Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It felt like a cruel twist of fate, Heart supposed, to be a spellsinger who would never again be able to hear a single music note, not after he’d lost his hearing a few years ago to a brief, but terrible illness. To be fair — though really, at times, it certainly didn’t feel fair — spellsinging had never been his true calling, anyway.

That wasn’t to say Heart didn’t miss attending his music lessons, learning how to play traditional instruments like the sueng and the ranat and the khlui with Tutor Lek (who had a reputation for being impossible to please, yet would always reward him with sweets at the end of every lesson, would always look the other way when he spotted Heart’s doodles in the margins of his notations). But magic had always been particularly potent in his family, meaning he was powerful enough to master two different skill sets. Spellsinging was only his secondary area of expertise; Heart was first and foremost, an abjurer.

“Protective magic — of course,” his older twin brother, the crown prince of Ayutthaya, had said after their shared ascension ceremony on their fifth birthday, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Mama and Papa really gave you the perfect name, huh?”

To their subjects, however, it had come as a complete surprise. The heir presumptive was traditionally a soldier to the heir apparent’s strategist, meaning they usually practiced evocation or compulsion magic. He was meant to wield a sword, not a shield. But Heart and his brother turned out to be nothing like anyone expected.

“Everyone says I was s’posed to be an arcanist like you, Mama,” his brother had mumbled when their mother asked after him, noting that he’d been in low spirits ever since the ceremony. “Is that true?”

“Never mind what you were ‘supposed to be’ — we love you for exactly who you are,” she’d said, gently threading her fingers through his hair. “And besides, healers and empaths are always in short supply. We couldn’t be prouder of you for being both.”

Later, Tinn would find her reassurances well-intentioned but misleading. No one expected the future king to work as a doctor, not even for fellow members of Munnai — other than perhaps his younger brother, who was prone to the occasional scraped knee or high fever. Sometimes, as he pored over his books and his diagrams, he’d find himself wondering why he even bothered, only to smother his disobedient thoughts like a flame moments later.

Still, with years of study and training and their parents’ support, both of them learned to pay no mind to the unwarranted opinions of others, to focus on their own duties and ambitions instead. However, there was a shared burden that they couldn’t afford to ignore. Now eighteen, they were both expected to be engaged in one year’s time and married in two, and neither of them had any prospects.

Well, Heart didn’t. Tinn, on the other hand, was in love with a boy he’d never met, because despite Heart’s name, Tinn had always been the romantic one.

It went like this: three nights before their fifteenth birthday, their parents had been called away to settle a territory dispute in the north, the kind in which resentment had started building long before the twins were born. Though they’d promised to be back in two days, a sudden storm kept them from traveling home.

Heart had fallen ill — it hadn’t been the illness, not yet, but it had been debilitating nonetheless — and was confined to his quarters. Even Tinn’s personal aide, Tiwson, son of one of the king’s most trusted chief ministers, had left the palace earlier that morning to attend to an urgent family matter. And so, Tinn, who’d always kept anyone he could potentially call a friend at a polite distance, was left with only his trusty familiar, a sweet-faced Bangkaew named Chompoo, for company.

After having dinner in the kitchens with the cooks, who fussed over him like it was his fifth birthday and not his fifteenth, Tinn wandered the palace grounds with Chompoo by his side. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he knew he didn’t want to go to bed just yet. He eventually ended up just outside the servants’ quarters, where he heard chatter and laughter accompanied by music.

At first, it was lively and discordant and ear-achingly loud, overlapping voices in varying degrees of quality and intoxication. Then, a sort of hush fell over them, and a boy with a warm, sweet voice began to sing.

When Tinn later recounted the story to Heart, he said he wasn’t sure how long he’d stayed there, hidden beneath a cloaking spell so the guards wouldn’t spot him, his ear pressed against the door. He longed to go inside, but he knew the servants would never be this carefree in his presence. Instead, he simply listened to the boy sing, letting his voice envelop him like a blanket. For a little while, at least, he didn’t feel so alone.

The next morning, Tinn returned to the kitchens to have breakfast with the cooks. “I passed by the servants’ quarters, and I heard a boy with a beautiful singing voice,” he said when they asked him how he’d spent the rest of his night. “Do you know who it was? I’d really like to meet him.”

As it turned out, the boy had a bit of a reputation among the staff, though they seemed wary of Tinn’s interest in him, deciding to confer with the boy first. They later told Tinn that while the boy appreciated his praise, he was too shy to meet with the crown prince and begged them not to tell Tinn his name. Determined, Tinn asked the cooks if they could pass on a letter expressing his admiration. To his surprise, the boy responded with one of his own.

One letter became two, then five, then ten, and soon enough, they were writing to each other at least once a week. Some letters were no more than a paragraph or two, a brief synopsis of their day or even just a passing thought, while others went on for pages and pages like they were composing a novel. Tinn would always read his favorite passages to Heart, swooning the entire time.

On the morning of their eighteenth birthday, Heart woke to the feeling of his mattress sinking on one side as Tinn slipped under the bedsheets to lie beside him. Chompoo joined Heart’s familiar, Taengmo, at the foot of the bed, affectionately nipping at one of Taengmo’s floppy ears, a contrast to Chompoo’s pin-straight ones. At first, Heart thought his brother had come to wish him happy birthday, but the lovestruck look on Tinn’s face and the letter he was clutching to his chest told him otherwise.

“Go on, then,” Heart signed with an amused smile. “What did he say?”

Tinn was practically glowing. “He said that without fail, I become smarter, wittier, and more handsome with each passing year.”

“That sounds like something our grandmother would've said,” Heart snorted, which made Tinn pout. “Is that all?”

“He included an illustration of me, look,” Tinn replied, passing the letter to Heart for him to see. The paper smelled like freshly cut mango — confirmation that the letter could only be from the mysterious boy, who liked to place a charm on the seal of every letter so that, when broken, they’d fill the room with one of Tinn’s professed favorite smells. In the winter, his letters often smelled like sesame and ginger tea and cardamom, and in the spring, of jasmine and lemon basil and honey.

As for the illustration, it wasn’t an impressive drawing by any means, characterized by smudged lines and what looked like several grease stains. Still, it was obviously done with deep affection for the subject. Heart wondered, not for the first time, if this boy loved Tinn as much as Tinn loved him. Was it even possible, considering they still had yet to meet? He supposed if they were honest with one another in their letters, maybe it was.

“If you look closely at the hair, it seems more like an illustration of me,” Heart teased, laughing when Tinn elbowed him in his side. “When did you last ask to meet?”

“I haven’t,” Tinn said, his expression faltering a little. “I don’t want to scare him.”

“Scare him? You’ve been exchanging letters for three years,” Heart pointed out. “He might know you better than I do, and you? You know everything about him but his face and his name!”

“And perhaps that’s what he’s most protective of,” Tinn countered. “Besides, we both know that…we could never be together. If we were to meet in person and spend time together, then my eventual engagement to someone else would only hurt that much more.”

“If you believe that to be his reason for keeping his distance…what do you think?” Heart asked. “Do you feel the same?”

“I can’t pretend that I’m not frustrated by our circumstances,” Tinn admitted. “But what can we do? It’s not like our parents can change our marriage laws without precedent. And besides, I’ve never told them about him to begin with. Where would I even start?”

Heart exhaled slowly. He’d never experienced being in love, not even close, but he could feel Tinn’s despair, almost as if it were his own. Unfortunately, Tinn was right: there was nothing their parents could do, not when they had so little time left. Keeping their distance was all they could do to lessen the inevitable heartbreak.

“This is hardly the right way to celebrate our birthday,” Heart eventually said, plastering on a bright smile. “Luckily, I know exactly how to cheer you up.”

Tinn blinked, confused. “What do you mean? Wait — Heart, no.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” Heart promised. “Meet me outside Wat Phra Kaew after curfew, by the Wihan Yot Gate.”

“We are not drinking inside the most sacred temple in the country!” Tinn’s signing was becoming frantic, even distressed; Heart would’ve had trouble keeping up if he didn’t know his brother as well as he did.

“Don’t worry,” Heart repeated, grinning impishly. “No one will notice a thing.”

Hours later, when everyone had retired for the night, exhausted from the evening’s birthday festivities, Heart slipped out of bed and headed for the palace kitchens with Taengmo at his heels. She wasn’t as clever or strategic as Chompoo, but she was quick, on high alert for any footsteps or shadows around every corner.

Heart had always been the mischievous twin, if only because he could afford to be. They knew that if Tinn ever stepped a toe out of line, it wouldn’t be long before the entire country heard about it. And so, Heart was always the one left sneaking around the palace on both of their behalves, whether it was for sweets or scraps of information — or in this particular instance, alcohol.

When he entered the kitchens, it was cleaner than he expected to be, considering how many guests they had to feed; it felt as if the entire country had come to the Grand Palace to celebrate, though many members of the khunnang had come to see them with more selfish intentions in mind. Heart was impressed by the servants’ efficiency, only it made his task that much harder since everything was locked away. He spent several minutes working at the cellar door — none of his abjuring skills gave him the ability to pick a lock — while Taengmo wandered off, her nose to the ground, following the scent of leftover sticky rice.

He made a small noise of triumph when the lock finally gave way, allowing him to step inside. His eyes roamed the selection in front of him, eventually landing on a bottle the size of his head that looked especially tempting. Taengmo, he thought, calling for her through their telepathic bond, come back here. I’ve got something, let’s go.

It should’ve been simple, really: all he had to do was take the bottle, replace the lock — that, his abjuring skills could do — and leave without a trace. He’d done it before and he’d never been caught, not even suspected. This time, however, the moment he picked up the bottle, someone tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to cry out in surprise.

“Ah!”

The bottle slipped from his hands and crashed to the floor. Glass shards scattered everywhere, liquor instantly seeping into the soles of his shoes. When Heart looked up, expecting to come face-to-face with a cook or one of the guards, he instead found himself looking at a boy his age who seemed as frightened as he was.

The boy stared at him, unmoving, his outstretched arm still hanging in mid-air like a chronomancer had frozen him in time. Then, in the next instant, he dropped to the floor to kneel at Heart’s feet. Heart saw his body tremble uncontrollably as he spoke — pleading for his life, if Heart had to guess — but with his face pressed to the ground, Heart had no way of reading his lips. Moments later, the boy seemed to realize his mistake and lifted his head, then his hands. Heart winced at the sight of fresh cuts on the boy’s palms.

“I’m so sorry, Your Royal Highness,” the boy signed, wincing with every crook of his fingers. “I didn’t know it was you. I thought you were a thief, and…just now, I thought you were your brother.”

Heart let out a sigh of relief. If the boy knew how to sign, he most likely wasn’t a thief who’d broken into the palace; all of the servants had been instructed to learn the fundamentals of sign language when it became clear Heart’s hearing loss was permanent. “You would hardly be the first,” Heart replied with a small smile. Judging by the boy’s confusion, however, it didn’t seem like he understood him, so Heart switched to simpler sentences, ones that relied less on nuance. “I forgive you. Please, don’t tell anyone I was here.”

The boy nodded gratefully, lowering his head to the floor once more out of respect before straightening back up. Worry was still etched in every inch of his face as if he were waiting for Heart to suddenly change his mind. His familiar emerged from behind a pile of crates, a stout gray cat with a sharp gaze. She eyed Heart with suspicion, winding herself around her master’s ankles, a low purr rumbling through her tiny body; Heart assumed it was to calm him down. “I’ll…” He paused, then made a sweeping motion, uncertain of the word for ‘clean’. “You are…hurt?”

“No, just wet,” Heart said, gesturing at the soaked hem of his chong kraben. “But you’re hurt. Where is the medicine kept? Or I can go get my brother, he can heal you.”

The boy’s eyes widened again at the mention of Tinn. “No, don’t!” he said aloud, panicked. “I mean…thank you, Your Royal Highness, but there’s no need.”

“You’ll heal faster with his help,” Heart protested, knowing full well that the boy knew it, too. But he only shook his head furiously, his jaw clenched. He was surprisingly defiant for someone in the presence of a prince for the first time, Heart observed, impressed. It reminded Heart of someone he once knew, only he couldn’t quite put his finger on who exactly he was thinking of. Regardless, he wasn’t offended by the boy’s belligerence, nor did he want to get in trouble himself, so he simply nodded. “If you’re sure. But can you at least tell me your name?”

“Why?” the boy asked. He looked absolutely terrified.

“So I can ask after you later and see if you’re alright,” Heart said. He was worried the boy’s injuries would get infected without magical intervention, and there were only so many healers among the servants who could keep a close eye on him. Perhaps he’d eventually have to bring Tinn to him, after all.

The boy’s expression started to soften. It was then that Heart couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was: bright-eyed and strong-jawed, with two prominent moles, one on his nose and one on his cheek. His breath hitched when the boy finally smiled. “My name is Gun.”

Chapter Text

It was nearly half past two in the morning when Li Ming heard the slow creak of the door’s hinges, followed by careful footsteps — but not careful enough, he observed, or else he never would’ve heard them at all. No, this wasn’t some thief attempting to steal into his family’s quarters in the middle of the night, but his older twin brother, who, despite his best efforts, had never been very good at sneaking around.

Chaipo mewled by his side, irritated at having been woken up, not that she needed much rest compared to her master. Li Ming, on the other hand, had been awake the entire time, anxiously waiting for Gun to return. He motioned for Chaipo to keep quiet so she wouldn’t wake their mother, who’d spent long hours in the kitchens preparing elaborate cakes and confections for the princes who likely turned up their noses at everything.

Li Ming took the few seconds he had before Gun entered to arrange his face into a disapproving scowl. Gun wasn’t reckless, exactly, but he could be impulsive — both of them were — and Li Ming wasn’t about to let him forget it. The moment Gun came into view, however, and Li Ming saw the poorly wrapped bandages wound around his hands, any exasperation he was feeling was quickly replaced with worry.

“Gun!” he hissed, motioning for Gun to follow him out of the bedroom and into the alcove. “What happened? Where have you been?” He grabbed Gun’s hands and lifted them to the small sliver of moonlight coming in through the window, sucking in a breath between his teeth at the sight of blood. “Gun…”

“Fear not, brother,” Gun said with an exaggerated lift of his chin, and Li Ming barely managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes at his brother’s theatrics. “It’s only a scratch.”

When they were children, Gun often liked to play pretend that he was in the infantry, sparring with the air while holding nothing more than a stick to practice his swordsmanship. He would put on an overly animated voice, just like he was doing now, his chest puffed out and his head held high as if he were marching among his fellow soldiers.

“The prince will say I’m the best and bravest soldier of them all, and he’ll trust me with his life!” Gun would say, always waiting for Li Ming to ask him which prince he was referring to. Instead, Li Ming would remind him their circumstances dictated that the closest Gun would ever come to being noticed by the prince was if he were to serve him the wrong meal.

“Scratches are what you get when you hold Munmuang too tight,” Li Ming said. “These are wounds. Who treated you?”

“I did,” Gun replied. Li Ming very nearly groaned; he wasn’t sure what he’d expected. “But…I could use a steadier hand.”

“Could you?” Li Ming drawled, already reaching for the small kit of supplies their mother kept by the stove. They both fell silent for a few minutes as Li Ming got to work, first filling a small bowl with water so he could clean Gun’s hands. He applied a generous amount of salve, too, the kind that made Gun wince at how sharp it stung, then began redressing his wounds. Chaipo, meanwhile, inspected Munmuang as if she’d been involved somehow. Munmuang narrowed her eyes at Chaipo in return. “So, will you tell me now? What happened? Where were you?”

“I woke up in the middle of the night,” Gun said simply, shrugging. “And when I did, I realized I’d left Father’s coin somewhere in the kitchens.”

Li Ming tensed at the mention of their father, who’d died nearly ten years ago in the war. Though most of his belongings were kept in storage, not to be used or touched unless absolutely necessary, the three of them kept a piece of him on their person at all times.

For their mother, it was his wedding ring, resized by a kind artificer so she could wear it alongside her own. For Gun, it was their father’s lucky coin — the first he’d ever earned as an aspiring musician singing in the capital’s streets when most men his age were either working as palace architects or studying to become monks — worn on a string around his neck. Finally, for Li Ming, it was a square piece cut from the hem of their father’s finest pha nung, which he kept tied around his wrist — or, while he was swimming or bathing, around Chaipo’s neck. Their mother had always stressed the importance of taking care of their respective keepsakes, yet Gun had a terrible habit of constantly losing his.

“I went back and found the coin, and I was about to leave when I heard someone sneaking into the cellar,” Gun continued. “I thought it was a thief, so I tapped them on the shoulder — ”

“You confronted a thief?” Li Ming interrupted in disbelief.

“ — and he dropped the bottle he was holding,” Gun said, nodding eagerly, as if he were telling some epic tale of heroism. “And when he turned around…you’ll never guess who it was!”

Li Ming’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

Gun leaned in close, his eyes shining. “It was Prince Heart,” he whispered conspiratorially. “I was terrified, I — I didn’t think, I just knelt right there on the broken glass to beg for my life. I thought he was going to have my head!”

“When you already have his brother’s heart?” Li Ming couldn’t help but remark. Gun immediately shushed him, pinning Li Ming’s hands to the floor with his own, his grip like a vice.

“He doesn’t know that,” Gun said. His voice was barely above a murmur, even though they were alone. “No one does.”

“I know,” Li Ming replied evenly. “So what happened next? Was he also hurt?”

“No, but he wanted to bring his brother to me to treat my injuries,” Gun said, shuddering. “I refused, of course, though I did tell him my name when he insisted. I wasn’t about to try my luck.”

“Did he…recognize you, do you think?” Li Ming asked. Gun looked at him carefully, scrutinizing Li Ming’s face in a way that made him deeply uncomfortable, then shook his head. Li Ming let out a sigh of relief — or frustration; even he wasn’t sure which one it was supposed to be. “You shouldn’t have confronted him, Gun. What if he really was a thief? You’ve never been in a real fight, never thrown a single punch or offensive spell. What would you have done then?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Gun mumbled, cowering as he withdrew his hands from Li Ming’s. All his bravado, all of his posturing, was completely gone, reducing him to little more than a scolded child.

“You never do,” Li Ming said, ignoring the wounded look on his brother’s face in favor of cleaning up instead. By the time he’d finished and returned to the bedroom, Gun was curled up on his side, arms wrapped around himself, resolutely facing the wall. Li Ming sighed again, then joined him under the bedsheets, careful not to crowd him despite what little space they had. “Look, I just...you must know I’m right.”

“You always are,” Gun muttered bitterly.

Li Ming rose early the next morning, even earlier than usual. Though they hadn’t spoken about it last night, too fraught with emotion, he already knew what he had to do: take on Gun’s duties while his hands healed.

Gun worked in the kitchens, though not directly alongside their mother. While Mae Gim, as most of the other kitchen staff called her, was responsible for preparing sweets and desserts at the khunnang’s whim, Gun usually served noble families of lesser importance and washed dishes into the late hours. He was polite and good-natured, and many members of the nobility found him charming, while others would wrinkle their noses at the scent of soot and cheap soap, quick to wave him away.

Li Ming didn’t trust himself to behave in their company, even those who had taken a liking to his brother. They spent exorbitant amounts of money on frivolous things and paid no attention to the well-being of the phrai under their care. And so, he gritted his teeth and went to the one person he knew would help him find a kitchen assignment better suited to him, even if it meant risking reproach.

“Uncle Jim?”

The older man turned, surprised, at the sound of his name. “Li Ming,” he said, hastily wiping his hands on the rag tied at his waist. The sun had only just risen, yet he already had new calluses worked into the pads of his fingers and a sheen of sweat across his forehead. His familiar, a sleek tabby cat named Jimbo, was on the table, curiously sniffing a bowl of pickled daikon. “What are you doing here? Where’s Gun?”

“He hurt his hands and won’t be able to work until they heal,” Li Ming replied. “I’m here on his behalf.”

Uncle Jim’s face creased with worry. “What about your own duties?” Li Ming worked in the stables, spending long, back-breaking days caring for the military’s animals and cleaning their stalls. He was the only member of the Wongwitthaya family who didn’t work in the kitchens, made obvious by his wiry muscles and sunburnt skin. “Does Mister Sanpetch know you’re here?”

“He wouldn’t know me from any of the other boys,” Li Ming scoffed. Uncle Jim fixed him with a disapproving look. “Just tell me what to do.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Uncle Jim’s mouth. “As much as I’d like to, Madam Chidchanok is the one who oversees our work assignments.”

Li Ming shifted from one foot to the other, avoiding his uncle’s eyes. “I don’t want to serve the khunnang like Gun. Can’t you advocate for me to work with you instead?” He could sense Uncle Jim appraising him, deciding whether it was worth risking his good standing to do so. “At least have me wash dishes, then. I’d rather smell of soap than of perfume.”

Uncle Jim laughed. “And just a moment ago, you were telling me to tell you what to do. You can’t afford to be demanding, Li Ming.”

“I can’t afford anything,” Li Ming replied, irritated. Uncle Jim’s expression quickly turned stern, eyes narrowing. It was only then that Li Ming softened under his sharp gaze. “Please,” he added. “I don’t want any trouble. I just want to work.”

Neither of them said anything for what felt like minutes; Li Ming held his breath, inwardly cursing himself for speaking out of turn. Finally, Uncle Jim nodded. “Fine. Let’s go see Madam Chidchanok together.”

Mercifully, Madam Chidchanok was a kind woman who spoke highly of Gun (“He’s a little…undisciplined at times, but he’s a good boy — oh, and that beautiful voice of his!”) and accepted Li Ming’s request without question. After assessing Li Ming’s magic capabilities, or lack thereof, she agreed that dishwashing was the best place for him to start.

It was mundane work, but once Li Ming rolled up his sleeves and got to it, he found that he vastly preferred the smell of soap and spoiled meat over mildew and manure. He was also secretly glad he wasn’t working alongside Uncle Jim, who always seemed to watch him with a critical eye. His uncle was a good man, steadfast and disciplined and kind, but he’d developed a habit of overstepping ever since their father died. Curiously, he was always much more disparaging toward Li Ming, even though Gun was often the one getting in trouble.

“You really do look just like Gun,” mused one of the younger kitchen boys in the late afternoon, staring at Li Ming in fascination. “Identical twins, just like the princes. And you’re the same age as them, too?”

Li Ming prickled at the mention of them. “Yes,” he said shortly. “We’ll be eighteen soon.” Then, not wanting to be needlessly rude, he added, “And you?”

“Fifteen, just last month,” the boy replied, grinning toothily. “I’m training to be a cook like my father. He works with your uncle sometimes.” Li Ming had little else to say after that, not in the mood for conversation. Any mention of his family or the royal family was summarily ignored, and soon enough, the other boy grew bored and left him alone.

The next few days were much the same, with Li Ming keeping his head down as he worked, scrubbing and scraping and offering terse responses to anyone who tried to befriend him. It soon became obvious that while Gun was friendly with the entire kitchen staff, everyone was taken aback by Li Ming’s strikingly different disposition.

It wasn’t that Li Ming was unsociable, but rather, he didn’t want to become attached to people he was unlikely to ever see again. He’d made that mistake once before when Uncle Jim took on an apprentice named Saleng, the illegitimate nephew of one of the king’s chief ministers whose family pretended he didn’t exist. Leng had been like an older brother to Li Ming — not like Gun, who often felt more like an unruly little brother. Unfortunately, when it was discovered that Leng had fathered a child with one of the governor’s daughters, both of them were sent away from the palace to marry and raise the child at her grandparents’ estate to avoid scandal. Li Ming hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

On the fifth day of working in the kitchens, Li Ming was sweltering over a tall stack of brass bowls when there was a commotion by the doors. Loud chatter soon turned into hushed whispers, some of the younger ones eagerly straining their necks to peek over the shoulders of the adults. Li Ming barely had time to speculate before the doors swung open.

“Your Royal Highness!” Madam Chidchanok cried. “What an honor it is to see you.” Li Ming refrained from rolling his eyes, setting down the bowl he was holding and lowering his head in respect like everyone else. When no verbal response followed, he risked lifting his head to look, his breath catching in his throat when he realized why.

“My apologies for the disruption,” Prince Heart replied with an embarrassed smile. “I only came to deliver a letter on behalf of my brother; his aide is preoccupied at the moment, so I offered to help. I felt I could use a change of scenery.”

Li Ming’s lip curled. The younger twin, just like him, only they weren’t alike at all. Prince Heart didn’t carry himself quite as regally as his brother did, though he still had the same dark eyes, the same elegant nose and full lips. He was in casual dress and his hair was a touch unkempt, but there was no mistaking his noble blood. Beside him was his familiar, Taengmo, who made Chaipo’s fur stand on end; she wasn’t very fond of dogs.

“Understandable,” Madam Chidchanok said, signing while she spoke. “Would you like something to eat, perhaps? Madam Gim would be happy to make something for you.”

“I’d rather not trouble her, but thank you for offering,” Prince Heart said. Li Ming suspected it was as he thought, that neither twin cared for Ayutthayan sweets when they were spoiled with all sorts of gifts and delicacies from potential suitors and visiting dignitaries.

The crowd instantly parted as soon as the prince began to move, staring at him in silent awe. His eyes roamed the span of the room for the person he was looking for, his fingers fussing at the corner of the envelope he’d brought with him. His gaze landed on Li Ming; his eyebrows lifted in curiosity. Then, all too quickly, he began to approach Li Ming with an affable smile. Li Ming recoiled.

“May we have a moment alone, please?” Prince Heart asked, and Madam Chidchanok was quick to call out orders, directing everyone back to their stations despite their burning curiosity. The prince then turned back to look at Li Ming, his eyes flickering down to Li Ming’s hands, both of them curled into fists by his sides. “Are your hands better now? Were you seen to by a healer?”

Of course, Li Ming thought, feeling foolish for not having realized it earlier, he thinks I’m my brother. His jaw tensed. “Why were you in the cellar, on your birthday, in the middle of the night?” he demanded. “Why were you stealing alcohol? Did you not already get your fill during that revolting spectacle you dared to call a birthday party?”

Now it was Prince Heart’s turn to recoil like he’d been struck across the face. “…Gun?”

“My brother is hurt because of your carelessness, not that he’d be the first,” Li Ming continued. “You even left him to clean up by himself! Did you not consider for even a second that someone with open wounds shouldn’t be left to dispose of broken glass?”

“You’re not Gun.” Realization finally dawned on Prince Heart’s face. “You’re a twin, like me.”

“And that letter, it’s — ” Li Ming hesitated, catching himself before he could say too much. The envelope bore no name, but the moment he saw it, he knew exactly who it was for. “Is it really from Prince Tinn, or are you both just toying with someone’s affections for your own amusement?”

Prince Heart’s expression shifted again. “You know who my brother’s lover is?” he exclaimed. The turn of phrase made Li Ming nauseous. “I promise you, it really is him, and he means every word.”

“As if I have reason to believe you,” Li Ming retorted. “Why would the crown prince be so fascinated by someone he’s never actually met?”

Much to Li Ming’s fury, Prince Heart huffed out a silent laugh, as if Li Ming’s anger amused him. “You ask too many questions too quickly,” he said, eyes twinkling with mirth. “How am I to answer them all?”

In hindsight, Li Ming knew he shouldn’t have done it. He knew what the consequences were, how dire they would be. And still, all he could see was red. He lunged forward, seizing the front of Prince Heart’s pha biang in both hands.

Startled shouts rang out from every direction. Taengmo instantly leapt into action, her teeth bared. A burst of magic rippled from the ruby embedded in the leather collar around her neck, sending Li Ming flying backward. His breath was knocked out of him as he crashed into a pile of half-empty crates, then crumpled to the floor in a heap.

“Taengmo!” Prince Heart shouted, his voice hoarse from disuse, but it was swallowed up by the sudden throng of soldiers swarming in, surrounding them both in an instant. The sternest-looking one, a brawny older man with a permanent scowl, grabbed Li Ming by the wrist and yanked him to his feet. Li Ming gasped as a sharp pain seared through his shoulder and down his arm. Chaipo hissed, her fur bristling once more, but she was no match for the enormous beast of a familiar by the soldier’s side. She settled for circling Li Ming’s ankles instead while she glared daggers at the familiar’s master.

“Are you hurt, Your Royal Highness?” the soldier barked, belatedly realizing he’d only spoken out loud. He motioned for one of the other soldiers to sign for him, his grip tightening around Li Ming’s wrist. “And you — who the hell are you?”

As much as he wanted to spit in the soldier’s face, Li Ming knew he’d already risked far too much. “Loetphong Wongwitthaya,” he said sullenly. “I work here, sir.”

“Not anymore, you don’t,” the soldier said, sneering. “How dare you lay your hands on His Royal — ”

“Major Supoch!” They both turned, startled, at the sound of Prince Heart’s voice. His hands were shaking and his face was ashen, but he looked determined all the same. “Let him go. I need to speak with him in private.”

“You can’t be serious,” the soldier, Major Supoch, protested. “This boy should be locked up!”

“If you believe he deserves punishment — and I don’t — then I’d rather have my mother set the terms,” Prince Heart replied. He was doing his best to keep composed, Li Ming noted, but it was obvious he’d never had to force his hand like this before. “I may be your charge, but above all else, I’m her son. Let her decide.” His gaze narrowed; a shiver ran down Li Ming’s spine. “Let him go, Major. That’s an order.”

Major Supoch reluctantly released him, muttering his discontent under his breath. Li Ming rubbed his aching wrist, gathering Chaipo up in his arms so she could tend to his pain. He allowed himself to be led out of the kitchens by one of the soldiers, trailing after Prince Heart and Major Supoch with his head down, heartbeat pounding in his ears. His own words began to echo in his mind, over and over again: You shouldn’t have confronted him, Gun. You shouldn’t have confronted him.

When they entered the corridor, Major Supoch nearly collided with a man coming from the other direction, who could barely see over the enormous cloth sack of rice he was carrying. Li Ming had to swallow a gasp when he saw who it was.

“Apologies, sir, I didn’t…” The words died on Uncle Jim’s lips, his gaze flickering between Major Supoch’s thunderous expression and Li Ming’s bruised wrist. Please don’t say anything, Li Ming silently pleaded, please don’t give yourself away. “What’s going on here?”

“Does this boy report to you?” Major Supoch asked, his scowl deepening. “Because he just assaulted the prince!”

A storm of emotions crossed Uncle Jim’s face in a matter of seconds; it was difficult to ascertain exactly what he was thinking. If he was smart — and Li Ming knew he was — he would turn and walk away and pretend Li Ming was nothing more than a stranger. “He reports to Madam Chidchanok,” Uncle Jim eventually replied. “I’ll speak to her. And, er — ” he set down the rice to free his hands “ — my sincerest apologies, Your Royal Highness. I hope you’re alright.” Prince Heart nodded, managing a faint smile.

Uncle Jim lowered his head with a wai, then picked up the sack and stepped aside so they could pass. As they did, Jimbo’s tail briefly grazed Chaipo’s flank. Seconds later, Li Ming heard Uncle Jim’s voice as if he were whispering right in his ear: I’ll tell Gim and Gun what’s happened. And Li Ming — don’t say a damn thing unless you absolutely have to.

Li Ming was kept in a side room for what felt like hours with just Chaipo and two stone-faced soldiers for company while Prince Heart and Major Supoch went on ahead, presumably to speak with the queen. Neither soldier would answer any of Li Ming’s questions — namely, when they would get to see her — so he settled for sitting on the floor instead, anxiously tapping his foot while Chaipo inspected his lingering aches and pains.

Finally, another soldier came to retrieve them after some time, leading them into one of the Grand Palace’s many elaborate throne halls. When they entered, neither the queen nor the prince was seated as he’d expected. Instead, they were standing close together, both of them signing back and forth in rapid succession. Major Supoch stood off to the side with a few other soldiers, his expression souring when he saw Li Ming.

Just as the side entrance doors slammed shut behind Li Ming, the doors at the opposite end of the hall swung open, revealing that someone else had been summoned: his mother. She was flanked by two soldiers, just like Li Ming, and she had a spot of flour on her front that she’d neglected to dust off. She looked both unusually nervous and understandably furious.

“Her Majesty, Queen Photjanee, and His Royal Highness, Prince Thinnakorn.” The queen turned at the sound of her name and the prince followed suit, their movements unnaturally graceful, like they were moving through water. While the queen’s face was inscrutable, the perfect mask she wore at all times regardless of the circumstances, Prince Heart looked noticeably troubled. Li Ming’s curiosity nagged at him, but only for a brief moment, as one of the soldiers behind him roughly elbowed him in the back, reminding him to kneel before them.

To Li Ming’s surprise, the queen addressed his mother first as soon as both of their foreheads were pressed against the floor. “Madam Ratchanee Wongwitthaya?” Her voice was gentler than Li Ming expected, holding a touch more emotion than it usually did when she addressed Ayutthaya’s phrai. “You’re the one responsible for all of the palace’s khanom.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Gim said, trembling.

“My son is very fond of your khanom chan,” the queen said, warmth laced in every word she spoke. “It was the only thing he insisted on for his birthday.”

Gim slowly lifted her head, trying to discern whether it was appropriate to do so. “It’s a favorite of mine as well,” she said, managing a small smile. “I would have insisted the same.”

Li Ming finally risked lifting his head, too, astonished to see the queen smiling back at Gim, like they’d just shared some secret that only mothers would understand. She was as beautiful and as regal as only a queen could be, with her dark hair pulled back into an elegant knot, her neck and fingers adorned with gold and glittering jewels, her matching pha nung and pha biang a rich, deep red. Li Ming had, of course, never seen her this closely before; he noted that the twins had inherited her elegant nose and round, doe-like eyes.

“Thinnakorn told me he mistook your son, Loetphong, for your other son,” the queen said, her expression impassive once more. It was then that Li Ming noticed the aide standing a little ways off from Prince Heart, signing both sides of the conversation for him. “He said this led to Loetphong becoming…distressed, and he made to grab Thinnakorn. Major Supoch described it as an assault, but Thinnakorn proclaimed he was hardly touched before his familiar put an end to it. Seeing as Major Supoch wasn’t in the kitchen at the time…” She arched an eyebrow. “…I’m inclined to trust my son’s word over his. To be quite honest with you, I’m more troubled by Major Supoch’s absence than your son’s conduct.” The major’s face turned red, either out of embarrassment or outrage.

Prince Heart tugged on his mother’s elbow like a child half his age. “I really am fine,” he insisted. “There’s no need for any of this. I only agreed to bring him here so Major Supoch wouldn’t lock him away somewhere else.”

The queen’s gaze moved from Gim to Li Ming. Her eyes narrowed, then widened almost imperceptibly, like she was only just seeing him for the first time. “Why did you perceive Loetphong as his brother?” she asked, rounding on her son. “Had you…met his brother before?”

The prince’s mouth fell open, then snapped shut. “Yes,” he managed to say, flustered. “Whenever I’m craving khao tom, I go right to the kitchens to ask for it. I’d seen him there before.”

“And had you spoken to him before?” the queen pressed. “Were you familiar with one another?”

Prince Heart shook his head adamantly. “No, not at all.”

“So then…why did you approach him if you only ever saw him in passing?” The queen’s expression was eerily familiar to Li Ming now, reminiscent of Gim whenever she caught Gun sneaking out in the middle of the night. “What aren’t you telling me, Heart?” But the prince only shook his head again. He looked distressed, his mouth pulled taut.

Li Ming kept quiet, weighing his options. The queen had barely acknowledged what had happened, seemingly indifferent to his supposed attack against her son. She didn’t even seem to worry herself with why he’d done it. He would likely get to leave with nothing more than an unlikely story to tell the others as long as he didn’t say anything.

But then he thought of his brother’s bloodied hands, the pain he’d kept hidden, the terror he must’ve felt. From there, it was obvious there was only one option left.

“He isn’t telling you the truth, Your Majesty.” Gim let out a quiet little gasp of surprise, grappling at Li Ming’s uninjured wrist as he got to his feet. The queen frowned, and Li Ming’s voice shook, but he kept going. “He first met my brother in the kitchen cellar on the night of his birthday. My brother works in the kitchens and had left something behind, so he went back for it. The prince, however, was there to steal alcohol.”

The queen’s hand flew to her mouth. “What?”

“My brother thought he was a common thief, so he made to detain him,” Li Ming continued. “His Royal Highness dropped the bottle and it shattered, and when my brother knelt to beg for forgiveness, the glass cut his hands. He left my brother to clean after him, alone.”

Prince Heart inhaled sharply. When the queen turned back to look at him, all he could do was shake his head again and again, unable to deny it in words. “Heart,” she breathed. She sounded devastated. “You stole alcohol? And…left someone injured without aid or assistance?”

“I offered, I swear!” Prince Heart protested. “I even said I would bring Tinn to him, but he refused. I asked for his name so I could find him again. That’s why when I first saw Loetphong, I called him Gun.”

“And how long have you been stealing alcohol? Or…is it more than just alcohol?” The queen’s eyes narrowed. “How many times have you left the staff wondering, worrying, whether something had gone missing?”

As Li Ming watched Prince Heart’s defense crumble, he couldn’t help but be impressed. He hadn’t expected the queen to believe him, nor did he expect her to confront her son like any parent would. Yet here she was, seemingly moments away from deciding how to best discipline him, as if he were just any other boy and not a prince.

“…this wasn’t the first time,” Prince Heart eventually admitted. “Though it really was just alcohol, I promise.”

Silence followed, the kind of disappointed silence that felt so much more distressing than if she’d just shouted at him. Heart hung his head, meek and unmoving. Li Ming held his breath, anticipating her verdict. Eventually, the queen lifted her hands to her breastbone. “We’ve indulged you for too long,” she said. “I know the adjustment has been…trying for you, but stealing, drinking, abandoning someone in need…not to mention you’ve been neglecting your lessons again — these are not the actions of a well-behaved prince, or a well-behaved man.”

“Mother — ”

“You’re to be married soon,” she continued sternly. “How are you to be trusted if you can’t take responsibility for a simple accident like this? How can you be relied on if you can’t foresee the consequences of your actions?” The queen shook her head. “You need discipline, Heart. And you need to show the servants more respect, too. What if one of them had been wrongfully accused? And the injured boy you left behind…”

Prince Heart’s lip quivered. “What would you have me do?”

“You need to learn the merits of hard work,” the queen replied. “And since it was the kitchen servants you’ve wronged, I’d like for them to be the ones to put you to task. Starting tomorrow, should that not inconvenience them.” She finally turned back to address Gim, ignoring Prince Heart’s protests. “Would you be able to say, Madam Wongwitthaya?”

“It’s…it’s Madam Chidchanok who oversees the entire kitchen staff, Your Majesty,” Gim stammered; she sounded as astonished as Li Ming was. “But seeing as the palace isn’t receiving visitors in the next few days, there should be sufficient time to settle His Royal Highness into his new…role.”

“Excellent,” the queen said. Her expression was both reserved and remorseful, even a little ashamed. “And I’d prefer it if Thinnakorn wasn’t accompanied by his aide, so he may learn greater independence. However, he’ll still need someone to occasionally communicate with and for him. Who among the kitchen staff is most well-versed in sign language?”

“At the moment?” Gim hesitated. Li Ming’s pulse began to race once again in dread, knowing what was to come. “That would be…Loetphong, Your Majesty. He’s a wordsmith.”

“A wordsmith?” She tilted her head in curiosity. “I thought wordsmiths were more proficient in written and spoken language.”

“I’m unfortunately neither, Your Majesty,” Li Ming said with a humorless laugh. “But you’ll find my proficiency in sign language is better than most. When we were all ordered to learn, what took months for others took just weeks for me.” He then turned to Prince Heart, who was looking at Li Ming entirely differently now, his eyes filled with anger and indignation. “I believe the most pressing question now is, will His Royal Highness accept me as his new aide?”

Chapter Text

It was unusual, Li Ming thought, to see his family’s apartment in the midday light. He usually left before sunrise and returned long after sunset, spending every waking hour in the stables — now the kitchens — so he could earn his keep, so he could save for things like another blanket for his mother, who often shivered at night no matter which warmth spell they tried, or new shoes for Gun, who had a habit of splitting the soles of every pair he’d ever owned.

But today itself was unusual, and so here he was, seeing things he’d never noticed before: a crooked chair leg, a large dent in the floorboards, a dark charcoal stain on the bedsheets from the sketches his brother liked to do in the evenings, right before he slept. Most unusual of all, though, was seeing Gun and Uncle Jim together at the table.

Both of them glanced up at the sound of the door. Uncle Jim immediately rose from his chair. “Li Ming,” he breathed. Gun took a moment longer to react, his expression frozen between a mixture of worry and relief. Then, he got up, his knees trembling with every step, and pulled Li Ming in for a desperate hug. “What happened? It’s been hours!”

“I was brought in front of the queen,” Li Ming said. Gun stiffened in his arms, then took a step back, his eyes wide. “Gun was injured when he saw what he thought was a thief in the kitchen cellar a few nights ago, only to find it was Prince Heart. So when the prince visited the kitchens earlier today, he mistook me for Gun, and I…confronted him.”

“Li Ming,” Uncle Jim said tiredly, sighing, dragging his hand down his face.

It wasn’t the first time Li Ming had heard his uncle say his name this way, and it certainly wasn’t going to be the last. Still, the sound of it never failed to make him scowl. “I didn’t assault him,” he insisted. “I grabbed him — hardly touched him, really — and his familiar jumped to his defense. Honestly, it was that Major Supoch who made the situation worse than it was. So we were brought before the queen, I told her that her precious son was stealing alcohol and abandoned Gun without helping him — ”

“Because I refused to let him help me!” Gun protested.

“ — and she decided to punish him instead,” Li Ming finished, ignoring him. “He’s to work in the kitchens, starting tomorrow, to ‘learn the merits of hard work’.” He paused to scoff and shake his head. “As if a few days of washing dishes will build character and not resentment.”

“Li Ming!” Gim scolded, finally finding her voice. “You’re about to be his aide. This is hardly the time to speak ill of him.”

“You’re going to be his what?!” Gun exclaimed. Uncle Jim looked just as incredulous.

“The queen didn’t want His Royal Highness to have his usual luxuries, but she still wanted someone proficient in sign language to assist him,” Gim said with a sigh that sounded eerily like her brother’s. “Li Ming was the only choice, really. We all know that.”

Uncle Jim sank back down into his chair, dropping his head into his hands. “You act as if I’m being sent off to war,” Li Ming said, rubbing at the scrap of fabric tied around his wrist, briefly thinking of its previous owner. “I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not trying to cause trouble, okay? Whatever it is you think I’m going to do — ”

“I’m more concerned with what the prince might do if he sees any more of your actions as a slight against him or the royal family,” Uncle Jim muttered into his hands. “Say he gets hurt or breaks something because of something you told him to do. Or maybe all it takes is you looking at him in a way he doesn’t like. What then?”

“I’m not the one giving him orders,” Li Ming pointed out. “I’m just meant to translate for people who don’t know as much sign language as I do. I’m not responsible for him — he’s responsible for me.”

The room fell silent for a moment as everyone considered Li Ming’s words. It wasn’t that he wasn’t afraid — he shared the same concerns as his uncle, especially considering that one last look Prince Heart had given him — but more that he didn’t see any sense in dwelling on it now, not when the prince could have him locked up on a whim. It’s simple, he told himself, like he did every day, all I want to do is do what I must, and what I must do is work. Whether the prince was feeling vengeful or merciful or somewhere in between had nothing to do with it.

“You weren’t supposed to be there in the first place.” Gun’s voice wobbled. Li Ming sensed an apology lingering on the tip of his tongue, but Gun knew better than to offer one when Li Ming would only turn it down. “How long is this meant to go on for?”

“Her Majesty didn’t say,” Gim said. She suddenly looked so much older, her face wearier; now it was Li Ming who felt a stab of guilt gnawing at his chest. “Until she feels he’s learned his lesson, I suppose.”

“Or until he experiences the slightest inconvenience,” Li Ming muttered bitterly. The queen had been quite reasonable, given she could have just as easily dismissed Li Ming or even had him locked up and ignored her son’s behavior, but there was no telling how much of a fuss Prince Heart would stir up to escape his punishment.

It was no secret to anyone, whether they were members of the khunnang or members of the Royal Household, that the younger prince had been spoiled his entire life. Many had vivid memories of a young Prince Heart running up and down the corridors of the Grand Palace to evade the guards assigned to watch him, of him bursting into tears during formal ceremonies simply because he was bored, of scrunching up his nose at his dinner plate when his parents encouraged him to try new foods. Even now that he was approaching marriageable age, Li Ming still heard stories from the other servants about how he would do whatever he wanted and go wherever he pleased, evidenced by his unexpected visit to the kitchens just hours ago.

His visit, Li Ming suddenly realized, his gaze shifting to meet his brother’s. He never managed to deliver the letter. “Gun,” he said abruptly. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”

Uncle Jim frowned. “What is it?”

“I said I need to talk to Gun,” Li Ming retorted, his irritation growing. His uncle opened his mouth to respond, but Gim placed a hand on his shoulder before he could.

“Let them be, Jim,” she said with a small smile. “Why don’t I walk you back?”

Once they left — reluctantly on Uncle Jim’s part — the two boys moved into the bedroom, sitting on the floor at the foot of their mattress. “Have you replaced your bandages yet today?” Li Ming reached for Gun’s hands. “Oh, they look much better this time.”

“That’s because Uncle Jim did them for me,” Gun said sheepishly. Li Ming held back the urge to roll his eyes. “Did you really grab the prince?”

“…perhaps,” Li Ming said reluctantly. “Well, his pha biang, at least.”

“It seems neither of us was meant to have an ordinary first encounter with Prince Heart, huh?” Gun said, laughing so softly that Li Ming barely heard it. Then, to Li Ming’s surprise, he lowered his head to rest on Li Ming’s shoulder; he suddenly looked exhausted beyond relief. It was moments like this, Li Ming observed, that led to others incorrectly assuming that Gun was the younger one, not that it mattered much when they were born less than an hour apart. And it wasn’t just his fuller face, his brighter eyes, his wider smile. It was everything else that, in the end, always ensued in situations like this: where Gun would inevitably get in trouble, and Li Ming would inevitably be left to pick up the pieces. “What did you want to talk about? Or…are you going to tell me what really happened?”

Li Ming prickled. “What makes you think I lied?”

“A lie of omission, at least,” Gun teased. “You always leave things out when Uncle Jim is around.”

Sighing, Li Ming shifted his weight so Gun didn’t have to lean as far down. “…I left out why Prince Heart was there in the first place. He was delivering a letter for you. That is to say, not you, the boy he met in the kitchen cellar, but you, the boy his brother’s in love with.”

Gun blushed. “…oh.”

“He became distracted when he saw me, though, and then…well, after everything that happened, I doubt he succeeded,” Li Ming said. “Who usually collects them for you? Is it Mae Pao?” At Gun’s nod, he nodded listlessly in return. “She wasn’t there today, so you’ll have to wait regardless, I suppose.”

Gun’s dreamy expression quickly turned into one of concern. “Do you think he’s waiting for me? I haven’t written to him since his birthday. He must be worried; I haven’t been absent for this long since I was ill last year.” Li Ming remembered that time well, one of the few times he’d felt sympathy for the crown prince, who’d been anxious that his love had fallen as ill as his brother once did before. Gun had asked Li Ming to write in his stead and keep the prince informed of his condition. “Li Ming, could you…”

“Again?” Li Ming blanched. “Surely, you can hold a pen by now.”

“I can barely hold a pot handle,” Gun protested. “Please? It’ll be just like last time, just one letter. Tell him I’ve injured my hands and I’ll write when they’re better.”

“We can’t tell him that,” Li Ming countered. “Then he’ll be sure to realize that you were the boy whose brother got his brother in trouble. What if we told him you have a close relative on their deathbed in a distant village and you’ve gone to see them?”

Gun shook his head. “I already told him that the only family I have left resides here in the palace.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but tell me you didn’t tell him you’re a twin,” Li Ming said, groaning. To his relief, Gun shook his head again. “Let’s make this even simpler, then. We’ll tell him you broke your wrist instead.”

“I suppose that works,” Gun said, chewing his bottom lip. “Should we write it now, then? Before Ma returns?”

Li Ming was already reaching for a fresh sheet of paper. “Remind me again, what is it you call him? Prince Lion?”

Heart usually wasn’t one to hold on to resentment towards others, not even those who questioned his place in the royal family after he’d lost his hearing. Tinn had been upset on his behalf — furious, even, to the point where he’d asked their parents if they could be expelled from the khunnang for expressing such close-minded beliefs — but Heart did his best to disregard them, to focus on the good in his life instead. His family, his studies, the little joys he experienced when he read a new book or made new art or tried new food, all things he’d once rejected as a child.

However, when he first stepped into the kitchens, not as a prince but as a servant, he was nearly overwhelmed by his own anger.

For a moment, everyone around him seemed to stop and stare, gaping, as they let knives slip from their grasps or water spill from the bowls in their hands. Then all at once, they began to bow and wai so enthusiastically that their noses almost touched the floor. “Your Royal Highness,” the head of the kitchen staff, Madam Chidchanok, greeted, her eyes sparkling. “Have you eaten already? Would you like something to eat before we begin?”

Heart could barely manage a single bite this morning, too nervous to get his food down. “I’ve already eaten, thank you,” he replied. “Is Loetphong here yet?”

“He’s always here by sunrise,” Madam Chidchanok said with a wry chuckle. “Shall I ask him to join us now?”

Heart shook his head. He wasn’t ready to face the boy who’d responded to his grace with betrayal. Nodding briskly, Madam Chidchanok motioned for Heart to follow her as she explained how everything worked: cooking, cleaning, polishing, managing requests and orders and deliveries and records, keeping the Munnai and the staff and the animals fed, it all made Heart’s head spin. It also took her an entire afternoon, she explained, just to ensure everyone received their pay.

“And Loetphong, he’s…” Heart didn’t want to think about him any more than he had to, but his curiosity nagged at him all the same.

“He washes dishes, as will you once we’ve finished here.” Madam Chidchanok looked almost apologetic at that. “Will you be…alright with him, Your Royal Highness?”

Heart paused. “What do you mean?”

“He attacked you, of course!” Madam Chidchanok seemed surprised by the question. “And even in the best circumstances, he isn’t the…kindest of boys. The others find his brother to be much more agreeable.”

Of course, Heart remembered, Gun works in the kitchens, too. He recalled how Loetphong had explained the events of that night, how Gun left something behind and had come back to look for it. Heart wondered if he ever found it, whatever it was, or if their encounter had distracted him, just like Heart’s encounter with Loetphong. He never did manage to deliver Tinn’s letter in the end. “You mean to say he’s made enemies?”

“Nothing quite so dramatic,” Madam Chidchanok laughed, shaking her head. “He’s not even been here a week, after all.”

“Really?” Heart straightened up at that, intrigued. “What brought him here, then?”

Madam Chidchanok’s face faltered, if only for a moment. “He’s here on Gun’s behalf, seeing as Gun can’t work because…”

Heart’s stomach lurched unpleasantly. “Because he hurt his hands, trying to appease me.”

Naturally, the entire Royal Household must’ve known by now, must’ve been informed of why the prince was in the kitchens instead of the courts. He wondered what they thought of him, if their opinions of him had ever been favorable to begin with. His mother’s words resonated then: how many times have you left the staff wondering, worrying, whether something had gone missing? Now that they knew it was his doing, he couldn’t imagine they thought very highly of him. The open-mouthed stares from earlier, the way everyone hastened to show their respect, Heart was now seeing it all in an entirely different light.

His thoughts were still running rampant when Madam Chidchanok left him by the dry sinks while she went to find Loetphong. It was only when a sharp elbow dug into his side that he realized he was no longer alone. “You’re late,” Loetphong said once he had Heart’s attention, eyes narrowed.

Heart bristled. He didn’t often fuss over the way the servants treated him — if anything, he much preferred familiarity over formality — but Loetphong seemed downright hostile. “How could I possibly be late when I wasn’t told to be early?” But Loetphong ignored him, nudging him aside so he could reach for one of the buckets in the cabinet underneath the sink basin. Just as Heart opened his mouth to admonish him out loud, Loetphong shoved another bucket into his unwilling arms. The handle nearly slipped through his fingers; he only just managed to catch it in time. “Loetphong — ”

“Li Ming,” he replied flatly. “No one calls me Loetphong, not even my uncle.”

‘Uncle’ was oddly specific, Heart thought, surprised that Li Ming hadn’t mentioned his mother or father instead. But before he could ask, Li Ming had already taken off, leaving him behind. Heart scrambled to follow him, Taengmo at his heels.

After winding through a dark, narrow corridor that coiled around the kitchens and past the storage rooms, Li Ming stopped in front of a set of heavy wooden double doors. Heart watched him curiously, expecting him to cast some sort of force or gravitational spell to push what was likely too heavy for him to move on his own, only to startle when Li Ming kicked one of the door’s hinges, the resulting metal clang echoing down the length of the corridor. The doors groaned to life, creaking open so slowly that Heart had to set his bucket down while they waited, his shoulders already aching from the effort.

Heart continued to follow Li Ming outside, the early morning sun momentarily disorienting him as it struck him in the eyes. Finally, after they passed through one of the gates that took them outside the palace walls — which was curiously unguarded, though there was, of course, a protective barrier that kept outsiders from entering the palace grounds — they came to a halt on the riverbank. Li Ming set his bucket down and rounded on Heart. “I thought I was only meant to translate for you,” he said, scowling. “Yet Madam Chidchanok just told me that you’re to follow me and do everything I do.”

Heart paled. “That can’t be right,” he protested. “She’s supposed to be the one giving me orders.”

Li Ming shook his head, aggrieved. “A direct order from Her Majesty, it seems. Madam wished me luck and left before I could say otherwise.”

Heart sank to the ground with a groan that rivaled the door’s. He had no desire to be in Li Ming’s company, not when he clearly despised him, and he certainly didn’t have anything good to say about Li Ming, either. Still, he also had no idea what to do. His mother had made her stance clear, and though he didn’t want to be anywhere within casting distance of the other boy, he had no intention of doing something drastic just to be rid of him.

His thoughts were interrupted by a defensive hiss. He lifted his head to see Taengmo with her nose pressed to the ground, curiously sniffing Li Ming’s familiar. Unlike Chompoo and Taengmo, Gun and Li Ming’s familiars weren’t twins like their masters. While Gun’s familiar had been a stout gray kitten with large yellow-green eyes, Li Ming’s familiar was a sleek, cream-colored Siamese with bright blue eyes and a charcoal-tipped nose and ears. Her paw darted out as Taengmo shuffled closer, claws protracted, and she hissed again.

“Chaipo, don’t,” Li Ming called sternly. Chaipo took a few steps back, though her hackles were still raised. Heart called out to Taengmo, too, who offered her a master a doleful look before giving in and retreating to his side. All of her vigilance from yesterday had vanished in favor of her curiosity. “We always have a few hydromancers on water duty to manage the kitchen’s supply, but everyone’s been especially busy all morning.”

“Why is that?” Heart asked.

Li Ming looked at him oddly. “Because of your arrival, of course. The kitchens aren’t usually this spotless.”

Guilt twisted in Heart’s chest. “There was no need to go to all that trouble.”

But Li Ming was back to ignoring him, crouching by the river and lowering his bucket into the water. Heart followed suit, his arms straining against the water’s weight. He snuck a sideways glance at Li Ming, perplexed by how he could lift his bucket so effortlessly. It was then that he noticed the thick, corded muscle of Li Ming’s arms, the way his shirt pulled taut across the broad expanse of his back. Heart’s pulse inexplicably jumped; it took him one second too many to tear his eyes away.

When they returned to the kitchens, Li Ming emptied half of his bucket into the basin of the dry sink. He then brought over a few stacks of cracked bowls and plates, all of which Heart had never seen before. It took him a moment to realize it was because they were used by the servants until they were beyond repair. Heart, meanwhile, had never eaten off of anything but fine porcelain and Sangkhalok ceramicware without so much as a blemish in sight.

Li Ming handed him a ragged-looking cloth and a half-bar of soap, then got to work. Heart observed him for a little while, unsure of what to do. His face grew hot as time went on, ashamed of his ignorance — did he really not know how to do something as simple as washing a plate? It was no wonder his mother had been so firm with him.

In desperate need of a distraction from his incompetence, Heart’s eyes lifted from Li Ming’s steady hands up to his face instead. People always marveled at how Heart and Tinn were perfectly identical, down to the small mole under their left eye; their only distinguishing feature was the cut of their hair. Heart had only met Gun very briefly, but even then, he could spot the slight differences in his and Li Ming’s physicality.

Li Ming’s skin was a touch darker — perhaps he normally worked outside in the sun, Heart guessed — and his chin was narrower, his cheekbones sharper. He had the same two moles, one on his nose and one on his cheek, and his lips were pale and cracked, almost split. It looked painful, Heart thought, his gaze shifting back down to Li Ming’s hands. It was then that he saw something else far more painful: the bruise on Li Ming’s wrist, forming the perfect imprint of Major Supoch’s fingers.

Li Ming nudged Heart again. “What are you looking at?”

This time, Heart ignored his complete lack of decorum. “Your bruise,” he replied, gesturing. “I really am sorry about Major Supoch. Taengmo had already stopped you, there was no need for him to grab you like that.”

Li Ming paused for a moment, averting his gaze. “What’s done is done. And it barely hurts anymore, before you offer to bring me to your brother. I’d rather not be summoned in front of every member of the royal family if I don’t have to.”

Heart let out a startled laugh, though he doubted Li Ming was trying to be witty. Right as he was starting to feel a little less angry, perhaps even a little more forgiving, Li Ming pushed a plate into his hands, just like before. This time, it slipped right through his soapy fingers, clattering against the bottom of the basin. One instinctive glance at Li Ming told Heart that he’d cursed under his breath.

“Don’t just stand there,” Li Ming said, irritated. “You’re meant to be ‘learning the merits of hard work’. Watching it happen doesn’t count.”

Heart scowled, reaching for the plate he’d dropped and inspecting it for additional cracks. Any warmth he’d felt toward Li Ming, however small and brief, was already gone.

Li Ming’s days felt longer than most, since he would always rise early and retire late. Now, with Prince Heart’s unwanted presence, his days seemed to go on forever. To be fair, he expected things to take longer, now that he was forced to work alongside someone who’d never lifted anything heavier than his own crown, but he hadn’t expected the prince to be this much of a burden.

“You took him out to the Chao Phraya without a guard?!” Madam Chidchanok had cried when he’d reported to her at the end of Prince Heart’s first day. “And you had him carry such heavy things on his own, too — no, this absolutely won’t do.” Come the second day, two new rules were established: they were to always be accompanied by one of Major Supoch’s subordinates, and Prince Heart wasn’t to lift anything heavy — which meant, with his weak constitution, not even an empty bucket.

By the third day, the skin of Heart’s hands was beginning to peel and crack; he’d never used such cheap soap before, he said, nor had he ever submerged his hands in water for this long. Li Ming tacitly reminded Heart that he was an abjurer — were there no spells for protecting the hands? — but Madam Chidchanok was quick to suggest they take on a different task instead. And so, they spent the rest of the day sorting deliveries, only since Heart wasn’t to handle anything heavy, it was mostly Li Ming who managed the dozens of crates and sacks and bundles coming in from farmers and alchemists and botanists across the country.

“And if that wasn’t enough,” Li Ming fumed to his brother on the evening of the fifth day, where Prince Heart had mentioned the persistent ache in his lower back and Madam Chidchanok had an upholstered stool brought in just for him, “he keeps asking for food all the time, as if the cooks have nothing better than to do but make him, and only him, an entire meal.”

Gun nodded for what felt like the hundredth time, picking absent-mindedly at the fraying bandage wrapped around his right hand. His wounds had mostly stitched themselves up by now, leaving him with faint scars that itched terribly. He could hold things again, but not for very long — he could dress himself and hold a pot or a pan, but handling a knife or a pen usually resulted in cramps or a rash from the friction of his bandages rubbing against his palms.

It wasn’t that Gun didn’t feel sympathy for his brother, and of course, guilt that he’d inadvertently trapped him in this situation to begin with, but he could only listen to Li Ming’s tirades for so long. Li Ming preferred to work in solitude as he had in the stables, where he had his assigned charges and areas; anything else, and he started to feel like he was losing what little authority he had. Gun was the opposite, in a way — he loved the camaraderie of the kitchens, all the chatter and laughter and shared responsibilities. He could never imagine working alone.

“Did you tell him all of this?” Gun asked, just as he had the previous four evenings when Li Ming came to him with similar woes. “Prince Heart is used to this sort of treatment. He might not even understand what he’s asking for.”

“He understands perfectly well,” Li Ming grumbled, tearing off a chunk of his bread and holding it out to Gun, who’d already devoured his own.

“You just need to be plain-spoken with him. More than I'm sure you already have,” Gun added at Li Ming's baleful expression as he pushed his brother's hand away. “Maybe if you told him how troublesome he’s being, he’d stop.”

Li Ming cracked a small smile. “You mean like when we were children, and you would bother Ma with all of your silly questions about nothing? It was a wonder she managed to do much of anything with you as her shadow.”

“And who became the better cook between the two of us?” Gun offered a broad grin in return. “It was clever of her to put a knife in my hands to distract me.”

“Clever, sure, if you ignore all the little cuts and burns you’d get when you first started out,” Li Ming teased. “Speaking of, how are your hands now? And what have you been doing all day, anyway?”

“I’ve been working on my studies, if you can believe it,” Gun boasted. Li Ming made a face. Neither of them was very fond of school, nor were they very good at it, though they knew having an education was a privilege that many other servants didn’t have. “I’ve perfected a new charm to use for when I write to the prince.”

Li Ming sighed. “Was it just for him, then? Not even part of your actual lessons?”

Gun elbowed him. “Do you want me to show you or not?” When Li Ming nodded, Gun got up, crossing the room to retrieve something from under his pillow. He returned with a folded sheet of paper, whose edge had been fastened down with a wax seal. The wax seal was stamped with an illustration Gun had done as a child — a small sketch of what was supposed to be Munmuang, though it looked more like a mouse with oversized ears (“Have you never seen Munmuang before? Do you even know what cat ears look like?” Li Ming had scoffed; Gun had refused to speak to him for the rest of the day).

“Another one of Prince Tinn’s favorite scents?” Li Ming guessed. Gun had recently perfected the ability to charm his wax seals with multiple scents at a time instead of just one. For his most recent letter, the one Li Ming had written for him, Gun had layered several different floral scents on top of one another so that, once the seal was broken, the prince’s office would smell like a garden in bloom.

“Even better,” Gun said, beaming. “Go on, open it.”

Li Ming pulled out a key from his pocket, then slipped it under the wax seal, taking care not to rip the paper and waste it. The moment the wax fully lifted, the sound of humming filled the air. Recognition immediately dawned on Li Ming’s face. Unsurprising, as it was Gun’s voice — and one of the songs he and their father used to sing together.

“I’ve been working on it for months,” Gun said once the humming died down. “It was more complicated than I expected, considering I can already project my voice into living objects — you’d think little wax seals like this would be easy.” He shifted uneasily. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

“You could send him the sound of your snoring and he’d think it was music to his ears,” Li Ming said wryly. “It’ll mean the world to him, Gun. I’m sure he’s been desperate to hear your voice again after all this time.”

“If only we could meet in person,” Gun lamented, sighing a little. “I’d love to sing for him, even just once.”

“You never know. Maybe one day, you will.” Li Ming then made a face at Gun’s bewildered expression. “What? I’ve spent the last five days washing dishes with one of the princes, yet you think singing for your prince is completely impossible?”

“He’s not mine,” Gun muttered, half-embarrassed, half-wistful. “And it's better for us both if he never will be.”

It wasn’t unusual for Tinn to wait the better part of an hour for an audience with his mother, who often seemed busier than his father. And so, whenever she summoned him to her personal residence, he would always bring something to keep himself entertained while he waited. This time, he’d chosen to bring the last letter he received from his Little Mouse — his chosen term of endearment for the boy he loved, derived from the etching he’d stamped into every single one of his wax seals — so he could read it over and over again, savoring his every word. The boy called him Prince Lion in return despite knowing his real name.

It feels wrong somehow to call you by your name when you don’t know mine, he’d written in one of his earliest letters.

But why a lion? Tinn had responded. The Royal Standard is of an elephant, and my familiar is a dog. Where did the lion come from?

You aren’t your title or your familiar, the boy had replied, and I thought it would be best to match your name to mine. Have you ever heard the story of the lion and the mouse? When Tinn said he hadn’t, the boy explained, it’s about the companionship that forms between a lion and a mouse, despite being complete opposites in the animal kingdom. Childish, I suppose, but I thought it was fitting.

Tinn could sense the boy’s hesitance, likely worried he’d overstepped. He was quick to reassure him that he hadn’t, that it suited them both perfectly. I’m glad to have a new name so thoughtfully considered, and just for us to use, too, he’d added. I’ll make a stamp of a lion to match yours. Then you’ll know which letters are mine.

Yes, to discern you from the many other princes who write to me every day, the boy had teased. I’d hate to mistake you for someone else.

I could never mistake your letters for anyone but you. Not only the little mouse, but also the smell of bread. Do you work in the kitchens, or are you a talented baker all on your own?

Clever, flattering, and handsome! I do work in the kitchens, though I also consider myself a talented baker, too. But promise you won’t try and find me?

Of course, I promise. For the time being, I’ll think of you every time I smell freshly baked bread.

From what I know of your diet, that means you’ll think of me almost every day — how gracious of you. What other scents do you favor?

Now, as Tinn sank into the plush chair just outside his mother’s study, he brought the letter to his nose so he could inhale the lingering scent of mango, still as fresh as it had been when he first broke the seal.

When he first wrote to the boy to express his admiration just three years ago, he’d never expected matters would turn out like this. Though marriage had been far from his mind at the time, he’d always resigned himself to marrying whoever would be the most politically advantageous choice. But he despised the idea now, wanting to be selfish for once, to be with the one he loved and with no one to tell him otherwise. However, Tinn found that he wasn’t much of a lion at all, not when he was too cowardly to tell his parents the truth.

“Are you alright, Your Royal Highness?”

Tinn looked up to see his aide and advisor-in-training, Tiwson, approaching him from the other end of the corridor. He’d briefly left Tinn alone to speak with his father, one of the king’s chief ministers, outside in the adjacent courtyard. “There’s no need for such formality, Tiw,” Tinn said with a wan smile. “There’s no one around to admonish you.”

Tiwson laughed, dropping down into the chair opposite him, his relaxed slouch a stark contrast to Tinn’s perfect posture. “Well, you can never be too careful,” he said lightly. “Father wanted to speak to me about Leng. He invited us to visit his wife’s grandparents’ estate next month to celebrate their son’s first birthday.” Tiwson’s expression darkened. “Father wants to pretend he doesn’t exist, of course. Both his grandnephew and Leng himself, that is. But I’d like to go see him if you’ll allow me.”

“Of course,” Tinn said, softening. “Saleng must be lonely without his family nearby. Take as much time as you need, I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you. I can ask Kajorn to aid me in your absence.”

“He’d certainly like that, considering he’s had nothing to do since your brother dismissed him,” Tiwson said wryly.

“Only temporarily, until Mother thinks Heart has been…sufficiently disciplined,” Tinn corrected, careful not to speak out of turn.

When he’d first heard about his brother’s predicament, he’d been angry that someone would make so many unkind assumptions about Heart from nothing. Once he’d composed himself, however, and considered it at length, he couldn’t help but sympathize. Heart was sweet and gentle and curious, sure, but Tinn knew he’d stolen from the kitchens and evaded his tutors enough times to know that he was remarkably disobedient, too.

“This will be good for you,” Tinn had told him, knowing Heart was still upset. “And you must take it seriously, Heart. Promise me that you will.” Heart had begrudgingly agreed, though he’d spoken very little ever since.

“From what you’ve told me, it seems like it’ll be a while,” Tiwson replied. “Has he not been constantly complaining to you about his new aide? He seems more fixated on him than anything.”

“Unfortunately.” Tinn didn’t elaborate, not wanting to discuss the subject any longer. “When do you intend to leave? We should set an appointment with Kajorn to — ”

Before he could finish his sentence, the door to his mother’s study swung open. Two of her advisors quickly left and disappeared around the corner, leaving the queen herself standing alone in the doorway. “My apologies for keeping you waiting,” she said, stepping aside with a sweep of her arm. “Please, come in.”

“What’s this about, Mother?” Tinn asked once they settled into their respective chairs on opposing sides of her desk.

Her expression was inscrutable. “Have you been feeling a little…lonely these days, without Heart’s company?”

“Of course, but I’ve been busy with my studies as well,” Tinn replied dutifully. With both his medical and magical studies nearly complete, he’d mostly been focused on policy, diplomacy, and trade as of late, attempting to memorize the intricacies of Ayutthaya’s taxes and tariffs. Admittedly, he also kept Little Mouse’s letters tucked between the pages of his books as an incentive to keep turning them.

“Not too busy for social engagements, I hope,” she said, her face softening somewhat, though her true intentions were becoming more obvious with each passing second. “I feel I’ve hardly seen you as of late.”

“Did you have someone in mind, Mother?” Tinn said lightly, frustration seeping into the edges of his voice.

“Am I that obvious?” She clicked her tongue, the corners of her eyes crinkling with faint amusement. “Chaophraya Pipitdaecha’s daughter, Lady Nippitcha. She’s lovely, isn’t she? Such a beautiful smile, good with animals…and a talented painter, too.”

“Her artwork is beautiful,” Tinn agreed. When he said nothing else, she frowned very slightly.

“What about Chaophraya Tangkabodee’s daughter, Lady Chanikarn?” she tried. “Charismatic, well-educated, and that striking face of hers? She’s sure to capture the heart of anyone she meets.”

“She has good taste in Western literature,” Tinn recalled, his placid smile tightening. He hated conversations like this, conversations that left him feeling resentful toward his mother when he loved and respected her more than anyone else. It wasn’t her fault that his fate had been decided for him, and he knew it, but he always left these conversations feeling more bitter than he had any right to be.

“You’re running out of time, Tinn,” she said plainly. Her expression shifted, making her appear less like his mother and more like Ayutthaya’s queen. “The sooner you make your decision, the more time you’ll have to get acquainted with your future wife before your official engagement.” She paused in consideration, steepling her hands. “What if…we were to hold a lakhon nai performance of the Ramakian, and invite all of the Munnai to attend? We could have dinner and dancing as well. Perhaps you’ll feel less…cornered if you were to meet with prospective matches in a more social setting. And Heart would be expected to do the same, of course.”

“That would be much more agreeable, yes,” Tinn replied, letting out a soft breath. It was better than private dinners and afternoon walks around the gardens, at least.

The queen exhaled too, relieved. “I’ll arrange for a conversation with your father and the bureau, then,” she said. “And…would you please tell Heart on my behalf? I fear if I were the one to tell him, he’d only become angrier with me.”

Tinn softened. “His frustrations are misplaced, and he knows it,” he reassured her. “Working with the servants will be good for him. And, if I may…avoiding him as you have will not.”

She smiled ruefully. “I believe you’re right. Thank you, Tinn. I won’t keep you any longer.”

After they shared a brief hug, Tinn left her study and met with Tiwson outside. “Everything alright?” Tiwson asked, getting to his feet.

“Mother’s arranging for another social engagement for us to meet prospective matches,” Tinn replied. “I’m not exactly fond of the idea, but…better than private meetings or forced arrangements, I suppose.”

“True,” Tiwson agreed. “But what about Little Mouse?”

Tinn’s expression faltered so briefly that Tiwson didn’t notice it. “…what about him?”

Hours later, Tinn found himself yawning and rubbing his eyes, having spent most of the day studying in his family’s private library. He didn’t want to spend another minute poring over medical diagrams, but he still had an hour left before he was to meet with Heart for dinner. Eventually, he decided to pack his belongings and leave for a short walk in the Siwalai Garden, taking advantage of the light breeze that made the customary Ayutthayan heat a little more bearable.

He began his leisurely stroll along the pathway that meandered around the garden, admiring the neatly kept greenery and the beautiful architecture nearby. It was quiet, serene, with no one but Chompoo and the guard accompanying him in sight. He stopped for a moment, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, letting the sun’s last rays soak into his skin.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by the sound of whistling. He straightened up abruptly, looking around for its source. It hadn’t been the guard, of course, but he wasn’t sure who else it could be. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a boy his age near the entrance of one of the residential halls, whistling as he tapped his toes against the footpath in perfect rhythm. Tinn nearly turned to leave, not wanting to frighten him.

Then, he noticed the bandages wrapped around his hands.

“Hey!” Tinn called out before he could stop himself. The boy looked up, his face paling when he realized who it was. Tinn took quick inventory of the rest of him: his bright eyes, his sharp jaw, the two moles on his face — one on his nose and one on his cheek — and of course, the stout gray kitten at his heels. There was no mistaking it: this was the boy Heart had met in the kitchens.

The boy turned and started for the safety of the residential hall at a sprint. “Gun, wait! Please, can we talk?” He came to a halt, though he kept his back turned — unusual, considering all the expectations and decorum expected of the phrai when they were in the royal family’s presence, but not unexpected with what Heart had told Tinn about their first encounter.

Tinn quickly crossed the lawn, his heart aching with guilt when he saw how badly Gun was shaking, felt the panic and fear emanating from him in droves.“Please, you must know: I have no ill feelings toward you — you or your brother. My mother’s choice to punish him was the consequence of his own actions, not your encounter with him nor your brother’s account of it.”

Gun slowly turned back to look at him, wide-eyed. Tinn’s breath hitched; Heart hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d described Gun as handsome, though strangely enough, he’d yet to say the same about Li Ming. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “That’s very gracious of you.”

“I mean it, truly,” Tinn said softly, offering a gentle smile. “And…I’d like to see to your hands if you’d let me. I can fix them up in seconds.”

“There’s really no need for that,” Gun protested, his volume rising, but Tinn held out his hands regardless, hoping Gun would do the same. Gun eventually placed his hands in Tinn’s, palms facing up, fretting at his bottom lip all the while. “I mean it, they’re almost healed. I can hold things now without any pain.”

“In a sense, I wish I’d been the one you met,” Tinn said, unraveling Gun’s bandages and wincing at the sight of the thin, pale scars crisscrossing the span of his palms. “Not to belittle my brother’s healing abilities, but had it been me, I would’ve been able to help right away. You’re very lucky they didn’t get infected.”

“My brother never would’ve let it happen. He wouldn’t stop bothering me about cleaning my wounds.” Gun shook his head, a small smile spreading across his face. Any feelings of panic and fear had been replaced with affection. It felt right to Tinn somehow, like Gun’s natural state was to radiate warmth, kindness, ease. Or, Tinn thought, perhaps it was just the disarming nature of his smile. “Oh, um. I suppose you might’ve heard about my brother from yours? Not just what he said when they met with Her Majesty, that is, but, er…everything else since then.”

“If you want to know how my brother feels about yours, I’m afraid I can’t betray him like that. Not unless you agree to return the favor,” Tinn added wryly, smiling as well. Gun relaxed further, his hands going slack in Tinn’s gentle hold. “Just to warn you, this may feel funny.”

“Enough to make me laugh?” Gun quipped. Tinn had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing instead. His eyebrows knitted together in concentration as he began tracing his index finger along the length of Gun’s scars, a gentle tingling sensation passing between them while he did. Gun visibly shivered. Every time Tinn lifted his finger to move on to the next, the last scar he’d touched would suddenly disappear, like it never existed. When he finished, Gun’s skin was perfectly unmarred, free of discoloration.

Tinn lifted his gaze to meet Gun’s, who was now staring at him in wonderment. “How does it feel now?” he asked.

“As if nothing ever happened,” Gun said, amazed. “Thank you so much, Your Royal Highness, really, I — I’m not really sure what to say, or — or how to repay you.”

“Luckily, you don’t have to,” Tinn replied, his smile broadening. “I’m just glad we met. You’ve been on my mind ever since my brother told me about you.”

Gun’s eyes widened even further. “Really? Why?”

“Your injuries, of course.” It was only then that Tinn noticed he was still holding Gun’s hands; he immediately let go with an apologetic bow. “I know there aren’t many healers among the Royal Household, so I was worried you didn’t have anyone to properly treat you.”

“Well…a few cuts and scrapes are hardly the worst thing that could happen to us,” Gun offered, realizing moments later what he’d implied. “Er — that’s not to say that we’re ever in harm’s way, some of us are just a little — ”

“I’m not offended, Gun,” Tinn said, exhaling a soft laugh. Gun seemed to go back and forth between being overly formal and overly familiar with him in a way that Tinn found endearing. “I’m…aware of some of the shortcomings in how the Royal Household is governed, including the lack of healers. It’s something I’d like to see rectified as a healer myself.”

“That’s very noble of you, Your Royal Highness,” Gun said. His smile from earlier had returned, only it was brighter now. Tinn thought it was so beautiful that he briefly worried he’d betrayed Little Mouse just for considering it so. “I’d like to see that, too.”

Clearing his throat, Tinn deliberately averted his gaze so he could rifle through his bag’s contents. “Actually, there is one thing you could do to repay me, if you don’t mind me going back on my word so soon,” he said, pulling out an envelope, freshly sealed. “Would you be able to give this to Madam Pao for me?”

Gun suddenly took a step back, staring at the envelope as if it were possessed. “Is that…?”

Tinn paused. “Do you…do you know what this is?”

“No, I — ” But Gun couldn’t seem to find the words he was looking for, seized with fear. “I’m sorry, I…I have to go.” He turned and ran off before Tinn could stop him, his feet thudding against the pavement, taking the stairs leading up to the residential hall doors two at a time.

“Wait!” Tinn called out, hastening after him, though not too quickly; he didn’t want to be the cause of another incident. “Gun, wait!” But he’d completely disappeared from sight, leaving Tinn standing there at the bottom of the stairs, wondering if he and his brother were destined to have terrible first encounters with Gun and his brother. Tinn looked down at the envelope in his hands with a quiet sigh. There was now only one person left, short of Madam Pao herself, to whom he could deliver it to.

Chapter Text

Gun was breathless by the time he returned to his family’s apartment, a stitch beginning to form in his side as he hastened to slam the door shut and lock it behind him. It was only when Munmuang nipped at his ankle that he remembered to stop and catch his breath. He half-stumbled into the bedroom and collapsed onto his and Li Ming’s shared mattress, then dropped his head into his hands, carding his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“What have I done?” he muttered to himself while Munmuang crawled into his lap, nestling her head against his chest so she could observe his heartbeat. “I — I should’ve masked my face, my voice — something, anything — I…I should’ve kept running, I...” Munmuang began to purr. Gun inhaled, his head still spinning, then exhaled, gradually slowing his breath to match her pace. “I’m so stupid.”

It was still impossible for Gun to fully comprehend his circumstances, even with three years’ worth of letters to prove them. To think that the crown prince of Ayutthaya was in love with him, a mere kitchen boy, was laughable. Gun had served many of the crown prince’s prospective spouses over the last few years, and while some were ill-mannered and self-important, there were many more who were just as kind and clever and beautiful as the prince himself. Gun couldn’t fathom why Prince Tinn was so fond of him when he already had a wealth of perfect prospects vying for his affections.

Another minute passed before Gun no longer felt quite as faint. He got to his feet so he could move his mattress and lift one of the loose floorboards underneath, where he’d hidden Prince Tinn’s letters from prying eyes. As he rifled through them, he thought of the one Prince Tinn had almost given him just now, the only one he’d ever attempted to deliver personally — not that he’d known, of course. Gun was curious if it held any special importance, though he certainly wasn’t about to go back and ask for it.

He settled back onto the mattress with one letter in particular, one of his very favorites: the first one he’d ever received. Gun hadn’t believed it at first when one of the cooks approached him, telling him that the crown prince desperately wanted to meet him after hearing his voice on the night of his fifteenth birthday. This was the sort of thing that only happened in stories, Gun had protested, surely the crown prince wasn’t really looking for him. It wasn't until he read Prince Tinn’s letter that he understood how sincere he truly was.

To start, I’d like to apologize if my request for us to be introduced felt more like an order. I imagine that when you heard I was interested in meeting you, you felt how I do when my mother calls me by my full name — like I must be in trouble somehow. But I promise, I only wish to express my admiration for your wonderful voice.

As you may know, my parents were away and my brother was very ill on the night of our birthday, leaving me to celebrate on my own. When I passed by the servants’ quarters that night, I heard you singing, and it felt comforting in ways that I never thought possible. It wasn’t the song itself, but rather, how you sang it. There was so much warmth and sincerity in your voice. You didn’t know I was there, yet it felt as if you were singing just for me. It helped me feel a little less lonely on a night in which I felt very alone.

Thank you for sharing your talents with the world. I know spellsinging is often thought of as a lesser discipline compared to more practical fields of study, and perhaps I’m biased because my brother is a spellsinger, too. But trite as it sounds, I think music is just as magical as magic itself, and voices like yours were meant to be heard.

Yours,
Prince Tinnaphob

Gun clutched the letter to his chest with a deep sigh. His brother often said that while he’d inherited their parents’ idealism, he didn’t share their notions of romance. Or at least, he didn’t until he began writing to the crown prince. Prince Tinn would often give him platitudes and prose in excess — and in ways that left Gun rolling his eyes — but he was unfailingly sweet and earnest and, as it turned out, impossible not to fall in love with. And Gun knew he never should’ve written him back, should’ve simply just appreciated the letter for what it was and let it be. But it was far too late now, and he had no one to blame for his predicament but himself.

I’d like to apologize as well, for I’m not nearly as good with words as you, nor is my penmanship very legible. This may surprise you, but I’ve never exchanged letters with a prince before.

Thank you for your very kind words. I’m sorry you felt lonely on your birthday, and I’m glad to have played a small part in helping you feel better. I also think music is magical, and that’s why it felt as though it were only meant for you. However, the next time I sing for an audience, I promise to truly devote my song to you, even if you aren’t actually there to hear it.

P.S. — I heard your brother is feeling better now, and I hope he continues to be in good health. The next time either of you feels unwell, ask for Madam Pao’s nam sup. She makes it with duck instead of pork, which is more flavorful because of the duck fat. Ask for a bowl of rice to be added right into the soup, and you’re sure to be satisfied.

Hours later, Gun heard the groaning creak of the front door opening, followed by his brother’s footsteps. After shuffling about for a few minutes, undressing and washing up, Li Ming collapsed into bed beside him. He smelled of soap and rice water and utter exhaustion.

“The princes can’t stay away from the kitchens, it seems,” he said, yawning, as he reached around to press an envelope into Gun’s unwilling hands, the very envelope he’d run away from. “Prince Tinn came by to deliver the letter to Mae Pao himself. He never actually set foot inside, before you ask,” Li Ming added at Gun’s alarmed expression. “He sent his aide to ask her to meet him outside. He’s a man of his word…unlike his brother.”

“Must’ve been right after I refused it earlier,” Gun mumbled under his breath, remembering too late that Li Ming could undoubtedly hear him.

“What?” Li Ming hissed, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him over so they were face-to-face. Their mother stirred in her bed on the opposite side of the room; they both held their breaths until they were certain she was still asleep.

“Oh, er…nothing! I didn’t say anything.” Gun crumpled seconds later under Li Ming’s hardened glare. “…alright, alright. I was passing through Siwalai on my way to meet with Por, but Prince Tinn was there, too. He recognized me by my hands and wanted to help. I…I tried to escape at first, but he seemed very determined and I didn’t want to cause any more trouble. We spoke, he healed my wounds, and…he asked if I would deliver a letter to Mae Pao for him. This letter, of course.”

“Of course,” Li Ming muttered, groaning. “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing, I swear!” Gun insisted. “I believe I said something about you telling me to keep my wounds clean, but…nothing that would give me away.”

“Other than refusing to take the letter without good reason,” Li Ming pointed out. “If you’d just agreed and accepted it, he wouldn’t think anything of it. But now…” He trailed off, though Gun knew exactly what he was going to say: that Gun had gotten himself in trouble yet again, like he always did. Li Ming almost seemed to enjoy reveling in Gun’s mistakes in ways that unsettled him, and he never quite knew what to make of it.

Gun fell quiet, carefully prying open the envelope’s lion-etched seal with his fingernail. The letter inside was short and dated for that day.

Dear Little Mouse,

Since I haven’t heard from you since you told me of your wrist injury, I presume you might still be in pain. I hope you feel better soon, and if you’ll allow me to send one of the Munnai’s healers, please let me know so I can do so right away. If you’d rather I didn’t, at least promise me you’ll get some rest, okay?

I met with my mother earlier today, and she plans to hold a lakhon nai shortly, where Heart and I are to meet with prospective consorts. There will be dinner and dancing, and while it may be less daunting than a private dinner, I’m not fond of the idea for obvious reasons. Still, I’d like to formally extend an invitation and ask: would you do me the honor of joining me?

This is by no means a summons, and I’m quite sure I already know your answer. But I would love for us to finally meet, if only for a few minutes. If you need specific attire or other means to protect your identity, I can find someone to help. And of course, if you’d rather not, I completely understand. Regardless, I thought I’d ask and see what you think. I would love to see you.

Always yours,
Prince Lion

“What is it?” Li Ming asked at the sight of Gun’s wide eyes. Gun held out the letter, too lost for words to speak. “‘Haven’t heard from you since…met with my mother…would you do me the honor of joining me?’” Li Ming looked up at Gun in disbelief, gripping Gun’s shoulder so tightly that he could feel a bruise already beginning to form. “Gun, don’t be ridiculous. You’re not seriously considering it, are you?”

Gun fidgeted, fussing at a loose thread unraveling from the seam of his pillow. “No, of course not, but…” He found his thoughts drifting back to earlier, to the warmth of Tinn’s smile and the way he held Gun’s hands, how he was every bit as kind and thoughtful as he was in his letters. Gun wanted to experience it again, to know what it was like to hear Tinn’s soft voice for more than a few minutes, to hold his gentle gaze and be close to him and pretend as if they would never know anything else.

“You want to see him again.” It wasn’t a question. “Gun — ”

“I know I shouldn’t, okay?” Gun swallowed thickly. “But this is different, this is…it wouldn’t just be us meeting for the sake of it. He’s about to choose his future consort. This may be our only chance to be together before his engagement.”

“But won’t spending time with him only make matters worse?” Li Ming asked.

To Gun’s surprise, he sounded more curious than disapproving. From what he knew, Li Ming had never formed any sort of romantic attachment, though he had lost touch with his two closest companions: Saleng, their uncle’s former apprentice, and the boy from childhood he’d forbidden them both from talking about. Then again, he never seemed inclined to share his personal feelings unless it was to lament over someone — Uncle Jim’s burdensome expectations, Prince Heart’s selfish behavior — so for all Gun knew, Li Ming had been in love before and never told him.

“I only want to see him again, I don’t actually intend to,” Gun protested, unable to convince even himself. Eventually, he sighed. “I know, I know. You don’t believe me.”

“Not for a second,” Li Ming said wryly. “So…what now?”

With Gun’s hands now fully healed, Li Ming expected to be relieved of his kitchen duties so he could return to the stables. He never imagined he would miss the scalding mid-afternoon heat or the persistent stench of manure — or if he were particularly unlucky, both at once — but Prince Heart’s presence had gone from being an inconvenience at best to an outright hindrance.

Li Ming hated being unable to go anywhere without him and one of Major Supoch’s soldiers following close behind, hated that Prince Heart was kept from washing dishes or lifting anything heavier than a half-empty sack of rice, hated that he had no say in even the simplest of matters. If the prince was hungry, they would stop to eat. If he found it too hot, they would have to go back inside. And of course, if one of the other servants wanted to speak with him, Li Ming was obliged to help them communicate, even if the conversation was nothing but inordinate praise for the prince that made Li Ming’s skin crawl.

“I’m afraid you’re to remain here until His Royal Highness fulfills his conditions — Her Majesty’s orders,” Madam Chidchanok said apologetically. “But won’t this be wonderful? You’ll get to work alongside your brother!”

“…wonderful,” Li Ming echoed, sighing.

A little less than an hour later, after Li Ming and Gun had begun washing dishes together, hushed whispers began to ripple through the kitchens, signifying the prince’s impending arrival. Gun tensed in anticipation; he’d been nervous ever since Li Ming told him Prince Heart would still be coming. They hadn’t met since that fateful night, and he was certain Prince Tinn had told him of their encounter in Siwalai Garden.

“What if Prince Heart asks why I ran off?” Gun had fretted. “I can’t say I know anything about the letter. I’d only be giving myself away.”

“I doubt he’d ask,” Li Ming had replied. “He barely cares to acknowledge me unless he wants something. I doubt he’ll have anything to say to you.”

Now, once Prince Heart approached and the twins responded in customary fashion, he eyed them both inquisitively, a warm smile stretching across his face. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Gun — and in far better circumstances, too,” he added playfully. “I’m glad my brother was able to help you yesterday, though we were both curious about your…sudden departure.”

“I told you,” Gun muttered out of the side of his mouth. Li Ming elbowed him in the ribs.

“Is my brother not allowed to leave when he feels uneasy?” Li Ming countered, stepping in front of Gun with his chin lifted.

Prince Heart’s face fell somewhat. “Did my brother make you uneasy?” he asked. “He was under the impression you had a very pleasant exchange, though if you felt uncomfortable in any way, I apologize on his behalf. I can tell him not to bother you again if you’d like.”

Li Ming’s eye twitched. Prince Heart had never extended such courtesies in his direction, had never been so quick to offer a resolution. As far as Li Ming knew, Prince Heart was only capable of causing problems, not correcting them. “It’s alright,” Gun said, clumsily signing for himself. “I was more…nervous than uncomfortable. Prince Tinn was very kind.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” Prince Heart replied, his smile returning. “He had nothing but good things to say about you.”

Gun’s expression brightened. “Really?”

“He said you were quite charming, in fact.” Prince Heart tilted his head to one side, curious. “Would you say the same of him, I wonder?”

Irritation burned in Li Ming’s chest. “We don’t have time for this,” he said before Gun could respond. “We have work to do, all of us.” Gun reluctantly returned to his station by the dry sinks, while Li Ming and Prince Heart began polishing the silver in preparation for the khunnang, who were coming to stay in the Grand Palace in advance of the lakhon nai. Not even ten minutes passed before Li Ming felt the overwhelming urge to say something.“I honestly don’t understand why you’re still here.”

“On my mother’s orders, of course,” Prince Heart said, confused.

“Yes, but — ” Li Ming gestured at the seemingly endless piles of plates and bowls and silver surrounding them “ — this, all of these preparations, are for you and your brother to find someone to marry. Do you not find it strange that you’re still working in the kitchens instead of…whatever it is you princes do, other than stealing alcohol, neglecting your studies, and causing trouble for my brother?”

Prince Heart’s jaw visibly tensed. “If you mean to say that I should be elsewhere, preparing for the lakhon nai, I have already been doing so my whole life.”

Now it was Li Ming’s turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

“My brother and I are not only well-versed in diplomacy, etiquette, and conversation, but the ways of the favored khunnang’s children,” Prince Heart replied. “There’s no need for me to prepare for their arrival when we grew up in their company. I could tell you their familiars’ names, their best subjects, their true feelings toward us and each other…far more than we would ever care to know.” He seemed frustrated, though not with Li Ming.

“You must have a very good memory, then,” Li Ming said, surprising himself; it was the closest he’d ever come to complimenting the prince. “Do you remember everything about everyone you meet?”

“That would be unnecessary,” Prince Heart replied, his expression softening somewhat. “But I do my best to commit names and faces to memory. And…” He hesitated.

“And?” Li Ming prompted, curious now.

“Voices, too. Before…” Prince Heart averted his gaze, allowing the obvious to remain unspoken. Li Ming’s stomach twisted with — not pity, exactly, but rather, a more intimate knowledge of what he’d meant than most. Though spellsingers were quite rare, Li Ming had spent his entire life listening to Gun describing music, voices, and sounds in ways he could never comprehend. For a moment, he wondered if Prince Heart wished that his temporary companion were Gun instead so they would both be heard by someone who truly understood. All he and Prince Heart had in common was their mutual dislike of one another and their standing as the younger twin.

“I wasn’t accusing you of abandoning your duties,” Li Ming said, clearing his throat. “It’s just…as I said, strange for you to be here when you have far more important obligations to concern yourself with.”

“You weren’t accusing me?” Displeasure flashed in Prince Heart’s eyes. “How could you possibly say that after saying I’ve been neglecting my studies?”

“Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it?” Li Ming countered, resentment stirring once more. “Unless you mean to say Her Majesty was lying.”

Prince Heart glowered. “I mean to say that you speak too freely, as if we’re familiar with each other. As if we’re friends.” Li Ming exhaled noisily, turning away to search for another tin of polish to replace the one he’d just finished. Prince Heart seized him by the arm before he could. “Why do you despise me so much? Is it truly only because of what I did when your brother and I first met, or is there something more?”

Li Ming narrowed his eyes. “Let go of me,” he said out loud, but Prince Heart held on tight, his fingers digging into Li Ming’s skin. Li Ming groaned in exasperation, attempting to wrench his arm free of the prince’s grip, but to no avail. “I said, let go of me. I can’t sign like this.”

But it seemed there was something else he and Prince Heart shared in common: their stubbornness. And so, the prince only returned Li Ming’s glare with one of his own, still expecting him to answer. Even Chaipo and Taengmo, who’d been wandering about the kitchens until now, were lingering nearby, ready to jump to their respective masters’ defense. Li Ming was left with no choice but to cast one of the few defensive spells he knew.

It was only meant to be a protective barrier — a gauntlet made of pure energy, really — that repelled anything within a breath’s distance of his skin. But when the spell surged from the middle of his palm and spread down the length of his arm, it knocked the tin of polish out of his grasp and sent it soaring through the air. Li Ming grappled for it but missed as it flew out of reach.

And, of course, he should’ve known better than to use a rudimentary defensive spell against one of the most powerful abjurers in Ayutthaya. He could do nothing but watch as the prince instinctively cast a formidable shield of his own, energy rippling through the air — and colliding with the precarious piles of plates, bowls, and silver surrounding them.

Dozens of the kingdom’s finest ceramicware went flying, shattering against the floor on impact. Taengmo’s instinct to cast an auxiliary shield, this time encircling Li Ming and Chaipo, was just enough to safeguard them from harm. For a moment, Li Ming thought as he held his breath, it sounded like the pitter-patter of heavy rain, tiny little shards crumbling to dust and spilling across the ground at their feet.

Before either could react, they were surrounded by Madam Chidchanok and a few of Major Supoch’s soldiers in mere seconds. One soldier snatched Li Ming by the elbow and roughly yanked him aside. He grunted in protest, but didn’t struggle otherwise; he knew better by now. Gun came running soon after, his eyes wide with fear, but Li Ming shook his head before he could interfere. Don’t, Li Ming mouthed, desperately wishing he was the wordsmith he was supposed to be. Then, at least, he’d be able to warn Gun more thoroughly without apprising anyone else. Mercifully, his brother withdrew at the very last moment, though Li Ming suspected he knew exactly where — or perhaps more accurately, who — Gun had disappeared to.

“Your Royal Highness? Are you alright?” But Prince Heart wasn’t looking at Madam Chidchanok, too preoccupied with staring at the damage he’d done in abject horror. Taengmo was at his side, pawing at his shoulder and whining pitifully. “Li Ming, what happened?”

“It was an accident,” Li Ming protested, his tone far more defensive than intended. “He took hold of my arm and wouldn’t let go, so I used a spell to — ”

“You used magic against the prince?!” Madam Chidchanok exclaimed, her eyes wide in disbelief.

“It was a defensive spell — I’ll show you, look — ” But the soldier who’d detained him seized his wrists and pinned both arms behind his back before he could demonstrate. “Ow — hey!”

“What’s going on?” Li Ming groaned in exasperation at the sound of a new voice approaching them, one that he immediately recognized. His suspicions, unfortunately, had been correct. “Madam Chidchanok, what happened?”

“What’s happened is that your nephew has demonstrated quite plainly that he’s not fit to be anyone’s aide, and certainly not the prince’s.” Madam Chidchanok’s accusatory tone had shifted into something more authoritative, as if she were the final say in the matter. “I see now why he was assigned to work in the stables instead of somewhere more…sociable.” Li Ming clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth.

“My sincerest apologies for my nephew’s behavior, Madam,” Uncle Jim said, lowering his head. “Please, if there’s anything I can do to help…”

“Yes, if you could — ”

“ — start with seeing to the prince, perhaps?” Li Ming interrupted bitingly. “He’s clearly in shock.”

“Li Ming!” Uncle Jim hissed, though Madam Chidchanok wasn’t listening, rounding on Prince Heart with a startled cry.

“Your Royal Highness, my deepest apologies — are you hurt, are you bleeding? — ” Suddenly, everyone’s attention was on the prince, short of Uncle Jim and the soldier restraining Li Ming. One of the other soldiers aided Madam Chidchanok in helping Prince Heart to his feet. He seemed disoriented, still fixated on the hundreds of little shards scattered across the ground with a vacant, glassy-eyed stare. He made no attempt to speak — signed, spoken, or otherwise — and allowed the other two soldiers to lead him out of the kitchens with Madam Chidchanok at their heels. Something twisted inside Li Ming's chest at the sight of the prince's retreating figure that he couldn't quite place.

“I’m taking you to see Major Supoch,” the remaining soldier said gruffly. “Will you be accompanying us, sir?”

Uncle Jim’s gaze was still on Li Ming, hands resting on his hips. He’d never looked so disappointed before. “Certainly. Lead the way.”

“Gun? Is everything alright?”

He startled at the sound of his best friend’s voice, looking up from the letter he was reading before hastily stuffing it into his pocket and out of sight. Gun was often easily distracted, whether by another person, an unusual sound or a tempting smell, or even just his own thoughts, but something about Prince Tinn’s letters settled him in ways that little else could. He could sit and read the crown prince’s words for hours without having his mind wander. He’d been rereading Prince Tinn’s most recent letter to distract himself from his brother’s predicament when Por arrived.

“It’s Li Ming,” he admitted; if nothing else, it would divert Por’s attention from the letter he’d been holding just seconds ago. “There was another…incident between him and Prince Heart this morning. Luckily, Her Majesty interfered before he could be punished, but still.”

“That’s terrible,” Por said softly, joining him on the bench just outside the Phra Thinang Racharuedee pavilion. They didn’t meet as often as either of them would’ve liked; Gun was especially glad to see Por after everything that had happened as of late. “Is he alright? Where is he now?”

“Resting at home — or at least, he should be,” Gun added. “There’s a chance Uncle Jim may still be scolding him like he always does. And of course, he was dismissed from being the prince’s aide, so I’m not sure what’s going to happen now. He’ll return to the stables, I suppose.”

Por hummed in sympathy. The sound of his melodious hum comforted Gun — after all, Por was also a spellsinger, the only one Gun personally knew aside from his own parents. Unlike Gun, however, Por was the son of a lesser noble, meaning he held a far more prestigious position as a court performer and member of one of its many piphat ensembles. He’d invited Gun to meet with him and the rest of their friends as they prepared for the approaching lakhon nai.

“Perhaps this will make Li Ming happier, in a way,” Por offered. “It’s not like he enjoyed being Prince Heart’s aide, right?”

“He’ll be relieved to go back to working alone,” Gun agreed. Then, he shook his head. “To be honest…I’ve been wondering if he purposely caused trouble so they’d dismiss him. It seems like something he’d do.”

“But that would be dangerous, wouldn’t it?” Por pointed out. “If Her Majesty hadn’t intervened…”

Gun shrugged. “Maybe he thought it would be worth it.”

They sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the gentle breeze passing through, when they heard the sound of footsteps approaching. At first, they thought it was the rest of their friends, who were late more often than not. However, when they looked up, they were faced with a boy their age whom neither of them recognized, accompanied by what seemed to be a personal guard. He was well-kept and perfectly poised with an air of self-importance to him; Gun would have described him as handsome were it not for the contemptuous expression on his face.

“Which of you is the son of Khun Asawasuebsakul?” he asked in lieu of a proper greeting. Gun bristled at his rudeness, knowing if Li Ming were here, he would’ve told the boy exactly what he thought of him, no matter how important Gun suspected he was about to proclaim himself to be.

“I am,” Por said, getting to his feet and offering a cursory wai. “My name is Por, and this is my friend, Gun.” He paused. “Sorry, and you are…?”

“The son of Chaophraya Sereevichayasawat,” the boy replied, a lofty smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You may call me Sound.”

“You may?” Gun echoed before he could stop himself.

Sound looked at him as if he were a mere speck of dirt on the sole of his shoe. “And you’re the son of…”

But it was evident that Sound already knew Gun was no one of importance, that the names “Wongwitthaya” and “Nueangna-uam” would mean nothing to someone like him. Gun often ignored Li Ming’s diatribes against the khunnang — mostly because he didn’t understand them. But from what he could remember, children of the Chaophraya like Sound were raised in enormous family estates and surrounded by dozens of devoted servants, were afforded the best education and the most opportunities to consort with the royal family in the hopes of marrying one of them. Children of the Chaophraya are the worst of them all, Li Ming once told him, because they spend their whole lives believing they’re owed what they’ve already been given.

Gun cleared his throat. “You wanted to speak with Por?”

“Yes,” Sound replied, turning back to appraise Por, taking in the unusual cut of his chong kraben and the dried flowers he’d woven into the lacing of his shoes. Por returned Sound’s scrutinous gaze with a bland smile, though he appeared discomfited, too. “I heard you’re one of the few spellsingers among the court performers. I’m a spellsinger as well.”

“Oh!” Por’s face brightened a little. “Yes, I am one of the few. One of the few among the khunnang’s progeny, too.”

“As am I,” Sound said impatiently; he seemed to have little tolerance for small talk. “Since I’ll be staying in the palace with my father for the foreseeable future, I thought I’d introduce myself and get a sense of your talents as well.”

“Were you hoping to perform together?” Por asked, confused.

Sound’s eyes narrowed, his mouth pulled taut. “…no.”

Por blinked. “Oh, er…well, the rest of my piphat will be joining us soon, if you’d like to hear us play while I sing. You’re welcome to stay.”

“Then I will,” Sound replied, taking his place on the bench where Gun and Por had been just moments ago. The two shared a silent exchange; it was evident that neither of them was pleased with Sound’s presence, but they were hardly in a position to refuse the son of the king’s top chief minister.

Luckily, it wasn’t long before their friends arrived: Win, who played the pi nai, Pat, who played the khong wong yai, and Yo, who played the taphon, with Por on the ranat ek. Sound didn’t acknowledge any of them besides a fleeting glance, made no attempt to ask for their names nor impart his own. It was Por who introduced Sound to the others, all of whom responded with nervous smiles and obligatory wais — and a bit of a sneer from Win for good measure, who apparently recognized him beyond his father’s name — before taking their places by their respective instruments. Gun, meanwhile, settled at the very end of the bench, doing his best to keep his distance from Sound.

As his friends played, Gun found himself, not for the first time, watching them with insatiable longing. In another life, he supposed, he’d have been born into the khunnang like the rest of them, been allowed to pursue music with the rest of them. Or, he considered, perhaps there was another life in which his social standing would be of no consequence at all.

Shaking himself free of his thoughts, Gun took a glance at Sound, who appeared increasingly disinterested with every passing minute. If Gun were to guess, he suspected Sound didn’t think much of them, or perhaps Por in particular didn’t measure up to his expectations. Gun’s frown deepened; Sound was every bit as arrogant as Li Ming claimed all of the khunnang’s children to be.

A few songs later, Sound rose to his feet and left without so much as a wai. Por made as if to call after him, then changed his mind with a shrug. Everyone seemed to breathe a little easier after that. “Sound was…interesting, wasn’t he?” Por said delicately once the final song was over.

“He’s awful,” Pat said, shaking his head. “I’d sure like to hear him play, if he thinks he’s so good.”

“Well, at least it seems he won’t be coming back,” Gun said. “You can pretend he never existed.”

“Not exactly,” Win remarked. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s here to win the prince’s favor so he can find a wife of good standing.” Gun’s stomach lurched, only to settle seconds later. Prince Tinn would have to be under the world’s most powerful compulsion spell to be willing to help Sound. “But he’s a fool if he thinks he can find anyone with that horrible disposition of his. What a complete — ”

“Are any of you hungry?” Por said loudly. Like many children of the khunnang, Por refused to speak ill of those whose family ranked higher than his own for fear of retribution. Evidently, Win didn’t share the same fear. “I don’t know about you, but I’m famished.”

Soon enough, the five of them were seated in the Asawasuebsakul residence, where Por’s mother had prepared enough food to feed the entire Krom Asa. Though Por’s family — and the rest of their friends’ families, for that matter — were wealthy enough to own land and oversee its populace, they primarily resided in the palace and had no household servants of their own, as was the standard for the Khun. Instead, the Royal Household had appointed servants for maintaining Khun accommodations and delivering food, medicine, and other supplies.

Still, Gun observed, their residence was far more spacious and luxurious than his own, with polished floors, large windows, and even two glass paintings imported from Qing. He could only imagine how many paintings were in Prince Tinn’s personal study alone.

“Should we sneak Gun into the lakhon nai?” Pat suggested, apropos of nothing. Gun, still lost in thought, nearly choked on a mouthful of rice. “I’ve heard that the servers will be chosen by the queen herself, and there’s no chance she’ll choose Gun after what happened between Li Ming and Prince Heart.”

“That seems dangerous,” Yo said, shuddering. “What if we get caught? Father still hasn’t forgiven me for the time we nearly burned the Ho Sastrakhom down.”

“That was hardly our fault,” Win said dismissively. “The monks were the ones using too much incense.”

“What do you think, Gun?” Por asked as the others began to quarrel. “We could use a spare khon mask to hide your face and have you play the ching. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Gun’s expression brightened, only to fall mere seconds later. “Yes, but…I don’t want to cause any more trouble,” he said reluctantly. “Ma and Uncle Jim are already furious with Li Ming. I don’t want them to be mad at me, too.”

Por looked disappointed, though he nodded consolingly nevertheless. “Fair enough,” he said. “I’ll let you know if anything exciting happens, then. Perhaps one of the princes — or even both of them — will finally make their intentions known!”

Gun startled a little at that. “You think they’ve already chosen their consorts?”

Por shrugged, his eyes glimmering. “For all we know, they may even be deliberating about it now as we speak.”

“I haven’t heard from Little Mouse in days,” Tinn bemoaned, slouching helplessly against the foot of his bed. “What if his wrist has gotten worse? What if he has an infection? What if he’s lost his entire hand, and now he has to — ”

“Tinn,” Heart said exasperatedly, reaching across to grab his brother’s wrists and pin them to the floor. After he was seen by a healer, given a mild soporific, and dismissed for the rest of the day, he’d gone looking for his brother. When he couldn’t find Tinn in any of his usual places — the library, the temple, one of the many ceremonial halls — he finally left for Tinn’s personal residence, only to find him slumped on the floor like he was the one who’d mistakenly shattered dozens of valuables that would take Ayutthaya’s best artificers days to mend. Heart would’ve laughed at him were he not feeling despondent himself. “You only wrote to him yesterday.”

“Yes, but — ” Tinn wrested his hands out of Heart’s grasp “ — I still worry about him regardless. He’s not written to me himself since our birthday.” Heart settled down beside him with a sigh, knowing there was little he could do when Tinn was feeling especially troubled. While his brother was often praised for his composure, Heart had seen him agonize over simple matters often enough to know what he was really like. “When you were in the kitchens, had you ever seen or heard mention of a boy with a broken wrist?”

“If I had, would I not have told you?” Heart retorted. Tinn said nothing, waiting patiently for Heart to continue. Unlike Heart, he knew exactly what Heart needed from him — which was inevitable, of course, considering his empathic nature. A blessing and a curse, Tinn once told him, to know how people felt and how they wanted others to feel. Sometimes, he said, he felt he’d live a far more peaceful life not knowing a thing. “…I’m sorry. It’s just…I suppose no one’s told you what happened earlier?”

When Tinn shook his head, Heart described the morning’s events from beginning to end, his blood boiling as he recalled Li Ming’s words. He still couldn’t believe Li Ming had denied accusing him of anything when it couldn’t have been more apparent. It was clear from the beginning that Li Ming disliked him — hated him, even — but Heart couldn't comprehend why. Then again, Heart supposed it didn’t matter; it seemed more than likely he was never going to see him again, and he was far happier for it.

“I see,” Tinn said after a long, contemplative pause. “Though I’m curious…why didn’t you let go of Li Ming? All of this could’ve been avoided if you’d just done as he asked.”

Heart sank back onto his haunches, sullen. “I wanted him to answer me.”

“But he couldn’t answer you without the use of his hands,” Tinn said patiently. “Even if he’d spoken out loud, you might not have been able to read his lips in your…emotional state.”

Heart scowled. “I’m not a child or one of your patients, Tinn. Don't condescend to me.” Tinn fell quiet again, waiting. Eventually, Heart let out a resigned sigh, hugging his knees into his chest. “…I don’t exactly understand it myself. I suppose Li Ming just…angers me in ways that no one else ever has. It’s like he can’t help but provoke me every chance he gets, and…I can’t help but respond to it.”

“Do you think he’s trying to get a reaction out of you?” Tinn suggested.

Heart shook his head, doubtful. “I can’t imagine so. He may hate me, but even he knows the consequences of defying a prince.”

“Yet it seems he’s had no trouble defying you,” Tinn pointed out. “Perhaps he’s even more fearless than we first thought.”

“Fearless, or reckless?” Heart shook his head again, this time to dismiss the notion. “Anyway, I’d rather not talk about him anymore. I can’t tell you how happy I am to be rid of him.”

“It’ll be for the best — for both of you,” Tinn added, nodding in agreement. He seemed far more at ease now — another consequence of Tinn’s disposition; he seemed most at home when he was solving someone else’s troubles, be it a physical ailment or a personal difficulty. “But it’s strange, isn’t it? How different he and his brother seem to be.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Heart’s lips, grateful for the digression. “You seem very…intrigued by Gun. I’d even say you sound rather fond of him.”

Tinn’s eyes widened. “What are you trying to say?” he spluttered, alarmed. “I only meant Gun was quite amiable, the opposite of your description of Li Ming. I have no intentions towards him — ”

“You act as if Little Mouse will curse you on the spot for thinking of someone else,” Heart chuckled, amused. “I’m not questioning your devotion to Little Mouse. I just find it curious that you had so much to say about Gun. You’re hardly one to share your honest opinion of someone.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Tinn continued to protest. “I was worried about his injuries and was glad for the chance to help. And of course, I thought you’d want to know how he was doing. That’s all.”

Heart’s smile softened a little. At times, Tinn would come running to him, practically bursting with excitement, wanting to share his favorite passages from Little Mouse’s most recent letter. Other times, Little Mouse would share something intensely personal that Tinn swore he’d take to his grave. Passive as he often was, Tinn was also fiercely protective when he needed to be, and Heart loved his brother all the more for it. “I did. And I met him again earlier, in fact; I asked him why he ran off yesterday. Though he didn’t exactly give me an answer, he did say you made him nervous.”

Tinn sighed, his shoulders slouching once more. “That doesn’t surprise me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked him to deliver Little Mouse’s letter. It might’ve made him feel as if he owed me a debt.”

“Do you think Little Mouse will accept your invitation?” Heart asked curiously. “It’s been some time since you last asked to meet.”

But Tinn was only half-listening, sinking back down to the floor in a fit of despair. “What if I’ve scared him off for good?” His mouth twisted into a childlike pout. “Not just Little Mouse, but Gun, too.”

“Is it not a little sudden to put them on equal footing?” Heart teased. Tinn’s expression suggested he’d let out a pitiful whine, and for a moment, Heart almost wished he could hear it.

There were so many sounds he sorely missed — birdsong, music, laughter — but most of all, he missed the sound of his brother, mother, and father’s voices. Tinn’s voice was a touch higher, softer, and clearer than Heart’s, while Heart’s voice was deeper and a little more coarse. Tinn used to read to him when they were younger and sing with him while he practiced the ranat ek. He imagined Tinn would endeavor to do so with his own children someday.

Heart reached across to pat his brother’s hand comfortingly. “Don’t fret, Tinn. Little Mouse, Gun — I’m sure you’ll hear from at least one of them soon enough.”

