Princess Goya," came the voice from beyond the door. Deep. Measured. Familiar from memory, yet fuller in person. "Forgive the hour. I wished to send my greetings… May I enter?"
She hesitated. Her mouth was dry. Her tongue felt heavy. But she forced the words past the fog curling around her thoughts.
"Come in," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
The door creaked open.
General Kain stepped inside, closing it gently behind him. He remained by the threshold, the distance between them vast, almost ceremonial. He was still clad in his uniform, dark green brushed with gold, his sword holstered at his side, his presence magnetic and overwhelming.
Goya sat still. Her hands trembled in her lap. Her eyes were lowered—not in submission, but in effort. It was taking all of her strength not to sway where she sat. She couldn't bring herself to look at him fully. Not yet. Her breath came in slow, shallow pulls.
He studied her silently.
Her lips parted, and with visible difficulty, she said, "I… apologize, Your Highness. It's… too warm in here. I—" She faltered, the heat building inside her becoming unbearable.
Kain took one step closer. He said nothing yet, but his sharp gaze didn't waver.
She tried to stand. Her knees buckled beneath her the moment she rose.
Kain moved with speed, catching her before she could fall.
"Easy," he said, holding her upright with firm hands. He could feel her trembling through the silk. Her skin beneath the robe was burning—but her hands, cold like winter water, gripped at his chest.
She clutched at his cloak desperately, her forehead pressed faintly against him. "It's too hot… please," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Please, I… need you, Kain… please…"
Her hand slid into the front of his cloak, fingers brushing against his chest as though seeking refuge from the chaos inside her. She didn't understand what was happening—only that she was spiraling, unmoored and helpless.
That was when it struck him.
Her skin was ice-cold.
Her breath was erratic.
Her forehead—burning.
His eyes widened. "You've been drugged," he said under his breath.
He didn't hesitate.
Kain turned his head sharply toward the door and roared, "GUARDS!"
A scuffle of footsteps echoed from the hallway.
"Summon the royal physician—now. And find Miru. Find everyone who stepped foot into this room since dinner," Kain commanded. His voice was steel.
Another guard arrived, looking stunned to find the princess nearly faint in the general's arms.
"GO!" Kain barked again.
"Yes, General!"
He turned back to Goya. She was still upright, still conscious, but dazed. She blinked slowly, confusion in her eyes. Yet her grip on him was desperate, vulnerable, pleading.
"Stay with me," he whispered, brushing his hand gently across her cheek. "You're safe now. I swear it." Kain didn't know exactly what to do.
He led her carefully back to the bed, lowering her onto the mattress with measured hands. He didn't release her until she had lain down with her head supported by the cushions. She clutched his wrist as if afraid he might disappear.
Outside, chaos was beginning to unfold—guards rushing to investigate, servants being roused from sleep.
Inside, silence.
He remained by her side, watching over her, fury brewing behind his eyes, but his voice remained calm and gentle.
"You're strong," he whispered, voice barely audible, a promise rather than praise. "This will not break you."
And she—though weakened—nodded, just once, as if to say she knew, but it got to her again and she got up kain entered her bed and decided to hold her as he removed his cloak and covered her with it Goya buried her face in his chest all Kain could do is hold her and wait for the physician.
The palace halls had erupted in chaos.
Outside Princess Goya's chambers, maids scrambled like frightened birds, whispering and shouting all at once.
Near Mirha's quarters, the noise stirred just as she was preparing for bed. Her silk wrap brushed the floor as she turned toward the door, her brow furrowed at the commotion. Suni, her loyal maid, had just stepped out when two panicked maids nearly collided into her.
"Suni—run!" one of them hissed. "They're coming for you! You're a suspect in Princess Goya's poisoning!"
Suni's eyes widened in horror. "What?! No—I—what poison?"
She collapsed to her knees, trembling violently.
Mirha rushed to her, helping her stay upright. "What's going on?" she demanded.
