As the sun leaned toward the horizon, casting golden threads across the rooftops and washing stone and grass in a calm, honey-colored glow, Rina stood at the edge of the road. She watched the movement of people, the calls of vendors, and the rooftops that seemed to shimmer in the last breaths of daylight. With a soft stillness tightening around her heart, a question rose within her—one she could no longer ignore. She turned to Ron and asked without hesitation:
"Ron… where do you usually spend the night?"
The question wasn't strange—more like a mix of genuine concern and childlike curiosity she didn't bother hiding. Ron answered in a quiet, casual tone, as if the matter required little thought:
"I move around… Sometimes I stay at Uncle Leo's, sometimes with someone I know. And now… most of the time, I sleep in the Mage Tower. No one there refuses me or bothers me… as long as your uncle isn't around."
It was a simple answer, but behind it lingered the shadow of an unstable life—one built daily with a harsh sort of flexibility known only to those who drift between streets and half-opened doors.
Ron worked delivering messages inside the Mage Tower; they hired workers with unusual speed, as if seeking hands more than ages.
Rina smiled—wide, bright, like a dawn stealing sleep from tired eyes—and said with childlike excitement:
"Ron… when my uncle returns… I'll ask him to design a whole room just for you!"
Ron let out a short laugh that shook his shoulders. Then he replied with a fond hint of sarcasm:
"Your uncle doesn't even like me… I have no idea why. How would he ever agree to that?"
Rina arched her brows, a sly, unmistakably aristocratic smile curving on her lips. With playful intimidation, she declared:
"If he doesn't… I'll tell… Father."
Ron paused, then burst out laughing at her obvious trick. He shook her hand warmly, as if sealing a secret pact.
"Alright then… deal!"
A brief silence passed before Ron suddenly said:
"You know… yesterday I was angry. I don't even know why. And then… I saw this little kid sticking his tongue out at me mockingly… so I hit him."
Karina couldn't hold herself—she burst out laughing, loudly, wildly, until tears filled her eyes.
"If I were you, I would've done the same… but poor kid…"
Ron recoiled in protest, as though she had wronged him:
"Poor?! He was annoying—he deserved it!"
Rina nodded, granting him the verdict he wanted.
When the laughter faded, Rina exhaled suddenly and looked up at the sky turning into a vast violet canvas.
"Ron… we're… starting to grow up… and age…"
Ron was ready to absorb the wisdom that would follow, but the word "age" froze in his ears like a stone dropped into a pond.
"Hey, Karina! We're not aging—we're just growing up. Since when did we become elders in your dictionary?"
She lifted her brows impatiently.
"Don't interrupt me…"
Then added, as though stating a truth children understand better than adults:
"The point is… childhood dreams and games are slipping away. So let's play… before we become boring!"
Ron wasn't surprised—he was used to her strange requests, which always pushed her far outside the boundaries of nobility into the open space of childhood.
"And what does 'boring' mean?" he asked, trying to follow her imagination.
Rina frowned.
"When we grow up, we'll be busy… we'll feel shy around each other… and we'll measure every step we take. We're already growing up… so let's let out some energy!"
Before Ron could respond, Rina froze like a hawk catching an idea… then sprinted off with all the enthusiasm she had. She ran across the cool grass, laughing, the wind tugging at her clothes.
Suddenly she turned, grabbed him, and pulled him with her—like a child who never learned the meaning of hesitation.
Their laughter filled the place. The sound of their footsteps on the grass became a kind of wild music cutting through the usual calm of the city.
The energy… the vitality… the roaring sense of freedom Rina had been deprived of for years—it was as if life itself decided to repay her all at once.
They ran and played without stopping, as if they were younger than their real age, as if the whole world had shrunk into a playground meant only for them.
The guard assigned to accompany her sat on a wooden chair a little distance away, watching with fake indifference. In his hand, a small notebook—scribbling things… matters… notes…
perhaps a trick, perhaps a report… no one could know.
But one thing was certain—his eyes never left Rina and Ron.
Their laughter still echoed between the trees when Rina suddenly stopped and pointed toward a red door at the end of the path, shining under the sunset like a secret sign only children could notice.
"Whoever reaches it first… gets to buy candy for themselves with their own money!"
Ron looked at the door, then at her, a faint competitive smile forming. He nodded eagerly and took position.
The count barely began before they both darted forward—
Rina lifting the edges of her dress to move faster, Ron running a bit more lightly.
She stumbled slightly, then stopped, visibly annoyed.
"Wait! That's cheating! I'm in a dress and you're in pants!"
Ron stopped and stared at her in honest confusion.
"What does that have to do with me? Lift the dress if you want!"
