“Good morning, Gin. What a pleasant surprise, I wasn’t expecting to find you here,” Zeya greeted in a cheerful tone, carefully masking the suspicions simmering beneath the surface.

  Why had his sister been summoned to Court Assembly? Was their father worried he wouldn’t show up? Or was his presence simply not enough?

  Zeya paused at the top of the marble staircase, which fred wide at the summit like an open mouth, leading to a broad ptform where the distant hills stretched into view. Amid the soft murmur of her attendants, Princess Ginnah stood distant and radiant as the first star at dusk. Her gown, a serene shade of pale blue, draped elegantly to ftter her form, with a long, decorative train trailed behind her like a winding river.

  In both appearance and temperament, she resembled their father: serious, sensible, and, in Zeya’s opinion, not much fun to be around. However, she cked their father’s mastery in concealing sentiment; her disapproval surfaced quickly when confronted with those who cked refinement or decorum. Her intolerance and ck of diplomacy cshed starkly with Zeya’s own values, leaving a distance between them that had never been bridged.

  “Good morning, dearest brother. What a delight to see you gracing us with your presence.”

  For a brief moment, Princess Ginnah’s eyes narrowed before she offered a sly smile.

  “Mother let slip that you vanished early st night and quite scandalously skipped the festivities. Whatever were you up to? Is your schedule really that full or did you simply forget the supper was in honour of the spirits?”

  Before Zeya could respond, their father appeared with his entourage. At once, the attendants, dies-in-waiting, and Khin Yu stepped aside, parting like curtains to create a clear path for the King. As he approached the siblings, all present bowed low in reverence as he passed.

  “Indeed, you were missed at supper, Zeya,” King Arkar said, his voice firm yet measured, having clearly caught the tail of Princess Ginnah’s remark.

  Zeya lowered his gaze to his feet, guilt slowly emerging, drawn towards the light of his conscience. The King wasted no time on idle chit-chat. Instead, he immediately turned to his daughter.

  “I shall expect to see you at the midday meal, Ginnah,” he said, dismissing her.

  Then, with a slight tilt of his head and a beckoning nod, he said simply, “Zeya, come.”

  Zeya shot his sister a grin, smug and unapologetic. For once, the spotlight was not hers. Their father had chosen him over her, and that felt like a small victory. He crossed the dazzling ptform and headed towards the grand building with curved rooftops soaring against the sky as if suspended between earth and heaven. Light on his feet, he stepped over the threshold into the Audience Hall.

  The vast, opulent space y at the heart of the pace, its tiered ceiling supported by massive teak pilrs, each intricately carved and gilded with gold leaf. As they walked forward, sunlight streamed through narrow clerestory windows, casting angled shafts of light that danced across the polished wooden floors, illuminating their path like a spotlight.

  Zeya quickened his pace to catch up with the King, his mind racing for an excuse to expin his brief excursion into the city with Sein during the Festival of Spirits. He hadn’t expected his absence to be noticed, but now he realised how wrong he’d been.

  “I thought it wise to arrive well rested for today’s court assembly. Seemed the sensible course, especially with these festival suppers carrying on into the small hours,” Zeya ventured in his usual pyful manner. “Wouldn’t want to, you know, doze off mid-proceedings this morning.”

  He gnced at his father to read his reaction but his face showed no emotion. How can you read the current when the sea was as pcid as a pond?

  Zeya continued, “Did I miss anything important?”

  “In future, do see that you’re present at supper during the Festival of Spirits.”

  “I will, Papa. You have my word.”

  They continued in silence towards the far end of the hall, where a raised dais held the king’s cquered and gold-leafed throne. Along the length of the chamber, courtiers and ministers stood according to rank on intricately woven mats, bowing in sequence like a ripple of falling dominos before lifting their eyes to the two regal figures.

  King Arkar, broad-shouldered and imposing, stood in sharp contrast to his son, who was a hand’s width taller with a slender, well-proportioned figure. Though different in build, both wore the same finery: long tailored jackets with slim trousers, and white shirts as pristine as untouched snow, the embroidery shimmering like whispers of light. The King was the master of his crown and wore it with ease, its array of exquisite jewels catching the light and glittering brilliantly for those bold enough to gnce up from their bows.

  As Zeya reached the seat reserved for him at the King’s right hand, a familiar weight of guilt settled over him, encasing him in a metal cloak. Then, the tiny roots of dread and self-loathing began to grow. His father had never openly reprimanded nor praised him; instead, the direct requests for what he should do next time made it clear he had fallen short or worse, was a disappointment.

  Deep down, Zeya knew he should have been at the royal festival dinner, but his desire to take Sein to the city had been stronger than his sense of duty. He had failed miserably yet again.

