Rina sat in her room, silence hanging over the space like a heavy curtain, isolating her from the world. She held the stained kimono on her knees, staring at it with eyes that mixed pain and longing. The dark brown stain seemed like a wound on soft fabric, as if it were a stab into a part of her identity she never had the chance to embrace.
Every movement Sina had made earlier flashed before her like an unsettling spark: the condescending look, the deliberate collision, the cold, intentional spill… as if the past she had tried to shut out had returned to pound mercilessly on her heart. Memories she did not want to touch today trembled within her chest.
She set the kimono aside with a long sigh, then began changing her clothes slowly. The air around her was still, indifferent to her tears that she tried to hold back, indifferent to the lump in her throat that had gripped her since the incident. She looked at the kimono once more and asked in a voice no one could hear:
"Didn't it deserve even a single moment of joy…? I wanted to wear it proudly… to feel close to my mother and grandmother… not have it tarnished like this."
She reached for the call button. The bell rang softly, and moments later, someone knocked on the door.
A young maid bowed respectfully as she entered:
"Yes, Your Highness?"
Rina's voice was quiet, almost a whisper, her eyes cast downward to hide the cracks of her spirit:
"Wash the kimono… and return it to me."
Lucy lifted her head in mild surprise. She wasn't used to seeing a noble so attached to a damaged piece of clothing; the family could buy dozens more without a second thought.
"Milady… you can wear a new one instead of this worn piece."
Rina's breath trembled for a moment, then she exhaled deeply. Raising her tired eyes to the maid:
"Lucy… just wash it. Agreed?"
A brief silence followed, then Lucy nodded, handling the kimono gently as if she understood that it was more than just a garment.
"As you wish, Your Highness."
The maid left, closing the door softly. Rina was alone, Lucy's footsteps fading in the corridor, while thoughts crowded the little girl's mind.
She sat on the edge of the bed, replaying what had happened… remembering how she had shouted at Carla. The image of Carla—the woman who had carried her, nursed her, raised her—appeared vividly, painfully clear.
Rina frowned and placed her hand on her chest, feeling the weight that comes only from guilt.
How could she have said those words? How could she raise her voice to the one person who had truly loved her?
She gripped her dress tightly. Two silent tears slid down her cheeks. She didn't try to stop them, but she also lacked the courage to admit her sorrow.
Her shoulder quivered lightly… and then:
There was a knock.
The door opened without waiting, as if the person beyond knew the moment could not be postponed.
Rina wiped her tears quickly, stood straight, trying to hide everything… but the voice that entered was gentle, warm, and knew her better than she knew herself:
"Rina… don't wipe your tears. I saw you… don't be sad, my little one."
Rina raised her head slowly… and there stood Carla. Her calm face, her small smile, her eyes filled with a tenderness unlike any other.
Carla approached and sat beside her on the bed without another word. She stretched her arms and embraced Rina, a hug as warm as winter touched by gentle sunlight.
Rina did not resist. For a moment… everything seemed to calm, the guilt stepped back, and her heart found a safe place to breathe.
After a while, Rina pulled back slightly and took a deep breath, then spoke in a quiet yet sincere voice:
"I'm sorry… sorry for my words and my harsh tone… I promise I won't do it again."
Carla looked at her with eyes gleaming with affection, then pulled her back into a warm embrace:
"It's alright. We all make mistakes… especially at your age."
She stroked her hair gently and added with a soft smile:
"Your presence with me matters more than all the words you said in anger. I know your heart, my little one."
Rina closed her eyes, breathing in a warmth she hadn't felt since morning…
And she realized then that the kimono could be washed…
But some scratches on the heart can only heal in one sincere embrace.
As the Saturday dawn broke, light poured through the curtains like a golden braid, caressing trees and houses, waking the sleepers gently with love. She awoke earlier than usual, not from the alarm or the servants' bustle, but from a quiet push of longing. That warm excitement spread through her chest, reminding her this day was unlike any other… today she would meet Ron.
