When Rosina entered the guest chamber, Rosette rose.
The beautiful features she had always known were changed. His rose-colored eyes, once soft and sweet, were shadowed now—haunted by grief, regrets, and something rawer that the golden glow of the Ignium lamps only deepened.
He did not approach her immediately the way he always had, with head bent and hand outstretched. He stood perfectly still, letting his gaze travel over her as if he were taking in every difference, every mark of the days since he had last seen her. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They only looked.
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving them alone. She had only begun to move toward her usual seat when Rosette finally stirred. To her surprise, he crossed the chamber, dropped to one knee before her, and his head lowered.
"My deepest apologies and condolences, Your Highness," he murmured, his words thinner and frailer than she'd ever heard from him. "I should have been there for you that night, and every day since. At the funeral. At His Majesty's coronation. Not arriving this late."
Rosina's face softened. She lowered herself, one hand finding his shoulder gently. "It's fine," she said quietly. "I knew my brother kept you in Kessarine, with the investigation and the war. Besides—" her voice trembled, "it should have been me apologizing."
For Rosette's parents—the Ink Minister and Lady Liane—had been among the guests at the banquet.
His gaze lifted to hers. "So Your Highness has heard," he said softly. "My loss could never be as great as yours."
"What are you talking about?" she frowned. "We both lost our parents." Then her expression softened, her hand brushing against his cheek. "Now, will you please stand?"
Reluctantly, Rosette rose. Soon they both settled into their armchairs. Only then did Rosina notice the tall bottle waiting on the tea table.
"What's this?" she asked.
"Honey from Feralina." He lifted it for her to see. "I heard you struggled with food. I consulted physicians—they said warm honey-water would soothe you, help you recover. Easier than broth or porridge."
A weak, bitter-sweet smile touched her lips. "Seriously, Rosette," she murmured. "You should be tending to your House with your sister, or to all the campaigns my brother has poured on you these months—not buying me honey or worrying over my condition. I'm much better now."
"My sister has been busy with her new role," Rosette replied, setting the bottle back down. "His Majesty appointed her to take over our late Father's post. She arranged the funeral, she has managed everything for our House while I'm away. All is settled now, Your Highness."
Rosina nodded slowly. "Lisette Liane as the next Ink Minister... That would certainly please both your parents."
They sat in silence for a time, their attention drawn to the teapot that had sat untouched between them. Rosette poured two cups. They sipped slowly, letting the warmth push back the chill that had crept into the room. Then Rosina spoke again, watching Rosette closely.
"Rosette, do you believe Dravina was behind it?"
The cup stilled in his hands. He looked up at her, setting it down carefully. "What makes Your Highness doubt Dravina's guilt?"
Her own surprise flickered. She had only meant to test his thoughts, yet he had uncovered hers instead. She looked toward the window. "Every detail of the poisoning pointed too perfectly at Dravina. It was made to look inevitable. They used poisons so rare and vicious our physicians couldn't name them—just what Dravina is known for. They used servants with ties that could be traced back to Dravinian roots. It was all laid neatly before us... too neat."
Rosette studied her, the way she looked away as she said it. Then, softly, he asked, "Was that truly all that troubles you, Your Highness?"
A smirk touched her lips. She could never quite hide from him. "Not all," she admitted. "Perhaps I've never told you—but it wasn't only Loraque who sent me a proposal. Vessaint did as well."
His composure faltered—surprise first, then the faintest shadow of disappointment. "I see. And you believe Vessaint might be stoking the fire—drawing blame toward Dravina while striking at Nivara from behind?"
"Only a feeling," Rosina corrected quickly. "That's all I have. I haven't spoken of it to my brother—or to anyone. Will you promise to keep this between us?"
A soft smile formed on his face again. "Of course. What passes between us here belongs only to us, Your Highness."
Her lips curved, satisfied, but her next words carried more weight than her smile betrayed. "There is something else I must ask. What do you know about the Ignis Corps, Rosette?"
Rosete's smile vanished at once. "Where did you hear that name, Your Highness?"
"From my brother," Rosina said lightly. "He mentioned it once, after I recovered."
"And what else did you hear?"
The seriousness gathering in his face told her she had chosen the right man to ask. Her smile deepened. "My brother said—should King Dango ever confess to the poisoning, or should any evidence emerge proving he was the true mastermind—he wouldn't hesitate to send the Ignis Corps to purge the old man."
She leaned forward slightly. "So tell me, Rosette—is it true? That there is such a weapon called an igniser, already in the army's hands? A weapon that can kill from farther, swifter, and surer than any archer—within this so-called Ignis Corps?"
