“What’s on your mind, Sein?” Zeya asked, picking up on something.

  It wasn’t her words or tone that gave it away, but a subtle shift—an absence rather than a presence. He settled into his usual pce across from her, the table by the windows, bathed in afternoon light.

  Just the day before, Sein had been full of life, brimming with energy and bubbling with curiosity. They’d talked about all manner of things, but mostly about the military strategies he’d been studying. She’d shown genuine interest, even offering alternative ideas, which he’d found both valid and valuable.

  Outwardly, she appeared exquisite, as always, her hair catching the sun in waves of copper, and that face, a fwless beauty: high cheekbones, a finely drawn nose, and lips that always seemed poised to say something clever or cutting. Her shes, thick and impossibly long, framed dark eyes that gave little away, save for the occasional flicker of mischief. But today, there was a stillness about her, a withdrawal from the world, as though the nterns had been extinguished.

  “Nothing really,” Sein replied, offering him the best smile she could muster.

  Her gaze drifted back to the book lying open before her, though it was clear she wasn’t reading a word.

  What could possibly be wrong, Zeya pondered.

  He’d always been attuned to the moods of those around him, picking up on things others missed, and for that, his cousins mocked him mercilessly. They’d insinuated that he was too much like his sisters, all heart and no grit, when what he ought to be was tough and untouchable. He’d been no more than seven or eight at the time, but somehow their jabs had left a sting impression.

  Trying to lift Sein’s spirits, Zeya spoke up with a touch of humour, hoping to coax a smile out of her.

  “You look, if I may be blunt, a little preoccupied. Let me guess, counting down the hours until the Lighting Festival? Strategising how to be first in line for a dance with me?”

  Sein gazed up with an unamused look.

  That didn’t work.

  For a heartbeat, Zeya wondered if she was growing weary of their conversations. Perhaps this was the same unreadable mask she wore at court, the one Saw Win had once mentioned? Unwilling to retreat just yet, Zeya pressed on.

  “Ah, I see, perhaps you’re not quite in the mood to talk combat strategy today, and you’ve no idea how to politely turn me down? Not to worry, I promise we won’t go anywhere near the subject.”

  “That’s not true!” Sein said, a little too quickly. Then, with a gentler tone, she added, “I genuinely enjoy hearing about your work with Lord Cetan. It’s fascinating. I’d rather talk about the art of war than the art of needlework.”

  “Good, I’m relieved to know I haven’t bored you just yet. Personally, I’ve rather enjoyed attempting to unravel the mystery surrounding the death of our prince a thousand years ago. And I know you have a fondness for a bit of intrigue… so perhaps you might be interested in hearing the tale of the Blue Lake?”

  His st sentence had the desired effect. Sein raised her eyebrows, her dark eyes focused on him.

  Zeya grinned and let the silence stretch, until at st she asked, “Will you not tell me more?”

  “Well, there’s a charming little, actually, rather rge ke, appropriately named Blue Lake. The water has this astonishing hue, quite unlike anything I’ve seen before. Khin Yu tells me there’s a tale attached to it: that if you gaze into its depths, you’ll see your true self. Some are said to come away enlightened while others, entirely unhinged.”

  “Really? Is the outcome one or the other? Can you be totally the same afterwards?”

  “That’s a good question, Sein. I don’t have the answer if the story is true. Though, I suppose we’re unlikely to hear much of those who walked away unaffected.”

  “Did you say you’ve seen this ke?”

  “Absolutely,” Zeya replied, a smile tugging at his lips. “My uncle brought me there st month. He said the tale was a kind of myth—meant to keep outsiders away.”

  “But it seems it hasn’t done its job well. It didn’t deter you and your uncle.”

  “True enough. Still, I should point out, we were the only outsiders to have ventured there in quite some time.” He found it pleasing to see Sein’s mind at work, that sharp thinking he’d come to admire.

  “Did you try your luck and peer into the ke, just to see if the myth held any truth?”

  “I did consider it but we rather got sidetracked searching for the perfect spot for lunch. And once we’d tucked into the most incredible dumplings, I’m afraid all thoughts of mystical waters vanished. I didn’t remember until we were already halfway home.”

  “You’re joking! Tell me you at least gnced in the ke! Even for a tiny, teeny peek,” Sein jested. Then, sitting up straighter, she added with sudden curiosity, “Hang on, what on earth are dumplings?”

