Radiant as ever, cheeks flushed from travel, curls bouncing behind her as she stepped inside.
Her eyes scanned the hall with that familiar mischief—until she spotted them.
"Mirha! Gina!" Kiara's squeal cracked the air like thunder breaking a still sky.
All three of them collided in a flurry of arms, fabrics, and half-laughter, half-sobs. Kiara clutched them tight, and they returned it with the desperation of women who had waited too long to feel whole again.
"I can't believe it's really you," Gina muttered against Kiara's shoulder.
"I thought I'd pass out," Mirha said, wiping her eyes, laughing.
Kiara pulled back just enough to look at them both, eyes gleaming. "Surprise! Tando didn't let me write. Said it was better this way."
From behind them, Lord Tando chuckled low in his throat, hands folded casually. "Told you they'd like it."
Mirha grinned at him, "You were right, my Lord."
Tando's gaze settled on Kiara, softer than the candlelight catching in the windows. "I like seeing her happy. That's all."
Kiara turned and shot him a look over her shoulder—half smirk, half blush. "Careful, husband. You're being sweet."
Tando raised a brow. "A man's allowed to miss his wife."
Gina and Mirha giggled.
"Come on," Kiara said, linking arms with them both. "You're telling me everything—and I'll tell you how boring being married is when your husband insists on undressing you before you even ask."
"Kiara!" Mirha gasped, blushing.
Tando simply laughed and shook his head. "I regret nothing."
As the three women disappeared into the corridor, their laughter echoing like song, Tando watched them with an unreadable softness in his eyes.
Then he turned, instructing the nearest steward to have their bags brought in. The warmth of reunion still lingered in the air.
The warm amber glow of the setting sun filtered through the tall windows of the Emperor's private study. Scrolls and ink pots lay in organized disarray on the polished desk, a soft breeze carrying in the scent of the courtyard gardens beyond. Inside, the atmosphere was calm—until the door opened with a sharp knock.
A royal guard stepped in and bowed. "My Lords, Lord Tando has arrived from Magili."
Arvin looked up from his desk, a rare softness flickering in his eyes. He set his pen down and stood just as the door opened fully.
Tando entered, dressed in the rich earthy tones of his home region. Dust clung lightly to the edge of his cloak, and his travel boots showed signs of a long ride, but his posture remained composed—dignified, as always.
"Cousin," Arvin greeted with a warm smile, crossing the room to embrace him briefly.
Tando returned the gesture, his hand resting respectfully on Arvin's shoulder. "Your Majesty."
"Don't start with that," Arvin chuckled. "I've missed you, Tando."
"You always say that when you need something," Tando replied with a gentle smile.
Behind Arvin, Rnzo leaned against the corner of a bookcase, arms folded, his smile already wide.
"Well, look what the Magili winds brought in," Rnzo drawled. "Did Kiara finally get tired of you talking to her plants and drag you back to civilization?"
Tando laughed under his breath, shaking his head. "She missed you, believe it or not."
"Smart woman," Rnzo said, straightening and coming over to clasp his brother's shoulder. "And still more charming than you."
Tando looked at him fondly. "You haven't changed."
"I have," Rnzo said with a smirk. "Got more handsome. Ask anyone."
Arvin rolled his eyes. "He's been like this all week. Save me."
"I'm trying," Tando replied with mock sympathy.
The teasing faded into warm silence as Arvin poured a small glass of wine for Tando and handed it over. "We've called everyone back. The coronation of Prince Kalan is more than a ceremony—it's an opportunity."
"I assumed as much," Tando said, taking the cup. "And Kiara is ready. She's always been fond of Lamig traditions."
Arvin nodded, pleased. "We'll wait in Taico until everyone's gathered. Raina and Kaisen are on their way soon."
Tando looked down into his cup, thoughtful. "We will have a great time."
Arvin nodded slowly. "We will. But for tonight, we drink—together."
The three men lifted their cups. No grand declarations, just the subtle understanding of shared legacy, quiet duty, and the strength of blood that bound them.
Meanwhile,
The three women settled onto the cushioned stone bench beneath the vine-covered trellis, their chatter beginning before they'd even properly sat down.
"Tell us everything," Mirha said, practically bouncing. "How is married life? Don't skip the good parts."
Kiara raised an eyebrow. "Define good."
Gina gave her a teasing look. "You've been married for how long now? Three moons? Surely Lord Tando has given you enough to report."
Kiara gave a dramatic sigh, but her smile gave her away. "He's gentle. Thoughtful. Too thoughtful, sometimes—I swear, he prays more than he kisses me."
