The Cost of Watching
The night found Oki alone.
The garden lay quiet, lanterns dimmed, the palace asleep—but the air around her shifted, heavy and wrong. The wind stilled. The flowers bowed.
Then the spirits came.
They did not arrive with sound, but with presence—three figures formed of silver mist and faint light, their shapes neither fully human nor entirely divine. Ancient eyes watched her with calm that cut deeper than judgment.
"Oki," the first spirit spoke, voice like echoes over water.
"You are forgetting your place."
Her spine stiffened.
"You are not meant to love him," the second continued gently, cruel in its softness.
"Your duty is to protect, to guide, to endure. Until he is grown. Until he can stand alone."
The third spirit's voice was final.
"When the time comes, you must leave."
Silence shattered.
Oki laughed—sharp, broken. "Leave?" Her hands trembled as she clenched them at her sides. "Is that what you call this? Standing by, watching him bleed inside, pretending I'm nothing?"
The spirits did not answer.
Her voice rose, raw and shaking.
"Do you think this is easy?" she demanded. "Do you think living among humans—hiding what I am—is some simple task?"
Her eyes burned.
"I watch them laugh at things I've buried centuries ago. I smile when my heart remembers wars they've never known. I bow my head to people who would fear me if they knew the truth."
She took a step forward, fury blazing.
"I sacrifice my power. My freedom. My truth. Every single day."
Her voice cracked.
"And you come to me now—now—and tell me not to feel?"
The spirits shifted uneasily.
"If you think this duty is so simple," Oki whispered fiercely, tears shining but unfallen,
"Then come. Do it yourselves. Hide your soul. Break your heart quietly. Watch him suffer and do nothing."
Her breath shook.
"I am trying," she said. "I am trying."
The spirits fell silent.
At last, one spoke—not unkindly.
"The foreigners are moving. They seek the forest. The queen walks a dangerous path."
Oki wiped her face, anger cooling into steel.
"I know," she said coldly. "They smile too easily. And the stepqueen—she thinks no one sees her strings."
"The king suspects," another spirit added.
"But suspicion is not proof."
Oki turned away, gaze lifting toward the palace.
"He loved once," she murmured. "That's why he's blind now."
"And the prince?" the final spirit asked.
Oki's chest tightened.
"He is stronger than you think," she said softly. "But strength does not mean loneliness."
The spirits began to fade.
"Remember your duty," they warned as one.
Oki whispered into the empty air, voice steady but aching,
"I remember it every time I choose him anyway."
Far away, in his chambers, Prince Kimo stirred—his heart heavy for reasons he could not name.
And somewhere beyond the palace walls, the foreigners prepared their next move.
The game had begun.
To be con.....