Princess’s rendition of events was undeniably self-serving, yet I found no reason to oppose it. She attempted to justify her pilfering of a blue jewel from my quarters, claiming that fear had gripped her—that anxiety over being cast out for allowing her Master’s demise led her to take such a precautionary measure, lest she face destitution. Her plea was laced with the sort of desperation that sought both pardon and understanding.

  I was already aware, but Princess spoke with a sense of urgency and alarm regarding her ‘curse’, as she dubbed it in front of her sister, which was offensive but appropriate. At first, Princess lost the nights, but then the nights were traded for the days, and suddenly, I was taking control of her randomly throughout the evenings, even if there was only one example—the incident of punching Gurrow.

  What I found most disagreeable was Princess’s selective recounting of events. She glossed over the details of her bizarre friendship with Tirrha, offering naught but the faintest glimmers of truth. She omitted any mention of the nude painting, as well as her foolhardy decision to place her trust in Chelyo. Yet, she indulged in delight when recounting my shortcomings, especially in the most humiliating instances. She described, at length, how I ‘corrupted’ her during a bath shared with Rascal and shamed me by recalling the moment I attempted to disrobe her body upon discovering our strange connection through mirrors. Furthermore, she audaciously lied about the incident with Raiya, shifting the entire blame upon me.

  I was being painted as such a deviant in front of Fermina! Even the portions where Princess erroneously made me appear as a competent fighter and skillful magian, during our encounter against Chelyo, felt tainted. If this was the narrative she chose to spin, then I would find a way to repay her in due time.

  Fermina, however, was a patient listener, rarely interjecting save for moments of concern or admonishment. Her disappointment in how I conducted myself within the body of a Lady was often cited, and I could sense that her perception of me had been irreparably marred. Still, over time, she began to accept the situation, her alarm subsiding as the reality of my presence within Aufelia’s form settled in. The single compliment Princess allowed herself was a half-hearted declaration that I might be willing to die for her, though she could not say with certainty if I would follow through when faced with death.

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  This culminated in a shared decision to unveil the secrets we had so vigilantly guarded. Princess desired a steadfast ally, and I needed a guiding hand to keep me from faltering. In times of discord, Fermina was to serve as the voice of reason, the arbiter of our actions—a role we both swore to honor, agreeing to defer to her judgment when the moment called for it.

  “I know this is a lot to ask of you and that I am bringing you my own problems with no right to do it,” Princess concluded her speech and request, “but I have no one else to ask to, and I am scared and lonely, and I don’t know what to do.”

  Fermina drew us into an embrace, her earlier defenses softened by our earnest words. The distance between us seemed to evaporate, allowing us to communicate in a way we had not before. Although the moment was one of undeniable titilation, I remained determined to disprove Princess’s unflattering portrayal of me. Every trace of ‘manly desire’ was forcibly stifled as I focused on the warmth of the hug and its emotional resonance instead.

  “The only mistake you have made,” Fermina soothed, her voice imbued with a motherly calm, “is not seeking my help sooner. Of course I’ll help, and I understand why you felt the need to keep this a secret.”

  “The decision is yours now. We both will do whatever you want us to do, and we will tell others if you tell us to,” Princess offered, being unnecessarily generous.

  I, too, was prepared to follow Fermina’s lead, but not without offering my counsel. She was an astute woman, but her understanding of arcana was not as expansive as mine. The decision-making process ought to be collaborative, not unilateral.

  “I will not let you down. Don’t you ever be afraid of telling me the truth,” Fermina answered the feelings, tightening her hold on us. “I will never let anything bad happen to you.”

  It seemed that the long-dreaded conversation was nearing its conclusion. At last, we had laid bare the truth of our situation, and the sisters had renewed their vow to protect one another. It was a moment of solidarity, one that could have been touching, were it not for Fermina’s final remark.

  “And Dubart,” she said, her voice carefully neutral, devoid of my title, “for what it is worth, I am relieved that you are not dead.”

  I detected no genuine warmth in her tone.

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