When Mirha stepped back into the ballroom, the air felt entirely different. The hall glowed brighter, laughter echoed off the marble walls, and the orchestra's lively rhythm filled every corner with warmth. Even Queen Mother Raina was on the dance floor, laughing softly as Emperor Arvin twirled her with gentle care.
The sight alone melted away the tightness in Mirha's chest — the nerves, the racing heart, the confusion she'd carried from the quiet chamber. For a brief moment, it all dissolved in the golden glow of the celebration.
Then Heman appeared beside her, extending his hand with his usual calm composure. "My lady," he said simply.
Mirha smiled faintly, letting him guide her into the dance. His hold was steady but unassuming, his movements smooth and practiced. As they began to sway in rhythm with the music, Heman leaned slightly closer, his voice low and matter-of-fact.
"Lord Kaisen is drunk," he said. His tone was flat, expression unreadable, offering no judgment, no explanation.
Mirha exhaled softly through her nose — a sigh, faintly amused. There was no anger, no defense, just quiet acceptance. She gave no verbal reply, only a small, resigned smile as her gaze drifted toward the shimmering lights above.
She moved with Heman, letting him lead her across the floor. The music swelled, and though her heart was still unsettled, her steps grew lighter with each turn. For now, she chose not to think — not about Kaisen's words, not about what he meant, only about the simple rhythm of the dance.
Queen Mother Raina's laughter rang above the music as she moved gracefully with her son, Emperor Arvin. Her sharp eyes, though softened by joy, still noticed everything — and when they landed on Mirha dancing with Heman, a devious spark lit within her.
Without missing a step, she called out lightly, "Sir Heman!"
Heman glanced their way mid-dance. The Queen Mother smiled knowingly, her meaning clear without words. With a smooth pivot, he spun Mirha once and, as though guided by the music itself, passed her seamlessly into Arvin's waiting arms — taking the Queen Mother in exchange.
The hall erupted in laughter at the playful exchange, though no one seemed to notice who had fallen into whose embrace.
Mirha gasped softly as she collided with Arvin's chest, her hands instinctively resting against his embroidered robes. Arvin caught her easily, his touch firm yet gentle. Their eyes met — hers wide with surprise, his softened by amusement.
Her heart fluttered wildly, betraying her composure. The corners of Arvin's lips curved just slightly, enough to melt the tension between them. Something in that smile steadied her, and she found the courage to return it.
The music carried them effortlessly. One turn led to another, and soon Mirha was swept from partner to partner — from King Kalan, who laughed heartily, to Duke Rnzo, whose movements were refined and poised, and then to Lord Tando, who spun her once before letting her go with a grin.
By the time the song ended, Mirha's breaths came short, her face flushed with warmth and motion. She slipped quietly off the dance floor, finding Gina seated near the edge, fanning herself.
"Exhausted already?" Gina teased.
Mirha chuckled, sinking beside her. "I think I've danced with half the court tonight."
They shared a quiet laugh before Kanha approached, her fan flicking open as she joined them, her eyes glimmering with intrigue.
The night had stretched long past midnight, yet the ballroom still pulsed with laughter and music. Chandeliers shimmered like captured stars, their golden light glinting off every jewel and goblet. The air carried the scent of wine, roses, and candle wax — thick with celebration.
Mirha, Gina, and Kanha sat together at the edge of the room, their fans fluttering lazily. The crowd before them was still spinning — nobles, royals, and guests all drunk on joy and wine alike.
"I can't believe it's already past midnight," Gina sighed, stretching her arms and letting her head fall back against the cushioned seat. "And they're still dancing as if the sun isn't coming."
Kanha smirked, crossing her legs elegantly. "Of course they are. This is the first grand ball since the Emperor's return — half of them are dancing to be remembered."
Mirha smiled faintly at that, her gaze wandering to the floor where Queen Mother Raina was still laughing heartily with King Kalan, and where Arvin stood speaking to a cluster of foreign dignitaries.
