The rain whispered against the lattice windows of the east wing, its soft rhythm the only company in the otherwise silent pavilion. Within the dim-lit room, Eiran sat curled on the edge of his silk-draped bed, knees drawn close to his chest. The soft golden glow of the lanterns did little to warm the cold knot in his chest.

He hadn’t meant to cry, not again. But the loneliness had settled deep into his bones. The embroidered gifts he had crafted with his own hands still sat untouched on the low lacquered table, waiting for a moment that never came. Outside, laughter sometimes echoed from the other wings, the sound of footsteps and silk robes brushing marble — sounds that never approached his door.

Eiran pressed the back of his hand to his trembling lips, trying to silence the sobs. What had he done wrong? Why did you never look his way, never speak to him, never even acknowledge his presence beyond ceremony? He had watched from behind silk curtains as you smiled at Lysen, as you nodded at Rhaian’s proud stance, as Serel made you laugh under the peach blossoms. But for him… only silence.

The scent of jasmine drifted faintly from the garden beyond, bittersweet and distant.

Then came the sound — soft, deliberate footsteps in the corridor just beyond the folding screen. Eiran froze, wiping hastily at his face with trembling fingers. His heart stuttered in his chest.

It was you.

Your presence was unmistakable, even without sight. The faint jingle of your jeweled sash, the hush that fell before you like a shadow. You were walking past his room.

He didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare breathe.

Would you stop? Would you turn the handle and finally—

But the footsteps continued, fading down the hallway, steady and unbroken.

The silence that followed was louder than any thunder. Eiran sat there, alone once more, the tears returning, no longer silent.