The Morning After
Mirha woke to the quiet hum of the estate, the space beside her already cold. For a moment, she lay still, staring at the silken canopy above her, letting the events of last night settle into her bones. Her body felt heavy, tender… but safe. And the emptiness on the bed reminded her that Arvin had duties far beyond these golden walls.
She rose slowly, washed, and let the attendants dress her in soft morning robes. When she stepped into the dining hall, Mayora was already seated with a cup of herbal tea. The moment she saw Mirha, she stood and bowed deeply.
Mirha gave her a small, shy smile. "Please sit, Lady Mayora."
After Mirha settled, she glanced at the empty seat meant for Arvin. "Where did His Majesty go?"
Mayora folded her hands politely. "They left very early, my lady. His Majesty and Lord Heman returned to the Imperial Palace at dawn."
Her tone remained formal—even when speaking of her own husband. It made Mirha smile inside.
Mirha nodded and reached for her breakfast. She had barely taken two bites when Mayora tilted her head gently and asked:
"Are you feeling better this morning, my lady?"
Mirha froze mid-chew, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "I'm… fine. Why?"
Mayora's lips twitched as though holding back a laugh. "Well… since His Majesty has consummated the union, I wondered if—"
Mirha's hand dropped the fruit immediately, cheeks blazing as she whispered, "I'm fine! I'm perfectly fine. But—how did you even know?"
Mayora touched her chin knowingly. "Do you recall what I told you yesterday? That you would not be walking straight today?"
Mirha gasped, mortified. "So—you could tell? Am I walking funny? I swear I tried my best!"
Mayora burst into soft giggles, waving both hands.
"No, no, my lady! To anyone else, you look completely normal. But to me—" she winked playfully, "—I simply know the signs. No one else will notice a thing, I promise."
Mirha exhaled in pure relief, pressing a hand to her chest.
"Good," she whispered. "I was starting to think every step I took was announcing something."
Mayora laughed warmly. "Not at all, my lady. Only I can tell. And it's perfectly natural."
Mirha let her shoulders relax at last and continued her breakfast, her face still warm—but a small, secret smile resting on her lips.
Here is your scene—polished, warm, and full of personality while keeping Mirha's innocence and Mayora's bright charm.
Exploring the Golden Estate
After breakfast, Mayora folded her hands neatly and asked with a hopeful smile,
"My lady… would you like a little tour of the estate? It is far too large to see in one day, but we can go wherever you wish."
Mirha perked up immediately. "Then… the kitchen."
Mayora blinked, then giggled. "Of all places, you want to start there?"
Mirha nodded with a sheepish smile. "It's where all the nice smells come from."
So Mayora led her down the polished halls, past carved pillars and warm-lit lanterns, until they reached the estate's grand kitchen. The staff gasped when they saw Mirha and bowed quickly, but she only smiled kindly. The warm scent of baked bread, broth, and spices wrapped around her like a blanket. Mirha walked through with wide eyes, fascinated by the fresh produce, the steaming pots, and the shelves of herbs she instantly recognized.
After a while, she tugged Mayora's sleeve lightly.
"Now… the stables?"
Mayora laughed again. "You are full of surprises today, my lady. Come, this way."
Outside, the wind smelled of earth and the faint sweetness of flowers. The stables were large and beautifully kept, and the horses perked up the moment Mirha approached. She stroked their muzzles gently, eyes shining.
"Would you like to ride, my lady?" one of the stable hands asked.
Mirha hesitated only briefly before nodding. Soon she was mounted on a calm, soft-eyed mare, her robes gathered delicately, her laughter drifting through the open air as Mayora clapped for her.
When they returned to the ground, breathless and smiling, Mirha pressed a hand to her chest.
"That felt… freeing."
Mayora looped her arm with Mirha's. "Now where next?"
Mirha looked thoughtful, then brightened.
"The flower garden. I want to see what grows here."
So they walked toward the gardens behind the estate—a maze of blossoms, fountains, winding paths, and trellises dripping with color. Mirha stopped every few steps, touching petals gently, inhaling their perfumes, her eyes distant with memories of her mother's herb field.
Mayora watched her quietly, smiling to herself.
"You truly suit this place, my lady."
Mirha bit her lip shyly and looked away, brushing her fingers over a blooming white lotus.
"…I hope so."
The wind carried the soft rustle of leaves, and for the first time since arriving, Mirha felt the Golden Estate start to feel like a home.
Here is the scene, polished, emotional, and flowing naturally from the last one:
Tulips & Little Footsteps
Mirha wandered deeper into the garden until a sudden burst of color caught her breath.
Tulips.
An entire stretch of them—golden, ruby red, ivory, and soft pink—swaying gently under the afternoon breeze like a painted sea. Her lips parted in awe.
"They're beautiful…" she whispered, stepping closer.
"His Majesty ordered them planted," Mayora said, hands clasped behind her back. "Tulips are his favorite flower. He wants them everywhere he lives."
Mirha paused, staring at one of the pale pink ones as she gently brushed its petals with her fingertips.
Arvin… likes tulips?
A slow, warm smile crept on her face before she could stop it. Without meaning to, her mind drifted to him—his sharp jawline, those intense eyes, the restrained gentleness in his voice. His presence had always felt powerful, but last night she had seen something else too… softness.
