temple, her own lips trembling with something dangerously close to happiness. "And you love it."

"Maybe I do," Lara said, eyes closing, their legs still tangled together. "But don't get used to winning every argument just by undressing."

Sarisa nipped at her shoulder. "We'll see, General."

For a while, they lay there, not speaking, just letting the quiet settle around them. It felt different than Sarisa expected—not awkward, not frightening, but right.

As if some door had finally been unlocked, and both of them could breathe a little easier.

Eventually, Lara moved to dispose of the condom—muttering something about "magic, thank all the gods"—then crawled back into bed, gathering Sarisa close against her chest.

Sarisa nestled in, letting herself be held, safe and sated and exhausted.

There were no declarations, no promises. Just raw, honest pleasure—the kind that made Sarisa wonder how she'd ever lived without it.

They drifted off as dawn touched the sea, tangled together, and for the first time in years, Sarisa dreamed of nothing but warmth and skin and laughter.