The audience room, where the mirror was retrieved and the confrontation with the silent swordsman took place, was filled with an air of tension. The swordsman stood face to face with the prince, who had been waiting for her. Her appearance was a chaotic mess, with the blood she had shed and the blood of the Queen that had been smeared on her—indistinguishable from each other. The bloodstains, which she had tried to wipe off with her sleeve, left clear marks on her face. The prince, his head bowed, stood before her.

"I am sorry. I lost my composure earlier …