The rger-than-life statue of Spirit of Prosperity loomed several metres tall, carved with a care and precision that spoke to devotion and mastery. Except for its head and hands, which had a soft, luminous quality of marble that glowed in natural light, the remaining surface was gilded with gold leaf. The face was that of a handsome man, with an elegant nose, high cheekbones, eyes full of compassion, and lips curved in a contented smile.

  So this was King Han Min, Zeya mused, gazing up with wonder.

  The monk walking beside him continued reciting the well-known tale of the spirit’s mortal life, words Zeya had read in the Archives. Half listening, half drifting into his own thoughts, he kept his gaze on the statue’s face. There was something about it that unsettled him. It felt oddly familiar, almost like looking into a reflection.

  I’m going completely mad, he told himself.

  Perhaps he saw himself there because he knew Sein admired King Han Min and some part of him wished he could measure up to that same ideal. But how could he ever be compared to Spirit of Prosperity? What had he accomplished in his life so far? He couldn’t even control his own desires, especially those forbidden feelings for Sein when he was already promised to another. A wave of self-reproach threatened to sink him but he quickly focused on the present moment, clinging to the monk’s words like driftwood.

  They continued their slow walk around the base of the statue, where an explosion of colourful blooms: pink peonies, white orchids, and red roses, had been meticulously arranged, adding colour around the spirit’s feet. Their intoxicating scent wafted into the air, mingling with the incense sticks burning nearby.

  Zeya nodded politely to show his attentiveness even though his mind was elsewhere. The monk paused beside a rge bell, suspended on a sturdy wooden frame, next to the statue. Its surface once gleamed with intricate engravings, the metal now worn smooth from generations of hands brushing it for luck. He picked up a heavy wooden mallet resting next to it and handed it to Zeya.

  “For all his deeds and selfless acts, King Han Min was made Spirit of Prosperity upon his death. He continues to have an impact on people’s lives to this day, bringing abundance, fortune, and success to those who honour him,” the monk concluded, bowing his head respectfully to the prince.

  His shaved scalp, already fuzzy with fresh regrowth, caught the light, and his face radiated calm as he smiled warmly, deep lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. He gestured for Zeya to ring the bell, a ritual meant to summon the spirit to witness and bless the one who called. Zeya complied, striking it three times. Each deep, sonorous note rolled through the temple grounds in waves.

  Once the ringing resonance faded to stillness, Zeya spoke up, “Would you by any chance know how King Han Min united the three realms during his reign?”

  The question surprised the monk, who pressed his lips together in a moment of thought. Coming up empty, he responded, “I am afraid I do not, Your Highness. Many apologies.”

  “There’s no need to apologise, Teacher,” Zeya returned, addressing the old monk with respect. “I was simply wondering, as I’ve found no mention of it at all in the Pace Archives’ scrolls. And even my Master admits he’s in the dark about how it all transpired.”

  “That is unfortunate, that we do not know all our history. But take heart, sometimes even the tallest tree remains invisible until one learns to climb and seek it from a different angle.”

  A flock of sparrows flew overhead and nded near their feet. The brave ones hopped closer, daring to peck at the scattered bck ants that were beginning to form a trail. A hollow sound of a gong from the east of the grounds drifted over, catching the monk’s attention. Zeya guessed it was time for the monks’ st meal before midday.

  “Much appreciated, Teacher, for your wise counsel,” he said graciously. “I will not take up any more of your valuable time.”

  “It is a pleasure, Your Highness. May the spirit’s kindness rest upon all who seek his favour.” The monk bowed low before departing.

  Zeya gnced up once more at the face of Spirit of Prosperity.

  I’ll be less selfish, he promised himself quietly. I shall follow his example and focus on the path set before me.

  Even as he made the vow, doubt crept in. Was it truly selfish to wish for more time with Sein? Didn’t he deserve moments of happiness too? Surely it wasn’t a sin to spend time with the people he cared about?

  “Shall we return home?” Queen Opame asked, seeing her son stroll over with a far away look. “This morning has gone splendidly. You’ve been simply exceptional, Zeya. As ever, your natural warmth and those exquisitely courteous ways of yours have utterly enchanted everyone in your path.”

  “I’m merely following your lead, Mama. Wouldn’t want to let the side down.” Zeya gave a roguish grin.

  As they stepped outside the temple, a sudden cheer erupted. Word of the Prince’s appearance had spread, and the walkway was now lined with eager onlookers, mostly young women, who giggled and whispered excitedly at the sight of the handsome prince.