  Zeya’s eyes widened at the realisation that of course dumplings weren’t commonly known; they were a Northern speciality after all. He unched into a description of the ones he’d eaten by the ke, fondly comparing them to those his Northern retives had served him when they’d visited.

  “They sound amazing,” Sein excimed. “I wish I could go to the Blue Lake. I’d like to look at my reflection then try those dumplings. Wait, no, I’d like to eat the dumplings first and then gaze into the ke. In case,you know, I go insane, I’d like to have tried the dumplings with a sound mind.”

  Zeya chuckled, “What makes you think you’d be the one to go mad rather than come away enlightened? Really, if anyone’s bound to lose their mind and start speaking in riddles, it’s me.”

  “You? Never! You’re one of the most grounded, thoughtful, composed people I know,” Sein responded earnestly. “That’s part of why I… I… well you know, that’s only my opinion.”

  A flicker of uncertainty passed over her face, as if she’d revealed more than she meant to.

  “Ah, it’s rather a relief to know your expectations of me aren’t all dreadful,” Zeya commented.

  “You’ve exceeded expectations, totally. Of course, I did set them rather low,” Sein responded in a serious tone, though there was no hiding the glint of mischief in her eyes or the grin that had already begun to win the battle for her face.

  Zeya ughed, prompting her to join in. It felt like another small victory, to see her happy again. For a moment, he wished he could whisk her off to the Blue Lake. But deep down, he knew it was one thing to slip away for a few hours, but riding all the way to the western mountains was something else entirely. Could it even be possible?

  His uncle had always said nothing should be dismissed outright. Even the impossible had its moment. It was simply a matter of timing. One saying, often repeated during his childhood, echoed in his mind: ’Be a wise tiger, strike when the time comes.′

  “I would very much like to take you to Hsat-shina. One day. It’s quite stunning, you know, the colourful unduting valleys with charming mountains as a backdrop,” Zeya smiled wistfully. “And the Blue Lake, you’d absolutely love their dumplings, truly the best I’ve had. I’d enjoy seeing what you make of them.”

  “Did you say Hsat-shina?” Sein asked with one eyebrow raised. “I’ve heard of that name before.”

  “History scrolls?”

  “Yes, there was an account from a schor about that region. Wasn’t there some tragedy that occurred there? Something about a travelling royal household that disappeared during King Han Min’s time. They were never found.”

  “I’ve heard that exact tale from Khin Yu. Tell me, what did this schor presume happened to the royal party?”

  “His retelling of the event was fascinating. Back then, the mountain pass was a popur route west during the summer months, but come winter, snow would cut it off entirely. Apparently, there was a hideaway tucked deep in the range, said to be an earthly paradise. The royal household that vanished had likely been heading there to escape the summer heat. Among the group was Queen Tin’s older sister, Princess Chi, and her family.

  “When Han Min became king and Princess Tin was crowned queen, there were rumours of resentment from Princess Chi. According to this schor, her husband had once been considered a candidate for the throne, and his presence remained a real threat to King Han Min’s reign. That journey, he believed, offered the perfect opportunity to remove the rival family for good.”

  Sein paused to gauge Zeya’s reaction. He made an effort to look attentive, as though weighing her words, though his true thoughts were fixed on her face, quietly admiring her animated expression.

  “Which is outrageous, surely?” she resumed when he offered no comments. “From all we know of King Han Min, and from numerous sources, it hardly seems likely he would’ve deliberately orchestrated their deaths.”

  When she paused again for his input, he leaned back in his chair and offered, “I’d like to keep an open mind and not rule out anything without proper evidence.”

  “Fine, but could King Han Min really have ordered the guards to sughter the family and hide their bodies? I know all sorts of horrendous things happened in history, but this sounds more like a rumour spread by those who opposed him. It seems even gossip can find its way into the historical records. Do you think stories like this can be trusted?”

  Zeya gazed out the window at the peaceful garden beyond, where all was still except for the occasional bird chasing insects across the wn. His eyes followed the familiar outlines of the hedges, shaping the borders and garden beds he had known since boyhood. As her words settled in, he thought of how easily truth could be trimmed, reshaped, and polished, like a hedge cut to the king’s liking, no matter how wild it had once grown.

