In his mind, Zeya rehearsed the dance of negotiation: when to lean in, when to hold back, when to let silence speak louder than words. He knew his parents well enough to anticipate their fears, their expectations, their objections, and he mapped every concession as though arranging pieces on a game board.

  He stood at the window, hands csped behind his back, letting his gaze drift idly over the garden outside his apartment. The dry season had lingered longer than usual this year, and the grass had suffered for it, its once-lush green fading to brown in patches. However the flower borders still bzed with colour thanks to the irrigation channels. The jasmine climbing over the trellis beneath the window imparted a heady fragrance that drifted up on the warm air.

  His thoughts flicked back to the time he’d seen Sein walking with Lord Myat, and he gave a soft snort.

  That abominable man, he thought.

  Then focusing on the task at hand, he reeled off his ideal outcome, realistic goal, and walk-away point in his mind. This was no battlefield, but the stakes were no less real.

  Today, words would serve as weapons, silence his shield. His own heart was no longer uncertain; he knew what he wanted, and who. The crity gave him peace of mind. But that truth, her name, would remain unspoken. To mention Sein now would be unwise. It would complicate matters needlessly and cast unwanted attention on her. Besides, he had yet to confess his feelings, and he didn’t know for certain she’d accept him. So long as he remained promised to another, he couldn’t say a word. It was a cycle he was determined to break and reveal his heart to her.

  His top priority was to dissolve the engagement, not in defiance but through diplomacy. That was the Arkar way, and he knew that with the right amount of persuasion, his father would soften to reason. The King, after all, was known to heed counsel and base his decisions on the strength of sound, objective judgment.

  A marriage to a princess of the Southern Delta, Zeya would argue, might be read by the North as a signal that their long-standing alliance had become secondary, that the crown now favoured the South. His mother’s family might even see it as a betrayal, perhaps even a threat. The consequences could prove disastrous for the realm.

  He would appeal not only to future trade and prosperity but also to their continued reliance on the North’s vital resources. With careful rationale, he would steer the conversation to show that his best interests were bound to the kingdom and the crown, trusting his father’s instincts to arrive at the only logical conclusion.

  However, the reality was very different to what he’d imagined. The road, instead of being smooth and straightforward, was riddled with potholes and strewn with abrupt dead ends. The moment he broached the subject of his engagement, it became clear that it was not open to discussion. His father cut him off before he could fully present his case.

  “You speak as if your future were your own to barter. It is not. You are not a free man, and you never have been. You are the Crown Prince of Arkar. Your life, your name, your every breath belongs as much to the kingdom as it does to you. It is not a life of choice. It is a life of duty,” King Arkar said as if stating the obvious. “We forge connections not out of affection, but for the future of this kingdom. Our alliance with the South ensures the continuation of peace and prosperity for generations to come.”

  His father ced his fingers, a sign Zeya knew indicated his mind was made up.

  “I understand, Papa,” Zeya said calmly, standing his ground and wishing to pursue the matter. “I know what I was born into and what is expected of me. To the crown first, and self second. And I will do what is required. I always have. All I am asking now is to be heard.”

  “Enough,” the King commanded, his thumb and finger unconsciously twirling the diamond ring he always wore, the ring Zeya would one day inherit as King. “Have I not made myself perfectly clear? There is no choice, no alternatives. You will marry Princess Nanda. You may not like it. You may resent it. But you will do it. Make your peace with it. Then stand, and act like the king you are meant to become.”

  Zeya had never seen his father this obstinate before. Why would he not even hear him out? Confounded, he turned to his mother, seeking for support but the Queen averted her gaze. Her silence confirmed it: she was taking the King’s side.

  The family room, though luxuriously decorated with silks and tapestries, remained functional and comfortable. The high ceiling and tall windows, stretching along one wall, created a light-filled, open space.

