Over the next two months, whenever Roen and Rosina met, their conversations always fell into the same rhythm.
Servants, though barred from hearing the words, could sense the tension. They moved down the corridors with heads lowered, steps muted, avoiding straying anywhere near the sitting room.
When the King came, that room remained tightly shut. Behind its closed doors, the royal siblings would hold each other's gaze, neither yielding.
"Absolutely not, Rosina," Roen would say, the words carved into the same firm tone every time. If it changed at all, it was only to grow colder, his refusal condensing rather than dispersing.
Some days, the refusals came dressed as lectures. Rosina would sit across from him, hands folded neatly in her lap, listening in perfect stillness while the words washed over her. Other days, the mask slipped. Her brother would kneel before her by the couch, his pride cast aside as he begged—begged—for her to let go of the thought.
Those were the days Rosina felt his fear most keenly. Those were the days she almost wavered. Almost.
Then there were the days Roen didn't come at all. His absence said enough.
But that morning, word reached him again: the Princess's Wing was once more filled with what the servants cautiously called disturbing noises.
He waited in the same room. Rosina didn't come to greet him.
Then the sound came—thunder splitting the still air, again and again, utterly unhurried.
Roen rose sharply, his fury crackling in every step. His voice came tight and sharp, echoing against marble and glass, calling out her name as he strode down the corridor. Servants flinched as he passed. But when he burst into the back garden, he fell silent.
The back garden, once serene, had become a firing range. Wooden targets stood punctured and charred, their centers blackened with rings of fire. In one corner, heaps of half-burnt targets lay stacked—an ugly ruin against the colorful flowers still in full bloom.
And at the heart of it all stood his sister—cheek pressed against the black stock, finger poised, eyes narrowed down the iron sights, the black igniser braced against her shoulder as though it had always belonged there.
Then she fired. The shot cracked the air, tore a clean hole through the center of the target, smoke curling up from the burn at its edges. Lowering the igniser, she turned toward him.
The moment hung soundlessly. Whatever reprimand he'd come to deliver scattered in the stillness between them.
"Rosette Liane gave it to you again?" Roen asked.
Rosina gave no answer—but she didn't deny it either.
Roen drew a slow breath. "If I'm going to let you do this, Rosina," he said, his tone roughened but clear, "it will be on my terms."
"What terms?"
"I need you to meet someone. The Marshal of the Ignis Corps."
A knowing smile curved her lips. "I assume you'll have the man train me?"
"Yes," Roen confirmed. "Only if he approves you after the training will I allow you to join the Ignis Corps."
"Anything you say," she replied, cycling the bolt, turning slightly toward the next target. "I still have a few rounds left for this morning. Want to see me practice?"
Roen hesitated, then crossed to the bench behind his sister and sank down. "Be careful," he said softly.
"Of course." Rosina gave him a bright smile before turning back to aim.
That day, the igniser's sharp, echoing report split the stillness of the Princess's Wing again and again, echoing far longer than it ever had before.
Now that Sina thought back to that day, she wondered what might have happened if Roen hadn't allowed her—if he'd confiscated her igniser again, as he had before.
She probably would have turned to Rosette Liane again, asking him for another igniser, repeating the same defiance. Or perhaps she would have sneaked out through the tunnels beneath the palace to practice beyond its walls—but she wasn't sure she'd have the courage to face Roen once he found out.
By now, her brother's voice had long faded beyond the wall—the speech over, the ceremony's formalities taking its usual course. He would be seated now, listening to more speeches, enduring the tide of well-wishers and dignitaries who would demand his attention next.
The ceremony was indeed as dull as Saria had said. For Sina and Daliya, the experience had been nothing but four closed walls and the echo of voices bleeding through—one speech after another.
Hours passed that way, dragging slowly. Only when Roen announced the memorial's close did the guests' voices begin to scatter. A few minutes later, the back room door opened.
"I'm sorry for keeping you waiting," Roen said as he stepped inside. "Was everything alright here?"
