The nobles of Èvana, led by Emperor Arvin, was among the first to move.
Arvin stretched lightly, yawning behind his hand — the universal gesture of a prince growing bored — and signaled to his guards.
"It's time we retired to the palace," he murmured lazily.
The royal carriage rocked gently over the stone-paved road, the velvet interior dim under the flickering lanterns outside. But the silence within was loud—too loud. Only the quiet clatter of the horses' hooves filled the space between the four passengers.
Mirha sat nearest to the window, her eyes fixed on the rolling darkness outside. She hadn't spoken since they boarded. Her hands rested delicately in her lap, folded tightly enough that the tension in her knuckles was visible.
Across from her, Gina sat straight, poised—but visibly uncomfortable. The silence between them felt fragile, as if words might shatter something unrecoverable.
And then, softly, Mirha spoke.
"He looked broken."
Gina's eyes lifted instantly. There was no need to ask who she meant.
Mirha's gaze remained on the passing night, her reflection faint on the glass. She added, with a strange, almost bittersweet serenity,
"He will sleep well tonight... and so will I."
Her lips curled into a small, delicate smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.
Gina's chest ached for her. Her hands clasped tighter in her lap.
"You're strong, Mirha. But... you don't have to be all the time."
Mirha turned slightly, and for a moment, their eyes met. There was warmth there, and gratitude—but also a quiet kind of sorrow that refused to show itself in tears.
From his seat near the front, Taji had caught the tone of the conversation but wisely kept his eyes forward, his posture respectful. He was a guard, not a friend. But even he could see the storm behind Mirha's calm.
Then, as if shaking off the weight, Mirha gently changed the subject.
"Did you know that Crown Prince Kalan speaks Madish?" she asked with light curiosity, her voice gently lifted now, almost amused. "He sounded fluent. I suppose Hosha taught him..."
Gina blinked at the sudden shift, then gave a soft laugh — a real one — partly from surprise and partly from relief.
"Madish? Kalan?" She tilted her head. "Well, that explains why he swooped in so boldly. What did he say?"
Mirha chuckled under her breath, the faintest pink touching her cheeks.
"He said... 'Yume kata ni sari, Mirha.'"
Gina leaned forward. "And what does that mean?"
Mirha looked away with a smile, shaking her head like she wasn't going to tell.
"It's... poetic," she said vaguely. "Something only a flirt would say."
Gina laughed again, this time with more ease.
"Well, that is Kalan."
Mirha smiled softly, then glanced toward the window again.
Still quiet... but lighter.
The silence that followed wasn't suffocating anymore.
The golden crest of the Eastern Palace shimmered beneath the torchlight as the carriages arrived one after another, wheels crunching against the pale stone of the courtyard. Guards snapped to attention at the gates, their armor clinking softly as the royal procession returned. The once festive air of the evening had long dissipated, replaced now by a heavy, thoughtful silence that hung in the air like a velvet curtain.
The moment the Emperor's carriage rolled to a halt, the footman rushed to open its door.
Arvin stepped out slowly, his shoulders squared but his gaze unfocused. He no longer carried the polished grace of a ruler hosting nobles and princes. Instead, the man that exited the carriage looked like a soldier returning from a war no one else had seen.
He didn't pause to speak to anyone—didn't acknowledge the guards, the aides, or even the nobles that trailed out behind him. His eyes were locked on the grand staircase leading into the palace, as if retreat was the only instinct he had left.
Heman, loyal and silent, followed a step behind, watching his emperor with a guarded gaze. He could feel the heat radiating from Arvin—not in anger, but in the restless tension of a man unraveling quietly.
The halls of the Eastern Palace were warmly lit with hanging lanterns, their flickering light casting long shadows across the gilded arches. The usual staff lined the corridors, waiting in respectful silence, but none dared to speak.
Arvin walked swiftly through the corridors. Every echo of his boots against the polished marble seemed louder than it should have been. It was only when he reached the corridor leading to his chambers that he finally spoke.
"Have the guards rotate in silence," Arvin said, his voice hoarse but firm.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Heman replied.
"And tell no one what you heard tonight."
There was a pause.
Heman lowered his head. "i know nothing, my lord."
