The wheels of the carriage slowed as they approached the great gates of the Eastern Palace. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of amber and rose, bathing the marble archways and tiled roofs in a soft glow. Goya sat inside, her back straight and her hands folded neatly on her lap. Her fingers trembled slightly, betraying the quiet nervousness she refused to show on her face. She wasn't terrified—no, she told herself firmly. She was not about to be bedded tonight. There was nothing dreadful ahead. Nothing terrible about General Kain or even the late Emperor Kilimah, his father.
She was simply stepping into her future.
The carriage came to a halt in front of the palace steps. Gold-armored guards lined the entrance, still as statues, their crimson cloaks fluttering gently in the evening breeze. The main doors stood tall behind them, carved with twin dragons curling around a blossoming lotus.
The palace staff quickly descended to open her door. Her lady-in-waiting, who had accompanied her, whispered softly, "We have arrived, Princess Goya."
She gave a nod and took a steadying breath, placing one foot out. As she emerged, her eyes met a single figure at the top of the stairs. Queen Mother Raina.
She was clad in deep sapphire, her figure draped in soft silk that trailed behind her like water. Her hair, streaked with silver, was twisted elegantly above her head and adorned with fine jeweled pins. Her face held a gentle smile, not too wide, not forced. Her hands folded calmly before her.
Goya descended from the carriage fully, her own silver-blue gown catching the last light of the sun. She gave a deep curtsy. "Your Majesty."
Queen Mother Raina stepped forward and reached out, gently taking her hands. "Welcome, child. Welcome to Lamig, and to the Eastern Palace."
"Thank you," Goya replied softly. She hesitated. "Your—Raina."
The queen mother gave a gentle chuckle. "That is better. Come, let me show you to your chambers. They are beside my son's."
Side by side, the two women ascended the stairs, the staff bowing as they passed. Goya caught the scents of fresh peonies and honeysuckle drifting through the halls. Servants moved in perfect rhythm, guiding trunks and chests behind them.
"You must be tired from your journey," Raina said. "But I hope the ride wasn't too uncomfortable."
"It was not," Goya answered. "The roads here are... smoother than I expected."
Raina glanced at her with mild amusement. "Yes. That is something my son ensured before he went to the front. Kain has always been practical."
They passed tall windows, their panes framed by intricate lattices. The evening light filtered through them, casting geometric patterns on the polished stone floor.
They turned into a quiet corridor, more private, where only two guards stood at either end. Raina gestured to the door to the left. "These are your rooms. Kain's are just beyond that wall. He's not yet returned from the training grounds, but he will join you soon."
The door opened, and Goya took her first step inside.
It was... beautiful.
A canopied bed stood at the center, draped with soft linens of blue and white. The floors were polished wood, covered with rugs woven with stories of the Eastern provinces. Tall shelves lined the walls, filled with books and delicate ornaments. An entire wall was open to the garden below, where lanterns floated like fireflies and soft music echoed from a distant courtyard.
"It is perfect," Goya whispered.
Raina smiled, pleased. "The general chose the colors himself. Said you seemed like someone who'd appreciate quiet elegance."
Goya blinked. That small detail struck a chord inside her. "He did?"
"He did," Raina affirmed. "You may not know him yet, but my son is not without thought. He simply... carries the burden of discipline more than charm."
Goya turned to her. "I don't expect charm."
"And that," Raina said with warmth, "is why I believe you will suit each other well."
Goya touched the corner of her bedframe, running her fingers across the smooth grain. "Thank you for welcoming me, Raina. I—I will do my best to be a wife he can be proud of."
Raina stepped closer, placing her hand gently on Goya's shoulder. "My dear, he would be a fool not to see the strength in you."
There was a beat of silence. Then Raina gave a polite smile. "Now, I will leave you to freshen up. The ladies are already at dinner. I shall join you shortly."
As the queen mother departed, Goya stood alone in her new chamber. She took in a deep breath and let it go slowly. No, she was not terrified. Just nervous.
She walked to the mirror and began unpinning her hair, preparing for dinner with her future family.
The dining hall was warm with the glow of chandeliers, each hanging like a crown of fire above a long table of polished darkwood. Servants moved silently, adjusting plates, pouring wine, lighting the last few candles. The scent of roasted meats, fresh herbs, and sweet plum glaze filled the air.
