The Eastern Palace was quiet, save for the faint rustle of morning wind slipping through carved window lattices. The sun was now climbing higher in the sky, warm beams scattering over the polished floors like liquid gold. It was a moment of peace, rare and welcome.
Mirha stepped lightly through the servant corridors, the hem of her borrowed maid's gown brushing her ankles. She walked with her head slightly bowed, more from guilt than an effort to stay unnoticed. Her heart still thudded with the fading remnants of her unexpected encounter with Lord Fahit, and the even more unexpected rescue by Princess Goya.
As she approached her quarters in the Eastern Palace, she spotted a familiar figure pacing slowly near her door.
Gina.
Her friend's arms were crossed, brows drawn low in thought, eyes flicking toward every shadow. When Mirha came into view, still clad in the simple brown cotton dress of the palace maids, Gina's shoulders sagged in obvious relief.
"You little rascal," Gina exhaled, half laughing, half scolding as she stopped her pacing. "Where have you been? Do you know I've been waiting here like a worried mother hen?"
Mirha crept closer, grinning shyly, her hands tucked behind her back. "I didn't mean to scare you. I... needed air. Suni had a brilliant idea."
Gina arched an eyebrow, folding her arms tighter. "And what was that? Sneaking off dressed like a servant?"
Mirha nodded sheepishly. "Exactly that."
Gina's eyes widened. "Mirha! Gods, what if someone recognized you?"
"Someone did." Mirha looked away, her voice small. "Lord Fahit."
Gina gasped, almost grabbing her friend's arm. "What?"
"But Goya—Princess Goya, I mean—she showed up just in time. She distracted him. He didn't know who I was."
Gina's expression shifted from horror to confusion to disbelief, then finally settled into reluctant amusement. "You're unbelievable. Come on. Let's get you out of that ridiculous dress."
She pushed open the door to Mirha's chambers, holding it for her. Mirha stepped in, already pulling the tie from her apron and tugging the cap off her head. The room smelled faintly of chamomile and old books, comforting and familiar.
"You wouldn't believe how beautiful the gardens were, Gina," Mirha said as she let the maid uniform drop onto a low stool. "They were glowing. I've never seen colors like that—not in the Southern quarters, not even when I first arrived here. There's this fountain with three cranes carved out of white stone."
"You risked your neck for a fountain?" Gina teased, though her voice was soft. She moved to the wardrobe and pulled out a sky-blue gown for Mirha. The sleeves were loose and breathable, the fabric plain but lovely.
"I think I needed to feel free," Mirha admitted. "Even for just an hour."
Gina held up the gown and watched as Mirha stepped out of the simple dress. There was no shame between them, only an ease built through years of shared rooms, whispered secrets, and working side by side.
"You looked like yourself today," Gina said finally as she helped adjust the dress. "Not the version of you that walks stiffly around nobles and hides every emotion."
Mirha looked at her in the mirror. "And what version is that?"
"The one who's too good at pretending she's fine."
Their eyes met in the glass.
"Do you want to talk about breakfast?" Gina asked gently, smoothing a crease on Mirha's sleeve.
Mirha paused. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her sash. "It wasn't the words Kanha used. It was the truth in them."
"She was cruel."
"But right," Mirha said. "I have been carrying a grudge. Maybe I always will. But I never meant to hurt Hosha. He was the only person who ever made me feel seen here. And I... I tried to erase that too fast."
"You were hurt. It wasn't wrong to protect your heart."
Mirha gave a small, broken laugh. "But look where it got me. I feel like a girl again, playing dress-up in another life, too afraid to claim anything real."
Gina sat down beside her on the padded bench near the window. She reached for Mirha's hand.
"We weren't born to belong here, Mirha. We learned to exist in someone else's world. You want to know why I'm proud of you? Because you didn't just survive here. You made them see you. You made them care."
Mirha's eyes filled slowly with tears, and she looked down, afraid of what it meant to cry so openly now.
"I don't want to be someone he pities. I don't want to be a symbol of the pain he can't fix."
