The thundering of cheers echoed through the open fields as the grand procession of carriages crossed into Lamig's territory. Bright banners waved. Flowers were thrown. Trumpets blared. The people of Lamig lined the roadsides, desperate to catch a glimpse of the emperor.
Yet none could tell which carriage he rode in—they all moved like a fleet of gods, each one dripping in gold, pulled by beasts draped in silk and velvet. The grandeur dazzled the eyes, but the mystery of the emperor's true carriage made the excitement electric.
Inside one of those carriages, all was still.
Until the sound pierced through the walls—laughter, stomping, celebration. The vibrations from the wheels rolling over the cobbled path shook the cabin gently.
Gina stirred first, her lashes fluttering open. Her cheek was pressed to something warm, solid. Her brow furrowed as she tried to move, only to realize—
Rnzo's arms were still around her.
Tightly.
His warmth enveloped her, his scent embedded in her skin after their night tangled together. Her breath hitched, and she slowly, carefully tried to pull back.
But his grip tightened. Before she could protest, his hand cupped her jaw and tilted her face up.
Then came the kiss.
Deep.
Unapologetic.
A kiss that ignored the horns and cheers and stomping hooves outside.
Gina's eyes widened. She didn't kiss him back—not immediately. Her hands braced against his chest, but she didn't push. She was stunned.
But Rnzo didn't rush.
He slowed the kiss.
Softened it.
His lips moved with aching tenderness now, brushing hers like a question he already knew the answer to. His hand cradled the back of her head gently, thumb stroking her nape.
And finally, Gina gave in.
She kissed him back, slow and steady. The kind of kiss that made the noise outside vanish. That made her forget they were nearing a capital city. That reminded her how fragile she felt in his arms—and how safe.
The knock came loud and urgent on the carriage door.
"My Lord, we've arrived!" someone called from outside.
But neither of them moved.
Rnzo didn't even flinch.
His lips moved with more purpose now, deepening the kiss again. Gina melted into it for one more second—two—before she pulled back, breathless and dazed.
"We can't," she whispered against his mouth, voice trembling.
His hand lingered on her cheek.
"I know."
And still, his thumb brushed her bottom lip like he was committing the shape of it to memory.
More knocking. More shouting. The crowd was growing louder as the carriage procession prepared to enter the capital gates.
Gina's heart thundered in her chest—not from the cheers outside, but from the man still cradling her so gently, so fiercely.
She straightened her posture, adjusting her dress with shaking fingers. Rnzo finally released her, but his gaze remained on her like a flame on silk.
As she reached for the curtain to peer outside, she could feel his eyes on the back of her neck, quiet and unreadable.
And just like that, the world demanded their roles again.
But inside that carriage… time had broken. And nothing would be quite the same.
Rnzo sat up slowly, not saying a word.
The sun filtered through the ornate curtains, casting soft gold over Gina's skin. Her cheeks were still flushed, her lips a little swollen from the long kiss they just shared. But her eyes avoided his.
Silence wrapped around them like silk—heavy, warm, full of things left unsaid.
Rnzo didn't break it. Instead, he leaned forward and reached for her gently.
Gina's breath caught as he tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, smoothing it down with deliberate care. His fingers brushed along her temple, then trailed to the small golden pins that had come loose overnight.
He fixed each one, one by one.
Still no words.
He adjusted the delicate veil that had slipped down her shoulders, pulling it into place and letting the sheer fabric rest lightly over her head. His knuckles brushed against her jaw as he did so. She didn't move. Just stared past him.
Then, without another glance, he shifted to sit across from her again. Back straight. Expression unreadable.
It was like a ritual.
One moment, they were lovers in silence. The next, nobles preparing to face the world.
A knock tapped lightly at the side of the carriage.
"My Lord, My Lady, we are nearing the gates of the palace. Please be prepared."
Rnzo's eyes flicked toward Gina's.
Still, neither spoke.
They just looked.
Not with confusion, not regret—just something deeper. A quiet acknowledgment of what passed between them. Of what couldn't be undone.
"We are ready," Rnzo said finally, voice firm.
The guard nodded and gave the signal.
The carriage jolted slightly as the procession moved forward again, now rolling through the great stone gates that led into the heart of Lamig's capital.
Outside, trumpets sounded. Inside, the air was thick with restraint.
