Late that night, Phiengwad hurried back to her own estate, her loyal maid Gulab following closely behind.
Her heart raced with anxiety. Rather than waiting for dawn at Lord Noradit's manor, she chose to return home immediately to seek her elder brother's counsel—Sir Det-wijit.
Three sharp knocks broke the silence of the night. The door creaked open, revealing the sharp, concerned face of Sir Det-wijit.
"What's happened, Phiengwad? Why do you seem so distressed? And why are you dressed as a man?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.
Phiengwad took a deep breath before recounting everything. She spoke of how Lord Noradit had caught her and La-Orchan in a compromising situation, of his outrage upon discovering their romantic relationship, and of his threats to expose the matter to Lord Krai the very next day.
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As the tale unfolded, Sir Det-wijit's face paled. He stepped back, clearly shaken by the gravity of the situation. The weight of her words pressed heavily upon him, rendering him momentarily speechless.
"Phiengwad… Are you truly in a romantic relationship with La-Orchan?" he asked, his voice heavy with tension. His brows knitted together, and an ominous sense of foreboding began to seep into his mind.
Phiengwad nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. Fear and worry made her voice tremble as she spoke, her heart pounding painfully against her chest. She knew that admitting the truth would only deepen the trouble she was in.
"Brother, I know that as a man, you might never fully understand the love between two women. But our love is pure and true, no different from the love a man and a woman might share," she said, her voice quivering as tears streamed down her cheeks.
"Will you speak to Father and Mother on my behalf? Please, before Lord Noradit comes to confront them tomorrow," she pleaded, her voice filled with desperation.
Sir Det-wijit let out a deep sigh, the weight of the situation pressing down upon him like an unshakable burden. The love and concern he held for his younger sister were now at odds with the rigid societal norms he had always upheld.
"Phiengwad, your situation with La-Orchan is vastly different from when Father refused to arrange your betrothal to the youngest son of Lord Alongkorn. Back then, Father sided with you because he saw reason—Lord Alongkorn's son was a notorious philanderer, unworthy of you despite his noble lineage. But this… this is different. A woman must marry a man and bear children to continue her lineage. What you and La-Orchan have done is disgraceful and wholly improper."
His voice was solemn, heavy with worry and internal conflict. Sir Det-wijit knew all too well that what Phiengwad was asking of him was not a simple plea—it was a challenge against traditions that had stood for generations, against a rigid system that could not easily be altered.
Phiengwad clasped her hands together, her eyes filled with desperation. The thought of losing La-Orchan forever sent a sharp pain through her chest.
"Tell me, brother, is it my fault that I was born with a heart that loves women rather than men?" Her voice trembled, thick with sorrow. "I love La-Orchan… If you do not help me, I fear I may never see her again for the rest of my life."
Her words were raw, laden with anguish and despair, as if this were her final plea for mercy.
Sir Det-wijit fell silent for a long moment. The conflict in his heart was evident in the furrow of his brows, the way his gaze flickered with hesitation. He could feel the immense weight of this decision—it was not just about Phiengwad, but about the family's honor and reputation as well.
At last, he exhaled slowly and spoke.
"I will try to speak to Father and Mother." His voice was firm, though uncertainty still lingered. "But I cannot promise you anything, Phiengwad."
Despite the uncertainty in his words, Phiengwad's heart swelled with gratitude. She lifted her tear-streaked face to meet her brother's gaze, her lips trembling into a fragile smile. The faint light of hope flickered within her once more.
"Thank you," she whispered, before throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace, clinging to him as though he were the only anchor she had left. "I knew you would help me."
Her voice wavered, but there was conviction in her tone—a deep, unwavering trust in her brother. And yet, deep down, she knew that tomorrow's confrontation with their parents would be the most difficult moment of their lives.
…
At Lord Noradit's traditional Thai house,
La-Orchan had been confined to her chamber under her father's orders throughout the previous night. She had tried in vain to close her eyes and force herself into slumber, but the turmoil in her heart refused to let her rest. As dawn broke and the distant crowing of roosters signaled the morning, she heard the heavy footsteps of her father and several servants leaving the house. In that instant, she knew—her father was on his way to Lord Krai's estate to expose the truth she and Phiengwad had desperately tried to conceal.
All she could do was choke back her tears and silently pray. She dared not dwell on what fate awaited her—only hoping that the divine spirits would grant her and her beloved even a sliver of mercy.
Meanwhile, La-Orduen, after seeing her father off on his journey to Lord Krai's estate, ascended the steps of the house with a satisfied smile. Her graceful figure moved with purpose, heading straight for her twin sister's chamber. The moment she pushed the door open, she was met with the sight of La-Orchan curled up on the floor beside her bed, hugging her knees. Her eyes were swollen and red from endless weeping, her frail body trembling with despair.
The sight filled La-Orduen with wicked delight. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.
"I just sent Father off on his way to Lord Krai's house," she announced, her voice laced with satisfaction.
"Soon enough, the entire household will know everything," she added with a mocking sneer.
La-Orchan lifted her tear-streaked face, her crimson-rimmed eyes brimming with silent agony. Tear after tear slid down her cheeks, but her sister's expression remained impassive, as if she were watching a spectacle she had orchestrated herself.
"This is the price of your broken oath," La-Orduen continued, her voice dripping with contempt.
La-Orchan pressed her lips together, stifling a sob. She had never imagined that her sister's hatred for her could run so deep.
"Because of love… is that why you had to do this to me and P'Phiengwad, Sister?" La-Orchan asked, her voice trembling with sorrow.
Rage flared in La-Orduen's eyes, and she lunged forward without hesitation.
