Morning in the Emperor's chambers light spilt softly through the sheer curtains, turning the chamber warm and gold. The world felt unusually quiet, as if the palace itself was holding its breath.
Mirha stirred first.
She was tucked against something solid and warm—arms secure around her waist, a steady heartbeat beneath her cheek. Slowly, she looked up.
Arvin.
His hair was loose, falling across his brow, his face unguarded in sleep in a way she rarely saw. For a moment, she watched him, a small, disbelieving smile curving her lips. The tension of the night before felt distant now, replaced by a gentle calm she hadn't known she was craving.
"Good morning, my love."
Her eyes widened instantly.
Colour rushed to her cheeks as she stiffened just slightly. Arvin's eyes opened, already amused, his lips tugging into a lazy smile.
"What?" he asked softly, clearly enjoying himself.
Mirha swallowed and lowered her gaze, her fingers curling into the fabric of his robe. "You just… called me my love."
He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head with mock disappointment. "So not only are you blind," he said, clicking his tongue, "but you're deaf too."
She looked up at him, scandalised. "Your Majesty—"
"I've called you that more times than your name," he continued, utterly sincere, as if stating the simplest truth in the world.
Mirha slowly pulled herself up from his arm and sat on the bed, turning to face him fully, her expression genuinely puzzled. "When?" she asked, brows knitting together. "I don't remember…"
Arvin propped himself up on one elbow, watching her with fond amusement. "You truly don't?" he asked. "What about the night we returned from Kilimah Estate? You couldn't sleep. You could not sleep you even went and soaked yourself in water."
She gasped, eyes widening in horror. "I did not—"
"You did," he said smoothly with a smirk. "And I put you to bed myself."
Before he could finish the memory, Mirha lunged forward and covered his mouth with her hand. "I remember," she said quickly, mortified. "You don't need to say it."
Arvin raised a brow, his eyes dancing. He gently pulled her hand away and tugged her back toward him, until she was once again close—too close for pretence.
"I whispered it then," he murmured, his voice lower now, softer. "When you finally fell asleep. I thought you couldn't hear me."
Mirha's breath caught.
He brushed his thumb along her cheek, tracing the faint warmth still lingering there. "I love you," he said simply, without ceremony, without doubt.
She stared at him, searching his face for any hint of jest—and found none. Her heart swelled until it felt too large for her chest.
"I love you more," she replied, her voice steady despite the emotion trembling beneath it.
He smiled, not teasing this time, but deeply, tenderly. "Impossible."
She leaned in first.
Their kiss was unhurried, soft at the edges, as if they had all the time in the world. His hand slipped into her hair, hers resting over his heart, feeling the truth of him there—warm, real, hers.
When they finally pulled back, Arvin rested his forehead against hers. "Stay," he whispered.
Mirha smiled, eyes shining. "I was never going anywhere."
And in the quiet of the morning, wrapped in each other and the promise of something fragile yet certain, the world outside could wait.
A sharp knock cut through the warmth of the moment—firm, unavoidable.
Reality returned far too quickly.
Arvin groaned softly against Mirha's hair, clearly unwilling to let the day claim them just yet. "They always choose the worst timing," he muttered, pressing another lingering kiss to her temple, then her cheek, then her lips again as if memorising her.
"Your Majesty," came the muffled voice from outside, far too persistent.
Mirha laughed quietly, breathless. "If you don't let me go," she teased, "they'll start a rumour that you've vanished."
"I wouldn't mind," he replied, kissing her once more before finally releasing her with visible reluctance. Even as she rose from the bed, he caught her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. "Later," he promised.
She smiled, heart light, and dressed quickly before slipping out—though not without Arvin stealing one last kiss at the door, utterly ignoring the servants who pretended very hard not to see anything.
Back in her chambers, Mirha had barely crossed the threshold when she spotted Yuma.
The smile on Yuma's face was far too pleased. Far too knowing.
Mirha narrowed her eyes. "Say it plainly," she said, already bracing herself. "Will it be madness?"
Yuma placed a hand over her heart, feigning innocence. "Never," she replied sweetly. "I'm never messy."
Mirha sighed, nodding as if accepting her fate, and headed toward the bathing room. Steam soon filled the space as warm water washed over her, easing the last traces of exhaustion from her body. Outside, Yuma moved with practised efficiency—selecting a gown of soft elegance, laying out jewellery that caught the light just enough to whisper, not shout.
When Mirha emerged, hair damp and skin glowing, Yuma dressed her with care, adjusting every fold until she nodded in approval. "Perfect," she said.
The breakfast hall was already alive with quiet conversation when Mirha entered.
Queen Mother Raina sat at the head, regal as ever. Duchess Gina was beside her, composed but pale. Lady Kanha sat with perfect posture, her expression serene to the point of vacancy. And there—bright as the morning itself—was Goya.
Mirha bowed deeply to Raina, then took the seat beside the newlywed princess.
Goya looked radiant—eyes sparkling, posture relaxed, entirely too lively for someone whose wedding night had been just hours ago.
Mirha studied her briefly and reached a conclusion she didn't bother voicing. Perhaps nothing happened.
"And how are you this morning?" Mirha asked gently.
Goya beamed. "Never been better."
Mirha smiled in return, then turned to Duchess Gina. "And you, Duchess?"
"I'm well," Gina replied, lips curving politely. "Though I feel a little weak."
Mirha bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing outright. Instead, she offered a knowing side glance, and the two women exchanged perfectly polite smiles under the watchful presence of the Queen Mother.
Raina, of course, noticed everything.
She leaned forward slightly, studying Mirha with sharp affection. "You are glowing yourself," she said. "How are you, precious one?"
Mirha met her gaze and smiled, calm and sincere. "I am beyond fine."
Raina's lips curved warmly. "I love that for you."
Her attention shifted to Kanha, who had gone suspiciously quiet. "And you, child? You seem far away."
Kanha blinked, as if pulled back from somewhere unpleasant. "I'm fine, Your Highness."
Breakfast continued, light and measured, until Mayora approached and bent to whisper something into Goya's ear. Goya nodded, rose gracefully, and excused herself, Mayora following close behind.
Moments later, Yuma entered the hall.
She bowed to Queen Mother Raina with impeccable respect, then moved directly to Mirha, leaning in to murmur something that made Mirha's brows lift slightly.
Across the table, Kanha watched.
Her face remained calm, composed—but her gaze was sharp, fixed on Yuma like a blade hidden beneath silk.
Mirha rose, excusing herself, and Yuma followed. As they turned to leave, Yuma glanced back just once.
Her eyes met Kanha's.
Yuma smirked.
Kanha did not react—yet beneath the stillness, something ugly burned.
Queen Mother Raina and Duchess Gina watched the exchange in silence, both women far too experienced to miss the tension curling through the air.
And whatever game had begun, it was clear, it had only just started.