Chapter Text

There was no doubt in Li Ming’s mind that someone was determined to make life difficult for him, whether it be the gods, the heavenly bodies, or the heir presumptive himself. After all, there could be no other explanation as to why he’d been made to return to the kitchens — and not to work as Prince Heart’s temporary aide, but rather, as his uncle’s new apprentice.

“It seems the prince isn’t the only one around here in need of discipline,” his mother had said after they’d departed from their audience with the queen. “If Madam Chidchanok will allow it, I’m sure Jim would be more than willing to keep a close eye on you.” She’d disregarded Li Ming’s objections, dismissing each one with a stern glare across the table while she heaped large spoonfuls of steaming jok into his bowl and fussed over how little he’d eaten all day. Li Ming walked into the kitchens the next morning feeling more aggrieved than ever.

Uncle Jim was often one of the first to arrive in the morning, earlier than Li Ming and sometimes even earlier than Madam Chidchanok. Li Ming could never understand why, seeing as his main duties were butchering and preparing meat; any meat to be preserved or soused was always prepared near the end of the day, not the beginning. Now, he supposed it was the need for solitude, one of the few things they had in common.

His uncle had very few close companions irrespective of his kind nature. After Saleng left to be with his wife and child, the only person Uncle Jim met with often was Gaipa, one of the Phraya’s sons, who often accompanied his mother during supply negotiations so he could spend even just a few minutes in Uncle Jim’s company. Li Ming often wondered if Uncle Jim was impervious to Gaipa’s affections for him or if he was simply ignoring them as a courtesy. Regardless, his uncle didn’t seem the type to seek out intimacy of any kind.

“So you’ll consider it?” Li Ming stopped dead at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. He didn’t think anyone else would be in the kitchens aside from Uncle Jim, Madam Chidchanok, and the pyromancers tending the fires.

“I said nothing of the sort,” Uncle Jim replied lightly. Li Ming peered around the corner to see his uncle at his usual station with a younger man by his side. He was handsome, well-kept, and seemed quite at ease with himself, his hip braced against the table while he regarded Uncle Jim with a dreamy, half-lidded gaze. “You should leave. My nephew will be here any minute.”

The man’s eyes brightened. “Can I meet him?”

“No,” Uncle Jim said, firmer this time. “Now go, I mean it. You shouldn’t have come here in the first place.”

“Why not? Perhaps I’m just here to see if there’s a need for new shelves or another cellar,” the man said innocently, though his intentions didn’t seem very noble. If Li Ming were to guess, either Uncle Jim owed him money or he was chasing after Uncle Jim’s affections — or both, if his uncle were so unfortunate. The man left without another word, though he did offer Uncle Jim one last lingering look that suggested Li Ming’s latter suspicion was the correct one.

“You can stop hiding now,” Uncle Jim said with his back still turned. Jimbo, meanwhile, was staring at the wall that Li Ming was skulking behind like he could see right through it. “Not a word, alright? And don’t go telling your mother, either.”

“You’re not in trouble, are you?” Li Ming asked, approaching his uncle with a guilty grimace.

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” Uncle Jim replied, sighing. Li Ming had never been romantically pursued before, much less by someone he didn’t care for; his uncle made it seem exhausting. He imagined it was like enduring someone as presumptuous as Prince Heart — tiresome and unwelcome. But then again, Li Ming supposed, he did feel guilty about how things had ended last time. The prince was spoiled and self-important, that much was true, but it didn’t mean he deserved any harm.

“Who is he?” Li Ming cast one last cursory glance over his shoulder to see if the man was still there. “I’ve never seen him before.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Uncle Jim’s frown deepened further. Li Ming couldn’t recall the last time his uncle smiled at something he’d said or done. “Follow me. We have work to do.”

Though Gun didn’t consider himself particularly intelligent, gifted, or observant, he wanted to believe he recompensed with kindness. In return, the cooks would slip him sweets while the younger ones would plead for him to sing or put on silly voices. Now they would look the other way when they saw him coming, and he was certain it was all because of Li Ming.

Their family name didn’t carry much weight outside of the Royal Household, but among their fellow servants, they were well-respected. Gim was known for her wit and warmth, Uncle Jim for his principles and benevolence, and Gun for his charm and cheerful temperament. But soon after Gun returned to the kitchens, whispers and stares seemed to follow him everywhere he went.

Is it true his brother tried to kill Prince Heart? someone would say.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he did, someone else would reply, he seemed hostile from the start.

Really? You’ve met him? the first person would ask.

I was there when he first arrived, and he’s nothing like Gun, the other would say derisively. I wonder why that is.

It was late afternoon, the day before the lakhon nai, when Gun found himself pacing back and forth in Siwalai, pondering whether this was just another one of his terrible ideas, the kind that Li Ming would scold him for. He’d been meandering near the jasmines for the better part of an hour, waiting for someone he shouldn’t have, someone he wasn’t even certain would come. After all, there had been no invitation nor indication that he frequented the gardens at all.

Gun was preparing to leave and pretend he’d never come when he heard familiar footsteps approaching from behind. “Gun?”

His breath hitched. He turned, his eyes landing on the crown prince’s handsome, if slightly bewildered face. Gun was momentarily struck by how beautiful he looked with the sun setting behind him, bathing him in its golden glow. Several seconds passed before Gun remembered to wai and bow. “Your Royal Highness,” he said, his voice wobbling. “It’s an honor to see you again.”

Prince Tinn’s expression softened, almost relieved. “There’s no need for that,” he insisted, waving a hand. “There’s no one here but us and my aide, Tiwson.” Gun’s gaze flickered to the young man lingering no more than ten paces behind. He knew Tiwson well from Prince Tinn’s letters; he hoped there was no mark of recognition in his eyes. “At the risk of repeating myself, I’m glad to have met you again. I wanted to apologize for last time. If I made you uncomfortable — ”

“No!” Gun spluttered, straightening up abruptly. “I — no, not at all, Your Royal Highness. I was just a little…overcome by your presence.”

“…oh.” There was something puppy-like about Prince Tinn’s expression, his eyes impossibly round and fervent. “I…suppose that’s to be expected. I was just — I was happy to see you, and you were so kind, and you seemed so at ease with me, so I felt as if we were…as if I wasn’t…” He paused then, composing himself. “I should’ve taken more care regardless. I didn’t mean to discomfit you, but I should’ve known that I would.”

Gun tried not to smile. Prince Tinn once told him that he wasn’t always as eloquent as he seemed — that sometimes, his mouth would move faster than his brain. Gun told him that he often did the same, like he had too many thoughts running through his mind but lacked the space to express them. “I appreciate your consideration,” he said, the words clumsy and unfamiliar on his tongue. “And, um…I apologize for leaving so suddenly. It was improper of me.”

“Not at all.” Prince Tinn made as if it to step closer, then seemed to think better of it. “I just hope I haven’t caused any undue distress.”

Gun opened his mouth to object, only to hesitate, knowing they would soon find themselves trapped in an endless circle of civilities if he didn’t put an end to them. “Your Royal Highness, I…” But he couldn’t bring himself to continue. Prince Tinn waited patiently as Gun curled his fingers into trembling fists. You can do this, he told himself, determined, you’re only addressing your beloved and Ayutthaya’s future king, after all. “I’m glad to have met you again as well. There was…something I was hoping to ask of you.”

Prince Tinn’s eyebrows furrowed. “Oh? What is it?”

“Not a favor, of course,” Gun said quickly. “More like…advice.” When Prince Tinn motioned for him to go on, he continued, “Everyone has been talking about Li Ming lately because of his repeated, er…disputes with Prince Heart. Some even believe he was trying to kill him!”

“Really?” Prince Tinn exclaimed, surprised. “Heart never once thought or said anything of the sort to me.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t stop others from thinking or saying it for him,” Gun pointed out, feeling braver now. “And I know my brother. While he may pretend not to care, I’m sure it’s troubling him. He’ll never be able to find good work outside of the kitchens or the stables if everyone thinks he’s a danger to the crown.”

Prince Tinn went quiet, absorbing every word, and for a moment, Gun worried he’d overstepped his bounds. What was he thinking, speaking so freely to the crown prince about his troubles? Perhaps he should’ve written to him as Little Mouse instead, Gun considered. Then at least he wouldn’t be a complete stranger.

After some time, Prince Tinn gestured for Gun to follow him. Is this it? Gun thought, his heart thundering against his ribcage, is he going to have me brought in front of the queen, too? But he only led him a short distance away, sitting on a nearby bench and motioning for Gun to do the same. Gun hesitated before following suit, his ears reddening when their knees brushed.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Prince Tinn said softly once they were settled. “It must be troubling you greatly. I’m afraid I don’t have any advice to offer, short of using suggestion or compulsion magic to change everyone’s minds — which, of course, would be immoral. But what if…”

When he fell silent once more, Gun leaned in closer, eager. “What if…what?”

“I don’t think either of our brothers would be very fond of the idea,” Prince Tinn admitted. “But I was thinking…what if Li Ming were to appear as Heart’s aide tomorrow at the lakhon nai? It would establish our trust in your family, that Li Ming must be especially diligent for Heart to keep him under his employ. He wouldn’t have to stay on for long, only long enough to convince everyone that he’s no threat.”

Gun snorted before he could stop himself.“You’re right.”

“About what?” Prince Tinn asked, confused.

“Li Ming would hate it,” Gun said, trying not to laugh as he imagined the look on his brother’s face were he here. “And now I can’t help but want to do it even more.”

Prince Tinn seemed to be holding back his own laughter, eyes brightening with mirth. “Is that how it is, then? You enjoy causing trouble for him?”

Gun’s face fell somewhat. He knew Prince Tinn meant nothing by it, yet the words still stung. “I don’t mean to, most of the time,” he half-mumbled, hands twisting in his lap. “He says I have a terrible habit of doing or saying things without thinking them through. And he often becomes a part of it whether he wants to or not. Like when I confronted Prince Heart, thinking he was a thief, and Li Ming later came to my defense.”

“If I might also come to your defense,” Prince Tinn offered with a gentle smile that made Gun’s heart sing, “my brother really was a thief. He only happens to be a prince, too. As for your inclination to not think things through...” He moved closer then, his gaze soft and imploring. “There’s no need to think so little of yourself, Gun. Please, don’t fret too much.” Gun briefly wondered if it was too late to cast a masking spell to hide the bright pink flush of his cheeks. “So, shall I ask Heart for his thoughts?”

Gun blinked, confused. “Thoughts on what?”

“On my idea,” Prince Tinn replied, faintly amused. “If he would be willing to pretend for a single evening.”

Gun chewed his bottom lip. “I’m sure he won’t be,” he admitted. “Your brother has no obligation to mine.”

“I’ll convince him, don’t you worry,” Prince Tinn promised. “He may not like it, but he’ll agree if I ask.”

Gun frowned. “But then…you have no obligation to me. What do you mean to accomplish by helping us?”

Prince Tinn’s smile didn’t falter for even a second. “Well, seeing as I didn’t have any advice, I thought I’d proffer a favor instead. It’s not what you asked for, so consider it my way of making amends.”

Gun didn’t think his face could become any warmer than it already was. “Fortunately for you, I’m very amenable,” he remarked, a smile spreading across his face as well. “Though there’s no telling if our brothers will be. Li Ming’s very stubborn.”

“As is Heart, though he’d deny it,” Prince Tinn said with a quiet laugh. “We’ll speak to them both tonight, then, and if Heart agrees, we’ll have word sent to Li Ming in the morning.”

“Thank you, Your Royal Highness.” Gun bent at the waist, bowing deeply. “I really, truly do appreciate your generosity. If there’s anything I can do for you in return…”

But Prince Tinn merely waved him off, still smiling. “Will you be at the lakhon nai?” he asked. “I’m sure the entire Royal Household will be quite busy, so I hope you’ll have time to enjoy yourself.”

“Oh, um…” Gun went quiet, uncertain of what to say. Was he hoping Gun would be there, or was he only making polite conversation? “I’ll be helping my mother all evening. She’s the one who oversees the preparation of khanom,” he added.

Prince Tinn’s eyes brightened. “Is that so? I’ve never had a single khanom she’s made that I’ve not enjoyed.” Then, he drew even closer, his leg pressing against Gun’s. Gun shivered pleasantly at his touch. “Does everyone in your family work in the kitchens?”

“Yes, at present,” Gun replied, nodding. Then, his eyes widened. “Oh, er — everyone in my family who lives at the palace, I mean. I have family that don’t. Cousins that work in a…in a paddy field.”

“I see,” Prince Tinn said, oblivious to Gun’s slip-up. “Do you see them often?”

“I-I hardly know them,” Gun stammered. Prince Tinn’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion; Gun reddened even further, mortified. “Um…let me not keep you longer than I already have. You must have lots to do.” He stood abruptly and bowed once more. “I wish you the best of luck tomorrow in finding your…” His voice cracked. “…your future consort.” While Gun didn’t intend to make a habit of it, he once again found himself running away from Prince Tinn, only this time, the crown prince made no effort to call after him.

“You’re the very worst sort of brother, you know.” Tinn glanced up, mildly surprised by the sound of his brother’s voice. Heart didn’t speak out loud very often — and seldom in the presence of others — but it was often the quickest way to get Tinn’s attention. It made Tinn long to hear his brother sing again; though Heart’s aptitude had always been for musical instruments, he would often sing while he played, too. “I told you how happy I was to be rid of him. Were Gun’s pleas really that compelling?”

“It was my idea, actually,” Tinn replied as he continued to fuss with the waistband of his pha nung. Though his page had helped him dress earlier, it still felt too restrictive. Tinn was far more comfortable in the loose, airy drape of his chong kraben. “Gun only wanted advice, and I thought a resolution would be more useful.”

“Useful for whom? Perhaps you should’ve stayed on with the advice,” Heart said bitterly, turning to appraise his reflection.

They were both dressed in the finest Ayutthayan silk — oxblood for Tinn, crimson for Heart — with their grandfather’s insignia affixed to their chests, bearing none of their own as they’d only been children during the war. It didn’t look right in Tinn’s eyes to not only wear something that boasted of merits he didn’t have, but to wear something that belonged to someone who’d thought very little of him. Their grandfather had disapproved of his son’s eccentricities and his grandsons’ abilities, had always made his grievances known. Though he’d died when they were young, the ever-present scowl on his face was still permanently etched in Tinn’s memory.

“Don’t worry,” Tinn said, clearing his throat. “As I said before, he’ll only be with you for tonight. Let him be seen with you, and all the talk should come to an end.”

Heart grumbled low in his throat but said nothing else, instead fixating on a tuft of hair that wasn’t sitting quite right. “Still no word from Little Mouse?”

“No.” Tinn swallowed, a pit beginning to form in his stomach. “When I happened across Gun yesterday, I almost asked if he knew of Little Mouse and how he was doing. I wasn’t sure whether to continue keeping my distance or make certain he was alright. I…I really am worried something’s happened to him. What if it’s not just a broken wrist and it’s actually something more serious?”

Heart’s expression softened. “Perhaps you could ask Madam Pao? She may know something.”

“Perhaps,” Tinn echoed, though he wasn’t convinced. Before he could ponder it further, there was a knock at the door — or rather, a distinctive pattern of knocks that promptly told him who it was. “Come in, Father.”

“Hello, hello,” he sing-songed, striding into the room with a bright smile unbefitting of the sedate uniform he wore. Were it not for the regalia on his chest and the royal slippers on his feet, one could have easily mistaken the king for a court performer instead, perhaps a nang yai player with his love for theatrical gesturing. Though he was beloved by their people for his compassion, a fair number of ministers and governors found him too effervescent to take him seriously. “Your hair’s looking rather like a bird’s nest there, Heart. May I help?”

“Father,” Heart groaned, the word stretching into five syllables instead of two, though he leaned into his familiar touch regardless.

“Is it alright for you to be here, Father?” Tinn asked. “Aren’t you meant to be preparing for your speech?”

“Of course, but it’s hardly anything to worry about,” he replied, shrugging. “Now imagine if we were holding a barge procession, too — you can thank me for persuading your mother otherwise or the rain for forcing her hand.” Heart laughed at that, eyes sparkling with amusement. “So, tell me: is there anyone either of you is hoping to see tonight?”

Only one name came to mind, though Tinn didn’t dare say it out loud. “A few old acquaintances we haven’t seen in some time,” he said. “The sons of Chaophraya Sukumpantanasan and Phraya Chittsawangdee, for example. And Lady Worranit — ” when his father leaned in close with apparent interest, Tinn added, “ — who is like an older sister to us both. Wouldn’t you agree, Heart?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Heart said, holding back another laugh. “And I heard Lord Phanuroj and Lady Bhasidi are to be engaged very soon.”

“Trying to distract me, are you?” Their father tugged playfully on Heart’s sleeve. Then, his expression grew solemn, unusually so. “You should know that if we weren’t…who we are, then who you choose to marry — or whether you choose to marry at all — would be of no consequence to me. But seeing as we can’t change who we are, my sole advice is that you both make a conscious decision, not a passive one. Choose someone who makes you happy and who you want to make happy in return.”

“And if that someone isn’t among the Chaophraya’s children?” Heart challenged. “What then?”

“…interesting.” Their father steepled his hands as he regarded Heart’s curiosity and Tinn’s complacency with a pensive gaze. “Your grandfather thought very little of your mother, you know. Though she was the daughter of a Chaophraya, her family’s influence had been dwindling for years by the time of our courtship. The quality of their work was no longer what it used to be; one of her uncles had been renounced for incurring heavy debts…her saving grace was her intelligence and strategic mind, but your grandfather was wary of her independence. He felt she would question or perhaps even hinder my every decision.”

“As she does,” Heart added.

“As she does,” their father agreed, “and as I do for her. Do you know why?” When they both shook their heads, he smiled. “Because we know our voices will be heard. We would never regard one another’s opinions nor impart our own if we did not think they mattered. I want that for both of you. And if anyone takes issue with your decision, know I will make my opinion known. Do you understand?”

Tinn and Heart exchanged hopeful smiles. “Yes, Father,” they chimed.

When they entered Phra Thinang Amarin Winitchai not even an hour later, Tinn surveyed the ceremonial hall, half-peering around his father’s shoulder. It wasn’t long before he spotted the one person he’d been admittedly impatient to meet.

Li Ming was markedly different from his brother, Tinn observed, just as Heart had described him: leaner in face and figure, sharper in gaze and posture. Even his familiar bore no resemblance to Gun’s. He looked uncomfortable in the formal attire he’d been given to complement Heart, tugging at the waist of his pha nung as Tinn had done earlier. Major Supoch kept glaring at him from across the room.

Tinn drew closer at a measured, careful pace. “Hello, Li Ming,” he said. “It’s good to meet you at last. Are you well?”

Li Ming returned his greeting with a deep wai and a modest, albeit disingenuous smile. “It’s an honor, Your Royal Highness,” he replied. He sounded terse, though nothing suggested he was angry or upset. “And…I’m not surprised. Your brother had much to say about me, I’m sure.” His gaze flickered over Tinn’s shoulder, where Heart was standing with their parents. Li Ming’s eyes narrowed. “And much to say about your idea, too.”

“I take it you don’t think much of it, either,” Tinn said carefully.

“I think my brother is exaggerating.” Li Ming’s gaze turned back to Tinn. “I doubt all that talk went any further than the kitchen servants. Even then, they’ll forget all about it the next time someone burns their sugar syrup and loses their eyebrows trying to make foi thong.”

His voice was so full of conviction that Tinn almost believed him. Still, it wasn’t Tinn’s place to pry, so he merely nodded and bowed, stepping aside so Heart could approach next. Heart looked apprehensive, too, uncertain of what to do or say. He settled for a brief wai and a strained grimace. Fortunately, Tiwson joined them before anyone could say anything else. “How are you feeling?” he asked, addressing the princes with a warm smile. “Nervous, perhaps?”

“Terrified, more like,” Heart replied. “Mother is very intent on Lady Chanikarn for Tinn and Lady Nippitcha for myself. They’re both lovely, but they’re…”

“Choices that were made for us,” Tinn supplied, thinking back on their father’s words. “They don’t seem very interested in becoming a prince’s consort, either. It’s not a role to be taken lightly, and they have ambitions of their own, ones they wouldn’t be able to pursue if they married either of us.” Li Ming almost looked as if he were about to say something, only to decide against it. Soon after, the king and queen called for their sons to take their places at the head of the ceremonial hall, in their respective thrones. They were to receive their guests shortly, all of whom had brought gifts.

Tinn had always been uncomfortable with the khunnang’s benefactions, especially when they were chosen for their worth and not their value. Barrels of lao khao and spices sent to the kitchens would be put to good use, but it was the elaborate artwork, the ornamented textiles, the exquisite furniture — while beautiful and well-crafted, they felt impersonal. Though he had no interest in marrying Lady Chanikarn, he appreciated her decision to gift him novels she knew he would enjoy, even when her father clearly disapproved of them.

“I know you love a good mystery,” she’d said with a twinkle in her eye. “Though it’s a shame you don’t enjoy horror like I do. There’s this Western novel — written by a woman, in fact! — about a creature — ”

“His Royal Highness most certainly doesn’t want to hear about that,” her father had interrupted, seemingly mortified.

“As a matter of fact, I would,” Tinn had said carefully, not wanting to offend Chaophraya Tangkabodee, though part of him wished he could. “Perhaps you could tell me more later?” Only then did Chaophraya Tangkabodee’s eyes light up, too.

The proceedings felt endless as they were presented with a myriad of blessings and gifts while the khunnang prostrated themselves at their feet. Tinn could sense his brother shuffling restlessly beside him, longing for it to end. Finally, after nearly three hours, the last of their guests took their leave, and the royal family was free to join them in Phra Thinang Phaisan Thaksin, where dinner would be served. Heart took a generous stretch, yawning widely as he did. The queen frowned at the sight, while Li Ming looked almost amused.

“It seems most of them never tried to learn sign language,” Li Ming observed. “I didn’t expect to interpret almost every conversation.”

The queen’s frown deepened. Heart’s expression, meanwhile, turned bitter. “It’s only been three years. You can hardly fault them.” Once again, Li Ming made as if to protest, only Heart turned his back to him before he could. The ensuing silence was stifling, eased by the king’s suggestion for them to leave for Phra Thinang Phaisan Thaksin.

Phra Thinang Phaisan Thaksin was especially awe-inspiring with the sun’s last rays glittering against its gold pediments and glass mosaics. Teakwood carvings and painted murals comprised the interior walls, depicting Ayutthaya’s storied history. The head table on the rostrum was for the royal family, while the table below was for their aides, advisors, and the head monks of Wat Phra Kaew. Longer tables for the khunnang stretched across the span of the ceremonial hall, adorned in the finest Ayutthayan silks and porcelain vases filled with jasmines and frangipani.

Dinner was preceded by sermons led by the monks and speeches from the king and queen that left even Tinn quite bored. Heart’s restlessness, meanwhile, seemed to reach its peak; he kept tapping his spoon against his plate until Tinn discreetly warned him to stop. After the king’s last peroration, servers began bringing out the food: fragrant bowls of soups and stews, various rice and noodle and curry dishes with pork, chicken, and vegetables, and some of the twins’ favorites, steamed fish, fatty brisket, and stewed eggs. Tinn had once seen Heart eat an entire bowl of khai phalo in one sitting.

For the first time in hours, Tinn began to enjoy himself, eating and talking and simply being with his family. Their mother recounted some of the stories the khunnang had shared with her — ceremonies, commemorations, births, deaths — while their father provided his own commentary, some of which made Heart laugh so hard that he nearly snorted tom yuea phai out of his nose. Tinn did his best to ignore the constant glances of the khunnang below who were eager to intrude on their private conversation.

Still, when dinner came to an end, he once again found himself thinking of Little Mouse. Was he here, Tinn wondered, or was he working in the kitchens tonight like Gun? He could only hope it was as simple as that. Tinn was about to call for Tiwson and ask if he could send a message to Madam Pao when the king rose to his feet. A hushed silence fell over the entire hall. With a single sweep of his outstretched arm, the doors swung open and dozens of performers surged in, filling the space with light and warmth and song.

Taphon drums and low, throaty voices made their plates rattle while khlui flutes and high, clear voices soared above their heads. Dancers swept by their table in clusters and, on occasion, completely surrounded them, their painted faces shining as brilliantly as their headdresses. One of the lead performers took the king by the hand, both of them laughing heartily as she spun him beneath her arm. Many of the khunnang rejoiced with wide, beaming grins. Others remained impassive, even impatient. Tinn frowned when he noted that the son of Chaophraya Sereevichayasawat was one of them.

Tinn turned to his brother, expecting him to look a little wistful, as he often did whenever he was in the presence of music. Instead, Heart appeared to be watching someone below, his eyes wide with astonishment. Tinn followed his gaze to find Li Ming standing there, his back to the rest of the ceremonial hall, signing every word being sung. His movements were quick, precise, though he seemed discontent. Tinn barely had time to consider why before the performers left quickly as they’d arrived, gesturing for everyone to follow them to the khon theater of the Outer Court.

Excited whispers rippled through the crowd. The royal family rose from their seats first, proceeding out of the ceremonial hall with their respective aides and advisors by their sides, while the khunnang were guided by Major Supoch’s soldiers. Some of them paused to admire the theater’s architecture: the Prang spire surmounting its roof, the gilt-stucco Thepanom deities forming the base of the glass mosaic pillars, the life-size bronze statues of the king’s predecessors; Tinn shuddered when he unintentionally made eye contact with his grandfather.

The lakhon nai opened with another speech from the king and queen, and then finally, it began. Tinn was, of course, very familiar with the Ramakien, one of the most famous epics in all of Ayutthaya. Still, he found himself fully absorbed in the story, gasping and sighing and relishing in each scene with everyone else. He wiped a stray tear or two as the performance came to a close.

All too soon, the moment he’d been dreading most had come. The performers departed and the court piphat took up on the rostrum. The khunnang rose to their feet and began taking their turn about the room, talking and laughing and dancing with one another. More than a few let their gazes linger on the princes, hopeful and hungry.

Fortunately, Lady Chanikarn was the first to approach Tinn, both of them comforted by the knowledge that all they cared to discuss was literature. Tinn soon lost sight of Heart after they crossed the floor. They spoke of books and poetry, ignoring her father’s expectant glances that suggested he wanted Tinn to commence the khan maak procession without delay.

When the first song came to an end, they bowed and moved on to find another dance partner. Tinn danced with Lady Nippitcha, then Lady Krongkwan, then conversed briefly with Lady Worranit before recommencing with Lady Pussarasorn. His brain felt as though it were moving as quickly as his feet while he struggled to recall everything he’d committed to memory about each of the Chaophraya’s daughters.

“My apologies,” Tinn said when Lady Nachcha approached next. “It’s quite warm in here, and I was hoping to get some fresh air.”

“Of course, Your Royal Highness,” Lady Nachcha replied, bowing. “Perhaps we’ll have our chance once you’ve returned.”

The sticky, humid Ayutthayan weather made being outside no more agreeable than being inside. Still, with the exception of Tiwson keeping watch nearby and the guards stationed by the theater doors, Tinn was grateful to finally be alone. He sat down on the dais with a generous exhale, chuckling softly when Chompoo nestled her head in his lap.

“And to think it’s only been an hour,” Tinn remarked, combing his fingers through Chompoo’s fur. “I hope Heart is alright. I haven’t seen him in a while.” The eyes of the gilt-stucco naga framing the balustrade across the way seemed to glint at him in response. He shuddered, turning away, only to find himself once again looking into his grandfather’s austere face.

Suddenly, there was a commotion nearby. One of the guards had moved from his post to apprehend someone hiding behind one of the theater’s pillars. He’d seized them by the elbow, causing them to cry out in protest, though they made no attempt to escape. Tinn didn’t pay them any mind at first, presuming it was one of the khunnang who’d become inebriated and lost their way.

Then, he caught a glimpse of the mouse familiar on their shoulder and their unfinished khon mask, which bore a perfect resemblance to a lion.

“Wait!” Tinn cried. He stumbled to his feet, heart thumping rapidly against his ribcage. “Please, let me speak to them.”

“But…Your Royal Highness — ”

“Please,” Tinn repeated, clasping his trembling hands at his chest. The guard reluctantly released them, allowing Tinn to draw closer. The mysterious figure instinctively lowered their head in deference. “…Little Mouse? Is that really you?”

Silence followed. They seemed hesitant, perhaps even afraid to speak. Then, a low, hoarse voice spoke. “I’m sorry for not writing back. I didn’t know whether to accept or reject your invitation. Even now, I…I’m not sure I should’ve come.”

“I can’t tell you how happy I am that you did,” Tinn breathed, the words hitching on his tongue. His mind had gone blank, his blood thrumming in his veins. He felt as if he were floating; he needed a moment to ground himself, to take it all in.

Little Mouse was shorter than he’d anticipated, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed as if he were trying to make his slight figure appear even smaller. His voice, too, wasn’t how Tinn remembered it, though he presumed Little Mouse was masking it with some sort of spell. Aside from his khon mask, he also wore a loose-fitting shirt, a pair of threadbare sado pants, and sandals, all of which could have belonged to anyone. Tinn knew not to observe too closely, though, and instead turned his attention to Little Mouse’s hands.

“Your wrist, is it alright? May I see?”

Little Mouse swiftly withdrew his left hand, grasping it with his right. “Not now,” he said. “It, um…it still hurts.”

“Perhaps I could help?” Tinn offered. When Little Mouse shook his head, he hesitated. “Are you sure? If it gets infected…”

“It won’t.” He sounded certain. “Are you well, Your Royal Highness? You look a bit…flushed.”

“I — yes, it was quite warm in there,” Tinn said, still stumbling over his words. He was uncertain what to do or say in Little Mouse’s presence when he knew they had precious little time. It wouldn’t be long before someone came looking for him, if Little Mouse didn’t choose to leave first. Should he press further about Little Mouse’s wrist injury, he wondered, or perhaps about the khon mask and whether it belonged to him. Tinn supposed he could also ask after Little Mouse’s friends or maybe his mother, whom he spoke more fondly of than anyone else. Or, Tinn thought, perhaps he could be direct and ask Little Mouse to dance, and then they would be able to —

“Your Royal Highness?” Little Mouse’s voice dissuaded him from his indecision. “Should we sit, maybe? You also look rather faint.”

“Ah,” Tinn breathed, embarrassed, “yes, of course.” They settled on a nearby bench while Tiwson and the guard remained within earshot. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble, coming here. Were you working tonight?”

“Yes, but I had permission to leave early because of my wrist,” Little Mouse replied. His tone suggested he was smiling beneath the confines of his khon mask. Tinn desperately longed to see it. “How have the festivities been? I wish I could’ve been there for the lakhon nai. All the music and dancing…it must have been remarkable.”

“We can still dance if you’d like,” Tinn suggested. “Though I wish you could’ve made it as well. I can’t pretend I haven’t been thinking of you all night.”

“Oh,” Little Mouse said, laughing, and it was instantly the most beautiful laugh Tinn had ever heard. “You’ve missed me that much, have you? I shouldn’t have gone so long without writing you back. In my absence, perhaps you’ve set your sights on someone else.”

“Never,” Tinn promised. “I have no desire to be with anyone else. You’re the only one I’m waiting for.”

“Aren’t you afraid that I’m wasting your time?” Little Mouse’s blithe tone was betrayed by the crack in his voice. “We both know how this is going to end.”

“I’ve been longing for us to meet since I first heard your voice three years ago, and now, I’m right by your side,” Tinn said softly. “This is all I could ever ask for.”

Little Mouse’s laugh turned bittersweet. Tinn did his best not to read his emotions, not only for Little Mouse’s sake, but for his own. Being in a room with hundreds of people carrying hundreds of emotions made him feel as if he were slowly drowning, the water crushing in from all sides, filling his head and his lungs and the spaces between his ribs until he could no longer breathe.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the faint sounds of music and laughter emanating from the theater speak for them. Little Mouse hummed under his breath, content to simply sit and enjoy Tinn’s company. Tinn gradually moved closer, his little finger brushing against Little Mouse’s. They both shivered. “Consorts,” Little Mouse said very suddenly, withdrawing his hand once more. Tinn blinked, bewildered. “Er — that is, you and Prince Heart were meant to meet with prospective consorts, right? Have you…has there been any…”

“It’s as I’ve said before: Lady Chanikarn is the obvious choice,” Tinn replied when Little Mouse trailed off apprehensively. “We know each other well, and of all the eligible ladies of the court, her family is the most powerful and reputable. My brother, meanwhile, still doesn’t have much of an opinion.”

“And your father?” Little Mouse asked. “Surely he must have an opinion by now.”

“The only opinion he’s made known is his wish for us to make a conscious choice.” Tinn’s wan expression softened. “And I think if he knew about you — ”

“You don’t plan to tell him, do you?” Little Mouse’s hands twisted nervously in his lap. “Even if he means well, he is still the king. He has no choice but to have you do what’s best for Ayutthaya.”

Tinn took in a sharp breath in lieu of answering. None of these considerations were new to them, nor did he want to dispute them now when their first meeting was meant to be a happy occasion. So, he instead got to his feet and extended a hand. Just then, a melodious voice rose above the others as the song shifted into another. Little Mouse brightened instantly, his head and shoulders lifting at the sound. “What is it?”

“That voice — ” Little Mouse stood, accepting Tinn’s proffered hand “ — is my friend’s. He’s spoken of nothing for days but preparing for his performance. I was hoping I’d get to hear it.”

“Perhaps we could do more than just hear it,” Tinn said, leading him a short distance away. “May I have this dance, Little Mouse?”

Little Mouse laughed again, louder and fuller this time. “You may, Prince Lion.”

They both moved at once, narrowly avoiding stepping on each other’s toes as they did. Their faces were only a breath away, though Tinn could see nothing but the vermilion paint and gold leaf comprising the khon mask. He wondered what Little Mouse saw when he looked at him. Tinn had always been told he was a good son, a good brother, and above all else, an exemplary prince — but whether he measured up to Little Mouse’s expectations of him as a person, he couldn't say. In a sense, they’d grown together over the past three years, shaping one another into who they were now. He hoped Little Mouse truly did love the person he’d become.

Their fingers now interlaced, Tinn placed one hand on the small of Little Mouse’s back while Little Mouse’s other hand came to rest on Tinn’s shoulder. Tinn assumed the lead, guiding them in slow circles across the flagstone. Little Mouse’s movements were stiff and unrehearsed, though he seemed at ease all the same, softly singing along.

When you’re by my side, when you look into my eyes…a little closer, please come a bit closer to hear my love…

For a brief moment, Tinn imagined they weren’t dancing under the starless night sky, but beneath the lacquered roof of Phra Thinang Phaisan Thaksin, sweeping past intricate tapestries illustrating Ayutthaya’s rich history in which their story, too, would one day be woven into. And, rather than being in the company of the khunnang, they were surrounded by their families and friends. They were both wearing their finest attire with intricately embroidered khrui to match. Music was playing, and Little Mouse was singing to him, his face fully visible, his gaze soft and affectionate and unwavering.

“…Your Royal Highness?” Little Mouse’s voice called him back once more. “You seem distracted. Is everything alright?”

“Oh — yes, my apologies,” Tinn said, briefly lowering his head. “I was just thinking about when we would get to see each other again.”

Little Mouse hesitated. “Would it even be possible?”

“The palace grounds have no shortage of secluded places for us to meet,” Tinn said. “If we were to disguise you as Tiwson to get you past the guards…”

“You overestimate my cloaking abilities,” Little Mouse said, shaking his head. “Honestly, I’ve impressed myself with how long I’ve been able to sustain this…form.” At Tinn’s perplexed expression, he added rather playfully, “I may be your Little Mouse, but I’m not this small. How else could I make certain you’ll never place me by my tall, handsome silhouette alone?”

“Little Mouse, I…” Tinn paused. “You’re sure we’ve never met before?”

Little Mouse came to a sudden halt. “No, I — no, of course not. Why do you ask?”

Now it was Tinn’s turn to shake his head. “Never mind. It was just a thought,” he said. Then, he smiled. “I’m certain if we had met before, I would recognize you anywhere, were it by voice, by smell, by touch — ”

“Are you an aspiring poet now, Your Royal Highness?” Little Mouse teased. “You’re always so verbose in your letters. Perhaps this is your true calling.”

“Verbose, am I? I was the one who taught you that word,” Tinn said, pleased. Little Mouse laughed, allowing Tinn to take the lead again as the song played on. This time, he tentatively lowered his head to rest on Tinn’s shoulder. It wasn’t perfect — the khon mask was large and cumbersome, with uneven ridges that pressed into Tinn’s chest — but it encouraged them both to move even closer, their arms loosely wrapped around each other’s waists. Tinn let his eyes drift shut. Little Mouse smelled of jasmine and coconut milk and black tea, and he wanted nothing more than to think of nothing else for the rest of the night.

In your heart, if there’s no one, can I be that person?…a little closer, please come a bit closer to hear my love…

Heart went still at the sight of Li Ming as he crossed the threshold of Phra Thinang Amarin Winitchai. He’d known Li Ming would be here, of course, but he didn't expect to see him dressed in fine Ayutthayan silk with his head held high. He seemed unaffected by the events of days past, though Heart supposed that was to be expected. Li Ming was likely just grateful to never work in the kitchens with him ever again.

Tinn approached Li Ming first, bowing graciously. Heart turned to his parents, remarking on the brilliant shine of the Royal Nine-Tiered Umbrella while sneaking surreptitious glances over his mother’s shoulder. Nothing in Li Ming’s expression suggested he felt any resentment towards the older prince. Suddenly, he glanced in Heart’s direction, eyes narrowed; Heart quickly looked away, only to realize he had missed the last few minutes of his parents’ conversation. He sighed, scratching the mosquito bite on the nape of his neck. It was going to be a long night.

As the khunnang arrived and knelt before the royal family, their intentions became rather obvious. Not a single one of the Chaophraya’s daughters went without saying something to Tinn, trying to win his favor. Some seemed self-motivated, while others were clearly dictated by their parents. Only a select few acknowledged Heart’s presence at all, offering a handful of rudimentary phrases before giving him an apologetic smile. Li Ming was quick to assist, though his exasperation was clear. Heart suspected he wanted to escape as much as he did.

“It seems most of them never tried to learn sign language,” Li Ming said bitterly once it was finally over. “I didn’t expect to interpret almost every conversation.”

Heart frowned. He didn’t think Li Ming would be so bold as to complain in front of the king and queen, but Li Ming was nothing if not defiant in every sense of the word. “It’s only been three years. You can hardly fault them,” he replied, turning away. He was finding it increasingly difficult to look at Li Ming at all.

After departing for Phra Thinang Phaisan Thaksin, the royal family took their places on the rostrum while their aides and advisors joined the head monks of Wat Phra Kaew at the table below. Heart’s mind soon wandered as the speeches commenced, his father speaking of peace and prosperity and other things Heart never cared to think about.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a small, almost imperceptible crack in the center of the plate before him. It wasn’t even a crack, really, more like a suggestion that it had once been cracked, nothing more than a tiny spot of paint that looked slightly darker than the rest.

Heart’s pulse thundered against the confines of his throat. He was no longer seated at the head table in one of countless ceremonial halls. Rather, he was sprawled across the kitchen floor, surrounded by tiny ceramic shards that may as well have been feathers, for he hadn’t heard them shatter. And though he’d mostly grown accustomed to his inability to hear, there were still moments when it took him by surprise. Had it been loud and disorderly, he wondered, or had it simply been drowned out by everything else?

He picked up his spoon. When he’d first taken to learning music, Tutor Lek told his parents he seemed to see the world as his instrument: skipping stones across the river, drumming his fingers on every surface, stomping his feet into the earth, or his favorite, tapping anything he could get his hands on against ceramic and glass. Now, he began with a gentle tap against the side of his plate, then another against the dark spot, half-expecting it to crumble to dust. When it didn’t, he carried on, more persistently this time. He only stopped when Tinn nudged Heart’s knee with his own, responding to his brother with a chastened smile.

When dinner came to an end, Heart felt moments away from drifting off to sleep, drowsy from all the food he’d consumed. Then, the king stood tall, his arms outstretched. The doors opened and dozens of performers poured in, rippling across the length of the ceremonial hall like an incoming tide. Everyone’s spirits lifted in an instant, eyes brightening and backs straightening as they all turned their attention to the new arrivals.

Heart sighed a little to himself, dropping his chin into his hands. Moments later, a glimpse of movement caught his eye; he instinctively straightened up to get a better look. Li Ming had risen to his feet and turned to face him. His expression was as sullen as ever, but he still lifted his hands — a touch higher than usual, above his temples rather than his sternum so Heart could see — and began to sign every word being sung.

“Ah,” Heart breathed softly, surprised. He made as if to sign back, perhaps an expression of gratitude, but the performers departed as quickly as they came. Li Ming returned to his seat without another word. Soon enough, everyone was departing for the khon theater of the Outer Court, where the lakhon nai would take place.

When Li Ming took his place by Heart’s side, Heart grasped him by the elbow. Li Ming jumped, startled. “What?”

“Thank you,” Heart whispered, lowering his head. Tiwson glanced back at them, curious, before carrying on. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“And I’m sure I did,” Li Ming replied. He seemed resolved not to look at Heart any longer than he had to. Moments ago, Heart would’ve felt the same, but now, he just wanted Li Ming to look him in the eyes. “There’s blood on the back of your neck.”

“There is?” Heart reached back to feel around for it, wincing when his finger came away wet. He’d been picking at his mosquito bite for days, long enough to have broken the skin. Suddenly, Li Ming took hold of his wrist and pressed a small scrap of cloth into his hands. He turned away before Heart could meet his gaze. A small smile tugged at the corner of Heart’s lips while he cleaned his finger and the nape of his neck.

The lakhon nai, like the earlier speeches, was interpreted by one of the court scholars, though Heart noted they weren’t as dexterous as Li Ming. Tinn seemed enthralled by the whole story despite seeing it before, while Heart felt dangerously close to yawning by the second scene. When it was over, Li Ming had to pinch his leg to rouse him.

Members of the khunnang began to move about, conversing with one another while they watched Tinn and Heart from afar. Lady Chanikarn was the first to approach, bowing and smiling when Tinn accepted her invitation to dance. Lady Nippitcha arrived soon after, and Heart led her across the floor. She was one of the few who’d become fluent in sign language and showed genuine interest in forming a mutual companionship with Heart. Though he greatly appreciated her efforts and her friendship, he held no romantic affection for her. He often wished he did, if only because it would make everything easier.

After dancing with Lady Nippitcha, he danced with Lady Krongkwan, then Lady Nichapa, then Lady Preeyaphat. They spoke very little with their hands occupied and Li Ming stood off to the side, unable to move closer without a partner of his own. Just as Heart’s mind once again began to wander off, he noticed Tinn slipping out into the night with Tiwson following close by. He frowned, both surprised and intrigued.

Heart wished Lady Preeyaphat well, then impatiently weaved his way through the throng to find Li Ming. “Do you know where my brother’s gone?”

“How would I know? I’m not his keeper,” Li Ming retorted. Heart exhaled noisily. As always, it was never long before any goodwill he felt toward Li Ming was gone. “I hope you’re not thinking of sneaking off, too. Her Majesty would have me executed if you were to get lost.”

“Lost? I’ve lived here my entire life,” Heart scoffed. “I know of secret passages you could only dream of.”

“I’ve lived here my entire life, too,” Li Ming said, lifting his chin. “What makes you think I don’t know them as well?”

Heart sighed again; he was getting nowhere fast. “I plan to find out where Tinn went, regardless of what you know or don’t know. You can either accompany me and know precisely where I am, or stay here and be left wondering all night.”

“Or I can just tell your mother that both of her sons have run off.” Li Ming raised an eyebrow, challenging him.

“And risk her laying the blame at your feet?” Heart moved closer, looking down his nose at Li Ming. He was perhaps four centimeters taller than him, if that, and he intended to take advantage of every last millimeter. Then Li Ming narrowed his eyes, and it was all Heart could do not to crumble. He’d spent much of his childhood eluding the palace guards, all varying in measures of authority and intimidation, yet none made his pulse race like Li Ming’s fervent stare.

“You seem to think less of your mother than I do,” Li Ming said. “She’d listen to reason, least of all about you misbehaving — again. What makes you think she’d think it was my fault?”

Heart groaned, head dropping back in frustration. “Please, I just want to know where Tinn’s gone. I have a feeling I already know, and it’s…it’s not good.”

Li Ming frowned. “What do you mean? Is he in danger?”

“Not exactly, but…” Heart hesitated, uncertain of how much to divulge. “There’s someone he was hoping to meet tonight. I think he’s gone to look for them.”

“What?” Li Ming, oddly enough, had gone pale. “Where?”

“I already told you, that’s what I intend to find out.” Heart grabbed Li Ming’s wrist and pulled him along; what little patience he’d had at the onset of their conversation was long gone. Li Ming attempted to wrest himself free to no avail. Taengmo and Chaipo hurried after them, Chaipo hissing when Taengmo nearly stepped on her toes.

Heart led them not to the theater doors, but to the small gap beside the rostrum, tucked into the corner of the hall. There was a crawlspace for servants to enter discreetly if any members of the Munnai were holding an intimate ceremony. Heart pried open the door and motioned for Li Ming to go first, unwilling to let him out of his sight. Li Ming grumbled to himself but dropped to his knees regardless and crawled through. Heart averted his eyes as he followed.

They crossed the threshold, and the sticky, humid Ayutthayan heat seemed to instantaneously permeate Heart’s skin. Li Ming had paused to wipe the perspiration from his brow, though beads of sweat were already running down the side of his face, along the underside of his jaw and pooling at his clavicle. Heart swallowed thickly and turned away once more.

Moments later, Li Ming tapped him on the shoulder. “I think I heard something,” he said. “Over by the pavilion, there’s people talking.”

“You’re certain it’s not just the monks?” Heart suggested. But Li Ming didn’t respond, electing to grab Heart’s hand and pull him along instead, just as Heart had done to him. Heart stumbled over his own feet in his bid to match Li Ming’s brisk pace. When they reached the pavilion, the area was vacant except for a few guards stationed by the nearby Phra Thinang Dusidaphirom hall. Heart exhaled yet again, frustrated. “There’s no one here. Did any of them even sound like Tinn?”

“It was him, I swear,” Li Ming insisted. “Just a little further and you’ll see.”

Heart reluctantly followed Li Ming across the palace grounds, passing by the Siwalai Garden and approaching the Inner Court. It was familiar to Li Ming, as the Inner Court was where all the servants lived, while Heart had resided in Phra Maha Monthien in the Middle Court his entire life. His mother once told him how unprecedented it was, that the king’s progeny had always been raised in the Inner Court under the care of their respective mothers’ households until their father proposed they instead live together as a family. Heart had always been curious about what life in the Inner Court would have been like, though he’d never stepped foot inside until now.

Rather than passing through the entrance gates, Li Ming slipped through a small gap in the shrubbery surrounding the defensive walls and out of sight. Heart had no choice but to follow him, though he was breathless by now, unused to walking such long distances. They squeezed into the narrow space between the foliage and the wall, shuffling along for several meters, shoes sinking into the damp soil beneath their feet. Then, to Heart’s astonishment, Li Ming stopped and began to climb the side of the wall.

He found purchase in the small crevasses worn into the stone while the shrubbery rustled and scratched at his back. When he reached the top, he perched on the edge as if he were merely sitting on a fence, looking down at Heart with a lofty grin. It was strange to think he’d been so resistant to Heart’s plans mere minutes ago. “This is how my brother returns home after dark to keep from getting caught. Have you never done this before?”

Heart frowned, confused. “No, never. When would I have had the chance?”

“Didn’t you always run away from the guards who were only trying to keep you safe?” Li Ming asked. “Where were you running to?”

Heart's frown only deepened. He couldn’t help but think Li Ming was trying to ask him something else. “Not here.” Li Ming shook his head, amused; he seemed to be in a good mood, perhaps the most agreeable Heart had ever seen him. Still, though Heart wanted to indulge him — out of fascination with this side of Li Ming he’d never seen before, nothing more — stealing into the Inner Court seemed a step too far. “I doubt Tinn is here. We should return to the theater and look for him there. He couldn’t have gone far if you heard him close by.”

Li Ming seemed reluctant. “Who is this someone he was hoping to meet? Not a member of the khunnang, I suppose.”

“It’s not my secret to share,” Heart replied. “Now come down from there, we really should go.”

Sighing, Li Ming’s expression settled into a scowl Heart was far more familiar with. He slowly made his way down, careful to test each foothold as he went. Halfway down, however, bits of stone and plaster abruptly crumbled beneath Li Ming’s left fingers, and his hand slipped from its hold. His balance shifted a touch too far as he made to find his grip, his right hip slamming against the wall. The force of it jostled his right hand free of its hold, and suddenly, Li Ming was plummeting toward the ground.

Heart cried out in shock. An instinctive burst of magic surged from his core, forming a surface made of pure energy. Li Ming’s back struck first, punching a sharp gasp out of him. Mercifully, his head landed with a subdued thud.

For a moment, he went completely still. Then, he clutched at his chest and his stomach, heaving, eyes squeezed shut in pain. Heart gently lowered him to the ground, hands outstretched and trembling. He then dropped to his knees in the soil beside him, terrified he’d somehow broken every bone in Li Ming’s body.

“Are you okay?” he whispered. He felt as if he had to hold his breath.

Li Ming didn’t answer at first, turning onto his side and coughing profusely, still clutching his chest. Chaipo urgently pushed his hands aside with her head, pressing her ear against his heart. Then, Li Ming lifted his gaze to meet Heart’s. His face was paper-white and his bottom lip was bleeding from where he’d bitten down, but he was breathing, his eyes bright and alert. “I will be,” he said, panting. “…thank you.”

Heart nodded, too numb to speak. He waited for Li Ming to fully catch his breath, then helped him to his feet. Slowly but surely, they made their way back to the theater, Heart’s arm around Li Ming’s waist and Li Ming’s arm around Heart’s shoulders. Though Chaipo seemed assuaged that her master wasn’t grievously injured, it was still evident that something had happened. The bottom of Li Ming’s pha nung was torn and caked with mud, his hands and feet were covered in small scratches, and bits of grass had found their way into his hair. Heart had mud streaked up to his knees; even their familiars appeared worse for wear.

They dropped onto a nearby bench behind the theater, not wanting to apprise the guards of their return. Li Ming took a few labored breaths, hands braced on his knees. Chaipo busied herself with tending to the cuts on Li Ming’s hands and feet; Heart briefly thought of Gun when he saw them. Color gradually returned to Li Ming’s cheeks.

“I’m sure we can agree to never tell anyone of this,” Li Ming said. It was so startlingly blunt of him, so unmistakably Li Ming, that Heart could only laugh. “What?”

“Nothing,” Heart replied, a smile still lingering on his lips. “How do you feel now?”

“As if I nearly died falling from the top of a wall. What else?” Li Ming retorted, though he seemed bereft of his usual bite. “And don’t you look at me like that.”

Heart blinked. “Like what?”

“Like it was your fault.” Li Ming’s mouth pulled taut. “You had no part in me climbing that wall, so stop making that face. It’s pitiful.”

“Oh? Perhaps I could make another face that’s more to your liking.”

Before Li Ming could ask what he meant, Heart furrowed his nose and stuck out his tongue. Li Ming let out a startled laugh, taking them both by surprise. Heart briefly wondered what it sounded like. Then, Li Ming groaned, clenching his teeth as he clutched his sides. “Don’t you make me laugh, either.”

“I didn’t think you could,” Heart replied triumphantly, his grin broadening. There was something unexpectedly gratifying about making Li Ming smile; it almost made Heart want to do it again. Li Ming shook his head, exasperated, only to glance up suddenly moments later. “What is it?”

“The singer, it’s…” Li Ming hesitated. “It’s a friend of a friend. I’d know his voice anywhere.”

“I see.” Heart chewed his bottom lip, noting that Li Ming’s had stopped bleeding, though it was still red and swollen. “What does he sound like?”

Li Ming shrugged. “I wouldn’t know how to describe voices, so…beautiful, I suppose.” His expression then shifted into something Heart couldn’t quite discern. “Would you like to hear it?”

Heart’s brows knitted together. “What do you mean?”

But Li Ming had already risen from his seat and moved closer to the theater’s exterior walls, motioning for Heart to follow. As Heart drew nearer, Li Ming sank to the ground, pressing his ear against the plaster. Heart did the same, kneeling across from him and bringing his ear to the wall.

Rhythmic vibrations thundered against his cheek — the taphon drums, Heart realized, his pulse quickening. He pressed both hands against the wall, eager for more. Now he could sense the klong that, the ranat ek. Every strike, every note, every beat could be felt in every single one of his fingertips. It was the stones skipping across the river, his feet stomping upon the earth, his spoon tapping against his plate. Heart closed his eyes, a serene smile stretching across his face.

Li Ming gently patted him on the knee. His eyes fluttered open and his breath hitched. He hadn’t noticed how close they were until now, nor how much light was reflected in Li Ming’s eyes. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, unmoving and unhurried. Everything about Li Ming seemed softer: his gaze, his brow, the way he held his mouth. He drew his hands to his sternum and once again began to sign the words being sung.

There will be tomorrow for you to find and dry your teary eyes, there’s tomorrow for you to seize and treasure…

Something stirred in Heart’s chest as he mouthed every word, something he’d never felt before. He felt compelled to draw closer, to be nearer. His knee inadvertently pressed into Li Ming’s thigh, their little fingers brushing as he grazed his hands across the wall. Heat rushed to the pit of his stomach and the tips of his ears. Li Ming paid no heed, simply carrying on with a quiet half-smile.

There will be tomorrow for you to love and to move forward, there’s tomorrow for us to start over if you just wait…

Chapter Text

The palace grounds were unusually quiet the day after the lakhon nai. Much of the visiting khunnang who’d taken temporary residence in the Inner Court slept the morning away, while the servants moved about and worked in silence, too exhausted from last night’s events to carry on a conversation. Only a select few seemed interested in gossiping about what had transpired: how one of the ladies had mistaken Lord Chayakorn for Lord Chayapol and made a fool of herself, how Lady Pussarasorn and Lady Thasorn had been seen sneaking off together with a bottle of wine, and how, for the better part of an hour, both of the twin princes had completely disappeared from sight.

“Where do you think they went?” asked one of the kitchen boys. “Do you think the rumors of them having secret lovers are true?”

Li Ming only just managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. Though he wasn’t working with his uncle for the time being — it was too soon to break the pretense of his return as Heart’s aide — he’d come to the kitchens to ask a favor of Madam Pao. “Prince Heart was with me,” he said shortly, startling the others. “He just needed some air.”

“Oh,” said the younger of the two kitchen boys, disappointed. “Is that all?”

The older one brightened, not to be deterred. “You were with him all evening, right? Did anything interesting happen? What was he like?”

Madam Pao appeared out of nowhere, heaving a giant pot of nam sup onto the table between them and inadvertently blocking Li Ming from view. “Are you sure this is enough?” she asked, wiping her blistered fingers on her apron. “You don’t need me to make some rice, too?”

“Thank you, Mae Pao,” Li Ming said, bowing his head. “And no, that’s alright. I’ll make rice at home.”

Her face softened. “You’re a good boy, Li Ming. Gim is fortunate to have a son like you.” Li Ming blinked, taken by surprise. “As for you two — don’t you have dishes to wash?” The other boys grumbled under their breaths, dragging their feet as they departed with baleful glances in Li Ming’s direction. “Oh, and I have one other thing for you.”

Li Ming frowned when she passed him an envelope under the table. “He’s not one to waste time, is he? I thought it’d be at least another day.”

“I suppose Gun really does have him under his spell,” Madam Pao said, chuckling.

Li Ming shook his head exasperatedly, tucking the envelope into the waistband of his sado pants and hoisting the soup pot into his arms before leaving the kitchens. He’d taken not even five steps into the adjoining corridor when he nearly crashed headfirst into someone coming the opposite way. His heart almost stopped when he realized it was one of the guards — who happened to be accompanying none other than Prince Heart.

“Li Ming!” Prince Heart exclaimed, astonished. He didn’t seem as bright-eyed as usual, still tired from the previous evening. The state of his hair and his attire suggested he’d dressed himself this morning; even Taengmo looked worse for wear. “I wasn’t expecting to find you here, though I’m glad I did.”

“Your Royal Highness,” Li Ming replied once he’d set the pot down, bowing. As he did, he surreptitiously shoved the envelope further down into his pant leg, hoping the prince hadn’t noticed it. “Surely you’re not working today?”

“No, definitely not,” Prince Heart said, laughing. “I’m here because I was hoping to speak with your mother. Where might I find her?”

Li Ming’s earlier frown returned. “She isn’t here; she’s resting at home for the day. Speak with her about what?”

“Never mind — I’ll come back tomorrow, then,” Prince Heart said quickly, smiling, though there was a hint of disappointment in his sleep-addled gaze. After a moment’s pause, he turned and gave the guard a meaningful look, one that Li Ming didn’t understand. The guard wordlessly stepped away, granting them privacy. Prince Heart, meanwhile, drew closer. “How are you now? Much better, I hope. If not, perhaps I — ”

“Please don’t offer to bring me to your brother,” Li Ming interrupted, wincing a little as the envelope pressed into his hip. “Other than a few bruises and an aching back, I’m fine. And…thank you again for breaking my fall.” When Prince Heart only nodded, relieved, Li Ming shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncertain of what to say next. He no longer felt irritated by the prince’s presence, though he couldn’t say he felt indifferent to him, either. “Well…if you don’t need anything from me, I’ll be going now. My family’s expecting me.”

“Wait!” Prince Heart took Li Ming by the forearm to stop him, pulling back abruptly seconds later as if he’d been burned. “My mother has arranged a private dinner with Lady Nippitcha tomorrow evening. Will you accompany me?”

Li Ming scratched the back of his neck. “Our arrangement was only for the lakhon nai. And Kajorn is your advisor-in-training, not me.”

“He’s well-versed in politics, but you’re more proficient in sign language,” Prince Heart admitted. “Lady Nippitcha and I could converse far more easily with you there.”

“Really?” Li Ming was becoming increasingly confused. “From what I could tell during the gift-giving procession, she’s one of the few who’s fully fluent.”

Prince Heart blinked, having apparently forgotten. “Uh…yes, of course,” he eventually said with an uneasy chuckle. “I suppose I — we don't require your presence, then. But…”

“But…” Li Ming echoed when it seemed the prince couldn’t find the words to speak. Though Prince Heart hadn’t been the one who fell and hit his head, Li Ming was beginning to wonder if something else had happened. “Is everything alright, Your Royal Highness?”

“Yes, of course,” Prince Heart repeated, his smile tightening. “My apologies for keeping you.” He then turned and departed without another word, the guard hurrying after him as he disappeared around the corner. Li Ming stared after him for a moment, more bewildered than ever, before shaking his head and turning to leave for the Inner Court. Whatever it was that was troubling the prince, he doubted he could be of any help.

Li Ming crossed the threshold of his family’s apartment to the sound of his mother’s chest-rattling cough. He rushed to her bedside, nearly spilling the soup pot in his haste. “Ma? You sound even worse than last night.”

“It’s just cold in here, that’s all,” Gim replied hoarsely, flinching as the sunlight peeking through the opposite window struck her across the eyes. She drew her blankets tighter, then paused to inhale deeply. “Is that Madam Pao’s nam sup?”

“At least give me time to make rice before you try to drink the entire pot by yourself,” Li Ming said, gently pushing her shoulders to keep her from sitting up. She’d returned home late, long after the lakhon nai’s close, lamenting her sore feet, blistered hands, and clouded vision. Soon after, she’d developed a headache and a cough, the latter of which had persisted all through the night. Li Ming had slept very little in his endeavor to take care of her. “Is Gun still asleep?”

Gim nodded, frowning a little. “I haven't seen him sleep for this long since you were babies.”

Sighing, Li Ming rose to his feet and crossed the room to his brother’s bedside. Gun was hidden beneath his threadbare blanket, curling in on himself like a kitten. He was never one to make himself small, only he’d done so quite literally last night. Li Ming wasn’t apprised of the details of how Gun had slipped away from the kitchens and met with Prince Tinn, but the moment he spotted the crown prince with a mysterious figure just outside the khon theater, he knew he had to do everything he could to keep Prince Heart from discovering them.

“Gun?” Li Ming prodded his brother’s shoulder. When Gun didn’t respond, he shook him more urgently. “Gun, wake up.”

“Ngh,” Gun groaned, slowly turning onto his back with his eyes squeezed shut. “Tell me you’ve brought a tonic that will stop everything from hurting so much.” His voice sounded thin and reedy, like he’d spent hours shouting at the top of his lungs and could now barely speak above a whisper. Li Ming knew nothing good would come of scolding Gun for what he’d done to himself while he was this ill. He only wished Gun had come to him for help instead of his friends and their staggering lack of foresight.

“Everything would hurt less if you weren’t in bed all day,” Li Ming replied, nudging his brother’s knee with his own. “And no tonic, though I did bring you something else.” Gun’s eyes flew open at the sound of the envelope crinkling in between Li Ming’s fingers, only for Li Ming to hold it just out of reach as Gun made to take it. “Tell me what happened first.”

“Li Ming,” Gun protested, not unlike a child half his age. When Li Ming merely glared back, he groaned again, collapsing in defeat. “It’s not much of a story. My friends wanted to sneak me into the lakhon nai, and though I had no intention of doing so — honest, don’t look at me like that — when I met with Prince Tinn in Siwalai the day before last, I…” He paused, a slow smile spreading across his face. “He’s so kind, Li Ming. He has this…this way of making me feel better about everything. I really, really wanted to see him again.”

Li Ming went quiet, moving to sit by Gun’s feet. “But was he really worth all this trouble — ”

“Yes.” Gun’s eyes were brighter now, his gaze sharp. Then, his expression faltered. “Though…it seems unlikely we’ll ever meet again.”

“As if either of you will be able to keep your distance after all this time,” Li Ming remarked contemptuously. Gun scowled, then groaned from the effort. Even his face, it seemed, suffered from the illusion magic he’d subjected himself to. “What now, then?”

“Give me his letter and we’ll find out,” Gun replied, extending his hand with what little strength he had. Li Ming sighed once more but gave in, tapping his foot against the worn floorboards while Gun opened the envelope, unfolded the single sheet of paper inside, and absorbed the crown prince’s every word in staunch silence. A rush of emotions crossed his face in rapid succession: contentment, melancholy, a touch of indecision, and then, something so extraordinarily joyful that an enormous smile stretched across Gun’s face.

“Well?” Li Ming could bear it no longer. “What is it? What did he say?”

“He not only told me how much he enjoyed our time together, but he also proposed a way for us to meet that wouldn’t require illusion magic at all,” Gun said, his tone far livelier than it had been moments ago. “Maybe I was too quick to think otherwise.”

“And maybe you’re also too quick to think his idea would work,” Li Ming countered. “What exactly did he suggest?”

Though it had been just three days since the lakhon nai, it felt like an eternity to Tinn, who’d since spent hours in the company of the khunnang who elected to stay at the palace for a while longer in search of marriage prospects and business deals and other matters he secretly cared little about. He’d also accompanied his mother and father in several negotiations and discussions with many of Ayutthaya’s most esteemed ministers and governors. Many seemed more troubled by his indecision over courting Lady Chanikarn than by his opinions on their policies and how they governed the phrai under their care.

“To be fair, who I choose to marry will affect the future of Ayutthaya,” Tinn admitted to Heart in the privacy of his personal residence hours later. “But I’d rather not be reproached about the sanctity of marriage from a governor who openly boasts of his affair with the wife of another.”

Heart shuddered. His presence wasn’t nearly as sought-after as his brother’s, though he did have private dinners with Lady Nippitcha and Lady Krongkwan at their mother’s insistence. Tinn had seen very little of him these last few days, yet the moment he stepped foot into Tinn’s personal residence, Tinn knew he’d come to discuss something important. Heart’s mind looked to be somewhere else entirely, his gaze wandering and his fingers fussing at the hem of his shirt. He was clearly anticipating something, only he’d yet to impart what it was.

“Heart?” Tinn prompted when it seemed his brother had nothing to say. “Is something wrong?” When Heart shook his head, Tinn’s curiosity only grew. “Then…what is it? What’s happened?” Tinn watched as his brother paced the length of his study at least twice before dropping into the seat opposite him. His expression was fervent in a manner that Tinn had never seen before.

“How…” Heart paused. “How did you feel when you first heard Little Mouse’s voice?”

Tinn frowned. He certainly hadn’t expected anything like that. “I’m not sure if I can put it into words. Do you…remember how it felt when you first found Taengmo?”

Heart smiled, glancing down to where Taengmo sat patiently at his feet, burying his fingers in his faithful familiar’s coarse fur. Her ears lifted and her tongue lolled out of her mouth, pleased, while he scratched her head. “We were together when we found Taengmo and Chompoo under the banyan tree. To be honest…what I remember most is you crying because Taengmo was missing part of her ear and Chompoo had a broken foot, and you’d barely learned enough to treat a cough.”

“We stayed up for hours, waiting for the healers to return them to us. And when they finally did, we all fell asleep in the same bed,” Tinn recounted fondly, smiling. Chompoo lowered her chin to rest in his lap, eyes closing in contentment. “Before Chompoo, I could hardly make sense of my own emotions, let alone everyone else’s. That was the first night in a while that I slept so soundly, that I felt so safe and calm. Hearing Little Mouse’s voice, reading his letters, meeting him in person — ”

“Which you’ve yet to tell me about,” Heart reminded him.

“ — they all felt just like that.” Tinn’s smile softened even further. “Like even my worst troubles would turn out fine in the end because I had someone beside me.”

Heart went quiet for a moment, contemplating. Tinn wondered, not for the first time, what he was thinking about. “I suppose I know what you mean,” he said thoughtfully. “How did you know you felt affection for him, not just admiration?”

“When I realized I wanted to spend the rest of my life knowing his heart and giving him mine,” Tinn said simply.

“I see,” Heart said. He seemed more uncertain this time. “And how did you first express your feelings for him?”

Tinn’s eyebrows lifted. “…odd. You usually tell me I talk about Little Mouse too much, yet now you want to know everything?”

“I’m bored,” Heart replied, shrugging airily, though the stutter in his pulse told Tinn otherwise. “Lady Krongkwan’s father wouldn’t stop talking about the history of the sugarcane trade last night; I nearly fell asleep at the table. At least your story interests me.”

“I don’t believe there was a particular moment where I made my feelings known. I think it was just…obvious,” Tinn admitted, his cheeks reddening. While Heart had a talent for lying, evidenced by his propensity for evading guards, monks, tutors, and their parents, Tinn was often terribly unsubtle. Little Mouse liked to tease him about it and tell him how charming it was, which only made Tinn blush even further. “It didn’t take long for us to realize that our affections were requited.”

“But if that hadn’t happened…what would you have done?” Heart asked. “How would you have told him?”

“I’m not sure,” Tinn replied. “Perhaps I would’ve just told him outright eventually, but I never considered it because I never had to.”

Heart appeared even less satisfied with Tinn’s answer. “And if there isn’t time to wait for ‘eventually’?”

Tinn’s earlier frown returned. “Heart, what’s really troubling you?”

“Nothing,” Heart insisted, shaking his head so forcefully that his hair seemed to dance in front of his eyes. “I just…know you enjoy nothing more than talking about Little Mouse, and I thought since you finally met him in person, you might have more to say.”

Tinn narrowed his eyes as if to scrutinize every inch of his brother’s face. Perspiration had begun to form at his temples and his jaw was tightly clenched, but his gaze held steady. If Tinn were to guess, he surmised that Heart now had a ‘Little Mouse’ of his own, perhaps someone he’d met at the lakhon nai. Tinn was eager to know more, of course, but it was obvious Heart wasn’t ready to talk about it.

And so, he told Heart all there was to know about his first face-to-face encounter with Little Mouse: how he’d come in a khon mask and a disguised voice, how he wouldn’t let Tinn see his hands but he did let him hold them, how he’d been just as good-natured and charming and clever as he was in his letters. He hesitated in broaching Little Mouse’s hesitance, though he did mention the letter he’d sent him the morning after the lakhon nai.

“We agreed to meet again later today, actually,” Tinn concluded with a shy smile. “Truthfully, I was expecting him to decline. When we parted that night, I thought that would be all we’d ever have.”

“He clearly adores you as much as you do him,” Heart said. “It doesn’t surprise me at all.” There was something unexpectedly envious about Heart’s expression that had Tinn leaning forward once more. He didn’t even have to say anything before Heart shook his head for a third time. “You must find it comforting to know exactly how he feels about you.”

“I do,” Tinn said carefully. “Heart — ” But his brother had already gotten to his feet and turned to leave; Tinn barely managed to catch him by the wrist in time. “Heart, whatever it is that’s on your mind…know that I’m never too busy for you. Alright?”

“Of course,” Heart mumbled half-heartedly, his frustration still evident. He slipped out the door without another word, Taengmo at his heels.

Tinn sank back down into his chair, unsettled and uncertain about what to do. He had all of fifteen minutes before he needed to leave and prepare for his appointment with Little Mouse. So, he did the only thing he could think of: he reached for a fresh sheet of paper and began to write.

Though Gun wasn’t very good at being punctual, he’d hidden behind one of the fig trees lining the east wall of Baisal Daksin Hall fifteen minutes before the agreed-upon time, nervously fussing with the worn edge of the threadbare cotton blanket he’d wrapped around his shoulders. He had no other means of concealing himself without magic, short of stealing his mother’s silk pha biang. With the mid-afternoon Ayutthayan sun at its peak, he was left with an unsightly sheen of sweat across the span of his forehead and the expanse of his back.

In times of unease, Gun would often hum to himself as a distraction. Right now, however, he was completely silent, not wanting to alert the guards patrolling the Phra Maha Monthien complex to his presence. He also wanted to preserve what little energy he had for the silencing spell to come. And so, he settled for running his fingers through Munmuang’s fur instead, comforted by her soundless purr. Munmuang, meanwhile, was just glad she didn't need to transfigure as she did before.

Suddenly, there was a rustling sound from the other side of the tree trunk, the sound of someone’s footsteps disturbing the grass. Munmuang’s eyes narrowed, her tail swishing as she prepared for the worst. “Little Mouse?”

Gun exhaled, relieved. “Hello again, Your Royal Highness,” he said, making his voice as low as possible without magic. He reached into his pocket for his father’s lucky coin, his artifact and conduit for the silencing spell that would give them some much-needed privacy. “I’m glad to be meeting you again.”

“As am I,” the crown prince replied, taking his place at the base of the tree trunk. Gun also heard Chompoo’s soft wuff as she settled in beside her master. “If it doesn’t discomfit you, I would rather you start calling me ‘Tinn’. We certainly know each other well enough.”

“It would be much faster,” Gun admitted, eliciting a warm chuckle from his companion. Gun wished he could see Tinn’s handsome face and know exactly how wide his smile had been when he laughed. “So…I heard some of the other servants say that you and Lady Chanikarn had dinner at least twice since the lakhon nai, and you sent her a ruby hairpiece.”

“We had dinner once with our mothers present, and the ruby hairpiece was my mother’s idea,” Tinn corrected. “Lady Chanikarn later told me that she already owns far too much jewelry by way of gifts and inheritance. I would’ve liked to give her new riding boots instead.”

“Ah,” Gun said flatly. He couldn’t help but stare at the cracked, misshapen soles of his own shoes. “She must feel very comfortable with you to say something like that.”

“Are you…jealous, Little Mouse?” Tinn seemed compelled by the idea. “I promise, she and I are only friends. Even if…we were to marry, we would always remain so. You’re the only one I want to be with.” It was then that Gun felt something brush against his hip. He glanced down to see that Tinn had reached around the tree to proffer his hand. Gun held back a grin as he interlaced his fingers with Tinn’s, eyes drifting shut as a wave of calm settled over him.

“How could I not be jealous?” Gun replied airily. “Your engagement is all but official.”

Tinn squeezed his hand. His hand was soft and smooth and free of calluses, unlike Gun’s coarse, dry skin. While the scarring was long gone, courtesy of Tinn’s magic, the years of washing dishes and handling pots, buckets, and carts still remained. Gun wondered if Tinn had ever held a hand as roughened as his. “I’m glad to hear your wrist is fully healed. I was starting to think I should’ve insisted on helping when we met.”

“You worry too much,” Gun said, turning onto his side so neither of them had to reach quite as far, though he kept his head forward so Tinn had no means of seeing his face. “What else have you been up to since we last met?”

There was a long pause. “Heart came to see me earlier, just before I came here, and…he seemed very curious about you.”

“Me?” Gun winced at the way his voice cracked. “But we’ve never met.”

“Is that so? I never did ask,” Tinn remarked. “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to find you. So you’ve never seen my brother in the kitchens while he worked there, then?”

“I’ve seen him, but we’ve never spoken,” Gun replied. “He was always with Li Ming.” Then, fearful that he’d volunteered Li Ming’s name too quickly, he added, “I-I mean — I believe that’s his name. He doesn’t usually work in the kitchens, so, er, I’ve never spoken to him, either.”

“They have something of a…contentious relationship,” Tinn said carefully. “But yes, Heart wanted to know more about you, and about…us. I suppose that’s to be expected since I talk about you so often. And, I imagine with the pressure we’re both facing to marry, he must be thinking about his own prospects.” Gun could almost hear Tinn smile. “Obligations aside, I hope he finds someone someday who means as much to him as you do to me.”

“How saccharine of you,” Gun teased, tapping his thumb against the back of Tinn’s hand. “I was right, you really should be a poet. I’m sure your work would be well-liked.”

“Because of how good they are, or because they were written by me?” Tinn murmured somewhat bitterly.

“Because you really do have a way with words,” Gun promised. It was now his turn to squeeze Tinn’s hand in reassurance. “And I’ve learned so much from you, just by reading your letters. Do you really think I knew how to spell or say the word ‘saccharine’ when we first met?”

“You did misspell ‘legible’ in your first letter,” Tinn admitted, exhaling a soft laugh when Gun groaned in response. “I found it very charming.”

Gun pinched Tinn’s thumb. “You find everything about me charming,” he replied, a little thrill rushing through him with the knowledge that it was true. “You adore me so much, you’d rather be cursed for a hundred years than say something bad about me.”

“A thousand years, even,” Tinn remarked. Gun laughed, wishing he could reward Tinn for his cleverness somehow — with a kiss, perhaps, if he were reckless enough, or at least a playful stroke of his chin — instead of being close enough to touch, but not close enough to see. He loved hearing Tinn’s voice, loved hearing every rise and fall of his breath, every lilt and dip in his tone. But he wanted to see his face, too, to know what made him smile the most, to watch his expression as he told him that he loved him and commit it to memory. “And of course, you have a charming laugh, too.”

Gun held his tongue, nervous that he’d sounded too much like himself just then. He was certain he’d laughed in Tinn’s presence at least once when they’d met in the gardens; it was only a matter of whether Tinn remembered it. “There you go again,” he said, coughing. His throat ached from speaking a full octave below his natural voice. “There has to be something you can say about me that’s not so flattering.”

Tinn silently withdrew his hand from Gun’s. For a moment, Gun wondered if he’d overstepped somehow, or maybe Tinn had finally placed where he’d heard his voice before. Then, he heard the crinkle of what sounded like paper, and suddenly, Tinn was pressing a neatly folded note into his still-outstretched hand. Gun’s fingers trembled in anticipation as he opened it.

Your handwriting could be better. Perhaps now is the perfect time to practice?

“After all, we can’t have you straining that charming voice of yours,” Tinn said lightly when Gun seemed to be at a loss for words. Grinning giddily to himself, Gun accepted the pen Tinn held out to him and wrote his response below Tinn’s neat hand.

I don’t think poets use the same word to describe someone three times in a row unless they're being insincere about it. What are you really trying to tell me?

Tinn drew his thumb across the back of Gun’s hand as he took the paper back from him.

Simple — that you’re the most charming person I’ve ever met. But if you’re looking for other words, I have plenty to offer: kind, generous, talented, funny, cheerful…

That’s only five, but I’ll allow it. I’m quite generous, after all. How much longer before you have to go?

It took a little longer for Tinn to proffer his response. Less than fifteen minutes until Tiwson comes to collect me for dinner. Shall we make plans for next time?

Gun’s smile softened into something more pensive, longing to stay in Tinn’s company until dark. I’d like that, though may I suggest a different meeting spot?

Of course. What did you have in mind?

It had been seven days since the lakhon nai, and the Grand Palace seemed barren despite some of the khunnang still remaining behind to discuss political matters or, more likely, to pursue the royal family’s favor. There was far less conversation scattered across the palace grounds and far fewer mouths to feed, but the khunnang who’d stayed were loud and hungry enough to make up for the absence of the ones who’d since departed.

Heart spent most of his mornings swimming with the few close acquaintances he had that he didn’t get to see very often — the sons of Chaophraya Tangsakyuen, Sukumpantanasan, and Anukoolprasert, all lively yet soft-spoken in their own ways — and his afternoons with his tutors in the Siwalai Gardens, half-dreaming of shining eyes and subdued smiles while they droned on about arithmetic and grammar and the history of trade disputes in the southern provinces.

“One of the Phraya had used an illusion spell to hide the imperfections in their teakwood and cheated dozens of their best patrons,” Tutor Chaluai said, peering at him intently. “Do you recall what happened next?”

“No,” Heart replied flatly, picking at one of the many mosquito bites he’d gotten by the river earlier that day. His shoulders were sunburnt and his skin was cracked and bleeding; he imagined a familiar scrap of cloth being pressed into his hands if its owner were to see him. “I was nearly on my deathbed at the time.”

Tutor Chaluai cleared her throat, unabashed. “I understand, Your Royal Highness. But that hardly keeps you from doing your readings now, does it?”

In the evenings, right before dinner with his family and whoever among the khunnang had successfully piqued his parents’ interest, Heart would visit the kitchens to see if Madam Gim had returned. The kitchen servants hardly reacted when they saw him now, proffering polite wais before resuming their duties. Every time, he would be told she was still indisposed, and every time, he would offer to call upon one of the Munnai’s healers, to which he’d be told that Madam Gim was as stubborn as her sons, and she was insistent that she only needed to rest.

Finally, on the seventh evening, Heart arrived to find Madam Gim busying herself with an enormous sack of sugar almost as tall as she was. There were dark circles under her eyes and she stopped often to wipe the sweat from her brow. Heart hurried forward to greet her, ignoring Kajorn’s hand at his elbow in a hasty attempt to pull him back. “Madam Gim?”

She glanced up, eyes widening when she realized who’d spoken. “Your Royal Highness!” she exclaimed, bowing deeply. “I’d heard you were looking for me.”

“And I’d heard you were feeling unwell,” Heart said softly, wondering if she would be better off away from the boiling stoves while they talked, their nostrils filled with the incongruous smells of sugar syrup, chicken broth, and hot oil. “How are you feeling now?”

She merely waved him off, shaking her head. “Never mind that,” she replied. “How may I help you?”

Heart took a deep breath. He’d been seeking out Madam Gim for so long that he’d had ample time to wonder if what he was doing was too elaborate — or worse, too conspicuous. “I wanted to thank Li Ming for his help during the lakhon nai,” he said. “He was very kind and thoughtful, and I was hoping you’d have some…suggestions for how to express my gratitude.”

Madam Gim looked astonished. “Really?” she remarked. When he nodded, she paused, bracing her hand on her hip as she considered his request. “Li Ming isn’t one for anything fancy. All he really wants is to enjoy good food and spend all day in the sun.”

“Is that so?” Heart supposed that made sense; when they’d worked together in the kitchens, Li Ming seemed happiest when they were managing deliveries in the outdoor repository or taking their respite by the riverbank, and of course, he’d worked in the stables before. “What kind of food does he like best? One of your khanom, surely.”

Madam Gim laughed, flattered. Her laughter quickly turned into a shallow cough, though she waved Heart off once more when he moved closer, concerned. “He has a sweet tooth,” she said. “His favorite is…khanom mo kaeng, though he likes it best with mung bean instead of taro. I can make some for you to bring to him if you’d like.”

Heart smiled broadly with an upward tilt of his chin. “I was hoping you might teach me so I could make it myself.” Madam Gim’s eyebrows lifted impressively high, making Heart’s pulse race. It was an expression he knew well, the knowing expression of a mother who could always discern the words left unspoken, made more impressive by the fact that Heart wasn’t her child. His shoulders dropped, all bravado lost. “Though it won’t taste nearly as good as yours, I thought Li Ming might appreciate the sincerity.”

“I’m sure he would,” Madam Gim agreed. “If you come back bright and early tomorrow morning, I’d be happy to help. And I won’t speak of this to Li Ming, of course. He’ll be with my brother in the repository all day; once it’s ready, you can bring it to him then.”

Heart nodded gratefully, silently noting to have Kajorn bring a comb and a spare change of clothes. “Thank you very much, Madam Gim. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And so, Heart spent most of dinner with his mind elsewhere, imagining the fragrant smells of coconut milk and fried shallots. He pictured the corners of Li Ming’s mouth lifting, his teeth showing and his eyes sparkling. He’d not seen Li Ming smile in such a manner before — in fact, it was Gun’s smile he was thinking of — but he presumed that Gun was the kind to smile easily, to grin and laugh at anything and everything that amused him. Making Li Ming smile like that would feel like a hard-earned reward.

“Heart?” Tinn had tapped the back of Heart’s hand to get his attention. “Lord Saran had a question for you.”

He narrowed his eyes across the table at the young man sitting opposite him. Neither he nor Tinn thought very highly of Lord Saran, though Chaophraya Sereevichayasawat was one of their father’s most trusted chief ministers. His ambitions were nothing out of the ordinary for a child of the khunnang, but his contemptuous expression and air of self-importance endeared him to no one. It didn’t help that he also seemed intent on surpassing Tinn in everything he did, impelled by reasons known to no one but himself.

“My apologies,” Heart replied tonelessly. “What did you say?”

Lord Saran’s lip curled almost imperceptibly. “His Majesty commented just now that you know the court musicians better than anyone else here. Tell me, what do you think of the piphat led by Por, the son of Khun Asawasuebsakul?”

Heart’s brow furrowed. “That’s rather specific. I think they’re talented, though I’ve heard they’re also…” He glanced sideways at his mother’s pinched expression. “…a little unruly. Why?”

“I met with them before the lakhon nai,” Lord Saran replied. “I’d heard Por was one of the only spellsingers among the court performers and wanted to introduce myself. The rest of his ensemble were fine, but Por showed real promise.” He paused as if he were trying to remember something. “And there was that servant boy with them…Gun, I believe his name was?”

Tinn’s eyes widened. “Gun? Did he have two moles on his face, by any chance?”

“I don’t recall,” Lord Saran said dismissively. “His presence was so unexpected that I didn’t notice.”

“Well, many Munnai families reside at the palace year-round. It’s not unusual to see their children befriend servants of a similar age,” the king offered. Lord Saran seemed both chastised and surprised at being addressed directly, lowering his head in deference. “In fact, there was a young man recently under Heart’s employ who also belongs to the phrai. I’ve been told he was the most proficient interpreter Heart’s ever had.” Kajorn cleared his throat from his post in the corner of the room.

“Li Ming — Gun’s brother, as it happens,” Tinn added when it seemed Heart wasn’t going to elaborate. “Perhaps you saw him at the lakhon nai, Lord Saran. He was by Heart’s side all evening.”

Lord Saran began to remark, once again, that he couldn’t quite remember, but Heart disregarded him as he’d done earlier, lost in thought. He hadn’t seen Li Ming since the morning after the lakhon nai, and though he was keen to see him again, he couldn’t say he was prepared for it. His conversation with Tinn from a few days prior had granted him equal parts clarity and confusion, and all he could say for certain was that his feelings toward Li Ming had changed.

After dinner came to a close, Heart made to depart for his personal residence for the rest of the night, only to be stopped by his mother. “Heart, might we talk for a moment?”

A hundred possibilities quickly came to mind, none of them good. Still, he remained in his seat. “What is it?”

“Tinn had a note delivered to my study a few days ago, wondering if I might speak with you after you conferred with him in his,” she said. “He said you seemed frustrated and distracted and…I know we’ve not spent time together in a while, and perhaps you still think your punishment was unfair, but neither keeps me from being your mother.”

Heart swallowed thickly, struck with emotion. It felt like an eternity since she’d last smiled at him, hugged him, rubbed his back and told him she loved him. Though she had what seemed like hundreds of duties to perform at any given time, she always made time for him. Now, Heart couldn’t remember when they’d last had tea in her study, or taken a walk in Siwalai, or gone riding along the Chao Phraya.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Heart admitted. “Is it…would it be alright if we spoke about this later, when I’m ready?”

Her face softened. She reached across the table to clasp his hand in both of hers. “Of course,” she replied once she’d let go. “Always, and for everything. Though I do have one last question.”

Heart tilted his head. “What is it this time?”

“I’m curious about your…relationship with Li Ming,” she said cautiously. Heart’s pulse seized in his throat. “I was against him becoming your temporary aide because of what happened the last time you’d met, yet your brother and father insisted on giving him one last chance. Now, it seems all of you have nothing but good things to say about him. What changed?”

“Nothing,” Heart said quickly. “He’s a very talented wordsmith, that’s all.”

“I see.” She adjusted the gold cuff adorning her left wrist as she carefully considered her next words. “I’d advise you not to have him under your employ again.”

“What?” Heart frowned, straightening up in his seat. “Why?”

“Heart,” she said softly, sighing. “He attacked you when you first met. He used magic against you — ”

“Defensive magic because I’d taken hold of him and wouldn’t let go — ”

“ — and Madam Chidchanok told me you bickered constantly during your time in the kitchens together,” she continued, ignoring him. “There was also talk of how you’d both disappeared from the lakhon nai and returned covered in filth.”

“I needed air, and we’d accidentally slipped in some — ”

“He may be a talented wordsmith and a proficient interpreter, but it remains to be seen if he can be a trusted servant.” Her gaze narrowed. “Especially for someone of your distinction.”

“I trust him,” Heart insisted, surprising himself with how true it was. “Is that not all that matters?”

“Not when it comes to the matter of your safety.” The queen rose to her feet, and Heart knew exactly what that meant: that her word was final, even if she softened it with a benevolent smile and a gentle squeeze of his hand. “And I don’t want you seeing him again, either.”

“What?!” Heart cried. “But he isn’t dangerous.”

“Heart,” she repeated patiently. “He’s capricious at best, and he was never part of your permanent household to begin with. We’ll send for Ayutthaya’s best interpreters and have you choose one of them so that Kajorn may focus on his other duties instead. And…we’ll find somewhere else for you to fulfill the terms of your punishment. Perhaps you’ll assist the artificers instead.”

Heart wanted to protest, to shout until his throat was raw and his mother finally gave in, only he knew that she never would. He knew she would tell him what she’d told him when he’d first been caught: that he’d been indulged for too long, that he needed discipline, that these weren’t the actions of a well-behaved prince or a well-behaved man. Having a fit of temper, she would tell him, was the action of a spoiled, irresponsible child. And so, he fumed in silence as she swept out of the dining hall, his mouth curling into a petulant scowl.

When he returned to the kitchens the following morning, he was quiet and sluggish and listless, having barely slept all night. He’d spent much of his night tossing and turning, wondering if he should have objected more or spoken less, if he should have tried looking for Li Ming or not tried looking for Madam Gim, and most of all, if he should have never gone to his brother in the first place.

“Is everything alright, Your Royal Highness?” Madam Gim asked gently when it seemed Heart had spent the last minute staring into the bottom of the sink basin, washing his hands until they were wrinkled beyond recognition. “We can return to this another day once you’re feeling better.”

Heart’s cheeks reddened; he quickly withdrew his hands and dried them. “I’m only a little tired,” he promised. “And I’d really like to make this for Li Ming today.”

“If you’re sure,” Madam Gim said, though she seemed uncertain herself. She gestured for him to follow her across the kitchen, then took down a small wicker box from one of the shelves above the preparation tables. Inside was a stack of thick cardstock, each inscribed with near-imperceptible scrawl. She scoured through them, eventually drawing a particular card and giving it to Heart. “Khanom mo kaeng. Why don’t you read it before we begin?”

Heart lifted the card to his face, squinting in the hopes it would give him a better sense of what he was looking at. Every tail seemed to cross every loop, making it difficult to discern one character from the next. If he were to guess, he didn’t think it was Madam Gim’s handwriting. Servants her age had been born under his grandfather’s rule, meaning they were never granted a proper education. As he peered closer, though, he realized there was something familiar about this person’s penmanship, like he’d seen it somewhere before.

“Heart!” Tinn’s joy was evident; Heart had not seen his brother smile so widely nor heard his voice ring out with such vigor since they were children.“You’ll never guess what arrived with my breakfast this morning.”

“An extra piece of liver in your jok?” Heart teased, momentarily pausing to cough. He was better now, and had regained enough strength to sit upright and eat and speak, though he still wasn’t well enough to leave his bed. Tinn had come to see him every day now that the healers were certain Heart wasn’t contagious, and he’d often bring fresh fruit and sweets.

“No, even better,” Tinn declared. “Look!”

An open envelope dropped into Heart’s lap as Tinn took his usual seat at the foot of the bed. Intrigued, Heart withdrew the single page inside and began to read — or at least, attempted to; the handwriting was rough and unpracticed. “‘Dear Prince Tinnaphob, I’d like to apologize as well: I’m not nearly as good with words as you, nor is my penmanship very legible.’ You don’t say. Look, he even misspelled ‘legible’.”

“Ai’Heart,” Tinn protested, pinching his brother’s leg impatiently. “Just keep reading.”

“‘This may surprise you, but I’ve never exchanged letters with a prince before. Thank you for your very kind words. I’m sorry you felt lonely on your birthday, and I’m glad to have played a small part in helping you feel better…’”

Heart looked up from the card to stare at Madam Gim, his eyes wide. “Pardon, but…who wrote this?”

“My son’s penmanship isn’t very good, is it?” she remarked amusedly, oblivious to how Heart’s stomach churned, to how his breath caught in his throat. He doubted he would like what she was about to say next. “Though I’m hardly one to talk. Mine is far worse, which is why all of my recipes were written by Gun.”

Chapter Text

They were eight years old when Heart first asked Tinn to keep a secret of considerable consequence. Before then, it had all been for trivial matters, like that he’d eaten the khanom krok still cooling on their mother’s kitchen table or that he’d torn up his unfinished assignment and blamed it on Taengmo’s voracious (and non-existent) appetite for paper.

Tinn had always been careful about keeping Heart’s secrets. After all, he wanted his brother to trust him, to feel as though he could tell him anything. In return, Tinn would tell Heart his own secrets: that he preferred their father’s cooking over their mother’s, that he didn’t want to marry a girl, that he sometimes wished he were the younger twin so he wouldn’t have to be king.

A few months after their eighth birthday, Heart persuaded Tinn to join him on an expedition of the palace grounds. They would often go to the Outer Court to visit the temple or participate in royal ceremonies, but they’d never gone without their parents before. Tinn wanted to visit the stables while Heart wanted to sneak into their tutors’ offices and peek at their exam scores. The guard accompanying them was enough to dissuade Heart, so they spent most of their time feeding and brushing the horses. That is, until Heart slipped away to see the elephants while everyone’s backs were turned. It was only when Tinn heard his brother’s strangled cry that he realized Heart was missing.

“Heart!” Tinn shouted, turning to run toward his brother’s voice. The guard stopped him, insisting he keep out of harm’s way, then rushed across the stable grounds to help. Tinn obeyed for all of ten seconds before taking off as fast as his legs could carry him.

When he arrived, he was horrified by what he saw, a sight he knew he’d never forget: one of the elephants rearing back with a bellow, its front legs held high above a cowering Heart, who was trembling beneath a magic barrier that seemed to sputter with his every shaking breath. Taengmo watched helplessly from the sidelines, and at least five stablehands were trying to quell the elephant’s wrath. The guard swept in like a shadow, taking Heart into her arms just as the elephant brought its feet crashing down with a resounding thud. Only then did Tinn remember to breathe.

“Don’t tell Mama,” Heart sobbed, collapsing into Tinn’s arms the moment they were reunited. “I-I just — I wanted to see the elephants, a-and — ”

Moved by his brother’s tears, Tinn promised not to tell, begging the guard to keep it from their parents. “It was an accident, he didn’t mean to,” he’d pleaded. But she knew her duty was to the king and queen, not their children. So, once they were seen by healers, she brought them right to their mother’s study.

“You shouldn’t ask Tinn to keep secrets for you, Heart,” their mother said after she’d hugged them and admonished them in a single breath. “It will only make him ill at ease around other people. And I know you think we’ll be angry and punish you, but we just want you to be safe, and that means following the rules.” Then, she looked at Tinn. “That also means telling us if your brother tells you something we need to know. Understood?”

“Yes, Mama,” Tinn chimed, his voice wavering. Heart looked betrayed but said nothing, still sniffling and heaving and wiping his nose. The two of them slept in their mother’s bed that night, comforted by the smell of her hair oil and the warmth of her embrace. Still, Heart refused to tell Tinn anything at all for a while after that. It took months before he trusted Tinn enough to admit that he’d taken a few sips of their father’s lao khao and replaced it with water so he wouldn’t find out.

Now, Tinn sat in his study, unable to concentrate on his work. Heart had been acting strange lately, seeming even more disinterested during last night’s dinner with Chaophraya Sereevichayasawat and Lord Saran than usual. He’d even declined to have breakfast together that morning as they always did. Tinn could only assume it was because he’d gone to their mother. He’d felt certain it was the best thing for Heart at the time — their mother was always there to provide some much-needed counsel — but now, he wasn’t so sure.

Sighing, Tinn rose from his chair and began gathering up his things. He was meeting with Little Mouse in Siwalai, and it would take him at least fifteen minutes to walk there. Tinn was a little nervous about convening in the gardens as it was one of the busiest spots in the Grand Palace, but it was also the easiest for Little Mouse to find somewhere to hide.

Tinn arrived five minutes before the appointed time and sat on a bench near the ratchaphruek trees to rifle through his study notes while he waited. It wasn’t long before he heard a soft whistle from a short distance away. He followed it to the base of a tamarind tree where a small teakwood box was waiting for him, shrouded by the tall grass. Smiling, he settled down with his back against the tree, then picked up the box and carefully opened its lid. Inside was a flat, round disc etched with Little Mouse’s seal that slowly began to rotate. Little Mouse’s voice rang out, singing the song they’d danced to during the lakhon nai. Tinn hummed along, his heart alight with joy.

“I missed you,” he said once the song was over. He was rewarded with a bright laugh from somewhere on the other side of the tree.

“It’s only been four days — and we’ve written each other twice,” Little Mouse replied. His voice was low and sonorous, but Tinn knew well enough by now that it wasn’t his true speaking voice. “Did you really miss me that much?”

“Terribly so,” Tinn said solemnly, and Little Mouse laughed again. “Thank you for this. It’s beautiful — you sound beautiful. How long will the enchantment last?”

There was a pause, as if Little Mouse had shrugged and forgotten Tinn couldn’t see him. “I’m not sure. If it ever stops working, just bring it back and I’ll re-enchant it for you. Oh, and I can always make another if you’d like a different song. One of my friends’ mothers is an artificer, she has plenty of scrap wood.”

“Only if it’s not too much trouble,” Tinn said, still smiling as he tucked the box into his bag. Then, he sighed a little more heavily than he’d meant to.

“Is something wrong?” The grass rustled as Little Mouse moved closer. Tinn imagined being right there with him, laying his head in Little Mouse’s lap to listen to him while he hummed or whistled or sang. Or, perhaps it was Little Mouse’s head in his lap as he told him things he’d never told anyone, not even Heart.

“My…brother hasn’t been himself lately,” Tinn admitted. “I want to help, though I’m not quite sure what’s bothering him, and I think I went about it all wrong.” He hesitated. “I…asked our mother to talk to him.”

“I would’ve cursed my brother if he ever did that to me,” Little Mouse remarked. He inhaled sharply just seconds later in the realization he’d told Tinn something he wasn’t supposed to.

Little Mouse had never told Tinn much about his family; at most, he’d mentioned having a mother, an uncle, and a long-deceased father. Tinn didn’t know their names or their powers, or really anything about who they were. All he knew was that Little Mouse’s mother was witty and kind, his uncle was guarded but generous, and his father had been his hero.

Tinn waited for Little Mouse to say something, uncertain what to say himself. “Or put a frog under his pillow,” he eventually said with a strained chuckle. “Only…we share a bed, so that won’t do.”

“Do you and your brother get along?” Tinn asked carefully.

Another considerable pause. “Yes, and…not really.” Little Mouse swallowed. “Not since our father died.” Tinn instinctively reached for him, his arm outstretched around the side of the tree. After a moment, Little Mouse’s fingers interlaced with his. Tinn closed his eyes, and he could feel Little Mouse’s sadness, his resignation, even an inkling of his guilt. “He was also a spellsinger, so when he wasn’t working, he spent most of his time teaching me everything he knew. He didn’t spend nearly as much time with my brother. It wasn’t that he didn’t love him, it’s just…he was so happy that I was a spellsinger that he…well. Then he was drafted, a-and…” Little Mouse inhaled deeply again, and when he continued, his voice was thick with tears. “When our loved ones are gone, they don’t just go empty-handed. They take our hearts with them. There’s been a hole in all of ours ever since, and…my brother’s never forgiven me for taking Pa away from him long before he actually died.”

Tinn’s chest ached. “I’m sure that’s not what — ”

“But he did,” Little Mouse interrupted fiercely. His voice cracked, and it suddenly sounded so familiar that it made Tinn’s pulse jump, but he couldn’t afford to consider it right now. “He said Pa died never knowing which of his songs he liked best or who his friends were or what he wanted to be when he grew up. We were eight when he died.”

Twins? Tinn thought but didn’t say, his heart pounding, or were they born less than a year apart? He suspected he already knew the answer. But it wasn’t one he was supposed to know, and most definitely not one he was supposed to acknowledge, so he simply squeezed Little Mouse’s hand instead. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

Neither spoke for a while, though Tinn could hear Little Mouse’s shuddering breaths. He would occasionally withdraw his hand — most likely to dry his eyes — but then he’d reach back and find Tinn again. His fingers trembled a little less every time he returned. “Your brother,” Little Mouse eventually said, his voice all but gone. “We were talking about your brother, not mine.”

“I…fear that I’ve broken his trust.” Tinn exhaled again. He still felt as though he couldn’t quite catch his breath. What was he supposed to think or do or say, knowing what was almost certain to be true? “We’ve had the occasional disagreement, but this feels different somehow. He’s barely talked to me these past few days.”

“Did you apologize?” Little Mouse asked.

“…no,” Tinn said, stomach turning. “Heart started distancing himself after we talked a few days ago, but our mother only spoke with him last night, so I haven’t had the chance. He’s…stubborn. I doubt he’ll let me get in a single word.”

“You could write to him, like you do with me,” Little Mouse suggested. “Put it all down in a letter. And make copies, in case he throws it away.”

“I hadn’t thought to do that,” Tinn professed, blushing slightly. “It feels a little impersonal, but it’s a start.”

“And now you can add ‘clever’ to that list of words you use to describe me,” Little Mouse said, his voice considerably brighter. “‘Charming’ is starting to lose its charm, after all.”

“Is ‘funny’ starting to lose its fun?” Tinn said teasingly, and Little Mouse groaned.

“I take back everything I said about you being a poet,” he said. “At least you’d still make for a very handsome doctor.”

Tinn ran his thumb across the span of Little Mouse’s palm. He could almost feel the ghost of thin, pale scars that were no longer there. “Would you trust me to heal you?”

“Of course,” Little Mouse replied, both of them knowing he already had.

Li Ming had been alone in the repository for all of ten minutes, sorting through crates of sugarcane and ginger root and soybeans, when he heard unfamiliar footsteps approaching from outside. He didn’t think anything of it at first, assuming it was one of the other kitchen servants. Perhaps it was someone who’d come to assist him and his uncle, who had only just headed back inside. Then, there was a knock-knock-knock against the repository walls. “Hello?”

He glanced up. It was the younger man he’d seen with Uncle Jim before, the one who’d looked at his uncle in a way that Li Ming really didn’t want to think about. He was just as well-kept as Li Ming remembered and had what appeared to be a ledger tucked under his arm. “Hello,” Li Ming said cautiously. “Are you looking for Uncle Jim?”

“Uncle,” the man remarked; he seemed amused by the word for some reason. “So you’re his nephew.” When Li Ming was too bewildered to respond, the man bowed, then straightened up. “My name is Wen, I’m one of the palace architects. I’m responsible for the Inner Court’s personal residences, so I’ve been meeting with servants like your uncle to hear their demands. That’s how we became friends.”

“Friends,” Li Ming repeated doubtfully. “Since when?”

Uncle Jim returned before Wen could answer, his jaw tensing when he discovered what he’d come back to. “Wen,” he said sharply, taking him by the elbow and pulling him aside. “I told you not to come here.”

“It’s been so long since we last met,” Wen said, his voice silkier now. Li Ming grimaced. “I wanted to ask you to dinner.”

Uncle Jim sighed with a shake of his head, bracing his hands on his hips. “Not tonight,” he said. “Please, just go. Li Ming and I have work to do.” Wen seemed displeased, but he nodded and took his leave, offering Li Ming a brief yet affable smile. Li Ming wasn’t sure what to make of him, though it was clear Uncle Jim was keeping him at arm’s length. Uncle Jim spoke again before he could pry further. “Madam Chidchanok was just telling me Prince Heart spoke very highly of you in front of the bureau.”

Li Ming blinked. “Really?” Their last encounter had been a little over a week ago, and all he remembered of it was how absentminded the prince had been, asking for Li Ming’s help when he had no need of it. It seemed their time together during the lakhon nai had changed Prince Heart’s opinion of him, and if Li Ming were to be honest — only with himself, that is — he would say the same. Prince Heart was still stubborn and spoiled, but he seemed different somehow, more human. Li Ming almost felt foolish for thinking otherwise, for thinking that the prince lacked humanity simply because the crown demanded he never show it.

“It seems you left a good impression on the royal family for once,” Uncle Jim continued. If Li Ming didn’t know any better, he would’ve said his uncle was almost smiling. “I can’t say I understand why they asked for you after what happened last time, but…I’m glad to hear you were a great help.”

Li Ming opened his mouth to protest, to ask why his uncle was only capable of commending him after someone else did so first, only to snap it shut. This was the longest they’d gone in months without turning a conversation into an argument, and it didn’t seem worth spoiling. “So am I.”

“If they were to ask for you again, maybe on a more permanent basis, would you accept?” Uncle Jim asked. “I think it’d be good for you.”

Li Ming went quiet as he considered the question. Aside from preferring the stables over the kitchens, he’d never cared much about where he worked or what he did, only that he had work to begin with. The bureau provided servants with food, medicine, and accommodations, leaving them to take care of their own clothing, furnishings, and luxuries. It was why their blankets had holes in them, why the soles of their shoes were always cracked, why they all worked from sunrise to sunset. If Li Ming were to become a member of the prince’s personal household, he would make enough to resolve all their troubles and then some, and he wouldn’t need to work nearly as much as he did now.

“Possibly,” he eventually said. “Though I’d have to live with him, and I doubt either of us could bear it.” Uncle Jim responded with an amused exhale before once again departing for the kitchens with an enormous crate of durian in his arms.

After several hours of moving produce between the repository and the kitchens, Li Ming went looking for Gun so they could have lunch together. As soon as he entered the corridor, however, he found his mother in the entryway. She appeared to have been waiting for him, her face adorned with a mischievous smile. “Ma? What is it?”

“You’ll have to see for yourself,” Gim said, motioning for him to follow her inside. He’d barely crossed the threshold before he realized what she’d meant, though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing: Prince Heart, seated at one of the preparation tables, smiling hesitantly with what appeared to be a dish of khanom mo kaeng.

He bore no resemblance to the disheveled boy he’d been the last time they met. In fact, he more closely resembled the elegant prince he’d been on the night of the lakhon nai, though not the one who’d been indifferent, even detached. Rather, he looked like the one who’d hidden behind the khon theater with him, a diffident smile playing on his lips as Li Ming signed the words being sung. He looked as nervous then as he did now, dressed in cream-colored silk and a cerulean pha biang, his hair neatly combed and oiled. He gestured to the stool on the other side of the table, and it was only then that Li Ming noted he smelled faintly of frangipani.

“Your Royal Highness,” Li Ming said after he’d recovered from his surprise. “What…is all this?”

“I wanted to thank you for everything you did for me during the lakhon nai,” Prince Heart said, color rushing to his cheeks. “I asked your mother for help and this was her suggestion, so…I made this for you myself.”

Li Ming sat across from him, then leaned in close, peering at the dessert. It was a simple custard, made with eggs, sugar, cream, shallots, and mung beans. This particular khanom mo kaeng was sagging in the middle and burnt at the edges. It was also too pale, the color of frothy egg whites. Still, Prince Heart’s apprehensive smile kept Li Ming from mentioning it.

“Thank you,” he said, finding it easier to be sincere with Prince Heart now that he’d done so at least twice. “You really didn’t have to. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”

“Like listen to Chaophraya Nakornthap’s sermon on sugarcane juice? Hardly,” Prince Heart said, shuddering. He gestured again, this time at the dish. “Please, if you’ll indulge me and take at least one bite. I know it looks…” His nose scrunched up in distaste as he trailed off.

“I’ve seen worse,” Li Ming said, smiling slightly. He reached for the spoon placed before him, hesitating when he noticed there was only one. “You’re not having any?”

“It’s supposed to be for you,” Prince Heart replied.

Li Ming raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because it seems more like you’re too cowardly to try your own food.”

Before the lakhon nai, Prince Heart would’ve taken it as a mean-spirited remark, and Li Ming would’ve intended it as one. This time, however, Prince Heart merely stuck out his tongue like a child before asking Gim for another spoon. Their eyes inadvertently met across the table as they both took their first bite, and Li Ming felt his pulse quicken in anticipation. Then, the taste seemed to afflict them both all at once.

“Oh,” Prince Heart said aloud, coughing. He glanced around in a panic just as Gim arrived with cloth napkins and a knowing smile. Li Ming could only imagine how the queen would react if she saw the way her son spit into his napkin, his eyes watering as though he were in great pain. “It tastes…”

“Like oil.” Though Li Ming had managed to swallow it down, he still grimaced, reaching for the other napkin so he could wipe the grease from his mouth. “Like nothing but oil.”

Prince Heart’s shoulders sagged. “That wasn’t how it was supposed to be at all.”

“I’d hope not,” Li Ming said lightly, setting down his spoon. “But…I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Your Royal Highness. Really.”

“I’m glad.” Prince Heart offered a weak smile. “If I’m being honest, I was a little…distracted while I was making it. Perhaps I added the oil twice without noticing.”

“Distracted?” Li Ming wondered if it was for the same reason he’d seemed so preoccupied when they last met. “By what?”

Prince Heart chewed his bottom lip, lost in thought. “Swear you won’t tell anyone?” When Li Ming nodded, too curious to make a cutting remark, he continued, “My brother and I have been…not quarreling exactly, but…we haven’t spoken much in the last few days. I’m not sure what to do.”

“What happened?” Li Ming asked. He hadn’t heard any of the other servants mention either of the princes behaving differently, and they were sure to talk about it to anyone who would listen if they knew — even Li Ming, who told them off whenever they asked him what he’d seen or heard at the lakhon nai.

“I went to confide in him about something, and his response left me even more confused than before. Then he told our mother about our conversation because he thought she might be able to help.” The furrow in his brow suggested Prince Tinn’s estimation hadn’t been entirely wrong.

Li Ming frowned. “Did he tell her what you’d told him?”

“No, but…it did make me trust him a little less,” Prince Heart admitted, pressing his lips together. “I understand he’s concerned, but I worry he’s told her other things about me I’ll never know about. It’s happened before, after all.”

“Gun does that sometimes with our mother, though I don’t think he means to. He’s just terrible at keeping secrets,” Li Ming said, more out of affection than exasperation. He couldn’t imagine his brother being any other way. Prince Heart stiffened at the sound of Gun’s name; Li Ming’s brow creased slightly at the odd reaction. “So you haven’t spoken since?”

“Not really. I…haven’t really wanted to. And…there’s something else.” Prince Heart swallowed, his head dipping low. Li Ming briefly glanced around to make certain no one was watching them. “I discovered something earlier today that’s very important to him, and…I’m not sure if I should tell him.”

“Because you’re upset with him?”

“Because it’s not my secret to share.” Prince Heart looked at him intently then, as if he were expecting Li Ming to tell him what to do next. But no one ever asked Li Ming for advice other than Gun, much less a prince who had only just begun to trust him — at least, that’s what Li Ming presumed this was — and so he had no sense of what to say.

“Can you…ask them if you can tell your brother?” Li Ming eventually suggested.

Prince Heart shook his head. “They can’t know that I know. If they knew, they would definitely panic.” After a moment, he sighed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be troubling you with all this. And besides, this was supposed to be an occasion for you, not me.”

“Is that what this is?” Li Ming prodded at the khanom mo kaeng with his spoon. Both of them grimaced when a small pool of oil began to form at his touch. “And it’s fine, though I doubt I’ll be much help. My brother and I argue all the time.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” Prince Heart quipped, apparently brightening at the chance to tease Li Ming, though Li Ming couldn’t find it in himself to feel aggrieved. At least the prince seemed happier now. “What do you argue about?”

“Little things…big things.” Li Ming shrugged. “You know, the usual sort that siblings argue about.”

“But I don’t know,” Prince Heart said. “Tinn and I never really argue. We disagree sometimes, but it never really becomes an argument.”

“You’ve never stolen his food, or broken something of his on purpose, or pretended to be him in front of someone else?” Li Ming suggested.

Prince Heart laughed. It was a bit hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken out loud in some time, but it was bright and warm and befitting of his mischievous nature. “Why only me? Why not Tinn?”

“You’re the one always running away and getting into trouble,” Li Ming reminded him. “I doubt your brother has ever broken a single rule in his entire life. He’d apologize to a mosquito for letting it bite him.”

“I wouldn’t go quite that far,” Prince Heart said, continuing to laugh. “I suppose you’re right, though. Tinn is very thoughtful. It’s part of being an empath, I think, even more so than being a prince. He feels other people’s emotions so intensely that he naturally wants them to be happy.” Then, he leaned in close as if to whisper right in Li Ming’s ear. “I did pretend to be Tinn all the time when we were children. It never worked.”

“Were you that terrible at imitating him?” Li Ming asked, intrigued.

“Awful,” Prince Heart said, sighing wistfully. “The way I walked and talked, it was all wrong. Eventually, our mother insisted my hair be kept shorter than Tinn’s so I’d never be able to go unnoticed. It’s looked like this ever since.”

Li Ming snorted. He never would’ve thought there was a certain significance to the cut of Prince Heart’s hair. The twins had been physically indistinguishable as children; it was only when Prince Heart would yawn or slouch that it became evident which one was which. “Gun once pretended to be me so he could sneak into the stables and visit the horses. Mister Sanpetch put him to work shoveling manure and immediately knew it wasn’t me when Gun started to retch.”

Prince Heart scrunched up his nose at the thought. “Do you miss working in the stables?”

“I suppose,” Li Ming said, shrugging. “I liked being outdoors, and I liked working by myself. I never had to wait for someone else before cleaning the stalls or feeding the horses or anything. I’d just get my orders from Mister Sanpetch and do as I was told.”

Prince Heart nodded thoughtfully, his playful grin softening into something a little more pensive. “I haven’t gone riding in a while. I used to go with my mother all the time, but ever since all of…this happened…” He paused. “Would you like to…perhaps we could go…”

It took Li Ming a moment to make sense of what he wanted to say. “Are you asking me to accompany you on a ride?”

“For us to go riding together,” Prince Heart corrected, his cheeks flushed. Then, he added hastily, “We don’t have to, of course, I just thought — I thought it might be nice.”

Li Ming was surprised to find himself in agreement. “When?”

“I’m not sure. My mother keeps planning all these last-minute engagements.” Prince Heart’s face creased in frustration. “But…I’ll come visit once I know and tell you then. Would that be alright?”

“As long as you give me a day’s notice so Mister Sanpetch can prepare our horses beforehand,” Li Ming replied, but Prince Heart was quick to shake his head.

“We can’t tell anyone,” he said, grimacing at how it sounded. “My mother, she…she doesn’t want us talking. We can’t risk her finding out.”