"It doesn't feel real," she murmured softly. "Everyone looks so happy… as if nothing in the world could ever go wrong tonight."
Kanha turned to her, eyes narrowing with curiosity. "You sound like you're already expecting something to."
Mirha shook her head quickly, embarrassed by her own words. "No, I just mean… it's rare to see the court so alive."
Gina chuckled, fanning herself faster. "Alive and loud, you mean. I can't feel my legs anymore."
The three laughed quietly together, their giggles nearly drowned by the orchestra's swell. Around them, servants refilled goblets, couples twirled until they nearly stumbled, and beyond the windows, the moon sat high — serene, watching.
For a moment, time itself seemed to pause there — in the warm glow, among friends, between duty and desire.
Their laughter lingered as the music softened into a slower, wistful tune. A few couples still danced beneath the chandeliers, but most of the guests had drifted toward the banquet tables, some already nodding off in their seats.
Mirha rested her head on her hand, eyelids heavy. Gina had stopped fanning herself and was now picking at the petals of a rose from the centerpiece, while Kanha stifled a yawn behind her jeweled fingers.
"I'm starting to think the orchestra will collapse before the guests do," Gina muttered.
Kanha chuckled. "I'll join them if they play another song. My feet are begging for mercy."
Mirha smiled faintly, but her voice was too tired to match it. "If I ever agree to dance this much again… please remind me I swore never to."
Just then, a familiar voice interrupted their quiet corner. "My ladies," came Taji, one of the Duke's guards, bowing respectfully. "The carriages are ready."
The three exchanged looks of pure relief.
"Finally," Gina breathed, already gathering her skirts. "If I stayed a moment longer, I'd have turned into one of those marble statues."
Mirha laughed softly as she rose, brushing invisible creases from her gown. The night's warmth clung to her skin, her hair loosened by the hours of dancing. "Never again," she whispered under her breath with a weary smile.
Kanha smirked as they began to walk. "Until the next royal feast, you mean."
Mirha sighed, following the others toward the grand doors where the music faded behind them. "Heaven help me if that's true."
And just like that, the grand night of laughter, music, and stolen glances melted into quiet footsteps down the palace hall — the echo of the ball trailing softly into memory.
The night air was cool and fragrant with the scent of roses and spilled wine as the nobles began to leave the palace. Servants hurried about, calling names and guiding the guests to their carriages.
Laughter rippled from a small group of ladies gathered near the steps, their fans fluttering like butterfly wings. They whispered and giggled, faces tinged pink with mischief.
Kanha, Gina, and Mirha slowed their steps, exchanging curious glances before looking toward the source of all that fluster.
Standing near the carriages was Lord Kaisen, his posture straight and composed, his expression unreadable beneath the torchlight.
Kanha's heart clenched — then began to race, not with excitement, but with fury barely restrained behind a practiced smile.
Mirha, ever calm, stepped forward and bowed slightly. "My lord, is anything the matter?"
Kaisen's gaze flicked briefly to her, and he shook his head. "No, my lady. Duke Rnzo instructed me to accompany you and Lady Suni. He said your carriage is the only one without a man."
Just then, Duke Rnzo appeared from behind him, his usual easy confidence lighting his face. "I hope you don't mind, Lady Mirha," he said smoothly, extending a hand toward Gina, helping her up into their carriage.
Mirha shook her head politely. "Not at all, my lord."
"Very well," Rnzo said with a faint smile before turning to attend his fiancée.
Kanha stood stiffly, her hands tightening around her fan, jealousy simmering under her polite expression. She wanted to tell herself it was just precaution — nothing more — yet her heart refused to calm.
Then Mirha turned to her and spoke softly, "Suni, please go and ride with the Queen Mother — in Lady Kanha's place."
Kanha blinked, startled. "Mirha—?"
Mirha smiled gently. "Kanha, please ride with me and Lord Kaisen."
For a moment, Kanha could only stare at her, completely caught off guard. Then relief flooded her expression. She gave Mirha's cheek a playful pinch and said teasingly, "You shy little cat," before stepping gracefully into the carriage.