  Now, as the tension mounted, the chamber seemed to close in around Zeya. The heavy drapes and thick rugs covering the wooden floor amplified the weight of unspoken words. The sunlight that usually poured through the wide panes now felt cold and distant, casting a blue hue that deepened the room’s growing sense of oppression.

  No one moved or spoke. Only the faint rustle of a serving girl disturbed the stillness as she poured more tea and slipped away without a sound. In the lingering hush, Zeya caught the cheep and chirrup of sparrows outside, busy with their dust baths in a patch of loose, dry soil. His gaze returned to his parents just as his mother reached for her cup and took a sip.

  Sensing his parent’s united and impenetrable front, a bitter wave of indignation surged within Zeya. He tempered it quickly. To persist or dispy anger would only strain the delicate threads that held his retionship with his father. He must remain calm and composed. More than that, he needed to understand why his father was behaving as he was, and why his mother was not acting in her usual manner of softening and smoothing the creases of their tension.

  The stirrings of curiosity gradually dulled the edge of his rage. Rising to his feet, he bowed, formal and cold, then turned and departed without another word.

  When Zeya returned to his apartment, his mind churned over the conversation with his parents. The way his father had spoken, the tone, the look in his eyes, while his mother sat, silent and distant. It reignited a fury that threatened to consume him whole.

  Just because they’ve resigned themselves to a life of misery in their marriage, why must I be forced to follow in their footsteps? Zeya questioned.

  Before long, he was striding towards the training grounds, needing movement, needing release. His fists clenched so tightly he fancied he could crush some coconuts.

  He ran, he shot arrows, he rode hard, then drove his bde through practice targets again and again until every muscle screamed and his mind was numb. The resentment began to wrap into shame, guilt, and self-loathing, a bitter cocktail that left him seething from the inside out. No amount of exertion or steady breathing could sweeten it.

  Was he putting his own desires above the welfare of the kingdom? Was he being selfish? Zeya’s cousins had taunted him in childhood, belling him ‘spoiled rotten’. And little Zeya, in his own mind, saw himself as entitled, for he was the Crown Prince and therefore could cim whatever he wished, whenever he wished it.

  The truth, however, was quite the opposite. Though every luxury and resource had been vished on his upbringing, it came with the unspoken condition that he comply without question. They wanted him to follow, not to think or challenge. The crown wasn’t a privilege; it was a burden. And realising the confines of his inheritance, he wore the mask, pyed the part, and became the man they demanded.

  Zeya continued to fulfilled the obligations expected of him: attending councils, performing public duties, training diligently, and pursuing his studies with his Master, leaving his father no cause to say he’d failed to meet expectations.

  However his usual patience and pyfulness deserted him, and he found himself snapping at Khin Yu and Saw Win. The resentment was like an oil stain, clinging stubbornly, never to vanish completely.

  That week, he made a deliberate effort to keep away from Sein. He would not have her see him like this: tetchy, restless, and wretched.

  The change in Zeya’s mood didn’t go unnoticed.

  After martial practice, his uncle spoke up, “Whatever is the matter, Zeya? You seem rather… tense all week. A touch uptight, if I may say so. And that’s not like you at all. How can I help? Who’s been rattling your cage?”

  Lord Ray signalled to his attendant to dismiss him, leaving the two men to speak openly. Zeya gave him a look that said everything and his uncle understood.

  “Ah, your father has been giving you grief I see. What has he done? Or what hasn’t he done? Do tell.”

  “It really isn’t that important, uncle. You know him. Just speaking with him is… well, he’s not exactly the best listener behind closed doors, is he?” Zeya responded not wishing to reveal the details. He untied the sash and stripped off his training robe to cool off.

  “Ah, yes, my brother can be rather set in his ways, I grant you, but he is a reasonable man. I have no doubt he’ll come around to your point of view; we just need a cunning pn to persuade him to listen. Shall I have a word with him? What’s the matter at hand?”