A surge of anger swelled in Li Ming’s chest. Did the queen really still not trust him? Would nothing, not even her own son’s word, ever change her mind? “So I’m still just a dangerous phrai boy to her, is that it? She still thinks I mean to hurt you?” When Prince Heart lowered his gaze, unable to refute him, Li Ming scowled. “Then she doesn’t trust you either if she refuses to let you make up your own mind.”

Prince Heart made as if to protest, to come to his mother’s defense, only to deflate with a quiet sigh. “We’ll have to prepare the horses ourselves without anyone knowing,” he said. “And we’ll have to go when it’s not too busy.”

“And if someone notices you or your horse has gone missing?” Li Ming asked. “They’ll think you ran away.”

“I’ll think of something,” Prince Heart said, though he didn’t appear too assured. Then, he brightened a little. “Your mother made another khanom mo kaeng without my help, if you’d like to — ” Li Ming was already out of his seat the moment Prince Heart finished his sentence. Warm, bright laughter followed Li Ming across the kitchen as he went to find his mother. The pang of anger he’d felt just moments ago was swiftly replaced with a soft flutter in his chest.

It took Gun at least one song, perhaps even two, before he realized he hadn’t been listening. He couldn’t recall whether his friends were preparing for Chaophraya Boonlupyanun’s birthday celebration or Chaophraya Chalaragse’s dinner party as he sat across from them outside the Phra Thinang Racharuedee pavilion, too preoccupied with recalling yesterday’s conversation with Prince Tinn over and over again in his head. He still remembered the sound of Prince Tinn’s voice with perfect clarity; it was his own words that eluded him, accompanied by his growing suspicion that he’d said too much.

He’d told Prince Tinn that he had a brother, that much was obvious, but he couldn’t remember if there had been something else. Prince Tinn’s reassurance — or really, just his presence alone — had made Gun feel as if he could tell him anything, which meant there was a chance he quite literally did. And, since the notepaper Gun had brought went untouched, it meant he’d spoken out loud the entire time. Did his voice ever sound too much like his own? Did he ever say anything that reminded Tinn of the boy he’d met twice in the gardens? And why, Gun asked himself with a groan, had he suggested meeting in Siwalai, the one place Prince Tinn had encountered him as his true self?

You want him to know, a small voice seemed to whisper right in his ear. It sounded eerily like Li Ming, and for a moment, Gun wondered if his brother had learned a voice projection spell of his own. You want him to figure it out on his own so you won’t have to confess outright. You know this isn’t enough for you, yet you’ll never do anything about it — just as you’ve always done.

Gun shivered despite the sweltering Ayutthayan heat. The voice had gone from a whisper to a taunt, and it reminded him far too much of how Li Ming had shouted at him that awful day. “Are you alright, Gun?” Por called from his spot behind the ranat ek. Gun hadn’t even noticed they’d stopped playing. “You look pale. Do you need water? Or perhaps you should get out of the sun.”

Yo, an abjurer, conjured a makeshift lean-to for shelter. Gun smiled, squeezing his friend’s arm in gratitude. “Thanks,” he said, grinning. “Though it’s nothing, really. I’ve just been really busy, so…I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

Win and Pat were quick to raise their eyebrows. Por, meanwhile, looked concerned. “You know, we haven’t seen you all week,” he said. “Are you working too much?”

“Uh…sort of. They have me helping Li Ming and my uncle in the repositories,” Gun lied. “Lots of walking back and forth, taking stock…and, well, I’m not very good at it. You know how terrible I am with numbers.”

“Can you go back to washing dishes, then?” Win asked. Gun knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but it suddenly felt as if that was all he was capable of, all that he would ever be: a dishwasher. There was nothing wrong with it, exactly, but he’d always dreamed of becoming a court performer someday, singing for visiting dignitaries with his friends and impressing them with his voice. Scouring pots and pans while serving the occasional khunnang would do nothing in the way of his ambitions.

“I could ask,” Gun said tonelessly, staring down at the cracks in the toes of his shoes.

After his friends finished their preparations, the five of them went to have dinner in the Asawasuebsakul residence as usual. Win excitedly told the others about an upcoming poetry contest he’d entered in the hopes of winning some earnings of his own, while Yo bashfully admitted that he was thinking of proposing to Lady Aphichaya on her birthday. Since Yo’s father was a Khun and Lady Aphichaya’s father was a Luang, their marriage would exalt Yo’s status, granting him privileges he never thought possible.

“None of that matters, though,” Yo said modestly, trying to conceal his excitement. “Nook and I really do love each other, and P’Yak finally admitted we’re a good match.”

The others shuddered at the mention of their former mentor. Yo was the most soft-spoken of the bunch, yet they all considered him the most strong-willed for courting the younger sister of the boy who’d both impressed and terrified them during their school days. “I know the three of us haven’t had much luck,” Por said, gesturing at himself, Win, and Pat with his spoon, “but what about you, Gun?”

Gun blinked. “What…about me?”

“Are you courting anyone?” Pat asked with an exaggerated lift of his eyebrows. The others grinned from ear to ear and leaned in close. “Or have eyes for someone, at least?”

“Definitely not,” Gun said far too quickly, and Pat’s eyebrows lifted even further, but Gun wasn’t about to admit to the truth. “I, uh…I don’t have the time.”

“Would you make the time for something else?” Por asked, brightening. “We were invited to perform for Chaophraya Chaichitathorn on the same day as Win’s poetry contest, so we’ll need someone to join us. You would be perfect for the job!”

Gun nearly choked on his mouthful of rice. “Really?” he asked, his eyes wide. “Would he be alright with it? With…me?” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn was one of the most sociable members of the khunnang, the sort who was always hosting lavish dinners at his estate and inviting dozens of esteemed guests to dine together and share stories. He was known to be kind and eccentric, too, unusual for a Chaophraya, and Gun’s friends had performed for him many times before.

“Of course!” Por said cheerfully. “We already told him Win won’t be there, and he said he trusted us to find a talented substitute. So…what do you think?”

“I…I’d love to,” Gun breathed. Every single one of his friends’ faces instantly lit up in celebration. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Por repeated, beaming. “And if Chaophraya Chaichitathorn likes you, perhaps he’ll invite you back!”

“He definitely will,” Yo said, nodding eagerly. “Oh, and that gives me an idea — Gun, you should perform at my wedding, too! Nook’s father is friends with members of the Luang and the Phraya and they’re sure to be invited, so if you impress them — ”

“Your wedding? Someone’s feeling confident,” Win teased. Yo responded by flicking a handful of rice in Win’s face, half of which landed in Pat’s bowl. Pat cried out in protest, reaching for a generous spoonful of nam phrik and dumping it in Yo’s bowl. It wasn’t long before the three of them were bickering and trying to ruin each other’s meals. Por did his best to stop them — he hated wasting perfectly good food, especially when it was prepared by his mother — while Gun ducked out of the way, not wanting to lose a single bite. As he huddled beneath the table to avoid Pat’s wrath, he grinned to himself, feeling considerably more hopeful than he had just minutes ago.

When he returned to his family’s residence later that evening, he was surprised to find Gim and Li Ming talking animatedly at the table — or rather, Gim was talking animatedly; Li Ming looked almost mortified, and Gun couldn’t recall the last time his brother had been embarrassed by anything. “All I mean to say is that it’s been a while,” Gim said as Gun entered the room, pausing to cough. Her chest didn’t rattle quite as much as it had the day after the lakhon nai, but her voice was still thin and reedy. “And it’s far better than the two of you quarreling and getting into trouble all the time.”

“What’s happened?” Gun asked curiously. “Who’s getting into trouble?” But Li Ming only responded with a groan, dropping his head into his hands. His ears and the back of his neck were unusually red. Sensing his brother was in need of a distraction, Gun dropped into the chair across from his mother, offering her a broad grin. “Ma, you’ll never guess what just happened!”

An affectionate smile tugged at the corner of Gim’s lips. “Well, now I just have to guess,” she remarked. “Let’s see…did you finish your amplification charm?”

Gun flushed, guilty. “No, but…I will soon, I swear.”

She briefly leaned across the table to pinch his ear. “Did they find whoever’s been hiding soybean hulls in the spice tins?”

Li Ming wrinkled his nose. “That’s disgusting.”

Gim hummed, now determined to figure it out. After a moment’s consideration, she snapped her fingers. “Did Prince Tinn come by to see you today?”

It was as if Gun’s heart had plummeted right to the ground. “Wh…what?”

“Prince Heart came by to see me yesterday,” Li Ming cut in before Gim could reply, proffering Gun a pithy glare. “A twin for a twin. Clever, Ma.”

“Why…did he want to see you?” Gun asked. His voice trembled just as badly as their mother’s, echoing in his head as if it belonged to someone else, though he could barely hear it over the sound of his heartbeat. He didn’t dare turn to look at Gim, nervous that his expression would immediately give it all away.

“He wanted to thank me for my help during the lakhon nai,” Li Ming replied, averting his gaze for what Gun suspected was an entirely different reason.

“Prince Heart didn’t just want to thank him. He made khanom mo kaeng for him, too,” Gim added with a sly grin.

“It was awful,” Li Ming nodded, shuddering. “So…what actually happened, then?”

“Oh, um…my friends were invited to perform for Chaophraya Chaichitathorn, but since Win won’t be able to go, Por asked if I would join them instead,” Gun said. He hoped Gim would mistake the quiver in his voice for humility and not trepidation.

“Really?” Gim exclaimed, beaming. “Oh, Gun, that’s wonderful! When is it?”

“In a few weeks, I think. Por didn’t have the exact date,” Gun said, glancing at his brother. Li Ming’s smile was comparatively softer than their mother’s, but it was there.

“Then we’ll have to make time now to prepare.” Gim rose from her chair, bustling about in search of her supplies. “You’ll need plenty of tea and some proper clothes — Jim might have something for you — and you really need to finish that amplification charm…” She continued on as she started rummaging through the kitchen cabinet, talking far faster than her poor throat could manage. Li Ming began to frown, albeit very slightly.

Once their mother retired to bed early, her cough worsening enough for Gun and Li Ming to insist she needed more rest, Gun went to fetch some paper and his reed pen so he could start his next letter to Prince Tinn and share the good news. Li Ming, meanwhile, regarded him with some caution. “What’s Chaophraya Chaichitathorn like?” he eventually asked after a few minutes of companionable silence.

“He’s very kind,” Gun replied, glancing up. “There’s no need to worry, Li Ming. Even if I’m not at my best, he won’t be cruel.” Li Ming pressed his lips together, nodding. Gun had heard enough of Li Ming’s diatribes against the khunnang to know what he wanted to say, but he was in far too good of a mood to indulge him. “Did Prince Heart really cook for you?”

“There’s no mistaking it. It tasted like it had been made by someone who’s never cooked before,” Li Ming said wryly. “I do appreciate his thoughtfulness, though I still can’t believe he did all of that just to thank me.”

“Especially after all the arguments and everything,” Gun agreed. “I’m surprised Madam Chidchanok allowed both of you in the kitchen at the same time.”

Li Ming cracked a small smile and shook his head. The gesture reminded Gun not of their father, but of Uncle Jim. “So…Ma wasn’t entirely wrong. You and Prince Tinn met again yesterday, didn’t you?”

Gun’s face grew warm. “We did. We talked about music and family and books…well, he talked about books. I didn’t know half of what he was saying, but he sounded so happy that I would’ve let him go on forever. He told me he’d lend me one of his favorites the next time we meet. I doubt I’ll understand any of it, but I’ll give it a try.”

“You’re going to keep meeting with him, then?” Li Ming frowned again. “What do you think is going to happen, Gun? Do you really expect — ”

“You don’t have to keep saying it,” Gun said shortly, setting his pen down with a pointed clack. “I know nothing will come of it, and that I’ll only get hurt. You’ve said all of that before. But what about you?”

Li Ming’s frown deepened. “What about me?”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting hurt?” The ensuing silence was palpable. Gun searched his brother’s face for something, anything, but Li Ming’s temper was merely simmering at the surface; it hadn’t boiled over just yet. “What if it’s just like before, and — ”

“But it’s not,” Li Ming said coolly. “This is different.”

“How do you know?” Gun countered. But Li Ming was already getting to his feet, turning away from Gun. His fingers tugged at the fraying edges of the fabric scrap tied around his wrist. “How is it different?”

Li Ming scoffed. “We agreed not to talk about this, so why are you asking?”

Gun swallowed. He loved Li Ming; he was the strongest, cleverest, most fiercely protective brother Gun could ever want. But he found himself thinking more often than not that he didn’t like Li Ming — or conversely, perhaps it was Li Ming who didn’t like him. He was intimidating and sharp-witted and quick-tempered, and he thought Gun was reckless and foolish and sentimental, and Gun desperately wished their relationship could be different. But it had been ten years since their father died, and he doubted they would ever find their way out.

“I don’t know,” Gun half-mumbled, eyes fixed on the ink bleeding from the tip of his pen and spreading slowly across the table, but Li Ming had already left the room.

Heart’s skin was sticky with perspiration as he kept himself hidden among the coconut palms a short distance away from the stables, drawing his cotton pakama tight around his head. Slipping away from his guard and Kajorn hadn’t been too difficult — he’d done it dozens of times before, after all — but while the Outer Court wasn’t nearly as bustling as the Inner Court, there were still hundreds of people coming in and out of the nearby buildings: the bureau, the barracks, the temple, an entire compound of ministerial offices. Taengmo’s ears were on high alert for voices and footsteps, while Heart kept watch for guards, officials, and most importantly, Li Ming.

An unconscious smile stretched across Heart’s face when he began to think about the other boy. He’d never expected to invite Li Ming to go riding with him, and he certainly never expected Li Ming would accept. And of course, he hadn’t expected their last encounter to go as well as it did, either. At best, he’d expected Li Ming would take the smallest possible bite of the khanom mo kaeng before excusing himself and resolving to never speak to Heart again, appropriately wary of his strange behavior. Li Ming’s sincerity had been an entirely unexpected reward.

Heart’s smile faltered. In spending more time with Li Ming, it was hard to ignore what he’d learned: that Gun was Little Mouse. There was still a chance that Gun’s handwriting happened to be an exact match for someone else’s, or perhaps he was writing the letters on their behalf, but it seemed more likely that the simplest answer was the right one. Heart still hadn’t decided whether to tell Tinn or not, and as the days went on, the weight of his indecision only grew heavier. It didn’t help that he was still keeping his distance.

Taengmo was the one who spotted him first, her ears perking up before she tugged on the hem of Heart’s sleeve with her teeth. Shaking himself free of his thoughts, Heart turned to see Li Ming coming his way, dressed plainly in a loose shirt, sado pants, and worn riding boots, his ngop hat tilted at an angle so he could easily slip in between the trees. Chaipo was peeking out from the cloth bag slung across his chest.

“Where did you get that pakama from?” Li Ming asked once he’d arrived, frowning.

“It’s mine, of course. Did you expect me to only ever wear silk?” Heart said with a laugh. His face grew warm when he realized Li Ming hadn’t bowed to him or addressed him by title; he’d simply greeted him by way of no greeting at all. “I don’t have a ngop like yours, and I certainly can’t wear my phra kiao. This is all I’ve got.”

“You should’ve told me,” Li Ming said, tugging at one of the fraying threads by Heart’s cheek. “I could’ve lent you Gun’s.”

Heart’s breath hitched when the tips of Li Ming’s fingers briefly grazed his skin. “Shall we go?” he managed, his cheeks burning from the traces of Li Ming’s touch.

Li Ming nodded, leading them to a nearby footpath that curved around the back of the stables and away from the main passageway. Taengmo swiftly transfigured into a small, feline form so she could slip into Heart’s bag, just as Chaipo had done with Li Ming. Chaipo narrowed her bright blue eyes at Taengmo as her tongue continued to loll out of her mouth like a dog’s.

The palace stables, a group of buildings sprawling across a lush field of green grass, were nothing short of prodigious, housing both the military’s horses and elephants. Like most of the Grand Palace’s architecture, they were constructed of whitewashed plaster walls, a golden mondop roof, and square columns adorned with glass mosaic. Adjoining the stables were the training grounds, half a dozen supply storehouses, and a long stretch of mounting platforms for the elephants. Something about them made Heart shudder, only he didn’t quite know why.

As Heart and Li Ming inched their way along, holding their breaths in the hopes that no one would suddenly round the corner and spot them, Heart found himself wanting to know more about Li Ming’s past life as a stablehand. Most of them were menagerists and hydromancers — it was far easier for them to produce their own water than to build a reserve from the Chao Phraya — so having a wordsmith working with animals was almost unheard of. He would’ve thought someone like Li Ming would work in one of the many palace libraries or as a clerk for one of the many palace officials. Heart resolved to ask before the day’s end.

Finally, after several minutes of sneaking about, they arrived in front of the stall of Heart’s trusty steed, Kaolat. Heart beamed at the sight of him, pleased to see his chestnut-colored coat was as glossy as always, his dark, intelligent eyes bright and alert. He spent a few moments stroking Kaolat’s flank and combing his fingers through Kaolat’s silken mane while Li Ming chose a horse of his own. A few stablehands passed by, heaving buckets of feed or hefting enormous saddles over their shoulders. Heart hid behind Kaolat’s haunches before they could see him.

Li Ming soon emerged on a sleek black steed, its inky coat a stark contrast against his white shirt and wheaten pants. The reins were loose in his hands, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and there was a confident poise to him that Heart had never seen before. An increasingly familiar sense of warmth curled in the pit of Heart’s stomach.

“Why aren’t you ready?” Li Ming asked, cocking his head with another frown. “We’ve got to go before they see us.”

Heart quickly prepared and mounted Kaolat, knotting the pakama twice underneath his chin to secure it in place, and then they were off. They trotted toward the main gate in full view of everyone — something that went completely against Heart’s every instinct — with Li Ming leading the way. No one seemed to blink an eye when they passed through. The stablehand keeping watch even nodded at them before returning to the ledger he’d been poring over, likely taking stock of the deliveries arriving later that evening as Li Ming had surmised.

“They’ll be too busy to get a good look at us,” he’d said when Heart had come to see him again. “If your mother doesn’t already have plans for you, we’ll meet at five o’clock.”

Now, they turned onto the main passageway that intersected the dozens of buildings of the Outer Court, passing several others mostly traversing by foot. Sweat beaded at the nape of Heart’s neck and he tried not to avert his eyes, fearful it would make him seem suspicious. There were far too many people around who would recognize him in an instant: some of his father’s chief ministers, a small group of his mother’s favored advisors, a few of the head monks of the royal family’s private temple, even one of his childhood tutors emerging from her private office with young clerks-in-training in tow.

They diverted onto a twisting dirt path that would take them beyond the palace walls and down to the riverbank. The trees on both sides grew dense, their branches sagging and weaving as if to purposefully obscure their field of vision. The exterior gate was almost entirely invisible to them, even as they drew near; they were only just able to see the silhouette of its guard tower. Inside were two young soldiers, one surveying the inner pathway, the other looking out to the stretch of forest that separated the palace from the river.

Heart took in a deep breath just as Li Ming slowed to a stop. It had been some time since he’d cast a cloaking spell of this size, and never in such precarious circumstances. His eyes pinched shut and his breathing slowed, his fingers closing around his artifact — one of two wooden carvings his father had finished the day he and Tinn were born. The air around them began to shift, and Li Ming glanced back at him, though Heart didn’t dare let his focus waver. For a moment, there was a hitch of breath, almost as if Heart’s magic had caught on something that no one, not even Heart, could see. Then, everything seemed to settle. Heart opened his eyes and looked up, exhaling in relief.

Li Ming’s expression turned curious. “Are you alright?”

Heart blinked, surprised by the question. He’d expected Li Ming to ask if the spell had worked. He nodded and Li Ming responded with a reassured smile of his own, motioning for Heart to go ahead. They passed through the exterior gate, both soldiers none the wiser, and carried on through the forest and down to the river.

Though the Chao Phraya was perfectly familiar to him, Heart still paused to admire his surroundings as he removed his pakama: the smell of freshwater and silt and yang na trees, the river’s waters shining under the Ayutthayan sun. He wished, not for the first time, that his personal residence wasn’t in the middle of the palace grounds, making it near impossible to sneak out to the forest or the river on a whim. Instead, he had to navigate an entire labyrinth of buildings just to get to the Siwalai Gardens. Even then, there was only so much joy he could find in something so deliberately fashioned that it never seemed to change.

It was then that he noticed Li Ming watching him inquisitively once more. Heart’s face warmed under his ardent gaze, something he could never quite get used to. He hastily took off at a gallop, certain that Li Ming would follow, and the two of them rode on for the better part of an hour, slowing on occasion to ride side-by-side. Heart would point out landmarks on the other side of the river — temples, farms, villages — while Li Ming would dismount to fetch a plant or flower that he knew his mother or uncle would like. Li Ming never seemed to speak fondly of his uncle, Heart observed, yet his regard for him was indisputable. His love for his mother, meanwhile, only made Heart think somewhat bitterly of his own.

They eventually came across a small clearing where the trees had thinned, giving way to a field of wild grass and brightly colored krachiao. Heart stopped to dismount for the first time since they’d begun, wiping the sweat from his brow with his pakama.“Tired already?” Li Ming asked, circling in front of him with a teasing grin. His sweat-slicked hair was damp against his forehead, his cheeks flushed pink and the dip of his collarbone glistening with perspiration. Heart’s breath caught in his throat at how the muscles in Li Ming’s forearms tensed when he gripped the reins.

Heart shrugged in what he hoped was an unaffected manner. “I thought this might be a good spot to go for a swim.” It took Heart all of half a minute to realize his mistake, his eyes widening in alarm as Li Ming proceeded to dismount, remove his hat and bag, and lift his shirt over his head. Heart turned away, blushing furiously as Li Ming knelt to unlace his boots. Chaipo, who’d leaped out of her master’s bag the moment he’d set it down, gave Heart a disparaging look as she delicately cleaned her paws.

Suddenly, something pinched his arm. He looked up, startled, into Li Ming’s still-smiling face, refusing to let his gaze drift any lower than the freckles on Li Ming’s bare shoulders. “Are you coming or not?”

Heart nodded wordlessly, half-petrified he’d say something mortifying if he were to speak. He began to undress while Li Ming led their horses to the water for a drink. Taengmo, meanwhile, transfigured back into her natural Bangkaew form and sprinted toward the water with a triumphant bark. Chaipo reluctantly followed with a swish of her long tail. Finally, Heart joined them as well, his pulse thrumming against his ribcage when Li Ming glanced back at him, his eyes bright. They stepped into the water together, Chaipo not too far behind.

The water was warm but not unbearably so, and clear enough that Heart could see schools of fish encircling his ankles in an odd sort of dance. Heart would often go swimming with Tinn or one of his khunnang companions whenever they came to visit, but never in such an isolated stretch of the river. It was especially peaceful here, not a building or guard in sight. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been without a guard or tutor or monk within arm’s reach.

They swam aimlessly for a short while, already fatigued from the long ride. Neither strayed too far from the other, as if they’d agreed to some unspoken rule about keeping close by. When Heart’s shoulders started to ache from the effort, he slowed, turning onto his back so he could float, letting his half-lidded gaze drift out of focus. The sun was beginning to set, though it wasn’t dark just yet. The sky was a hazy blue marked with pale yellows and oranges that reminded Heart of maprang fruit.

It wasn’t long before Li Ming joined him, also turning onto his back with his eyes closed. Heart snuck a glance at him, then two, then three, before he decided to abandon all pretense and observe him at length. He remembered finding Gun quite handsome when they’d first met, then later thinking that Li Ming was a sharpened version of him in every sense of the word — the narrow of his chin, the hollows of his cheekbones, the cut of his ever-present glare. But he could see some of Li Ming’s softness now, the sly curve of his mouth, the round slope of his nose, the shape of his fingers when he signed Heart’s name. There had to be more that perhaps even Li Ming himself wasn’t aware of, and Heart wanted to find every last one.

Suddenly, without warning, one of Li Ming’s eyes cracked open, then narrowed in Heart’s direction. Heart cried out in surprise, limbs floundering as he straightened up, only to splash Li Ming across the face in his haste to escape. Heart stilled, eyes widening in fear as Li Ming blinked the water out of his eyes. Seconds later, a spray of water struck him in the face, filling his eyes, nose, and slightly parted mouth. Heart spluttered and coughed, and once he’d cleared his clouded gaze, he found Li Ming was laughing at him.

Heart made straight for him, but Li Ming easily slipped out of reach. His arm swept across the water’s surface and another wave smacked Heart’s face, hard enough to sting. Grinning, his vigor now restored, Heart pushed forward, a small shield made of pure energy materializing in front of his outstretched hands. The force of its wave quite literally toppled Li Ming head over feet. Heart laughed at Li Ming’s incredulous expression just before he went under, only to have the breath knocked right out of him once more — Li Ming had shot toward him and taken hold of his waist, pulling him below the surface. Heart only just managed to pinch his nose and squeeze his eyes shut in time.

When he opened his eyes, Li Ming’s nose was mere inches away from his own, his arms still securely wrapped around Heart’s waist. Their legs had somehow become half-tangled beneath them, and Heart suddenly became very aware of Li Ming’s bare torso pressed against his. Li Ming’s skin was warm and his smile was triumphant, like he’d been declared the winner of their play fight and was now free to do as he pleased. Heart’s arms were around Li Ming’s shoulders, holding him tight, but Li Ming didn’t seem to mind. Something in his eyes seemed to dare Heart to make the next move. So, Heart wrenched himself free and kicked to the surface. Li Ming followed, and the two of them dragged themselves back onto the riverbank, completely and utterly spent.

Heart collapsed onto his back with a sharp, shallow exhale. He splayed his limbs out wide and squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the damp blades of grass now sticking to his bare skin. His fingers were wrinkled and every muscle in his body seemed to burn. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself as the ground shifted beside him — Li Ming, of course — and willed his heartbeat to slow down.

There was a tap on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see Li Ming’s hands outstretched above them. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Heart pressed his lips together, smiling. “No, I’m alright. You?”

“Just a bit sore,” Li Ming replied, his arms dropping to his sides. They were silent for a few minutes, watching the sun sink lower and lower in the sky. Then, Heart turned onto his side, pillowing his hands beneath his cheek. Li Ming mirrored him, eyebrows creasing with interest.

“I had no idea you were so experienced with riding horses,” Heart said. “Did you ride much as a stablehand?”

“Sometimes, when I was told to bring one of the horses somewhere else,” Li Ming replied, his shoulders shifting into something of a shrug. “Usually, I just prepared them for their riders. And, you know, kept them clean and fed.”

“And how did you become a stablehand to begin with? It doesn’t seem like the sort of thing a wordsmith would do,” Heart added.

Li Ming went quiet for a moment, his eyes darkening. “That’s because I’m not much of a wordsmith,” he eventually said. “I could never read or write very well. No one ever taught me how to invent spells or cast runes.”

Heart frowned. “But you’re a wordsmith.”

“I’m a phrai child first,” Li Ming replied, his mouth taut. “We were never taught how to use our powers unless they were a danger to others. Wordsmiths are only dangerous if they invent spells no one’s ever seen before and, well…as I said, no one taught us how. It…wasn’t until we were told to learn sign language that I found something I was good at.”

Heart offered a small smile. “More than good. You’re even better than my tutors.”

Li Ming’s entire face seemed to soften, the tension in his mouth and brow slowly unfurling. “I heard you spoke very highly of me in front of the bureau,” he said, more grateful than boastful. Then, he hesitated again. “Do you like being an abjurer, or…do you miss spellsinging?”

Heart’s breath caught in his throat. “Both,” he said quietly. “I suppose I could still spellsing, though I haven’t tried since I…” Li Ming waited patiently for Heart to finish, but he only shuddered, not wanting to linger on it any longer. “I was always told that being an abjurer is an honor, except for when you’re a prince.”

“Because you were meant to be a sword, not a shield,” Li Ming said with a rueful grimace. “That’s what everyone said after your ascension ceremony. I remember.”

“And my brother was meant to be a leader, not a doctor,” Heart said, nodding. “But our parents always said not to let it bother us.”

“I think I was meant to be a spellsinger.” The sudden confession seemed to take them both by surprise, as if Li Ming hadn’t meant to say it. “Gun is a spellsinger, our parents are spellsingers…I never really understood why I wasn’t one, too.”

Heart had to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying something about Gun. There was no disproving it now: Gun had to be Little Mouse, not a messenger nor a coincidental match, not when everything lined up so perfectly. “Have you ever tried to spellsing?”

“I never had the chance.” Li Ming’s expression soured once more. “Our parents were so happy when they found out Gun was a spellsinger. They spent hours teaching Gun how to control his powers, copying their spell books by hand, creating all these lesson plans…” He sighed a little. “They did try to help me, it’s just…every wordsmith who could possibly teach me was either working for the bureau or the khunnang. We couldn’t afford to pay them. One lesson would’ve cost us an entire week of Ma’s pay. She offered to find more work, but she already works far too much, so…I told her not to worry and that I’d be fine with the non-magic lessons given to phrai children. They were enough to help me get by once I was old enough to work. That’s how it is for most of us. Gun was just lucky.”

“I…never knew.” Heart tried not to appear too pitying; he doubted Li Ming would appreciate it. Aside from his lessons, he hadn’t given much thought to how the phrai were treated nor taught. All he knew was that his grandfather had seen them as less than human while his father was a far more benevolent king. Still, it seemed there was plenty he’d overlooked — or perhaps there was a resolution to come, Heart considered somewhat shamefacedly, as he never paid much attention when Tinn and their parents discussed policy. He wondered if it was something he could ask his father about. “One of my former tutors was a wordsmith. When she wasn’t teaching me, she taught older servants who needed to learn how to read so they could find work. Perhaps…I could introduce you. She already has a handsome stipend, so it wouldn’t cost either of us a thing.”

Li Ming’s eyes widened very slightly. “Really? You would do that for me?”

“If you’d like to learn how to properly use your powers, then…of course.” Heart’s pulse skipped a beat. “Anything for a friend.”

“Friend,” Li Ming echoed, and for a moment, Heart wondered if he’d spoken out of turn. His stomach roiled and he chewed his bottom lip, preparing to take it back. Then, Li Ming smiled. This particular smile reached his eyes, setting them alight in a way Heart had never seen before. “I’ll consider it. I’ve never really thought about becoming a true wordsmith before, so…”

“If you were, then perhaps you could work for me as my personal scribe,” Heart suggested, his enthusiasm growing. He could imagine it already, being seated in the throne hall or his study or the library with Li Ming by his side.

“I don’t know about that. I think it would be strange to work for a friend,” Li Ming replied with a laugh, and Heart found himself grinning so widely that his cheeks ached. “I’ll let you know once I’ve decided. There’s a lot to think about.”

“Of course, whenever you’d like,” Heart said, pleased. He turned onto his back just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting one last brilliant orange glow. “We should come here again sometime. It feels…familiar somehow. Like I’ve been here before.”

When Li Ming didn't respond, Heart turned his head to look at him. He was pensive, unsmiling. “Maybe you have.”

Chapter Text

The blisters on Li Ming’s fingers differed from those he’d had as a stablehand. They were no longer the narrow imprints of a bucket handle or a horse’s reins, but the wide span of a wooden crate or a coarse dishcloth, scraping against the skin of his palms. His mother would fuss when she saw his hands, insisting he use one of her salves to heal them, but he would always shrug her off. There was no use in healing them today when they would look the same again tomorrow.

As they worked side-by-side — moving boxes, sorting produce, rearranging the odd shelf or two — Li Ming noticed Uncle Jim’s hands looked just like his. He’d been working in the kitchens since he was twelve, two years younger than Li Ming had been when he started as a stablehand. When he was younger, he’d spent his days washing dishes and peeling vegetables, and his nights teaching himself how to read and write.

Gim once told Li Ming and Gun how she would bring khanom to the palace clerks and ask for books in return. When they refused, she stole into their offices and took one of their copies of Jindamanee. Uncle Jim insisted she bring it back, but she ignored him and kept it hidden at the bottom of a sack of rice instead. Later, when their grandparents died due to the then king’s negligence, the book was one of the first things she packed in her and Uncle Jim’s haste to run away from the palace. They only made it as far as Samut Prakan before their father managed to find them and bring them back home.

“Li Ming? Is everything alright?”

He glanced up at the sound of his name to see Uncle Jim leveling him with a look of concern. He’d been gripping the knife he was holding so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. “I’m fine,” he said shortly, relaxing his grip with a pronounced exhale.

It had been a little over two weeks since he and Gun had — well, “bickered” wasn’t exactly the right word, which made it sound juvenile, while “argued” suggested that both of them had been angry. But Gun had been as heedless as always, asking Li Ming about things they agreed to never talk about. And so, just like Prince Heart, Li Ming was in no mood to be around his brother. Strangely enough, one of the only people he wanted to be around was Prince Heart himself.

After they’d returned to the stables that evening, Li Ming had asked Prince Heart if his mother still had him working somewhere as part of his punishment. Prince Heart told him he was to start in the forges soon, learning how to clean and sharpen the artificers’ tools. “She didn’t say for how long,” he’d added, sighing. “Possibly forever, if she finds out I ran off with you today.”

“Then we shouldn’t do it again,” Li Ming had said. “I don’t want to be held responsible for whatever punishment she thinks of next.”

“But I want to,” Prince Heart had blurted, his face reddening, and it wasn’t difficult to work out why. Li Ming wasn’t stupid; he’d seen the way Prince Heart kept stealing glances at him all evening, and he was surprised to find that he didn’t mind. In fact, he liked having Prince Heart’s attention, even if it was entirely contrary to how he’d felt about him before. So, when Prince Heart suggested they meet for lunch in the pavilion halfway between the kitchens and the forges on days they were both working, Li Ming was quick to agree.

“You’re not fine, you’re bleeding,” Uncle Jim said matter-of-factly, reaching for a clean rag and pressing it to one of Li Ming’s knuckles, where a patch of dry skin had split after he’d gripped his knife too hard. “Gim told me yesterday that you and Gun fought recently. Or rather, she thinks you did. She says both of you refuse to tell her anything.”

“And you think I’ll tell you?” Li Ming replied, narrowing his eyes. Uncle Jim sighed, and Li Ming could already hear his name being said in equal parts frustration and disappointment. His uncle always assumed the worst of him, so it was only fair he returned the favor.

“Li Ming.” Uncle Jim sounded as weary as ever.

“Tell me about Wen first,” Li Ming retorted. He knew it was childish, but he was also genuinely curious. Uncle Jim hadn’t been with anyone since Beam, an artifact proprietor who’d died years ago crossing the Chao Phraya in a rainstorm, and he had no interest in Gaipa’s obvious affections — or anyone else’s, for that matter. “How did you befriend an architect?” Architects were nearly as well-revered as scholars; he couldn’t picture any of them having anything in common with his uncle.

“Li Ming,” Uncle Jim repeated, more irritably this time. “You can’t just go on avoiding your brother forever. What happened?”

“What always happens,” Li Ming said, returning to the bitter melon he’d been slicing. “It’s nothing.”

“Gun doesn’t seem to think it’s nothing,” Uncle Jim said, and for a moment, Li Ming felt a pang in his chest. But then he shook his head and fell silent, continuing to chop the bitter melon more forcefully than necessary. There was little his uncle could do or say after that, though he certainly tried.

A few hours later, Li Ming slipped out of the kitchens with a canister of rice, minced pork, and fried eggs. Prince Heart was already there when he arrived, sitting cross-legged on a blue pakama he’d spread across the pavilion floor. Taengmo was nosing at his bag, sniffing out the khao khluk kapi he’d brought to eat. Li Ming had spent enough time with her master to wonder if she knew she wasn’t actually a dog.

“Hello!” Prince Heart said brightly once he’d spotted him. The tension in Li Ming’s jaw slowly unfurled as he settled across from the prince. He smelled faintly of forge smoke and had a smudge of ashes on the hem of his chong kraben, but he looked pleased to see him. “I have something for you.”

“What is it?” Li Ming tried to remember what they’d talked about the last time they met — two days ago, when they’d shared the last of Gim’s khanom mo kaeng and Prince Heart had lamented his own — but the prince was unexpectedly talkative. He’d gone on and on about his family, his studies, his interests, then asked Li Ming about himself. Li Ming couldn’t recall the last time he’d talked at such length with someone who wasn’t family.

Prince Heart pulled a book out of his bag, then presented it to Li Ming with a broad grin. “I met with Tutor Suchada yesterday afternoon and told her about you. She said she’d be happy to make time for you once she’s finished with her current students in the new year. She wanted me to give you this so you’d have something to study in the meantime.”

Li Ming’s eyes lit up. There weren’t any markings on the hand-bound cover, but when he opened it, he found an index of charms and potions and spells he’d never heard of. It was a wordsmith’s grimoire, where each page was annotated in Tutor Suchada’s neat hand. She had suggestions for alternate incantations and ingredients, observations on how effective a spell was or if a potion needed more time than instructed. It was everything Li Ming had never been afforded as a child.

“Thank you, Your Royal Highness.” Li Ming looked up into Prince Heart’s smiling face with a small flicker in his chest that almost felt like hope. “This is incredible.”

“Tutor Suchada taught me how to read and write,” Prince Heart added. “She was always very patient with me, even when I missed my lessons or talked back. I’m sure you’ll like her.” He paused. “Also…you could just call me ‘Heart’ if you’d prefer.”

Li Ming nodded, continuing to thumb through the grimoire. Phrai children were expected to start working once they turned fifteen, so by then, they were only given a few hours of non-magic lessons per week. Some even chose to withdraw so they could work — or, if they were fortunate enough, become an apprentice to a master or scholar. Li Ming had wanted to withdraw, but his mother insisted he finish school, something she’d never been able to do. Reading Tutor Suchada’s notes made Li Ming eager to learn for the first time in years.

“Heart,” Li Ming began, and Heart all but glowed in delight. Though Li Ming had yet to put the grimoire to good use, he suddenly felt quite powerful. He wondered if this was how Gun felt whenever he received a letter from Prince Tinn. Then, not wanting to think about his brother any further, he continued, “Do you have something like this, too?”

“Would you like to see it?” Heart was already rummaging through his bag before Li Ming could answer. His was far more tattered, worn at the corners with ink stains on what seemed like every other page. There was even the occasional drawing in the margins. Li Ming couldn’t make any sense of its contents — abjuration was a deceptively complex magic — but it proved to be an intriguing glimpse into the prince’s mind.

“I’ve never heard of any of these,” Li Ming admitted. He stifled a laugh at an exceptionally unflattering sketch of who he assumed was Heart’s least favorite tutor. “I didn’t even know there were this many kinds of wards or cloaking spells.”

“What sort of spells do you know?” Heart asked.

“The usual ones that phrai learn from their parents,” Li Ming replied, shrugging. “I can create light, I can move small objects, I know a few simple offensive and defensive spells…” He offered a wry smile. “Like the one I used against you when you wouldn’t let go of my arm.”

Heart looked ashamed, though Li Ming hadn’t meant to chasten him. “I don’t even remember why I was so angry with you,” he confessed. “It all seems so silly now.”

Li Ming hesitated. “You must have a good memory to remember all of this,” he said, gesturing at the open book in his lap. “And all those other…prince-ly things you’re supposed to know.”

“Prince-ly,” Heart echoed, laughing. “But yes, it’s…it can feel like quite a lot.”

“If you weren’t a prince, what would you want to be?” Li Ming flipped to another page, where Heart had drawn a younger Prince Tinn in formal regalia, his mouth half-open as if in the middle of a conversation. It was a far better drawing than Li Ming expected for someone who seemed so irreverent about most things — his duties, his studies, even the state of his grimoire. He wondered if art was something Heart genuinely took an interest in.

“I’m not sure,” Heart said, tilting his head. “I’ve never given it much thought. Tinn would be a doctor, of course, but abjurers mostly go on to be guards or soldiers, and I wouldn’t want to be either. It’d either be terribly dangerous or dangerously tedious.” He hummed for another moment or two, then seemed to give up. “What about you? If you could be anything, what would you want to be?”

“You mean if I wasn’t a phrai child and I really could be anything I wanted to be?” Li Ming shook his head at Heart’s abashed expression; he never knew how good he was at making the prince feel repentant until now. “Well, since I was never given the chance to choose much of anything…I’ve never given it much thought, either.”

“Fair enough,” Heart said, nodding sagely before grinning again. “While you think about it, I could teach you more defensive spells if you’d like.”

“Why? I don’t plan on getting into arguments with any more princes or falling off any more walls any time soon.” Li Ming held back another laugh at Heart’s childish pout. His cheeks were fuller, rounder than Li Ming had first realized, giving him a slightly more youthful appearance compared to Prince Tinn. Li Ming knew it was the opposite for himself and Gun.

He sighed a little; he really needed to stop thinking about his brother. Whether Gun had finally heeded Li Ming’s warning and ended things with Prince Tinn or run off with him so they could marry in a temple in the countryside, it didn’t matter to him.

Ever since they’d fought, he’d taken their only spare blanket into the alcove and slept on the floor so they wouldn’t have to share a bed. If they did, it would only become more obvious they were avoiding one another. Gun was, at times, terrible with confrontation, while Li Ming was terrible with the conversation that followed. Besides, it all felt a little sanctimonious at this point. He could only imagine what Gun would say if he could see Li Ming now.

“That really did scare me,” Heart said, still frowning. “I didn’t have time to slow your fall, so at first, I thought I’d broken your neck. And then there was the other day when you almost fell off your horse on our way back — ”

“My foot slipped, that was nothing,” Li Ming protested. “The next time we go — ”

“So we’re going again?” Heart said eagerly, too impatient to let Li Ming finish. “When?”

Li Ming shrugged again. “Whenever you’re able to get away. And…maybe we could go somewhere else once you do. When was the last time you left the palace?”

Heart’s expression darkened considerably. “Not since I lost my hearing.”

“What?” Li Ming frowned. “That can’t be right. I remember preparing horses for the guards accompanying you and Prince Tinn to Nakhon Nayok. That was less than a year ago.”

Heart shook his head, his expression grim. “Tinn went alone. I begged to go with him, but Mother said what she always does: that it wouldn’t be safe. I’ve been to the capital with my family for ceremonies and festivals, but other than that…no, I’ve not left the palace in years.”

Anger burned in Li Ming’s chest. “Safe?” he repeated in disbelief. “How would it not be safe? You’d be surrounded by guards — ”

“Who, as you’ve said many times before, I have a habit of running away from,” Heart reminded him, slightly shamefaced. “Mother’s right. If I were to run off on my own in a strange place where no one is expected to know sign language, who knows what might happen?”

“Still,” Li Ming said, refusing to admit otherwise. “We could head into the capital, at least, and visit the markets. See and talk to people who don’t have piles of money and hundreds of servants.”

Heart looked amused. “Is that what you think the khunnang are like?”

“Not all of them,” Li Ming allowed. “Just the ones who spend all of their money on ridiculous things instead of improving the livelihood of the phrai responsible for the actual work. The khunnang who live here are…fine, though I don’t know how they manage their affairs so far away from their actual homes. It seems irresponsible.”

“I remember you calling my birthday a ‘revolting spectacle’ when we first met,” Heart said, more tentatively now. “Do you still feel that way?”

“Yes,” Li Ming replied without hesitation. “Being your friend doesn’t change that.”

Heart laughed, his shoulders shaking as he did.“I shouldn’t have expected anything less,” he said, still beaming as if Li Ming was the funniest person he knew. Considering his only constant companions were his family and Kajorn, Li Ming supposed there was a chance he was. “So the markets, then? How far are they from the palace?”

“Not very; less than half an hour by horse,” Li Ming said. “I’m guessing we’re not taking a carriage.”

“We were always carried into the capital by palanquin; I’m not sure why. I suppose it’s to make us appear regal and impressive, but it takes ages to actually get anywhere. I know Father plans to import motor cars for us very soon,” Heart remarked. Then, somewhat wistfully, he added, “I haven’t traveled by carriage in years.”

Li Ming watched him pick at the remains of his rice, lost in thought. The more time he spent with Heart, the easier it was to forget he was a prince, that he had an entire life that didn’t involve washing dishes or sharpening tools or sneaking out to meet with Li Ming. He had a personal household that tended to his well-being, his residence, his affairs; he had servants and tutors and guards who did their best to make certain he was never alone; he’d traveled to every corner of Ayutthaya, been to neighboring nations like Bali and Angkor and Penang. Perhaps he’d even been all the way out to the West. His world was so much bigger than Li Ming’s — or at the very least, it had been until his mother closed its doors.

“Do you miss it?” Li Ming asked carefully.

“Carriages?” Heart’s brow furrowed in confusion. “No, definitely not. They always get too hot and they’re more cramped than they look. Tinn and I would kick each other when we were children and we’d come out with our legs covered in bruises.”

Now it was Li Ming’s turn to let out an amused laugh. “I meant traveling.”

“Oh,” Heart said, blushing. “I enjoy it when I get the chance to explore. But if we’re only going somewhere to discuss some conflict or alliance or something, and I don’t actually get to leave wherever it is we’re staying, then I’d rather be here. If I’m made to sit at a table and listen to Father’s ministers argue for hours, I’d prefer to do it somewhere I can return to my own quarters right after.”

“What were some of your favorite places you’ve ever been?” Li Ming closed his canister. He’d long finished eating, but he didn’t want to go back just yet. Or rather, at all — not when it meant rejoining his uncle and his disapproving hums and sighs, or worse, risking the chance of stumbling across his brother in the kitchens.

Heart paused for a moment to think. “If we were to start with my favorite places in Ayutthaya, Kanchanaburi is absolutely beautiful,” he said, his smile softening. “The temples, the waterfalls, the mountains…oh, and Si Racha, too. We once spent a month in Phra Chuthathut on Sichang; we’ve got a second cousin who lives there but we’ve never actually met him — he was away at school at the time, Keerinsamutr if you’ve heard of it — and of course, Pattaya has the most spectacular beaches…”

“How are things faring with Lady Chanikarn?” Tinn glanced up from his copy of the Royal Gazette, startled. His mother was watching him from across the table with a smile far more beseeching than it first appeared. After all, he knew that she knew a letter from Chaophraya Tangkabodee had been delivered to his study a little less than an hour ago, right before he’d joined her and his father for breakfast. “Is she well? Have you written to her recently?”

“She only left the palace a week ago, Mother,” Tinn said with what he hoped she’d interpret as a modest laugh. “What would we have to talk about?”

She sighed a little. “I only want to know if you’ve been keeping in touch.”

Tinn glanced to his left on instinct, only to remember that Heart wasn’t there. He hadn’t been there in what felt like months, choosing to take his breakfast alone in his quarters instead. Tinn knew his brother spent his days either with his tutors or with the artificers, but knew nothing of what he did in his spare time. Tiwson told him just yesterday that Kajorn had been complaining about Heart running off more than usual. Tinn wondered if it had anything to do with whoever it was that was clearly on Heart’s mind.

“We write on occasion, but we haven’t spoken since she left,” Tinn said truthfully. “Her father’s letter was an invitation to visit the Tangkabodee estate and see the durian orchards.”

“Durian orchards,” his father echoed, amused. His face was obscured by his own copy of the Royal Gazette, but Tinn could hear him smile.

“That sounds like a lovely idea,” his mother replied, giving her husband, or rather, the front page of his newspaper, a withering look. “Nonthaburi isn’t far from here, so it wouldn’t be much trouble. Should we prepare — ”

“I do hope you aren’t going to say ‘sin sod’,” his father interrupted, setting down his Gazette with a wry grin. “He’s only going there to see the durian orchards, after all.”

Another sigh, this one far louder. “I don’t know why you’re both intent on making me the villain when we all know Tinn is to be married in two years,” she said, neatly folding her hands on the table. “The least we can do is secure an appropriate match for him and…” She trailed off, her gaze drifting to the empty chair. Then, she cleared her throat. “Lady Chanikarn is perfectly suited to becoming queen, and you have so much in common: mystery novels, makruk, math puzzles…why are you so opposed to marrying her?”

Tinn’s hands trembled as he slowly clenched, then unclenched his fists. Trite as it sounded, he felt as if he were dangerously close to letting the truth slip through his fingers, and he had to do everything he could to hold it all in. Still, he was tired of pretending, tired of feeling wronged by his mother, knowing it wasn’t really her fault, knowing he loved her more than words could say. Yet, even the thought of confessing to just half of it, the simpler half — I don’t want to marry a woman — terrified him. He lowered his head, his eyes fixed on his half-empty bowl of rice porridge to keep the room from spinning. His appetite was all but gone.

“Speaking of marriage,” his father began after an uncomfortably long silence, “did you hear the news about Lord Chayapol and Lady Phatchatorn? If not, you will soon enough. I’m sure we’ll hear of nothing else from their families until they’re officially wed. Perhaps we should arrange a dinner with Chaophraya Jutamas and Phraya Thanawat to discuss the finer points of their families’ union — and the future of Pathum Thani.”

The queen pursed her lips. She saw right through her husband, of course, but these sorts of arrangements were also exactly in her purview. “Isn’t Lady Phatchatorn five years his senior? How unusual.”

“They’re both well into adulthood,” he replied. “I don’t see what’s so unusual about it.”

She gave him a perfunctory nod in return, unable to refute him, though her expression was still pinched. “I’ll have Lady Preeda prepare the invitations,” she said, referring to one of her many advisors, before returning to the substantial pile of papers at her elbow. She remained quiet for the rest of breakfast, occasionally glancing at Tinn, waiting for him to say something, only to let out a little sigh and turn back to her work. It wasn’t until she left for a meeting with the bureau that Tinn felt he could breathe a little easier.

“…Lady Tipnaree and Lady Rachanun, too.”

Tinn looked up once more in astonishment. “Pardon?”

“Not engaged, but I hear they’re well on their way,” his father continued with a kind smile. “Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Tinn could only nod, just as his mother had done. His skin prickled with anticipation, but his father simply returned to his newspaper, humming cheerfully to himself as he did.

The rest of Tinn’s day looked much like any other: morning lessons with his tutors (he was currently studying Ayutthayan war strategies, including his grandfather’s), lunch with his father and a few members of the privy council (to discuss their plans for Loy Krathong), a revision session in his family’s private library (so he could cross-reference all of their medical diagrams), and finally, meeting with Little Mouse in Siwalai for an hour before dinner, something they now did almost every evening. He was finding it increasingly easy to give his guards the slip so long as Tiwson was by his side. Heart would be proud of him.

“Again?” Little Mouse clicked his tongue sympathetically. “He really is stubborn, isn’t he?”

“I don’t even know if he read my letter,” Tinn murmured, twisting his finger around a blade of grass at his feet. He felt Little Mouse squeeze his other hand. His hands were dry and blistered, but his palms were smooth, unmarked. Tinn couldn’t help but trace his thumbs across them every time. “All I know for certain is that he received it. Tiwson made sure of it.”

“But you still have dinner together, don’t you?” Little Mouse asked. “Did you ask him then?”

“Not with our parents around. Besides, he’s been monosyllabic at best and completely silent otherwise,” Tinn said, thinking of last night, when Heart had eaten so quickly that Tinn’s bowl of soup was still steaming when he’d departed. “Mother scolded him about running off — it was Kajorn who told her, not me — and said she’d double his guard if she had to, but…he didn’t really respond in any way. He didn’t even look angry or upset. The only person who could get him to talk was Father.”

Little Mouse hummed, and the familiarity of it made Tinn’s breath hitch. He’d been trying to push it all down — the pressure from his mother, the silence from his brother, the knowledge that Little Mouse was someone he’d met twice before — but it felt as if everything was rapidly rising to the surface. Tinn had always been pragmatic, more out of necessity than instinct, but right now, he had no idea what to do. Was it time to finally confess to his mother? To try again with his brother? To tell Little Mouse he was almost certain he knew who he was?

“My brother and I still haven’t spoken, either,” Little Mouse eventually said. “I haven’t seen him all day.” He’d elaborated a little more since they talked that day, telling Tinn that he was also at odds with his brother, reluctantly admitting it was because he didn’t approve of their relationship. He almost went on to say something else, something about his brother, only to stop short. He was quick to change the subject after that.

“But you’re sure he’s alright?” Tinn asked. Though he didn’t have much of an opinion of Li Ming — he appreciated what he’d done for Heart and he certainly didn’t think he was dangerous the way their mother did, though he also wondered if Li Ming had been a bit of a poor influence on Heart; he seemed to have something of a temper — it was clear his absence was felt. Little Mouse loved his brother, would never deny it if Tinn asked, regardless of whether they were on speaking terms. It was moments like this that Tinn wished he’d spent less time studying cadavers and more time studying people so he was capable of more than the occasional mood-lifting potions and calming spells.

“He still eats with our mother, and our uncle is with him all the time,” Little Mouse said bitterly. “He’s just been very good at avoiding me.”

Tinn made a small noise of sympathy. “Unfortunately, our brothers have that in common.”

Neither of them spoke for a minute or so, letting their shared frustrations linger in the air. Then, Little Mouse spoke again, his voice brighter. “I read the first two chapters of the book you gave me.”

“Oh? What did you think?” Tinn asked, slightly nervous. He’d picked something relatively simple, knowing Little Mouse wasn’t much of a reader. However, he now worried he’d insulted Little Mouse’s intelligence.

“It’s so different from everything I’ve read for school,” Little Mouse said thoughtfully. “We only ever read lilit and nirat and khlong, which I never really liked because they were always so long. But I like this a lot so far. And the characters feel like real people, not folk legends. The hero even reminds me of you.”

“Does he?” Tinn couldn’t help but puff out his chest a little.

“Well, they’re usually carefree travelers or heartbroken narrators — or both,” Little Mouse added. “But this one isn’t anything like that. He’s just someone who’s very kind and thoughtful and...brave when he needs to be. I like him much more than the narrator of Nirat Hariphunchai.”

“Brave,” Tinn echoed softly, not feeling very brave at all. “You think so?”

“Well, that part where he approaches the drunk man, even though he’s unarmed — ”

“I meant me,” Tinn said, chuckling. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me that before.”

“Really?” For all his gentle teasing, Little Mouse sounded genuinely surprised. “Not even when you were learning how to fight?”

“Disciplined and…methodical, more like,” Tinn said. “Never brave.” Brave people didn’t lose their composure while waiting for their lover to write back or lose their nerve while speaking with their mother about their impending nuptials. Brave people didn’t hesitate to accept invitations of companionship or to save their brother from a provoked animal or to tell their parents who they really were. Brave people didn’t clench their fists while they were lectured during breakfast until they were left with angry red welts on their palms.

“Then they don’t know what brave is,” Little Mouse said airily. It took Tinn a moment to remember what they’d been talking about. “Remember those letters you wrote me when…when Prince Heart first lost his hearing? You were so angry. All those awful people saying he was no longer fit to be a prince. Even the bureau — or maybe it was the council, I don’t remember — looked down on him.”

“It was both,” Tinn said, teeth gritted. “Not to mention the tutors that quit because they said teaching him would take twice as long.” Heart had still been recovering from the physical pain of his illness at the time, and Tinn had been careful not to emotionally burden him, too. Their parents eventually decided to tell Heart that one of his favorite tutors had been offered an illustrious position in Chiang Mai.

“You said you went to your parents and demanded they be expelled from the khunnang and stripped of their titles and privileges.” There was a smile in Little Mouse’s voice. “I think that’s really brave.”

It certainly hadn’t felt that way, Tinn thought, remembering how his vision had blurred with tears and his throat had felt raw after shouting for so long. Their mother had stroked his hair and their father had held him close, but there was little else they could do. At most, their parents treated the dissenters coldly and dismissed their concerns, though all it did was fan the flames of resentment. Some only came crawling back when they remembered Heart would still be seeking a wife, that they could still push their daughters to marry into the royal family. Even then, very few of them bothered to learn even the most rudimentary sign language.

“You remember all of that?” Tinn asked, clearing his throat. He hoped he hadn’t squeezed Little Mouse’s hand too hard while he’d been lost in thought.

“I remember all of your letters. Well, most of them,” Little Mouse conceded sheepishly when Tinn raised a silent eyebrow that he couldn’t see. “You talk a lot about places I’ve never been and books I’ve never read.”

“Do I?” Tinn’s cheeks heated in mortification.

“Yes, but I like that about you. We both like talking about the things we love. That’s why you spend so much time talking about me,” Little Mouse added teasingly. Tinn pressed his lips together, now too pleased to be embarrassed. “And speaking of books, I’m definitely going to try finishing this one. Thank you for lending it to me.”

Tinn ran his thumb across Little Mouse’s knuckles. “Of course. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” The silence that followed was lighter this time, less weighed down by discontent. “Father told me this morning that…that there are two ladies of the khunnang who might get married.”

“To…each other?” Little Mouse sounded both breathless and delighted. “That’s great! I never would’ve imagined it could happen.”

“It’s wonderful, though I’m not exactly sure why Father told me,” Tinn said, chewing his bottom lip. “I doubt he knows about us, but…maybe it’s because he knows about me.”

“…oh.” He could practically hear Little Mouse biting his own lip in concern. “Did it seem like…he would accept it? Even if you were still made to marry Lady Chanikarn, would he — ”

“I want to marry you,” Tinn blurted, and Little Mouse’s breath caught in surprise. It was hardly anything new, of course, but neither of them had ever said it outright. Tinn’s eyes widened — whether he’d said it out of bravery or out of cowardice, he couldn’t be certain, and how strange it was that it could be both — but there was no taking it back now. “It’s as I’ve always said, like I will always say: you’re the only one I want to be with.”

“Tinn,” Little Mouse said sadly, his voice heavy. Frustrated tears prickled at the corners of Tinn’s eyes. “I know.”

It rained the night before Heart and Li Ming were to go into the capital, and the air smelled pleasantly fresh and earthy, or perhaps it was just the magnolia trees outside Heart’s window. He’d barely slept at all, too excited to keep his eyes shut for long. He usually wasn’t awake when Kajorn arrived every morning, and would often grumble whenever he tried to drag him out of bed, sometimes quite literally. But this time, Heart was already pulling on his silk slippers when Kajorn opened the door.

“Oh,” Kajorn said, surprised. “Good morning, Your Royal Highness. Is everything alright?”

“Everything is perfect,” Heart chirped, realizing too late that his cheerful disposition might seem suspicious. He was barely speaking to his mother and brother, after all, and he’d run off twice since his last scolding. “The weather, I mean. It’s not too hot, not too humid — perfect for studying outside.”

The furrow of Kajorn’s brow relaxed. “I agree,” he said, stepping aside so Heart could cross into the adjoining room where his breakfast tray and papers were waiting for him.

Though Heart wasn’t close with Kajorn the way Tinn was with Tiwson, he could appreciate Kajorn’s discretion. When Heart told him he didn’t want to have breakfast with his family anymore, Kajorn had been quick to adjust his routine, never asking why despite clearly wanting to. He wasn’t very discreet about other things, though — namely, about Heart always running off — which made Heart reluctant to trust Kajorn with anything more than managing his basic affairs.

“What is it today?” Heart sat down, popping a wedge of mango into his mouth with one hand while sifting through his papers with the other. “Not another dinner with Chaophraya Nakornthap, I hope.”

Kajorn chuckled humorlessly before beginning his usual monologue. Heart wanted to ignore him, but it was difficult to pretend he was listening when he needed to look at Kajorn while he spoke. “The palace will be receiving Phraya Thitathan next week at Chaophraya Sophonpatima’s request to discuss the import of Western medical literature…the privy council is meeting to confirm who will visit Phra Nakhon Khiri to complete preparations for the royal family’s stay next summer…Chaophraya Tangkabodee has invited Prince Tinnaphob to visit him and Lady Chanikarn in Nonthaburi…”

“What?!” Heart spluttered through a mouthful of khao tom. “Did he accept?”

“I would assume so,” Kajorn said, surprised again, this time at having Heart’s full attention for once. “Chaophraya Tangkabodee’s letter only just arrived an hour ago, but I can’t imagine why he’d say no.”

Then you must not have much of an imagination, Heart thought. He put his spoon down, suddenly too nauseous to eat. He hadn’t meant to ignore his brother or even their mother for this long. He missed them terribly, even when they were in the same room. But the longer it went on, the more difficult it became to profess his faults or, conversely, stand his ground. After all, how could he possibly tell them not to treat him like a child when he knew full well he was acting like one?

Heart was restless for the remainder of the morning. He kept fidgeting while the servants dressed him, kept staring out the window while they discussed all the papers he needed to read or revise or sign. Kajorn kept tapping Heart’s shoulder to get his attention, his eyes becoming increasingly narrowed with frustration.

“Your Royal Highness — ” he said for the fifth time — or rather, the fifth time Heart had noticed — before turning abruptly at what Heart assumed was a knock on the door. Kajorn rose from his seat and disappeared into the adjoining antechamber. He returned a few moments later, his face pink with embarrassment. He wasn’t alone.

“Mother,” Heart whispered, his blood running cold. He’d only just seen her last night, but that had been all strained smiles and contrived conversations on her part while he kept his head down, his nose practically buried in his bowl of rice. She looked tired now, with not even the barest attempt at a smile in sight. Guilt closed its fingers around Heart’s throat.

“Have you eaten?” she asked, taking what had been Kajorn’s seat while he left the room with a deep wai that neither of them paid any heed to. When Heart nodded, his hands trembling too much for him to speak, she fell silent as well. She glanced around the study for a moment, seemingly taking it all in, then turned back to look at him with a soft, almost hopeful gaze. “Did you hear about Chaophraya Tangkabodee’s invitation this morning?”

“Yes,” Heart said slowly. He hadn’t expected this to be her first line of inquiry.

“Then…would you like to accompany Tinn to Nonthaburi?” she suggested. “You haven’t been since you were a child.”

I wonder why that is, Heart nearly said, though he settled for narrowing his eyes at her instead. “I haven’t been anywhere for a while.”

“Only that’s not true,” she said, and her expression shifted into something more piercing, something more akin to ceremonial halls and council meetings, not private conversations between mother and son. “Where have you been running off to, Heart?”

“Mother — ”

“Running around the palace and causing trouble is one thing. Taking your horse and going who knows where is another matter entirely,” she continued. Heart wondered sometimes if she were capable of doing anything but assuming the worst of him, though he knew, but would never admit, that he deserved it.

“I only went along our usual path by the river,” Heart said, and an awful part of him wanted the words to hurt. “I needed the air.”

“By…yourself?” She looked unconvinced by his nod in response. “So the two horses that went missing for a few hours, including yours…it was just a coincidence, is that what you’re telling me?”

Heart inwardly cursed himself for ignoring Li Ming’s hesitation. “No, but only because you wouldn’t believe me if I did.” Then, fearing that he’d been far too insolent for someone who was about to disobey her again, he added, “But I haven’t missed a single day in the forges, I promise. Or dinners with Lady Krongkwan or — ”

“But you’ve missed time with your family,” she interrupted, her eyes filling with what almost looked like desperation. “Tinn signs throughout breakfast because he keeps forgetting you aren’t there. We haven’t had tea or gone for a ride together in weeks. Even your father says he’s barely seen or heard from you, and he had no part in any of this, whatever this is. Heart…” She took a deep breath, composing herself. “We’re worried about you.”

Heart swallowed. There was a sudden pressure behind his eyes that was difficult to withstand, and he turned away to press the heels of his palms against his eyelids in a poor attempt to ease the pain. When he turned back, she was watching him so patiently, so reverently, that he nearly crumpled right then and there.

“There’s someone,” he began, only to stop short. How could he possibly describe Li Ming in a way that didn’t sound like he was describing Li Ming? “There’s someone I’ve been meeting with who…who treats me more like a person than a prince. I know I’m supposed to marry Lady Krongkwan or Lady Nippitcha or one of the other daughters of the Chaophraya, but…I don’t enjoy their company nearly as much as I enjoy theirs.”

Her eyes widened. “And…this is what you and Tinn had talked about? This someone?”

“Sort of,” Heart admitted, hoping his honesty would ease her concern. “I was rather…vague. I didn’t want him telling anyone.”

“You were worried I wouldn’t approve,” she said; it wasn’t a question. Her eyes softened even further, and she reached across to briefly take one of his hands in both of hers. “Heart, I’m sorry if you felt you couldn’t tell me. I know I’ve been hard on you, but I really do just want you to be more responsible, more considerate of others. If that’s made you resentful of me — or worse, fearful of me — then I want us to set things right.”

Heart nodded. “Of course. As do I,” he added, relieved to find that he truly meant it.

“And…” Her mouth twisted slightly. “While it is in Ayutthaya’s best interest that you marry a daughter of the Chaophraya, nothing is keeping you from having another consort. Your father never cared for it, but it isn’t out of the ordinary for the Munnai. You know that.”

“Even if they aren’t from the Munnai themselves?” Heart asked carefully. He knew he was being too forthcoming, knew he was getting far too ahead of himself. But his anticipation far exceeded his hesitation, and there was something freeing about finally, finally getting to talk about it, even in the most ambiguous of terms.

“You would need to be discreet,” she replied, her eyebrows arched in curiosity. Though it wasn’t quite the assent Heart was looking for, he felt hopeful. He still had yet to make sense of all his muddled feelings toward Li Ming, let alone understand what Li Ming thought of him. All he knew was that Li Ming meant so much more to him than he ever could have imagined.

A little over an hour later, after he and his mother had shared a tearful hug and a promise to meet again when she didn’t have dozens of engagements to attend to, Heart departed for the stables. Li Ming was already waiting for him with the same ink-black steed he’d chosen last time, holding out a spare set of servants’ attire for Heart to change into the moment he spotted him. Heart couldn’t help but wonder if it belonged to Li Ming while he pulled the thin cotton shirt over his head.

“How do I look?” Heart asked with an exaggerated turn for good measure. Li Ming smiled, amused; he seemed to smile more easily now.

“One last thing,” he said, moving closer before Heart could ask what he’d meant. He lifted a hand to card his fingers through Heart’s hair, and Heart’s pulse thundered wildly against his ribcage, his eyes drifting shut at the pleasant sensation of Li Ming’s fingers lightly scraping against his scalp. He ignored the urge to nudge against Li Ming’s hand like a cat. Once Heart looked appropriately disheveled, Li Ming nodded with another smile. “Much better. Most phrai don’t put jasmine oil in their hair, you know.”

Heart nodded sheepishly, stepping back so Li Ming could mount the horse before following his lead. Then, just as Heart found his footing, Li Ming reached back to grasp Heart by the thigh. He inhaled sharply in surprise. Write on my back if you want something, like this, Li Ming wrote, his finger moving slowly but surely across the span of Heart’s leg. Heart shivered at the feeling of every curve in every character, his skin warming under Li Ming’s gentle touch. And if you want to stop, tap my shoulder. Yes?

Yes, Heart replied between Li Ming’s shoulder blades, his breath stuttering. He barely had time to recover before Li Ming took him by the wrists and tugged, deftly wrapping Heart’s arms around his waist. Heart pitched forward at the sudden movement, his chest knocking into Li Ming’s back. He had little choice but to fully lean against Li Ming and hold him close as they took off, his chin half-tucked into the crook of Li Ming’s neck, their horse listing slightly under their combined weight.

Heart kept his head low while Li Ming led them out to the main passageway and beyond the palace gates. They stopped for a brief moment so Li Ming could declare their intent to the guards while Heart tilted Gun’s ngop hat at an unusual angle, obscuring his face from view. When they set out onto the road leading into the capital, Heart peered out over Li Ming’s shoulder, taking in the throng of horses and carriages passing by, the long stretch of buildings and fig trees on either side, the piercing glare of the sun as it climbed higher and higher into the sky. The enormous paper-wrapped package Li Ming had strapped to their horse’s side — the one he’d told the guards was an order of dry goods they were delivering on behalf of their master — bounced merrily against its flank.

As they neared the capital, Li Ming slowed them to a walk so they could share a drink of water from his flask. “How are you feeling?” he asked while Heart took a generous gulp, temporarily releasing their horse’s reins. Heart nodded brightly, his excitement outpacing his exhaustion from how little he’d slept last night. “Are you hungry?”

“I had a small breakfast, just like you said,” Heart replied after he’d returned the flask. As Li Ming took a swig of his own, he added, “And my mother paid a visit right after.”

Li Ming nearly choked on his water. “Really?” he managed to say after coughing profusely and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What, is she tripling your guard now?”

“Nothing like that,” Heart said with a beatific smile. “Actually, our conversation took a pleasant turn in the end. She said that while I must marry a daughter of the Chaophraya, nothing is keeping me from having another consort, even if they’re not of the Munnai.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Li Ming’s mouth. Heart felt a sudden, almost feral urge to press his lips against it and taste the droplet of water pooling in Li Ming's dimple. “That’s very specific. Was that something you’d been considering?”

“Uh…” Heart blushed furiously, turning away, but Li Ming was quick to catch him by the chin and bring Heart’s gaze to meet his.

“Heart,” Li Ming whispered slowly before releasing him. He looked serious now, and Heart wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Is that something you’re considering?”

Before Heart could answer, a flurry of carriages whistled by, spooking their horse enough to distract them both. By the time Li Ming had soothed their steed and righted himself in his seat, the strange look in his eyes had cleared. He returned the water flask to his bag, and they set off once more without another word.

The markets were bustling with frenetic energy not unlike the Outer Court, only instead of governors and monks and scholars, it was tradespeople and officers and members of the phrai. Everyone was packed in so closely that it was difficult to catch one’s breath without inhaling another’s, and though Heart couldn’t hear them, he could see the way everyone was calling out, trying to be heard above the rest while they shouldered their way through the crowd.

A few housekeepers emerged from a two-story shop, their arms and cloth bags slung over their shoulders full of wares. A harried-looking manservant followed his master into a nearby tailor's that had lengths of colorful embroidered silk filling its entire display. A pair of young children grinned up at them as they ran past before attempting to sneak handfuls of rambutan into the folds of their chong kraben. Their hands were quickly slapped away by the lady’s maid accompanying them, who then apologized profusely to the produce seller with her own handful of bullet coins.

Once they’d dismounted their horse and tied the lead to a hitching post, Heart took a moment longer to survey their surroundings with wide, curious eyes. Every trip to the capital had been by palanquin or carriage, surrounded by soldiers and horses and elephants. They would step out and greet their people, and the king and queen would give their speeches, but there was never much for him or Tinn to do, even as they got older.

Now, he could really see the mix of traditional Ayutthayan architecture with the newer Western-style buildings, could smell the roasting pork and sandalwood incense wafting in the air. A group of bleary-eyed fishermen crowded around a small table outside a teahouse, a pair of young women chatting with a hawker selling magical talismans, two clerks nearly colliding into one another as they made to enter the printing house at the same time, both of them carrying a staggering number of books. They were so unlike the sort of people Heart usually consorted with, which only intrigued him further.

There was a tap on his shoulder. “Let’s get something to eat first,” Li Ming suggested. “What do you want?”

Heart hummed as he considered his rumbling stomach. “Whatever they don’t usually serve in the palace.”

“Sate it is, then,” Li Ming said, already tugging on Heart’s wrist. “And salapao too, if we can find it.”

It wasn’t long before the two of them were sharing pork skewers and steamed buns on the front steps of the telegraph office. Heart would often stop mid-bite just to watch the people passing by, occasionally ducking beneath the brim of his hat if a soldier or officer came a little too close for comfort.

“So why were you talking about consorts, anyway?” Li Ming asked, licking the grease from his fingers. “Are you and your brother finally making your engagements official?”

Heart’s expression soured considerably. “My brother was invited to visit Lady Chanikarn in Nonthaburi, so it seems his, at least, is imminent. There is a bright spot, however — I get to go with him.”

“Wait — your mother’s letting you leave the palace?” Li Ming’s face split into a wide grin. “Why didn’t you say so earlier? When?”

“That’s for Tinn and Chaophraya Tangkabodee to decide. I doubt I’ll have any say,” Heart added somewhat bitterly. Then, a thought suddenly occurred to him. “You know, if my mother and I don’t find a suitable replacement in time, I’ll need an interpreter for the trip. Would you perhaps…like to come with me?”

Li Ming frowned a little. “Your mother would never allow it. She doesn’t even want us in the same room.”

“Yes, but…would you like to?” Heart repeated with a small, tentative smile. “I’m sure my father could convince her if I asked.”

But Li Ming didn’t answer at first, leaning back onto his hands with a furrowed brow. “Nonthaburi,” he said slowly to himself. Heart picked at his steamed bun while he waited, wondering if Li Ming had ever been outside the capital. He was obviously quite familiar with its streets and shops, but if Heart were to guess, he presumed most palace servants had never gone beyond its walls. Perhaps the idea intimidated Li Ming. “Will there be much for you to do?”

“Unlikely,” Heart said. “All Chaophraya Tangkabodee wants is to convince Tinn to propose to Lady Chanikarn, perhaps even during the trip itself. He won’t have anything planned for me.”

“So then…we’ll have plenty of time to go exploring together,” Li Ming said, returning Heart’s smile with one of his own.

Heart beamed, nodding perhaps a little too eagerly. He could imagine it already, the two of them roaming the grounds of the Tangkabodee estate, visiting the floating markets, taking a boat along Khlong Maha Sawat. It would be just like what they were doing now, only they would actually tell other people where they were going. The novelty of someone else knowing about his and Li Ming’s friendship almost tickled him. The taste of peanut sauce soured on his tongue when he realized that “someone else”, naturally, should have been Tinn.

His melancholy was interrupted by Li Ming jumping to his feet, having apparently spotted something or someone across the way. “What is it?” he asked, pulling on Li Ming’s shirt sleeve.

“Do you remember me telling you about that man who says he’s a friend of my uncle’s?” Li Ming nodded at a distant figure lingering outside the printing house, rifling through his satchel for something. “That’s him: P’Wen. I…” He hesitated. “I’m not sure what to think of him. This might be my only chance to talk to him without Uncle Jim’s meddling.”

Heart nodded in silent understanding, taking a moment to clean his hands and rearrange his hat before getting to his feet. Wen was still standing outside the front door of the printing house when they crossed the road, flipping through a thick tome of what appeared to be architectural prints. He glanced up at the sound of their footsteps.

“Hello,” he said with an easygoing smile. Then he began speaking far too rapidly for Heart to keep up, though Li Ming was quick to sign on his behalf. “Apologies, I just realized I never got your name. And what are you doing out here in the capital?” He paused when he realized what Li Ming was doing. “Ah, I’m sorry — my sign language isn’t very good.”

“I can sign for us both,” Li Ming reassured him. “My name is Li Ming, and this is my friend…Somchai.” Heart gave Li Ming an odd look — clearly, he wasn’t one to be relied on for creativity — and bowed to Wen, whose smile turned slightly apologetic. “He works in the palace, too. We’re here to pick up some things for our families.”

“Is the sun bothering you?” Wen asked. “I’m surprised you can see from under that hat of yours.”

“I have…sensitive eyes,” Heart said carefully; the slight tremble in Li Ming’s shoulders suggested he’d snorted.

“Should we head inside, then?” Wen suggested. “I’m here to pick up an order for my associates, so I doubt they’ll mind if we wait in the entrance hall.”

One of the printing house clerks was happy to bring them chairs and steaming cups of black tea, telling Wen that his order was on its way. Heart noticed Li Ming watching their brief interaction with a strange expression — curiosity, maybe, or was it more like suspicion? Perhaps Li Ming trusted Wen even less than Heart first thought. “I understand you first met my uncle through your work, but how exactly did you become friends?”

Wen raised an eyebrow, unused to Li Ming’s brusque manner that Heart had come to know so well. “What has he told you?”

“He doesn’t tell me anything about anything, except for when I’m wrong,” Li Ming said shortly. Heart wondered if he should look away and give them some privacy. This conversation wasn’t his to partake in, even if Li Ming was still signing for himself and Wen out of habit. He settled for awkwardly staring at the enormous portrait of his parents on the opposite wall, where his mother’s eyes seemed to follow him with every turn of his head.

After some time, Li Ming tapped Heart on the knee. He glanced back to find, much to his astonishment, that both of them were smiling. “More tea?” Wen asked, gesturing toward Heart’s empty cup. He didn’t seem at all unsettled by the hat still concealing Heart’s eyes. When Heart nodded, Wen left to find one of the clerks. The moment he disappeared into the main office, Heart rounded on Li Ming with a half-perplexed, half-inquisitive look.

“He seems…good,” Li Ming admitted. “Maybe even good for Uncle Jim.”

Heart raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the unexpected turn of events. Wen returned with a teapot on a tray before he could ask further, generously refilling everyone’s cups. “As I was saying,” he said, returning to his seat, “if you’re ever interested in seeking an apprenticeship, I know quite a few people around here. Friends who run teahouses, who work at the ports, who embroider silk…or if you’d prefer, I’m sure there are plenty of scholars looking for clerks. My…” His expression contorted for a split second, then smoothed out so quickly that Heart thought he might’ve imagined it. “An old friend of mine, he’s one of the palace’s bookkeepers. They could always use another hand.”

“That’s really generous of you, P’Wen, but…why?” Li Ming said cautiously. “You’d recommend someone you don’t know at all?”

“I know enough,” Wen replied, shrugging. “Your uncle doesn’t talk about himself very much, but he said once that he had two clever, troublesome, wonderful nephews, and all he wants is for them to have a better life than his own.”

Li Ming visibly swallowed. “…oh.”

Another clerk emerged from the main office with Wen’s order wrapped in brown paper. He stood to accept it, then turned to Li Ming with an apologetic smile. “I must be going now, but if you’d like an introduction or…maybe just someone to talk to, I have a shared office in the Outer Court. Just ask the guards to point you to the architects’ offices, and if they ask for a name, say you were invited by Wongsakorn Thunapakarn.”

Li Ming lowered his head. “Thank you, P’Wen,” he said, his eyes bright. He was still smiling after Wen left, only scowling when he noticed Heart grinning at him. “What?”

“You’re in good spirits today,” Heart remarked. “I like seeing you like this.”

Li Ming pressed his lips together in a poor attempt to hide another smile. “We should go,” he said, getting to his feet. “Are you still hungry?”

As Gun glanced around Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s drawing room, he couldn’t help but think of how much his brother would hate it. The nobleman himself was kind, if a bit theatrical, but his residence was so ostentatious that Gun worried he was one ill-timed sneeze from breaking something worth more than he could ever make in his entire lifetime. Meticulously hand-carved teak furniture, gleaming rosewood floors, dozens of Qing paintings and porcelain vases no matter which way you looked. Thick brocade cushions, lengths of pha yok dok draped across every surface and over the back of every chair, and of course, the sterling silver tea set on the table between them, polished so meticulously that Gun could see his reflection.

“You don’t know how happy I was to hear Por knew of another spellsinger,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn was saying. “And a very handsome one, too.”

Gun bowed graciously. “Thank you, my lord.”

“No need for all that. Just ‘sir’ is perfectly fine,” the man chuckled, waving his hand. “Now, I told your friends here that I trusted them to find someone with no prior introduction, but Por spoke so highly of you that I became very curious. I hope I’m not inconveniencing you; I’ve also been told you work in the kitchens.”

“Oh, er…not at all, my — sir,” Gun corrected hastily at Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s raised eyebrow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pat bite his lip to keep himself from laughing. Yo appeared to be holding his breath while Por continued to sip his tea, unbothered. “When I told Madam Chidchanok you’d asked for me, she gave me the afternoon off.”

“With pay, I should think,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn said, and Gun decided Li Ming wouldn’t completely despise him after all. “But if not, just name your price and I’d be happy to recompense for my lack of prior notice.”

Gun’s smile softened into something more sincere. He’d never held nearly as strong an opinion of the khunnang as Li Ming did, having witnessed all sorts firsthand and served many who were perfectly decent. He was glad to count Chaophraya Chaichitathorn among them. For a moment, he thought of what he would tell his brother once he returned home, what his expression would be when Gun recounted this exchange, only to remember they hadn’t really spoken in days. His smile halted. “Thank you very much, sir. That’s very generous of you.”

“On to business, then.” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn clapped his hands together. Yo nearly dropped his teacup, startled. “You know I love having you perform for my guests, and I’m very happy to hear that Win is taking his pursuit of poetry seriously, but four does not make the…fullest of piphats. So, I invited someone else to join us today to see if, perhaps, you can make some magic together.”

“Who?” Por asked. There was a knock on the door before the nobleman could answer. He winked just as one of his servants entered the room with Sound, the son of Chaophraya Sereevichayasawat, following closely behind. “Oh…you.”

“Good, you’ve already met,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn said, oblivious to how the self-satisfied smile dropped right off Sound’s face. He rose to his feet so he and Sound could exchange wais; the rest remained seated, lowering their heads in deference when Chaophraya Chaichitathorn returned to his seat and Sound sat right beside him. Gun wasn’t sure who would’ve scoffed louder were they here, Win or Li Ming. “Though — and apologies if this is terribly discourteous of me — have you met Gun, Lord Saran?”

The corner of Sound’s right eye seemed to spasm at Chaophraya Chaichitathorn not asking the other way around. “I have,” he said evenly. “We’ve only spoken once before, though.”

“That’s a shame,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn remarked. “I mean, three young spellsingers in one room? How novel! My guests are in for a real treat.”

After everyone finished their tea, Chaophraya Chaichitathorn led them into another drawing room, this one adjoining his dining room. Unlike the first, it was mostly bereft of furniture, giving them ample space for their instruments and eventual audience. Gun took up the pi nai, Win’s instrument, while Sound settled behind the glong thad. Everyone else took their usual places while they exchanged wary looks. Chaophraya Chaichitathorn requested they play one of his favorite pieces, and after a moment’s hesitation, they began.

Por and Win were the singers of their piphat — Pat and Yo preferred to keep everyone on beat — but in Win’s absence, Gun was to sing his parts instead. He’d practiced at least two hours a day since Por’s invitation, had done breathing exercises with his mother every evening until they were light-headed and giddy. Though his relationship with his brother was more fraught than ever and his relationship with Tinn seemed to be rapidly approaching its end, at least he had this. His head and his heart be damned, at least his voice was the one thing that would never fail him.

“Absolutely wonderful,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn beamed when they’d finished. “Gun, your voice really is heavenly. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were a kinnari.”

“That was one of my father’s nicknames for my mother,” Gun said, smiling faintly at the memory. “Both of them were spellsingers.”

“The entire family? How fortuitous!” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn said, delighted. Something tugged at Gun’s chest — a different memory, one of a shut bedroom door in which his brother was the only person on the other side — but the nobleman was already moving on to his next request. The others proffered him sympathetic looks, already knowing exactly what was on his mind. Sound stared at him consideringly as if Gun were a puzzle he was trying to figure out.

Sound led the next song, then the three of them traded off for another song or two before Chaophraya Chaichitathorn suggested they stop for the evening, not wanting them to exhaust their “most precious instruments of all”, a turn of phrase that tickled Por and irked Sound. He then led them into the dining room, where a glorious spread of food awaited them.

Is this what it’s like to be a child of the khunnang? Gun thought as he took his seat beside Por and across from Yo, with Chaophraya Chaichitathorn by his elbow at the head of the table. Performances every night and dinner with the most powerful people in the country?

Sound was the son of a Chaophraya, the highest-ranking nobility, while Gun’s friends were all the sons of the Khun, the fourth-highest. If Yo were to marry Lady Aphichaya, he would be exalted to the Luang, the third-highest. Regardless, they would all maintain the title of “lord” until they became masters of their respective households. “Lord Guntaphon”, in Gun’s opinion, sounded strange even just in his own head.

“So, how did you all become friends?” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn asked once they began eating.

“We met when we were children,” Por said. “We somehow found out we all loved music, and then we’d sing together all the time. We were so loud that our teachers would put us on opposite sides of the classroom to make us stop.”

“You were in school together?” To Gun’s surprise, it was Sound who’d spoken. He supposed the concept was completely unfamiliar to him; Sound would’ve received a private education in the comfort of his family estate.

“When His Majesty ascended to the throne, one of his first proclamations was to ensure servants’ children received an education, too,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn explained. “However, many families were mistrustful of the idea. Since there were very few phrai who were willing to learn and even fewer who were willing to stay on, they were simply taught alongside the khunnang’s children. There weren’t enough to warrant separate syllabi and teachers.”

“…I see,” Sound said after a moment’s deliberation. He appeared humbled by his lack of knowledge, or perhaps it was more that he’d revealed that he didn’t understand the politics of the Grand Palace as well as he’d hoped. Not knowing how the royal family treated their servants certainly wouldn’t help him curry favor.

“And how did you all become acquainted with Lord Saran?" Chaophraya Chaichitathorn continued.

“I sought Por’s acquaintance when I first arrived for the lakhon nai,” Sound replied, his voice a touch more confident now. “I make it a habit to introduce myself to other spellsingers, especially since there are very few among the khunnang.”

“A shame, isn’t it?” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn said, sighing a little. “There’s nothing wrong with being an arcanist or runecaster or wordsmith, of course — ” Gun flinched “ — but art is how we preserve our culture, our history, our stories, our…” He then trailed off with a sheepish chuckle. “My apologies for the digression. I doubt you want to hear it.”

“Actually, I would,” Gun said. “My lo — uh, my friend is very passionate about this sort of thing, too. He never stops talking about books and loves listening to me sing.” The others glanced at each other in confusion; none of them knew who he was referring to.

“A friend of good taste,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn said, winking again. “I’m more a humble patron of the arts myself, but if I may…”

Two hours later, Gun departed the estate with a full stomach and a promise to peruse the nobleman’s library during his next visit and see if he had anything Gun’s “friend” might find interesting. Gun had agreed out of politeness — the royal family’s private library already had every Ayutthayan tome to ever exist — but also out of his own pursuit of knowledge.

Gun had never cared much for school, nor had he ever been very good at it, but he sometimes worried that he wasn’t intelligent enough for a proper discussion with Tinn, especially now that they were meeting in person. He knew it was a trivial matter given everything else afflicting their relationship, but Gun was determined to understand the things Tinn cared about. They spent so much time talking about music and spellsinging that it only felt fair he return the favor.

“I can’t believe we just spent four hours with Sound,” Pat bemoaned once the other boy disappeared into the night without so much as a ‘goodbye’. “Do we really have to perform with him? Perhaps we should withdraw while we’re ahead.”

Yo was the first to shake his head. “We can’t abandon Chaophraya Chaichitathorn without consequence, and we can’t squander this opportunity for Gun.”

“I’m sorry,” Gun said, lowering his head. “I didn’t mean to trouble all of you.”

“Of course you didn’t, and you haven’t,” Por promised, giving Gun’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “We sounded good together, didn’t we? Which means we won’t have to rehearse with him very much. It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

“But what if we sound so good that Chaophraya Chaichitathorn wants us to perform together again? Or his guests think Sound is a member of our piphat and request we perform at their parties? We’ll never be free of him, ever!” Pat griped, carding his fingers through his hair. Then, he added in a near-conspiratorial whisper, “And you know how much Win despises him. Imagine his face when we tell him what’s happened!”

“He does? Why?” Gun asked curiously. “I mean, I don’t care for Lord Saran either, but…”

Yo shrugged. “You know how Win is,” he said. “He’s quick to anger and, well, Sound makes him angry.”

“He told us he saw Sound at a poetry contest once,” Por added. “He didn’t tell us what happened or if they even talked, but perhaps there’s more there.”

“What I’m trying to say is,” Pat said loudly, “if we’re not withdrawing, we should at least make it clear that Sound isn’t one of us.”

“I doubt Chaophraya Chaichitathorn would like that,” Gun said. He felt a little envious of Pat, of how easily he could just cast the opportunity aside like he had hundreds more waiting for him. Even as the son of a lesser noble, he likely still did. “You can’t just shun one of your members in front of your patron.”

“But he’s not a member,” Pat snapped. “He’s not one of us!”

“He is for one night,” Gun said evenly. “And so am I.”

“You’re our friend,” Pat corrected. “You’ll always be an honorary member, Gun. You know that.”

Gun’s jaw tensed. “Do I?”

“Enough of this,” Por interjected as Pat began to open his mouth. “Let’s not argue, alright? We should be celebrating! Our performance went well and Chaophraya Chaichitathorn liked Gun. That’s all that matters.” Yo nodded while Pat sighed, clearly still displeased. Gun suspected he would be the first to tell Win about the evening’s events, even if Por were to warn against it. “Should we have a drink at mine? We have plenty of lao khao.”

“I have to be in the kitchens before sunrise,” Gun said apologetically, though part of him just wanted to keep Pat at arm’s length until he’d settled down. “But I really can’t thank you enough for inviting me, I mean it. I promise I won’t let you down.”

“You’ve never let us down,” Pat said, the crease between his brows unfurling. “You’re our friend.”

Por beamed and Yo was quick to pull them into a group hug, a tangle of limbs and sweaty foreheads pressed together that made Gun feel completely at ease for the first time all evening. He’d been wrong earlier, he realized, feeling both shameful and grateful. His voice wasn’t the only thing that would never fail him, far from it. He leaned into his friends’ embrace, ruffling their hair affectionately despite their protests, and smiled.

Once they parted ways, Gun left for the servants’ residential halls, whistling cheerfully to himself. He stopped when he noticed a familiar silhouette converging on the path ahead. “Li Ming!” he called before he could consider otherwise. His brother halted, turning to face him with his arms folded across his chest. Gun couldn’t discern his expression in the darkness, but his posture made him look just like Uncle Jim.

“How was Chaophraya Chaichitathorn?” Li Ming asked once Gun joined him, the two of them falling into step. His tone was brisk but not unfriendly.

“He seems to like me,” Gun replied. “He said I have a heavenly voice and he’s glad we were introduced.”

Li Ming nodded, tugging at the fabric scrap tied around his wrist. “That’s good.”

“Only…do you remember me telling you about Lord Saran? Chaophraya Chaichitathorn invited him to perform with us — and gave us no warning at all,” Gun added. “He was just…there. It was sort of awkward.”

“What was he like? Was he rude?” Li Ming’s voice tensed with curiosity.

“Not really,” Gun said slowly, thinking back. “Actually, he was rather quiet during dinner. Chaophraya Chaichitathorn had lots of questions for me and my friends, so he didn’t have much to say.”

Li Ming nodded again. “Then it must’ve been awkward for him, too. Maybe even humbling to see you getting along so well with a Chaophraya.”

Gun chuckled weakly, unsure of how to respond. He liked the idea of Sound being humbled, but he didn’t want to make an enemy of him, either. “And…what about you? What did you do today?” he eventually asked. It was difficult to tell whether they were actually on speaking terms or if Li Ming was only making certain he hadn’t made a fool of himself.

“Work,” Li Ming replied, his voice clipped. Gun wanted to ask further, but the set of Li Ming’s mouth told him otherwise, and they both remained silent for the rest of the walk home.

As they entered the residential hall, their footsteps echoing across the vacant passageway, Gun began considering whether he wanted to sleep early or continue reading the book Tinn had lent him. He wished he could tell Tinn about tonight, about Chaophraya Chaichitathorn and Sound and his forthcoming performance, but it would only give his identity away. Part of him worried that performing for the khunnang meant that someday, somehow, Tinn would hear his voice during a performance and realize who he was. Another part of him thought it would be romantic, the sort of thing Tinn would love. The sort of thing Tinn would continue fighting for, even when they both knew there was no sense in doing so.

“MA!”

The sound of Li Ming’s sudden cry startled Gun from his reverie. He’d opened their front door and promptly run inside, collapsing to his knees beside — no, Gun thought, his heart in his throat — their mother, lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. She was unmoving, the shattered remains of a bowl scattered around her, the last dredges of soup seeping into her clothes. Her familiar, a sharp-eyed turtle dove, called out as she circled above, her wings flapping erratically in a panic.

Gun stumbled towards her, but his knees buckled beneath him before he could. Sharp pain crackled through his wrists and shoulders; he bit down on his lip, hard, to keep from crying out, though all it did was draw blood. Li Ming gingerly pressed two fingers against Gim’s wrist, then her neck, his expression grim. Tears prickled in the corners of Gun’s eyes. He crawled towards them, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Ma,” Gun managed to croak. “Ma, is she…?”

“Alive,” Li Ming said, his voice thick. He wouldn’t meet Gun’s gaze, instead looking up to the ceiling. “Achara, go find Uncle Jim. Get him to bring a healer.” The bird managed to gather her wits before nodding and soaring off into the night. Li Ming, meanwhile, let out a frustrated noise, frantically looking around to see if there was anything he could do.

“Blood? Is she hurt?” Gun could barely manage more than two words at a time without feeling the urge to cry. He didn’t dare move any closer, terrified that one wrong move would somehow determine her fate.

“No blood, and she just looks like she’s sleeping,” Li Ming said quietly. “Going by the spread of the soup stain, I think she fell right before we got here.”

“Oh,” Gun said weakly. His voice seemed to echo in his head like it belonged to someone else. “And what…what now? Do we just…wait for Uncle Jim?”

“I think so,” Li Ming said, though he sounded more uncertain now. “We probably shouldn’t move her in case anything’s broken. I’ll just…make sure she’s still breathing.”

Gun nodded, clutching at his chest, willing his heart to calm down. It wouldn’t do them any good if he were to lose consciousness, too. His shoulders trembled and he squeezed his eyes shut. There had to be something he could do, something that wasn’t just sitting here, watching the minutes tick by, praying that their mother wasn’t seconds away from drawing her last breath. He tried to remember if there were any healers nearby, any doors he could bang on and plead for help until his voice was hoarse. But names and faces slipped from his memory the more panic-stricken he became, until he was left with just one name.

“What are you doing?” Gun hadn’t realized he’d gotten to his feet until Li Ming called out to him, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Gun swallowed. “I’m going to find us a healer.”

“But where…wait.” Comprehension dawned on Li Ming’s face, and he lifted his chin. It was the first time he’d looked Gun in the eye since they arrived. “Gun, you don’t mean — ”

“I can’t just sit and wait,” Gun said, setting his jaw in resolve. “You keep an eye on Ma and I’ll be right back, I promise.”

He turned and took off at a run, Li Ming’s loud protestations fading in seconds. His muscles ached and his lungs burned as he ran as fast as he possibly could, crossing the gate from the Inner Court to the Middle Court, where the night guards were patrolling the royal residences. They heard him before they saw him, turning every which way with their weapons aloft. It was only then that Gun realized he’d made a terrible mistake, but it was far too late. One of them took him by the arm, pulling him roughly into his clutches, and Gun cried out in pain as his shoulder was nearly dislodged from its socket.

“Who the hell are — ”

“Tinn!” Gun shouted breathlessly. The guard struck him in the back of the knees with the long barrel of his gun, forcing him to the ground. Gun stumbled, unable to find his footing, and he fell forward, turning his head just in time so he landed on his cheek instead of his nose. His jaw cracked and his skin scraped open against the coarse stone, and then he felt something warm pooling beneath his face, his elbows, his knees: blood. “Tinn, please! I need your help!”

“Shut the hell up, you — ”

“Tinn!” Gun inhaled, his breath ragged, summoning the last of his strength to cast his voice projection spell. His fingers tightened around the coin in his pocket. “TINN!”

Thick, callused fingers closed around his throat. At least three guards surrounded him now, perhaps another at his back, their guns aimed between his eyes. Gun’s vision blurred and he gasped for breath, clawing desperately at the guard’s hand. One of them was shouting at him, spittle flying in Gun’s face, but he couldn’t comprehend a single word, not when he was slipping in and out of consciousness.

Then, all at once, they let go, stumbling back like they’d been struck. They fell to their knees and prostrated themselves on the ground, trembling and cursing under their breaths. Gun wheezed and spluttered, blinking back tears while he tried to regain his breath. He looked up at the sound of footsteps and nearly wept in relief. Tinn was running toward them — towards him — his eyes alight with fear and outrage in equal measure. He, too, dropped to his knees in front of Gun, cupping his face so tenderly that Gun finally began to cry.

“Gun,” Tinn breathed. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“Ma fainted,” Gun managed to say, his chest heaving. He clutched Tinn’s shoulders so tightly that his fingernails were sure to leave welts. “She’s at home and she won’t wake up and I-I don’t know — I didn’t know who else to…”

“Can you take me to her?” Tinn asked gently, already wrapping his arm around Gun’s shoulders and helping him to his feet. Gun hissed a breath between his teeth; his shoulder was throbbing and every inch of his skin felt raw to the touch. Tinn made to examine him, but Gun silently shook his head. It was his mother who needed Tinn’s healing powers; his own injuries could wait. “Can you walk?”

“Yes,” Gun whispered, drying his eyes on his sleeve. Tinn ordered the guards to return to their posts, his tone far more terse than it had been seconds ago, and Gun shuddered to think what would become of them. Then, Tinn drew him closer, tucking him into his side, and they began to hobble slowly, but surely, toward the Inner Court. They were silent for a while, short of Gun’s labored breathing. He did his best to focus on the warmth of Tinn’s hands instead of the hand-shaped bruise beginning to form around the curve of his neck. “…thank you, Your Royal Highness.”

Tinn responded with a tentative smile. “If it doesn’t discomfit you, I would rather you start calling me ‘Tinn’. We certainly know each other well enough.”

“I…” Gun’s eyes widened in sudden disbelief. Could it really be…? “It would be much faster.”

Tinn exhaled, relieved, and pressed an impossibly tender kiss to Gun’s forehead. Gun squeezed his eyes shut, the last of his tears rolling down his face. “I’m inclined to agree, my love.”

Chapter Text

Gun could focus on little else but the image seared in his mind of his mother in a crumpled heap on the floor, even when his shoulder, legs, and chest all ached in equal measure. He could barely even feel Tinn’s arm around his midsection or hear the sound of his own labored breaths. His vision narrowed — one foot in front of the other, he told himself — as they made the slow, arduous return to the Inner Court, only to find Li Ming shaking like a leaf, shoulders hunched, head buried against Gim’s shoulder.

For a moment, Gun thought the worst had happened. His stomach plummeted right to the floor. It took another moment for him to realize Li Ming was just trying not to cry while he kept vigil over their mother entirely on his own, not knowing when Uncle Jim would arrive or if Gun would ever return. Gun couldn’t recall if he’d ever seen his brother cry since the day that officer had come knocking on their door.

Li Ming barely seemed to register Tinn’s presence, even when he entered the room and pressed a gentle hand to Gim’s forehead, his voice soft when he asked if anything had happened since Gun’s departure. Less than a minute passed before he determined Gim needed to be taken to the infirmary, murmuring that her pulse was weak and her fever was high. He sent Chompoo to fetch Tiwson so he could make the necessary arrangements, then traced his finger along the bruises that had formed on her face and arms after she’d fallen. They quickly vanished as if they’d never been there at all.

“That’s all I can do for now,” Tinn said apologetically. “I could try to wake her, but I worry it may only make matters worse.”

Gun opened his mouth to thank him, but Li Ming spoke before he could. “What do you mean?” Li Ming asked, frowning.

“Being unconscious, in a sense, spares her from feeling any pain or discomfort,” Tinn explained. “The healers will be able to determine if she’s in any danger or if it was just a sudden fainting spell.”

“Danger?” Li Ming echoed, his voice a familiar concoction of disbelief and indignation that made Gun flinch. Another set of footsteps rushed into the room before Tinn could offer further explanation or reassurance.

“Gim.” Uncle Jim was pale, his breathing labored from how quickly he’d run. It took him a moment to notice who was beside her, his fear giving way to shock. “I…Your Royal Highness?”

Tinn responded with a bow and a reassuring smile. “Guards will be here soon to bring Madam Gim to the infirmary, where the best healers in the palace are awaiting her arrival. She’s in good hands, sir. I promise.”

Uncle Jim blinked, wide-eyed, too bewildered to remember to kneel at Tinn’s feet. He responded with a deep wai instead, his eyes glistening when he lifted his head. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness.”

Tinn nodded, then withdrew so Uncle Jim could join Li Ming by Gim’s side, brushing the hair out of his sister’s face with a shuddering breath. He murmured something to Li Ming so softly that Gun, who’d curled up on the floor by the front entrance like a small child, couldn’t hear a single word.

Gun turned away, unable to look at his mother’s lifeless form for long. She looked much too still for someone who was always moving — dancing around the room while she sang, bustling about the kitchens with various pots and pans, pinching her sons on the cheeks or by the ears whenever they misbehaved, opening her arms to embrace everyone she ever loved.

Everything Gun had been worrying over felt so trivial now. Why had he and Li Ming quarreled so loudly when their mother had headaches every night? Why had he asked her to assist with his breathing exercises when he knew she had a terrible cough? Why had he never offered to cook or clean or find a doctor so she could concentrate on getting better? This is my fault, Gun thought, forcing himself to lift his head to look at her, to face what he’d done. His gaze met Tinn’s gentle eyes instead.

“We’re bringing her to the royal infirmary so she’ll have complete privacy and the best amenities,” Tinn said quietly. “I imagine you’d like to stay as close to her as possible; there are spare bedrooms there as well. Is there anything you want to bring with you? I can also send for someone else to help: clothes, medicine, whatever you need.”

“I can do it,” Uncle Jim called before Gun could respond. Everyone else nodded gratefully as he disappeared into the adjoining bedroom.

Tinn turned back to Gun. “It might be best to wait until we’re in the infirmary before I treat your injuries, but are you feeling faint at all? Anything I should help with now?” His eyes darkened at the sight of the bruise enveloping Gun’s neck.

“No,” Gun said, ignoring the burning sensation in his sprained shoulder. He didn’t want to divert Tinn’s attention, or at least, not until a healer had seen his mother. “I’ll be fine.”

The guards arrived less than a minute later, lifting Gim onto the litter with impressive proficiency. Tiwson followed closely behind with Chompoo and two horses for Gun, Li Ming, Uncle Jim, and Tinn to take to the infirmary. Li Ming was quick to jump on, giving Uncle Jim a pointed look when he seemed hesitant about Li Ming taking the reins. Gun, meanwhile, sagged against Tinn’s back the moment they were on their horse, completely spent. Still, he knew he needed to stay awake for his mother’s sake.

At first glance, the royal infirmary seemed like nothing more than another private residence in the Middle Court, with spacious bedchambers and enormous windows and ornate decor. However, there were also cupboards full of medical paraphernalia and literature, shelves bearing marked jars of roots and herbs, illustrations of bones and muscles and organs that made Gun squirm, and, of course, over a dozen healers shuffling about in crisp, starched uniforms, their faces like stone. Gun could barely withstand the overwhelming smell of menthol and camphor.

Uncle Jim spoke quietly to the chief healer while Gun and Li Ming closely watched the guards transferring Gim from the litter to her bed. It was the first time Gun had looked at her face properly since she’d left for work that morning. She was somehow pale and flushed at the same time, with a sheen of perspiration across her forehead and upper lip. Gun brushed a sweaty strand of hair out of her eyes, relieved that her skin was still warm to the touch, if a little too warm for his liking. She stirred but didn’t wake.

“Ma,” he whispered, moving his hand further down to hold hers. “You’re going to be okay, Ma. We promise.”

“We promise.” Gun glanced across the bed to find Li Ming had taken Gim’s other hand. He waited for his brother to continue, but Li Ming said nothing else. There was a hollow look in his eyes, punctuated by the visible clench of his jaw.

“We should give the healers some space now,” Tinn murmured. “I can show you to your rooms and have someone draw baths if you’d like.” Gun nodded, allowing Tinn to gently take him by the arm. Li Ming hesitated a moment longer before joining them.

Tinn’s walkabout of the rest of the infirmary compound was brief; much of the building comprised the healers’ living quarters, the medical library, the records archive, and a few laboratories they weren’t permitted to enter. Their temporary bedrooms, on the other hand, were larger and far more elaborately furnished than their family's apartment, each with its own bath and a small wardrobe for their belongings. Li Ming wordlessly shut himself in his bedchamber without so much as a glance in Gun’s direction once they’d finished their tour.

“May I?” Tinn asked, gesturing toward Gun’s shoulder. “Before you have your bath.”

“Please,” Gun said, nodding gratefully, and the two of them sat on the bench at the foot of Gun’s bed.

Tinn got straight to work, soothing every bruise and healing every wound. He even managed to set Gun’s shoulder with only the slightest grimace. There was an intimacy to it that Gun had been sorely missing, and he leaned into Tinn’s gentle touch, desperately wanting more. Their eyes would occasionally meet when Tinn knelt before him to inspect his scraped knees and blistered feet, and Tinn was always the first to look away, his mouth pinching into a shy smile. Gun’s eyes eventually drifted shut in contentment; he could’ve fallen asleep right then and there, were his heart not still pounding with adrenaline. The walls of the infirmary were so thick that he couldn’t hear a thing, and for a moment, he could pretend that his mother wasn’t unconscious, perhaps even dying, in the other room.

“Do you need someone to stay with you while you bathe?” Tinn suggested once he’d finished. “We can’t have you falling asleep in the tub.”

“Are you offering?” Gun couldn’t help but tease. He opened his eyes to find that Tinn had gone entirely pink. He’d been dreaming of this since their first encounter, to know precisely what Tinn looked like when he smiled or laughed or blushed. He was delighted to find that Tinn was especially endearing when embarrassed. “I don’t mind so long as you keep your eyes on mine.”

“Gun,” Tinn said, his voice strangled, and Gun laughed. Then, he felt guilty once more; how could he joke and laugh at a time like this? Sensing Gun’s unease, Tinn gently clasped his hand. “I can wait outside your door if you’d prefer.”

Gun surprised himself by shaking his head. He didn’t want Tinn to leave, though it wasn’t only because he wanted to keep looking at Tinn’s kind, handsome face. It was because he sensed he would fall to pieces the moment he was alone. “That wouldn’t be very fun, would it?” he said lightly. “I mean it, I don’t mind.”

Tinn nodded. “Then…shall we?”

A few minutes later, Gun lowered himself into the tub with a satisfied groan, the hot water sloshing around his shoulders. It was twice the size of the tub afforded to the phrai, long enough that he could fully extend his legs without touching the opposite side. “Come in!” he called.

Tinn entered with a low stool and took a seat by the foot of the tub. His face was still a little flushed. “How’s the water?”

“It’s perfect,” Gun replied, wiggling his toes. Tinn smiled, pleased, and they both fell silent while Gun dutifully scrubbed every inch of his newly healed skin until he was pink. “So, uh…how long have you known?”

“Known…what?” Tinn said carefully.

Gun lowered his head, picking at one of the mosquito bites on his arm. “That I’m Little Mouse.” He lifted his gaze. “Did you already know that day you healed my hands?”

“No, not at all,” Tinn promised. “Not until the first time we met in Siwalai after the lakhon nai. You mentioned having a brother and your voice sounded so familiar, and then it all sort of…fell into place. I wasn’t sure whether to tell you I knew.” He offered a rueful smile. “I’m sorry for keeping it from you.”

“Don’t be,” Gun reassured him. “I didn’t want you to know who I was, and you just wanted to…protect that for me. Right?”

“Exactly,” Tinn said, relieved. “And though I wish the circumstances were different, I’m glad we finally got to meet face-to-face, and I’m especially glad that Little Mouse turned out to be you. You’re everything I always hoped you’d be.”

Gun’s warm face heated even further. “You mean that?”

“I’ve never meant anything more,” Tinn said, as warm and as earnest as ever, and Gun’s heart fluttered. Though he still couldn’t quite understand Tinn’s love for him, why the crown prince of Ayutthaya had chosen him over everyone else, he believed in it. He believed in every gentle touch, in every affectionate word, and now, in every adoring gaze. Gun wanted to savor them all for as long as he possibly could, knowing they had precious little time left. “Though…does it bother you, now that I know?”

“Honestly…I always wanted you to know, but I was never going to tell you on my own,” Gun admitted, drumming his fingers listlessly against the rim of the tub. “But I also hated keeping things from you, so it’s actually easier this way. Now I can finally tell you about things I never could — my friends, my brother, my fa…” His breath caught in his throat. “My mother.”

“Will you?” Tinn tilted his head, his eyes soft. “Tell me about her, I mean. Or whatever else you’d like.”

Gun’s fingers stilled as he braved a small smile. “I should probably get out of here first before I turn into a salted plum.”

Once he’d drained the tub and dried off, Gun dressed and returned to the bench at the foot of his bed while Tinn knelt behind him, carefully working a thick cotton towel through the damp strands of Gun’s hair. It was so soothing, so heartachingly reminiscent of what his mother had done for him when he was a child, that Gun started to nod off once more. Tinn, meanwhile, was humming under his breath — the song they’d danced to at the lakhon nai, Gun noted, the one he’d put inside that little music box. Tinn had told him once that he listened to it every night before he slept.

He opened his mouth, prepared to tell Tinn all about his mother, how warm and kind and effervescent she was, how she always sang like a bird and smelled like coconut milk and freshly baked bread. But then, he realized, it would feel no different than the time he told Tinn about his father, how he’d been drafted for the war and taken away from them too soon, how his brother had never forgiven him since that terrible day. Eulogizing his mother, he thought, would only feel as if he were sealing her fate.

“My friends are sons of the Khun,” Gun said instead. “They’re in a court piphat together, and they invited me to perform with them at one of Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s dinners. We had our first rehearsal earlier this evening.”

“That’s incredible!” Tinn exclaimed, brightening. “How did it go?”

“Chaophraya Chaichitathorn seemed to really like us,” Gun replied. “Only…he invited Lord Saran as well, and he doesn’t like us at all. Do you know him?”

“We’re…acquainted,” Tinn said, sounding considerably less enthused. “He and his father had dinner with my family not too long ago. Actually, he mentioned you by name when he spoke of meeting with the piphat led by Khun Asawasuebsakul’s son. Your friends, then?”

“Oh,” Gun said, surprised. “I didn’t think he’d remember my name.”

Tinn paused, leaning in close so Gun could see him, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “A testament to how unforgettable you are.”

Gun couldn’t help but laugh. The sentiment would’ve sounded rakish coming from anyone else, but the earnestness in Tinn’s eyes rang true. “Not everyone adores me as much as you do, you know,” he said, cuffing the underside of Tinn’s chin.

“And adore you, I do,” Tinn agreed, smiling easily. He resumed his ministrations, satisfied with the way Gun had blushed. “Lord Saran aside, you must be thrilled. When’s your performance? What will you sing?”

“In two weeks, and I’m not sure yet. He’s still preparing our song list.” Gun leaned back against Tinn’s chest, the top of his head nestling beneath Tinn’s chin. He smelled of sandalwood and jasmine oil and peppermint. “To be honest…I’m really nervous. I’ve never performed for nobility before.”

“You’ll be wonderful,” Tinn reassured him. “I’m proud of you, Gun. I really am.”

Gun snuggled in a little further, his eyes drifting shut. Tinn instinctively wrapped his arms around Gun’s midsection to steady him, to keep him from sinking his entire weight against Tinn’s chest. Gun wished they could stay like this forever, or at least for the rest of the night, warm and pliant and without a care in the world. But he doubted Tinn could stay much longer, and he wanted to ask the healers about Gim’s condition before attempting to sleep. So, all he could do was enjoy Tinn’s embrace while he still could.

“Thank you,” he murmured, resting his hands over Tinn’s. “For everything, I mean. I…” His breath hitched. “I-I don’t know if Ma’s going to be okay, but if you hadn’t…if she…”

Tinn pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Gun’s head. “Should we talk to the chief healer together before I go?” he suggested as if he’d read Gun’s mind.

Gun nodded, turning his head to burrow his face against the soft silk of Tinn’s shirt. “…maybe in five minutes.”

A silent laugh rumbled through Tinn’s chest, and when Gun looked up, Tinn was smiling down at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection. “How about ten? I’d love to hear more about your friends first,” he said. “How did you all meet?”

Smiling faintly, Gun interlaced their fingers together and settled in. He was confident he could ask Tinn for another hour and he would still acquiesce. And, knowing his mother was in safe hands, knowing that Tinn had placed her under the care of the best healers in the palace, calmed his nerves for the time being. “We were all in the same class together, actually. We’d always get in trouble for making too much noise…”

It was well past midnight when Tinn returned home, still wide awake despite the late hour. He’d been reluctant to leave Gun behind, had even suggested sleeping on the floor of Gun’s bedchamber if he wanted the company. But he’d made the mistake of telling Gun he had a meeting with the privy council in the morning — an unimportant one, he insisted, something he could most definitely ignore — and before he knew it, Gun was practically shoving him out of the infirmary, telling him not to neglect his duties or Heart wouldn’t be the only prince facing discipline.

“I’d like it if you came back tomorrow, though,” Gun had said while they lingered in the doorway of his temporary bedroom, a tired smile playing on his lips.

