Back at the banquet, the music had softened into something slower, the laughter looser, heavier with wine and celebration. Goya leaned slightly into Kain's side, exhaustion finally settling into her bones.
"I'm tired," she murmured, her voice low so only he could hear. "I want to sleep."
Kain blinked, surprised, then smiled faintly. "Already? Alright," he said gently, placing a hand at her back as they began to move away from the crowd.
They hadn't gone far when they noticed Kaisen nearby—seated, shoulders slumped, a cup perpetually refilled in his hand. He drank as though the night demanded it of him.
Kain frowned. He reached out and took the cup from Kaisen's hand before he could lift it again.
"What's wrong with you?" Kain asked quietly. "You're drinking like you're trying to forget the celebration."
Kaisen gave a crooked smile. "Celebration," he echoed vaguely. "Isn't that what we're doing?"
From a short distance away, Yuma watched the exchange, arms crossed tightly over her front. She shook her head, unable to stop the words from slipping out under her breath.
"Wayinoki," she muttered in Madish. Pathetic.
"Excuse me?"
Yuma stiffened.
She turned slowly and found herself face to face with Lady Kanha.
Yuma bowed at once, controlled but tense. "My lady."
Kanha's eyes narrowed slightly, sharp and assessing. "A moment ago," she said coolly, "what did you say?"
Yuma forced a small, nervous laugh. "You must be mistaken. I didn't say anything."
"I heard you," Kanha replied, tilting her head. "You said wayoki—"
"Wayinoki," she corrected herself, lips pressing thin.
Yuma shook her head quickly. "It's nothing, truly. Please excuse me—my lady is waiting for me."
She bowed again and tried to step past her.
Kanha's hand shot out.
She grabbed Yuma's wrist and yanked her back. "I'm not finished with you."
The sudden pull made Yuma stumble. She lost her footing and fell straight into someone solid—strong hands catching her before she hit the floor.
Lord Fahit.
The interruption caused a ripple through the nearby guests. Conversations paused. Heads turned.
Kain, Kaisen, and even Goya noticed the commotion and looked over.
Kanha's expression shifted instantly.
"Oh—!" she exclaimed, releasing Yuma's hand as if burned. "I'm so sorry. I truly didn't mean to push you." She pressed a hand to her temple. "I've been feeling lightheaded."
Kaisen was at her side immediately, concern etched across his face. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"Are you alright?"
Kanha leaned into him. "I'm tired," she said softly. "May I go rest?"
"Of course," Kaisen replied without hesitation.
He guided her away, his focus entirely on her—never once looking back at Yuma.
Yuma stood frozen for a heartbeat, disbelief settling in like ice. Then, quietly, she let out a small, humorless chuckle.
Lord Fahit looked down at her, still holding her steady. "Are you alright, my lady?" he asked, his tone warm. "You seem shaken."
Yuma stepped back at once, bowing. "I'm fine, my lord. Thank you."
Fahit smiled, clearly intrigued. "Then how about we get a drink?"
Before Yuma could answer, Goya's voice cut in sharply.
"How about not."
Fahit groaned. "Must you always ruin my fun?" he said, rolling his eyes. "You've always been cruel to me, cousin."
"Someone has to be," Goya replied dryly.
Fahit laughed and raised his hands in surrender. "Very well, my lovely cousin." He bowed theatrically and walked away.
Goya turned back to Yuma. "What happened?"
Yuma explained everything in a low voice—the word, the grab, the performance. Goya listened without interrupting, her expression darkening with every sentence.
When Yuma finished, Goya sighed. "I can only imagine."
Yuma hesitated, then said quietly, "I think Lady Kanha believes I'm a pushover."
Goya smiled faintly. "And are you?"
Yuma lifted her chin, a spark returning to her eyes. "I'm Markan," she said. "Of course not."
Goya chuckled. "Good night, Yuma."
"Good night, Your Majesty."
Yuma bowed and stepped away.
Goya returned to Kain, slipping her hand into his. "Shall we?"
Kain didn't ask another question. He simply led her away, the noise of the banquet fading behind them as the night drew on.
Yuma walked swiftly toward her chambers, the echo of distant music fading behind her with every step. Her shoulders were tight, her jaw set, as if she could outrun the weight sitting in her chest. The corridor was dim, lantern light stretching her shadow along the stone walls. All she wanted was silence—space to breathe, to think, to forget the way Kaisen's grip had burned into her skin.
She stopped short.
Kaisen stood by her door, leaning against the frame as though he had every right to be there. His presence felt like a storm she had no strength left to face.
She muttered a curse under her breath, then composed herself. With practiced grace, she stepped closer, lowered her gaze, and bowed slightly.
"How may I aid you, my lord?" she asked, her voice controlled, distant.
Kaisen straightened. There was a faint slur to his voice, the kind that spoke of wine and recklessness. "I came to apologize," he said. "For lying about my identity. And for—"
"It's really not an issue my lord," Yuma cut in sharply, lifting her eyes at last. "Nobles lie all the time. You are no exception." She gestured toward her door. "If you'll excuse me, I need to rest."
She moved to pass him.
In a flash, Kaisen blocked her path and pushed her back against the wall. The stone was cold against her spine, the air knocked from her lungs by surprise more than force.
Yuma snapped.
"Are you always this rough with your wife," she shouted, "or is it just me?"
Kaisen recoiled as if struck. "She is not my wife!" he shouted back, his voice cracking through the corridor.
Silence fell between them, heavy and dangerous.
Yuma's breathing slowed. A small, humorless chuckle escaped her lips. "Fiancée, then?" she asked softly. "Do you not plan on marrying her?"
His grip loosened. Then it disappeared entirely.
Yuma straightened, smoothing her clothes as though reclaiming herself. "Oh no," she said coldly, "don't stop now. Pushing me around—clearly that's what you and your fiancée have decided suits you best today."
Kaisen ran a hand through his hair, frustration and guilt warring on his face. "I'm sorry," he said. His voice was quieter now. "I'm truly sorry."
She looked up at him then—really looked. The anger in her eyes faltered, replaced by something unguarded, something dangerously close to understanding.
Before she could stop herself, before either of them could think better of it, Kaisen leaned in and kissed her.
It was sudden. Clumsy. Charged.
Yuma froze for half a heartbeat—then her hand fisted in his tunic, and she kissed him back.
The world narrowed to breath and warmth and the way his presence felt too close, too familiar. They stumbled into her chamber, the door closing behind them with a soft but final sound. His hands hovered at her waist, unsure, as if asking permission he didn't trust himself to speak aloud.
Then Kaisen pulled back.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again, the words breaking this time.
Yuma rested her palm against his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her hand—fast, conflicted. She held his gaze for a long moment, then stepped back and nodded toward the door.
"Good night, my lord."
The title was deliberate. A boundary. A mercy.
Kaisen understood. He nodded once, turned, and left without another word.
Yuma closed the door behind him and leaned against it, eyes shut, heart racing—But certain about what she had just started,
Kanha will wish she was dead after she was done with her.
Yuma chuckled and whispered " may the petty games begin".