"This isn't just about love!" she spat. "My whole life, I've had to sacrifice everything for you! Father and Mother have always favored you—given you everything while I was left with nothing! And now, even P'Phiengwad—I thought she had feelings for me, but she only ever used me as a bridge to reach you! La-Orchan, you are the thorn that has been stabbing into my heart all this time!"
Her voice wavered, thick with long-buried resentment.
La-Orchan fell silent. Her body trembled before she slowly lowered herself onto her knees, bowing down until her forehead touched the ground at her sister's feet. Tears continued to stream down her face, hopeless and unrelenting.
"I'm really sorry," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.
La-Orduen gazed down at her twin sister, who remained bowed at her feet in utter despair. A contemptuous smirk played upon her lips before she jerked her foot away in disgust.
"I will never forgive you," she spat, her voice cold and sharp. "Do you truly think a mere apology is enough to make amends for everything?"
Tears streamed down La-Orchan's face, but her sister remained unmoved.
La-Orduen continued, her voice laced with cruel satisfaction.
"Do you know why I came here today? I wanted to inform you that last night, Father sought my counsel. He wants you to sever all ties with P'Phiengwad, once and for all. And do you know what I advised him?"
She leaned in slightly, watching with delight as La-Orchan trembled in apprehension.
"I told him that the best way to put an end to all this disgrace was for you to marry. To take a husband."
La-Orchan's eyes widened in sheer horror.
"P'La-Orduen!" she gasped, her voice breaking.
But her twin only smirked, savoring every moment of her suffering.
"Do you wish to know whom I recommended?" La-Orduen drawled, reveling in her sister's distress. "I suggested Sir Ramdecha—the very man you've rejected time and time again."
At that moment, La-Orchan felt the last shreds of hope slip from her grasp. A cold, suffocating dread settled over her, suffusing her entire being.
Meanwhile, La-Orduen studied her twin's despair with unbridled satisfaction. Her eyes gleamed with triumph, her lips curling into a merciless grin.
"It seems my dear twin sister will be wed before me after all," she mused, her voice dripping with mockery. "Once you bear children, don't forget to bring them by to visit their aunt."
And with that, she turned on her heel and strode out of the room, leaving La-Orchan to crumble beneath the weight of her despair.
…
At the grand Thai-style house of Lord Krai,
a heavy tension filled the air in the main hall. Sir Det-wijit and Phiengwad sat on the polished teakwood bench, their expressions solemn. Both had spent the entire night preparing themselves for the conversation they were about to have with their parents at the break of dawn.
Before long, the figures they had been anxiously waiting for entered the room. Lord Krai and Lady Dao-Rueang approached with gentle smiles, pleasantly surprised to see their children up earlier than usual. However, as they observed the unusual seriousness on their faces, the warmth in their expressions faded almost instantly.
"What is the matter?" Lord Krai asked, his voice filled with concern. "Why do the two of you seem so restless this early in the morning?"
Sir Det-wijit turned to glance at Phiengwad, silently seeking her approval to speak first. His younger sister gave him a slight nod, prompting him to take a deep breath, steadying himself for what was to come. Just as he was about to begin, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the hall.
A male servant entered hastily, his demeanor urgent.
"My Lord, Lord Noradit has arrived at the estate," the servant announced. "He has requested an immediate audience with Your Lordship and Lady Dao-Rueang regarding an urgent matter."
"Lord Noradit?" Lord Krai furrowed his brows, a flicker of unease crossing his face. "What business could possibly be so pressing that he must visit my home at this early hour?"
Lord Krai and Lady Dao-Rueang exchanged puzzled glances, worry etching itself upon their features. Meanwhile, both Phiengwad and Sir Det-wijit paled at the mention of the name.
"Let him in," Lord Krai instructed firmly, his voice carrying a weight of authority. His gaze then shifted back to his children, eyes narrowing in silent suspicion.
He hoped, deep down, that the unexpected visit had nothing to do with whatever urgent matter his children wished to discuss.
But Lord Krai was gravely mistaken…
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"Lord Krai! How have you raised your daughter? How could you be so negligent as to allow such a disgraceful thing to happen?"
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"Your daughter has engaged in an illicit affair with my daughter! Two women together! This is unnatural and perverse!"
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"Is this how the highly esteemed Lord Krai raises his child? To lead another man's daughter astray into this kind of depravity?"
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"From now on, I do not wish to see anyone from your household set foot in mine ever again!"
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These scathing words were left behind by Lord Noradit before he stormed out of Lord Krai's residence in a fit of rage.
In the silence that followed, the air grew unbearably heavy. Lady Dao-Rueang, usually composed and dignified, sat motionless on the wooden bench, her face drained of color. The servants at her side carefully supported her, fanning her at intervals in an attempt to bring her back to her senses—for she had nearly fainted upon hearing of her youngest daughter's forbidden relationship with Lord Noradit's daughter.
Lord Krai suddenly stood to his full height, his gaze steely and severe.
"Phiengwad! How could you commit such a disgraceful act?"
His voice thundered through the hall, his eyes burning with anger and disappointment.
Hearing her father's voice, Phiengwad felt the weight of his disappointment crush down upon her. She could no longer hold back the tears that had threatened to fall. They spilled over her cheeks as she dropped to her knees before him, shame and sorrow suffocating her like a heavy fog.
"Father…"
She barely managed to whisper the word, her voice trembling, but before she could say more, Lord Krai turned sharply to his eldest son, Sir Det-wijit, who had been standing nearby.
"And you! Sir Det-wijit—have you known about this all along? Why did you allow your sister to bring such disgrace upon our family?"
His voice, filled with both fury and disappointment, echoed through the room.
…
Hojicha Writer
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