“As soon as I can get away,” Tinn had promised. He’d pressed one last kiss to Gun’s temples, told him to send word if anything happened, then left with a heavy heart. He hoped Gun wasn’t spending the night alone. Even if he and Li Ming weren’t on speaking terms, surely their uncle would mediate or, at the very least, be there for them both.

Tinn had barely crossed the threshold of his family’s courtyard when he heard frantic footsteps and a swish of fabric behind him. “Tinn!” He turned on his heel to find his mother rushing toward him from the portico of her private residence, her eyes wide and panicked. “Where have you been? I heard someone was taken to the royal infirmary, and I thought — ” She paused to take a deep breath, composing herself. “What happened?”

Unlike the palace infirmary, the royal infirmary was for the royal family alone. There had been a time when multiple generations had resided at the palace, but during Tinn’s grandfather’s rule, he’d built dozens of palaces across Ayutthaya to establish prosperity and, most notably in his eyes, authority. He’d sent the branch families away from the Grand Palace to oversee the developing provinces. Thus, his mother’s fears were justified: the only ones permitted to use the royal infirmary were herself, her husband, and her children.

“I’m alright, as is Heart,” Tinn reassured her. “There was…an emergency. Do you remember Madam Gim, the cook who makes all the khanom?”

She nodded. “Li Ming and Gun’s mother, too.”

“She collapsed in their home earlier this evening, and…I suppose I was the first healer Gun thought of, so he came looking for me,” Tinn explained carefully. His voice trembled as he recalled the state Gun had been in when he found him. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep with the image of a bloodied and bruised Gun seared into his memory, heaving and gasping for breath. “I thought we’d place her in the royal infirmary since it wasn’t in use. I understand it’s not meant for the phrai, but…”

“No, that’s…that’s alright,” she said softly, offering a gentle smile. “How is she?”

“Better than before, though not yet awake,” Tinn replied. “She regained color and her pulse is stronger, but she might have pneumonia. The healers said as much after they listened to her lungs, and her family said she’s been feverish with a bad cough for a while now.”

“How awful,” she said with a sympathetic hum. “I’ll send word to Madam Chidchanok in the morning to ensure they’re looked after. Those boys shouldn’t have to worry about work while their mother is sick. Is there anything else we can do?”

“Not at the moment, though I plan to return sometime tomorrow to see how they’re doing,” Tinn said. At his mother’s inquisitive brow, he added, “Her family is staying in the infirmary’s guest quarters. I…I’d like to reassure them they’re welcome to stay as long as needed.”

“Ah,” she said, her expression clearing. “That should keep him out of trouble, then.”

It took Tinn a moment to understand what she meant. “If you mean Li Ming, I really don’t think he’s as difficult as you say, and he’s certainly not dangerous. He wasn’t trying to attack Heart; he only wanted him to let go.”

She sighed, looking quite exhausted all of a sudden. “I know,” she said. “But he’s proven to be capricious and, from what Madam Chidchanok has told me, temperamental and unsociable. We can’t have someone like him around Heart. You know how sensitive he can be. They wouldn’t have argued so often if he weren’t.”

Tinn frowned, deep in thought, thinking back to everything Gun had told him about Li Ming. Gun hadn’t talked about him at all tonight — in fact, he’d gone quiet whenever he was mentioned — though it seemed Madam Chidchanok’s description was apt. Tinn doubted Li Ming had any ill intentions, but perhaps there was some truth to his mother’s vigilance.

“I’ll speak to him when I return tomorrow,” Tinn offered. He was curious about Li Ming, both as Heart’s interpreter and Gun’s brother, though he wasn’t about to admit the latter to his mother. “I’ll see what he’s like.”

“If you’re sure,” she said, sighing again. She cupped his cheek, smiling faintly. “You did well, Tinn. Now go straight to bed, alright? It’s late.” He nodded, kissing her on the cheek before taking his leave. Though he planned to do as he was told, he doubted he’d get much sleep with everything that had happened. He could only hope that Gun and his family, at the very least, would be able to get some rest.

When Tinn rose the next morning, he didn’t feel sated at all, bleary-eyed from having tossed and turned all night. Tiwson was waiting for him in the drawing room when he managed to drag himself from his bed. “Good morning, Your Royal Highness,” Tiwson said, pressing a warm cup of tea into Tinn’s hands. “I’ve come early to tell you Madam Gim’s fever has gone down, and she was awake for a while this morning. The healers say she seemed confused but otherwise spoke clearly and could eat and keep food down.”

Tinn let out a sigh of relief as he sank into his chair. “That’s excellent news, thank you,” he said with a tired smile. “Was her family awake at the time, or at least apprised of her condition?”

“Her brother kept her company until she went back to sleep,” Tiwson nodded. “I don’t believe he woke Gun or Li Ming, though I’m sure they’ve been informed by now.” Then, a teasing smirk began playing on his lips. “And if I may, Your Royal Highness…Gun?”

Tinn pressed his lips together, trying and failing to hide his blush. “Have you already prepared my clothes? We can’t be late for breakfast.”

“We most certainly can’t,” Tiwson agreed, still smirking while he motioned toward the antechamber. “After you, Your Royal Highness.”

Once Tinn was dressed and given enough tea to wipe the sleep from his eyes, he and Tiwson departed for the royal family’s private dining hall. His good mood quickly dissipated when he saw a familiar silhouette lingering in the colonnade.

“Heart,” Tinn breathed. “Uh…good morning.” His brother looked ashen-faced, his uneasiness roiling off him in waves.

“Kajorn told me about Madam Gim,” Heart said in lieu of a proper greeting. “Is she going to be alright? Can I see her?”

Tinn blinked, surprised. “Oh, er…they haven’t completed her diagnosis yet, but they suspect it’s pneumonia. I plan to visit her after we meet with the privy council, if you’d like to join me.”

Heart’s nose wrinkled. “Can’t we go now? We could take breakfast in the infirmary.”

Tinn hesitated; he was impatient to see Gun, of course, but he didn’t want to give their mother any reason to be suspicious. “…well, yes, but our parents are expecting us, and — ”

“I’m sure they won’t mind, so long as we bring Kajorn and Tiwson with us,” Heart interrupted impatiently. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Heart — ” But Heart was already rushing past him, weaving out of the colonnade and into the courtyard. Kajorn went after him with a brisk stride and a furrowed brow. Tiwson, as sharp as ever, went to the dining hall to inform the king and queen they’d be eating alone. Finally, Tinn had no choice but to hurry after his brother, perplexed by his persistence. He quickly caught up, taking hold of Heart’s elbow and bringing them both to a halt. “Hold on — there’s something I need to tell you first.”

Heart’s face creased with worry. “What is it?”

“It’s…” Tinn took a deep breath; he’d been given permission last night, but still felt apprehensive about it. “Madam Gim’s family is staying in the infirmary while she’s being looked after, so you should know that…Gun is Little Mouse.” He paused, waiting for Heart’s wide-eyed look of shock, but it didn’t come. “I…worked it out shortly after we started meeting in person, though it wasn’t until Gun came to me for help last night that we actually talked about it. No one else knows but you and Li Ming.”

Heart’s expression was nothing at all like what Tinn had imagined. “I…have something to tell you, too.” He lowered his head, gathering up the courage to continue. “I…I think I found out before you did.”

Tinn’s mouth fell open, stunned. “…what? How?”

“I wanted to thank Li Ming for his kindness during the lakhon nai, so I went to Madam Gim and asked for her help,” Heart said, blushing, and though he hadn’t yet finished his explanation, the last piece of the puzzle suddenly seemed to fall into place. “She suggested we make Li Ming’s favorite khanom. When I saw the handwriting on her recipe cards…”

“…oh.” A tumult of thoughts stirred in Tinn’s mind all at once; he was a little embarrassed to find that the first was an image of Gun at the kitchen table, carefully penning his mother’s recipes and his letters for Tinn with a bright smile. When Tinn shook his head to rid himself of the image — delightful, but insignificant for the time being — another vision came to mind: Li Ming at the table beneath the rostrum, his back to the ceremonial hall, signing for Heart as the performers filled the room with song. Yes, he thought, it all makes sense now.

“I’m sorry,” Heart said suddenly, surprising him further. “I’ve missed you, and I…I’m sorry.”

Tinn waited patiently for Heart to continue, but he seemed to struggle for words. “I’ve missed you, too,” Tinn eventually offered. “And I’m sorry for telling Mother about — ”

“Don’t be,” Heart interrupted, his expression fierce. “You were only trying to help, yet I’ve been acting like you’d wronged me. I haven’t been fair to you at all.”

“A little unfair, perhaps, but I understand why you felt wronged,” Tinn said softly. “You confided in me and I told our mother. I broke your trust.”

“Tinn.” Heart’s voice was ragged; he sounded as exhausted as Tinn felt. “I still trust you, it’s just…” He let out a teary laugh. “If you really must tell one of our parents something I’ve told you in confidence, I’d rather it be Father. He’s far less likely to interrogate me.”

Tinn took Heart’s hands in his with a relieved smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

One of the infirmary clerks was on the steps of the portico when they arrived. She nearly dropped the stack of medical records she was carrying at the sight of them. “Your Royal Highnesses!” she squeaked, bowing as best she could. “Are you here to see Madam Gim?”

“If it’s not inconvenient,” Tinn said, glancing balefully at his brother. “Is she awake?”

“She’s still sleeping, but her family is awake if you’d like to speak with them,” the clerk replied. Just as Tinn thanked her and made to enter the infirmary, she hesitated. “You should know, Your Royal Highnesses, that…things have been a little tense all morning. Madam Winai has asked everyone not to disturb them unless absolutely necessary.”

“I see,” Tinn said, his heart sinking. “We’ll be careful.”

Madam Gim had been placed in one of the smaller private rooms, the kind reserved for consorts and concubines. She was asleep when they arrived, her silhouette obscured by the mosquito netting drawn around her bed. Her brother — Uncle Jim, Gun had called him — was in a chair by the window, thumbing through one of the books from the medical library. When he looked up in surprise, he appeared as if he hadn’t slept all night, his eyes sunken and hollow. Neither Gun nor Li Ming was there.

“Good morning, sir,” Tinn whispered, bowing. “Would now be a good time for us to talk? Perhaps somewhere else, so we don’t wake Madam Gim.”

Jim followed them into the corridor and carefully shut the door behind him. “I really can’t thank you enough, Your Royal Highness,” he said, his tired smile identical to Gun’s. “And I apologize for my informality. I’ve just been so…so…” But he trailed off, too exhausted to find the words.

“Not at all,” Tinn replied, leading them to a nearby sitting room where he, Heart, and Jim took their seats. Kajorn sat a short distance away to interpret for Heart while Tiwson left to ask one of the attendants to prepare tea. “You’ve been under quite a lot of stress, so please don’t worry about paying obeisance. We only came to ask if her condition’s improved.”

Jim leaned back in his chair for a moment to gather his thoughts. He went on to describe what Tiwson and Kajorn had told them earlier: that his sister’s fever had gone down and she was able to talk and eat, that the healers suspected pneumonia, and that Gun and Li Ming were told as much after they’d woken not long ago. “They’re having breakfast in the refectory now,” Jim concluded, dragging a hand through his hair. He barely seemed to notice when Tiwson and one of the attendants returned with a tray of black tea and khanom phing. “I asked Madam Winai to wait for them to return so we can discuss Gim’s treatment together.”

Tinn already knew what Madam Winai, the chief healer, would have in mind — fenugreek to reduce sputum, linseed to alleviate inflammation, and meadowsweet to break her fever, none of which were easily found in Ayutthaya. He could only hope they already had the ingredients on hand.

“Do you think Li Ming and Gun would mind if we joined them?” Heart asked.

When Jim hesitated, Tinn added, “They might need a distraction from everything that’s happened, and we’d be happy to join them for breakfast before we leave.”

“May I…ask you something, Your Royal Highness?” Jim said carefully. When Tinn gestured for him to go on, he continued, “I understand you kept Gun company last night while I was with the healers. I also know he asked you to employ Li Ming on Prince Heart’s behalf for the lakhon nai, so…are you well-acquainted?”

Tinn’s jaw tensed. Somehow, he hadn’t anticipated the question. “Sort of,” he said eventually. “We’ve spoken a few times, usually whenever we cross paths in Siwalai.”

“…I see.” Jim paused, then offered a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thank you for everything, Your Royal Highness. We’re forever in your debt.” Tinn lowered his head somewhat uneasily, uncertain what to make of his response. Then, after they exchanged their last pleasantries, he left for the refectory with Heart, Tiwson, and Kajorn in tow.

It was a small dining hall in the heart of the infirmary, nothing like the ceremonial halls of the Outer Court or even the private dining hall for the royal family. There were healers and clerks and attendants scattered across the room at low tables on bamboo mats, heads bowed while they ate and chatted quietly. Some yawned, barely able to keep their eyes open, while others pored over medical charts and textbooks, clicking their tongues in annoyance whenever a grain of rice or splash of soup landed on the pages.

Heart spotted them first, his eyes brightening when they landed on the smallest table near the back of the room. He wasted no time weaving between tables to reach them. Tinn hurried after him, just as impatient to see Gun again. The entire refectory seemed to share a collective gasp upon their arrival, eyes wide and mouths agape, before everybody hastened to bow. Even Gun and Li Ming’s half-lidded expressions of utter exhaustion were quickly replaced with ones of surprise.

“Ti — I-I mean, Your Royal Highness!” Gun exclaimed. His voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in hours. When he noticed everyone staring at him, open-mouthed, he gave them an apologetic wai and an embarrassed smile. Tinn imagined the infirmary staff had already spent the better part of breakfast whispering to one another about Gun and Li Ming and how Madam Gim had been escorted to the royal infirmary by the crown prince himself. Still, he was less concerned with quelling idle chatter and more concerned with the dark circles under Gun’s eyes.

“Good morning,” Tinn said softly, kneeling across from Gun while Heart knelt across from Li Ming. Tinn wanted to take Gun’s hand, to comfort him somehow, but now wasn’t the time nor the place. He settled for glancing at his brother, who smiled faintly at Li Ming. He had set down his spoon and began signing for everyone at the table before Kajorn could join them. It was then that Tinn realized, rather inanely, that this was not only the first time he’d seen Gun and Li Ming side by side in proper light — their differences made even more apparent — but also the first time the four of them had been in a room together. “How did you both sleep?”

“Like a baby,” Gun chirped, the lie evident in the unnatural pitch of his voice. “That bath really helped.”

“Like a newborn baby,” Li Ming said flatly. “Woke up every couple of hours.”

“Oh, er…I’m sorry to hear that,” Tinn said, still unused to Li Ming’s brusque manner. He could see why people thought he was unsociable, but maybe Li Ming just wasn’t one to temper anyone’s expectations. It was the kind of self-determination Tinn could respect, maybe even admire. The kind of bravery Gun had somehow seen in him when he couldn’t see it himself. “Perhaps some chrysanthemum tea would help.”

Li Ming grunted, taking advantage of the awkward silence to shovel some rice into his mouth. Both his and Gun’s bowls were practically untouched; had they only just started, or had something else happened before Tinn and Heart’s arrival? Tinn didn’t mean to speculate, but it was hard not to when Gun and Li Ming seemed unable to look each other in the eye. “Did you talk to Uncle Jim?”

“Yes, right before we came here,” Heart replied. “He said you’d discuss Madam Gim’s treatment plan together once you’ve returned.”

“Pneumonia,” Li Ming said tonelessly. “It killed our great-grandparents when Ma was young, then our grandparents before we were born.”

“Our great-grandparents, too,” Heart said before Tinn could offer his condolences, surprising him. He hadn’t expected Heart to remember something that had happened so long ago. Something that had only happened because their grandfather had rejected science in favor of magic, failing to understand they were often one and the same — another reason why he’d deprived Tinn of any regard after he was found to be a healer.

“Really?” The tension in Li Ming’s jaw slackened. “Were you close?”

“They died not long after we were born,” Heart replied, shaking his head. Li Ming nodded minutely, then turned his gaze back to the bottom of his bowl. Only then did Tinn realize he and Gun were watching Li Ming. They shared a small smile, but something in Gun’s expression suggested it was the most Li Ming had said in his presence all morning.

After another length of restless silence, save for the whispers around them and the clinking of Gun and Li Ming’s spoons, Tiwson and Kajorn arrived with trays of leftover rice and soup. Tinn and Heart began to eat as well. “Have you heard from Madam Chidchanok yet?”

“You mean about us not needing to work until Ma’s better?” Gun’s eyes brightened a little. “We received a letter about it earlier. Was that your doing?”

“Our mother’s, actually,” Tinn said.

Li Ming’s elbow nearly slipped from the edge of the table. “Really?” He made no attempt to hide his surprise, giving Heart an incredulous look. “Your mother seems very…lenient these days, doesn’t she?”

The fleeting smile on Gun’s face was replaced with a frown. “What do you mean?”

But Li Ming only waved him off while Heart appeared to be blushing again, and if it had been a mere supposition earlier, it now seemed all but confirmed. Now, Tinn supposed, the only question left wasn’t whether Li Ming knew — there was no chance of him not knowing, given the gleam in Heart’s eyes — but whether he would accept it. Li Ming obviously wasn’t the sort to welcome a prince’s affections just because he was a prince. In fact, Tinn suspected the opposite. Still, as much as he wanted to ensure his brother’s namesake wouldn’t be broken, now was hardly the time to question Li Ming. That would have to wait indefinitely.

“You know, you and I have never really talked,” Li Ming remarked, cocking his head. The intensity of his gaze made Tinn shudder. “How long will you be staying, Your Royal Highness?”

“Oh, er…only until we’ve finished eating,” Tinn said, pleased to see Gun frown in disappointment. “We have a meeting with the privy council soon, though I plan to return tonight if…”

“If Gun asks you to, which he will,” Li Ming said wryly. There was the barest hint of a smirk on his otherwise inscrutable face. Now it was Gun’s turn to blush. “Can we talk then?”

“Li Ming!” Gun protested while Heart vehemently shook his head, but Li Ming ignored them both, his gaze unwavering.

Tinn, meanwhile, nodded his assent. He suspected they shared the same intentions. “Of course.”

When Li Ming wasn’t keeping Gim company in her waking hours, spooning rice porridge into her mouth and pressing a damp cloth against her forehead and chatting quietly about whatever came to mind, he was in the infirmary’s courtyard, reading Tutor Suchada’s grimoire and watching the gardeners tend to the fig trees. He’d barely slept last night, unused to having a room all to himself, unused to being alone with his thoughts. It had always been the four of them, and then when it wasn’t, the three of them. Solitude was reserved for the days he’d spent sweltering under the Ayutthayan sun while he shoveled manure and hefted buckets of feed.

If he were honest with himself, he felt equal parts angry and ashamed he’d done nothing to help his mother, had spent the past several days sneaking around with Heart and arguing with Gun as if that was what truly mattered. He’d heard her cough and her rasping voice, seen the pink flush of her face and the sweat on her brow, then went on as if nothing was wrong.

Li Ming’s repentance had taken the form of staying with her so Uncle Jim could rest and confer with the healers. Gun stayed behind in the refectory after breakfast to prepare her favorite dishes just how she liked them, only leaving the infirmary compound briefly to fetch more clothes and blankets from home. They spoke very little whenever they passed each other in the corridor or were in Gim’s room at the same time, silently agreeing to put it all behind them for now. Madam Winai had told them it would be at least another few days before they’d have everything they needed for Gim’s treatment, and they didn’t have the time nor desire to argue when their mother needed them.

And then, Li Ming thought with a sigh as he set the grimoire down in his lap, there was the matter with Prince Tinn. Though he had no desire to argue with Gun about going to Prince Tinn for help, either, he also thought it was one of the worst things Gun could have possibly done. It wasn’t just the revelation of Prince Tinn finally knowing who Little Mouse was; it was the horror of lifting his gaze from his mother’s lifeless form to see his brother stumble into the room, bruised and bleeding and clutching his shoulder, his face wet with tears. Li Ming imagined Prince Tinn had been just as horrified. And, now that he had Gun in his sights, he would only become more entwined in their lives unless Gun told him otherwise, and Li Ming knew he never would. Maybe Gun had accepted that he was breaking his own heart, but Li Ming hadn’t, and he hated that he had no means of stopping him.

Heart. An unconscious smile tugged at Li Ming’s lips despite himself. The younger prince was another matter altogether, though Li Ming found Heart’s obvious affections for him endearing, if a little unnerving. It was already enough that he’d made that remark about having an ignoble consort; how was Li Ming supposed to concentrate when Heart stared at him so openly in front of their respective brothers? And of course, he’d mostly been staring because Li Ming was signing for him, but he could have done so without that cloying grin on his face. Was it even possible for Heart to change his mind about him so quickly?

Maybe he remembers, a small voice said, one that sounded suspiciously like Gun. But Li Ming had accepted — a while ago, in fact — that he hadn’t. It was why Li Ming had decided to put all of that behind him, too, all his feelings of anger and malice and distrust. Heart hadn’t deserved them; he never had. Maybe now there would be room for other feelings to surface instead.

Li Ming shut the grimoire with a snap. He couldn’t let Heart become a distraction right now, even if he was an increasingly welcome one. Someone would be waking Gim any minute now to make sure she had lunch, meaning Gun would be finishing up in the kitchen. Li Ming got to his feet, allowing himself a moment to yawn and stretch and wish he’d been able to sleep for more than an hour or two at a time, then headed back inside.

Gun and Uncle Jim were already in Gim’s room when Li Ming returned. Gun was carefully balancing a tray of rice and nam sup and bai po on her bedside table while Uncle Jim was in the chair by the window, telling Gim about his earlier discussion with Madam Chidchanok. “She promised we could all take as long as we need,” he was saying as Gun helped Gim into an upright position. “Miss Yui will take your place in the meantime.”

“Thank goodness,” Gim sighed. Her voice sounded stronger than it had a few hours ago, though it still crackled like oil on a hot pan. “I was worried it would be Miss Dokmai.”

“Ma!” Gun exclaimed, laughing. “You know how much Miss Dokmai admires you.”

“And I think she’s a wonderful woman who doesn’t know her rice flour from her tapioca flour,” Gim countered with a wry grin. Her face brightened further when she spotted Li Ming in the doorway. “Li Ming! There you are.”

“Ma,” Li Ming said, lowering his head before sitting on her bed opposite Gun, who made every effort not to meet his gaze. Even Munmuang seemed to be avoiding Chaipo’s prying eyes. “You sound so much better. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve swallowed a thousand rambutans whole,” Gim rasped, pausing to cough. When she showed no sign of stopping, Gun poured a cup of herbal tea and brought it to her lips. She snatched it from him with a wag of her finger. “My hands still work, you know.”

“Li Ming had to feed you just this morning,” Gun protested. Gim pinched his cheek with one hand while she sipped her tea with the other.

“Madam Winai said sleep is the best medicine, so perhaps those last few hours made all the difference,” Uncle Jim suggested. “Would you like the window open so you can get some air?”

“I’d like it more if I were permitted out of bed,” Gim said, coughing again. “Do you think Madam Winai would allow me a walk around the courtyard?”

“I doubt it’d be very good for your fever — though I can go and ask her now,” Uncle Jim amended at his sister’s baleful expression. He quickly departed, leaving the three of them alone while Gim took slow, careful bites between coughing fits and mouthfuls of tea.

“Were either of you going to tell me about the princes’ visit this morning, or do I have to ask?” Gim said once she was halfway through her bowl of rice. Gun nearly choked on his own.

“I think that already counts as you asking, Ma,” he spluttered, and he was promptly rewarded with another pinch, this time to his upper arm. He glanced across Gim’s bed to Li Ming as he rubbed the spot she’d pinched him, urging him to say something. It was the first time he’d looked at Li Ming since his arrival. Li Ming sighed.

“Prince Tinn wanted to reassure us that we’re welcome to stay here as long as we need,” he said. “He also wanted to make sure we received that note from Madam Chidchanok about not needing to work until you’re better. At the queen’s suggestion, apparently.”

Gim smiled. “How kind of her. I don’t know how we could ever repay them.”

“Repay them for…giving us leave while you’re sick?” Li Ming said doubtfully. “Shouldn’t that be the standard?”

“Prince Tinn was also able to tell us what Madam Winai’s proposed treatment would be before we even spoke to her,” Gun interjected. “He really is as talented as everyone says.”

“And generous, too. Both of them seem very — ” Gim lurched forward with another sudden cough, nearly upending the tray on her lap.

“You should concentrate on eating for now,” Li Ming said while Gun quickly poured her another cup of tea. Though he didn’t like how Gim’s breathing rattled whenever she coughed, he couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful that she hadn’t finished her sentence. “You’re likely to choke at this rate.”

Another baleful glance, but she obeyed, and Gun told her about his dinner with Chaophraya Chaichitathorn while she continued to eat. “I hope I can still go,” he said wistfully. “I don’t want to disappoint my friends.”

Gim frowned. “Why wouldn’t you go?”

“Come on, Ma,” Gun said, chuckling. “I need to be here, making sure you’re alright.”

“I have two sons for a reason, don’t I?” Gim said reproachfully. Li Ming knew she meant well, but he couldn’t help but flinch. He was the younger twin, after all, the child their parents hadn’t planned for. His purpose was to be there if Gun wasn’t, and if he wasn’t a helping hand, he was a burden: another mouth to feed, another child to fret over. His stomach roiled.

“You should go,” Li Ming said. “It’s just for one night.”

“Not exactly,” Gun hedged. “We still have rehearsals, and Chaophraya Chaichitathorn arranged for us to be measured for — ”

“More than a few nights, then,” Li Ming interrupted. “Uncle Jim and I are here, and there are plenty of healers around. Ma will be fine. And besides, Madam Winai says those ingredients she needs will be here soon enough, so Ma might be fully recovered before your next rehearsal.”

Gim nodded in agreement, patting Gun’s arm reassuringly, then took Li Ming’s hand in hers. “Both of you worry too much,” she said, clicking her tongue. “Li Ming, you should rest, too. You look…well, awful.”

Li Ming managed a wan smile. “Thanks, Ma.”

After she’d finished eating, Uncle Jim helped her out of bed and took her for a walk about the infirmary — Madam Winai, predictably, had told him that being outside wouldn’t worsen Gim’s fever, but the exertion could exhaust her very quickly — leaving Gun to return to the kitchen and Li Ming to attempt a midday rest. Sleep came to him easily, now that he wasn’t as afraid for his mother’s health. When he woke hours later, it was already dark.

He bathed and dressed before leaving for the refectory, his stomach sinking when he remembered Gun had already gone to meet with Prince Tinn in the archives, one of the only places where they’d get any semblance of privacy while avoiding the impropriety of meeting in Gun’s bedroom. Gim and Uncle Jim, meanwhile, would be apprising Madam Winai of any changes in Gim’s condition. So, Li Ming was to eat alone in a room full of curious glances and hushed whispers. Sighing, he doubled back to his room. At least he could take Tutor Suchada’s grimoire with him for company.

The refectory was quieter during the early evening, when most of the infirmary’s inhabitants were still working. Li Ming helped himself to a bowl of khao tom and stir-fried greens, then returned to the small table near the back where he hoped he wouldn’t be disturbed. He flipped through the grimoire while he ate, glancing over every page, though most of it was still lost on him. Despite everything, he was cautiously excited about his upcoming lessons with Tutor Suchada and the possibility of seeking an apprenticeship through Wen. Both had seemed all but impossible until recently.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” Li Ming startled at the unexpected voice, glancing up to see a tall, narrow-faced man frowning down at him. He appeared no older than Uncle Jim, wearing a healer’s uniform and spectacles perched on the end of his nose. “That’s not yours.”

“Tutor Suchada lent it to me,” Li Ming replied warily. “I’m going to be one of her students soon.”

The man’s frown deepened. “Suchada? She only teaches nobility and phrai elders, not phrai boys like you.”

“Yes, well…” Li Ming cleared his throat, his fingers curling into the thin fabric of his sado pants. More than a few heads were now turning in their direction. “Prince Heart offered to introduce us to thank me for accompanying him during the lakhon nai.”

“So that’s who you are.” The man leaned back, apparently pleased with himself. “I thought it was strange that a phrai woman was admitted here.”

Li Ming bristled. “You would think that, wouldn’t you?”

“Come now, I didn’t mean it like — ”

“I know what you meant,” Li Ming said sharply, heat flaring in his cheeks as he got to his feet. “And I think it’s strange this place goes completely untouched all year while it waits for the king to sneeze.”

The man’s nostrils flared, infuriated. “How dare you?”

“Li Ming!” He groaned at the sound of another voice, one that always seemed to be present whenever he was in trouble. Uncle Jim quickly crossed the room, his eyes blazing. He clapped a firm hand on Li Ming’s shoulder but didn’t look at him, fixing his gaze on the other man instead. “Forgive my nephew, sir. His mother is ill and we’ve all been a little…tense.” When the man scoffed, Uncle Jim’s expression hardened. “I’m sure you understand.”

Li Ming glanced at him, surprised, but Uncle Jim was still staring at the other man. Eventually, the man — ostensibly a healer, though from what Li Ming could tell, one with terrible bedside manner — sighed and left, shaking his head and muttering inaudibly under his breath. The moment he was out of sight, Uncle Jim exhaled a long sigh.

“Uncle — ”

“We need to be careful around here.” He released Li Ming’s shoulder with a grimace, and they both returned to kneeling at the table. “If Madam Winai hears about the way you talked to one of her subordinates — ”

“You heard the way he talked to me about Ma,” Li Ming hissed under his breath; several people were still watching them from every corner of the room.

“He didn’t mean it personally and you know it,” Uncle Jim said firmly. “He wasn’t wrong. It is strange that she was brought here. I doubt Madam Winai told everyone that it was on Prince Tinn’s orders, and even if she did, it would only lead to more speculation.”

Li Ming scowled but let his shoulders sag regardless. “He still didn’t have to talk to me in the first place.”

“I don’t know. If I were him, I’d be curious, too.” Uncle Jim nodded toward the grimoire. “Did Prince Heart really offer to introduce you to his tutor?”

“Maybe,” Li Ming said, averting his gaze. “I told him I was never taught how to be a wordsmith, so…he offered to help. Or maybe it’s just that he’s looking for a personal secretary; he said as much when we talked about it.”

Uncle Jim surprised him again by responding with a broad smile. “Really? That’s quite the opportunity. Do you plan on taking it?”

“You…aren’t going to tell me I should?” Li Ming said doubtfully.

“I could, but you never listen to me, anyway,” Uncle Jim replied, his tone lacking its usual scorn. “You’ve clearly impressed Prince Heart if he’s offered to support your education. I think it’s worth pursuing if it interests you. You’re more than capable of it.”

“I…” Li Ming was at a loss for words, his face now heating with embarrassment.

Uncle Jim chuckled, this time clasping him by the arm. “Just promise not to argue with your tutor too much, alright? You get into enough trouble around here as it is.”

“Scholars argue all the time — they just call them debates,” Li Ming pointed out, eliciting another laugh from his uncle, louder and unabashed. As Uncle Jim continued to chuckle to himself, Li Ming wondered whether it was worth spoiling his uncle’s unexpectedly good mood. He wasn’t sure how he would react, especially now. “Uncle Jim?”

His uncle’s eyes were soft. They reminded him of Gim. “Yes?”

“I…talked to P’Wen the other day,” Li Ming said carefully, not wanting to say too much. They’d been lucky to return to the Grand Palace without anyone realizing he’d taken Heart to the capital. “I wasn’t looking for him or anything, I just saw him and we talked. He seemed kind, and…he told me he had friends in different professions, ones I might want to try for myself. He offered to introduce me.”

Uncle Jim’s eyes narrowed slightly. “How did that come about?”

“Well, we…we first started talking about you and how you met,” Li Ming said. “He said he wouldn’t tell me anything you didn’t want me knowing, but that you made it clear that you were from different worlds. Then he said something about how it was the first time he ever wanted to make the world a little bit smaller.” Uncle Jim smiled; Li Ming suspected it hadn’t been intentional. “I told him our world was already too small. Generations of Nueangna-uams working and dying in the kitchens and the forges and the laundry and nothing else. That’s when he asked me what I wanted, and I said I didn’t know because no one ever really asks.”

“And that’s when he told you about his friends,” Uncle Jim guessed. “That sounds like him. Wen is a sociable man; I’m sure he knows plenty of people around here.”

“Have you ever met any of them?” Li Ming asked.

Uncle Jim’s expression darkened. “There was one…well, never mind. It doesn’t matter.” He sighed again. “I wish you hadn’t gone looking for him — ”

“I already told you I didn’t — ”

“ — but I suppose there’s nothing we can do about it now,” Uncle Jim finished. “If you plan on meeting him again, just…don’t ask him about me, alright? You have your own business with him now, and my business is none of yours.”

Li Ming eyed him. “You really aren’t going to scold me about talking to P’Wen or that man or — or not talking to Gun at all?”

“I’m tired, Li Ming.” Uncle Jim’s smile turned weary. “Gim’s doing better than expected, given the circumstances, but she still needs us. It won’t do her any good to argue with each other. And besides, you definitely already know what I’d say if we did.”

Li Ming nodded slowly, sucking in a breath between his teeth. “I, er…I have to go. I’m meeting someone soon. I’ll go see Ma after if she’s still awake.”

“Who?” Uncle Jim frowned again. “It’s not Wen, is it?” But Li Ming was already rushing toward the door, having granted his uncle enough honesty for one evening.

When he arrived at the archives, the prince’s guard was stationed just outside the doors. “Prince Tinn is expecting me,” Li Ming said, a declaration he never thought he’d make.

The guard peered down at him. “His Royal Highness is currently with your brother,” he grunted. “Wait here.”

Part of Li Ming was content to obey — he doubted he wanted to walk into the middle of their private conversation, given all the longing looks they’d shared over breakfast — but he was also nothing if not stubborn. “Seeing as it’s my brother, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if I joined them.”

The guard’s mouth twisted imperceptibly. “…if you’re sure.”

The records archive was halfway between a library and a gallery, with rows of shelves stocked with books and files, vitrines of what appeared to be scale models of human organs, and a line of lacquered desks beneath the windows bracketing the opposing wall. It was quiet, orderly, and completely empty, save for two silhouettes intertwined in the back corner. Gun was perched on the edge of one of the desks while Prince Tinn stood before him, their fingers interlaced between them. Munmuang was curled up on another desk, staring out the window, while Chompoo watched her from her spot on the floor, looking as woeful as her master.

“I should go,” Gun was saying. “Li Ming will be here any minute, and I promised Ma I’d say goodnight.”

“Two more minutes?” Prince Tinn’s voice was pleading, almost childlike. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“We were together just this morning, and we’ve been talking for almost an hour,” Gun said, releasing one of Prince Tinn’s hands to gently thump his shoulder. “That seems like more than enough to me.”

“It’s never enough when it’s you,” Prince Tinn said, and he was rewarded with a bright laugh. Li Ming grimaced. He’d been made to read enough of their letters to know precisely how sentimental both of them could be, but it was something else to witness it in person. “I still haven’t asked if you’d like to learn makruk.”

“You could ask me now,” Gun suggested.

“Ask him later,” Li Ming called, and Gun nearly tumbled from the desk in shock. “I promised Ma I’d say goodnight, too.” Both of them were bright red when Gun stammered his goodbyes and Prince Tinn promised to return tomorrow.

“Apologies if I’ve kept you waiting,” Prince Tinn said once Gun left, as if Li Ming hadn’t just overheard him whine like a dog. “Shall we sit?”

They sat across from one another at the long table in the middle of the room, where someone had left a few medical records open for anyone to see. It took Li Ming a moment to realize it was of the princes’ great-grandparents, the ones who’d died of pneumonia. It seemed like Prince Tinn himself had been the one perusing them.

Li Ming looked at him now, studying every last detail of his face. He appeared to be a neater, more well-kept version of Heart, not a hair out of place nor a crease in his pha biang. They shared the same doe-like eyes, narrow nose, and full lips. His expression was refined but not unfriendly, the last remnants of his blush blossoming across the bridge of his nose and the tips of his ears. Prince Tinn was more decorous than Li Ming would have liked, but not impassive. The opposite, actually, and that gave Li Ming some reassurance.

“Do you love my brother?”

He half-expected Prince Tinn to bluster his way through his response, but the crown prince merely smiled. “Yes, I do. Very much so.”

Li Ming leaned forward. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Prince Tinn blinked. “…sorry?”

“You’ll never be allowed to marry him, so…what then? You’re going to make him your consort? Your concubine?” Li Ming shuddered at the thought. While consorts were well-respected so long as they produced heirs, concubines were treated poorly by everyone around them more often than not. And of course, no Ayutthayan prince or king had taken a male consort or concubine before. “Or are you going to let him go?”

“I’m not holding him to anything,” Prince Tinn said firmly.

Li Ming couldn’t help but laugh. “Visiting him isn’t holding him to something?”

Prince Tinn exhaled, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “Gun and I have talked about this many times before. We…we know we don’t stand a chance, and we’ve yet to come up with any solutions.” He paused, visibly swallowing. “All I want is for him to be happy, and all I can do is my best to make certain that he is. I intend to continue seeing him so long as he wants me to.”

“And you know he’ll never say otherwise.” Li Ming leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. It was something he’d seen Uncle Jim do many times before as a way of unnerving him. He hoped it would work on Prince Tinn. “I told him going to the lakhon nai would only make matters worse, but…you’d already met Gun when he was himself. There was no convincing him after that.”

“It was…selfish of me to invite him,” Prince Tinn admitted. “But I promise, I would never say or ask anything of Gun that would make him feel as if he owed me a favor or couldn’t say no. I’d hope I would never do that to anyone, and…” He paused again, contemplating. “I hope Gun always feels he can make his own decisions, regardless of your influence or mine.”

Li Ming continued to stare at him, waiting for him to fold. Prince Tinn gave him an earnest, if slightly apprehensive smile, and it didn’t just remind him of Heart — it reminded him of Gun. It was the way Gun would hide his nerves when he offered excuses for why he was late for dinner or how Ma’s favorite plate had ended up in pieces on the floor, the way Gun would steady his nerves right before he sang for an eager crowd of children or phrai elders. Li Ming didn’t know what to make of it.

“Fine,” Li Ming eventually said. I believe you, he thought but didn’t say out loud. There was something rather satisfying about making the crown prince squirm. “I’m guessing you also have questions for me.”

“I do,” Prince Tinn replied, collecting himself. “I didn’t realize how close you and Heart had become until today. I expect he’s told you we haven’t talked much lately?” When Li Ming nodded, he continued, “Are you…friends?”

“Yes.” Li Ming remembered that late afternoon on the riverbank with fondness, taking the place of an old memory he wanted to forget. “But only recently, of course.”

“Of course,” Prince Tinn echoed, looking slightly embarrassed on his brother’s behalf. “May I ask…how?”

“You may, not that I’ll answer,” Li Ming said evenly. “I think Heart would rather tell you himself.”

Prince Tinn blinked. “You…you called him ‘Heart.’”

“He told me I could,” Li Ming said, shrugging.

Prince Tinn hesitated yet again, and Li Ming began to wonder how long it took him to write his letters to Gun. It couldn’t have been very long, considering the speed at which some of them had arrived — or maybe Prince Tinn just spent an inordinate amount of time sitting around, composing letters in his head while he waited for Gun to write back. “And what are your feelings?”

Li Ming’s brow furrowed. “My feelings are that Heart feels like a caged animal, and your mother has the key.”

Prince Tinn looked slightly crestfallen. “He told you about our mother’s…protectiveness, then.”

Li Ming frowned. “Is that what you call it?” When Prince Tinn opened his mouth to retort, he continued, “He wants to get out of the palace and see what life is like outside of being a prince. If he were allowed, he’d have no reason to try and escape. You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t feel the same way if you were also confined to one place for the rest of your life.”

“I…” A slow smile spread across Prince Tinn’s face. “You know him well. You really do care about him.”

Li Ming tried not to smile back. “We’re friends,” he said, shrugging again. “You know, he even offered to introduce me to one of his tutors.” At Prince Tinn’s mystified expression, he told him what he’d told Uncle Jim.

“He must be very fond of you,” Prince Tinn said when he finished. There was a faraway look in his eyes that Li Ming didn’t quite understand. “Our mother has her…opinions about you, but I don’t share them. I appreciate everything you’ve done for Heart, and I’m glad you’ve become friends, especially since you had your…disagreements when you first met.”

When we first met? Another question burned in Li Ming’s throat, one he’d been holding on to for so long that it suddenly felt like it might burst. “Why doesn’t he remember me?”

Prince Tinn frowned. “Remember…you?”

Something sharp twisted in Li Ming’s stomach, something raw and painful. Something was wrong, only he couldn’t figure out what. “Never mind,” he said defeatedly. The day had gone on long enough, and Prince Tinn had told him all he could. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Heart stared longingly out the window of his study, tapping his reed pen against the letter he was meant to be writing. As Chaophraya Tangkabodee had invited Tinn to spend time with Lady Chanikarn in Nonthaburi, Heart also received invitations from Chaophraya Pipitdaecha and Chaophraya Nakornthap. Though he had no romantic interest in Lady Nippitcha nor Lady Krongkwan, his genuine companionship with them made the possibility of their future betrothal easier to bear. So, he’d agreed to accept their invitations, mostly because his mother had refused to let him visit Madam Gim in the infirmary until he did.

“And really, running off again the minute I turned my back after I told you not to,” she’d added with a pointed look. “Where were you off to this time?”

“The river, just like last time,” Heart had lied. “I wanted to go for a swim.”

He felt guilty about deceiving her, knowing she was being uncommonly generous. It still surprised him that she hadn’t locked him away in his bedchamber with the entire royal guard stationed outside his door. He supposed it was because they had yet to talk about everything they’d promised, everything weighing on his mind and burdening hers. Sighing, he tore his gaze from the window and returned to the blank sheet of paper before him. He needed to focus on the task at hand.

Once he’d finished, he asked Kajorn to send for one of the palace couriers and have his letters approved by his mother’s advisors before sending them off. Then, not wanting to wait any longer, he departed for the royal infirmary once Kajorn returned. “Your Royal Highness, I really would advise you to wait — ” But Heart brushed past him before he could finish.

When they reached the infirmary compound, Heart felt a sense of trepidation stir inside him, an instinct that told him not to go any further. He stopped to steady his breath, to remind himself it would be alright. After all, he’d felt this way last time when he’d come with Tinn, and he knew exactly why: he’d been the last person admitted to the royal infirmary.

Heart remembered little of his illness, the one that had left him unable to hear. He remembered soft sheets and warm tea and gentle hands, remembered an abundance of healers helping him eat and bathe and take slow walks around the infirmary courtyard once he’d mostly recovered, his muscles stiff and aching from lying in bed for weeks. He remembered being shown anatomical diagrams of the ear and given books on Ayutthayan sign language. He remembered his family at his bedside, not with tears in their eyes, but with affection and determination in equal measure.

The strange thing was, he couldn’t remember much of anything before that.

A gentle tap on his shoulder pulled him away from his thoughts. “This clerk here will take us to Madam Gim’s room,” Kajorn said, gesturing to a young-faced clerk standing just outside the infirmary doors. “Are…you alright, Your Royal Highness?”

“Yes, of course,” Heart said, hastily smoothing down the front of his shirt. “Lead the way.”

They followed the clerk through the corridors, Heart’s gaze lingering on a few familiar-looking faces as they went. When they arrived at Madam Gim’s room, they found she wasn’t alone. “Oh,” Li Ming said, his eyes alight. Heart was suddenly very glad he’d remembered to oil his hair this morning. “Hello, Your Royal Highness. I wasn’t sure if you’d be visiting today.”

“I wanted to come earlier, but I needed to finish a few things first,” Heart said, bowing. “Good morning, Madam Gim. I hope I’m not disturbing you. How are you feeling?”

Heart hadn’t seen her since the day he and Li Ming had shared that khanom mo kaeng. She’d already been afflicted with a persistent cough at the time, but had otherwise been what he assumed was her usual good-natured self. Now, she looked tired and thin, with pink splotches across her cheeks and dark circles under her eyes. Still, she smiled and brought her hands together in a wai.

“Good morning, Your Royal Highness,” she said while Li Ming signed for her. “I’m already feeling much better under Madam Winai’s care. If your brother were to visit, I’d like to tell him how much I appreciate him bringing me here.”

“I’ll let Tinn know you’d like to see him,” Heart replied. “And you’re in very good hands here. I…” He paused, swallowing. “I would know.”

Madam Gim’s face softened. She urged him closer, patting the foot of her bed. When he obeyed, she took him by the hand, surprising him. “If you’d rather not be here, I understand,” she said gently. “I’m honored you came to see me, though…” Her mouth twisted into a teasing grin. “…perhaps it’s not just me you came to see?”

Heart blushed while Li Ming scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed. Clearly, his burgeoning feelings were no secret to anyone. “Of course I came to see you, Madam Gim,” he protested. “I wanted to make sure you were feeling better. You know how much I love your khanom.”

Li Ming refused to interpret her response, his mouth thinning with indignation. Madam Gim, on the other hand, looked absolutely delighted. “Will you join us for lunch, Your Royal Highness?” she asked, still chuckling to herself between short, sharp coughs. “Gun should be here soon with our food, and he always makes too much.”

Heart’s first instinct was to decline; he didn’t want to intrude or embarrass himself further. At the same time, after Tinn and Li Ming’s private discussion last night, he felt it was only fair he learn more about Gun, too. So, he nodded in agreement, carefully watching Li Ming’s face as he did. Li Ming looked as if he were trying a little too hard to remain expressionless.

It wasn’t long before Gun appeared with an enormous tray bearing bowls of soup, rice, pork, and greens. He nearly dropped them all when he realized Heart was there. “Your Royal Highness!” he exclaimed, quickly setting everything down so he could bow. “I-I didn’t know you were coming.” Then, he added hopefully, “Will Prince Tinn be joining us, too?” Li Ming made no attempt to hide his eye-roll this time.

“He won’t be returning until tonight,” Heart said apologetically. Busy making travel arrangements to visit his future betrothed, he didn’t say. Knowing Tinn, he’d already told Gun outright.

Gun nodded, disappointed, then went to fetch another chair from an adjoining room so they could all sit at a comfortable distance from Madam Gim’s bed. Heart settled in to eat and observe while the three talked among themselves. It was clear Madam Gim loved her sons deeply, fussing over them whenever they yawned while waving them off whenever they sat up every time she coughed, putting the best cuts of meat in their bowls despite needing them more.

Meanwhile, the tension between Li Ming and Gun was just as plain to see. Gun would always hesitate before answering Li Ming or avert his eyes whenever Li Ming looked his way. Li Ming, for the most part, looked as sullen as he did from their days in the kitchens together. Heart smiled a little at that; it felt like a lifetime ago.

“Chaophraya Chaichitathorn heard about your condition from Por this morning,” Gun said. Heart tilted his head, intrigued. “He was so kind, Ma. He’s offered to postpone his dinner until you’re better so I can still perform!”

“He only offered so he won’t have to tell guests he only has two spellsingers instead of three,” Li Ming scoffed. “He would lose face if he did.”

“You’re performing for Chaophraya Chaichitathorn?” Heart asked. “That’s wonderful! Have you performed for him before?”

“Oh — thank you, Your Royal Highness,” Gun replied with unsteady hands and a pleased smile. “And no — it’s my friends who perform for him all the time. One of them is participating in a poetry contest on the same evening as Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s dinner, so he invited me to take his place.”

“I remember Lord Saran mentioning you during one of our dinners with him and his father, something about seeing you while he was introducing himself to the court piphat led by the son of Khun Asawasuebsakul,” Heart recalled. “Those would be your friends, then?”

“Yes, that’s Por,” Gun said, nodding eagerly. “Actually, Lord Saran will be part of our performance, too. Three spellsingers in one room — Chaophraya Chaichitathorn said it would be a treat for his guests!”

The lotus root suddenly tasted too bitter on Heart’s tongue. It was silly to think he’d almost forgotten Gun was a spellsinger when it was the very first thing Tinn had learned about him, and stranger still that Heart sometimes forgot he was a spellsinger himself. He missed those days of plucking the sueng and tapping the ranat ek; the closest he’d gotten since was when he and Li Ming had crouched behind the khon theater together on the night of the lakhon nai.

“ — and he’s quite sure she’ll accept,” Gun was saying when Heart’s attention returned to Kajorn, who was dutifully interpreting for everyone while Li Ming ate. “Even P’Yak has given his blessing, which is honestly even more important than having their parents’ blessings.”

“Gun’s friend, Yo, is proposing to his lover on her birthday,” Li Ming explained when he noticed Heart’s curious expression. “P’Yak is her older brother, who used to torment Gun and his friends — ”

“Torment? He was our mentor!” Gun protested.

“ — so Yo has spent more time paying obeisance to P’Yak than to their parents,” Li Ming finished, shaking his head. “I don’t understand it.”

“You’d understand if you were marrying into a family who didn’t respect you,” Madam Gim said, taking a long sip of her tea. “Speaking of marriage, I hear Prince Tinn was invited to visit Lady Chanikarn in Nonthaburi.”

“Ma!” Gun spluttered, his cheeks nearly as flushed as hers. “You can’t just ask Prince Heart about that sort of thing.”

“Then let me ask something else about Prince Tinn, since you won’t tell me,” she said, brandishing her spoon at her son. “Your Royal Highness, why did your brother spend the evening in Gun’s bedchamber?” Heart’s eyes widened. Just as Gun began to protest again, Madam Gim lurched forward with a sudden cough and a violent shudder that seemed to course throughout her entire body. Li Ming hurried to fetch her another blanket while Gun took the tray from her before it could spill. Once she was swathed in blankets with a fresh cup of tea in her trembling hands, she looked to Heart again. She looked curious, though not accusatory. “Did you visit Li Ming’s bedchamber, Your Royal Highness?”

“Ma,” Li Ming said exasperatedly. All four of them were pink-cheeked now; Kajorn, meanwhile, looked as if he wanted to be anywhere else but there. “You can’t be serious.”

“Of course not, Madam Gim,” Heart said, trying desperately to conceive an answer that wouldn’t reveal anything they all didn’t want her knowing. “Gun was…especially anxious after you’d fainted, so my brother sought to comfort him. As an empath and a healer, Tinn was particularly well-suited to help.”

Madam Gim’s eyebrow lifted, unconvinced. “…I see.”

“Honestly, Ma,” Li Ming said while Gun mouthed a ‘thank you’ in Heart’s direction. “How many times has Madam Winai told you to rest your voice?”

“Not enough,” Gun said, grinning impishly. Madam Gim rewarded him with a pinch on the cheek. Heart couldn’t help but smile, glad she seemed stronger than she’d first appeared. Perhaps now, Li Ming and Gun would be able to get some rest.

Though Heart was reluctant to leave after they’d finished eating, he knew he was already pushing his luck. He doubted his mother would be happy to hear that he’d visited the infirmary before receiving her permission. So, Li Ming offered to walk him out. “Sorry about Ma,” he said once they’d left Madam Gim’s room, looking unusually chagrined. “I didn’t think she’d ask you all that.”

“At least she’s in good spirits?” Heart suggested feebly, making Li Ming laugh. When they reached the courtyard, Heart led them away from the corridor and to one of the benches beneath the ratchaphruek trees instead, its leaves casting a brilliant golden hue across their faces. “Only…should we stop visiting for now, to keep her from suspecting anything?”

“It’s too late for that,” Li Ming sighed, bracing his hands on either side of his knees. “And Prince Tinn would fall to pieces if he didn’t get to see Gun.”

“He would understand,” Heart said defensively. At Li Ming’s pointed look, he conceded, “…okay, perhaps, but he would still understand.” Then, he nudged Li Ming’s shoulder with his. Li Ming instinctively nudged him right back. “Would Gun miss him, do you think?”

“He would pretend not to,” Li Ming said. “I think he enjoys making Prince Tinn plead for his attention.”

Heart inched closer still. “Then…would you miss me?” Li Ming shifted, and their knees brushed. Then, with a slight turn of his hand, he began to trace his answer on Heart’s thigh. Heart shivered, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with anticipation.

Maybe.

Heart exhaled, his cheeks flaming. When he snuck a glance at Li Ming, the other boy was smiling. He still looked tired, his eyes not quite as bright as they’d been that day in the markets or that evening by the river or that night outside the khon theater, but there was something reverent about his gaze that made Heart’s breath catch. “I almost forgot to ask you — it’s not just Nonthaburi now,” Heart managed to say, his pulse thrumming. “I received invitations from Chaophraya Pipitdaecha and Chaophraya Nakornthap this morning. Would you like to accompany me then as well?”

Li Ming looked at him curiously. “When?”

“We haven’t discussed the details, but I’ve told them I’m going with Tinn to Nonthaburi soon, so it’ll be a while yet,” Heart replied.

“Enough time for you to weigh your options, unless you’ve already decided,” Li Ming said, his expression decidedly neutral. Before Heart could give it much consideration, Li Ming nudged him again. “What about your phrai consort, then? Have you figured that out, at least?”

A shy grin slowly spread across Heart’s face. “Maybe.”

After returning to his personal residence, the next several hours seemed to stretch out to a hundred, and Heart could barely focus on his duties or his studies. He was already planning travel itineraries in his head, things he and Li Ming could do in Nonthaburi and Chiang Mai and Chaiyaphum. Perhaps he needed to brush up on his knowledge of each province beforehand so he would know which foods to try or which temples to visit. They’d have to go swimming at least once per visit, Heart decided, and buy some sort of trinket from the local markets. He wished that Tinn could bring Gun somehow so they could enjoy it together.

It wasn’t until Kajorn came to retrieve him for dinner that Heart realized the sun had gone down. “I presume you’ll be accompanying your brother to the infirmary afterward?” Kajorn asked. “Tiwson and I already arranged for one of their attendants to meet both of you at the staff entrance and bring you straight to a private sitting room so you won’t be disturbed.”

“Oh,” Heart said, surprised. “Thank you.” Kajorn nodded, smiling brightly, only to sigh when he realized Heart had barely touched any of the papers he was supposed to sign hours ago. Heart could only offer an apologetic grimace in return.

Though Heart was the last to arrive for dinner, his parents didn’t seem to mind, overcome with relief that he’d finally returned. Both of them rose from their chairs to gather him in their arms, and Heart sank into their embrace with his eyes squeezed shut, putting his short-lived disagreements and half-finished conversations with his mother aside to press a kiss to her cheek in its place. Tinn beamed at him from across the table once he took his seat.

“You’re in luck — we have all of your favorites tonight,” their mother said, gesturing at the steaming clay pots of kaeng som and khai phalo before them. “Perhaps we could ask the kitchens to prepare some khanom chan.”

“If it’s alright, I’d rather wait until Madam Gim is better,” Heart replied. Their parents exchanged curious glances while Tinn continued to smile.

“I didn’t realize you were so loyal to Madam Gim,” their mother said carefully. “And I certainly didn’t expect you to visit her in the infirmary, either.”

“I used to see her nearly every day when I was in the kitchens,” Heart said, shrugging. “She’s very kind.”

“As are her sons,” Tinn was quick to add. “Both of them have been working tirelessly to take care of her. Li Ming keeps her company and takes notes on her condition for Madam Winai, and Gun spends all day preparing her favorite dishes. He’s very talented.” Heart kicked him in the shin to keep his smile from growing too wide. To Tinn’s credit, he barely faltered.

“Have you been spending time with them, too?” their father asked, oblivious to his wife’s pinched expression.

“A little,” Tinn hedged, looking nervous now. “I…I think both Heart and I consider them…our friends.”

“Friends?” their mother repeated, her spoon paused halfway to her mouth.

Their father smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling with contentment. “Is that so? How wonderful,” he remarked. “They sound like good boys. Perhaps I should meet them one day.”

“Well…” Heart hesitated, unsure if it was too soon to mention his plans. “I was thinking of inviting Li Ming to be my interpreter during our trip to Nonthaburi.” He knew his mother wouldn’t like it one bit if he admitted he already had.

“No need,” she said with a dismissive wave. “We’ve already invited interpreters from the capital for interviews next week. You’ll have plenty of time to choose one and get them settled before you leave.”

“It seems to me that Heart has already made his decision,” their father said brightly. “Though if we really must interview them, perhaps they might be better suited to teach sign language instead. The bureau and the privy council are in apparent need of revision, after all.”

Heart’s eyes widened; he nodded eagerly, too overwhelmed to speak. Their mother’s gaze softened at the sight of him. “He’s hardly qualified, and you know my opinion of him,” she said. “But…if you insist, then I should like to interview him myself — alone.”

“Of course,” Heart said, still nodding so keenly that his neck began to ache. “Thank you, Mother.”

She gave him a gentle, if somewhat reserved smile. “Of course,” she echoed. Then, she looked at Tinn, her smile becoming increasingly reticent. “While we’re discussing plans for Nonthaburi, I think we should purchase two crates of Chaophraya Tangkabodee’s best durians while you’re there and have them sent to the Weerawatnodom estate.”

“Why Chaophraya Weerawatnodom?” Tinn asked, confused.

Her smile eased into something far softer. “His daughter, Lady Tipnaree, and Lady Rachanun became engaged as of this morning. I want it known that the royal family is in favor of their match — and that we’re continuing to ally ourselves with Chaophraya Tangkabodee, of course.” Tinn’s mouth fell open while Heart’s pulse pounded in his ears. When they dared to sneak a glance at their father, he winked. “We’ll also be sending the best Lamphun silk, five ratchaphruek trees, a handwritten invitation to an audience here at the Grand Palace…”

Heart was walking on air when he and Tinn departed for the infirmary, his spirits considerably lifted. Even Tinn seemed happier now, relieved to have at least told their parents that Gun was a friend. It was still a half-truth, still not quite what he truly was nor what they truly wanted to be, but it was a start. “If only Gun could join us in Nonthaburi,” Heart lamented. “It would be so much fun.”

“Not as much as you think,” Tinn said. “After all, I’ll be spending most of my time with Lady Chanikarn. I doubt he’d want to be around for that.”

“Then we’ll have to find a way to bring them with us when we go to Phra Nakhon Khiri,” Heart said, thinking of their summer palace in Phetchaburi. He could already imagine them having breakfast on the terrace and lunch in the gardens, spending their days roaming the old ruins of Wat Kamphaeng Laeng and swimming in the Kaeng Kra Chan. His eyes brightened further when he remembered Phetchaburi was best known for its traditional desserts — namely, khanom mo kaeng, Li Ming’s favorite.

One of the infirmary attendants was waiting on the portico when they arrived. He led them to the staff entrance at the back of the compound and through a winding maze of corridors, then showed them into one of the healer’s private studies. Li Ming and Gun were seated opposite one another in the adjoining room, rising from their respective divans at the sound of their arrival. They looked weary, yet restless — had they still not talked, Heart wondered? — but pleased to see them all the same.

“You just can’t stay away, can you?” Gun teased as Kajorn and Tiwson shut the door behind them, granting the four of them some much-needed privacy.

“Not a bit,” Tinn agreed, taking both of Gun’s hands in his. Heart and Li Ming exchanged matching looks of feigned revulsion. “Have you already eaten?”

“Yes, though I also made some khanom for us to share,” Gun said, gesturing to the serving tray on the low table between the divans. He tugged on Tinn’s wrist, entreating him to sit beside him, though Tinn hardly needed convincing. Heart sat beside Li Ming, across from Tinn. The memory of Li Ming’s finger on his thigh the last time they sat beside each other made his face grow warm. He hastily reached for a khanom phing before he could do anything rash.

“How is Madam Gim?” Tinn asked. “Last I heard, Madam Winai said she was lively but still feverish, and that her cough has only gotten worse.”

“Her fever is as stubborn as she is, but Li Ming’s been doing everything he can,” Gun said, glancing briefly at his brother. “Madam Winai says she’s not in any danger, but…she could lose her voice forever if her cough isn’t treated soon.” Tinn placed a comforting hand over Gun’s. Heart, meanwhile, pressed his knee against Li Ming’s, and was rewarded with a quiet smile in return. “How about the two of you? How have you been?”

“We just came from dinner with our parents, and…I asked Mother about inviting Li Ming to be my interpreter in Nonthaburi,” Heart said, smiling hopefully. “She didn’t exactly say yes, but she didn’t say no, either. She’d like to interview him first.”

“Nonthaburi?” Gun frowned. “I didn’t know you wanted to bring Li Ming.”

“He won’t be if the queen decides she still hates me,” Li Ming said, his mouth set in a thin line. “But I doubt there’s anything I can do to change that.”

“Father is intent on changing her mind, if that helps,” Tinn offered. “Heart spoke very highly of Li Ming in front of the bureau, and I offered my own plaudits just now, which seemed to be enough for him.” Gun’s frown was quickly replaced with a knowing grin, though it soon faltered when he realized Li Ming wouldn’t be returning it.

The conversation gradually splintered as Tinn and Gun began discussing the book Gun was reading, which Tinn had lent him a short while ago. Their fingers remained interlaced between them, and Tinn occasionally brought a khanom phing to Gun’s lips. Gun would always shake his head before opening his mouth, their eyes twinkling with shared affection while he chewed.

“Does your mother seriously want to interview me?” Li Ming asked, pouring Heart a cup of tea. “She already knows I was never taught how to be an interpreter, so…what, is she going to ask if I plan on assaulting you again? Maybe committing a little treason instead?”

“Nothing like that,” Heart said, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “I think she’s just worried about your…temperament.” When Li Ming sighed, his face creasing in frustration, Heart nudged him. “If you don’t want to talk to her, I can…you don’t have to come with me to Nonthaburi. It was just an idea.”

Li Ming nudged him back. “I’m not scared of your mother. I just think she already has her opinion of me and only wants to interview me so she can confirm it.”

“Well…” But Heart found he couldn’t refute him. He glanced at Tinn and Gun instead, where Gun was gesturing animatedly while he talked. Tinn listened with rapt fascination, his gaze tender, almost reverent. It reminded Heart of how Tinn looked whenever he read one of Little Mouse’s letters, his fingers carefully tracing each word as though they were divined by Phra Witsawakam himself.

Gun was good for him, Heart thought, bright and expressive and every bit as kind as Tinn himself. Had he been a member of the khunnang — a son of a Chaophraya, perhaps, with the education and elocution to match — he would have made the perfect consort. He could imagine Gun charming the Ayutthayan people with his bright smile and beautiful voice wherever he went. And of course, Tinn would always be by his side, openly admiring him in contented silence. It was deeply unfair to think it would never come to pass.

When he turned back, he found Li Ming was looking at them, too. Tinn hadn’t told Heart much of anything about their conversation last night, but the quiet smile on Li Ming’s face told him it had gone well enough. A full minute passed before Li Ming realized Heart was watching him. “What?” he asked, his smile growing.

Heart took a deep breath. “I like your smile.”

“Oh?” Li Ming tilted his head, amused. “Like this?” He pressed his thumb and forefinger to the corners of his mouth, lifting them so high that his eyes crinkled shut. Heart laughed at how ridiculous he looked, stopping abruptly when Li Ming reached for him with his other hand. Warmth pooled deep in his belly as Li Ming’s thumb brushed across his bottom lip. He sucked in another breath, but Li Ming didn’t seem to notice as he tugged at the corners of Heart’s mouth, his own grin impossibly wide.

Suddenly, Li Ming’s hand fell away from Heart’s face, then his own, his face drained of all color. Heart looked to Tinn and Gun again, wondering if they’d said or done something that surprised him, only to find that they had also gone completely still, staring at something — or someone — behind him. He turned in his seat to see his mother standing motionless in the doorway. She didn’t look angry nor appalled. Rather, she looked completely and utterly petrified.

It was as if a cold wind had swept through the room. For a moment, everyone simply stared at one another, too aghast to make any sort of move. Tinn stood first, his hand slipping from Gun’s. He began to say something, but Li Ming was too inundated to remember to sign for Heart. He didn’t have to worry for long, though, as their mother took one, then two, then three careful steps across the threshold, revealing a shame-faced Kajorn behind her. “Tinn?” Her watery eyes flickered back and forth between her sons. “Heart?”

“Mother, we were…we were just…” But Tinn couldn’t seem to find the words, gaping at her like he’d done a little less than an hour ago. He was convulsing with fear; the simmering warmth in Heart’s stomach had been replaced with an overwhelming storm of nausea.

“Tinn, I…” She paused, collecting herself. When she lifted her gaze to his, her eyes were brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry, my darling. I had no idea, I didn’t mean to — ”

“Mother,” Tinn choked. Gun reached for him, though his hands were only a touch steadier than Tinn’s, his shaking fingers only just managing to find purchase around Tinn’s clenched fist.

“Kajorn thought I already knew you were visiting Gun and Li Ming, not Madam Gim,” she said quietly. “When he told me, I…I thought it would be best to visit Madam Gim and her family while both of you were here. I presumed they’d find it far more intimidating if I were to visit while you weren’t around, and that you might misunderstand my intentions if I did. I didn’t think that I’d…” She paused again, carefully considering her next words. Then, she cupped Tinn’s face in one hand and reached for Heart with the other. Warmth spread from her hand to his, easing the ice that had settled deep in his blood. “I love you — both of you — and I’m so sorry for making you feel too afraid to tell me.”

Tinn released Gun’s hand once more so he could sink into her embrace, enveloping her in his arms and burrowing his face against her shoulder. He mumbled something that neither Kajorn nor Li Ming seemed to catch, though it made tears spring to Heart’s eyes regardless. She ran a comforting hand across Tinn’s back, then pulled Heart close, imploring him to join them. Heart flung his arms around them both with a relieved sob. He felt his mother’s arm around his waist and Tinn’s fingers buried in his hair, and he held on so tightly that he didn’t think he would ever let go.

Minutes seemed to pass before they gradually broke apart, their cheeks wet and their mouths stretched wide, as if a great weight had been lifted from their shoulders. Gun’s red-rimmed eyes glistened while Li Ming’s crinkled into another one of his quiet smiles. It was then that she turned to fully face Heart, beaming. “So you do remember.”

Heart was still drying his eyes on his sleeve, only half-listening. “Remember what?”

“Wait, Your Majesty — ” Li Ming stepped forward, his expression drawn. “I don’t think he does.”

A sudden chill ran down Heart’s spine. “What…what are you talking about?” Their mother lifted a hand to her mouth, tears threatening to spill from her eyes all over again, only this time, no words seemed to follow. Li Ming said something to her, his expression somehow both accusing and confused, and they were soon locked in a rapid exchange that was too quick for Kajorn to follow. All Heart knew was that he, Tinn, and Gun looked increasingly horrified, and no one was telling him why. “What are you talking about?!” he cried, his chest heaving, the mounting pressure against his ribs too heavy to bear. “Remember what?”

Everyone turned to look at him. Now, even Li Ming’s eyes were slightly wet. “Heart, I…” Their mother lifted her shaking hands to her sternum. “I need to tell you something.”

Heart felt a gentle hand on his arm — Tinn, naturally — guiding him back to his seat, their mother taking up the divan opposite him. Tinn sat beside him, his face resolute, while Li Ming and Gun withdrew to the back of the room with Kajorn. Heart glimpsed Gun looking at Li Ming apprehensively. “Remember what?” Heart repeated, returning his gaze to lock eyes with his mother.

Her expression shuttered. “When you were a child, I…I was your second favorite person in the entire world. Your first being Tinn, of course.” She let out a quiet, almost deferential laugh. Tinn’s fingers closed around Heart’s hand. “This was when your grandfather was still alive and your father was yet to become king, so my duties weren’t what they are now. I had plenty of time to be with both of you. Tinn loved deciphering puzzles and devouring books, but Heart — you loved being outside. You loved going for walks in Siwalai and going for rides along the Chao Phraya, and you loved them most when they were with me.”

She paused, considering. “We were on another one of our rides together and had stopped to have lunch. We’d usually go for a walk after, but my feet were hurting that day, so I suggested one of the guards accompany you instead. You left in a sulk — why couldn’t I just bear it so I could go with you? — but when you returned, you were soaked to the bone with the biggest smile on your face. You told me there was a group of fishermen further down the riverbank, and some had their children with them. There was one man who sang while he worked, and you liked him best — not just because he was a spellsinger like you, but because his son didn’t care one bit that you were a prince, and dumped a bucket of water over your head when you accidentally stepped on his foot. Once you’d both apologized at his father’s insistence, he offered to share the last of his tau suan with you.”

Heart’s namesake clenched. “Mother…”

“The guard dragged you away because he worried you would catch a cold,” she continued. “You wanted to go back because you never learned your new friend’s name, but I promised we could return another day. Weeks passed before you met again. I didn’t want to discomfit the fishermen with my presence, so I sent you ahead with two guards and asked you to bring your new friend on your way back. Only…you returned in one of the guard’s arms instead, with the boy and his father close behind. You and your friend had climbed a tree while everyone’s backs were turned, and you’d fallen and broken your wrist.”

A flash of movement caught Heart’s eye. Li Ming was fussing with the frayed ends of the fabric scrap knotted around his wrist. “We brought you here, where you stayed overnight while the healers mended your bones. I…remember telling you I didn’t want you seeing or speaking of him again, that we didn’t know who he or his father was, that they might secretly be insurgents who knew of our riding route. When we finally went for another ride together — this must have been three months later, at least — your friend was no longer there. The other fishermen told you his father never stayed in one place for long, always taking up different posts around the palace so he could spend his weekends singing on the capital’s streets. They also said he usually brought his firstborn son, but on that day, he happened to take his younger son with him instead.”

“Why…why don’t I remember any of this?” Heart glanced around the room, his eyes frantic. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? Why did none of you say anything?”

“I had no idea,” Tinn said quietly. “That must’ve been when Grandfather had me accompany Father on his travels across Ayutthaya. I remember Mother telling us you’d broken your wrist once while we were away, but nothing more.”

Gun lifted his head just enough to meet Heart’s eyes. “Li Ming never talks about anything to do with our father, so…I was never allowed to, either. Not even to Tinn.”

“I wanted you to feel guilty for forgetting me.” Li Ming shook his head. “Stupid, I know. We only met twice, so it wouldn’t be unusual if you had. But I was angry at you for hurting my brother and doing nothing to help him, so I waited to see if you’d ever remember me. I wanted you to grovel once you realized, only you never did. And…the longer it went on, the less important it seemed, but…then we were at the river that day and you called me your friend, and you said it felt familiar. I thought something was wrong, only I didn’t know what.”

“I’d forgotten you,” Heart whispered. “That’s what. But why? And…and Mother, why didn’t you say anything all this time?”

Everyone’s eyes were on the queen now, tears streaking down her face. “You were in so much pain,” she managed to say, unceremoniously dropping her quivering hands in her lap, wringing them until her fingers turned red. “You were begging for someone to do something, anything, to make it stop. To make it all go away.”

“My…broken wrist?” Heart said uncertainly.

She shook her head, smiling sadly. “Your ear infection, sweetheart.”

Heart felt Tinn’s arm tighten around his shoulders, but it didn’t seem real. Tinn’s arm, the cushion beneath his seat, his own body, they didn’t feel right. None of it did. “Stop talking in circles,” he demanded, frustration clawing at his chest. It was the only thing that felt certain, that felt like something he could trust. “What. Happened?”

She suppressed a sob as she nodded, taking several deep breaths before continuing. “You couldn’t sleep or eat for days, you were in so much pain. You were…you were dying. The chief healer — that was Sir Eakasit at the time, not Madam Winai — had developed a potion years ago, something incredibly potent meant for soldiers who’d been mortally wounded. It wasn’t just for easing pain: it was for relieving memories of pain, and fear, and suffering. We…we must’ve spoken for hours as he told me every last detail of its consequences. That you might forget the…happy memories, too, the ones bound to even the most fleeting moments of anguish. When we tried to impart all of this to you, you said it didn’t matter. You just wanted it to stop.”

“Mother.” It was Tinn who’d spoken this time, his expression twisting in disbelief.

“You slept for an entire day — your mind needed the time to heal, Sir Eakasit told me — and when you finally woke, it was as if nothing had happened at all,” she murmured. “You knew you’d lost your hearing, but you couldn’t remember how it felt. We talked for a while, and…I asked you a few things. Did you ever have a terrifying encounter with one of the military’s elephants? Have you ever broken your wrist falling out of a tree? You knew nothing, remembered nothing. And you finally had a peaceful night’s sleep.” Another gulping breath. “I didn’t know if I could live with what I’d done, but at least you’d be able to live at all.”

“What else have I forgotten?” Heart’s voice cracked, and his mother involuntarily flinched, but he could hardly bring himself to care. He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes narrowed. Tinn’s hands grasped his elbows, but Heart easily shoved him aside. “Who else have I forgotten? Who else did I lose?”

She reached for his hands, her mouth wobbling. “I don’t — ”

“What else was taken from me?” His vision began to blur, his head spinning as it had when the infection first took hold of him, only — was he truly remembering it now, was it all finally returning to him, now that he knew, or was it the potion’s effects coming alive, intending to take this moment away from him, too? “What else?”

“I don’t know, Heart, I…Heart, I’m — ”

He wrenched his hands from her grasp and staggered to his feet, his knees feeling as if they might give out in an instant. He managed to turn and stumble out of the room, nearly blinded by his tears. He couldn’t breathe no matter how hard he tried, taking in big, heaving lungfuls of air and exhaling short, shallow gasps. His shoulder collided with something solid — a wall, most likely — then his hip knocked against something soft — another person, perhaps — as he lurched down the corridor, pitching from side to side with no way of knowing where he was going, until his legs finally gave out and he collapsed to the ground in a crumpled heap.

A searing pain shot up his spine from the sudden impact, a sensation familiar and unfamiliar all the same. He curled up onto his side, drawing his knees into his chest, and began to sob. What else had he forgotten? Who else was lost to him now? What had he once known or thought or felt or believed that no one else did, that no one else ever would?

Two indistinct figures came to sit on either side of him. One placed a hand that looked very much like his own on his arm, pulling him close so he could let his head fall against their shoulder. The other placed a hand marred with blisters on his knee, then squeezed, tracing a finger across his skin over and over again in the shape of his name. Finally, a third figure came into view, kneeling across from him at a careful distance. Taengmo crawled into Heart’s lap, and he cried and cried until he’d forgotten how to do anything but.

Chapter Text

Heart was only dimly aware of his brother’s gentle hand on his arm, guiding him to his feet and leading him into one of the spare bedchambers, away from prying eyes. He collapsed onto the bed and curled up onto his side, scrubbing away the last of his tears with his soaked shirtsleeve, too empty to carry on crying, too exhausted to do much of anything else. He felt the mattress sink beside him, then another hand on his shoulder — Li Ming’s, perhaps, only he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes.

A few minutes later, he felt someone tap his arm. He peered through the faint lamplight to see Tinn setting a bowl of water and a washcloth on the side table. He’d also set a spare change of clothes on the chair beneath the window. Gun entered the room soon after with a fresh pot of black tea and a few slices of steamed bread.

“There’s…uh…” Gun paused, unsure how to sign the word he sought. He gestured sheepishly at the small dish of sangkhaya spread. “Because you like khanom.”

Heart nodded gratefully, though he was too spent to lift his head, let alone a knife. Sensing this, Li Ming withdrew from Heart’s side to spread a generous portion of sangkhaya on each bread slice while Tinn disappeared into the adjoining room to prepare a hot bath. Taengmo nuzzled into the crook of Heart’s neck, and he absentmindedly threaded his fingers through her thick fur as he took deep, albeit still trembling breaths, inhaling her familiar scent.

The mattress dipped again, and he lifted his gaze to find Gun sitting in front of him, now holding the damp washcloth. When he pointed at himself, Heart shook his head, accepting the washcloth so he could clean his own face. Once his face was washed and dried, his skin scrubbed raw, only then did he notice how the rest of his body felt too cold and too hot all at once. He managed to pull himself upright so he could wrap the bedsheet around him, shivering profusely. Li Ming and Gun were whispering on the other side of the room; Li Ming was arranging the slices of bread on their plate while Gun was pouring two cups of tea.

Heart blinked. Two cups — one was surely for him, while the other was most likely for Tinn, who was still busy preparing Heart’s bath. Were Li Ming and Gun not staying? Of course not, Heart thought a moment later; he’d almost forgotten why they were all in the infirmary to begin with. They still have their mother to worry about.

Mother. Heart sucked in a breath. His mind had gone completely blank ever since they brought him into this room, but now, everything before then came flooding back. Now the infirmary was associated with two of his very worst memories, only he remembered almost nothing of the first.

When Li Ming set the tray down beside him, Heart barely looked up. “Going now?” He was too tired to lift his hands. Speaking aloud in the presence of people he trusted most — the only people he trusted in this moment, really — felt easier.

Li Ming exchanged glances with Gun. “Do you want us to stay?” Heart hesitated. Then, after a moment’s consideration, he nodded; he was also too tired to be dishonest. Gun said something to Li Ming, to which Li Ming agreed. He then offered Heart a warm smile before rushing out of the room. “He’s going to ask Uncle Jim to stay with Ma tonight and then bring back more blankets. We’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Thank you,” Heart whispered, a burst of affection swelling in his chest for them both.

“He also said he’d bring paper and pens if you’d rather write than sign,” Li Ming added. “Though…you don’t have to talk at all if you don’t want to. We should probably sleep after you’ve had your bath, in any case.”

Gun returned while Heart was in the bath. When he emerged, the three of them were sitting on Li Ming and Gun’s makeshift bed of bamboo mats and blankets. Tinn’s head was on Gun’s shoulder, their fingers half-tangled in Gun’s lap. He straightened up at Heart’s arrival to smile tiredly in his direction. Li Ming’s back was against the wall, his head tilted back, his eyes partially closed. Gun didn’t seem quite as shaken as everyone else, more concerned with tending to Tinn and Li Ming than himself, though Heart knew he wouldn’t soon forget that look of fear in Gun’s eyes.

Heart sat beside Li Ming and resumed his cup of tea, its warmth and the residual heat from his bath gradually unspooling the tension lingering in his stomach. When Li Ming began signing for him, Heart waved him off, content to simply sit and observe. For now, all he wanted to do was watch the way Tinn’s thumb rubbed soothing circles across Gun’s knuckles or how Gun’s foot tapped absentmindedly — or perhaps anxiously — against the floor. Li Ming was the least expressive among them, now shifting forward with his back hunched and his chin lowered, even while he talked. Still, his guarded gaze would occasionally linger on his brother, on Heart, even on Tinn whenever they spoke.

Yawning, Heart instinctively drew closer to Tinn, only to remember he was already seeking comfort from Gun. Though their mother had been endlessly gentle and remorseful and hadn’t meant to discover something they weren’t yet ready for her to know, it didn’t lessen how terrified they’d been, and in a sense, still were. Heart tucked his foot beneath Tinn’s knee — I’m here, he wanted to say — and inched closer to Li Ming instead. When Li Ming noticed, he silently placed a hand on Heart’s knee and squeezed. I’m here.

“Should we turn in?” Tinn eventually suggested, lifting his head from Gun’s shoulder when Heart yawned five times in a row.

Heart nodded sleepily; he barely registered Gun taking his empty teacup from him or Li Ming helping him to his feet. The bed was soft and inviting and a touch too warm, and, despite his restless mind, he was out like a light the moment his head landed on his pillow.

When Heart woke the next morning, the sun was already streaming in through the window, casting a slant of golden light across his eyes the moment they opened. His head throbbed and his face felt swollen and raw. His stomach began to grumble; he’d only managed a few bites of the steamed bread before leaving the rest for the others. The other side of the bed was empty and neatly made, and the only indication that anyone else had been in the room at all was the jumbled nest of blankets on the floor.

Heart pushed back the covers and sat up, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He hoped Li Ming and Gun had only left to get breakfast or visit their mother, and that nothing had happened to her in their absence. Tinn entered the room a few minutes later, carrying a tray laden with bowls of rice porridge. “They’re having breakfast with Madam Gim,” he said at Heart’s inquisitive expression, setting the tray down on the side table. “How are you feeling?”

Heart shook his head, a lump beginning to form in his throat. He’d slept fitfully, never quite waking but never quite fully asleep, either, and every inch of his body seemed to ache. His mind, meanwhile, felt as if it had been overtaken by a thick, endless fog. He could barely string together a single intelligible thought before it dissipated into thin air.

Tinn, sensing his malaise, simply nodded and pulled up a chair so he could eat. Heart spooned the rice porridge into his mouth without really tasting it, and neither of them spoke again until their bowls were empty. “After we left, Mother told Tiwson to tell us she won’t speak a word of this to Father until we’re ready,” Tinn said quietly. “Also…Kajorn has offered to resign. Tiwson says he regrets his role in what happened, though from what I understand, he had no ill intent. He just didn’t think anything of Mother knowing who we were visiting until it was too late.”

Heart nodded, unable to muster much resentment nor sympathy for Kajorn. Perhaps he’d speak to him later, but for now, his thoughts barely extended beyond the room’s four walls. “..did you really not know?”

Tinn’s face creased like he, too, was close to tears. He clasped Heart’s hands between his own. “I swear to you that I didn’t. I didn’t know you’d met Li Ming before or how you’d broken your wrist or that Mother…” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t know. I promise.”

“She never swore you to secrecy?” Heart asked dully. “Or maybe she used another one of Sir Eakasit’s potions on you, too.”

“Heart!” Tinn exclaimed, appalled, though the hesitation in his eyes told Heart that he’d at least considered the terrible notion. Then, his brow furrowed. “That day in my study, when you came to talk to me about your feelings for Li Ming…”

“Tinn,” Heart hissed between his teeth, glancing warily toward the door, but it was like his brother was under a spell.

“You asked how I felt when I first heard Gun’s voice, and I asked if you remembered how it felt when you first found Taengmo,” Tinn continued slowly. Heart’s gaze dropped to his familiar, her large head resting in his lap. “You said…what you remembered most was me crying. Both of us had been crying because Chompoo and Taengmo were injured. Only…that doesn’t make sense, not with what we know of Sir Eakasit’s potion. Mother said it relieved memories of pain, fear, and suffering — wouldn’t you have forgotten that, too?”

But Heart didn’t want to think about it anymore. He didn’t want to know what else he’d forgotten or was supposed to have forgotten. In fact, he was starting to wonder if he’d be better off forgetting all of this, too. “So…what now? How…how do I even…” The lump in his throat returned, this time accompanied by a burning sensation that matched the dull ache forming behind his eyes. He squeezed them shut, trying desperately to remember.

He tried to picture a young Li Ming, already burdened with the feeling of being weighed down and left out. Perhaps he already had that grim set of his mouth, that crease between his brows, or maybe he used to be as carefree as Gun. Perhaps his hair was longer than it was now and he was missing one of his front teeth, or maybe his head was shaved like a monk’s.

Heart imagined the way his lip would’ve curled when Heart accidentally stepped on his foot, the way his eyes would’ve glinted when he poured the bucket of water over Heart’s head. He imagined sitting on the riverbank with him after they’d mumbled their forced apologies, sharing spoonfuls of cold tau suan while they watched the fishermen haul in enormous nets brimming with catfish. He wondered if he’d promised to return another time or if Li Ming had asked him to. Perhaps it had been both.

When he opened his eyes, it was only because Tinn had taken his teacup from him, setting it down on the tray before he could drop it in his abstraction. Tinn grimaced in silent apology for interrupting. “Our schedules were cleared for today,” he offered. “So if you’d like to stay here or we could return home, or…actually, what would you prefer?”

“You’re staying so you can spend time with Gun, aren’t you?” Heart teased, smiling tiredly. “Then I might as well stay, too.”

Tinn left for a brief moment to retrieve a few medical textbooks from the infirmary’s library, flipping through them aimlessly while they waited for Li Ming and Gun to return. Heart peered over his brother’s shoulder, having nothing to distract himself with, but withdrew quickly at the sight of an illustration depicting a diseased brain. Tinn would occasionally glance at him, curious to see if he wanted to talk further, but Heart would always look away, busying himself with another cup of tea instead.

When Li Ming and Gun returned over an hour later, carrying armfuls of additional blankets and cushions and khanom, they looked to be in much better spirits than they had last night. “Ma’s fever finally went away!” Gun said happily when Tinn gathered him in his arms. “Madam Winai said the ingredients for her treatment should be here this afternoon.”

“That’s wonderful!” Tinn exclaimed, his face brightening for the first time all morning. Heart smiled, too, relieved. “And her cough?”

“Stubborn as ever, but…at least she’s not talking as much,” Gun said, shaking his head. “Though it’s really only because Uncle Jim’s been refusing to answer. Ma said that he said she can talk to herself all she wants, but he’s not going to encourage it.” Heart’s smile widened a little further when he noticed Li Ming stifle a snort while he rearranged the blankets and cushions so they could all sit comfortably on the floor. Gun then turned to Heart; his gaze was mercifully kind rather than pitying. “And how are you, Prince Heart?”

He was heartened to see Gun’s sign language was more confident than it had been just last night. The thought of Gun practicing — and the possibility of Li Ming offering to teach him — lifted his own spirits considerably. “I…I don’t know,” Heart admitted. “I still have so many questions.”

“Like what?” Tinn asked gently. But Heart shook his head, not wanting to think about anything beyond the delicious smell of Gun’s freshly steamed khanom tan. So, the four of them settled onto the floor instead, exchanging stories about friends and school and pastimes and the few other tenuous similarities they shared.

They discovered that, unsurprisingly, Tinn was the only one who enjoyed attending lessons, though Li Ming admitted wanting to be more studious so he could earn more, while Heart was quick to learn new things, but only of his own volition. Gun, on the other hand, shied away from talking about music at first, presumably so he wouldn’t upset Heart. But, after much persuasion from Heart himself, the two of them began chatting away about their favorite songs and instruments and Gun’s dream of performing for visiting dignitaries with his friends.

“I could introduce you to my former tutors,” Heart offered. “If you’d ever like to train with a khrueang sai or learn mor lam…”

“I was never taught by anyone but my parents before,” Gun remarked, and something flickered in Li Ming’s eyes that made Heart’s stomach turn. “That would be really generous of you, Your Royal Highness — thank you.”

After Li Ming shared stories about the tricks some of the other stablehands had played on their supervisor and Gun managed to coax a few secrets about the khunnang out of Tinn — Heart needed no coaxing; he was all too happy to share the things he’d overheard during the lakhon nai, much to Tinn’s disapproval — the conversation soon turned toward their upcoming travels to Nonthaburi. It wasn’t far at all, a day’s boat journey at most, but they would be staying for two weeks, and Heart could tell by the way Tinn looked at Gun that even two days would be two days too many for him. And, of course, he doubted Li Ming would be allowed to join him by now.

“Though…once you’ve returned, you’ll have a wedding to prepare for,” Gun lamented, looking downcast. Tinn’s face fell while Gun grimaced as if his own words had pained him. For a moment, neither of them said anything, but they all knew what was left unsaid. Heart might have been willing to marry someone he didn’t love and consort with someone he did, but Tinn had always been a romantic. He didn’t want to settle for anything less.

“There’s still the matter of her dowry and the ceremony date,” Tinn said, almost desperately. “If I could postpone it somehow — ”

“Tinn,” Gun murmured, squeezing Tinn’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Heart inadvertently caught Li Ming’s eye. We should go, Li Ming mouthed, jutting his chin toward the door. He then said something to Tinn and Gun before getting to his feet and motioning for Heart to follow him out into the corridor, where two of Heart’s guards awaited them. If they’d been apprised of what happened last night and why Heart had slept in the infirmary, they didn’t show it. Heart found their presence frustrating, though not surprising. It wouldn’t be long before his mother’s misgivings outweighed her guilt, and either he’d be confined to his quarters until it was time to leave for Nonthaburi or she’d find some way to keep him and Li Ming apart for good. Suddenly, Tinn and Gun’s despair didn’t seem so far removed from his own.

Li Ming led him out to the courtyard, where he first paused to take in a generous inhale of fresh air before they settled on the bench they’d taken up just yesterday. It was startling to think how much had happened in the past few days. Madam Gim had collapsed only three nights ago, yet it felt like an age had passed since then.

“I’m sorry,” Li Ming said, surprising him. His gaze was unwaveringly earnest. “I should’ve just told you from the start that we’d met before instead of turning it into some stupid, childish game. It didn’t seem important after a while, so I didn’t think to bring it up, but…I still should’ve said something.”

Heart felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes again. “I just wish I remembered you.”

“Do you want me to tell you more about that day?” Li Ming said carefully. When Heart nodded, eager for even the smallest glimpse into their shared past, Li Ming leaned back onto his hands to think. “I don’t really remember why Gun wasn’t there — Pa always invited Gun first before asking me — but it was sometime in the summer. Even though all the other children were swimming in the river, I wanted to be close to Pa, so I asked if I could help him. He had me tying knots and untangling lines, so…when you arrived, I was the only child on the shore.”

“Did I talk to you right away?” Heart asked. It seemed like the exact sort of thing he would do, just as he’d done when they first met in the kitchens all these years later.

“You were mostly interested in seeing what the fishermen had caught,” Li Ming said, an amused smile beginning to spread across his face. “I remember Uncle Jim telling me the cooks complained about you all the time because you refused to eat anything that wasn’t pla sam rod. Maybe you just really wanted to see what snappers looked like before you ate them.”

Heart made a face; that also seemed like the exact sort of thing he’d do. “So, then…how did I end up stepping on your foot?”

“You just got too close,” Li Ming replied, shrugging. “It didn’t help that your guard was shoving the fishermen out of the way as if they were the ones causing trouble, instead of the other way round.” Heart cast a sideways glance at the guards posted across from them, their faces as impassive as always. Though they weren’t the ones who’d accompanied him that day, he still felt guilty nonetheless. “I was angry you’d interrupted one of the only days I’d ever spent alone with Pa, so I picked up the nearest bucket and dumped it over your head. You’re lucky there weren’t any fish in there.”

“If there had, I probably would’ve been put off pla sam rod for a while,” Heart said with a shudder. “What then?”

"At first, Pa was scared you’d haul me off and have me executed, but when you didn’t get angry, he told us we needed to apologize,” Li Ming continued. “You didn’t understand why, since it was only an accident — of course you’d say something like that — but Pa insisted. I don’t think either of us really meant it when we apologized, but it seemed good enough for Pa. He told me to show you how things worked. Some of the other children tried to join us, but you were only interested in talking to me.”

“That sounds like me,” Heart said boldly, blushing as he said it. He was delighted to see Li Ming’s eyes gleam.

“I showed you around the boats and tried teaching you how to knot the trawl, but you kept getting tangled, so we eventually gave up,” Li Ming added, laughing. “We watched the fishermen work instead and finished the tau suan I’d brought with me. I thought you were going to stay longer, but then you started sneezing and shivering, and your guard didn’t want you getting sick on their watch, so they sort of…pulled you away before we could say goodbye.”

“Oh,” Heart said, disappointed. He’d half-imagined himself calling out to Li Ming over his shoulder as he was being hauled off, promising they’d see each other again. “And what about the second time we met?”

“I was in an awful mood then,” Li Ming admitted. “Something about Pa and Gun, probably. So when you arrived, I wanted to make trouble for him. We dug holes in the ground, we splashed around in the river to scare off the fish, and…” He shook his head. “We climbed trees when no one was looking. Only…you’d never climbed a tree before.”

Heart lifted his hands to his face, inspecting both of his wrists. He had no way of distinguishing which one he’d broken, not even the faintest scar. Then, he looked down at Li Ming’s wrist, or more specifically, the one swathed in fabric. “Your artifact?” he guessed. He’d never really asked about it before.

“From one of Pa’s pha nungs,” Li Ming nodded. “Doesn’t do much, though. Or rather…I can’t do much to begin with.”

Heart withdrew his own from his pocket, the wood carving roughly the shape and size of a quail egg. At the center of its intricate mandala pattern was a frangipani; the center of Tinn’s, otherwise identical to his own, was an orchid. “Father worked on these for months before Tinn and I were born,” he said, holding it out for Li Ming to see. “The only reason he thought to make two, before our parents knew they were having twins, was because he was sure he’d make a mistake. He said he was never good with his hands, but he didn’t think a handwritten poem would make for a good artifact, either. He still wrote us those poems in the end. Mother had them framed and displayed in our private library.”

“What was yours about?” Li Ming asked.

Heart’s nose scrunched up in concentration, but he found he couldn’t remember. A sudden rush of panic twisted in his chest, his heart racing, before he remembered, in equal parts relief and regret, that he’d never memorized his father’s poem for him. He’d simply told himself that it would always be there in the library for him to read and appreciate.

Would it always be like this from now on, he wondered, where every little space, every little gap, would be called into question? What if he met someone else and didn’t remember them because they were so closely tied to a fleeting moment of fear or anguish or pain? And would it keep happening, would memories keep slipping between his fingers like water for the rest of his life until he was left with nothing but his happiest moments, moments that would mean less and less as they became the only ones he had?

Suddenly, Heart felt exhausted all over again. He just wanted to go back to bed, to bury his head beneath his covers and never come out. Then, he felt a hand over his, rough fingers slipping between his own. When he glanced up, Li Ming was smiling at him. “Maybe you could show me,” he said once he’d let go. “We’ve done plenty of sneaking out of the palace. Maybe it’s time you start sneaking me in.”

“Into our private library?” Heart dried his eyes on his sleeve; he hadn’t noticed them welling up until now. He didn’t even think he had any tears left. “I suppose I could. Where else do you want to go?”

Li Ming shrugged. “Where else is there?”

Heart first thought of his residence, a mid-sized compound with numerous chambers for his personal household and favored consorts, of which he had precisely none. Then, he thought of the training grounds where he and Tinn learned how to ride and spar when they were young and the ink used to chronicle the war was still drying. He didn’t think Li Ming would care much for any of the temples or pavilions or ceremonial halls; he imagined him scoffing and saying they all looked the same.

Finally, he thought of Phra Thinang Boromphiman, the newest and largest residential hall in the Siwalai Gardens. Sometimes, he dreamed of living there so he could be closer to nature instead of observing it from a distance in the Middle Court. By the time he finished picturing what it would be like to take his meals and lessons among the flowers, he felt considerably invigorated.

“Wherever we’re running to.” It took Heart a moment to realize what he’d said. He was relieved he still remembered their conversation from the night of the lakhon nai with perfect clarity, even if it preceded Li Ming’s terrifying fall.

Li Ming’s smile broadened. “Your home, then. I’d like to see whatever secrets you have that no one else knows about. Or we can start with Nonthaburi, though that’s not quite ‘in’ the palace.”

“And Chiang Mai, and Chaiyaphum, and Phetchaburi,” Heart added wistfully.

Li Ming frowned. “Phetchaburi?”

“Our summer palace, Phra Nakhon Khiri, is in Phetchaburi,” Heart said. “We’d have the best summer ever, the four of us. I think you and Gun would never want to leave.” When Li Ming didn’t say anything, his expression shuttering, Heart tilted his head in curiosity. “What is it?”

“No point in fooling ourselves. We all know Gun and Prince Tinn can’t be together,” Li Ming muttered. “They’ll never be allowed to marry, and I doubt Prince Tinn wants Gun to be anything less than his equal.”

“Even if they can’t figure something out, they’ll always be friends,” Heart suggested, his stomach aching nonetheless.

“I don’t know if they could ever be just friends.” Li Ming grimaced. “I think it would only hurt more.”

“More than never being together again?” Heart shook his head. “I don’t believe that. I don’t think they’d be able to keep their distance.” Just like I never want to be away from you, he didn’t say. When Li Ming looked at him, his gaze beseeching, Heart shivered.

He had the sneaking suspicion that Li Ming shared his feelings, ones he himself now fully acknowledged — or, at least, was willing to entertain them. The half-smiles, gentle touches, and coy remarks that Heart had come to know so well as of late told him as much. Still, that didn’t mean Li Ming would want to be his consort. In fact, he’d probably despise the idea. Maybe he found the suggestion of being Heart’s consort amusing, but in truth, they both knew it would strip him of all his freedoms. And, of course, for all of Li Ming’s insistence that he and Gun would always disagree, he clearly didn’t want that for his brother, either.

Li Ming’s eyes drifted shut. He tilted his head back, soaking in the golden sunlight glittering between the swaying ratchaphruek leaves. Only the slight crease between his eyebrows denoted he felt anything less than perfectly serene. “Friends,” he eventually said, slowly enough that Heart could read his lips. He straightened up, eyes opening as he dusted off his palms. “Her Majesty knows Gun and Prince Tinn aren’t just friends. And she also thinks that you and I are…”

Heart’s breath hitched, anticipating. “Yes?”

Li Ming smiled wryly. “You tell me. She’s your mother, after all.”

“Hey,” Heart protested, elbowing Li Ming, only for Li Ming to nudge him right back. “That’s not fair.”

“You’re the one who said he had his phrai consort figured out,” Li Ming challenged with an infuriatingly bright twinkle in his eye. “Unless you were speaking of someone else.”

“Never,” Heart said far too quickly, and Li Ming’s smile stretched into a wide grin. “Wait, no — I meant — ”

“Cute,” Li Ming laughed, shaking his head. “In any case, I was just thinking that…well, now that Her Majesty knows, what do you think she’ll do?”

“Other than forbid us from ever seeing you or Gun again?” Heart shuddered. “Expedite Tinn’s engagement to Lady Chanikarn, probably. They’ll be married in six months, and I’ll be there with Lady Nippitcha or Lady Krongkwan on my arm.”

Li Ming went quiet for a moment. “I don’t know. I think there’s a chance she’ll let us be.”

“You really think so? You?” Heart said uncertainly. “Are you coming down with a fever, too?”

“Hardly,” Li Ming scoffed, elbowing him again. “I just think…if there’s something she could do to make you and Prince Tinn happy, I’m sure she’d at least try.” His expression softened, knowing Heart was thinking of the last time she’d done something in the name of making him happy, of keeping him alive.

Heart managed a small smile, another lump beginning to form in his throat. “I sure hope so.”

Tinn dashed across the infirmary compound, his heart pounding against his ribcage, his lungs feeling as though they might burst out of his chest. He’d been held up in various engagements all day — the unintended consequences of taking yesterday to rest — and now, he was running terribly late. Several heads turned as he passed, healers and clerks and attendants watching him rush past in bewilderment, too wide-eyed and too open-mouthed to speak. Luckily, he had no need to slow down and ask for directions. All he had to do was follow the beautiful voice that grew louder and louder with every footstep.

When he arrived, he nearly tumbled over his own feet and into the doorframe of the sitting room. Its single occupant abruptly stopped singing and turned at the sound of Tinn’s fumbling, then grinned at the sight of Tinn hunched over, hands braced on his knees as he gasped for air.

“Careful, Your Royal Highness, or else they’ll need a room for you, too,” Gun teased, grasping Tinn by the pha biang and pulling him flush against his chest. Tinn’s personal guard, who’d only just managed to keep pace, shut the door behind them. “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry,” Tinn murmured, chastened. He took Gun’s face in his hands and kissed him on the temple, inhaling the scent of pandan and coconut milk still lingering in Gun’s hair. “We spent over two hours discussing how many guards to send to Nonthaburi. I thought it would never end.”

Gun hummed, withdrawing slightly. He had never been particularly happy about the idea of Tinn leaving for Nonthaburi, and Tinn couldn’t say he didn’t feel the same. “And?”

“…and we still haven’t decided on a final number,” Tinn admitted.

“Then what are you doing here?” Gun wrapped his arms around Tinn’s shoulders and began carding his fingers through the hair at the nape of Tinn’s neck, making him shiver.

“I promised to have dinner with you,” Tinn said simply. Gun rewarded him with a radiant smile, pleased. The two of them took up on the divan just as Tiwson entered the room, accompanied by two attendants carrying trays laden with food. Neither of them seemed surprised by Tinn’s presence or the way his hand curled around Gun’s knee; the infirmary staff undoubtedly understood the nature of their relationship by now. It wouldn’t be long before every last servant in the Grand Palace found out. Something to worry about another day, he supposed with a quiet sigh. “How is Madam Gim today? Is her treatment going well?”

“She despises the linseed poultice, but she says the fenugreek tea tastes nice,” Gun said with a chuckle, spooning generous portions of rice for himself and Tinn. “Madam Winai says it’ll be another week before Ma fully recovers, but she doesn’t see any reason why she wouldn’t. Even her headaches aren’t as frequent, though Madam Winai isn’t sure why.”

Tinn exhaled, relieved. “That’s wonderful news. Are Li Ming and your uncle with her now?”

“She’s sleeping,” Gun said, then hesitated. “I…I think Li Ming spent most of the day with Prince Heart, actually.” He glanced up at Tinn with a small smile. “We spoke a little earlier when he joined us for lunch. He looked much better today. Has he talked to Her Majesty yet? Have…have you?”

“No, neither of us has — not outside of our shared engagements, that is,” Tinn added. “I…suppose Mother wants us to make the first move. She had no objections when I mentioned Heart’s plans to bring Li Ming with him, and neither did the bureau or the council. I think Father might’ve spoken to them beforehand. He did mention wanting to meet you and Li Ming, seeing as you’re our…friends.”

“Friends,” Gun echoed hollowly. Suddenly, Tinn didn’t feel the least bit hungry, his stomach filling with despair instead.

After Heart and Li Ming had indiscreetly taken their leave yesterday, Tinn and Gun’s conversation had ended very much like all the others: with no real answers in sight. They had been talking in circles for months, and doing so in person had drawn no new conclusions. Still, at least now they were able to take comfort in each other’s presence. Even a simple handhold or a slight brush of their fingers made it feel like everything would be alright.

Tinn did so now, moving closer so his hand was beside Gun’s. He interlaced their little fingers and squeezed. Though he wanted to ask about Li Ming, he didn’t want to risk spoiling Gun’s mood any further. “Tell me about your day,” he said instead. “Were you rehearsing for your performance for Chaophraya Chaichitathorn just now? You sounded divine.”

“Sort of,” Gun said, his earlier smile returning. “My friends had their first rehearsal yesterday, and Por told me Lord Saran sang a song he’d written, so I thought…well, I’ve written songs for spells — like the ones for enchanting my letters to you — but never an actual song. I thought I’d give it a try, but…I can’t put words together the way that you do.”

“Can I hear it?” Tinn asked. “Perhaps I could help.”

But Gun only shook his head, his cheeks flushed. “I only managed a few lines and they aren’t any good. I’m not meant to be that sort of spellsinger, I suppose.”

“Well, whether you decide to keep at it or not, you’re exceptionally talented either way,” Tinn said, smiling encouragingly.

Gun laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You really would rather be cursed for a thousand years than speak poorly of me, huh?”

“For the rest of time,” Tinn said solemnly, his smile widening when Gun shook his head, amused.

As he began spooning more rice and pork into Gun’s soup bowl, Gun’s expression grew impossibly soft. “You’re always so good to me,” he said. “Praising me and waiting on me hand and foot like I’m the crown prince and you’re my handsome servant — or maybe my handsome doctor.”

“You take good care of your mother, and the way you were with Heart…” Tinn lifted his gaze to meet Gun’s. “I want to be someone who takes care of you — should you allow it — whenever you need it.”

Gun hesitated again, evidently lost in thought. “Li Ming takes good care of me,” he murmured, so softly that Tinn wasn’t sure he was meant to hear it. “Though he’d never let me repay the favor.”

Tinn frowned. “What do you mean?”

“He’s always the first to get me out of trouble or offer advice, but…he’d never let me do the same for him,” Gun admitted. “He thinks I’m stupid, and…he never listens to me no matter what. Even when we’re on good terms, he thinks half the things I say are foolish.”

“Did he really say that?” Tinn asked, his frown deepening.

“No, but it’s obvious he doesn’t think much of me.” Gun sighed, setting his bowl down. “I wish I hadn’t been so selfish with Pa. Then…maybe Li Ming wouldn’t hate me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Tinn insisted, taking both of Gun’s hands in his. “You may not always get along, but he doesn’t hate you. He loves you. And it wasn’t selfish of you to spend time with your own father.”

“I suppose,” Gun mumbled, unconvinced.

“How about this?” Tinn rifled through his satchel for blank paper and his best pen. “If Li Ming won’t listen, perhaps you could take your own advice and write it down.”

Gun blinked. “Write…what?”

“Everything you just told me and whatever else is on your mind,” Tinn said. “Tell Li Ming what’s been troubling you and how it makes you feel. And if he refuses to read it…perhaps Heart could convince him.”

“I would hope it being from me would be enough.” A wry smile tugged at Gun’s lips despite himself. “Your brother seems very taken with mine. I never thought they’d become friends, or…whatever they are.”

“I don’t really understand it, but…Li Ming knows him well,” Tinn said, thinking back to their conversation in the archives. Li Ming had intimidated him more than he cared to admit, but he admired the other boy’s fiercely protective nature, his ability to cut right through any idle chatter and make his intentions known. The bravery Gun had insisted Tinn possessed was evident in everything Li Ming said and did.

Gun accepted the paper and pen, setting his bowl aside so he had space to write. Tinn smiled fondly at the way Gun’s brow knitted in concentration, how he hummed while he carefully chose every word. He couldn’t see how someone would think Gun was anything less than perfectly endearing. Then, he thought: his mother’s opinion of Li Ming was obvious — if unfortunate — but what would she think of Gun?

Tinn’s smile faltered. For all of Gun’s kindness and talent and charm, she would never be able to overlook everything he lacked. Gun was a phrai boy through and through, had never come close to even the lowest rung of the khunnang. He’d never been taught how to oversee negotiations or a personal household, knew nothing of consorting with governors and advisors and monks to safeguard Ayutthaya’s prosperity. He’d never learned their trade and taxation laws, or what offerings to bring when visiting a Chaophraya in the north or a Chaophraya in the south. He’d never be trusted with secrets that could topple nations or decisions that would demolish institutions. He had no idea what it meant to be a member of the Munnai.

People like Lady Chanikarn had spent their entire lives preparing to take their place among the rest of Ayutthaya’s nobility. If her parents were to pass on tomorrow, she would have her family’s affairs in order within the week. Even if Gun were to study under Tinn’s former tutors and bury his nose in all of Tinn’s old textbooks now, he would never be accepted by their government or their people. They would only embrace him if he were to become Tinn’s phrai consort, someone whose only role was to provide companionship, entertainment, and pleasure. In a twist of irony, Gun would actually be perfectly suited for the part: handsome, charming, and with a beautiful singing voice fit for entertaining his husband’s court.

But that wasn’t the life Gun was meant to lead, being confined to his own quarters in Tinn’s residential compound, left with little else to do but to practice his scales and wait to be summoned to his husband’s sitting room or bedchamber. He was meant to perform for admiring crowds, to enjoy good music and good food with his friends, to spend his days among the people he loved. He was meant to be free from a life that Tinn wasn’t always certain he wanted for himself.

“…Tinn?” He hadn’t noticed Gun calling his name until he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. “Tinn, are you alright?”

“Oh — sorry,” Tinn said, shaking himself free of his thoughts. “I…was just thinking about Phraya Thitathan’s lecture from earlier today. What is it?”

“Can you read what I’ve written so far?” Gun asked. “I don’t know if I’m making any sense.”

“Let me see.” Tinn pored over Gun’s familiar scrawl, fingers tracing the lines and loops of every character as if they were for him. As he did, his heart began to ache.

Gun’s words were clumsy but sincere, less reminiscent of the boy who smiled and laughed and sang like a bird, and more so the boy who’d come looking for him, beaten and bloodied and terrified. These were the words of someone whose confidence had been shaken time and time again, yet was determined to keep going no matter the circumstances. Tinn had seen fragments of these words in Gun’s letters over the years, but to see it distilled on a single sheet of paper made Tinn want to wrap Gun up in a fierce embrace and never let go.

“Well? What do you think?” Gun peered over Tinn’s shoulder with a nervous smile. “You can tell me if it’s terrible. I’ll only be a little upset.”

But Tinn only opened his arms in silent invitation. Gun stared at him for a moment, eyes wide. Then, his face crumpled, and he sank his entire weight against Tinn’s chest. His eyes were already wet with tears of relief when Tinn began rubbing the small of his back.

“It’s alright,” Tinn murmured, barely above a whisper. “Be as upset as you’d like.” Gun let out a blubbering laugh, his fingers curling in the silk of Tinn’s shirt.

Tinn wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Gun lifted his head, pink-cheeked and sniffling, and gazed up at him with so much affection that Tinn thought his heart might burst. He rubbed Gun’s shoulder, then gently drew him in for another tender kiss on the temple. “Thank you,” Gun said, his voice muffled. “For proving me right.”

Tinn frowned. “About what?”

“About you always being so good to me, of course.” Gun tapped him lightly on the forehead. “Do keep up, Your Royal Highness.”

“Of course,” Tinn echoed with a soft chuckle, leaning into Gun’s touch. “How could I forget?”

The word sent a sudden pang through Tinn’s chest. Heart hadn’t wanted to talk about what happened — what was still happening — and though Tinn wanted to give him as much time as he needed, he worried Heart would never be ready. They’d already spent far too long avoiding each other, or at least, longer than they’d ever done before. He didn’t want Heart to go on ignoring their mother forever, though Tinn would never deny she was the one at fault. And of course, Tinn still had so many questions that he was sure Heart had, too: did their father know? Had their parents done anything like that before or again? Where was Sir Eakasit and his dangerous potions now? And how had Tinn not noticed this entire time that his brother’s memory was fraught with inexplicable cracks?

A gentle hand slipped around the nape of his neck. With a press of his thumb, Gun delicately brought Tinn’s face toward his. “I was going to offer to spoil you rotten once Ma’s no longer in a hospital bed, but perhaps I should start right now,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“I said ‘forget’, and I thought of Heart,” Tinn sighed. “I don’t know if he’ll ever be ready to talk about what happened.”

“It’s only been two days,” Gun reasoned. “I wouldn’t want to talk about it, either. I mean, we still haven’t talked about…well, the other thing. The first thing.”

Tinn’s head began to ache. There was no end to the long list of things he needed to think about or talk about or do something about. Even if he were to set his royal duties aside, he could barely make sense of where to begin. When his shoulders sagged and his expression dropped, Gun started combing his fingers through Tinn’s hair once more. “…I’m so tired,” he whispered.

Gun offered him a rueful smile. “I know.”

After they spent most of their remaining hour together in companionable silence, Tinn reluctantly departed to meet Heart in the infirmary’s main entryway, where he’d come from the courtyard. He looked as he had during their breakfast in Tinn’s private dining room this morning — pale and exhausted, but a little less withdrawn than he’d been before. Even his eyes seemed brighter, his stance taller. Taking another day to spend time with Li Ming had served him well.

“How are you?” Tinn asked once they fell into step on their return home. “And how is Li Ming?”

“He spent all afternoon telling me what he’s learned from Tutor Suchada’s grimoire so far,” Heart said, more cheerfully than Tinn expected, though it didn’t escape him that Heart hadn’t answered his first question. “He’s picking up really quickly, even though he hasn’t had any lessons yet.”

“Quite impressive,” Tinn said, smiling, though admittedly, he couldn’t really picture Li Ming poring over a stack of books when he seemed more inclined to the outdoors like Heart. “When is he meeting with Tutor Suchada?”

Heart hesitated. “Well…I suppose it depends on whether he’s accompanying me to Nonthaburi. I received your earlier note about Mother not objecting to it during today’s council meeting, but…still.” He shook himself a little. “And how is Gun? He was quite talkative all through lunch.”

“He…wrote a letter to Li Ming today,” Tinn said carefully, thinking of his own. “About their…strained relations.”

Heart went quiet for a moment. “Tinn, I…I should tell you that…” He paused, drawing a breath. “…I never read the letter you sent me. I kept telling myself I wasn’t angry with you, but when I saw it on my desk, I…shoved it under some books and never got around to looking for it. I’m sorry.”

Tinn swallowed, turning away. He didn’t know how to feel. Disappointed, perhaps, if not surprised, and even a little angry. When he’d told Gun that Heart was stubborn — and Gun had said the same of Li Ming — he’d meant it. To think that something that had been so difficult for him to do was seen as a mere hindrance by Heart. Still, he knew he’d broken Heart’s trust, so he couldn’t quite blame Heart for not wanting to hear from him, either. “Will you at least read it now, when you get the chance?”

Heart nodded, guilt still lingering in his eyes. “Of course.”

They fell silent for a stretch, both of them grappling with their emotions. “And…how was Madam Gim?” Tinn eventually said. “Gun told me she’s recovering well.”

