“Most extraordinary indeed, to observe the splendid pace at which Your Highness advances through the material with such crity and vigour. Such command of detail, such natural discernment, speaks volumes of an intellect well-suited to the responsibilities that await. To witness such progress is a source of the deepest satisfaction.

  “Should this admirable tempo be maintained, there can be no doubt that the vast expanse of our thousand-year history shall be mastered with both swiftness and sophistication, as though time itself were eager to yield its secrets to Your Highness's curiosity,” Master commented after Zeya recounted what he’d learnt from Sein.

  Naturally, Zeya was relieved his shortcut to history studies was proving effective. But then a sobering realisation crept in. If his Master believed this was his natural pace, he’d be expected to keep it up. Which meant he’d have no choice but to find Lady Sein again, purely in pursuit of academic progress, obviously.

  “Might there be any questions, Your Highness, that linger in the mind or stir the intellect? Any point, however small, that seeks further crity or eboration?”

  “Master, if I may, there is something that’s been on my mind. None of the accounts seem to clearly expin how King Han Min managed to unite the three kingdoms. Might I ask if you could shed some light on the matter?” Zeya spoke up.

  “Indeed,” Master mumbled, nudging his spectacles with an absent-minded finger.

  For a moment, he seemed lost for words before he continued, “The tale of King Han Min, the legendary unifier of kingdoms. In a time of relentless strife and divided realms, King Han Min, through his extraordinary wisdom and vision, won the hearts of the ordinary people. Clearly his ability to empathise and his strategic brilliance in turning adversaries into allies fostered a unity previously thought impossible, creating the Gin Empire.

  “The precise details of those momentous events have been lost to the inexorable passage of time. It has been a millennium since his reign and much of the intricate details of his deeds has, regrettably, faded into the mists of history. Thus, the full breadth of his exploits and the minutiae of his grand unification are now but shadowy echoes, obscured and perhaps forever forgotten through the relentless march of the ages.”

  He truly doesn’t know, Zeya realised with a trace of disappointment.

  It was strange. His Master could recall every king, prince, and battle from the past thousand years, yet this, the one thing Zeya longed to understand, remained unknown even to him.

  Still, he had no intention of giving up and asked, “In that case, Master, is it possible this knowledge survives through oral tradition? Perhaps someone in the city knows the full tale?”

  Master appeared ruffled by such a suggestion.

  Once he regained his composure, he responded, “It is most unlikely that such knowledge could be found beyond the sanctum of the Pace Archives. If any living soul might once have held the key to those forgotten truths, it would surely have been the Archivist, whose prodigious memory and unmatched familiarity with even the most obscure volumes was the stuff of legend. As, with his passing, it is feared that much of that precious knowledge has vanished with him, leaving only darkness where once there was light.”

  Zeya wasn’t convinced. Someone, somewhere must know but right now, it wasn’t high on his priority list.

  By mid-week, Zeya found himself unusually restless. This tension he attributed to the mounting friction between his parents. He had come to recognise the pattern; it almost always followed a visit from the Northern Kingdom’s delegation.

  Though a formal alliance existed between the two realms, owing to his mother being the Northern King’s only daughter, Zeya knew well that his father had little affection for his in-ws. Their directness, practical sensibilities, and disregard for the refined etiquette of the Central Pins had long been a source of irritation.

  This time, it had been Prince Royu, his mother’s eldest brother, who had stirred the pot with a casual suggestion that a royal tutor from the North be brought in to oversee Zeya’s education, a move that would implicitly undermine the authority of Lord Ray, the King’s own brother, who currently held that role.

  To avoid the discord between his parents at afternoon tea, Zeya excused himself under the pretext of study and made his way to the Archives. It happened to be the same hour he’d seen Sein st time, and oddly enough, he found himself hoping to see her again.

  Entering the room quietly, he immediately caught sight of Sein by the history section, one hand resting on her hip, her body nguage indicated she was addressing someone.

  As he moved nearer, he heard her say, “Typical. It has to be in the st pce I look.”

  “What are you searching for?” Zeya spoke up when he realised that she was alone.

  Sein swung around with a look that was unfathomable. Had he surprised her?

  She curtsied and greeted, “Your Highness.”

  “Lady Sein, have you lost something?” Zeya asked. “How can I be of help?”

