Kilimah Estate hadn't changed much since they were boys—at least not on the surface. The grand pillars still stood like proud sentries, vines curling over their edges like time refusing to erase what once was. The mountain winds still cut sharp through the estate's stone courtyards, biting at the skin like the cold truth that not all wounds bled. Some just stayed.
Duke Rnzo dismounted, boots thudding against the gravel with that same calm swagger he always had. He didn't wear his title like armor—it was a burden he bore with a grin and a shrug, nothing more. As he stepped through the arched gates of the estate, memories seemed to echo off the walls: laughter, the clang of wooden swords, arguments that once ended in bruised jaws and cracked ribs—those had been the good days.
The guards recognized him immediately, though they said nothing. His reputation didn't require announcement.
"Tell the General I'm here," he said coolly, brushing dust from his shoulder. "Or don't. I know the way."
They didn't stop him.
He found General Kian where he expected—in the west wing's open terrace, overlooking the vast stretch of the Northern training grounds. He stood still, hands behind his back, posture stiff as ever. A man carved by discipline and swallowed by duty.
Rnzo stepped beside him, gaze sweeping over the estate.
"You always liked this view," Rnzo muttered, breaking the silence. "Said it made you feel like a god looking down at his soldiers."
Kian's lips twitched. "And you always said that made me an arrogant bastard."
"Well," Rnzo smirked. "I wasn't wrong."
Finally, Kian turned to him. Time had roughened his face—sharper lines, harder eyes—but the fire hadn't dimmed. If anything, it had calcified into something more dangerous. But Rnzo had never been the type to flinch from fire.
"You've aged," Kian said bluntly.
"You still look like you fight mirrors when no one's watching," Rnzo shot back.
They both let out a short laugh, rough and familiar, like an old habit they hadn't kicked.
"I wasn't sure you'd come," Kian admitted.
"I wasn't sure you'd let me leave if I did," Rnzo replied with a shrug. "Figured I'd risk it."
Another beat passed. The silence wasn't awkward—it was heavy, charged with unsaid things that hung between them like ghosts.
"You still throw punches first?" Kian asked, half-teasing.
"Only when someone's earned it."
Kian raised a brow. "How doesn't someone qualify?"
"The day you pulled a sword on Arvin?" Rnzo turned to him, eyes steady. "Yeah. You earned that one."
The grin faded from Kian's face. His jaw clenched, but he didn't argue.
"I know I lost it," he said quietly. "That day... I wasn't thinking."
"You were thinking just fine," Rnzo countered. "You just didn't like what your thoughts revealed."
Kian said nothing.
Rnzo looked back at the field. "I had beat the hell out of you that night. You were slipping. Someone had to pull you back."
"Unforgivable." Kian hissed in anger
"I hated you for making me do it." Rnzo added.
The wind picked up between them, whistling through the columns.
"I should've been the one," Kian said after a long silence. "The Crown Prince. Everyone knew it."
"You would've made a fine ruler," Rnzo said, voice softer now. "But Arvin made a better one."
Kian looked at him then—really looked. "You believe that?"
"I do. And deep down... so do you."
Kian exhaled, the tension bleeding from his shoulders just a little. "I never wanted to be like Father. I just wanted to matter."
"You mattered," Rnzo said. "Still do. But the crown doesn't make the man, Kian. It only reveals him."
They stood in silence again, but this time it felt easier. Not healed—but healing.
"You've changed," Kian said, narrowing his eyes. "Since when do you talk like a damn philosopher?"
"Since I proposed to a woman who has me wrapped around her clever little finger."
Kian blinked. "That Gina girl?"
Rnzo grinned. "The very one."
"Didn't think you'd ever settle. You always said the Empire didn't deserve your lineage."
"I still believe that. But she does."
Kian scoffed. "If I ever marry, she'll be of royal blood. Someone who understands duty. Someone—"
"Who can shoulder your pride without getting crushed?" Rnzo cut in, raising a brow. "That list is short."
Kian chuckled, rubbing his jaw. "You were always the only one who could call me out and live."
