Mirha's steps were quiet as she walked the dim hallway leading to her chambers. The earlier warmth still lingered faintly in her chest, but her mind had already begun returning to the order of the day. She adjusted her sleeves, smoothing the fine fabric of her dress, when the sight ahead made her slow.
There, standing under the pale wash of light from a high window, was Lord Kaisen.
He stood with his hands folded behind his back, as still as one of the marble statues that decorated the palace halls. His face, usually marked with that calm, polite expression he was known for, seemed unreadable—his gaze set somewhere beyond her, or perhaps nowhere at all.
Mirha felt her heartbeat skip slightly. She wondered how long he had been standing there. Had he seen her and Hosha in the corridor earlier? The embrace? The moment that would, to any outside eye, be considered... improper.
Her stomach knotted briefly. Not because she feared scandal—she had done nothing shameful—but the weight of noble expectations was always present, ready to turn the smallest action into whispered conversations.
Still, she kept her composure.
She lifted her chin slightly, her pace steady as she approached him. As decorum dictated, she slowed briefly, bowing her head with grace as she passed him.
"My lord."
Her voice was soft, respectful.
But Lord Kaisen did not return the gesture. His gaze did not flicker to her. His eyes remained distant as he simply walked by, his footsteps echoing crisply in the quiet hallway.
Mirha's brows knitted ever so slightly in surprise.
Cold... she thought. He's never this cold.
Kaisen was many things — careful, composed, sometimes too measured for her liking, but he had never once ignored her. His manners were precise, his cordiality unwavering. Even when distant, there was always that small acknowledgment — a slight nod, a word, a glance. But today? Nothing.
She halted momentarily, watching his figure recede into the far corridor, his broad back framed by the soft glow of morning light. He didn't glance back.
Perhaps he didn't see me properly, she reasoned, trying to dismiss the ripple of unease. Perhaps his thoughts were elsewhere.
Still, a small doubt lingered. She turned and continued on her way, slower now, her thoughts quietly circling as she approached her chamber doors.
It was probably nothing. After all, palace life was full of complexities. Not everything was personal.
But somewhere in her chest, a faint uneasiness settled like dust in the corners of her mind.
Lord Kaisen could barely hold the storm brewing in his chest. The image of what he had seen moments ago replayed mercilessly in his mind — Mirha, in another man's arms. The tenderness of it, the ease, the familiarity. It gnawed at him like a slow fire in his veins.
That man—Hosha. A name he had never paid much attention to until today. A man who, in a single moment, had held what Kaisen had quietly desired for so long. What he never dared to reach for, but what lived quietly in the deepest corners of his thoughts.
Without a word, Kaisen made his way back to his chambers, his steps clipped, sharp. His mind refused to let him think logically, each thought heavier than the next.
As he entered, his elder brother Rnzo was already there, seated comfortably, reading a document while their youngest brother, Tando, was out. Rnzo lifted his eyes and raised an eyebrow, watching Kaisen's tense figure approach the liquor cabinet with uncharacteristic urgency.
Kaisen opened the polished cabinet doors, selecting a heavy decanter of amber liquid—something far stronger than his usual choice. He poured himself a full glass without ceremony and downed the first gulp, his throat burning, but his mind too clouded to care.
He sank heavily into the chair beside the study desk, his long fingers tapping against the glass. Rnzo said nothing at first, simply watching his brother, measuring the mood carefully.
They sat in that charged silence for several minutes. Rnzo knew his brother well—Kaisen rarely drank. And when he did, it was never without reason.
Finally, Rnzo broke the silence, his voice smooth and laced with that signature amusement of his.
"What exactly are you doing?"
Kaisen's jaw tightened. "What does it look like?" he muttered, taking another slow sip.
Rnzo smiled faintly. "Fair enough. But you know..." —he reclined slightly in his chair— "you deserve it."
Kaisen let out a bitter chuckle, one that lacked any humor. "Mmh. Go to hell."
Rnzo's quiet laughter filled the room, a lazy, almost elegant sound.
"What exactly is going on, brother?"
"It's nothing important."
"Then pour me a drink. I'm getting thirsty."
Without a word, Kaisen refilled his own glass and slid the decanter across the desk. Rnzo poured himself a modest serving, savoring the burn, while observing the deepening flush creeping into Kaisen's face.
Time passed as they drank in silence once more. The liquor worked quickly on Kaisen's system—he was never one with a strong head for spirits. His stiff posture slowly slackened, his usual control slipping as his mind fogged with alcohol.
Soon enough, the words started tumbling out—careless, unguarded.
"She just stood there... smiling," Kaisen said, his voice low, distant. "As though... as though nothing had changed."
Rnzo leaned forward slightly, intrigued. "She?"
Kaisen ignored the question, lost in his spiraling thoughts.
"He touched her. Like he's always been there. And she—" he exhaled sharply. "She didn't stop him. Not even for a moment."
Rnzo's brow furrowed slightly, trying to follow. "And who exactly are we speaking of, brother?"
Kaisen closed his eyes, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter."
"But it does, clearly," Rnzo pressed, his voice almost gentle. "You don't get like this over nothing."
