The morning air was still pale with dew when the gates of the Eastern Castle creaked open to receive the Crown Prince.
Kalan, heir to the throne of Lamig, stepped down from his carriage with unhurried grace. Dressed in deep plum, his collar sharp and embroidered with the royal insignia, he looked every bit the future monarch—but without the warmth that usually marked a welcome return. At his side, his handman Hosha walked with a quiet storm behind his eyes, saying nothing as they made their way through the chilled stone halls.
The Eastern Castle was subdued at this hour. Servants bowed in silence. Footsteps echoed with eerie clarity. No fanfare. No trumpets. Just the crisp click of polished shoes along marble.
They were expected.
The guards outside the Emperor's study stepped aside without a word, and the doors opened with a soft groan.
Inside, the atmosphere was already tightly coiled.
Emperor Arvin stood near the window, hands clasped behind his back, the early light casting a muted glow over the edge of his robe. General Kain leaned near a low table, his fingers drumming thoughtfully against a worn map. Duke Rnzo, always with a hint of amusement in his eye, lounged near the fireplace—though even his relaxed posture carried an alertness.
Kalan entered with a nod of respect—not overly deep, but correct. Hosha followed suit, offering a lower bow.
"Your Majesty," Kalan greeted formally.
"Prince Kalan," the Emperor returned, tone neither warm nor cold. Merely measured.
"You arrived early," General Kain noted, moving to pour tea as if to soften the air.
"There was no point in delay," Kalan replied. "The situation seems to have unfolded faster than I expected."
Hosha's jaw was tight, his silence louder than any outburst.
They sat.
General Kain gestured for Heman, the investigator, to speak first. And he did—methodically, respectfully. He laid out everything from Goya's drugging on the night of her arrival, to Miru's confession about being coerced by a royal spy.
Kalan's expression remained unreadable throughout. His hands were folded on his lap. He never once interrupted. His stillness wasn't detached—it was calculated.
When Heman finished, there was a long pause. Even the fireplace seemed to quiet.
Kalan looked toward the Emperor.
"I appreciate your grace in handling the matter with such discretion. It could've caused unnecessary scandal." His voice was smooth, almost flat—but polite.
Kain watched him carefully, as if waiting for a mask to slip.
Kalan continued. "I thank you, General, for ensuring Goya's safety. She doesn't say much, but she trusts you."
Kain offered a nod, saying nothing.
"As for Miru…" Kalan's tone shifted slightly—not softer, but deliberate. "I do not defend what she did. But I ask you consider her place. She served faithfully for years. The royal spy network doesn't give people many choices. She's a piece, used."
Hosha frowned deeply, but said nothing.
Duke Rnzo finally spoke, breaking the quiet. "And what would you have us do, Your Highness?"
Kalan's gaze moved to him—measured, thoughtful. "Wait."
Rnzo's brow lifted.
"I'm not suggesting we ignore it. But rather—time it. The coronation is already scheduled, but I'd like to move it forward by a few days."
Now even Arvin turned fully toward him.
"To what end?" the Emperor asked.
"Because," Kalan said evenly, "I believe whoever orchestrated this is still within reach. But if we act now, they'll retreat, erase traces. Wait too long, and they'll do the same."
He leaned slightly forward—not in threat, but in strategy.
"But if the crown is mine, the entire board changes. I won't need permission. And those who think they're untouchable will feel the weight of accountability."
The room shifted.
Not because of volume, not from emotion—but from implication.
Arvin studied him closely. "You believe they're close?"
Kalan hesitated, then answered, "I have reason to think so. But not enough to accuse. Just enough to watch."
Kain raised a brow. "That's a quiet move."
"A quiet move," Kalan echoed, "for a loud result."
Rnzo chuckled under his breath. "Sounds like a chess match."
Kalan finally smiled, just faintly. "It is."
Arvin considered this in silence, the weight of the decision lingering between them. He wasn't a man to be moved by implication—but Kalan hadn't pushed. He had only suggested. And that, in itself, was powerful.
"I'll speak to the council," Arvin said at last. "A few days earlier won't be questioned if I propose it."
Kalan bowed his head. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
As they stood to leave, the tension thinned—but didn't vanish.
Rnzo glanced at Kain. "That boy's eyes have grown sharper."
Kain's tone was quiet. "He's learning to play without showing his pieces."
Behind them, Hosha followed his friend with quiet steps, only daring to speak when they reached the corridor outside.
"You really believe the coronation will draw them out?"
Kalan stopped and turned to them. "They'll think that noone had noticed their attempts or that they were successful."
