Mirha was still laughing—light, careless, dismissive—when she settled into the courtyard garden. The breeze carried petals across the stones, the world still soft and peaceful, as if nothing had changed.
The maids arrived with a fresh pot of tea. They placed the cups down, bowed respectfully, and said in unison,
"Your Highness."
Mirha froze mid-laugh. Her eyes widened, and she let out a small, breathy giggle.
"Please don't say that," she waved her hand lightly. "It's just a rumor. No need to be cautious."
But the maids didn't move.
One stepped forward, eyes lowered, voice trembling with a kind of hopelessness Mirha had never heard directed at her before.
"Your Highness… I am not allowed to address you any less."
Mirha's fingers twitched against her cup.
Her lower lip found its way between her teeth.
A strange, cold feeling crept into her stomach.
She swallowed. "Is Her Majesty still in Taico?"
The maids exchanged glances.
"She left this afternoon, my lady. And… the messengers are with His Majesty now."
The words hit her slowly, like stones dropped into deep water.
Mirha didn't speak.
Couldn't speak.
Her heart didn't break—no, that would've been too dramatic, too clear.
Instead, it sank—quietly, heavily—into a place she couldn't reach.
She stood. One step. Then another.
The world around her blurred as she walked through the halls—not in tears, not in panic—just a soft, numb haze. She heard the palace bustle around her, whispers slipping between pillars, eyes watching her with pity or curiosity or something worse.
Her denial tried to cling to her thoughts.
No… Nailah wouldn't do this. Not to her. Not like this.
But then another voice—colder, sharper—slipped in.
But Kanha would.
Kanha would, and Nailah would trust her.
And suddenly it all makes sense.
Her stomach twisted. Her throat tightened.
Concubine.
It echoed in her mind like something ugly, something sharp.
No marriage.
No children she could call her own.
No future that belonged to her.
Just a woman in pretty clothes placed beside the Emperor—a decoration, a convenience.
Her steps slowed.
Her mother's face flashed in her mind—soft eyes, worried brows, hands that always hoped for better for her daughter.
She would be heartbroken.
But Mirha swallowed hard, forcing the thought away.
She doesn't have to know.
Not now.
Not ever.
She stopped in front of her chamber doors.
Her hand rested on the frame—cold wood beneath colder fingers.
For a long moment, she simply stood there.
Breathing.
Not crying.
Not letting herself feel too much.
Just… existing in the numbness because the alternative might break her.
Finally, she drew in a deep, steadying breath.
And stepped inside.
As Mirha stepped into her chambers, the familiar scent of jasmine and parchment greeted her—but it didn't soothe her this time. Not when she immediately noticed the group of elder ladies standing inside, their hands clasped neatly in front of them, their faces composed with ceremonial seriousness.
The moment they saw her, they bowed deeply.
"My lady," the eldest began gently, "we have come to speak with you… and begin your preparations. From today onward, you will be the Precious Concubine of His Majesty."
The words landed heavier than any blow she had ever known.
Mirha felt something twist sharply in her chest—something like grief, something like disbelief—but her face didn't show it. Her jaw tightened just slightly, almost imperceptibly. Then she curved her lips into a polite, perfectly practiced smile.
A smile that wasn't real.
A smile that felt like it belonged to someone else.
"I… see," she whispered, her voice steady even as her heartbeat wasn't. "Well...I'm grateful to you, and to her Majesty. And i shall comply."
The ladies relaxed, mistaking her composure for acceptance.
One stepped forward with a scroll. "These are the palace regulations for a woman in your new position."
Another added, "We will begin with the garments and the ceremonial bath in the morning. His Majesty will send for you once the Empress's decree is publicly announced."
Mirha nodded mechanically.
Inside, a small part of her—the innocent, hopeful part—felt like it was curling in on itself, shrinking smaller and smaller until it disappeared.
She understood now.
It wasn't a rumor.
It wasn't a misunderstanding.
The palace had spoken.
The Empress had decided.
Her life was no longer her own.
"That is all right," she said quietly. "I will comply."
The ladies exchanged relieved glances. To them, this was a noble elevation—a blessing, an honor, something any woman should be grateful for.
None of them noticed the way her fingers trembled slightly behind her sleeve.
None of them saw the way her eyes dimmed, just for a second.
None of them heard the silent collapse happening inside her chest.
They only saw a young woman politely accepting her fate.
"Rest well tonight, my lady," the eldest said warmly. "Tomorrow… your life changes."
Mirha bowed her head with a grace she didn't feel.
"Yes," she murmured.
"Goodnight. "
"Thank you, your Highness" a lady replied as they all bowed and left the room.