Rina sighed with muffled frustration.
"Of course not!"
Ron immediately seized the chance to tease:
"See? You've become one of those bored grown-ups who get shy now!"
Rina lifted her chin stubbornly.
"I'm not shy… I just don't want to."
Ron smirked.
"It's the same thing. You don't want to because you're embarrassed. Case closed."
Rina didn't answer, lips pressed into a line meaning he wouldn't understand no matter how she explained.
"Do as you like… we're racing again."
She raised her dress slightly—just above her ankles for mobility—and took her stance.
They dashed again.
This time faster, laughing louder, breathing freer.
But Ron reached the door a few seconds before her and lifted his arms triumphantly as usual.
A few minutes later, he returned holding the candy he had supposedly earned. He offered it to her with a smile.
Rina lifted her hands in refusal.
"No… that was the rule. It's yours alone. I won't take anything."
But before she finished, Ron did something that startled her.
He lifted her mask briefly—just for a heartbeat, too quick for anyone to notice—then placed the candy in her hand instead of her mouth, his tone playfully commanding:
"Take it… and hush."
There was no harshness—only the familiar teasing of childhood.
He put the mask back immediately, making sure no one saw her face, then stepped away as if it meant nothing.
Rina looked at the candy…
then at him…
then adjusted her mask slowly, trying to hide the faint flush on her cheeks.
When it was time to part, she extended her hand with a warm smile and placed a small pouch of candy in his palm.
"Take this… for every morning."
Ron nodded—but his gaze suddenly darkened when it fell on the guard, Robinson. The sparkle that always danced in his eyes turned into a heavy blackness… as if he could see through the man's skin into something deeper.
He leaned slightly closer and whispered with an eerie kind of concern:
"Is that your guard, Rina?"
She nodded innocently. "Yes… he's loyal. He's been with us for years—hardworking and kind."
Ron did not look convinced. His expression hardened.
"Sometimes… betrayal comes from those closest to us. And sometimes… even a guard needs someone to guard him.
Don't trust anyone too much… be careful."
Rina shivered, stepping away with Robinson, her eyes filled with fear and uncertain doubt.
Ron watched from afar—following with a step for every step she took—as if he were a shadow unwilling to lose sight of her.
When Rina reached the palace door, Robinson walking calmly behind her, she sensed that something was off. The palace was unnaturally still—the grand hall silent, the corridors empty, the air heavy, as if something unseen withheld its breath.
She remembered that old moment… the day she returned from her trip to Japan, anxiety consuming her, and then—without warning—the same thing happened.
A sudden shove from behind.
She saw only the floor rushing up, the impact sending the world spinning. It wasn't the pain that crushed her—it was the memories that burst open all at once: the same fall, the same fear, the same hand that pushed her once before… when she had been wrongly blamed for her family's death.
But this time—
the attacker stood right in front of her, unmasked.
Robinson.
The guard her family had trusted for years… the man she believed embodied loyalty… now stood over her, his eyes filled with a cold, dark emptiness.
He crouched beside her, holding something black—an orb, round and shadowy, thin threads dangling from it like living tendrils. The way his fingers tugged those threads sent chills through her whole body.
He leaned to her ear, whispering with venom-soft calm:
"Your Highness… you got a bit too excited.
What you're doing to try to push Lady Elena away… won't work.
The ending is already known."
He leaned closer, his breath chilling against her cheek.
"You… are just a small doll… in her hands.
And the curse you carry… can silence you in a heartbeat.
Just as your mother was silenced."
Rina's heart quaked. His words were stones thrown into her chest. Her head pounded, but fear hit harder.
She wanted to scream… to call for help… to speak—anything.
But her body refused to obey. Fear gripped her like strings pulled tight.
Robinson grabbed her hair, yanking her head back so he could look directly into her eyes. All the kindness she once saw in his face was gone.
"Even if they catch me… even if they punish me… it won't change a thing.
You will fall apart beneath the black magic.
That's a promise."
He lifted the black orb, letting the threads sway.
"Do you remember?
I told you… you're just a lovely little puppet.
And this is how… we move you."
He pulled the threads sharply. Rina didn't see what happened inside the orb, but she felt it—her body shuddering violently, an ache spreading in a way no normal pain ever could. It was a strange, heavy sensation pressing deep into her—like something unseen tugged at her spirit itself.
She had no doubt:
Black magic.
Her curse.
Elena.
All one web.
And Robinson… just a tool.
Then—
silence.
A sudden stillness, as if a curtain had dropped upon the world.
She no longer saw Robinson. She could only hear her own heartbeat echoing. Everything turned to blur.
