The study smelled faintly of old books and lavender oil, the burn of the hearth grounding it in warmth. Firelight spilled in quiet gold across polished wood, catching on the folds of heavy burgundy drapes.
At the great desk sat a man in a white linen shirt, his posture straight even in solitude. He looked scarcely past thirty. His hair—golden blond, carefully combed that morning—had fallen loose, a few strands brushing his temple. Weariness carved a faint line at his brows, but his eyes, pale blue as meltwater, remained keen.
It was late evening when the knock came.
"Come in," he said, his head still bent low over the document on his desk.
An attendant slipped in, her step muted, her gaze lowered. "Your Majesty," she murmured, "Her Highness has sent an invitation for dinner."
The pen stilled in his hand. A heartbeat later, he rose—ink and paper abandoned—as he left in quick, urgent strides.
The air grew warmer as he crossed the garden between palace wings. Distant voices dulled and faded behind layers of heavy doors, until only silence carried him into the dimly lit quarters.
In the dining chamber, a young woman waited by the long table, her deep blue gown pooling around her. Loose waves of platinum hair spilled over her chest, catching the chandelier light like a river of pale moon fire. When the door opened, her gaze—pale and piercing, like his own—lifted at once.
"Roen." Her voice, a soft and sweet echo, carried across the chamber.
The King paused at the threshold, hand still on the latch as though steadying himself.
"Rosina," he said at last.
"Sina," she corrected gently, smiling.
The name struck him like an old ache, a pang so acute it surfaced each time it was spoken—yet he let little of it show.
"Of course, Sina," Roen murmured, closing the door shut. "Your trips keep growing longer."
"I'm a busy soldier." Sina gave a playful shrug, gesturing him nearer. "And I doubt you've eaten—buried in your kingdom's burdens again."
Roen crossed the room and slumped into the chair opposite. Only then did he notice the meal waiting. He let out a sigh. She had gone to the trouble herself again, though she could have left it to the head maid. Whether it was her way of apologizing or making up for lost time, he never asked. He had long stopped protesting. Instead, he simply laid the linen across his lap and took up his cutlery.
"You've come back for the memorial?" he asked, watching her closely.
Sina didn't look up from her plate. "Not for that." Her fork scraped against the porcelain. "I'm here for a more pressing matter than mourning what's long gone. I'm proposing we end the war."
Roen stilled. The knife and fork were set down with care. Folding his arms slowly on the table, he leaned forward. "You truly mean that?"
She only lifted a shoulder. "Nivara has bled enough."
"Would you return, then?" he asked, his voice a quiet, earnest plea. "For good?"
That made her pause. She placed her cutlery aside, holding his gaze directly. "I still haven't found out who was truly behind the poisoning."
His brows drew together. "Wasn't it clear as day? The poisons, the culprits, the war itself?"
"But King Dango hasn't once admitted to it, has he?" she shot back indifferently.
His voice rose, confusion and desperation breaking through his face. "But you just said you don't care to mourn what can't be saved."
"I don't," she confirmed with cold certainty. "But I'll find the ones who did it. I'll bury them deep. So they can never touch you, brother—the one who still lives."
The air between them tightened. Their pale blue eyes locked in a heavy silence. It was Roen who broke it at last.
"And what if you never find who was responsible?"
The question came out as a sigh, thinned by a fragile note beneath. He glanced away from her, unable to hold her stare.
The frost in her face did not ease. "Even then," she declared with resolve, "I'll remain in the shadows—your weapon, your shield, your eyes and ears. This is the life I chose."
"Chose?" Roen echoed, bitter. "You could still choose to come back. To live. To marry a man who loves you. To be happy. To lead a normal life."
"I can't." Her reply was flat. "And what sort of 'normal life' do you mean, after all I've done?"
His features tightened with genuine distress. "What do you mean by that?"
"I'm too stained by violence, Roen." She closed her arms squarely in front of her chest. "With who I've become—how many lives I've taken—normal is out of the question. Marriage, least of all. No one in their right mind would love me. And if they did, they'd only be after something."
