Mirha turned to the maids, her voice calm yet firm.
"Don't speak of this to anyone," she said, her gaze steady as the three exchanged nervous looks.
Those of Suni stood stunned for a moment, unsure if they should press for more—but the quiet authority in Mirha's tone left no room for questions. They nodded obediently and quietly withdrew, leaving her chambers cloaked in a peaceful stillness.
When the door shut, Mirha exhaled softly and walked toward the window. The night outside was still—the moon casting a pale, silvery glow across the courtyard. The bouquet of roses sat on the table beside her, their fragrance faint but sweet, wrapping the room in something tender and unfamiliar.
She sat by the window, chin resting lightly against her hand, her eyes lost in the distant shimmer of the stars. Her mind replayed the last time she had seen him—his calm composure, the way his eyes lingered, and how she had doubted his sincerity.
Turning back toward the roses, a faint smile tugged at her lips.
With a soft, almost whispered voice, she said,
"He was not drunk… Sir Heman."
The night breeze slipped through the open window, carrying her words into the quiet.
Morning dawned soft and golden, spilling its light across the palace courtyards. The air was filled with quiet anticipation, the kind that hums before a great journey. Outside, the royal carriages stood lined in perfect formation—polished, gleaming, and draped in the banners of Taico and Lamig intertwined.
Servants hurried about with last-minute preparations, securing trunks, fastening bridles, and ensuring no detail was left undone. The palace steps, once bustling with laughter and music over the past weeks, now carried a solemn beauty—filled with the sound of rustling gowns and the soft farewells of courtiers and attendants.
King Kalan himself stood before the departing company, dressed in formal royal attire, his composure dignified but warm. His gaze swept across the group—the princes of Taico, the Queen Mother, the ladies, and Princess Goya—his expression holding both pride and melancholy.
"You have graced my halls with your presence," Kalan said with a smile, his voice carrying over the courtyard. "May your journey be safe, and may Taico shine ever brighter upon your return."
Queen Mother Raina stepped forward and bowed gracefully. "You have been most gracious, Your Majesty. We are deeply in your debt."
Princess Goya, standing beside Kain, looked up at her brother with a tender expression. "We'll see each other soon, brother." she said softly, her eyes glistening though she smiled. Kalan reached forward and placed a gentle hand upon her head.
"I'll hold you to that," he replied with quiet fondness.
The moment was tender—each farewell a little ache in the heart. The air smelled faintly of rose and morning dew.
As the royal family and their entourage began to board their carriages, Mirha glanced back at the Lamig palace one last time. The sunlight caught upon its marble towers, and for a moment she felt the faintest tug of longing—a whisper of memories she could not yet name. Then she turned, gathering her composure, and stepped into the carriage beside the other ladies.
The coachman gave a firm command, and soon the carriages rolled forward, wheels crunching softly over the white-stoned courtyard. King Kalan and his men watched as they departed, the banners fluttering like gentle waves in farewell.
The royal convoy slowed to a gentle halt beneath a wide stretch of trees. The air was cooler here, the leaves whispering softly as the guards dismounted to tend the horses. Servants hurried to lay down carpets and trays of fruits and tea for the royal family.
Mirha stepped down from her carriage, smoothing the folds of her gown. The journey had been long, but her spirit felt strangely calm. In her hair — pinned just above her ear — was a single rose. Its petals had begun to wilt from the night before, yet it held a faded beauty that made it all the more tender.
Kaisen, who had been riding ahead, turned as she passed. For a brief second, the quiet fatigue on his face vanished. His eyes softened — that dying rose had revived something within him.
He didn't speak. He didn't dare.
But his gaze lingered, tracing the gentle movement of her hair as the breeze brushed through it.
Heman, standing a few steps behind his lord, noticed everything. He saw Kaisen's eyes — saw the small, unguarded smile that flickered across them. Then his gaze followed, landing on Mirha. The rose. The meaning.
He said nothing. Only adjusted his cloak and made a quiet note in his mind — something told him that this little gesture would mean more than anyone could imagine.
As the servants prepared the carriages to continue their journey, the royal family rested beneath a cluster of tall trees. Sunlight slipped through the leaves, scattering soft gold across the path.
Kain and Goya sat together on a small bench laid with cushions, the murmur of attendants drifting in the distance.
"Will we be living in the Imperial Castle when we arrive?" Goya asked, her eyes following a bird darting between branches.
Kain smiled faintly. "No. We'll stay at Kilimah Estate — it's halfway between the Imperial Castle and Magili."
Goya tilted her head. "Kilimah Estate? I've never heard of it."
"It was our father's retreat," Kain explained, his voice lowering with quiet reverence. "He spent his last days there. Said it was the only place he could hear his own thoughts in peace and silence."
Then, after a small pause, his lips curved with a teasing smirk. "Though I fear it's not as silent anymore — the Imperial General has taken residence there."
Goya laughed softly, turning toward him. "That's all right," she replied with a spark in her eyes. "I don't mind a little noise. I'm loud too."
The air between them shifted. For a fleeting second, their laughter caught in their throats — her words hung there, playful yet unintentionally bold.
Kain glanced away with a grin, clearing his throat. "Then perhaps the estate will finally be lively again."
Goya smiled, pretending to look elsewhere, though her heart was beating a little too fast for comfort.
The royal convoy slowly made its way into Taico, the streets lined with citizens and nobles alike. Colorful banners swayed in the breeze, catching the sunlight and reflecting the wealth and pride of the kingdom. Flowers were scattered along the path, their fragrance mingling with the crisp morning air, welcoming the returning guests.
The carriages came to a halt before the grand gates of the Taico Palace. Servants and guards hurried to open the doors, and the ladies stepped out, their gowns fluttering lightly with each movement. Their eyes widened at the familiar splendor of the palace, every detail polished and radiant, yet somehow comforting in its familiarity.
Inside, they were greeted by a figure that brought both warmth and awe to the group: Lady Misha Tiavan, poised and elegant as ever. Her gaze swept over the ladies with recognition, her smile soft but knowing.
Beside her, Empress Nailah sat with quiet authority, her presence commanding yet graceful. The air seemed to thrum with tension, history, and unspoken expectations, as if the palace itself was holding its breath.
As the ladies stepped fully into the grand hall, Empress Nailah's gaze softened, and she spoke with a composed warmth, "Welcome back, my ladies."
Lady Misha Tiavan, standing beside her, allowed a small, pleased smile to curl her lips. "The bride is here at last," she said, her tone both elegant and knowing.
The words hung in the air, carrying weight, expectation, and a hint of mischief. Every lady in the room felt it — a moment suspended between past and future, where old alliances and new beginnings quietly collided.