"Kanha!"
The warm, delighted voice sliced through her fog like sunlight.
She blinked, lifting her gaze—and her strained smile softened for real, even just for a moment.
Mirha, wide-eyed and beaming, clapped her hands softly. "You're going with us?" Her smile was genuine, her joy untouched by politics. "That's wonderful!"
Gina turned in her seat, equally surprised but far more composed. A pleased smile tugged at her lips. "Yessss, it was going to be boring without your grumpy soul," she teased lightly, her tone warm but edged with curiosity. "You'll make this quite the journey, I'm sure."
Kanha offered them both a smile—gentle, careful, but glowing just enough to hide the scream clawing inside her.
> See? They're happy for you. You belong here…
Then—Kiara.
She didn't smile.
She frowned faintly, her brows knitting as her gaze shifted between Kanha and Misha.
She had heard the laugh.
Seen the flicker in Kanha's expression—the way her eyes had glazed moments after Misha's whisper.
And Kanha's smile now… was too still.
Kiara's fingers tightened around her teacup.
A feeling bloomed in her chest—a bad one. Like something dark and wet seeping under the floorboards. She opened her mouth—
But the Queen Mother arrived.
"My darling girls," Raina sang as she passed, her elegance casting a hush over the entire table. Everyone stood immediately and bowed.
Even Misha, who rarely bowed for anyone but the gods, inclined her head with grace.
Queen Mother Raina gave a little wave and smiled as she disappeared toward the palace veranda, escorted by a pair of guards in silver armor. The presence of the Queen Mother always shifted the air; she made silence noble and chatter feel childish.
When the women sat again, Kiara paused. Her lips parted as though she might still say something—but she closed them.
> Not now. Not here.
The moment passed.
And then—
A familiar voice called from beyond the hedges.
"My love!"
She turned, already smiling.
Tando stood there, dressed in crisp travel robes, his dark braid pulled behind him, his eyes soft and bright.
He walked straight to her, no hesitation, no second glances.
"I've told them to prepare the horses," he said, taking her hand with the most natural kind of reverence. "We'll stop by the market in the capital. I want to buy you everything you like."
Kiara's cheeks colored faintly, her usual poise dimming beneath his affection. The other ladies giggled. Even Gina smiled to herself, familiar with Tando's earnestness.
Kanha's gaze followed them.
Watched their hands.
Watched their eyes meet.
Tando loved Kiara the way stories were told. Openly. Devotedly. Without apology.
Even Rnzo had also loved Gina like that in public—not with that same consuming warmth, but surely one would we know, who he would run to.
And Kaisen?
He barely looked her way, sure he was very kind and warm but why was he not making his decision. But yet again Kanha didn't want to hear the truth. what if it was true. what if he was in love with HER.
As Kiara and Tando turned to leave, arms brushing, heads leaned in quiet conversation, Kanha stared after them. She didn't realize she was holding her breath until the ache filled her chest again.
She smiled.
But the weight was back.
Misha Tiavan sat quietly beside her, pretending not to watch.
But she knew.
Kanha's gaze lingered long after Kiara and Tando disappeared around the bend of the garden trail, his laughter still faint in the air. That laughter—it curled inside her chest like smoke, a slow burn.
What would it feel like to be loved like that?
To be chosen so clearly, without a war to win or pride to prove?
Her thoughts drifted dangerously close to … to Kaisen… to the possibilities that always slipped just beyond her grasp.
Even now—when fate had smiled and she would be going to Lamig—her heart throbbed not with joy but with a bitter ache.
Her lips curved in a frozen smile as her mind wandered.
"Kanha," Gina's voice nudged her sharply.
Kanha blinked. "Hm?"
"You were staring," Gina said, her brow gently raised, but her eyes were alert, measuring. "Are you alright?"
Before Kanha could answer, a light clink of silverware on porcelain announced the crisp, sweet voice of Misha Tiavan.
"I suppose now that Kanha is attending the coronation," Misha began with the practiced ease of a woman used to commanding a room without raising her voice, "you will need appropriate gowns."
Kanha stiffened, nearly choking on her tea. She turned slowly to face Misha.
The older woman was dabbing the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin, her expression as polite and mild as ever—but her eyes glinted with restrained amusement.
Misha continued, folding her napkin with exact precision.