At last, Rosette relented. The way she spoke, the way she looked at him—it was clear the Princess already knew more than she should, certainly more than she was letting on. That meant she had gone beyond hearsay from the King; she had sought out records, pieced things together. His fingers laced tightly, weighing what to reveal. After a long pause, he seemed to decide.
"Only those who have served in the Royal Army know of the Ignis Corps and the ignisers, Your Highness. But even so, you must already know how highly classified such knowledge is. The weapons were first forged a little over a hundred years ago by a master smith from the Prime House of Florette." He stopped there, his gaze narrowing slightly as it lifted back to hers. "How much have you uncovered, Your Highness?"
She tilted her head, amused at how swiftly he guessed. "Enough to know what powers it. How it works, what materials, the specifications, the firing stances, the safety measures, the upkeep, the range... the Ignis Rounds."
The further she went, the graver his expression became. She had devoured everything there was to know about the weapon. He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. "But why are you so interested in studying it so deeply, Your Highness?"
"Bring me an igniser." The words fell almost casually.
Rosette froze. The color drained from his face. He searched her expression, hoping to find jest, but she was perfectly serious. "Your Highness, that is imposs—"
"Bring me an igniser, Rosette Liane," she repeated, her tone lower now. "It would mean more than any gift you have ever given me."
"Your Highness, I must insist to know your purpose in requesting such a thing," he said firmly, the gracious gentleness gone.
"For sport," she replied airily, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers. "I'm bored, Rosette. Roen is always away, and I've nothing to occupy me. Nothing but sitting here, waiting until I'm eighteen to be married off to Loraque—if those northerners even bother to honor the pact anymore."
Rosette stared at her, incredulous. He'd never refused her anything before, yet these words—that casual command—felt like a blade. What if she did something reckless with such a weapon? What if she merely wanted sport and hurt herself, and the King discovered the source was him? Beneath those obvious worries, something colder tugged at him—half-formed theories he would not dare voice. Theories of what Rosina might do next, if she'd ever become proficient with the ignisers. Speak them aloud and he might plant them in her head; stay silent and they festered.
Before he could sort the tangled fears, Rosina raised a hand.
"Swear to all the Gods that bless Nivara," she said, her lips curving with a sly ease. "I will never tell my brother it was you who gave me the igniser, if he ever finds out I have it."
The oath did nothing to settle him. He knew how loud the igniser was; sooner or later the sound would carry. The promise felt fragile against the palace ears.
"And I swear this," she went on. "I will never hide anything from you again. Starting with the fact I want the igniser for more than sport."
His face tightened. "If Your Highness wants revenge, leave it to the Ignis Corps. They're trained, they're soldiers. Expendable. Unlike you, Your Highness—a royal."
"Look who's talking." Rosina frowned, lowering her hand. "Aren't you the pride of the Prime House of Liane? The late Ink Minister's only son? Look where you've ended up, Rosette Liane. The Shadow Corps, of all places."
Her words ripped through his composure. He was left speechless. He knew, in that quiet instant, he'd lost the argument he'd started.
"Besides," she continued, "this isn't only about revenge. Even if my brother meant to strike King Dango in return—if the man truly ordered the poisoning—it isn't simple. Killing him gave their people reason to escalate. We'd have handed them a pretext."
His brow furrowed as he tried to follow her logic. "Then what is it about?"
"Protection," Rosina said, as if the answer were obvious. "Nivara. My brother. You. Me. The living. Who knows what's being planned out there on the front, what those bastards are hiding in the dark? Am I supposed to hide here and rot behind these walls, burning my days on dusty books until I'm married off? No. I need to get out there, see what's happening at the borders, and grow strong enough to protect my brother myself — not sit here waiting for enemies to take him the way they took our parents."
Rosette fell silent. The very words he feared most had been spoken. His gaze carefully swept over her face as he considered her words, taking in the steadiness behind that fury. Finally, a slow, private smile softened his face.
"Your Highness," Rosette whispered, "you will have your igniser."
Relief softened her features. "How long before I can lay hands on one?"
"Between my late Father's channels and the people I know, it will take several weeks."
"I can wait," Rosina nodded, her lips curving into a playful smile. "Make sure you prepare enough Ignis rounds for me to practice with too."
Rosette's smile deepened. They spoke a little longer, small practicalities and softer promises, before he left the guest chamber.
The next time Rosette Liane came to the Princess's Wing, he brought another gift—as he always did. But this one was unlike any of the small tokens he had carried before. This time, it was a long lacquered case, its surface gleaming dark as midnight, the handles traced with delicate gold engravings.
No maid knew what rested inside that elegant, mysterious case. They only knew that after the beautiful man left, the Princess's Wing was never quite the same.