Morning at the Northern Palace
The morning broke with a jarring bang against Hosha's door. Not the kind of knock that carried courtesy or caution—it was the type that meant trouble had already walked in.
"Open up, damn it!"
The door burst open before he could answer. Crown Prince Kalan stormed in like a tempest with purpose, robes askew and fury painted on his face. The cold air hadn't even finished slipping into the room when Kalan began pacing beside Hosha's bed, lips pressed tight in a way that barely held back a tirade.
Hosha, blinking the sleep from his eyes, sat up slowly with the disheveled annoyance of someone who'd barely slept. The weight of the night before still clung to his bones. His voice came out low and dry.
"Go throw your tantrum outside."
He lay back down and rolled over.
Kalan's footsteps halted. "She's getting married."
Hosha's brow furrowed. "Who?"
Kalan clenched his jaw, eyes hard. "Goya. To Head General Kian."
That got him. Hosha sat bolt upright, blinking. "What!?"
"Hush, you moron!" Kalan hissed, lunging to shut the door and secure the latch. "You want to shout that from the rooftops?"
Hosha's breath was caught somewhere between disbelief and confusion. His mind raced, his voice lowering but not softening. "What do you mean 'getting married'? Why? Who—who planned this?"
Kalan turned, face dark. "father. That scheming, crumbling old bastard says if I don't wed Goya to Kian, he's not handing me the throne. Instead, he'll crown Fahit—Fahit—and withdraw support from Èvana entirely. Trade will collapse. Alliance with the West? Dead. Our name? Poisoned. All because he wants a puppet general in his pocket."
Hosha's lips parted in shock. "He threatened to break off the alliance?"
"And not just that—he'll isolate us," Kalan muttered, running a hand through his hair as he sank into the chair across the bed. "Goya doesn't know. And she'd never agree if she did. But I know you know she loves you."
Hosha froze.
The silence between them stretched like a tight string between bows.
"I don't love her," he said quietly. "Not like that."
Kalan didn't reply right away. He just looked at him—eyes unreadable, lips set. Finally, he spoke, voice slow.
"So what do you want me to do?"
Hosha turned away, throwing off the covers and planting his feet on the ground, elbows on his knees. He stared at the floor, expression grim, heartbeat pounding beneath his ribs.
"I was hoping you'd tell me," Kalan admitted.
The prince leaned back in the chair, exhaling as if he hadn't slept either. "She's your childhood friend. You've seen her cry, fall, rise, fight for you, fight with you. I know you don't see her that way, but Goya does. And this… this will break her."
Hosha was quiet. The image of Goya in another man's arms—not his, and yet somehow painfully wrong—stabbed at something he didn't fully understand. Not love. But something.
"She's strong," he murmured.
"She shouldn't have to be." Kalan stood, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves. "The moment she finds out, all hell breaks loose. I'm telling you now so you're not caught off guard."
Kalan then just helplessly stared at the ceiling.
---
The silence sat between them like a third presence—heavy, uninvited, and impossible to ignore.
Kalan stood near the hearth, jaw clenched, eyes not meeting Hosha's as he gazed somewhere past the far wall. His chest rose and fell steadily, but something in his stillness felt jagged—like a man trying not to come apart under the weight of what he could not stop.
Hosha remained seated on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees, his fingers interlaced. His dark eyes were pinned to Kalan like they were reading the lines between the prince's expression.
Then Kalan spoke, his voice low but sharp-edged. "You know if Fahit takes the throne, Lamig will bleed."
"I know," Hosha said immediately. No hesitation.
They didn't speak for a moment. The weight of that truth didn't need expansion. Fahit, with his greed and hot temper, would tear the empire apart from the inside out. Kalan's grandfather—conniving and ruthless—knew it. This wasn't politics. It was blackmail cloaked in tradition.
The only way to stop it was Goya.
She'd be sacrificed to save the nation.
Kalan finally turned, his eyes hard but shadowed with something unspoken. "She doesn't even know. And when she finds out, she'll think I betrayed her."
"You're not betraying her," Hosha said flatly.
Kalan scoffed. "Aren't I? She'll be bound to a man she doesn't love. She'll think I sold her off like some token." He shook his head, disgust curling at his lip. "She'll look at me and see the very thing I promised I'd never become."
Hosha didn't interrupt. He didn't need to. He saw it—the prince's pain beneath the iron exterior. Not weakness, but the torment of someone who knew his duty was going to shatter someone he loved.
Still, Kalan didn't crumble. He didn't even flinch. He stood like a man carved from stone, letting the silence say everything he couldn't voice aloud.
"She's going to hate me," he muttered, voice barely audible.
Hosha finally exhaled and leaned back slightly, his gaze moving to the floor.
"She won't," he said, though his voice lacked conviction.
Kalan glanced at him. "You think I don't know my own sister?"
"I think you're not giving her enough credit," Hosha said, but even he heard the hollowness in his words. He didn't believe it either.