"I've made an appointment with Madam Kamari this afternoon. You may accompany me. After all…" she glanced sideways at Kanha, voice velvet-smooth, "she made your introduction gowns when you first arrived in Taico. You'll want to leave an impression."
Kanha swallowed. Her mouth had gone dry.
Madam Kamari.
The most celebrated seamstress in the region—renowned for her eye, her loyalty to nobility, and her sharp tongue when she didn't like a client.
"I—of course, Lady Tiavan," Kanha replied, her voice a note too high, too fast. "I'd be honored."
"Hmm," Misha hummed pleasantly, sipping her tea. "Good."
> "Don't say I didn't warn you,"
Misha's earlier whisper echoed in Kanha's skull.
"Those leftovers are your fate."
Kanha lowered her gaze. The tea in her cup trembled slightly with the movement of her hands.
Across the table, Mirha and Gina exchanged a glance.
Mirha, ever empathetic, looked concerned. She reached out and gently touched Kanha's arm.
Kanha looked up, startled by the sincerity in her tone.
Then Gina smiled too, tilting her head. "I could use something new for the garden party after the coronation anyway. I heard Madam Kamari just received new silks from the Northern Isles."
Kanha's lips twitched, unsure if she should feel touched or patronized.
> Why were they being nice?
Before the thought could rot too long in her mind, Kiara—who had returned briefly after forgetting her gloves—watched the scene from the side of the garden wall. Her eyes didn't soften like the others. She simply stared at Kanha, suspicion etched in every line of her perfect face.
She said nothing. Not yet.
The hallway that led to the Western Wing glowed with the honeyed light of midmorning, gold spilling from the latticework windows onto the tiled floors in swirls of warmth. The chatter between the girls was light, floating between gown colors and fabric types, but Kanha barely heard any of it.
Her eyes kept drifting to Mirha and Gina—how easily their words carried, how their laughter curled in the air like petals in the wind. They weren't trying to be charming; they simply were. There was no effort in the way men turned to them, spoke kindly, admired them.
And now, they were being kind to her.
> "Is this why the men fall for them?"
"Because their kindness is… effortless?"
The question danced at the back of her throat like a stone she couldn't swallow.
She smiled anyway. A smile too perfect, too fixed.
Just as they turned the corner, the corridor widened—and there he stood.
Lord Kaisen.
Kanha felt the shift first in the air, like the tightening of a string. The three of them paused instinctively, as though the moment called for reverence.
He was broader now. His shoulders looked carved, his chest full beneath the weight of his dark traveling cloak. His beard was well-kept but fuller, lining his sharp jaw, and his long hair was tied back in a low ponytail, a single wisp falling over his brow.
There was a wildness to him now—a grown fire, not a flickering flame.
His steps slowed when his eyes landed on them. At first, on Kanha.
He smiled.
A real, warm, charming smile.
Her breath caught.
But just as she felt the fire bloom in her chest—
His eyes drifted.
Past her.
To Mirha.
And in that heartbeat—Kanha saw it.
His smile faded, but his eyes softened. Not cold. Not dismissive.
Adoring.
Kanha could've screamed.
Instead, she turned to Mirha, who hadn't yet noticed.
The morning sun caught Mirha's cheek as she looked up at him, oblivious to the storm that Kanha was choking on. Her smile—bright, shy, and blooming—made Kanha's lungs squeeze. Even Gina beside her had the same gentle expression as she watched the quiet exchange unfold.
But Kanha…
She couldn't breathe.
> Something inside her cracked.
Her heart began to race, the inside of her chest folding in on itself. Her vision started to narrow as if the hall had grown thinner, the ceiling pressing down, the sunlight too sharp.
Misha's voice.
> "Don't say I didn't warn you… leftovers are your fate…"
It echoed like footsteps in an empty chamber.
Her hands trembled. Her skin felt tight.
Mirha turned her head just then, her senses sharper than anyone's. The moment she saw Kanha, her smile faltered.
"Kanha?"
And just like that—Mirha forgot Kaisen. She reached out instinctively, stepping between her and the collapse she was hurtling toward.
Kaisen stopped too, brows furrowing.
"Kanha," he said, voice low, concerned.