Mirha burst into a laugh. "Well, that's noble of him, at least."
Gina leaned forward, eyes dancing with mischief. "You saying you wouldn't mind a few more prayers between kisses?"
Kiara blushed, tossing a cushion at her. "Don't twist my words!"
They all laughed again, the kind that filled the courtyard like warm music. When it quieted down, Mirha leaned back with a dreamy sigh. "Can you believe it? All of us... in Lamig, for a coronation. All together again.",
"We'll be together," Kiara said. "It'll be just like old times."
They all smiled again. But then Kiara looked around and frowned. "Where's Kanha?"
Gina and Mirha exchanged a glance.
"We're not sure," Mirha said. "She wasn't at breakfast either."
Just then, one of the passing maids paused politely and added, "Lady Kanha left for Malaka this afternoon, my lady."
Kiara's brows lifted. "Malaka?"
"Yes, my lady. She said she had matters to attend to."
The maid curtsied and continued on her way.
Kiara exhaled, leaning back against the bench. "Of course she did."
"You're not surprised," Gina said quietly.
Kiara shook her head. "Not at all. She always finds a way to disappear when things feel… warm."
Mirha nodded. "She never liked being surrounded by too much closeness."
"I pity her," Kiara said softly. "She'll miss out. This is going to be special."
Before they could reply, a familiar voice called from the hallway behind them.
"Has anyone seen my wife?" Tando's voice rang with playful authority.
All three women turned. Tando approached with a soft smile, stopping just behind Kiara, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Ah," he said, spotting her. "There you are."
Kiara stood, brushing off her skirts. "I didn't go far."
Tando extended a hand toward her, and she placed hers in his without hesitation.
He turned to Gina and Mirha. "Ladies, forgive me for stealing her back."
"Only for a moment," Mirha said, teasing.
"We need her for the rest of the evening," Gina added.
Kiara gave them both a helpless smile as Tando led her away.
And as they disappeared together beneath the archway, Gina leaned toward Mirha with a soft laugh.
The sun dipped low behind the mountains as Kanha stepped through the gates of Malaka, her silk cloak clinging to her skin from the heat of her hurried ride. The golden towers of the southern retreat stood tall, glowing warm against the approaching dusk, but she felt none of its serenity. Her heartbeat still roared in her chest.
Mirha.
Her name echoed like a cruel trick in Kanha's mind. A non-noble. A farmer's daughter. A former maid.
Attending the coronation.
Attending alongside them.
Attending… alongside Lord Kaisen.
Kanha had tried to swallow it on the journey here, tried to convince herself it was a mistake, but the whispers from the maids were clear. Not only would Mirha be present—she would be included. In the same carriages, at the same feasts, standing beside nobility as if she belonged.
By the time her carriage arrived in Malaka's main courtyard, Kanha's composure was stretched thin—her face was painted perfectly, her posture rigid and noble, but her fingers were trembling inside her sleeves.
A guard opened the door, and Yadid stepped forward. Always composed, always one step ahead. His robes were dark, trimmed in silver, and his eyes took her in with that ever-neutral expression he wore like armor.
"Lady Kanha," he greeted with a respectful bow. "Her Majesty is meditating. She asked not to be disturbed until sundown."
"I must speak to her," Kanha said sharply, her voice almost breaking. "It's… urgent."
Yadid tilted his head, calm as ever. "Of course. But perhaps, first… a bath. The journey seems to have unsettled you."
Kanha blinked. Her heart thudded once. Then she nodded slowly.
"…Yes. You're right. I should look proper."
The halls of Malaka felt like walking through still water—everything too calm, too slow. But it helped. By the time she stepped out from her bath, her skin soft and perfumed, her eyes no longer glassy from held-back tears, she had adjusted her mask. She wore a pale peach gown and a soft gold sash, modest but graceful, and her hair had been brushed into gentle waves.
Yadid appeared once again and guided her silently through the gardens.
Nailah waited beneath the weeping willow near the koi pond. The Empress was seated on a stone bench, her back tall, her hands folded loosely in her lap. Her gown was white and cream, her hair swept up in a crown of golden pins. She was the image of peace.
But as soon as she saw Kanha approaching, her face brightened, arms reaching. "Kanha! You're finally here."
Kanha knelt before her and embraced her tightly, burying her face in Nailah's shoulder a moment longer than expected.
"You came all this way. You must be exhausted," Nailah said, stroking her hair.
Kanha pulled back and smiled faintly. "I needed to see you. I've missed you."
"Come," Nailah gestured for her to sit beside her on the bench. "Tell me what's troubling you."