  Zeya could scarcely imagine his uncle being able to convince his father to postpone the marriage. It hardly felt right even to bring it up. For one, he didn’t wish to burden his uncle with such personal matters; for another, he was determined not to appear weak before his father, as though unable to advocate for himself.

  “Honestly, it’s all behind us now,” he replied. “Nothing worth troubling over.”

  Lord Ray nodded thoughtfully. After a pause, he said, “Perhaps it’s time we healed our wounds with a touch of kindness to ourselves. I dare say we’ve earned a small indulgence, don’t you agree?”

  A gentle smile crossed his face as he extended a hand, beckoning Zeya to follow.

  “Come now, let’s hunt down a treat that’ll truly tantalise. There’s a little spot in town, renowned for the best pineapple pastry you could ever hope to taste. Trust me, it’s simply scandalous how good it is.” He fshed a sly smile and commented, “I’d suggest you don the jacket rather than parade about bare-chested, unless, of course, you’re keen to cause an absolute stampede among the dies.”

  The following week, Zeya found that he’d once again mastered his emotions, the familiar mask settling like a second skin on his face. How foolish, he chastised himself, to have ever let it slip and for letting his guard and attendant glimpse the depths of his misery.

  Time, they say, is the great healer, and the rawness of his conversation with his parents began to fade. But in its pce a hollow ache throbbed, and a longing for Sein glowed steadily in his consciousness.

  “A life with no choices, you say?” he thought, recalling his father’s words. “Well, I choose to see Sein right now. I choose to be her friend. No one and nothing will stand in my way.”

  He jogged towards the Archives as a storm brewed in the distance. Fshes of lightning forked across the darkened sky, and the air grew heavy, charged, as clouds swirled and billowed, thick with the promise of rain. No doubt Khin Yu would appear ter, umbrel in hand, when it was time for sword practice. For now, though, Zeya had an hour entirely to himself and he intended to spend it exactly as he wished. That meant time with Sein.

  Inside, he spotted her, an elegantly dressed figure seated at the far side of the room, poised and graceful, leafing through a book. As he passed the tall window, a sudden fsh of lightning lit the garden outside, momentarily dazzling his eyes.

  The familiar fragrance of fresh gardenia drifted to him as he approached her. Sein looked up; upon seeing him, she rested her chin lightly on one hand and smiled with warmth. He managed to return it, though faintly, and she seemed to sense his state of mind at once.

  “You’re in a foul mood,” she said.

  “You can tell by just looking at me?” Zeya asked, seating himself on the opposite side of the table.

  With a slow nod, Sein eased into the back of her chair, letting her hair tumble loosely about her shoulders while her gaze lingered on him.

  “What’s happened? Tell me whatever’s bothering you. I’m here to listen,” she continued, a small frown indicating her concern.

  “It’s really nothing at all. Nothing of importance.”

  “You can’t fool me, Zeya. You’re oozing with dark clouds. It’s quite a sight to behold. Perhaps even threatening to brew into an ugly storm, no a hurricane, if none of the steam vents.”

  “What nonsense do you speak of?” Zeya replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

  Somehow, she had a knack for lightening his mood and putting him at ease.

  “I’m certainly not in a foul mood. And there certainly isn’t an ugly storm brewing. Perhaps outside, but not in here. Though, I must admit, I’m just a little… well, you know, frustrated.”

  His eyes flicked to his hands resting on the table, lingering on the diamond-encrusted ring on his little finger, a mark of Arkar. He was about to fiddle with it but, having seen his father do the same, he held himself back. Looking up, he rexed into his chair and let out a quiet breath.

  “Of course. You’ve been talking with your parents.”

  Zeya was not entirely surprised by her uncanny ability to read him. It was simply another sign of how well she knew him.

  “I wouldn’t say ‘talking with’, really,” he expined. “‘Talking with’ suggests a bance, where both sides are equally engaged in listening and speaking. Generally they’re talking at me and I’m the one doing all the listening.”

  “That sounds frustrating. What were they not listening to?”