  Each week, the Audience Hall transformed into a theatre of power, as delegates, nobles, and ministers stepped forward in turn, bowing deeply before their performance. Today, Zeya had been summoned to attend instead of following his usual morning routine, and it quickly became clear why: an emissary from the Southern Delta was present.

  The men, dressed in flowing embroidered silk robes, offered formal greetings and presented their tribute. One by one, the attendants unveiled the gifts, each more impressive than the st.

  A murmur rippled through the assembled nobility as a jade serpent sceptre was revealed, catching the morning light with a luminous gleam. It was a potent symbol of power and a significant offering from the South, meant to affirm their commitment to the impending alliance.

  Next, a saddle was presented. Its dark, cquered hardwood frame gleamed like a polished mirror, crafted specifically for the prince’s favourite steed. The high pommel and cantle curved gracefully like gentle waves, overid with hammered gold pques embossed with intricate patterns and studded with turquoise beads. The seat was upholstered in supple bck deerskin, its seams stitched with fine red silk thread, while the saddlecloth beneath was embroidered with symbols promising strength and nobility in both marriage and war.

  Then came a pair of arm bracers, made of polished copper and intricately engraved with golden tigers and serpents representing the two kingdoms. These were handed directly to Zeya. Bowing his head in acceptance, he examined the inscription running along their borders: his name entwined with Princess Nanda’s, alongside the date of their marriage.

  Zeya felt a sickening churn in his stomach as the reality of his betrothal to Princess Nanda loomed over him. Any lingering possibilities about reversing their union vanished in that moment. This was undeniable proof that the marriage was set, now just over twelve months away. His throat felt parched as he swallowed hard, fighting down the rising tide of doom.

  Once the envoy from the Southern Delta departed, ministers began reciting reports in mellow tones, seeking royal approval to appoint new generals or reassign troops to regions of concern. The atmosphere became lively as lords from distant provinces presented petitions for nd disputes while the king’s scribes recorded every word with meticulous care.

  However, Zeya heard none of it. His mind was a relentless tormentor, highlighting every fw: his selfishness, his ck of discipline, his northern heritage. Each accusation echoing louder than the words spoken around him.

  As soon as the assembly drew to a close, the King met directly with the Chancellor and key advisors in a private room to discuss sensitive matters, to which Zeya was not invited. He returned to his apartment to change into his martial uniform, then headed out to the archery grounds.

  While he strapped on the leather armguards, his mind drifted to the arm bracers engraved with his and Princess Nanda’s names, etched in the careful, flowing script of the Central Pins. The thought alone made his shoulders sag and drain all his mental energy. He reached for the bow, its elegant recurve arching like a crescent moon, and wrapped his fingers around the silk-bound grip before nocking an arrow. He took a deep breath, trying to quiet his mind.

  The intrusive thoughts continued to bombard him as he fired one arrow after another into the worn target. He noticed the drift, the fraction of error in his shots, and retrieved them with a furrowed brow. Without pause, he resumed, shifting distance, altering angles, forcing his body to perform as his thoughts refused to still.

  But repetition bred rhythm, and rhythm, in time, silenced his mind. His shots tightened, accuracy returning with the flow of his breath. When the bite of the bowstring turned from pressure to pain, he finally lowered his bow. His fingers burned, and only then did he realise he had no idea how long he’d been at it.

  Zeya stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders, easing the tension when he heard a familiar voice call out, “Ah, I see you’re fitting in a session before lunch. Skipped your morning drills, did you? Not to worry, Your Highness, shall I arrange one for this afternoon to make up for it?”

  It was Thura, his warm smile inviting Zeya to approach him.

  “Absolutely,” Zeya responded, mirroring his friendly grin. “Though skipped is such a strong word. I prefer to think of it as strategically reallocating my energy. But yes, by all means, book me in. I wouldn’t want you thinking I’ve gone soft!”

  “Very well, Your Highness.”

  Zeya studied Thura a moment longer. There was a carefree mood about him today which he’d not seen before. Something must have happened.

  “Lord Thura, you’re looking unusually rexed today. I can only assume something wonderful has happened. Do tell, or must I resort to bribery for the details?”

  Thura chuckled and replied, “I must admit, I can’t seem to wipe this smile off my face. Well, I do have some good news. I’ve asked Ohn to marry me and she’s accepted.”

  “That’s excellent news. Congratutions. When might we expect the happy occasion to take pce?”

  “Very near future if my mother has her way. She seems rather determined to see a wedding in the family.” Thura ughed, then added, “It’s all the pent-up frustration from failing to persuade Sein to consider any of the lords she’s been introduced to. You see, my sister knows her own mind and she is not easily tempted. It’ll take a truly extraordinary man to win her heart.”

  Thura’s comment drained all colour from Zeya’s face. The idea of Sein marrying another struck him like an arrow piercing his heart.