Arvin gave the faintest nod and pushed open the grand double doors to his private chambers.
The heavy wood groaned shut behind him, sealing him in. For a long moment, he didn't move. He just stood there, breathing—slow and deep.
The room was quiet. A fireplace crackled low on one side. A carafe of untouched wine sat on the table beside his armchair. The silk drapes danced in the night breeze filtering through the open windows. Everything was as it should be—but nothing felt right.
Arvin let out a slow breath and finally, as if the weight of the night had caught up with him, slumped down into the chair near the fire.
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, head in his hands.
So much had happened… and yet nothing he could speak of. Not yet.
His mother's schemes. Kain will not be happy when he finds out.
Outside, the palace moved on, carriages being unpacked, guests returning to their quarters, laughter in some corners, whispers in others.
But inside Arvin's chamber, only the fire dared speak—crackling softly as the emperor sat in silence, his mind racing faster than any horse in the empire.
By the time Gina's carriage rolled into the courtyard, most of the others had already returned. The steps leading up to the palace were bathed in flickering amber glow, and standing just below them—still in full ceremonial attire—was Rnzo.
He had arrived earlier, but hadn't gone in. His cloak hung loosely over his shoulders, one gloved hand clasping the other behind his back. His jaw was tense, his brows slightly furrowed as his eyes scanned the arriving carriages—not for duty, but for her.
The moment the door opened and Gina stepped out, his stance relaxed slightly. He offered his hand without a word.
Her eyes met his with a quiet softness. No surprise, no dramatic pause—just a silent understanding. She took his hand.
He didn't speak. Neither did she.
Rnzo didn't ask anything about Mirha's connection to that right handman of the crown prince.
And Gina didn't offer.
They walked together, her hand nestled in his arm, their steps measured and calm. The servants around them bowed in passing, some lifting their heads curiously, sensing the strange silence between the two. But the couple said nothing as they ascended the stairs of the Eastern Palace and entered its velvet-lit halls.
Inside, the noise of returning nobles faded into the distance. Music was no longer playing. All that remained was the muffled shuffle of feet, the clinking of distant armor, the low murmur of voices behind closed doors.
Rnzo turned them away from the central halls. Not toward the reception rooms or sitting salons where gossip now brewed—but toward the private wing where their shared chambers waited.
The corridor they walked was silent, save for the brush of Gina's gown and the echo of Rnzo's boots.
Still no words.
The only time Rnzo paused was just before opening the door to their chamber. He looked at her then, his hand resting on the door handle.
"Are you tired?" he asked quietly.
It was the first thing he had said.
Gina gave him a small, genuine smile. "A little."
He nodded once, and opened the door.
The room was warm, dimly lit by wall sconces and the embers of a fading fire. The maids had already drawn the drapes and prepared a light table, just in case.
Rnzo stepped aside, letting her in first. She walked slowly, pausing in the center of the room.
Still, neither of them mentioned what they had seen. Still, neither spoke the name that weighed heavily between them.
Instead, Gina turned, her voice soft but resolute.
"Thank you for waiting."
Rnzo's answer was delayed, but heartfelt. "Always."
There was a moment of silence.
And then, without ceremony or urgency, he moved closer and took her hand again—not as a duke, not with the intention of courtship or duty, but simply as a man who wanted to hold on to something real.
Gina squeezed his fingers gently.
The chamber door closed behind them with a quiet thud. And the rest of the palace continued to hum with silent storms they chose, for now, to keep at bay.
Lady Mirha stepped down gently, her hands briefly steadying her on the frame. The weight of the evening hadn't left her shoulders. It clung to her like a second skin—soft, silent, and unbearably heavy.
She didn't look up at the palace immediately. Instead, she looked behind her, out into the darkness they had just ridden through, as if expecting the wind to carry her a whisper. Nothing came.
The palace maids, already lined up for her arrival, observed her closely. Their usual greetings were more subdued, respectful and watchful. One of the younger maids, Suni, stepped forward with a torch and bowed low.
"My lady," she said softly. "Your bath is drawn."
Mirha nodded once. Her voice was barely above a breath. "Thank you."
No instruction. No protest. No demands.