  Zeya didn’t wish to open the chest of resentment which he’d sealed away with disappointment and despair.

  He responded vaguely, “All manner of things, really… my thoughts, my opinions, my wishes. At times, I can’t help but wonder… do I even exist at all to them?”

  “You don’t feel heard when you discuss important issues with them?”

  “Exactly. My life, in truth, is not solely my own. It belongs to the kingdom. I accept that. But surely, some matters might be open to negotiation? My father, as you well know, is singurly focused on one purpose: the success and welfare of our kingdom. It’s admirable, certainly, but I can’t help but wonder if he’s forgotten about his own son’s happiness. There are moments when I feel entirely unseen. Do my thoughts, my feelings, even register with him at all?”

  “I’m sure your father adores you,” Sein tried to reassure him. “Of course he wants you to be happy. Perhaps his mind is occupied else where and he’s not aware you’re not feeling heard. Surely, if you catch him at the right time, he’ll be willing to listen and give you the attention you deserve.”

  Zeya sighed. If only Sein knew what his father was really like. In public, the King was seen as a figure of wisdom, fairness, and integrity, yet to him he cked empathy, warmth and tolerance.

  “Maybe, though I often wonder,” he continued. “does my father truly know me? My mother always sides with him, and I can’t help but feel as though they’ve never taken the time to really listen, let alone understand who I am. My uncle, on the other hand, has always taken the time to get to know me.” He faced Sein, seeking her eyes as he said, “And you truly listen to me and understand me in a way my parents never quite have.”

  “I can say the same of you, Zeya. My parents are not entirely attuned to me either. But I suppose I’m rather of a disappointment to them. You, on the other hand, are diligent, disciplined and dutiful. Just what a perfect son ought to be.”

  Zeya shook his head. “Not at all,” he answered, though beneath the calm reply y the heavy knowledge that Sein had set him on the highest branch, far above the reach of fws. “I’m far from perfect I assure you. From a young age, I’ve been trained to meet their expectations, to align with their wishes, often at the expense of my own. My desires, my feelings, and even my choices must take a back seat. Every single day, I give my absolute best. I discipline my mind and train my body, always… always striving to fulfil what is expected of me.”

  “I can see that. And I will say this, Zeya, you’re doing an amazing job. I truly admire your dedication and discipline,” Sein admitted, her eyes shining brightly. “I’m gd we can have conversations like this. It feels like I get to see the real you; the kind, thoughtful, sharp, witty… and the naughty version of Zeya.”

  Zeya was momentarily lost for words. He’d never been told he was kind, thoughtful, sharp and witty. Her words lifted his spirits but at the same time, he knew well she’d only seen the best side of the coin.

  Slipping on his pyful mask, he asked, “Me, naughty?”

  “Of course, all the time,” Sein chuckled. Then leaning forward, she pressed him, “But you still seem annoyed. What else is bothering you?”

  A sudden fsh of lightning lit the sky beyond the window, followed by a low, rolling growl of thunder. For a brief moment, it stole their attention. The storm was closing in, mirroring the turmoil in his mind.

  How could he speak the truth? He paused, drawing a slow, steady breath as he measured each word carefully in his mind before finally choosing them.

  “We were discussing my future,” Zeya responded cautiously. “What role I will py, what responsibilities I must bear… and, of course, the matter of whom I shall spend the rest of my life with. It seems my fate is being decided for me before I’ve had a say in it.”

  “Princess Nanda,” Sein said quietly. “I hear she’s a renowned beauty.”

  That st sentence, Zeya had heard a thousand times before and it triggered a spark of irritation.

  “Is that truly what you think matters to me?”

  “No, of course not,” Sein quickly spoke up. Then with a forced cheerfulness, she continued, “I’m trying to see the positives, I mean, it can’t be that bad betrothed to someone beautiful, no doubt, charming and perfect in every way. Just how a dy ought to be. Of course, the total opposite of me.”

