Kanha clung to Kaisen, her tears soaking into his chest, her body trembling with the weight of everything that had just passed. Her voice cracked as she whispered, "Yes…"
Kaisen held her tighter, his own chest heaving, tears sliding down his face as he whispered back, his voice thick with emotion, "Thank you…"
After a moment, he gently pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. His grip loosened slightly, but his hands lingered on hers. "Let me go tell Arvin," he said softly, "so we can make it official through him… before any rumors start."
Kanha nodded, her own tears glistening, a small, exhilarated smile breaking through. Kaisen bent down and pressed a tender kiss to her knuckles, his fingers lingering on hers for a heartbeat longer before he turned and exited the room.
Once the door closed behind him, Kanha let herself collapse back onto the bed, giggling softly, a sound full of relief, triumph, and barely contained excitement. Her heart raced, and for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe—everything she had done, every risk she had taken, it had all been worth it.
She lay there, still trembling, still laughing quietly to herself, certain that the future she had schemed for was finally within her grasp.
Back in the imperial study, the atmosphere was a mix of excitement and curiosity. Imperial General Kain sat with his fiancée, Goya, and her brother, King Kalan of Lamig. They were casually discussing the arrangements for Kain and Goya's upcoming marriage.
"Since Kalan is here," Kain said, "I think it's the perfect time to make it official."
Arvin, seated across from them, nodded and smiled. "Very well. We can set a date and begin preparations."
Goya tilted her head, her brows knitting slightly. "Wait," she said, her voice calm but firm. "I don't want a grand wedding. Not this time."
Everyone blinked in surprise. Kain raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
Goya leaned back, her gaze thoughtful. "All my life there have been grand ceremonies, elaborate displays, endless pomp and pageantry. But for this… something I truly want to keep personal… I want it simple. I want it just written officially, and perhaps a banquet for the people to celebrate. Nothing more."
Arvin's lips curved into a quiet smile. "I agree completely. A simple, sincere ceremony is refreshing."
Kain nodded slowly, processing her words, while King Kalan's expression softened in approval. "I see your point. It is… practical, and it makes it all the more meaningful."
Just then, the door opened, and Kaisen stepped in. His posture was slightly slumped, his shoulders heavy, his face drained from exhaustion, but there was a glimmer of relief in his eyes. "She has agreed," he said quietly.
Arvin merely nodded, acknowledging the news, while Goya's eyes went wide, her curiosity instantly sparking. "Oh my lord, Kaisen! You're getting married?" she exclaimed, her voice full of astonishment. "Who is the lucky girl? Why all this secrecy?"
Kaisen drew in a breath, steadied himself, and then proceeded to explain everything—the incident, Kanha's fragile state, his guilt, and his desire to atone by making their union official. He spoke with measured urgency, as though every word carried the weight of his conscience.
Goya listened intently, her eyes narrowing as she absorbed every detail. When he finished, she sat back, her face twisting with anger and disbelief. "Bullshit," she spat, her voice low but sharp, dripping with indignation.
Kaisen blinked, stunned, unsure if he had heard her correctly. Even Kain and Arvin exchanged glances, confused by her sudden outburst. "Excuse me?" Kaisen asked cautiously, the tension in the room thickening.
Goya's voice hardened, her glare unwavering. "You expect me to believe that all of this… all that was coincidence what were the gaurds statements, the maids that were supposed to follow Lady kanha, where were they?? Who drugged you and her."
The room fell silent, the weight of Goya's accusation hanging heavily. Kaisen's shoulders tensed as he struggled to find words, knowing that explaining further could either clear his name or make everything worse.
Goya exhaled sharply, pressing her fingers to her temple before looking back at Kaisen. "Forgive me," she said, her tone strained but controlled, "but I cannot sit here and pretend this makes sense. I cannot stand lies—especially ones wrapped so neatly in guilt and honor."
Kaisen frowned, genuinely lost. "Lies?" he echoed. "My lady, I don't understand—"
Goya stood. "That is exactly the problem." Her eyes hardened. "You are far too quick to believe a story so perfectly arranged. A drunk man, a frightened woman, blood, tears, silence—do you truly think fate aligns itself so conveniently?"
Kaisen's confusion deepened, his brows knitting together. "Are you saying—"
"Yes," Goya cut in, her voice firm now. "I am saying this is a setup. And not even a clever one." She shook her head. "These tricks are common in Lamig. I have seen them played out more times than I care to remember. Fear is staged. Shock is exaggerated. And shame—shame is the sharpest blade of all."
Her gaze sharpened further. "And Kanha—"
"Enough!"
Kaisen's voice thundered through the study, cutting her off mid-word. The room froze. Even Arvin straightened in his seat.
Kaisen's chest rose and fell as he turned to face Kain, his voice lower but trembling with restrained emotion. "Please," he said, "I have heard enough." Then, more firmly, "That is my wife you are speaking of."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Kaisen clenched his fists. He did not want to think this way. He could not. Not after what he had seen with his own eyes—the way Kanha trembled, the way she cried, the terror etched into her face when she woke. The pain in her voice had been real. Her fear had been real. If he had not witnessed it himself, perhaps—perhaps—he might have doubted. But now? Doubt felt like betrayal.
Goya stared at him for a long moment, something between frustration and sadness flickering across her face. Slowly, she bowed her head—not as a noble, but as a woman who cared.
"From a friend to a friend," she said quietly, "I only wish you were not so blinded by your own goodness." Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Still, I wish you well… truly."
With that, she turned and walked out of the study, her steps echoing down the corridor, leaving behind a room thick with unease—and a truth no one was yet ready to face.