Gina rested her hands in her lap, her fingers curled inward so tightly her knuckles were pale beneath her tan skin. Rnzo sat opposite her like a statue carved in shadow, eyes trained on the window—but his mind, clearly, was somewhere else.
Neither of them said another word.
But the silence now… it wasn't empty.
It was full of fire.
The capital walls came into view like a rising dream, tall and shimmering in the late morning light. From Arvin's carriage, the city's grandeur seemed almost muted beneath the weight of his fatigue.
His head leaned back against the carved wood, eyes heavy with the remnants of a sleepless night. Across from him, Heman sat with his arms crossed, eyeing the Emperor as if watching a slow-burning candle.
Arvin's voice came at last, groggy and dry.
"I need a bed."
Heman let out a chuckle, soft but amused.
"We're nearly there, Your Majesty. Just a little longer."
Arvin didn't reply, only sighed and let his eyes fall closed again. Outside, the palace gates opened with regal slowness. Trumpets blared—a bright, ceremonial fanfare that announced their arrival at the Palace of Lamig.
As the carriage rolled into the courtyard of Èvana's largest castle, its majesty unveiled itself in full: white stone walls carved with generations of history, archways dressed in blooming vines, guards in formal attire lined like statues under the blazing sun.
Carriage doors swung open.
One by one, nobles and attendants descended. Ladies stepped out in veils and silk, Lords adjusted their sashes, brushing off the long journey.
But all eyes turned—just briefly—when Rnzo stepped down… with Gina at his side.
Their hands were intertwined.
Not lightly. Not for show.
Fingers laced. Firm. Sure.
Gasps were swallowed. Whispers bit the air.
Gina didn't look at anyone. Neither did Rnzo. They moved forward like a united front—silent but unmistakably bound.
Just behind them, Taji offered his hand to Mirha. She took it with a grateful smile and stepped out gracefully. Her modesty, wrapped in poise, radiated like a gentle light.
The room arrangements had already been decided.
Servants were at the ready, bowing low and escorting guests through the marbled halls of the royal residence. Mirha was led through a long corridor scented with lavender and polished wood, her presence bringing a quiet calm.
Inside her chamber, the maids had gathered to help her undress and freshen up—but found themselves doing much more than just combing hair or folding silks.
Mirha had them laughing.
Not forced laughter either, but genuine joy.
Her voice, her gentle jokes, her stories—they made the room feel warmer, like home.
One of the younger maids even wiped a tear of laughter from her cheek.
"My lady, no one warned us you were this funny."
Mirha grinned, eyes bright.
"If I'm to spend my days with you all, I might as well bring a little joy into the room, no?"
Another maid smiled as she gently wrapped a fresh veil around Mirha's shoulders.
"We've dressed princesses with sharper tongues than their combs. You're a breeze, my lady. A spring breeze."
And that's what Mirha was. A breeze.
Soft, refreshing, and impossible not to notice.
While beyond her chamber, the palace stirred with tension, gossip, and the unspoken weight of secrets—within her walls, there was only lightness, laughter, and the quiet arrival of a girl who would change far more than just the tone of a room.
The grand hallway to the Emperor's chambers was unusually quiet. The sound of his boots echoed against polished stone as Arvin walked with slow, deliberate steps—each one feeling heavier than the last. The morning sun poured through the tall arched windows, gold and soft, but he barely noticed.
Heman trailed behind in respectful silence, hands clasped at his back, his usual humor subdued. He knew better than to speak now. After nights without sleep and days filled with performance, Emperor Arvin was unraveling—but with dignity. Always with dignity.
They reached the tall double doors of the royal chamber.
The guards bowed low. A maid opened one side, stepping aside.
Arvin walked in without a word.
The doors shut behind him with a soft thud.
Inside, it was quiet. Peaceful. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting in just enough light to gild the edges of the velvet furniture. His bed—large, elegant, and wrapped in pristine linens—felt like a distant promise finally fulfilled.
Arvin exhaled.
He didn't go straight to it.
Instead, he removed his outer robe with slow hands, letting it fall across the chaise. Then his crown. He didn't place it gently. He simply removed it and let it sit at the edge of a nearby table—slightly off center, like everything else in his world lately.
He rolled his neck, shoulders tight.
His fingers brushed the collar of his tunic. Then he stopped.
And stared at the bed.
The bed.
The thing he'd been dreaming of for three days now.
Not titles. Not paperwork. Not any of the soft, whispering voices begging for decisions and favors.
Just the bed.