  What was this wretched feeling?

  Masking his emotions, Zeya offered a smile and quickly spoke up, “I very much look forward to seeing you wed your good dy. Congratutions once again. I shall see you this afternoon.”

  He took his leave and returned to his apartment to change.

  How could he possibly feel jealous of the lords being introduced to Sein as potential suitors? She wasn’t even his. But the image of their hands bound together with the red braided cord haunted him, whispering otherwise.

  Only the night before, he’d been brimming with hope, a warmth that made him feel complete. Now, the stark reality of the events that day had torn his happiness to shreds, leaving it beyond repair.

  To veer off the path id out for him was impossible, wasn’t it? Yet his uncle’s words kept looping in his mind like a chorus of a song: Never abandon hope, Zeya. Possibility is a stubborn creature. It lingers, it waits quietly, and it favours those who pursue it with a bit of backbone and a dash of brilliance.

  During the dry season, lunch was often held outdoors on the pace garden wns, overlooking the vast ke. A northerly breeze carried cool air across the water, making for a pleasant dining experience. Beneath the gentle sway of palms and the canopy of a grand old tree, a long banquet table was set, draped in crisp ivory linen and decorated with fresh flowers flowing like waves through the centre.

  Today, the royal family was joined by select extended family members, favoured courtiers and the Minister for Agriculture.

  Instinctively, Zeya positioned himself at the far end, away from his father, seated next to Lady Chesa’s husband, Lord Hama, and his cousin, Lady Yusa. Lady Yusa was the youngest daughter of Lord Ray and Zeya found her to be pleasant enough to converse with.

  “Yuyu! It’s been a while. What mischief or marvellous goings-on have been filling your days?” Zeya greeted, as he sat down.

  “Well, Cousin Zeya, usually nothing mischievous or marvellous ever happens to me. However, do brace yourself, my luck seems to have turned this week,” Lady Yusa responded, fluttering her shes and extending a hand to show off the wide band of diamond-encrusted cuff. “I am now, quite officially, engaged to Bobo… I mean, Lord Bao.”

  “That’s splendid news, Yuyu! Congratutions are certainly in order,” Zeya responded with delight, genuinely pleased for his cousin. With a mock inspection of the bracelet, he added, “And by the looks of things, Lord Bao has done rather well for himself. So, when’s the big day?”

  “Haven’t got a clue. We’ve yet to consult the astrologer.”

  “Ah yes, naturally, Saryet will have the final word on the matter. As ever.”

  “I do hope we shan’t have to wait too dreadfully long like you. You’ve still got a whole year before your wedding. Honestly, a year? That’s practically an eternity in good behaviour and twiddling one’s thumb.”

  “Believe me, I wish a year was an eternity,” Zeya murmured.

  Lady Yusa didn’t hear his comment as she’d turned to the minister sitting next to her who vished her with good wishes.

  “Forgive my candour, Your Highness,” Lord Hama spoke up, in a conspiratorial voice, “but you sound rather like a man not entirely eager for his own wedding day.”

  “…”

  Zeya was momentarily at a loss for words, mostly because Lord Hama had understood his candid remark.

  Before he could gather himself, Lord Hama chuckled and added, “Not to worry. I understand all too well. Your aunt and I were matched by an astrologer, much like you. I hesitated to propose at first, thinking love ought to begin in a bze of spectacle, as it did for some. My brother Hein, for instance, was hopelessly smitten with Marr from the outset, and they remain blissfully happy. But I took a leap of faith. As it turns out, Chesa and I began with respect, and over time, that respect deepened into something far richer. Now, I can scarcely imagine life without her.”

  “I appreciate your insight, Lord Hama,” Zeya returned, wishing to change the subject immediately.

  He paused waiting for the server to pce the first course of light tangy papaya sad in front of him.

  “As for physical attraction,” Lord Hama continued, leaning in towards Zeya just as the server left. “I hear Princess Nanda is considered quite the beauty. I imagine desiring her won’t be a challenge in the bedchamber.”

  Zeya offered a weak, hollow smile, finding no words in response. He reached for the gss and took a sip, more to fill the silence than to quench any thirst.

  Desire another?

  The thought felt impossible when his heart already belonged to Sein. Then it dawned on him. Sooner or ter, he would have to smile and offer his good wishes when Sein announced her engagement. Perhaps that day will come before his own fate was sealed.

  Wishing to divert the focus of the conversation away from himself, Zeya drew his cousin’s attention and asked, “Yuyu, do tell us about Lord Bao. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making his acquaintance just yet.”

  He listened attentively, with light-hearted remarks, then steered the conversation towards the week’s events.