Kiara sat at the table, her face radiant and freshly powdered, her eyes content. She wore a soft pink gown that shimmered like dawn. Beside her sat Mirha and Gina, both elegantly dressed, exchanging small smiles between whispers.
Gina leaned toward Mirha. "Look at her. The blush hasn't faded since she entered."
"I told you," Mirha whispered back, sipping her wine with mischief in her eyes. "They were holed up for days. I suspect she hasn't had much sleep."
Kiara, hearing every word, gave them a pointed look. "I can hear you both."
Mirha feigned innocence. "We were just saying you look... well-rested."
"Radiant," Gina added with a grin.
"You two," Kiara muttered, shaking her head. "Just because you haven't had a week to vanish with your husbands doesn't mean you get to poke at me."
"I'd settle for a day," Gina said. "Even an hour."
Mirha snickered.
Across from them, Kanha sat quietly, listening with a neutral expression. She never added to the gossip, but she didn't seem to mind it either. Her posture was perfect, and she held her teacup delicately.
"You're awfully quiet, Kanha," Mirha said with a smile. "Doesn't Goya's arrival excite you?"
Kanha looked up. "It does. I am curious to see how she carries herself."
Gina laughed lightly. "Spoiled princesses usually shrivel here, but Goya... she didn't look fragile to me."
"She didn't look hard either," Kiara added. "Just... composed."
Mirha leaned forward. "Well, she was raised in the Western court. They say they are trained to handle themselves like diplomats by the time they are twelve."
"And wives by sixteen," Gina said dryly. "Political marriages are common there."
"We'll see what kind of wife she becomes," Kiara said, now thoughtfully. "General Kain isn't exactly the easiest man."
Mirha tilted her head. "True. But he chose her. That says something."
Before they could continue, the large doors at the end of the hall opened. A servant entered, bowed, and announced, "Princess Goya will be joining you shortly. The Queen Mother will arrive soon as well."
The ladies all straightened in their seats. Servants moved quickly to pour fresh tea and adjust cutlery.
Moments later, Goya entered.
She wore a gown of midnight blue, with silver embroidery tracing delicate patterns of birds and stars across the bodice. Her hair was swept up with subtle curls framing her face. She walked with grace, though her eyes flicked across the table, noting each woman's expression.
"Good evening," she greeted, giving a curtsy. "I apologize for making you wait."
Kiara rose first. "Welcome, Goya. We were just getting to know each other. Please join us."
Kanha smiled warmly. "We're pleased to have you."
Goya took her seat, and servants quickly stepped forward to pour her a fresh cup of tea.
Kanha inclined her head respectfully. "Your chambers were to your liking, I hope."
"Yes, very much," Goya answered. "They were... thoughtfully arranged."
The room settled into conversation. Dishes were brought out, and soft music began to play from the far end of the hall.
Though Goya felt the occasional flutter in her chest, the warmth in the women's voices and the lightness of their laughter began to put her at ease.
She smiled to herself. Perhaps this new chapter would not be so daunting after all.
Goya's eyes lifted slowly, trailing along the golden edges of the arched ceiling before descending back to the soft glow of the Eastern Palace dining chamber. The room was unlike anything she had grown up around—tall ivory columns wrapped in flowering vines of golden thread, chandeliers shaped like blooming lotuses suspended in a slow, eternal twirl, and servants in crimson and pearl uniforms moving with silent grace. A thousand unspoken expectations seemed to cling to the air, like perfume too rich to breathe in deeply.
And then she saw her.
Mirha.
At first, Goya doubted her own eyes. The woman seated near the head of the dining table was radiant beyond memory. It wasn't the kind of beauty that startled—it was the kind that lingered, that made one forget how to blink. Her dark curly hair was pinned up with elegant precision, soft tendrils falling around her face with the same intention as painted brushstrokes. Her dress was a delicate teal that mirrored the ocean at dusk, adorned with shimmering beads that moved like rain droplets on silk. There was grace in her stillness, nobility in her posture, and something else Goya hadn't noticed so clearly before—a quiet power.
Goya barely recognized her.
The last time she had seen Mirha dressed like this was at the royal ball. But even then, she hadn't glowed like this. Or perhaps Goya had simply not seen it, distracted by nerves and fear and the looming change her life was about to undergo. She remembered how Mirha had dressed as a maid to sneak into the Lamig main castle, her cleverness wrapped in humility. But this—this woman sitting before her now was undeniably of the court. Not just a consort, but a presence.