With a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan, Arvin pulled the last layer of his tunic over his head and tossed it aside. He dropped onto the mattress, face-first, half-in, half-out of the sheets.
The silken fabric beneath him was cool. It smelled faintly of cedar and clean cotton.
"Finally…" he murmured into the pillows.
He flipped over, stared at the ceiling for a moment.
And then he laughed.
Just a single breath of a laugh—tired and amused by the fact that this, above all else, felt like the first real moment he could be himself since the journey began.
The Emperor of Èvana. Sprawled in half-undressed silence across a bed like a man who'd just survived a war.
Which… wasn't so far from the truth.
Within seconds, his eyelids sank. His breathing slowed.
And just before sleep took him, he whispered:
"If anyone wakes me before the moon rises… they'll lose their head."
Then silence.
And sleep.
Royal. Undisturbed. Well-earned.
It wasn't the sound of trumpets or servants that pulled the Emperor from his slumber.
It was laughter.
Soft. Breathless. The kind that people try to hush but fail miserably at when excitement gets the better of them.
Arvin's brows furrowed, still heavy with sleep. His body felt rested but reluctant to move. He lay there, half-curled, blankets draped across his bare chest. The warmth of the bed still clung to him like a protective spell.
But the voices grew louder.
Muffled but clear—right outside the washroom.
"I thought she was the Empress, I swear! The way she carries herself—so gentle, so regal…"
"Oh gods, same! And did you see how she spoke to the kitchen girls? Not a drop of pride in her tone. Even the guards say she makes them feel like nobles."
"If the Emperor had any sense—"
"Shhh!" one hushed sharply. "You'll get us hanged!"
Arvin blinked, now fully awake. He turned his head toward the golden light bleeding through the edges of the velvet curtains.
Mirha.
He hadn't heard her name.
But somehow, every word was drenched in her image.
Her voice, soft but unwavering. The wide, curious eyes that had looked up at him that day when she'd fallen into that ridiculous hole. All for rabbits, stubborn dignity in her spine. She hadn't cowered. She hadn't even complained. Just apologized—and smiled.
That smile had followed him into battle dreams and lonely nights more times than he cared to admit.
He turned onto his back, one arm folded under his head.
Mirha.
She had crawled her way into every heart she met, quietly and without fanfare. A tide that swept over without warning. Even the palace was whispering her name like she was royalty born of stardust.
He closed his eyes again.
"A lucky man," he thought, his lips curling faintly into a private smile, "the one who'll have her by his side."
But the smile faded, replaced by something heavier in his chest.
He was the Emperor.
He could command armies, silence traitors with a glance, raise kingdoms with a signature.
But he didn't know how to talk to her again.
Not like that day. Not without making it complicated. Not without his crown reminding her who he was and who she wasn't.
Still…
Maybe there'd be another moment.
Another laugh. Another accident. A way to start again.
He exhaled slowly, then sat up. The blankets slid off his frame as he rose from the bed and stretched, muscles groaning in protest.
"That water better be warm," he muttered, smirking softly to himself.
Because somehow, between all the duties and thrones and protocol, Mirha had made herself the first thought in his waking mind.
And he wasn't sure what that meant yet.
But he wish to find out.
The air was thick with steam and silence when Rnzo stepped back into the room.
Gina was standing before the mirror, her damp skin still glowing from the bath. She had her underdress on—clinging slightly to her damp frame—and an apron tied loosely around her waist, the soft fabric fluttering faintly with her breath. The rest of her body was bare, modest yet intimate.
But she didn't flinch. Didn't run to cover herself.
She just looked at him—through the mirror.
Rnzo froze in place, his eyes trailing up the slope of her bare back before lifting to meet her gaze in the reflection. His expression was unreadable. Calm. Still. He was already turning to leave, giving her space—
Until she spoke.
Her voice was quiet, but steady.
"I'm sorry, Your Grace. I only threw the game that time because my mother forced me to. It was the only way to stop her from going too far. I… I know now that I should've considered your feelings. I'm sorry for trapping you in this engagement."
Her fingers gripped the edge of the vanity. Her eyes shimmered, but she didn't cry.
"Please… I promise to be a good Duchess. But please… don't be angry with me anymore."
A long breath escaped Rnzo's nose as he turned around.
Slowly.
He walked to her—not rushed, not hesitant. Just with the weight of something that had been sitting on his chest for days.
When he reached her, he didn't touch her yet.