Another beat passed. The room felt tighter somehow—walls closing in, air turning thicker. The fire crackled, but it didn't cut through the weight pressing down on them.
"You pity me?" Kalan asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
Hosha looked up, gaze steady. "No."
But he did. Not for the prince. For the brother who had no way out. For the man who had built a kingdom in his sister's honor, only to be told she must be its price.
"She's… my best friend," Hosha said after a long pause. "I've seen her fight wolves and men without flinching. She deserves more than to be handed off like a coin in someone else's pocket."
Kalan looked at him. "Then stop it."
"You already know I can't," Hosha replied quietly.
Another silence fell.
The decision had already been made.
The only thing left was the execution of it.
Both men knew that when Goya found out, something in her would break. Not loudly. Not violently. But something vital.
And neither of them could do a damn thing to stop it.
"So…" Kalan murmured, voice rasping with something cold. "How do we convince her to say yes?"
Hosha didn't answer right away. He stared into the fire, shoulders squared, mouth a thin line.
After a moment, he replied.
"I don't think we convince her. We just tell her the truth… and hope she's still willing to bleed for us."
Kalan's jaw twitched. He didn't disagree.
But the look in his eyes said everything.
He didn't think she would.
And if she didn't… the whole empire might fall with her.
The golden morning sun streamed through the towering windows of the Eastern Palace, painting soft light across the breakfast hall. The long table gleamed with polished cutlery and silver tea pots, freshly baked bread, fruits, and delicately seasoned meats arranged like an artful display of abundance.
Everyone was slowly filtering in, servants moving in practiced silence. Despite the elegance, the air was heavy with an unspoken tension that lingered from the previous evening.
Arvin sat with an arm resting on the table, stirring his tea with practiced calm. He looked up as his mother's favorite handmaiden entered and bowed politely before whispering something in his ear.
"Kiara and Tando won't be joining us this morning," Arvin announced casually as he set his spoon down. "They've asked for privacy today."
A few curious glances floated around the table, but no one questioned it. After all, everyone could guess what such privacy meant.
Across from Arvin, General Kain sat stiffly with a fork poised above his plate. He gave his younger brother a sidelong glance as if expecting more.
"Mother has requested a meeting with you at noon," Arvin added smoothly, picking up his cup. "Something about private matters."
Kain narrowed his eyes. "She didn't mention it to me yesterday."
"Perhaps it came to her after the banquet," Arvin replied simply.
A beat passed between them. Kain didn't press. He simply nodded, though a slight twitch in his jaw betrayed his unease. The Queen rarely called meetings at random—especially with Kain.
Down the table, Kaisen glanced at Rnzo. Their eyes met briefly and spoke volumes in silence. Something was shifting. Quietly. Deliberately.
---
Elsewhere in the Eastern Palace, the sun was softer. In a smaller private terrace tucked beneath ivy-covered arches, Mirha and Gina sat together over steaming tea and soft cakes. The birds chirped, the scent of honeysuckle floated lazily in the air, and yet… neither woman felt truly at ease.
Mirha cradled her cup, eyes unfocused. Her exhaustion wasn't from lack of sleep—it was the weight of everything she hadn't said, everything she had felt and still didn't understand.
Gina, across from her, was gentler than usual, her eyes carefully watching Mirha.
"I thought maybe a little fresh air would help," she had said earlier. Mirha hadn't argued.
Then came the sound of footsteps—graceful, deliberate, and far too familiar.
Kanha.
Mirha felt her spine stiffen even before the woman appeared through the arch, clad in a powder blue gown with embroidered peacocks at the hem. Her dark hair was perfectly braided, and her expression was pleasant—almost too pleasant.
"Good morning," Kanha said sweetly, though the glint in her eyes was anything but mild.
Mirha offered a polite nod, already preparing to rise. She knew where this was heading.
But Kanha, quick as ever, stepped forward and took the chair beside her, her voice losing its silk.
"What did you do to my brother last night, Mirha?"
Gina's eyebrows furrowed, but she stayed quiet.
Mirha stilled. She didn't reply. Kanha leaned forward, eyes locked on hers.
"I know what he did was wrong," Kanha continued. "But let's not pretend you've never made mistakes. Holding a grudge over something that wasn't his decision to make isn't fair. It was Father who rejected you. Hosha was just as blindsided as you."
Mirha blinked slowly, her expression unreadable.
"He's always been kind. You know that. You know his heart. He's fragile, Mirha. Too fragile to carry your fury on top of his own shame."
The words stung more because they had a ring of truth. Kanha's tone sharpened as she finished.
"If you can't forgive him—fine. But then stay away from him. Don't dangle hope if you're just going to twist the knife deeper."
With that, Kanha stood abruptly, smoothed her gown, and walked off without another glance.
Silence fell over the terrace like a crashing wave.
Gina opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. What could she say? Kanha's words were harsh, but not entirely wrong. Mirha had said very little about Hosha after the ball, but her silence spoke louder than any outburst.
