The violin was still sitting on his coffee table beside the blood-stained note that Cor had pulled from Spero's typewriter. It wasn't because Regis couldn't bring himself to put them away. In the month they had sat there, he had grown much better at putting things aside: his room was his again, absent of all Aulea's possessions—even those that he had refused to throw away were packed up and stored for the years to come.

No, he left Spero's note and his violin because it wasn't time, yet. Something had been left unfinished and Regis couldn't pinpoint what it was. Some nights he sat in his study and stared at the note—Spero's last words—though he had already memorized it. The words sparked something in him, but he couldn't find the source.

I won't haunt you, Spero had written ...this is what I wanted.

They were the pieces to a puzzle that he hadn't yet sorted out. He left them there so he could remember; he needed to remember. Neither of them would rest until he put the puzzle together.

The trouble was, he couldn't even quantify what it was about the note that bothered him. Was it because he wrote that he had always meant to kill himself, when Regis had believed he could be saved? Was it because Regis still blamed himself?

No. Neither of those fit.

This is what I wanted…

Regis took solace in the one place that always held it. Thinking too hard about a problem rarely helped matters.

It was dinner time in the nursery. Regis could tell by the shouting.

"Coo!" Yelled Noctis.

"I am not giving you cookies for dinner. Eat your pasta."

"No! COO!"

No? He hadn't said 'no' before, surely.

Regis poked his head into the kitchen to watch Noctis painstakingly pick up a piece of shell-shaped pasta between thumb and forefinger and then drop it off the side of his highchair. Crea stood by, looking exasperated. In the adjacent chair, Reina watched each piece of pasta as it fell, in between bites of her own dinner—which she made no complaints about.

"Any other new words I should know about?" Regis asked.

Crea looked up, surprise flashing momentarily across her face before she gave him a wry smile. "Oh, he's becoming very verbose. Soon you won't be able to get him to shut up."

"Hi-hi-hi!" Noctis waved his whole arm at Regis when he entered.

Regis beamed, stooping to put himself level with Noct. "Hello, Little Prince! Are you being good for Crea?"

"Can you say 'no', Noctis?" Crea folded her arms over her chest and looked down at the pair of them.

"No!" Noctis said.

Regis chuckled, straightening. He crossed to give Reina a kiss and a smile. "And you, my dear? Are you behaving yourself?"

"Oh, she's a saint," Crea said. "If you only have one trouble-maker on your hands, you'll be a lucky father."

He smiled. A part of him wanted to object that it would be ever so much fun to watch them get up to no good together, but that was only because he could make someone else deal with it. Something troubled him about Crea's response, however. She had asked Noctis to respond but not Reina, though they were thirteen months, by now.

"She still doesn't speak?"

Crea shook her head. "Not yet."

"I thought you expected it soon. Noctis has several words, now—is it not worrisome that she has none?" Regis smoothed one hand over Reina's hair. She ate her dinner, evidently unconcerned about her lack of words.

"I did, but it's hard to predict," Crea said, "It's unexpected that she would take this much longer, but I don't think you should worry, still. She clearly understands as much as Noctis does, and she's considerably more cooperative with it."

"But she is quieter."

"Some people are." Crea gave him a crooked smile. "Maybe she just hasn't found anything worth talking about, yet."

Regis stooped, putting his hands on his knees and his eyes level with Reina. He stared into her face and Aulea's eyes looked back at him. Clarus and the others had joked that she would grow up just like Aulea, but quiet and cooperative were not adjectives that he would have described Aulea with. Whatever Reina was when she grew up—whoever she was—he loved her all the same.

"Doubtless you will do things in your own time, Little Princess. Though I hope you will discover something worth talking about, soon. Barely a year old and you already have your old man worried about you." Reina smiled, displaying all four teeth. Regis smiled back at her. "Perhaps you are less liberal with your words. Noctis will speak of anything, but you are still waiting to learn the words for what really matters."

Reina picked up a piece of pasta and held it out to him. Regis leaned forward to take it; she watched him all the while, as if to make certain he really did eat the pasta that she was so generous to share. Behind him, Crea laughed.

"She's never done that before."

"Well." Regis remained stooped, still looking at Reina. She giggled. "We have already established that she is my little princess."

In spite of his smug words, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. She shared things with him that no one else saw.

"Of course. You've got nothing to worry about, there," Crea said, "Reina—where's Dada?"

Reina pointed straight at Regis' nose. Regis grinned.

"Where's Reina?" Crea asked.

Reina pointed to herself.

"Where's Noctis?"

She turned and looked at Noctis, who dropped another piece of pasta on the floor.

"Just wait until he discovers he can feed you his dinner instead," Crea said.

Regis laughed, straightening. "You must think me a terrible parent."

"Of course I don't!" Crea moved to the kitchen table and retrieved a carton of blueberries. She deposited a small handful in front of Reina and optimistically gave Noctis a couple, as well. "Just because you don't fit the traditional mould doesn't mean you're a bad father. You love them and that—I would argue—is more important than anything else."

"I only hope it is sufficient." He watched Reina meticulously work her way through the fresh blueberries.

Crea touched his arm. He turned to find her looking up at him. "She will speak, Regis. In her own time."

And there was nothing else to do but wait.