"I'm still here, aren't I? Prove that I'm special " Rnzo said with a smile
Kian gave him a long look, something behind his eyes flickering—grudging respect, buried affection, guilt maybe. Whatever it was, it wasn't hatred.
"Thank you," he muttered finally. "For coming."
"I never stopped being your friend," Rnzo said. "You just stopped acting like mine."
The words hung in the air before Kian nodded, almost to himself.
"Glad to have had this conversation," he admitted.
"Yeah," Rnzo said. "Me too."
Kian exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening as he looked over the Kilimah estate. "He looked exhausted… not the kind you shake off with sleep. The kind that sinks into your bones."
"He is," Rnzo said without hesitation. "Every time I see him, he's carrying a little less of himself. There's no space left for the man Arvin was supposed to be—only the Emperor."
Kian glanced over. "And you? You still wear your titles like chains?"
Rnzo smirked. "I always did. But at least I stopped pretending they were made of gold."
Kian chuckled, but it didn't last long. "It still baffles me… He was nineteen. Barely a man. And they crowned him like he was born for it."
"Maybe he was," Rnzo murmured, his voice edged with something old and quiet.
Kian scoffed, half turning toward him. "You think that? After everything?"
"I think destiny is crueler than we like to admit," Rnzo said, eyes far off. "They raised him to rule without ever asking what it would cost."
Kian's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "It cost us everything."
Kian looked away, blinking against the sting in his eyes. "So… now what? We drink, we joke, and pretend everything's fine?"
Rnzo shrugged. "Isn't that what we've always done?"
Kian grunted. "You always were better at laughing off the pain."
"And you always wore yours like armor," Rnzo replied.
Their eyes met again—nothing needed to be said after that.
They weren't who they used to be. But somewhere beneath the burden of titles, betrayals, and years of silence, the bond remained.
Malaka Castle, East Wing — Midmorning
Sunlight pooled through the lattice windows of the Empress's private chamber, casting golden patches across the marble floor. The scent of sweet hibiscus oil hung in the air as Elara worked gently through the dark, lustrous strands of Nailah's hair, weaving them into an elegant twist. Her touch was careful, practiced, almost reverent—but her silence carried weight, as though she was always thinking but rarely speaking.
Nailah sat still, her gaze resting on her reflection in the polished bronze mirror before her. She looked flawless, as always. And yet, Yadid's words whispered through her mind like a breeze too cold for spring.
"If you don't select a concubine for The Emperor, they will select one for him and Elara would be the most likely candidate."
She hadn't thought much of it at the time. Yadid was bold. Too bold, sometimes. But that question lingered like a splinter. Arvin hadn't said anything. Not directly. But something about the way he avoided her these days… the way his mind seemed far away even when his body was beside her…
"Elara," Nailah said suddenly, breaking the quiet.
Elara's fingers paused mid-braid. "Yes, Your Majesty?"
"Do you think I've been… distant lately? With His Majesty?"
Elara blinked, caught off guard by the question, but her expression remained gentle. "It isn't my place to judge, but… it seems to me that you've been trying."
"I have," Nailah said, almost defensively. "I've done everything. I've obeyed every custom. I've studied the Empresses before me, learned their grace, their sacrifice. I've smiled even when I've wanted to scream. And still—he barely looks at me."
Elara lowered her gaze, her voice quiet. "Sometimes… even the brightest flowers bloom in gardens where no one sees them."
Nailah frowned. "So you think it's my fault?"
"No," Elara said softly. "I think His Majesty carries a weight none of us can imagine. Sometimes people forget how to be human when they're too busy trying to be perfect."
The room fell into silence again, save for the sound of the comb gliding through Nailah's hair.
Nailah studied Elara's reflection behind her—so composed, so soft-spoken. There was a warmth in her that made people feel safe. No wonder Yadid found her worthy of comment. No wonder…
"Tell me," Nailah said slowly, "do you think the Emperor… could ever find comfort in someone like you?"
Elara's hands stilled once more. Her eyes met Nailah's in the mirror.
"I think His Majesty is too loyal to find comfort in anyone while his heart is still at war."
Nailah turned away from the mirror.
