“Where on earth is this pce we’re going to, Zeya?” Sein asked when they reached the web of winding nes in the northern district.

  “According to Saw Win, who’s rarely wrong about these matters, this rather unassuming little spot, scruffy though it may look, serves the finest fish soup in the entire city,” Zeya replied, gncing at Sein to gauge her reaction. “We’re heading into Snake Gourd quarter. Don’t worry, there won’t be any actual snakes and not a bitter gourd in sight. I promise.”

  He squeezed her hand gently as an added reassurance.

  Under the guise of pying the dutiful escort, he’d been bold enough to ask for her hand. To his great relief, Sein had accepted without hesitation.

  They continued to navigate the nes, where forgotten undry fluttered overhead and ntern lights flickered, casting their glow against chipped stone walls. The street twisted and curved like a challenging puzzle but Zeya had studied the route beforehand, memorising each turn. Even as the buildings leaned close and shadows stretched long, he walked with certainty, guiding Sein onward.

  Once they stepped into an open square, the world seemed to erupt around them. The night market was in full roar, with every avaible patch of ground cimed by a stall amidst a flow of people. The unmistakable smell of sizzling and charring meat, the sound of woks tossing and scraping, and the cacophony of punters and sellers hit them all at once.

  It was nothing like the refined, affluent district they’d ventured to before, where they ate at the food stalls. There, even in its noise and colour, there had been a sense of order, with well-dressed clientele and a respectable distance between people.

  Here, the market pulsed with chaos as shoppers jostled for space, elbowing each other out of the way. Such close proximity to strangers felt intimidating and uncomfortable to Sein. She faltered slightly and Zeya felt her other hand around his arm. With both her hands holding tightly to him, something warm settled in his chest. She was seeking comfort and pcing her trust in him, and for a moment, amid the uproar, that was all that mattered. He was keenly aware of his own desire to protect and be the reassuring presence for her.

  “I trust Saw Win’s recommendations totally,” Sein commented, gazing at the colourful stream of people around her.

  Sharp-featured, rugged, broad-shouldered; these were the city’s working folks, hardy and full of life.

  “I’m happy to get my elbows out and join in with the nitty gritty.”

  “Good, I was beginning to worry this wasn’t quite the pce to take a dy.”

  “But I’m just an ordinary girl tonight, out with her ordinary…” Sein hesitated, choosing her words. “Good friend.”

  Zeya grinned at her, curious as to what words she’d cycled through her head before settling on ‘friend’.

  He indicated ahead and said, “See that spot by the roasted sweetcorn stall? That’s our destination and judging by the tide of people, everyone else has the same idea. Come on, let’s make our way through before there’s a full stampede.”

  “I’m not sure how we’ll ever get through,” Sein remarked, her eyes searching for an alternate route. “Might be quicker to circle around the edge instead.”

  "Good idea, Sein. Let’s do that," Zeya agreed, steering them towards a narrow gap between two stalls.

  Without thinking, he drew her close, shielding her from the press of oncoming bodies. Her hair brushed softly against his cheek, carrying the delicate scent of gardenia which she wore in her hair.

  For a brief moment, her hand rested against his chest. It stirred something unsteady in him. He didn’t dare meet her eyes, unsure if he could keep up the pretence of calm with her so near. Quickly, he stepped through the opening and moved aside, letting her pass. Sein’s hand found his again.

  “It seems the whole city is queuing up for fish soup. It must be good,” Sein noted, eyeing the group of people ready to pounce on a vacated spot at the stall’s limited seating.

  Those who’d arrived early were already served, some stood nearby, carefully bancing steaming bowls in their hands, slurping noodles as the refreshing scent of citrus and earthy spices drifted through the air.

  “I’m not entirely sure the concept of a queue applies around here. Best you stay put. I’ll see if I can charm our way to the front without causing much fuss,” Zeya said, diving into the throng, like water finding the quickest path through rocks: quiet, swift, and untroubled by obstacles.

  “What did you find out?” Sein asked eagerly when Zeya returned by her side, wearing a contented smile.

  Before he could respond, the crowd appeared to thin as if by magic; people shuffling away with disgruntled moans and grumbles.

  “Has the stall sold out already?”

  “Not quite,” Zeya replied in a quiet voice. “There’s just enough for two more.”