  “Oh… I was… I am looking for a missing scroll,” Sein replied, a little flustered.

  “What missing scroll do you speak of?”

  “I believe there is at least a volume on King Han Min’s time that is missing. The scrolls for that period were dated and numbered.”

  “I see. It’s lost among all this?” Zeya indicated to the shelf in question. “I’ll lend a hand with the search.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he stepped forward and began gathering the unorganised scrolls. One by one, he handed them to Sein, who began pcing them neatly on the nearest table. There was an natural flow to their shared task.

  Once the shelf was cleared, Zeya eased into a chair and Sein followed suit.

  “I’ll sift through this lot,” he said, dividing the scrolls into two piles.

  Zeya read the title and a few lines of the first scroll. It was from a much ter period than the Gin Empire.

  Not this one, he thought, setting it aside.

  The second scroll, however, sparked some interest. It was dated to the reign of his grandfather, whom he had fond memories of. Curious to see if the written accounts aligned with the tales passed down by his father, Zeya began to read.

  The style was unmistakably schorly, perhaps even written by someone of his Master’s ilk: flowery, abstract, frustratingly vague. Skimming the opening paragraph, Zeya pressed on until a passage caught his eye. It hinted at longstanding grievances with the Northern Kingdom.

  According to the text, his grandfather, a man of exquisite manners and the sort of diplomacy that made enemies feel fttered, had zero tolerance for the Northerners’ pin speech and ck of courtly nuance.

  So that’s where Father got it from, Zeya mused. An inherited distain for the Northerners.

  As he delved deeper, Zeya could deduce the marriage between his father and mother was a strategic move, designed to secure access to ores vital for the forging of weapons, should the Southern Delta ever threaten war. Yet, his father had always told the story a little differently. In his version, the marriage was a symbolic embrace of cultural harmony, a deliberate step towards a prosperous alliance grounded in mutual respect.

  Zeya frowned faintly. It was fascinating how history shifted, depending on who was doing the telling. And now, he too was part of that ever-unfolding story. His marriage to Princess Nanda would forge an alliance with the South, subtly loosening the kingdom’s reliance on the North which no doubt his father eagerly awaited.

  Another thought occurred to him. Since he had inherited his mother’s pale eyes and dark hair, these traits marked him as undeniably of the North. Was that how his father saw him? A product of the kingdom he despised, perhaps even a reminder of a union forged out of necessity.

  Zeya had long observed his father's preference for his three older sisters, especially the eldest, Princess Ginnah. She was the perfect image of their father, both in appearance and character. It was clear to anyone who looked that she was his father's favourite.

  These troubling thoughts were quickly pushed aside as Zeya became aware of Sein’s attention on him.

  He met her eyes and immediately remembered the task at hand.

  “I’m reading about my grandfather,” he said, offering a sheepish grin. “I have such little knowledge of our history. It’s rather shameful… I see I’ve become distracted from our current task.”

  He picked up another scroll hurriedly, then asked, “How’re you managing to get through so fast?”

  “I am not bothering to read them at all. Just checking the dates at the top to determine whether they fall during the Gin Empire and arranging them in a rough timeline,” Sein replied as she continued to sort. “I have been doing this for days. I have become quite an expert.”

  “I see,” Zeya let out a chuckle, causing Sein to return a smile.

  She does have a sense of humour, he noted.

  “You’re truly determined to find this missing scroll.”

  Sein paused and thought for a moment before responding, “I suppose I am curious to know how King Han Min united the kingdoms. You did raise that question yourself. It also bothers me the scroll that might have this information is missing. I cannot expin why.”

  Settling back against the chair, Zeya studied her for a moment. It seemed she also had an inquisitive mind.

  He crossed his arms and said, “I must admit I was also rather curious. I asked my Master whether he knew anything on how King Han Min united the three kingdoms. His response was rather vague, mentioning something about winning the hearts of the people. It seems that might indeed be how King Han Min managed to bring the kingdoms together. I was not entirely convinced and when I pressed him on this matter, my Master suggested that the specific events may have never been recorded, likely lost to the passage of time. After all, it has been a thousand years.”

  Sein nodded, letting his words settle before returning her focus on the scrolls. Zeya continued with the task, following Sein’s method of checking the dates and sorting the scrolls accordingly.