"I wish I could understand him the way others seem to," she murmured. "Even you speak of him like you see something I don't."
Elara hesitated, then said gently, "Maybe you're trying too hard to be what he wants… instead of being what he needs."
Nailah stiffened, caught between insult and realization. But she said nothing.
The hair was finished. Elara stepped back with a bow.
"I'll fetch your gown, Your Majesty."
As Elara moved quietly toward the wardrobe, Nailah sat alone with her reflection once more—poised, painted, perfect… and more unsure than ever.
The Empress frequently requested conversations with Yadid, He always provided logical yet emotional responses. Beneath the flowering canopy of the east courtyard, where blossoms drifted like lazy snow, she sat across from him on a carved stone bench, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Yadid, ever composed, tried not to fidget under the quiet weight of her gaze.
"Nailah," she had insisted he call her today. No titles. No pretense.
She seemed softer than usual—less like the crowned jewel of Malaka and more like a woman uncertain of her place in her own story.
"I wanted to ask you something… personal," Nailah began, eyes flicking to the side.
Yadid straightened, sensing danger already. "Of course, Your—Nailah."
She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. "Do you think it's wrong to be intimate… while pregnant?"
Yadid blinked. Then coughed. Then nearly choked on nothing at all.
"I—I beg your pardon?"
She didn't laugh, though her lips curved ever so slightly. "I mean with my husband. Is it improper?"
Yadid rubbed the back of his neck, trying to stall the heat crawling up his collar. "Medically… I suppose it depends on the condition of the pregnancy, but emotionally—Your Majesty, that's a matter between husband and wife."
Nailah tilted her head, her voice quieter now. "But he won't touch me, Yadid. Not even hold me at night. It feels like I'm just… here. Just waiting to become the mother of his heir."
Yadid's expression softened. Despite the awkwardness, he could feel the genuine ache behind her words.
"I don't think it's wrong to want closeness," he said gently. "But I also don't think that kind of intimacy is the only way to feel loved."
Her brow furrowed. "Then what is?"
He offered a small smile, careful with his words. "Talk to him. Touch doesn't always need to be desire. Sit with him in silence. Share a memory. Bring him peace without asking for anything back. Sometimes… that's more intimate than anything else."
Nailah looked at him for a long moment, absorbing the advice. "You speak like a man who's known love."
"I speak like a man who's witnessed the lack of it," Yadid said with a faint sigh. "And knows what it can do to a person."
A breeze stirred her veil. She looked away, watching the petals drift past them in silence. Then, quietly, she whispered, "Thank you."
Yadid didn't speak again. He just sat beside her, offering the kind of presence she hadn't even realized she needed.
"I'm sorry Sir Yadid, His Majesty request for your presence. Elara said.
Yadid stood from the bench, brushing invisible dust from his robes. "Forgive me, Nailah," he said, offering a respectful bow, "but His Majesty has summoned me to his study. I must take my leave."
Nailah gave a gentle nod, though a flicker of disappointment passed through her eyes.
The doors swung open and Yadid entered, greeted by the familiar scent of parchment and the soft clink of glass as Arvin poured himself a drink. The emperor looked exhausted—his eyes shadowed, his uniform immaculate but slightly loosened at the collar. Yet when he looked up, there was something lighter in his expression.
"Well?" Arvin asked, eyes fixed on Yadid.
"She's stable," Yadid confirmed. "Four moons in, her strength is holding. The risks are lower now."
The emperor exhaled, deep and slow, as though someone had loosened the invisible chains across his chest. "Good. That's good."
There was a pause—brief but telling. Then Arvin straightened his shoulders.
"Then I can leave," he said, as much to himself as to Yadid. "I can attend the coronation of crown prince Kalan, in Lamig."
Yadid gave a small nod. "It would be good for your name to be seen again outside these walls. They've waited long enough."
"Draft a royal letter," Arvin instructed. "To be sent to the Queen Mother at Kamaya Kingdom, to General Kian at Kilimah, and to my cousins—Duke Rnzo, Lord Kaisen, and Lord Tando."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Heman bowed.
"We leave for Lamig in a fortnight. I want my family with me. It would have great for the family if we attended."