Lara looked from the murdered toast to the smoking pan, then down at herself.
She was still standing in the kitchen with a blanket wrapped badly around her hips, hair wild, one shoulder bare, and the full expression of a woman who had been dragged out of sleep by culinary violence.
Cooking like this was not practical.
Also, Sarisa was staring.
Lara turned her head slowly.
Sarisa sat at the small table in Lara's oversized shirt, bare legs tucked beneath her, silver hair loose over one shoulder, trying very hard to look innocent and failing in a way that deserved legal consequences.
Her lips were pressed together, but her eyes gave her away completely. She was amused. Very amused. Worse, she looked pleased with herself.
Lara narrowed her eyes. "You're enjoying this."
Sarisa lifted her chin. "I am enjoying the view."
"The view is going to put on clothes."
"That seems unnecessary."
"It seems extremely necessary if you want breakfast without me setting myself on fire."
Sarisa tilted her head, eyes drifting with shameless slowness over the blanket. "Do you want to cook naked?"
Lara paused.
Then she smiled.
Not kindly.
"Do you want me to cook naked?"
Sarisa's composure cracked for exactly one breath.
It was small, but Lara saw it. The little hitch of her breathing. The warmth climbing into her cheeks. The slight tightening of her fingers around the edge of the table.
Victory.
Lara leaned one hip against the counter, the blanket still clinging to her by the mercy of pride alone. "Because I can," she continued, voice low and thoughtful. "I'm very adaptable."
Sarisa's eyes narrowed. "You are trying to distract me from the fact that you laughed at my breakfast."
"Your breakfast tried to poison the air."
"It was experimental."
"It was a crime scene."
"The bread was weak."
Lara laughed again, unable to stop herself, then pushed away from the counter before the morning became entirely impossible. "Stay there. Do not touch the stove."
Sarisa looked offended. "I am not a child."
"No, children have less confidence before disaster."
Lara escaped before Sarisa could find something to throw at her.
She went back to the bedroom, shaking her head as she hunted down clothes from the mess left on the floor.
The bed still looked destroyed. Sheets twisted, pillows displaced, rose petals still clinging to the blankets like evidence. Lara took one look at it and felt warmth spread through her chest so fast it almost hurt.
Sarisa was here.
In her house.
Wearing her shirt.
Trying to cook her breakfast badly enough to summon her from sleep.
Gods.
Lara dragged on a pair of dark trousers and a loose black shirt, buttoning it only halfway because she had not yet located the part of herself that cared about decency.
She tied her hair back with a strip of cloth, failed to make it neat, and returned to the kitchen.
Sarisa's eyes immediately moved over her.
Lara stopped in the doorway. "You look disappointed."
"I am grieving."
"You are impossible."
"You mated me anyway."
"That argument is becoming very dangerous."
Sarisa smiled into her sleeve, all elegance and wicked satisfaction.
Lara crossed to the stove and assessed the damage. The eggs were unsalvageable.
The toast had died with theatrical commitment. The pan might recover after an emotional apology and a long soak. The kitchen, blessedly, remained standing.
She opened the window first. Smoke drifted out into the morning air in a pale ribbon.
"Goodbye, breakfast ghosts," Sarisa murmured.
Lara looked over her shoulder. "Do not mock the dead."
"They were my dead."
"They suffered enough."
Sarisa laughed softly, and Lara felt the sound settle somewhere dangerously soft inside her.
She started over.
This time, eggs went into a bowl properly. No shell. No counter tragedy. Lara added herbs, a little cheese, and a pinch of salt before whisking.
She set fresh bread in the pan, watching it carefully as butter melted around the edges.
The kitchen filled slowly with the correct smell this time, warm toast, eggs, herbs, and the faint sweetness of juice left over from yesterday.
Sarisa watched every movement.
Lara could feel it on her back.
At first she pretended not to notice. She stirred, flipped the toast, poured more juice into a glass, and told herself that a woman could absolutely cook while being observed by her newly mated lover in an oversized shirt.
Then Sarisa spoke.