As if she felt the weight of Goya's gaze, Mirha looked up.
Their eyes met.
And Mirha smiled.
It was a soft, sincere smile—nothing performative. It didn't speak of rivalry or formality, but of welcome. Of recognition. And it caught Goya off guard.
She had expected indifference, perhaps even quiet judgment. Not kindness.
Goya opened her mouth, uncertain if she meant to return the smile or speak, but before she could do either, the quiet murmur of voices around the chamber hushed.
The Queen Mother had arrived.
All the ladies, including Goya, rose at once. The rustle of silk and soft tapping of heels filled the room as they bowed, their hands folded over their midsections, heads dipped respectfully. Goya followed suit, her heart thudding a little faster. She'd met Queen Mother Raina upon her arrival at the Eastern Palace, and the warmth of the older woman had surprised her. But now, in the presence of the court, everything felt heavier, more formal.
Raina entered with an effortless air of command, though nothing about her demeanor was cold. She wore a gown of deep violet with gold embroidery at the hems, her white hair swept back into a low chignon, adorned with a single sapphire pin. Her gaze, sharp yet kind, swept across the room, pausing momentarily on each young woman as if weighing their very souls. When her eyes landed on Goya, they softened.
"Ladies," Raina said, her voice as calm as rippling water. "You may be seated."
The women returned to their seats. Goya moved toward the place prepared for her near the middle of the table, trying not to fidget as she smoothed her dress beneath her. It was a pale blush color, modestly cut, chosen by Lady Isa herself from among the bridal trousseau. Aru had helped fasten the back earlier that evening, her fingers trembling with emotion more than excitement. Goya had smiled the whole time, trying to push down her own nerves, hoping she looked as serene as she pretended to feel.
Now seated in a room filled with high-ranking ladies, she couldn't help but feel the gaze of their titles, their histories, their elegance pressing in on her. They were all beautiful, all poised. But somehow it was Mirha who made her question herself the most—not out of jealousy, but admiration. She wanted to know how Mirha did it—how she wore her new skin like she had always belonged in it.
"Goya," a voice broke gently into her thoughts.
She looked up to find Queen Mother Raina smiling at her from the head of the table.
"I trust your chambers are to your liking?"
Goya nodded, placing her hands neatly in her lap. "Yes, Your Majesty. They are more than I ever expected."
Raina inclined her head. "I chose the room myself. I wanted you close. You will need guidance, and comfort. I intend to offer both, if you will allow me."
Something in Goya softened. She hadn't expected the Queen Mother to be so tender, to speak with a tone that felt more maternal than formal. It settled something in her chest.
"Thank you," Goya replied sincerely. "I would be grateful for your guidance."
A few approving nods were exchanged down the table. Kiara, who had been unusually quiet until now, turned to Goya with a smirk tugging at her lips.
"You'll find Queen Mother Raina has a way of making you feel at home, even in a palace that seems to float above clouds."
Mirha and Gina exchanged a look.
Gina arched an eyebrow. "Speaking of homes... Kiara, how is your own little palace?"
Mirha barely suppressed her grin, taking a sip of her tea as Kiara's eyes narrowed.
"It's perfectly fine," Kiara said primly. "Thank you for your concern."
"We weren't concerned," Gina said, laughing now. "Just curious how many days it takes before a lady forgets how to walk straight." Gina said in a whisper loud enough for Mirha and Kiara to hear.
"Or speak without blushing," Mirha added, feigning innocence.
Kiara rolled her eyes, though the pink in her cheeks betrayed her amusement. "You two are intolerable."
Goya blinked, caught between surprise and delight. The banter was light, teasing but not cruel. It felt... human. Not the kind of cold competition she had anticipated among court ladies.
She glanced at Kanha, who was seated beside Kiara. The lady hadn't joined in the teasing, but her lips curled into a quiet smile, and her eyes sparkled with the amusement she did not voice. She was watching, listening, always calm—the steady branch between fluttering birds.
Queen Mother Raina chuckled softly. "It's good to see the chambers filled with laughter again."
Then she turned to Goya. "You'll learn, my dear. A woman's strength at court lies not only in her virtue but in her friendships. A sharp tongue can do what a sword cannot. But a kind word can melt stone."