Her pace through the palace was slow but graceful, her expression composed. To any untrained eye, she looked like any noblewoman returning from a long evening of court. But to those who truly observed her, like the maids who had grown used to her rhythm, there was a difference tonight.
She wasn't holding back tears.
She wasn't angry.
She was simply… tired.
And perhaps something more than that.
The maids led her to her chambers, opened the doors, and immediately began their quiet ritual. The fire was stoked, fresh towels were set near the basin, robes laid out delicately. Candles flickered to life across her bathing room, casting a gentle, golden hue.
None of them spoke again until the room was ready.
"Would my lady prefer to be assisted tonight?" Suni asked.
Mirha shook her head, her lips forming a weary smile. "No. I'll be fine alone."
The maids bowed in unison and, without question, retreated from the room. The door closed behind them with respectful silence.
Mirha stood still in the middle of her chamber, the silence pressing in like a comforting shroud. Her eyes finally lifted, but not to admire her surroundings—no, they landed somewhere between memory and thought. On a face.
Hosha.
His tears. His whispered "Malecni sai."
His eyes—red, vulnerable, lost.
She had never seen him like that. Not Hosha, the charming drinker, the careless flirt, the man who always smiled with a smug tilt and walked like he feared nothing.
But tonight, he had crumbled. Not in drunken rage, not in shame—but in rawness. And in her arms.
Mirha slowly removed her hairpins, her long hair falling free. Each piece of jewelry felt heavier than it should've been, and she set them down on her vanity with care.
No anger stirred within her. Not even confusion.
Only pity.
Not the kind that wounded pride, but the kind that mourned quietly for someone you once thought untouchable.
He looked broken.
And it broke something soft inside her, too.
She slipped into the steaming bath without a sound, sinking low into the warmth. Her eyes closed, her arms floating at her sides. For a long time, she didn't move. Letting the warmth soak into her bones, easing the stiffness of duty and decorum from her limbs.
She whispered to no one.
"Shhhh... it's fine, Hosha…"
Not with bitterness. Not with longing. Just acceptance.
Then silence again. And water.
When she finally emerged, robe clinging to damp skin, she didn't look in the mirror. She simply walked to her bed, crawled into the cool sheets, and lay on her side, staring out the window at nothing in particular.
Her eyes didn't close right away.
But her heart, though heavy, was calm.
And for the first time in a long time, she was alone… without feeling lonely.
The doors to the guest wing of the Eastern Palace closed quietly behind them. There was no dramatic echo, no servant trailing behind, no sound except the rhythm of Kiara's light footsteps on the polished floor and the quiet exhale of Tando, walking just behind her.
He had said nothing since they entered. Not a single comment about the evening. Not about the stares. Not about the dance. Not about Hosha. Nothing about Mirha.
Only silence.
But it wasn't a cold silence. It wasn't distance. No—this was something far heavier. It was the tension of restraint. The kind of silence that wrapped itself around desire, aching, and the undeniable pull of a husband who had gone far too long without his wife.
As Kiara stepped into their room, she was the one to exhale first. The moment the doors clicked shut behind them, she turned.
He was already watching her. Still dressed in ceremonial robes, his jaw tight, his eyes darker than usual beneath the golden lantern light.
Kiara opened her mouth—perhaps to speak of the night, or maybe to ask what was wrong—but she didn't get the chance.
Tando moved.
Not fast. Not rough. But with the certainty of a man who'd waited too long.
He crossed the room in three strides and took her face in his hands, cradling her cheeks as if she were something sacred. She gasped, not because she was startled, but because of the way he looked at her—as if her very presence was a balm, as if he needed to remember the shape of her lips before the world swallowed them whole.
"I missed you," he breathed, the words cracked and low.
That was all he said. And it was all she needed.
Their lips met—not with fevered haste, but with a kind of reverence. His mouth brushed hers, parted slightly, then pressed again as if memorizing every curve. Kiara clutched the front of his robes, pulling him closer. Her fingers slipped into his collar, skin to skin.
"I missed you too," she murmured between kisses.
Tando didn't let go. His hands traveled from her face to her shoulders, down her back, tracing the familiar curve of her waist with a tenderness that trembled. As if afraid she might vanish.
