The procession halted near a wide river bend, where the water ran clear and slow beneath the morning sun. The imperial guards quickly spread out along the banks while attendants moved with practiced efficiency, setting up temporary tents so the nobles could freshen up before the final stretch toward Bukid's capital.
Servants carried basins of water, fresh cloths, and travel chests filled with clean garments.
Inside one of the larger tents, Mirha sat quietly while two attendants carefully arranged her hair again. The long journey had loosened the delicate style she had worn earlier, and now they worked gently, combing through the dark strands and weaving them back into something more polished.
Outside, the soft sound of the river mixed with the distant voices of soldiers and horses.
Nearby, separated only by a thin canvas partition, Arvin was changing into a fresh coat suitable for their formal arrival.
Mirha sat still, her hands resting on her lap.
But her mind was racing.
The closer they got to the capital, the heavier her thoughts became.
Finally, without thinking much about it, the words slipped out.
"I think…" she began softly.
The attendants paused slightly but continued working.
Mirha looked down at her fingers.
"I think I will ride in a different carriage from here."
The tent went very quiet.
Across the space, Arvin stopped what he was doing.
For a moment, there was only the sound of the river.
Then he spoke calmly.
"Leave us."
The attendants immediately bowed and slipped out of the tent without hesitation.
Mirha's stomach tightened.
She could feel the shift in the air.
Arvin walked slowly toward her.
She watched him through the mirror as he approached from behind.
When he reached her chair, he leaned down slightly and pressed a gentle kiss against her hair.
For a second, the gesture felt familiar… comforting.
Then he straightened.
Their eyes met in the mirror.
Mirha's breath caught.
She had seen Arvin angry before—but never like this.
His expression was controlled.
Too controlled.
The calm smile on his lips did not reach his eyes.
"No," he said quietly.
"You won't."
Mirha's fingers tightened in her lap.
She opened her mouth slightly, but the words disappeared before they could form.
For the first time in a long while…
She was afraid of saying the wrong thing.
So she stayed silent.
Arvin studied her reflection for another moment before gently taking her hand and helping her stand.
The attendants had finished enough that her hair fell neatly over her shoulders.
When she faced him, he placed his hands lightly on her arms.
Then suddenly, he pulled her closer and kissed her.
The kiss was firm and passionate, almost urgent.
Mirha's eyes widened for a moment before she returned it instinctively.
When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead briefly against hers.
His voice was quieter now, but still intense.
"We are going to see the heir of Èvana."
Mirha's heart skipped.
Arvin looked directly into her eyes.
"So forget everything you are thinking about."
His thumb brushed lightly against her cheek.
"And focus on that."
A small pause.
"Can you do that?"
Mirha swallowed and nodded quickly.
"Yes."
Arvin's expression softened slightly.
He leaned down and kissed her temple gently.
"Good."
Then he stepped back, straightened his coat, and walked out of the tent.
Mirha stood there for a moment after he left.
Her chest rose and fell slowly.
The tension in her body hadn't fully faded.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Then another.
Just like her father had once taught her when she felt overwhelmed.
Slow breaths.
Steady.
By the time she finished, her heartbeat had calmed slightly.
Mirha stepped outside the tent and walked back toward the imperial carriage.
The river glimmered under the sunlight as the servants began packing up the resting area.
She climbed inside and settled into her seat.
A few minutes later, the procession began moving again.
The road stretched forward.
And ahead of them…
The capital of Bukid waited.
The closer the procession moved toward the capital, the louder the world became.
At first it had only been distant cheering carried by the wind.
But now—
The sound was everywhere.
Drums thundered through the streets. Trumpets rang from the palace towers. Crowds lined the wide stone roads, waving banners of Bukid and Èvana, their voices rising together in celebration.
"The Emperor! The Emperor!"
Children ran along the edges of the procession while guards gently kept them back.
Inside the imperial carriage, however, everything felt strangely quiet.
Mirha sat very still beside Arvin.
Her fingers were clasped tightly in her lap.
The carriage curtains were slightly parted, and she couldn't stop herself from looking out.
