Long after she stopped bawling her eyes out, order settled on the shore. Marshal Vessa directed where to dump the Cardovians they bound, and a neat array slowly formed with their backs to the sea. Nelnifa stood with her father as he watched the sun start to rise, dousing the waterline, the fluffy clouds, and the upturned sand with its fiery amber rays. The wind had stilled into a dull whisper, rustling the fronds of the surviving salvia trees.

Her hair had dried off, going back to its wispy curtain draped over her back. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Ilphas stalk off the hazy circle made by the Marshals, both from the covert and the offense faction, aiming for her. She turned her attention to the calm sea, pretending she didn't see him. Something must have happened because he never made it. Instead, her father shifted from his stance to accommodate Marshal Vessa's approach.

"We are unable to track those who have gone to the mountains," the Marshal reported, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I suggest raising the alert to the other camps to keep an eye out."

The Potentate's hands, which were tucked behind him, tightened around each other. It might fly over most people's heads, but Nelnifa noticed. He's not pleased about these developments. He simply maintained a placid air about him.

"Send word, but do not encourage them to persecute the escapees," he answered. "In fact, tell them to help anyone they encounter in the forest regardless of where they align themselves to."

Marshal Vessa seemed to disagree with it with how passive her facade became, but it was the order of the Potentate. She couldn't refuse without suffering the consequences.

But after this whole ordeal, Nelnifa became aware of how easy it was to topple a kingdom, but not a people. And that's what the water sprites were. They were a race, united not only by their synnavaim, but by something greater—kinship.

It's easier to denounce the autocracy following the fall of Orayta, but these people stayed by her father, and by extension, Nelnifa. Even though she had led them to their deaths and got blood on their hands, they never left. She couldn't fully understand that decision, but maybe they were like her—willing to throw everything they were for the sake of her people, her family. While it's not always good, the best thing she could do was to honor that and be there for them.

So, Marshal Vessa gave her father a quick salute before trudging off, ready to carry out her new order. The other Marshals took over keeping the Cardovians in order. A soldier sauntered towards the Potentate, passing a bag as big as his palm.

Nelnifa studied it, noting how the bottom melded with the shape of her father's hand. Powder, then. What's that for? What's he going to do with it?

As if sensing her attention, the Potentate turned to her with a smirk. "See, poison isn't the only thing I brought back," he said with a wink.

Before she could ask what it meant, he threw the bag to the ground and held a hand out. A rysteme spell burst from his fingertips, a column of fire shooting towards the bag. Nelnifa never thought she'd see this sight—a water sprite summoning flames—but with magic, all things were possible.

The flames touched the bag, and it erupted into deep purple plumes. The wind picked up, seemingly aware of what it's needed for. Cardovians squirmed against their bonds at the sight of the colored smoke curling towards them, but with gui twine which could withstand even the sharpest blades, it's impossible to escape. Then, as if a cold wave passed over them, they stilled.

Of course, they were fed the same mind-control potion the Sovereign used on her people.

"You have three choices starting today," her father announced in a commanding voice. She hasn't heard it in a long time, so it came as a surprise. "First—hide in the mountains to let the war pass. Second—join us in our efforts to defend Desara's sovereignty. Third—you are free to go back to Cardovia."

Silence. Then, at least eight people shot up and ran not for the mountains, but towards the markers who were still fortweres away. They chose Cardovia then. Nelnifa whipped her flintlock from her belt and fired. One. Two. Three. Four. The cartridge jammed—a sign of no bullets left. She unslung her rifle and aimed. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.

All of them fell to the sand, whimpering about the pain. Her father slapped the still-smoking muzzle down. "What have you done?" he demanded. "I thought we're past this. And you used the poisoned bullets!"

Nelnifa jerked her chin at the squirming targets felled to the ground. "I didn't hit any vital spots. If they aimed to crawl back to that witch, we better keep an eye on them, or we'll see each other in the battlefield once more," she said, slinging the rifle back on her shoulder. "Besides, the poison was washed off long ago. It's nothing more than a tranquilizer now. It's a miracle they went off at all."

To prove her point, she urged her father to watch the Marshals drag the soldiers away from the water and plop them onto the drying sand. They were breathing, their chests rising and falling.

The Potentate turned back to the rest of the black-clad crowd. "Anyone else?"

None of them volunteered to be shot at.

Her father turned to the Marshals. "See to it their choices are honored," he said. "Dismissed."

