Morning arrived with a cool brightness that spread across the palace grounds.
The entire imperial court had gathered in the grand courtyard, where rows of polished carriages waited beneath fluttering banners of Èvana. Horses stamped the stone impatiently while guards adjusted their armor and checked their formations one last time.
The departure for Bukid had begun.
Arvin stood beside the imperial carriage watching the procession organize itself with practiced precision. He had slept little the night before. Heman's report still lingered in the back of his mind, the implications turning quietly behind his calm expression.
But he had decided on one thing.
Mirha would not hear about it yet.
Not today.
Not before returning to Bukid.
This journey meant too much to her.
The courtyard gates slowly opened as the procession began to form.
First came the Imperial Guards, riding in disciplined rows at the front, their armor gleaming in the morning sun.
Behind them rode Imperial General Kain and his newly wedded wife Goya. Their carriage was decorated in white and gold ribbons left over from the wedding celebrations, a subtle reminder of the joy the palace had only just witnessed.
Next stood the imperial carriage itself.
Servants stepped aside as Mirha approached.
Her excitement was impossible to hide.
The moment she stepped into the courtyard, her eyes moved everywhere at once—the horses, the banners, the carriages, the bustle of people preparing to leave.
It had been a long time since she had seen Bukid.
Her steps were light as she climbed into the carriage, gathering the skirt of her gown carefully.
Before sitting down, she leaned slightly out the window, waving happily toward the other carriages.
"Gina!" she called softly with a smile.
Duchess Gina, already seated beside Duke Rnzo, lifted her hand with a small laugh and waved back.
Mirha turned and waved again toward Goya, who returned the gesture with a bright grin.
Then her eyes found Yuma, who stood among the attendants and ladies who would travel separately.
Mirha waved to her too.
Yuma only shook her head slightly, though a small smile tugged at her lips as she bowed.
Once Mirha settled inside the carriage, Arvin stepped in after her.
The door closed.
For a moment, the noise of the courtyard softened behind the thick carriage walls.
Mirha looked radiant.
Her eyes were bright, her posture lively—almost too lively.
Arvin noticed immediately.
He leaned back against the seat with a small smile forming.
"You look energetic this morning."
His tone carried a teasing edge.
Mirha glanced at him, immediately understanding what he meant.
A faint blush touched her cheeks.
"That wasn't the first time," she replied casually.
Arvin let out a quiet chuckle.
He reached for her hand and lifted it gently, pressing a kiss against her knuckles.
"And it certainly won't be the last."
Mirha bit her lower lip instinctively, trying to hide her smile.
Arvin saw it.
He clicked his tongue softly.
"Don't do that, sweetheart."
Mirha blinked innocently.
"Do what?"
"That."
He gestured vaguely toward her lips.
"We haven't even left the palace yet."
His voice dropped slightly with playful warning.
"You will have me postpone the entire journey."
Mirha's eyes widened dramatically before she laughed.
"Alright, alright," she said, lifting both hands in surrender.
"I'll behave."
Then she turned her face toward the window.
"I'll just look outside."
Arvin watched her for a moment, amused.
Outside, the line of carriages began to move.
After the imperial carriage came the one carrying Duke Rnzo and Duchess Gina.
Behind them followed Lord Kaisen and Lady Kanha, their carriage moving quietly within the formation.
And lastly rode King Kalan of Lamig with his envoys, bringing up the rear of the procession.
The massive gates of the imperial palace slowly opened wider.
Hooves struck stone.
Wheels began to roll.
The long journey to Bukid had begun.
The road stretched long and golden beneath the midday sun as the imperial procession continued toward Bukid.
Inside the Emperor's carriage, the world felt softer.
The gentle rocking of the carriage wheels over the road had turned the space into something almost dreamlike. Curtains shifted lazily with the breeze that slipped through the small windows.
Mirha had started the journey sitting properly across from Arvin.
But that lasted less than an hour.
Now she had curled against him, her head resting on his chest while his arm loosely wrapped around her shoulders.
She had fallen asleep like that.
Again.
Arvin looked down at her with quiet amusement. It had become a habit of hers—sleeping on him whenever the world slowed down enough for her to relax.
His fingers brushed lightly through her hair, careful not to wake her.