Kanha hesitated, her hands twisting in her lap. She stared out at the koi pond, the rippling reflections of cherry trees trembling on the surface. Her throat tightened.
"I feel…" she began slowly, voice small, "left behind."
Nailah turned toward her, concern deepening in her features.
"I know it's silly," Kanha added quickly. "But ever since the wedding… and now, with Lamig coming… everyone is moving forward. Everyone is included. And I…"
She looked away, biting her lip.
"I know I have no right to feel like this. But it's hard, Nailah. I miss feeling like I belong. Like I'm seen."
The last word was barely a whisper.
Nailah's expression softened, guilt tugging at her features.
"Oh, my sweet cousin…" she murmured, reaching for her hand. "I had no idea you felt this way, I'm sure they never meant to let you feel forgotten."
"I don't blame them," Kanha whispered, eyes damp. "But when I heard who was attending… and who's being included… I just—"
She stopped herself, lowering her gaze. "I didn't think I'd mind. But I do."
The honesty in her voice—twisted truth and raw emotion—was enough to draw Nailah closer, her arms wrapping around her again in quiet comfort.
"You are seen," Nailah said firmly. "And I'll make sure of it."
Kanha rested her cheek against her cousin's shoulder, a single tear sliding down her cheek. She didn't smile. Not yet. But her eyes blinked slowly, relief mixed with calculation flickering in their depths.
Across the garden, Yadid stood at a respectful distance beneath the magnolia tree. His arms were crossed loosely, eyes narrowed just slightly as he watched the scene.
The moment he had laid eyes on Kanha earlier, something inside him had shifted. Her panic hadn't been just weariness. There was something more… something cold beneath the tears. But now, in the golden glow of the garden, she looked every bit the broken-hearted cousin.
Yadid said nothing. He made no move.
But he watched.
And wondered what Lady Kanha's true intentions were because he knew that wasn't a reason to weep at Nailah's feet.
Inside the Empress's study, the scent of sandalwood lingered, soft as a sigh.
Nailah sat at her lacquered writing desk, the delicate brush in her hand moving with precision over silk parchment. Her expression remained thoughtful, touched with empathy as she penned the final line.
"…As I am currently unable to travel due to my seasonal ailments, I humbly request that my cousin, Lady Kanha of Èvana, accompany the royal family to Lamig in my stead as a representative of the Empress."
She paused, the brush hovering. Her eyes lingered over Kanha's name. The poor girl had looked so lost in the garden, so vulnerable.
And yet—there had been something steely beneath her tears. Nailah couldn't place it. But that didn't matter now. What mattered was that no one, least of all family, should feel excluded.
She blotted the ink carefully and sealed the letter with the imperial sigil.
"Deliver this to Emperor Arvin by daybreak," she instructed one of her attendants. "Ensure it is placed directly into his hands."
The maid bowed deeply, taking the scroll with the reverence it deserved before vanishing into the corridors.
Outside, in the courtyard, Kanha stood ready for departure. She was draped in a dusk-blue cloak now, her expression serene under the starlight, the hint of red still clinging to the rims of her eyes from earlier tears. Yet something about her posture had shifted.
She no longer seemed broken.
She seemed—purposeful.
As the carriage pulled forward, Yadid stepped from the shadows, his arms folded behind him.
"Safe journey, Lady Kanha," he said smoothly.
She met his gaze through the soft veil that framed her face.
"Thank you, Yadid," she said, voice gracious. "And thank Her Majesty for her kindness."
Yadid offered her a small bow.
"I always do."
The carriage doors closed with a soft thud, and the horses trotted forward, wheels creaking faintly as they disappeared down the starlit road toward Taico.
Only once the sound had fully faded did Yadid speak, his voice low to the wind.
"She's not the one being excluded."
Then he turned back inside, eyes narrowed in thought.
The air was heavy with the scent of flowering jasmine when Kanha stepped down from the carriage. The courtyard, washed in the last hues of dusk, shimmered in soft tones of violet and gold. Long shadows stretched across the palace walls as twilight settled, and a breeze whispered through the manicured hedges.
Kanha's slippers touched the stone path gently, but her heart thundered. The journey from Malaka had been uneventful, but her thoughts had been anything but. Her emotions were pulled tight beneath her skin—envy, urgency, exhaustion, and a slow-burning panic she couldn't seem to douse.
She adjusted the folds of her veil with a trembling hand and exhaled slowly. She had not planned for anyone to greet her at this hour. Her plan was to slip in, quietly retreat to her chambers, and prepare for the next steps—Lamig, Lord Kaisen, and everything else she hadn't yet admitted to herself.