  Once all the rolls of parchment were id out in chronological order, Sein let out a sigh, “Forgive me, Your Highness. I am waisting your time. The missing scroll is not here after all.”

  “That means one of two things,” Zeya began, wishing to ease her disappointment. “One, someone has truly messed up and mispced that scroll among the other sections. Or two, someone has deliberately concealed it. And I must say, I’m rather inclined to believe the tter.”

  Sein looked around the room and Zeya could tell she was aghast by the possibility someone might had mispced it somewhere in the Archives.

  “You may be right, Your Highness. I appreciate your help.”

  “Not at all. You were a tremendous help to me the other day, so I'm more than happy to return the favour. Besides, if I’m honest,” Zeya admitted, with a small grin. “I was hoping you might fill me in on the next chapter of our history.”

  Sein smiled warmly and said, “I can certainly help you with that.”

  “Well then, I’m all yours. I meant, I’m all ears, of course!” Zeya said, stumbling over his words.

  He raked his fingers through his hair, hoping the gesture might somehow distract from the blush creeping up his face.

  Sein pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her ughter. Zeya, seeing her failing to keep the giggles in, couldn’t help but join in with a sheepish chuckle. It felt oddly reassuring in seeing her like this, unguarded and at ease.

  She met his gaze and said kindly, “I appreciate your full attention.”

  He grinned at her, utterly disarmed.

  “After the death of King Han Min,” Sein began. “It was the bleakest time in the Gin Empire’s history. King Han Min and Queen Tin had two daughters. As they didn’t have a son, and when Prince Amptu died, the empire remained leaderless. With no clear succession to the throne, internal conflicts erupted as prominent families vied for power. However, none had the support of the masses. As years went by, the empire remained fractured attracting foreign invaders to seize the opportunity to conquer it.”

  “I’ve come across accounts of these battles with various warlords from the East during my studies on military strategy,” Zeya chimed in, hoping to show he wasn’t entirely ignorant. “It’s rather remarkable, isn’t it, how the empire managed to push them back with such formidable might?”

  “The history scrolls did not describe these events in detail but it sounded rather brutal.”

  “Absolutely, war is brutal no matter how justifiable it may be,” Zeya agreed.

  He studied her face, noticing the complexity in the depths of those beautiful eyes. He couldn’t work out what she was thinking. Yet.

  Sein continued, “It was seven years before a descendant of King Han Min, fought in the battle of the Central Pins and became King San. By this time, the Empire had broken up into the three kingdoms known to this day.”

  “If King Han Min didn’t have a son, how was King San a descendent of his?” Zeya asked, propping his chin on his hand.

  A genuine smile spread across Sein’s face, and just like that, she transformed—charming, brilliant, utterly lovely. It was a smile worth earning.

  “That is a great question. Unfortunately I cannot answer. I have not read any further,” she said, indicating to the scrolls. “I have been spending my time sorting these scrolls, hunting for that elusive one. Hopefully, all this effort has not been in vain. At the very least, the history section is now in perfect chronological order. Perhaps I ought to maybe apply for the position of Archivist?”

  Zeya ughed softly, recognising the sarcasm in her words. She mirrored his smile, and he wondered if she was finally warming to him. He already felt at ease in her presence, much like speaking with his own sisters. There was no pretence, no need for courtly etiquette; he could simply speak his mind.

  “You have me intrigued,” he confessed. “Why would anyone conceal a scroll on history? What could possibly be so secretive?”

  “I would dearly like to find the missing information but I am not sure I would want to spend the next few months going through all the shelves in the Archives,” Sein sighed, clearly disappointed. “I suppose I ought to return these to their rightful pce.”

  “Allow me to help,” Zeya offered and stood up. “Do pass them over.”

  They moved in sync, Sein handing over scrolls and Zeya shelved them neatly. Their movements so fluid, someone observing them might assume they had rehearsed. Every now and then, he caught her eye and couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. But he was careful, mindful not to let his fingers graze hers.

  Khin Yu walked in and paused, seeing their joint efforts in repcing the scrolls.

  Zeya spoke up, “Khin Yu, I’m well aware my training with Lord Thura is starting shortly.”