The maids quickly explained what had unfolded—Princess Goya had collapsed. She was burning with fever and trembling. The tea… it all traced back to Suni and Miru.
Mirha's expression changed instantly. A memory sparked.
She turned cold. Her mind snapped to the answer.
"No," she whispered. "It's not poison—it's something else."
---
Back in Goya's chamber, the air was tense and tight. General Kain sat on the edge of the bed, holding Goya in his arms. She trembled against his chest, wrapped in his cloak, gripping him like an anchor. Her breathing was shallow. Her fingers clutched his tunic with desperation.
Still no physician.
The military medics stood to the side, unequipped to deal with such a delicate situation. Kain's jaw clenched. His patience thinned with every heartbeat.
Then, the door creaked open.
A maid walked in and fell immediately to her knees.
"M-my name is Suni," she said, voice shaking. "I serve Lady Mirha Launi of the Bukid Kingdom. I—I brought the tea… it was received by Miru, Princess Goya's personal maid."
Kain rose partially, one arm still around Goya, the other resting on the hilt of his sword.
"Why," he demanded coldly, "did a maid to another lady serve Princess Goya?"
Suni trembled, bowing lower, lips quivering—but before she could answer, a soft voice broke through.
"I… requested her," Goya murmured. Her face remained hidden against Kain's chest, her voice fragile but clear.
Kain looked down at her, then back at Suni, his anger simmering but tempered by confusion.
Suni swallowed. "If I may, Your Highness… my lady—Lady Mirha—is preparing a remedy. She believes she knows what happened."
Just then, the door opened again.
Mirha entered with poise and urgency, holding fresh ginger roots in her hands. Two other maids followed with bowls of water and towels.
She stepped forward, bowed respectfully, and spoke clearly. "Your Highness, I am Lady Mirha Launi of Bukid, one of Empress Nailah's ladies. I take full responsibility for this situation, but I can swear on my life—Suni did not drug Princess Goya."
Kain's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
Mirha continued, adjusting her tone with careful respect. "I am well-trained in herbs and remedies. My grandparents were herbalists, and I've studied their methods. In situations like this…" She paused, glancing at Goya, hesitant.
She felt like she might be overstepping.
Kain's voice softened just enough. "Proceed."
Mirha drew a breath. "In situations like this—where she hasn't passed out, nor is foaming from the mouth—it's not poison. It's a drug… an aphrodisiac. Likely slipped in through the tea."
Gasps echoed around the room.
She held out the ginger roots. "If left alone, the effects will wear off—by morning, maybe even noon. But if we act now, ginger and a cold soak can neutralize it faster. Within the hour, she will begin to feel better."
Kain stared at her, stunned. Even the royal physician—who had just arrived, breathless—paused mid-step.
Goya stirred. Slowly, she sat up in Kain's arms, panting softly, her cheeks red with fever but her gaze locked on Mirha. Her lips moved, forming an expression of gratitude without words.
The physician stepped forward to take the ginger roots from Mirha. "She's right," he murmured, inspecting them. "This… this might work."
Maids scrambled to prepare the bath.
But before anything else could happen—
The door burst open again.
Guards stormed in, dragging a woman between them.
It was Miru.
She was weeping, trying to wrestle free. "I'm sorry—I'm so sorry! I didn't know it would harm her—I didn't mean—please!"
"She was caught trying to escape the palace," one guard reported.
Kain's expression darkened. He stood fully now, gently placing Goya on the bed. His hand went to his sword, unsheathing it with a hiss of steel.
Mirha's heart stopped.
Goya screamed, "STOP!"
Her voice cut through the room like lightning.
Everyone froze.
Kain's sword hovered mid-air. His eyes met Goya's, wide with fury, but her gaze held firm despite her weakness.
"Don't… don't hurt her," she whispered. "Not yet. We don't know everything…"
Her voice trembled, but her will did not.
Mirha slowly moved to Goya's side. Kain lowered the blade—but his eyes never left Miru, who collapsed to the ground sobbing.
