The final stitch slipped through the linen.
Hiral drew the thread taut and lifted the cloth slightly, examining the work beneath the afternoon light.
It had taken longer than expected.
The snowdrop blossoms, Alexis's birth month flower, curved delicately across one corner of the handkerchief, their pale petals dipping like small bells.
Hawthorn, Hiral's birth month flower, branches intertwined around them—tiny clustered flowers framing the embroidered letter A at the center.
Simple.
Elegant.
Hiral turned the cloth slightly, letting the light catch the stitches.
Snowdrop and hawthorn together meant:
Hope.
New beginnings.
And, an apt symbol for a king-to-be as well as a perfect guise to subtly send a signal —
I am alive.
Proceed.
Satisfied, he set the handkerchief aside.
Only then did he notice the tray on the nearby table.
Luncheon.
The food had clearly been delivered some time ago. The steam had long since faded from the dishes.
Hiral glanced toward the window where sunlight had shifted noticeably across the floor.
Afternoon already.
"…It appears I lost track of time."
He moved to the table and sat, picking up the utensils.
He ate slowly.
Methodically.
Even while eating, his gaze drifted repeatedly back toward the garden outside.
His mind did not rest.
It moved constantly, turning possibilities over like stones.
Which negotiation should I initiate first?
What's the best time to initiate it?
What if a third faction interferes?
Internal information of the Empire's military force in exchange for secure trade of ideas especially those that advances lifestyle tools.
Or, perhaps insider information of the Empire's inner court structure in exchange for a training session from Ro's top inventors.
The best time might be after the coronation or perhaps before?
Timing depends on whether some other country offers a better trade to Ro unexpectedly, if there were none then after.
But if there were…
Before it should be, but it would be tricky.
What if Seran and Tirin encounter resistance?
The thought lingered.
Both were capable, but capable men could still be undone by circumstances.
What if the Empress gains unexpected allies?
The court was a shifting landscape of ambition.
What if the Crown Prince's life is threatened even with all the countermeasures I set up before we secure stability?
Each scenario layered upon the next.
Suddenly a memory unbidden flashed in Hiral's mind-
Snow against stone.
Trumpets cutting through winter air.
Hiral's grip tightened slightly around the spoon.
He remembered the palace corridors.
The hidden passage.
The desperate struggle.
The King collapsing against the wall.
The prince bleeding out beside him.
The assassin smiling through broken teeth.
"The minister… from your own court… sends his regards."
A betrayal from within.
A plan meant to prevent war collapsing into something far worse.
Hiral exhaled slowly.
He could still feel the cold floor beneath his knees.
Still hear the hollow weight of the King's body sliding down the wall.
Still taste the bitterness of the words he had whispered to the silent room.
I wasn't enough.
His jaw set.
"I will not allow that to happen again," he murmured quietly.
He finished the last of the meal, though he had little appetite for it.
Afterward, he rose and rolled his shoulders slightly.
His body felt stiff.
The physician's warning echoed faintly in his mind.
No strenuous activity.
Hiral obeyed—mostly.
He moved through a series of slow stretches, controlled and measured. Gentle motions to wake muscles that had lain dormant for far too long.
Arms.
Shoulders.
Back.
Each movement careful, deliberate.
Move, MOVE, MOVE!
There's no time to waste, not then, not now, not ever…
After several minutes, he stopped.
The stiffness eased slightly.
Hiral washed his hands at the basin, the cool water clearing the lingering tension from his fingers.
Then he returned to the window.
The embroidered handkerchief rested neatly folded beside him.
Evening light had begun its slow descent, turning the garden gold.
The marigolds near the window swayed softly in the breeze.
Hiral leaned one shoulder against the frame, watching them.
Alexis had said they would have dinner together.
He knew that Alexis always kept his word so he would return sooner rather than later.
Hiral's lips curved faintly.
The fading sunlight painted the marigold petals in warm amber tones—bright, stubborn little flames dancing in the wind.
Golden.
Like Alexis.
He smiled again.
This time the smile stayed.
Night had settled gently over the estate.