The memory made her cheeks warm.
Before Mayora could tease her, a loud shout broke the peace.
"Mama! Mamaaa!"
Mirha jumped slightly, turning just in time to see a small boy sprinting through the path, his little legs wobbling but determined. His hair was dark and wavy like Heman's, his skin golden like Mayora's, cheeks round and flushed.
Mayora laughed, kneeling and opening her arms.
"Hemai! Come here."
The little boy threw himself into her embrace, giggling wildly as she lifted him. Mirha's eyes softened instantly.
He clung to Mayora's neck, then peeked at Mirha with wide curious eyes.
Mayora turned toward Mirha. "My lady, this is my eldest son—Hemai Junior."
Mirha knelt so she was eye-level with him.
"Oh my… you look just like your father."
Hemai Jr puffed his tiny chest proudly. "I am Lord Heman's son!"
Mirha giggled. "Are you now?"
He nodded hard. "Mama said I'm strong like Papa!"
Mayora shook her head affectionately. "You are loud like your papa, that's for sure."
Mirha reached out and gently brushed the boy's hair with her fingers.
"He's adorable."
Hemai Jr smiled shyly, hiding his face in Mayora's shoulder, making both women laugh.
And for a moment—between tulips, laughter, and the smell of warm earth—Mirha felt something she never expected to feel so soon in this place:
Peace.
Here is your scene written with tension, political weight, and Arvin's growing protectiveness over Mirha:
The council meeting dragged longer than expected, but the moment Arvin dismissed the ministers, he rose from his seat with one thought in mind.
Mirha.
He turned toward the guards.
"Prepare my carriage. I'm returning to the Golden Estate."
Before the order could be carried out, Elder Advais cleared his throat loudly, the sound echoing across the silent hall.
"Your Majesty… will you not be staying in the Imperial Palace tonight?"
Arvin exhaled sharply and sat back down, already exhausted by tradition.
"I do not wish to," he said plainly. "I want to be with the Precious Concubine."
The elder's brows pinched together, his tone turning firm.
"But, Your Majesty, this is your home. Traditionally, the Emperor should remain here unless on official travel."
Arvin leaned back, rubbing his temple.
"I understand tradition. But I also understand what I want."
The elder flinched at the subtle warning in his voice, but persisted, "Your Majesty… please,—people will misunderstand."
Arvin's jaw tightened.
"Fine," he said at last, voice clipped. "Bring her here."
The elder froze.
A nervous laugh slipped out of him, forced and thin.
"A-ah… Your Majesty, that… is not possible."
Arvin's gaze sharpened instantly.
"And why is that?"
The elder swallowed hard.
"B-Because it would be disrespectful to Her Majesty the Empress. For a concubine to stay in the main palace while the Empress is away… it breaks every custom since the founding of Èvana."
Arvin tsked under his breath, irritation simmering in his eyes.
"And the Empress is not here," he said, each word cool and deliberate. "So spare me the pointless customs."
The elder bowed immediately, sensing the danger.
"As you wish, Your Majesty."
He turned and motioned to a young palace runner.
"Go. Fetch the Precious Concubine from the Golden Estate at once."
The boy bowed and sprinted out of the hall.
Arvin leaned back in his throne, expression unreadable—but his fingers tapped the armrest with barely restrained impatience.
He didn't care about tradition.
He didn't care about gossip.
He just wanted Mirha.
Meanwhile back at the Golden Estate, a carriage rolled through the gates. For a moment, Mirha's heart leapt—she thought Arvin had returned. But when the door opened, it was only an imperial guard. He bowed and informed her he had been sent to escort the Precious Concubine to the Imperial Palace.
Mirha composed herself, changed quickly, and followed him out. The journey felt longer than usual, her chest tightening the closer they got. When the palace gates finally rose into view, she inhaled deeply, steadying her nerves.
Mirha followed the guard through the familiar halls, each step echoing softly. The palace felt colder than she remembered… emptier. The courtiers and servants who once greeted her with bright smiles now kept their eyes lowered, bowing so deeply their foreheads nearly touched the floor. No one dared meet her gaze.
The shift stung—a quiet, aching loneliness curling in her chest.
So this is what it means to rise in rank… and lose warmth in return, she thought.
Still, she lifted her chin and kept walking.
The guard stopped before the Emperor's study, bowed, and opened the doors.
Arvin looked up instantly—his eyes lighting in a way he never hid when he saw her. Mirha barely stepped inside before he crossed the room in long strides. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her so tightly she felt the tension in his shoulders melt.
"Mirha…" he exhaled her name against her hair, pulling her closer.
She let herself sink into his warmth, his scent, the solid comfort of him. His lips brushed the crown of her head, then her knuckles as he brought her hand to his mouth. His breath lingered there a moment.
"You came quickly," he murmured, still holding her hand. "I'm sorry for calling you like this."
Mirha shook her head softly. "You don't have to apologize, Your Majesty."
He frowned. "Arvin," he corrected, voice low.
Her cheeks warmed. "…Arvin."
Only then did he let out a relieved breath, as though hearing his own name from her lips grounded him.