  “Your Highness,” Khin Yu bowed, a faint crease of hesitation in his brow. “May I be of assistance at all?”

  “No, you go ahead. I shall be along shortly,” Zeya dismissed him.

  Khin Yu bowed again and departed.

  Sein spoke up, “I will finish off, Your Highness. I do not wish to dey you.”

  “Nonsense,” Zeya insisted. “We’re almost done. Your brother is a patient man. He will not mind if I’m a little te.”

  When the final scroll was slotted into pce like a cog finding a home, they stood side by side, admiring their handy work.

  “A job well done,” Zeya commented. “You may not realise it, but you might have a bit of competition for that Archivist position. Not that I’m ciming I could rival your brilliance. Just thought I’d warn you, you know, in case things start looking suspiciously more organised than usual.”

  The sound of Sein’s ughter floated to Zeya like the sweet song of a nightingale, catching him off guard. Suddenly aware of his own flustered state, he quickly bowed his head and said, “Until next time, Lady Sein.”

  “Your Highness,” Sein returned with a curtsey.

  As Zeya made his way back to his apartment to change into his training clothes, he shook his head, half-ughing to himself.

  What had just happened? And what was this reaction? His heart was beating faster, a flush spreading across his cheeks, and a certain warmth seemed to settle in his chest.

  Was this what joy was supposed to feel like?

  A week slipped by, and Zeya found himself pulled away from the rhythm of swordpy and scrolls, instead trailing behind ministers through echoing halls and stifling court meetings. He paid particur attention to the minister overseeing military affairs and logistics, the man who seemed the most animated therefore interesting.

  Since Prince Royu’s visit, the King seemed intent on anchoring Zeya to their heritage as if the customs of the Central Pins could overwrite the blood he carried from the North.

  One morning, before a meeting with his father, Zeya retreated to his favourite spot in his apartment, a daybed beside a wide window that overlooked the pace gardens. After a few minutes of reading, he leaned back against the cushions and snapped the book shut.

  “Saw Win,” Zeya called out, tossing his book aside. “Come and chat with me for a while.”

  Saw Win, the Crown Prince’s attendant, appeared as instructed. He was a slender young man, perhaps only a few years older than Zeya, with gentle manners and a hint of mischief that Zeya couldn’t help but warm to. There was something about his calm presence that Zeya trusted instinctively.

  In the rare moments when the weight of his title felt especially heavy, conversations with Saw Win always brought lightness. Apart from Khin Yu, who had stood at his side since he was a boy, there had never been another to whom Zeya could speak openly and freely.

  “What can I do for you, Your Highness?”

  “Tell me, what’s the test news from the city?”

  This was quite typical of the Crown Prince’s requests. Whenever he waited to be summoned by the King, he would pace, fidget, and sooner or ter search for distractions. Saw Win had long since learnt to read the signs.

  Knowing well that food was one of Zeya’s preferred amusements, Saw Win offered, “I have heard of a street not far from the pace, known for its food. It’s more of a tucked-away ne, really, crammed with stalls, each serving just one specialty. Word is, it is the pce to eat at the moment. It’s become a favourite among the young and stylish. Perhaps you might like to try it for yourself, Your Highness? A bit of warmth and spice, and away from the pace?”

  Zeya’s eyes lit up and remarked, “That does sound rather tempting.”

  After a moment’s thought, he added, “Who would I go with? It would be dreadfully dull eating out by myself.”

  “Perhaps a lord who is equally keen on food?”

  “I’ve no doubt there are plenty of lords who fancy themselves connoisseurs of fine food but truthfully, there is no one I’d care to dine with. How shall I put it? Most are either far too eager to impress or utterly devoid of humour. Frankly, I’d rather brave the silence of dining alone than endure an evening of exaggerated compliments and strained conversation.”

  Saw Win nodded and moved to the window, quietly considering another way to lift the mood.

  “Shall I open the shutters wider? It seems the rain has finally stopped,” he asked.

  At Zeya’s nod, he pushed the shutters open, letting in a rush of fresh air. His eyes rested on something of interest in the gardens.

  “What has caught your attention, Saw Win?”

  “A beautiful dy,” Saw Win replied with a cheeky grin while his eyes remained focused on the object of admiration.

  “Someone you know?”

  “No, Your Highness. In fact, I do not know who she is. But it seems she has the attention of Lord Myat.”

