I swore I was just helping raise our daughter

The Southern morning was honey-bright and dazzling as they left the breakfast hall behind. Sarisa felt the sun on her shoulders, the sea breeze tangling her hair, and the presence of Lara at her side like a promise and a question at once.

The night before glimmered behind her eyes: Lara's mouth on her skin, the sounds they'd made together, the weight of Lara's body pressed to hers until neither of them knew where one ended and the other began.

Sarisa tried to focus on the day's duties, but her mind kept circling back. It hadn't been the first time—not really.

That first night, nine months before Aliyah was born, had been desperate, half-accidental, all sharp-edged hunger and whiskey-soaked regret.

They'd both been different people then, braced for a future neither could see. But last night… last night had been hers.

She'd wanted it, wanted Lara, wanted to lose herself and find herself at the same time. She wondered if Lara felt the difference, too.

Their guide for the morning, the Southern princess—Lyana, she'd introduced herself with a wink—led the way toward the royal stables, talking a mile a minute about the horses, the imported riding drakes.

Lyana was clever, loud, and remarkably handsy: as soon as they crossed into the shadowed coolness of the stables, she hooked her arm through Lara's with a proprietary ease that made something in Sarisa's chest tighten.

"These two," Lyana announced, beaming up at Lara, "are the pride of the island. I call them Thunder and Rain." She led them past two enormous, glossy black stallions, both tossing their heads impatiently.

Lara grinned. "They look like they'd bite my hand off if I tried to ride them."

"Only if you're slow," Lyana teased. "Fast hands, fast reflexes, that's the trick. Isn't that right, Princess Sarisa?"

Sarisa found herself forcing a smile. "I suppose I've always preferred a steady pace myself."

Lyana shot her a dazzling grin. "A shame. Fast is much more fun." She tugged Lara down the row, chattering about the next stall—a pair of pearly-white mares with blue ribbons braided in their manes.

"These are the pride of my father's breeding program. You should come riding with me, General."

Lara was clearly amused, her eyes sparkling as she replied, "Is that a challenge, Princess?"

"Absolutely," Lyana replied, squeezing Lara's arm a little too tightly. "And I never lose a challenge. You'll see. Besides, there's an old legend—if you can ride every horse in the southern stable, the sea will grant you a wish."

Lara arched a brow. "What would you wish for?"

Lyana's answer was immediate. "A little less work, a little more fun, and maybe a lover who isn't terrified of my parents."

Lara snorted. "Noted."

Sarisa drifted a step behind, letting the sun-dappled dust and the tang of hay soak into her skin.

She realized with a jolt how strange it felt—watching Lara like this, at the center of someone else's orbit, easy and open, laughing as if she hadn't spent half her life armoring herself against exactly this kind of attention.

Lyana reached up, brushed an imaginary bit of straw from Lara's shoulder. "So, how long are you staying? My parents are hoping you'll be here for the summer festival."

Lara shrugged. "I go where I'm ordered."

Lyana laughed. "That's a shame. I'd like to see you in festival silks." She looked Lara up and down—open, direct, no shame at all.

Sarisa felt something sharp twist in her chest. Before she could stop herself, she slipped forward, and as Lyana turned to show Lara a gray-speckled foal, Sarisa reached up and pressed a kiss to Lara's cheek.

It was nothing, a feather-light brush of lips—barely a kiss at all—but it was possessive, unmistakable.

Lara blinked in surprise. "Sarisa—"

Lyana stopped short, mouth open, eyes darting between the two of them. She didn't look angry—more amused than anything else, as if she'd been waiting for this.

"Well, well," Lyana drawled, hand dropping from Lara's arm. "I see I've underestimated the northern strategy. My mistake." She grinned at Sarisa, almost approving. "No hard feelings, Princess?"

Sarisa's smile was smooth, practiced. "None at all. Thank you for showing us the stables."

Lyana laughed. "It's my pleasure. And if you ever get tired of being bodyguard, General, you know where to find me."

With a wink, she turned and strode down the row, calling over her shoulder, "I'll tell the grooms to saddle something gentle for you two—don't want the royal delegation limping back to court."

Her footsteps faded, leaving Sarisa and Lara standing alone in the dusky, hay-scented quiet.

Lara turned, eyes wide, a crooked grin tugging at her mouth. "Possessive much?"

Sarisa rolled her eyes. "Please. She was practically climbing you."

Lara laughed, voice low and warm. "Was that jealousy, Your Highness?"

"I don't get jealous," Sarisa lied, too quickly.

Lara stepped closer, their bodies nearly touching in the narrow space between the stalls. "Sure sounded like jealousy."

Sarisa glared, but her resolve was already slipping. She could feel the heat in Lara's gaze, the way her own heart sped up just from being so close. "She's insufferable."

"She's persistent," Lara agreed. "But not my type."

"Oh?" Sarisa said, trying to keep her voice steady. "And what is your type?"

Lara's gaze swept over her, slow and deliberate. "Moonlight hair. Gold tattoos. Princesses with too many responsibilities and a habit of bossing me around."

Sarisa fought the smile that tugged at her lips. "You're impossible."

"And you're beautiful," Lara whispered, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from Sarisa's face.

They stood there, caught in the quiet. Sunlight pooled at their feet, dust motes swirling in the light. Sarisa felt every nerve in her body stretch taut, every muscle aware of the impossibility and inevitability of this moment.

Lara stepped even closer, their chests almost brushing, her hand lingering at Sarisa's jaw.

"Say it again," Lara murmured, her voice so low it was barely there.

Sarisa's pulse thudded in her throat. "Say what?"

"That you want me."

Sarisa looked up, met Lara's gaze—steady, unflinching, hungry.

She let herself breathe, let herself feel. All her reservations, her worries about court and kingdom and the future, fell away like dust.

She pressed her hands to Lara's chest, feeling the heat of her skin through the thin fabric.

"Just shut up and kiss me," Sarisa said.

Lara's answering smile was feral, triumphant.

She did.

The kiss was slow, thorough, and more than a little possessive—Lara's hands framing Sarisa's face, Sarisa's fingers twisting in Lara's shirt. For a moment, there was nothing but the scent of hay, the distant sound of hooves, and the heat of Lara's mouth on hers.