Nina opened her eyes, covered by light streaming through the window, then quickly shut them. Her mind wasn’t fully awake yet, her consciousness still lingering in last night’s dream.

A familiar floral scent filled her nose. Her hands cradled her favorite stuffed teddy bear, just like every morning.

But today, the bear felt warm, soft like a mother’s embrace. It didn’t matter. She longed to sleep like this forever.

She rested her head on the bear’s shoulder, listening to its soothing breaths.

Wait…

The next moment, her awareness snapped sharp.

She opened her eyes to find herself clinging octopus-like to the little girl sharing her bed. A delicate scent from Nevia filled her senses.

Slightly startled, Nina instinctively felt embarrassed. She knew she was a restless sleeper, but hadn’t expected this upon waking. She tried to pull her arm out from under Nevia—only to startle the sleeping girl awake.

Groggily, Nevia opened her mouth, gazing at Nina with confusion. She seemed about to speak, but only let out a soft cough.

Nevia had a cold.

Nina had flusteredly run to Aunt Shirin’s door, knocking until Mother and Celia arrived to check. They concluded it was just a cold.

It felt unbelievable. Mother was most surprised—Nevia had always been healthy since childhood, never falling ill.

With a look of shock, Mother firmly ordered Nevia, who was trying to get up, to stay in bed. Then she went to prepare herbal medicine.

* * *

Even breakfast was brought upstairs by Mother and fed to Nevia.

Nina felt a trace of envy. She watched Aunt Shirin’s figure disappear at the stairwell turn, then took a small bite of her jam-covered toast.

“Princess Highness,” Celia said, her smile holding an inexplicable weight. “Do you wish for Princess Shirin to return with us?”

“Of course,” Nina replied without hesitation.

“Then…”

* * *

After breakfast, Ade—who’d been ignored all along—decided to go out. Aunt Shirin and Celia sat leisurely in the sunlight, sipping black tea.

Nina tried a sip. Bitterness flooded her mouth; it tasted awful.

Smacking her lips, she frowned and set the cup down.

“Not used to it?” Aunt Shirin chuckled, taking Nina’s cup. She added something from a small jar—the rich aroma revealed honey. “This improves it. Nevia dislikes it too; she always adds honey.”

“This was also sent by Alyssa,” Aunt Shirin added suddenly.

Nina nodded but wondered who Alyssa was.

Aunt Shirin didn’t elaborate. She sighed and sipped her tea slowly.

“Aunt,” Nina said carefully, hesitating under Celia’s encouraging glance. She gathered courage. “Sister and I miss you terribly. Aunt… will you come home with me?”

Her eyes shone with hope.

“Helen… that child,” Shirin murmured. “She’s suffered so these years.” She fell silent, then sighed. “I decided long ago never to return.”

“But this time,” Celia interjected sharply, her expression uncharacteristically grave. She locked eyes with Shirin. “The rebels have reached Kil卡拉 Fortress. Once it falls, the imperial heartland plains lie exposed. Divine Blessing will have no defenses left. Princess Highness—would you let five centuries of empire crumble in your hands?”

Shirin stayed silent, fingers tracing her teacup’s rim, gaze fixed on Celia.

They stared unyielding at each other. Finally, Shirin sighed deeply and looked away.

“Brother once promised me… and besides…”

“I can never go back.”

“Aunt…”

“I’m sorry, Nina.”

* * *

Later, Kaelen visited. The usually fierce boy grew worried upon hearing of Nevia’s illness, asking after her and offering his family’s priest. Mother just smiled. “It’s only a cold. Nothing serious—no trouble needed.”

A while after, Nina spotted an unfamiliar little girl. Frail and small, she had deep blue hair and eyes. Without a word, she left white flowers by the door and vanished.

Curious, Nina sniffed them. The scent matched Nevia’s.

“Those are lilies,” Aunt Shirin explained.

* * *

Crisp morning light gilded the ground.

Nina pushed the door open gently, making no sound. She crept to the bed, leaned on its edge, chin resting on folded arms. She gazed at Nevia bathed in sunlight.

Nevia’s cheeks were flushed red. In the light, she looked like a delicate doll—her face slightly round with baby fat, a tiny nose adorning it. But her lively, expressive eyes were tightly shut. A warm towel lay on her forehead, faintly herbal.

In that moment, Nina ached to be Nevia. Though Nevia lived in a humble wooden house—no Imperial Palace grandeur, no gorgeous gowns, not even a dreamy little girl’s room—Nina felt immense envy. Even jealousy.

Because Nina had never seen her father. Her mother died of grief after his death, before Nina understood anything. Only her sister remained—but Helen was always too busy to spare her a glance.

Nina’s nose stung. Her vision blurred with bright, glistening tears.

She wiped her eyes with her hand. Staring at Nevia, traitorous tears spilled again.

“I hate it… I hate it… Dad, Mom, Sister, Aunt—you none of you like Nina. Why… why won’t you come home with me…”

“I… I love you all the most…”

“Nina?” Nevia’s eyes fluttered open.