  “I’d say if the account came from someone who actually witnessed the events, then I’m inclined to give it a bit more credit than the version that’s been whispered from ear to ear,” he said at length.

  Then recalling his conversation with Khin Yu and his uncle, he added, “There are other theories as to what befell the royal family on that journey. One speaks of a curse, said to have arisen after a sacred temple was desecrated. Another bmes the uneasy dead. But there are more practical possibilities as well. Bandits, perhaps. Or the weather. My uncle did say it’s wild and ever-changing in those parts.”

  “What do you believe, Zeya?”

  “It’s difficult to pass judgement when all I’ve heard amounts to hearsay. This schor you mentioned, was he well-regarded? Someone of reputable standing?”

  “I’d say so. He’s written other accounts on history which all seemed valid. Though I do wonder how he formed his conclusions on this particur matter.”

  “It’s also worth considering that just because he stands among the few who think bad of King Han Min, it doesn’t mean he’s wrong. After all, the majority can be mistaken. Truth isn’t always found where the loudest voices are,” Zeya said, treading carefully as he was keenly aware of Sein’s view of King Han Min.

  “You really think King Han Min sent Princess Chi and her family to their deaths?”

  “I’m not saying either way. For now, I’m quite content on the fence, observing all the possibilities.”

  “Well, it’s obvious you’ve aced your diplomacy lessons,” Sein remarked, folding her arms. “As for me, I’m siding with the majority. Mr Schor wasn’t exactly an eyewitness and he does seem oddly biased against King Han Min.”

  Zeya couldn’t help but admire Sein’s decisiveness which stood in stark contrast to his own instinct to hold back. He’d been raised to tread lightly, to hear every voice before offering his own, to avoid judgment until all sides were weighed. Diplomacy, restraint, bance; that was the way. But observing her now, bold and unwavering, something shifted in his well-worn caution.

  “Technically I’m on the fence,” he said with a broad grin. “Though I must admit, your conviction is making it increasingly difficult to stay there.”

  Sein gave him ‘that’ smile, brief and deliberate. His gaze drifted, unbidden, to her lips, and with it came a wave of longing that unsettled him. He’d hoped Sein hadn’t noticed as he wrestled the unthinkable feelings down with a breath, reprimanding himself for even entertaining it.

  Before he could gather his thoughts, Sein spoke softly, “I’d still like to see the Blue Lake one day and try the dumplings.”

  Again Zeya wished he could say: throw on a cape and let’s ride out—just as his uncle had done.

  Instead he offered, “Well, in the meantime, I’ll have to track down something equally tempting we can sample right here in the capital.”

  “If that’s your way of luring me into another culinary adventure, then I’m in,” Sein said with a glint of mischief. “Though, of course, I’m counting on the company to be suitably distracting, more so than the food.”

  Zeya chuckled, clearly amused she’d used one of his clumsy lines from their trip to the food stalls.

  “I see I’ll have to be careful what I say around you,” he remarked. “It seems you’ve a talent for remembering my words.”

  “There’s no need to censor yourself on my account,” Sein said with a flutter of her shes. “It wouldn’t be nearly as fun spending time with you if you did.”

  “Is that so? Well then, I shall do my utmost to entertain you with my words. Consider it a rehearsal for my backup role, you know, in case the crown doesn’t work out.”

  Sein ughed, “If you’re not careful, the stage might steal you away from the throne entirely.”

  She leaned in ever so slightly and said quietly, “Then where will we be without our Crown Prince?”

  Zeya’s attention fixed on her, trying to decipher the ambiguous signals she gave off. This dance of unspoken words. It was maddening. What he felt for her had long outgrown the bounds of friendship. The very idea made his chest tighten.

  Just as the moment threatened to unmoor him completely, the sound of footsteps approached. It was Khin Yu, arriving with impeccable timing to announce his study time had ended.

  After his hour with Sein, Zeya would have preferred to retreat to his quarters, to gather his thoughts and calm the chaos of emotions still swirling within. But Lord Ray was waiting in the Combat Hall. He changed quickly into his martial uniform, raking a hand through his hair as he hurried out.

