Dawn came quicker than Mirha expected.
She was already seated at the low breakfast table, hands folded neatly, when Arvin entered. His steps were steady, imperial, but his eyes… never once lifted to meet hers.
Mirha rose and bowed.
He only offered a quiet hum in response before taking his seat.
The servants moved silently around them, laying out bowls, steam rising gently. Mirha tried, for a moment, to study his face—maybe search for the softness from last night—but he remained unreadable. Focused. Distant. She pressed her lips together and simply began eating.
When the meal was done, Arvin stood, finally turning toward her. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her hair—light, habitual, almost like he didn't want anyone to notice how natural it had become.
"Don't wait for me later," he said quietly. "I may or may not come back early."
Mirha nodded, giving him a polite smile.
"Alright."
He paused a heartbeat longer than needed. "Until then… do whatever you want."
Mirha almost laughed because he sounded like a husband trying not to sound like one.
"Yes, Your Majesty," she whispered, softer than intended.
She stepped forward. "May I walk you out?"
Arvin didn't answer with words—he simply extended his hand.
She placed her palm in his, warm and steady, and they walked side by side toward the courtyard. The morning air was unusually crisp, brushing against Mirha's cheeks. Arvin's hand didn't loosen once.
Just as they reached the steps, the sound of wheels crunching gravel echoed through the palace grounds. A carriage rolled into view—dark lacquer, the emblem of Duchy Magili shimmering faintly in the sun.
Arvin's eyebrow lifted.
"Well… what a coincidence."
Mirha's smile brightened as the door of the carriage swung open.
Gina stepped out first, skirts flowing, eyes already sparkling as she spotted Mirha.
"Mirhaaa!" she called softly, excitement written all over her face.
Mirha instinctively tried to pull her hand back—proper, respectful—but Arvin didn't let go. Not even for a second.
And Gina definitely noticed.
Rnzo stepped down from the carriage right after his wife, brushing dust from his sleeve as he made his way to where Arvin and Mirha stood. He gave the Emperor a respectful bow, then turned to Mirha with a grin far too mischievous for the hour.
"Oh, our concubine is shining today," he teased. "That gown suits you best, my lady."
Arvin didn't speak—he didn't need to.
One sharp glance from him carried enough warning to silence an entire council.
Rnzo only laughed louder. "Alright, alright. Let's leave these beautiful women and be on our way."
Mirha blinked. "Your Grace… are you leaving with His Majesty?"
Before Rnzo could answer, Gina snorted softly, covering her mouth.
"Don't we care," she whispered, making Mirha break into a shy smile.
"Don't be harsh, my love," Rnzo said, nudging her lightly. "Now I won't leave—you don't kiss me."
Gina rolled her eyes dramatically, grabbed his face with both hands, and kissed his cheek.
"There. Bye."
Rnzo brightened instantly. "I love you too."
Arvin shook his head but there was a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as he and Rnzo turned and headed toward the gates, their footsteps echoing across the courtyard.
Mirha let out a soft breath as the men disappeared from sight. Gina hooked her arm through Mirha's with a knowing smirk.
"Come," she said. "We're going inside."
And together, the two women walked back into the palace.
The ladies spent the morning surrounded by soft light and laughter.
Mirha played the harp while Gina plucked gently at the lute, and soon Mirha's voice filled the chamber—first in Madish, then in Evan, her tone light and honeyed. Gina clapped after every song, saying she finally understood why the Emperor kept her hidden like a treasure.
By afternoon, they had moved to the veranda with a chessboard between them. Gina tapped her finger against a bishop as she spoke.
"So," she said casually, "Kanha. I suppose she can't face us—that's why she ran off to Bukid with Nailah."
Mirha smiled faintly, almost wistfully. "Well… whatever the reason, I hope she has found peace. As for me, it wasn't really a loss. The Emperor is too kind."
Gina looked up sharply, disbelief coloring her voice.
"You may forgive her so easily—but I won't."
