Mirha's eyes fluttered open slowly.
The first thing she saw was Arvin sitting by the bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed as if in prayer. His shoulders were tense, his hands clasped tightly together.
Then the memory crashed back — the bells, the priest's words, the landslide, her mother's name.
A broken sound tore from Mirha's throat. She started crying immediately, harsh, wrenching sobs that shook her whole body.
Arvin looked up instantly. His face crumpled with pain. He reached for her hands, kissing them again and again, whispering over and over against her skin.
"I'm sorry, Mirha… I'm so very sorry…"
Mirha couldn't stop crying. The tears came in waves, hot and endless.
"Why me?" she choked out between sobs. "What did she ever do… I told her… I told her to wait…"
She kept crying, the sound raw and guttural, as if something vital inside her had been torn out. Arvin climbed onto the bed and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as she trembled and wept against his chest. He didn't speak anymore — just held her, one hand stroking her back in slow, helpless circles.
Hours passed like that. Food was brought in — warm broth, soft bread, fresh fruit — but Mirha couldn't touch it. She didn't even look at the tray. Arvin didn't eat either. He stayed right there with her, refusing to leave her side.
Mirha was too exhausted to care about anything. She lay limp in his arms, tears still leaking from her eyes even when the sobs quieted into shallow, shaky breaths.
After a long while, her voice came out hoarse and small.
"I need… water."
Arvin helped her sit up slightly and held the cup to her lips. She drank in small, mechanical sips, then lay back down, staring blankly at the corner of the room.
After another stretch of silence, she spoke again, voice barely above a whisper.
"I need to go to Bukid."
Arvin paused, his hand still gently rubbing her back. He nodded slowly.
"Your carriage will be ready in two days," he said quietly, pressing a kiss to her temple.
Mirha didn't respond. She simply lay there, eyes fixed on nothing, as Arvin continued to hold her, his hand moving in slow, soothing strokes along her spine.
There was no sleep for her that night. Only the heavy, suffocating silence and the endless ache where her mother used to be.
------->
The palace was unnaturally silent.
Goya sat alone by the fountain in the inner courtyard, the water's soft trickle the only sound. It felt wrong — too peaceful, too ordinary — after everything that had happened. She stared at the rippling surface and thought bitterly to herself, *This all feels like a terrible joke.*
The silence stretched until it broke.
Two maids passed behind the hedge, voices low but clear enough to carry.
"It serves her right," one whispered. "How could she betray the empress and climb into the emperor's bed like that? She's nothing but a whore."
The other maid gasped. "Please, don't say that…"
The first one continued, venomous. "Tell me everyone isn't thinking the same thing. Karma comes faster these days."
Goya stood up slowly.
The moment she stepped around the hedge, both maids froze. Their eyes widened in terror as they recognized her. The one who had been speaking dropped to her knees immediately, heart pounding so hard it showed in her throat. She prayed silently that Princess Goya hadn't heard.
Goya stood over them, her expression calm, almost pleasant.
"What a petty little judgment," she said softly. "To think you would be such a great judge of character." She tilted her head. "How about we take your little hypothesis straight to the emperor? I'm sure he would love to hear how you believe his mother-in-law deserved to die."
The speaking maid collapsed fully to the ground, forehead pressed to the stone, tears already spilling.
"I-I didn't know what I was saying!" she sobbed. "I was wrong, Your Highness, please forgive me—"
Goya's smile didn't reach her eyes.
"You are wrong," she said quietly. "And you need to be punished."
The maid's heart dropped. Her whole body started shaking.
Goya continued, voice still eerily calm. "I'm feeling generous today, so I'll let you choose. Between having your tongue and teeth removed… or having your mother killed."
The maid's blood ran cold. She started crying harder, desperate pleas tumbling out between sobs.
Goya's expression never changed. "I know they're both exciting choices. You can pick both if you like. You're running out of time. If you don't choose, I will choose for you… and I pick both."
She began counting slowly.
"One…"
"Two…"
The maid screamed, voice cracking. "Option one! Please, option one!"
Goya clapped her hands once, softly.
"Lovely. I guess you were right — karma really does come faster these days."
She signaled to the nearby guards. The maid was dragged away still sobbing, a broken mix of regret, fear, anger, and guilt twisting her face.
Goya stood there for a long moment after they disappeared, the rage that had burned so hot inside her slowly cooling into something heavier. She exhaled shakily and looked toward the direction of Mirha's chambers.
She wondered how Mirha was doing.
But Arvin was glued to her side right now. Going to see her would only feel awkward.
So Goya turned and walked quietly back to her own chambers, the fountain's gentle trickle the only sound following her.
---------------->
Mirha and Arvin wore white — the color of mourning. No jewelry, no adornments. Just simple silk that felt too heavy on their skin.
Mirha sat curled in Arvin's arms, not crying anymore. She simply sank into his warmth, clinging to the only solid thing left in her world. He was the only anchor she had now.
Arvin kissed her hair gently and spoke, voice rough from lack of sleep.
"Can you please eat today?"
Mirha nodded against his chest. "Okay."
She lifted her head to look at him. He looked sleep-deprived, eyes shadowed, face drawn. She wasn't sleeping either, but at least she could drift into numbness. He had kept himself awake for her.
She realized suddenly that her mother would have scolded her for not taking care of her husband.
Mirha got up slowly, picked up the wet towel from the table, rinsed it, and began gently wiping Arvin's face. He watched her in silence, not stopping her. This was the first time in two days she had done something other than cry.
After wiping his face, she sat back on his lap and fixed his hair with careful fingers. When she was done, she looked at him.
Arvin's voice was soft. "Thank you."
Mirha gave him a light kiss. "It's alright."
She paused, then asked quietly, "Won't my carriage be ready tomorrow?"
Arvin nodded. "Of course. And I wish to come with you."
Mirha shook her head. "Absolutely not."
Arvin stayed quiet, waiting for her explanation.
Mirha took a shaky breath. "You are an emperor. Èvana needs you here. I will just go pay my respects… give Mama a proper tomb." Her throat tightened painfully. She had to pause before continuing. "Then I will come back. There will be nothing left for me in Bukid."
She looked at him, eyes pleading. "Can you give me this? For me alone, please."
Arvin was quiet for a long time. Then he nodded slowly.
Mirha leaned in, kissed him, and hugged him tightly.
Arvin held her close. "Let me send for something for you to eat."
Mirha nodded.
After a quiet dinner, they went to bed. Mirha knew Arvin would stay awake if she did, so she deliberately took the sleeping draught. She drifted off quickly.
The next morning, Mirha stood by the carriage, hugging the other ladies goodbye. Gina wanted to come, but with the twins so young, she couldn't. Mirha insisted she go alone.
Arvin ordered Yadid to accompany her. Mirha first refused, but later agreed.
Arvin walked her to the carriage. He kissed her, hugged her tightly, then kissed her again.
"Goodbye, my love," he whispered.
Mirha's journey back to Bukid began.