A familiar ache seized Roen's chest at her words. The sharpness drained from his expression, replaced by a weary surrender. They had been down this road too many times. His sister had only just returned—what sense was there in pressing further? Between them, the dishes she had prepared lay cooling, untouched. He would not let her effort go to waste.
"Let's not go on with this," he said at last, his composure returned. "Eat, before it's all gone cold. You need the strength."
"Of course. I'm sorry." Sina lifted her cutlery again, eating as if nothing had passed between them.
Roen followed reluctantly. She had made him what he liked most—her cooking rivaled the palace chefs—but the food tasted of nothing. He forced down a mouthful before changing the subject.
"I've had reports from Shadow. You've been hunting Dravinian clan chiefs exclusively these past six months. That's your strategy for ending the war?"
"Indeed." His sister gave a faint smile, almost relieved to speak of it. "One dead, and the clan fractures into feuds. I've seen it happen before. Soon enough the infighting will pull them apart. Better to let Dravina bleed itself dry from within."
"And King Dango?"
"He's tangled in his own mess. Can't rein in his clans anymore. They're too busy fighting for the chief's seat to bother sending him regiments for his foolish ambushes."
Roen leaned back, thoughtful. "Then we shift to defense. Reinforce the towns, the farms, the alleyways. Wait, and let time tilt things in our favor."
Sina glanced up at him, a faint spark of mischief in her tone. "Your Majesty, all wise and mighty."
Roen couldn't help but chuckle. "How many names are left on your list of chiefs?"
"Only a few," Sina replied. "Though perhaps you could pass a word to our dear Marshal Denelle to hand some of them off to my overly idle comrades at the Corps. Their mouths run wild when they're not busy, while I'm left carrying their burdens myself."
Roen frowned. "They've troubled you that much?"
"In the worst way." She rolled her eyes but stopped herself before spilling into complaint. Her brother had likely heard enough whining from the Bureaus. "Better I spare you the details. Will you help me with that?"
It took Roen little thought. If it meant she spent less time beyond enemy lines, perhaps more in the capital, the answer was simple. "Of course. Anything for you." Then, more cautiously, he asked, "Would you stay for the memorial, if you're not pulled away?"
Sina contemplated, serious for a moment, before she spoke in a low murmur. "I won't promise. But I'll consider."
It was enough to bring a smile back to his face.
Then she tilted her head, playful again. "Though, on a serious note—you might want to rethink the memorial. Or at least adjust the program. Certain complaints have reached me that it's painfully dull to sit through."
Roen chuckled again, louder this time, glancing up from his plate. "Let me guess—did those complaints come from someone whose name ends with Florette?"
Sina shot him a quick, confirming look. "Saria even invited me to entertain her throughout the whole thing. I had to kindly refuse."
By then, Roen's chuckles had ripened into a laugh. "How is she?"
"She's just finished the new igniser."
"The long-ranged one?"
"Mm." Her face brightened. "She asked me for a name just this afternoon. I came up with Varre."
He narrowed his eyes, puzzled for a moment, until recognition struck. His brows lifted high. "As in Novarre?"
Sina gave a small shrug. "Well, the standard ignisers bear her family name. She let me name this one, so I chose ours. Though not too obvious—or she'd never let me hear the end of it. She'd say I had a crush on you for stamping the King's name on her weapon."
Roen's laughter broke free. "Sina," he said softly, "will you stay in your quarters while you're here? Six months gone was a long time."
Sina didn't hesitate. Her hands closed over his, warmth softening her features as she leaned forward. "Of course, brother. I will. Now—what have the Bureaus been pestering you with lately?"
That night, the royal siblings lingered at the dining table until the lamps of Ivara Palace sank to a dim glow. In the Princess's Wing, the dining chamber filled with nothing but the quiet clink of silver, bursts of soft laughter, and the murmur of long-kept banter.
Beyond their walls, enemies waited. But for this night, the kingdom could rest.