The triple gong echoed from the Grand Courtyard into the inner palace, announcing a royal decree from the Royal Scholar to the five daughters of the vassal states:

"The Royal Weaving Competition will officially begin on the waning moon, first night of the 8th lunar month—this year’s Buddhist Lent. The maiden who weaves the most exquisite cloth shall become the First Consort of Prince Rachasriwong."

The news stirred the palace into motion. The royal weaving chambers buzzed with energy. Servants from each residence hurried to prepare looms, indigo-dyed threads, pattern stencils, and silk frames from their respective lands.

Lady Supimpha of Lamkhunchee requested her father send a serpent-patterned loom from her homeland.

Lady Pen Duean of Lammoon began fermenting indigo in jars with her personal recipe.

Kantra of Wiang Paksa ordered a secret guard to procure ground knifefish bones to trace motifs onto cloth.

Even Lady Wilawan of Phanom Champa instructed her maids to strip lotus fibers from the palace’s finest blooms. Each household… moved quietly, but with purpose.

—

“Did you see? Lady Wilawan brought an offering tray of sweets to the Prince’s residence yesterday.”

“I heard Pen Duean spins her own cotton every night.”

“They say the Prince hasn’t chosen anyone yet—but surely someone must’ve caught his eye…”

Whispers spread like wildfire, along with a curious rumor: though Prince Rachasriwong had yet to attend any official event, he had appeared… in quiet, unexpected moments. This made the daughters increasingly restless.

“When do you think he’ll come out again?”

“If I could meet his gaze just once… I’d weave through the night without complaint.”

Plans took shape. Some began crafting handkerchiefs. Others experimented with their hometown sweets. The weaving contest had yet to begin—but the chessboard of favor was already set. And someone… who had not yet offered anything at all… was beginning to realize just how far behind she had fallen.

—

Lady Buakesa, the last to arrive at the palace, leaned against the window of her residence, gazing outward with an unreadable look.

“What does his face… truly look like?”

“Is his voice one that trembles the heart?”

She had yet to see Prince Rachasriwong clearly with her own eyes—and that fact unsettled her deeply.

“A daughter of Phapang’s royal capital like me… lose to those backwater maidens? Never.”

—

Sunlight streamed through lotus-patterned curtains, casting soft shadows across a tray of sweets. Lady Wilawan sat upright, delicately arranging candied winter melon into a golden plate. One hand scattered fragrant sandal petals; the other gently draped a piece of silk over the offering.

“Finish the tray—I’ll present it to the Prince’s residence before noon,” she said.

Her handmaid nodded quickly. A daughter of Phanom Champa would never allow herself to fall behind in this silent war of dignity.

—

A modest procession from Wilawan’s quarters made its way to the Prince’s residence. A sandalwood tray rested atop a gilded pedestal, adorned with five layers of lotus petals and topped with a golden-threaded cloth. Lady Wilawan stood poised at the front, her expression calm, eyes rimmed with faint golden shimmer.

She waited for some time… but the residence remained silent.

“Will His Highness not receive me personally?” she whispered to her maid.

Just then, soft footsteps echoed from the side stairs.

A young man in the garb of a high-ranking soldier emerged with graceful composure. Sharp-featured, thick-browed, and poised with a respectful smile, he bowed slightly to Lady Wilawan.

“Forgive His Highness… He is occupied with morning weapon drills. I shall accept the offering in his stead.”

Lady Wilawan hesitated for a mere moment, caught in the gaze of those unexpectedly sincere eyes. She forgot the exact words she had prepared.

“Very well,” she replied coolly. “It’s simply a token from my homeland. Nothing more.”

The young man nodded lightly.

“It smells delightful. The scent of lotus and crisp sugar reaches even here,” he said—not out of duty, but genuine praise.

Lady Wilawan turned away slightly, her lips twitching into the faintest smile.

—

As the procession withdrew from the Prince’s residence, Lady Wilawan maintained a composed grace. But her heart… was far less still.