Mirha shifted slightly, pressing closer as if instinctively seeking warmth.
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
"Comfortable?" he murmured quietly.
Mirha didn't open her eyes.
"Mmm," she hummed sleepily.
The carriage continued rolling.
Hours passed in comfortable silence until Mirha slowly woke, blinking up at him.
"You were staring," she murmured softly.
Arvin raised a brow.
"You were sleeping."
"That doesn't answer the accusation."
He chuckled quietly.
"You were drooling on the Emperor."
Mirha gasped and sat up slightly, quickly touching her mouth.
"I was not!"
Arvin laughed softly at her panic.
"You were."
Mirha narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"You're lying."
"Am I?"
He leaned forward, brushing a slow kiss across her temple.
Mirha relaxed again, melting back against him.
The road ahead was long, and the gentle rhythm of the carriage made time blur. Occasionally she would drift to sleep again, and each time she woke she found Arvin still holding her like she had never moved.
Later that evening, when the procession stopped for rest, the quiet intimacy between them deepened.
They spoke softly beneath candlelight, hands intertwined, sharing quiet affection that belonged only to them.
Their love was slow, warm, and unhurried—like a fire that had already found its rhythm.
The carriage carrying Imperial General Kain and his new wife looked far less composed.
Inside, laughter filled the space.
Goya sat sideways on the cushioned seat, her legs tucked beneath her as she leaned toward Kain.
"You are staring again," she accused with a grin.
Kain didn't even bother denying it.
"My wife is beautiful," he said plainly.
Goya rolled her eyes, though the compliment clearly pleased her.
"You saw me yesterday."
"And today you are somehow more beautiful."
She leaned forward, tapping his chest.
"You're impossible."
Kain caught her hand easily.
"And you married me anyway."
Goya laughed.
The newlyweds had barely kept their distance since the wedding banquet. Every stop during the journey became another excuse for them to walk together, whisper together, steal moments away from the watchful court.
At one resting stop beneath tall trees, Kain pulled her closer as they stood near the horses.
"People are watching," Goya warned softly.
"Let them," he said, brushing a kiss against her forehead.
She swatted his arm.
"You are an Imperial General. Behave."
"You are my wife."
"That doesn't mean—"
Her words stopped when he kissed her again, this time longer.
When they pulled apart, she was laughing breathlessly.
"You are trouble."
Kain smiled in a way that made it clear he had absolutely no intention of behaving better.
Their affection was bold, warm, and impossible to hide.
Further behind in the procession rode Duke Rnzo and Duchess Gina.
Their carriage was much quieter.
Not silent—just softer.
Gina sat near the window, watching the fields pass by with a peaceful expression.
Rnzo had been telling her some exaggerated story about a disastrous hunting trip from years ago.
"…and then the horse decided it hated me," he finished dramatically.
Gina burst into laughter.
"That did not happen."
"It did."
"You're lying."
"Your husband would never lie."
"You just did."
They both laughed.
Their relationship had always been filled with warmth rather than intensity.
Where others burned like fire, they felt like sunlight, steady and comforting.
Later, during one of the journey's stops, they walked slowly together through a quiet clearing while the servants prepared refreshments.
Enzo wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"Are you tired?"
"A little," she admitted.
He kissed the side of her head gently.
"Then rest when we stop tonight."
Gina leaned against him with a soft smile.
Their affection was quiet but deeply rooted two people who simply enjoyed each other's presence.
The carriage carrying Lord Kaisen and Lady Kanha was the most tense of them all.
Kanha sat carefully, one hand resting lightly on her stomach as though protecting the fragile secret inside her.
Kaisen sat across from her.
Polite.
Controlled.
Distant.
Whenever the carriage stopped for rest, he ensured she was comfortable.
"Do you need water?" he asked once.
"I'm fine," Kanha replied sweetly.
"You should rest," he added.
"For the baby."
Every time Kanha tried to move closer to him resting a hand on his arm, leaning toward him. he gently stopped her.
"You should be careful," he said softly.
"You are fragile now."
He said it kindly.
But the distance remained.
Kanha smiled outwardly, though something colder flickered beneath the surface.
At night, when the camp settled and most had gone to their tents or chambers, Kaisen would often disappear.