The garden below the window lay bathed in pale silver, the marigolds now only faint shapes beneath the quiet glow of the moon. Crickets hummed somewhere beyond the hedges, their rhythm soft and steady.
Inside the chamber, the room was lit with soft warm light.
Hiral turned off the light so as to not give away that he was still awake.
Better to give the illusion that he was asleep to lower the guard of the people nearby.
A precaution, just in case…
He had been watching the moon rise slowly above the garden walls, waiting for the sound of footsteps in the hall, waiting for the door to open so Alexis could fulfill the promise of dinner together.
It wasn't because he was looking forward to eating dinner with Alexis that he held on to Alexis's word, it was because the sooner he gave the handkerchief the better.
But waiting had stretched longer than expected.
Hiral had meant to stay awake…
And yet, the day's quiet exertions, the slow return of strength to his body, the lingering exhaustion from weeks lost to unconsciousness—all of it weighed heavier than he had anticipated.
His head tilted slightly against the window frame.
His eyes closed.
And at some point between one breath and the next, Hiral drifted into sleep.
Still sitting upright.
The moonlight spilled through the window and settled over him like a soft cloak, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the dark sweep of his hair, the relaxed calm that sleep had finally granted him.
Outside the estate—
Alexis rode like a man being hunted by his own thoughts.
The horse thundered across the final stretch of road leading to his mansion, hooves striking sparks against the stone as the gates opened in hurried recognition of their master.
Alexis barely slowed.
His mind churned with frustration and anxiety.
I promised him.
Dinner together.
A simple promise.
And yet—
Zarina had appeared.
The Prime Minister's daughter had cornered him in the palace corridors with the same effortless authority she had used since they were children.
To Alexis, she was something like an older sister—sharp-tongued, brilliant, and entirely immune to his attempts at refusal.
She had dragged him to the evening ball.
Introduced him to one noblewoman after another.
Potential fiancées.
"Future queen candidates," as she had called them with far too much enthusiasm.
Alexis had endured it longer than he intended out of respect—and because he owed her more than he liked to admit.
But the ballroom had felt suffocating.
The music loud.
The smiles hollow.
Every passing minute had pressed heavier against his chest.
And then—
He had finally found an excuse to leave.
By the time he stepped outside the palace—
The moon was already high.
Too late.
Too late.
Now he rode through the estate gates with urgency that bordered on panic.
Before the servants could even greet him properly, Alexis had dismounted and was already striding toward the mansion doors.
"Dinner with—"
"My lord—"
"Hiral," Alexis said sharply. "Is he still—"
"In his chambers, my lord."
Alexis didn't wait for the rest.
He moved through the halls with the same restless speed that had carried him across battlefields.
The memory of yesterday flickered in his mind.
Bursting into that room.
Finding Hiral awake.
Alive.
His heart pounded harder as he reached the door again tonight.
Too quiet.
The corridor was silent.
Fear gripped him instantly.
Without thinking, Alexis shoved the door open.
The door struck the wall with a loud crack.
Alexis froze.
Moonlight filled the room.
And there—
By the window—
Hiral sat in the chair, head tilted slightly, breathing slow and even as sleep claimed him.
For a moment Alexis simply stared.
The moonlight softened Hiral's features, turning the sharp strategist into something almost serene. His hair stirred faintly in the night breeze drifting through the open window.
Beautiful.
Dangerously so.
Alexis exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Then he noticed something.
Hiral hadn't woken.
Not even with the noise of the door.
Alexis bit his lip faintly.
Concern returned instantly.
He crossed the room quickly and knelt beside the chair.
"Hiral?"
No response.
Carefully, Alexis leaned closer and checked his breathing.
Steady.
Normal.
Relief washed through him so strongly he nearly laughed.
"You frightened me again," he murmured quietly.
Hiral still slept.
Alexis studied him for another moment.
Then something mischievous flickered in his eyes.
He leaned forward.
And pressed a soft kiss against Hiral's lips.
A deliberate, gentle wake-up call beneath the quiet watch of the moon.
Hiral stirred awake.