Goya nodded thoughtfully, her nerves slowly settling. She was not going to be bedded tonight. That thought alone allowed her shoulders to relax. This was only the beginning of her journey. And the women here, despite their status and beauty, were not enemies. Or at least, not yet.
She caught Mirha looking at her again. This time, she held the gaze.
"You looked lovely tonight," Mirha said softly across the table, sincerity written across her face.
Goya smiled, her voice a bit steadier than before. "So do you. I almost didn't recognize you."
"A good dress will do that," Mirha replied with a wink.
The conversation picked up, laughter swelling and falling like waves. Servants began bringing in the evening dishes—bowls of seasoned rice, buttered greens, roasted game with sweet glaze, and a soup Goya couldn't even name but smelled of cinnamon and cardamom. Plates were passed, small comments exchanged, the atmosphere growing warmer with each course.
As the evening wore on, Goya felt a strange sensation blooming in her chest. It wasn't comfort, not yet. But it was something like it. A bud of possibility. Of belonging.
Perhaps, she thought as she glanced around the table, this new chapter wouldn't be about endurance after all.
Perhaps it could be about transformation.
And for the first time that evening, her smile came easily, not as armor, but as hope.
The rich aroma of roasted duck and stewed mushrooms still lingered in the Eastern Palace dining hall as the servants cleared the last of the porcelain dishes. Queen Mother Raina stood from her cushioned chair with regal grace, her fingers gently adjusting the folds of her robe as she turned toward the young women who had dined with her.
"You all behaved beautifully tonight," she said, her voice warm but firm, eyes lingering on Goya a moment longer. "Goya, you carried yourself with dignity. The court will notice."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Goya said with a polite bow, heart fluttering slightly as Raina walked away, her attendants following swiftly behind her.
Kiara stretched her limbs with a quiet sigh and leaned toward Gina, whispering something that made them both giggle.
"I best find my husband," Kiara said, getting to her feet, her lips tugged into a lazy grin. "Tando is hopeless without me."
"We noticed," Gina teased, shooting her a look that made Kiara laugh harder as she exited.
Goya remained seated with Gina and Mirha. It was quieter now. The tension from earlier had lifted, replaced by a companionable stillness. Mirha and Gina seemed at ease, their laughter subdued but genuine. Goya found herself watching them, wondering if she'd ever find that same ease.
"Lady Goya," Miru said, approaching softly from behind, hands folded respectfully. "Would you like tea brought to your chambers? The ride earlier and dinner may have tired you."
"Yes, please," Goya said with a nod, then smiled. "A warm jasmine would be perfect."
Miru bowed slightly and turned toward Suni, who stood just a few paces behind Mirha.
"Would you mind preparing it?" Miru asked gently, as if it were the most natural request.
For a moment, silence fell.
Suni's eyes flickered toward Mirha, her expression unreadable. Gina blinked. Mirha's head tilted just slightly.
Goya felt it before she understood it—an invisible ripple moving across the room. A sudden shift in air, as if something unsaid had just passed between them all. Suni did not move.
Miru, noticing the stillness, frowned and took a step forward. "Is everything alright?"
Gina cleared her throat delicately. "Miru... Suni is assigned to Lady Mirha alone. It's not appropriate—"
Miru's eyes widened in horror as her hands flew to her lips. "I—I didn't mean—oh, I wasn't thinking! I just thought she was nearby and—"
"I'm so sorry," Goya cut in swiftly, standing up. Her cheeks flushed pink. "It was my fault. I should have said something. Miru didn't mean any disrespect, truly."
Mirha blinked once, then again, her brows drawing together in confusion.
"Oh... is it considered disrespectful?" she asked, looking between them.
Gina exhaled slowly, trying to keep her tone gentle. "It can be. It's not personal, it's just that in the palace, maids serve only the women they're assigned to. Sharing staff—unless the mistress permits—is sometimes seen as undermining rank."
Mirha's eyes widened slightly as realization dawned. "I didn't know. I've never thought of it that way."
She turned toward Suni, who stood calm, poised, awaiting her mistress's guidance. Mirha gave a small, thoughtful smile.
"Well, I don't mind," she said, voice kind and resolute. "If it helps Lady Goya settle in better, I'd be glad for Suni to assist."
Suni gave a respectful nod. "As you wish, my lady. I would be honored to help."
Goya hesitated, then dipped her head gratefully. "Thank you. I truly appreciate it. I promise it won't become a habit."