She could feel the tension in him—not lustful alone, but emotional. Deep. Raw. Every touch said more than words could.
When he leaned his forehead against hers, his voice broke.
"You looked beautiful tonight. So far from me. And I hated that."
Kiara's breath caught. Her hand touched his cheek.
"You didn't lose me."
His jaw clenched. "I felt like I had. Just for a moment. And I couldn't stand it."
There was no anger in him, only aching. Only the helpless confession of a man too proud to voice insecurity but too in love to hide it.
She kissed him again, slower this time, sliding her hands under the folds of his robes, feeling the heat of his skin.
"You have me," she whispered against his lips. "You always will."
Tando's control snapped, but it didn't turn to fire—it turned to devotion.
He undressed her like a prayer, each layer peeled with care. His eyes never left hers. As her gown fell to the floor, he kissed the places no one saw—her shoulder, the side of her neck, the space between her collarbones—whispers against her skin. Not of possession. Of gratitude.
"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever known," he murmured into her skin.
When they reached the bed, he guided her down with reverence, never rushing. They didn't speak of court. Or alliances. Or crowns. In this room, there were no games. Only heartbeats.
And when they finally came together, it wasn't with desperate hunger—it was with aching depth.
Every sigh, every touch, every movement was a vow renewed. A reminder that despite the chaos of nobility, of politics, of rumors and eyes—this connection was theirs alone. Untouched. Undeniable.
Tando kissed her shoulder when it was over. His breathing slow. His arms tight around her as if the night might try to take her again.
But Kiara curled into him. And for once, he didn't feel the need to be strong. He just needed to hold her. To exist beside her.
And that night, neither of them spoke again.
They didn't need to.
With the love in the air.,
Gina didn't speak as Rnzo closed the distance between them, his eyes drinking her in as if he hadn't seen her in weeks—not hours. His fingers found the edge of her veil and pulled it back gently. Then his lips met hers, and that quiet was broken.
There was nothing shy about the kiss—not this one.
Rnzo's hands slipped to her waist, then her hips, pressing her closer. The heat was immediate. Her fingers moved up his back, gripping the fine material of his tunic as if she needed to feel him beneath it. Every movement was fluid, synced. Their bodies leaned into each other instinctively, intoxicated by proximity.
Gina exhaled against his mouth as he backed her toward the nearest wall, the cool surface against her back in stark contrast to the fire coursing through her limbs. He whispered her name against her skin as he kissed her jaw, her throat, and back up again. There was nothing rushed in him—only intensity. Controlled, deliberate intensity.
His lips hovered just above hers again, breathless.
Then he paused.
Gina opened her eyes, barely.
"Why did you stop?" she asked softly, eyes still half-lidded, cheeks flushed but voice steady.
Rnzo grinned—not a teasing smile, but that smirk he wore only when he was on the edge of indulgence.
"I would love to stay," he murmured, brushing a strand of her hair back, "but I have perfect plans for the night I take you."
Her breath hitched. The way he said it—low and certain—made something in her chest flutter, but not from shame. It was want met with restraint. Confidence matched with care.
Rnzo stepped back with visible effort, running a hand through his hair as if trying to cool the fire he'd just stoked.
"You know if I stay, I can't control myself." His smirk widened. "So, I'll crash with Kaisen tonight."
Gina blinked. Then slowly, she nodded, lips pursed in reluctant amusement. A flush spread across her cheeks, but it wasn't embarrassment—it was the residual heat of nearly-surrendered desire, tempered by his respect for her. And that, oddly, made it more intimate.
She turned from him with a soft laugh, brushing down her skirts. "I'll sleep just fine."
"I know," Rnzo said, already at the door.
And with that, he was gone.
Gina stood for a moment, letting the silence settle again. She didn't feel rejected. She felt claimed—just not yet taken.
With a shake of her head and a faint, secret smile, she undressed slowly, her body still humming with the echo of his touch. The bathwater was warm and soothing, but her thoughts drifted. She slid into bed afterwards, curling under the covers with a calm satisfaction. Not because anything had happened…
…but because she knew, eventually, it would.
And when it did—it would be perfect.