"You're not," Gina said firmly. "You're someone he fought for. Even if things didn't turn out the way either of you wanted."
Mirha wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. "You always know what to say."
"Only because I've made every mistake first."
They both chuckled, and the heaviness in the room lifted, if only a little. Gina stood again and picked up the maid's gown, folding it neatly. "Next time you want to sneak out, let me at least braid your hair differently. You were too recognizable."
"You're ridiculous."
"You adore me."
"You're lucky I do."
Gina glanced at the door. "There's going to be more tension in the palace soon. Rumors are already starting about Goya's engagement."
Mirha stilled. "It's true, then?"
"I think so. I don't know all the details, but it seems serious."
Mirha lowered herself into the chair again. "She deserves better than a political trade."
"So did many of us," Gina said softly. "But she's brave. Maybe braver than the rest of us combined."
There was a long pause. Mirha's fingers tangled in the folds of her skirt.
"Do you think we'll ever stop feeling like outsiders?" she asked quietly.
Gina sat again, this time resting her chin on her palm. "Maybe not. But I think we'll build something of our own. Something that doesn't need permission."
Mirha looked at her with gratitude, then leaned her head on Gina's shoulder.
They sat like that for a while, the outside world forgotten, two women caught between classes, dreams, and quiet rebellion. And in that room, for a brief, fragile moment—they belonged.
The air in Emperor Arvin's study was thick with the scent of ink, parchment, and lingering incense—a mixture that seemed to encapsulate both the majesty and the burden of the imperial crown. The heavy drapes muted the golden light spilling from the afternoon sun, casting long shadows across the room. The ornate emblem of the Empire, a majestic lion flanked by two rising phoenixes, was carved into the ceiling beams, watching over everything like a silent god.
General Kain sat there beneath it, slouched deep into the plush armchair that had once belonged to their grandfather. His posture was uncharacteristic—slumped, drained, almost lost. A half-filled cup of rice wine dangled from his fingers as he stared up at the emblem above him, his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed.
His earlier conversation with their mother weighed heavily on him. Her words, sharp yet tinged with heartbreak, still rang in his ears: "You were born for more, Kain. And now, you will marry for more." Her voice had been calm, but it seethed with layers—expectation, disappointment, and above all, resignation.
He had wandered the palace corridors like a ghost until his feet brought him to the one place he knew he could sit in silence. Renzo wasn't around. Arvin would have to do.
The door creaked open, and in came Emperor Arvin, a collection of scrolls in one hand, his robes trailing behind him with quiet authority. Behind him, Heman stepped in but halted when he saw the brooding figure of the Head General. The advisor sighed, his disapproval thinly veiled behind a roll of his eyes.
"He's drinking again," Heman muttered, not bothering to hide his disdain.
Arvin raised a hand. "Leave us."
With a stiff nod, Heman turned and exited, shutting the door behind him.
Silence lingered for a long moment as Arvin simply stood, watching the elder of the two brothers. Kain didn't look at him; his gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. There was something childlike about the way he stared—searching, questioning, longing.
Finally, Kain broke the silence. "Arvin… what does it mean to lead without war? Does it always mean sacrifice?"
The question floated in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.
Arvin walked over slowly and lowered himself into the seat opposite his brother. The light caught his features—still youthful, yet sharpened by the weight of the crown. His fingers drummed once against the wooden armrest before he spoke.
"Mother likes to fill you up with guilt, doesn't she?"
Kain let out a low chuckle. It lacked humor.
Arvin continued, voice calm. "What Father told me was that to lead is to accept everything that comes with it. Hence, the things that you see—like sacrifices—are actually duties. I am doing what the crown asks of me."
Kain turned his head and finally looked at his younger brother. His eyes were heavy—not just with drink, but with burden.
"So the crown is wearing you?" he asked.
Arvin smiled. A small, resigned smile. He nodded.
"Nonsense," Kain scoffed, straightening just slightly. He pointed his cup toward Arvin. "You have the power, and you let it drown you? You are even more pathetic now, Vino."
The old nickname hung in the air, a remnant of a time when they were just boys wrestling in the palace gardens.