He paused, then added, "But I've been watching it for a long time."
The mid-morning sun stretched across the garden terrace where Lady Goya sat, flanked by Lady Kanha and Lady Gina. A light breeze stirred the rose-scented air as porcelain cups clinked gently against their saucers. Birds chirped somewhere high above, and laughter—soft, feminine—rose like music from the group.
Goya was more relaxed than she had been in days. The tea was jasmine, her favorite. Kanha was complaining about her embroidery lessons. Gina was making up stories about the noblemen who stared too long at Kanha at the last ball.
Then came the footsteps—firm, measured, and familiar.
Goya looked up, mid-sip.
Prince Kalan approached from the stone archway, dressed in a darker version of his morning attire. The afternoon light sharpened the line of his jaw, but softened his expression when he saw his sister. Behind him trailed Hosha, his expression unreadable as always, but his pace noticeably quicker the moment he spotted Kanha.
Goya blinked, rising quickly.
"Kalan," she said.
He didn't smile, but the way his eyes softened around the edges betrayed his fondness. He took her in—visibly thinner, still tired, but on her feet and laughing. That alone seemed to allow him to breathe for the first time in hours.
"You look well," he said, voice gentler now. "Better than expected."
"And you look worse," Goya teased lightly, moving toward him.
Kalan scoffed under his breath, pulling her into a brief but firm hug. "Still sharp-tongued, I see."
"I'm a princess what do you expect."
To the side, Kanha blinked once before rising. "Kalan," she greeted with a slight bow. "I see you have grown more handsome."
"And you've still have good taste," Kalan replied, not missing a beat.
Kanha's glare was met with a smug smile. She turned to Hosha, who stood stiffly behind his prince, arms behind his back like a soldier at ease.
"Don't just stand there like a statue," Kanha said. "Say something."
"You look taller," Hosha said flatly.
"I am taller."
He nodded. "Then there's no excuse for still being this irritating."
Kanha gasped and picked up a pillow from her chair, aiming it squarely at his chest. It bounced off harmlessly, and he didn't even blink.
At the head of the table, Lady Gina was laughing quietly into her tea. "This is… lovely. I never knew having siblings came with such charming hostility."
Goya smiled softly, watching Kanha throw things at Hosha and Hosha just dodged them effortlessly.
"They always do this," she explained.
"I'm starting to think I missed out," Gina sighed.
Eventually, the games settled, and Kalan sat beside his sister. His eyes lingered on her a moment longer—perhaps confirming something only he needed to see for himself. Goya caught it.
"I'm truly fine," she said, quietly enough for only him to hear.
He gave a small nod, then, more audibly: "The coronation's been moved."
Goya's brows lifted. "So soon?"
"Soon enough," he replied. "Before the festival begins."
"Will it still be held during the Star Bloom?"
He nodded. "Yes. This week "
No further explanation was offered, and none was asked. They understood each other well enough.
From her seat, Kanha rolled her eyes. "So, this whole visit was just to stress everyone before the festival?"
"No," Hosha said. "It was to check if you've ruined your reputation yet."
"Which one?" Kanha grinned. "I've got several."
Gina giggled again, clearly enjoying the dynamic as much as the tea.
Just then, Hosha's eyes began scanning the garden subtly. He looked past the hedges, the side doors, then toward the path leading in from the courtyard.
Kanha noticed immediately. "She's not here," she said without looking at him.
He blinked once. "Who?"
Gina smirked into her teacup. "Mirha."
Kanha flicked her braid behind her shoulder. "She went out with Kiara. Shopping."
"She won't be back for a while," Gina added, her tone light but watchful.
Hosha gave a silent nod, his expression unreadable. He didn't look disappointed—he didn't show much at all. But Goya, sitting across from him, caught it. The subtle flicker in his gaze. The shift of his jaw.
She tilted her head slightly, observing.
Kalan caught her watching. "What?"
"Nothing," she said smoothly, turning her cup between her hands. "Just… wondering if the big brothers are as subtle as they think."
He raised a brow. "Subtlety isn't the goal."
"No," she murmured. "But sometimes it says more than words do."
The breeze picked up again. Somewhere beyond the garden wall, the city's heartbeat carried on.
Kalan rose. "I won't stay long."
"Heading back to the palace?" Goya asked.
He nodded. "I'll return before the festival. Until then, stay close to the General. Don't wander."
Goya gave a mock salute. "Yes, Your Highness."
"Don't mock me. Lady Gina's watching."