  Khin Yu was poised with an intimidating stare, ready to disperse the crowd but Zeya stepped forward, his hands csped behind his back. This was yet another signal to his guard that he would handle the situation. He took the lead, strolling onward, pausing here and there to offer a warm smile and thank the spectators for coming to pay their respects.

  Zeya had come to realise his concerns of being recognised by the people were unfounded. His mother spoke of days before he was born, when the King would sometimes ride out with Lord Ray, venturing into the hills or wandering the capital streets without drawing anyone’s notice.

  “Strip away the finery and crown, and to the unsuspecting eye, you will look no more than an unremarkable lord, albeit, a rather dashing one at that,” Queen Opame assured him.

  This was what Zeya was relying on when he agreed to accompany Sein into the city to celebrate the Festival of Spirits. It was an annual event rooted in centuries of tradition. On the second full moon of the dry season, pavilions sprang up across vilges, towns, and the capital itself, to honour the spirits. Crowds assembled to present food and offerings, while musicians pyed the distinctive melodies that set the rhythm for dances performed by Spirit Dancers.

  Lanterns flickered to life along the main street of Dao Lin district as the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving a spsh of pink across the sky. This area, directly south of the pace gates, was home to the city’s wealthy merchants.

  Here the rows of houses stood in pristine white, the whiter, the better. It was a mark of the family’s status and prosperity. Those who could maintain their facades immacute demonstrated their wealth, especially since the frequent downpour during the rainy season dulled the brightness. Occasional houses appeared off-white and weathered, but under the gentle ntern glow, the imperfections were indistinguishable from their immacute neighbours.

  Sein and Zeya strolled side by side, following the crowd, fully immersed in each other. After Zeya recounted his visit to the temple of Spirit of Prosperity, Sein remarked with a pyful glint, “So, are you pnning to sashay into the spotlight more often now, dazzling the masses with your irresistible charm?”

  “Absolutely,” Zeya returned, grinning with mischief. “Nothing like a regur sprinkle of royalty to keep everyone entertained. Spirits knows it’s one of the few useful things I’m good for.”

  “Really? Don’t be so modest. There’s that fir for the dramatic as well as diplomacy you do so effortlessly. And let’s not forget the rather impressive mounted archery dispy and your fabulous footwork at royal dances.”

  Zeya chuckled, walking closer to Sein, brushing his arms against hers.

  “I give it my all when it comes to delighting and entertaining, naturally. So, be honest: have you been paying attention to my dance moves? Admiring my footwork by any chance?”

  Sein ughed. “I’ve been wondering how you’re able to sweep all the dies off their feet.”

  “Well, not every dy, just yet. But there’s still time, isn’t there?”

  Sein offered him a coy smile, hinting at hidden thoughts.

  At some point, they found themselves carried along with a rge family group, and before they realised it, they’d ended up inside the pavilion dedicated to Spirit of Love and Marriage. That suited Zeya just fine; he would’ve been far more concerned about being recognised had they wandered into the pavilion of Spirit of War or Spirit of Prosperity. Most high-ranking lords favoured these two supreme spirits over Spirit of Love and Marriage, and Zeya was confident he wouldn’t encounter anyone who knew him by sight.

  Sein and Zeya settled on the bamboo mat, among the gathered devotees, near the front. Zeya’s attention was drawn to the spirit’s statue on the altar. The carving was simply exquisite, the detail on the face remarkable. He noted the subtle mencholy in those graceful eyes, even though the lips were gently curved. He could almost feel the sense of loss and longing emanating from the stone itself.

  Even as the ruler of the spirit realm, Spirit of Love and Marriage never found peace or happiness upon his ascension. Many sought his blessing not to fall in love, but to ensure they would never be parted from the one they cherished.

  Of the three supreme spirits, he alone knew what it meant to love someone deeply yet remain forever apart. His tragic story was captured in the pintive song performed by one of the singers.

  As Zeya listened to the words, a sudden wish welled up inside: Let Sein stay by my side for as long as possible. Allow me to cherish her. And allow me to make her happy, he pleaded silently.

  The pounding of drums, the csh of cymbals, and the resonant gongs thundered through the air with fierce, electrifying rhythm. Zeya felt it reverberate through his chest, the beat unlike his racing heart. The thought of spending his life with Sein sent a jolt of energy through him, like waking up and seizing life firmly in his hands.

  He cleared his mind of such foolish thoughts as he felt Sein press closer to him. Instinctively, he slipped his arm around her, shielding her from the jostling crowd swaying with excitement as they awaited the Spirit Dancer’s grand entrance from behind a scarlet curtain.