Mirha didn't look at Gina. She simply rose, gracefully and quietly, and walked back into the palace.
---
Inside her chambers, the soft light filtered through the sheer curtains as Mirha approached the large gilded mirror.
She stood there, looking at her own reflection—eyes rimmed with weariness, posture too still. She placed her hand gently over her chest as if to quiet the emotion threatening to rise.
She inhaled.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No tears. Just silence and breath. Her gaze did not break from her reflection. It was as though she was studying a stranger.
Behind her, someone moved quietly.
It was Suni, the youngest maid assigned to her chambers. She had been standing near the door, dusting absentmindedly, but watching—always watching. Suni was small, quick, often overlooked, but observant. She had seen Mirha walk in like a ghost of herself.
She had seen enough to know that something had to change.
An idea sparked quietly in her mind.
She bowed her head and slipped out of the chamber quietly, the thought growing in her like firelight.
Whatever it was—Suni was going to do something about it.
The chamber was quiet except for the soft clack of ivory chess pieces being moved across a lacquered board. The rich scent of jasmine and amber drifted through the room, carried by a slow-burning incense near the window. Queen Mother Raina sat poised, back straight as a blade, her hand resting lightly on the edge of the board while her companion, Lady Mei, made her next move.
The serenity shattered when the doors opened.
Kain entered in full uniform, tall and unbending. His boots echoed on the marble floor, announcing him before he even spoke. Raina looked up and smiled, a glint of mischief and calculation in her gaze.
"My lion," she said fondly.
Kain strode forward and bent slightly, brushing her cheek with a kiss before his hand instinctively came to rest on her forehead.
She chuckled at the gesture. "Checking if your old mother's dying?"
"Not yet," Kain murmured.
Raina turned to Mei. "Leave us."
Lady Mei stood without hesitation, bowed, and vanished through the side door, her exit as fluid as water.
"Sit, my dear," Raina said, gesturing to the seat across from her.
Kain lowered himself slowly, legs apart, arms resting on his knees, the weight of tension hidden beneath the veneer of duty.
Raina picked up a piece, rolled it between her fingers.
"Kain… I am not sure how long I have left. I already hear Kilimah calling me," she said dramatically, casting her gaze skyward as if listening for spirits.
Kain laughed under his breath, his expression briefly softening. "Mother, if there's anything you need, you know I can give it to you. Emotional blackmail stopped working a long time ago."
The Queen Mother's eyes flashed. "Anything I want?"
"Yes," Kain replied curtly. "As long as it doesn't involve me marrying a low-rank lady. I'm far too worthy to settle for just anything."
Raina set her piece down and looked at him intently, voice low but clear. "Is a princess worthy of you, my son?"
Kain stilled.
He blinked.
Then the words hit.
He slowly leaned forward, his expression darkening with each breath. "Was this Vino's doing?" he spat, using his brother's childhood name like a curse. "That bastard thinks because he's Emperor, he can use me as he sees fit? Damn him. How dare he—!"
"Enough."
The word sliced the air like a dagger. Raina had not raised her voice—but the steel behind it could crush mountains.
She closed her eyes for a beat, the disappointment radiating from her.
Then she stood, her hand pressed lightly to the edge of the table.
"I'm getting tired of you going on and on about being an emperor," she said, her voice rising with uncharacteristic fire. "Do you even know what it means to be one?"
Kain blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in her tone.
"You think crowns are given? That they're just ornaments to sit on your head while you issue commands and drink from golden cups?" she scoffed, her eyes narrowing. "Do you think if Arvin had known what it truly meant, he wouldn't have preferred to stay Vino—our quiet, book-loving boy who just wanted to play flute and tend to wounded birds?"
Kain clenched his jaw.
Raina stepped closer. "When you are given a crown, you surrender your life to the people. Your dreams, your comforts, your whims—they vanish. You live for them. You die for them. That's what a ruler does."
She exhaled deeply, as if trying to keep from screaming.
"And don't even get me started about marriages. You think any of the previous emperors chose their brides? No. They were assigned. And they learned to love them. Or they didn't. But they fulfilled their duty."
Kain's chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He looked like a man seeing fire for the first time.
"I have always known," Raina continued, "that you were short-sighted when it came to the future. And so did your father. He said it before he died. That you were brilliant in war, but blind in peace."
That last line landed like a blow.
Kain stared at her, frozen.
Something in his posture cracked, though he didn't let it show on his face. Not fully.
Then Raina's voice softened.
"I'm not going to force you to marry Princess Goya, Kain. That decision is yours."
She turned away, brushing her fingers along the edge of the chessboard once more.
"But know this—if you refuse, Arvin will once again have to carry the burden of another one of your selfish decisions. The same brother you call Vino, yet never treat like him."
She paused by the window.
"Tell me, Kain. When was the last time you protected your brother rather than your pride?"
And with that, she left him sitting in silence.