  Once back at his own quarters, Zeya changed into his training clothes, tying the silk sash around his robes as he prepared for martial training with his uncle. Lord Ray’s perceptive eye never failed to catch the shift in Zeya’s spirit. Sensing the restlessness beneath the surface, Lord Ray suggested a change of pn. With a simple nod of agreement, they stepped away from the lofty space of the Combat Hall and made their way through shaded walkways, returning to the royal quarters.

  “Spirits! That was a dreadfully dull lunch. I do believe my brain nodded off somewhere between the sad and the small talk. Time to recim it, don’t you think? A touch of mindful practice, just to remind ourselves we’re still gloriously alive.”

  “Agreed, though I must say, I rather lucked out and managed to dodge the dull end of the table,” Zeya jested dryly, then added, “Uncle, surely you found the stages of grain harvesting absolutely riveting?”

  “Oh, hush,” Lord Ray said with a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Breathe in serenity… breathe out Lord Shin’s opinions on grain storage.”

  Zeya couldn’t help but ugh, the tension in his shoulders easing at once.

  They sat quietly in the hush of the inner pace courtyard, broken only by the rhythmic trickle of water spilling from a slender wooden spout into a stone basin below. Tall bamboo rose like swaying towers, their leaves allowing in the occasional breeze, shielding the space from any intrusion from the outside world. Here, wrapped in nature and tranquillity, Zeya let his mind begin its slow retreat inward. He closed his eyes and began the familiar battle of focusing on the breath.

  His thoughts led him down a rocky path, repying moments shared with Sein: her lingering gnce, her smile and her words. He wrestled with uncertainty. Was it mutual, or merely his own longing? All the while, he tried to stay anchored, returning again and again to his focus.

  Then came Lord Ray’s voice, “How are you feeling now, Zeya?”

  It marked the hour had passed.

  “Good, uncle,” Zeya replied, blinking against the light as it streamed into his eyes until they were used to the brightness again. “Well, naturally, my mind was darting about all over the pce but each time it misbehaved, I reeled it back with the breath. All things considered, I managed a decent number of rounds.”

  “Ah, excellent!” Lord Ray decred, smoothly manoeuvring from a cross-legged position to standing in one swift motion. “Now then, what’s this I’ve been hearing today? The South has been showering you with shiny tokens of devotion. Well, we must return in kind, naturally. Instead of the usual offerings dreamt up by the ever-dutiful advisors, might I suggest you send something charming to Princess Nanda? You must keep the dy keen, wouldn’t you say?”

  He signalled for Zeya to follow as he strode towards the centre of the courtyard. Zeya rose slowly, heavy with the weight of Lord Ray’s words.

  “What do you suggest, Uncle?” he asked, a flicker of unease in his voice.

  He hesitated. Should he confide his true feelings about the betrothal? Would Lord Ray understand the depth of his growing affection for Sein?

  “A bold gift, something tasteful naturally,” Lord Ray suggested. “And do include a note… just a little message to stir the imagination and, dare I say, pluck ever so gently at her heartstrings.”

  Barefoot, they walked the path of smooth and uneven pebbles, purposefully arranged to press gently on key pressure points and promote a sense of calm and rexation. Winding zily around the plum blossom tree, the path circled again and again, each turn tightening like ripples drawn inward to a still centre.

  After weighing his options, Zeya concluded: No, it’s probably best I keep my feelings for Sein to myself.

  He sighed softly, gncing up at the green canopy where the brilliant pink blooms had long since withered.

  “I haven’t the slightest clue who Princess Nanda is, let alone what on earth I’m meant to give her,” he admitted, rocking gently back and forth on the stone edge to press specific area beneath his feet.

  In his head, he’d already discarded the idea of writing any love letter to the princess.

  “I would suggest a diamond pendant bearing the Arkar crest?” Lord Ray said, absently stroking his beard. “It’s your mark, after all, and no one outside the royal bloodline wears it. Send it to Princess Nanda, and you’re not just giving her jewellery, you’re giving her the future, your future together. Rather adorable, don’t you think?”

  Zeya considered it. Perhaps, he thought then fshed a smile.

  “Uncle, you’re quite the hopeless romantic, aren’t you?” he said with a warm chuckle.

  If he had sought his father’s advice, it would likely have been something like, “Send the treaty documents, beautifully presented in one of our finest cquered boxes.”

  After all, nothing said commitment quite like mutually beneficial alliance.

  Next, Zeya made his way directly to the training grounds. He had no intentions to see Sein for the remainder of the week. He felt unworthy of those moments of happiness with her. It was a quiet self-imposed punishment for missing the festival supper, a debt he was still trying to atone for.

  What he sought now was distractions. Physical exertion, especially the way he pushed himself, also brought on mental exhaustion. And when he was too tired to think, it was a blissful relief. But to reach that state, he needed a challenge demanding his full attention. Something that left no space for lingering thoughts.