  His uncle had an uncanny ability to read him, and Zeya couldn’t risk his thoughts being id bare. He had no wish to speak of his feelings for Sein, or the budding friendship growing between them, not after his sister’s remark. Some things were best kept hidden, at least for now.

  The Combat Hall was tucked away in the western quadrant of the training grounds, overlooking the field reserved for archery practice. The space, one of many facilities scattered across, was solely for the royals and high ranking warriors.

  Zeya paused outside the building for a minute or two, drawing slow, deliberate breaths to steady himself before entering.

  Golden light filtered through the high ttice windows, casting delicate patterns of shadow across the smooth polished floor. Overhead, a soaring ceiling stretched high above, framed by intricate wooden beams carved with ancient symbols of tigers, snakes, and dragons.

  As Zeya walked the length of the hall, dust swirled gently into the air, catching the sun like flecks of gold dust. He strolled past rows of padded training posts on one side, and on the other, a dispy of weapons, some dating back many generations.

  When he reached the bamboo mats id out neatly in the centre of the room, he slipped off his shoes. At the far end, beneath a shrine-like alcove, stood a life-sized statue of Spirit of War. Zeya bowed as a sign of respect before stepping onto the mat to begin his warm-up exercises.

  “Good afternoon, Uncle,” Zeya greeted, when he heard the sliding door open.

  Lord Ray stepped out from the side room.

  “Zeya, there you are. Fine afternoon indeed,” he returned.

  He swiftly walked towards Zeya and grinned.

  “Now then, shall we engage in a spot of elegant violence? I do hope you’ve warmed up thoroughly.”

  “Absolutely, I’m ready to dance,” Zeya smirked.

  The two men circled with deliberate steps, not searching for openings but testing awareness. Zeya moved with ease: banced, composed and gaze locked with his uncle. When Lord Ray feinted a jab, Zeya didn’t flinch. He read the weight shift in the heels, the subtle change in posture, and pivoted cleanly out of reach before the strike came.

  “Good,” Lord Ray praised, though his face showed no emotions. “You’re not chasing hands anymore.”

  They held their positions a moment longer.

  Lord Ray’s voice shifted into something almost theatrical as he continued, “Now, this isn’t about brute strength. Heaven forbid we descend into that sort of barbarism. What we’re doing here is far more elegant refinement. With every parry, every slip, you’re not just dodging fists, you are carving awareness into your very being. Precision, timing, restraint; those are the jewels we’re polishing today.”

  He moved with fluid motion, light on his feet, eyes unreadable.

  “You see, sparring like this, it enhances your timing, yes, and your reflexes, naturally but above all, it teaches you the art of reading someone. My stance, my shoulders, my footwork. That’s me telling you a story, and you get to decide how it ends.”

  Another exchange followed, this time fast and intricate. Lord Ray flowed into a sweep, and Zeya stepped out of range a half-beat early, already countering with a sharp hook that stopped just short of his uncle’s jaw. Their eyes met and acknowledgment passed in silence.

  “I’ll press you, certainly, I’m not here to ftter your form,” Lord Ray continued, shifting his weight, preparing the next movement. “I’ll throw combinations to unseat your comfort, test the cracks in your confidence, and when you find yourself filing… ah! that is where the training begins. Because calm under pressure, grace in the chaos. That’s the real treasure.”

  Each movement now was a test of foresight. Zeya began to anticipate and not just react. He saw the shape of his uncle’s intentions before they formed fully, slipping, leaning, and hollowing out before a strike could nd. There was no panic, no hesitation; just the practiced efficiency of an evasive fighter who no longer needed to think, only open his senses.

  Lord Ray advanced, tightening the rhythm, weaving deception into his footwork. Zeya managed to follow it all, reading the hidden beat beneath the feints, adjusting, mirroring, and now and then, stepping ahead of the tempo.

  “Excellent. Shall we dance some more?” Lord Ray smirked, daring him onward.

  Their movements echoed one another, equal in grace, divided only by experience: one teaching, the other beginning to see the lesson before it was spoken. Lord Ray continued to push the boundaries, challenging Zeya until he began to anticipate, then lead.

  Zeya continued to follow his instinct, allowing the muscle memory from years of training and drills to take over. Caught in the flow of being, all his troubling emotions drifted away, like leaves carried downstream on a river’s current. What remained was a pool of clear, still water, anchored entirely in the present moment. He was in control again.