She sat on the bed for a moment, watching the room fill gradually with light, as if the morning wanted to make sure she was ready. She smiled, then slowly stood and began dressing in her finest clothes. She chose a soft spring-colored blouse and a light dress suitable for an early outing. She knew Ron didn't care much for wealth or appearances, but he would notice the effort… and smile.
She opened a small box on the table, filled with carefully chosen gifts like one would care for a delicate plant:
– A box of biscuits she had baked last night, still exuding the gentle scent of vanilla.
– A small book about music, its pages full of notes she knew he would read with curiosity.
– A handful of coins for playful errands in the market, without him having to worry.
She placed a small extra sum in her bag… not to show generosity, but because she knew Ron: he lived simply, worked hard, and hid his needs behind a wide smile. She wanted only to enjoy the day with him, unburdened.
Before leaving, she glanced at the guard who accompanied her. He stood near the door, formally poised, yet aware of her rule. She gave a quiet gesture, meaning: stay back unless necessary. He responded with a silent bow.
She walked down the long corridor toward the palace gates, each step lighter than the last. The outside air was crisp, like a fresh page ready to be written on. The city was awakening: the sounds of vendors opening their shops, the smell of warm pastries, the rustling of leaves swaying in the morning breeze.
As she walked, she imagined Ron… how would he look today? Would he be standing under the same tree he usually waited by? Or sitting on the stone wall, pretending not to wait, then smiling when she approached? She thought of his laughter, his way of recounting the week's events as if they were heroic adventures, and the way he lowered his voice when sharing a secret meant for her alone.
And as she neared the meeting place, she saw him.
He stood there, as if the tree had chosen him to be its shadow and companion. His hand waved at her enthusiastically, a smile preceding his laugh. It was a sincere smile… the kind that clears unseen clouds from the heart.
Her steps quickened instinctively. She ran to him, the wind playing with her hair as if celebrating their meeting.
"Ron! Finally, I see you!"
She shouted with joy, grabbing his hands warmly, lifting his gaze to make sure he was alright… for her absence had not been easy on her heart.
Yet something caught her eye. A thin red line on his left arm. It wasn't deep, but it looked fresh—like a story not yet told. She moved closer, raising his hand to inspect it with genuine concern:
"What is this? Did you hurt yourself?"
Ron chuckled softly, the kind of laugh that reassures even if it doesn't erase worry.
He pointed to a nearby tree:
"Don't worry, just a small scratch from a branch… I was fixing the garden wall."
She looked at him, a gaze of both reproach and care. He was always like this… helping everyone, working tirelessly, never letting anyone know.
Before she could speak, he noticed her bag, the tied box, the book, and the coins she had slipped in.
His eyebrows rose in a mix of surprise and gentle amusement:
"You brought all this?! Rina… you know I'm not poor or needy to deserve this."
He said it kindly, hiding a small embarrassment… a faint desire not to be burdened.
Rina laughed lightly, then nudged the gifts toward him, saying softly and warmly:
"Take it… and be quiet."
This time, she wasn't joking. Her laughter was sincere, a gentle tremor in her heart unlike anything else.
He was the one…
the one she had loved, thinking her heart could hold no one else.
The one who listened when the world felt narrow, who never stood against her despite the chaos around.
In the past… she had lost him.
In the present… fate seemed to grant a second chance.
And inside, she vowed that everything would change this time.
They sat together under the tree, the wind playing with the leaves above, sunlight scattering around them like a protective circle. Their conversation flowed naturally, effortlessly… as it does only with someone who knows you deeply… sometimes deeper than you know yourself.
Ron broke the silence, glancing at the mask covering half her face, his eyes full of curiosity and concern:
"Rina… I heard your aunt is living with you now… is she alright?"
Rina's eyes widened briefly, then she smiled faintly, a smile only someone close to her heart could see.
"And how do you know?"
Ron raised his eyebrows theatrically, then burst into a loud laugh:
"Of course, from the rumors… the gossip… and the newspapers that have nothing better to do than spy on your lives!"