The truth was beginning to unravel.
But the night was far from over.
Miru collapsed to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. Her disheveled hair clung to her damp face as she looked up at Goya, her voice breaking between gasps for air.
"I was threatened… by a Dusumi," she choked out—the word sending a shiver through the room.
Everyone stilled.
"The royal guard of King Ren's family," she clarified with trembling lips. "He told me it was an order from above… and if I disobeyed…" Her voice cracked again. "My family would be slaughtered. Even my five-year-old daughter—he said she wouldn't be spared."
A horrified silence fell.
"I—I only did it because he promised it wouldn't kill her," she sobbed, looking directly at Goya. "I swear it. He said it would only weaken her—never harm her life. I even took a small dose myself to prove it. I would never have done it otherwise. I didn't want this—I'm so sorry… so sorry…"
Goya's expression shifted from confusion to disbelief, and then to shock. Her hand covered her mouth as tears welled in her eyes.
She couldn't speak. Her body trembled—not from the remnants of the drug, but from heartbreak.
"Arrest her," Kain ordered coldly, his voice like iron. The guards stepped forward at once.
"No!" Goya pleaded, her voice raw. "Please—don't kill her. She… she was used."
Kain paused, looking at Goya. Her eyes pleaded with his.
"They won't kill her," he relented, nodding slowly. "Not if you command otherwise. But she must still face punishment for her part."
Goya nodded through her tears, her gaze fixed on Miru with silent sorrow.
Miru didn't resist as she was pulled away. Her weeping echoed faintly down the hallway until it faded into silence.
Kain gave Mirha and Suni a brief look—less stern now, more exhausted than anything. "Escort them back to their chambers," he told the guards quietly.
Mirha bowed her head and followed without a word, her heart heavy.
---
Back in her chamber, the silence was suffocating.
Mirha sat on the edge of her bed, her hands clenched in her lap, eyes unfocused. Her chest ached—not from fear or shame, but sorrow. Sorrow for Miru… for Goya… for a palace so poisoned by secrets that kindness had become a dangerous thing to offer.
She thought of Miru's daughter.
Of the terror in Miru's eyes.
Of Goya's trembling voice when she screamed for mercy.
Mirha turned to the window, eyes rising to the moonlight bathing the palace in silver.
How many more would suffer from these games of power and fear?
She closed her eyes.
And for the first time in a long while—
She felt the weight of the crown, though it didn't sit on her head.
The moonlight spilled into the room like pale water, soft and silent, illuminating the elegant carvings of Goya's chamber walls. Outside, the night air was still. Not even the wind dared stir.
Inside, Goya lay awake—her limbs heavy with exhaustion, yet her eyes refusing to close. The effects of the drug had long worn off, but her body was still tense, her mind too loud to find peace.
She pulled the blankets tighter around herself, curling slightly on the silk-covered mattress. Her thoughts moved like shadows.
Who did this?
Her jaw clenched.
Miru said she was threatened by a Dusumi… one of Father's men—or could it have been Fahit? The name left a bitter taste in her thoughts. He's always tried to silence anything that made me feel alive.
The weight of betrayal sank deeper in her chest. Miru—her gentle, attentive lady-in-waiting—had been a part of it. But even now, Goya couldn't bring herself to hate her.
"She was scared," she whispered into the dark. "Terrified."
And what if they punished her too harshly?
Goya closed her eyes for a moment, praying softly under her breath, "Don't beat her. Please… don't kill her."
Her fingers brushed her temple. Her head was still throbbing faintly. Then, as if on cue, the image of General Kain appeared in her mind—his fierce eyes, the heat of his arms when he held her, the sound of his voice when he called for help… and the anger in his voice when he thought she was in danger.
Why?
Why was he so… possessive? she wondered.
He barely knew her. Their engagement was political—formality dressed in gold and embroidered silk. He had no reason to care.
But he did.
He stood in front of her like a wall of fire. Like someone who would burn down the world if she collapsed again.