Heart managed a small smile. “Actually, Madam Gim was short with Li Ming and Gun earlier. She even said that they needed to talk things through instead of trying to avoid each other while in the same room.”

Tinn let out a surprised laugh. “I would’ve liked to see that. Mother would never say such things in polite company.”

“She’s very different from Mother,” Heart agreed. “She has a sense of humor, for one.”

“Heart!” Tinn protested, knowing full well he couldn’t refute him.

“I thought Mother and I finally reached an understanding when she came to see me the other day,” Heart said grimly, his expression flattening. “But then…and seeing the way Madam Gim is with Li Ming and Gun, I…I don’t think she’d ever hide something so important from them.”

“I disagree,” Tinn said, surprising himself. At Heart’s raised eyebrow, he went on, “I suspect she kept the severity of her illness a secret from her sons until…well, all of this. So they wouldn’t worry about her.”

“Maybe,” Heart mumbled.

“Look, I…I understand you aren’t ready to talk to Mother yet,” Tinn said, taking hold of Heart’s elbow and bringing them to a halt. “Maybe you aren’t ready to talk to me or Father or anyone. And in all honesty…I don’t know if I’m fully prepared, either. So, why don’t we do this: let’s have dinner with Gun and Li Ming tomorrow and see if we can’t help them somehow. And we should visit Madam Gim, too. She might know exactly what to do — for them and for us.”

Heart’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Us?”

“She might be more like our mother than we think,” Tinn said simply. “If we ask her for advice — ”

“You mean we tell her what happened?” Heart looked increasingly uneasy.

“If you or Gun or Li Ming don’t want to, then we won’t,” Tinn reassured him. “It was just a thought. Maybe all we’ll do is stop by Madam Gim’s room to say hello, then we’ll have dinner.”

Heart let out a little sigh before resuming his stride. “You just want to see Gun again.”

“And you want to see Li Ming,” Tinn replied, and even as the evening sky darkened, enshrouding them in shadow, neither of them could hide the color rising in their cheeks.

Madam Gim was alone in her bedchamber when Tinn and Heart arrived, busying herself with what looked like a small stack of notecards beside the steaming cup of fenugreek tea on her bedside table. Blankets were drawn around her midsection and they’d heard her coughing as soon as they’d turned into the corridor, but her skin had a healthy flush — pink, not a mottled red like before — and her eyes were bright and alert. She glanced up at the sound of their footsteps.

“Your Royal Highnesses!” she said delightedly, inclining her head. Her voice was hoarse, yet cheerful. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you, Madam Gim,” Tinn said. He pulled up two chairs a short distance from her bedside, angling his so he could sign for Heart. “How are you feeling today?”

“I had Jim bring me my recipes so I could make notes for Miss Yui, my locum. I told him if this cough doesn’t kill me, then my tedium surely will,” Madam Gim replied, punctuating her words with another brassy cough. Tinn’s eyes widened in surprise while Heart only just managed to hold in his laughter. “Madam Winai still won’t allow me outside.”

“There’s talk of another storm coming in, so it’s probably for the best,” Tinn said tactfully, still recovering. He was beginning to see where Gun’s impudence and Li Ming’s impertinence came from.

“Never mind the storm; I just want to see where my sons are running off to when they aren’t here,” Madam Gim lamented. Then, she arched a speculative eyebrow. “Though I suppose there’s no need to worry, considering who they’re with.”

Their faces grew warm. “Li Ming and I spent most of today and yesterday in the courtyard,” Heart said. “As soon as Madam Winai allows it, we’ll all go together.”

Tinn anticipated another witty remark, perhaps something about not wanting to intrude on Heart and Li Ming. Instead, Madam Gim leaned forward and placed a hand over Heart’s. “I promised myself I wouldn’t pry, but…is everything alright, Your Royal Highness?”

Heart stilled. His wide eyes flickered to Tinn before returning to Madam Gim’s kind face. “What do you mean?”

“I’m honored you’ve visited so often and Li Ming enjoys your company, but I didn’t think you’d be permitted to spend entire days here,” she said gently. “Has something happened?” Heart shook his head, too startled to speak. Tinn opened his mouth, intending to tell Madam Gim that Heart’s schedule had been cleared — the simplest version of events, and he knew she wouldn’t inquire any further — but she withdrew her hand before he could. “Forgive me, I — I shouldn’t have asked. I forget sometimes that you’re both…”

“We don’t mind if you speak freely with us, Madam Gim,” Heart managed to say when she didn’t continue, sparing another glance at Tinn, who responded with a commiserative nod. “Li Ming and Gun certainly do.”

“Those sons of mine.” Madam Gim’s repentant expression cleared as she clicked her tongue reproachfully. “Stubborn as ever, even with their mother confined to her sickbed. Li Ming’s never been forthcoming — he gets that from Jim, I think — but even Gun hasn’t said a word. If they think they can just shut their eyes and will it away…” She exhaled a little too hard, spurring on another coughing fit. Tinn was glad to find it didn’t sound nearly as troubling as before. After taking a few deep breaths and a long drink of her tea, she let out a little sigh. “Please don’t misunderstand. I’m grateful they set aside their differences to care for me, I just wish they’d do the same for themselves.”

The room fell silent for a moment. “How might we help?” Tinn eventually asked, but Madam Gim only laughed.

“You’re as kind as they say, Your Royal Highness, but I’m not sure anyone can.” Her eyes softened, her lips twisting into a quiet smile. “Do you care about them?”

“Yes,” Tinn and Heart said, unequivocally and in perfect unison.

“Then keep on doing just that,” Madam Gim said simply. She leaned back in her bed as if she’d imparted some great wisdom, and in a sense, she had. “…well, perhaps you could also tell them to confide in their mother and uncle every now and then, but let me not be too prescriptive.” This time, when Heart laughed, so did Tinn.

After exchanging a few last pleasantries and promising to return another day, Tinn and Heart left for Gun’s temporary bedchamber. He was in the armchair by the window, humming while he revised what appeared to be song lyrics. Li Ming was seated on the floor, flicking through Tutor Suchada’s grimoire. When he glanced up, his eyes were unusually bright with curiosity — or perhaps this was his usual self, Tinn corrected himself with a wince. Maybe his mother’s prejudices had swayed him more than he first thought.

“I hope you didn’t wear Ma’s voice down,” Li Ming said by way of greeting, closing the book with a snap. Tinn couldn’t remember if Li Ming had ever bowed to him, with the exception of their first encounter at the lakhon nai. “What did she have to say?”

“Plenty,” Heart said, smiling faintly as he joined Li Ming on the floor. Tinn, meanwhile, went to the window and dropped what he hoped was a discreet kiss on Gun’s forehead. He was promptly rewarded with a radiant smile from Gun and baleful glances from Heart and Li Ming. “She’s in good spirits and on her way to good health. I think you’ll all be returning home by next week.”

“I hope so,” Li Ming said with an unexpected shudder. “Everyone here keeps giving us these…looks. Gun especially since he’s always in the refectory kitchen. And I guess carrying this around — ” he thumped the grimoire in his lap “ — doesn’t help, not that it gives those arrogant know-it-alls the right to stare.”

Tinn frowned. “You never mentioned anything of the sort.”

“Because he knows you’d want to do something about it,” Li Ming said before Gun could proffer anything more than a guilty wince. “Didn’t I hear you dismissed all the guards from that night and sent them out of the palace?”

“…perhaps.” Tinn’s face grew warm. “I’ll speak to Madam Winai about the way her staff regards the phrai. I’ll arrange a meeting with her as soon as I can.”

“Are you sure?” Gun asked hesitantly. “We’ve already disrupted their work here. I don’t want to cause any more trouble, for them or for you.”

“No more trouble than that healer who confronted me in the refectory,” Li Ming said, giving Heart an oddly mischievous smile that made him blush. It took Heart another moment before he registered Li Ming’s words.

“Wait, confronted you?” Heart exclaimed. “What happened?”

“Another arrogant know-it-all happened, that’s what,” Li Ming muttered, his smile quickly fading in favor of a scowl. “He said he couldn’t believe that a phrai woman would be admitted here or that a phrai boy could be one of Tutor Suchada’s students.”

Tinn’s expression darkened. “…I’ll speak with Madam Winai before we leave tonight.”

There was a knock on the door — Tiwson’s; Tinn knew it well — followed by a procession of servants sweeping into the room, carrying trays laden with dishes and silver teapots and Sangkhalok teacups. As they brought in a low table and arranged the various dishes on its surface, Gun leaned over and whispered, “And you said you weren’t brave, Prince Lion.”

Tinn pressed his lips together, pleased. “It’s nothing,” he whispered back. “If I were really brave, I’d speak to those…know-it-alls myself.” Gun shook his head in amusement, nearly jostling an unwitting servant setting down an enormous platter of pla som rod. For some reason, the sight of it made both Heart and Li Ming snicker.

After the servants departed, Gun and Li Ming were the first to start, spooning a little bit of everything into their bowls. Though they’d been alarmingly pale and sallow since their mother’s admittance, they’d since regained quite a bit of color in their cheeks after eating richer foods and larger meals than they were accustomed to. Tinn waited for a moment before serving himself, content to simply sit and watch Gun eat.

“Is there anything else we should know about?” he asked once they all began.

Gun shook his head. “It’s nothing, I swear. And besides, the more involved you are, the more people will talk.”

“I imagine people are already talking,” Tinn said quietly. “We might as well do everything we can while they do.”

“And if all that talk goes beyond the palace walls?” Li Ming eyed him curiously. “What then?”

Tinn faltered. He’d barely been ready for his mother to find out, let alone the rest of Ayutthaya. What would their people think if they knew their crown prince had a male lover? Would they be cruel or forgiving? Would they accept him as their future king or demand he rescind his title? And Heart — there were already far too many who thought him immature at best and inferior at worst. Tinn wanted more desperately than ever to protect him, only he didn’t know how.

After a pregnant pause, Heart gestured for Tiwson, who was stationed by the door, to come closer. When Tiwson knelt beside him and Heart whispered something in his ear, he recoiled. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Your Royal Highness?” Heart nodded, resolute, and Tiwson rose reluctantly to address one of the attendants waiting outside.

“Heart, what was — wait, you’re not serious!” Tinn protested, realization dawning on him.

“What?” Gun asked, glancing back and forth between them. Li Ming, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Neither of them was granted time to speculate, however, as the attendant quickly returned with a dark brown bottle of lao khao. Tinn watched, horrified, as Heart accepted the bottle, while Li Ming almost looked impressed.

“If we’re about to have a conversation about how our country will fall to pieces because their princes prefer the company of men, I’d like to forget it ever happened,” Heart said sharply. Tinn’s breath hitched. Neither of them had said it out loud before, not even to each other. There was an obstinate gleam in Heart’s eyes that felt familiar — the sort of look he’d get when he talked back to his tutors or told their mother he didn’t want Major Supoch heading up his guard — yet entirely new at the same time. “Anyone else?”

There was another long, unbearable pause. Then, Li Ming drained the last of his tea and held out his cup. “Any man in particular?” he remarked while Heart poured. The fire burning bright in Heart’s eyes swiftly transformed into a fierce heat rising in his cheeks.

“Heart,” Tinn murmured, placing a hand over his own teacup. “I don’t think this is…are you sure?”

Heart nodded. “Just one cup. And…at least I’ll remember what I’ve forgotten.” His smile was grim.

“…just one cup,” Tinn conceded, relaxing slightly. He doubted Heart would become anything more than a little tipsy.

Gun took the bottle from Heart, first pouring for him, then for himself. “Pa used to sneak us sips of his lao hai,” he explained when Tinn looked at him questioningly.

Tinn — and Tiwson, who’d returned to his post by the door — watched as the other three took their first drink of lao khao. Heart nearly drank half of his all at once. Their eyes squeezed shut and Gun made a strangled noise in the back of his throat like he’d been punched in the stomach. Heart’s eyes watered when he finally opened them again.

“Awful,” Li Ming said, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth before taking another drink.

Tinn was the first to take up his spoon and resume eating, watching carefully to ensure the others did the same. It wouldn’t do them any good if their stomachs held nothing but alcohol. “The only way to keep people from talking is if we were to get ahead of it somehow,” he said. “And…the only way to do that is to confer with Mother and Father.”

Heart grimaced around a mouthful of rice. “I hate that you’re right.”

“So do I,” Tinn said softly. “I wish we could wait until we’re fully prepared, but it’s only a matter of time before this gets out of hand. People will start to spread false rumors if they haven’t already. We don’t have to say much — we’ll just…state that we’ll always have Ayutthaya’s best interests at heart, but our personal relationships are no one’s concern but our own.”

“Which we all know isn’t true, since whoever you marry will be the future queen,” Li Ming drawled, his diction not quite as precise as before. His cup was more than half-empty, too. “Do you really think Chaophraya Tangkabodee won’t have an opinion about this?”

“Mother and Father will know what to do,” Tinn said, uncertain whether he was reassuring himself or everyone else. “She might even be devising a plan as we speak. I’ll write to her after dinner and ask for us to meet as soon as possible.”

Gun set his spoon down with a quiet clink. “I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his head. “If I’d just looked for another healer that night, none of this would’ve happened.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Tinn said firmly. “We were already meeting in person; people would’ve found us out eventually. If not us, then…” When his gaze flickered across the table, Heart’s blush deepened. Li Ming took another generous swallow of his lao khao.

“I suppose so.” Gun fell silent for a moment, deep in thought. Then, he suddenly downed the rest of his drink and straightened up with startling resolve. “What if we went with you? We’re part of this, after all.”

“You mean our discussion with our parents?” Tinn instinctively looked to Heart. “Are you sure?”

“They’re going to summon us eventually, so we may as well,” Li Ming said, shrugging. “At least we’ll be prepared.”

“I’m starting to think the lao khao was a terrible idea,” Heart said woefully, staring down the bottom of his empty teacup. “If we’re supposed to come up with a plan right — ” But before he could finish his sentence, a loud, belching hiccup bubbled from between his lips. His eyes widened as he clapped his hand over his mouth. Gun and Li Ming only just managed to stifle their surprised laughter; Tinn had to cough to conceal his own.

“Or the perfect idea,” Li Ming snorted. He gave Heart what looked suspiciously like an affectionate pat on the knee, which only made Heart’s mortified blush deepen further. Heart made to push Li Ming’s hand away, only for another hiccup — this one prolonged and high-pitched, like the creak of a door’s hinges — to swell through his body so suddenly that he lurched sideways. He would’ve fallen into Li Ming’s side had Li Ming not caught him by the shoulders, though their faces still came rather close. They stared at each other for far too long before Tinn cleared his throat once more. When Gun finally began to laugh, it was difficult to tell if he was laughing at Li Ming, who looked unusually embarrassed, or Heart, who was still fixed on Li Ming’s face.

As the laughter subsided and with the tension now broken, Gun’s buoyant grin slipped into something a little softer while he watched Tinn fill Heart’s teacup with warm water. “You really are wonderful, Your Royal Highness,” he said dreamily, eliciting a snort from Li Ming. “What would we do without you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Tinn replied, glowing from the praise regardless.

Gun dropped his chin into his hands, gazing at Tinn with such reverence that Tinn found himself blushing as well. “You always know what to do or say,” Gun said. “Healing my hands, having Li Ming as Prince Heart’s aide, bringing Ma here to Madam Winai, telling me to write that letter to Li Ming…” His smile broadened. “You’re so kind and lovely and clever. My clever — ”

“What letter?” Tinn jumped at the sound of Li Ming’s sharp voice.

“You haven’t seen Gun’s letter?” Heart’s signing was becoming increasingly careless, his entire body slouched against the low table. He blinked up at Li Ming slowly, like a cat lazing about in a spot of bright sunshine. “Tinn told him to write you a letter about all of your…problems.”

“Problems?” Li Ming echoed incredulously. He sounded completely sober now.

“That’s not how I — ” Tinn glanced between the three of them, trepidation rising in his throat. Gun seemed unaware of what he’d revealed, still smiling lazily at Tinn, while Heart was half-asleep with his cheek nestled against his folded arms. Tinn briefly wondered if he should’ve inspected the bottle of lao khao more closely. Only Li Ming’s fervent gaze kept him honest. “I’d written a letter to Heart on Gun’s advice a short while ago, so I thought I’d suggest the same to him. If I’ve overstepped…”

“As you do,” Li Ming scoffed, though he looked intrigued nonetheless. “So where’s the letter, Gun?”

Gun flinched, his gaze snapping to attention. “I haven’t — it’s not finished, I — ”

“I want to read it, finished or not.” Strangely, Li Ming’s tone was neither commanding nor insistent — it was just curious. “Do you have it?” Gun slowly rose to his feet and crossed the room, pulling out an unsealed envelope from beneath his pillow. When he returned to his seat, Tinn noted that it smelled of sandalwood and lemongrass and rainwater — the same trick he’d used on his letters to Tinn. He passed it to Li Ming with a grim expression. When Li Ming withdrew the letter from its envelope and read the first line, he paused, then held it out. “Actually…will you read it to me instead?”

“Li Ming,” Gun protested, taken aback by both Li Ming’s plea and the melancholic quality of his voice when he’d made it.

“You don’t have to do it now.” Li Ming’s voice grew quieter still. Perhaps only now had he realized the weight of his request, had remembered that they weren’t alone. “I just…I’d rather hear it from you.”

Gun blinked, surprised. Then, he nodded, taking the letter back from Li Ming. Tinn tilted his head, silently asking them if they wanted to be alone, but Gun interlaced his fingers with Tinn’s and held fast before he could leave. His hand was trembling.

“‘Dear Li Ming,’” Gun began. “‘Sometimes I think about how different things would be if I weren’t a spellsinger. Maybe we’d love each other just as much but like each other much more.’” Tinn spared a glance at Li Ming, but his face was inscrutable. “‘I don’t know if it’s because I would be different or Pa would be different, but…I know it wouldn’t be like this. And I know you don’t want to talk about Pa, but not talking about him means we don’t know how to talk at all.’”

He paused at the slight crease of Li Ming’s brow, waiting for him to speak. But when he said nothing, Gun went on. “‘I don’t know how to talk to you sometimes because you…you intimidate me. You make me feel like everything I say is stupid or wrong. And even if I am and…and even if you don’t think much of me, I wish you’d at least pretend you did.’” His breath caught. Tinn rubbed his thumb across the back of Gun’s hand. “‘I think the world of you. I think you’re clever and brave and you always seem to know what to do. But I also think you can be mean and unfair. You always assume I’ve done something terrible or will say something stupid before I even open my mouth. You’ve taught me so much, but you also make me doubt myself more than anyone else. I…I…’”

“Gun, it’s — it’s alright,” Li Ming said, barely above a whisper. He looked conflicted now. “I can read the rest.”

“‘I wish you’d listen to me and that you’d hear how you talk,’” Gun said in a rush, his voice thick with tears. “‘I know you’re usually right and it’s usually my fault, but…you don’t always have to say it. I just want us to talk like everyone else does, without you telling me how foolish I’ve been or how forgetful I am. And I…I’m not forgetful, because I remember you telling me that I took Pa away from you long before he died. I wish you had at least pretended you hadn’t meant it, or that you liked me enough to have never said it all. And I…I wish you understood that…despite everything, Pa’s not my favorite person in the entire world. It’s you.’” He finally looked up, his eyes glistening. “That’s all I’ve got,” he added with a hollow laugh. “I spent hours trying to work it out, and that’s the best I could do.”

“…Gun.” The room descended into brittle silence. Tinn and Heart had to look away, though Tinn kept his grip steadfast around Gun’s hand. Then, Gun’s fingers suddenly wrested free from his, and Tinn looked up to see Li Ming had taken Gun into his arms, letting Gun collapse against his shoulder with a heaving sob. Gun was quiet when he cried, his breath only hitching because of how fiercely his body shook, and Tinn hated knowing that Gun and Heart had that in common. Li Ming’s hands rested on Gun’s back, firm and unwavering. His face was drawn but his eyes were wet, a storm of emotions evident in the clench of his jaw and the tremble of his lip. “Gun,” he said again, almost as if in prayer.

“Ming,” Gun mumbled, fingers curling into Li Ming’s shirt. That was all it took, it seemed, for Li Ming to fully embrace Gun, to draw him in close and bury his chin against his brother’s trembling shoulder.

Li Ming’s eyes squeezed shut, almost as if he were in pain. “Gun, I…I’m here,” he whispered. The ache in his voice seemed to say far more than he possibly could. “I’m right here.”

Chapter Text

It was as if a piphat ensemble consisting entirely of taphon drums had taken residence in Gun’s head. His limbs were heavy and his stomach churned unpleasantly, threatening to dislodge its contents with no care for where they landed. Groaning, Gun rolled onto his side and felt around, unsure of what he was even looking for, before his hand closed around a cup of water. With a sigh of relief, he sat up and downed half of it in a single gulp, easing the burn of his parched throat.

He opened his eyes and regretted it instantly. The room was far too bright, the mid-morning sun spilling in through the window and reflecting off the silver trays still strewn across the low table at the foot of his bed. Wincing, Gun squeezed his eyes shut while he finished his water, taking it slower this time. Then, after returning the cup to the side table, he lay back onto his pillow, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyelids in the hopes it would somehow alleviate his headache. It was only then that he realized someone was lying beside him.

“Morning.” Li Ming’s keen gaze mirrored his. If the lao khao had affected him in any way, he didn’t show it. “Are…you alright?”

Gun’s mouth went dry; he suddenly wished he hadn’t finished his water. He turned onto his side, tucking his hand beneath his cheek like Li Ming. “I’m…okay.” He was surprised to find that, in a sense, he really was.

Last night, as he’d clung to Li Ming and wept in his arms, Li Ming had drawn him close and whispered, “I’m here” and “I’m right here”, then finally, “I’m sorry.” His brother had never been the sort for emotional declarations, but Gun didn’t need one. He knew what Li Ming meant and Li Ming had known what he needed. In time, they would talk. Perhaps that time was now.

Li Ming managed a wan smile. “…we’re never drinking with Heart again.”

Gun choked out a laugh when he recalled Prince Heart’s startled expression during his unfortunate fit of hiccups, then winced when he remembered how he himself had all but sprawled across Tinn’s lap, swooning and simpering like a starved dog. When he glanced at Munmuang, curled around his feet, she gave him a disparaging look before returning to the cowlick in her fur. “I was sort of hoping to see what Tinn would be like after a few drinks,” Gun admitted.

“Begging for your attention even more than usual?” Li Ming guessed. “His neck must hurt from turning to look at you all the time. I would’ve suggested he sit across from you instead, but he’d probably be miserable about not being close enough to touch.”

Gun’s ears reddened. “Do you mean Tinn or Prince Heart?” he countered, grinning triumphantly when Li Ming averted his eyes. “He absolutely adores you. He couldn’t look more infatuated if you had him under a compulsion spell.”

“He’s easy to impress,” Li Ming said, though he looked pleased. Then, he sighed, turning onto his back and drumming his fingers against his chest. “So…what else were you going to put in that letter?”

Gun went quiet for a moment. “More about Pa, mostly. And how I feel like an awful older brother for always needing your help when it should be the other way round.” He let out another laugh, this one more resigned. “Honestly, now that I think about it, I should’ve said more about how much I’ve let you down. But I just made the entire letter about myself.”

But Li Ming shook his head. “That was the point, wasn’t it? You wanted me to understand how you felt, and now I do. Or at least…I’m trying to.” His mouth was taut, though his eyes softened with remorse. “You haven’t let me down. In fact, I…I’m envious of you sometimes.”

Gun frowned. “Really? Why?”

“People warm to you so easily,” Li Ming continued, still gazing at the ceiling. “They’re always so quick to like you and trust you, and you’re always so quick to trust them, and…it frustrates me. I’d always think that someday, you’ll trust the wrong person, someone awful, and have no sense of what to do. Or maybe you won’t even realize it’s happening. I thought you needed to be more careful, more prepared.” He paused, then turned to look at Gun. “…though I suppose it doesn’t matter when I’m the one who’s been awful to you all along.”

Gun took Li Ming’s hand in his. “You’re not awful,” he said in a fierce whisper. “You can be…callous sometimes, but you’re not awful.”

“I was awful when I blamed you for how Pa treated me,” Li Ming said sharply, his gaze hardening. “I should’ve just said what none of us ever did: it was Pa’s fault, not yours.”

Gun’s breath caught. Their father had been his hero. He’d taught Gun so much about spellsinging, about pursuing his dreams, about persevering through the very worst of circumstances. Even when he’d been drafted for the war, he’d swept Gun into his arms and promised that it was just another adventure, that he’d be home before they knew it. But Li Ming was right. It was their father’s choice to favor one son over the other, to pour his heart and soul into Gun and leave Li Ming wanting. Gun would always love their father, but now, he wasn’t sure if he could forgive him.

“And I should’ve done something about the way he hurt you,” Gun lamented, but Li Ming only shook his head again.

“Pa shouldn’t have done it at all,” he insisted. Gun fell silent; he could hardly refute that. “And Gun, I…I’m sorry that I hurt you. I swear I’ll try my damnedest never to do it again. But if I do…”

“I should fight back?” Gun offered. It seemed unusual, but perhaps this was one of the ways Li Ming wanted him to prepare.

Li Ming let out a startled laugh, the severe curl of his lip giving way to an amused smile. “I’d rather you just tell me, thanks,” he said, snorting, and for once, the sound of it didn’t make Gun feel like he’d said something foolish. “I mean it, Gun. If I’m being awful, tell me. I don’t want you to be scared of me.” He looked earnest in a way Gun had never seen before, eyes wide and almost desperate.

“Of course. And I promise to be more careful,” Gun said softly, squeezing Li Ming’s hand. “Though…I know you think I should stay away from Tinn, but I can’t do it. I won’t do it. Not even if you beg.”

“You think I’d beg?” Li Ming scoffed. “And besides, Tinn loves you. He’d do anything to be with you, even if it means defying his own parents.” His smile faltered a little; Queen Photjanee had made her opinion of him clear time and time again. Gun wished she could see what he saw, that their father had seen what he’d seen: the cleverest, bravest, most formidable brother he could ever ask for.

Their conversation slowly dwindled after that, in part because Gun was too tired to think any further. Though there was still so much to talk about, it felt as if a great weight had been lifted from their shoulders. When they ate breakfast together, it was no longer in strained silence. They talked about their mother’s treatment, Gun’s forthcoming performance for Chaophraya Chaichitathorn, Li Ming’s plans to study under Tutor Suchada. Li Ming teased Gun for Tinn’s inability to greet him without a forehead kiss (“What’s keeping him from going for the cheek?”) while Gun teased Li Ming for Heart’s inability to look at him without blushing (“How exactly did you impress him again?”).

Li Ming even told Gun about Wen, someone Gun had seen around the kitchens on occasion, but never knew was so important. They exchanged theories about Uncle Jim and Wen’s relationship, agreeing that Wen had obviously been the one to pursue their uncle, not the other way around. When Gun remarked how impressed he was that Uncle Jim held an architect’s attention, Li Ming reminded him that they both held a prince’s attention, and they’d dissolved into a fit of incredulous laughter. Gun couldn’t recall the last time everything between them had felt so easy.

After breakfast, they spent much of the morning with their mother, who was quick to notice their newfound ease but didn’t pry when they avoided her questions. Her cough still lingered, though she was recovering well otherwise. Then, they briefly visited Uncle Jim in his bedchamber, where he was poring over one of the ledgers he’d snuck out of the kitchens, determined to keep up with his work. He made no effort to hide his surprise at seeing them arrive together.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, glancing between them.

“Yes,” they said in unison, which only concerned him further.

Finally, after they’d convinced their uncle that they weren’t under some sort of compulsion spell ( “Or at least we aren’t.” “Gun, I swear…”) and persuaded him to take the day off, they left for the courtyard, where Li Ming had been spending most of his spare time with Prince Heart. “What happened after he made you that khanom mo kaeng, anyhow?” Gun asked as they took up the bench beneath the ratchaphruek trees. “We, er…well, that was the day we fought, so you haven’t told me anything since. And now he’s completely smitten with you!”

Li Ming pressed his lips together, though he looked more amused than affronted. “I won’t ask about Prince Tinn if you don’t ask about Heart.”

“What’s there to ask? You already spoke to him yourself,” Gun reminded him, grinning. “I’m serious, Li Ming. What happened?”

Li Ming dragged his hand across his face in a near-perfect imitation of their uncle before he began with great reluctance. He told Gun about their afternoon ride along the Chao Phraya and their evening dip in the river, their stolen moments on days he was in the kitchens and Prince Heart was in the forges, and their secret trip into the capital, where they’d eaten salapao on the front steps of the telegraph office and had tea with Wen in the printing house. Gun’s eyes grew wider and wider with each new revelation.

“I can’t believe you snuck out of the palace,” Gun said, both worried and impressed. He’d suspected Li Ming had been spending more time with Prince Heart long before their stay in the infirmary, but he never expected him to do something so reckless. Li Ming would’ve admonished him for weeks if it had been him and Tinn. “And it was really that simple?”

“Abjurers make for good illusionists,” Li Ming shrugged. “I don’t really understand what he did to get us past the gate wards, but it worked.”

“And Her Majesty doesn’t allow him to leave, huh?” Gun tapped his chin, lost in thought. “That’s terrible. No wonder he’s so excited about Nonthaburi.” Then, he grinned again. “And why he’s so set on you accompanying him.”

“He needs an interpreter,” Li Ming said defensively, though that wry smile of his had returned. “He told me he’s not sure who his next advisor will be. Kajorn’s been by his side for years, so…”

“Why not you?” Gun suggested, which only made Li Ming snort and shake his head. “Alright, maybe not an advisor, but…I’m sure there’s a post for you somewhere in his household. He obviously wants you by his side.”

“He did mention something about me becoming his secretary,” Li Ming admitted. “And…he also told the bureau I’m the best interpreter he’s ever had.”

“I’m sure he did,” Gun said, smirking. “I think you’d be wonderful and you’d look wonderful together.”

“You’re only saying that because we look like you and Prince Tinn,” Li Ming grumbled.

Gun laughed, though he couldn’t help but think it was a little strange how Li Ming and Prince Heart were the consummate reflection of himself and Tinn — not just in appearance, but in spirit. Opposites in nearly every way, yet perfectly matched all the same. The only thing Gun couldn’t be sure of was whether Li Ming’s affections, guarded as he was, ran as deep as Prince Heart’s.

“And what do you think of him?” Gun asked.

“He’s too sensible for me and I have no interest in makruk, but…he’s not bad as far as princes go,” Li Ming said, shrugging.

“What — ” Gun blinked. “I meant Prince Heart, not Tinn!”

“I know,” Li Ming said, his face splitting into a wide grin. Gun nudged him in his side, only to receive a far more painful jab between the ribs in return. He’d forgotten how sharp Li Ming’s elbows could be. Then, Li Ming’s grin eased into something a little more contemplative. “Heart is…he’s really talkative. He just goes on and on…I swear, he talks more than you do. I think it’s because he’s so curious about everything. He never stops asking questions. He’s also started telling me all these stories about what he’s done or wants to do, like how he wants to learn how to make his grandmother’s nam phrik or how to use his father’s brand-new camera from overseas. It’s…I like being with him.”

Gun’s cheeks ached from how wide his smile had become. Maybe Li Ming could be the sort for emotional declarations, after all. “Do you like him?…or love him, even?”

Li Ming ducked his head, giving Gun a glimpse of the flush spreading across his ears. “It’s a little early for that.”

“But you could,” Gun said. “You think you could.” Li Ming’s quiet, reticent smile told Gun he knew he could.

The moment stretched into a long, companionable silence as they basked in the warmth of the late morning sun. It was eventually broken by one of the infirmary clerks approaching them with a reverence Gun didn’t think they deserved. Then again, the infirmary staff was well aware of what he and Li Ming were to the princes by now. That thought made his stomach turn. “My apologies for the interruption,” the clerk said. “I have two letters for you, Mister Guntaphon.”

Gun didn’t think he’d ever been addressed so formally before. “Letters?”

“Yes, they were delivered to the infirmary office earlier this morning,” they clarified, drawing two envelopes from their bag. “One from Chaophraya Chaichitathorn, and one from, er…from His Royal Highness, Prince Tinnaphob.”

Gun quickly snatched them up before remembering himself and apologizing for his impatience. Then, he opened Tinn’s letter first.

Dear Gun,

I’m sorry I left while you were still asleep — I wanted to find Mother before our council meeting and ask if she and Father would be willing to speak with us as soon as possible. She requested we meet tonight at eight-thirty. Heart and I will be at the infirmary by eight so we can all go together, if that suits you.

I hope you’re feeling better. If you aren’t quite there yet, I hope you know that’s okay, too. You were so brave last night and I’m so proud of you. Though I was with you when you wrote most of that letter, I can’t imagine how hard it was to put it all down, then read it out loud. I hope Li Ming understands that and he’s willing to listen for as long as you’re willing to talk. I believe he will be, because he loves you even more than I do (an impossible feat, but I doubt he’d ever back down from a challenge).

Though we’d love to join you for lunch or come by earlier, we have plenty of work to catch up on now that Heart has resumed his duties. Until then, take all the rest you need, and know I’ll be thinking of you until we meet tonight.

Always yours,

Tinn

“That’s Prince Tinn’s letter, I take it,” Li Ming said, amused. “You look as though you’re going to swoon.”

Gun hushed him, his cheeks burning, then opened Chaophraya Chaichiathorn’s letter. It was much shorter: a brief inquiry about Gim’s health, then an invitation to join him and Gun’s friends for lunch. Gun imparted the contents of both letters to Li Ming, only realizing then that he would be late if he didn’t leave within the hour. “And I should change into something…nicer,” he added, glancing down at the fraying hem of his shirt. “Do you have anything I could borrow?”

“You know that I don’t,” Li Ming said. “Should I go with you?”

Gun frowned, confused. “Why?”

“It just seems like less of an invitation and more of a summons,” Li Ming replied. Then, he paused. “Though if you’re sure it’s nothing suspicious, then…I trust you.”

Gun’s pulse leaped. “You do?”

“Of course,” Li Ming said, though the pull of his mouth suggested he had more to say.

“What if we go together and you leave once we’re sure everything’s alright?” Gun suggested. Li Ming’s expression ebbed with palpable relief, and he nodded in agreement. Warmth spread through Gun’s chest at the sight.

A little less than an hour later, the two of them approached the front entrance of Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s estate, where Por and Yo — the ever-punctual ones, Por out of courtesy and Yo out of anxiety — were already waiting. Sound stood a short distance from them, apparently taking great interest in the enormous banyan tree bisecting the residential complex and showing no interest in his companions. He was the first to turn at the sound of their footsteps, almost expectantly. His brow wrinkled when he noticed Gun wasn’t alone.

Por and Yo hurried over to join them, their eyes bright with joy at seeing Gun and confusion at seeing Li Ming, but Sound spoke before either of them could. “You must be Li Ming,” he said, with no inclination to incline his head. “I’m — ”

“Lord Saran, Chaophraya Sereevichayasawat’s son,” Li Ming replied coolly. “I know.”

Though Sound hadn’t offered a hand to shake, he still withdrew as though he’d been refused. “His Majesty spoke highly of you when we had dinner once,” he said. “It seems Prince Heart has taken a liking to you.” If only you knew just how much, Gun thought, not wanting Sound to know anything at all.

“You have no idea,” Li Ming replied. There was a touch of mirth in his voice that took both Sound and Gun by surprise. Por and Yo’s enraptured gazes went back and forth like they were watching a game of takraw.

To Gun’s surprise, Sound visibly softened. “I heard your mother had fallen ill,” he continued. “How is she?”

“Much better now,” Gun replied. “Madam Winai and her staff are fantastic healers. Ma might be released from the infirmary as early as next week.”

“The…royal infirmary, was it?” Sound arched an eyebrow. Li Ming opened his mouth but was interrupted before he could give a cutting response.

“Hey!” They all turned to see Pat running toward them, his glasses askew. “Sorry I’m late, I…oh. Li Ming?” Li Ming, who liked Pat the least of Gun’s friends (“He has no conviction; he could be in the middle of his own khan maak and a light breeze would knock him off the front steps”), nodded with a flat grimace.

“Did something happen?” Por asked.

“Well…” Pat hesitated, casting a wary glance toward Gun and Li Ming. “When I was leaving my tutor’s office just now, he asked about Mae Gim — I’d told him a friend’s mother was sick — and if she was in the palace infirmary or the royal infirmary. When I said the royal infirmary, he asked if my friend had ever mentioned the princes’ frequent visits.”

Gun went still, ice filling his veins. He felt Li Ming stiffen beside him. Word had already spread far further and far faster than they’d feared. “Li Ming — you still work for Prince Heart sometimes, don’t you?” Por said curiously. “I don’t think it’s that odd — ”

“Frequent?” Yo repeated. “Is that true, Gun? Are…are you working for one of the princes now, too?”

It would be so easy to lie, Gun thought, only it wouldn’t be and he didn’t want to, not to his friends. “Prince Tinn and I are…close,” he said carefully. His friends’ eyes simultaneously widened; even Sound looked astonished.

“Really? When? How?” Por was nearly bouncing on his toes.

Gun glanced at Li Ming, who nodded for him to continue, his mouth set in a grim line. So, Gun told them the simplest version of events: that he and Tinn had been exchanging letters ever since Tinn overheard him singing three years ago, that he’d gone to Tinn for help when he and Li Ming found Gim on their kitchen floor, and that Tinn and Prince Heart had visited often since.

“I’m friends with Prince Tinn, and Li Ming is friends with Prince Heart,” Gun finished, the word ‘friends’ twisting unpleasantly in his chest. “It just sort of…happened, I suppose.”

“That’s amazing!” Por enthused, grinning. Yo and Pat nodded along, equally impressed. “I never would’ve guessed. So what’s he like?”

The front door of Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s estate swung open, sparing Gun from having to devise an appropriate response. One of the nobleman’s servants stood in the entryway, waiting to escort them inside to the dining room. Li Ming hesitated, but Gun took him by the elbow and pulled him along. He needed Li Ming’s presence now more than ever, even if it was only a simple lunch.

The nobleman was as bright, warm, and eccentric as before, first reaching for Gun with a sympathetic smile, then exclaiming loudly at the sight of Li Ming. “And you must be Gun’s brother, of course!” he said delightedly. “How lovely to have both of you join us today. Is your mother well?”

“She is, my lord,” Li Ming said. He looked understandably overwhelmed. “Er…my name is Li Ming. I apologize, my lord, I know I wasn’t invited — ”

“None of that now, and ‘sir’ is more than enough,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn insisted, waving his hand. “I’m glad your mother is doing better, and I’m glad that you’re here. I do have questions, of course, but perhaps we should save them for later. I hope you’re hungry — we’ve prepared quite the feast!”

“Questions?” Li Ming repeated, but Chaophraya Chaichitathorn merely winked. A line of servants entered the room, pouring tea and bringing in a seemingly endless procession of dishes far more elaborate than an informal lunch otherwise called for. Gun didn’t realize how exhausted he still was until the nobleman began to chatter away about a number of seemingly disparate topics. He kept quiet while his friends were happy to talk through mouthfuls of rice and kaeng chuet. Li Ming remained silent, too, taking in the room’s ornate furnishings with a disapproving eye between bites of his phat kaphrao.

Soon enough, Chaophraya Chaichitathorn turned his attention back to Gun and Li Ming, regarding them with a curious gleam in his eyes. “So you’re the one Prince Heart spoke so highly of,” he remarked. “You two make quite the gifted pair. Your mother must be proud.”

Li Ming hesitated before responding. “…yes, I’d hope so.”

“Ah, that reminds me!” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn suddenly rose from his seat. “I have a little something your mother might like. Come, follow me.”

Gun and Li Ming exchanged bewildered glances but set their spoons down regardless and followed the nobleman into the adjoining room. Once they sat across from him on the divan, his expression grew unusually severe. “Is everything alright, sir?” Gun asked.

Chaophraya Chaichitathorn hesitated, glancing about in an effort to find his words. “I consider myself very fortunate with the wonderful household that I have, but I must confess, they’re rather prone to…gossip,” he began. “You see, my valet has a cousin who works in the royal infirmary.”

Gun’s throat tightened. They’d known this was coming — Pat had almost quite literally warned them of it — yet it still felt as if a bucket of cold water had been upended over his head. The infirmary staff didn’t live within an abjurer’s circle or under an illusionist’s spell; of course they’d told others about the way Tinn always reached for Gun’s hand or how Prince Heart’s eyes shone whenever he looked at Li Ming. Perhaps they’d even mentioned how Prince Heart had spent a night in the infirmary after collapsing in a fit of tears. Gun hated to think what people might think about him now.

“And what did they say?” Li Ming pressed.

“That the princes have an…exceptionally close companionship with the sons of the phrai woman who’d been admitted there,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn said as delicately as he could, though no soft voice nor carefully chosen words would settle Gun’s frantic heart. “And while I enjoy the odd bit of gossip myself, I thought it was…unseemly for people to discuss something so personal. I’m only telling you because I want you to know, and…well, I worry what my guests might say if they recognized you.”

“So your reputation hangs in the balance, and you don’t want him performing for you anymore?” Li Ming’s voice was brittle. “Is that it?” Gun seized his brother’s elbow in warning, but the nobleman took no offense.

“Please don’t misunderstand,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn said, gentler still. “I worry that they’ll take one look at Gun and presume he was invited here not on his own merit, but on His Royal Highness’s recommendation. I can insist we were introduced by Gun’s friends all we’d like, but they will continue to speculate regardless.” He offered a kind, if sad, smile. “So I’ll leave it to you, Gun. Would you prefer to stay on or step back? I completely understand if you’d prefer the latter.”

“I…” Gun was at a loss for words. This was the sort of opportunity he’d been dreaming of his entire life, not to mention one he wouldn’t have had without his friends. He couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning them, but this wasn’t just about protecting himself. This was about protecting Tinn, too. “I…I don’t know, sir, I…”

“That’s alright,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn reassured him. “Even if we call off the whole affair just five minutes before, it’s of no consequence to me. My guests already think I’m impetuous as it is. And you’ll be paid regardless, of course. You have my word.”

“That’s very gracious of you.” It was Li Ming who’d responded; Gun was still lost in thought.

“If you choose to step back, know that you have a standing invitation to return whenever you’d like,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn continued. “I think you’re an extraordinary talent, Gun. As a patron of the arts, I’d be happy to play a role in helping you fulfill your aspirations. I’ve been told I was made for theater, after all.”

Gun couldn’t help but laugh, even when it felt like everything was falling to pieces. “Is that one of your aspirations, sir? To be an actor?”

“Oh, I don’t have the constitution for it. No, I aspire to open a theater or a gallery or a music hall. Perhaps all three,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn said wistfully. Then, with a conspiratorial whisper, he leaned in and added, “If only because I’d like my name on a plaque, seeing as I’m quite vain.” Li Ming snorted, genuinely amused. “In any case, I really do have something for your mother. I understand she has a terrible cough, and I have a great-aunt who makes this wonderful concoction of magic-infused herbs for brewing tea for a sore throat — sends it to everyone in the family! Botanists are woefully undervalued by healers, she says, though I think what she really means is underfunded, and I’ve seen the state of her conservatory, so I’m inclined to agree…”

The rest of lunch was a much-needed diversion. Gun’s friends were as lively as ever, telling outrageous stories that even made Li Ming laugh. Sound seemed more at ease this time, though Gun supposed he’d missed a rehearsal or two. Perhaps they’d grown closer — or at least, more civilized — in his absence. When they parted outside the front entrance of Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s estate, he even addressed Gun and Li Ming.

“I won’t tell anyone about you and the princes,” he said suddenly, like he’d been thinking about it all through lunch. “I’m…guessing you don’t want anyone knowing?”

“We don’t,” Gun agreed with a relieved smile. “Thank you, Sound.” Sound nodded with a small, commiserative smile of his own. When he turned to leave, his stride was no longer as self-important as it had seemed before.

“Gun?” Por, Pat, and Yo looked apprehensive, like they weren’t sure what to say. “Is everything alright?”

“Of course,” Gun said, quicker than he’d meant to. “Why?”

“Gun.” Li Ming’s voice was quiet yet firm. “You should tell them.”

Gun’s heart twisted, but he knew Li Ming was right. So, he told his friends about their conversation with Chaophraya Chaichitathorn, careful not to reveal too much about his relationship with Tinn or how it looked in the eyes of the infirmary staff. When he finished, the others looked dismayed. “So what are you going to do?” Yo asked.

“I can’t abandon you,” Gun began, but his friends were quick to protest.

“No, Gun, it’s alright — ” “We would never blame you for resigning — ”

“You wouldn’t be abandoning us, Gun.” Por stepped forward, squeezing Gun’s shoulders in earnest. “It’s alright, we mean it. We understand. And there’s always next time, like Chaophraya Chaichitathorn promised.”

“When would that be?” Gun let out a hopeless little laugh. It sounded as though it didn’t quite belong to him. “What if everyone keeps talking about me and Ti — Prince Tinn forever?”

His slip-up was enough to make even Por raise an eyebrow. “Gun,” he said carefully. “You know, if you and Prince Tinn are…or were to ever…well, you know you’re our friend no matter what, don’t you?”

“What?” Pat and Yo turned to one another, equally confused. “…oh!”

Gun’s breath caught in his throat. “You mean it?”

Por nodded emphatically. “Of course! How could we not?”

“If Win were here, you know he’d say the same,” Yo said, then paused. “Did I make it sound as though he died just now? Because he’s only visiting his grandparents in the capital — ”

“Remember when Teacher Sakda said those awful things about not wanting phrai children in his classroom, and Win threatened to tell his father and have Teacher Sakda deposed?” Pat added helpfully. “If we ever hear anyone say anything bad about you, you know he won’t hesitate to do that again. That goes for all of us.”

“No matter what,” Por repeated, his smile so earnest that Gun felt his heart twist again, “we’ll always be here for you.”

This time, it was Gun who drew them in for an enormous group hug. His arms strained to reach around them all as he buried his face against the side of Por’s head with a sob of relief. Yo ruffled his hair and Pat thumped him on the back despite Gun accidentally knocking his glasses askew once more. It was unbearably warm, a tangle of sweat-soaked bodies that smelled of sandalwood incense and fried basil beneath the mid-afternoon sun, but that didn’t keep Gun from pulling away for the briefest of moments to tug Li Ming in close, too. The astonished look on Li Ming’s face when Por beamed at him like he was one of their own had been worth it.

The sky had darkened considerably by the time they reached the front steps of the infirmary. There had been talk of a rainstorm for weeks now after occasional periods of strong winds and sudden downpours, but it seemed it was finally here. Gun nearly slipped across a slick of mud as he and Li Ming rushed inside.

Gim was in the chair by the window when they entered her room, where one of Madam Winai’s apprentices was massaging her legs — to improve her circulation, Madam Winai had explained two days ago — while Uncle Jim was sitting on the floor at the foot of Gim’s bed, ledger still in hand. Gim’s eyes brightened with curiosity at the sound of their footsteps.

“How was lunch with Chaophraya Chaichitathorn?” she asked. The apprentice raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, excusing herself from the room with a silent bow. Gun wondered if Tinn had spoken with Madam Winai yet or if this girl, too, was running off to tell someone what she’d heard. “It must’ve been interesting, going by the looks on your faces.”

Uncle Jim rose from his seat to sit on the edge of Gim’s bed, looking pensive. As Gun took in their inquisitive expressions, he suddenly found himself wondering if they’d ever talked to Pa about the way he treated Li Ming. He supposed Uncle Jim wasn’t around much until after Pa’s death, so maybe he’d never noticed, but what about Gim? Or, Gun thought, his heart sinking, had she also been so wrapped up in Gun’s spellsinging lessons that she hadn’t seen it, either?

“He’s quite odd,” Li Ming said, giving Gun a curious glance when he didn’t respond. “But I liked him. And he told us that…well, maybe Gun should tell you what happened.”

“What?” Gun blinked. “Oh, right.”

Half-distracted, Gun imparted his conversation with Chaophraya Chaichitathorn for the second time. Uncle Jim’s brow continued to furrow with concern while Gim’s face softened as he spoke. She motioned for him to come closer once he finished, and when he knelt in front of her, she took his face in her hands. “I’m sorry, Gun,” she murmured. “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”

“I thought it might come to this.” Uncle Jim’s face was grim. “Li Ming, if Prince Heart still wants you to accompany him to Nonthaburi…”

“You think I shouldn’t go,” Li Ming said tonelessly, sounding more defeated than he had all morning.

“I think it’s best you discuss this with the princes before either of you decides,” Uncle Jim replied. At Li Ming’s frown, he sighed. “But…no, I don’t think you should.”

“The princes are visiting tonight, and we’d already agreed to talk about all of this,” Gun said, then hesitated. “Actually…it’s more that they’re coming to take us elsewhere.”

“What?” “Where are you — ”

“Won’t that be better? We’ll have more privacy,” Gun protested, but that only seemed to worry them further.

“If you’re not seen somewhere public, the infirmary staff will think you’ve been sequestered in the princes’ bedchambers,” Uncle Jim said firmly. Gun shuddered; he hadn’t thought of that, and by the look on Li Ming’s face, neither had he. “Where are they taking you?”

Gun and Li Ming exchanged apprehensive glances. “To see the king and queen,” Li Ming eventually said. Gim and Uncle Jim’s eyes grew impossibly wide. “Prince Tinn thinks they’ll be able to keep people from talking.”

“Well…there’s no declining an audience with the king and queen, I suppose,” Gim said once she’d regained her composure.

“And there’ll be servants to attest to your presence,” Uncle Jim added reluctantly. “But are you prepared? Do you know what to expect?”

Gun winced; they’d only gotten as far as agreeing to meet the king and queen before he and Prince Heart became too inebriated to consider what that really meant. “Prince Tinn has a plan,” he lied, though knowing Tinn, it was likely true. “Don’t worry about us.”

“I’ll worry all I’d like,” Gim said, bristling, before smoothing Gun’s hair away from his forehead. “I really am sorry, though. I wish there was something we could do.”

Gun rested his head in her lap, exhaustion overtaking him once more. As his eyes began to drift shut beneath the ministrations of her fingers through his hair and the steady drumming of rain against the window, he wondered if she’d ever apologized to Li Ming for what she hadn’t done, and not just what she couldn’t.

Li Ming spent most of the afternoon wandering aimlessly about the infirmary compound, his mind refusing to settle down. Though he hadn’t said it out loud — Gun was worried enough as it was, returning to his room to rest instead of remaining in their mother’s company like Li Ming assumed he would — he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous. Worse still, there was little he could do about it. How he’d felt when he was first brought in front of the queen was nothing compared to how he felt now.

At least we’ll be prepared, Li Ming had said last night. For all his disparaging remarks about Gun’s naiveté, he’d also been just as foolish — and just as impulsive, if not more so. The moment he had grabbed Heart by the pha biang what felt like a lifetime ago was proof enough. Perhaps they were more alike than they’d ever realized.

Eventually, Li Ming returned to his bedchamber, hoping the silence would help him focus. He wrote down a few thoughts as they came to him — what the king and queen might say, how he and Gun might respond — but it wasn’t long before they became muddled again. So, he set his pen down and stared unseeingly at the rain outside his window while he thought about what the princes might say instead.

He expected Prince Tinn would make an impassioned speech about his love for Gun, but what about Heart? He would plead just as fiercely, Li Ming supposed, but they weren’t…well, they didn’t have what Gun and Prince Tinn had, with their years of intimate correspondence and unwavering devotion. They’d had heated arguments and a few adventures, and Heart had hinted at wanting Li Ming as his consort, not his husband. As obvious as Heart’s affections were, perhaps they’d disappear as quickly as they’d come. Li Ming wouldn’t blame him if they did. After all, he might be worthy of a prince’s respect, even his attention — but he wasn’t sure he was worthy of his love.

After taking a quiet dinner in Gun’s bedchamber where neither of them had much of an appetite, they departed for one of the spare sitting rooms, where they would receive the princes before leaving with them. Gun’s leg bounced so vigorously that their cups rattled and nearly tumbled off the table.

“…Gun.” Li Ming placed a hand on his brother’s knee to stop him.

“Sorry,” Gun muttered, wincing. “It’s just…is it cold in here, or is it just me?” The thunder boomed in response, sharp and ear-shatteringly loud, startling Chaipo and Munmuang from their slumber in the chair opposite them.

Li Ming’s frown deepened. “We don’t have to go if you aren’t ready.”

But Gun shook his head, looking far more determined than he had just moments ago. “I’m ready,” he said, and Li Ming believed him, though he couldn’t say he felt the same. “I promise.”

A few minutes later, a knock on the door announced the princes’ arrival. They hadn’t quite escaped the storm despite traveling by palanquin instead of by horse or foot; the shoulders of their jackets were dappled with rainwater and their damp hair was plastered against their foreheads. Still, Gun was more than happy to let Prince Tinn sweep him into his arms. “How have you been?” Prince Tinn asked. “Were you able to rest?”

“Not as much as you would’ve liked, I’m sure,” Gun teased, tapping Prince Tinn on the chin. “But yes, I did. And we…” He turned, offering Li Ming a quiet smile. Li Ming found himself returning it without hesitation. “…we’ve talked.”

“You have?” Both Prince Tinn and Heart brightened. “That’s wonderful. And you’re…?”

“We’re certainly not done talking, but we’ve started working things out,” Li Ming said. Then, after some consideration, he added, “…thank you, Prince Tinn.”

Prince Tinn smiled. “This was all your and Gun’s doing, not mine. And…I’d rather you just call me ‘Tinn’ if that would be easier.” Li Ming nodded, silently agreeing that it was.

“There’s something else, actually,” Gun said, his face falling. “That is, um…Chaophraya Chaichitathorn thinks it would be better if I don’t perform for him anymore, since people outside the infirmary are also starting to talk. Like…the khunnang.”

“Oh,” Tinn said softly. “Oh, Gun, I…I’m sorry. We’ll figure this out, I promise.” Gun nodded wordlessly, resigned, and Tinn drew him closer, fully enveloping him in his embrace.

Once Gun and Tinn were wrapped up in one another’s arms, Heart approached Li Ming with a shy smile. The sight of it made Li Ming’s pulse flutter. “What?” Li Ming said, unable to keep from smiling as well.

“I missed you,” Heart replied, blushing. “We’ve spent so much time together as of late that it felt strange going an entire day without you around.”

“You’re not bored of me?” Li Ming asked, stepping closer.

“Never,” Heart said. He seemed so sure of himself that Li Ming felt foolish for doubting him. “I am bored of council meetings, though.”

Li Ming’s grin widened. “As if you’ve ever felt any other way.”

The four of them fell quiet once they departed the infirmary and stepped into the palanquin, accompanied by Tiwson and aided by Tinn’s guard. It was a testament to how nervous Gun felt that he didn’t comment on the palanquin, something neither of them had ever experienced before. It was difficult to see the intricate carvings in the dark, but Li Ming could appreciate the cushion beneath his seat and the unobstructed view of their surroundings. And though he didn’t usually like being in such close quarters, he was also glad for its cramped confines. The journey was somehow easier when he could see the others were just as anxious as he was.

Tinn explained where they were going — the queen’s private audience chamber, where she met with her closest advisors for personal matters — and what they’d told their parents — not much, seeing as the king still knew nothing of what had happened. As far as he knew, Li Ming and Gun were their friends and nothing more, and Heart had merely been unwell and in need of bed rest. Just the thought of telling him the truth made Li Ming restless, made worse by the knowledge that Heart might also have his first private conversation with his mother since that terrible night.

“Father is very kind,” Tinn reassured them. “He’ll do everything he can to help. I’m sure of it.”

“How much should we tell them?” Gun sounded uncertain. “Our letters, Li Ming and Prince Heart sneaking around…”

“I think it’s best to be honest, leave nothing out,” Tinn replied, and Li Ming couldn’t help but snort.

“You would think that,” he said, though without any malice.

“I’m tired of keeping secrets,” Heart said quietly. “I can’t be the only one.” The others could only offer silent, commiserative nods in response. He most definitely wasn’t.

“Here we are,” Tinn murmured when they came to a stop. After conferring with the guards and asking Tiwson to announce their arrival, he took Gun’s hand to help him out of the palanquin, then tucked it into the crook of his elbow and began leading the way. Heart watched them, intrigued, then turned to Li Ming with another shy, yet amused smile.

Li Ming stepped out first, then extended his hand to Heart. “Your Royal Highness,” he said. Heart grinned, clasping his hand in Li Ming’s and allowing himself to be escorted toward the front gate.

Even after witnessing the spectacle of the ceremonial halls and the khon theater on the night of the lakhon nai, Li Ming was still overwhelmed by the grandeur of the queen’s residence. It consisted of multiple smaller buildings, much like the other residential complexes across the palace grounds, yet they seemed much more imposing. They boasted three-tiered roofs adorned with golden lamyong trim, white-washed walls embedded with intricate stone carvings of devas, and balustrades framed with gilt-stucco naga. Their eyes glittered between the thick brush of jasmine leaves as though they were alive.

The guards outside the front courtyard bowed upon their arrival, then lifted the invisible wards to let them pass. Another guard and what appeared to be two of the queen’s attendants met them on the other side of the gate. One of the attendants cast a shielding spell to protect them from the rain as they walked; even the stones beneath their feet stayed dry to the touch. Li Ming, accustomed to little more than rudimentary spells from his fellow phrai, found himself impressed despite the fear rising in his throat.

The audience chamber was more modest in size and furnishings than the one Li Ming had been summoned to all those weeks ago, though there were still towering golden columns inlaid with glass mosaic and glazed floor tiles so immaculate that he could almost see his own reflection. The lacquered dais at the back of the chamber, bracketed by four guards, bore a single throne for the queen, only she was standing before it when they arrived. The king stood a short distance away, conversing with his advisors and the clerk seated at a small desk beside the dais, their pens moving furiously across paper of their own accord. The king and queen’s attire was simple, free of their usual fine regalia. Both of their faces were creased in concentration.

“His Royal Highness, The Hereditary Prince Tinnaphob, His Royal Highness, Prince Thinnakorn, and their companions, Mister Guntaphon Wongwitthaya and Mister Loetphong Wongwitthaya,” the guard captain announced. Everyone’s eyes rounded on them in an instant. Li Ming’s footsteps lurched as they stepped forward, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with trepidation.

“Your Majesties,” Tinn said, releasing Gun’s hand so he could kneel before the dais. The others quickly followed suit, lowering their temples to the floor.

“Oh, none of that. Please, rise.” The king sounded amused. Tinn straightened up first, followed by Heart. Gun lifted his head a little too hastily, more nervous than ever. Li Ming was the last to rise, only he nearly tumbled backward in astonishment at the sight of the king and queen kneeling across from them. The king’s countenance was gentle and warm, while the queen was gazing at Heart with a sort of melancholy that made Li Ming’s stomach clench. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Father,” Tinn said, smiling faintly. “This is Gun, and this is Li Ming. You met Li Ming before when he was Heart’s aide during the lakhon nai, but I don’t believe you ever talked or have met since.”

“We haven’t, but I’ve heard wonderful things,” the king replied with a kind smile of his own. “And Gun…I must confess, I’ve heard a scant word about you until now, but I’m sure you must also be a delight.”

“Oh, er — thank you, Your Majesty,” Gun stammered, surprised, bashful, and pleased in equal measure.

“You may have already heard the rumors, Father, but…” Tinn drew in a deep breath. “…Gun is…he…he’s my lover. He has been for some time now.”

“And Li Ming and I are…close,” Heart said hesitantly, looking to Li Ming for assent. Li Ming responded with an encouraging nod.

“How wonderful,” the king said, his pleasant smile widening. “And how blessed we are to finally meet after all this time.”

“We’re happy for you,” the queen added. Nothing about her voice nor her mannerisms suggested she didn’t mean it, though she looked worried nonetheless. “Truly, we are.”

“Thank you, Mother, Father,” Tinn said, the barest hint of relief in his trembling voice. “We came here today to seek your counsel on how to proceed. Our main concerns are putting an end to the rumors and protecting Gun and Li Ming from harm. And of course, there’s much to consider about what people will think and say about me and Heart. If word reaches Chaophraya Tangkabodee…”

“You still intend to ask for Lady Chanikarn’s hand, then?” the king asked curiously.

The four of them exchanged confused glances. “Well…yes, I must,” Tinn said, flustered.

“Must you?” The king hummed. “What was it I said that night…well, I suppose I said a great deal, seeing as I had to make quite a few speeches and all…” Then, he snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes! I believe I told you that, were we not who we are, whoever you marry would be of no consequence to me. But because we are who we are…”

“We have to make a conscious decision, not a passive one,” Heart finished, surprising even himself. “Someone who makes us happy and who we want to make happy in return.”

“Exactly!” The king looked absolutely delighted, his eyes glittering behind his glasses. “And then you, my dear Heart, asked what would happen if that someone wasn’t of the khunnang. Fascinating question, I thought, and I’ve not stopped thinking about it ever since. So naturally, I set out to find the answer.”

Li Ming and Gun blinked in unison. Even Heart, Tinn, and the queen seemed at a loss for words. “Er…sorry, Father, but what do you mean?” Tinn managed to say.

“Lady Nalin, if I may?” The king looked to his head advisor. Though her subordinates, the clerk, and the interpreter all looked as perplexed as everyone else, Lady Nalin bore an oddly secretive smile upon being addressed. She bowed as she approached to hand him the register she’d been holding. “Excellent, thank you. Now, I wasn’t certain if Heart’s question was purely hypothetical or if he had someone in mind, and I didn’t think either of you would answer if I’d asked. It seemed like something you’d tell me in time…like now.” He paused, his keen gaze softening. “But time is something we never have enough of, especially seeing as both of you are to be married in two years’ time, so my first order of business was to figure out how to give us more.”

Li Ming heard Tinn’s breath hitch. “You mean…?”

“I believe this goes into effect the day after you return from Nonthaburi — and please, Lady Nalin, correct me if I’m wrong — but from that day forth, those in the line of succession for the Ayutthayan crown are no longer required to marry by their twentieth birthday. That always seemed a little early, if you ask me,” the king added with a chuckle. “I’m in very good health and, short of a terrible accident or an unforeseen war, should live long enough to see you bear children of your own, even if you don’t marry until you’re thirty.”

“Thirty?” Heart exclaimed, open-mouthed.

“I’d asked for thirty-five, but the council thought that was rather risky,” the king said lightly. “Accidents are accidents, after all.”

The queen’s eyes were wide. “When you’d brought that old proposal forward, I didn’t realize…I didn’t think that…” She paused, composing herself. “You told the council it was because Ayutthaya’s life expectancy had improved significantly since the war, but I confess, I only thought you’d pushed for it because Heart had yet to decide.”

“My sincerest apologies for the misdirection, my love,” the king said, placing a hand over hers. “I also couldn’t be sure if our sons had asked you the same question, so I thought it best to resolve this first and discuss the rest once they were ready.”

“Father, you really mean to say we don’t have to marry until we’re thirty?” Tinn’s voice trembled in disbelief.

The king reached across to rest one hand on each of his son’s knees. “I really do.”

“What then?” Heart asked, his impatience a sharp contrast to his brother’s incredulity. Li Ming would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so baffled himself. “What is this ‘rest’ you’re referring to?”

“Patience, dear Heart, I’m getting there,” the king chuckled. “Now, when I heard about Lady Tipnaree and Lady Rachanun’s impending engagement, I came to realize — and not without considerable regret — that I’d always accepted our marriage laws as they were because they served me well, but never thought to revise them so they would serve everyone else.” He looked to the queen. “I propose we allow all Ayutthayan citizens, not just those of the Munnai, to marry whomever they wish, regardless of sex or social class.”

A little gasp sounded from somewhere beside Li Ming, though whether it had been Gun, Heart, or Tinn, he couldn’t say. While the queen’s contemplative brow remained, her frown began to ease. “I concur,” she said. “And…all children should be entitled to inherit their parents’ land and title, regardless of the circumstances of their birth.”

“Ah — yes, of course!” the king exclaimed. “That also means all of your children will be granted equal claim to the crown, even if you choose to adopt and beget none of your own.” Fervent whispers rippled throughout the hall. Pens scratched across paper faster than ever. Lady Nalin hushed her eager subordinates, but she could hardly keep them from staring at Li Ming and Gun, their eyes bright with intrigue. “Now, how does that sound?”

“Impossible,” Li Ming said before he could stop himself. “Apologies, Your Majesty, but…do you really think people will accept all of this? Not just the council and the bureau, but…everyone?”

“No, not everyone,” the king agreed. “There will be discontent, to be sure. I imagine there’ll be months, if not years, of objections and arguments and tedious paperwork ahead. But we mustn’t let that keep us from trying.”

The four of them exchanged silent, wide-eyed glances. Was this really happening? Did they dare think all of this was possible? Li Ming’s heart thundered so loudly in his ears that it took him a moment to realize the queen had resumed speaking. “As for the rumors, we’ll need to issue a proclamation denouncing them all. Gun and Li Ming will need guards, of course, and I’d suggest the entire family move into one of the guest residences in the Middle Court. Perhaps Madam Winai, too, until Madam Gim has fully recovered. You’ll need servants, tutors…”

“Tutors?” Gun echoed. The queen’s sharp gaze turned on him. Li Ming had never seen his brother cower so quickly.

“Whether you intend to be my son’s husband or his consort, you must understand Ayutthaya and its ways at least half as well as he does. You have years of study ahead of you before our people accept your place by his side.” She paused. “But…know that once we have a thorough understanding of your reputations and temperaments — ” her eyes briefly flickered towards Li Ming before smiling “ — we would be happy to accept your place in our family post-haste.”

“Mother,” Tinn said breathlessly, reaching for her and the king. They grasped his trembling hands with gentle smiles, then looked to Heart in silent invitation.

For a moment, he simply stared at their joined hands as though he couldn’t fathom what he was seeing. Then, he lifted his watery gaze to theirs and rushed forward to pull them all into a tight embrace. The king and queen let out surprised exclamations while Tinn disentangled his arm from between the press of bodies so he could draw Heart even closer. Li Ming could only utter an incredulous laugh as he and Gun looked on, beaming.

Eventually, Heart and Tinn pulled away, their faces glistening with tears and irrepressible grins. “Thank you,” Heart whispered.

The queen lifted his chin with a crook of her finger, then kissed his forehead. He closed his eyes at the feather-light touch. “Heart,” she murmured, drawing back before bringing her hands to her sternum. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you and your brother. But regrettably, there’s still a great deal I haven’t done and a great deal we should talk about. Once you’re willing, of course.”

Heart chewed his lip in deliberation, then nodded. “Tomorrow,” he said. “I need time to think.”

“Of course,” the queen repeated softly, cupping his cheek. Heart leaned into her hand, a hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

A sudden crash of thunder had the king and several of his advisors clutching their chests in alarm. “Goodness,” the king said, chuckling. “Perhaps it would be safer if we all took shelter here for tonight. Do we have your permission, Your Majesty?”

“Most certainly, Your Majesty,” the queen replied with a wry smile that reminded Li Ming of Heart. “If there is nothing else for us to discuss at present, we’ll start making arrangements straight away. Lady Chuenchai will escort you to the guest quarters and send a courier to let Madam Gim know you’re alright. Perhaps we should all convene for breakfast in the morning so we can become properly acquainted.”

“Yes, most definitely,” Tinn agreed, grinning. It was only then that Li Ming realized he also hadn’t stopped smiling since the queen’s declaration.

After the royal family exchanged parting embraces and hushed sentiments, Lady Chuenchai, one of the queen’s attendants, led them out of the audience chamber and into the bitter wind. Though it was a short walk from the hall to the guest quarters near the back of the complex, safeguarded beneath the roof of the colonnade, Li Ming was shivering by the time they stepped inside.

The guest residence reminded Li Ming of Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s estate, though smaller and more sparsely furnished. Lady Chuenchai and two other attendants made quick work of preparing everything, illuminating every lamp with a snap of their fingers and inspecting each room to ensure they were in order. As soon as the four of them settled around the low table in the sitting room, one of the attendants brought in a tray of tea, steamed bread, and fruit. They wrapped their cold fingers around their Benjarong teacups while another attendant cast heat spells that filled the entire building with a pleasant warmth. Lady Chuenchai promised to draw hot water for their baths before departing, and then finally, short of Tiwson and Tinn’s guards posted outside, they were alone.

There was silence at first, interrupted only by low exhales and quiet sips of tea. Then, Li Ming spoke. “…did that really just happen?”

Gun’s responding laughter was giddy, almost delirious. “I can’t believe it, either. Tinn, when you said His Majesty would do everything he could, you really meant it!”

“Actually, that was more than I was expecting as well,” Tinn admitted. “I knew he’d suggest amending our marriage laws, but I didn’t think he’d have an entire proposal already in motion.”

“On the subject of proposals…” Li Ming raised an eyebrow. Heat rose in Gun and Tinn’s cheeks. Heart, meanwhile, nearly choked on his tea in his haste to conceal his laughter.

“Yes, er — ” Tinn cleared his throat. “If I’m truly no longer expected to propose to Lady Chanikarn, we’ll have to reconsider the purpose of the Nonthaburi trip. Chaophraya Tangkabodee won’t be pleased unless we have something else to offer in recompense, like a trade deal or a position on the privy council.”

“He can’t just accept that you decided not to marry his daughter?” Li Ming asked, frowning.

“It’s a matter of repute,” Tinn replied. “People have been anticipating my engagement to Lady Chanikarn for months. Once they realize it’s not happening, they’ll think we discovered something questionable about the Tangkabodees or even Lady Chanikarn herself. That is…” He paused, casting an apologetic glance towards Gun. “…if they’ve yet to hear about Gun.”

“Do you think Her Majesty’s proclamation will really work?” Gun said doubtfully. He looked far less hopeful than he had just moments before. “Or will it only make people want to know more?”

“It’s possible,” Tinn said, lowering his gaze. “We may only end up drawing more attention to ourselves.”

Heart’s nose scrunched with displeasure. “Must we talk about this right now?” he asked. “We should be celebrating! Tinn, you’ve been desperately trying to work out how to marry Gun since his first letter. Now you no longer have to marry Lady Chanikarn, and neither of us has to marry for another twelve years. That’s plenty of time for us and Mother and Father to figure out the rest.”

“…you’re right,” Tinn amended with a small smile. “Let’s not worry about the details. We’ll confer with our parents in the morning, but for now…how should we celebrate?”

“Not with lao khao, I hope,” Gun said, shuddering. “Also…since my first letter?” Tinn’s face reddened yet again.

“Maybe…” Heart paused to think. “Is there a prayer room or spirit house nearby? Perhaps if we pray and make merit together, we’ll feel more assured.”

Tinn looked pleasantly surprised. “That’s an excellent idea. I’m sure there’s at least one of them here.”

After they finished their tea, Lady Chuenchai led them to the guest residence’s prayer room at their request, where a modest teakwood altar awaited them. There was a small golden statue of Phra Si Ariya Mettrai at its center, an offering bowl, and two unlit candles on either side. They approached with their heads bowed and knelt before the altar.

Li Ming went first, lighting the candles with what little heat magic he had. Gun went next, filling the offering bowl with water that trickled from his fingertips. At the base of the statue, Heart carefully arranged a few oranges he’d asked Lady Chuenchai to fetch from the kitchens. Finally, Tinn placed a small bundle of orchids he’d taken from the residence’s garden beside the offering bowl, their petals still dewy with rainwater. The four of them returned to their kneeling positions, lighting and passing around joss sticks before they all closed their eyes to pray.

Though Li Ming wasn’t especially pious, he felt completely at peace when he opened his eyes. The expressions on everyone else’s faces when he glanced their way told him they felt the same. Their smiles bore a sense of calm and a sense of hope all at once, and Li Ming returned them with one of his own.

Once they left the prayer room, they went their separate ways to have their baths. Li Ming basked in the hot water until his skin was pink and wrinkled beyond recognition. Even after several days of hot baths and soft beds in the infirmary, he still wasn’t accustomed to such indulgences. He knew being with Heart would only lead to more and more lavish comforts, only the thought of it made him a little uncomfortable.

After he’d dried off and dressed, Li Ming began searching for Gun, though he suspected his brother was also savoring every last bit of warmth in his bath. He found Heart lingering outside the kitchen instead, looking delightfully rumpled with his damp hair flattened against his forehead. Li Ming felt the sudden urge to tousle his freshly washed tresses. “Still hungry?” he teased instead.

“I only asked Miss Phassakorn for more tea,” Heart protested, blushing all the same. “Do you want to join me?”

When they entered the sitting room with their tea, they were surprised to see Gun and Tinn had not yet returned. “I’d rather not think about what they might be doing,” Heart remarked, shivering in a manner that made Li Ming wonder if he’d seen something he hadn’t wanted to. Then, he brightened. “We didn’t really get the chance to talk about…well, you and Gun finally talking. How did it go?”

Li Ming thought back to that morning, how that knot had finally begun to unfurl in his chest. “We talked about Pa, and what else he wanted to put in that letter, and…we still have plenty to talk about, but it’s a start.” He leaned closer, his knees brushing against Heart’s beneath the low table. He could feel the warmth of Heart’s skin through the thin layers of cotton and silk between them. “What about you? Are you sure you’re ready to talk to your mother tomorrow?”

Heart nodded. “I was inspired by Gun’s letter to you and…Tinn’s letter to me. I made a list of things I want to ask her about.”

“Tinn’s letter,” Li Ming echoed curiously. “Was it like Gun’s?”

“It's…well, I still haven’t read it,” Heart confessed, shamefaced. “I promised him yesterday that I finally would, only I haven’t been back to my study since.”

“If it’s anything like Gun’s, you shouldn’t delay it any longer,” Li Ming said, feeling surprisingly affronted on Tinn’s behalf.

“I know,” Heart said, wincing. “Actually, I was thinking of asking him to be there when Mother and I talk. I plan to ask her how Sir Eakasit’s potion works, if Father knew about it, if she ever planned to tell me the truth…he’ll want to know. And I think I should tell her what we’ve been doing. She won’t like it, but I think you’re right about her wanting what’s best for us. Or at least…I hope you’re right.” Li Ming wrapped his hand around Heart’s, now curling in a loose fist beside the teapot. The tension in Heart’s shoulders eased. “And I’m sure Mother still wants to talk to you, too. Not just about Nonthaburi, but about everything. She probably has a thousand questions for you and Gun.”

“I’ve been thinking about Nonthaburi, and…I don’t think I should go anymore,” Li Ming said reluctantly.

“But…” Heart visibly swallowed. “Not even as my interpreter?”

“I was always going as your interpreter. After all, we’re only…‘close’, was it?” A teasing smile spread across his face despite himself. Even Heart couldn’t help but bite back a sheepish grin of his own. “I really do want to go, but telling people we aren't courting and then traveling to Nonthaburi together to watch Chaophraya Tangkabodee’s face when Tinn tells him he’s not proposing to Lady Chanikarn would be senseless.”

Heart’s shoulders grew hunched once more. “I hate that you’re right. It’s just…I had all these ideas for what we might do.”

Li Ming moved around the low table to settle at Heart’s side. “It’s alright,” Li Ming said, squeezing Heart’s hand again. “We’ll find something to do once you’re back. And you mentioned Phetchaburi, didn’t you? We can start planning for that, too.”

“That’s months from now,” Heart protested. Though Li Ming was feeling just as impatient, the childish pout on Heart’s face made him laugh. It reminded him of when they were in the capital and he’d told Heart they hadn’t brought enough money for another order of khanom bueang.

“You know, Gun and I turn eighteen soon,” Li Ming said, knocking his shoulder against Heart’s. “Maybe you and Tinn have some ideas for how we could celebrate.”

Heart brightened instantly. “You mean like a party? Though I promise it won’t be a…what did you call it again — a ‘revolting spectacle’ like ours.”

Li Ming’s face warmed with unexpected embarrassment. “But was I wrong?” he challenged. “Dozens of performers brought in from the capital, enormous piles of gifts you’ll never touch…at least, I hope you don’t plan to drink those twenty barrels of lao khao by yourself. We’ve all seen what just one cup can do.”

Heart snorted; now his shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. “I should’ve known you’d never repent for your honesty. But…that’s what I like about you.”

“Enough to have me as your consort?” Li Ming asked, surprising even himself.

The question seemed to unsettle Heart. “Is that something you’d actually want?” he asked, looking unusually solemn. “I mean, we have Mother and Father’s permission now, of course, but there will be all these expectations whether you’re my consort or my husband.”

Li Ming’s breath caught. “You’d have me as your husband?”

Heart blinked, both flustered and bemused. “Well…I know we haven’t been friends for very long, and only friends at that, but yes, I…I would. Does that really surprise you?”

Li Ming refused to give in to further embarrassment, his chest rising with indignation. “You only ever said ‘phrai consort’!”

“If you mean back when I first told you, it was because Mother was still insisting I marry a daughter of the Chaophraya, remember?” Heart said. His earlier smile returned, shyer this time. “Li Ming, I…of course I’d have you as my husband. But I don’t want to hold you to everything that comes with it. I mean, you’ve seen how I can barely tolerate it myself,” he added with a laugh. “I’d assumed you’d think the same, so…I didn’t think you would want to marry me. It was never the other way around.”

“Never?” Li Ming couldn’t help but echo. “I think our earlier disagreements would say otherwise.”

“Are you trying to start another?” Heart remarked, tilting his head.

“I’m sure your mother would definitely entrust me with your hand after that,” Li Ming replied. Heart laughed, bright and beautiful in a way that sent a pleasant thrill down Li Ming’s spine. “Should I break this teapot for old time’s sake?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Heart said, still grinning. “I can’t believe I ever found you intimidating. I also can’t believe I expected to get a proper response to my confession.”

“Confession?” Li Ming took Heart’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting Heart’s eyes to meet his. He felt Heart’s pulse jump beneath the light press of his knuckles against warm skin. “You know, I don’t think you’ve actually given me one.”

It was Heart that leaned in first, his gaze lowering to Li Ming’s mouth. His eyes were darker when they were this close, or perhaps they’d grown darker because they were closer — searching, waiting, wanting. It was also his hand that curled around Li Ming’s this time, warm and firm and increasingly familiar. Li Ming raised an eyebrow, questioning. Heart returned it with a lifted brow of his own. He pressed his lips together, slowly, deliberately, as if to coax Li Ming’s gaze further down, too. There was a hunger in his eyes that made a flicker of heat curl in the depths of Li Ming’s stomach.

Later, Li Ming found he couldn’t remember who had finally closed the distance between them. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that when their lips met, Heart tasted of black tea and fresh mango, smelled of soap and sandalwood and citrus. His mouth was soft, his lips slightly parted, and when his breath caught, his body hitched so sharply that Li Ming rose with him, chasing Heart’s mouth with his own.

Li Ming’s hand found its way along the curve of Heart’s jaw, his fingers slipping between the still-damp hairs curling at the base of Heart’s neck. With a light squeeze, he urged Heart closer. Their knees knocked beneath the low table and Li Ming’s toes caught on one of its legs, but he ignored the sharp bite of pain to deepen the kiss instead, inhaling Heart’s familiar scent. He was rewarded with a soft, pleasurable sigh.

When they gradually broke apart, Heart lowered his forehead to rest against Li Ming’s. His eyes were closed, long eyelashes fanning across his cheeks. “Li Ming,” he whispered, his breath ghosting across Li Ming’s bottom lip. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Li Ming’s other hand, the one that had remained curled beneath Heart’s, slipped free. He traced his answer across the length of Heart’s forearm, every line and every curve given the careful consideration they deserved. I think I’m in love with you, too.

Heart’s eyes flew open. “You mean it?” Grinning, Li Ming simply leaned in to kiss him again, but Heart was quick to pull away. “Li Ming, do you mean it?”

Before Li Ming could answer — whether seriously or facetiously, he hadn’t yet decided — a sudden burst of golden light took them both by surprise. They glanced down to see Li Ming’s words forming on Heart’s skin, like ink on paper bathed in a lantern’s glow. They lingered for a moment, then vanished as quickly as they’d appeared. Heart’s arm was entirely unmarred, with no signs of even the faintest of scars nor ink stains.

Heart gaped. “Is that…?”

Li Ming reluctantly withdrew both of his hands so he could sign. “I’ve never done that before,” he said with an incredulous laugh. He didn’t know whether to feel fearful or fascinated, though something told him it was the latter. “I don’t even know what ‘that’ is!”

“If they’re not here, we could look — a-ha!” Gun suddenly appeared in the doorway, his mouth curving into a teasing smile when he spotted them. Tinn, on the other hand, looked oddly embarrassed. It was only then that Li Ming realized he and Heart were practically in each other’s laps. “See? I told you they wouldn’t mind if we suggested taking up just two bedchambers instead of four. And it would be less work for Her Majesty’s maids.”

“And I told you that Lady Cheunchai would definitely tell Mother if we did,” Tinn chastised, though only half-heartedly. Li Ming doubted Tinn could disagree with Gun if he tried. “Is…everything alright in here?”

Li Ming could only laugh again, and this time, Heart joined him. “Alright?” he said, grinning. “Yes, I think you could say that.”

Chapter Text

Heart woke to the feeling of warm sheets that weren’t his and the sight of a vaulted ceiling he didn’t recognize. When he remembered where he was and what had happened, an unconscious smile began to slowly spread across his face, accompanied by a rush of heat that burned in his cheeks and curled deep in his belly. He lifted his hand to his mouth, pressing the pad of his thumb against his bottom lip. It didn’t feel any different and he felt silly for thinking it would, though he could hardly be blamed. After all, Li Ming kissed him last night, and his entire world seemed to change.

Or, he thought, had he been the one to kiss Li Ming? He supposed it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that Heart couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so hopeful for what was to come. Even Gun’s relentless teasing after the fact hadn’t kept either of them from smiling all night.

A sudden gust of air whistling past Heart’s ear startled him out of his thoughts. Servants often apprised him of their presence outside locked doors through his other senses — a light breeze, a whiff of lavender, a flickering light. His family, on the other hand, tended to knock as they would for anyone else, amplifying the vibrations so they’d reach him. “Come in,” he called.

“Good morning, Your Royal Highness,” Lady Chuenchai said once she’d entered the room, bowing deeply. “Your mother and father are expecting you, your brother, and your companions in half an hour for breakfast in the dining room. Do you need help getting dressed?”

“Good morning! And no, that’s alright,” Heart replied, smiling. “Were you able to see to my request from last night?”

She nodded, drawing an envelope from her sleeve. “Here you are, Your Royal Highness. And…Lord Kajorn asked me to tell you that he wishes you well.”

Heart swallowed. “Thank you, Lady Chuenchai. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

The moment the door closed behind her, Heart turned the envelope over in his hands. His throat tightened at the sight of Tinn’s familiar penmanship, neat and precise as always. Though he and Tinn had mostly reconciled, all enmity forgotten so they could support Li Ming and Gun in their time of need, he knew it wouldn’t be fully realized until he read the letter Tinn wrote him weeks ago.

Dear Heart,

I hope this letter finds you well, though I know the same cannot be said of us. I’m sorry for telling Mother about our private conversation and breaking your trust. It was wrong of me to tell her something you told me in confidence, doubly so when I suspect you feared it would affect your relationship with her. I should have asked for us to speak again instead of seeking her advice without your permission.

Though I can’t take back what I did, I swear I won’t do it again. Unless you’re at risk of endangering yourself or others, I swear not to tell her or anyone else what you tell me in secret. I’ll do my best to keep her from interfering and keep it from reaching Father or anyone else. If you feel comfortable confiding in me again (and I understand if you don’t), I want to help you with whatever it is you’re struggling with. I don’t just mean now, but always.

One last thing: I know things have been difficult lately, especially with the pressure of everyone anticipating our respective engagements. I know we both feel our choices have been made for us, and if we choose what we actually want, we’d be betraying our parents and our country. But if you find someone who means something to you, don’t give up on them yet. I haven’t, and if we ever find ourselves in a similar predicament, I’m certain we can figure it out together. I will always be by your side.

Tinn

Heart’s hands and feet seemed to move of their own accord as he dressed hastily and rushed out into the corridor. He knocked on Tinn’s door, his pulse thrumming with anticipation, but there was no answer. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and his pulse stopped entirely when he saw who it was.

“Morning,” Li Ming said with a sleepy smile that made Heart smile shyly in return. Were he not in a hurry, he would’ve considered pressing his smile against Li Ming’s. Only that was a lie; he was still considering it regardless. “Tinn’s waiting outside with Gun. What’s…oh.” His gaze landed on the envelope tucked into the waistband of Heart’s chong kraben. “Is that…?”

Heart nodded, his expression sobering. “I sent Lady Chuenchai to ask Kajorn to find it for me since he still has access to my quarters. And…you were right. I should’ve read it earlier.”

“Probably,” Li Ming agreed, smiling ruefully. “Though, to be honest…if Gun had given me his letter instead of reading it, I might’ve put it off, too.”

“I’m starting to think we’re terrible brothers,” Heart said, wincing. Li Ming could only nod with a tight-lipped grimace of his own, unable to bring himself to disagree.

Heart inhaled deeply the moment they stepped outside, grateful for how fresh the air smelled after last night’s downpour. Every leaf and every petal glittered with dew, and the rooftops seemed to gleam at every angle, catching the sunlight just so. Tinn and Gun were waiting for them nearby, admiring the flowers along the portico, if Heart were to guess. Gun was talking and gesturing at the jasmines while Tinn listened intently with a fond smile. Both turned and brightened further at the sight of Heart and Li Ming.

“Good morning!” Gun said cheerfully. “I was just teaching Tinn the scent charm I use on my letter seals. He’s been begging me to write every day while you’re in Nonthaburi, but I told him I would only do so if he promised to learn it, too.”

“I wasn’t begging,” Tinn protested, blushing in a way that suggested he definitely had. “Are we ready to leave?” Li Ming gave Gun a meaningful nod towards the door that he didn’t seem to understand. He only stood there, blinking in confusion. Groaning, Li Ming took him by the elbow and hauled him back inside. Tinn watched them leave with a mildly perplexed expression of his own. “What was that about?”

Heart’s throat tightened, just as it had not fifteen minutes ago. “I read your letter.”

Tinn stilled, his eyes wide. “Really?”

“Truthfully, I already said most of what I have to say last time,” Heart admitted. “But…even if I wish you hadn’t told Mother, I understand why you did. And it was unfair of me to act as though you’d wronged me when you were only concerned about my well-being. I still trust you, and…I’ll always be by your side, too.”

A warm smile stretched across Tinn’s face, the sort of smile that reminded Heart of the day he’d cast his first rune and launched himself into Tinn’s open arms, that time he’d snuck a bottle of lao khao into Tinn’s room and they’d shared their first drink, the moment he’d showed Tinn the very first sentence he’d learned in sign language, wanting him to be the first to see it: I love you.

“I can’t tell you how glad I am to have your forgiveness,” Tinn said softly. “And…I’m proud of you, truly. You’ve gone through so much lately, and you’ve done so well. I’m proud to be your brother.” And that was all it took for Heart to step forward and sink into Tinn’s embrace once more. He burrowed into the crook of Tinn’s neck, his eyes drifting shut in contentment. Warm, solid arms held him close, the familiar scent of ink filling his nose. This was one of many memories he never wanted to lose.

The walk to their mother’s private dining hall was brief, filled mostly with nervous chatter from Gun. He was worried that he and Li Ming hadn’t prepared any sort of gift or offering, though Tinn reassured him there was no need. “Mother and Father are only interested in getting to know both of you. Just…be yourselves. That’s more than enough.”

“Being myself hasn’t exactly gone well before,” Li Ming said bitterly.

Tinn, however, continued to be undeterred. “She gave all of us her blessings last night. There’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”

Their mother and father were already seated near the head of the table when they arrived, perusing their respective correspondence and murmuring to their advisors about when and how to respond. When their gazes lifted at the sound of their footsteps, both of their expressions noticeably softened; there was even a mischievous twinkle in Kasemchai’s eyes. Heart’s shoulders eased with relief at the sight. Li Ming and Gun, meanwhile, bowed deeply, straightening only when Photjanee insisted it wasn’t necessary.

“Good morning,” she said, smiling faintly. “How did all of you sleep? The storm was terribly loud last night.”

“Quite well, actually,” Tinn replied as the four of them settled down. He and Heart took up their usual seats while Li Ming and Gun sat across from them. Their eyes widened at the elaborate arrangement of dishes before them in a way that had Heart cringing at their decadence. He knew exactly what Li Ming was thinking.

His embarrassment was soon interrupted by Tiwson, who was now responsible for bringing both Heart and Tinn their morning correspondence in the wake of Kajorn’s resignation. “Lady Preeda has selected three guest residences for your family to choose from,” Photjanee said to Li Ming and Gun while Heart and Tinn perused their messages. “Are you available this afternoon to take a look and decide?”

“Oh, er — yes, of course, Your Majesty,” Gun said, bowing his head. “That would be wonderful.”

Her smile relaxed. “Please don’t concern yourselves with such formalities. We’re to become family, after all, and…I want both of you to feel comfortable around us.”

“Thank you…Mother?” Gun tried. Her expression turned to stone. The color drained from Tinn’s face while Heart and Li Ming failed to hide their laughter. “I-I mean, madam.”

“I hope your family will find at least one of them to your satisfaction,” she said primly before returning to the letter at her elbow.

“Speaking of your family,” Kasemchai said as he began pouring tea for the table. Li Ming looked mildly alarmed at being served by the king. “Another thought occurred to me last night while I was working on our new proclamations. I’ve granted many titles to the phrai who’ve made exceptional contributions to society. Why not grant one to your mother — and your uncle, if he’d accept it — and raise your own standings in the process? Then, perhaps, people would be more receptive to your eventual unions.”

“Just like that, Your Majesty?” Li Ming asked doubtfully.

“‘Sir’ would be just fine,” Kasemchai replied, smiling. “And yes, just like that. Madam Gim’s khanom are exceptional, after all. Wouldn’t you say so, Heart?”

“There’s nothing like them,” Heart agreed, wincing a little when he remembered his own atrocious attempt at khanom mo kaeng.

“There you have it,” Kasemchai said cheerfully. “Though really, your mother’s service in the palace kitchens should be recognized regardless. I see no reason why she shouldn’t be granted a title. Property, too, if she wishes. Has she ever considered running a restaurant or teahouse?”

“I doubt she ever thought she could,” Li Ming managed to say after a moment’s stunned silence. His and Gun’s eyes were growing wider and wider, increasingly bewildered by each new revelation. Heart could hardly keep up himself. “But I think she’d enjoy it.”

“Uh…if I may, sir,” Gun said, looking half-terrified he’d misspeak again, “it’s very generous of you to offer, but wouldn’t people suspect…well, something if our mother were titled after denying our courtships?”

“We’d have to consider the timing and sequence of events very carefully,” Kasemchai conceded. “But, ah — my apologies, we shouldn’t be boring ourselves with such serious discussion, especially not this early in the morning. Our original intent was simply to get to know you better, after all. So, why don’t you tell us about yourselves?”

Li Ming spoke first while Gun began to fill both their plates. “I don’t think there’s much to tell. I was a stablehand before I worked in the kitchens and became Heart’s temporary aide. And I’m a wordsmith, though you wouldn’t know it. I’ve never been very good at reading or writing. Sign language came much easier to me than both.”

“Fascinating,” Kasemchai said, leaning forward with interest. “And fortuitous too, for dear Heart here.” Heart’s cheeks reddened as Li Ming cracked a small smile.

“If you’d asked back then, I would’ve said it was more a stroke of bad luck,” Li Ming replied, eliciting a delighted laugh from Kasemchai.

“Yes, I did hear of your many…disagreements,” Kasemchai said, still chuckling. “I’m curious how you became so close after all that.”

There was something coy about Li Ming’s expression then, though not unpleasantly so. It only made Heart’s face grow even warmer. “I couldn’t say whether it was his pride or his stubbornness that captivated me first, sir,” he remarked. “Maybe it was his impudence that finally did me in.” Both Tinn and Photjanee nearly choked on their food.

“Li Ming!” Gun spluttered, but Kasemchai’s grin only widened. Heart buried his face in his hands, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. It was only when Tinn gently tapped him on the leg that he reluctantly lifted his head. Li Ming now looked unusually serious.

“Heart saved my life,” he said. “We…we’d snuck out of the lakhon nai while everyone else was dancing. I climbed one of the gate walls, but Heart refused to follow, and…on my way down, my foot slipped and I fell. If it wasn’t for Heart and his magic, I would’ve broken my neck, maybe every bone in my body. I think we came to understand each other better after that.”

Heart shivered at the memory of Li Ming’s body plummeting toward the ground, of how motionless he’d been even after Heart caught him, his face deathly pale and his lips bloodied from where he’d bitten down. Perhaps that was one memory Heart could do without. Then again, it was bookended by much fonder memories: before, when Li Ming had condemned the khunnang for never learning sign language for Heart while expecting him to marry one of their daughters, when he’d signed every word of the performers’ song for Heart without hesitation. After, when he’d done the same just outside the khon theater, when everything Heart felt toward him first began to change.

“Heart?” Tinn nudged him again, stirring him from his thoughts. “Mother had another question for you.”

When Heart turned back to Photjanee, he was surprised by her expression. He’d expected her to look more scandalized by Li Ming’s impropriety, but she looked more curious than anything. “I suspect I already know the answer, but…the person you told me about when we met in your study that day…”

Heart nodded shyly. “Yes, I was talking about Li Ming.” Then, he took a deep breath, bracing himself. “And…we didn’t just go for a ride by the Chao Phraya. We also went into the capital to explore the streets, and we’ve been meeting at the pavilion near the forges for lunch.”

“The capital?!” Photjanee exclaimed. “Heart, do you realize how dangerous that is? And without your guards…”

“I know,” Heart mumbled, his face growing hot. “I know it was wrong, but Mother, I…I miss being outside. I miss seeing people that I’ve never met before. And I’ve never been able to walk into a shop or sit down at a teahouse and just…be among our people. Even when we’re in the capital for ceremonies and festivals, I’m never allowed more than ten feet away from our palanquin. I never really get to experience them for myself. It…it doesn’t feel right.”

Photjanee fell quiet, contemplative. Even Kasemchai’s face grew serious, though he seemed prepared to defer to her. Heart’s stomach roiled, fear burning his throat. Surely, this was the moment she would tell him he was no longer allowed to go to Nonthaburi, that she was keeping him under lock and key in his quarters, that he was to never see Li Ming again.

Instead, her expression softened. “All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be safe, Heart. But…I see now that your absolute confinement was a step too far. The next time you go somewhere, whether by yourself, with Li Ming, or anyone else, please take at least two guards with you. So long as you’re safe, and so long as you stay with your guards during your entire stay at Nonthaburi…I see no reason to keep you inside the Middle Court any longer.”

Heart’s mouth dropped open. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Photjanee said, chuckling. “But you’re still not to leave the palace without our knowledge and permission, and if I hear one word of you disappearing at any time — ”

“I won’t, I swear!” Heart exclaimed, grasping her hand in both of his. The others beamed at him just as brightly, Tinn most of all. “Thank you, Mother.”

“Of course,” she said affectionately, squeezing his hand in return. Then, she leveled her gaze elsewhere. “Li Ming.” He stiffened at the sound of his name. “I’d expected to interview you as Heart’s potential interpreter, not his future husband. Nevertheless, I’m curious about your ambitions.”

Li Ming paused, seemingly weighing his words. “Ambitions aren’t for the phrai, madam,” he said eventually. “Heart plans to introduce me to one of his previous tutors, and our uncle’s friend is an architect who’s offered to introduce me to his colleagues, but…opportunities like that don’t come easy to us, so we never dare to hope for them.”

Her gaze sharpened — not out of anger, but of intrigue. “What do you believe is the biggest reason behind that?”

Heart almost expected Li Ming to respond in his usual manner, sharp and reproachful. Instead, he leaned back in his seat to think. “Things changed for the better when His Majesty allowed servants’ children to go to school,” he said, smiling faintly at Kasemchai. “But our teachers and classmates look down on us. Some even refuse to talk to us or teach us. Some scholars are willing to take us on as apprentices, but only if there isn’t a khunnang child with at least half the ambition we have, because they already have everything else they’re looking for. Gun was only able to learn spellsinging because our parents are spellsingers, too. But I couldn’t write my own spell if you put a dictionary in front of me. That goes for most of us. As soon as we’re out of the classroom, we’re back to washing dishes and scrubbing floors with nothing to show for it.”

“Then is it the teachers’ prejudice, their curriculum, or the khunnang’s presence that poses the biggest problem?” Photjanee asked. At Li Ming’s wary expression, she added, “I ask because before I became queen, I was a tutor for other daughters of the Chaophraya. Education is of great importance to me, and if our current system isn’t working, we need to change that. We intend to open more schools across Ayutthaya over the next several years, but it’ll make little difference if they all share the same problems.”

“Well…separating us from the khunnang isn’t the answer,” Li Ming said. “If we were taught our own magic and allowed to become scholars, then maybe our teachers would start to see us as worthy students. And…there should be an impartial process for apprenticeships. Maybe a council instead of just one person.”

Photjanee motioned to one of her advisors, silently asking them to write everything down. “This council would consist of both noble and common scholars, I presume?”

Li Ming nodded. “Or else the khunnang will only ever choose their own. And if we aren’t given the chance to speak for ourselves, then we might never attend school at all.”

A slow smile spread across Photjanee’s face. “Duly noted. Now isn’t quite the time for deeper discussion, but I would like to discuss this with you further if it interests you. I fear we haven’t considered the phrai’s perspectives nearly as much as we should.”

“Oh, uh…” Li Ming looked taken aback, as they all were. Heart never pictured his mother listening to Li Ming so intently; his chest swelled with pride. “Yes, it…it would.”

“Wonderful,” Photjanee said, her smile growing. The entire table seemed to take a collective exhale. Then, she turned to Gun. “Now, Gun — from what I understand, you’re something of a mystery to us both.”

“Yes, Your — I mean, madam,” Gun corrected with a nervous chuckle. “I’ve worked in the kitchens my entire life, mostly as a dishwasher, though I also serve the khunnang sometimes. I’m a spellsinger, and…I’ve always wanted to perform for the Munnai with my friends.”

“A spellsinger?” Kasemchai’s face brightened. His cursory glance toward Heart was unmistakable, though thankfully, he didn’t make the obvious remark.

“Gun has a beautiful singing voice,” Tinn said earnestly. “Actually, that was how we first met.” At their parents’ inquisitive looks, he went on to tell them how it all began. From the shine in his eyes, it was clearly an enormous weight off his shoulders, to finally, finally tell someone who wasn’t Heart or Tiwson about the boy who’d changed his life — and in a way, Heart’s life, too. Heart never would’ve visited the kitchens and been reunited with Li Ming if he hadn’t been there to deliver Tinn’s letter to Gun that day.

“It’s like something out of a story,” Kasemchai said once Tinn finished. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he looked at Gun with newfound admiration. “And it certainly explains why you go through ink bottles even quicker than I do.”

“Tinn would always worry when I didn’t write back fast enough,” Gun said, grinning when Tinn blushed. “But at least my penmanship has gotten much better since we first started.”

“Will you sing for us sometime?” Kasemchai asked. “And I’d love to know more about this sound imbuement charm of yours. Perhaps it could make things easier for me when I’m trying to send off a dozen missives at once.”

“Oh, er — I’d be happy to teach you, sir,” Gun said, flustered. “I don’t know about imbuing an entire message, though.”

“Why try if not to fail every once in a while?” Kasemchai said brightly. “Besides, you might surprise us both. Wouldn’t that be delightful?”

Gun nodded, unable to keep his grin from widening even further. “And I’d love to sing for you. What sort of songs do you like?”

Kasemchai and Photjanee exchanged contemplative glances. “Why don’t you surprise us?”

By the time breakfast came to a close, Li Ming and Gun had made several promises to Kasemchai and Photjanee, joining them for another meal while Heart and Tinn were away in Nonthaburi being one of them. Heart, Tinn, Li Ming, and Gun lingered outside the dining hall to exchange goodbyes. Meanwhile, the king and queen retreated to the latter’s private sitting room to wait for their sons.

“They absolutely adored you,” Tinn beamed, his boundless smile rivaled only by Heart’s. “I knew there was nothing to worry about.”

“You don’t have to gloat,” Li Ming said, though he was grinning, too. “And I don’t know about ‘adored’, but at least Her Majesty finally seems to trust me.”

“I can’t believe after all your tirades about the khunnang, the queen herself wants to hear them,” Gun teased. “And the king wants to hear me sing! Can you believe it?”

“Knowing our parents, they’ll enjoy both equally,” Heart said, shaking his head. After, while Tinn took Gun aside to share a parting embrace — and another forehead kiss, naturally; Heart was still unsure whether they’d ever actually kissed — Heart drew closer to Li Ming, his eyes sparkling. “You were amazing in there. I don’t think that could’ve gone better.”

“Except for Gun calling Her Majesty ‘Mother’, I’d have to agree,” Li Ming said wryly. He slipped his arms around Heart’s waist, pulling them flush against one another. Before he could react, Li Ming kissed the corner of his mouth so briefly that, to his disappointment, he barely felt it. “See you tomorrow?”

But Heart only kissed him again, grinning when he felt Li Ming’s smile widen. “Tomorrow,” he murmured against Li Ming’s lips, and if Li Ming tugged him behind one of the colonnade pillars so Tinn and Gun wouldn’t see them kiss a third time, no one had to know.

After much reluctance on Heart and Tinn’s part, they left for their mother’s sitting room. She was poring over her remaining correspondence when they arrived, while their father was dictating a letter to one of his scribes. “Ah, there you are!” he said, smiling the moment he spotted them. “Gun and Li Ming are on their way, then?”

“Back to the infirmary, yes,” Tinn replied as he and Heart knelt across from their parents. Once they finished their respective tasks and their remaining attendants departed, they turned their full attention to their sons.

“I had my reservations about them, but they complement you both quite well,” Photjanee said. Heart and Tinn exchanged hopeful smiles. “I confess, I was expecting questions about what they might gain from becoming your husbands. Instead, I find myself admiring their consideration and candor.” She paused to let out a soft chuckle. “…‘Mother’, honestly. Perhaps I should’ve let him have that one.”

“I think they’re wonderful,” Kasemchai added. “Kind, clever, sincere…they may not have the titles and qualifications expected of your spouses, but with a little discipline and public support from the right individuals — ourselves included, of course — our people should find them acceptable.”

“Acceptable?” Heart repeated, frowning. The word hardly did Li Ming or Gun justice.

“I’m afraid that’s all we can hope for,” Photjanee replied, though not without sympathy. Her expression grew more melancholic then, and she looked at Heart in silent questioning. His hands began to tremble as he pulled out the list he’d prepared beforehand. Tinn motioned silently, asking if he could help in some way, but Heart only shook his head. This was something he had to do on his own.

His first question already felt like a knife buried in his chest. “Did Father know?”

Kasemchai’s gaze flickered downwards for a brief moment. Heart’s stomach plummeted when he realized it was out of shame. “Yes, I…regret to say that I did.”

“And when were you going to tell me?” Heart’s eyes narrowed. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

A wordless conversation passed between Kasemchai and Photjanee, likely determining which of them would answer. “We’ve often asked ourselves if it would be necessary,” Kasemchai said eventually. The knife twisted further. “Whether knowing or not knowing would cause greater harm.”

“You must understand, Heart, that…at the time, we didn’t think there were memories of fear or pain or suffering you’d want to hold onto,” Photjanee added. “Being attacked by that elephant, breaking your wrist, the unbearable pain of your illness…they seemed inconsequential to what really mattered: saving your life.”

“You hadn’t eaten or slept in days,” Kasemchai whispered. Heart was alarmed to see tears in his father’s eyes. He couldn’t recall ever seeing Kasemchai cry, not even at his own father’s funeral. “I don’t think you even had water. You looked as though…as though we’d already lost you. And you were begging for us to make it stop, to make it all go away, even if it meant…”

Heart’s breath hitched. He felt Tinn trembling beside him, his head bowed and his fingers curling into the fabric of his pants. “…oh.”

“You asked me what else you’ve forgotten, what else you’ve lost, and I’m afraid no one has the answer,” Photjanee said, tears brimming in her eyes, too. “And though we have no regrets about administering that potion, we know that by not telling you about it, we failed you. For that, we plead for your forgiveness.” Without another word, she and Kasemchai prostrated themselves fully before him, their temples pressed against the floor.

Heart felt as though he were floating, his body weightless and his head spinning. He grasped for Tinn’s hand — not in silent plea for his powers, but in desperate need of his presence. Tinn’s fingers slipped between his own, tremulous as they were, and squeezed. Minutes seemed to pass before the anger, the fear, the disappointment all flickered in his chest like a light. Not fully extinguished, nor would it ever be, but no longer threatening to shroud everything else.

“I understand.” Heart’s voice was barely above a whisper. “And I…I forgive you.”

Kasemchai and Photjanee lifted their heads, their expressions identical to his. Photjanee reached for him first, then hesitated. Heart met her halfway, grasping her hands and bringing them to cradle his face. Her expression crumpled completely. “Oh, Heart.”

It was Heart who pulled Tinn and Kasemchai closer. The four of them embraced just as they had last night, only this felt far more bittersweet. Holding each other not for what was to come, but for what could have been. Heart could feel Tinn’s magic coursing through them like a taphon drum, his pulse slowing to match its rhythm. When they finally pulled apart, he couldn’t help but let out a delirious laugh at the sight of everyone’s swollen eyes and wet cheeks.

“I still have other questions,” Heart managed to say once they returned to their kneeling positions. “But right now, all I want to know is…where might I find Sir Eakasit?”

“He's no longer employed by the palace,” Kasemchai replied, exchanging an uneasy glance with Photjanee. “I believe he’s now leading one of the apothecaries in Siriraj.”

“Heart,” Photjanee said gently, “I don’t think he’ll have the answers you’re looking for, either.”

“I know,” Heart said. “But I still want to. I just want to ask him about the potion itself, I promise. Would…that be alright?”

Photjanee’s smile quivered as she cupped his cheek once more. “Of course, sweetheart. We’ll see what we can do.”

Gun couldn’t help but sneak the occasional glance in Li Ming’s direction on their return to the infirmary, accompanied by one of the queen’s guards at their back. After all the emotional turmoil of the last several days, he still couldn’t believe how often he’d seen Li Ming smile. He was smiling now, clearly lost in thought about something pleasant. Perhaps it was that kiss Heart gave him when they thought Gun and Tinn weren’t looking.

Li Ming’s eyes suddenly locked on his. “…what?”

“You look happy,” Gun said, grinning. “Are you? Happy, I mean.”

“I am,” Li Ming said simply. “The king and queen, they’re…not at all what I expected. And I definitely wasn’t expecting the queen to be so forgiving after everything that happened.”

“Maybe she feels guilty,” Gun suggested. “Not just about everything with Heart, but about finding us out the way she did. I’m sure she wants to make amends.”

“I just hope she doesn’t go back on her word,” Li Ming said, shaking his head. “She’s already disappointed Heart enough.”

Gun smiled again, softer this time. “You really do love him, don’t you?”

“I thought I told you not to ask,” Li Ming reminded him, though his ears visibly reddened as he spoke. “If you really want to know, maybe you’ll answer my question first: have you and Tinn still never kissed?”

Gun nearly tripped over his own feet. That was the very last thing he’d expected Li Ming to say, and even then, he wasn’t sure he hadn’t just misheard. “…huh?!”

Li Ming shrugged. “Heart and I have only ever seen him kiss you on the forehead. You can’t blame us for thinking that might be all.”

“Betting against us, are you?” Gun laughed at the thought of Li Ming and Heart plotting together, snickering behind their backs. It wasn’t difficult to imagine, considering the kind of trouble they’d gotten into before. “Well…it’s none of your business.”

“It is when you spent an hour last night teasing us about — ”

“You were practically in Heart’s lap, you can hardly blame me for — ”

“For what, for asking if we’d kissed before? Admit it, you’re just as terrible as me — ”

The guard loudly cleared her throat from behind them, startling Gun and causing Li Ming to curse under his breath. “We’re here, sirs. If there’s nothing else…”

Gun turned to see they had indeed returned to the infirmary’s entrance. “Oh, um — no, that’s all. Thank you for escorting us back.” Once the guard took her leave, they made to enter the building, only for Gun to take Li Ming by the wrist at the last second. “Wait, hold on. There’s something I wanted to ask you. Not about Heart, I promise.”

Li Ming tilted his head, curious. “Go on.”

“Yesterday, when we were with Ma and Uncle Jim, it suddenly occurred to me that…” Gun took a deep breath, uncertain how Li Ming would react. “I don’t really remember if they ever did or said anything to Pa about how he treated you. Do…you know if they ever did?”

Li Ming’s expression sobered instantly. “Ma told him to bring me along instead of you sometimes. That’s about all I remember.”

“What if we asked them? Only if you want to, of course,” Gun added quickly. “I just thought…if they could’ve done something and didn’t, then…”

“Then…what? I resent them for the rest of our lives?” Still, Li Ming seemed to be considering it. “Honestly…I want to know, too. I think…I think I’ll ask.”

Gim was pacing her room when they arrived — not out of worry or contemplation, but to get some much-needed exercise. Uncle Jim was watching her from the chair by the window, observing the way her ankles wobbled from disuse, but otherwise seemed relieved to see her progressing so quickly. He stood when he saw Gun and Li Ming in the doorway. “You’re finally back,” he said, breathless. “What happened? How did everything go?”

“We have so much to tell you,” Gun said with a laugh as Li Ming went to Gim’s side, helping her back to bed and pouring her another cup of tea. Uncle Jim returned to the chair while Gun and Li Ming sat on the foot of Gim’s bed. “Actually, I suppose we should start from the beginning. I know we’ve never actually said it until now, but I’m sure you’ve already guessed…Prince Tinn is my lover.”

“And Prince Heart is mine,” Li Ming added.

“Are…you alright with that?” Gun asked, feeling equal parts foolish and unbearably nervous.

Gim broke out into a wide smile. “Of course I am,” she said, opening her arms, and they both collapsed into her embrace. “I love whoever you love. And I love both of you more than anything. You know that, don’t you?”

Li Ming’s voice was unexpectedly thick with tears when he responded, though his face remained dry. “Yes, Ma. We love you, too.”

“And we’re so lucky to have you,” Gun murmured, tucking himself beneath her chin and inhaling the familiar scent of her hair. Even in her time away from the kitchens, she still smelled of milk and sugar and freshly steamed bread.

Eventually, Li Ming lifted his head to look at their uncle. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “…Uncle Jim?”

He leaned forward, shoulders hunched, his gaze searching. “I’m happy for you, and proud. I truly am. And the princes seem like good, honest young men. But do you realize what this means for you? The kind of life you’ll have to live, the sacrifices you’ll have to make? Even if they take you as their consorts, imagine — ”

“Wait,” Li Ming interrupted. “I don’t think you realize how much we still haven’t told you.”

At Uncle Jim’s perplexed frown, they took turns recounting everything that had happened since they left last night. Saying it out loud didn’t diminish how inconceivable it all seemed; if anything, it seemed even more difficult to believe. Gim and Uncle Jim interrupted constantly to voice their doubts. When Gun and Li Ming finished, they looked as though they had a thousand questions each — or rather, they would, were they not completely speechless.

“…husband?” Gim finally managed to say. “You’re going to be the princes’ husbands? The crown prince’s husband, Gun?!”

Gun winced, not only at how loud she’d become but at the enormity of what she’d said. It felt even less real when she put it that way. Gun, the lowly phrai dishwasher with no money nor acclaim, now the to-be husband of Ayutthaya’s future king. “He hasn’t proposed, exactly, but…yes?”

“I need to sit down,” Gim said faintly, clutching at her bedpost.

“You are sitting down,” Li Ming pointed out. Gim promptly pinched him on the cheek and glared. She then settled back against her pillows as she continued to shake her head in disbelief.

“Princes,” she said again, slowly, as if she were unable to conceive the word’s meaning. “…what would Mongkhon say?” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, so quiet that Gun wasn’t sure if the others had heard her. The taut pull of Li Ming’s mouth seconds later told him they had.