  Before long, nearly everyone vanished except for those still eating. The calm void left behind gave Zeya and Sein their chance to approach the stall. As if the clouds had parted to reveal clear sky, two seats presented themselves, still warm from their previous occupants.

  The stall owner, an old woman with greying temples and a warm, crooked smile, gestured towards the wooden stools with a nod of welcome. Zeya pulled one out for Sein.

  They watched the woman, despite her age, was agile and moved with the easy flow of someone who’d done this a thousand times. In moments, she shook the softened nest of noodles and dropped it into a waiting bowl. Then another. A generous dle of golden-yellow broth followed, rich with fked fish, flecked with chilli, and fragrant with lemongrass. She scattered chopped coriander, crispy shallots, and a spsh of fish sauce, then carefully pced half a soft-boiled egg on top, its yolk glowing like molten amber.

  Sein pressed again, “This is down to you, isn’t it? Everyone leaving like that. What did you say to her?”

  “I paid in advance.”

  “Is that your code for you’ve bought the stall outright?”

  “No, but I may have made it worth her while to take her time and cater for us without having to sell out tonight.”

  Sein understood perfectly what he meant. Zeya was used to having his way, often without question. Power and wealth had shaped his world, granting him access and influence, but he was always careful not to overstep. He never demanded more than what was permitted.

  With a tender smile, Zeya said, “Enjoy.”

  After tasting a spoonful of the soup, Zeya requested more lime wedges and offered some to Sein before he squeezed a generous amount into his bowl.

  “I see you prefer your soup more sour than salty too,” Sein remarked with a smile. After another mouthful, she let out a quiet sigh of content. “Oh, this is simply delicious.”

  “Worth the trouble of coming all the way out here, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Totally.”

  Zeya allowed himself a small grin, pleased by the obvious enjoyment on Sein’s face.

  How ironic, he mused. I’ve spent years wishing time would hurry along and now, I’d give anything to make it slow down.

  With only seventeen months remaining before the marriage that loomed like a sealed fate, he longed to stretch each day, to grasp it in his hands before it slipped through his fingers. And on evenings like this sharing good food, quiet ughter, and something unspoken with Sein, he found himself hoping the moment could st forever.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a young boy’s voice, sharp with disappointment, followed by the soft murmur of an adult trying to soothe him. Zeya turned to see a small family being gently turned away from the stall. The father knelt beside the boy, coaxing him with patience, though it was clear the child had set his heart on fish soup for dinner.

  “Auntie,” Zeya called out to the stall owner. “I do believe there is enough soup left to accomodate that family.”

  With a knowing smile, the old woman nodded to Zeya, then beckoned the family back to the stall. The little boy lit up with a squeal of delight and skipped towards an empty stool. His father lifted him gently into pce, his small legs left dangling in the air.

  Zeya slurped his noodles but his attention remained on the family, utterly absorbed, as the father pced a steady hand on the child’s back, protective and instinctive. When their bowls of noodle soup arrived, the father hovered close, blowing gently on steaming spoonfuls before offering them to his son, while his own bowl sat untouched, growing cold. He carefully twirled neat tangles of noodles onto the spoon, making them easier for the child to manage, encouraging each mouthful. Only once the boy, when content, turned his attention to a crudely carved wooden boat in his hands, did the father begin to eat.

  Something about the tenderness of the scene touched a nerve Zeya rarely acknowledged. He had no memory of moments like these. Even when his father had spent time with him, it was never like this. There were always guards present, attendants nearby, and a stiff formality that cked any affection. There had been occasional kind words and nods of approval, but never the genuine warmth he now found himself yearning for.

  Then his gaze fell on Sein, sitting next to him; her delicate mouthfuls of broth, the curve of her lips as she savoured each spoonful. There was some comfort in having her in his life now.

  Sein suddenly paused, resting the spoon in the bowl and turned to face him.

  “I saw what you did, Zeya. It was very noble of you.”

  There was something in her smile, bordering on fondness. Was it a look of adoration? Whatever it was, it settled over him like a soothing balm, gently healing the void in his chest. His uncle was right: it was better to focus on what he had rather than what he didn’t. All the good things in his life, inevitably, outweighed the bad.

  “Well, I must admit I do feel a touch guilty hogging the pce like this,” Zeya remarked with a sheepish grin. “Depriving everyone else of such marvellous soup does seem rather unfair.”

  Then he turned his gaze to Sein, his eyes bright with curiosity.

