I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 220: Side - : Lara the player part 2

The Crown Princess.

Of course she was.

Lara stood very still, goblet still in hand, trying not to choke on the sudden realization.

A Crown Princess.

That explained the guards, the tattoos, the quiet command in her voice, the sense of serenity that clung to her like a second skin. It should’ve made Lara step back. Reevaluate. Think.

Instead, she found herself thinking:

That could be a fun story.

She took a sip of her drink, glancing sideways at Serisa, who looked far too pleased with herself, still calm, still radiant, like nothing in the room could ever touch her unless she allowed it.

That’s fine, Lara thought. Just a more refined kind of target.

She leaned her weight to one hip, letting her grin ease back into place. Alright, Captain. New plan: seduce the untouchable.

Sure, it was probably a terrible idea.

Diplomatic disaster, political insult, cultural offense. She could imagine the scrolls of reprimands Malvoria would bury her under if anything went wrong.

But still.

One night. One glorious night wrapped in moonlight and smug silence.

Serisa hadn’t said no, after all. Just laughed at her. And flirted back. A little.

"I have to admit," Lara murmured, her voice warm with unspoken promise, "you’ve got presence. The kind that makes the stars jealous."

Serisa raised a brow without even turning her head. "You’ve resorted to poetry?"

"Didn’t say it was good poetry," Lara replied. "But it’s honest."

"You don’t even know me."

"I’m very good at getting to know people," Lara said, dropping her voice just enough to make the implication heavy. "Quickly. Thoroughly."

A flicker of amusement passed through Serisa’s mismatched eyes.

Lara took that as a win.

She stepped closer. "You ever break your own rules, Princess?"

"That depends," Serisa replied, still not quite looking at her. "On how boring they are."

"Well," Lara drawled, "how about this. You let me take you for a walk through those floating gardens I passed on the way in. You can pretend it’s diplomatic. I’ll pretend it’s not."

Serisa finally turned to face her directly, cool and composed, her expression unreadable.

"I’m not really that interested in you, Captain," she said.

Flat. Final.

Lara blinked.

And for a long, suspended moment, all she could think was:

Well, shit.

Lara stood there, completely still, goblet in hand, processing the words like someone who had just been told their favorite tavern was permanently closed.

I’m not really that interested in you, Captain.

It echoed in her head. Cold. Sharp. A blade, expertly driven between the ribs with the finesse only a princess could manage.

She cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders, and forced a tight, practiced smile. "Fair enough."

Serisa didn’t gloat. That almost made it worse. She just gave Lara a polite nod and turned, walking away like someone who’d just shut a book they weren’t interested in finishing.

Lara watched her disappear into a glittering crowd of diplomats and nobles, wine and laughter swirling around them.

The rejection didn’t sting. Not exactly.

Lara wasn’t used to hearing no, not said that simply. That clearly.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t been turned down before, but usually it came with complications: duty, schedules, politics. They danced around it. There was always a little game.

Serisa had played none of it. She didn’t swat Lara away like a nuisance. She didn’t play along just to enjoy the attention.

She simply... wasn’t interested.

And somehow, that bored, distant clarity cut deeper than a sharp-tongued insult.

"Great," Lara muttered to herself, finishing the rest of her drink in a single go. "That’s what I needed. Humility. I’ll bottle it."

She dropped her empty goblet on a passing tray with a bit more force than necessary and turned toward the guest wing.

Several guests tried to engage her on the way a polite nod here, a few greetings from familiar faces, someone asking how her journey had been. Lara answered with clipped charm, her smile slightly strained, her brain already retreating from the event.

She slipped out of the banquet hall unnoticed.

The hallways of the Celestial palace were far too serene for her current mood.

Silver tiles. Soft glowing walls. Gentle wind chimes suspended from vines blooming with radiant white blossoms.

It was like walking through the inside of a lullaby. Or a dream someone made with too much sugar and not enough realism.

She muttered to herself the whole way to her room.

"Not interested," she grumbled, tugging off her cloak. "She could’ve pretended. Gods, I’ve been charming all day."

Her room was beautiful, of course. Gold-threaded curtains. A carved star-map on the ceiling. The mattress looked like it was made from clouds and promises.

She threw herself face-first onto it with a loud groan.

The silence was too calm.

Too clean.

She rolled over with a huff and stared at the ceiling.

"...not interested," she whispered again, then scowled. "I didn’t even like her."

Which was, of course, a lie.

That was the problem.

She liked women like Serisa. Cold, clever, untouchable. Like puzzles she wasn’t supposed to solve. They made the air thinner just by standing there. Serisa was so far out of Lara’s usual range it almost made it funny.

Almost.

Lara stretched her arms out wide across the bed, staring up at the stars etched in the stone above her.

"Why am I even trying?" she asked the ceiling. "I don’t want to date a princess. I don’t want a royal wife. I want a warm body, a soft bed, a little danger, and a drink that bites back."

She paused.

Then let out a long, frustrated groan.

"Okay. I do want her a little."

That was the worst part. She wasn’t used to wanting anything more than the moment. Flirt, laugh, drink, kiss — repeat.

But Serisa made her want to be interesting.

That was a problem.

Lara kicked off her boots, flung one arm over her eyes, and told herself she was going to forget this whole thing by morning.

Tomorrow, she’d give the speech Malvoria had forced into her bag. She’d drink her way through two more diplomatic meals. She’d nod politely. And she’d leave.

Maybe flirt with someone else on the way out, just to feel like herself again.

But tonight?

Tonight she was going to sulk.

With dignity.

"Not interested," she muttered one last time and went to sleep.