"I—I was just… went to— to play outside with friends… umm… a countess's house! Y-Yes! Me and Ysabel, we—we went to that countess's house, the one that has the—the big apple field beside… beside their house."
Rosalinda stumbled over her words like feet catching on loose stones.
"And—and they have that—those big dogs too, they were— they were black… no! orange—! no, no, unmistakably— unmistakably white!"
Her story crumbled from first word to last.
Even worse she started stammering worse when cornered like prey by hunter. But one sentence from Elara cut through the lies like blade through silk.
"But you don't have any friend."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Not just between them… the birds stopped singing their songs on tree branches above them.
The breeze froze, holding still between moments like time itself paused its journey.
Not a leaf moved, not a flower rustled in breeze's passing. As if entire garden had witnessed truth spoken and recognized it as powerful spell of binding.
Elara's gaze never left Rosalinda.
Immobile as marble sculpture except eyes, which missed no details.
And Rosalinda?
Her expression blank as winter field covered by snow.
Her face devoid of all emotion like mask worn by performance who'd forgotten script entirely.
Eyes fixed firmly to ground, down at her feet where dirt paths between garden stone met grass borders, as if answer would emerge there by sheer force will alone or until Elara stopped watching with those penetrable sight lines.
"Did you actually believe the story I told you?"
Elara asked gently, quietly, as if speaking to a hurt child rather than princess of the realm.
But still. Rosalinda remained mute, unmoving.
"My naïve sister," Elara continued softly, almost sadly, like petals being gently pulled off delicate flower without much force needed to pluck away its beauty or vitality…
"It was just a story."
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Years ago, when Rosalinda was just six years old with those distinctive drill twin-tails of red hair,
She walked through palace corridors.
Behind her, two maids whispered in hushed tones as she passed, unaware the small princess could hear every word.
"Is it true that third princess couldn't use magic?" one whispered, voice barely audible even in silence.
"Are you insane? Shut your mouth!" the other hissed back, grabbing her companion's arm in panic. "Walls have ears! Stop talking about that!"
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After their lovemaking, when passion faded into cool reality of dawn's first light filtering through bedroom curtains, The King whispered softly to his Queen. "My Queen… Was having a third child a mistake?"
Shock crossed her face like lightning splitting dark sky. Her body stiffened beneath silk sheets.
"She is your child, how could you say that?!" She pushed him away, rising from bed as if he'd struck her instead of speaking mere words aloud.
"You misunderstood what I wanted to say," he pleaded, reaching for her arm but she jerked away like his touch burned.
"It was just hard to live in this world without mana, you know? What about her future? No one will want her as their wife—"
"I don't want to talk about this!" She stood up, grabbing her nightgown and pulling it on with quick, angry movements. Clothes went on fast, almost violent in haste to cover herself and flee from conversation.
And she walked away, leaving The King alone with silence and words unspoken.
Born into royalty, your fate is never your own.
Rosalinda knew it, she understood it.
Yet she couldn't do anything about it.
In this world, everyone could use magic.
Even the filthy beggars that lived on the sympathy of others could lift a boulder with their two hands, others could fly, could breathe fire or summon lightning, could freeze enemies solid with mere thought.
But she couldn't.
Even the disgusting political marriage that someday would befall on her would never come to reality.
Because she couldn't use magic.
"STAND UP PRINCESS! ONE MORE ROUND!" The royal army commander's loud voice echoed through the vast training ground. His eyes were on Rosalinda, watching her like hawk watching mouse.
"MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!"
Clap, clap, clap.
He clapped his hands sharply, urging her forward.
Urging her to continue running, continue trying to master the blade that felt foreign in her grip, continue exhausting herself until bones ached and muscles screamed for rest that would not come.
"I—i… can't… any-more…"
Those were Rosalinda's last thoughts before darkness claimed her. Her body gave up, collapsing to ground like marionette whose strings were cut all at once.
"Was it the sixth or seventh time she fainted after two rounds around the field?" the vice commander asked his superior, voice low to not carry far in training yard where other soldiers were training nearby.
"Quiet! Focus on your job!" the commander yelled, snapping his head toward his subordinate like angry dog toward intruders near puppies. His patience wore thin like worn leather.