  “So, you’ve been delving into human anatomy this week. Fascinating stuff. Go on then, tell me what you’ve uncovered. I promise to be an attentive student.” Then with a raised eyebrow, he added self-mockingly, “I’m all… you know, ears.”

  ***

  The morning sun pierced through the shutters, momentarily blinding Zeya as he cracked one eye open. As always, Khin Yu had drawn them back signalling it was time to wake up. Zeya rose to a sitting position and yawned, wishing he had another hour to remain in bed.

  After spending the evening with Sein, sleep had eluded him. He’d spent most of the night wrestling with restless emotions. Thoughts and feelings, he’d reminded himself, were transient, like clouds rolling across a vast sky. But knowing that did little to help. The unspeakable desires kept circling his mind, growing with each p. He tried to suppress them, to push them aside, but each attempt felt more like surrender than control.

  “Good morning, Your Highness,” Khin Yu greeted.

  He bowed low as a sign of respect which he always did first thing in the morning.

  “Morning, Khin Yu. I trust you slept well.”

  “Hmmm. I did. Your Highness.”

  Rather than departing immediately as per usual, Khin Yu remained. This signalled there was something more to be said.

  “What is it, Khin Yu? Go ahead, tell me the good news. Am I to have a free day all to myself?”

  “No, Your Highness. Unfortunately not. Her Majesty has requested that Your Highness attend the morning blessings of the devotees at the temple of Spirit of Prosperity.”

  “Oh, does she now?” Zeya raised an eyebrow.

  Only the day before, his mother had urged him to take an active role in public duties, citing the necessity to connect with the people and represent the royal household as future King.

  “Will my little outing be agreeable to my father?” Zeya asked, as he already knew where his father’s devotion y.

  The royal household had always been followers of Spirit of War. Naturally, his parents could never have pledged themselves to the same spirit. Since when did oil and water get along after all? He would have to tread carefully, as always, mindful not to offend either one.

  “I believe so. His Majesty has approved the visit. The blessings should not draw too rge a crowd and would be ideal for a first royal appearance. I shall accompany Your Highness and Her Majesty.”

  “As long as you’re by my side, Khin Yu,” Zeya said with a smirk. “And do keep an eye out for the signal, just in case I find myself mobbed by admirers.”

  “Yes, Your Highness. There is no need to worry. The devotees being blessed this morning are influential merchants, mainly old men. I shall leave you to prepare. I will return in an hour.”

  Another head bow before Khin Yu departed. Zeya could never tell whether Khin Yu deliberately ignored his quips or simply took everything he said in earnest.

  Now it was Saw Win’s turn to step into the bedchamber and announce, “Your Highness, the bathing pool is ready.”

  “Saw Win, be a good sport. Just this once. Slip into my pce and pop over to the temple, will you? No one really knows what I look like yet, and I daresay you could pull it off without raising so much as an eyebrow,” Zeya jested as he bounced out of bed.

  Stripping off, he strolled into the bathroom, followed by Saw Win picking up his discarded night clothes.

  “As tempting as it sounds, I believe your mother might notice Your Highness doesn’t seem to look himself today. Something about the hair not dark enough or eyes not light enough or face not handsome enough,” Saw Win chuckled. “On a good note, I’ve heard the temple is beautiful and worth a visit.”

  “But I have a sneaking suspicion this visit might spark a trend and I’ll be summoned to every temple from here to the hills. Next thing I know, I’ll need a proper schedule just for temple appearances.”

  Zeya stepped into the hot water, letting it rise around him.

  “Then, Your Highness, I’ll offer my services as a stand-in now and then, though I’d imagine Khin Yu might py the role better.”

  Zeya ughed, the sound reverberating softly against the marble walls.

  “I can just picture Khin Yu now, agonising over every detail of his formal wear, then strapping on his various daggers and sword as if he’s off to battle. Not quite the look for temples, is it?”

  “Indeed,” Saw Win giggled. Suds rose between his fingers as he rubbed the soap into the damp cloth. He passed it to Zeya, as he continued, “Your Highness, I’ve prepared the clothes as instructed by Her Majesty. The suit is midnight blue with gold trimming, in honour of Spirit of Prosperity. They’re the spirit’s colours.”

  “How delightful. I only hope there’s not too much gold, you know, I’d hate to turn up looking like a walking treasure chest.”