Their father’s name often went unspoken. Even Gim would call him “Pa”, whether addressing him directly or mentioning him in passing. It was something of an ironic name, given to him by his korat boxer of a father, while Mongkhon himself had never taken to martial arts. The sound of it now made both of them shudder. Li Ming glanced at Gun, his eyes hard, and Gun nodded.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you something about Pa,” Li Ming said, glancing between their mother and uncle. “Since Pa never really…he wasn’t there for me like he was for Gun, did you ever…”

Gun had never seen Li Ming struggle for words like this before, not even yesterday when they finally had that much-needed talk. He offered him an encouraging smile, but Li Ming’s eyes were fixed on Gim, whose expression now shifted into something like remorse. “Not enough,” she said quietly.

Li Ming’s jaw only tensed further. “What do you mean?”

“He was never home much.” Gim’s voice was wistful, as though she were somewhere else entirely. “I didn’t want to spend what little time we had as a family arguing with him. I’d always cook for us so we’d all eat together, asked around for books on wordsmithing so we might all learn together…and I always told him to take both of you whenever he worked. And Mongkhon, he…he was terrified, knowing the war was coming. Knowing there was a very good chance that once he was drafted, once he left us, he’d never come back. I suppose he thought he did what he could, teaching Gun everything he knew about spellsinging, but…” She swallowed. “It wasn’t enough. And I didn’t do enough to make things right.”

“I don’t know, Ma, it…it sounds like you did,” Li Ming said, his long-held breath catching in his throat. “And I…I know he’s not a bad person. I just wish he’d been a better one.”

Gim cupped his face with a rueful, teary smile. “I do, too. So much. I’m sorry, Li Ming. I’m so, so sorry. And I still want to make things right.”

“Since Li Ming is starting lessons with Tutor Suchada soon, maybe we could still learn together?” Gun suggested. “And maybe we could cook together more too, since Her Majesty wants us all settled in our new home before you return to the kitchens.”

“Well, if Her Majesty says so,” Gim said, bristling, making both of them laugh. Even Uncle Jim chuckled before clapping Li Ming on the shoulder, his gaze soft.

“I didn’t know, but I should have,” he said quietly. “I should have been there. If I had, I would’ve…”

“It’s alright, Uncle Jim,” Li Ming said, smiling at him without a trace of irritation or resentment. “I know.”

They spent the rest of the morning and lunch in Gim’s company, pleading with Madam Winai until she relented and let them bring Gim out to the courtyard for some air. Uncle Jim then accompanied them to meet Lady Preeda, who showed them around the available guest residences in the Middle Court. Their uncle asked several questions and took careful notes while Gun and Li Ming spent most of the time marveling at the amount of light and space in each one.

When they returned to the infirmary, both of them gushed to Gim about the spacious kitchens, the beautiful gardens, the fact that they’d finally have proper beds to call their own. Uncle Jim, meanwhile, went on about privacy and maintenance and other matters that had Gun nearly dozing off while he rested his head in Gim’s lap. By the time they had dinner and returned to their rooms, Gun was practically swaying on his feet.

The next several days seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. With their family preparing to move into their new home and the princes preparing to finally leave for Nonthaburi, they all had little time to spare for each other. Tinn took to sneaking notes into Gun’s pockets when he wasn’t looking, while Heart seemed to have a new protective charm for Li Ming every time they crossed paths in the Middle Court.

“A housewarming gift,” Heart would always say, beaming with pride. Li Ming would always cuff his chin fondly while Gun would always snicker at their besotted expressions, knowing full well he and Tinn weren’t any better.

When the day of the princes’ departure finally arrived, Gun couldn’t keep from yawning every few minutes, having barely slept the night before. He’d tried to keep his concerns to himself, not wanting to burden Tinn, only they’d kept him tossing and turning for hours. His undue jealousy toward Lady Chanikarn aside, Gun was nervous about what Chaophraya Tangkabodee would say once Tinn confirmed he no longer intended to marry the nobleman's daughter. The rumors were still spreading across the palace grounds; surely they’d reached the khunnang who lived beyond the palace by now.

Gun and Li Ming ate breakfast with Gim and Uncle Jim in the infirmary’s refectory — Gim was due to be released that afternoon — before leaving for Tinn’s private residence. They’d never seen either of the princes’ homes before, and Gun was eager to see what would eventually become his home, too.

“He spends most of his time in his study, so it must be really nice,” Gun said, practically bouncing as they walked. “He probably has a dozen silver inkwells, bookshelves that go all the way to the ceiling — oh, and really, really comfortable chairs.”

“You mean he hasn’t already described it to you? I thought you knew everything about him,” Li Ming teased, earning an elbow to his ribs.

Two guards and one of Tinn’s attendants met them at the front gate, the latter leading them across the mid-sized complex and into the main sitting room, where Tinn and Heart awaited them. Gun’s pulse fluttered at Tinn’s fervent gaze when he knelt across from him, a sight he was still getting accustomed to after years of faceless correspondence.

“All packed, then?” Gun asked.

“We leave for the docks in two hours, so I’d hope so,” Tinn chuckled, taking Gun’s hands in his. Gun felt the warmth of Tinn’s magic pass between their pressed palms, settling his nerves. He gave Tinn a grateful smile. “It’s a shame we’re leaving so early. I would’ve liked to stop by for a visit this afternoon.”

“It isn’t exactly ready for guests yet,” Gun admitted. One of the queen’s advisors, Lady Natchanan, had sent a requisition form two days ago for furnishing their new home. They hadn’t asked for much: sturdy bed frames and soft mattresses, writing desks for Gun and Li Ming, one dining set for the house and another for the garden, and a few chairs for their sitting room. The queen’s advisor had been shocked at the lack of paintings and textiles and ceramics on their list. “Uncle Jim is still arranging our things.”

“So you’ll be settled in once we return,” Heart said cheerfully. “Maybe we could come by for dinner and bring our gifts from Nonthaburi.”

“Dinner, or Ma’s khanom?” Li Ming challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“So long as I’m not expected to help,” Heart said, shuddering.

“Gifts?” Gun brightened. “What sort of gifts?”

“An entire crate of durian for just your mother — and several more for the kitchens,” Tinn added. “The rest will be a surprise.”

“Heart already promised me trinkets from the floating markets,” Li Ming said, grinning wryly.

“What?” Tinn rounded on his brother. “Heart!”

Heart only shrugged, though he did look somewhat apologetic. “Actually, that reminds me: we had something we wanted to give you before we leave.” He briefly disappeared into the adjoining room and returned with two small packages wrapped in shimmering blue silk.

Tinn carefully unwrapped the bigger of the two, the fabric falling away to reveal a set of bronze pots, each about the size of a fist and bearing a written label on its side. Gun tilted his head to read them, immediately recognizing Tinn’s neat, precise hand. “I prepared a few magic-infused tonics and things that I thought your family might find useful,” Tinn said. “Licorice root for your mother’s cough, mango butter for you and your uncle’s dry hands — and coconut oil for your callused fingers, Li Ming.”

Gun beamed, touched by Tinn’s thoughtfulness. “This is amazing, Tinn. Thank you!”

“There should be about three months’ worth in here,” Tinn continued, returning his smile. “They’re far stronger than their non-magic counterparts, so you won’t need to use them as much or as often. If you like them, I’d be happy to prepare more whenever you want.”

Tinn rewrapped his gift while Heart revealed his own. At first, Gun thought they were sai sin, gifted only by monks. When he looked closer, however, he saw they were more like mala beads — a bracelet made of wood rather than string. Small characters were carved into each one, so small that Gun didn’t think he could read them even if he held them up to his eyes. “I know you’ll always have a guard with you from now on, but I still wanted to give you these.”

“Another housewarming gift?” Li Ming teased, though his gaze was keen with interest.

“Each bead corresponds to a specific facet of magic. As long as they’re connected by a single string, they’ll protect you from offensive spells and low-level curses,” Heart explained. “It’ll even reflect the spell back onto its caster, so be careful if your friends like playing tricks on you.” Then, blushing a little, he reached for Li Ming’s bare wrist. “May I?”

Li Ming’s smile broadened as Heart fastened the bracelet for him. Heart then looked questioningly between Gun and Tinn, but Gun shook his head, extending his hand in Heart’s direction. He knew the bracelet’s magic would work best when secured by the one who cast it. He’d also been hoping to form a closer bond with Heart, who now rewarded him with a delighted grin in return. “Don’t we look terrible for not bringing you any parting gifts,” Li Ming remarked. “Thank you, Heart.”

“Of course,” Heart said cheerfully. “I have two more here for your mother and uncle. You can either fasten it for them, or I can do it after we return.”

After chatting about Nonthaburi and their new home over a cup of tea, Tinn led Gun into another sitting room so they could all have a few moments to themselves. “I wish I had time to show you around,” Tinn said, sighing. He eased when Gun stepped closer, his fingers slipping deftly through the hairs at the nape of Tinn’s neck. Tinn cradled his hands at the small of Gun’s back. “Will you miss me?”

“Not at all,” Gun replied, grinning toothily. “But I know you’ll miss me terribly.”

“Two weeks.” Tinn sighed again, his head dropping back with a groan. “I don’t want to be away from you for that long.”

“You’ve done it before,” Gun reminded him, amused.

“Yes, but that was before we actually met.” Tinn was starting to sound like a petulant child, which only entertained Gun further. “I suppose I can’t sneak you into my belongings?”

“I think they’d notice if you brought another sixty-something kilograms onboard,” Gun said, cuffing Tinn by the chin. “So…you’re sure you’re ready for whatever Chaophraya Tangkabodee has to say?”

“No,” Tinn admitted. “I have Father’s offer for him and I’ve done my best to prepare, but…I don’t know. This is all so unprecedented.”

“No crown prince has ever turned down a khunnang daughter to marry a phrai son instead, that’s for certain,” Gun said in an attempt to sound playful, though really, he knew he sounded just as uncertain. “Well…at least have some fun while you’re there, okay? If not for you, then for Heart.”

Tinn’s eyes softened. “I love that you care for him. I’ll do my best, though I’ll still be counting the minutes until I get to come home to you.”

“Minutes, huh?” Gun tapped him on the nose. “And I don’t live here yet.” Tinn lowered his forehead to rest against Gun’s, their eyes drifting shut in unison, and they fell silent for a moment, simply enjoying the familiarity of one another’s touch. “…Tinn?”

“Hm?” Tinn’s eyes fluttered open at the same time as Gun’s.

“I haven’t told anyone yet, but…” Gun hesitated. “I’m going to tell Chaophraya Chaichitathorn I still want to perform for him.”

Tinn’s eyes widened. “Really? That’s wonderful! What changed your mind?”

“When Li Ming talked to Ma about everything with Pa, I realized that...I want to be brave, too,” Gun confessed. “I’ve always been so scared of failing, and…and letting people down, and having them think less of me. And I always wished I could be more like you and Li Ming — and Heart too, with everything with your mother. I know Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s guests are going to gossip about me and think that I’m only there because of you, but…I’m a damn good spellsinger and I want to perform with my friends, so…I’m going to do it, anyway.”

Tinn cupped his face, beaming. “I’m so proud of you. You’ll be incredible.”

“You think it'll be alright?” Gun asked. “People will talk about you, too.”

“Gun,” Tinn said softly. “I cannot wait to come back to stories about how talented and impressive everyone said you were, and how lucky I am to be yours.”

Relieved, Gun fully sank into Tinn’s arms. He buried his face against Tinn’s shoulder in an attempt to hide the tears welling in his eyes. “…I think I’ll miss you, after all.”

Li Ming felt a lump beginning to form in his throat at the sight before him: his mother, turning slowly, carefully, as she entered their new home for the first time. She seemed unsure of where to look first, her gaze roaming the vaulted ceilings and lacquered floors. Most of the furnishings had already been delivered and moved into place, though there were still a few missing items Lady Natchanan had insisted on. They’d told her they didn’t need that many spare blankets or rugs — Ayutthaya was often blisteringly hot, after all — but she’d bristled at the idea of a home without “a little warmth”, as she’d put it, then added a few more to her list as though to spite them.

“What do you think, Ma?” Gun asked nervously. “Did we choose the right one?”

“As though Jim would let you do otherwise,” Gim said, laughing in disbelief. “Oh, it’s perfect. And it’s just the right size, too. I’d hate to get lost in my own house.”

Against Lady Natchanan’s advice, they’d chosen the smallest of the guest residences offered. There were four bedrooms and two baths, as well as a kitchen, dining room, sitting room, and a study, where they kept their small collection of books and recipes. The kitchen led out to a small garden in the back, with a plot for growing herbs. They shared a courtyard with several other guest residences, some of which were uninhabited. Others temporarily housed guests of the khunnang — visiting scholars, distant family members, and the like. A group of khunnang children chasing each other around the yang na tree had nearly knocked Uncle Jim off his feet when they arrived.

“Wait until you see the kitchen,” Gun said, tugging Gim’s wrist. “Lady Natchanan said Her Majesty insisted on gifting us brand-new dishes and flatware! Can you believe it?”

Gim followed him with a chuckle, her temporary live-in nurse — one of Madam Winai’s apprentices, Miss Sirikanya — hurrying after them. Li Ming continued looking around their new sitting room in awed silence before his gaze landed on Uncle Jim. “I can’t believe this is ours.”

“It really is perfect,” Uncle Jim agreed. “And I hear we’re not too far from Prince Heart’s residence.”

Li Ming reeled at the wry smile on his uncle’s face. “That’s not why — ”

“I know, I know,” Uncle Jim said, chuckling. “I was the one who made the final decision, after all. But I suppose that’ll make it easier for him to visit, as I’m sure he will.” His eyes softened then, and Li Ming found himself returning his smile. It felt like ages since they last argued, and even then, Li Ming couldn’t quite remember what about. Confronting that arrogant doctor in the refectory, maybe? Regardless, it no longer mattered.

“I feel like we don’t deserve this,” Li Ming said quietly, something he’d never admitted to Gun or Gim or Heart. “Me and Gun, that is. You and Ma deserve it after how hard you’ve worked, but…we’re only here because we’re the princes’ lovers. I don’t know, it just feels…”

“Strange?” Uncle Jim suggested. “That’s fair, I suppose. But the princes genuinely care for both of you, and it’s not as though you tricked them into giving us a home. We’re here because of their generosity and concern for your safety. So don’t worry, alright?”

Li Ming nodded, though guilt still gnawed at him. He thought of the hundreds of servants scattered across the palace grounds, living in small, cramped quarters with little means of safety or comfort. Things had improved when King Kasemchai ascended the throne, but there was still so much work to be done. Li Ming wondered if he could speak with him about it the way he had with Queen Photjanee the other day. He shuddered at the sudden realization he now held more influence than he knew what to do with. At the very least, he knew he wasn’t about to squander it.

Though Gim wanted to prepare an extravagant dinner to celebrate, she was still weakened and unsteady on her feet. Li Ming helped Uncle Jim make chicken rice and nam sup instead while Gun made khanom krok with a generous amount of shredded coconut. Miss Sirikanya kept Gim company in the sitting room and could be heard scolding her for pacing too long without breaks. They ate until they were full to bursting, and when Li Ming crawled into his new, unfamiliar bed, he fell asleep the moment his head touched his pillow.

They took breakfast in the garden the next morning, savoring the smell of fresh bread and orange jasmine before Uncle Jim left for the palace kitchens. Gim and Miss Sirikanya left soon after for a short walk around the courtyard, then Gun after that for Chaophraya Chaichiathorn’s estate to rehearse with his friends, having told Li Ming — but not Gim or Uncle Jim — about his change of heart. Li Ming didn’t think it was a good idea, but promised Gun he’d support him regardless.

He returned to his bedroom after everyone left, knowing he had less than an hour before Tutor Suchada arrived. Though it would still be a few months before she had time to teach him, she’d suggested they meet at least once before starting so she could assess his abilities. He opened her grimoire and began flipping through the pages he’d come to know like the back of his hand.

Even now, he’d yet to figure out what had happened the night he and Heart first kissed. When he tried to reproduce it — Heart had been more than happy to let Li Ming kiss him over and over again — he couldn’t even manage a single flicker of light. Li Ming had been frustrated, while Heart had been content to kiss him yet again in consolation.

As he continued to sift through the pages, scanning them hungrily for any mention of light or physical spells, he started tracing random words across his forearm. First, his own name, his family’s names, Heart’s name, then different Ayutthayan provinces, districts, and cities. He tried the names of different foods and plants and animals, colors and flavors and sounds. Nothing seemed to work.

“Li Ming!” Gim called; she and Miss Sirikanya had returned from their walk. “Tutor Suchada is here.”

Miss Sirikanya was pouring Tutor Suchada a cup of tea when Li Ming entered the sitting room. Tutor Suchada was an older woman, perhaps fifteen years older than Gim, with a lined face and short, graying hair. Her willowy frame was swathed in fine Ayutthayan silk and an embroidered khrui, an elaborate pair of yellow gold earrings framing her hollow cheeks, making her look every part the noble scholar Li Ming had pictured in his head.

“Good morning, Tutor Suchada,” he greeted, bowing before sitting across from her. “Thank you for coming, and…it’s an honor to meet you. Prince Heart spoke very highly of you.”

The fondness in her eyes warmed her to Li Ming immediately. “He can be quite the troublemaker, that one,” she said, chuckling. “But he’s a very sweet boy. He told me you were the best interpreter he’s ever had, though you never actually learned how to be a wordsmith.”

Li Ming nodded. “Yes, that’s right. And…truthfully, my reading and writing aren’t very good, either.”

Tutor Suchada nodded sagely. “And your magical education?”

“About as much as any phrai my age,” Li Ming said. “I know a few rudimentary spells, but nothing about potions or runes or anything like that.”

“I see,” Tutor Suchada hummed. “I wonder if we might do an assessment test today, if you’re ready for it.”

Li Ming blinked. “A test?”

“Only to assess your current skills, not judge them,” Tutor Suchada said kindly. “Prince Heart said you were eager to learn, and I heard Queen Photjanee had nothing but good things to say about you the other day, so I’m sure you’ll do just fine. Should we complete this today, I can start building your curriculum and have it fully prepared for the new year.”

“Queen Photjanee?” Li Ming echoed. “Really?”

“Some of her advisors are colleagues of mine,” Tutor Suchada said, her eyes twinkling again. “She spoke highly of your character, said you were smart as a whip and unafraid to speak your mind. I didn’t realize you were so closely acquainted, but I’d be curious to see it for myself.”

“Oh…I see,” Li Ming said faintly, repressing a smile. He didn’t think refuting Queen Photjanee would be one of the best ways to get her approval. He could already imagine the look on Heart’s face once he found out. “And I’d be happy to take the test right now.”

When he completed the test a little over half an hour later, he watched, anxiously scratching the mosquito bites on his arm, while Tutor Suchada reviewed his answers in the privacy of their study. Her face was impressively impassive, though it only made Li Ming more nervous. He wondered if she could even read his poor handwriting.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she lifted her gaze to meet his and smiled. “You understand more than you think. I’m impressed.”

“Really?” Li Ming felt relieved and doubtful all at once. “It…definitely didn’t feel that way.”

Tutor Suchada laughed. “You’ll find that happens more than you'd expect. Now, I’m curious about your sign language abilities. You were taught alongside other phrai, I presume?”

“Yes, though I learned faster than everyone else,” Li Ming said. “I was never sure if it was because I’m a wordsmith or if it just…happened.”

“Why not both?” Tutor Suchada suggested. “Your wordsmith roots are part of it, but perhaps you simply understand sign language better than written or spoken language. Might I ask for a demonstration?” Li Ming nodded, his hands already positioned over his sternum. She gave him a few sentences to start with, then a poem, then a dense page from Gim’s dog-eared copy of Jindamanee. Finally, she sang the entirety of a beloved khon song. He didn’t miss a single word. “Impressive,” she repeated, her smile broadening. “I look forward to our first lesson together.”

Li Ming smiled back, his cheeks flushed from the praise. “Thank you, Tutor Suchada. I do, too.” Then, he hesitated. “Actually, I have a question for you. There was this…moment about a week ago where I wrote something on someone else’s arm with my finger — no ink or anything like that, just tracing the words — and they suddenly appeared on their skin. They sort of…glowed, almost. It only lasted a few seconds. I’ve never done that before, and I couldn’t find anything in your grimoire about it. Do you know what it was?”

Tutor Suchada’s thin eyebrows drew together, considering. “Interesting,” she said at last. “Wordsmiths are sometimes asked to assist with sak yant tattoos, but I’ve never heard of the words disappearing that quickly, even for someone without any schooling. I’ll write to the wordsmiths’ guild and ask.”

After agreeing to meet again in a few weeks, Tutor Suchada took her leave. Gim peered around the doorframe of the study, her eyes burning with curiosity. “Well?”

“I really liked her,” Li Ming said, smiling. “She’s just as Heart described her. She even said I was impressive.”

“Is that all it takes, hm?” Gim pinched his cheek. “Where will you be having your lessons? Here, or her office in the Outer Court?”

“She’s agreed to keep coming here for now until things get quieter.” Li Ming paused. “If things ever get quieter.”

Gim hummed in sympathy, ruffling his hair. “I’m proud of you, Li Ming. I know you never enjoyed school, but this is going to be wonderful for you. I only wish we’d been able to find a tutor for you earlier.”

Li Ming’s throat tightened as her hand slid down to rest on his shoulder. He placed his hand over hers, holding it there. “It’s okay, Ma. I know you tried. We just…couldn’t afford it.”

Gim looked unexpectedly remorseful, the corners of her mouth trembling when she attempted a smile. “You know, you always did grow up too fast. Always worried about having enough money, about keeping Gun out of trouble…I should’ve done more so you’d never have to worry about a thing.” She visibly swallowed. “And I really am sorry about not doing more about your pa. If you want to talk about him or anything at all…I’m here, alright?” When he could only nod, suddenly too numb to speak, she bent to kiss him on the forehead. “I love you.”

He leaned into her touch, the comforting scent of pandan and sugar filling his nose. “…I love you, too.”

Soon after, Li Ming left to get some fresh air while Gim prepared lunch under Miss Sirikanya’s scrutinous gaze. One of their guards followed twenty paces behind, a silent shadow he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. Then again, another guard had accompanied Gun to Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s residence, and for that, he couldn’t complain.

The Middle Court was where the royal family and their innermost circle lived, meaning its paths and trees and flowerbeds were all impeccably kept, each stone and statue and gatepost gleaming beneath the late morning sun. Li Ming felt just as out of place as he did when Lady Natchanan first showed them around, wearing his threadbare sado pants and thin sandals, his skin mottled with calluses and sunburn.

“Li Ming?” He glanced up at the sound of a familiar voice, one he hadn’t heard in some time. Wen approached from where he’d been standing by the outer gate with a few others; his colleagues, if Li Ming were to guess. His smile was warm, if a little cautious. “It’s good to see you. I heard your family lives here now. How do you find it?”

Li Ming tensed. “Heard from who?”

“Oh — from your uncle, of course,” Wen reassured him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I know you and your brother have been…under scrutiny these days. I hope you feel safer here under the royal family’s protection.”

Li Ming spared a glance over his shoulder, where the guard — his guard — was waiting beneath a yang na tree. “I do, though it’ll take getting used to,” he said honestly. “You’ve spoken to Uncle Jim, then?”

Wen nodded slowly, his fingers tightening around the straps of his bag. “Only once. I’d heard about your mother’s illness but didn’t get the chance to extend my well wishes until then. I…don’t think he would’ve wanted them from me, anyhow. But we’re on better terms, I think. He agreed to meet again once he’s settled back into his routine.”

The ambiguity of Uncle Jim and Wen’s relationship piqued Li Ming’s interest, though he doubted he would ever get answers out of either of them. “That’s…good to hear.”

Wen hummed noncommittally, shifting on his heels. “I feel I shouldn’t even be asking you this, given what’s happened, but…have you had time to consider my offer at all?”

“Not really,” Li Ming admitted. “Hea — I mean, Prince Heart introduced me to one of his former teachers — we met just today, actually — and she’s agreed to teach me. It’ll be a while before I think about what comes after.”

“That’s great! You must be excited,” Wen said, smiling. “Well, I’d be happy to help you find an apprenticeship once you’re ready. Come by my office in the Outer Court whenever you’d like.” Then, he glanced around conspicuously before turning back, his eyes gleaming. “The boy who was with you that day in the capital…his name isn’t really Somchai, is it?”

Li Ming’s eyes widened. “P’Wen!”

“It wasn’t difficult to figure out,” Wen said, amused. “One large hat hardly constitutes a disguise. Perhaps he should consider an illusion charm next time to hide that distinctive mouth of his. And how did you get past the palace guards?”

“…I never figured that one out myself,” Li Ming grumbled, which only made Wen laugh. Then his expression sobered, though he was still smiling, more pensive now.

“I hope I’m not overstepping, but I was just thinking…if the rumors are true, then…” Wen paused in careful consideration. “You should know there are hundreds — thousands, really — who will celebrate once they hear the news.”

Li Ming eyed him warily. “Meaning…”

“Meaning change is coming,” Wen said simply. “And — again, if they’re true — then King Kasemchai is an infinitely better man than his father ever was. Now, Ayutthaya might finally be a country we can be proud of.” At Li Ming’s startled expression, his smile turned wry. “Did you think I respected King Wichai because he employed hundreds of architects before I was even born? I’m not nearly so self-important. Or perhaps I am, since my loyalty to King Kasemchai just increased tenfold because I might finally be allowed to marry.”

Li Ming didn’t know how to respond. Part of him wanted to ask if Wen hoped to marry Uncle Jim. Another wanted to ask Wen more about everything — what he thought of the royal family, of the khunnang, of their government, and how all of them regarded the phrai. He suspected he and Wen shared more in common than he’d first thought. “I’ve met him,” he said instead. “He’s not at all what I expected. Friendly and…humble, I suppose, especially for a king.”

Wen tilted his head curiously. “Was he as…exuberant as I’ve heard people claim?”

“He wouldn’t stop talking,” Li Ming said, snorting. “Though it’s only because he always has hundreds of questions. I suppose it’s where Heart got it from.” At Wen’s raised eyebrow, he blushed a little. Mercifully, Wen didn’t comment further.

“A benevolent king that’s actually benevolent. How novel,” Wen mused. “You know, my colleagues and I were thinking of writing a letter to him about the servants’ living conditions. Our interviews and assessment of the Inner Court were more…enlightening than we’d expected. It’s good to know he might actually read it.”

Li Ming brightened. “I could make sure he does.”

“Really?” Wen looked just as hopeful. “I just might owe you three apprenticeships, then.”

“Ten if he introduces new housing reform,” Li Ming added. Both of their smiles grew so wide that their faces ached long after they agreed to meet again and parted ways.

Later that evening, Li Ming and Gun were sprawled across Gun’s bed, finishing off the last of the khanom krok while they talked about their respective days. Li Ming kept quiet the moment he saw the stars in Gun’s eyes as he described the day’s rehearsal in painstaking detail. He was still worried for Gun, of course, but there was nothing he could say that Gun didn’t already know. And in truth, he was proud of him.

“I want to be brave like you,” Gun had said when Li Ming asked him why he’d changed his mind. “And I don’t want to be scared anymore. Or…maybe I’m still scared, but I’m going to do it anyway, even if it’s foolish.”

“Do you think you’re ready?” Li Ming asked now, brushing khanom krok crumbs onto Gun’s pillow. Gun elbowed him before reluctantly getting up to rid his bed of the remaining crumbs. “Especially with Lord Saran there. I mean, you still don’t really know anything about him.”

“I know he cares about putting on a good performance, and that’s enough for me,” Gun said. “He’s really not as bad as he first seemed. Actually, I think he might be sort of…lonely, like he doesn’t have very many friends. He never says much when we eat together, even when we try to make conversation.”

Li Ming opened his mouth to offer a scornful remark, only to close it. He supposed Sound really hadn’t done anything to earn his ire, short of being vain like most other khunnang children. He’d even promised not to tell anyone about their relationships with Heart and Tinn. If he kept his word, then Li Ming already respected him more than most. So, he decided to tell Gun about his meeting with Tutor Suchada instead, having already told him about his conversation with Wen.

“Impressive?” Gun said, awed, once Li Ming finished. “That’s amazing! And she sounds much kinder than the teachers we had before.”

“She was,” Li Ming agreed. “Heart said she was always patient with him, even when he missed his lessons or talked back.”

“If we’d all gone to school together, I wonder who would’ve gotten into more trouble: me or Heart,” Gun said, grinning.

“All I know for sure is Tinn would’ve been the head of our class. He’d do everything he could to get you out of trouble,” Li Ming added. Gun laughed as he turned onto his back, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth. His face twisted into something wistful seconds later. “…Gun?”

“I know they only just left, but I do miss him,” Gun admitted. “I’ve already read his letter twice.”

“Letter? You mean he’s already sent you one?” Li Ming asked, confused. “They only arrived in Nonthaburi today.”

“He slipped it into my bag yesterday,” Gun said, cheeks reddening. “You know what he’s like.”

“I do, which means he probably wrote a dozen poems about your eyes during their journey, so long as he didn’t spend it being sick over the side of the boat instead,” Li Ming teased. Gun shoved him in the shoulder, which Li Ming was happy to return. “What did it say?”

“Nothing new, really, just that he hopes we settle in here quickly and that Ma continues to get better. It was sweet,” Gun added, his blush deepening. Then, he prodded Li Ming in the arm again. “Don’t tell me you don’t miss Heart.”

“It’s been one day,” Li Ming reminded him. Still, though Heart didn’t speak out loud very often, it felt quieter — lonelier, even — without him around. “Do you think they’ve seen our gifts yet?”

Tinn nearly pitched sideways when he stepped out of their carriage, his feet touching solid ground for the first time in what felt like years. After a day’s boat journey followed by a two-hour carriage ride, they’d finally arrived at the Tangkabodee estate on the outskirts of Nonthaburi’s capital. A few more carriages slowed to a stop behind them, each carrying their belongings and members of their retinue: ten guards hand-picked by Photjanee, two advisors on loan from Kasemchai, six attendants from their respective personal households, and Tiwson and Heart’s temporary aide, Chalerm, a son of the Chaophraya who’d studied alongside Tiwson and Kajorn.

The Tangkabodee estate was a feat of traditional Ayutthayan architecture, bearing no resemblance to more modern buildings with Qing or Western influence cropping up across the country in recent years. It was an enormous cluster of stilt houses on a vast stretch of lush green, made of rich teakwood that glowed burgundy beneath the setting sun. They were arranged around a central terrace, which opened up to a venerable durian tree heavy with butter-yellow blossoms and overripe fruit. The entire property was bordered by banyan trees and jasmine bushes, and beside the main stairway was a large pond home to frogs and gourami, a family of ducks skimming across its glassy surface. The Tangkabodees’ renowned durian orchard stretched for miles beyond their back garden.

A woman who looked to be around their parents’ age was waiting by the front entrance to greet them. “Your Royal Highnesses,” she said, bowing deeply. “On behalf of Chaophraya Tangkabodee, we’re truly honored to have you visit. My name is Madam Orawan, and I’m the Tangkabodees’ housekeeper. They’re in the dining hall, once you’re ready to join them.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Madam Orawan. We’re honored to be here,” Tinn replied, returning her bow. To her credit, she only looked mildly surprised by his obeisance. “We’d like to wash up first, if that’s alright.”

“Of course!” Madam Orawan exclaimed. “We could ask the cooks to delay dinner if you’d like a proper bath. I’m sure it’s been a long journey for you.”

“Oh, that’s alright. We just need a few minutes to make ourselves presentable,” Tinn reassured her. “Could you show us to our rooms, please?”

Tinn and Heart were placed in the main guest house while their retinue was scattered across two smaller guest houses. On their mother’s orders, at least two guards were to accompany them at all times, with two more posted outside of whichever building they occupied. Tinn secretly thought it was unnecessary, doubting that Heart would attempt to run off on his own. He seemed determined to win back Photjanee’s trust, while she was just as committed to earning his, if not more so.

After washing their faces and changing into more dinner-appropriate attire, one of the Tangkabodees’ servants escorted them to the dining hall. Unlike the estate’s exterior, the enormous room boasted flourishes of non-Ayutthayan influence: several Qing glass paintings, a beautiful Tabriz carpet, and plush dining chairs imported from the West. Chaophraya Tangkabodee rose from his seat at the head of the table, with his wife to his right and his daughter to his left.

“Your Royal Highnesses!” he boomed while Lady Chanikarn and her mother, Lady Chalita, bowed their heads. Nothing about their demeanor suggested they’d heard the rumors, but Tinn was still nervous nonetheless. “We’re immensely honored to have you here at our humble estate. Please, have a seat. Your journey was smooth, I hope?”

Tinn noticed Heart’s face turn slightly green as they sat down, not unlike when he’d been sick over the side of their boat no less than three times about fifteen hours ago. It had been a while since he’d been on a boat, and Tinn’s anti-nausea potion wasn’t as fast-acting as either of them would’ve liked. “Very much so,” Tinn replied. “It’s a pleasure to be here in Nonthaburi. You have a beautiful home.”

“We simply must take breakfast in the orchard tomorrow. The view is wonderful,” Lady Chalita said, smiling warmly. “I’d be out there every day if it weren’t for the storms.”

“That sounds lovely,” Heart replied, and Lady Chalita beamed in return. Tinn decided then it wasn’t difficult to discern which of the Tangkabodees he found most disagreeable.

“It’s good to see you again, Your Royal Highness,” Lady Chanikarn said as the servants began what was sure to be a long procession of dishes. Her polite smile didn’t match the discomfort Tinn sensed in her, though he doubted she wanted him asking about it. “Have you read any of the books I gave you during the lakhon nai, by chance?” Chaophraya Tangkabodee narrowed his eyes at his daughter, and yes, Tinn thought, that certainly confirmed it.

“Unfortunately, I haven’t,” Tinn said apologetically. “I’ve been quite busy lately. Which do you recommend I read first?”

Lady Chanikarn’s eyes brightened. She was quick to launch into lengthy descriptions of each one, explaining which themes or characters she thought he might enjoy most. Lady Chalita, meanwhile, asked Heart about their parents, then recounted a few stories about her own family that made him chuckle. Chaophraya Tangkabodee watched them all silently with an unnerving glint in his eye.

By the time they finished their last spoonfuls of ruam mit, Tinn could barely keep his eyes open. He and Heart excused themselves so they could turn in early, promising to join the Tangkabodees for breakfast. Tiwson and Chalerm had to help them prepare for bed when they returned to their rooms, too exhausted from the day’s travel to even lift their heads.

When Tinn emerged from his bedchamber the next morning, feeling renewed, he nearly stumbled right into Lady Chanikarn, who was — for some odd reason — right outside his door. She wore a serving girl's uniform instead of her usual embroidered silks, her eyes wide with what almost looked like fear. “My apologies, Your Royal Highness,” she said quickly, flustered.

“It's alright, Lady Chanikarn,” Tinn said cautiously. “Is everything okay?”

She hesitated. “I…I came here to tell you something.”

He felt that same ripple of unease he’d sensed from her last night. “Something you can’t tell me in front of your parents?” he guessed.

She nodded, chewing her lip, and led him a few paces away from his guards. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Father — well, all of us, really, but…Father heard rumors that you and Prince Heart had taken male phrai lovers.”

Tinn would’ve flinched, had Photjanee not prepared him and Heart for this very moment. Even then, nothing would’ve kept his stomach from churning while he lied through his teeth. “The rumors are false. Gun and Li Ming are our friends, and Li Ming occasionally acts as Heart’s interpreter. Nothing more.”

“Oh.” Lady Chanikarn sounded strangely disappointed. “And you can attest to that?”

“I’m not sure how I can attest to not having a lover,” Tinn said carefully. “You don’t think your father will take my word for it?”

“He’d never question your honor to your face, but he would be terribly displeased about it,” Lady Chanikarn admitted. “He’s spoken of almost nothing else since he first heard the rumors a few days ago. He was furious at first, but…now he wonders if it might put us at an advantage.”

Tinn frowned. “…advantage?”

“That is…if we were to announce our engagement, the rumors would be dispelled at best or dismissed as a passing indiscretion at worst,” Lady Chanikarn said, looking as uncomfortable as Tinn felt. “Father said he’d accept your terms even if your lover became one of your concubines.”

“My terms?” Tinn couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He knew Chaophraya Tangkabodee could be arrogant and dismissive of his daughter’s interests, but this was something else entirely. “He thinks he’s being generous by sanctioning our engagement so I can save face, is that it?”

Lady Chanikarn nodded again, her gaze hardening. “I promise I’m not my father, Your Royal Highness,” she said. “I think his plan to turn these rumors into a bargaining tool is despicable, especially when they place you in such a vulnerable position. Mother doesn’t agree with him, either, but neither of us can go against him without the consequences affecting our servants and tenants.”

Tinn inhaled sharply. “When does he plan to discuss all of this?”

“Honestly? Right now,” Lady Chanikarn said, casting a glance toward the orchard. A few servants were already bringing dishes into the pavilion. “Is there anything we can do?”

Tinn took a moment to think, his racing mind slowing to a steady pace. “Tell your parents that Heart and I have fevers, something we must’ve picked up from the ship,” he said, already reviewing his mental list of ingredients for a potion that elevated one's body temperature, usually reserved for those running dangerously cold. “I’ll speak with my father’s advisors in the meantime. We’ll figure something out, I promise. And…thank you, Lady Chanikarn. I know it was a great risk, coming here to tell me.”

Lady Chanikarn managed another nod and a small smile, then wordlessly slipped away before anyone could spot her. Tiwson was already off to find Kasemchai’s advisors, leaving Tinn to tell Heart what was happening. Their advisors were also quick to get to work, discreetly slipping into the kitchens and Lady Chalita’s study in search of potion ingredients.

When Madam Orawan came rushing in thirty minutes later, Tinn and Heart were laid up in bed, sweaty and red-faced and insisting their fevers had nothing to do with their rooms or last night’s dinner. She looked unconvinced but left without questioning them further, sending in a few attendants who brought them steaming bowls of khao tom and soft-boiled eggs. “I’m sorry,” Tinn said once they were alone. “I know this isn’t exactly the long-awaited journey you were hoping for.”

Heart shook his head. “It’s alright. We always knew it was going to be like this.” He cracked a small smile. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to miss you tricking an esteemed member of the khunnang for the world. Who are you, and what have you done with my upstanding brother?”

“It’s one thing for Chaophraya Tangkabodee to be angry at me, but if he plans to take out his frustrations on his family and his people…” Tinn shuddered. “I can’t just stand by and let that happen. And it’s not a trick. We really do have fevers.”

“For all of five hours,” Heart reminded him, but he looked amused. “Will that be enough time?”

“We have Father’s senior advisors with us, so I wouldn’t worry,” Tinn replied, silently thanking Kasemchai for his foresight. “Now, eat. They’ll be joining us any minute.”

They ate quickly, almost burning their mouths as they did so. Kasemchai’s advisors, Lady Khwanjai and Lord Sanan, joined them soon after, personal copies of Ayutthaya’s legal records tucked under their arms. Thankfully, they already had something of a plan to placate Chaophraya Tangkabodee once Tinn told him he no longer intended to marry Lady Chanikarn. Kasemchai had sent Tinn with a generous offer for the nobleman: immediate access to Ayutthaya’s forthcoming railway line, the first of its kind, allowing him to ship durian across the country at significantly lower costs. Kasemchai even promised him a dedicated freight car and an office in the capital’s rail yard.

“I don’t know if it’s enough. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to leverage his tenants’ taxation policies or living conditions against us to get what he wants,” Tinn admitted. “What if…what if Father offered him a position in the ministry of agriculture? Maybe he could be deputy minister.”

“And grant him complete jurisdiction over his competitors? No, definitely not,” Lady Khwanjai said, shaking her head. “We’d have hordes of angry farmers storming the palace gates in a matter of hours.”

“It also wouldn’t persuade him not to ask for even more,” Lord Sanan added gently. “Perhaps we’re vastly overestimating Chaophraya Tangkabodee’s iniquity, but we need to be careful here. And, if I may…you shouldn’t dismiss the rumors so easily, Your Royal Highnesses. Yes, you’re fully prepared for Ayutthaya to learn the true nature of your respective relationships with Guntaphon and Loetphong. But that doesn’t absolve you of the possible consequences everyone else never asked for.”

Tinn swallowed. “Then…what do you suggest we do?”

He returned to bed three hours later, wishing it were his own. His eyes ached and his head was beginning to hurt, and he knew Heart felt much the same way. Still, he was glad they’d finally reached a resolution they felt confident about. All that remained was to join the Tangkabodees for breakfast in the morning — Lady Khwanjai told them it would be best to decline dinner under the guise of preventing the spread of illness, but really, it was so they could rest and go into the conversation with a clear mind — and set out the terms of their final offer.

Tinn had almost fallen asleep when he stirred at the soft rustling of his bedcovers. He turned to see Heart slipping in beside him. “Are you alright?”

Heart nodded. “Just bored, mostly. I’m sure this isn’t the worst fever I’ve ever had, not that I’d remember it.”

Tinn winced; he hadn’t considered that. “I’m sorry. Just another hour and we should be back to our usual selves.”

“If everything goes well, do you think we’ll be allowed to visit the markets tomorrow?” Heart asked, yawning.

“I expect we’ll need to lay low for a little while. A few days at most, to make sure Chaophraya Tangkabodee doesn’t do anything reckless,” Tinn said. “Did you have something specific in mind for Li Ming?”

“Sort of,” Heart replied. “A nice collar for Chaipo, new pens for when he starts his lessons with Tutor Suchada…and whatever else catches my eye, I suppose. I’m hoping to find a matching pair of trinkets for us to share. Do you know of any imbuement spells where…when we’re apart, we can let the other person know we’re thinking of them?”

Tinn chuckled. “Not that I’m aware of. And you know, you’re starting to sound like me.”

“If I were you, Gun wouldn’t need anything to tell him you’re thinking of him. You miss him even when he’s right in front of you,” Heart said, snorting. Tinn opened his mouth to protest, only to shut it seconds later. He’d already told more lies than he felt comfortable with today; he wasn’t about to add another. “What about you? Are you going to buy something for Gun?”

“Definitely,” Tinn replied. “I was thinking he might like a new pair of shoes, maybe some blankets for his bedchamber since he seems to enjoy making a nest out of them. And I was also thinking of getting us a matching pair of trinkets. Specifically, those of a lion and a mouse.”

“How adorable,” Heart teased, then sighed. “Li Ming doesn’t have a special nickname for me.”

“I don’t suppose you could just ask him?” Tinn suggested, trying not to laugh. He knew if he were in Heart’s position, he would also feel the same.

“You can’t just ask for a nickname,” Heart protested. “It has to be spontaneous. I called him ‘Ming’ once while we were kissing, and — ”

“Alright, I’ve heard enough,” Tinn interrupted, his face reddening despite his fever’s steady decline; now Heart was the one trying and failing to keep himself from laughing.

“Seriously, have you and Gun still not kissed?” Heart asked, eyes glistening with mirth.

A knock at the door kept Tinn from needing to find an answer that wouldn’t lead to further embarrassment. “It’s Tiwson, Your Royal Highnesses.”

“Come in,” Tinn called. Tiwson entered moments later with a small cloth bag slung across his chest, one that Tinn didn’t recognize. “Is something wrong?”

“The opposite, actually,” Tiwson replied, grinning as he disentangled the bag from around his shoulders and set it down in front of them. “Lady Khwanjai asked me to retrieve His Majesty’s original offer from your belongings. While I was looking for it, I found this.”

Inside the bag were two envelopes, one slightly thicker than the other, and a small wooden box. Tinn instinctively reached for the box, which looked just like the one he kept on his bedside table. Heart, meanwhile, checked both envelopes before passing the smaller of the two to Tinn. His name was written on its front in Gun’s careful, if inexpert, handwriting. The thicker envelope bore Heart’s name in Li Ming’s clumsier scrawl.

Tinn opened the envelope first, the smell of black tea and toasted sesame instantly filling the room. His smile broadened when he spotted the charcoal drawing on one of the pages inside. It was a sketch depicting him the night they’d stayed in Photjanee’s guest residence, his feet tucked beneath him with a steaming cup of tea in hand. He looked tired but happy, his eyes as soft as they were now. Though Gun didn’t consider himself an artist, he’d captured Tinn’s quiet smile perfectly. On the other page was a short letter, one that made Tinn’s heart ache for home with every word.

Dear Tinn,

You didn’t think I wouldn’t sneak any parting gifts into your belongings, did you? I obviously had to return the favor after you slipped something into mine. Or at least I hope you did, otherwise you’ve just made me sound like a fool who doesn’t know you as well as I claim to. I’m sure you’ve at least written me a letter, maybe that poem you promised me? You still owe me a poem, you know. I expect it to be full of words I don’t know and have an entire stanza about my eyes. You haven’t stopped talking about them since we first met in person.

I hope your journey to Nonthaburi is — was? I don’t know when you’re reading this — safe and comfortable, and that everything goes well with the Tangkabodees. I know you’re nervous, but I believe in you. Even if it doesn’t go exactly as planned, you’ll figure something out. You always do.

I also hope I remember to tell you this when we meet, but if I didn’t: promise me you’ll do something just for fun while you’re there! Even if it’s just a walk around the floating markets or a visit to one of the temples, do something for yourself. You’ve done so much for me, Heart, and even Li Ming. I want you to do something for yourself. I personally plan to spoil you rotten once you’re back. I already have ideas for what that may be, but I expect you do, too. Please don’t tell Heart, or we’ll never hear the end of it from him and Li Ming.

Don’t miss me too much, but also don’t forget to write! I’ll write again once we’re more settled into our new home.

Yours,

Gun

Tinn’s eyes brimmed with tears as he laughed, remembering how carefully composed Gun’s first letter had been, a stark contrast to the liveliness in his letters now. He lifted the envelope to his nose, inhaling deeply. He could almost sense Gun’s natural scent beneath his spell, something warm and sweet and immensely comforting. Perhaps it was silly to miss Gun this quickly, having parted just two days ago, but he did. He missed him and how easy it was to be with him, how meeting for the first time in person didn’t feel like the first time at all. How discovering Gun was Little Mouse hadn't changed things between them for even a second.

When Tinn glanced in Heart’s direction, he saw that he, too, had tears in his eyes. Not just because of his own letter, but because of something else Li Ming had given him: a wooden carving roughly the size and shape of a quail egg, similar to their twin artifacts. Instead of their father’s admittedly heavy-handed flowers, this carving bore Heart’s name. Each character glowed beneath Heart’s touch, and for a moment, Tinn wondered if it carried some sort of protective spell. Unlikely, given Li Ming hadn’t started his lessons with Tutor Suchada just yet. Perhaps it was simply meant to make Heart smile instead, something Li Ming had done when Tinn could not.

Tinn returned to his own letter, carefully setting it down so he could open the wooden box. Gun’s voice instantly filled the entire room, bright and clear as though he were sitting right beside him. Tinn’s breath hitched at the unfamiliar melody, the words of love and devotion. Had Gun decided to write his own song after all?

“Tinn?” Tiwson said gently once the song was over. “Is everything alright? They’re not in trouble, are they?”

“No, but…” Tinn’s gaze met Heart’s. “As soon as we've carried out our plan, I think we should return home. I want to start preparing for our next trip.”

“Next trip?” Heart echoed, confused.

Tinn nodded. “For Gun and Li Ming’s birthday. The four of us, together.”

Chapter Text

Li Ming nearly tripped over a loose floorboard when he entered the palace kitchens, having almost forgotten it existed. It felt like ages since he’d last been surrounded by hot stoves and dry sinks, the smell of soap and spices, the sounds of sizzling pans and sharp knives and dozens of conversations overlapping all at once. He kept his chin lifted, but couldn’t deny how his heart pounded while he followed Uncle Jim to his station. Heads turned and mouths fell open at the sight of him. Li Ming didn’t think glaring would help matters, so he fixed his inscrutable gaze on his uncle’s back instead.

“Everything alright?” Uncle Jim asked as they began preparing their cutting boards. His voice then dropped to a low whisper. “We can ask Madam Chidchanok about making other arrangements if this bothers you.”

Li Ming shook his head. “Let them talk where I can see them instead of behind my back.”

Uncle Jim pressed his lips together in a thin line, unconvinced, but he settled for clapping Li Ming on the shoulder. “You just let me know, alright?”

Li Ming nodded, turning his attention to the knife he hadn’t held in weeks. Though he never wanted to work in the kitchens in the first place — and certainly not under his uncle’s watchful gaze — there was something comforting about working with his hands, something he’d been itching for after spending days in the infirmary by his mother’s bedside, unable to do much more than feel utterly helpless.

They worked in silence for the first hour or so. Uncle Jim deboned chickens while Li Ming chopped ginger and garlic until the cracks in his knuckles, hardened and barely healed, began to split. Cursing under his breath, Li Ming rummaged through his bag for the small pot of coconut oil he’d decanted from the one Tinn gave him. Uncle Jim placed a hand on his arm before he could open it. “Wash your hands first,” he advised. “You don’t want to get blood in there.”

For a moment, Li Ming expected a familiar annoyance to flare in his chest, that irritation he felt whenever Uncle Jim intervened, assuming he always knew best. Instead, he felt grateful. Everyone else looked at him with interest, derision, anger, even fear. Only Uncle Jim looked at him with what he now realized wasn't just warmth, but respect. “Right,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’ll…be right back.”

The sinks were only a few paces away, but they might as well have been on the other side of the palace grounds. Some stepped back when Li Ming drew near, while others seemed unable to move for fear of missing the slightest twitch in Li Ming’s eyes or falter in his steps. He knew nothing would happen, not with Chaipo at his side, one of his guards posted by the entryway, and Heart’s bracelet snug around his wrist. No one had dared approach him since he arrived. Still, he pushed past them and kept his head down while he washed his hands, drying them on his shirt so he wouldn’t have to waste another second looking for a clean rag.

“I’m glad Gun isn’t here,” Li Ming muttered once he returned to Uncle Jim’s side. “It would be a thousand times worse for him.”

“Agreed,” Uncle Jim said, grimacing. “Though I hope he still remembers to rest his voice once in a while.”

“After you scolded him three times yesterday? I’m sure he will,” Li Ming replied, snorting. “Gun told me they’ll be having a celebratory meal at Por’s after their performance, so he’ll probably be completely unable to talk after that. Actually…he asked me to join them, but I said it’d be strange if I did. It’s not as if I’m performing with them, so…”

“Perhaps, but I still think it’d be good if you went,” Uncle Jim replied, and Li Ming shook his head.

“You would,” he muttered, though there wasn’t any malice in his voice. “So…have you and Wen spoken yet?”

Uncle Jim’s responding laugh was half-astonished, half-affronted. “I thought we agreed not to talk about him.”

Li Ming shrugged. “He told me you were on better terms, so…”

Uncle Jim let out a long exhale. Li Ming wasn’t certain if it was for him or Wen. “We’ve talked, but…that doesn’t mean things aren’t still complicated. And,” he added, waving a finger at Li Ming, “that doesn’t mean you can start asking about him, either.”

“He also said if the rumors are true, then King Kasemchai might finally allow people like him to marry.” Li Ming couldn’t help but sneak a glance at his uncle’s now impassive face. “People like you.”

“…yes.” Uncle Jim’s voice was hoarse. “Because of you and Gun and your…your princes.”

Li Ming made a face. “Oh, they would love that. Don’t ever say it in front of them.”

“This really is all because of you,” Uncle Jim said softly. “I don’t think you’ve realized just yet how much you’ve already changed Ayutthaya for the better.”

Li Ming shifted uncomfortably, sweeping the last bits of chopped ginger from his cutting board before reaching for another root. “I like that the king and queen seem to genuinely care for my opinions, and I’d never turn down the chance to help make things better,” he said. “But I wasn’t trying to be the voice or face of the phrai. I just wanted to be with Heart.”

Uncle Jim’s eyes softened. “I know. I don’t mean to worry you, it’s just…well, I just don’t want you or Gun underestimating the weight of this, either. It’s not as though all you have to do is swear fealty to Prince Heart and the royal family, then spend the rest of your life doing whatever you’d like. Even Gim and I need to be careful.”

Something in his gaze changed then, something Li Ming couldn’t quite identify. “What?”

Uncle Jim hesitated. “Gim and I, we…talked a little more about your father. What we should have done.”

Li Ming shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Really. I have Ma, and Gun, and…and you. That’s all I need.”

“And your prince,” Uncle Jim added, his eyes creasing as he smiled. Li Ming huffed out a laugh, turning back to the ginger root he’d been neglecting. There, he found himself staring at his wrists as if he were seeing them for the first time, Mongkhon’s silk wrapped around his right and Heart’s bracelet tied around his left. They felt warm against his skin, one already so familiar despite only having it for a few days that he barely noticed they were there. “Li Ming?”

He lifted his gaze. “Hm?”

“You’ll always have me, alright?” Uncle Jim said it so simply, so easily, as if Li Ming had heard it all before. And he supposed he had, if not in so many words. Not those exact ones, at least. “And no matter what happens, I’m proud of you. I mean it.”

Li Ming inhaled sharply, his mouth halfway between a grimace and a smile. “You’re not usually this sentimental. What really happened when you talked to Wen?”

Uncle Jim knocked his shoulder against Li Ming’s, grinning. “Don’t push it.”

Later that evening, Li Ming left the kitchens early, hoping no one would notice his absence while knowing they would. He and Gun had — and he still couldn’t quite believe it himself — a dinner engagement with King Kasemchai and Queen Photjanee. The king had promised they wouldn’t discuss policy or plans for their future, but Li Ming doubted the queen would honor it. She’d already sent several letters about upcoming appointments over the last few days that had amassed to a growing pile of papers on the desk in their study. Li Ming barely had enough room to crack open Tutor Suchada’s grimoire.

“Do you think it’s too much?” Gun asked, appraising his reflection while Li Ming worked a particularly stubborn knot out of his hair. “I thought it would be a nice gesture, but maybe it’s just silly.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll love it,” Gim said, seated on the bench at the foot of Gun’s bed. Miss Sirikanya was beside her, carefully measuring out her evening dose of cough medicine. “And if they don’t, I’ll start a revolt.”

“Ma!” Gun exclaimed, though neither he nor Li Ming could stifle their laughter. “You better not say things like that in front of Her Majesty when you have dinner with her.” He reached for Li Ming’s wrist, pulling him closer so they were side by side in front of the mirror. “Well?”

Li Ming almost didn’t recognize himself. Instead of his usual linen shirt and sado pants, he was dressed more formally in one of the many new silks Lady Natchanan had sent them. He wore an oxblood pha biang over a crisp white cotton shirt and a loosely draped chong kraben, a brightly-colored frangipani tucked into his chest pocket. Gun had a fragrant orchid in his and wore matching attire in crimson. Their hair was neatly combed and oiled, leaving them both smelling like lavender and looking scholarly in a way they never had before.

“Not bad,” Li Ming admitted. He’d half-expected to see someone he didn’t like. Instead, he found himself standing taller, shoulders broader, his chest open and proud.

“You look lovely,” Miss Sirikanya said. Her ensuing blush reminded Li Ming that despite her position, she was only two years older than him and in the final year of her apprenticeship. He wondered what she’d thought when she discovered her temporary charge was the future king’s mother-in-law-to-be.

“But who’s more handsome?” Gun was practically preening by now.

“Oh, don’t you start,” Gim said, rolling her eyes. “Now go, before you have to tell Her Majesty you were late because you were too busy fawning over your own reflection.”

Gun stuck his tongue out at her before enveloping her in an enormous hug, motioning for Li Ming to join them. Li Ming did his best not to jostle the medicine bottle out of Miss Sirikanya’s hands as he did. “We love you,” Gun said, voice muffled against Gim’s hair.

“I love you, too,” Gim replied, both pleased and exasperated. She kissed them on the foreheads, then unceremoniously shoved them out the door, where one of Queen Photjanee’s palanquins awaited them.

Gun’s knee bounced so vigorously during their short journey that one of the porters rapped his knuckles against the side of the palanquin to startle him out of it. When they arrived, two of the queen’s attendants led them through the residential complex to the dining hall. The king and queen were seated on one side of the table, chatting quietly. Though Li Ming expected to see at least a few advisors, none were in sight.

“Misters Guntaphon and Loetphong Wongwitthaya, Your Majesties,” one of the guards announced. They bowed in unison at the sound of their names, something Gun had insisted they practice together.

King Kasemchai beamed. “Don’t you look wonderful? Please, sit.” Once they did, he leaned closer, his eyes bright with curiosity. “Say, those flowers…”

“From the shared garden in our complex,” Gun said nervously. “We…thought you might like them.”

“To match Tinn and Heart’s artifacts — yes, of course!” King Kasemchai replied, looking absolutely delighted. “You must miss them terribly, too.”

“It is strange, not receiving letters from Tinn every day,” Gun said with a mischievous smile. “I’ve only gotten one since they left.”

“If you don’t count the one he snuck into your bag when we went to see them off,” Li Ming added wryly. Even Queen Photjanee chuckled at that.

“Well, that’s already one more than we’ve received,” she said. The shake of her head suggested she was merely amused, not annoyed. “Though I expect to hear from our advisors, if not our sons, by tomorrow. Nothing but good news, I hope.”

Li Ming shuddered at the thought of what could possibly be transpiring in Nonthaburi. He was thrilled for Heart, of course, but he still wished he could’ve gone, too. He missed Heart terribly, kept turning whenever he spoke as though he expected to see him there. He also hoped Heart would return with stories of exciting adventures, not just his and Tinn’s struggles to appease Chaophraya Tangkabodee.

“How are you and your family finding your new home?” Queen Photjanee asked while servers began bringing out platters of fried rice and steamed fish. “I hope your mother’s treatment wasn’t disrupted much.”

“Not at all,” Gun promised. “It’s mostly just her cough now, and she’s still a little tired. She takes walks around our courtyard at least twice a day, which she never would’ve been able to do before. It really has made such a difference, having our own house. It’s so bright and spacious and beautiful, and…we really can’t thank you enough, Your Majesty. Er, madam.”

Queen Photjanee smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. I look forward to convening with her and your uncle once she’s fully recovered.”

“And the…” King Kasemchai hesitated, perhaps for the first time since they’d met him. “…rest of your family?”

Li Ming took a swallow of tea before answering. “None to speak of, sir. Most of our parents’ families died before we were even born, so Ma and Uncle Jim are all we have.”

Queen Photjanee made as if to extend a consoling hand, then seemed to think better of it. “I’m sorry,” she said softly instead.

“I suppose it’s the complete opposite for Tinn and Heart. They must have relatives they’ve never even heard of,” Gun suggested, only for his eyes to widen seconds later at the implications of what he’d said. “Oh, um — I meant no offense, Your Majesties — ”

“That’s alright, none taken,” King Kasemchai said, chuckling. “Yes, though neither of us has siblings, my grandfather had his…well. Let’s just say our sons have plenty of distant cousins. They’ve even met a few of them when they were children, though I doubt they remember. Heart was an absolute menace to Lord Kaweewat when he visited once with his father, the poor boy.”

Now it was Li Ming who leaned closer. “A menace how, exactly?”

After King Kasemchai told them how Heart had challenged his reticent cousin to a race around the palace grounds that somehow ended in Tinn discovering them crammed in one of the kitchen cupboards, having apparently turned it into a game of hide-and-seek that Tinn didn’t realize he was playing, the four of them fell into a comfortable chatter while they ate. The king and queen asked after their work and studies, offered advice on how to make their new home more comfortable, and told stories about Heart and Tinn that made them cry with laughter.

Were it not for the guards, the lavish furnishings, and the occasional attendant slipping into the room to pass on an important message, Li Ming could almost forget they were the most powerful people in the country. Even Gun, who’d worried endlessly about making a good impression, seemed comfortable in their presence. It was easier to see now, despite Queen Photjanee’s earlier reservations, where Heart and Tinn’s gentle temperaments had come from.

“Have you given any consideration to your first duties as the princes’ consorts?” Queen Photjanee eventually asked, her gaze sharpening.

“I thought we agreed not to discuss these things tonight, my love,” King Kasemchai reminded her.

“Yes, but seeing as we’re convening with the council soon, we need to prepare in the event of their…skepticism,” Queen Photjanee said carefully. “If they refuse to accept our explanation, we should have a proposal ready for how to introduce Gun and Li Ming to society prior to their formal engagements, and I’d much rather do it with their say.”

Li Ming and Gun exchanged looks. “We haven’t really thought about it yet. We’re still sorting out our schedules with all of those…tutors and advisors and things, and Gun’s been busy with rehearsals.”

“Fair enough,” Queen Photjanee said, softening. “If it’s not too soon, perhaps you could accompany us into the capital for Loy Krathong. If it is too soon, then maybe Songkran.”

“That’s…not very long from now.” Gun shifted in his seat, setting his spoon down with a resounding clink. “Do you really think we’ll be ready?”

“I know you’ll have to be,” Queen Photjanee replied, though not unkindly. Li Ming’s stomach roiled, and he found himself putting his spoon down, too.

Nothing could keep Gun from bouncing his leg on their return home, not even Li Ming kicking him in the shin. His attention seemed to be somewhere beyond the confines of the palanquin as he worried his thumb between his teeth and stared out the window. “Gun?”

“Hm?” He snapped to attention. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“I can practically see smoke coming out of your ears,” Li Ming said, managing a wan smile. “Worry about your performance first, alright? If Her Majesty asks us for anything else, I’ll take care of it.”

Gun fell quiet again for some time before answering. “I’m not worried about what Her Majesty said. I mean, I am, but it’s just…I’m not clever like you, Ming. You have all these…ideas and opinions about the khunnang and the government and how things could be different, but I don’t have any of that. Everyone’s going to take one look at me and think Tinn chose me for only one reason. Well, two, if they think I’m capable of compulsion magic.”

Li Ming frowned. “But you are clever. And you know me and Tinn — and Heart, too — would never let anyone say otherwise.”

“Yes, but…” Gun furrowed his brow. “I don’t want the khunnang to think we’re simple-minded fortune hunters, only good for spending the princes’ money and keeping their beds warm. If we could prove ourselves somehow, had some sort of objective or cause, then…maybe they’d accept us. And not just us, but all of the phrai. They’d understand we can be just as clever as them, like what you said about scholars and apprenticeships.”

“A cause? Forget fortune hunters, they’ll think we’re spies,” Li Ming said, chuckling. He wondered if there were people who still thought he was part of some nefarious plot to hurt Heart. The worst he’d done as of yet was leave a small mark at the base of Heart’s throat, and he certainly hadn’t complained at the time. “But I like the idea of challenging the khunnang’s beliefs about the phrai. If nothing else, it’ll make them deeply uncomfortable.”

“I figured you’d enjoy that part,” Gun replied, rolling his eyes. He was smiling now, his shoulders less tense. “Only…I don’t know what my cause would be. Could you help me figure it out?”

Li Ming’s chest grew warm. “Gladly.”

Heart was still tired when he awoke the morning after feigning illness, his eyes heavy and his muscles sore. Chalerm did his best to prepare him for the day ahead, but he wasn’t anywhere as familiar with Heart as Kajorn had been. Though Kajorn had always been too decorous and too earnest for Heart’s liking, he found that he missed him. They never really had the chance to talk after he’d resigned, and Heart hoped Kajorn was happier in his new position, whatever and wherever it was.

A tap on the shoulder stirred Heart from his thoughts. Chalerm had somehow led him out to the main terrace without him realizing. “Good morning,” Tinn said with a slightly nervous smile. “Are you feeling alright? Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough,” Heart replied, shrugging. “And you? Do you think we’re ready?”

“Ready as we can be,” Tinn said diplomatically in a way that reminded Heart of their mother. “I spoke with Lady Khwanjai and Lord Sanan on the way here. If things don’t go as planned, Lady Khwanjai has a letter prepared for Father, and Lord Sanan has secured private passage on the earliest ship back to Krung Thep.”

“We flee as soon as we don’t get our way? I like it,” Heart said wryly, grinning. Tinn fixed him with a look that also reminded him of their mother. It didn’t last long, though, as one of the Tangkabodees’ attendants met them on the terrace to guide them, Chalerm, and Tiwson to the orchard pavilion.

The orchard, naturally, smelled of durian and hardwood, pungent in a way that Heart found pleasant. The pavilion near its entrance was a traditional sala thai in the center of a small pond, surrounded by thick shrubs and colorful flowerbeds. Lady Chanikarn and Lady Chalita were knelt on cushions around a low table beneath its three-tiered roof, while Chaophraya Tangkabodee stood on the pavilion steps, waiting to receive them.

“Your Royal Highnesses,” he said, bowing as they approached. “I’m so glad to see you’ve recovered so quickly. I could never forgive myself if something were to happen to you under my roof.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself, Chaophraya Tangkabodee,” Tinn said, smiling. “Your home and hospitality have been nothing short of perfect.” The nobleman practically glowed as he led them inside, just missing the way Heart rolled his eyes.

“How are you feeling, Your Royal Highnesses?” Lady Chalita asked once they all took their places around the table. “I hope Madam Orawan was able to make things comfortable for you.”

“She was excellent, and we’re much better now, thank you,” Tinn replied. “I hope we haven’t worried any of you too much.”

“We were all quite nervous,” Lady Chanikarn offered, earning a stern look from her father that she definitely didn’t deserve. “Er…may I pour you some tea, Your Royal Highness?”

The conversation soon turned to discussions of past illnesses and injuries, including a horse riding incident that left a fierce-looking scar through Chaophraya Tangkabodee’s left eyebrow. At Tinn’s request, Lady Chalita then told them more about the durian orchard and how Chaophraya Tangkabodee’s grandparents had transformed the land into what it was today. Lady Chanikarn, meanwhile, shared stories of the many times she’d gotten lost among the trees as a child and played tricks on her cousins whenever they played wing preaw, resulting in several sprained ankles from tripping and falling into the canals.

“The orchard obviously means a great deal to all of you,” Tinn said. “I assume you plan to continue expanding your business, Chaophraya Tangkabodee? I hear Nonthaburi durian is in high demand outside of Ayutthaya.”

Chaophraya Tangkabodee beamed. “Yes, certainly. We also plan to establish markets in the northern and southern provinces in the next five years, too. We’re already quite popular in Chiang Mai, of course, but imagine enjoying our durian on the beaches in Phuket or a riverboat in Nakhon Sawan.”

“That does sound nice,” Tinn agreed. “I imagine it’ll require plenty of capital, not to mention travel permits and trade licenses and such.”

“But I’m sure Chaophraya Tangkabodee already has all the resources he could possibly need,” Heart said, smiling innocently. “He doesn’t seem the type to leave anything to chance.”

“Quite right,” Chaophraya Tangkabodee said, lifting his teacup in Heart’s direction. Then, he paused with it halfway to his mouth. “Although…I’d be a fool to say no to more investors, given the opportunity. We’ll need to build more warehouses in port cities and hire people to manage them, improve the drainage systems here in the orchard…”

“If you’re ever in need of more capital, perhaps our father could help,” Tinn suggested. “And I’m sure you already have business advisors on your books, but if you’d prefer a more direct line to Father’s trade ministers…”

Chaophraya Tangkabodee’s eyes widened. “No, I…I couldn’t possibly ask that of you, Your Royal Highness.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Tinn said, giving Heart another warning look that told him his expression was giving them away. Heart cleared his throat and took another long sip of tea to conceal his grin. “Father presumed that among other…things, you might be interested in forming a business agreement with him.”

Tiwson brought forward a stack of records while Chaophraya Tangkabodee’s eyes grew even wider. “What is all this?”

“Father is always quite prepared,” Heart said simply with another modest smile. Chaophraya Tangkabodee eyed them both doubtfully before his curiosity won out. He reviewed the records in hushed silence, Lady Chalita and Lady Chanikarn exchanging glances while Tinn and Heart continued to smile and hold their breaths.

“His Majesty has offered direct correspondence with the Ministries of Agriculture and Commerce, ministry liaisons to oversee our operations, and immediate access to Ayutthaya’s rail line,” he eventually said, astonished. “I’ll have to look this over in greater detail with my solicitors, but I’m honored His Majesty holds me in such high consideration.”

“I should warn you, you’re not the only one he’s considering,” Tinn added. Heart stifled a laugh when Chaophraya Tangkabodee’s face immediately fell. “But you are the first, of course.”

“Is it that Chaophraya Ungphakorn?” Chaophraya Tangkabodee said shortly. “You should see the state of his farms, Your Royal Highness. They’re absolutely awful.”

“You’re welcome to sign the agreement right away, but I agree you should wait to speak with your solicitors,” Tinn continued, ignoring him. “They’ll want to ensure you’re honoring — and will continue to honor — your side of the agreement.”

Chaophraya Tangkabodee blinked. “…my side?”

“If the ministry liaisons find any illicit dealings or untoward behavior toward your farmers, servants, tenants, the royal family, or your own family, the agreement will end immediately,” Tinn replied. “Unfair wages, for example, or unsafe working conditions. Perhaps defamation, coercion…which I’m sure you’d never engage in.” None of them could miss the way Chaophraya Tangkabodee’s entire face turned scarlet.

“An easy decision, I’m sure,” Heart added. “You’ll want to stay ahead of Chaophraya Ungphakorn, after all. Lady Khwanjai and Lord Sanan would be happy to meet with your solicitors before we depart.”

“If you decide not to sign, Father will send a ministry liaison to thank you for your hospitality, regardless,” Tinn said. Now he was the one attempting to hide a triumphant grin behind his spoon. “Seeing as you have so many plans in the works, he’ll want to ensure everything is running smoothly.”

“How generous of him,” Chaophraya Tangkabodee said through gritted teeth.

“And since you’ll be quite busy with all of that, we’d love for Lady Chalita and Lady Chanikarn to join us on our visit to the floating markets,” Heart said, smiling when their faces instantly brightened. “Would that suit you, Chaophraya Tangkabodee?”

It took ages for their entire group to shuffle into multiple carriages that afternoon: Heart, Tinn, Lady Chalita, Lady Chanikarn, Chalerm, Tiwson, six guards, two royal attendants, and two maids from the Tangkabodee household, all on their way to the floating markets along the Chao Phraya. Though Heart and Tinn had done their best to dress covertly, it was impossible for people not to recognize them. Heart could feel their stares closing in on them as soon as one of their guards led them out of the carriage and through the market’s passageways, though none dared to approach beyond an obeisant bow.

Still, Heart wasn’t about to let them keep him from enjoying himself. He took in his surroundings, eyes wide with wonder at the colorful, mismatched array of boats clustered together along the riverbank, all of them overflowing with boxes and baskets balanced precariously between oars. Merchants wore ngop hats and loose cotton attire, calling out to passersby and sorting out coins in large pouches that lay at their feet. When Heart inhaled, he was greeted with the smell of saltwater and grilled meat and fresh fruit.

Other market-goers slowed to gape at Heart and Tinn — one woman even dropped the bag of persimmons tucked under her arm when she spotted them — while others bustled about, somehow both frenzied and completely unhurried. It reminded Heart of that day in the capital, if not quite as busy. His chest ached momentarily at how much he wanted Li Ming to be there with him.

Heart offered an arm to Lady Chalita and asked her to point out her favorite merchants and food vendors. It wasn’t long before he’d purchased new silks for his parents, hand-bound journals for Tinn, fountain pens for Li Ming, and plenty of food for their retinue. He also bought new silks and shoes for himself, as well as a matching set of sun-shaped trinkets for him and Li Ming.

“Why the sun?” Tinn asked when they reconvened. “Is it because your name means ‘sun’?”

“Yes, but Li Ming’s name, too,” Heart said, beaming. “Well, almost. He told me it means ‘dawn’ in Qing. Do you think he’ll like it?”

Tinn squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

Shortly after, Lady Chalita stayed behind with her lady’s maid and one of the guards to rest her feet. Heart went to join Tinn and Lady Chanikarn, who seemed to be in the middle of a conversation. “I don’t think so,” Lady Chanikarn was saying. “Father is many things, but he’s not violent or vengeful — even if he does despise Chaophraya Ungphakorn.”

Noticing Heart’s presence, Tinn explained, “I asked Lady Chanikarn if the presence of a ministry liaison might lead to anything…troublesome on her father’s part.”

“I hope we haven’t made things worse for you, Lady Chanikarn,” Heart said, wincing.

“I don’t think things could’ve gone better, Your Royal Highness,” Lady Chanikarn replied with a twinkle in her eye. “Father was so distracted, I don’t think he even remembered the original purpose of your visit. I’d be very glad if he never did.”

Tinn smiled ruefully. “You’d make a fine queen in another life, but…we both know we never really wanted it in this one.”

“Then if I might ask again, Your Royal Highness…” Lady Chanikarn raised an eyebrow. Both of them blushed.

“The rumors are true,” Tinn admitted. “Gun and Li Ming are our…well, we’re not engaged yet, but we will be.”

“That’s wonderful!” Lady Chanikarn exclaimed, her entire face lighting up. “Does His Majesty intend to make it possible for everyone? Lady Tipnaree and Lady Rachanun will want to delay their wedding so they can make things official.” At Tinn’s nod, her smile widened. “How perfect. You know, Mother always wanted me to marry Lord Jirawat before the possibility of becoming your wife came along, and maybe now I will, but…there’s Lady Tontawan, too.”

Heart tilted his head. “Lady Tontawan?”

“Please don’t tell my parents, but I’ve had…dalliances with both of them in the past,” Lady Chanikarn said, her cheeks flushed. “It’ll be freeing to have the choice, in any case. And my heartfelt congratulations on your future engagements, Your Royal Highnesses. If you might indulge my curiosity, what are Gun and Li Ming like?”

Before they could answer, a flurry of motion caught Heart’s eye. Two young children came barreling through the crowd and flung their arms around Heart’s and Tinn’s legs. They looked no older than four years old, their cheeks pink with sunburn and the straps of their sandals coming undone. Onlookers gasped while the princes’ guards and familiars braced themselves, but Tinn quickly waved them off and knelt in front of the young girl instead.

“Hello,” he said, smiling. “What’s your name?”

The girl chewed her thumb, suddenly shy. “Som. And he’s Sud,” she added, jabbing a finger toward the boy whose face was buried against Heart’s knee. Heart carefully tousled Sud’s hair; it had been some time since he’d last been around children. Sud lifted his wide-eyed gaze to meet Heart’s in complete awe.

A harried-looking woman pushed her way to the front of the crowd moments later. “Your Royal Highnesses,” she panted, breathless. “Please, forgive me. I didn’t mean to let them out of my sight.”

“It’s alright,” Tinn reassured her before she could bow. “Som and Sud just wanted to say hello. Isn’t that right?”

Som nodded eagerly while Sud continued to stare at Heart, utterly mesmerized. Then, stirring from his trance, he finally released Heart so he could hold his hands up in front of his face. “Hello, Your Royal Highness,” he signed, clumsy but earnest. “I like your hair. It looks soft.”

A lump began to form in Heart’s throat. “Thank you,” he replied slowly, unsure how much sign language Sud knew. “I like your shirt. Blue is my favorite color.”

Sud’s entire face brightened. “Mine, too!” Heart could sense the crowd shifting around them, closing in on them, murmuring to each other and glancing interestedly between Tinn and Lady Chanikarn, who was now watching them with a fond smile. Still, his eyes remained on Sud as the little boy told Heart about his other favorite colors — the rest of them, as it turned out — with tireless enthusiasm.

When they returned to the Tangkabodee estate that evening, Heart could barely keep his eyes open. He’d fallen asleep in the carriage and Chalerm practically had to carry him to his bedchamber. Despite Chalerm’s complaints, Heart felt lighter on his feet somehow. He was already beginning to write his next letter to Li Ming in his head.

There was a knock at the door mere minutes after Heart sat down to rest before dinner, the vibrations rattling his chair. “Come in,” he called.

“Apologies if I’ve interrupted you,” Tinn said once he’d entered and settled at the foot of Heart’s bed. “Lord Sanan came to see me and asked if we still plan to leave tomorrow, or if you’d like to stay longer and explore more of Nonthaburi.”

Heart frowned. “Of course I want to leave tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Tinn asked. “We could stay another day or two, now that we can actually relax and enjoy ourselves.”

“Tinn,” Heart said, fixing him with a knowing look that he knew their mother would be proud of. “We both know how desperate you are to return home to Gun. And if I’m going to explore Nonthaburi, I want to do it with Li Ming by my side.”

“Is that what we’re doing for their birthday, then? Returning here?” Tinn chewed his lip. “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

Heart shook his head. “No, definitely not. Which is why I want Li Ming and Gun to decide where we’ll go.”

Gun was only vaguely aware of his friends’ presence as he paced the length of Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s sitting room, wondering if he was about to make the best decision or the worst mistake of his life. Yo was muttering anxiously under his breath, Por was knelt in front of the room’s small shrine with a bundle of joss sticks, and Pat’s leg was bouncing so vigorously that he kept knocking his knee into the table and startling them all. Only Sound looked relatively at ease, leaning against one of the walls with his arms folded across his chest. Li Ming was sitting beside one of their guards; he was to remain in this room, hidden away from the dinner guests, unless something went wrong.

“Gun,” Li Ming finally said after Gun passed him by for the tenth time.

“I know, I know, I can still back out — ”

“Actually, I was going to say you’ll wear holes in Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s rug if you keep that up,” Li Ming said wryly. Gun let out a surprised laugh, easing the tension in his jaw. He finally stopped pacing, taking a moment to stretch before sitting on Li Ming’s other side. “So, are you?”

“No,” Gun said firmly, though his leg was beginning to bounce, too. “I can do this. I want to do this. I’m not giving up.”

Li Ming offered him a small, genuine smile. “Good. I, um…I’m proud of you, Gun.”

Gun’s eyes widened. “You are?”

“You don’t have to sound so shocked,” Li Ming said, making a face. “Did you really think I wasn’t?”

“No, I just didn’t think you’d say it,” Gun said, beaming. “But I’m glad you did. You’re the only one I wanted to hear it from. Well, and Ma. Tinn would be nice, too. Oh, and — ”

“Feeling less special by the second, thanks,” Li Ming said, elbowing him. Gun elbowed him right back.

“Watch it, I didn’t do all those breathing exercises for you to bruise my ribs — ”

“Oh, come on, I barely touched you — ”

“Do you seriously not realize how sharp your elbows are — ”

One of Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s attendants loudly cleared their throat upon entering the room, shutting them both up. “Chaophraya Chaichitathorn and his guests are ready for you now,” they announced, leveling Gun and Li Ming with a cold stare. “If you’ll follow me.”

“Wait,” Gun said suddenly, standing up. “Can we have a moment, please?” The attendant pursed their lips but nodded, and Gun motioned for his friends to gather in the middle of the room. “I just…I wanted to thank you all again for allowing me to join you. I know things were sort of…ruined because of the rumors about me and Prince Tinn, but — ”

“Hold on,” Por interrupted. “First off, we didn’t ‘allow you’ to join us, we asked you to because you’re really talented and you’re our friend. I just wish we’d done it sooner.”

“And you didn’t ruin anything,” Yo reassured him. “We’re really happy for you, Gun. It’s the khunnang who ruined things.”

“Strictly speaking, it was the infirmary staff who went around telling everyone,” Pat managed to say before Por stomped on his foot. “Ow — hey, watch it! — ”

“Yes, but still,” Gun said, letting out an exasperated yet fond chuckle. “Thank you, all of you. And I mean you too, Sound.”

Sound frowned, surprised. “Me? I didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly,” Gun replied. “You had a thousand chances to ask me about Prince Tinn or tell people what you know about me, but you didn’t. So…thank you.”

Sound bristled, though he also looked pleased. “Well…it wouldn’t have been right.”

“You’re joining us for drinks and khanom after, right?” Por asked. At Sound’s nod, accompanied by a small smile, Por’s own grin widened. “Good. Alright, are we ready?”

Li Ming squeezed Gun’s hand one last time before Gun followed his friends and the attendant into the main drawing room. It was spacious yet cozy, with one wall composed entirely of windows, their curtains drawn back to let the evening light trickle in. Qing pots stood in each corner of the room, bursting with lush palm plants. Teakwood chairs and divans were artfully arranged in a half-circle, adorned with brocade cushions and pha yok dok, with a few end tables bearing teapots and silver trays of khanom. At a glance, Gun counted fourteen members of the khunnang seated before them, all of varying ages and degrees of interest in the new arrivals. Finally, there was a temporary rostrum at the front, where their instruments awaited them.

“My friends, you won’t believe who I have here for you tonight,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn said brightly from his seat near the front while Gun and his friends took their places. “Not one, not two, but three young spellsingers, though of course, we mustn’t discount the incomparable talents of their companions. Allow me to introduce you to Lord Porawee, Lord Saran, Mister Guntaphon, Lord Phatchara, and Lord Yothin!”

There was a polite smattering of applause, followed by a few murmurs that Gun hoped weren’t out of recognition. He exchanged glances with his friends, all of them sharing silent, encouraging nods. And then, at the measured thump-thump-thump of Pat’s foot, they began their first song.

Gun closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself get lost in the music. The words poured out of his mouth like honey, warm and sweet and indulgent. Though he and Por had fretted over the condition of their voices and Pat and Yo had worried about forgetting their cues, they all sounded perfect. Sound, of course, never missed a note, but he’d always been something of a show-off, usually demonstrating complex motifs to prove just how talented he was. Now, he blended perfectly with the rest, harmonizing in a way they never had before.

It was only when they were halfway through the song that Gun finally opened his eyes. Some of the guests were no longer draped across their seats in feigned indifference. Instead, they were sitting up straighter, their eyes glittering with intrigue. It was difficult to tell who they were looking at, but more than a few locked gazes with Gun whenever he looked back. He continued on, determined not to spare them another thought.

One song moved seamlessly into the next, then another, and another. Gun, Por, and Sound traded off songs, giving them time to demonstrate their spellsinging abilities to the fullest. Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s guests became more and more enraptured as time went on. Eventually, after about an hour, they shifted to instrumental music so the guests could resume talking among themselves.

Gun didn’t pay any mind to their conversations at first, too preoccupied with accepting a much-needed glass of water from one of the servants. Then, one of the older women began talking much too loudly to Chaophraya Chaichitathorn. “Is that Prince Tinn’s lover, then? He’s marvelous,” she remarked, her enormous niello earrings swaying as she spoke. “How were you first introduced? Was it through His Royal Highness himself, perhaps?”

“The rest of the group, actually. Guntaphon is their schoolmate and close friend,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn replied, his eyes meeting Gun’s. He gave Gun an imperceptible nod, his mouth taut. “Wonderfully talented, isn’t he? I’m so glad we were introduced.”

“I heard spellsingers can seduce even the most powerful persons with their song,” one man chimed in. “Like another form of compulsion magic, only less sinister. On the surface, at least.” Gun drew in a breath, suddenly colder than the last.

“How unsettling,” another man commented with a shudder. “I always thought spellsinging was a rather useless, but harmless sort of magic. They serve little purpose beyond a pretty song, unlike artificers and healers. Should we be concerned, do you think?”

“If not for ourselves, perhaps for His Royal Highness,” the first man said. “Does anyone know how they met? Chaophraya Chaichitathorn, surely he’s told you?”

“I don’t believe that’s anyone’s business but theirs,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn replied, only the slightest hint of irritation evident in his voice. “And, I might add, Guntaphon and Prince Tinn are friends. To spread unfounded rumors about His Royal Highness’s affairs is a dangerous path you best not follow.”

“Come now, my friend, it was only a question,” the first man retorted. He made no attempt to hide his irritation. “It’s not as if I’m running off to tell the Gazette.”

“So you don’t talk to your nephew? He’s one of their reporters, after all,” the older woman said with an indelicate snort. “Leave it be, Phraya Adireksarn. You can’t seriously think that boy seduced Prince Tinn with his voice alone. He’s quite handsome, too. If he’s as sweet as he looks and the rumors are true, then His Royal Highness has excellent taste.”

“You’ll be happy to know he’s very kind, Phraya Shinawatra,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn said. “He’s a lovely, diligent young man.”

“But it’s not…” The second man’s voice dropped to a whisper, though of course, Gun’s hearing was sharper than most. “…the done thing. It’s one thing to take another man as a concubine, but if he really intends to have this boy as his consort, then…and wasn’t he meant to marry Chaophraya Tangkabodee’s daughter? What must they think?”

“You both seem very concerned with what people might feel or think, Phraya Panichgul, Phraya Adireksarn,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn said coolly. “And here, I thought you prided yourselves on your intellect. You must’ve realized by now that this is where Ayutthaya is heading.”

“Heading?” Phraya Panichgul echoed blankly while Phraya Adireksarn’s face turned as red as his pha biang.

“The days of King Wichai’s unyielding rule are long over,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn replied. “He did nothing but plunge us into an unnecessary war that destroyed far more lives than just those on the front. I, for one, look forward to seeing how King Kasemchai will do the exact opposite and make our lives better.”

Phraya Panichgul suddenly glanced in Gun’s direction, making him flinch. “He’s not even a son of the khunnang,” he hissed. “And wasn’t his brother the one who attempted to murder Prince Heart?”

“My, you do ask plenty of inane questions,” Phraya Shinawatra tutted, her palm fan fluttering about her face. “How fortunate you aren’t one of the Gazette’s reporters. There’d be nothing but reports of conspiracy, and I do hate looking over my shoulder. It hurts my neck.”

“Gun.” Someone tugged at his elbow. He turned to see Por standing there, his smile slightly strained. “Come on, it’s not a piphat without our pi nai.”

Gun swallowed, grateful he didn’t have to sing again for at least another hour. His throat felt as though it were full of sawdust. “They’re not even talking about our performance,” he muttered.

Por chewed his bottom lip. “Do you want to say something, or…perhaps I could — ”

“No, no, it’s…” Gun exhaled. “I’m just being silly. It’s not as if I didn’t know this would happen.”

“You’re not being silly,” Por said, squeezing his arm. “If you’d like to take a break or leave early, let us know, alright?”

Gun nodded, finally following Por back onto the rostrum and taking up his instrument again. He put the conversation out of his mind as best he could, but without a song to sing or magic to perform, his thoughts occasionally wandered. The two men, Phraya Adireksarn and Phraya Panichgul, had moved on to talk with other guests, and Gun didn’t know if that was better or worse. The older woman, Phraya Shinawatra, was now telling Chaophraya Chaichitathorn about a museum she’d visited in Kolkata, but would occasionally catch Gun’s eye and smile before resuming her conversation.

Eventually, it was Gun’s turn to sing again. The guests, however, didn’t quiet down right away, several threads of conversation still lingering. Some seemed to grow even louder, as though they were attempting to drown out the sound of his voice with their own. “The more I think about it, the less sense it makes,” sniffed a third man while Phraya Adireksarn and Phraya Panichgul nodded in emphatic agreement. They all ignored Chaophraya Chaichitathorn, who was giving them pointed looks. “What could Prince Tinn possibly be thinking?”

“And Prince Heart, too,” Phraya Panichgul said. “I heard he was never bright to begin with, but to put everything on the line for someone who tried to harm him?”

“If King Kasemchai were half the man his father was, perhaps his sons wouldn’t have turned out so — ” Phraya Adireksarn began, but Gun wasn’t about to let him finish.

“Excuse me,” he said loudly. The entire room descended into a sudden silence, his friends’ instruments stumbling to a halt. Every head turned in his direction, everyone’s eyes grew impossibly wide. Gun felt their gazes, ranging from surprise to annoyance to disdain, pin him to the spot. Still, he wasn’t about to let his sweaty hands or trembling knees stop him. “If the music isn’t to your liking, we’d be happy to take requests instead.”

Several faces reddened out of embarrassment or anger. Gun’s friends looked at him questioningly, but his gaze was fixed on Phraya Adireksarn and Phraya Panichgul, both of whom looked irritated, yet smug. “I have a request,” Phraya Adireksarn said. “Won’t you tell us about yourself, Mister Guntaphon?”

“I’m afraid that’s not a song, my lord,” Gun replied, his heart thundering. “Anyone else?”

“Have you written any songs of your own, darling?” Phraya Shinawatra called. “We’d love to hear something new.”

Gun gave her a grateful smile. “Yes, my lady, just the one. Though it isn’t finished.”

“Here’s a question you might deign acceptable to answer,” Phraya Panichgul said, tilting his head as if to appraise him. “How does spellsinging work, exactly? What makes a spellsong different from an ordinary spell or an ordinary song?”

Gun faltered. “Well, I — ”

“And what,” Phraya Panichgul continued, leaning forward, “makes a spellsong consider itself worthy of going beyond what it was made for?”

The room suddenly felt as though it were closing in on Gun, the air growing thick with hushed whispers. His breath hitched, rendering him unable to speak. Chaophraya Chaichitathorn rose to his feet while Gun’s friends stepped forward, but Sound was the one who spoke first. “You really are as foolish as my father says,” he scoffed. “Do you really think word of your conduct tonight won’t reach His Majesty?”

“You’re just a boy, Lord Saran. What would you know?” Phraya Adireksarn snorted.

“A boy whose father is, of course, one of the king’s most trusted advisors,” Sound said, his lip curling. “He’d be quite displeased to hear that certain members of the Phraya, who owe much of their connections and dealings to him, spoke ill of the royal family, especially so openly. What are the consequences, I wonder?”

“Are you threatening me?” Phraya Adireksarn spat, his face reddening once more.

There was a glint in Sound’s eye that left Gun both impressed and a little scared. “As though I’d waste my breath. No, I’m warning you. And I won’t do it again.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn said, all usual traces of humor gone. “This was meant to be a memorable evening spent in the company of good friends and wonderful music. Yet, we somehow have interlopers in our midst who most certainly are not my friends. Phraya Adireksarn, Phraya Panichgul, Phraya Busarakha — ” he gestured toward the three men, then to the attendant waiting in the doorway, who hurried off to fetch the guards “ — I’m not sure how you all got in here, but it won’t happen again.” His hardened gaze swept across the rest of the room. “Is anyone else uncertain as to how they ended up in my drawing room?”

No one else dared to move, though the three men certainly didn’t keep quiet. Phraya Adireksarn was apoplectic by the time the guards came to escort them out of Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s estate. The moment they left, the room felt uncomfortably still. Then, Phraya Shinawatra let out a loud, booming laugh. “Good riddance. I’ve seen spiderwebs with more integrity than those fools.”

There were a few chuckles in response, some uneasy and others amused. Gun’s friends drew nearer, squeezing his shoulders in reassurance. He finally lifted his watery gaze from his feet to give them grateful smiles. “That’s twice now I owe you,” he told Sound, who shrugged him off.

“Are you fine to keep going?” he asked. “I can sing your parts for you.”

“Of course you’d offer,” Gun laughed, shaking his head. “No, I’m…I’m alright. Thank you.”

They went on for a couple more hours, Por and Sound silently agreeing to sing more often to give Gun some respite. Gun stepped away for a few minutes so he could breathe and tell Li Ming what had happened, knowing he wouldn’t be pleased if Gun didn’t tell him until the night was already over. Predictably, he called the men several names that would make some of Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s guests faint. “Are you sure you want to go back out there?” he asked once he'd finished.

Gun nodded. “The worst of it is over. I really just want to perform with my friends.”

“Then do it,” Li Ming said simply, squeezing Gun’s shoulder. “And if you need me, I’ll be here.”

Once the last of the guests departed late into the night — Phraya Shinawatra clasped Gun’s hand between hers before she left and told him he was a delight — Chaophraya Chaichitathorn took Gun aside, his face ashen. “Gun, I’m so sorry. I never should’ve put you in such a terrible position.”

“It’s alright, sir,” Gun promised him. “I offered to stay on, and…we all expected this would happen.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Chaophraya Chaichitathorn said firmly. “I should’ve intervened much sooner. Please, at least allow me to double your pay. And should you ever decide to return — though I can’t imagine why you would — I promise, I’ll thoroughly assess my guests next time. And my friends, for that matter.”

He sent them on their way soon after, their pockets significantly heavier. The warm night air filled with excited chatter while Li Ming and Sound eyed each other warily from opposite sides of their group. Por’s mother greeted them at the door of their family residence, ushering them inside and pushing warm cups of tea into their hands. Gun and Li Ming silently agreed not to touch the cold bottles of lao khao Por reached for instead.

“Better now?” Por asked once they were all crowded around a low table and Gun’s mouth was full of khanom tan.

“I’m fine,” Gun insisted. Perhaps if he said it enough times, it would become true. “I mean it. Those men were awful, but I’ll be fine.”

“Win will be furious when he finds out,” Yo said, chuckling softly. “Between him, Li Ming, and Sound, you have nothing to worry about.” Li Ming and Sound shared another look that reminded Gun of the stray dogs he’d seen near the kitchen repository, haunches raised and teeth bared.

“Except that the rest of our lives will always be like that, I suppose,” Gun said quietly, his second piece of khanom tan crumbling between his fingers. “Maybe they won’t all be so obvious about it, but…still.” The others made commiserative noises of sympathy.

“Hey, um — ” Por tapped him on the back of his hand. “Will you tell us more about you and Prince Tinn? You never told us what he’s like. Oh, and Prince Heart, too!”

“I’m not saying a word,” Li Ming said, stealing a piece of pickled mango from under Pat’s nose.

“Come on,” Pat complained. “At least tell us if he’s as much of a troublemaker as everyone says. You were together during the lakhon nai, weren’t you?”

“Leave him be,” Yo said, elbowing him. “Besides, you never ask me about Nook.”

“That’s because you won’t stop talking about her all on your own,” Pat retorted. “And I mean no offense to Lady Aphichaya, but it’s the princes we’re talking about here. Aren’t you curious?” Then, much to Gun and Li Ming’s dismay, he rounded on Sound. “You’ve met them, haven’t you?”

Sound blinked, surprised at being directly addressed. He hadn’t spoken much since they left Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s estate. “Yes, but you won’t get anything out of me, either,” he replied. “I’m definitely not foolish enough to say anything Gun and Li Ming wouldn’t want me to. The princes don’t have a high opinion of me as it is.”

“They will once I tell them you defended us,” Gun offered.

Sound’s eyes widened further. “…you will?”

“Why wouldn’t I? As I said, you’ve done it twice now,” Gun shrugged. The look in Sound’s eyes was nothing like the look of contempt he’d had when they first met, yet the sincerity of it unnerved Gun all the same. “Um, well…I suppose I could tell you a little about Tinn. Not much, though.”

Por, Pat, and Yo leaned in with rapt attention. “Well?”

“He really is as kind as they say, and thoughtful. He always considers everyone else’s feelings before his own,” Gun said. “He’s clever, and funny, and…he never believes me when I tell him this, but I think he’s quite brave, too.” His cheeks grew warmer as he spoke. Though he’d done well to concentrate on his performance instead of Tinn’s absence, his chest ached when he thought about just how much he missed him. He’d have to write Tinn another letter before turning in for the night, even if it meant he’d be more sentimental than usual.

“You forgot to mention ‘hopelessly in love with you’,” Li Ming apparently couldn’t help but add, earning another elbow to the ribs.

“Ming!” Gun protested while his friends whooped and lifted their lao khao bottles in triumph.

“What?” Li Ming’s grin was so relaxed, so utterly at ease, that Gun had no choice but to forgive him. “You’re hopelessly in love with him, too.”

Tinn peered around the corner of the white-washed building, his pulse racing at the sight before him. He was exhausted and sore and his head ached, having not had anything to drink or eat in far too long, but right now, he didn’t want to be anywhere else. Part of him was content to simply stand there and watch. The other part felt as though his heart would leap out of his chest if he didn’t move right this second. Heart prodded him in the back before he could decide.

“Well?” he asked once Tinn turned around, startled. “Is he there?”

“Yes,” Tinn replied. “But I just…I want this to be perfect.”

Heart shook his head, amused. “We’re standing in their back garden, Tinn. It’s already far from perfect, and ‘perfect’ never mattered to them.”

A sharp cry came from behind. Tinn turned once more to himself face-to-face with the blade of a shovel, mere inches from the tip of his nose. “Who the — wait. Tinn?” The shovel lowered to reveal Gun’s wide-eyed expression, confused and overjoyed and breathless all at once. Tinn didn’t realize how mesmerized he’d become by the smudges of dirt across Gun’s cheeks or the perspiration clinging to Gun’s brow until Gun waved a gloved hand in his face. “…Tinn?”

Beaming, Tinn rushed forward to sweep Gun into his embrace as Gun dropped the shovel with a loud, metallic clatter just in time. He buried his face against Gun’s shoulder, inhaling the odd, intermingling scent of coconut milk and orchids and freshly-turned earth. Gun wrapped his arms around Tinn’s waist and pulled him closer until they were almost one. “I missed you,” Tinn mumbled into the rough linen of Gun’s shirt.

“I missed you, too,” Gun said, his voice thick with emotion. When he drew back, he was grinning. “Though I’m guessing not as much as you missed me.” Tinn could only laugh, brushing a sweaty strand of hair out of Gun’s eyes. “What are you doing here? Why are you back so early?”

“We resolved our business with Chaophraya Tangkabodee,” Tinn said simply. “We didn’t have much reason to stay any longer. I only wish we’d made it back sooner so I could’ve wished you luck before your performance. How did it go?”

Heart cleared his throat before Gun could answer. “Perhaps we should go inside before anyone notices us standing in your garden?”

“Oh!” Gun straightened up as though he’d just noticed Heart’s presence. His eyes widened when he also spotted the solitary guard behind Heart, their expression entirely unamused. “Of course, follow me.”

The back garden of the Wongwitthayas’ residence was small but welcoming, leading into a warm kitchen that smelled of fresh bread and black tea. Gun deposited his gloves onto the counter, then washed his hands while Tinn and Heart continued to look around. There was a set of silver flatware drying beside the sink that was most definitely a gift from their mother, a row of spice jars lined up neatly beneath the window, and a modest pantry filled with produce and two large cotton sacks, one for rice and one for flour.

Gun led them into the sitting room next, which boasted a set of matching chairs around a low table and not much else. Though Tinn knew the Wongwitthayas had been careful not to ask for much, he made a note to suggest adding at least a few plants. “Is anyone else home?” he asked.

“Ma’s still sleeping, but Li Ming and Uncle Jim left for the kitchens about an hour ago,” Gun said, giving Heart an apologetic smile. “We could send someone to tell him you’ve returned, if you’d like?” Heart nodded almost shyly, and Gun left to write a quick message and find one of the couriers making their morning rounds in the courtyard. He returned when Tinn was in the middle of a particularly voracious yawn, then raised an eyebrow. “Did…you sleep at all before coming here?”

“We came here right from the docks,” Heart admitted. “We haven’t been to see Mother and Father, either.”

Gun sighed, amused. “Of course you haven’t. Well…come on, then.”

Tinn and Heart shared bewildered glances. “Pardon?”

“Ma would disinherit me if I let you fall asleep in our sitting room,” Gun said, motioning for them to follow. “At least get some rest before Li Ming comes back.”

He first showed Heart into Li Ming’s bedroom, a mostly bare room with little more than a bed, a chest of drawers, and a desk, though Tinn did spot a stack of wordsmithing textbooks that he suspected were from Tutor Suchada. Gun then led Tinn into his own bedroom, where a mess of music notation and half-finished charcoal drawings made it nearly impossible to see the floor. He hastily shoved everything under his bedstead and smoothed out his sheets before giving Tinn a slightly embarrassed smile.

“I’m glad to see you’ve settled in nicely,” Tinn said, chuckling. “How are you finding it?”

“It’s perfect,” Gun said, his eyes bright. “There’s so much space and fresh air, Ma has her herb garden and an actual kitchen…it feels like a dream.”

“That’s wonderful,” Tinn said softly. “If your mother ever needs more kitchen or garden tools, just let me know.”

Gun nodded before blinking as though he’d just remembered something. “Oh! Actually, now that you’re here…I wanted to show you this.”

Tinn watched curiously as Gun unearthed a small tin box from the bottom drawer of his bureau. When he opened it, Tinn saw it was nearly full to bursting with envelopes, each bearing his own handwriting. He lifted his gaze to Gun’s, eyes wide. “Are these…all my letters?”

“What else?” Gun replied, grinning. “I used to keep them under the floor, but now that Ma knows — well, everyone knows — I don’t have to hide them anymore, and I wanted to make sure they were somewhere safe. I was thinking of asking Heart for an enchanted lock.”

Tinn carefully sifted through the letters, noting the date marks as they carried him back through time. Even the first letter was well-preserved, the envelope only slightly yellowing with age, no creased corners or fold lines in sight. He settled on the bed to reminisce while Gun rummaged through his things for a spare change of clothes. When he set them out by Tinn’s side and turned to leave, Tinn frowned. “Wait, where are you going?”

Gun blinked, confused. “Uh…to finish weeding the garden? I promised Ma I’d do it before she starts planting her basil.”

“I was…” Tinn blushed a little. “I was hoping you’d stay. I…thought we might share the bed and talk about what we’ve missed.”

Gun chuckled and shook his head, closing the door behind him regardless. “You’re meant to be resting,” he reminded him. “But…if you really missed me that much, I suppose Ma would understand.”

“Good,” Tinn said, relieved, and Gun laughed again. “Though, um…could you turn around while I change?”

Now it was Gun’s ears that turned noticeably pink. “Oh, um — right, of course.”

Once they were settled comfortably beneath the sheets, legs tangled and arms loosely wrapped around each other’s waists, Tinn began studying Gun’s face, wanting to commit it to memory. Though Gun had always been quite cheerful in his letters, he’d been weighed down with worry and grief since they’d first met in person. His demeanor had gradually brightened as time went on, but it wasn’t until now that he looked truly as carefree as he was meant to be, his smile so radiant that Tinn didn’t dare look away.

He took Gun’s face in both hands, gently pressing his thumb against the corner of Gun’s mouth as though to lift his smile even further. Gun chuckled, placing his hand over Tinn’s. “I thought you wanted to talk, but all you’ve done is stare.”

“Because you look happy,” Tinn said softly.

Gun sighed. “I was hoping it was because I look handsome.”

“You’re always handsome,” Tinn replied, his thumb now caressing Gun’s cheek. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

“And you’re the most sentimental person I’ve ever met,” Gun said, trying not to smile. “Now will you tell me about Nonthaburi, or should I leave so you’ll finally get some sleep?”

Tinn told him about Chaophraya Tangkabodee and his intent to use the rumors against them, how he’d quickly devised a plan that involved pretending to have fevers, and how nervous he’d been during that morning’s breakfast, almost certain something would go wrong. “I still can’t believe it worked,” he admitted. “Not that I ever doubted Lady Khwanjai and Lord Sanan’s counsel, it’s just…well, you never know.”

“And I still can’t believe you lied outright,” Gun said, impressed. “Is there any chance you’d make that potion for me if I ever want to avoid my lessons?”

For once, Tinn ignored him, continuing on about their afternoon in the floating markets and the children who’d come running up to them, eager and unafraid. A few more had approached them after, and they’d spent another hour playing with the children and conversing with their families. Some had made unsubtle comments about Lady Chanikarn’s presence, to which Tinn simply told them the truth: that they were visiting Nonthaburi on royal business, nothing more.

“Then we had dinner with Lady Chanikarn and Lady Chalita — apparently, Chaophraya Tangkabodee had a prior engagement — and left the next morning,” Tinn finished. “We really wanted to come back as soon as we could.”

“Because you missed us,” Gun teased, tapping Tinn on the nose. “I know.”

Tinn took Gun’s hand and brushed a kiss across his knuckles, making Gun blush and scoff at the same time. “Tell me about your performance. It was…two nights ago?”

Gun nodded. “I wrote you a letter about it right after, but it’s probably in Nonthaburi by now. Anyhow, it was…well.” His face twisted in unwanted recollection of something terrible.

Tinn’s heart sank at the sight, squeezing Gun’s hand in reassurance. “It’s alright. We don’t have to talk about it.”

Gun managed a wan smile. “No, I want to. It’s just…I don’t want to worry you, but I know you’ll want to hear this.”

Tinn listened with rapt attention — and gradual horror — as Gun recounted that night’s events. His blood boiled at the thought of anyone thinking Gun was anything less than wonderful. When Gun finished, his shoulders were hunched, his jaw visibly clenched. Tinn gently tugged on Gun’s wrist, silently asking for permission. Gun sank into Tinn’s embrace without another word, curling in on himself in Tinn’s arms.

“Oh, Gun,” Tinn murmured, carding his fingers through Gun’s hair. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been awful.”

“It’s not just that.” Gun’s voice was muffled against the crook of Tinn’s neck. “It’s…I really wanted to defend myself — and you, and Heart, and His Majesty too, but — I just couldn’t. I didn’t know what to do or say, and I…if it weren’t for Sound and Chaophraya Chaichitathorn…” He swallowed. “I just wasn’t brave enough.”

Tinn’s heart ached. “But you were. You set out to do something you’d always dreamed of, even when you knew things might go wrong. Don’t worry about what you should have done, alright? You were brave and scared, and neither contradicts the other.” He leaned back to lift Gun’s chin with a crook of his finger. Gun’s red-rimmed eyes broke Tinn’s heart all over again, though thankfully, his face was free of tears. “I’m proud of you, Gun. And I’m so sorry that happened. If there’s anything I can do…”

“They’ll only keep saying more horrible things if you do,” Gun said resignedly. “But…thank you, really. You…you just always know what to say.” He let out a wet laugh. “Honestly, I promised to spoil you rotten once you returned. I’m not doing a very good job, am I?”

“You’re here with me, aren’t you?” Tinn gently kissed Gun’s forehead, one hand still cradling the back of Gun’s neck. “That’s all I need.”

“So sentimental,” Gun said affectionately before he tilted his head and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on Tinn’s cheek. Heat instantly flooded Tinn’s face, which only made Gun laugh and do it again and again and again until Tinn was laughing, too.

They lapsed into comfortable silence soon after that, content to enjoy each other’s company as they drifted in and out of sleep. Even Chompoo curled around Munmuang as though to protect her. None of them stirred until they heard the front door open. By the time Tinn and Gun stumbled out of bed, bleary-eyed, and crossed the corridor to Li Ming’s bedroom, Heart and Li Ming were already in a tangled heap on the bed, kissing. Gun snickered while Tinn averted his gaze, embarrassed.

“So what did you tell Madam Chidchanok, exactly?” Gun teased.

Li Ming responded with an unmistakable hand gesture before reluctantly parting from a dazed-looking Heart. “That Ma’s fever returned.”

Gun’s eyes widened. “What? Ming, that’s horrible.”

“Like you wouldn’t have done something similar,” Li Ming said airily before glancing between Tinn and Heart. As though it had been simply waiting for everyone’s attention, Heart’s stomach let out an impressive growl. His face reddened while the others attempted not to laugh. “Has Gun not offered you anything to drink or eat the entire time you’ve been here? Gun, that’s horrible.” Gun returned Li Ming’s earlier gesture without hesitation.

A few minutes later, the four of them were in the kitchen, telling each other what they’d missed. Tinn and Heart swayed sleepily on their feet as they sipped steaming cups of black tea. Li Ming was frying eggs in a hot pan while Gun was chopping ginger and green onions for the rice porridge bubbling in a pot on the stove. Something about watching them work together in easy silence made Tinn feel oddly wistful.

He was happy to see the aftermath of Gun and Li Ming’s hard-earned reconciliation, of course, but it also reminded him that he and Heart had never experienced anything like this. Their parents had done their best to provide them with an ordinary upbringing, one in which they lived together as a family instead of having a legion of nurses raise them in the confines of the Inner Court. Until Kasemchai ascended the throne, he and Photjanee had even bathed them and prepared their meals, rather than leaving it all to their servants.

But there was something so simple about the way Gun and Li Ming worked together, how Li Ming seemed to know when Gun was going to ask him to taste the jok and see if it needed more salt, how Gun already had a plate in hand whenever Li Ming finished frying another egg. Tinn imagined if Gim were here, she’d scold them about leaving burnt bits of rice or egg behind. As inseparable as he was with Heart and their parents, they’d never shared a moment quite like this.

The sound of the front door opening once more stirred Tinn from his thoughts. “Hello,” a soft, yet brisk voice called. “The apothecary told me it’ll be another hour before Madam Ratchanee’s medicine is ready, so I’ll return after breakfast. Is she awake yet?”

“No, but she will be if you keep shouting across the house,” Li Ming replied without looking away from his pan.

“And Ma’s already told you hundreds of times to call her Mae Gim,” Gun said, chuckling.

A young woman, perhaps just a few years older, entered the kitchen and promptly began rummaging through the pantry for something, having not taken notice of Tinn or Heart. Eventually, she found a glass bottle of what looked like some sort of tincture — perhaps the concoction from Chaophraya Chaichitathorn that Gun once told Tinn about — then turned to begin preparing some tea. The bottle nearly slipped from her grasp when her gaze finally met Tinn’s. “…oh,” she said faintly, eyes wide as she clutched the bottle to her chest. “He…hello, Your Royal Highnesses.”

“Miss Sirikanya, I believe?” Tinn guessed. “It’s lovely to meet you. Gun never mentioned you were…our age.” Or that you were quite pretty, Tinn thought, his mouth twisting into a slight frown. Gun looked amused, almost as though he could read Tinn’s mind.

“Oh,” she said again, flustered. “Yes, well, I’m in the last few months of my apprenticeship under Madam Winai. I’ll be a fully certified nurse in the royal infirmary by next year, so if you’re ever in need of assistance, then — ”

“Weren’t you making Ma’s tea, Miss Sirikanya?” Gun interrupted, the smile on his face all but gone. Miss Sirikanya cleared her throat and nodded, hastily preparing Gim’s tea before departing the kitchen with her head bowed.

Heart and Li Ming exchanged glances, identical smirks on their faces. “Honestly, she was just making conversation,” Li Ming said, laughing. “Ma’s going to be furious with both of you.” Heart could barely contain his giggles, shoulders shaking with mirth as he leaned into Li Ming’s side. Li Ming was quick to wrap his arm around Heart’s waist to steady him.

“Miss Sirikanya would be pleased to know you defended her, considering she’s quite fond of you,” Gun couldn’t help but retort, and the laughter instantly died in Heart’s throat. Tinn gave Gun a pointed look while Heart turned to Li Ming with wide, inquisitive eyes, but Gun merely shrugged and drew closer. “Help me set the table?”

“You’ve nothing to be jealous of, you know,” Tinn said, encircling Gun’s waist with his arms. “I only have eyes for you.”

Gun’s earlier smile returned, almost smug this time. “Oh, I know.”

Gim emerged from her bedroom to join them in the dining room a few minutes later, still drowsy but her face bright with joy. Tinn was glad to see she was steadier on her feet than when they’d last visited her in the infirmary, dressed in what appeared to be one of the new silks Lady Natchanan had sent them. She dipped into a low wai, then straightened with a radiant smile.

“I didn’t think you were returning so soon, Your Royal Highnesses,” she said warmly. “Perhaps now my sons will finally stop moping about the house.”

“I’ve been working in the kitchens with Uncle Jim this entire time — ” “Ma, I’ve been preparing the garden for you — ”

“If you’re not too exhausted, I’d love to hear all about Nonthaburi,” Gim continued, ignoring them. Heart snorted while Tinn pulled out a chair for her, and the six of them — Miss Sirikanya included — shared a simple, yet indulgent breakfast. Tinn and Heart told a more palatable version of events, not wanting to reveal what had really happened in front of Gim or Miss Sirikanya. Gun winked conspicuously when Tinn mentioned their sudden fevers; Tinn had to nudge him under the table to warn him off.

Gim, Gun, and Li Ming then talked at length about how much they loved their new house. Gim told them she was especially glad it meant having Jim close by, admitting she was always a little worried about him. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry much longer,” Gun said with another conspiratorial grin. This time, it was Li Ming who shoved him in the shoulder.

“You make it sound as though he’s dying,” Li Ming said, shaking his head. “Uncle Jim just…recently made a new friend, that’s all.”

“That handsome architect, you mean?” Gim arched an eyebrow. “Or are we all still pretending I don’t know about him?”

Gun nearly choked on his rice porridge. “What?!”

“They met again a few nights ago, didn’t they?” Gim said, sipping her tea. “I hope he’s a good man, though I can’t help but feel sorry for Gaipa.”

“Gaipa’s the son of a Phraya merchant; he’ll be fine,” Li Ming replied. “Though I expect Uncle Jim will never hear the end of it from Phraya Kansamut on her next visit. Or me, since I’ll be there, too.”

“You’re not returning to the stables, then?” Tinn asked.

“It’s…” Li Ming hesitated. “…safer for me to remain in the kitchens. At least I’m only around other servants. In the stables, I’d have to face soldiers, scholars, the khunnang…and I’m not sure what my old friends might say.”