He stood behind her, eyes locked on hers through the mirror.
"Finally," he said, his tone deep but even. "I needed to hear that."
His jaw tightened, but not in anger. More like restraint.
"Things went in my favour, Gina. I have you. So why would I be angry?" His voice dropped lower. "And remember, I was the one who proposed to you. That match may have forced our hand, but it wasn't the proposal. I made that choice."
He stepped closer. Their reflections nearly touching.
"And I'm not looking for a perfect Duchess," he said, his voice like velvet over fire. "I'm looking for a wife… I'm looking for you, Gina."
He leaned forward, his hand sliding around her waist, fingers spreading against the soft linen of her apron as he drew her back to him. His breath brushed against her shoulder. His lips found the curve of her neck. Soft. Deliberate.
Gina's body weakened at the contact, her knees wobbling beneath her—her fingers digging into his arm for balance. Her breath hitched when he moved to her lips, catching her in a kiss that felt like a question and an answer all at once.
She kissed him back. Desperately. As if trying to tell him everything her words never could.
But just as the moment deepened—a knock on the chamber door.
They both froze.
"Gina?" It was Kiara's voice, muffled but chipper. "Mirha and I are here! Are you almost dressed? We leave in an hour for the welcoming party!"
Silence.
Rnzo didn't move.
Gina let out a breath, forehead resting against his chest as he held her there. He exhaled slowly, kissing the top of her head before finally stepping back.
"They'll keep knocking," he muttered.
Gina nodded, cheeks flushed, heart thudding against her ribs.
Rnzo, already dressed in his formal black and gold tunic, walked over to the chair and straightened his sash with a smirk that betrayed a sliver of heat behind his usual cool.
"I'll see you downstairs," he said.
Then he walked out, leaving the scent of cedar and heat behind.
Gina stood in front of the mirror, her hand rising slowly to touch her lips.
She was not ready for this party.
Not in the slightest.
As Rnzo stepped out of the chamber, he was met by Mirha and Kiara waiting patiently in the hall.
Both ladies dipped into a graceful bow as he passed, their eyes lingering a beat too long.
Mirha's brow lifted ever so slightly. Kiara bit her lip to stifle a knowing smile.
Rnzo didn't say a word—just nodded curtly and disappeared down the corridor.
The moment the door creaked open behind them, they rushed inside—only to stop dead in their tracks.
Gina stood in the middle of the room, still in her underdress, flustered, and clearly not ready. Her cheeks were flushed, hair slightly mussed, and the air still held a trace of something…warm.
The silence was brief—before Mirha gasped, wide-eyed, and Kiara let out a low whistle.
"Ginaaa," Kiara dragged out, already smirking.
"You're not dressed yet?" Mirha asked sweetly—too sweetly.
Gina turned her back to them immediately, grabbing for a hair ribbon. "Mind your business," she mumbled, ears burning.
The girls exchanged glances and then—
Laughter.
Full, playful laughter filled the room as Kiara flopped onto the edge of the bed dramatically.
"You are so blushing."
"You're glowing," Mirha added, eyes twinkling. "That bath must've been magical."
"more like, Magical Duke," Kiara teased with a wink.
Gina groaned into her hands but couldn't hide the grin tugging at her lips. "Please, just help me get ready before someone else gets suspicious."
They didn't press her further. Just giggled through dressing her, tightening her bodice and placing delicate pins in her hair. The air buzzed with warmth—sisterhood forming, trust building.
Once she was fully dressed in a gown of rich lavender and pearl tones, they stepped into the corridor together, their laughter still echoing faintly.
Outside, the grand carriages were waiting.
This time, the arrangements were different.
Gina and Mirha rode together, their carriage shimmering with pale gold and soft violet silks.
Rnzo shared his with Kaisen, the two brothers in quiet conversation.
Tando and Kiara followed in their own carriage—though their occasional snorts of laughter could be heard even from the palace steps.
The Queen Mother and Lady Kanha shared a regal coach adorned in royal blue and crimson—Lady Kanha quiet, the Queen Raina poised.
And at the very front, Arvin rode with Kain and Heman in the imperial carriage, its design heavy with gold filigree, guarded on all sides.
The parade of carriages began to roll forward, wheels clattering against the polished stone roads, as they made their way toward the grand Main Castle of Èvana, where King Ren and his family awaited with anticipation.
And though they sat in separate carriages, Gina could still feel Rnzo's warmth on her skin…