Mirha followed, her composure serene — though her heart still trembled faintly from the earlier encounter in Kaisen's chambers.
As the carriage door shut behind them, Kanha smoothed her gown, thinking smugly that she had just prevented a scandal from blossoming before it could begin — entirely unaware that Kaisen had already asked for Mirha's hand that very night.
The carriage rolled through the dimly lit streets of Lamig, the rhythmic clatter of hooves filling the silence between them. Kanha sat across from Mirha, who had leaned her head against the window, eyes closed — or so it seemed.
Outside, lanterns flickered past in golden streaks. Inside, not a single word was exchanged. Kanha glanced at Mirha once or twice, but the younger woman's stillness gave no room for conversation.
Kaisen's gaze occasionally lifted from the floor to her face, his expression unreadable in the soft shadows. He seemed lost in thought — though every so often, his eyes lingered on Mirha just a moment too long.
Kanha sighed quietly, thinking the silence a blessing. Perhaps it's better this way, she told herself. A long ride, no talk, no trouble.
After what felt like hours, the carriage finally slowed before the familiar gates of the Eastern Palace, their Èvana residence in Lamig. The guards bowed deeply as the door opened.
Kaisen stepped out first, offering his hand to Kanha. She smiled politely and took it, murmuring her thanks before stepping aside.
Then, turning back, he extended his hand toward Mirha. She hesitated only a second before placing her own in his. As she stepped down, the faint torchlight caught the soft curve of her face — and just as she steadied herself, Kaisen's fingers brushed gently against her hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear.
Their eyes met — for a heartbeat too long.
The air between them stilled, heavy with something unspoken.
Then Mirha quickly lowered her gaze, bowed gracefully, and turned toward the palace doors. Her steps were quiet, measured — but her heart was anything but.
Kanha, who had witnessed the subtle gesture, narrowed her eyes slightly. The scene pricked at her curiosity, yet she brushed it off with a small shake of her head.
It was a long ride in silence, she reasoned. Surely, there's nothing more to it.
But as the night wind swept through the courtyard, it carried with it a tension neither of them could name — and one Mirha would try very hard to forget.
The Duke's carriage rolled to a gentle stop outside the western wing of the palace, the lanterns casting a honeyed glow through the windows. Inside, Gina had long since fallen asleep.
Her head rested lightly against the velvet cushion, her hair — once pinned in perfect curls — had loosened during the long ride, strands brushing across her cheek. Her lips were parted just slightly, her breathing soft and even.
Rnzo sat across from her, silent. The light flickered against his face, revealing the faintest trace of a smile. The world outside was hushed — no courtly noise, no laughter, no titles — just the quiet hum of the night and her steady breathing.
When the carriage stopped completely, the driver called softly, "Your Grace, we have arrived."
Rnzo didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on her a moment longer — admiration tempered by something deeper, quieter, almost reverent.
He finally stood, stepping forward and gently sliding one arm beneath her shoulders, the other beneath her knees. She stirred slightly but did not wake. Her head fell against his chest, and he could feel the faint warmth of her breath through the fabric of his coat.
As he carried her through the marble halls, the guards and maids bowed silently, pretending not to notice. Rnzo's steps were slow, deliberate — not from caution, but from the strange reluctance to let the moment end.
At the door to his chambers, he paused. The moonlight spilled through the open archway, washing over her face like silver. He brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek, his expression softening.
"You're always so composed," he murmured under his breath. "It's almost unfair to see you like this — unguarded."
Then, quietly, he laid her on the couch near the hearth instead of the bed, draping a warm cloak over her shoulders.
He stood for a long moment, watching the firelight dance across her face before finally turning away. His voice was barely above a whisper as he said, "Sleep well, my lady."
And as he closed the door behind him, the faintest smile still lingered on his lips.
The courtyard of the Eastern Palace was hushed now, the echoes of laughter and music from the royal celebration fading behind them. Only the soft rustle of gowns and the distant call of night birds filled the air.