"Gina, please—"
"It's final," she said firmly. Then she smirked. "Anyway… 'the Emperor is so kind.' Tell me about him. He's a mystery to all of us."
Mirha blinked, caught off guard. "Me too," she admitted softly. "I can't draw out his true colors. He feels… programmed. Like he only runs on duty."
Gina leaned forward with a knowing grin. "When I see him with you, he's easier to read."
"Really?" Mirha asked, surprised.
Gina opened her mouth to elaborate—but before she could speak, a maid hurried in and bowed.
"Your Highness, Lady Mayora is here."
Mirha brightened instantly. "Alright—let her in."
Gina raised a brow. "Who is Mayora?"
Before Mirha could answer, a stunning young woman glided into the room. Her hair fell in a silky, straight curtain down her back, and her skin glowed like warm gold under the afternoon sun. Behind her followed a shorter girl with soft features and lively eyes.
Gina's breath caught.
For a moment, she forgot the chessboard entirely.
Because Mayora was—without question—one of the most beautiful women she had seen.
---
Mayora bowed gracefully, and the young girl behind her followed with a neat, practiced curtsy.
"Greetings, Your Highness… Lady Gina," they said in unison, poised and respectful.
Mirha rose slightly from her seat, smiling warmly at the familiar face.
Mayora stepped aside and gestured to the girl with her.
"Your Majesty, this is Yuma," she announced. "She is a trained herbalist and will be serving as your personal maid from this day forward."
Yuma bowed again, shy but composed.
Mirha's smile turned gentle. "Thank you, Yuma. I'm glad to have you."
Mayora nodded, satisfied, then straightened. "If there is nothing else, Your Highness, I shall take my leave."
Mirha blinked in surprise. "Leave? Already? At least have something to eat first."
Mayora hesitated. "You are too kind, Your Highness. I wouldn't want to impose—"
"Please stay," Mirha insisted, her voice soft but firm. "The Golden Estate is far. You won't make it back in time for lunch."
Mayora's lips curved into a grateful smile. "Then I humbly accept."
Gina watched the exchange with curiosity as Mirha linked their hands and led them toward the dining hall. The room filled with warmth as maids hurried to prepare dishes, and Mayora relaxed in the familiar comfort of Mirha's presence.
Soon, lunch was served.
The four women sat together around the long polished table — Mirha glowing with kindness, Gina still stealing discreet glances at Mayora's striking beauty, Mayora composed and elegant, and Yuma quietly observing everything with wide, attentive eyes.
For the first time in a long while, the Imperial Palace felt alive with feminine laughter.
After lunch, Mirha and Gina walked side by side toward the courtyard, escorting Mayora to her carriage. Yuma trailed a few steps behind, hands folded neatly, her eyes quietly observing everything.
The afternoon sun was gentle, warm enough to soften the shadows cast across the stone path. They chatted lightly — nothing heavy, just pleasant conversation after a peaceful meal.
Then suddenly…
Gina slowed.
Her smile faltered.
A cold shiver traveled down her spine so sharply it stole the breath from her chest. She blinked, swayed, and the world tilted—
"Gina?" Mirha reached for her instantly, alarm rising. "Are you alright?"
Gina forced a small smile, trying to steady herself.
"Yes—yes, I'm fine. I just felt a little lightheaded—"
"No," Yuma said sharply.
All three women turned toward her.
Yuma's eyes had widened, fixed not on Gina's face, but on her lower gown.
"Ma'am… you are not fine."
Mirha followed Yuma's gaze — and gasped.
A dark, spreading stain had soaked through the back of Gina's dress. Blood. Far too much. Far too fast.
"Gina!" Mirha cried, tightening her hold.
Mayora covered her mouth with a trembling hand. "Oh lord…"
Gina's eyes fluttered down to the red blooming beneath her, confusion flickering just before her knees buckled. And then—
She collapsed into Mirha's arms, completely unconscious.