Kaisen gritted his teeth, his fingers tightening around the glass. "You wouldn't understand."
Just then, the door opened, and Tando entered the room. He paused upon seeing the scene before him—one brother drunkenly unraveling, the other calmly observing.
He sighed. "Rnzo, why did you allow him to drink this much? Don't play such games."
Rnzo simply offered a half-shrug, unbothered. "He's grown. And entertaining."
Tando ignored the remark and went directly to Kaisen, gently steadying him. Kaisen leaned heavily into the support but continued speaking, his voice slurring slightly now.
"What do I have to do...?" he whispered almost to himself. "I'm getting impatient. And the way she is... beautiful." His jaw tensed. "Men like him... they won't hesitate."
Tando's eyes narrowed slightly at the mention. Unlike Rnzo, Tando understood very well who "she" was. He offered no response, but his gaze grew more serious.
"Come on," Tando said softly, helping Kaisen to his feet. "Let's get you some rest."
"I'll take him to my chambers for a while," Tando informed.
Rnzo leaned back with a smirk, swirling the remaining liquor in his glass. "Take him. He was making too much noise for me anyway."
As Tando led Kaisen out, Rnzo sat in thoughtful silence, replaying the half-spoken words. Though the name had never been mentioned, curiosity now gnawed at him. He didn't yet know who had pierced his brother's usual composure so deeply—but the mystery had just begun.
Tando pushed open the heavy doors to his chambers, half-carrying his elder brother whose weight had grown heavier with each step. Kaisen wasn't fully gone—his mind was still there—but the drink had loosened the iron grip he usually kept on himself.
With a quiet grunt, Tando finally threw Kaisen down onto the bed. The elder brother landed with a muffled thud, one arm sprawling lazily across the sheets as his chest rose and fell.
Tando exhaled, standing over him, arms crossed.
"You know," Tando started, voice even, "Mirha doesn't love anyone."
There was a pause. Kaisen's eyes, half-lidded but still sharp, flicked toward his brother.
"Then why," Kaisen growled under his breath, "did she walk into his arms?"
His tone wasn't weak — it was frustrated, tight, like something boiling just beneath his skin. His jaw clenched, and for a moment his knuckles whitened where his fist gripped the sheets.
Tando rubbed his jaw. "Don't read it like that. You know Mirha better than anyone—she's kind. She's always been soft like that." He paused, lowering his voice, "And you know the history between them. It's long buried. Let it stay buried."
Kaisen exhaled sharply through his nose, his chest rising with quiet anger. "History..." he repeated, voice gravelly. "You think that makes it any easier to watch?"
Tando didn't answer that. He simply stood there, patient.
Kaisen shifted slightly, closing his eyes for a moment, collecting his thoughts.
"Listen," Kaisen spoke again, the alcohol cutting just enough into his usual restraint to make him bold. "You can help me. Talk to your wife—tell Kiara to speak to her. Let her know how I feel."
Tando sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "I can't let Kiara do that, Kaisen."
"Why not?" Kaisen's voice was sharper this time, though not loud.
Tando stepped closer, lowering his tone like a man speaking from experience. "Because sometimes… you don't win by playing it safe. You want something that valuable—you go take it. You don't wait for others to hand it to you, and you damn well don't send someone else to do your work."
Kaisen fell silent for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. His breathing slowed. The weight of Tando's words settled in the space between them.
Finally, Kaisen exhaled again, closing his eyes. The anger hadn't left—but the exhaustion was creeping in now. His voice dropped, barely above a whisper—but not weak. Resolved.
"I want her, Tando," he said simply.
"I know," Tando answered.
The room grew quiet, with only the faint crackle of the fireplace filling the silence. Tando stood there for a while longer, making sure his brother would rest, then quietly stepped back, leaving Kaisen alone with his heavy thoughts.
The soft sound of the chamber door creaked open.
Kiara stepped in quietly, the long sleeves of her robe trailing softly at her sides, her dark hair loosely pinned as if she'd only just gotten ready for bed but couldn't sleep. Her eyes immediately landed on her husband, kneeling beside the bed where Kaisen now lay half-asleep, the effects of the liquor dimming his sharp edges.
She didn't speak at first. She simply watched.
Tando was still smoothing the blanket over Kaisen's shoulders, careful not to wake him. The way his broad shoulders hunched slightly, the furrow between his brows—he wasn't just being a good brother. He was troubled.
Kiara approached slowly, her steps soundless against the floor. Her hand found his shoulder.
"You stayed with him all this time?" she whispered.
Tando glanced up, gave a small nod, and rose to his feet. Kiara's hand slid down his arm until their fingers laced.
He sighed. "He drank too much. Rnzo let him spiral, as usual."
Her gaze drifted toward Kaisen's sleeping face. There was tension in his brow even in sleep, a man who carried far too much and said far too little. She tilted her head thoughtfully.
"It's because of Mirha, isn't it?"
Tando gave her a look — not surprised, not stern. Just weary. "...You're too observant for your own good."
She smiled faintly, but her eyes remained thoughtful.
"It's not fair," she murmured. "She doesn't know. And he... he's breaking from the inside out."