He always walked to the edge of the camp.
And more often than not…
Yuma was already there.
One evening she stood beside a lantern, arms folded as she watched the night sky.
"You should not wander alone," Kaisen said quietly as he approached.
Yuma didn't turn.
"You followed me."
"Did I?"
She finally glanced at him.
"You always do."
Kaisen stepped closer.
"You should be careful," he murmured.
Yuma scoffed lightly.
"You are the one engaged to a pregnant woman."
He looked away briefly.
Then, almost as if he couldn't stop himself, he reached out and pulled her closer.
Their lips met briefly—quick, conflicted, full of things neither of them wanted to say aloud.
When they separated, both looked away.
Yuma exhaled slowly.
"Why do you do this."
Kaisen didn't answer her.
The sound of drums echoed through the morning air.
Deep. Rhythmic. Steady.
Mirha's eyes fluttered open slowly, the unfamiliar noise pulling her out of sleep. For a moment she didn't move, still half wrapped in the warmth of the blankets and the lingering comfort of the night.
Then the drums sounded again.
Dum… dum… dum…
Her brows furrowed.
She pushed herself up slightly, the movement shifting the carriage cushions beneath her.
Across from her, Arvin was already awake. He had been watching her for a while, though he hadn't said anything yet.
"Good morning," he said quietly.
Mirha blinked, still trying to place the sound outside.
"The drums…"
Arvin glanced toward the window.
"They're welcoming us."
Mirha sat up straighter.
Welcoming us.
Her heart skipped.
She quickly pushed the curtain aside and looked out.
The landscape had changed.
The rolling roads and scattered villages they had passed over the past days were gone. In their place stretched the familiar wide plains of Bukid—green fields, small farmhouses, and the distant outlines of watchtowers along the road leading to the capital.
Her breath caught.
"We're here?" she whispered.
"Almost," Arvin replied.
"The capital is about three hours away."
The words landed heavier than she expected.
Three hours.
Mirha slowly let the curtain fall back into place.
Suddenly the excitement that had carried her through the entire journey drained out of her all at once.
Her stomach tightened.
Her fingers curled slightly in the fabric of her gown.
Arvin noticed immediately.
He shifted closer, studying her face.
"What's wrong?"
Mirha didn't answer at first.
Her thoughts had begun racing faster than she could sort them.
Three hours.
Three hours until she stood again in the place where she had grown up.
Three hours until she saw the streets she used to walk as a maid… the people who once knew her as Launi's daughter… the girl who carried baskets of produce into the palace kitchens.
Now she was returning as something else entirely.
A concubine.
The Emperor's concubine.
Her chest tightened.
"What if they hate me?" she murmured quietly.
Arvin frowned slightly.
"Why would they hate you?"
Mirha looked down at her hands.
"They knew me before."
Her voice softened.
"They knew me as a servant… a farmer's daughter."
She swallowed slowly.
"Now I'm returning beside the Emperor."
Arvin listened without interrupting.
Mirha's fingers twisted together anxiously.
"What if they think I betrayed them?" she continued.
"What if they think I forgot who I was?"
Her voice grew quieter.
"And my mother…"
That thought hit the hardest.
Mirha exhaled shakily.
"I don't even know if I'm ready to see her."
The words hung in the carriage like fragile glass.
Arvin reached for her hand gently.
When she looked up, he squeezed it reassuringly.
"Mirha."
His voice was calm and steady.
"You are not returning as someone who forgot where she came from."
He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss against her knuckles.
"You are returning as someone who survived it."
Mirha looked at him silently.
"You think they will judge you," he continued softly.
"But the people of Bukid will see something else."
"What?"
Arvin smiled faintly.
"They will see one of their own sitting beside the Emperor."
Mirha's eyes softened slightly, though the nervousness still lingered.
"And your mother?" Arvin added gently.
Mirha's heart fluttered again.
"She raised you," he said.
"You think she will look at you and see shame?"
Mirha didn't answer.
Arvin brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face.
"She will see her daughter."
The carriage rocked gently as the procession continued forward.
Outside, the drums still echoed across the plains of Bukid, announcing the Emperor's arrival.
Mirha took a slow breath.
Three hours.
She wasn't ready.
But the road was already carrying her there.