Morning came late after a night that refused to loosen its hold on them.
Mirha woke slowly, her body heavy, muscles aching in a way that made her sigh the moment she sat up. She slipped from the bed and made her way into the bathing chamber, where the warm stream flowed endlessly like a living thing. Without hesitation, she stepped in and submerged herself completely—hair, face, everything—holding her breath beneath the surface as if the water might rinse the night from her bones.
She stayed there longer than usual.
Then she heard it.
"Your Majesty?"
Mirha broke the surface at once, water cascading down her face as she stared straight ahead. Yuma stood at the edge of the chamber, blinking in mild surprise at being met with such an intense gaze.
Mirha's brows furrowed. Her lips pouted, just slightly.
Yuma tilted her head, confused. "Your Majesty… you don't look very well. Are you unwell?"
Mirha exhaled and leaned back against the stone edge. "It's hard," she said plainly. "Being a concubine."
Understanding dawned almost immediately on Yuma's face. She said nothing at first, only reached for a cloth and gently dabbed the water from Mirha's cheeks, her movements careful and respectful.
"Yes," Yuma murmured. "I can imagine."
Then, switching into Madish, she added softly, almost conspiratorially, "You can always pretend to be sick."
Mirha looked up at her, startled, then shook her head quickly. "No—no, I don't hate it," she said, rushing her words. "It's just… it's good and bad at the same time."
She hugged her arms around herself, sinking a little deeper into the warmth of the water.
"It's too good," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "I don't want it to end. But when it does…" she winced, dragging out the last word, "my body hurts so much."
Yuma stared at Mirha for a moment, clearly trying to make sense of her words. She didn't quite understand what could possibly be good about bruising or a body left aching, and the confusion showed plainly in her eyes.
Still, she offered a small, nervous smile—one born more from politeness than comprehension.
"I… see," Yuma said slowly, nodding as though that might help her understand it better. "If Your Majesty says so."
She dabbed Mirha's shoulder once more with the cloth, careful and gentle, then added softly, "I suppose some things are only understood when one lives them."
Mirha let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh, sinking deeper into the warm water as steam curled around them both.
And Yuma, though still puzzled, decided it was not her place to question further—only to stay, to listen, and to learn in time.
Mirha froze for half a heartbeat, then let out a nervous little laugh, lifting a hand to her mouth.
"I— I think I spoke too freely," she said quickly. "You're too pure, Yuma. Forget everything I just said."
Yuma only smiled, calm and unbothered, her expression open. "I'm not," she replied gently.
Mirha blinked. "Eeh?"
Realizing the misunderstanding, Yuma waved her hands in mild panic. "No, no—no, no, no. I mean… I have knowledge, not experience."
There was a brief pause.
Then Mirha laughed again, softer this time, a mix of embarrassment and relief. "Oh."
Yuma laughed with her, light and airy, the moment dissolving into something easy and harmless. The steam curled around them, carrying the sound of their laughter away, and for a little while, Mirha felt less weighed down—just a woman teasing and being teased, nothing more, nothing less.