  A figure stepped out wearing a shimmering gold costume that caught every flicker of ntern light, evoking the regal splendour of ancient princes. An embroidered golden sash cinched his waist unnaturally tight, exaggerating his form. His face was concealed beneath heavy yers of makeup, while one hand held an ornate fan and the other a vivid red rose. Atop his head gleamed a jewelled crown, an impressive imitation of the King’s. It completed the transformation into the embodiment of the spirit come to life before them.

  Zeya had never attended a public spirit festival before, nor witnessed a spirit possession firsthand. Whether it was a genuine manifestation or mere performance, he found himself thoroughly impressed. The Spirit Dancer captured the spirit’s personality perfectly: from what Zeya remembered, the once-dashing crown prince, before ascending as Spirit of Love and Marriage, had been light-hearted and pyful, his charm often skirting the edge of flirtation.

  “You two,” one of the women they’d entered the pavilion with spoke up. “Go up for a blessing.”

  Before Zeya could react, the woman seated beside Sein called out, “My Lord, this young couple requires your blessing.”

  The Spirit Dancer, with eyes gzed and unblinking, moved straight for them.

  Blessings? For what? Zeya wondered in a momentary confusion.

  Then it dawned on him: they’d pyed along to the women’s assumption that they were newlyweds. He tried to deflect the Spirit Dancer’s approach by appearing disinterested, but the man’s attention was on Sein then his eyes locked onto him with unnerving intensity. He extended one hand towards Sein, the other reaching out to grasp Zeya’s arm, and before he knew it, they were pulled into the ritual space, utterly unprepared for what was about to unfold.

  He stood facing Sein, both of his hands wrapped around hers. The Spirit Dancer guided their heads gently forward until their foreheads met, and the world seemed to narrow to that single, breathless point of contact. She smelled of heavenly gardenia, the delicate fragrance of the white flower pinned in her hair. He felt the soft rhythm of her breath mingling with his own.

  In that moment of intimacy, everything else faded away, and all he could think of was how desperately he wanted to pull her closer, to press his lips to hers.

  A gentle pressure on his wrist snapped him from the haze. He gazed down to see a red braided cord tied around his wrist and around Sein’s, binding them together.

  What was Spirit of Love and Marriage doing? Was he granting him his wish? Zeya wondered, heart hammering.

  Then came the soft murmur of words spoken in the ancient tongue which he recognised: together, forever, unbreakable union. The meaning struck him like a clear note of a bell, bright with hope as the certainty of his affection for her became known to him.

  “You are now bound together for all eternity,” spoke the Spirit Dancer, each word with conviction. “May this union give you the strength to conquer any trials ahead, creating a connection that defies time. May you find joy and harmony in the bliss of marriage.”

  The word ‘marriage’ troubled Zeya. That was no ordinary blessing. A rush of panic welled up, threatening to seize him completely.

  Take a breath, he told himself firmly. It isn’t a true spiritual marriage without mutual consent. Besides, Sein probably has no idea what any of this truly means.

  To Zeya’s relief, the moment ended as quickly as it began. Their hands were untied and they were free to go. Still holding Sein’s hand, he followed her back to the audience.

  Before they sat back on the mat, Sein muttered, “I hope Htay didn’t see that.”

  Zeya chuckled to himself. Sein was far more concerned about being seen by her cousin rather than what had taken pce. Once again, he reassured himself that without her own wish to be bound to him, the spiritual union meant nothing. It wasn’t valid without her consent.

  This thought calmed his mind as he offered her comforting words, “Don’t be worried. I’m certain no one recognised us.”

  Now, with the blessings bestowed, the atmosphere shifted. Upbeat music filled the pavilion, the singer weaving familiar, lively melodies. The audience erupted in appuse, eager to revel in the newfound merriment.

  Even amid the rising din, Zeya’s focus remained fixed solely on Sein. When their eyes met, the noise and bustle around them seemed to dissolve, leaving just the two of them in a quiet, shared moment. He couldn’t decipher her expression, yet her eyes shone with warmth. He smiled softly, daring to wonder if Sein could ever truly be his.

  Drinks began to flow freely, snacks were passed hand to hand, and the celebration swelled into a joyous, boisterous revelry. As people began to shift around them, they remained rooted in pce, caught in one another’s gaze. Was he imagining it? He could’ve sworn there was a trace of longing in her eyes. Did she feel it too?

  “Here’s a drink for you,” someone said, breaking the moment.

  “And one for you.”

  Zeya took the gss offered to him, glistening with clear liquid, which he suspected was some kind of alcohol. He lifted it to his nose, trying to discern the liquor’s strength, when he heard Sein clear her throat. She had already taken a sip—no, more than that; she’d finished it.