After the door shut behind the elder ladies, the room fell into a suffocating stillness.
Mirha stood for a long moment, just staring at the polished wood where they'd exited. She half-expected Suni to slip in behind them with her bright chatter and worried eyes… but no one came.
She wasn't allowed any maids tonight.
Not even Suni.
They feared she might flee.
They feared she might fight.
They feared she might not accept her fate—so they stripped her of every familiar comfort. Her chamber, once warm and lively, now felt like a cell disguised in silk.
Mirha finally moved, walking slowly, her fingers trailing the edges of furniture as though grounding herself. She sat on the cushioned bench beside her bed—the one place that felt like hers—and exhaled a long, quiet breath.
She tried searching for anger.
For outrage.
For disbelief.
But she found none.
This was exactly the kind of move the palace would make… exactly the kind of betrayal a quiet girl like her was always most vulnerable to.
She wondered vaguely what Kanha stood to gain from this. Recognition? Favor? A twisted sense of victory? Mirha thought and thought but eventually shook her head. She was too tired to untangle Kanha's greed.
Her eyes fell on the scroll.
After a moment of hesitation, she picked it up and unrolled it.
The Rules of Conduct for the Imperial Concubine
The calligraphy was elegant. Beautiful. Cruel.
She read the lines slowly:
Never entertain another man; remain pure at all times.
Never try for an heir unless commanded.
If she conceives without permission, she will be dismissed and the imperial child taken from her.
Never speak of His Majesty's relations outside her rank.
Never…
Her eyes blurred.
She stopped reading.
With a tired exhale, Mirha rolled the scroll closed and set it aside. The rules felt like iron chains disguised as parchment. Each line pressed against her ribcage like a reminder—this was no elevation. This was confinement.
She stood and walked to her bath.
Warm water. Quiet. Steam rising in gentle clouds.
For a moment, she closed her eyes and let the water wash the tension from her shoulders. This, too, would soon be regulated. Watched. Restricted.
After bathing, she dressed in soft night robes and settled into her bed. The mattress felt colder than usual, though nothing had changed.
She lay on her back, staring up at the draped ceiling.
Her mind wandered—not to her own future, strangely—but to the Emperor's.
What was he doing right now?
Was he working? Reading? Laughing with his generals?
Did he know?
Did he understand that a woman he never chose was being pushed into his life?
Mirha tsked softly.
"Poor man," she muttered.
A victim just as much as she was.
She rolled to her side, pulling the blanket to her chin. Her chest tightened—not painfully, but emptily. Like something was supposed to hurt but she was too numb to feel it.
Alone, for the first time in years, Mirha whispered into the darkness:
"I wonder… if my they will allow me to travel."
And the silence answered her
Meanwhile, in the Emperor's chambers, Arvin lay stretched across his bed, one arm draped over his forehead as he stared up at the carved ceiling.
Heman's words still echoed in his mind.
Mirha.
Her name alone had the power to unsettle him—more than any council decision, more than any threat from foreign courts. He had felt something sharp and cold pierce through him when he realized the rumors were real. That she had been chosen. That she had no say.
But when the officials came to confirm the arrangements, he spoke with a force that surprised even himself:
"She will not live in the Imperial Palace."
The advisors blinked at him.
"She will reside in the Golden Estate," he said,
"Far from court politics, and the Precious Concubine is her rank."
He said it sternly, as if issuing a decree for the sake of propriety.
But the truth was far more fragile.
Now, alone in the quiet of his chamber, he exhaled deeply.
Mirha…
A concubine.
It felt wrong.
It tasted bitter.
He turned his head against the pillow, jaw tightening.
He closed his eyes.
He didn't want to admit that truth aloud—not even in the privacy of his own mind—but it sat there, heavy and undeniable, like a seed growing in the dark.
He cared.
Too much.
And now she was being placed into his life permanently.
He didn't know whether to thank destiny or curse it.
Arvin sighed, turning onto his side, staring at the moonlight spilling across the floor.
He whispered quietly, a vow meant for no ears but his own:
"Mirha… I swear to make this the best thing to have happened to you."
Mirha lay on her bed, her hair still damp from the bath, her night-robe clinging lightly to her skin. The candles flickered against the walls, casting long shadows that swayed with every breath she took.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
Her eyes drifted to the scroll again—the rules, the restrictions, the life she had not chosen. She closed her eyes, letting the silence swallow her.
She exhaled slowly, her heart tightening.
"His life must already be so suffocating," she whispered into the empty room.
"Why should I add to that?"
Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her robe.
" I will make sure His Majesty happy atleast."