“There is nothing she can do to you. You should not even worry about it,” was Tirrha’s assessment after Princess recounted the disconcerting encounter with Eliziam.

  “She just infuriates me, that’s all. Who does she even think she is? What is it to her if I paint or not? Ugh!” Princess vented in a mixture of frustration and disbelief, her fingers continuing to weave Tirrha Lunatora’s initials into the delicate handkerchief she held. Each stitch bore the weight of her ire.

  “She’s awful,” Rascal bitterly declared.

  I had concluded the original Artanical equation for the sigil I had labored over and had already begun the arduous process of solving it. The rest of the afternoon had melted away in my efforts, and by the time Princess regained control of her body, her attention shifted. She sought solace with Tirrha, eager to unburden herself regarding the infuriating encounter with Eliziam while performing simple tasks. There, we encountered Rascal.

  We were surprised to find Rascal and Tirrha had formed an amiable bond throughout the morning, much to my approval, provided everyone kept their clothes on at all times. The two found common ground in their association with Princess, and their dynamic blossomed in a peculiar harmony. Tirrha, ever eager to wield authority, found a willing subject in Rascal, whose nurturing instincts as the youngest sister and my erstwhile caretaker naturally led her to serve. It was an odd but fitting companionship.

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  We had moved to Tirrha’s chambers, a slightly larger and more private space compared to the room shared by the three sisters. Princess stitched meticulously, Tirrha reclined with her head in Princess’s lap, and Rascal massaged Tirrha’s feet with a fragrant oil, reminiscent of the care she once bestowed upon me.

  “She’s just frustrated because nothing is going her way as of late,” Tirrha continued with a knowing smirk. “They took down one of her paintings to replace it with Rascal’s portrait. Were you two lovelies aware?”

  “Oh! That makes me so happy,” Rascal quickly interjected, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes.

  “We have also been getting news from the northeastern front. War with Repubin may end soon. Her Ladyship Gerdanina thinks that in less than three years. Eliziam is the third in line to the throne, but the two in front of her are pretty young. She’s been saying, ‘I’m going to be a Queen! I’m going to be a Queen!’ all her life, and it may not even be the case until she’s old and gray.”

  If my mother foresaw such an outcome, it was most likely true. The cessation of the war would mean the de Irchard sister’s lands would never be retaken, although it was a remote possibility to begin with.

  “What’s more,” Tirrha added with a trace of malice, “if the war ended tomorrow, who would bother to pay a fair ransom for her? She could find herself a worthless hostage, and if that happens, well, there’d be no need to treat her kindly, would there? You two could have her kneeling at your feet, dressed in rags, begging for your favor.”

  Tirrha’s laughter echoed in the room, sharp and biting. Rascal joined in, apparently learning new habits. “You need not worry about her, kitten, not at all.”

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