Tando shook his head. "It's not that simple, Kiara. You can't just tell someone to love another."
"I'm not trying to manipulate her," she said gently. "But if Mirha doesn't know how he feels, truly feels—then isn't that unfair too? She's smart. She deserves to know the whole truth before anyone else decides her future."
Tando stepped away, rubbing his forehead. "And what, you want to tell her yourself?"
Kiara raised a brow. "No. I'm not foolish enough to do it directly. But the coronation is coming. A festival full of glances, dances, subtle gestures... I can plant the right moments. Nudge her eyes in the right direction."
Tando turned back to her, arms folded now. "Kiara."
She leaned up on her toes, hands clasped behind his neck, looking up at him with that disarming smile he knew far too well.
"I know you're against it, but sometimes the heart needs help noticing what's been in front of it all along."
He exhaled slowly. "You are too stubborn for your own good."
"And too cute for you to stop," she said, kissing his cheek.
He groaned, not pulling away, but not exactly agreeing either. "Mirha has been through a lot, Kiara. And Kaisen—he's not the easiest man. This could blow up in ways we can't control."
"I'll be careful," she said softly. "I just want to give them a chance to see each other clearly. What happens after that is up to them."
Tando studied her for a long moment. His wife—the strategist in a silk robe. A gentle schemer. A kind-hearted troublemaker. He loved her more than he knew how to say.
Finally, he reached for her hand again.
"Fine," he murmured. "But if this turns into a scandal, you owe me a month of silence."
Kiara laughed under her breath. "Impossible. You'd miss my voice before the sun sets."
Tando smirked and kissed her hand. "You're right."
As they stood there, the candlelight casting their shadows long against the chamber walls, Kiara glanced once more toward Kaisen.
"I won't interfere where I shouldn't," she said. "But no woman should stay blind to love that's right in front of her."
Tando only nodded, pulling her into his arms, silent in thought.
The coronation festival was approaching — and with it, the tides of change.
The moonlight spilled in through the tall windows of Mirha's chambers, casting a silvery sheen across the silk curtains and soft cushions. The fire had long since dimmed, flickering gently in the hearth, its embers casting quiet shadows against the walls.
Mirha lay on her back atop her bed, the covers barely drawn over her legs. She hadn't bothered changing into her nightdress—just unpinned her hair and kicked off her shoes before sinking into the soft mattress. Yet sleep wouldn't come.
She stared at the canopy above her, her arms folded beneath her head, her thoughts heavy but not burdensome.
It was strange.
After everything—after seeing Hosha again, after being held in his arms—there was... nothing.
No tremor in her chest.
No warmth.
No ache.
Not even the dull pull of nostalgia.
She'd expected something—anything. Some kind of aftershock, a ripple of emotion, at least. But what surprised her most of all wasn't that her heart didn't break. It was that she didn't feel the urge to fix anything. Or question anything. Or long for anything.
She felt nothing.
She turned slightly on her side, adjusting the pillow beneath her cheek.
The echo of his voice still rang faintly in her ears, the way he'd whispered her name. The way his arms had closed around her like they belonged there. But even now, as she remembered it, she could only feel the memory like a stranger watching a play.
Detached. Almost amused.
I don't love him, she thought.
And for the first time in her life, she said it without hesitation.
Without guilt.
Without confusion.
She didn't love him.
Maybe she never had.
A quiet breath escaped her lips as she let the thought settle. She sat up slightly, her eyes shifting toward the windows. The moon sat high and bright. Stillness pressed against the glass like a sleeping world was watching her revelation.
She was nine when she first met him. A quiet child with too many books and not enough attention. Hosha had been fourteen. A whirlwind of charm, sharp edges, and swaggering words. He had seemed so big to her then—so important, like a storybook knight who looked directly at her while others didn't.
She'd clung to his presence like a starved heart clings to warmth.
But children are foolish.
And affection, when poured into an empty vessel, always feels like love.
She sighed and leaned back again, her fingers brushing the silken sheets absently.
She remembered once, when she was ten, he'd stolen a string of wildflowers from the garden to crown her like a queen. She had giggled and blushed and believed it meant forever. But she was ten. And he was just a boy making a child laugh.
It wasn't love.
It was play.
It was pretend.
And somewhere along the line, when he left without a word, she mistook the heartbreak for something deeper. She built a shrine around that ache and called it love because it gave meaning to his silence.
But now... she knew better.
He had been her past. A footnote in her growing years. A whisper in the halls of her memory.
Not a fire.
Not a wound.
Not a beginning.
Just a chapter.
And tonight, as the moon continued its slow watch over the castle, Mirha realized she had closed that chapter a long time ago. She just hadn't noticed until now.
She drew the blanket up to her chest, curling beneath it. Her mind was clear. Her heart was steady. Not free in the dramatic sense—but quietly unburdened.
Tomorrow would bring new festivities. The coronation. The festival. A sea of people and performances and politics.
And somewhere within it, perhaps... something new.
Or someone.
But for now, in the quiet hush of her chambers, Mirha finally fell asleep—not with sorrow, or longing, or regret—but with peace.