The streets…
They were the same.
The tall market towers, the curved archways above the roads, the stone fountain in the center square—places she had walked past countless times when she was younger.
Only now she wasn't walking through them unnoticed.
Now the entire city was watching.
The carriage rolled forward slowly until the massive gates of Bukid's palace came into view.
Mirha's stomach twisted sharply.
Her breath grew shallow.
They were here.
The heavy iron gates were already open, lined with palace guards standing in perfect formation.
The carriage passed beneath them and entered the grand courtyard.
Rows of nobles and officials stood waiting.
And at the palace entrance—
Nailah.
Mirha's hands suddenly felt ice cold.
Her stomach hurt with nerves.
She could hear her heartbeat louder than the cheering outside.
The carriage finally slowed to a stop.
The other carriages pulled into place behind them.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Arvin's voice came quietly beside her.
"Mirha."
She turned to look at him.
But when she opened her mouth…
No words came out.
A soft knock sounded against the carriage door.
The signal.
It was time.
Arvin studied her for a moment.
His expression wasn't angry now.
But it had grown slightly colder.
Expectant.
Mirha forced herself to take a slow breath.
Then another.
The door opened.
Light flooded into the carriage.
Arvin stepped out first.
Outside, Nailah stood at the entrance of the palace steps, dressed in elegant imperial silks. Beside her stood her mother, Queen Hera, their hands gently clasped together.
Nailah smiled gracefully as Arvin emerged.
Then Arvin turned and extended his hand into the carriage.
Mirha looked at it.
For a split second, doubt flickered through her chest again.
But the entire courtyard was watching.
So she placed her hand in his.
And stepped out.
A wave of murmurs spread through the crowd.
Mirha stood beside the Emperor, sunlight catching the jewels woven delicately through her hair. Her gown shimmered softly, and the careful makeup and ornaments transformed her appearance completely.
She looked—
Royal.
Elegant.
Unrecognizable to most of the people watching.
From the palace entrance, Nailah saw Arvin glance at Mirha.
Not just glance.
He was staring at her.
Intently.
Something in Nailah's chest tightened.
Her smile remained perfectly in place, but her heart sank.
Arvin and Mirha began walking toward the palace steps together.
The crowd continued cheering, but very few of them recognized the woman beside the Emperor as the same girl who had once moved quietly through these halls as a servant.
By the time they reached the steps, King Jun, Queen Hera, and Queen Mother Riana had stepped forward beside Empress Nailah to receive them.
Arvin and Mirha stopped before them.
Both bowed.
But Mirha bowed deeper than Arvin.
When she straightened, Queen Hera's eyes suddenly widened.
She leaned forward slightly, studying Mirha's face more closely.
"…Mirha?"
Mirha lowered her gaze respectfully.
"Yes, Your Highness."
For a brief moment, surprise flickered across Hera's face.
But before she could say more, Arvin spoke.
"Thank you for your warm welcome."
His voice carried easily across the courtyard.
"Bukid is always a place where my heart belongs."
As he said the words, his eyes briefly shifted toward Nailah.
Nailah met his gaze and smiled.
But inside, something cracked quietly.
Because for some reason…
It didn't feel like he was talking about her.
The formal greetings ended, and the group began walking into the palace.
Nailah remained at the entrance, continuing to welcome the arriving nobles.
First came Imperial General Kain and Goya.
Then Duke Enzo and Duchess Gina.
Nailah greeted them with warm composure.
But when the next carriage stopped—
Her smile faltered slightly.
Kanha stepped out.
Behind her stood Lord Kaisen.
Nailah's brows slowly furrowed.
Her cousin's presence… and the way she carried herself…
Something felt off.
Without saying anything, Nailah turned and walked inside the palace.
Behind her, Kaisen noticed the change in her expression.
A faint guilt settled in his chest.
But beside him, Kanha seemed completely unfazed.
She already knew why Nailah had reacted that way.
Still—
She lifted her chin slightly.
And walked into the palace anyway.
The palace corridors were alive with movement.