"You and you, bring her to the court physician!" he ordered two maids who were nearby. They immediately rushed forward to gather up Rosalinda's unconscious form without hesitation.
Then the commander headed toward dining hall where King and Queen were having their meal, expression stormy as gathering clouds before tempest.
"I want to have an audience with Your Highness," the commander told the butler stationed in front of the massive, luxury door to dining hall.
The butler shook his head apologetically, "The King and Queen are enjoying their meal. If there is no emergency, please come back for another time."
"But this is about the third princess," the commander insisted, remaining tenacious despite butler's polite refusal.
The butler hesitated, clearly weighing gravity of commander's tone against protocol of not disturbing royal couple during meals.
After brief moment, he nodded and slipped inside dining hall.
Then returned moments later with news.
"You can go in."
And he opened door for commander to enter.
Inside the opulent room, the dining hall stretched long and high, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadow where chandeliers hung like constellations brought indoors, glowing warm as captured stars.
Rows of tall windows lined one side, their glass stained in deep jewel tones, muted reds and golds spilling color across polished marble floor like liquid sunset trapped in stone.
A single table dominated the center, far longer than needed tonight for just two people, its surface gleaming beneath silverware and crystal that caught light with sharp glints.
At its head sat King and Queen, their expressions unreadable as masks carved from fine porcelain.
Between them, conversation was sparse.
The clink of cutlery echoed softly in the vastness, too loud in a room built for crowds but occupied by only two royals and one approaching soldier.
Without letting the commander speak, the King said, "What do you want to talk about Rosalinda?"
The commander straightened, standing at attention.
"Your Highness, since you entrusted third princess in my care, I have been training her rigorously every day."
"Go on," the King said, his expression never shifting as he continued cutting the meat on his plate with precise movements.
The commander paused, choosing his next words with care.
"She doesn't have potential in magic. And due all respect, Your Highness—"
The King's expression remained calm, unbothered.
"Her body can't handle the physical exertion either."
"So you mean she is useless?" the King asked calmly, continuing to cut his meat as if discussing weather rather than his own daughter.
"How could you talk about your daughter like that?!" The Queen gasped, dropping her cutlery. Anger flashed across her face like lightning splitting night sky. Her expression shifted from shock to rage in heartbeat.
"My Queen, calm down and finish your meal," the King turned to her, his face still composed, unflustered as a storm.
"You've barely touched your food," he added, his tone almost gentle despite the tension crackling through air.
"I am not hungry. Enjoy your meal, Your Highness." The Queen stretched the last words as if mocking him, deliberately misinterpreting his concern as dismissal.
She stood, her elegant gown rustling as she turned on heel.
And she walked away, leaving the King and the commander alone in vast dining hall.
After she was out of sight, the King finished his meal with methodical precision.
"Sorry for you to see that," he said, dismissing the scene with wave of hand. "But do continue. What did you want to say?"
"I-it was fine, Your Majesty," the commander said quickly, though his eyes had followed Queen's departure with uncomfortable awareness.
"The Queen was just worried about her daughter. But anyway, Princess Rosalinda, since she couldn't use magic nor focus on her physical training. How about sending her to the Institute of Virtue?"
"The Institute?" the King wondered aloud, finishing last bites of his meal. "Has she come to age already?"
"Yes, Your Highness." He paused, choosing next words carefully. "Not the royal academy, but the Institute of Virtue, under the jurisdiction of the Arcane Order. So she will have less influence in court in the future."
The King's face tightened, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
"Is this the way you speak to your King about his daughter?"
"I only said what Your Highness wanted to hear," the commander said, but he didn't flinch from those imperious eyes, standing rigid as a statue. His face was pragmatic, almost clinical as if speaking about tactical formations rather than royal politics.
"Isn't it?" King's tone carried an edge.
The King closed his eyes for a brief moment. Long enough to consider what this would mean.
"Very well," the King said finally, exhaustion threading through every syllable like worn tapestry showing through gilt. "Bring my order. Have Princess Rosalinda Aurelia Valencrest sent to the Institute of Virtue to be 'educated'."