Goya winced slightly as she stepped down from the carriage, her hand clutching the side for balance. "I think I've danced enough to last a lifetime," she muttered under her breath, her voice half a groan, half a laugh.
Kain, who had been walking beside her, noticed her discomfort immediately. He slowed his steps to match hers, his usually stern expression softening. "You should have stopped earlier," he said quietly, though the concern in his tone made the words sound less like scolding and more like care.
"I couldn't," Goya replied, smiling faintly. "The King commanded us to dance until sunrise, remember?"
Kain's lips twitched into a reluctant grin. "You and your loyalty to the crown."
Before Goya could reply, a movement caught their eyes. At the far end of the courtyard, bathed in silver moonlight, Duke Rnzo was walking steadily through the archway — carrying Lady Gina in his arms. Her hair was undone, her head resting against his chest, completely asleep.
Goya and Kain both stopped. For a moment, neither spoke. The intimacy of the scene — quiet, tender, unspoken — seemed to still the air around them.
Goya blinked, then looked away quickly. "Oh… well, that's—unexpected," she murmured.
Kain didn't reply. Something in his chest stirred — a strange mix of admiration and awareness. Without a word, he turned to Goya, who was shifting her weight painfully on her sore feet.
Before she could protest, he bent slightly, one arm sweeping under her knees, the other around her back, and lifted her effortlessly into his arms.
"Kain!" she gasped, caught off guard, her hands instinctively flying to his shoulders.
He glanced down at her with a faint smile. "You're limping. I'd rather carry you than hear you complain all the way to your chambers."
Goya's cheeks warmed. "I wasn't complaining," she said softly, but she didn't pull away.
The walk through the halls was silent except for the soft echo of his boots and the rhythmic sound of her breath against his chest. When they reached her chambers, he set her down carefully by the door.
Before she could thank him, he leaned forward — not close enough to startle her, but enough that his voice was a quiet murmur. "Goodnight, Goya."
Then, almost as if it were nothing, he pressed a brief kiss to her cheek — a touch so fleeting it could have been imagined — and turned to leave.
Goya stood frozen for a heartbeat, her heart skipping, her fingers grazing the spot where his lips had brushed her skin.
By the time she gathered her thoughts, Kain was already gone down the corridor, his steps fading into the soft silence of the palace night.
The imperial carriage rolled to a gentle stop outside the Eastern Palace. The moon hung low and bright above the marble roofs, and the night air was thick with the quiet hum of crickets.
Inside the carriage, Emperor Arvin sat unusually silent — but with a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It hadn't left his face since they'd departed the palace. His usually composed, commanding air had softened, replaced by something that almost resembled contentment.
Across from him sat Heman, his ever-watchful attendant, who couldn't help but glance at his Emperor now and then. The sight of Arvin smiling to himself in silence was… unsettling.
Heman folded his arms and leaned back, exhaling softly. I don't even want to know, he thought. Not tonight.
The silence stretched — broken only by the rhythmic sound of hooves and wheels against the cobblestone.
Then, Arvin finally spoke, his tone light, almost casual.
"Heman… where did you get those herbs you gave me earlier? They worked well. Tell Ruso to get more of them — I felt much better than last night."
Heman raised an eyebrow, a slow smirk forming as he looked at him. "Those herbs," he said dryly, "are from the reason you've been smiling all night."
Arvin blinked, caught off guard. "The reason I—"
But before he could finish, Heman had already opened the carriage door, stepping down with a low bow. "Goodnight, Your Majesty," he said, his tone calm but his eyes gleaming with amusement.
The door closed behind him with a soft thud.
Arvin sat there for a moment, frowning slightly, then slowly pieced the words together. When the realisation hit, he chuckled — a quiet, genuine laugh that escaped before he could stop it.
Leaning back, he muttered under his breath, " Mirha..."
Then, still smiling, he stepped out of the carriage. The guards bowed deeply as he passed, but he only waved them off with an easy grin.
"Goodnight," he said simply, disappearing into the palace — his laughter echoing softly behind him.