Sina turned to him, her expression colored with mild boredom, though Daliya behind her stayed properly composed. "I almost regretted coming," she teased as she rose from her seat. "But yes, everything was fine. Your speech was wonderful, brother. How do you feel?"
"I've done this many times," Roen replied, moving closer, "but the last time always feels different."
A soft smile touched her lips. "Do you remember when you found me in my back garden?"
His brows lifted, surprised by the sudden mention. "When you turned your beautiful garden into a hell?" he asked, smirking.
Sina laughed softly, but her tone gentled as she said, "Thank you, brother, for letting me train."
His smirk faded into something warmer, quieter. "No, Sina," he said after a pause. "I should thank you—for taking care of the rest of the memorial, for coming today." His voice dipped lower. "And… I want to thank you for not leaving me behind. For surviving. For me."
Her eyes stung. The sincerity in his voice struck her harder than she expected. Lowering her head, she stepped forward and buried her face against his chest, her arms wrapping around him in a firm embrace. She didn't want him to see the tears gathering in her eyes—not again, not so soon after she'd already wept before him just days earlier.
Behind them, the etched lines of Daliya's usually stern face softened. She watched the King hold his sister close, his large arms enclosing her small frame, quieting the faint tremors in her shoulders.
Then Daliya noticed the door behind the King ease open—just slightly, just enough to reveal a familiar face framed by the narrow gap. The man's rose-hued eyes caught hers. Rosette Liane.
Daliya almost spoke, but he lifted a finger to his lips, smiling gently, signaling her to remain silent. To let them have this moment.
She inclined her head once, lips pressed together.
Quietly, the door closed. Rosette withdrew without a sound.
When Roen released his sister, the white of his shirt was marked with damp spots.
"Oh no, I've dirtied your shirt," Sina said, hastily wiping the stains away as if that alone would dry the fabric.
"Here," Roen chuckled, pulling a white handkerchief from the inner pocket of his coat.
Only then did Sina remember the one she'd brought—the handkerchief Rosette had given her the other day. "No need, Roen. I have one."
Seeing his sister carry a handkerchief was odd to Roen. He slipped his own back into his pocket, wondering if he remembered wrong that she'd once called them useless. Before he could ask, she spoke again.
"I need to tell you—I'm leaving again soon."
His expression fell. "When?"
"In two days," she answered, still dabbing the corners of her eyes. "Tomorrow I'll return to the Compound to gather my gear. Then I'll leave early the next morning."
That was sooner than Roen expected. He looked away. "Don't grow restless. Just finish off one chief and come back."
"I can't promise about the chiefs," she teased lightly, "but I'll return once I feel the job is done. I'll send Shadow Scouts to you often."
Roen only nodded, choosing not to argue further. He pulled her into one last embrace, before turning toward the door. His duties called.
Once her brother was gone, Sina sat back down. Rosette Liane had told her he'd come to see her here. Better to wait a little longer.
Daliya, still standing beside her, didn't quite understand why the Princess hadn't left yet. She inclined her head and asked softly, "Your Highness, you've started using handkerchiefs now? Shall I prepare some for you before you leave?"
Sina blinked, glancing up at her. "Oh—no. This one's a gift from Rosette."
"I see," Daliya said, nodding slowly. For a moment, she'd thought the Princess had finally changed her habits. But then she remembered something more pressing. "Marshal Liane visited earlier, but he left."
"He did?" Surprise flickered across Sina's face. "When?"
"While His Majesty was with you, Your Highness. Perhaps he didn't wish to interrupt your moment."
"Would you go find him for me?" Sina asked quickly. "I need to thank him."
"Of course, Your Highness," Daliya replied with a bow.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Alone, Sina's gaze drifted to the pink silk still resting in her hand, faintly damp from her tears.
Now she understood why Rosette had told her she'd need it. He always somehow seemed to know her better than she knew herself.
Come to think of it, back then, if not for Rosette, she wouldn't have even known what an igniser looked like. It would be a shame not to see him today—at least to thank him. Once she returned to the front, months would pass before they met again.
Soon her thought was cut short when the door slid open. Greeting her was the familiar soft smile, before the door closed again, leaving just the two of them in the quiet room.