But as she stepped toward the main steps of the palace, a figure emerged from the side path, framed by the ivy-draped archway.
It was Mistress Misha Tiavan.
Kanha paused, her steps faltering slightly as recognition hit her. Misha stood alone, hands lightly clasped in front of her, a vision of grace in her soft lavender shawl and ivory gown. Her posture was poised, almost regal in its stillness, and her eyes—dark, intelligent, serene—met Kanha's with a look too calm to be casual.
For a second, Kanha felt like a schoolgirl caught out of place.
"Mistress Misha," she greeted, dipping her head politely, her voice carefully composed.
"Lady Kanha," Misha returned with a smile that barely curled her lips. Her tone was warm, even gentle, yet it echoed faintly in the empty courtyard. "I hope your journey from Malaka was not too taxing."
"Not at all. Thank you." Kanha's voice was a touch strained, but she kept her chin high, her shoulders poised.
There was a pause.
Misha took a step forward, her shawl fluttering faintly in the wind. Her movements were slow, deliberate, like a practiced dancer's. Every tilt of her head, every flicker of her expression, was elegantly restrained.
"I heard about your visit to Her Majesty," she said softly. "Quite timely. Just before the court prepares for Lamig."
Kanha forced a smile. "It was nothing… just a familial courtesy."
"Of course," Misha replied, nodding as if she accepted it. But her eyes… her eyes held a question Kanha couldn't quite answer.
"And it reminded me," she continued, her voice lowering ever so slightly, "of the letter you sent me… the one warning me about Gina."
Kanha's breath caught. Her spine stiffened just a little.
"I appreciate how thoughtfully worded it was. Very considerate of you to worry for my daughter," Misha added, her eyes not wavering from Kanha's. "At the time, I took it to heart. I even questioned Gina."
She took another step, and this time Kanha's instinct was to step back—but she resisted. Her heels remained planted on the stone.
"But then…" Misha's tone dipped, still soft, but with something cool beneath it. "I started to observe. To listen. And I came to a different conclusion."
Kanha's mouth opened slightly, unsure whether to speak or hold her breath.
"You see," Misha continued, "it wasn't Gina who was behaving inappropriately. It was you, Lady Kanha."
Her words were gentle. Almost motherly. And that's what made them cut so deeply.
"You weren't worried about Gina's reputation," she said. "You were worried about how easily the Duke's eyes found her across the room."
Kanha's stomach dropped. Her hands were cold, even though the evening was warm. She tried to maintain her expression, but something in her chest began to tighten.
"You saw how he spoke to her. How he softened in her presence. And it upset you," Misha whispered, the corners of her mouth lifting into a sympathetic smile. "Because no one—not even Lord Kaisen—has ever looked at you like that."
Kanha's throat clenched, her lips twitching. "That's not—"
"You don't need to explain," Misha said kindly, lifting one hand slightly to silence her. "Truly. I understand."
Her understanding was the worst part.
"And now, with all the ears and eyes in the palace…" she let the sentence drift like a feather before landing it softly, "I hear you've set your sights elsewhere."
Kanha's chest rose, then fell. Her breathing shallow. Misha had not raised her voice once. And yet, it felt like standing beneath a thundercloud.
"Lord Kaisen is generous, charming, and unguarded," Misha mused gently, "but also… predictable. You always seem to know who he's about to court. Isn't that right?"
Kanha froze, unable to move, as if her feet were sinking into the stone beneath her. Her heart pounded so loud she feared Misha might hear it.
Misha's gaze softened even more, as if pitying her.
"So let me offer you the same courtesy you once gave me," she said delicately. "Go back to Bukid, Kanha. You left many suitors there—admirers who would be grateful to win your hand."
She stepped back now, her shawl lifting lightly in the wind, her silhouette tall and graceful in the fading light.
"Save yourself the ache. And the embarrassment."
She smiled. "There's no need for more letters."
And with that, Misha turned, gliding toward the corridor with the quiet power of a woman who never needed to raise her voice to win a war.
Kanha stood unmoving, staring at the spot where Misha had just stood. Her body felt like it didn't belong to her—her limbs weak, her chest tight, her ears ringing.
She could barely breathe.
Her eyes burned, but not with tears. With humiliation. With rage. With something deeper, more bitter—like shame mixed with salt.
So this is what Gina lives with, she thought numbly. A voice like that, always in her head. Always three steps ahead, no wonder she always has those anxiety attacks.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. But she did neither.
Instead, she turned, slowly, and walked toward her chambers—each step heavier than the last.
Behind her, the wind stirred the jasmine vines, but they could not soften the wound that had been carved cleanly, beautifully, and irrevocably into her pride.