She touched her chest where her heart had thudded violently in his presence. She wasn't sure if she was lucky… or terribly unlucky.
"Am I just another pawn?" she murmured. "Or something more?"
Then, another thought emerged—gentler, calmer, but just as mysterious.
Mirha.
Mirha, who had stepped into the chaos without hesitation. Who took responsibility without being asked. Who walked in with ginger roots and calm hands and spoke like she'd seen this before.
A lady-in-waiting with knowledge of healing?
Goya turned her face toward the moonlight.
"Who are you really, Mirha of Bukid?" she whispered.
She blinked up at the ceiling, lost in a strange awe. Somehow, Mirha had kept her head when everyone else lost theirs. Even the physician had hesitated—but not her.
She stared at the dark ceiling, a thousand thoughts rushing at once, and yet—
Sleep still did not come.
The insomnia didn't only end in Mirha's chambers Princess Goya too had a hard night as the moon hung low over the palace, casting soft silver shadows against the lattice of Goya's chamber. The brazier had been dimmed. Only a flickering oil lamp remained, its golden flame dancing gently against the silken walls.
Goya lay on her side atop the cool silk sheets, her long hair spread like ink over her pillow. Her eyes were open—wide, thoughtful, unfocused. The drug had worn off hours ago, leaving her body still, but her mind in an aching spiral.
Her fingers twitched slightly, then curled against her chest as if to cradle her own heart.
Why?
The question had been echoing inside her like a drum since she'd regained full clarity. She turned slowly onto her back, her face lit by moonlight. Her gaze traced the ceiling beams above her, her lips slightly parted, breath shallow and quiet.
Miru.
Her chest tightened. Goya shut her eyes. She could still hear her sobbing voice in her ears.
"Even my five-year-old daughter..."
Goya bit her bottom lip. "Please… let them spare her," she whispered aloud into the stillness. "Please don't beat her…"
She sat up slowly, hugging her knees to her chest beneath the sheer fabric of her nightgown. Her hands, no longer trembling, still felt like they didn't belong to her. She stared down at them, at the faint smudge of her earlier tears drying on her knuckles.
Who could have ordered this?
Her jaw clenched. Her father, King Ren, was capable. Cold. Strategic. But to use her like this?
Or... Fahit?
She pressed her forehead to her knees, shivering slightly though the room was warm.
And then—there was him.
General Kain.
Her betrothed.
A sigh escaped her lips before she could stop it. Her arms wrapped tighter around her legs. She could still feel the pressure of his hand on her forehead, the strength of his arms as they steadied her, the urgency in his voice as he shouted for the guards. He had held her without hesitation. No shame. No restraint.
He'd seemed ready to kill for her.
But… why?
He hardly knew her.
So why does he look at me like I belong to him?
She flushed slightly, her cheeks warming. Her fingers brushed her lips, as if remembering something that hadn't even happened.
Was she lucky to be marrying a man so fierce in protection?
Or unlucky… because she had no idea what lay behind his storm-dark eyes?
Her breath trembled, and she shifted off the bed, feet silently pressing to the smooth floor. She walked toward the window, parting the curtain. The garden below lay still, petals swaying gently in the breeze.
She leaned against the frame, her thoughts wandering once more.
And Mirha…
A girl of sweet grace. So quiet, so kind—so easily overlooked. But today, she had changed. Goya had watched her walk into the chamber like someone born to command. With her ginger roots. Her calm. Her certainty.
She was no simple lady.
She was something more.
And now, Goya couldn't stop thinking about what she'd heard in one of Hosha's stories —how she was everything he needed at first she did not get it now it as clear as day light why he loved her, and the Goya could not help but wonder.
He loved Mirha for the right reasons…?
She blinked slowly, heart whispering questions she hadn't asked before.
"Who are you really, Mirha?" she murmured into the night. "And why do I feel like I owe you my life…"
The room was silent, but her thoughts were loud.
And sleep—sleep never came.