"You look very serious."
"I am trying to prevent another massacre."
"It was not that bad."
Lara glanced pointedly at the burned toast lying on a plate like funeral remains.
Sarisa followed her gaze. "It had personality."
"It had charcoal."
"Some people like that."
"No one with working taste buds."
Sarisa got up then, which immediately made Lara suspicious. She came to stand beside her, leaning against the counter with entirely too much softness for someone who had caused a kitchen emergency.
Her shirt slipped slightly off one shoulder.
Lara looked at the eggs.
Only the eggs.
Mostly.
Sarisa reached for a slice of toast as soon as Lara set it aside.
"Careful, it's hot."
Sarisa took a bite anyway, eyes closing briefly. "Mm."
Lara's hand tightened around the spatula.
Unfair.
That sound was unfair.
Sarisa opened her eyes again and smiled at her over the toast. "This is much better than mine."
"That is an insult to very low standards."
"It's a compliment."
"Barely."
Sarisa took another bite, then held the toast toward Lara's mouth. Lara looked at it. Then at her.
"You're feeding me food I cooked."
"Yes."
"That's not how gratitude works."
"It is now."
Lara leaned in and took a bite because apparently her principles had packed their bags and fled sometime between the wedding explosion and the honey.
Sarisa's fingers brushed her mouth, and the bond between them gave a little warm pulse, like even their magic was rolling its eyes at them.
Sarisa looked very satisfied.
"You're smug," Lara said.
"I'm happily fed."
"You stole the first toast."
"I was testing it for quality."
"Heroic."
"I know."
They continued like that while Lara cooked, Sarisa stealing little pieces as soon as they were ready and offering commentary.
She praised the eggs. Critiqued the toast placement. Stole a piece of avocado from the cutting board. Tried to help by arranging fruit in a bowl, which she did beautifully because apparently when no heat was involved, Sarisa became competent again.
By the time breakfast was ready, Lara had made enough for both of them and perhaps a visiting soldier.
Eggs with herbs, toast with avocado, sliced fruit, juice, and a small dish of honey that Sarisa looked at with such significance Lara immediately pointed at her.
"No."
Sarisa blinked. "I said nothing."
"You thought loudly."
"I cannot control your imagination."
"My imagination has been through enough."
Sarisa laughed and finally sat.
They ate at the little table near the window, morning spilling gold over the wood, catching in Sarisa's hair and lighting the mating mark at her throat whenever she turned her head.
Lara tried not to stare at it constantly. She failed constantly.
The mark looked beautiful on her.
Sarisa caught her looking. "What?"
"Nothing."
"Liar."
Lara smiled faintly. "You look good in my kitchen."
Sarisa's expression softened, the teasing slipping for a second. "Your kitchen almost killed me."
"My kitchen did nothing wrong."
"It enabled me."
"That is not its fault."
Sarisa took a sip of juice, hiding a smile behind the glass. "You like taking care of me."
Lara did not answer at once.
Because yes. She did.
She liked cooking for her. Dressing her in borrowed shirts and disguises.
Holding her hand through strange streets. Showing her the capital. Watching her taste things. Listening to her insult furniture, princes, and kitchen equipment with equal elegance.
It was terrifying.
It was wonderful.
"It seems I do," Lara said at last.
Sarisa's gaze warmed. "Good."
They finished breakfast slowly. Sarisa ate more than Lara expected, which pleased her in a way she did not plan to confess aloud.
When the last piece of fruit vanished and the plates were mostly empty, Sarisa leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh.
Then her eyes sharpened.
"So," she said. "What are we doing today?"
Lara had been waiting for the question.
She set down her glass and smiled.
Not the lazy, flirtatious smile from yesterday. Not the soft one from this morning. Something brighter. Wilder.
The kind of smile that belonged on cliff edges, old secrets, and roads no one sensible took without weapons.
Sarisa noticed immediately.
Her own posture shifted. "Lara."
Lara rose from the table and held out her hand.
"Well," she said, eyes gleaming, "let's say it will be a bit of an adventure."