Still smiling, Arvin replied, "I accept it, Kain. As long as the Empire is the way it is now, I would do it again. Again and again."
Kain studied him, the tension in his jaw slowly easing. He shook his head.
"I don't believe in love," he said finally, as if it were a confession. "So what should I do with a bride?"
The words struck Arvin unexpectedly. His eyes flickered in understanding, and then it clicked.
"So it's her," he said softly. "Princess Goya."
Kain didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Arvin leaned back, exhaling. "Easy," he said with a grin. "Just do as she says. That's what I do with Nailah."
That earned a smirk from Kain. "Vino acting all high and mighty, huh?"
Arvin chuckled, his shoulders relaxing. "Nah, my brother. That's your own battle. So do what suits you."
Their laughter echoed through the room, lighter than the air had felt in days. For a moment, they weren't emperor and general. Just brothers.
They raised their cups in unison.
"A toast," Arvin said. "For Èvana."
"And for the Crown," Kain added.
Their cups clinked, and in the silence that followed, there was understanding.
Two brothers. Two fates. One empire.
The sound of muffled laughter still lingered in the Emperor's study. The golden midday light filtered in through the tall windows, casting elongated patterns on the glossy floor. Arvin and Kain were seated across from one another, their cups half full, the remnants of their shared drink glinting softly in the crystal.
Kain leaned back again, face more relaxed now, eyes following the carved emblem of Èvana overhead. For the first time in days, there was a faint calm between them.
And then—
"Did I hear someone whining about not knowing what to do with a lady?"
The voice was unmistakable—confident, smooth, and drenched in playful mischief. Rnzo.
He strolled in like he owned the palace, robes slightly loosened, his fingers carelessly twirling a golden ring. His grin stretched from ear to ear, the kind that made you roll your eyes and smirk at the same time.
Arvin groaned softly but didn't look up from his drink. "And here I was enjoying the peace."
Kain just smirked. "It died the moment you opened your mouth."
Behind Rnzo, Kaisen walked in with an expression that screamed reluctant babysitter.
"Don't mind him," Kaisen said, shaking his head, but a trace of amusement laced his tone. "He's still high from almost getting laid last night."
Rnzo coughed, choking slightly on his own smugness.
"Almost?" Kain raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes.
Kaisen sighed dramatically, as if the world had placed this burden on him alone. "He and Gina had a moment… a very long and intimate moment. But instead of acting like a decent man, he stopped halfway, showed up at my room like a kicked puppy, and crashed on my couch."
Arvin leaned forward now, intrigued, grinning. "Why?"
"Because I didn't want our first night to be…" Rnzo cleared his throat, suddenly serious. "Not like that. Not rushed. She means more than that. I want to make it count."
There was a short pause. Even Kain nodded approvingly.
"Maybe you're not as hopeless as you look," he muttered.
Rnzo threw a hand dramatically over his chest. "The general is moved by romance? What is this world coming to?"
Arvin smirked, then leaned toward Kaisen. "And what's this about Tando and Kiara?"
Kaisen chuckled. "You haven't heard? They haven't left their chambers since the banquet."
"All this time?" Arvin blinked.
"Apparently," Kaisen shrugged. "The maids stationed near their wing are exhausted. No shouting, no slaps—Kiara hasn't broken a vase in days. Just soft moaning at night, heavy breathing in the mornings, and Tando grinning like an idiot every time."
Kain rubbed his temples. "Gods…"
"You asked what to do with a bride," Rnzo laughed. "Apparently, Tando figured it out quite thoroughly."
Everyone burst into laughter—even Kain, albeit with a half-hearted groan. The warmth between the four brothers was different now. Despite the political chains, the arranged marriages, and sacrifices on the table, these moments of jest were a sanctuary—fragile, but necessary.
The warmth of liquor had melted away the distance that nobility often forced between them. Here, now, they were just four tired men, born into a kingdom that had little time for sentiment, and yet—tonight—it poured from their tongues like a spilled secret.