Another flurry of activity settled on their impromptu camp. Nelnifa stepped out of the foreground, quietly retreating to the shade of a family of salvia trees. She settled under their swaying shadows, for once, feeling a kind of calm washing over her. They were able to retake Orayta, which meant the other cities stood a chance against the Heiress' army.

For once, things were looking up.

"Blending with the sand again, I see," Ilphas said behind her, his footsteps scratching against the particles the same color as his hair. Well, maybe not all things.

She didn't dare turn to acknowledge him as he sat next to her, crossing his legs. "What are you doing here, Ilphas?" she said. Her tone came out edgier than necessary. "Aren't you supposed to help the other Marshals? I, for one, don't give you permission to keep lounging around and flirting."

"Who says I'm flirting?" A genuinely confused tinge colored his tone. "But if it's what you want—"

"No!" She couldn't have whirled towards him that fast. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and it's not her magic malfunctioning. "I mean..." she coughed into her fist. "Is there anything you absolutely have to tell me?"

"I'm proud of you, Nifa," he said.

Her gaze locked on his face. Not a shred of his annoyingly smug smirk floated out of the grin he flashed her. For some reason, it made him less vexing, and well...more endearing. "What for?" she asked.

Ilphas' eyes didn't falter. "Last night was a thrilling experience albeit a scary one," he said. "But I'm glad you listened to your inner voice and let them go."

"You seem to ignore the fact I killed people, including some of our own, and got you to assassinate those generals," she stared at her hands, which curled over her lap. "Besides, if my father hadn't stopped me, I would have gone through with it. I don't deserve your praise."

And she didn't feel worthy enough to receive Ilphas' feelings, whatever they were. But who was she to dictate what people should feel about her? Who was she to tell them what to give her and what to withhold.

"This is war, no matter how pointless it is," Ilphas answered. "I don't blame you for taking the path you did, but I thank the gods you chose to walk out of it. You may have received help from your father, but in the end, it's you who did all the work. That is why I admire you, Nifa. You have the strength and courage I don't see in everyone."

He leaned back on his hands. "Besides, it's not like you forced me to do anything," he said. "I still serve you, your family, and our people. If you think it's the best thing for us, I'd do it. I trust you."

She looked away, studying the wave-like patterns the sand took on its own. "Still, forget everything you saw last night," she said. It's a miracle her tongue hasn't twisted into itself up to this point. Usually, she would be a melted puddle whenever she was anywhere near him. See, he wasn't the only one who had these feelings. "It's...embarrassing."

"The next time someone who controlled the godsdamned sea and chose to let go of that power say doing so is embarrassing, I'd throw myself into the water," he said.

Nelnifa grinned. "Well, in that case, it's emb—"

A hand clamped over her mouth. The sudden movement removed her balance, sending her crashing against the salvia trunks. Fronds and some of the fruits in danger of breaking free from their stalk quivered. Then, it registered how Ilphas' hand was still on her face, and how they're merely inches apart.

His eyes widened, scrambling away from her and ducking his head. "Forgive me, Princess," he said. "I made a grave mistake."

She didn't know what came over her, but she reached out and laid a hand on his head. She had always wondered how soft his hair would be despite spending all his life near the sea. The answer was obvious. Of course, the beige strands welcomed her fingers as if they were long-lost friends, and it's like touching a haldone's leg.

"I-It's fine," she said, keeping her hand on his head even as he straightened. His eyes searched hers, their current situation computing in his mind. "I just don't know how to tell you, or if I'm allowed to tell you—I'm so new to this business—and well..."

Ilphas took her hand off his head and laid it on the short stretch of sand between them. Even that trailed warmth up her skin and ignited her heart like a thousand spells combined.

"I...well," she gulped down the bile rising from her throat. "I like you, too."

Silence.

"Hello?" She prodded, making him flinch out of his reverie.

"Sorry," he blinked. "I just can't believe this is even happening."

She chewed on her lip, her teeth digging into the flesh until it hurt. "So...what now?" she asked. "Do we...?"

A hand snaked at the back of her head, drawing her closer to him. He planted a quick kiss on her forehead. "We'll figure it out," he whispered. "But first, we need to get your father's permission."

Nelnifa snorted. "And if he refused?"

Ilphas' eyes twinkled. "Then, we raise hell."

And with her doing it once, what's there to go wrong?