  “It smells like strong liquor. Did you drink it all?” Zeya asked, arm cing his voice as he gently pulled her hand back.

  He tended to avoid alcohol, wary of its unpredictable quality and the loss of control it might bring. His uncle had always impressed upon him the necessity of maintaining command over his actions at all times.

  “How are you feeling?” Zeya asked softly, as he observed Sein closely.

  A hazy, distant look clouded her eyes and a faint frown furrowed her brow.

  “Sein, are you alright?”

  Still no answer.

  “Shall we leave?” Zeya asserted as he stood, grasping her arm firmly to help her rise.

  Several elderly onlookers shot them sharp stares, a few clicking their tongues in clear disapproval at their sudden exit from the celebrations. Leaving without a donation or praise for the organiser was considered a serious breach of etiquette.

  Once outside the pavilion, they were met by the caress of a southerly breeze but that did little to steady Sein. The streets were still packed with festival-goers, the sheer numbers and noise overwhelming. Zeya judged it would be difficult to navigate through the throng without being swept away with the flow of people.

  “Come, let’s head away from this crowd,” Zeya said, steering Sein back towards the pavilion before slipping through a narrow gap that led into the darkness beyond. “I’m taking you back.”

  They stepped into a narrow ne that ran between rows of town houses, their back doors opening directly onto it. Lit only by the pale glow of the full moon, they walked on, disturbing a few stray cats lurking in the shadows. The cooling night air and quiet calm roused Sein from her daze. With each step, the lingering effects of the alcohol seem to dissipate, and her stride grew stable once more.

  “Wait wait wait,” Sein spoke up slowing down, causing Zeya to stop and turn to face her. “But it’s still early. Can’t we go to another pavilion? Come on, Zeya. The night is still young. Let’s live a little.”

  Zeya studied her intently. She wasn’t quite herself yet. It would take a little time for the alcohol to wear off completely.

  “True enough, the night may be young. Unfortunately you’re in no state to continue. I’m taking you home.”

  Sein’s face expressed her disappointment as she stepped forward and rested her head on his shoulder. Her arms embraced him. She mumbled, “You’re no fun at all, Zeya!”

  “I must apologise for being no fun. But you, I’m afraid, are quite clearly drunk,” Zeya said softly, but firmly.

  Seeing the determined look in her eyes, he slipped one arm behind her and the other beneath her legs as he hoisted her off her feet.

  “Put me down. What’re you doing?”

  “Well, I thought I’d carry you,” Zeya decred.

  He held her securely as she squirmed for a bit then stopped, realising it was no use. He had no intention of letting her go.

  Voices and footsteps approaching caught their attention. A couple strolled hand in hand towards them. They stopped instantly when they spotted Sein carried by Zeya, hesitating, not sure what to make of it.

  “All is well,” Zeya quickly spoke up. “My wife has fallen ill. I am taking her home.”

  They appeared satisfied with his words and continued onward. Zeya caught a brief glimpse of a knowing smile on the man’s face as he passed by.

  His attention snapped back to Sein as he felt her arms hook around his neck, drawing him closer. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if she wanted him to kiss her. Was that hope just his own, or did the look in her eyes hold the same unspoken desire?

  “Fine, husband. Take me home,” he heard Sein say in that mischievous way of hers.

  For some reason, hearing her call him husband thrilled him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. A wide smile spread across his face before he could stop it.

  I wish I could take you home as my wife, he said to himself.

  Then, his mind conjured an image so vivid it sent his heart racing. He yearned to spend just one night with her. At that point, he forced himself to breathe, darting his gaze at the surrounding, desperate to find something—anything—to pull his mind from the rising tide of longing.

  “Seriously, you can’t carry me all the way back,” Sein remarked, breaking his concentration of mentally cataloguing everything along their path.

  She rested her head on his shoulder, her face nestling in the crook of his neck.

  “Do you think I’m not capable of it?” Zeya ventured, managing to hold his voice steady.

  “I think you’re plenty strong enough. What if someone from the pace sees you carrying me?”

  “So they’ll see me carrying you. Rex,” Zeya said, feeling relieved he was in control of his mind again. He let out a chuckle. “This can count as part of my strength training.”

  “Zeya Arkar!” Sein excimed, gncing up at him.

  “You can say Zeya Arkar all you like. It’s rather pleasant when you say my name,” Zeya retorted with a cocky, impish smile. “Just remember, if you ever catch me worse for wear, I’m relying on you to get me home in one piece.”

  “Of course, you can count on me to haul you back.”

  “I’m not entirely sure I fancy the thought of being dragged home like a sack of rice. Perhaps a more dignified option. How about, being guided gracefully in your arms?”