But Kanha couldn't hear them. Her lungs stuttered. Her legs grew weak. The pounding in her head drowned out everything—except Misha's laughter, the way she looked at her over the teacup, the venom behind her poised voice.
Gina turned sharply, finally noticing what was happening. Her body tensed as her gaze zeroed in on Kanha's paling face, the unsteady breath, the vacant stare.
And then, like a curtain lifted—
It hit her.
> "This isn't just jealousy," Gina thought.
"She's been… unraveling."
Gina remembered how Kanha had been staring off more often, talking less.
How her sarcasm had dulled. Her self-importance wilted.
Her once proud walk, now quieter, hesitant. Her eyes… guarded.
She hadn't mocked anyone in weeks. Not even Mirha.
> "This isn't Kanha."
Gina's blood ran cold.
Her mouth parted, but no words came.
She wanted to ask—had Misha done something?
She wanted to scream it.
But she stayed frozen, because deep inside…
She already knew.
MISHA had broken her. Quietly. Intimately.
Kanha's chest rose and fell unevenly. Her hands clutched her skirts so tightly the fabric wrinkled under her nails.
Still, she said nothing.
No complaint. No cry.
Only the sheer terror behind her eyes gave it away—a silent, desperate plea for escape.
And though Gina didn't speak it, her face said it all.
> She knew.
Gina had said little since.
Her voice, when she requested water and space for Kanha, had been flat. Not cold, not dismissive—just empty. And that emptiness rattled even Mirha, who had never seen her like that.
When Kanha, finally recovering her breath, gave a soft "Thank you", Gina didn't smile. She only nodded, expression unreadable.
Kaisen, standing silently nearby, noticed it too.
"Take her to her chambers," he instructed one of his guards with a protective tone. "She needs rest."
Kanha opened her mouth, maybe to protest. Maybe to pretend she was fine.
But Mirha spoke gently, resting her hand on Kanha's arm, "Let us take care of the dresses. We'll make sure yours is the most beautiful."
Only then did Kanha give in, bowing her head slightly as the guard led her away.
Kaisen turned back toward the two remaining girls.
"I can escort you back," he offered, polite but clearly still concerned.
Before Mirha could answer, Gina stepped forward.
Her tone was curt. "No need, Lord Kaisen."
He blinked.
Surprised.
A slight pause hung between them—awkward, uncertain—but he only nodded, stepping back without argument. "As you wish."
He turned and disappeared into the corridor, leaving the scent of his sandalwood cologne in his wake.
Mirha gave Gina a curious glance but said nothing.
The silence followed them as they made their way back from Madam Kamari's, their parcels carried by two quiet servants. They walked side by side, heels tapping softly against the stone path.
Then—
He appeared.
Lord Rnzo.
Broad-shouldered in a fitted navy coat, polished boots, and that quiet intensity he always carried with him like a shadow. He was coming from the opposite side of the hall.
His steps slowed for a moment when he spotted them.
His eyes met Gina's.
Just for a heartbeat.
Then—
He walked past.
No nod. No greeting. No smile.
Just… silence.
Gina's heart didn't skip a beat.
It dropped.
> He knows.
> He remembers.
> And he hasn't forgiven me.
Mirha noticed the way her friend's hand clenched tightly around her parcel, the way her shoulders stiffened just slightly.
The air grew thick.
To loosen it, Mirha turned her head slightly, her voice soft but thoughtful. "Gina…"
"Hm?" came the reply, distant.
"If someone was in love with another… do you think you could tell?"
Gina blinked, her chest still tight from Rnzo's indifference.
She looked at Mirha, whose expression was gentle but curious—maybe even unsure.
"Love?" Gina asked quietly, her voice no longer apathetic but… careful.
Mirha nodded, keeping her gaze forward. "Not the kind that's loud. But the kind that hides in the quiet. The glances. The… stillness between words."
Gina was silent for a moment.
Then her voice came, quiet but certain. "Yes."
She looked ahead, expression unreadable again. "I think… when you've seen what isn't love often enough, the real thing becomes easier to recognize."
Mirha turned to her, curious. "Even if they don't say it?"
Gina gave a small, almost broken smile.
"They don't have to. Their silence says enough."
Mirha didn't press further.
But the silence between them this time… wasn't heavy.
It was shared.
Like two hearts walking beside each other, each nursing their own unspoken ache.