Lara was awake before dawn.
It annoyed her.
Normally, waking early meant something was wrong. A mission. A threat. A child standing beside her bed with suspicious silence and sticky hands.
But that morning the little house was quiet, the windows dark blue with the first hint of light, and Sarisa was still asleep, wrapped in blankets and the warm aftermath of everything Lara had never thought she'd be lucky enough to have.
For a few minutes, Lara stood in the doorway and simply watched her.
That was dangerous, so she stopped.
If she stared too long, she would crawl back into bed, and then the tour of the demon capital would become another "tomorrow" because Sarisa was unfairly beautiful when asleep and Lara had only so much discipline before breakfast.
So she went to the kitchen.
The small house stirred awake with her. The old floorboards creaked beneath her bare feet. The stove took flame with a soft golden lick of magic.
Morning seeped slowly through the window above the sink, silver at first, then warmer, brushing over the jars of herbs, the knife block, the bowl of fruit, the crooked little stack of plates Lara had never bothered to replace because she liked them exactly as they were.
Today had to be good.
Not perfect. Lara did not trust perfect. Perfect was a Celestian wedding dress and Vaelen's stupid smile and white flowers hiding rot under their roots.
No, today had to be real. Good in the way warm bread was good. In the way sunlight on dark stone was good. In the way Sarisa's laugh felt when it surprised both of them.
So Lara cooked.
Eggs first, soft and golden, folded with herbs and a little sharp cheese. Toast next, thick slices grilled until the edges crisped, then spread with ripe avocado, sea salt, pepper, and a drizzle of citrus oil from the southern markets.
She cut fresh fruit into a bowl, squeezed oranges and red moonberries into a jug of juice, and set out honey because apparently honey now had a reputation in this house and deserved diplomatic respect.
By the time the tray was arranged, the kitchen smelled bright and warm and alive.
Lara looked at it and nodded once, satisfied.
Then she turned to the second part of the morning: preparation for the capital.
That required more thought.
The demon capital was not like the Celestian city. Malvoria had transformed the capital over the years, dragging it into a future full of magic engines and a lot of other things.
Sarisa needed to see it. As Lara's mate.
The thought still sent a strange, fierce warmth through Lara every time it formed. But the capital was crowded, loud, hungry for news, and even if no one in the demon realm would dare touch her, Lara wanted their first outing to feel like freedom, not public spectacle.
So she had prepared a disguise.
A good one.
Elysia had sent the enchantment work the night before, folded into a small case that appeared on the kitchen table with a tiny note that read: Try not to look too smug while using this. It makes your face worse.
Lara had burned the note.
Then kept the ashes because it was funny.
The disguise itself was elegant. A deep burgundy traveler's cloak with a hood lined in shadow-thread, made to soften the wearer's features without fully hiding them. Not enough to erase Sarisa.
Lara would never want that. Just enough to shift attention away, to make eyes slide past the familiar silver hair and royal bone structure and see instead a wealthy foreign noble visiting under protection.
There were small black gloves, a belt with a charm that muted Celestian aura, and a delicate ear cuff shaped like a curled horn that would make the disguise feel intentional rather than fearful.
And because Lara had no self-control where Sarisa was concerned, she had also found an outfit.
Dark trousers, tailored but soft. A cream blouse with loose sleeves. A black vest embroidered subtly with gold thread.
Boots sturdy enough for walking but attractive enough that Sarisa would not accuse Lara of trying to dress her like a soldier. The whole thing looked practical, expensive, and devastating.
Lara had spent ten minutes staring at it after arranging it over the chair.
Then she realized what she was doing and swore at herself.
The sky outside was pale gold when Sarisa finally appeared in the doorway, hair loose, Lara's shirt still slipping off one shoulder, mating mark visible like a dark-gold secret at her throat.
Lara froze with a piece of toast in hand.
Sarisa blinked sleepily at her, then at the table, then back at Lara. "You cooked again."
"Yes."
"You are becoming alarmingly domestic."
"I am full of surprises."
Sarisa's gaze dropped to the breakfast spread, and her expression softened in that way that made Lara want to fight entire armies out of gratitude. "This looks wonderful."
"Eat before you compliment me too much. I'm fragile."
Sarisa smiled and came closer. "You are not fragile."
"No," Lara admitted, setting down the toast. "But I am very vulnerable to you saying nice things while wearing my shirt."
That woke Sarisa up a little.
Her eyes warmed, her smile turning sly at the edges. "Is that so?"
"Yes, and we have plans today, so behave."
Sarisa sat at the table with the grace of a queen and the expression of a woman absolutely not planning to behave. "You first."
They ate slowly, or tried to. Sarisa made little pleased sounds over the avocado toast that Lara pretended not to hear because if she reacted to every beautiful noise Sarisa made, they would never reach the capital.
The juice was praised. The eggs were approved. The honey was given one significant glance and then left alone, mercifully, though Lara did not trust that peace to last forever.
After breakfast, Lara carried the tray away and returned with the clothes.
Sarisa stared at the outfit.
Then at Lara.
"You planned all of this."
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Long enough."
Sarisa rose and crossed to the chair, fingertips brushing over the burgundy cloak. "This is beautiful."
"It's enchanted. It will soften your appearance, mute the obvious signs of your aura, and stop every idiot in the capital from staring at your mark before you're ready to break necks about it."
Sarisa looked over her shoulder. "Before I'm ready?"
Lara's mouth twitched. "I assume you'll be ready eventually."
"That is fair."
Lara picked up the ear cuff and held it between two fingers. "This is mostly decorative."
"Mostly?"
"It also makes you look like you're important enough that people should mind their own business."
Sarisa laughed softly. "And the clothes?"
Lara's gaze moved over her before she could stop herself. "Practical. Comfortable. Still pretty enough for your tragic royal standards."
"My tragic royal standards saved you from dressing me like a bandit."
"You would be an elegant bandit."
"I would rather be an elegant woman visiting."
The word landed.
It still did that. Every time.
Lara stepped closer, the disguise pieces forgotten for a moment in her hands. "You want that?"
Sarisa's expression softened. "I want to see your world."
Lara had not expected that to hit so hard.
Her world.
Not Malvoria's court. Not the demon realm as a political enemy or a diplomatic map. Her world.
The roads she had ridden, the markets she had avoided as a teenager and then secretly loved, the capital she had tried to run from before understanding that belonging was not always a cage.
She swallowed once. "Then I'll show you everything."
Sarisa tilted her head. "Everything?"
"The capital first. The high bridges, the invention district, the lantern trams, the market where Malvoria once accidentally bought a cursed violin, the black-glass palace from the outside because I refuse to bring drama indoors before lunch, and the western cliff overlook."
"That sounds like more than one day."
"It is."
Sarisa's smile was quiet and brilliant. "Good, show me your realm."