The throne room was cool and quiet. Light from the high windows cascaded onto the stone floor.
"Your Majesty, everything is ready."
Siriporn stood before the mirror. He adjusted his baldric, checked the straps on his forearms, and then secured the sword at his belt.
"Excellent," he said, glancing at his reflection. "Then we move out."
"Yes, sire."
The aide standing by the door bowed and exited. Siriporn inspected himself once more, picked up the second glove from a nearby table, put it on, and the door abruptly swung open.
A young woman entered the hall. She was almost running: her heels clicked sharply against the floor until she stopped two steps away from the King. Catching her breath, she adjusted the hem of her burgundy dress.
"Your Majesty," she said, slightly breathless. "I thought I wouldn't make it in time to catch you. Why didn't you tell me you were leaving today?"
Siriporn turned to her. His face remained impassive.
"I specifically ordered them not to tell you," he replied.
The girl froze for a second, immediately regretting asking.
Do not ask a question if the answer might displease or hurt you.
But then she immediately smiled, maintaining her composure.
"This is for you," she held out a small box. "For luck. Return safe and sound, Your Majesty."
Siriporn lingered his gaze on the gift, then accepted it. Restrained, without the slightest hint of a smile, not even for the sake of courtesy.
"Thank you for the gift, Lady Darika," he said and nodded. "I will surely return. With a victory."
A pause followed.
"But please, no more gifts. I have the support of my people and blessings from above. That is more than enough."
Another nod followed—a farewell one this time—and he headed for the exit. The young woman remained standing in the exact same spot.
"He is always like this," she followed him with a gaze full of sorrow, "cold and gloomy." A heavy sigh followed.
The entire court anticipated their impending union; the arrangement had been made long ago. A marriage to Lady Darika of the noble Niran family would definitively consolidate his position among the nobility. Lady Darika had harbored feelings for His Majesty for a very long time and prayed every day for a speedy wedding, though loving the young King was no easy task: she constantly ran into a tone of indifference and coldness in his voice. There was courting, but strictly within the prescribed boundaries. Despair sometimes overtook the young lady, but, as they say, hope dies last.
Siriporn made it clear that this marriage did not interest him, but he was the King, and sooner or later he would have to marry, if only for the sake of an heir.
Even if it is only a political marriage, even if I am the only one who loves, that is enough for me.
She walked over to the window: the King was saddling his horse and giving orders.
"Return soon, my King."
The girl still hoped that His Majesty would notice her silhouette in the window, would cast a final glance at her. But he did not look.
The military campaign against the lands of Luang was a resounding success. King Siriporn returned home a victor to his people, but vanquished before someone else.
News of his return spread quickly through the capital. Darika immediately rushed to the palace and encountered a puzzling atmosphere there. The servants, usually unperturbed, were exchanging glances more frequently than usual. The looks they threw her way were lingering and intrigued. Some averted their eyes when she turned around; others, on the contrary, watched her with a strange curiosity.
Could it be? the young lady thought. Has he decided to announce the engagement? Did he return victorious and intends to throw two celebrations at once?
The young lady almost believed it. Her heart beat faster, but she forced herself to stand tall.
I won't show that I've guessed, she told herself.
And although everything fluttered inside with joy and anticipation, her face remained calm—as much as that was even possible.
She entered the throne room, but it was empty.
"Where is His Majesty?" she asked a passing servant.
"In the south wing, my lady," he replied and hurried on.
What is he doing there? His Majesty rarely goes there.
She headed in that direction. By one of the doors, she noticed a maid.
"What are you doing here?" the girl asked.
The maid flinched, as if caught doing something forbidden.
"My lady, you cannot go in there," she quickly whispered. "His Majesty ordered that no one be let in. He has a guest. Arrived with him from the campaign."
"A guest?" Darika echoed. "What guest?"
"I don't know, my lady. We were ordered not to speak of it."
The maid bowed and practically ran off, leaving Darika alone in the semi-darkness of the spacious corridor. The girl felt an inexplicable anxiety wash over her, and the longer she stood before the closed door, the heavier her heart became.
When she finally saw His Majesty in the small audience chamber—where she was admitted an hour later—he was the same as always. Calm, reserved, slightly detached. He accepted her congratulations on the victory, replied with polite gratitude, and didn't say a single word about what was happening in the south wing.
But gossip travels fast, and a couple of hours later Darika already knew what she couldn't pry out of the King himself.
A stranger had arrived with His Majesty. The servants who had seen him on the day of his arrival said he was a very young man—looking no older than twenty, perhaps even younger. Pale, and so thin that his clothes hung on him like a rack. Yet his face, the maids gossiped, was astonishingly clear—flawless, as if carved from ivory.
The King had ordered him to be given one of the finest rooms in the south wing. Assigned him personal servants. Commanded that the very best clothes to be found in the kingdom be brought to him. And strictly forbade letting any outsiders near him.
The palace was buzzing.
"Who is he?"
"That boy isn't half bad, did you see how fair his face is?"
"Is our King... you know?"
"Has he lost his mind?"
"What else are we supposed to think? Brought who-knows-who into the palace and gives him such treatment right away."
"Well, now it makes sense why he was dragging his feet on the engagement to Lady Niran."
"Shut up! What if someone hears you..."
The court nobility was losing its collective mind; young Lady Darika was beside herself, plunging deeper into sorrow and despair every day as she observed the behavior of the man she loved. Everyone noticed the change. His Majesty doted on Athit—as his name later became known—like the apple of his eye.
Darika saw it once. She was standing at the far end of the corridor when the door to Athit's room opened, and the King stepped out. He was unusually soft—relaxed shoulders, his head slightly bowed, and on his lips... Darika couldn't believe her eyes. The King wore a smile on his lips. Not the customary, polite one with which he greeted her, but a genuine, warm, almost tender smile.
Darika's insides went cold.
It became clear to everyone—the King was in love. But with whom? With a boy of no birth or standing, without a single copper coin to his name. A native of defeated Luang, a subject, an enemy whose lands now belonged to Arichayan. And the King worshipped the ground he walked on.
"Your Majesty, you are making a most terrible mistake!"
Siriporn remained silent. He understood perfectly well where his actions could lead him. Now that the marriage to Darika Niran was obviously off the table for all to see, and amidst such a scandal, his position would be severely undermined.
"For the sake of all the gods, Your Majesty," Norawit, the royal advisor, persisted. "Just announce the engagement to Lady Niran already, and do whatever you want with your, ahem, companion, but behind closed doors. What kind of ruler will you be in the eyes of your people and allies? Please, do not sow discord."
"What you are suggesting does not suit me," the King replied seriously. "I do not want to hide him from everyone, forcing him to live in the shadows. Furthermore, Lady Niran does not deserve such a fate either. A political marriage is one thing, but to serve merely as a cover is quite another. I do not want to use her, knowing of her feelings for me."
"Your Majesty, you are not living in a fairy tale where people marry exclusively for love and whomever they please. You have become too soft and dreamy. That is what love does to people—it makes them weak. Everything was decided for you before you were even born, and your duty is to live the destiny of a king: which includes marrying for convenience. You have obligations as a king to your lineage, your people, your court, and yourself."
"In that case," Siriporn paused, "I will change the rules, and my destiny along with them."
The advisor nearly choked on his indignation.
"What are you planning?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Or have you forgotten what we had to go through? Are you willing to risk everything for this boy?"
"I will risk it. Both myself and my title, if necessary. If I cannot protect a person dear to me, how can I protect my people?"
"Do not do anything foolish, Your Majesty," it sounded more like a warning than a plea. "I wish only the best for you, you know that."
"Of course, advisor."