Rina laughed genuinely, shaking her head.
"Well… honestly… she hates me, I hate her. She knows I hate her, and I know she knows I hate her."
Ron clapped his hands as if approving this strange agreement.
"Excellent! Mutual hatred… very good. And her kids?"
"I hate them… and they hate me."
Ron blinked with mild surprise, then raised his hands in playful surrender:
"Alright… great… you're all okay? Everything's fine?"
Rina burst into laughter, clutching her stomach:
"Yes… we all hate each other, and yet everything's fine!"
Their laughter blended with the wind, as if the world paused to grant them this peace.
They continued talking… for a long time… as if the stolen hours of the past were being generously returned to them today.
Ron adjusted the cuff of his coat, hiding a small nervousness in his fingers, then said:
"By the way… do you have friends besides me?"
Rina paused, as if the question were more than casual—a key unlocking an old door in her chest. She took a deep breath, then spoke slowly, hesitantly:
"…Vicky…"
Ron raised an eyebrow and said quietly, a hint of disapproval in his tone:
"I know."
She pressed her lips together, giving him a sharp glance:
"Then why do you ask?!"
He hesitated, then said:
"…Someone else."
Her lashes fluttered as if thinking of something she did not want to consider, then she murmured softly:
"…The second prince…"
But she gave him no time to reply.
Suddenly, that smile appeared on her lips… a smile like a window opening onto a sun that never sets. She stretched her small hand toward him, closing it over his with a gentle strength, like the final trace of a beautiful forgetfulness. She pulled him along before he could comprehend what was happening.
They ran together, their steps cutting through the gray night mist like fleeing sparks, their laughter scattering into the air like invisible golden threads. Then, abruptly, they stopped, as if the ground commanded them to.
She turned to him, eyes shining like two stars slipping freshly from the sky:
"Tonight, we don't want to sleep… nor to stop playing!"
She said it in a voice piercing the night's silence like a shaft of light.
Ron chased her, their breaths mixing in the cold, until her hand slipped from his. She bent to pick up a dry branch from the roadside, kneeling to draw in the dirt with unpracticed, yet lively, strokes:
"Karina Ron"
Ron looked at the letters, feeling a slight pang he couldn't explain.
If only she had written his real name… the name he had hidden for so long. But how could she know? She was a child burdened beyond her years, a heir born to be greater than her frail body suggested.
She raised her head, eyes sparkling with innocence that could melt everything:
"Isn't the handwriting beautiful? Or could I have improved it?"
Ron smiled, trying to hide the lump in his throat:
"The writing is wonderful… but it's missing something small."
And what he meant was: missing the truth of his real name.
They sat on the cold ground, in a rare moment of stillness. An idea crossed his mind hesitantly, and he spoke in a low voice:
"Rina… you once said you never saw your mother's face, and she left on the day you were born… but not because of you, right?"
Her shoulders trembled slightly, as if a breeze had passed over her heart. Her emerald eyes reflected the silver light of the moon:
"Yes… I wish I could see her true face. They say she smiled when she saw me… before closing her eyes forever. I'm happy she saw me… but sad because I'll only see her in faded photos."
Her words pierced him as if cutting through a hidden truth he had been hiding.
Suddenly, he found himself speaking:
"I never saw my mother either… she passed a week after I was born."
Rina's eyes widened in pure astonishment:
"Really?! Do you know how she died?"
He shook his head, letting a small lie slip smoothly, painfully:
"No… but I'm looking for people who knew her. My mother was from the south… and once lived here, in your duchy."
She stared at him, as if her mind tried to catch an invisible thread in his words, then spoke with a transparent hope:
"And if you find what you're looking for… will you leave me?"
He smiled, warm yet heavy:
"Where would I go? This is my home… and I'll always stay by your side."
But the unspoken truth ran deeper…
His real home was neither here nor in the duchy…
His real home was a mother he searched for among the ashes of memories… and secrets he feared the day Karina would uncover.