Kain was the first to slouch fully into his chair, his finger lazily circling the rim of his glass.
"Alright," he slurred with mock seriousness. "We've toasted Èvana, the crown, and... Tando's stamina. Let's get serious. Arvin."
Arvin, already tipsy, sat half-leaning on his chair, the golden insignia of his sash now loosened, the soft flicker of candlelight playing across his cheekbones.
"Do you love her?" Kain asked, voice surprisingly quiet. He didn't have to say a name they all knew who he was referring to.
The room fell silent.
Arvin blinked slowly, his lashes heavy. His fingers toyed with the rim of his goblet as his mind wandered—away from the study, away from the crown—deep into a memory.
He answered softly, as if from far away. "No."
He tilted his head back against the carved wood, eyes gazing toward the ceiling as though searching for the sky.
"But I keep going back to that hole…"
The brothers looked at each other. Rnzo tilted his head, confused but curious.
Arvin closed his eyes and smiled, almost to himself.
"There was this girl once," he began. "She was so beautiful and angry at me for asking too many questions. I didn't even know her name then but now i hear her name everywhere."
He laughed softly, the sound hushed and crooked by the drink.
"She had fallen into this old hole on the edge of the palace gardens. It was night. Moonlight cast my shadow across the pit. She couldn't see me. But I—" he paused, his voice drifting, becoming fragile.
"I saw her."
His brothers watched silently now. The usual mockery died on their tongues as something more sacred filled the air.
"She had dirt on her cheek, the kind that left a line when she wiped it. Her head was injured, Her brow was scrunched so tightly in frustration it looked like a little mountain. But her eyes…" His words dropped into Madish, the poetic dialect of Èvana's old court—a language none of them understood well.
"Kigayou yamata, Honjo wa akar…(Shined like the stars, i want her...)" he murmured, the sounds like velvet. "Honjo yani mamai, yume de sari..(she really exists, it seems like a dream. )"
Kaisen blinked. "I got… none of that."
"Did he just propose to someone?" Rnzo whispered, grinning.
But Arvin wasn't listening anymore. His eyes were open, but distant, and his next words were quieter, as if speaking not to them—but to a memory.
"She wore simplicity like royalty. Her silence was thunderous. Even when angry, she had grace. I remember thinking… how odd. That she could be irritated and still so beautiful."
Kain studied him in silence. For once, the general had no teasing in him. Just a slanted gaze and a sinking realization.
"You never said her name," Kain said.
Arvin chuckled. "I don't need to."
And just then—the doors swung open.
Heman, straight-backed and stiff in his robes, entered the room like a storm had summoned him.
His eyes widened instantly.
"Your Majesty—" he started, voice caught somewhere between scandalized and exhausted.
He scanned the scene. Arvin half-lounged with a dazed smile. Kain, flushed and loose. Rnzo had already laid himself across the velvet divan, arms stretched behind his head like he had no royal dignity left. Kaisen looked the most alert, but that wasn't saying much.
"My gods," Heman muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Arvin, still in his haze, raised a hand toward Heman and said, "There you are. My most loyal… carpet."
"I think he means servant," Kaisen clarified helpfully, then hiccupped.
Heman stepped forward quickly and placed a firm hand on Arvin's shoulder.
"Your Majesty, you need rest."
"Mm," Arvin hummed. "Not rest. Just peace."
"You'll find both in your chambers. Come." Heman pulled him up with gentle force. Arvin didn't resist, but the entire time he allowed himself to be led, his lips kept moving silently. Repeating something no one else could hear.
As they left the room, Arvin turned his head once—just briefly—and whispered, "She couldn't see me… but I saw her."
And then the doors closed behind him.
Heman returned moments later with palace guards. He ordered Kain, Kaisen, and Rnzo to be taken to their chambers without much ceremony.
"This night is over," Heman said dryly, watching Rnzo cling dramatically to a bottle.
"But I'm a Duke," Rnzo murmured.
"You're a drunk Duke," Heman corrected, sighing. "And I am this close to throwing you outside the window."
"Wicked soul" Rnzo gasped.
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