Then—
shouts erupted across the palace:
"Her Highness!!"
"Quick! Bring the doctor!"
"Hurry!"
Voices swirled around her, growing louder, closer… knocking on the locked door of her consciousness. Many hands touched her, shadows leaned over her… but she couldn't make out their faces.
All she managed to hear, faintly, was someone shouting:
"The guard… where is the guard?!"
…
Then everything sank into white quiet.
"Ah… Lord Theobald, there's truly no need to worry… the young lady is safe now."
The voice came gentle, familiar, carrying the weight of experience and the warmth of long acquaintance—recognizable even before its owner stepped from behind the silk curtain.
"It's difficult to pinpoint the exact cause," the man continued softly, "but most likely… a magical panic surge. Meaning… the curse spiked suddenly for a brief moment."
He paused, then added in a lower tone: "Or… the person who cast it… stirred it deliberately."
Theobald turned sharply, but before he could speak, the man stepped closer to the bed.
It was Geoffrey—the Head of the Mage Tower himself.
A man the family deeply respected, a heart as calm as his words, seldom leaving his tower unless necessary—yet he had come personally this time, rather than sending one of his curse specialists.
"Thank you, Geoffrey… you've lifted a great weight off my chest," Theobald said, relief mingling with lingering worry. "The pain isn't persistent, yes?"
Geoffrey nodded, his face showing signs of long hours without rest.
"Correct. The magical spike was sudden but brief. The readings show her body has returned to its normal state. So don't overthink it… and I'm truly glad the princess is safe."
He leaned slightly toward Rina, whose breaths were still uneven, offering a small reassuring smile before straightening.
"If you need anything… you know where to find me."
With that, he left the room, leaving behind a strange, gentle quiet.
Theobald stood near the bed, watching Rina's pale face.
Carla was there too—stepping closer, hands clasped over her chest in worried trembling.
"Did she… did she trip and hit her head…?"
Her voice was timid, as though she feared disturbing the silence.
Theobald didn't answer right away. He glanced at Rina's hair, the small rosy imprint left on the pillow, then exhaled deeply. Breaking the silence, he turned toward the door:
"I must inform my aides… we'll look into this more thoroughly. Stay with Rina—do not leave her alone."
Carla nodded immediately and bowed.
She remained beside the bed, watching Rina's features in heavy stillness… while Theobald left with firm steps, announcing the beginning of deeper suspicions and investigations.
Rina opened her blurry eyes slowly, the ceiling of her room coming into focus. Then shapes sharpened further.
Carla sat beside her, hands folded in her lap, motherly features trembling with worry.
"Rina…? You're awake? Can you hear me, dear?"
She leaned forward urgently, her voice trembling.
Rina nodded weakly, rubbing her eyes before trying to sit up.
Carla rushed to hold her shoulders.
"Slowly… your head…"
Rina lifted her hand to touch her head and felt the bandages weighing it down.
"Uhh…" Her voice was faint, as though the words were too heavy.
Carla pulled her into a sudden, protective embrace.
"I'm so sorry, little one… you've been through so much."
After a moment, she rose and headed to the door.
"Stay here… I'll bring you something warm to eat."
But the moment Carla left and the door shut, Rina moved—directly against the instructions. She clung to the edge of the bed and stood up with difficulty. Her body trembled, her steps unsteady, but something inside her urged her forward.
She climbed the stairs with effort to the second floor, her mind throbbing in pain, her heart pushing her onward.
Near Elena's room, she found the door half open.
She stopped.
The air grew heavier.
She leaned closer, steadying herself on the wall, and listened.
Elena's voice was unmistakable—cold, amused, as though discussing something trivial.
"That boy… was warning her about me. Some annoying brats have such irritating intuition."
She laughed softly—a laugh that wasn't laughter at all.
"Some people need children… and pretty corpses.
Why don't you simply send bandits and let them finish him?"
Rina's hand trembled.
She gasped silently.
It felt like the ground was slipping from under her feet.
Then came Robinson's voice—the voice that had become a burning coal in her memory:
"Of course… and that's what I did. I'm not sure if they reached him yet or not."
Rina froze.
Her breath quickened.
Her heart pounded violently.
"Reached him…?
Who…?
Ron?!"
She didn't finish the thought.
Her palm pressed against the doorframe, trembling… then she turned and ran—stumbling down the stairs, seeing nothing but darkness closing around her and fear blazing in her chest.
If someone innocent—
a boy who stood by her, protected her, laughed with her—
were harmed because of her…
she would never forgive herself.
She wouldn't even be able to look in the mirror.
And she would be one step closer to the resignation she had fought for so long to resist.