“The kitchens are much more comfortable, anyway,” Gun said a touch too brightly while Heart squeezed Li Ming’s hand in sympathy. “And the cooks are kinder than Mister Sanpetch. He’d never give you all the chao kuai you could ever want.”

“Will you be returning to the kitchens soon as well?” Heart asked. “Because…Tinn and I had something in mind before you do.”

Gim raised her other eyebrow, intrigued. “Something I should know about, I’d imagine?”

“As much as we wanted Gun and Li Ming to accompany us to Nonthaburi, we knew it wouldn’t exactly be…wise to do so,” Tinn said carefully, attempting to ignore the way Miss Sirikanya’s eyes darted back and forth as though she were watching a game of takraw. “But with their birthdays approaching, we thought we might take a short trip together to celebrate. Nothing too far or for too long, just some time away from the palace to enjoy ourselves.”

Gun and Li Ming’s eyes brightened instantly. “Where?” Gun asked.

“Wherever you’d like,” Heart replied, smiling. “It’s your birthdays, after all.”

“If it pleases you, we’d also like for you or your brother to accompany us,” Tinn added, nodding in Gim’s direction. “We wouldn’t want to be without chaperones.”

“Certainly not,” Gim agreed, though a smile was also beginning to spread across her face.

Gun and Li Ming fell quiet for a moment, exchanging silent, contemplative glances. “I don’t think we ever talked about where we’d like to go in particular,” Li Ming eventually said. “Only that we wanted to go somewhere, someday. We’d never imagined it was possible, anyhow, so we never bothered.”

“Ma,” Gun said slowly, “when you and Uncle Jim ran away from home all those years ago — ”

“There’s no need to make me sound ancient,” Gim huffed, pinching Gun’s ear.

“ — you told us you only made it as far as Samut Prakan before Grandpa found you,” Gun finished, undeterred. “Where were you running to? Maybe…we could go there together.”

There was something bittersweet in Gim’s expression then, a story that Tinn suspected even her sons knew nothing about. She clasped their hands in hers and smiled. “We were running away to Pattaya.”

Chapter Text

No one was more grateful than Heart to find that Tinn’s anti-nausea potion worked far better the second time. Tinn, on his part, was just glad their parents hadn’t been nearly as resistant as he’d anticipated when they met the day after they’d arrived home from Nonthaburi, asking if they could accompany Gun and Li Ming to Pattaya for their birthday. In fact, it was almost as though they’d been expecting it.

“Pattaya?” Kasemchai had said curiously. “It’s been some time since you last visited. Is it of special significance to them?”

“To their mother and uncle, actually,” Tinn replied. “They agreed to being our chaperones — along with whomever else you’d like to accompany us, of course.”

“At least a dozen guards, naturally,” Photjanee said, her eyes twinkling with unexpected humor. “And while you won’t be there on royal business, you should take Lady Khwanjai and Lord Sanan with you, seeing how they served you well in Nonthaburi. But we’ll do our best to keep word of your travels as confidential as possible. We wouldn’t want the khunnang showing up at your door.”

Once they agreed to the terms of their trip, including how long they’d be away and what responsibilities they needed to attend to before their departure, Photjanee wrote to one of her relatives who lived in Pattaya, requesting her hospitality. Much to Tinn’s dismay, he and Heart spent most of their time attending lessons they’d all but forgotten about, preparing for the exams they’d have to take once they returned, and joining council meetings about their father’s proposed marriage reform, feeling discomfited by the council members’ reproachful looks. They barely had time to see Gun and Li Ming despite being within walking distance of each other’s residences.

Finally, a little over a week after they’d arrived home, they left by boat once more. Gun and Heart shared excitable, if nervous chatter throughout the carriage ride to the capital’s docks. Tinn and Li Ming were content to simply watch them in quiet admiration; Tinn was especially pleased to see Gun’s sign language had already vastly improved in the few short weeks since they’d come together. Heart was overjoyed they didn’t need Li Ming’s assistance or a pen and paper to talk.

“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” Gun admitted once they’d boarded and the ship’s porters had taken their belongings below deck. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“You’re not feeling nauseous, are you?” Tinn asked. “Is the potion not working?”

Gun laughed. “The potion’s working just fine. I meant I never would’ve expected we’d be allowed to do this. To travel together, to be together.” He looped his arm with Tinn’s. “Will you show me around?”

Tinn led Gun around the ship’s deck, smiling as Gun marveled over the sail’s billowing patterns, the bow’s intricate carvings, the deck’s glossy sheen. Gun told him it was entirely different from the fishing boats his father had taken him on, far grander than the barges that passed through the Chao Phraya, if less ornate. When they set off from the docks, Gun carefully peered over the handrail to watch the ship’s keel carve through the water like a knife. His expression grew wistful. “You know, we’ve never seen the ocean before.”

“I’m glad you’ll finally get the chance,” Tinn said softly, smoothing Gun’s windswept hair out of his eyes. His hand lingered against Gun’s cheek, his skin slightly cool and damp from the ocean spray. “We’ll have to visit the beaches every day while we’re in Pattaya. Then someday we’ll visit Phuket, Ko Samui, Ao Nang…”

“Why not all of Ayutthaya while you’re at it?” Gun teased.

Tinn’s hand moved further down to gently cradle Gun’s jaw. “You know I’d go anywhere with you.”

“And I also knew you’d say that.” Gun closed his eyes for a brief moment, leaning into Tinn’s touch. Tinn ran his thumb across Gun’s cheek, surreptitiously searching for signs of apprehension or anxiety and only finding a sense of ease. Gun opened his eyes, making Tinn’s breath hitch. “I just remembered that I’ve still yet to spoil you rotten like I promised. Even if this trip is for my and Li Ming’s birthday, we’ll need at least one day to ourselves without our brothers. Is there anything in particular you’d like to do?”

Tinn hummed thoughtfully. “We should definitely go for a swim. We could also visit the floating markets, have lunch at a teahouse, make merit at the temple, play makruk in the garden, prepare dinner together, take an evening walk along the beach, spend the night in — ”

“Alright, alright,” Gun chuckled, placing his hand over Tinn’s before clasping it between his. “I want to do all of those with you, too, but definitely not in one day. And what about Heart? Is there anything he might want to do since he hasn’t visited Pattaya in a while?”

They both turned to look at Heart and Li Ming, who had also taken a brief tour of the deck before stopping a short distance away. Heart was pointing out the various schools of fish in the river below while Li Ming had one arm around Heart’s back, both hands firmly gripping the handrail to keep them both safe. With his hands occupied, he spoke more slowly so Heart wouldn’t miss a word.

“I didn’t think you knew this much about fish,” he was saying. “What else have you been keeping from me?” Heart’s hands were partially obscured by Li Ming’s back, keeping Tinn from seeing his response, but it was enough to make Li Ming laugh and lean in for a kiss. Tinn’s expression softened at the sight.

“I never expected Li Ming would be so affectionate,” Gun said. “I’d tease him if I knew it wouldn’t make him stop.”

“You’ve teased him plenty before,” Tinn reminded him. “What’s stopping you now?”

Gun drew closer, his smile turning wicked. “Perhaps…I have something else we could do in mind.” Tinn spluttered, his entire face growing hot despite the wind lashing against his cheeks. Gun took Tinn’s other hand and began walking backward, leading him toward the bridge. “I meant joining Ma and Uncle Jim for lunch. Did you think I meant something else?”

“I see nothing stops you from teasing me,” Tinn said with a shake of his head, falling into step beside him.

“Why would I when it makes you blush so prettily?” Gun remarked. Tinn was as red as his favorite pha biang by the time they rejoined Gim and Jim in the mess deck, leaving them briefly concerned he’d somehow already taken on another fever.

After disembarking in Laem Chabang, they traveled by carriage the rest of the way to Pattaya. Though it was a short journey, organizing their considerable retinue of guards, attendants, and maids was no easy feat. Tinn and Heart were separated from Gun and Li Ming so they could be accompanied by two guards each, while their mother and uncle were accompanied by another guard and Miss Sirikanya.

Heart spent most of the ride staring out the carriage window, eyes wide with wonder as he watched long stretches of golden sand and brilliant blue waters go by. Tinn, meanwhile, spent most of the ride watching his brother, wishing he could capture the moment and share it with their parents and Li Ming. They hadn’t visited Pattaya in years, and while the city’s streets and buildings looked vastly different, the ocean was just as Tinn remembered.

Great-Aunt Noi was waiting by the front gate of her estate when they arrived in the early evening. Photjanee had told them she’d hosted their family when they were still children, and though Tinn didn’t remember her, he could see she had the same doe-like eyes they’d inherited from their mother. Her back was somewhat stooped and her face was lined and softened with age, making her appear far less severe than her late sister, their grandmother. It made Tinn’s chest ache a little at her memory; though there was no love lost for their paternal grandfather, and their paternal grandmother had been coolly distant, their maternal grandparents had been generous and kind, both having passed only two years ago after contracting a flu neither of them could shake.

“Your Royal Highnesses,” she greeted with a deep wai. “I’m honored to host you and your companions this week. I hope you’ll find my humble home to your satisfaction.”

“I’m most certain we will, Great-Aunt Noi. But there’s no need for formalities,” Tinn said, bowing in return. “Please, just call us by our names. And if I might introduce you to Gun and Li Ming, our…our friends.”

She greeted them warmly, albeit with a raised eyebrow at Tinn’s chosen denomination, before leading them inside. Much like the Tangkabodees’ estate, Great-Aunt Noi’s home was a cluster of stilt houses arranged around a central terrace, albeit less grand in scale and with a modest garden instead of a durian orchard. A few stray dogs roamed the property whom Great-Aunt Noi’s maids had apparently taken a liking to; Chompoo and Taengmo seemed less enthused when they came running up to them soon after their arrival and Heart knelt to rub their ears.

Tinn, Heart, and the Wongwitthayas were placed in the main guest house with a small group of guards while the rest were scattered across the estate. The rooms were small but comfortable, each with a soft bed, a spacious bureau, and a large window with a generous view of the ocean. Tinn wished he and Gun could share a bed, knowing they’d never be allowed until they were married. But at least we’ll be married someday, Tinn thought dreamily while Tiwson helped him dress for dinner. Tiwson had to pinch him so he’d stop swooning on the spot.

Great-Aunt Noi’s cook prepared an elaborate feast for their first night, a lavish spread of rich foods and sumptuous desserts that left them so drowsy and sated that they could’ve fallen asleep right there in the dining hall. Their great-aunt wasn’t much of a conversationalist and seemed content to let them talk among themselves, but she had plenty of recommendations for things to do in Pattaya.

“You’ll have to be careful, though,” she added with an apologetic smile. “Pattaya is quite populous these days; you’d have to give up any semblance of privacy if you want to experience it properly.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not something any of us wants to compromise,” Tinn said, glancing at the others. “It’s important that we’re left alone.”

“Then start with one of the temples,” Great-Aunt Noi suggested. “The monks would never tell a soul you were there.”

When Tinn woke the next morning, he was already feeling quite refreshed, having slept eight hours without interruption. He opened his window to take in the smell of mango trees and saltwater, his mind clear of his usual worries and responsibilities. Even Chompoo seemed more buoyant than usual, her tongue lolling out of her mouth as though she were Taengmo. The six of them — himself, Heart, Gun, Li Ming, Gim, and Jim — convened in the guest house’s sitting room for breakfast before departing early for Wat Huay Yai.

“Do you think we’ll be recognized by other visitors?” Gun asked once they emerged from one of their carriages, gazing up at the ornate temple gates in awe.

“I’d imagine at this hour, there shouldn’t be too many,” Tinn replied, glancing around.

“But won’t that only make it easier for people to spot us?” Li Ming pointed out. “Especially as two sets of twins; that’s already unusual enough.”

“I could cast a cloaking spell,” Heart offered.

But Tinn shook his head. “I’d rather not make it difficult for our guards to track us. We’ll just…have to be careful. Alright?”

They passed through the gate and entered the temple’s courtyard, an open area of paved stone preceding the ordination hall. There were a few small groups of monks, clerks, and visitors walking about, along with two groundskeepers tending to the padauk trees surrounding the temple’s perimeter. None looked their way at first — they’d purposefully kept their group small, with only two guards accompanying them as to appear more like a self-important khunnang family — but when they approached the ubosot and began removing their shoes, one of the monks looked at Tinn and Heart in a mildly curious manner they’d seen before. They all greeted him with a deep wai, and Tinn felt everyone else’s trepidation echo his own.

“Your Royal Highnesses,” the monk murmured so softly that Tinn could barely hear him over the rustling of his saffron robes. Tinn held his breath, but the monk said nothing more, merely returning their wai before carrying on. Heart and Gun let out audible sighs of relief.

They quietly entered the ubosot, keeping their heads bowed. The ordination hall was narrow and solemn, characterized by beautiful murals depicting the Jatakas and a towering golden Buddha statue that made the Wongwitthayas’ breath catch. None of the phrai temples on the palace grounds looked quite like this one. They knelt on the carpet behind a group of older women, careful to keep their feet tucked beneath them.

Tinn and Heart made merit first, placing their offerings on the altar before kneeling and bowing their heads, joss sticks in hand. Gun, Li Ming, Gim, and Jim followed right after. Tinn couldn’t help but notice how somber Gim and Jim had been since they arrived in Pattaya. It was something he’d come to expect from Jim, but not Gim. She’d always seemed so lively, even mischievous; even in the early stages of her recovery, she’d never forgotten to tease her sons. Now, her face was drawn, her expression pensive. It wasn’t unusual for someone in a place of worship, but he didn’t think he’d seen her smile since they set out from the capital’s docks.

As they were leaving the ubosot, a young family passed them by the entrance. The little girl following her parents smiled up at them, revealing her missing front teeth. Tinn and Heart instinctively smiled back, though Tinn still braced himself, expecting her to exclaim in recognition or draw her parents’ attention in some way. Instead, her gaze shifted to Gun and Li Ming, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. One of their guards stepped forward to hasten her along, but Tinn held out a hand to stop them.

“Hello,” she said with a polite bow, her voice endearingly small and high-pitched. Li Ming’s smile was guarded while Gun offered her his brightest grin, making her blush. Tinn felt a sudden kinship with her, which only grew stronger when Gun knelt to offer her one of the spare flowers he’d brought as an offering, turning her face even redder. “Oh…thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Gun said, still smiling. His expression became somewhat chastened when he realized the girl’s parents had stopped to watch them. “Oh, er…sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you. I just thought she might like a flower.”

Tinn and Heart turned away, knowing they’d be recognized in an instant, though Tinn caught a glimpse of warmth spread across the couple’s faces. “It’s alright; that’s very kind of you. Did you thank the nice boy, Dao?”

“Yes, Mama,” the girl chimed, tucking her face against her mother’s skirt. The wooden bracelets around her wrist clacked loudly as she moved, making Gun brighten with interest. He opened his mouth, lips pursing as though to whistle. A perfect imitation of the bracelets’ clacking sound came out instead. The girl’s eyes widened. “Oh! How did you do that?”

“I’m a spellsinger! Do you know what that is?” When she shook her head, Gun continued, “I can turn songs into spells and imitate sounds, like your bracelets and birds and — ”

“Can you imitate voices?” Dao asked. Her mother tugged on her wrist, embarrassed by her daughter’s impatience, but Gun only laughed.

“Well, I can perfectly imitate my brother’s voice. We sound exactly the same,” Gun added with a good-natured wink, making her giggle. “Here, why don’t you hold your hands like this?”

She cupped her hands just as Gun indicated, brows furrowed in concentration. “What now?”

“Blow into them like you’re trying to warm them,” Gun said. She obeyed rather enthusiastically; her parents winced when she all but spat into her cupped palms. Gun then placed his hands around hers. “Now, on the count of three, we’ll open our hands together, like we’re letting something go. Ready? One…two…three!”

A gentle chorus of birdsong filled the air the moment their hands came apart. Tinn instinctively looked to the trees, expecting to see orioles and magpies and warblers settled on their branches. Dao let out a delighted shriek, clapping her hands together. “Again, again!”

“Dao,” her father warned. “Remember what we said about making too much noise in a temple?”

A different sort of blush spread across her cheeks. “Sorry, Papa,” she said sheepishly before turning back to Gun. “Can all spellsingers do that?”

“Some of them can,” Gun nodded. “But I know a few spellsingers, and not all of them use their magic the same way.”

Dao nodded sagely. “Like how Mama and Papa are both artificers, but they’re good at making different things.”

“Exactly,” Gun said, smiling. “And like how my brother is a wordsmith, but he’s best at sign language instead of written or spoken language.” Tinn sensed Li Ming shifting beside him, making a poor attempt at hiding his pleased smile.

Dao’s expression brightened even further. “Papa taught me how to sign! I know how to say ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ and ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’”

“We have to leave soon, but maybe you could show me your best ‘goodbye’?” Gun suggested. Dao looked conflicted at this — she clearly didn’t want Gun to leave, another feeling Tinn could commiserate with — but nodded and did as she was asked, her fingers clumsy but earnest. Gun returned the parting gesture, as did the rest of them. Heart’s eyes were still gleaming with joy when they departed.

It was Tinn who took Gun by the arm this time, his heart fluttering when their eyes met. “What is it?”

“I just…I just know our people will love you almost as much as I do,” Tinn replied. Gun rewarded him with an unusually shy smile.

Gim approached one of the monks passing by the temple’s gates, who, at her request, gave them sai sin while reciting a blessing. The white thread nestled neatly above Heart’s protective bracelets on Gun and Li Ming’s wrists. They took a quiet stroll about the temple grounds, Heart and Gun occasionally getting distracted by another beautiful mural or a friendly stray dog, before taking their leave from Wat Huay Yai.

They stopped by a local teahouse next, their stomachs rumbling loudly in anticipation. Tiwson went ahead to secure a private room on the second floor where they wouldn’t be disturbed. The guards concealed Tinn and Heart from view, but still, Tinn didn’t dare look at the other patrons as they entered the main dining room and ascended the stairs. He finally felt he could breathe a little easier once the door shut behind them.

“This is beautiful,” Heart remarked, eyes shining as he took in their surroundings. It was a spacious room of rich teakwood and large windows that looked out onto the ocean, gossamer curtains billowing in the gentle breeze. A large round table sat in the middle on a thick red rug, already set with Sangkhalok teacups, bowls, and plates, with a vase of jasmine flowers at its center. An eclectic mix of traditional Ayutthayan art and Qing glass paintings adorned the room’s walls.

“Shall we?” Li Ming said, already pulling out a chair for Heart.

Tiwson and Chalerm returned downstairs to pass on everyone’s orders while the guards took their posts, one at the door and one by the windows. Tinn let out a long exhale, realizing he was hungrier than he first thought. “Nice way to spend a morning, wasn’t it?” he said. “Father told us once that many more wats will be built over the next decade as our population grows.”

“It was lovely,” Gim said, her voice distant, her eyes not quite meeting theirs. “Though I must say I’m surprised no one recognized you, especially that girl’s parents.”

“We were lucky, I suppose,” Tinn replied, smiling faintly. “Let’s just hope our luck doesn’t run out.”

“And if it does, I can still help,” Heart reminded them while Li Ming poured tea for everyone, including their guards. Miss Sirikanya blushed when he poured hers, and Tinn felt a pang of sympathy for her, hoping she’d be able to return to the royal infirmary soon for her own sake. He didn’t dare imagine a life where he stayed close to Gun but had to watch him with someone else.

They began discussing their other plans for exploring Pattaya, the conversation only slowing when servers arrived with trays of khanom and fresh pots of herbal tea. Gim brightened considerably at the sight, oohing and ahhing over each new plate, commenting on the khanom wun’s vibrant color and the that khai’s buttery pastry. Li Ming snickered when one of the servers brought out a plate of khanom mo kaeng.

“See, this is how it’s meant to look,” Li Ming teased.

Heart made a face at him. “I was going to ask Madam Gim to help me make it again, but perhaps now I won’t.”

“What if we made khanom chan together instead?” Li Ming suggested. Heart’s expression changed entirely, easing into that familiar fondness that had Gun nudging Tinn and mouthing “see?”.

“We’re still preparing dinner together sometime, aren’t we?” Tinn whispered.

Gun elbowed him again. “I already promised, didn’t I?”

By their third pot of tea, the conversation had taken another direction. Miss Sirikanya, who seemed less intimidated by Tinn and Heart’s presence by now, talked about her apprenticeship under Madam Winai. Li Ming asked a surprising number of questions, though Tinn presumed it was because of his interest in understanding Ayutthaya’s education system. Photjanee had expressed how much she enjoyed his curiosity more than once.

“How did you first decide you wanted to become a nurse?” Gun asked after Li Ming’s more exhaustive questions about her studies.

“It’s strange, actually,” Miss Sirikanya admitted. “See, I was born a menagerist. For the longest time, I thought I might become a veterinarian. It seemed like the obvious choice, but…I’ve always wanted to work with people. At first, I thought I was going against what had been chosen for me. Then my grandmother told me it was important I choose for myself. That was all I needed to hear, really, simple as it was. I haven’t looked back since.”

“I didn’t realize you weren’t a healer by nature, Miss Sirikanya,” Tinn said, impressed. “You’re doing wonderfully.”

An embarrassed flush blossomed across her cheeks. “That’s very kind of you to say, Your Royal Highness. Thank you.”

Later, as they were leaving the teahouse, Gun slipped his arm in Tinn’s. “I thought we could share a carriage this time,” he said brightly. “Let Li Ming and Heart have their privacy.” Something in his voice suggested it wasn’t quite that simple.

Curious, Tinn nodded and gestured for him to enter first. Gun’s leg began bouncing restlessly against Tinn’s the moment the carriage started for Great-Aunt Noi’s estate. “Are you alright?” Tinn said softly, casting a cursory glance at the guard seated across from them.

Gun remained silent for a moment, contemplating. “Someone once asked me why…why a spellsong would think itself worthy of going beyond what it was made for,” he eventually said. Something in his eyes told Tinn it was one of the khunnang he’d met that night at Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s. “I know they were really talking about me, but besides that…well, when Miss Sirikanya said she felt she was going against what had been chosen for her, I started thinking about what I would do if I did the same.”

Tinn looked at him curiously. “You mean if you decided not to be a spellsinger?”

Gun shook his head. “I don’t mean not being a spellsinger. I mean…it’s just that Li Ming and I were talking the other day about proving ourselves beyond people’s expectations of the phrai. Having some sort of cause to prove that I’m not chasing wealth or a title. That I truly care about you and care about something bigger than myself.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“You’re making perfect sense,” Tinn reassured him. “I only wish you didn’t feel as though you need to prove yourself. You don’t owe anyone anything, beyond learning the knowledge and conduct expected of a prince’s consort. And we all saw how wonderful you were with that girl. I mean it, our people will love you simply for being you.”

“Li Ming said as much,” Gun said with a faint smile. “Still, after listening to him go on about unfair treatment of the phrai for years and then hearing Miss Sirikanya’s story…I really want to try.”

Tinn’s chest warmed with overwhelming fondness. “I’m sure you’ll be wonderful, whatever it is you choose,” he said, squeezing Gun’s knee. “And if I can be of any help, just say the word. If you want to meet with scholars, ministers, members of the khunnang…”

Gun lowered his head to rest on Tinn’s shoulder, his eyes closing in contentment. “That’s alright. All I really want is for you to listen and help me figure it out, and you already do that perfectly.” Tinn gently kissed him on the forehead, then folded their hands together in Gun’s lap. They descended into a comfortable silence, where they remained for the rest of the journey home.

Li Ming heard him before he saw him — not the creak of his footsteps nor the rustle of his clothes, but rather, the anticipatory hitch of breath at seeing Li Ming himself. It made Li Ming’s mouth stretch into an unconscious grin as an invisible figure slipped beneath the covers before letting his cloaking spell fall away, revealing that their noses were less than five centimeters apart. Round, doe-like eyes met his own, the corners creasing when he smiled.

“Good morning,” Heart whispered.

“Good morning,” Li Ming replied, brushing Heart’s hair out of his eyes. “Already breaking your promise to your mother, I see.”

Heart’s smile shifted into something mischievous. “She said I had to remain with my guards during my entire stay in Nonthaburi. She never said anything about Pattaya.”

Li Ming laughed, shaking his head. “Well, then never mind what I said. Her Majesty definitely won’t hear about this from whichever guard you just ran away from.”

“I just…I really wanted to see you.” Heart leaned in to brush a feather-soft kiss against Li Ming’s lips. Li Ming responded in turn, his arms winding around Heart’s shoulders, his mouth parting to deepen the kiss. They shifted into a familiar rhythm, gentle and unhurried. Neither of them had anywhere to be, at least, not for some time. But then Heart’s fingers bunched in the fabric of Li Ming’s shirt, tugging him closer, while Li Ming sucked on Heart’s bottom lip with a sudden urgency that surprised them both. Warmth flickered in the depths of Li Ming’s belly, already hungry for more. Heart let out a soft moan that made Li Ming’s head spin.

“Quiet,” Li Ming whispered breathlessly against Heart’s mouth, tracing the word against the crease of Heart’s hip. He gripped Heart’s thigh, desperately ignoring the warmth of his skin, pushing it back before Heart could wrap his leg around Li Ming’s torso and pull him under. They’d never make it out of bed if he did, though admittedly, they’d never done anything more than kiss. Heart’s low whine almost made Li Ming reconsider.

“Just a few more minutes?” Heart’s mouth was on Li Ming’s neck now, his breath warm against the shell of Li Ming’s ear. Li Ming shivered with pleasure. And people thought he was the dangerous one.

“Breakfast.” The word came out half-choked, Li Ming’s pulse thrumming in his ears. He pressed a hand against Heart’s chest — firmer than he’d expected, given Heart’s lithe frame — and gently pushed him away. The heat in Heart’s gaze made Li Ming’s blood rush south. “As much as I’d like to keep going, I’m not about to get in trouble with your mother again.”

Heart sighed but reluctantly acquiesced, slipping out of Li Ming’s bed as silently as he’d come. He turned while Li Ming dressed, though Li Ming sensed him sneaking furtive glances over his shoulder. Heart never was as subtle as he thought he was, Li Ming thought with a fond smile. It only made stealing kisses in the darkened corners of the Middle Court all the more fun.

They joined the others for breakfast, where Gim still seemed to be in a melancholic mood. Li Ming and Gun had talked about it yesterday after they’d returned from the teahouse, uncertain of what to do. “Maybe there’s nothing we can do,” Gun had concluded. “We know Pattaya holds some significance for her and Uncle Jim, but…perhaps they don’t want us to know what. We’ll just have to do our best to make Ma happy.”

“I thought the teahouse would’ve done the trick,” Li Ming said, mouth twisting in frustration. “If khanom isn’t enough, then what else is there?”

“Ma’s more than just a cook, you know,” Gun reminded him. “She loves music and dancing and games…there has to be something.”

Uncle Jim seemed less solemn by comparison, even relaxed. Smiling and laughing came easily to him, and during breakfast, he told stories from the kitchens unprompted. He talked about what Saleng had been like as an apprentice — something that made Tiwson smile, if bittersweetly — and how much Gaipa’s mother loved to share gossip about other members of the Phraya whenever she came by to make deliveries. He even described the night of Heart and Tinn’s birthday in great detail, remarking on how disorderly everything had been, making both of them wince in equal parts sympathy and guilt.

“I only just realized we’ve never had your cooking before — not personally, at least,” Tinn said. “Which dish is your best?”

“Khao man gai,” Uncle Jim replied. “I must’ve made it a thousand times. It was…” He glanced briefly at Gim. “…it was our parents’ favorite.”

Li Ming and Gun exchanged curious looks, both struggling against the impulse to say something. It was Gun who spoke first. “Did they ever visit Pattaya?”

Uncle Jim frowned slightly. “Well, er…no, never. Our family has always lived in the palace for as long as we can remember.”

“But they never left?” Gun asked. “Not even once?”

“Palace servants were never able to move about freely, Gun,” Gim said, a hollow chuckle ringing false in her throat. “You know that.”

“Then why here?” Gun continued, undeterred. “Why were you running to Pattaya?”

Uncle Jim averted his gaze while Gim clicked her tongue in irritation. “Does it really matter? Now, eat before your food goes cold.”

As they prepared to depart for the day, Gun went to join Tinn in his carriage as he’d done yesterday on their return from the teahouse, only for Li Ming to take hold of his elbow. “I want to talk to you,” he said quietly, sparing Heart and Tinn a meaningful look. Both nodded in understanding before Heart followed Tinn inside. Once Li Ming and Gun were in their own carriage, accompanied by one of their guards, Li Ming glanced out the window to see Gim and Uncle Jim stepping into another. “Do you think coming here was the wrong choice?”

Gun blinked, surprised. “You mean because of Ma? Well…I really thought she’d like it here, especially after being bedridden for so long. But perhaps it’s only reminding her why she’d run away. Maybe she was looking for something and it isn’t here anymore.”

“Or someone,” Li Ming suggested.

Gun’s eyes widened. “You don’t think…someone before Pa?”

Li Ming shook his head. “I’m only guessing, same as you. Maybe it really is nothing and Ma’s just feeling…differently.”

“Differently,” Gun echoed, both of them knowing it wasn’t quite the right word for it.

When they all reconvened by the entrance to the floating markets, Li Ming slipped his arm in Heart’s while Gun tugged on Tinn’s wrist, pulling him toward the riverbank just seconds after he stepped out of his carriage. Unlike yesterday, both princes were dressed in simple linen attire and large ngop hats, casting their faces in shadow. Li Ming used his free hand to write on Heart’s forearm in lieu of being able to sign.

Where should we start? he asked, tilting his head toward their brothers, who’d already disappeared into the crowd. He felt a warm tingling sensation pass between his finger and Heart’s skin, but when he looked down, there was no glow to be found. Though he’d yet to hear from Tutor Suchada, he was hopeful she’d have an answer for him soon.

“Food,” Heart said decisively, making Li Ming laugh.

We had breakfast less than an hour ago and you’re already hungry? he teased, though he was already leading Heart toward a group of boats weighed down by green bananas and overripe mangoes.

After they’d purchased fresh fruit and steaming bowls of leng saep, they wandered further into the market, arm-in-arm. Li Ming didn’t know where to look first, his head constantly turning while he took everything in. Dozens of voices talking and shouting and laughing all at once, the pebbles crunching beneath his thin sandals, the discordant smells of durian and incense and grilled meat permeating the air. Colorful umbrellas that safeguarded merchants from Ayutthaya’s unforgiving heat, birdsong and the bark of stray dogs, hand-painted signs and banners rattling against the sides of buildings and footbridges with every errant breeze. The river’s waters glittering beneath the mid-morning sunlight, their glassy surfaces broken by boats and paddles and the occasional child dipping their toes with an impish giggle. And of course, the feeling of bodies pressing in close, everyone moving in different directions.

It reminded Li Ming of his recent return to the kitchens, only not at all. None of these people knew who he was, nor did they recognize Heart. Despite the heat and the rush of the crowd, he could breathe easier here. Heart seemed to feel the same, even daring to rest his head on Li Ming’s shoulder when they slowed their pace. “This is what I’d hoped for in Nonthaburi,” he said. “Just you and me.”

You, me, and half the population of Pattaya, Li Ming chuckled. But I’m sure this will be the first trip of many. Unless you’ll get bored?

Heart lifted his head from Li Ming’s shoulder, alarmed. “Of you? Never.”

Li Ming grinned. Where to next, then?

They eventually found Gun and Tinn perusing a textile merchant’s wares, heads bent together in serious discussion. “I know your mother always wears red; I just think she’d look nice in blue, too,” Gun was saying. His expression brightened when he spotted Li Ming and Heart. “Good, you’re here! Will you help me find something for Ma? And there are these hairpins over there that I think she’d like.”

“Why don’t you just ask Ma what she wants?” Li Ming said, glancing around. He suspected Gim and Uncle Jim were elsewhere, looking at pots and pans. Heart, meanwhile, had moved to Tinn’s side, both of them studying the array of colorful silks and glancing up at Li Ming and Gun in consideration. Li Ming’s mouth tugged into a wry smile. “What?”

“I was wondering which colors we should wear for our official portraits,” Heart replied, grinning in return. “I think red would suit you.”

“Official portraits?” Gun’s face paled. “So soon?”

“Not that soon,” Tinn reassured him. “Not until we’ve set a date for our engagement ceremonies, at least, and that won’t be until you’re both fully settled and prepared for public life.”

The notion of his life no longer being just his own made Li Ming’s stomach roil, though he nodded regardless. He’d rather face a thousand crowds than part ways with Heart, and he knew Gun felt the same about Tinn. There was no turning back now. “So are we all wearing red, then?” he said lightly. Heart and Tinn shared equally relieved smiles.

“I think our princes would look handsome in blue,” Gun said, fingers grazing another swath of shimmering fabric. “What do you think, Li Ming?”

Li Ming reached for one bolt of cerulean silk in particular, his eyes softening in recognition. It was the same color as the pha biang Heart had worn when he’d brought Li Ming that khanom mo kaeng all those months ago. “I like this one,” he said. The look on Heart’s face told him he remembered it well.

Once they’d purchased a generous amount of fabric for themselves and their families, they went looking for Gim and Uncle Jim. As Li Ming had guessed, they found them haggling with a homeware merchant over steamer baskets. Gim’s face was pink with indignation by the time they’d finished. “Ma,” Gun exclaimed, practically shoving an armful of butter-yellow silk in her face. “Look what we’ve got! And there are these hairpins with birthstones — come on, you have to see them.”

“When have I ever worn hairpins?” she replied, amused, but she allowed Gun to lead her through the throng.

It was getting especially crowded now, everyone’s stomachs rumbling and eyes roaming in search of somewhere to stop for lunch. Li Ming and Gun watched their mother’s expression carefully while she perused the hairpins and fussed over their prices. Uncle Jim would occasionally catch Li Ming’s eye, searching his face for something unknown. Li Ming could only shrug in return. Surely, he’d noticed Gim’s odd behavior, too.

After much deliberation, Gim purchased just two pieces, one for herself and one for Queen Photjanee. “I hope she doesn’t think I’m foolish,” she’d told Heart and Tinn. “It might not be worth much, but I would never visit Her Majesty empty-handed.”

“She thinks very highly of you, Madam Gim,” Tinn reassured her, his brow creasing slightly when she frowned. “What is it?”

“Ma wants you to call her ‘Mae Gim’ but doesn’t want to seem impolite,” Li Ming said with a wry smile. “Funny, that’s never stopped her before.”

Tinn did his best not to laugh when Gim pinched Li Ming’s ear. “Mother really does think well of you, Mae Gim. Please don’t worry about bringing gifts.”

“Just the one gift, then,” Gim sniffed. Tinn could no longer contain his laughter then as Gun watched them both, his eyes soft with unabashed affection.

They took lunch in a nearby eatery, a small, secluded place with only a few other patrons, none of whom spared them a second glance. Li Ming and Heart shared an enormous plate of khao kha mu, where Heart stared hopefully at Li Ming until he gave him his corned egg. When they returned to their carriages, they were too satiated to stay awake, dozing off with their heads lolling against the windows.

The rest of the day went by quietly, the four of them resting and meandering about the estate in turn. Heart snuck into Li Ming’s bedroom once more so they could nap together while Gun spent most of the afternoon in the library with Tinn, head resting in Tinn’s lap while Tinn read his favorite mystery novel aloud. Gun occasionally accompanied Tinn’s narration with the sounds of a rushing river or a horse’s hooves or a creaking door. Later, Li Ming and Heart joined them in the library, where Li Ming went looking for books on wordsmithing and light spells but found nothing of particular relevance. Gun left for an hour to take a walk with Gim around the garden, returning with a bundle of orchids for Tinn that made him blush.

Just as they were approaching the dining hall later that evening, Uncle Jim appeared at the other end of the corridor and gestured for Li Ming and Gun to come closer. “May we talk for a moment?” he asked, bowing in deference to Heart and Tinn. The princes went ahead to join their great-aunt, Gim, and Miss Sirikanya while Uncle Jim cleared his throat. “Look, I…I understand you’re both worried about your mother. I am, too. But this isn’t about Pattaya. It’s…it’s about someone who once lived here.”

“I knew it!” Gun exclaimed, as though it hadn’t been Li Ming’s suggestion first. “Was there someone before Pa?”

Uncle Jim’s brow furrowed. “Well — yes, but that…that’s not what I meant. She refuses to speak of it and it wouldn’t be right for me to tell you, so please, just…let her be. Let’s not spoil our time here, alright? And perhaps she’ll tell you eventually.”

“You’re only making us more curious, you know,” Li Ming said. But Uncle Jim merely gave them that tight-lipped smile of his before tilting his head in the direction of the dining hall.

When Li Ming woke the next morning, it wasn’t to the feeling of Heart’s presence or the sound of his footsteps. Rather, it was Gun muttering a string of curses under his breath, having apparently stubbed his toe on the corner of Li Ming’s bedstead. Li Ming didn’t bother to stifle his laughter against his pillow. “My bedroom seems rather popular these days.”

“Happy birthday to you, too,” Gun grumbled, slipping beneath the covers beside him. Then, he paused. “Wait. Do you mean to say Heart’s been in here?”

Li Ming raised an eyebrow. “Maybe. You’re not going to tell Tinn, are you?”

“Maybe,” Gun said, lifting his chin, though his sanctimonious expression was somewhat ruined by the way he was cradling his aching foot like it was a doll. “Did you two…”

When it seemed as though Gun wasn’t going to finish his sentence, Li Ming snorted. “Maybe. And happy birthday, Gun. I hope you haven’t brought me a gift, because I certainly didn’t get you one.”

Gun stuck his tongue out at him. “I was going to prepare your favorite breakfast, but never mind that now. I’m going to make your least favorite breakfast instead.”

“Oh? And what would that be?” Li Ming replied, amused. He had to roll onto his side to avoid being kicked in the face.

“You’re the worst brother ever,” Gun said, grinning when Li Ming turned back to face him. “But I mean it. I really do have a present for you.”

Li Ming’s other brow lifted in curiosity, though he also felt a little guilty. He really didn’t have a gift for Gun, aside from when he’d purchased a trinket for him that looked like Munmuang at the floating markets yesterday, and that was only because Gun had spent all the money he’d brought on silks for their mother. When Gun pulled out a small wooden box from his pocket, Li Ming’s eyes widened in recognition. “Is that…?”

“This is actually the first one I ever made,” Gun admitted. “The other two were for Tinn — the song we danced to at the lakhon nai and the song I’ve been trying to write — but I wanted this first one to be yours.”

Li Ming took the box and turned it over in his hands. The craftsmanship was impeccable, having been made by an artisan like the others, but there was a small, almost indiscernible crack along the bottom that was indisputably Gun’s doing. Gim often told them stories about how Gun’s wails as a baby were so loud and so piercing that they shattered her best plates, an early sign of his spellsinging abilities. When Gun finally came into his powers, those long days where he’d spent in the other room with their parents, learning pitch and tone and those breathing exercises of his, he’d left cracks in their walls, floors, and what few furnishings they had. The sight of another one now made Li Ming smile.

When he opened the box, a familiar refrain rang out. Gun’s warm, mellifluous voice filled the room. “This is the song Ma used to sing to us before bed,” Li Ming said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Gun nodded. “I know it’s not much, and maybe you’re tired of hearing my voice, but…if there’s one thing we’ll always have in common, it’s how much Ma means to us.” He managed a nervous smile. “I could always ask her to sing it instead if you’d like.”

“No, I…” Li Ming swallowed, a lump beginning to form in his throat. “This is really nice, Gun. Thank you. Though now I feel like an awful brother.”

“You really, really aren’t. But…I do know how you might make it up to me,” Gun said, his usual mischievous grin returning. “I finally have a few ideas for what I might like to do — you know, instead of only being Tinn’s consort. Do you want to hear them?”

“Of course,” Li Ming said, sitting up. “Tell me everything.”

After an hour of serious discussion alleviated by occasional laughter, they rose from Li Ming’s bed to dress and prepare for the day. They already knew the others planned to surprise them — Gun had seen an enormous pandan cake cooling in the kitchen (“You really should stop sneaking into kitchens, or did you forget what happened last time?” “Oh please, we wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t been there that night.”) while Heart had panicked when Li Ming suggested taking a walk in the garden after dinner (“He’s as subtle as ever, I see.” “As if Tinn’s any better; didn’t he ask about your favorite flowers the other day?”).

So, it was no shock to either of them when they entered the dining hall for breakfast and were promptly smothered in warm embraces and exclamations of joy. Even Uncle Jim wrapped them in his arms and made a wry remark about them growing up too fast. Tinn simply took Gun’s hands in his and smiled, not wanting to appear improper in front of his great-aunt, but Heart apparently didn’t share his reservations. He would’ve kissed Li Ming right then and there, had Li Ming not stepped back at the last second and given him a pointed look. At least Heart had the sense to look a little sheepish after that.

“We have a surprise for you,” he said, grinning.

“In the garden, I presume?” Li Ming teased, peering over Heart’s shoulder at the empty dining table. “Lead the way.”

The garden was nearly three times larger than the shared courtyard in their residential complex back home, composed mainly of enormous rambutan trees and lush foliage situated around a golden sala thai pavilion. At its center was a long rosewood table surrounded by plush cushions, where servants were setting out bowls of fruit and platters of rice dishes and fried eggs. There was also a smaller table tucked away in one corner of the pavilion, bearing a modest pile of gifts.

“I thought we said we didn’t want any gifts,” Li Ming said once they settled down, glancing between Heart and Tinn.

Tinn lowered his head, almost sheepish. “Most of these are from our parents. I managed to talk Mother out of her more…elaborate ideas. I promise they’re just books, scented candles, and tea leaves.”

“And two paintings for your new home,” Heart added with a wry smile. “There was no talking her out of that.”

Breakfast was slow and indulgent as Li Ming and Gun took their time unwrapping their gifts. True to Tinn’s word, they were humble yet felicitous offerings; it was clear Queen Photjanee and King Kasemchai had come to understand them well. The candles smelled like lavender and honeysuckle while the books told tales of traveling musicians and folk heroes. Even the paintings were perfectly suited for their sitting room back home, vibrant and pleasing and unpretentious.

Once they finished, Tinn reached for the two remaining gifts. “These are from us,” he said simply. His explanation, or lack thereof, only piqued Li Ming’s curiosity. He and Gun shared intrigued glances before accepting their respective offerings.

Li Ming carefully unwrapped the gift to reveal a small lacquered box, the sort often used for jewelry. It was ink black with an intricate mandala pattern in a rich, brassy gold. Inside the box was an amulet of Suratsawadi on a thin gold chain, a sliver of sunlight illuminating the heavy tome in her hand. Of course, Li Ming thought, smiling and shaking his head, the goddess of speech and education.

When Li Ming glanced up, Tinn was already fastening Gun’s amulet around his neck, their eyes shining with adoration in equal measure. Gun’s amulet depicted Manora, the most well-known kinnaree in Ayutthayan literature and the goddess of music and love. Li Ming turned to Heart, who was watching him expectantly. Whatever doubts he might’ve had vanished in an instant when Li Ming placed the amulet on Heart’s outstretched palm and turned back around.

The amulet was cool and smooth against his sun-warmed skin, though he couldn’t tell if it was the chain or the brush of Heart’s fingers across the back of his neck that made his skin prickle with heat. Seconds later, an unexpected hum of something — protective magic, most likely — rushed through him, rendering him lightheaded, if only for a moment. It felt as though something had been imbued inside his very being. He could feel it in the tips of his fingers, in the back of his throat, in the center of his chest. Yet the air around him seemed lighter somehow, like he could breathe more freely. The sensation was reminiscent of when he’d made those words on Heart’s skin glow, increased tenfold.

Li Ming turned in his seat yet again to see Heart smiling at him now, his lips pressed together as though to temper his giddiness. “They’re like the bracelets, only better,” he explained. “They’ll protect you from offensive spells and curses, but they’ll also advance the healing of minor injuries like cuts, bruises, and burns. Tinn’s doing, of course.”

“Of course,” Li Ming replied, chuckling. “And they’re beautiful, too. How did you decide on Suratsawadi?”

Heart looked surprised by the question. “How could it not be Suratsawadi? You’re a wordsmith, after all.”

Li Ming held back a grin of his own. “It’s perfect, Heart. Thank you. And thank you, Tinn,” he added, casting another glance across the table, but Tinn was evidently too lost in Gun’s eyes to have heard him. Li Ming and Heart shared an inconspicuous giggle at the sight. When the princes’ great-aunt looked in Gun and Tinn’s direction, appraising them with both suspicion and affection, Heart snuck in a quick kiss on Li Ming’s cheek.

“Happy birthday, Ming,” he whispered. “I hope this will be your best one yet.”

Li Ming’s hand found Heart’s thigh, his finger lightly scraping against silk. He felt Heart shiver beneath his touch. It already is.

The sand was warmer than Heart expected, the granules slipping pleasantly between his toes. It was late morning now, and Great-Aunt Noi had arranged for one of her friends to host them at her oceanfront estate, where they’d spend most of the day on her private stretch of the beach. Heart and Tinn had intended to surprise Li Ming and Gun together, only for Gun to admit he’d overheard them whispering about it last night. Tinn had sulked for the entire duration of the carriage ride.

A hand at the small of Heart’s back apprised him of Li Ming’s presence. He lifted his gaze from his feet, his face burning, as Li Ming’s arm wrapped around his waist. Excited? Li Ming asked, his finger leaving a trail of heat across Heart’s skin. They had removed their shirts as soon as they’d descended the steps of the estate’s terrace, leaving them in just their sado pants. Heart’s eyes drifted to Li Ming’s amulet, nestled perfectly over the swell of his bare chest.

Heart knew he was permitted to look now — he’d felt guilty about it before, about the day they’d fetched water from the river together and how his eyes had lingered on Li Ming’s forearms, then much later, about the day they’d gone swimming and all he could think about after was the expanse of Li Ming’s back — but it didn’t keep him from feeling shy. His face only grew hotter when he recalled their brief tryst in Li Ming’s bed yesterday morning.

“Heart?” Li Ming stepped around him, brows creasing slightly. “Are you alright? The sand’s not too hot, is it?” Heart shook his head, hurrying after Tinn and Gun before Li Ming could ask further.

They convened near the water’s edge, where Tinn was setting up parasols and chairs while Gun arranged the freshly-baked goods he’d brought in a woven basket. Gim and Jim had gone ahead to take a walk along the shore, their retreating figures already vanishing from sight. Li Ming stole a khanom krok from under Gun’s nose and settled in one of the chairs, motioning for Heart to join him. Not wanting to be too close to Li Ming in front of their brothers — especially when both of them were wearing so little — he took up a chair of his own. Li Ming looked more amused than offended.

The next few hours were indulgent in a way that none of them had ever experienced before. Heart and Tinn couldn’t recall when they’d last had so much time to spare for doing absolutely nothing instead of hours of study, training, and royal duties. Though Li Ming and Gun hadn’t worked much since Gim fell ill, they certainly hadn’t been idle, either. Now, there were no expectations, no obligations, other than basking in the sun’s warmth and eating every last crumb of khanom while they talked.

“Your birthdays might look very different by next year,” Tinn commented after some time. “Assuming we’ve introduced you to the court as our consorts and husbands-to-be, you’ll be expected to host a formal banquet, hold a public audience, and accept gifts from our people.”

Li Ming wrinkled his nose. “Do we have to?”

“I know it discomfits you, but yes,” Tinn said apologetically. “Endearing yourself to the khunnang and the phrai is of great importance. We’ll find some way to make it your own, I promise.”

“Oh, there’s plenty I’d like to make our own.” Li Ming leaned back in his chair, jaw set in determination, and Heart knew he was already picturing a dozen different policies he’d want reformed. The thought of Li Ming insisting that scholars and members of the khunnang were required to learn sign language made him smile.

Both of them lost in thought, it was only when Gun let out a cry of surprise that they realized something odd was happening to the sand beneath Li Ming’s outstretched fingers. “Ming! Is that…”

“I…” Li Ming sat up and squinted, watching in disbelief as shapes — no, words — began whirling about in the sand like ripples across the surface of a pond, shifting and undulating in a mesmerizing rhythm. They were near impossible to read, as though they were in another language. When he looked up, Heart and Gun were staring at him, open-mouthed. Tinn looked impressed, if a little wary. “Well, that’s…different.”

“I take it you’ve never done that before?” Tinn asked. “This isn’t something you’ve been working on with Tutor Suchada?”

“We haven’t even started our lessons yet,” Li Ming said. “Though lately, I’ve been making words glow without meaning to. I suppose this is just…more of the same thing.”

“It’s beautiful, Ming,” Gun said, awed. “Can you control it?”

Li Ming’s eyes narrowed in concentration, seemingly willing the sand to form into words they could actually read. But it only ebbed and flowed like an unruly tide before dissipating entirely. His face twisted with frustration. “It’s alright,” Heart said, squeezing Li Ming’s hand. “I think it’s impressive you did that without any training at all.”

“It’s like when I broke Ma’s favorite clay pot with my voice when we were children. By accident, of course!” Gun added quickly when Tinn shot him a curious glance. “I had no control over my powers then. Perhaps this is just you coming into yours, now that you’ve accepted them. Did either of you have something similar happen when you were young?”

Tinn tilted his head, considering. “It’s…different when you carry two kinds of magic in your blood. Even though I’m a healer first, it didn’t manifest in any particular way. My empathic abilities, though…” His expression darkened.

“You told me in one of your letters that they were difficult to control,” Gun said softly.

“I felt everything so intensely, it was like every emotion was trying to burn me from the inside — even agreeable ones like joy and affection.” Tinn shuddered. “For a time, being around others felt like an impossibility. I would absorb everyone’s emotions at once, experience them all at once. I was of no use to anyone, least of all myself.”

“It was terrifying to watch,” Heart confessed, shivering as he recalled how Tinn would sometimes double over in pain, clutching his chest like his heart was trying to escape the confines of his ribcage. Other times, he’d clamp his hands over his ears, squeezing his head so tightly he left imprints in his skin that lasted for hours. Tinn once spent an entire week shut away in his bedroom with only a single candle and his favorite novel for company, eating nothing but plain rice and boiled eggs without salt. Later, he told them he’d been too overwhelmed by his senses, too afraid to comprehend anything beyond the clothes on his back, the flicker of candlelight, and the familiar words he’d read dozens of times before. Those years were long behind them, but the memories still weighed heavily on their minds. Heart often wondered if he’d be better off not remembering or if it was important that he did. “As for me, my experience was very much like yours, Gun.”

Gun gave him a tentative smile. “Yeah?”

“I know both of you have avoided mentioning my past as a spellsinger, but it really doesn’t bother me,” Heart said, glancing between Li Ming and Gun, who exchanged guilty looks. “Not anymore, at least. Anyway, I also broke plenty of pots and plates — not with my voice, but by creating sound waves. I’d drum chopsticks and spoons and pens against every surface and tap my feet no matter if I was sitting or standing. Even Father grew tired of me.”

“And your abjuring abilities?” Li Ming asked. “Did you create shields and wards without meaning to?”

“Constantly,” Heart chuckled, his face growing warm at the embarrassment of distant, yet far more pleasant memories. “I remember Tinn once trying to enter my bedchamber, only to run smack into nothing and land flat on his back. You should’ve seen his face!”

“I wish I had,” Gun said, laughing and patting Tinn’s hand when he frowned. “Say, Heart — what was the largest protective barrier you’ve ever cast?”

“Large enough to cover the entire Middle Court,” Heart said proudly. Gun’s mouth fell open, making Heart grin. “I only wish my tutors were as impressed as you. They’d rather I was able to cover the entire Inner Court instead.”

“Something even they struggle with in the best circumstances,” Tinn added. “And don’t forget the time Tutor Nok asked you to place a ward on a sparrow to prove your ability to focus your magic on something small.”

Li Ming lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. “What did you actually do?”

Heart blushed; he hadn’t meant to start boasting about his magic when Li Ming was only just coming into his own, though he couldn’t deny it felt good to acknowledge he was capable of far more than what people expected of him. “I placed the ward on a ladybug instead.”

Gun’s eyes were sparkling like a child who’d just been told they could have khanom before dinner. “Can you show us?”

After Heart demonstrated the same ward on a beetle to vigorous applause, the conversation soon turned to other impressive feats of magic: when Tinn had been studying under some of the palace’s best healers and nursed a groundskeeper back to health just three days after they’d fallen from the top of a ladder and suffered a broken arm and bruises down the length of their spine, when Gun’s father once placed five glasses in front of him and asked him to only break the one in the middle with the highest and longest note he could possibly hold. Heart told them about the time he’d combined his abjuring and spellsinging abilities to create a shield of pure sound, and one of their father’s generals had imagined how it could be used on the battlefield to confuse their enemies.

“Father just shook his head and said ‘no, imagine how it could be used in nang yai where every puppet produced its own music,’” Heart recalled, laughing. “Even then, I didn’t think that made sense. I think he was just tired of attending all those war council meetings and wanted the general to move on to something else.”

“Not everyone despises council meetings as much as you do,” Tinn reminded him.

“I would,” Li Ming and Gun said in unison, startling them into shared fits of laughter. When Gim and Jim finally returned from their walk, they found the four of them trying and failing to smother their giggles while they finished the last of their khanom.

Once enough time had passed to let their stomachs settle, they were eager to finally go for a swim. Gun raced ahead, Heart following close behind and laughing when Gun nearly tripped over a stray piece of driftwood in his haste. The water was a warm, gentle caress compared to the cooler, swifter waters of the Chao Phraya when he and Li Ming had first gone swimming together. The air was thick and humid but not terribly so, tangy with salt and fragrant with coconut palms. Heart turned onto his back to float and closed his eyes while Gun ventured further out, splashing Heart affectionately when he passed him by.

Moments later, Heart felt familiar fingers interlacing with his, their calluses oddly comforting. He smiled, opening his eyes and turning to see Li Ming grinning back at him. “Ready for round two?”

“In a moment,” Heart replied. “I want to enjoy this first.”

“Maybe we should place bets on our brothers in the meantime,” Li Ming said once he released Heart’s hand, gesturing to where Tinn and Gun were tumbling over one another like children, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders as they laughed without a care in the world. “I just know Gun will win no matter what.”

“No bets needed, because so do I,” Heart said, snickering. “Tinn will always give in. You should’ve seen how he went on and on about Gun while we were in Nonthaburi.”

“Oh?” Li Ming’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Tell me more.”

They floated side by side, hands outstretched above their heads while they signed and exchanged stories about their time apart. When they eventually told all there was to tell, they imagined what they would do together once they returned to the palace: visit the royal family’s private library, go for more rides along the Chao Phraya, make khanom mo kaeng that didn’t make their eyes water. Heart splashed Li Ming in the face for that last one, laughing when he spluttered and splashed him right back. It wasn’t long before Li Ming slipped beneath the water’s surface and wrapped his arms around Heart’s midsection, pulling him under.

They wrestled and splashed about for some time, limbs tangling and hands flailing and peals of laughter ringing out, every so often coming up for air. Heart didn’t care to use his magic this time; he liked the feeling of Li Ming’s arms around his shoulders, his legs fastened around his hips. He was content to let Li Ming continue winning their play fight if it meant enjoying the press of Li Ming’s warm skin against his for a little longer. It reminded him of the unbidden thoughts he’d had last night in the solitude of his bedchamber before drifting off to sleep, momentarily satiated.

Eventually, they both grew tired, their legs heavy and their breaths short. Not wanting to exhaust themselves before returning to shore, Heart wrapped his arms around Li Ming’s shoulders instead, drawing him closer while they treaded water. Li Ming’s hands settled at the small of Heart’s back, sending a pleasant shiver up Heart’s spine. “Good?”

Heart nodded, wiping the errant beads of saltwater from Li Ming’s forehead before they could get into his eyes. “Good.”

Li Ming’s eyes crinkled, pleased. He returned the favor before leaning in to kiss Heart, his mouth warm and rough and tasting of salt. It wasn’t long before Heart’s lips parted at the insistent press of Li Ming’s tongue, heat rising in his cheeks. His hands slipped down from Li Ming’s shoulders along the dip of his spine to the curve of his backside, pulling them flush against one another. He felt Li Ming shudder and arc beneath his touch.

Not now, Li Ming wrote across the span of Heart’s lower back.

“You started it,” Heart whispered in Li Ming’s ear. A rumble of laughter from deep within Li Ming’s chest sent ripples across the water.

They returned to the beach soon after, where Tinn and Gun were already drying off — or rather, Gun was talking animatedly about something while Tinn helped dry his hair. Heart pressed his lips together, trying not to react when Li Ming took up a fresh towel and began doing the same for him. Still alright? he wrote between Heart’s shoulder blades, his other hand resting on Heart’s bare waist. Heart decided that perhaps Li Ming was a danger to him after all.

They rejoined Gim and Jim on the terrace for a late lunch, grateful for the large pitchers of cold water they greedily gulped down and the generous shade provided by a nearby ratchaphruek tree. Heart knew Li Ming and Gun were worried about their mother, who’d seemed subdued since their departure from the capital, but she looked livelier now, smiling and laughing with the rest of them. He snuck a glance at Tinn, wondering if he could tell whether she really had returned to her usual self or if she’d taken to hiding her true feelings.

“How are you finding Pattaya so far?” Tinn asked them.

“It’s been wonderful,” Jim replied. “Pattaya is…calmer than the capital. Quieter too, even if the markets are more crowded than I expected.”

“This place seems to suit you, Uncle Jim,” Gun said, smiling brightly. “And what about you, Ma?”

She eyed them curiously. “What are you really asking?”

Gun pulled a face. “Come on, Ma. It was only a question.”

“As was mine,” Gim replied evenly, her brow arched. Then, turning to Heart and Tinn, she added, “I mean no offense, Your Royal Highnesses, but I can tell when my sons are up to something. And I think I’m beginning to read both of you quite well, too.”

“It would seem so,” Tinn admitted with a laugh. “I wanted to ask: our Great-Aunt Noi has many connections in Pattaya, people looking to invest in new businesses as the economy continues to grow. Seeing as our parents suggested that, once you become titled, you might be interested in running a restaurant or teahouse of your own…”

“Here? In Pattaya?” Gim’s face paled.

“You wouldn’t need to live here,” Tinn added quickly, sensing her and her sons’ unease. “But if it interests you, perhaps Pattaya would suit you more than competing with hundreds of others in the capital.”

“Well, I…” Gim hesitated. “I’d have to think about it. Jim?”

“As would I,” Jim said quietly, his expression thoughtful. Though Heart had only seen him cook in passing during his brief time in the kitchens, he could already picture the man behind the counter of his own well-respected restaurant, chopping garlic and scallions for khao man gai.

The rest of the afternoon was spent drifting aimlessly between the estate and the beach, talking and wandering around, enjoying cold glasses of cha manao and dipping their toes in the ocean. As they dangled their feet over the edge of the terrace, Gun tentatively asked Heart about his spellsinging abilities, curious to know how they differed from his own. True to his word, he found talking about them didn’t bother him anymore. The only ache he felt now was the insatiable longing to hear the voices of those he loved.

They returned to Great-Aunt Noi’s estate in the early evening, where dinner was even more of a feast than the one they’d enjoyed on their first night. Roast pork drenched in sticky soy sauce, fried rice fragrant with basil and grilled onions, flat rice noodles in thick gravy, grilled fish dressed with dried chilis and lime juice, and half a dozen dipping sauces to choose from. Still, Li Ming and Gun seemed to eat less than usual; it was only when Heart and Tinn slipped away to the kitchen to bring out the pandan cake they’d prepared with Gim’s assistance that they understood why.

“Can you at least pretend to be surprised?” Heart asked, jutting out his lower lip for emphasis. Li Ming merely kissed it away when Great-Aunt Noi wasn’t looking.

Gim cut and served enormous slices of cake for everyone, smacking Gun’s hands away when he attempted to pilfer an extra bit of pandan cream. Heart watched Li Ming take his first bite, nearly convinced it would taste just as terrible as his khanom mo kaeng. Li Ming grinned when he noticed Heart’s expectant gaze. “Are you really that worried? Here, have some.” He held out another spoonful of cake, laughing when Heart scrunched up his nose as he tentatively took a bite of his own. “See?”

“It’s really good,” Heart said, savoring the milky sweetness of the pandan spreading across his tongue.

“Must’ve been all Ma and Tinn’s doing,” Li Ming teased, earning himself another one of Heart’s pouts.

Later that evening, after Chalerm helped him prepare for bed, Heart was just about to turn in for the night when he felt a gentle vibration rattle his bedstead. “Tinn? Come in,” he called, brow furrowing in slight confusion. The door opened to reveal someone else entirely.

“I have to admit, I thought your room would be far nicer than mine,” Li Ming said, a wry smile playing on his lips as he shut the door behind him. His hair was still damp from his bath, his cotton shirt tantalizingly threadbare. Heart could see the shadowy outline of the amulet beneath the thin white fabric, heavy against Li Ming’s breastbone. “When we were talking about magic earlier, I forgot to ask: how capable are you of casting silencing spells while you’re distracted?”

Heart’s throat went dry. “It depends on the distraction.”

Li Ming crossed the room in two strides, taking Heart’s face in both hands and kissing him so hungrily that for a moment, Heart forgot how to breathe. He half-stumbled backwards, leading them both toward the bed as he fisted his hands in Li Ming’s shirt. His back hit the mattress first, then Li Ming’s knees on either side of his hips, one hand tenderly cradling the back of Heart’s head as Li Ming continued to lay claim to Heart’s mouth. This time, he tasted of pandan and peppermint, his lips smooth and supple as though he’d applied some sort of balm before he’d come. It took Heart another minute before he remembered he really was meant to cast a silencing spell.

“So…now?” he said breathlessly once he finished, Li Ming’s lips working their way to the hollow of his throat. Li Ming didn’t respond, his hips bearing down against Heart’s thigh instead. Heart let out a strangled gasp at the sensation, at having too much friction yet not enough. He clumsily lifted his hips to meet Li Ming’s, desperate for relief, fingernails digging into Li Ming’s sides until he was sure to leave crescent-shaped imprints.

Heart lost track of time then, overwhelmed by the feeling of Li Ming’s mouth on his and Li Ming’s need pressed against his own. He couldn’t say if hours or mere seconds passed before Li Ming slowly sat up, still straddling him. Li Ming’s lips were swollen and slick with saliva, making heat curl in the depths of Heart’s belly, and then lower still. Li Ming’s fingers slipped deftly beneath Heart’s shirt, following the dip of his waist until he pressed his palm flat against Heart’s stomach as if to hold him there. Good?

“Good,” Heart whispered, his voice hoarse. Li Ming’s hand moved further down, thumb brushing across the waistband of Heart’s pants. He cocked his head in silent question, his fervent gaze never leaving Heart’s. Heart nodded, breath trembling in anticipation. Li Ming’s hand slipped between Heart’s legs, cupping him experimentally. Heart barely had time to clamp his own hand over his mouth to stifle a moan — not fully trusting his magic — before Li Ming tugged his waistband down and fully took hold, grinning wickedly as he did so.

Later — much later — a soft breeze whistled in through the window, kissing Heart’s damp skin and making him shiver. Though Li Ming had taken a warm cloth to both of them after they’d finished, the weather had become considerably cooler since Heart began preparing for bed. He made to adjust the bedcovers only for Li Ming to get there first, his arm snug around Heart’s back, where it stayed even after Heart was fully covered. When their eyes met, Li Ming’s gaze softer now, Heart shivered again.

Are you cold? Li Ming asked, his fingernail scratching lightly across Heart’s back. Heart shook his head, making Li Ming smile and lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Heart’s mouth. Warmth spread throughout Heart’s chest as he kissed him back.

When they parted and settled back onto their own pillows, Heart reached for Li Ming’s other hand, tapping a simple rhythm against the slightly rough skin of his palm. Li Ming responded by echoing the pattern across Heart’s knuckles as though they were the bars of a ranat ek. Soon, their fingers became something of a tangled mess, twisting and wresting in one another’s grasp, not unlike how they’d been in the water earlier that afternoon. Heart laughed, eventually disentangling himself so he could brush the hair out of Li Ming’s eyes. Though the room was nearly pitch black now, Heart could see the distinct glint in them he’d come to adore. Li Ming raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I love you,” Heart said simply. He didn’t know why he’d never said it before, only that the look on Li Ming’s face made him wish he’d done it much sooner.

“I love you too,” Li Ming murmured, slipping his fingers through Heart’s hair like it was the ocean’s waters and kissing him again. “So, so much.”

Gun wasn’t sure why Li Ming looked especially smug the morning after their birthday, nor was he sure he wanted to know. On his part, he’d slept like the dead last night after he and Tinn had snuck into the kitchen to steal a few last bites of pandan cake. “I never knew you were so rebellious, my brave little prince,” Gun had teased, carding his fingers through Tinn’s hair. Tinn had reddened and stammered something about it being Gun’s birthday and how he’d only followed him because he couldn’t be trusted to behave in a kitchen at that time of night. His blush only deepened when Gun kissed a smear of pandan cream from the corner of his mouth.

They had a few days left before they were expected to return to the capital. As much as they wanted to stay for at least another week, the king and queen were preparing to address the council head-on and quell the rumors about Tinn and Heart’s respective courtships, and didn’t want to do so without their presence. Privately, Gun thought it was pointless — they’d already begun discussing King Kasemchai’s proposed marriage reform, and people knew he and Li Ming resided in the Middle Court now; even someone as politically uninformed as himself would’ve been able to put it together — but didn’t say a word. Tinn was beginning to look anxious enough as it was, worried that addressing the rumors would only draw more attention to them.

“There’s no right way to do it,” he’d sighed during one of their many conversations on the beach yesterday. “I just wish we knew the best way to begin with.”

After taking breakfast with the others in the dining hall, Gun and Tinn spent most of the morning in the garden. Today was their day to themselves, they’d agreed, and Li Ming and Heart seemed more than happy to be alone. “Did you enjoy yourself yesterday?” Tinn asked during their stroll among the rambutan trees. “Do you feel any older?”

“Yes, and not really,” Gun mused. “What does ‘feeling older’ even mean?”

Tinn chuckled. “If you were to ask my father, he’d say more backaches and a greater desire for frequent midday naps.”

“I do like sleeping,” Gun said wistfully, which only made Tinn laugh again. “Well, I definitely enjoyed my eighteenth birthday more than I did yours. I’m sure Heart would agree.”

“I don’t know about that,” Tinn replied. “Imagine how different our lives would be if you hadn’t met that night.”

“I’d like to think we would’ve eventually met in some way that didn’t involve me getting hurt,” Gun said, nudging him. “Perhaps Li Ming would’ve seen Heart around the stables, or I would’ve been a server at one of your dinners. You’d be so taken with me that you’d ask me for my hand on the spot.”

“Or I’d be wracked with guilt about being attracted to someone that wasn’t my Little Mouse,” Tinn said, giving Gun an affectionate tap on the nose. “That’s exactly how I felt before I knew it was you, you know. When we first met in Siwalai and I healed your hands, I felt an immediate fondness for you but tried to deny it, thinking it was wrong. I suppose you could say I fell in love with you twice without realizing it.”

“Well, I am very charming,” Gun said, voice hitching as his pulse fluttered in his chest. “So that doesn’t surprise me at all.”

Tinn let out an amused exhale before his expression sobered. “You don’t have to answer if you’d rather not, but…did Li Ming ever try to seek out Heart after they were separated? I’m just trying to imagine how things would’ve worked out if they hadn’t met again under the circumstances that they did.”

Gun shook his head. “It’s just as Li Ming said. He wanted Heart to feel guilty about forgetting him. Before that, he didn’t think meeting Heart again was possible. It’s not as if he could’ve walked into the Middle Court and asked to see him.” He chewed his bottom lip. “He…he did miss him. But he didn’t want us talking about it, ever. Even after — or rather, especially after Heart and I met that night.”

“I’m glad they found each other again, even if it took a while for them to actually reconcile,” Tinn said. “I’ve never seen Heart look happier.”

“The same for Li Ming — but as I said before, I’d never say it to his face,” Gun added in a conspiratorial whisper. “I don’t want to spoil it.”

“Oh, we’ll see how long it takes before you do,” Tinn teased, squeezing Gun’s hand.

“Hey!” Gun protested, feigning hurt. “I can be tactful.”

“You can also be incredibly impulsive,” Tinn reminded him, kissing Gun’s forehead to appease him. Gun responded with a satisfied hum and dropped his head to rest on Tinn’s shoulder, where it remained for the rest of their walk.

They settled into the sala thai after taking a few more turns around the garden, where one of the servants brought them tea and a plate of coconut biscuits. Tinn had another bring his makruk set from his room, which Gun eyed with some apprehension. “I never really understood makruk,” he said while Tinn set up the board. “It always felt too complicated for me.”

“It might not be to your liking, but there’s no harm in trying, right?” Tinn said with an encouraging smile. “Here, I’ll explain the rules and the strategies I use.”

Tinn was an endlessly patient teacher, which didn’t surprise Gun in the least. Even in his rare moments of frustration over his argument with Heart or despair over their relationship’s seemingly inevitable end, he was always gentle and steadfast. It was one of the many things Gun loved about him; there was little else he found more attractive than Tinn’s competence and his quiet, yet fervent passion. It also left him imagining what Tinn would be like as a father. Despite Gun’s increasing irritation at the complexities of makruk, the thought of Tinn teaching and playing with a child — their child — made him smile.

“I’m sorry,” Gun said defeatedly after an hour, rolling yet another one of his fallen pawns between his fingers. “I really wanted to be good at this so we could play together.”

“It’s alright,” Tinn reassured him. “If you aren’t enjoying it, I’m sure we can find something else.”

Jealousy curled in the pit of Gun’s stomach like a snake. “This was something you and Lady Chanikarn shared, wasn’t it? I heard she’s one of the cleverest ladies of the khunnang, and that was why everyone thought she’d make the perfect queen.”

“She’s known for her intellect, yes,” Tinn said carefully, taking Gun’s hand in both of his. “But I admire your particular kind of cleverness much more.”

“Which would be…?” Gun leaned forward expectantly. He didn’t think Tinn would actually have an answer — the question had been more rhetorical than anything — but Tinn simply smiled and ran his thumb across Gun’s knuckles.

“The kind of cleverness that never compromises who you are or what you love,” he replied. “Even when faced with a difficult situation, you’ve always been sincere, resourceful, and loyal. Those aren’t the sort of qualities you’d find in just anyone.”

Gun’s breath caught in his throat. “Tinn…” He shook his head with a fond smile. “You really are the most sentimental person I’ve ever met.”

“If I were more sentimental, I would’ve finished that poem I’ve been working on for you,” Tinn sighed, apparently disappointed with himself.

Gun squeezed Tinn’s hand. “I know I said I expected a poem, but you really don’t have to bother if it’s giving you trouble. I’ve also been struggling with the song I’m writing for you.”

“I was hoping to have it ready for your birthday, but there was so much we had to do before we left, and…” Tinn trailed off as Gun squeezed his hand again. “Well, let’s just agree to take our time, then. We have all the time in the world.”

A warm smile spread across Gun’s face, grateful for how true that had become. “We do,” he agreed. “Enough time to try a different game, perhaps?”

They spent the rest of the morning in the library, where Tinn showed Gun some of the puzzles he liked doing in his spare time. “An effective way to train the mind,” he’d explained, demonstrating how to solve cryptograms and magic squares and other games Gun had never heard of. Gun found he liked tangrams best, cutting apart pieces of paper according to the diagrams in Tinn’s book and arranging them into different patterns that he found immensely satisfying. It certainly helped that Tinn beamed with pride whenever he completed one, though he supposed Tinn smiled at him like that if he did so much as breathe.

When they arrived at the dining hall for lunch, Li Ming and Heart were already there, talking and gazing at each other in a manner that felt too intimate to witness. Gun and Tinn exchanged knowing looks before sitting at the opposite end of the table so they could be closer to Gim and Uncle Jim instead. They arrived soon after with Miss Sirikanya following close behind, who cast a furtive glance in Li Ming’s direction before taking her seat.

“How was your morning, Ma?” Gun asked, pouring her a cup of tea. She seemed more and more like herself the longer they were in Pattaya, smiling and talking and even scolding him and Li Ming, much to their relief. “Your cough sounds like it’s nearly gone.”

“Miss Sirikanya’s a wonderful nurse,” Gim replied, accepting her cup with a grateful smile. “I spent most of the morning with Lady Nangnoi, actually. She seems rather…curious about our family, if you get my meaning.”

“…oh.” Gun blushed a little, though really, it had been Tinn and Heart who’d given them away. Both of them kept stealing fond glances in his and Li Ming’s direction, and Heart hadn’t been able to keep his hands off Li Ming even once. “What did she say? What did you say?”

“She said you and Li Ming must be quite special to inspire the king and queen to reform Ayutthaya’s marriage laws,” Gim said. “She asked how your courtships came to be, if Li Ming knew sign language before he and Prince Heart met, that sort of thing. We must’ve talked for hours.”

“Did she seem…accepting?” Gun’s stomach twisted in concern. Even if she wasn’t Tinn and Heart’s grandmother and lived outside of the palace, he didn’t want to cause any dissent within their family. He’d heard Tinn, Heart, and their parents mention their expansive family tree every now and then, numerous aunts and uncles and cousins spread across every province in Ayutthaya. He imagined at least a few of them would have unkind things to say, and not just about them being members of the phrai.

“She admitted to being surprised we weren’t from a khunnang family. She expected we were at least members of the Nai, though given our lack of…what was the word she used?” Gim turned to Uncle Jim, who grimaced.

“Decorum,” he said, his jaw tightening.

“Yes, that was it — given our lack of decorum, it made more sense that we were from the phrai,” Gun finished, pursing her lips.

Tinn winced as well. “I apologize for my great-aunt’s impropriety. That was completely unnecessary of her to say, and untrue at that.”

“I didn’t take offense,” Gim replied, waving him off. “My sons aren’t very well-behaved, after all.”

“Ma!” Gun protested, glancing further down the table in the hopes that Li Ming would have a witty remark to offer. His brother was too preoccupied with serving rice noodles for himself and Heart to have heard them. “We’re plenty well-behaved.”

Gim arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t I hear you almost knocked a tray out of a poor server’s hands during one of your dinners with the king and queen?”

“Not on purpose,” Gun insisted. “One of her plates was about to fall and, well…my old instincts took over, I suppose. I didn’t mean to startle her.”

That elicited a quiet chuckle from Uncle Jim. “Better than dropping an entire bottle of alcohol, I suppose.”

Gun nearly choked on his tea. Gim, meanwhile, looked unsure whether to scold her brother or laugh at his unexpected remark. “…I’m starting to see why Lady Nangoi thinks we’re uncivilized.”

“Did she have anything else to say about us?” Gun asked once he’d finished clearing his throat.

Gim and Uncle Jim shared wary glances. “She…wanted to know if the princes plan to take consorts so they can produce legitimate heirs. I only told her it was none of my business since I’m assuming His Majesty doesn’t want anyone outside of the council knowing his plans just yet.”

“You’d be correct,” Tinn said with a grateful smile, though a moment later, he seemed hesitant, too. “Did she have anything to say about our…inclinations?”

To their surprise, Gim barked out a short, sharp laugh. “Not a word, actually. She really was more concerned about the possible lack of children.”

Tinn let out a relieved exhale. “Good. That’s…that’s good.”

Gim fell silent for a moment, all traces of humor replaced with melancholy once more. She picked at the rice in her bowl without eating it, staring into her teacup like she expected to find the answer to a question Gun didn’t know she was asking. Even Li Ming, sensing her unease from the opposite end of the table, turned away from Heart to look at her. “…Ma?” Gun eventually said.

Another minute passed before she finally responded. “Our cousin, Jam. That’s why we wanted to run away to Pattaya. Because she did it first.”

Gun’s breath caught. He leaned forward, a hundred questions already racing through his mind, only none of them seemed adequate. He glanced helplessly in Li Ming’s direction, grateful to see he and Heart were already moving closer to sit beside Gim. “When? Why?” Li Ming said urgently, his voice low.

“Because she could,” Gim said simply. “She was always impetuous like that, always sneaking around and doing as she liked. She even told us she would do it someday, run off to Pattaya. We never believed her, mostly because we thought it was impossible. How wrong we were.”

“And I suppose she never came back?” Li Ming guessed. When Gim nodded, her jaw visibly tightening, the crease between his brows deepened. “Then after your grandparents died, you also ran away because…because you wanted to find her in Pattaya. Did she ever write or anything?”

“No, not at the time. We weren’t even sure if she’d made it,” Uncle Jim said, his expression dour. “We…feared the worst.”

“And then you never made it,” Gun said slowly. “Grandpa found you in Samut Prakan and brought you back to the palace.”

“That’s right,” Gim said, sighing. “We thought we’d never know what happened to Jam. But then we were in the capital one day, and we happened across this boy who mistook me for Jam since we looked so similar. As it turns out, he was a friend of hers who worked at the docks and had helped her find passage to Laem Chabang. He said she’d sent him a few letters after settling in Pattaya and lamented not knowing how to reach her family, seeing as we didn’t have a home address. He offered to act as our liaison so we could keep in touch.”

“You must’ve been so relieved,” Tinn said softly.

Gim nodded, smiling faintly. “We were, once we got her first letter. Until then, we still thought there was a chance we were being tricked. But that letter — she spent an entire page telling us how much her feet hurt and how humid it was, and we just knew it was her. She was always so fussy about everything.” Her laugh was hollow, like it didn’t quite belong to her.

“And then?” Li Ming pressed. “Is she still in Pattaya? Are you still in touch?”

Gim and Uncle Jim exchanged yet another wary glance. “Jim…”

“It’s alright,” Uncle Jim said quietly. “It’s better they know the truth.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself; Gun felt Tinn’s hand close around his in reassurance. “At first, we only met with Jam’s friend to exchange letters, perhaps every few weeks or so. But he and I had quite a few things in common, so we became friends, too. And then eventually…” He inclined his head. It took Gun a moment to realize what he meant.

“Oh!” Gun frowned. “Wait…that wasn’t P’Beam, was it?”

Uncle Jim exhaled a surprised laugh. “No, no, it wasn’t Beam. But I did start spending more time with him during our supply trips to the capital instead of with Gim and our mother. We knew it wasn’t going anywhere, but…we enjoyed each other’s company.”

Now it was Gun and Li Ming who shared curious looks. Uncle Jim never spoke of his past lovers, not even Beam. He was more likely to tell stories about Gim’s past than his own. “And…” Gun said uncertainly, trailing off.

“Jam found out.” Uncle Jim looked pained, yet resigned. “None of us heard from her after that.”

It was as if all the air in Gun’s lungs had been expelled at once. “…oh. Uncle Jim, I…I’m so sorry.”

“Last we heard, she’d married some wealthy proprietor and moved to his estate somewhere in the countryside,” Gim said, rubbing her brother’s arm. He visibly swallowed, his head slightly bowed. Even Li Ming reached for him then, his mouth twisting in both anger and sympathy. “That’s why we were of two minds about coming to Pattaya. We wanted to see why she revered Pattaya so much, but we didn’t want to chance seeing her.”

“Should we not have come here, then?” Li Ming asked.

“It’s alright — really, it is,” Gim insisted at Li Ming’s doubtful expression, placing her hand over his. “Being here together has been wonderful, and I’d honestly stay at least another week if we could. It’s just…well, despite everything, we still miss her sometimes, even if we no longer respect her.”

“I know how that feels,” Gun half-mumbled to himself, though a flicker of recognition still crossed Li Ming’s face. Tinn gave Gun’s hand another squeeze. “I’m really sorry that happened, and…sorry for bothering you about it. We didn’t think…well. We didn’t think it’d be something like that.”

“You wouldn’t be my sons if you’d simply let it go,” Gim said, affectionately pinching both of their cheeks. “Stubborn to the very end.” Gun and Li Ming managed wan smiles but said nothing more.

The room was silent for a while, save for quiet sips of tea and fingers tapping restlessly against the table. Only Uncle Jim’s hands lingered around his cup, his grip unnecessarily tight. “I hope His Majesty’s marriage reform will change people’s minds,” he eventually said. “If not Jam’s, then…someone’s. Anyone’s.”

“Everyone’s,” Gun offered, feeling a little foolish as he said it, but Uncle Jim nodded with a small, hopeful smile.

Conversation slowly picked up after that, spoons and chopsticks scraping against plates and bowls while they ate. They talked about their plans for the last few days of their trip, which teahouses they wanted to visit at Great-Aunt Noi’s recommendation, if they had time for one last evening on the beach. No one made any mention of Jam. Part of Gun wished he could find out if she had changed her mind or, at the very least, regretted her decision. Another part felt they were all better off not knowing. He also wondered, once their engagements were made official, what she would think of her cousin’s sons.

“Is everything alright, my love?” An hour had passed since lunch, and Gun and Tinn had returned to the library. Gun had never really enjoyed libraries much, but after he’d finished the book Tinn gave him, he had a newfound appreciation for literature, even if he didn’t always understand it. If anything, it helped him understand Tinn better — the sort of stories he enjoyed, the way he thought about things.

“I’m fine,” Gun reassured him, leaning across the divan to pat Tinn’s hand. “It’s just…I feel terrible for Uncle Jim. He never tells us much about himself, but he’s obviously been through so much. I wish we could lift his spirits somehow.”

Tinn closed the book on his lap and set it aside, his expression thoughtful. “What if…you prepared dinner together? The four of you, that is. I’m sure Great-Aunt Noi’s cook has everything you need for khao man gai.”

Gun frowned. “I thought you wanted us to do that. Today’s supposed to be our day to ourselves.”

Tinn nodded slowly. “I do, but…right now, your uncle is in greater need. And besides, this trip isn’t just about us being together. You should spend time with your family, too. We can always cook together another day. We’ll have other days to ourselves for the rest of our lives.” A rush of gratitude filled Gun’s chest. He pulled Tinn into a fierce embrace, burying his face against Tinn’s neck. Tinn let out a small noise of surprise. “…Gun?”

“Should I be insulted by your surprise at my appreciation for you?” Gun clicked his tongue. “I obviously haven’t spoiled you enough.”

“You’ll find some way to make it up to me later, I’m sure.” Tinn wrapped his arms around Gun’s shoulders, drawing him even closer. The familiar scent of ink and jasmine oil and sandalwood filled Gun’s nose. They lingered for a moment, their breaths falling into a steady rhythm. “Do you want to go and ask them now?”

“Trying to rid yourself of me already, are you?” Gun grinned, pulling back so he could take Tinn’s hands. “At least let me finish telling you what Li Ming and I decided on before you throw me out.”

“I would never,” Tinn protested so sincerely that Gun couldn’t help but laugh. “And yes, of course. I’d love to hear it.”

Gun joined his family in the kitchen in the late afternoon, where Li Ming and Uncle Jim were already preparing several whole chickens for boiling. Gim, meanwhile, was sorting out ingredients for the broth and the sauce: ginger, garlic, onions, cilantro, winter melon, cucumbers, and chilies. All of their faces were creased in concentration, though there was obvious tension in their brows, too.

Uncle Jim had smiled and clapped Gun on the shoulder when he’d made the suggestion a few hours ago, telling him it was a good idea since he’d already started to miss cooking in the short time they’d been in Pattaya. Li Ming and Gim had smiled at him, too, clearly pleased and relieved to have something to do other than sit around the estate and mull over that morning’s conversation. However, it didn’t seem to make Uncle Jim any less reticent or Gim any less pensive.

“Good, you’re finally here,” Gim said with false cheer. “Help me with the sauce, will you?”

Gun did as he was told, dutifully measuring out salt, vinegar, soy sauce, and soybean paste. He talked about how his day had gone as he did so, filling the silence with makruk, tanagrams, and Tinn’s recent book recommendations. Gim made a few teasing remarks about how Tinn had managed to get Gun to read more in mere weeks than his teachers had in years. Uncle Jim smiled and even laughed a few times but said nothing at all.

Once Gun finished, he joined Li Ming by the boiling pots. “How’ve they been?” he asked quietly.

“About the same,” Li Ming admitted. At Gun’s frown, he added, “I’m worried too, but…it’s only been a few hours. Maybe they’ll feel better once we have dinner. This was a good idea, after all.”

Gun couldn’t help but brighten a little. “Was that a compliment?”

Li Ming offered a wry grin. “If it was, it was for Tinn, not you. Now come on, help me with the ginger.”

They talked among themselves as they chopped vegetables side by side, discussing their plans for once they returned to the palace. Li Ming was impatient to finally have his first lessons with Tutor Suchada, while Gun planned to work more closely with their mother in the kitchens to avoid other servants’ prying eyes. They also had several appointments with different tutors, advisors, and officials waiting for them, courtesy of Queen Photjanee.

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but why were you so…happy this morning, anyway?” Gun asked.

Li Ming’s face turned unexpectedly pink, his smile both gratified and embarrassed. “What, am I not supposed to be happy? And look where you’re cutting before you lose a finger.”

“Is it something to do with Heart?” Gun pressed, which only deepened Li Ming’s blush further. “Did he sneak into your room again?”

“Did he what?” They both looked up, startled, to see Gim with one eyebrow raised and one hand on her hip, the other brandishing a heavy pestle. The chilies she’d been grinding were as red as Li Ming’s face.

Gun grimaced while Li Ming spluttered, “Nothing, Ma.” Gim snorted, entirely unconvinced.

“Oh, er — Ma, Li Ming and I were just talking about something we wanted to do ahead of our engagements,” Gun said quickly. “We were thinking we’d both become advocates for better education for the phrai.”

“Both of you?” Gun was more astonished than affronted by Uncle Jim’s first words since he’d entered the kitchen over an hour ago. “How did that come about?”

“Not the same subjects, exactly,” Li Ming said. “Language and literature for myself, and music and art for Gun.”

“Since we’ll be expected to attend royal ceremonies, speak at public events…we thought they’d make for the perfect opportunity to change people’s minds about the phrai,” Gun explained. “Prove that even if we lack the khunnang’s education and resources, we’re still just as capable.”

“We don’t have it all planned out yet, but we thought I might work with Tinn since he’s so passionate about reading and studying, and…” Li Ming smiled. “And Gun could work with Heart since they’re both spellsingers. If they’re willing, obviously.”

Uncle Jim returned his smile. “And you said you didn’t want to be the face or voice of the phrai. You’ve really thought about this.”

“I just said we don’t have it planned out yet,” Li Ming retorted, though he looked pleased. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“You’ll never change everyone’s minds,” Uncle Jim replied, making Gun flinch again when he remembered what he’d said earlier. “But it’s as I said before: both of you will change Ayutthaya for the better. You already have.”

Gim wrapped them both in a warm embrace, kissing their cheeks as tears began welling in her eyes. “I’m so proud of you two,” she said, hastily drying her face on her apron. “Though Gun, I can’t say the same for your cooking abilities. That’s ginger you’ve got there, not coconut. Stop shredding it to bits.”

“Ma!” Gun protested, nudging her. “Don’t spoil the moment.” A chorus of laughter sounded throughout the kitchen, four voices weaving together in remarkable harmony.

They had dinner in the dining hall with the others, where Tinn and Heart eagerly voiced their appreciation for the home-cooked meal — something they rarely ever had, if at all. They’d not only made khao man gai, but som tam, tom kha gai, and mango sticky rice for dessert. Gun made Tinn’s plates for him, ladling out more soup and spooning more sauce onto his chicken rice at his request.

“Is this you spoiling me?” Tinn asked, smiling.

“I was never assigned to serve the royal family during any of those dinners,” Gun replied. “I thought I might do it at least once.” Tinn rewarded him with a quick kiss on the cheek when his great-aunt wasn’t looking.

Later that evening, when Gun’s stomach was warm and his eyes had grown heavy, he went to his window to close the curtains when he noticed a single light emanating from the garden pavilion. He smiled to himself, instinctively knowing it had to be Tinn. After their conversation on the beach, Gun had quietly asked him how he’d handled the enormity of his magic, the terrible pain he’d felt.

“If you ever feel overwhelmed by anything — especially sound — I can help,” he’d promised. “Just tell me, alright?” Tinn then told him that aside from dark rooms and quiet spaces, he’d sometimes retreat to the pavilion in his courtyard for some fresh air. It was why he visited the Siwalai Gardens often despite them being out of his way.

Now, Gun perched on the windowsill, leaning out and whistling the softest of whistles, the sort that carried on the breeze. He watched as a familiar figure emerged from the pavilion and glanced around in mild confusion, his face brightening when their eyes met. Gun waved, to which Tinn waved enthusiastically back before gesturing for him to come down and join him. Gun didn’t hesitate to follow.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Gun said once he was in Tinn’s arms, the faint glow of the lantern light flickering across their faces. A few of Tinn’s textbooks were set out on the low table, along with a notebook and pen. “Don’t tell me you’re revising right now.”

“I have exams to prepare for,” Tinn reminded him, though any further protestations died in his throat when Gun nestled his face against the crook of his jaw. “Uh…Gun? Is something wrong?”

“I can’t even be affectionate now without you questioning me?” Gun leaned back to offer an exaggerated pout. “What sort of lover do you take me for?”

“You just keep surprising me throughout this trip, that’s all,” Tinn replied, relaxing and guiding Gun to sit with their backs against the balustrade. “Seeing you with that little girl at the temple, hearing your ideas on becoming an active member of the royal family, indulging me with my silly puzzles…”

“They’re not silly. They’re important to you. And…” Gun paused, shrugging. “You’re important to me.”

As always, Tinn tried and failed to hide his pleased smile. “Gun…”

“You don’t believe me? Here, let me prove it to you.” Gun began rummaging through Tinn’s bag, hoping he knew him as well as he thought he did. He let out a quiet cheer of triumph when his fingers closed around a familiar wooden box. “Perhaps you’d like to hear this again?”

Tinn’s eyes widened in understanding. At his eager nod, Gun cast a silencing spell with a flick of his wrist, watching the air ripple very slightly around the pavilion. He closed his eyes in concentration, only to open them seconds later. All he really needed to focus was Tinn’s warm, gentle smile.

On a night with shining stars, you will see me here for you only…I have no fear as long as you trust me…

Admittedly, there still wasn’t much to the song; he hadn’t made any progress since he enclosed that box in his letter for Tinn and hid it among his belongings before he left for Nonthaburi. Still, the look on Tinn’s face told him it was already more than enough — that Gun was more than enough. When he finished, Tinn wrapped him in his arms, pulling Gun’s back against his chest. He pressed a lingering kiss against Gun’s temple.

“I could listen to you sing forever,” he murmured into Gun’s hair. “And I promise I never doubted you. Not even for a second.”

“Good.” Gun pressed his nose against Tinn’s cheek, reveling in the softness of his skin, the familiarity of his touch, the steady beat of his heart. “Because I love you.”

Tinn turned his face to Gun’s, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. “I love you, too.”

Smiling, Gun lifted his hand to hold Tinn’s cheek, to bring him closer still. Their noses brushed, their breaths mingled. Gun watched Tinn close his eyes first, his lips trembling in anticipation. When their mouths met, Gun heard Tinn’s pulse sing beneath his fingers. They pulled apart after a moment, and Gun felt Tinn’s smile beneath his own before he leaned in again. This time, he parted his lips so he could deepen the kiss, tasting the peppermint tea on Tinn’s tongue. They were eager and clumsy and inexperienced, and neither could get close enough, their bodies a tangle of long limbs and slippery silk. When they parted a second time, both of them were laughing.

“Fortunately, we have all the time in the world to get better at this, too,” Gun said breathlessly, running his thumb across the fullness of Tinn’s bottom lip. Tinn’s gaze lingered on Gun’s for just a moment before closing the gap once more.

Chapter Text

Though Heart had never visited Siriraj Hospital before, he’d catch the occasional glimpse of it from across the Chao Phraya whenever he passed through the Outer Court. The building was enormous, tall and imposing and impossible to miss when it was surrounded by shops, eateries, and government offices that were three floors at most. Dozens of healers, patients, visitors, and medical students hurried in and out of Siriraj’s gates, unaware that their princes were sitting in a nondescript carriage across the road.

Li Ming squeezed Heart’s leg. “Are you alright?” he asked once Heart turned to look at him.

Heart nodded, though he’d been in low spirits since they departed Pattaya. All of them had, all reluctant to leave behind what had been the best week of their lives. They’d spent the final days of their trip staying in bed long after sunrise, taking morning walks along the beach and evening swims in the ocean, visiting local markets and temples and teahouses, eating all the khanom they could ever want. On their last evening, they’d sprawled across a blanket on the dewy grass in Great-Aunt Noi’s garden to watch the stars. Tinn explained the different constellations while Heart and Gun hummed traditional Ayutthayan songs that honored them. Li Ming had been content to simply listen, watching Heart, Gun, even Tinn in silent appreciation.

“We don’t have to see him today, Heart,” Tinn said now. “We can always come back another day if you aren’t ready.”

“If we leave now, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready again,” Heart admitted. “I just want to talk to him for ten minutes. Five, even.”

“Alright,” Tinn said softly. “Tiwson, if you would?”

Tiwson went ahead to speak with the clerk in the hospital’s reception, accompanied by Chalerm and one of the guards, who was responsible for securing a safe route where they wouldn’t be spotted. Heart chewed his bottom lip so vigorously while they waited that it began to bleed. He managed a wan smile when Li Ming wordlessly gave him a handkerchief.

After what felt like an hour, though it had really only been a few minutes, the others returned. The guard, along with a few others, escorted them through the hospital’s maze of winding corridors and innumerable stairs. Heart’s knees wobbled, both out of anticipation and from the ache of having been confined in a carriage for nearly three hours. Finally, they stopped before a heavy wooden door bearing a brass nameplate: Sir Eakasit Lueangsuwan.

Heart took in a deep breath, then another. Then, he knocked. When one of the guards gestured for them to enter, it was Heart who opened the door.

Sir Eakasit was an ordinary-looking man, no more distinctive than any of the hundreds of ministers, officials, and scholars that Heart had met before. Even his office reminded Heart of the countless tutors he’d studied under, with several shelves of books and records, medical diagrams plastered on his walls, and a neatly kept desk with little in the way of personal effects. Unlike those who lived and worked in the palace, however, he was dressed in a western-style attire, his shirtsleeves rolled up and a suit jacket slung over the back of his chair.

He rose to his feet to pay obeisance; his expression was kind, if a little wary. “Your Royal Highness. Are you well?” While his sign language was fluent, his pace suggested he didn’t use it often.

“I am, Sir Eakasit,” Heart replied, a lump beginning to work its way up his throat. “I hope you are as well. May we sit?”

“Of course, of course.” Sir Eakasit glanced helplessly around his office, where there were only three chairs, including his own. Heart motioned for Tinn to join him on the opposite side of Sir Eakasit’s desk, sparing an apologetic glance at Li Ming and Gun, who remained standing by the door. They responded with encouraging smiles. “My apologies, Your Royal Highnesses. I should’ve been better prepared.”

“It’s alright, Sir Eakasit,” Tinn reassured him. “I don’t believe our mother mentioned we’d have others with us in her letter. Now, if we might get straight to the matter?”

Heart gave Tinn a grateful smile before turning to meet Sir Eakasit’s expectant gaze. “Well, I…I don’t remember that day very well,” he said, his hands trembling. Only Tinn’s presence at his elbow and Taengmo’s head in his lap kept him steady. “The potion — what was it, exactly? How was it supposed to work, and had you given it to anyone before?”

“Yes, definitely,” Sir Eakasit replied. “I would never administer anything that hadn’t been properly tested and approved. The potion's original purpose was to heal soldiers not only of their physical pain, but their emotional pain. At the time of its creation, we were still recovering from the war, and healers had countless patients who were unable to complete examinations or undergo operations because of how much pain they were in. Veterans who had trouble returning to their lives because all they could see and feel and remember was the unspeakable horrors of war. Its composition is quite complex, but there are a few ingredients you’d be familiar with: rosemary, saffron, and ginseng. They affect the blood flow to our brain — in other words, your capacity for memory.”

He paused, giving Heart time to take everything in. “So it was used by other doctors,” he eventually said.

“Yes, dozens of doctors for hundreds of patients,” Sir Eakasit said. “And for quite a few years by the time of your illness. Adverse effects were incredibly rare, only experienced by those allergic to one of its ingredients and hadn’t provided notice beforehand.”

Though Heart knew Sir Eakasit hadn’t meant anything by it, anger still flared in his chest. “What about the adverse effect of losing memories you wanted to keep?”

To Sir Eakasit’s credit, he barely flinched. “Unfortunately, one of the potion's greatest flaws is that we cannot handpick which memories to keep and which to lose. Any memory associated with great pain, fear, or suffering — a minor headache or a paper cut, for example, wouldn't count — is erased without distinction.”

“But that’s what I don’t understand,” Heart said, gritting his teeth. “I lost an important memory that had none of that. It was entirely happy.”

Sir Eakasit frowned. “Could you elaborate?”

Heart told him about his first encounter with Li Ming all those years ago — or rather, what his mother and Li Ming had told him of it. As he spoke, Li Ming stepped away from the door to rest his hands on Heart’s shoulders; Heart could feel him trembling, too. When he finished, Sir Eakasit looked resigned. “What is it?” Heart asked, dread already stirring in the pit of his stomach.

“I…sincerely wish I had a better answer for you,” Sir Eakasit said; his sympathetic gaze unnerved Heart. “But the truth of the matter is, magic can be imperfect and science can be imprecise. Perhaps the potion conflated your two earliest memories with Loetphong, having taken place in the same location and under similar circumstances, and did away with both.”

Heart stared at him, disbelieving. His chest felt as though it had caved in. “That’s…that’s it? That’s all?”

“I’m deeply sorry, Your Royal Highness,” Sir Eakasit said gently. “I really do wish I had a solution, or at least evidence to support my hypothesis and give you proper closure. At best, we could run some blood tests and a psychiatric evaluation. I doubt either will result in anything meaningful since it’s been nearly four years, though if they’ll bring you comfort, I’d be happy to do everything I can. But…I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to bring those memories back. It’s the nature of healing magic, of all magic. It is inherently flawed.”

Heart continued to stare, tears burning hot in his eyes. For a moment, he wanted to shout at Sir Eakasit, to tell him he was wrong, that there had to be a solution and he just wasn’t trying hard enough. That he’d barely tried at all, that he’d brushed it aside too quickly so he could rationalize what he’d done. That Heart could have him stripped of his credentials, his reputation, his livelihood for causing irreparable harm to a member of the royal family. But, as his senses narrowed to the sensation of Tinn’s elbow beside his, Li Ming’s hand on his shoulder, even Gun hovering protectively behind them all, he knew doing so wouldn’t change anything. Not in the way he wanted it to.

His throat ached when he finally spoke again. “Okay,” he whispered, his tears now rolling down his cheeks. Tinn and Li Ming squeezed his shoulders consolingly at the same time. “I…I’d like to have those tests done, but not right now.” It didn’t feel like an adequate response — there was so much more he had to say, so much more he wanted to ask — but he was tired now, and all he wanted was to return to his own bed and sleep until his mind felt like his own again.

“Of course,” Sir Eakasit said, his eyes soft. “I’ll come by the palace the moment you summon me. And I truly am very sorry, Your Royal Highness. I understand this has caused you great pain, and I regret the part I’ve played in it.”

Heart shook his head, all impulses of anger and vengeance already gone. “You saved my life, Sir Eakasit. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

While the short carriage ride from Siriraj to the palace’s front gates was spent in brooding silence, their return to the Middle Court was more eventful than any of them would’ve liked. A flurry of guards and attendants descended on them as soon as they passed through the gates, swirling around them like leaves in a particularly strong gust of wind. Heart and Tinn barely had time to see Li Ming and Gun off before they were ushered toward their respective homes. Several servants saw to their belongings while others told the princes they’d already begun preparing hot baths. A few even had messages for Chalerm and Tiwson to pass on, informing them of important affairs that had taken place during their absence.

After Heart had been bathed and scrubbed within an inch of his life, Chalerm dressed him in one of his finer silks, his hair shiny with oil and his skin sticky with lotion. He desperately wanted to sleep, preferably in the same bed as Li Ming, but their parents had invited them to have dinner together as soon as they returned.

“We’ll keep it brief,” Tinn reassured him when they met again outside their mother’s private dining hall. “I’m sure they’ll understand.”

Kasemchai greeted them at the door with an enormous smile, sweeping them into his arms and sniff-kissing their cheeks. “Oh, how I’ve missed you both terribly,” he declared once he pulled away, beaming. “How was the return trip? You must be exhausted; we should’ve delayed dinner until tomorrow. And you needn’t have dressed up so nicely, either.”

“We don’t mind,” Tinn replied, though his smile was as weary as Heart’s. “How are you and Mother?”

Kasemchai led them into the hall while he talked about a family of sparrows that had begun nesting in their mother’s courtyard (“They’re delightful, but her maids have complained about the birdsong keeping them up at night.”), the karipap recipe he’d been working on (“Needs more onions, and do you think Madam Gim would offer her opinion on the pastry if I asked?”), and how one of his minister’s clerks and one of Madam Winai’s nurses recently got engaged (“Both handsome young men, though perhaps not as handsome as your young men.”). Heart had never been more grateful for his father’s effervescence to help take his mind off things, even if he was too tired to respond.

Photjanee rose from her seat to embrace them, her face bright and the smell of her perfume both comforting and soporific; Heart could’ve fallen asleep on her shoulder right then and there. She and Kasemchai waved away all questions about council meetings and how the proposed marriage reform was progressing — questions mostly asked by Tinn, naturally — and asked about Pattaya instead.

Tinn did most of the talking, telling their parents about Great-Aunt Noi’s home and hospitality, Pattaya’s beautiful beaches, crowded markets, and austere temples. The gentle warmth of the ocean in the early mornings, the meditative silence of the gardens in the late evenings, the joy on Li Ming and Gun’s faces when they opened their birthday presents and ate too much pandan cake and felt the sand between their toes. Both were careful not to say much about Gim or Jim, only that they enjoyed getting to know their future in-laws better.

“We look forward to becoming better acquainted, too,” Photjanee replied with an approving smile. “And Madam Gim’s health?”

“She’s doing really well,” Tinn said. “She said she’d be honored to meet you both soon once they’ve settled back into their routines.”

“Perhaps they’d like to join us next Saturday, then,” Photjanee said, pleased. Then, her expression softened. “And…Heart, how was your meeting with Sir Eakasit?”

Heart’s tea seemed to burn his throat as he swallowed, despite it being lukewarm. “He thinks the potion conflated my first memories of Li Ming, and nothing can be done about it. He says I’m welcome to summon him to the palace for further testing, but…it’s as you said. He didn’t have the answers I was looking for.”

“I’m so sorry, Heart,” Photjanee murmured, briefly reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “I sincerely wish I’d been wrong.”

“It’s alright,” Heart said. Perhaps if he said it enough, it would eventually become true. “Li Ming will remember for both of us.”

Another few days passed before they were reunited with Li Ming and Gun, who’d been busy tidying up their house and preparing for their return to the kitchens. Heart and Li Ming couldn’t help but notice Tinn and Gun sharing a kiss as soon as they were in each other’s arms, making both of them snicker. “If only they knew what we did in Pattaya,” Li Ming said, his grin widening when Heart blushed.

They spent the afternoon having tea and khanom in the Wongwitthayas’ sitting room, discussing Kasemchai and Photjanee’s impending address with the council about their courtships. Heart and Li Ming developed a close bond during Li Ming’s brief time as Heart’s aide, they planned to say, whereas Tinn and Gun met through their brothers and found they also shared much in common. The four quickly became inseparable, Kasemchai would assure the council, which was why the Wongwitthayas moved into the Middle Court after Madam Gim recovered from her illness. Their sons would have done the same for any friends of theirs who didn’t already live close by. Any claims made by the infirmary staff about witnessing intimate moments between the princes and their friends were completely false.

It left a sour taste in their mouths, of course, but Li Ming and Gun weren’t prepared for court life nor the intense scrutiny that came with it. They would need several months with tutors, advisors, and officials before they were ready to face the world as Heart and Tinn’s husbands-to-be. Their schedules were filling quickly with appointments and lessons, and Heart was dismayed they wouldn’t have as much spare time to be together as he’d hoped.

“We could go riding together on Saturday, before our dinner with your parents,” Li Ming suggested. “Gun, Tinn — do you want to join us?”

“We already have plans,” Gun said apologetically. “I promised my friends I’d introduce them to Tinn.”

“And you agreed?” Li Ming raised an eyebrow in Tinn’s direction. “Wouldn’t their parents find it suspicious and tell other members of the khunnang?”

“Their parents don’t have to know,” Tinn replied with a shrug.

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Heart teased. “Or rather, what has Gun done to you?” The impressively saccharine smiles that Tinn and Gun shared in response made Heart regret asking.

Heart and Li Ming left for the royal family’s private library once they’d finished their tea, their hands brushing against one another, never quite able to fully touch. Several passersby — scholars, architects, and clerks — stole glances and whispered to one another, but Li Ming did his best to ignore them, asking after Heart’s well-being instead. “Especially after everything that happened with Sir Eakasit,” he added. “When do you think you’ll summon him for those tests?”

“I don’t know,” Heart admitted. “I’m still disappointed, but I know it wasn’t really his fault. I just…I hate that I can’t remember our first meeting. I hate that I’ll never know what else or who else I’ve forgotten. And I hate that I’ll always feel this way.”

Li Ming gave him a commiserative smile but said nothing. It was only when they entered the library’s courtyard, away from prying eyes, that he opened his arms. Heart gladly accepted his embrace, sinking into his familiar warmth. I’m right here, Li Ming wrote on the small of Heart’s back. Heart found it far more comforting than if Li Ming had said, like everyone else, I’m sorry.

The royal family’s private library had always been more Tinn’s domain than Heart’s; he spent hours studying here despite having his own, sometimes arranging to have his lessons here so he could enjoy the larger space and access to a bigger collection. It took Heart a few minutes to navigate the maze of bookshelves and reading desks to find what he was looking for. “There,” he said, gesturing. “That’s Father’s poem for Tinn, and that one there is his poem for me.”

He watched as Li Ming slowly mouthed and signed the words to himself, reading Heart’s first, then Tinn’s. After a moment, he shook his head. “I’ll never understand poetry.”

Heart laughed. “Neither will I. Though aren’t you and Tinn supposed to be advocating for greater access to literature for the phrai?”

“Literature and poetry aren’t the same thing,” Li Ming retorted, nudging him. “And I don’t have to understand poetry to know it’s important. Or at least to some people, anyhow.” They both went quiet for a moment, studying the poem. “His Majesty isn’t exactly Sunthorn Phu, is he?”

“Were you expecting Phra Aphai Mani?” Heart nudged him back. “Father is more of an admirer of poetry than a poet himself. But I do think they’re nice.”

“They are,” Li Ming agreed. It was then that Heart realized Li Ming was tugging on the fabric scrap around his wrist, the one that once belonged to his father. Heart wondered what he was thinking about, if he would always have some unresolved ache in his chest like Heart. He also found himself wondering what he’d thought of Li Ming’s father when they’d briefly met, how he might’ve compared him to his own. Another memory he would never get back, he supposed, another loss he would have to make peace with or he would never think of anything else.

“Tinn is still working on that poem for Gun,” Heart said instead of asking the questions he knew Li Ming wouldn’t answer; not now, at least. “What do you think? Should I try writing one for you?”

Li Ming raised an eyebrow. “Did you…want to write me a poem?”

Heart shrugged, a teasing smile tugging at his mouth. “There’s plenty I’d like to do for you.”

“Like what?” Li Ming drew closer with an inquisitive tilt of his head. “Besides injuring my brother, getting me in trouble, neglecting your kitchen duties, running away from the lakhon nai — ”

“Li Ming!” Heart protested, laughing, but Li Ming only went on.

“ — saving my life, taking me on secret excursions, gifting me this amulet…and falling in love with me, of course,” Li Ming added, grinning.

“Of course,” Heart agreed, wrapping his arms around Li Ming’s shoulders. “I think that was inevitable.”

Li Ming’s smile widened, only for him to pull a face seconds later. “…I’m starting to think we’re spending too much time with our brothers — we sound just like them. And I was going to say something about what you did for me that night in Pattaya, but now it’ll just seem lewd.”

Heart’s cheeks warmed at the memory. “I could always do it again.”

“I’m sure you will,” Li Ming murmured, closing the gap between them.

Later that evening, Heart settled into the chair in front of Tinn’s desk, remembering how he hadn’t stepped foot inside his brother’s study since that day he’d left with a muddled mind and a heavy heart. They had official statements to review together ahead of their parents’ address, drafted by Kasemchai and Photjanee’s trusted advisors. “I still don’t know if I like this,” Heart admitted once they’d looked them over. “Will this really protect them?”

“There’s no guarantee,” Tinn replied honestly. “But doing nothing is no longer an option, either. We did just return from a week-long trip with them, after all.”

“Which means these statements look even more like an objection than an admission,” Heart pointed out. Still, he knew he was the least politically-minded of his family; he’d paid enough attention during his lessons to get by, but never fully took to them like Tinn did. He trusted they knew best, regardless of how uneasy he felt. “…Tinn?”

Tinn glanced up from the statement he’d been reading. “Hm?”

“Do you think summoning Sir Eakasit is a good idea, or…will I only be disappointed again?” Heart had been thinking about it ever since Li Ming asked him a few hours ago. That crushing weight he’d felt in Sir Eakasit’s office wasn’t something he ever wanted to experience again.

“Only you know the answer,” Tinn said simply, in his very Tinn-like manner: wise beyond his years without a hint of condescension, if maybe a little vague, though Heart knew Tinn wasn’t always as sure as he wanted to seem. The price of being Ayutthaya’s future king, to hide his doubts and imperfections even in front of his own family. Only Heart had seen Tinn whine and fuss like a child, bemoan Gun’s absence like it was the end of the world. Heart wondered, not for the first time, who he and Tinn would truly be if they weren’t who they were. “How do you feel about his potion now, and our parents’ decision to administer it?”

Heart exhaled slowly. “Like I would’ve done the same in their position.” He couldn’t imagine letting his parents or Tinn or Li Ming or Gun suffer the way he had for even a second.

“And does knowing that change whether you want to know more?” Tinn asked, genuinely curious. When Heart didn’t answer, he added, gentler now: “I don’t think you should spend forever looking for answers that might not exist, Heart. But if you think it’s important, if doing this will help you put all of this behind you, then do it. I’m with you no matter what you decide.”

Tears welled in Heart’s eyes once more, this time in relief. “Gun’s right. You really are the most sentimental person in the world.”

Tinn shrugged, embarrassed yet pleased. “Is that a problem?”

“Never,” Heart replied. “Not even a little bit.”

The courtyard just outside the privy council’s meeting hall was surprisingly humid, the air thick with heat and anticipation. Tinn had trouble concentrating on the task at hand, getting up from the bench every now and then to pace beneath the ratchaphruek trees instead of reviewing his notes like he’d planned. In theory, he remembered exactly what he was meant to say if the council addressed him directly, if they asked about Gun or Lady Chanikarn, if they wanted to know more about what happened in Nonthaburi or Pattaya or even the Middle Court. In practice, being prepared didn’t make him any less nervous.

“Stretching your legs again, are you?” Li Ming remarked wryly when Tinn stood for the fifth time. “At this rate, you’ll leave permanent tracks in the ground.”

“You sound like Mother,” Heart said, elbowing him. Li Ming looked mildly horrified at that, which made Gun laugh. Tinn let out a soft chuckle of his own, or perhaps more of a much-needed exhale, before returning to his spot beside Heart. “And you were just telling me everything would be fine, too. Honestly, Tinn.”

“I think he was just trying to convince himself,” Gun said, grinning brightly.

“Was there some discussion I missed in which you all collectively decided to start teasing me?” Tinn asked, amused despite the tangle of knots in his stomach. He’d never dreamed of having this sort of camaraderie in his lifetime. “And of course I’m trying to convince myself. Even if we think we’re prepared for every possibility, there will always be something.”

Heart and Gun let out simultaneous long-suffering sighs, having heard it all before, though Tinn knew they were just as anxious as he was. Only Li Ming remained mostly impassive, but even he seemed impatient to get the whole ordeal over with. This meeting was why they had to return from Pattaya sooner than they would’ve liked, and had the potential to either advance or stall Kasemchai’s proposed marriage reform. The council needed to accept their word that Gun and Li Ming were merely their good friends, their motion to allow Ayutthayans to marry regardless of sex and social class, and their insistence that these things had nothing to do with one another. All of them were especially doubtful about that last one.

