The next few days unfolded gently in Magili, wrapped in laughter and late mornings. The ladies lingered by the lake, shared meals without ceremony, and spoke freely—of small joys, quiet fears, and things they would never dare voice within palace walls. For a brief while, time seemed kinder there, slower, as though Magili itself allowed them to breathe.
Meanwhile, at the Imperial Palace, the air buzzed with urgency.
Preparations for the end-of-year banquet were underway in full force. Servants moved like an organized tide through the halls, draping silks from marble pillars, polishing gold until it caught the light just right, and arranging lanterns that would soon glow well into the night. Florists arrived at dawn, tailors worked past sunset, and stewards recited endless lists to ensure nothing—nothing—was overlooked.
It was a season of endings and appearances.
While laughter echoed softly by the lake in Magili, the capital dressed itself in splendor, preparing to remind the empire of its power, its traditions, and the roles each person was expected to play when the doors to the grand hall finally opened.
The palace hummed with activity as attendants scurried from room to room, placing final touches for the end-of-year banquet. Some carried trays of silverware, others adjusted the folds of silk draping the walls, and a few polished the chandeliers until they sparkled like captured stars.
Amid the clatter and murmurs, whispers began to circulate. Many had never seen the Precious Concubine, and this banquet would be their first chance.
"I've heard she's beautiful," one attendant said, eyes wide with curiosity.
"Truly beautiful," another replied, nodding. "Even more than the Empress herself…"
They exchanged glances, and the question hung in the air, unspoken, as if even the mere thought of comparison was forbidden. Then, quickly, they let it go, turning back to their work, their voices lowered in awe and secrecy.
The anticipation lingered like a current through the palace, and with every polished surface and arranged flower, the grand hall seemed ready to reveal more than just the empire's wealth—it was ready to reveal its most precious secret.
While the palace buzzed with preparations, other attendants were busy sealing and delivering the golden-lettered invitations to the various kingdoms across Èvana. Each scroll was carefully inspected, stamped with the imperial seal, and entrusted to the fastest couriers for the journey ahead.
Amid the flurry, a single letter arrived at the Imperial Palace, carried by a royal messenger whose expression betrayed a hint of unease. The seal was unmistakable—a delicate emblem pressed into crimson wax. Arvin's eyes immediately caught the mark, and he felt a faint tightening in his chest.
He took the letter from the messenger and studied it in silence, noting the unmistakable elegance of the seal: it was from Bukid, from the Empress herself. A slow, deliberate exhale left him as he carefully broke the wax and unfolded the parchment. The crisp rustle of the paper echoed softly in the quiet of his study, a stark contrast to the bustle outside.
Arvin's gaze scanned the neatly penned lines, his mind already weighing the implications of every word before him.
Arvin unfolded the delicate parchment carefully, the scent of lavender still faintly lingering on it. The Empress's handwriting was precise and elegant, each stroke conveying a grace that reflected her presence. As he read, the words tugged at a long-buried part of him—a part he had almost forgotten in the whirlwind of the past weeks.
The message read:
*"To my dearest Arvin,
The ninth moon has begun, and with it, the time draws near. Our child will soon come into this world, and I cannot help but feel both joy and longing. I miss you deeply, more than words can convey. Each day without your presence feels incomplete, and I wish you were here by my side.
Though circumstances have kept us apart, know that my love for you remains steadfast. I hope that when the child arrives, you will be present in spirit, if not in person. My heart aches to share this moment with you, for you are the father of my child, the keeper of my heart.
Forever yours,
Her Majesty, the Empress of Èvana."
Arvin's fingers lingered on the edges of the parchment, the weight of the message pressing on him. A pang of guilt struck him like a sudden storm. Ever since she had entrusted Mirha to him and returned to Bukid, he had thought little of her, his mind consumed by the concubine who now shared his chambers. He had not written to her, had not considered her loneliness, and now the reminder of her love and the coming child left him unsettled.
He closed his eyes briefly, swallowing hard, feeling both regret and an unfamiliar sadness. The Empress had loved him earnestly, yet his heart no longer belonged to her. That truth cut deeper than any guilt, a quiet ache that he could not ignore.
While the palace buzzed with preparations, other attendants were busy sealing and delivering the golden-lettered invitations to the various kingdoms across Èvana. Each scroll was carefully inspected, stamped with the imperial seal, and entrusted to the fastest couriers for the journey ahead.
Amid the flurry, a single letter arrived at the Imperial Palace, carried by a royal messenger whose expression betrayed a hint of unease. The seal was unmistakable—a delicate emblem pressed into crimson wax. Arvin's eyes immediately caught the mark, and he felt a faint tightening in his chest.
He took the letter from the messenger and studied it in silence, noting the unmistakable elegance of the seal: it was from Bukid, from the Empress herself. A slow, deliberate exhale left him as he carefully broke the wax and unfolded the parchment. The crisp rustle of the paper echoed softly in the quiet of his study, a stark contrast to the bustle outside.
Arvin's gaze scanned the neatly penned lines, his mind already weighing the implications of every word before him.
The heavy wooden doors to the study creaked open, and in walked Kain, the Imperial General, flanked by his colonel. His presence immediately filled the room with a quiet authority—the kind that demanded attention without a single word. Kain's uniform was perfectly pressed, the medals on his chest catching the soft candlelight, while his colonel, ever vigilant, maintained a respectful distance, his posture rigid.
Kain's eyes, sharp and calculating as always, flicked briefly to Arvin before settling on the table where the letters lay. There was an unspoken weight in his gaze, as if he had already assessed the room, the papers, and the mood of the Emperor in one measured glance.
"Your Majesty," Kain greeted formally, a subtle nod acknowledging both Arvin and Heman. His voice carried a calm confidence, the kind that came from experience in countless campaigns and strategy sessions. The colonel stepped slightly behind him, silent but alert, ready to intervene if needed.
Arvin, still seated, inclined his head in return, his expression neutral but his mind noting every detail—Kain's gait, the way he carried himself, the slight tension in his shoulders.
Kain's gaze shifted to the letter Fahit had delivered. "I see there's correspondence from Lamig," he remarked, his tone neutral but edged with curiosity. "It seems the cousin has intentions of relocating to the capital. Have you reviewed it yet, Your Majesty?"
Heman cleared his throat, standing a little straighter as he prepared to summarize the contents. Arvin waved him off with a flick of his hand, his attention now on Kain.
Kain stepped closer, his boots clicking softly against the polished floor. "I assume his intentions are as questionable as always," he added, his sharp eyes glinting with restrained amusement. The colonel shifted slightly, perhaps uncomfortable with Kain's teasing but remaining steadfast at his side.
Arvin finally spoke, his voice calm but firm, "Yes. I've approved his relocation, though he will find no easy games here. The women of Taico are not as easily fooled."
Kain's lips twitched in a half-smile, a spark of humor in his otherwise serious demeanor. He nodded, satisfied with the Emperor's decision. The colonel relaxed ever so slightly, sensing the tension ease.
As Kain and his colonel prepared to take their leave, the room's atmosphere felt charged—not with anger or conflict, but with the silent understanding of duty, hierarchy, and the careful balance of power within the palace walls.
"Lord Vharin of Bukid!"
Kain's head tilted slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing as he processed the name. His colonel shifted beside him, recognizing the weight such an announcement carried. Arvin, seated at the table, straightened instantly, his mind alert.
A few moments later, the grand doors at the end of the hallway swung open, and Lord Vharin entered. His robe, richly embroidered with the symbols of Bukid, swayed with each step. The courtiers lining the room bowed deeply, murmuring in quiet respect, and the soft clatter of his boots against the marble floor marked his approach.