"No I'm not!" Gina snapped.
More laughter. More warmth.
And just beneath it all, the quiet tick of something else—chess pieces moving. Without fuss. Without fanfare.
But always with purpose.
The tea parlor at the east wing of the castle was bright and quiet, the windows open to let in a soft breeze. Goya sat gracefully with her back straight, her teacup balanced delicately in her hand. Beside her sat Lady Kanha, her posture as regal as her voice was composed. Lady Gina, by contrast, leaned slightly forward, her eyes sparkling with amusement and curiosity as she listened to the gentle murmur of conversation between the other two.
The setting was serene, until the soft creak of the door signaled someone's arrival. A servant stepped in and bowed.
"Your Highness, Prince Kalan has already departed, but Lord Hosha requests to see you before he leaves."
Goya blinked in surprise and then smiled. "Of course."
Moments later, Hosha entered with a fluid, almost lazy stride, his face as calm as ever. As his eyes scanned the room, they landed on Kanha. His usual aloofness softened slightly.
"Kanha," he said simply, a flicker of warmth in his tone.
"Hosha," Kanha replied, rising to greet him. They stood facing each other for a brief moment before she gave him a playful shove.
"Missing me already??."
"Like i said I'm here to talk to Princess Goya, not a progressing witch" he returned dryly.
The light jab prompted laughter from Gina, who quickly covered her mouth. Goya smiled as well, watching the sibling reunion with quiet delight. Kanha and Hosha's teasing continued for a moment, brief but natural. Gina's laugh broke in again.
"I wish I had a sibling to bully me," she said. "You two are horrible. And I mean that with all the affection in the world."
Kanha chuckled. "Be thankful, Gina. Bullying from a sibling is a unique art form."
Goya turned to Kanha with an exaggerated sigh. "And you've learned from the best, it seems."
"I guess i have found excellent tutors," Gina added sweetly.
They all laughed again, the air momentarily light. Then Kanha sat up straighter, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"It's strange," she said, glancing at Goya. "You've had Hosha around you for over a decade now, but I barely know who he became after he left Bukid. He was fifteen when he moved to Lamig."
"It's the opposite for me," Goya mused, tilting her head. "I don't know who he was before he got here."
"Let's trade stories then," Kanha suggested, smiling. "I'll go first. You should know—your calm, stoic Hosha was once a feral little creature who couldn't sit still."
"Not with me here, Princess, Kalan wants to know if he should get a stylist from your former ladies " Hosha spoke
Gina and Kanha leaned forward with a delighted gasp.
"I'm sure they are hundreds of stylist here so there is no need for all that.." Goya said smiling at Gina and Gina nodded agreeing with her.
"Well, alright see you all at the coronation festival. " Hosha said and left the ladies.
Goya looked at Kanha with a smiled,
"You were saying..."
"He used to pick fights with every boy older than him," Kanha continued. "Once, when he was ten, he challenged the son of a visiting magistrate to a duel because the boy called our garden 'unimpressive'."
Goya raised a brow. "A duel?"
"He showed up with a mop as a sword," Kanha said, grinning. "We had to pull him away before he caused a scandal."
"I remember once," Goya interjected, her tone thoughtful, "we went to an evening banquet in Lamig. Hosha was barely sixteen, but some nobleman made a sly remark about him being an outsider. Before I could say anything, Hosha smiled and complimented the man's shoes—and then somehow maneuvered him into stepping into a fountain."
They laughed again. Kanha nodded approvingly. "So he learned subtlety in Lamig. That's new."
"He learned restraint," Goya corrected gently, casting a quick glance at Hosha, who responded with a rare, amused look.
They shared a few more light-hearted memories. Kanha told one about him getting caught trying to sneak a stray dog into the palace. Goya countered with a time he led a group of younger pages to stage a mock rebellion during a strategy lesson.
Then, with a soft tilt of her head and a distant smile, Kanha added, "Hosha told the whole kingdom that he was going to marry the daughter of Launi Eden? He was, what, fourteen?"
Goya's fingers paused around her cup. There was a stillness that passed quickly but distinctly through the group. Gina blinked, her smile faltering just enough for it to be noticeable.
Kanha looked around expectantly. "No one's going to laugh? It was such a bold little moment. You stood up during the autumn festival and declared it like a royal edict."
Gina shifted. "Maybe we should—"
"Mirha, right?" Goya said softly, the corners of her lips lifting with delicate precision.
The atmosphere turned brittle, though no one would admit it aloud. Kanha blinked, her expression slipping for the faintest moment. Her eyes moved toward Goya with a flicker of something unreadable.