“Your Royal Highnesses.” Tinn turned at the unexpected voice, his and Heart’s eyes widening when they realized who it was.

“Kajorn,” Heart said once he’d recovered from the shock, inclining his head. Last they’d heard, Kajorn started working for his own father, preparing to become the next Chaophraya Patcharachavalit once his father eventually retired or passed on. The two were standing together now, clearly on their way to the meeting chamber. Kajorn had evidently inherited his bright, infectious smile from his mother; his father’s face was like stone. “It’s good to see you. Are you…well?”

“I am, Your Royal Highness,” Kajorn said, glancing nervously between Heart and his father. “And yourself? I heard you were in Pattaya last week.”

“Yes, with our friends,” Heart replied. Tinn felt Gun stiffen beside him; Kajorn was one of the few who knew the truth, after all. Even Tiwson looked uneasy, while Chalerm bore an apologetic grimace despite having no part in Kajorn’s resignation.

“That must’ve been really lovely,” Kajorn offered, flinching slightly when his father sighed.

“We really should be going, Jorn,” Chaophraya Patcharachavalit said coolly. “Your Royal Highnesses, if we may take our leave?”

“Of course,” Tinn said, and Chaophraya Patcharachavalit swept past them without another word. Kajorn hurried after him, but not without casting a fleeting glance over his shoulder.

“What was the official reason behind his resignation again?” Li Ming asked, his eyes still fixed on the hall’s front doors long after they’d closed.

“That he no longer met the expectations of being a prince’s advisor,” Tinn replied. “Which no one seems to believe, seeing as he was consistently the top of his class.”

“I was never able to surpass him in anything,” Tiwson added. “History, politics, debate, magic…the only reason he became Prince Heart’s advisor instead of Prince Tinn’s is because Tinn and I were already friends by the time of our selection.”

“Then why not come up with a better reason?” Li Ming said, frowning. “It’ll be impossible to find another position with that explanation going around.”

“That’s exactly how he ended up working for his father,” Tinn admitted. “And why his father seems so…”

“Disappointed?” Heart suggested.

“I was going to say ‘angry’,” Li Ming said, though he looked grim as he said it. “Who decided on that, anyhow? Queen Photjanee?”

“Kajorn himself,” Tiwson replied, his mouth drawing into a thin line. “He felt like he had to repent. He was told to say he struggled with a physical ailment that prevented him from traveling, making him an ineffective advisor for a prince — something that wouldn’t affect his career prospects inside the palace — but he insisted.”

“Well, that’s foolish,” Li Ming muttered. When Gun elbowed him, he nudged him right back. “Well, it is! He resigned when no one asked him to. Sure, he's the reason why Queen Photjanee found us out, but he wasn’t actually trying to hurt us. He’s only making things worse for himself.”

Tinn nodded silently, finding it difficult to disagree. Soon after, one of the attendants came to retrieve them, and he, Heart, Tiwson, and Chalerm proceeded into the meeting hall while Gun and Li Ming waited in the antechamber. Kasemchai had promised they wouldn’t be summoned, but admitted it would be best if they stayed close by just in case.

The privy council’s meeting hall was one of the largest congregation rooms in the Grand Palace, mostly taken up by a long conference table where council members sat for hours to discuss matters of great importance. Kasemchai and Photjanee were already seated at the head of the table, heads bowed in quiet conversation with their advisors. Several council members were settling into their designated seats, greeting one another, arranging their reports, and making requests to the servants hurrying from one end of the table to the other. A few fell silent when they noticed Tinn and Heart enter the room, their eyes widening slightly in surprise.

Tinn surveyed the room for familiar faces, though of course, he already knew everyone’s names, titles, and policies by heart: there was Chaophraya Sereevichayasawat, Lord Saran’s father; Chaophraya Sophonpatima, Tiwson’s father; Chaophraya Pipitdaecha and Chaophraya Nakornthap, eyeing each other across the table and sorely disappointed Heart was no longer interested in taking either of their daughters as his future wife; Chaophraya Weerawatnodom and Chaophraya Mahawan smiling and laughing together, likely about their daughters’ engagement to one another; and Chaophraya Patcharachavalit, who was speaking curtly to a flustered-looking Kajorn. Heart grimaced at the sight.

“Good morning!” Kasemchai said brightly when they took their seats, as though they were simply sitting down for breakfast. “How are you? Have you eaten?” When Heart admitted they’d been too nervous to eat, Kasemchai asked one of the servants to bring warm bowls of soy milk and bread.

“They’re more impatient than nervous,” Tinn murmured when Photjanee looked at him in silent question. He didn’t like to pry into people’s emotions unless strictly necessary — Heart, Gun, and Li Ming when they were distressed, for example — but there was no harm in taking stock of how an entire room was feeling. “Mother, about Chaophraya Patcharachavalit…”

Photjanee’s gaze sharpened in warning, though there was a touch of sympathy, too. “Kajorn has been doing well for himself.”

They had little time to talk after that, several clerks approaching to bring them records, papers, pens, inkwells, glasses of water, and anything else they might need. A few servants even offered to bring additional cushions for their backs and handkerchiefs for the perspiration already forming across everyone’s temples. Finally, Kasemchai rose from his seat, and the entire hall fell silent.

Tinn’s head felt as though it were underwater during Kasemchai’s opening address, hearing but not really listening to his father’s pleasant, yet authoritative voice. His vision had narrowed to nothing but the prepared statements laid out before him. Heart was tapping his pen noiselessly against his cheek, his gaze fixed on their father, who signed as he spoke. Despite the tumult of their meeting with Sir Eakasit, he appeared fully committed — determined, even — to face the council and any objections they might have.

When Kasemchai finished his speech with a brief explanation about why Tinn and Heart were present, how they’d agreed to address any questions or concerns head-on, he gracefully returned to his chair. Tinn and Heart stood next to give their statements, careful to make eye contact with every person in the room. Photjanee’s keen gaze searched everyone’s faces for signs of dissent, and though even the youngest of council members had spent years in her presence, some still shrank a little in their seats, intimidated.

Chaophraya Chaichitathorn raised his hand first. “I can attest to Guntaphon and Loetphong’s strength of character,” he said when Kasemchai nodded in his direction. “They’re wonderful young men who selflessly dedicate themselves to their work and their family; Guntaphon even performed for me and several guests during one of my dinner parties, and he was an absolute delight. Their close companionship with the princes should be of no concern to us.” Tinn and Heart shot him grateful smiles even as murmurs began to fill the room.

“Companionship,” Chaophraya Pipitdaecha said coolly, like it was a dirty word. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, we aren’t naive.”

“I never said you were,” Kasemchai said pleasantly. “And if you were, you certainly wouldn’t be on my council.” Tinn could sense irritation beginning to stir in Chaophraya Pipitdaecha and Chaophraya Patcharachavalit; Chaophraya Chaichitathorn, meanwhile, appeared amused. “What’s troubling you, exactly?”

“This all just seems rather…perverse,” Chaophraya Patcharachavalit said, his lip curling. Chaophraya Pipitdaecha and Chaophraya Nakornthap nodded along in agreement. They rarely agreed on anything, even before they’d set their sights on Heart for their respective daughters. “I mean, really! It’s one thing to take a male concubine as a lesser member of the khunnang, but for a future king — ”

“But they aren’t concubines,” Kasemchai replied. There was a slight tick in his jaw, barely visible except to those who knew him well. “Perhaps you weren’t paying attention, Chaophraya Patcharachavalit, but I quite clearly referred to them as my sons’ friends.” A few council members tittered, some in disapproval, others joining in on Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s amusement.

Chaophraya Patcharachavalit’s face turned scarlet. Kajorn looked half-alarmed for his father, half-terrified for everyone else. “You seriously expect us to sit here and accept this? To allow members of the phrai to…to infiltrate our ranks — ”

“You really must not be paying attention, Chaophraya Patcharachavalit,” Chaophraya Mahawan said cheerfully, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “The phrai work tirelessly — and perhaps thanklessly, in your case — to serve us, and we’re encouraged to reward their efforts with titles and land in return. Doesn’t allowing them to marry into the khunnang not seem simpler for everyone?”

“You’re hardly agreeing to this out of the goodness of your own heart,” Chaophraya Nakornthap sneered. “You have no choice but to accept, now that your daughter is engaged to Chaophraya Weerawatnodom’s daughter. No man will want to marry either of them after that.”

“I’m afraid you’ve contradicted yourself quite spectacularly. I suppose I should spell it out for you: their engagement to one another means they have no intention of marrying someone else, least of all a man who thinks less of them for loving another woman,” Chaophraya Weerawatnodom said pleasantly, his smile as serene as Chaophraya Mahawan’s. Tinn suspected they were the most amicable fathers-in-law in all of Ayutthaya. “Allowing our people to marry those of the same sex or a different class is hardly the end of the world. In fact, if we really must think of the economic implications instead of the social ones, it would open up far more opportunities for alliances and business dealings. I thought you might welcome that, Chaophraya Nakornthap, given your recent struggles in finding investors. I hear the sugarcane trade has been diminishing as of late. Seeing as you talk of almost nothing else, I would’ve thought that would be a much more pressing concern.”

“And what would you know of the sugarcane trade? You work for the Ministry of Education!” Chaophraya Nakornthap snapped. His face was nearly as red as Chaophraya Patcharachavalit’s, who looked seconds away from breaking the pen clenched in his white-knuckled fist.

Chaophraya Weerawatnodom raised an eyebrow. “Yes, where I’m responsible for the ongoing development of our syllabus on economics. Funny, Chaophraya Tangkabodee said the same thing when I visited him in Nonthaburi a few days ago. His durians are coming along very nicely.”

“Why, you — ”

Photjanee cleared her throat before Chaophraya Nakornthap could continue, while Kasemchai’s expression had grown serious. “This is not the time nor place to discuss your petty grievances — or act like children, for that matter. Does anyone have any legitimate concerns?”

“Speaking of Chaophraya Tangkabodee, what of his daughter, Lady Chanikarn?” Chaophraya Patcharachavalit asked, having calmed down, if marginally. “Was there something…lacking?” He cast a derisive glance toward Chaophraya Pipitdaecha and Chaophraya Nakornthap. “And what of your daughters, sirs?”

“How dare you!” Chaophraya Pipitdaecha hissed while Chaophraya Nakornthap banged his fists against the table, startling Kajorn and several others.

Photjanee held up a hand, silencing him. “None of these young ladies are relevant to our discussion, Chaophraya Patcharachavalit, so I suggest you stop right there,” she said sharply. “Frankly, I find it concerning that you’d seek fault in the women first. You not only lack evidence, but basic respect. Now, don’t make His Majesty ask again: does anyone have any legitimate concerns?”

The meeting hall fell silent, and Tinn finally felt as though he could breathe. Heart was trembling beside him, jaw visibly clenched. Tinn squeezed his brother’s knee, urging him to take a deep breath of his own.

“How do we think our people will respond to these new changes?” Chaophraya Sophonpatima eventually asked; it was one of the first reasonable questions of the day. Now it was Tiwson who smiled gratefully in his father’s direction. “It’s true this will bring about greater acceptance and more opportunities, but will this affect how other countries view, trade, and engage with Ayutthaya? What if the phrai see this as another way for the khunnang to exert their power over them and coerce them into marriages they don’t want? What if there are members of the khunnang who do take advantage in such a way? How do we punish them or prohibit such things from happening to begin with?”

“Yet another man pretending to be virtuous so he might be considered better than the rest of us,” Chaophraya Nakornthap sighed, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest. “You speak of coerced marriages, yet, did you not force your illegitimate nephew to marry so no one would discover he’d fathered a child out of wedlock?”

Chaophraya Sophonpatima shot to his feet, his eyes narrowed and his chair legs screeching violently across the floor, but Kasemchai spoke first. “That’s enough, Chaophraya Nakornthap,” he said; there was no warmth in his voice now. “You’re dismissed.”

All Chaophraya Nakornthap could do was stare. “…pardon?”

“Yes, exactly,” Kasemchai said, motioning for one of the guards to step forward. “You’ve been pardoned.” Chaophraya Nakornthap’s clerk looked as though they might faint from embarrassment. Thankfully, he departed without protest, though the fury in his eyes told everyone that this was far from over. “As for your questions, Chaophraya Sophonpatima, let us discuss them in further detail…”

The next hour was tedious, albeit far less tense. Tinn took careful notes despite having his own clerk, listening to everything that the more rational members of the council had to say. Heart did his best to follow suit, though Tinn did catch him scribbling absentmindedly in the margins now and then. A few questions were directed at them, none as irrational or inappropriate as they’d feared. It still pained Tinn to refer to Gun as his friend and nothing more, but it was safer this way. He’d have the rest of their lives to call Gun his beloved husband soon enough.

As the discussion was coming to an end, Tinn was already thinking of how he, Heart, Gun, and Li Ming would celebrate. Perhaps they’d join Gim and Jim in the kitchens for lunch, then spend the afternoon in Siwalai before he and Heart had to join their parents for another dinner with some of Kasemchai’s favored governors. His imagination was soon interrupted by Chaophraya Patcharachavalit.

“This is all well and good, but I still have my doubts,” he said dismissively. “It’s one thing for the phrai to marry as they’d like, but is no one else concerned about the…influence these phrai boys have on Prince Tinnaphob and Prince Thinnakorn?”

Tinn frowned. “What do you mean by ‘influence’, sir?”

Chaophraya Patcharachavalit’s lip curled. “Who’s to say they haven’t cast some sort of spell, slipped you some sort of potion, whatever it is, to convince you to do as they say? Introducing these ridiculous new laws, for example, or — ”

“Ridiculous?” Tinn’s voice trembled as he spoke. “We’ve just spent the last hour discussing precisely why they aren’t ridiculous and how Ayutthaya stands to benefit from them. And our friends aren’t compelling us or forcing us to do anything.”

“There’s that word again: ‘friends’, ‘companions’,” Chaophraya Patcharachavalit scoffed. Kajorn shifted uncomfortably in his seat, no longer able to look at his father. He’d long stopped taking notes. “Call it whatever you’d like, Your Royal Highness, but you can’t convince us you didn’t spend most of your visit to Pattaya doing heaven knows what — ”

“You’re out of line, Chaophraya — ”

“ — and letting them corrupt you, corrupt the royal bloodline…it’s revolting,” Chaophraya Patcharachavalit finished, his eyes blazing. Tinn’s blood boiled and his vision blurred; he was unable to hear anything over the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears, a war drum that ordered him to his feet. Before he could cross the room and seize Chaophraya Patcharachavalit by his pha biang like he so desperately wanted to, Kajorn slammed his hand against the table.

“That’s enough, Father!” he snapped. Several gasps sounded throughout the room, but Kajorn didn’t waver. “How can you possibly sit there and call something as innocuous as the princes’ personal relationships ‘revolting’ when you’re the one keeping a mistress and accepting bribes to keep your tenants unhoused and unable to make a proper living?”

“Jorn!” Chaophraya Patcharachavalit looked murderous. “How dare you — ”

“Did you really expect me to keep your books and not notice you were sending hush money to Phraya Saechueng’s wife every month or accepting hush money from her father so he’d continue to benefit from your tenants’ desperation for his services?” Kajorn’s voice broke. “I wasn’t top of my class for nothing, as much as you’d have me believe. You may have paid off my teachers to give me the best scores, but I know I’m just as capable as my peers, and I know what you’ve done.”

“Kajorn,” Tiwson said softly, eyes wide. Heart clutched Tinn’s hand so tightly that he left crescent-shaped welts in his palm.

Everyone watched with bated breath as Kajorn visibly swallowed, the fight leaving him as his shoulders now slumped in resignation. Chaophraya Patcharachavalit was utterly speechless, his face purple with rage. “My deepest apologies for my outburst, Your Majesties, Your Royal Highnesses. I can provide evidence of my father’s wrongdoing later if it pleases you, but I understand if you want to dismiss us at present.”

“Kajorn! — ” Chaophraya Patcharachavalit began again, but Kasemchai raised a hand to silence him. He and Photjanee shared a wordless exchange; Tinn could see they, too, were barely holding in their own anger. Everyone seemed to be holding their breaths, right down to the clerks with their pens frozen in mid-air and the servants refilling cups of tea, too stunned to realize they were spilling over.

“Chaophraya Patcharachavalit, you’re dismissed,” Kasemchai finally said. “As for the future Chaophraya Patcharachavalit, I would very much prefer you stay.”

“What?!” Chaophraya Patcharachavalit spluttered. Kajorn’s entire face brightened, his cheeks flushed with joy and disbelief.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Kajorn said, bowing once, twice, then thrice for good measure. “I’d be honored.”

Chaophraya Patcharachavalit didn’t leave as quietly as Chaophraya Nakornthap had; it took two guards to escort him out of the room. From there, the rest of the meeting proceeded as smoothly as Tinn and Heart had hoped, ending on the consensus to reconvene in two weeks for further discussion. Most of the council members seemed accepting, if indifferent, and still doubtful that Gun and Li Ming really were just their friends. Chaophraya Chaichitathorn looked inordinately cheerful, likely already planning his next dinner party in his head so he could gossip about everything that had transpired.

Kasemchai and Photjanee opened their arms to embrace their sons once the council filed out of the meeting hall. Tinn sank into their familiar embrace with a relieved sigh, grateful it was finally over. “We love you,” Photjanee murmured while Kasemchai kissed their foreheads. When they stepped back, Heart’s face was wet with tears.

Tinn was preparing to leave for the antechamber and tell Gun and Li Ming the good news when he realized Heart was no longer by his side. It took him a moment to realize Heart had stopped to talk to Kajorn instead. “I mean it,” Heart was saying. “And you wouldn’t be putting Chalerm out of a job, you’ll be working together. But if you’d rather take your father’s place instead, I understand. I’m sure there are plenty of people who’d prefer to see a different Chaophraya Patcharachavalit.”

Kajorn, not one to be discouraged for long, was practically beaming. “I’ll certainly consider it, Your Royal Highness. Thank you so much!” Tinn and Tiwson exchanged silent grins.

Tinn knew something wasn’t right the moment he entered the antechamber, Heart following close behind. Gun was hugging his knees into his chest, his head lowered, while Li Ming rubbed his shoulder, his face grim. “Gun,” Tinn said softly, hurrying across the room to kneel in front of him while Heart sat on Li Ming’s other side. “Gun, are you alright?”

“We could hear everything,” Li Ming said simply, and Tinn’s heart sank.

Gun lifted his head to reveal his flushed, tear-streaked face. “Sorry,” he croaked. “I know I’m being foolish.”

“You’re not being foolish,” Tinn insisted, drying Gun’s face with one hand and clasping Gun’s knee with the other. “They said some terrible things in there, and I’m sorry you had to hear all of that. Please, don’t think anything of it. Most of them don’t think that way, I promise.”

“Are you sure?” Gun’s voice wobbled.

“No,” Tinn admitted. “I can never really know what they’re thinking, only what they’re feeling. Even then, that might not amount to much. But we know Father’s marriage reform is proceeding as planned, and nothing will keep us from being together or being there for each other. That’s all that matters.”

Gun fell silent for a moment. “We should’ve been there so we could actually be there for you,” he eventually said.

Tinn shrugged helplessly. “Father would say we have to pick our battles, and he’s right. I mean no offense, but I think your presence would’ve only made things worse.”

“I would’ve had plenty to say to Chaophraya Patcharachavalit and Chaophraya Nakornthap, and then we’d all be in trouble,” Li Ming agreed, more cheerfully than Tinn thought was warranted.

Gun sighed, squeezing Tinn’s hands. “I suppose,” he said, his voice small. “Well, then…should we go celebrate? Uncle Jim’s already preparing kaeng phet and Ma’s got some leftover chao kuai.”

“That sounds perfect,” Tinn replied. He got to his feet, drawing Gun close in a gentle embrace before kissing him on the forehead. “Lead the way.”

Gun was still fussing with his hair when Tinn arrived outside the Wongwitthaya residence — or rather, Tinn, Tiwson, and two of his personal guards. Gim and Uncle Jim were tending to the garden while Li Ming had already left to go riding with Heart, leaving Gun to appraise his reflection in the mirror and prepare for what was sure to be an eventful day. He hurried through the house, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to answer the door.

“Well, if it isn’t His Royal Highness,” Gun said in his haughtiest voice, grinning when Tinn attempted to hide his amusement with feigned indifference. “To what do I owe the honor of your noble presence, my lord?”

“Are you capable of greeting me normally?” Tinn asked, pulling him in for a brief kiss.

“Why would I do that when you make the most interesting faces whenever I don’t?” Gun replied. He pinched Tinn’s cheek for good measure; Tiwson snorted at the sight before he could stop himself. “So, are you prepared?”

Tinn nodded. “I’m familiar with their families, their estates — ”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Gun said, laughing and shaking his head. “You’re meeting my friends, not your subjects. Do you remember what I’ve told you about them? What they’re like?”

“Por values food above most people and can recite the history of every musical instrument in existence, Win is an accomplished poet yet fights like a boxer and swears like a sailor, Pat never starts anything he can’t finish and he never finishes anything, and Yo wants to propose to his lover, Lady Aphichaya, but is too terrified of her older brother — your former mentor, P’Yak — to do so,” Tinn recited obediently.

“Good boy,” Gun hummed, smoothing a few errant strands of hair out of Tinn’s eyes. “I’ve trained you well. And there’s Sound, of course, though you likely know him better than I do.”

“From what you’ve told me, I think the opposite,” Tinn said, leaning into Gun’s touch. “I’m glad he’s become a good friend to you, even if we don’t get along.”

Once Gun informed his mother and uncle of Tinn’s arrival, they left for the Asawasuebsakul residence, their fingers loosely intertwined. Tinn asked if he was feeling any better in the aftermath of the council meeting, while Gun asked after Tinn’s parents and if there was anything he needed to know before their dinner with them later that night. His chest warmed with contentment when he remembered moments like this, moments where they simply walked together and talked, were no longer some impossible dream. This, having Tinn by his side, was real.

“Gun!” They had barely crossed the Asawasuebsakuls’ front gate when Gun’s friends came barreling out of the door like a pack of wild dogs. Luckily, they managed to stop themselves before they could throw their arms around Gun, or worse, Tinn. He wouldn’t have minded, but Gun hoped his friends would feel at least a little embarrassed about their lack of propriety. Then again, he couldn’t remember the last time they had shown any sense of shame.

“What are you being so dramatic for? We saw each other the day after I returned,” Gun laughed, hugging them and ruffling their hair one by one. He stopped at Sound, who still looked mildly uncertain about his place among them, then shrugged and pulled him closer regardless. Sound returned the hug with an awkward pat on the back. Gun then turned to Tinn, a broad smile spreading across his face. “I suppose he needs no introduction, but just in case: this is my lover, His Royal Highness, The Hereditary Prince — ”

“Gun,” Tinn said tiredly.

“No, that’s my name,” Gun scolded, pinching his cheek. “Anyhow, this is Prince Tinn.”

Yo was the first to pay obeisance, bowing so deeply that his nose practically touched the ground. Por and Pat followed suit with nervous, if intrigued smiles. Win and Sound exchanged odd looks that Gun didn’t quite understand before finally bowing, too. Though he’d hardly ever seen them together before — Sound hadn’t joined them until after Win stepped back to prepare for his poetry competition, after all — there was something about how they looked at each other that suggested there was more than a simple clash of opposing temperaments.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you all after hearing so much about you. But please, I’d rather you think of me as your friend’s lover, not a prince,” Tinn insisted. “And don’t feel as though you have to act differently because I’m here. I get enough of that from everyone else.”

“Does that mean we can call you ‘Tinn’, too?” Pat asked hopefully. Yo elbowed him while Win looked like he was trying his best not to laugh.

“Please do,” Tinn said, relieved.

“Then…Tinn, are you hungry?” Por’s eyes were bright.

“Absolutely,” Tinn replied, his smile growing. “Gun told me to have a small breakfast. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

Pat clasped Tinn on the shoulder, startling him. “You know, you’re alright for a future king.”

“…thank you?” Tinn said uncertainly. He allowed Pat to steer him inside despite it being Por’s home, the others following after them. There was a slight scuffle in the doorway when Win and Sound attempted to enter at the same time; it was only when Tiwson made a wry remark that they sprang apart, apparently disgusted at the suggestion they wanted to stay close to one another.

Por’s mother greeted them in the corridor, just outside the dining room. She was poised in Tinn’s presence, smiling warmly and asking if there was anything he needed to make his visit more comfortable. After Tinn thanked her, promised he didn’t need anything more than a nice cup of tea, and entered the dining room, she gave Por a wide-eyed look of equal parts panic and disbelief.

They settled around the crowded table already piled high with bowls and plates of food, Tinn squeezing in between Gun and Tiwson, the latter of whom lowered his head in apology when his shoulder bumped against Por’s. Por responded with a reassuring grin that made Tiwson’s face unexpectedly redden. Sound took the longest to find his seat, apparently wanting to be as far away from Win as possible, though he was soon left with no choice. Win raised a questioning eyebrow in his direction as Sound sat across from him, both of them leaning back as far as was polite to keep their knees from brushing underneath the table.

“If you really insist we think of you as Gun’s lover and nothing more, then we have a lot of questions for you,” Pat said. He steepled his fingers and peered at Tinn over the rim of his glasses in what seemed to be an attempt at imitating one of Gun’s least favorite teachers.

“Can’t it wait until we start eating, at least?” Yo looked slightly uncomfortable.

“No, I’m on Pat’s side,” Win said, folding his arms across his chest. “What can you tell us about yourself that has nothing to do with being a prince?”

“Win!” Gun hissed, mortified. He should’ve known his friends would ignore — or, knowing them, perhaps they’d just forgotten — his request that they leave Tinn alone.

“Gun’s said some really nice things about you,” Por offered, trying to keep the peace. “He told us you’re as kind and considerate as everyone says. Funny and clever and brave, too.”

“Oh.” Tinn’s mouth tugged into a shy smile. “Well, let’s see. I…enjoy reading and playing makruk when I’m not performing my duties. I took singing lessons when I was younger, but never quite felt comfortable performing in front of others, even my own family. I’ve never broken a bone, but I did twist my ankle at least twice when I was first learning how to ride a horse. I got quite good at healing twisted ankles after that. And I’ll eat just about anything, but I’m partial to fish over pork and more recently, Gun’s khanom krok.”

Now it was Gun who made a poor attempt to hide his smile. Por leaned forward, one eyebrow raised. “Which kind?”

“Corn and scallions,” Tinn replied. Por leaned back and nodded in silent approval.

“Gun told us the two of you have been exchanging letters for years,” Pat said. “What were you talking about all this time?”

“That’s a little too personal, isn’t it?” Yo remarked, frowning. “I wouldn’t want you reading my letters with Nook.”

“I’m not asking to read them,” Pat protested.

“It sort of seems like you are,” Sound pointed out.

“Well, I’m not — ”

“Don’t scare him off, Pat, he’s our future king — ”

“He told us not to think of him that way!”

“At least some basic respect, then, honestly — ”

“It was just a question, why are you all acting as though I’ve killed someone — ”

Gun whistled sharply to get them to stop. When everyone’s voices seemed to only grow louder, he sighed in exasperation before letting out a whistle of a different kind. Silence immediately descended on the room. Sound leveled him with a glare, knowing exactly which spell he’d cast. Yo coughed, then looked relieved when he realized his voice hadn’t been unceremoniously stolen from him. “Glad to see things haven’t changed,” Gun said, more amused than annoyed. “Not even in front of Tinn.”

“You talk as though you’re an outsider,” Por said, frowning. “Just because you aren’t around as often — and won’t be around as often — doesn’t make you any less of our friend. As long as you’ll have us, of course.”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t?” Gun flicked grains of rice in Win and Pat’s faces, who summarily responded with rude hand gestures. “Don’t worry, you’ll never be rid of me. Even once Tinn and I are married, I’ll always be here to eat far too much nuea ping with all of you until we’re old and gray.”

“Or bald, if both of my grandfathers are any indication,” Yo added helpfully.

“Will he allow it, though?” Sound turned his narrowed gaze toward Tinn. “You’d have a reputation to uphold as a prince’s husband, after all.”

“I’d never deny Gun his friends or family or anything else of importance to him,” Tinn replied evenly, his voice far sharper than what Gun was accustomed to. He shuddered when he realized what it reminded him of: when he’d overheard Tinn confronting Chaophraya Patcharachavalit. “The only time I’d ever draw the line is for his safety.”

Sound scoffed. “Pretty words, Your Royal Highness, but we all know how unforgiving people can be. What if Gun was seen in our company when they’d expected him to be by your side? Past consorts have been condemned for less.”

“As much as I enjoy the idea of always having Gun with me, he’s my future husband, not my familiar,” Tinn said, scratching Chompoo behind the ears for good measure. “He’s his own person, with his own friends and his own interests. If people take issue with that, they must be very lucky not to have more pressing concerns in their lives. And if it becomes a serious problem, we’ll find a way to handle it.”

Gun’s chest swelled with equal parts gratitude and affection. While he’d told himself not to be too softhearted with Tinn around his friends, he leaned into him anyway, beaming. “Listen to you,” Gun said, pinching Tinn’s cheek. “You’re like something out of a romance novel.”

“Perhaps that should be the next thing we read together — or rather, for me to read to you while you pretend to listen and end up falling asleep,” Tinn replied with a wry grin, eliciting a surprised laugh from most of them. Even Gun couldn’t help but chuckle after making a face at Tinn for all of two seconds.

“Anyhow, I don’t think being in your company will be much of a problem with what I have in mind,” Gun said once the laughter died down. “I’ve been…working on something. Or thinking of working on something, at least. And I’d like your help.”

“That doesn’t sound vague at all,” Win snorted. “What is it?”

Gun explained his plans for leveraging his impending status as a member of the Munnai to advocate for better education for the phrai. He told them he wanted to concentrate specifically on music and the arts — performing arts, fine arts, and the like — to prove that, despite them being seen as less important than academic pursuits like math and science, they were just as valuable and necessary for improving the phrai’s quality of life.

“We haven’t worked out the details yet, only that Heart and I will be working closely together since we’re both spellsingers,” he said. “And I’d love your help, too. After all, who better to ask than one of the court’s best piphats?”

His friends exchanged excited, yet hesitant glances. “We were nearly banned from performing after we almost burned down Ho Suralai Phiman,” Pat reminded him.

“I thought it was Ho Sastrakhom,” Sound said, brows furrowing in confusion.

“These things can happen more than once,” Yo said defensively. Tinn let out a deep sigh but said nothing and continued ladling more soup into Gun’s bowl. Tiwson looked unsure of whether to ask or to leave things alone.

“We don’t have the best reputation,” Por admitted. “Are you really sure you want us involved?”

“Of course,” Gun said, surprised that Por had to ask. “Besides, all of that was so long ago — ”

“That was last year — ”

“You were there too, Gun — ”

“ — and Sound wasn’t there. He has the best reputation as the son of a Chaophraya,” Gun added. When Sound didn’t reply, he hesitated. “…oh. Um, I suppose I shouldn’t have assumed. If you’re not interested, I — ”

“Of course I’m interested,” Sound interrupted, apparently insulted Gun would think otherwise. “I’ve already thrown my lot in with the rest of you, so my reputation’s already been compromised. What’s one more project?”

“It’s alright to call yourself our friend, you know,” Pat teased. “Why else would you agree to join our piphat on a permanent basis?”

“I said ‘as-needed basis’, Phatchara,” Sound retorted, scowling. “Listen and maybe you’ll finally be on beat for once.” Gun expected Pat to take serious offense, but he only responded with another rude hand gesture. “I’ve made a habit of building friendly relations with all the spellsingers in the khunnang. If you need connections or capital, I might be able to help. They’d likely be less intimidated with me as your liaison than Prince Heart.”

Gun’s eyes widened. “You mean it?”

“They can’t exactly turn him away,” Sound pointed out. “But if I were to ask, then we’d know for certain if they’re genuinely interested in — ”

“No, I mean…you would really do all of that?” Gun’s voice cracked in disbelief.

Sound shifted in his seat, acutely aware that everyone’s eyes were now on him. “It’s…a fine idea,” he eventually said. “I have no personal investment in the phrai aside from my father’s tenants, but I believe what’s good for them is good for everyone.”

“A ringing endorsement,” Win said derisively, drumming his fingers against the table.

Sound’s lip curled into a sneer. “Well, aren’t you sanctimonious? I just said I’d help. What about you?”

“What about me?” Win shot back. “Don’t stick your nose in my business. It’s already bad enough you’ve decided to poach my friends.”

Por patted Win on the hand. “Come on, now. He hasn’t poached anyone.”

“Then why is he here?” Something dangerous glinted in Win’s eyes, something that reflected back in Sound’s. Gun felt the hairs on his arms prickle with unease. “How do we know he’s not going to go running to his father about Tinn or Gun or any of us, huh?”

Now something like hurt seemed to cross Sound’s face, so briefly that Gun thought he’d imagined it. “What, you need me to swear an oath before I’m allowed to be here?” Sound’s jaw visibly tensed. “A blood sacrifice? A vow of silence? Or are you just going to place a curse on me and cast me out? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Sound defended me at Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’s dinner,” Gun said before Win could respond, the other boy’s face already reddening with anger. “He told his father about the members of the Phraya who spoke badly of me and Tinn, and had them disciplined. He’s on our side.”

Win’s eyes narrowed at Sound, still scowling. Then, he leaned back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest once more. “…fine.”

Gun let out a little breath, turning to glance at the others. “So…would anyone else be interested in helping? You don’t have to, I just thought — ”

“Of course we will, Gun,” Por promised, clasping Gun’s hand in his. “Just let us know how once you’ve figured it out.”

“I was thinking we might perform together during festivals and ceremonies, but I haven’t worked out the details,” Gun said, his blood thrumming with excitement. He’d never once enjoyed a meeting or formal discussion in his life — even those briefings they’d had in the kitchens before a royal celebration or dinner party had been tiresome — but he was already imagining himself sitting down with Heart and his advisors and various scholars of the arts, discussing their ideas. Planning performances and speeches, visiting galleries and theaters and schools, speaking to artists and performers and students — this, he thought, was what he was always meant to do.

“You said you and Prince Heart will be working together on this, right?” Pat turned to Tinn. “What about you?”

“Li Ming plans to do something similar but for language and literature, so I’ll be working with him instead,” Tinn explained. A few of them began to laugh while Yo nearly choked on his soup. “Er…what is it?”

“You and Li Ming?” Win shook his head. “I’d pay good money to see that.”

“He’s…well, you know him,” Por said, attempting to be tactful. “He can be quite…stubborn. Do you two get along?”

“I think so.” “Well…” Gun and Tinn glanced at each other, equally surprised. “Wait, does…does Li Ming still not like me?”

“He likes you just fine,” Gun reassured him, and he meant it. Li Ming still thought Tinn was a little too proper, a little too sentimental, but there was no distrust or disapproval there. “I just think you and Li Ming are much more likely to disagree than me and Heart.”

“Oh, definitely,” Tinn agreed. “But I’m looking forward to working with him and getting to know him better.”

“I’m not,” Gun teased. “I’m sure both of you will come complaining to me or Heart eventually. It’ll be a complete headache.”

Pat’s eyes brightened. “Can we place bets on who surrenders first?”

“It has been a while since we’ve done a betting pool,” Por said. “Other than our ongoing bet on when Yo will propose to Lady Aphichaya, obviously.”

“I think all of us are losers there,” Win said darkly. Yo looked wounded, knowing he was unable to defend himself.

“Prince Perfect would never complain, so I’m putting my money on Li Ming,” Sound said, lifting his teacup in a mock toast.

“Then I’ll bet on Tinn,” Win said, eyebrows raised in obvious challenge.

“I’d also like to bet on Tinn.” Everyone turned to look at Tiwson, astonished. “None of you has heard him despair over being apart from Gun like I have. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.” Gun looked at Tinn, but he only shrugged with an embarrassed smile, also unable to defend himself.

Por leaned in close, clicking his tongue in amusement. “Perhaps you’ve never heard Li Ming go on and on about everything, so I’ll put my money on him.” Tiwson almost looked as though he wanted to change his mind.

“I’m already losing too much in our other bet,” Yo said miserably. “Father would disinherit me if I spent a single baht on anything that wasn’t Nook’s sin sod.” Por rubbed his shoulder in consolation.

“I don’t understand you two,” Pat said, motioning to Win and Tiwson. “How could it not be Li Ming? My money’s on him.”

“Well, Gun?” Por asked. “What do you think?”

“You’re seriously asking me to choose between my brother and my lover?” Gun snorted. Tinn straightened up in his seat at the designation, not unlike a dog who’d caught the scent of a fox. Perhaps he and Gun’s friends had more in common than Gun first thought. “If I have to, then I’ll even the score. I’ll put my money on Tinn.”

The room erupted into laughter while Tinn somehow managed to appear more affronted than Yo. “Gun,” he said, his eyes impossibly round and wide. “How could you?”

“And now you’re just proving Tiwson’s point, silly,” Gun said fondly, kissing Tinn’s cheek to the sound of clinking glasses and raucous cheers.

They returned to the Wongwitthaya residence after lunch was over, though not before promising to join Gun’s friends as often as they could. Por even invited Tinn to watch them perform someday, while Pat promised to tell Tinn all of Gun’s secrets when he wasn’t around. Now, Gun was settled in one of the chairs in his family’s sitting room, taking down ideas in one of the notebooks Tinn had recently gifted him, while Tinn was in the opposite chair, revising the messages Tiwson had brought with them. It was a comfortable silence, broken only by birdsong and the laughter of children playing in the complex’s shared courtyard.

“Your friends were exactly as you described,” Tinn said, glancing up from his work.

“They were too much, weren’t they?” Gun sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. “They’ll behave next time, I promise.”

“I doubt you can hold them to that promise,” Tinn chuckled. “And it’s alright, I liked them. You never told me much about them until recently, since you kept everything so vague in your letters. It was nice to finally meet them and hear all their stories about you.”

“There are still so many stories I haven’t told you,” Gun grinned. “And plenty I never will.”

“Do I want to know about Ho Suralai Phiman or Ho Sastrakhom?” Tinn asked, shuddering.

“The monks really shouldn’t burn that much incense at the same time,” Gun said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Then, he glanced around the room to see if they were alone. Gim and Uncle Jim were still in the garden while Li Ming and Heart were due back soon, but other than the guard standing watch outside the door and Tiwson preparing tea in the kitchen, no one else was within earshot. Gun leaned in close, his eyes sparkling. “So…Por and Tiwson, huh?”

Tinn blinked. Gun couldn’t tell if it was from confusion or because he’d become momentarily lost in Gun’s eyes. “Pardon?”

“You mean you didn’t sense anything?” Gun frowned a little, disappointed. “I could’ve sworn there was something there.”

“Romantically, you mean?” Tinn tilted his head in consideration. “I was concentrating more on what everyone was saying than feeling, so perhaps I just missed something, but…do you really think so?”

“Why not?” Another idea began to form in Gun’s mind, one that had nothing to do with his project and everything to do with his friend’s happiness. “If the crown prince can marry a phrai boy, then a Chaophraya son can certainly marry a Khun son.”

“Marriage?” Tinn’s smile grew as he set his messages aside. “You’re getting a little ahead of yourself, my love. But I do think they’d make a good match.”

“Better than you and I?” Gun stood and settled on the arm of Tinn’s chair, his feet dangling across Tinn’s legs.

Though he’d intended to tease Tinn, perhaps brush Tinn’s hair out of his eyes and lean in as though to kiss him before darting off like a child playing keep-away, it seemed Tinn had a different idea. He lifted a hand to cup the back of Gun’s neck and draw him closer, their noses brushing. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said softly. “After all, I think we’re the perfect match.”

Not one to give in, Gun kissed him first. Tinn’s mouth was soft and warm and tasted of peppermint tea. “Hm…I’d have to agree.”

Li Ming pushed his sweat-dampened hair out of his eyes as soon as he dismounted his horse, remembering belatedly that he needed to take a bath before their dinner with the king and queen in just a few short hours. Given that he, Gun, Gim, and Uncle Jim shared two bathrooms with just one bathtub, and they were all expected to be in attendance, that didn’t afford him nearly as much time as he needed. “Is it alright if I return with you and take a bath at yours?” he asked once Heart also dismounted his horse, Kaolat. Heart’s eyes darkened with interest before he realized Li Ming wasn’t actually suggesting something else.

“I don’t see why not,” Heart replied. “It’s not as if Mother will find out. And even if she did, what could she possibly do?”

Li Ming laughed. “You’ve become impressively indifferent ever since we received your parents’ blessings. Chalerm could say he’s told her about us sharing a bed in Pattaya and you wouldn’t even blink.”

“I think she’d mostly be concerned about royal children being conceived out of wedlock, and well…that’s not exactly something we’re capable of.” Heart blushed a little. Li Ming grinned, irrevocably fond of how Heart could be so bold in one moment and so shy in the next. He’d sometimes find himself pressed against a wall in a dark corner of the Middle Court, Heart’s mouth urgent against his, only for Heart to pull away seconds later and sheepishly ask if he’d bitten Li Ming’s lip too hard. Li Ming was starting to think Heart would miss sneaking around once their courtship was officially known.

“Maybe we just haven’t tried hard enough,” Li Ming teased. Heart stripped off his riding gloves and flung them at Li Ming’s face in a needless attempt to hide his blush. “Ready to go?”

Once they’d returned their horses to their stalls and changed out of their riding gear, they returned to the Middle Court with Chalerm and two of Heart’s guards in tow. The weather was cooler now and the river had been colder than last time, but it had still been a pleasant way to spend an afternoon. They’d already discussed taking another trip into the capital on Heart’s next free day to roam the markets, this time with Queen Photjanee’s permission.

Kajorn was waiting for them outside the front gates of Heart’s residence when they arrived. His expression didn’t give any cause for concern, though he did look slightly puzzled. “How lucky that you’re here as well,” he said to Li Ming. “Tutor Suchada was hoping to speak with you.”

Li Ming’s eyes widened. “…Tutor Suchada?”

Minutes later, Li Ming found himself in one of Heart’s many sitting rooms for the first time — not with Heart, but with Tutor Suchada, whom he hoped couldn’t smell the sweat, grass, and saltwater still clinging to his skin; he’d asked one of Heart’s servants to bring him a towel, which he now kept folded in his lap. Two more servants entered with a fresh pot of tea and a tray of cut fruit, then slipped soundlessly out of the room. Li Ming caught a glimpse of Heart peering inside before they shut the door behind them.

“My apologies for dropping in without notice,” Tutor Suchada said, her voice as warm and comforting as he remembered. “I was passing through to consult with another one of my future students and thought I might stop by. I promise this won’t take more than a few minutes, but I understand if you’d rather we do this another time.”

“It’s alright,” Li Ming said, more breathlessly than he’d intended. He felt as though an entire year had passed since they’d last spoken; it took all his patience not to demand she get right to the point. “Have you heard back from the wordsmiths’ guild?”

She nodded. “As I mentioned when we first met, wordsmiths are sometimes asked to assist with sak yant tattoos, but those are meant to be permanent. Besides that, I couldn’t recall any applications or records of what you’d described. At first, I thought it might be because you were simply coming into your powers, that skin markings were your specialty and you simply hadn’t been taught how to control them yet.”

“My brother thought that might be it,” Li Ming said. “But…you mean to say it’s not?”

“When a person has two sets of magical powers, they can intersect in the most interesting ways,” Tutor Suchada began. The implication made Li Ming sit up in his chair, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with anticipation. “Perhaps Prince Heart has told you about creating shields of pure sound, or Prince Tinn about the way he imbues calming elixirs into his curatives, which are relatively common uses for their particular powers. For you, however, I had to ask the other guild members to help me theorize in reverse. Some thought you might also be an anatomist, others suggested you could be a healer or an abjurer.”

“I suppose that’s possible,” Li Ming said cautiously. Neither possibility had ever occurred to him for even a second. “Only…I’ve never been good at magic to begin with, so how could I possibly have two types of magic and be terrible at both? And why is this only happening now?”

Tutor Suchada’s smile was kind. “You aren’t terrible in any sense of the word. Remember how well you did on your assessment test? And magic doesn’t always work how we expect or want it to. If it did, most arcanists would struggle to find their area of study. Sometimes, these things simply just…happen.” Li Ming grimaced at her words; it felt like a gentler retelling of Sir Eakasit’s unfortunate truth. “Now, you said these were words you’d written on someone else’s skin?”

“Actually, there was something else more recently that might be connected,” Li Ming said. He told her about that day on the beach, how the sand had rippled like water beneath his fingertips, forming words that none of them could read.

“Were you only thinking of writing something down, rather than literally doing so?” Tutor Suchada asked.

“Well…yes,” Li Ming said, frowning a little. “I was thinking of the ways I’d…” He paused, not wanting to say ‘reform Ayutthaya’s policies’. “…change things.”

If Li Ming’s ambiguous turn of phrase had bemused her, she didn’t show it. “And has this ever happened when you spoke aloud?”

“No,” Li Ming replied slowly. “Should it?”

“Not necessarily, but…if you have another few minutes to spare, why don’t we try it now?” Tutor Suchada took a mild sip of her tea as if she’d only asked him to pass her the sugar.

“Just…just like that?” Li Ming said in disbelief. “How?”

“As far as we know, both occurrences happened when you weren’t thinking about your magic at all,” Tutor Suchada said patiently. “Is there anything else they shared in common? Perhaps you were sitting a certain way, or were in a certain place, or felt a specific emotion.”

“I was…” Li Ming’s brow furrowed. “I was looking forward to something, I suppose. I felt…I don’t know, hopeful? I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“That’s alright,” Tutor Suchada reassured him. “That’s plenty to go on. Can you tell me more about what you were looking forward to in those moments? Or perhaps there’s something else you’re feeling hopeful about — our lessons, for example, or I hear you’re dining with the royal family tonight.”

“Well, uh…” It took Li Ming a moment to gather his thoughts, his mind still reeling at the notion of potentially having two powers instead of one. “My brother and I want to…use our relations with the princes to advocate for better education for the phrai. My area would be language and literature, and Gun’s would be music and art. We don’t exactly know what we’re going to do, but we’ve been coming up with all these ideas and who we might want to speak with and how it would all work, and…we’re both really excited about it. We’ve never done anything like it before.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Tutor Suchada said, smiling. “Why don’t you tell me about your favorite ideas?”

“I really don’t have much yet,” Li Ming admitted. “My brother’s friend recently won a poetry contest, so I thought we might have one of those but for the phrai. And…when I was in the capital last month, I visited one of the printing houses, so it got me thinking that maybe we could have our own newspaper, something that’s not the Royal Gazette, with stories and letters from the phrai. My uncle’s friend has been interviewing servants about their living conditions — he’s one of the palace architects — so that could be our first story. Oh, and maybe you could share any stories you have about teaching older servants how to read…”

He trailed off, suddenly unsure if he’d said too much or asked too much of her. They had only met once before, after all. But Tutor Suchada’s smile only widened, resembling that of a kindly grandmother he’d never had. “I’d be happy to. But first…”

She gestured before him, and when he glanced down, he let out a startled cry. The short, coarse fibers of the towel in his lap had shifted just like the grains of sand, like he’d traced his finger across its surface to form words. This time, they were far easier to read: contest, newspaper, interviews, stories. Li Ming carefully rubbed his thumb across the word ‘stories’ and watched it smooth away beneath his touch.

“I have another theory, though it might not fit with everything we know,” Teacher Suchada admitted. “Have you ever considered that…the spellsinger trait might not have passed you over, after all?”

Li Ming’s breath hitched, his mind still spinning. “…what? How is this — ” he brandished the towel “ — considered spellsinging?”

“Has your brother ever imbued a physical object with sound, whether accidentally or intentionally?” Tutor Suchada asked. “Perhaps he created a voice for one of your toys when you were children, or imitated birdsong to bring a carving of one to life.”

“Or sang the song our mother used to sing to us before bed and put it inside a box,” Li Ming said, his voice barely audible. His gaze was still fixed on the words before him, slowly fading now, not nearly as quickly as the words on Heart’s skin. “So you’re saying I’ve been…imbuing things with words? Not just marking them?”

“Written, considered, and now spoken,” Tutor Suchada agreed, nodding. “Imbuing the written word is relatively common because they hold the clearest intentions: your magic presumes that you want your words to take on a physical form because you’re physically performing the act of writing. The same could be said for the words you think, since spells and charms are formed in our minds. But spoken magic…it’s not unheard of for wordsmiths, but for spellsingers, it’s as easy as breathing.”

The towel had returned to normal, as if nothing had been there. Li Ming finally looked up to meet Tutor Suchada’s kind eyes. “I don’t know,” he said uncertainly. “Could that really be it?”

“It’s one theory of many,” Tutor Suchada replied. “Before, I would’ve agreed with those who thought you might be a healer. But after your demonstration just now…your being a spellsinger is a very real possibility, especially since you’ve spent so much time in their company. Their powers may have helped to awaken yours. And remember, ‘spellsinging’ is something of a misnomer — it’s magic rooted in sound, not just music.” Then, her voice gentler now, she continued, “I apologize if this is all too much for you. I should have saved this discussion for another day. But I promise to do my best to help you understand your magic at whatever pace suits you best.”

“I appreciate it, Tutor Suchada,” Li Ming said sincerely. “It’s just…you’ve given me a lot to think about. And I don’t really know what to say, other than, well…thank you.”

She reached across to pat him on the hand. “I hope you don’t trouble yourself too much with what you are or aren’t. What I find most admirable about you is your willingness to broaden your knowledge and experiences, and that’s all that really matters. That’s what learning, what living, is truly about.”

A little less than an hour later, Li Ming was seated before an enormous mirror in Heart’s guest bath, drying his freshly-washed hair while he stared at his reflection. He didn’t know how to feel yet about being — or not being — a spellsinger. It was strange, considering he’d spent a considerable amount of time wishing he were one just so his father would care about him.

Of course, none of that mattered now. All that mattered was that Gun and Gim and Uncle Jim cared about him, and he knew they had always loved him despite spending years keeping them at arm’s length. No more, he told himself. He would hold them close whether he was a spellsinger or a healer, an anatomist or an abjurer, or just an odd wordsmith who didn’t quite know what he was doing but was determined to keep going regardless.

His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar knock at the door. He got to his feet to answer it, grinning when Heart’s eyes widened at the sight of him. “What?”

“I thought you were already dressed,” Heart said, eyes lingering appreciatively on Li Ming’s bare shoulders before shifting back up to meet his gaze. “Maybe we could get ready for dinner together and you can tell me how it went.”

One of Heart’s servants escorted them to a nearby dressing room, where Li Ming was momentarily distracted by the sight of more silks, shirts, shoes, and other fineries than he’d ever seen in his life. He knew there would always be facets of being a prince’s husband that he’d feel unsettled about, all the riches and indulgences and imbalances that he’d once condemned Heart for. He also knew he’d already come to benefit from them: their new home, their trip to Pattaya, his lessons with Tutor Suchada, and the knowledge that he could afford to stop working for the rest of his life. That dissonance made him uncomfortable, but now wasn’t the time to examine his feelings too closely. He already had enough to think about.

“So what did she say?” Heart asked. “Has she figured it out?”

“It’s…” Li Ming hesitated, not wanting to say more in front of Heart’s attendants, who were currently laying out silks in an array of colors for Heart to choose from. “Sort of. It’s more complicated than that.”

Heart tilted his head. “Oh?” It took him a moment to realize why Li Ming had gone quiet. “Oh, um — I can ask them to leave. Then perhaps you could help me get dressed instead.”

Li Ming laughed and shook his head. “You seriously have no propriety. But no, it’s alright. Actually, I want to talk to Gun about it first. It…has something to do with our father.”

A look of confusion momentarily crossed Heart’s face before shifting into something more like understanding. “Of course. But promise you’ll tell me eventually?”

Li Ming, knowing he also lacked propriety — or decorum, as Heart’s great-aunt had put it — leaned across to kiss Heart’s cheek, ignoring the attendants’ startled exclamations. “I promise.”

They arrived outside Queen Photjanee’s dining hall with plenty of time to spare. Tinn and Gun were already there, strolling around the courtyard arm-in-arm and chatting happily about their lunch with Gun’s friends. Gun was saying something about Por’s singing voice while glancing back at Tiwson when Li Ming took him by the wrist. “Can we talk?”

“Hello to you, too,” Gun said amusedly, squeezing Tinn’s shoulder in brief apology before following Li Ming to a more secluded spot. “What is it?” His smile quickly disappeared once Li Ming began to tell him what had happened.

“I don’t know if I believe it,” Li Ming said after he’d finished. “Spellsinging wasn’t even a possibility before I did that.”

“But you did do it,” Gun said, frowning a little. “Which makes it a possibility.” He paused, seemingly waiting for Li Ming to continue. When he didn’t — because Li Ming didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how long it would take before he would — Gun’s earlier smile returned, albeit a little less certain. “You know it doesn’t matter to us whether you’re a spellsinger or not, right? I mean, Ma and I have lots to teach you if you are, but…we won’t be upset if you aren’t.”

“That’s not it,” Li Ming replied. “It’s just…I swore I’d stop thinking about Pa, but now…look, I don’t give a damn about what he would’ve thought. Don’t look at me like that — I really don’t. But I can’t help thinking about how different things would’ve been if I really were a spellsinger. If he and Ma had taught us how to use our powers together. If…we’d have been more of a family.”

“…oh.” Gun chewed his bottom lip. “Well…maybe.”

“I can’t even imagine what life would’ve been like,” Li Ming said, his voice trembling now. It had taken ages for him to arrive here, to feel hope for a future beyond spending long days in the stables and barely getting by, beyond strained relationships with his brother and uncle, beyond anger and distrust at the world he’d been born into and could not control. If he had known, would he have aspired to a better life earlier? Would he have felt less burdened by his circumstances? Would he have shared his brother’s optimism and naiveté? The mere thought of being someone else entirely was dizzying.

“Then don’t imagine.” Li Ming’s eyes widened at the sound of Gun’s voice, resolute in a way that reminded him of himself. “Does any of it really matter? What’s the use in thinking about it? It won’t change things, so…maybe you should imagine what your future will be like instead. I mean, come on — you should be more excited! You have two types of magic that do things no one’s ever seen before.”

“Uh, I definitely wouldn’t say no one — ”

“Stop spoiling it,” Gun huffed, wrinkling his nose. “You know what I meant. Just…don’t let it bother you too much, alright? I’m sure you’ll figure it all out eventually, spellsinger or not. And even if you aren’t, you’re already learning so quickly, even when you don’t really know what your magic does. That’s no surprise, though. You’re the cleverest person I know.”

“That’s not saying much,” Li Ming muttered, promptly earning an elbow to his side. “Alright, alright, fine. And you really are starting to talk like Tinn, you know.”

“Thank you,” Gun replied, grinning as he began leading them back toward Heart and Tinn, whose gazes followed them across the courtyard, their eyes alight with both affection and curiosity.

“That wasn’t a compliment,” Li Ming said, smiling back despite himself.

Gun elbowed him again. “I know.”

The air in the dining hall was stifling, though Li Ming supposed that was to be expected. The last time he and Gun had dined with the king and queen, it had just been the four of them. Conversation had flowed easily since they were more familiar with each other, even when they’d still been unbearably nervous. Now, Heart was to his right, Gun and Tinn were across from them, and Gim and Uncle Jim were near the head of the table, both too intimidated to meet King Kasemchai or Queen Photjanee’s eyes.

“It’s a great honor to meet you, Your Majesties,” Uncle Jim said, his head bowed. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“Of course,” Queen Photjanee replied. “Gun and Li Ming always speak very highly of both of you. It’s quite evident that family is important to them, and…well, we’re all going to become family soon enough, aren’t we?”

“Isn’t that delightful?” King Kasemchai remarked, beaming. “My only wish is that we could’ve met sooner, perhaps while the boys were in Pattaya so we might talk without them around to object.”

“Father!” Heart protested.

“See? Just like that,” King Kasemchai laughed. Uncle Jim seemed unsure whether to join him, so he simply nodded and smiled instead.

“I have a gift for you, Your Majesty,” Gim said, her voice unusually shy.

“Oh?” Queen Photjanee’s eyes brightened with interest. “That’s very kind of you, Madam Gim. But please, don’t feel obligated to bring gifts in the future.”

“For our birthdays, perhaps,” King Kasemchai added. “But I think it would only be fair if we return the favor. What would you enjoy in particular? More kitchen implements, perhaps? Or I hear your garden is coming along quite nicely.”

“Please go ahead, Madam Gim,” Tinn said when she looked understandably overwhelmed by the king’s verbosity, offering her an encouraging smile.

Gim nodded and lifted a small lacquer box from her lap, presenting it to Queen Photjanee with trembling hands. “A hairpin from Pattaya, Your Majesty. It isn’t much, but you always wear such beautiful pieces. I thought you might like another for your collection.”

Queen Photjanee carefully lifted the small hairpin from the box as though it were made of solid gold. “Oh, it’s lovely! I have a red khrui with gold embroidery that would match these rubies perfectly. Thank you very much, Madam Gim.” She returned the hairpin to the box and handed it to one of her attendants, asking them to include a note reminding her to wear it whenever she had dinner with the Wongwitthayas or when Li Ming and Gun were in attendance at a royal event. Even Li Ming had to smile at that.

“And how did you find Pattaya?” Kasemchai asked once the exchange was complete. “It’s quite prosperous these days, but I find it’s still much quieter than the capital.”

Gim and Uncle Jim shared hesitant glances. “It was lovely, Your Majesty,” Gim eventually said. “I think the ocean air did wonders for my cough. Though…”

“Prince Tinn mentioned something about the possibility of us owning an establishment in Pattaya,” Uncle Jim said carefully. “He told us Lady Nangnoi knows of people wanting to invest in new businesses like restaurants and teahouses.”

“That’s right,” Photjanee nodded. “If the idea doesn’t interest you, then that’s perfectly alright. But if it does, I think you would be excellent. The kitchen staff always speaks highly of your diligence, knowledge, and skills. And you wouldn’t have to live in Pattaya; I’m sure you’d much rather stay here with Gun and Li Ming. Your role as owners would be to develop recipes, hire staff, decide on the building, furnishings, pricing, and whatever else might interest you.”

“It does sound like something we’d enjoy,” Gim admitted. “When do we have to decide?”

“There’s no rush,” Kasemchai reassured her. “You could decide right now, or you can ask us again in ten years. We’ll always be happy to help.”

Li Ming could see Gim and Uncle Jim’s restlessness slowly unfurl like a cat beneath a spot of sunshine, the taut pull of their mouths relaxing into relieved smiles. “Then perhaps you’d be interested in helping us develop our recipes when the time comes, Your Majesty,” Gim suggested. “I hear you enjoy doing that sort of thing yourself.”

Kasemchai beamed. “Quite right, and I’d enjoy nothing more. Oh, and that reminds me: I’ve been working on a karipap recipe and haven’t managed to get the pastry the way I’d like…”

After dinner came to a close, Gim and Uncle Jim took tea with the king and queen in one of the latter’s sitting rooms while the four boys ventured into the main courtyard, savoring the evening’s warm, gentle breeze. Gun was the first to collapse onto one of the stone benches beneath the ratchaphruek trees, groaning that he’d taken one too many slices of khanom chan. “I doubt I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

“It’s a nice problem to have — having a full stomach, I mean,” Li Ming added at Gun’s bemused expression. Gun’s face softened, likely in recollection of all the times he’d given Li Ming a portion of his meal and claimed he’d already had enough to eat. “So…should we be concerned about Ma and Uncle Jim? Maybe we shouldn’t have left them behind.”

“Maybe,” Gun agreed, laughing. “But it’ll be fine. The king and queen are so kind…like a certain someone I know.” He beckoned Tinn closer with a lift of his chin, smirking when he immediately came to sit beside him. Li Ming and Heart shared exaggerated eye-rolls, though they knew they weren’t any better. Their fingers were already loosely interlaced and resting in Heart’s lap.

“Actually, you might be allowed to call them ‘Father’ and ‘Mother’ soon enough,” Tinn remarked.

Gun’s eyes brightened. “You mean…she didn’t mind when I called her that before?”

“Oh, she absolutely did,” Li Ming said dryly. “But don’t let that stop you from giving it another go.” Gun responded with a scowl and a rude hand gesture that only made Tinn laugh; he was clearly incapable of wrongdoing in Tinn’s eyes, though Li Ming couldn’t say he didn’t understand the feeling.

“How long before we can all get together again?” Heart asked. “You mentioned having meetings with Mother’s advisors every morning next week, and we have lessons and dinners almost every day for the rest of the month.”

Li Ming shuddered, not wanting to think about all the tedious scheduling and endless discussions that lay ahead. He just wanted to attend his lessons as soon as possible, to work with Tutor Suchada and all their other teachers to learn everything he’d never been afforded until now: politics, economics, history, etiquette, and of course, his own magic.

“What about weekends? Your mother spared us that much, at least.” He began tracing his finger across the small space between himself and Heart as he spoke. “We could go for another ride, visit the capital, spend time in Siwalai, have tea at our house…anything, really.” Ride, capital, Siwalai, and tea appeared and then disappeared beneath his finger, one after another. The others smiled encouragingly at the sight.

“I believe we’re free next Saturday afternoon,” Tinn said, glancing at Tiwson and Kajorn, who nodded in confirmation. “Siwalai would be a nice change of pace. We’ve never gone together, and it’s where Gun and I first met face-to-face.”

“Then we’ll have to spend an afternoon in the kitchens some day, where Li Ming and Heart first met…sort of,” Gun added. “Maybe we’ll finally make a meal together, and Ma can share her best khanom recipes.”

“Strictly speaking, we’d have to go riding along the Chao Phraya if we were to recreate our first meeting,” Heart said. “I promise not to climb any trees this time around.” Li Ming and Gun burst into laughter while Tinn looked mildly horrified by the idea.

“Looks like our schedules are filling up quickly,” Li Ming commented. “I’m starting to see why you want Chalerm as my advisor once we’re officially engaged. I can’t keep up with half of what your mother’s arranged for us, let alone our own plans.”

“Wait, he does?” Gun rounded on Tinn, eyes wide and imploring. “When do I get an advisor?”

Tinn looked momentarily flustered. “I…can start making arrangements tomorrow if you’d like.”

“You do realize you can say no to him, don’t you?” Li Ming reminded him. “I’m starting to see why people think he has you under a compulsion spell.”

“Ming!” Gun protested while Heart only just managed to stifle his giggles. “Don’t spoil this for me.”

“I doubt anything anyone says could change Tinn’s mind about you,” Heart said, his own teasing smile growing further. “I could reenact Tinn’s reaction to the illustration you sent on his birthday to prove my point.”

“Oh, please do!” “Don’t you dare — ” “Now this, I have to see.”

After a fair amount of protesting, squabbling, and laughter at Heart’s spot-on impression of Tinn’s effusiveness, a comfortable silence stretched out in front of them. Li Ming inhaled deeply, reveling in the scent of orchid blossoms, Heart’s lavender oil, and the black tea still lingering on his tongue. “I suppose I can’t really complain about our schedules,” he eventually said. “Yours must be a hundred times worse.”

“That’s true,” Gun agreed before looking at Tinn with exaggerated concern. “Are you sure you’re not too busy for us, Your Royal Highnesses? It’s alright if you want some time to yourselves. You’d probably tire of us otherwise.”

“Never,” Tinn said, squeezing Gun’s hand. Heart did the same to Li Ming, his eyes just as bright and wondrous as they’d been on the night of the lakhon nai. Li Ming traced three words on the inside of Heart’s palm. “You know we’ll always make time for you.”

Chapter Text

Gun’s eyes roamed the generously stocked shelves in the kitchen pantry of Phra Nakhon Khiri, searching for an elusive bottle of galangal powder. Uncle Jim never made tom kha gai without it, and they’d all been craving soup ever since they arrived in Phetchaburi and inhaled the fragrant scent of the coconut palms bordering the rice fields. It didn’t matter that it was almost the height of summer or that their faces, arms, and legs were pink with sunburn; if Gim wanted soup, she would have it now.

“Gun?”

He let out a startled shout at the sound of his name and nearly dropped the jar of saffron he was holding. He felt a warmth ripple through his chest before it surged out of his body entirely, a sensation he’d yet to grow accustomed to on account of never needing it. Several bottles and jars rattled precariously, threatening to tumble from their place on the shelf, and even Munmuang ducked beneath a nearby table for cover. Gun clasped the amulet around his neck and held it against his racing heart, then squeezed his eyes shut. It took no more than a second before the sensation of warmth and the vibration of glass — the last traces of a protective spell far more powerful than he’d anticipated — came to a stop.

“You scared me,” Gun said breathlessly, turning to see his betrothed standing in the pantry doorway, looking equal parts concerned and guilty. “I’d rather not relive my first encounter with your brother, thank you very much.”

“I didn’t think it was possible to sneak up on a spellsinger,” Tinn teased lightly, approaching Gun and kissing him on the forehead. “I’m sorry, my love. At least we know the amulet is working as it should. Did you find the galangal?”

“Not yet,” Gun replied, frowning a little. “I’m not sure why. I only saw it here just yesterday.”

“I’m afraid that’s my little Wai’s fault,” said another voice behind them, and they turned to see Madam Kaeo, one of Phra Nakhon Khiri’s cooks, smiling ruefully. “He’s upset that I won’t let him run around the palace grounds on his own, so he’s taken to stealing and hiding things from me. My apologies, Lord Guntaphon. I’ll find you another bottle of galangal right away.”

“Oh, um…” Gun shifted from one foot to the other, still unused to his new title — or rather, unused to having a title to begin with. “Thank you, Madam Kaeo. When you find it, could you please bring it to my uncle instead? He’s making tom kha gai with Madam Phromphun in the main residence’s kitchen.”

“Of course,” Madam Kaeo replied, bowing before taking her leave.

Gun turned his uneasy smile up to meet Tinn’s curious expression. “It feels strange, giving orders,” he admitted. “Even just asking for things like I would with anyone…”

“It’s alright,” Tinn reassured him, squeezing his hand. “So long as you continue to be kind and reasonable, it’s perfectly fine to ask.”

Gun nodded, his smile relaxing. “So did you come all this way just to help me find the galangal, or did you miss me that much? I was only gone for ten minutes.”

“Oh!” Tinn’s face brightened. “I almost forgot to tell you: our brothers are here.”

“What? How did you forget?” Gun pinched Tinn’s cheek, delighting in the way his nose scrunched up in response. “You should’ve started with that!”

Gun took Tinn by the wrist and all but dragged him out of the pantry, expecting to find Tiwson waiting for them in the corridor as always. Instead, it was entirely empty aside from a few servants carrying bags of rice flour into the main kitchen. Gun turned to Tinn again, this time with a raised eyebrow. “…your friends have also arrived as well.”

“Well, that solves that,” Gun said, grinning. “I’m already looking forward to seeing if Tiwson will embarrass himself as badly as he did last time.”

“I do hope that’s not the only thing you’re looking forward to,” Tinn chuckled, allowing Gun to lead him out of the building and across the palace grounds.

Phra Nakhon Khiri was one of the royal family’s summer palaces, Tinn and Heart’s favorite among them for spending countless hours in the water or beneath the sun. They hadn’t visited since Heart lost his hearing, and Queen Photjanee barred him from traveling.

Last year, they’d celebrated their eighteenth birthday in the presence of the khunnang vying for their attention and favor — or to be more precise, for their assent to marry one of their daughters. This year, they would be celebrating their nineteenth birthday in a place they treasured with the people they loved most. However, there was another cause for celebration to come, which was why Gun’s friends had also been invited to stay.

The five of them — Por, Win, Pat, Yo, and Sound — were emerging from an enormous black car when Gun and Tinn reached the front gates, knees trembling and faces white as a sheet. Gun could sympathize; he’d felt just as nauseated after his first ride, and that had only been from one end of the Middle Court to the other. King Kasemchai had recently begun importing cars and cameras into Ayutthaya, and was in the process of establishing a nationwide telephone system for everyone, not just for the military. He’d been especially excited by the prospect of Tinn and Heart’s respective engagement portraits being captured in photographs instead of paintings, and had insisted on calling at least once a week before he and Queen Photjanee joined them in a few weeks’ time.

“I see you went on ahead without us,” Gun teased, nudging Tiwson in his side. Tiwson barely noticed, his eyes filling with concern at the sight of Por wobbling across the gravel. “But I suppose Tinn would approve of you defying orders for love.”

“Love?” Only then did Tiwson awaken from his stupor, his cheeks flushed. “I’m just here to make your friends’ stay as comfortable as possible, Lord Guntaphon.”

Gun scoffed. “Tinn told me it took you over ten years to stop calling him ‘Prince Tinnaphob’. Please tell me it won’t take you that long to stop calling me ‘Lord Guntaphon’.” Then, he leaned in and whispered, “And I think lying counts as defying orders, too.”

“Leave him be, Gun,” Tinn said with a lofty, yet amused sigh, slipping an arm around Gun’s waist and patting him on the hip. “Tiwson, can you please let Madam Dusadi know that our guests have arrived, and ask her to bring those anti-nausea potions to the main pavilion in the gardens? They might want some fresh air first before settling in their rooms.” Tiwson nodded and bowed before taking his leave, his ears still as red as the hibiscuses framing the front gates.

“Gun!” His friends stumbled and tripped over each other to reach him, to throw their arms around him in a tangle of long limbs and sharp elbows, one of which ended up in Gun’s eye. He let out a cry of pain but laughed regardless, kissing their cheeks and protesting when they attempted to return the favor.

“You always act as though we’ve been apart for years,” he said, grinning. “It’s only been two weeks.”

“Oh, come on now,” Pat said derisively, swatting the back of Gun’s head. “What’s an appropriate window of time before we’re allowed to miss you then, Lord Guntaphon?”

“Don’t start,” Gun warned, thumping Pat’s shoulder in return. “I’ll throw you into the ocean if you ever call me that again.”

“Charming husband you’ve got here,” Sound said wryly to Tinn; now it was his turn to blush.

“Husband-to-be,” Tinn corrected, though of course, they already knew as much. “Sukrit here will escort you all to the gardens, and we’ll meet you there after we’ve received Heart and Li Ming. Your belongings will be brought to your rooms in the main guesthouse.”

“Tiwson will be joining us, too,” Gun added, looking meaningfully at Por, who only blinked in confusion. He sighed, wondering if matchmaking was somehow more difficult than he’d thought. He’d had better luck convincing the council that Ayutthaya needed to install art galleries everywhere, not just in the most affluent parts of the country. Then again, that had been less about luck and more about having Chaophraya Chaichitathorn on his side. Perhaps he’d be interested in helping me with this, too, Gun thought with newfound determination as he watched Por smile and laugh with the others, blissfully unaware of Gun’s schemes.

Once Gun’s friends left with Sukrit, one of Phra Nakhon Khiri’s many attendants, the next car came up the drive and stopped before the gates. Though they had also been apart for just two weeks, Gun’s heart soared when his brother came into view. Li Ming’s hair was shorter than when he’d last seen him, and the bridge of his nose was sunburnt — a common sight when he’d worked in the stables, less so now that he spent most of his time indoors. There was a confidence to him that was so different from before, no longer in defense of what he wasn’t but in assurance of who he was. When their eyes met, Li Ming’s smile only grew wider.

Heart nearly tumbled out of the car in his haste to reach them, tossing his arms around Gun and Tinn’s shoulders with abandon. “I thought the drive would never end,” he mumbled against Tinn’s hair.

Gun laughed, pulling away and feigning offense while he signed. “And I thought you were happy because you missed us.”

“He did, he just doesn’t want to admit that he missed you more than he missed Tinn,” Li Ming remarked, gladly accepting Gun’s embrace. Gun buried his face against Li Ming’s shoulder, savoring his familiar warmth. “I’d have cause to worry if it wasn’t because of a new spell he’d picked up in Phuket.”

Gun stepped back and raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh?”

“There were fishermen using vibrations to propel their boats across the ocean! Can you believe it?” Heart said excitedly, bouncing on his toes.

“That can’t be very practical — or comfortable, for that matter,” Tinn reasoned, prompting the other three to let out simultaneous groans.

“Hello to you, too, spoilsport,” Li Ming said. “I didn’t realize every spell needed to be perfectly convenient for it to be worth your time. You should’ve seen Heart capsize his boat three times in ten minutes, because that definitely made it worth mine.”

“Thirty minutes, at least!” Heart protested.

“Not according to Kajorn, and you know how fussy — ”

“I think he’d prefer the word ‘meticulous’ — ”

“ — he is about, well, everything,” Li Ming finished, giving Tinn another disparaging look. “And most importantly, Heart enjoyed himself.”

Tinn looked mildly chastised and unsure of whether to offer Li Ming a hug or a handshake. Even now, Gun couldn’t recall if he’d ever seen them embrace. Feeling unconcerned regardless — he knew Li Ming and Tinn cared for each other, even if they were equally terrible at showing it; Li Ming because he was stubborn and Tinn because he was intimidated — he turned to Heart instead. “Will you show me later? Or maybe now! We could make paper boats and race them in the pond, sort of like it’s Loy Krathong.”

Heart’s face brightened even further. “Yes, of course! Only…I’d like to sit down first. Preferably somewhere that isn’t moving.”

They joined the others in the garden pavilion, a beautiful sala thai nestled beneath the ratchaphreuk trees and surrounded by a colorful spray of frangipanis. Gun’s friends had already taken their anti-nausea potions, and were now being served tea and khanom. Win and Sound were, unsurprisingly, arguing over who would get the largest khao tom mat.

Just as Gun was about to step forward and tell them they were being ridiculous, that Madam Phromphun weighed each portion of sticky rice to ensure each one was the same, Tiwson unceremoniously deposited a bundled pair of khao tom mat between them. “Instead of arguing, perhaps you two could make yourselves useful and bring this as an offering to the monks at Wat Phra Kaeo.”

Sound flinched as though Tiwson had given them a bundle of spoiled meat instead. “We’re not the ones getting married!”

“I never said you were,” Tiwson replied evenly. Win and Sound locked eyes, momentarily speechless. Pat and Yo stared at Tiwson in wide-eyed awe. Por mostly seemed disappointed that his khao tom mat was filled with taro instead of pork. Gun sighed again.

Li Ming pushed ahead and knelt on the cushion across from Sound, plucking the larger khao tom mat from his slackened hands. He unwrapped the banana leaves, ignoring Sound’s protests, then turned to smile at Heart. “Well? You wouldn’t stop going on about how hungry you were in the car.”

Heart beamed, kneeling beside Li Ming and smiling at Gun’s flabbergasted friends before accepting the first bite of sticky rice from Li Ming’s fingers. Sound’s expression of contempt shifted into one of confusion when Win untied the bundled pair of khao tom mat and shoved one of them into his hands, almost dropping it as he stared at Win like he’d never seen him before. Gun briefly wondered if he’d set his sights on the wrong match before Tinn patted him on the hip again and guided him toward their own seats.

The rest of the afternoon was spent eating, talking, laughing, and in Gun’s friends’ case, tossing bits of sticky rice and pastry crumbs at each other until one of the servers asked them to stop, telling them they wouldn’t want to face the wrath of Madam Dusadi, Phra Nakhon Khiri’s head of staff. Li Ming and Heart told stories about their trip to Phuket while Gun and Tinn talked about their brief stay in Ratchaburi on their way from the capital.

Heart demonstrated his new spell in a nearby pond, where he, Gun, Por, and Sound — the spellsingers among them — spent the better part of an hour racing paper boats while the rest placed bets on who would win. Por had the steadiest hands and won almost every round; Gun kept glancing Tiwson’s way whenever he did, not that Tiwson needed any encouragement to cheer him on. After everyone retreated to their rooms to unpack their belongings and take brief naps, they reconvened in the dining hall with Gim and Uncle Jim for dinner and several rounds of lao khao before finally turning in for the night.

When Gun awoke the next morning, it was to the feeling of the mattress shifting beneath him. Tinn smiled apologetically when their eyes met. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Yes, but you can make amends by coming back to bed,” Gun replied, patting the empty space beside him, still warm in Tinn’s absence. Convincing Tinn to share a bed with him while they were away from his parents for most of the summer had been easy; pleading Madam Dusadi not to report back to Queen Photjanee about their indiscretion had been much harder. Recalling the look on her face when Tinn told her Heart would also be sharing a room still made him shudder.

“I’m supposed to meet Chao Awat Somsri at Wat Phra Kaeo in thirty minutes, and you know how long it takes to walk there,” Tinn said. He finished lacing up his shoes, then leaned over to kiss Gun on the forehead. “I’ll be back for breakfast, I promise.”

“That isn’t nearly soon enough,” Gun said with a theatrical sigh. “Can’t you at least take the car?”

“You know the roads aren’t wide enough for a car,” Tinn chuckled. “They’re barely wide enough for a horse.”

Gun exhaled loudly and collapsed back onto his pillow. “I still don’t understand why you’re the one making the arrangements. It’s not as though we’re the ones getting married.”

“Weren’t you the one who told me all of your friends are terrible at making decisions of any consequence?” Tinn said, amused. “You said Por gets easily confused, Win gets easily irritated, Pat gets easily defeated, and — ”

“And Yo gets easily discouraged, I know, I know,” Gun grumbled. “Still, P’Yak won’t be pleased if he discovers his sister is marrying a man who needed the crown prince to do his work for him.”

“Fortunately, I don’t believe any of us are clamoring to tell him.” Tinn leaned over Gun to give him another kiss, this time on the corner of his mouth. “Go back to sleep, alright? We’ll take breakfast together on the terrace. If you’re in need of anything, Mok is in the other room,” he added, referring to Gun’s advisor-in-training, an eager, bright-eyed son of the Chaophraya who also happened to be a spellsinger.

“I need you to return as soon as possible!” Gun called after Tinn’s retreating figure.

“I’ll miss you, too!” Tinn called back. Gun heard Mok snicker; he would’ve gotten out of bed to scold him if he weren’t so comfortable.

Gun stepped out onto the terrace a little over an hour later, dressed in a cotton chong kraben — it had been unbearably hot all week — and one of Tinn’s shirts. Li Ming and Heart were already there, perusing one of Li Ming’s textbooks, while Kajorn and Chalerm were sorting through a stack of messages at the opposite end of the table. “Good morning,” Gun said, taking a seat across from Li Ming. “What’ve you got there? Did you also learn a new spell in Phuket?”

“No, but I was practicing one while Heart was busy falling into the ocean,” Li Ming replied. Heart let out an indignant huff. “Do you want to see it?”

“Obviously,” Gun replied, grinning.

Not needing to be told twice, Li Ming lifted his teacup and tipped its contents into the saucer below, careful not to spill a single drop of the dark liquid. He set the empty teacup aside, then took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Gun and Heart leaned forward, expecting to see words forming in the pool of tea. The liquid began to rise instead, swirling in slow, deliberate circles above the saucer as though suspended in an invisible glass. Both of them gasped, transfixed, as the floating liquid ebbed and flowed, eventually forming a single character: the word for ‘heart’.

“Ming!” Gun breathed, astonished. “Are you a hydromancer now, too?”

“No — well, I don’t know,” Li Ming amended, grinning while he returned the tea to its saucer with practiced ease. Nearly eight months later, and he and Tutor Suchada still hadn’t quite figured out where Li Ming’s unusual abilities had originated from. Over time, though, it seemed to bother Li Ming less and less. He was far more interested in what was possible than why it was possible. “But it’s neat, isn’t it?”

“More than neat,” Heart said. “I can’t believe you let me spend an entire hour yesterday pushing paper boats around when you can do that!”

“Do what?” They turned to see Tinn emerging onto the terrace, Tiwson following close behind. “I hope I’m not too late for breakfast. Chao Awat Somsri was worried we wouldn’t have enough sai sin for all of the guests.”

Li Ming frowned. “I didn’t think it was possible for a temple to run out.”

“I would agree if Nook’s family wasn’t unusually large,” Tinn replied, taking his place beside Gun. “Anyhow, it’s all settled now. What have I missed?”

Breakfast wasn’t as leisurely as Gun would have liked, since the rest of the wedding guests were arriving later that afternoon. While Madam Dusadi was responsible for ensuring everyone’s accommodations, meals, and other comforts were prepared well ahead of time, the four of them were expected to be the perfect hosts. Tinn had spent most of their first day at Phra Nakhon Khiri showing Gun around the palace grounds; now it was Heart’s duty to do the same for Li Ming so he wouldn’t get terribly lost.

Meanwhile, Gun had one last rehearsal with his friends for the song they were performing after the wedding ceremony — the love song for Tinn he’d finished months ago with the help of Heart’s former spellsinging teacher, Tutor Lek. Or rather, he would have, had he and Tinn not arrived at the main guesthouse to find them still curled up in bed, moaning and groaning and unable to face the mid-morning sun. “Are you serious?” he said, laughing in disbelief. “Did all of you drink more lao khao after we left?”

Sound raised a steady hand. “I didn’t.”

“And that’s why you’re the only one I can trust,” Gun said solemnly. Win and Pat’s middle fingers emerged from somewhere beneath their bedsheets in response. “Yo, Lady Aphichaya will put a curse on you if she sees you like this. Aren’t you meeting her grandparents for the first time tonight?” A muffled string of curse words came from somewhere else beneath the tangled pile of blankets.

Tinn sighed. “I’ll have Madam Dusadi fetch the ingredients for a morning-after remedy. Please try not to be sick on any of the furniture if you can help it, or she’ll have you all thrown out no matter how much I protest, and I can’t promise I’ll protest much.”

After Sound was given strict orders to keep a close eye on the others, Gun and Tinn left the guesthouse, still shaking their heads. “You don’t have to worry about me drinking too much when we get married,” Gun said, threading his fingers between Tinn’s. “I’ll be perfectly decent on our wedding day.”

The corner of Tinn’s mouth quirked upwards. “What about after?”

Gun leaned in close. “That depends on how indecent you’d like me to be,” he murmured, pleased at the way Tinn’s entire face went pink. “I enjoyed how commanding you were back there, by the way. You’re not usually so firm with others.”

“With others, or with you in particular?” Tinn chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever raised my voice at you, nor do I have any interest in doing so.”

“You did get upset with me that one time when I couldn’t figure out long division,” Gun reminded him. “I honestly thought you were going to call off our engagement.”

Tinn looked mildly horrified. “I would never!”

The rest of the morning was spent walking around the palace grounds and ensuring everything was in order. Along with politics, history, economics, and etiquette, Gun and Li Ming were also expected to learn how to manage a household, to delegate responsibilities and make decisions whenever Tinn and Heart weren’t available to do so. Gun was already well-acquainted with the senior members of Tinn’s personal household at the Grand Palace, had taken to keeping a small journal of notes so he would remember their names, responsibilities, powers, and additional details: if they had children, for example, or if they had particular likes or dislikes.

He’d been embarrassed when Tinn first noticed what he was doing. “My memory’s nothing like yours,” he lamented. “I can remember song lyrics and recipes just fine, but my teachers always said I never had a mind for numbers or events or anything. And the way you remember everything about everyone in the khunnang…I don’t know how you do it.”

Tinn held Gun’s hand between both of his. “Gun, I think this is wonderful. Have you shared this with Li Ming? Perhaps he’ll want to do the same.”

As it turned out, Li Ming had, and when Gun and Tinn rejoined Li Ming and Heart for lunch, they spent a few minutes comparing notes on the members of Phra Nakhon Khiri’s staff. “And there was this boy who kept getting underfoot in the main courtyard,” Li Ming added, shaking his head. “I told him if he tried sneaking up on Heart one more time, he’d be thrown out of the palace.”

“Ming!” Gun exclaimed. “You can’t just say that sort of thing. People will actually believe us!”

“It’s alright, he knew I didn’t mean it,” Li Ming said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Actually, he said it didn’t matter since he wanted to run away from home, something about his mother being too strict. Heart recognized him, so we brought him right back to the kitchens.”

“Oh, that must be Wai,” Gun mused, reaching for his journal. “He stole a bottle of galangal from the pantry yesterday, sometime before Uncle Jim started making tom kha gai.”

Heart brightened. “Is there any left?”

“Unfortunately not,” Gun said with an apologetic smile. “Ma was hungry and her cough’s been worsening since we arrived. Miss Sirikanya — sorry, Madam Sirikanya — thinks it’s either the pollen or the heat.”

“Is she alright?” Heart asked, brows creasing with concern. “She seemed fine during last night’s dinner.”

“It’s nothing serious,” Gun reassured him. “And it’s really only when she’s outdoors; she hasn’t been able to enjoy the gardens as much as she’d like. Tinn and Madam Sirikanya have been working on a solution.”

“Not without Gun’s supervision, I might add,” Tinn said wryly, prompting Li Ming and Heart to laugh. “We’re engaged to be married, yet he still worries.”

“About Ma’s health, obviously,” Gun said with an exaggerated sniff. “Pardon me for wanting to be a filial son.” Tinn continued to shake his head in amusement, lifting one of Gun’s hands to his mouth and brushing a kiss across his knuckles.

“You know, if you didn’t indulge him so much, he’d let you be,” Li Ming remarked. Then, turning to Heart, he said, “If you want tom kha gai, we could ask Uncle Jim tomorrow when things aren’t so hectic.”

“Speaking of indulgent,” Gun said, raising an eyebrow; now it was Tinn who laughed. Heart paid no mind, leaning forward to press his smile against Li Ming’s.

It was still early when Li Ming awoke the next morning, far earlier than he would’ve liked. Yesterday afternoon had passed with relative ease, greeting the wedding guests as they arrived and settling them in their respective accommodations. Last night’s festivities, however, had been loud and frenzied regardless of Madam Dusadi’s careful preparations. Phra Nakhon Khiri’s grounds were quickly overtaken by Yo and Nook’s families and friends, various members of the khunnang, and hundreds of servants to keep matters running smoothly. Li Ming, Gun, Heart, and Tinn had all retired to bed early so they would be well-rested for the events to come, politely declining invitations to stay for another dance or another round of drinks. From what Gun had told them, Li Ming doubted Yo had done the same.

“Good morning,” Heart mumbled against Li Ming’s chest, yawning. He smiled when he spotted Chaipo and Taengmo at the foot of their bed, curled around each other like their masters.

“Go back to sleep,” Li Ming said, carding his fingers through Heart’s hair. “Breakfast isn’t for another two hours.”

Heart hummed, something gentle and melodic, and their bedsheets rose two inches from the mattress — disturbing Chaipo and Taengmo in the process — before settling around them again, swathing their bodies in warmth against the early morning chill. Li Ming’s smile broadened; he continued to run his fingers through Heart’s soft tresses until he was lulled back to sleep.

Li Ming departed their bedchamber a little over an hour later, kissing Heart on the forehead before he left. He found Uncle Jim on the terrace, drinking a cup of tea and reading the newspaper. “Good morning,” Uncle Jim said, smiling sleepily as Li Ming took up the chair across from him. “Is your prince still in bed?”

“You’re terrible,” Li Ming informed him, which nearly made Uncle Jim snort into his tea. “Yes, Heart’s still asleep. I wanted to find you before breakfast and ask…” He trailed off suddenly, his throat tightening with nerves. Uncle Jim waited patiently, closing his newspaper and setting it aside. “Heart wants tom kha gai, and I thought perhaps you could…teach us how to make it.”

Uncle Jim’s eyes widened slightly, surprised. “I…yes, I would be happy to. When?”

“We have another dinner tonight with Yo and Nook’s families, so…perhaps for lunch?” Li Ming suggested. “Heart’s gotten much better at handling vegetables and spices. Maybe you could teach him how to debone a chicken and make stock.”

“If you think he’s ready for it,” Uncle Jim agreed, his smile growing. “Have you been cooking together much?”

“Sort of,” Li Ming replied. “We stayed with one of King Kasemchai’s cousins in Phuket, and his cook has weekends off. I made most of our meals then, though Heart did make fried eggs and rice porridge on his own.” He paused. “…not before ruining a few pots and pans, but he managed in the end.”

Uncle Jim chuckled. “I ruined far more than a few when I first started, so I’m impressed.” His smile softened, and he tilted his head as though to appraise Li Ming. “You’ve certainly been keeping busy these past few weeks. When I spoke with Gun last night, he mentioned you’d learned a new spell. Might I see it?”

Li Ming nodded, his earlier apprehension returning. He reached for the teapot and a saucer, wincing when they clattered against each other in his unsteady hands. Once he poured out a measure of tea, just as he had done yesterday, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Tutor Suchada’s warm, yet firm voice filled his mind.

In their first few weeks together, she’d concluded that he was the type of student who needed to see and feel things for himself. Textbooks and theories didn’t seem to resonate with him, she’d said, but diagrams and demonstrations did. When she first began teaching him the shaping spell shortly before he left for Phuket, she’d given him a tin of clay so he could mold each character with his hands. Since then, his hands had become dry and rough, the clay caked beneath his fingernails, reminiscent of his days in the stables. Heart had lovingly complained about how terrible they’d felt against his bare skin before arranging for regular deliveries of clay and lavender-scented salve.

Now, Li Ming pictured the clay in his hands, the way it became warm and pliant between his fingers. He imagined smoothing out the lumps and crevices with his thumb, then lifting his finished creation in the air, bringing it up to the light. When he opened his eyes, two characters were floating before him, forming the word for ‘uncle’. He let out a quiet exhale of relief.

“Oh,” Uncle Jim said, his voice hoarse. “That’s…Li Ming, that’s incredible.”

“It’s not very useful,” Li Ming admitted, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, still unaccustomed to his uncle’s praise. The tea returned to his saucer with a silent splash. “I can only manage a few characters before I lose my concentration — or I use up all the liquid, whichever happens first. I was hoping it would be another means of communication with Heart, but it takes too much effort. It’s nice to look at, I suppose.”

“It’s wonderful,” Uncle Jim reassured him. “You’ve really made remarkable progress in such a short amount of time. I know I’ve said this before, but — ”

“Please don’t — ”

“ — I’m proud of you,” Uncle Jim finished, his mouth curving into a smirk that was somehow still affectionate. “I still remember the day you told off that doctor in the refectory, telling him Heart introduced you to Tutor Suchada and you’d be starting lessons soon — ”

“Uncle Jim, you’re not nearly old enough to reminisce like this,” Li Ming complained, laughing. “Instead of telling the same stories over and over again, perhaps you could tell me a new one. Like…about how you and P’Wen first became involved?”

“And you’re not nearly young enough to still be this impudent.” Uncle Jim leaned across the table to tousle his hair. “Why does it matter so much to you, anyhow?”

“Because he makes you happy.” The words slipped from Li Ming’s mouth before he could stop himself. His cheeks grew warm as he turned away, flustered; he began busying himself by preparing a cup of tea. “And because you still refuse to tell us anything about him, even though he comes around for dinner twice a week.”

“Where he spends most of his time with you and Gun,” Uncle Jim reminded him. “You might know him better than I do.”

“I doubt it,” Li Ming said. “We mostly talk about our projects and plans, not ourselves. I could tell you more about the new servants’ refectory he’s overseeing than what he does in his spare time.”

“Fair enough,” Uncle Jim conceded. “Though I doubt he has much time to spare at all, between the refectory, the temple, the new residence hall…”

“And that he’s also offered to consult on the construction of your restaurant?” Li Ming smiled mischievously at his uncle over the rim of his teacup. “That…is why you’ve been visiting his office so often, isn’t it?”

“And you accuse me of meddling,” Uncle Jim said, sighing and chuckling again. “Yes, Gim and I have been in conversation with him on how to best prepare the space and make it feel more welcoming for patrons. He might accompany us on our next visit to Pattaya.”

“If that’s the case, then we’ll be sure not to join you. I’m sure you wouldn’t want us getting in your way,” Li Ming replied. He drained his cup, then rose to his feet while his uncle continued to shake his head in fond exasperation. Then, before he could think twice, he leaned down and wrapped his arms around Uncle Jim’s shoulders in an unfamiliar embrace. “Thank you, Uncle Jim. I…we’ll see you later.” He hurried inside without looking back, his face already burning with embarrassment.

The next few hours went by quickly. Once Li Ming rejoined Heart in their bedchamber and they got dressed for the day, they had a quick breakfast with their brothers, then spent the rest of their morning with Yo, Nook, and their wedding guests. Many enthused to one another about being shown around Phra Nakhon Khiri by the princes themselves, whispering about how they were even more handsome and more gracious in person. Li Ming doubted they would feel the same if they were to witness Tinn in one of his moods or Heart when he was hungry.

Several older members of the khunnang eyed Li Ming and Gun with great skepticism, to which Gun responded with false smiles and Li Ming with fervent glares. Their families were far kinder, and Li Ming’s chest filled with warmth at the sight of Heart playing with a group of children, all of them signing happily, if a little clumsily, while they spoke. Li Ming had never given much thought to being a father before, but watching Heart create small bubbles that made different animal sounds when popped and had the children shrieking with laughter told him all he needed to consider.

“I hear you’re making lunch for us today,” Gun said on their return walk back to the main residence. “You didn’t get your fill of cooking in Phuket? Or when you were Uncle Jim’s apprentice, for that matter.”

“Heart wants tom kha gai,” Li Ming replied, shrugging. “So you better not take more than one bowl.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Gun said, clasping a hand over his heart. “Have you ever considered joining Ma and Uncle Jim in Pattaya once the restaurant’s open? I was thinking it might be nice to stay for a few weeks during the winter and help out. And imagine the looks on people’s faces when they realize they’re being served by the princes’ fiancés! They’ll tell their friend and families, and then the restaurant will be so busy, they’ll have to turn customers away.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Li Ming raised an eyebrow. “Your mind truly works in mysterious ways — when it does work, that is.”

Gun elbowed him. “Is that a yes or not?”

“To spending the winter in Pattaya? Yes, if Heart doesn’t already have something else in mind.” When Gun’s smile widened, Li Ming grew wary. “…what?”

“I was just thinking…isn’t it wonderful how we can go wherever we want, whenever we want?” Gun’s voice took on a dream-like quality, one that reminded Li Ming of long hours spent working with Tinn, who sometimes became distracted and began waxing poetic about something Gun had said or wondering if Gun had eaten enough that day. Though Li Ming never enjoyed such tangents in the moment, he did always enjoy teasing Gun about it after. “We used to think we’d never go anywhere beyond the capital. And now, you were just in Phuket for two weeks, both of us are here in Phetchaburi…and we’ll be staying in Chiang Mai in a few months! It’s especially nice after spending months stuck inside doing lessons all day. I was starting to think we’d never see the sun again.”

“I’m still not used to it,” Li Ming admitted. “Traveling wherever we’d like, having servants around all the time, having Chalerm follow me everywhere…” He cast a glance over his shoulder, where Chalerm and Mok were trying their best not to look affronted. “I do like getting to see more of Ayutthaya, though. Phuket was just as beautiful as everyone says, and being on those fishing boats…”

He didn’t finish his thought. By the look on Gun’s face, he didn’t have to. Gun looped his arm in Li Ming’s, his smile softening. “We’ll have to go together someday — all of us, I mean,” he added. “I want to see those festival dancers Heart was talking about.”

“I don’t,” Li Ming muttered, recalling how one of them in particular had taken a shine to Heart. He’d kept a firm hold of Heart’s elbow for hours afterward.

Heart was already in the kitchen with Uncle Jim when he joined them, shirtsleeves rolled up while he sorted through a large pile of mushrooms and checked them for bruises. His smile blossomed at the sight of Li Ming, making Li Ming’s pulse flutter. “You’re late,” he teased. “I don’t know how that’s possible since we returned together.”

“I had grass stains on my pants and needed to change, all because someone wanted to take photographs in the flower garden with his new camera,” Li Ming reminded him, kissing his cheek regardless. He paused and turned, belatedly remembering his uncle was also in the room. Uncle Jim said nothing, though that infuriating grin from earlier had returned. “What would you like me to do?”

“There are quite a few ways to answer that question,” Uncle Jim replied with a good-natured chuckle; Li Ming was tempted to turn right back around and leave. “I suppose the answer you’re looking for is to prepare the lemongrass, galangal, and chilies. I’ll show Heart how to debone the chicken.” Heart paled slightly, but nodded in quiet determination.

They worked in amicable silence, Uncle Jim occasionally glancing Li Ming’s way when he didn’t know the word he was looking for. He, Gim, and Gun had come a long way in their knowledge of sign language. Though they would never be quite as fluent nor as instinctive as Li Ming, they’d been studying diligently with one of Heart’s former tutors. Li Ming almost never needed to help his mother or uncle anymore, and while Gun was a little slower than the rest, he could still carry on full conversations without hesitation.

“How are you doing?” Li Ming asked once he’d finished his tasks, joining Heart and Uncle Jim as they were adding the last of the chicken to the enormous pot on the stove. “I didn’t hear any complaints, so I assume you haven’t cut yourself or lost a finger.”

“You were the one who taught me how to use a knife,” Heart protested. “So if I did, it would be your fault.”

Uncle Jim barely managed to stifle his snort while Li Ming pinched Heart’s side. “Someone’s insolent today. I think you’ve been spending too much time with Nook’s cousins.”

“And I think you’re just jealous they beat you at marbles,” Heart replied, swiftly sidestepping out of Li Ming’s reach before he could pinch him again.

The three of them worked together to prepare the vegetables, nam phrik, and other smaller dishes while the chicken simmered, chatting amicably about how the rest of the week would proceed. Starting tomorrow, Yo and Nook would begin carrying out the Ayutthayan wedding traditions: receiving blessings from the monks of Wat Phra Kaeo, completing the rod nam sang ritual with their parents and the sai sin ceremony with their guests, presenting gifts to their elders and offerings to the monks, and of course, the wedding ceremony itself. Once the wedding was over and Yo, Nook, and their guests departed from Phetchaburi, the king and queen would arrive to celebrate their sons’ nineteenth birthday. They would all remain in Phra Nakhon Khiri until the end of the summer.

As for Li Ming and Heart’s and Gun and Tinn’s eventual unions, their engagements were official, but no formal wedding dates had been set. They’d all agreed to wait until Li Ming and Gun turned twenty before consulting with an astrologer to find an auspicious date. Though they’d liked the idea of a shared wedding day, Queen Photjanee had advised them against it, reasoning that it would be best for Gun and Tinn to marry first as to distinguish their future king.

“I wish our wedding could be more like this one,” Heart sighed wistfully as they set out the last of the dishes on the table. “I’d be able to introduce you to all my friends and cousins instead of waiting to receive blessings from the khunnang who secretly despise that I’m marrying someone who isn’t their daughter.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a secret,” Li Ming replied wryly. “I hear most of them still refer to us as ‘phrai boys’, even now that we’re sons of the Khun. Though…it doesn’t bother me, not really. Thinking of myself as a member of the phrai, that is.”

“Well, if it ever does bother you, I’m sure Father could put out an edict prohibiting people from calling you things you don’t want to be called ever again,” Heart said, grinning.

Li Ming snorted. “That’s a bit much, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Oh, that smells wonderful!” They turned to see Gim sweeping into the dining hall with a radiant smile, Gun and Tinn following closely behind. Her dark curls bounced merrily on her shoulders, her lips painted crimson from a pot of tinted beeswax Queen Photjanee had gifted her for her birthday. “Gun told me we have Heart to thank for the tom kha gai today.”

“We’ll share the entire pot and leave nothing for the others,” Heart told her, squeezing her hands. Gim laughed, cupping his face and kissing his cheek before taking her seat near the head of the table.

The rest of them settled in as well, along with Chalerm, Kajorn, Mok, and Tiwson. When Chalerm was first appointed to Li Ming, he’d insisted their advisors join them for meals instead of “hovering like spirits” behind their backs. Chalerm and Mok had taken to it like ducks to water; Kajorn had been the most resistant, deeming himself unworthy company. Li Ming had rolled his eyes at Kajorn’s dramatics and all but seized his shoulders and shoved him into a chair.

Halfway through lunch, a young attendant — Phaibun, Li Ming recalled from his notes — entered the room. “My apologies for interrupting,” she said with a bow. “I have a letter for Lord Guntaphon from Chaophraya Chaichitathorn.”

Gun’s eyes brightened. “Oh?”

The letter started with a long preamble about all of the dinners and parties Chaophraya Chaichitathorn was attending during his stay in Chiang Mai, accompanied by stories and scandals that Li Ming didn’t care for but Gun found fascinating. Eventually, he began to describe how construction was progressing for the theater he and Gun had envisioned together, hopefully the first of many. It was doing well, he’d said, and he was confident it would be completed on time. He’d also spent most of the aforementioned dinners and parties seeking out actors, singers, and dancers looking for work.

“‘I’ve met at least half a dozen spellsingers — who would have ever guessed I’d find so many in one place? Chiang Mai truly is a wondrous city — but none of them hold a candle to you’,” Gun read aloud, pausing to wipe imaginary tears from his eyes. Li Ming and Heart shared a look, to which Tinn gave them a pointed one of his own. “‘I’ll be returning to the capital next week with new silks, shoes, and spellsongs for you, as well as an exhaustive list of performers who are already clamoring to meet you when you visit in September. There are poets and writers among them — perhaps Li Ming or Prince Tinn would be interested in speaking with them, too? You’ll have to tell me everything about Yo and Nook’s wedding in your next letter; please give them all my love. Your dear friend and collaborator in art but never war, Chaophraya Chaichitathorn’.”

“Always a character, that one,” Gim remarked, shaking her head. “His business acumen is impressive and terrifying. Perhaps we should ask him to be our restaurant’s business advisor.”

“He would love that,” Gun said, his eyes becoming even brighter. “He’d want to try everything on the menu, too. He might even have recipes to share!”

“If they’re anything like his great-aunt’s herbal remedies, I’d rather do without,” Gim shuddered. “If Wen’s mother were willing to share her khanom tako recipe, however…”

Li Ming frowned. “When did you try P’Wen’s mother’s khanom tako?”

An impish smile began to spread across Gim’s face. “Why don’t you ask Jim?”

“Gim,” Uncle Jim warned, but everyone’s eyes were already on him. He sighed, dragging a hand over his face before replying, his voice muffled against his palm. “Wen brought khanom tako to dinner last week — when you and Heart were in Phuket, and Gun and Tinn were already traveling to Ratchaburi. He said it was his mother’s recipe and he hoped it would be to Gim’s liking.”

“And it was,” Gim said, grinning. “The water chestnuts were the perfect texture. I wouldn’t be surprised if it took Wen several attempts to make.”

“Wait, P’Wen was the one who made the khanom?” Li Ming let out a laugh of disbelief. “Uncle Jim — ”

“Don’t you start,” Uncle Jim interrupted, casting a weary glance in his sister’s direction. “What did I tell you about encouraging them?”

“I think your first concern should have been encouraging me,” Gim replied, and the entire room all but erupted with laughter. “Oh, and he had some wonderful suggestions for the restaurant! Hand-carved signs, live music, fresh flowers, special menus for the holidays…he seems rather invested in our success, wouldn’t you say? Almost as though our happiness is of great importance to him — or perhaps just yours.”

Uncle Jim sighed again. “You really are your sons’ mother.”

“Oh, please. If you continue to frown this much, people might start to think you’re the older one,” Gim teased, pinching his cheek. “You really needn’t hide your affection for Wen from us. And yes, perhaps you started on the wrong foot, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a happy ending.”

“Did you not get along when you first met?” Li Ming asked. “That’s not what it sounded like to me.”

“It’s…complicated,” Uncle Jim eventually said, as though he hadn’t said so hundreds of times before. “But we’ve moved past it, and you need to do the same. It’s really none of your concern.”

Li Ming and Gun shared a reluctant nod, though Li Ming knew Gun was just as curious as he was. He’d spent far too long attempting to make a match of Por and Tiwson to give in so easily. “Alright, Uncle Jim,” Gun said placidly. Li Ming doubted his mild-mannered tone could fool anyone other than Tinn when he was too besotted to pay attention, which was almost always. “Though…maybe we could invite P’Wen to visit more often, for tea or even breakfast on weekends? I think he’d like that.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Uncle Jim’s mouth. “I think so, too.”

Mercifully, Li Ming and Heart had few obligations that afternoon; it was Gun and Tinn who had to bear the brunt of the day’s responsibilities in preparation for tomorrow. Heart insisted on visiting the stables, where they spent an hour feeding and grooming the horses, knowing they’d have all the time in the world for leisurely rides once the wedding was over.

“Are you excited for Ko Sichang?” Li Ming asked while they were settled on a bench outside the paddock, downing generous gulps of cold water. “All that talk of Chiang Mai earlier, and I almost forgot we were traveling elsewhere first.”

Heart nodded emphatically. “Phra Chuthathut isn’t nearly as big as Phra Nakhon Khiri, but it’s still lovely. I’m very much looking forward to meeting one of my cousins. Well…re-acquainting myself with one of my cousins, I suppose.” His expression shuttered, and he turned away.

“Heart,” Li Ming said softly, tapping Heart’s hand so he would turn back. He’d gotten better at comforting Heart in ways that weren’t just food and other fleeting pleasures. Tinn had been a great teacher in tempering Heart’s moments of melancholy, though Li Ming had been reluctant to admit as much. “It’s as Sir Eakasit said: not every gap in your memory is because of the potion. Sometimes, we just…forget things, especially things from when we were young.”

“I know,” Heart sighed, leaning back against the paddock fence. “I just can’t help but panic whenever I realize I’ve forgotten something, or when someone expects me to remember something. What if I meet Lord Kaweewat and he wants to recount memories of his visit?”

“From what your father told us of that visit, I suspect Lord Kaweewat would also like to forget it ever happened,” Li Ming said wryly, making Heart snort with laughter. “Well, I also look forward to meeting him and to whatever else you have planned. It’s always an adventure with you, after all.”

Heart’s demeanor changed instantly. He rummaged through his bag for his notebook, as Li Ming knew he would, and began skimming the pages for one marked with the heading ‘Chonburi’. Ko Sichang was a small island; they had the rest of the province to explore during their two-week stay, with or without their brothers and Heart’s reticent cousin.

They remained in the paddock, chatting animatedly, until their skin started to prickle with sunburn. Kajorn and Chalerm inundated them with news from the palace’s network of attendants on their return to the main residence, where they bathed and prepared for dinner with Yo, Nook, and their closest friends and family. When they joined their brothers in the atrium, Tinn glanced disapprovingly at the redness in their cheeks while Gun lamented about still having yet to rehearse with his friends.

Tonight’s dinner was in the garden’s largest pavilion, where Yo, Nook, their parents, and Nook’s older brother were seated at the front while their guests were carefully arranged around smaller tables. Li Ming, Gun, Heart, and Tinn were seated with Gim, Uncle Jim, and their respective advisors, though Gun disappeared often to speak with his friends, all of them cowering whenever P’Yak looked their way.

Servers brought out enormous platters of fried rice and noodles, heavy plates of steamed vegetables and grilled meat, large bowls of soups and stews, and an endless procession of pitchers filled with water, tea, and freshly squeezed juice. Some of the older guests, emboldened by Tinn and Heart’s generosity, kept asking the servants to replenish their bottles of lao khao and saucers of nam phrik until it seemed there would be nothing left.

Once it was time for khanom — colorful slices of khanom chan, fragrant dishes of khanom mo kaeng, plates piled high with khanom krok and khanom tom and khanom tan, individual bowls of bua loy and kluai buat chi, and all the sticky rice and fresh fruit anyone could ever want — a nervous-looking Yo called for everyone’s attention, wanting to give a speech.

“Perhaps we should tell everyone we’ve run out of lao khao, after all,” Li Ming whispered to Gun as Yo swayed unsteadily to his feet. Gun gave him a withering look eerily reminiscent of Tinn, though Li Ming suspected it was more for Yo than himself.

“Good evening, everyone,” Yo called. Several guests winced at the unexpected loudness of his voice. “Lady Apichaya and I would like to thank you for joining us on this happy occasion, and for traveling a long way to be with us. We’re grateful for your love and companionship, whether we’re family by blood or by heart. It means so much to us that we’re all here to celebrate together.”

“Not a terrible speech for someone who can barely look his brother-in-law in the eye,” Li Ming whispered.

“Yo made me swear not to tell, but Tinn did write most of it,” Gun whispered back. “…oh, no. I can’t tell if he’s turning pale from nervousness or from all the khanom.”

“He did eat three pieces of khanom krok in about ten minutes,” Li Ming replied. “That has to be some sort of record.”

Yo paused, perspiration beginning to form at his temples, at a loss for what to say next. He glanced down at the paper tucked inconspicuously beneath his plate, but Li Ming suspected the words had become smudged beneath the stains of spilled food and drink. Murmurs rippled throughout the pavilion; Nook’s mother and brother cast disparaging looks at Yo while Nook’s father’s nose twitched with disdain.

Nook tugged gently on Yo’s hand, urging him to return to his seat and collect his thoughts. Her face was far kinder than her family’s, and though Li Ming had never thought highly of Gun’s friends, he was glad Yo had found someone whose patience would ease his worries.

Gun stood so abruptly that his foot knocked against their table, making their silverware rattle. Everyone turned to look at him, eyes wide in astonishment. After a moment’s hesitation, Gun reached for his glass and brandished it toward the head table, more like a sword than a salute. “And now, we’d like to invite everyone to say a few words about Yo and Nook,” he announced. Yo exhaled a sigh of relief while Li Ming, Tinn, and Heart shared proud smiles.

Yo’s mother and father spoke first, their eyes misting as they talked about Yo’s gentle and curious nature, how much they admired Nook’s kindness and intelligence, why Yo and Nook were so perfectly matched. Once they returned to their seats, others began to chime in: Nook’s closest friends, Yo’s cousins, their grandmothers and grandfathers. They told stories of shared childhoods and adolescence, fond memories of studying together, traveling together, taking meals and playing games and sharing laughter together. Even Gun, Por, Pat, Win, and Sound made a rather incomprehensible attempt at describing Yo’s virtues.

Finally, when almost everyone had spoken, a few of them stole glances in Tinn’s direction. He smiled pleasantly in return before realizing they expected him to speak as well. Clearing his throat, he rose to his feet and smoothed out the invisible wrinkles in his pha biang. “I confess, my acquaintance with Lord Yothin and Lady Aphichaya is solely through my fiancé, Lord Guntaphon,” he said. “That’s not to say I don’t consider them friends — any friend of Lord Guntaphon’s is a friend of mine — but that I lack the personal history and wonderful stories that all of you shared just now.”

A quiet smile spread across Tinn’s face then, and it took Li Ming a moment to place it: the same smile he’d worn when they spoke in the infirmary archives that day, when he said all he wanted was for Gun to be happy, and when he admitted Li Ming made Heart happy, too. “When Lord Guntaphon told me how the two of you first met, I couldn’t help but think that your story mirrored our own,” Tinn continued. “Anonymous correspondence, finding common ground by exchanging letters.”

Li Ming felt Gun shift slightly beside him. Officially, he and Tinn had met through Li Ming and Heart; only their closest friends were privy to the truth. No one else seemed to take notice, too enraptured by Tinn’s pleasing candor. “Some may find it curious, the idea of falling in love before meeting face-to-face. But perhaps there’s something special about being seen and heard by someone we’ve yet to see or hear, to have someone truly listen to us without knowing what we sound like.”

Now, Li Ming’s cheeks reddened beneath Heart’s fervent gaze. He slipped his hand beneath the table, taking Heart’s hand in his. “You discovered shared interests and aspirations and fears without pretense, without needing to pretend to be anyone but yourself,” Tinn went on. “I think that’s the purest form of love there is. The quiet, selfless, enduring kind of love that people often dream of.”

Yo and Nook were all but glowing now, their faces radiant as they shared shy smiles. Most of the guests were smiling too, even the most taciturn members of Nook’s family. Li Ming began tracing three words across Heart’s palm as he often did, over and over and over again until he felt Heart’s skin grow warm. Gun gazed up at Tinn, his eyes sparkling in equal parts admiration and affection. A flutter of a spellsong — and Li Ming was much more adept at identifying them now — rippled across the pavilion, filling the air with a sense of togetherness like no other.

“To Lord Yothin and Lady Aphichaya,” Tinn said, raising his glass. Everyone else followed suit, but Tinn was already looking down, his tender gaze never leaving Gun’s as he spoke. “May your love last a lifetime, til kingdom come.”