Theobald stepped out briefly into the hall, his stride steady but his features taut, as if the entire palace was weighing on his shoulders. He did not look at his daughter at first. Instead, he raised his voice just enough to reach San and Sina, who were standing not far away:
"The day after tomorrow… is the day of your departure."
Sina stopped in her tracks. She turned slowly, a serene smile appearing on her lips—carefully polished, revealing nothing of what lay behind it. She nodded with a respect devoid of warmth, then followed San without uttering a word, as if the decision was not a surprise… but rather, expected.
As for Rina, she remained frozen. Her gaze was fixed on their backs, and confusion was clear in her eyes. She did not understand what her father meant, nor why the matter seemed spoken and settled.
She took one step forward, and her voice came out less steady than she intended: "Father… what is happening?"
Theobald finally looked at her. The look of a man who knew the weight of decisions and understood that some explanations are not meant for hallways. "I will explain to you."
Then he turned and headed towards one of the side rooms, where Osana was sitting, as composed as she had been in the difficult days. Rina followed him silently, as if afraid understanding might precede her.
And before the conversation could begin, the atmosphere was cut by the assistant's voice at the door: "My Lord Duke… a letter has arrived for you from one of the nobles."
He stepped forward, holding a sealed envelope. Theobald took it with the calm everyone was accustomed to, but the moment his eyes fell on the sender's name, he froze for a split second.
Lady Farlin.
The wife of one of the lords… and the aunt of San and Sina.
He took a deep breath, like one preparing for a burden whose weight he knew, then opened the letter and began to read in a low voice:
---
"To my Lord Duke Theobald Vershi,
It has reached me that the children of my brother, San and Sina, have been in your care since the departure of their mother, Elina.
And I wish, above all, to express my gratitude for your undertaking their guardianship in a circumstance that was not easy for anyone.
I am aware that Elina's conduct was not always befitting of our family's name, and that she did not always deal with the House of Vershi as was proper. And although she never disclosed the reasons, I am certain that what led to her imprisonment was not a random decision, but the result of understandable circumstances about which I do not doubt your wisdom.
After long consideration, I have found it my duty to present this request plainly.
I am childless, and my palace—despite its size—lacks voices and life. By virtue of kinship, I see myself as the most entitled to care for my brother's children and to provide a stable environment for them, away from the complexities of politics and the affairs of the Duchy.
Therefore, I request that you send San and Sina to me at the earliest time you deem suitable.
I pledge to raise them and care for them for life, in a manner befitting the family name and its standing.
With sincere esteem and respect,
Lady Farlin"
---
Theobald finished reading, and a heavy silence descended.
For him, the decision seemed… convenient. Their being with their aunt was more stable for them and a lighter burden for the Duchy, which could no longer bear additional complications. He summoned San and Sina, explained the letter's contents to them without evasion, and told them that the doors of Vershi would remain open to them if they ever wished to return.
They did not hesitate. They agreed with a calm devoid of surprise.
So Theobald sent his reply of agreement, a short, formal letter, empty of emotion.
…
Osana said, her tone closer to a comment than a question as she sipped her tea: "Ah… so that's how it is. Frankly, a convenient choice."
Rina was sitting near them, listening without intervening. For her… it was a gain and a loss at the same time.
Sina's distance meant the dimming of the threads of schemes and the retreat of the pressure that had been choking her thoughts. But on the other hand… this way, there would remain no clear reason for punishment, nor a pretext for future revenge.
She sat thinking, ideas crowding her head like scattered papers unable to find their order.
And amidst the overlapping conversations, Theobald suddenly said: "I am very busy these days. I have a major task underway… and with the anniversary of Vershi's founding approaching, the pressure has increased."
Yes. The seventy-ninth anniversary of Vershi's founding was nearing, since the first Duke was granted his title after being one of the pillars of the wars.
Osana said with gentle firmness: "Theo, you are putting more pressure on yourself than necessary. Do not think about the anniversary at all. I will take care of it… and perhaps—"
She paused, then looked at Rina with a calculated smile: "Perhaps Rina will help me too."
Rina's eyes widened, and her smile came out clear, different from all that had preceded: "Really?"
Theobald smiled: "Indeed. It is important to learn how to establish parties… not just to be seen at them."
Osana approached and patted Rina's hand: "Yes. I will teach you… and we will take your opinion as well."
At that moment, Rina felt something new. Not a struggle. Not a scheme.
But responsibility. And a quiet beginning… that might be heavier than it seemed, but is what she truly needed.
---
Amidst the preparations for the party, the hall was not merely a place being set to receive guests, but a beehive pulsing with subdued movement and noise.
Footsteps intersected, whispered orders were carried out, and many hands took turns carrying a legacy heavier than wood and silk.
Osana and Rina supervised the details with a precision that left no room for chaos, monitoring every item moved, every corner being redesigned.
Servants and guards crossed the hall carrying massive furniture arriving from the old Vershi palace—that palace inhabited by branches of the family, Theobald's relatives, where memories that are only recalled when a return to them is forced reside in its corridors.
Antique sofas with faded fabrics, bearing the marks of long years of silent sitting.
Broad, heavy wooden cabinets, moving slowly through the passages, their faint creaking rising as if time itself objected to their uprooting, as if the walls refused to be emptied of their history.
And suddenly… Osana stopped.
It wasn't a sound that caught her attention, but a small scene amidst the chaos.
Travel bags.
Securely fastened, neatly arranged, unlike the rest of the belongings. These were not being moved. These… were leaving.
Her features tightened slightly, and the thought crept into her mind with a cold weight.
It was the day of departure.
San and Sina's day.
And before that realization could fully form, the two siblings began descending the stairs.
Their steps were balanced, neither hurried nor hesitant, as if they were leaving a place they no longer considered home.
San stepped forward first, silent as usual, his features tightly sealed, his eyes fixed, not seeking farewell nor acknowledging loss.
As for Sina… she was different.
Her smile was present, arranged, that smile which revealed nothing but hid much.
She took a calculated step forward and raised her voice in a soft tone, polished so carefully it seemed sincere: "Thank you for your care of us, Lady Osana… We are grateful, and truly happy."
But Osana, with her long experience, did not miss that emptiness behind the words.
That cold echo which carried not gratitude so much as perfect performance.
Yet, she showed nothing.
She smiled with the aristocratic composure that never left her, and replied: "Come whenever you wish, and we will certainly be happy for your comfort there."
San and Sina bowed in unison.
A perfect, flawless bow… lacking in warmth.
And at that moment, Rina's eyes met Sina's.
The meeting was not long, but it was enough to leave its mark.
Sina's gaze held no hostility, nor hatred.
But something more dangerous…
The reassurance of one who does not feel he has lost, and who is certain the game is not over yet.
And as Sina passed by Rina, she drew a little closer, as if by accident, leaned in and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear: "Karina… don't forget Robinson's promise, my dear."
Rina froze in place.
Sina passed by smoothly afterward, as if nothing had been said.
The guards resumed carrying furniture.
The orders continued.
And the hall continued its transformation in preparation for the party.
But that whisper…
Did not leave.
It remained suspended in Rina's mind, heavy, pulsating,
Like a faint warning that does not scream…
But refuses to fall silent.