"It was a long time ago," Kanha replied, her tone composed. "Children say all sorts of things."
"They do," Goya agreed, stirring her tea slowly. "But some memories linger."
It was then that the door opened again, breaking the air just enough.
"Lady Kiara and Lady Mirha have returned," announced a servant.
Mirha's laughter floated in ahead of her. She entered with Kiara beside her, eyes sparkling with amusement. She paused slightly when she saw the tension in the room, her smile faltering.
Gina stood and moved to her quickly. "You've missed a performance. We were just discussing past declarations of love."
Kiara looked around and raised a brow. "Sounds like we walked into something."
"Only a storm," Goya murmured.
Mirha approached slowly, her eyes flicking between Goya and Kanha, sensing the shift in energy. She greeted them all politely, but Goya noticed how her eyes lingered on Kanha. There was no recognition, not fully—but something told Mirha she'd just been at the center of a story.
Kanha smiled quickly and turned to pour more tea, her tone light again. "Tell us what you saw at the market, Mirha. Did you find anything scandalous?"
Mirha gave a polite chuckle. "Only overpriced fans and jealous vendors. Nothing fit for gossip."
"That's a shame," Kanha replied. "We'll just have to make our own entertainment, then."
As the conversation shifted, Mirha gently set down her cup and stood. "I think I'll head back to my chambers for a bit. I need to rest my feet."
"Of course," Goya said, nodding.
Mirha gave a soft smile to the others and exited the room, walking through the quiet corridors. As she turned a corner near the gardens, she slowed. A tall figure leaned casually against the stone wall.
"Mirha," Hosha said, his voice lower than usual. When she stopped, he stepped forward, spreading his arms as if without thinking.
She hesitated, just for a breath, then moved swiftly into his embrace.
His arms closed tightly around her, one hand rising to cradle the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair gently as if reassuring himself that she was truly there.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The breeze stirred around them, carrying the scent of wisteria from the nearby trees.
Hosha closed his eyes briefly and exhaled. "You're still the same."
Mirha didn't answer. Her hands stayed still against his chest, but her breathing was calm, steady.
Eventually, she pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. Their eyes locked, an ocean of unspoken thoughts stretching between them. No questions. No accusations. Just the quiet weight of presence.
He didn't speak again, and she didn't need him to. Her fingers briefly grazed his before she stepped away.
"You should get back," she said gently.
He nodded.
And then, just like that, she turned and continued toward her chambers, her steps slow but sure.
As Mirha turned the corner toward her chambers, the soft click of her slippers echoed against the stone floor. Her steps were light, almost thoughtful. There was something peaceful, almost grounding, in the way her shoulders lowered as she disappeared behind the corridor bend. Whatever had been exchanged between them in that quiet embrace, it seemed to linger like warmth in the silence left behind.
Hosha watched until she was out of sight. Then, slowly, he lowered his arms, exhaled once through his nose, and composed himself. The sharp lines of his face softened for just a second more before he turned and made his way toward the outer court.
The eastern corridor carried faint laughter and the hum of distant court activity. But Hosha's stride was focused, purposeful, until he reached the courtyard where the carriages awaited.
Kalan was already there, standing beside their gilded carriage, speaking quietly to one of the castle attendants. His profile, framed by the early sun, looked as collected and unreadable as always—until he spotted Hosha.
A knowing smile crept onto the prince's lips. "You took your time."
Hosha didn't return the smile, but something in his eyes gave him away.
"Wasn't watching the clock," he said coolly, stepping onto the carriage step.
Kalan tilted his head, then glanced at the faint pink mark on Hosha's sleeve—barely visible, but unmistakably from a woman's rouge.
He said nothing about it. Only gave a small, satisfied nod and climbed in after him.
The door shut, the carriage lurched gently forward, and as the castle began to recede behind them, Kalan finally spoke again, his tone light but deliberate.
"You look lighter."
Hosha's gaze remained fixed out the window. "Maybe."
A beat passed.
"You're not one for poetry," Kalan continued, "but you have a rather dramatic way of standing still when it matters."
Hosha smirked. "And you have a rather poetic way of making fun of me."
"It's a gift," the prince replied with a shrug. "One of many."
They both chuckled softly.
And then, without any need for words or declarations, the carriage rolled on—quiet, content, and calm. Not every bond needed to be discussed out loud. Some were understood in silences, in glances, and in the rare lightness that surfaced in the company of someone who had known you long enough not to ask for explanations.
And that was enough.