  “It’s tastefully decorated, I promise. I’ve given careful instructions to the seamstresses. They are aware of Your Highness’ preferences,” Saw Win said, briefly hesitating before adding, “Um… there is also the headdress.”

  “Not that ancient thing. It’s bound to ftten my hair completely and between us, that rather ruins my one reliable asset when it comes to making a first impression,” Zeya quipped, combing his fingers through his wet hair in an exaggerated manner.

  “I believe Her Majesty requested the headdress specifically. Regrettably, it cannot be avoided. Someone will deliver it shortly.”

  “Then, it seems I haven’t much say in the matter. Though, truth be told, it's not unlike bancing a towering ornament with a sign that says ‘look at me.’ Still, on the bright side, it’ll do wonders for my neck strength, so there’s that small consotion.”

  Saw Win chuckled. “That’s a brilliant way to look at it.”

  He stood to retrieve a towel, aware time was pressing.

  Once Zeya was dressed in the formal suit and Saw Win had fussed about until every trim and colr was in perfect alignment, the Master of Ceremonial Robes arrived at the apartment. The man was a near spitting image of his master, wearing simir bck round spectacles and bearing the air of one who’d been around the block too many times. His sole duty, it appeared, was the care and pcement of the Crown Prince’s headdress. He carefully positioned the tall, gilded dome atop Zeya’s head, its surface etched with delicate repoussé work of interwoven patterns that glimmered in the light.

  At its peak sat an orb-shaped jewel, designed to catch the sunlight and dazzle the eye when viewed from a respectful bow. Sweeping, crescent-shaped wings fnked either side of the headdress, each lined with a shimmering row of gemstones. At the centre, just above his brows, gleamed the royal crest—a diamond-encrusted emblem that marked him unmistakably as the Crown Prince of Arkar. It gave Zeya a divine-like presence, regal and unapproachable.

  For a brief moment, he felt the full weight of his title settle upon him, not just symbolically, but quite literally, bearing down from above. He drew in slow, steady breaths, allowing his body to adjust to the added burden atop his head. At st, he let out a long sigh, then stepped out of his quarters, Khin Yu following close behind.

  ***

  When Zeya reached the final step, he caught his breath, not from the climb, but from the view overlooking the city and the great Ayegyi River, snaking silently through the ndscape into distance mist-cloaked hills. The Temple of Spirit of Prosperity stood high on a natural rise in the nd, surrounded by opulent homes. It was the quarter where the city’s elite resided, drawn not only by the prime location but by belief. Proximity to the spirit’s temple, they cimed, brought greater success.

  “Here we are, Zeya,” Queen Opame said. “Observe and be mindful.”

  They stepped through an impressive archway, marking the entrance to the inner courtyard. Zeya gave a nod of acknowledgement as he walked next to her, followed by Khin Yu, and the Queen’s entourage of dies-in-waiting.

  Every part of the temple structure was carved with swirling geometric motifs and pampered with gold leaf. In some pces, the yers of gold were so thick they blurred the original designs, distorting the symbols meant to represent abundance and affluence. However this excess was no accident. There was a long-held notion that donating gold leaf to these sacred carvings would pass fortune back to the giver.

  Zeya gnced up at the trio of golden stupas, rising towards the sky like fmes of hope piercing the grey morning haze. The Queen’s generous patronage of the spirit ensured the temple never cked for splendour. It stood as a radiant beacon, a clear symbol of prosperity visible from miles away.

  Somewhere behind him, a serene bell chimed. The sound was as delicate as it was sublime, prompting him not just to look, but to listen. It was then a line of monks appeared from the far side of the courtyard, barefoot and silent, gliding along the shaded walkway in solemn procession. They stopped, turned, and arranged themselves in perfect formation, their golden robes fluttering softly in the morning breeze.

  The Queen stepped forward to greet them as she passed, her manner graceful yet warm. She paused now and then to offer a kind word or ask a polite question, her voice quiet but clear. Zeya understood: she was leading by example, showing him what was expected of him. He followed suit as best he could, pausing to speak to one or two, all the while careful to keep the heavy headdress steady upon his head.

  Beyond the temple boundary, he noticed a growing crowd, onlookers straining for a glimpse of their Queen and Prince. Many smiled, pleased by the spectacle, excited to see the young handsome Prince. But within Zeya, there was only hollowness. This was his path. His future. He would be a dutiful son. He would py his part. Even if it meant losing himself, piece by piece.