Servants hurried past carrying trays and folded linens. Guards stood stationed along the walls while noble guests were escorted to their respective chambers. The grand halls of Bukid Palace had not felt this alive in years.
At the center of it all walked Queen Mother Riana, her posture straight and commanding even in her age.
Beside her walked Emperor Arvin.
"You took far too long to return," she said plainly, her voice carrying the quiet authority of someone who had ruled long before her son ever did.
Arvin said nothing at first.
Riana continued walking calmly, her hands folded in front of her.
"We cannot bother the prince right now," she added. "He has finally fallen asleep."
Arvin nodded slightly.
"Of course."
She glanced briefly at his travel coat.
"You should also freshen up first. Travel dust is the last thing we need near the child. I will not have the heir of Èvana catching a fever because his father arrived smelling like the road."
Arvin almost smiled.
"Understood."
Behind them, Mirha walked a few steps back.
Her pace was steady.
Her posture perfect.
But something about her felt distant… almost emotionless.
Her eyes moved across the halls she once knew so well, yet it felt like she was walking through someone else's memories.
Nothing looked smaller.
But everything felt different.
As they continued through the corridor, footsteps approached from the opposite direction.
A group of nobles appeared, led by Lord Vharin of Bukid, accompanied by several local governors and lords.
They immediately stopped and bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty."
Then they bowed again toward Mirha.
"Your Highness."
Mirha looked up.
Her eyes met Vharin.
Vharin straightened and spoke respectfully.
"Your Highness, since you are familiar with the palace, allow me to escort you to your chambers."
Mirha instinctively glanced toward Arvin.
Then back to Vharin.
Arvin answered before she could.
"Her Highness needs the rest."
He gestured lightly toward the corridor leading west.
"Please take her."
Vharin bowed.
"Of course, Your Majesty."
Mirha turned and followed him as they began walking toward the West Wing.
For a while neither of them spoke.
Their footsteps echoed softly along the polished floors.
Finally, Vharin glanced at her.
"Aren't you happy to be back?"
Mirha slowed slightly.
A small, polite smile touched her lips.
"Everything feels different."
They reached the large carved doors leading to her chambers.
Vharin stopped walking.
Mirha stopped as well.
For a moment he simply looked at her, studying the woman standing before him. The fine jewelry, the silk gown, the posture of nobility.
Then he gently took her hands.
His touch was warm and familiar.
"But you are the same Mirha," he said softly.
Mirha lowered her gaze to their joined hands.
"I don't think I am."
There was no bitterness in her voice.
Just quiet truth.
Vharin didn't let go.
Instead, he tightened his hold slightly—gently.
"Then feel free to be whoever you want to be."
A small pause.
Then he smiled.
"Welcome home, Mirha."
Slowly he released her hands.
The servants opened the chamber doors.
Mirha stepped inside.
And immediately stopped.
The room was breathtaking.
Large windows allowed sunlight to pour into the chamber, illuminating soft rose-colored decorations arranged throughout the space. The air carried the delicate scent of fresh flowers.
Bouquets of tulips filled the room—dozens of them.
Pink. White. Soft crimson.
Mirha's breath caught.
A small smile finally broke through her tense expression.
She stepped further into the room slowly, taking in the beautiful sight.
Then she noticed something.
At a small table near the window sat a woman.
She was calmly drinking tea and eating sweets from a delicate plate.
A large bouquet of tulips partially hid her figure.
But Mirha could see enough.
The woman looked young.
Far younger than most would expect.
A blindfold rested gently across her eyes.
Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders.
Anyone who didn't know better would never believe this woman was—
Mirha's breath shattered.
Her hands trembled.
"Ma…?"
Her voice broke.
The teacup in the woman's hand paused.
Mirha stepped forward.
Tears suddenly spilled down her cheeks as the years of distance collapsed all at once.
"Ma…!"
Her voice cracked as sobs escaped her chest.
The woman turned her head slightly toward the sound of her daughter's voice.
A soft smile appeared on her lips.
Launi.
Mirha's mother.
She gently set the teacup down.
Then she opened her arms.
"Come here, my love."