  “Unlucky her,” Zeya commented, pushing back on the cushions and folding his arms behind his head.

  He knew Lord Myat well enough to know he preferred not to know him any better. The man had opinions in abundance and an overinfted sense of his own importance.

  “It seems the dy is not happy to see Lord Myat,” Saw Win noted. “However he is persistent… yep and it seemed to have worked. She has reluctantly accepted his company.”

  “How are you able to tell all this, Saw Win?” Zeya asked, intrigued by his attendant’s running commentary.

  He sprang to his feet and joined Saw Win at the window, eager to see for himself.

  Zeya froze. There she was—Sein—her hand in Lord Myat’s, strolling along the flower-lined path that led to the pace compound.

  The scene might’ve been plucked from a court painter’s canvas, romantic and serene, if not for the unmistakable tension in her face. Saw Win had been right. She looked far from happy.

  Before he could stop himself, Zeya was already moving with the intention to intercept them head-on.

  At that moment, Khin Yu appeared and said, “Your Highness. Your father is ready to see you now. Will you come?”

  Zeya was on a mission. “Come along, Khin Yu. Let’s take the back way through the gardens,” he suggested. “It’s far more pleasant and besides, the usual route’s rather dull, don’t you think?”

  “Hmmm.”

  Khin Yu followed obediently a few steps behind the Crown Prince, who seemed to be in a hurry.

  When Zeya pushed open the white gate into the garden, he found, as anticipated, Lord Myat and Sein. What he hadn’t expected was the sight of Lord Myat seizing her hand and pressing an uninvited kiss to it. Appalled, Zeya strode forward without hesitation.

  Lord Myat quickly released Sein’s hand the moment he saw the Crown Prince approaching.

  “Ah… Lord Meyuck,” Zeya began, then greeted Sein with a quick head bow, “Lady Sein.”

  Sein looked visibly distraught and she didn’t return his greeting.

  “Er…Your Highness, it is Myat. Not Meyuck.”

  Though Zeya’s face remained neutral, a rush of satisfaction filled him. The nickname he’d just used was one Lord Myat had earned from his training group. Thura, who harboured his own distaste for the pompous lord, had let it slip to Zeya some weeks ago. And now Zeya couldn’t help himself but fling the insult at the man.

  “Lord Myat, just the person," Zeya said, putting on his most sincere voice. He inclined his head towards Khin Yu and continued, “Khin Yu, I believe you were seeking Lord Myat to take him to the pace for a meeting.”

  Khin Yu blinked in confusion, then understanding struck as he caught the Crown Prince’s unspoken message in his subtle hand gesture.

  “Indeed, Your Highness,” Khin Yu quickly spoke up. He bowed to Lord Myat and requested, “Would My Lord please come this way. There is… a guest… at the pace awaiting, My Lord.”

  His voice was a little strained but Lord Myat didn’t notice.

  “Excuse me, Your Highness. Lady Sein.”

  Lord Myat bowed then followed Khin Yu back through the garden path.

  Sein had, by this point, gathered herself again. She curtsied and said, “Your Highness.”

  Determined to voice his disapproval of Lord Myat’s actions, Zeya said, “I happened to see you with Lord Myat. He did not seem to be behaving… honourably. I hope I was not out of line to intervene.”

  “…”

  When Sein remained silent, an arming thought occurred to him. Was she promised to Lord Myat? She hadn’t looked especially pleased to see the man, but what if he’d misjudged what he saw? What if, in his eagerness, he’d barged in on something he was never meant to witness?

  “Are you betrothed to Lord Myat?” Zeya ventured.

  “Definitely not!” Sein snapped, irritation fring before she caught herself.

  She drew a breath, shoulders stiffening as she wrestled her expression back into composure.

  “Pardon me, Your Highness. I am needed at home. I shall take my leave."

  She dipped into a curtsy, her eyes avoiding his.

  Zeya watched Sein disappear through the white gate, confused by the emotions churning within.

  Had his question upset her?

  Then he reflected on what he’d seen; the gall of that man, kissing Sein’s hand so casually. His fists clenched at the memory.

  Naturally, he felt protective. She was Thura’s sister, after all. Surely Thura would have reacted the same, had their pces been reversed.