"Don't worry," Mirha said with a wave of her hand, her expression warm. "We're all adjusting."
Goya placed a hand lightly over her chest, her breath catching. She had not expected such softness. Despite all the gossip she'd heard back in her homeland, the real Mirha was—if anything—much more composed and gracious than she anticipated.
She whispered to Miru, "Make sure to thank Suni properly. And be careful next time."
"Yes, my lady. I will."
With the tension eased, Goya offered one last nod to the ladies and excused herself, gliding softly across the marbled floor. Her silk robes swayed gently with each step, and her golden sash shimmered in the candlelight.
Back in her chambers, Goya allowed herself a long exhale. The warmth of the evening clung to her skin, and the quiet felt like a blessing. Her thoughts tumbled over themselves. This palace was beautiful but unfamiliar. The customs here were deep-rooted and precise. One mistake—like the one just now—could mean more than embarrassment. It could ripple out, affecting how she was seen by everyone around her.
She sat before the vanity as Miru began to gently remove the hairpins from her elaborate bun.
A few minutes later, a gentle knock on the door was followed by the soft click of it opening. Suni stood there, tray in hand, a delicate porcelain pot of jasmine tea steaming beside two small cups.
"For you, Lady Goya," she said with the same grace she'd shown earlier.
Miru hurried to take it. "Thank you, and again, I'm very sorry."
Suni's smile was warm and sincere. "It is alright. Lady Mirha said it was fine, and that's all that matters."
She turned and left with quiet elegance, her slippers making no sound on the polished floor.
As the door clicked closed, Goya looked down at the tea.
"She's kind."
Miru nodded. "Yes. And so is Lady Mirha. I... I'll be more careful from now on."
"We both will," Goya said gently, sipping her tea. The floral warmth filled her mouth, grounding her thoughts. It was her first full day in Lamig, and already the palace had shown her its beauty and its delicate web of expectations.
The steam from the tea curled gently into the air, its warmth casting a delicate mist over the rim of the porcelain cup. Goya cradled the vessel between her palms, the elegant gold-painted ceramic soft against her skin. She'd brought it close to her lips, inhaling the fragrant aroma that carried a mix of mint and something sweeter—something floral, unfamiliar but calming. Miru had not returned yet, and for a moment, Goya welcomed the silence.
She sat on a cushioned bench before her dressing table, her eyes tracing the carved lotus vines running along the frame of the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her—glowing faintly from the bath, dressed in an embroidered lilac robe that Queen Mother Raina had personally instructed her to wear for her first night in the Eastern Palace. Her hair was pulled loosely to one side, still damp at the ends, cascading like ink across her shoulder.
She took another sip of the tea. The warmth settled into her belly first, curling into the quiet spaces of her nerves like a soft sigh. Her eyelids fluttered. For a moment, she was almost smiling to herself. The world slowed down. Her thoughts drifted to the dinner—Mirha's surprising kindness, Queen Mother's regal warmth, the way Kiara's cheeks flushed whenever Gina teased her. It was strange, all of it. Not unpleasant. Just...strange.
And then it shifted.
The heat that had been nestled in her core turned sharp and sudden. Her chest felt constricted as if a hand had reached inside her ribs and squeezed. Cold rushed in through her limbs, icy and unrelenting, crawling up her legs, her spine, into her arms and neck. Her fingers trembled as she tried to set the cup down. It slipped slightly before she managed to steady it on the table.
Her mouth opened, but no sound came.
She stood up, or tried to—her legs buckled. Her breath caught. She staggered forward, reaching toward the bell rope to summon help, but her hand faltered. Her vision blurred slightly at the edges. Her lips parted, attempting a call for Miru—anyone—but the sound stuck in her throat.
Her skin flushed hot again, her head swam. She clutched the side of the table to stay upright. "What…?" she whispered.
Then came the knock.
Three firm, precise taps against the heavy chamber door.
Her heart lurched in confusion and fear. She wasn't expecting anyone. Not this late. Not when she could barely breathe.
She turned toward the door, trying to force a response from her tongue, her lips. Her body felt like it was filled with cotton—no, with fog, dense and swaying. She tried to call out. "Come…" Her voice cracked. It was barely audible.
Another knock.
"Princess Goya," came a voice from the other side of the door. Deep. Warm. Masculine. "Forgive the hour. I wished to greet you properly—may I enter?"
It was him.
General Kain.