  Sein’s praise of Princess Nanda as ‘perfect’ grated sharply with him. He didn’t want a fwless princess, polished to perfection but as dull as beige. What he longed for was a woman whose intellect matched his own, whose humour brightened even the dullest day, and whose genuine warmth made him feel truly valued and appreciated—someone just like Sein.

  “I have no interest in beauty that’s only skin deep,” he said carefully. “I seek a genuine and meaningful connection with the person I marry. I’ve witnessed firsthand how challenging a marriage can be when there’s no alignment in values or beliefs. It matters deeply to me that my wife understands me as much as I understand her, and she’s someone I respect, someone I admire, and most of all, someone…,” he averted his eyes and murmured, “Someone I truly love.”

  If only she knew how he truly felt. But what good would it do for her to know, when there was no future for them? It seemed clear she had already accepted his inevitable betrothal, just as everyone else had. The thought cut deeper than he cared to admit.

  Sein remained quiet, her gaze drifting towards the window. Had he revealed too much?

  Outside, the long-awaited thunderstorm finally broke, a deep rumble rolling like wooden barrels across the vast, restless sky. The first storm of the wet season was always welcomed with anticipation, bringing relief to the thirsty, cracked earth that had endured too many sunbaked days. As rain shed against the window, its steady drumming masked the stretched silence between them. Zeya sensed a tension within Sein. Had he unsettled her?

  “Enough troubling you with my thoughts,” Zeya said, rising swiftly and offering a quick head bow. “I should be on my way.”

  Half angry, half frustrated with himself for not confessing his true feelings, he strode away just as another growl of thunder erupted overhead.

  “Don’t leave!”

  Zeya heard Sein call out. It surprised him and he paused.

  “Will you stay a little longer? I’ve hardly seen you this week,” Sein continued in a steady voice. “I’ve missed… I’ve missed our conversations.”

  Hearing she’d missed him brought a soothing relief to his heavy heart.

  He chided himself: You’re hardly the centre of this kingdom, you fool. Think less of yourself, more of her. What’ll make her happy?

  “I’m an absolute idiot,” Zeya returned with a sheepish grin. “How rude of me not to have enquired about you. After all you’ve taken the time to listen to me.” He took a seat, purposely positioning himself next to Sein and asked, “What have you been doing? I’d like to hear about it.”

  “Are you sure you want to hear about my boring life?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Zeya studied her delighted face and mirrored her smile.

  “Get comfortable. Very comfortable. Because once I start talking about my extraordinary dull week, it’ll put you to sleep.”

  “Go ahead. I’m ready,” Zeya encouraged, settling back against the high-backed chair.

  He chuckled quietly, thinking to himself that he would prefer a spectacurly boring week over one filled with disappointment and defeat. He returned her gaze, fully focused on the present moment, intending on relishing his time with her.

  ***

  A sudden jolt of energy woke him. Zeya’s heart thundered in his chest as his gaze darted to where Bayin y beside him.

  Thank the spirits, it wasn’t a dream, he thought. She’s truly here by my side.

  He studied her profile, the long shes resting against her cheek, the delicate curve of her nose, and those beautiful lips he longed to kiss. Sensing desire rise within him, he quickly pushed the bnket away, letting the cool morning air wash over him.

  A robin’s flutelike song marked the hour before first light. His eyes swept the dim surroundings. Khin Yu was already up, packed, and making his way towards him. The men assigned to accompany them began to stir, their movements quiet and swift as they readied themselves for departure.

  Zeya’s gaze drifted back to Bayin. A part of him wanted to keep her close, to prolong the sense of completeness he felt in her presence. But his foremost priority was to put her first and ensure her safety. If fate turned against him, at least he could take comfort in knowing Saw Win would see her returned to the capital and be reunited with her family.

  See you in three days, he murmured softly to Bayin.

  Tenderly, he draped his bnket over her, smoothing it gently before rising to his feet.