“The Prince didn’t come out to meet me…”

“Then why… does the gaze of the one who accepted the tray linger so heavily in my thoughts?”

She raised her fan to shield her face, yet her eyes flicked back to the soldier—still standing at a respectful distance, watching her depart.

And once she had gone, Prince Wihokkarat let out a long sigh.

“That young lady… if my brother met her, he’d tire quickly.”

He smiled faintly and turned back toward the residence, unaware that his role in her story… had just begun.

—

Rumors, though faint, can stir hearts more fiercely than early monsoon winds. By the next day, whispers of Lady Wilawan’s offering spread through the embroidery room, sleeping chambers, and even behind the kitchen curtains.

“Did Wilawan really bring her offerings to the Prince’s doorstep?”

“Did she meet him?”

“I heard it was his younger brother who received her.”

The whispers flew like threads strung through a hundred looms. The other daughters wasted no time:

Lady Supimpha ordered her maids to make honey-glazed sun-dried bananas. Lady Pen Duean personally stirred a batch of mung bean paste. Even stern Kantra prepared crispy rice cakes from her borderland recipe.

No one openly admitted it was to ‘meet His Highness’—but every woman hoped someone… would notice them.

Even if only with a fleeting smile at the doorway.

—

Elsewhere in the palace, Buakesa—the last to arrive—remained by the window, her gaze pensive. In her hands, there were no sweets, no flowers, no offerings. Only a restlessness… that now stirred deep within.

“My lady,” said her maid, Nang Kaew, as she carefully folded a silk cloth by the sitting platform.

“The other daughters have begun presenting their gifts… They say those who offer first may win the Prince’s favor.”

Buakesa was silent, then suddenly turned toward Kham In, who was quietly collecting stray threads.

“Kham In!”

“Do you know how to make sweets?”

Kham In paused, fingers halting at the fraying edge of cloth. He looked up calmly.

“If I didn’t… I wouldn’t have lasted long in Lady Buakesa’s quarters.”

Buakesa’s lips curved into a smile, her eyes glinting.

“Excellent… Then you shall prepare the Prince’s favorite dessert for me.”

“I want to offer something so memorable that from the very first bite… he’ll remember me.”

Her laugh was soft, but the intent was clear.

Kham In said nothing. No one could read his heart—but after a moment’s silence, he lowered his gaze and stood up to prepare bananas.

—

Steam drifted in fragrant curls through the wooden kitchen of Buakesa’s residence. Madam Inlaa poured coconut milk into a mixing bowl while Kham In gently mashed ripe bananas with both hands.

“Don’t over-mash, dear… it won’t hold with the flour,” Inlaa advised with a warm smile.

Kham In nodded, slowly adding rice flour and tapioca starch, stirring with practiced grace. Freshly shredded coconut, a pinch of salt, and sugar melted into the coconut milk to complete the batter. A soft, homey sweetness wafted from the mixture, floating through the open window into the palace courtyard.

Buakesa, leaning against a pillar, lifted her chin and inhaled.

“That scent… It must be his favorite.”

She turned sharply toward Kham In.

“Wrap them neatly in banana leaves—no stains, no leaks. I shall offer it to the Prince myself.”

Kham In replied briefly, “Yes, my lady. I’ll prepare them properly.”

—

Before noon, a modest procession from Phapang made its way to the Prince’s residence. Buakesa led proudly, holding a carved tray of steamed banana sweets, wrapped in fresh banana leaves, topped with snowy coconut shreds and adorned with a single white flower.

The scent preceded their arrival—so fragrant that even the palace guards sniffed the air discreetly.

Prince Wihokkarat emerged with formality, nodding to Buakesa.

“His Highness is engaged in training and cannot receive you personally.”

“No offense taken,” she smiled. “Though, had he come to greet me, it would have honored me greatly—as the First Daughter of Phapang.”

She lowered the tray with grace.

“The scent of banana… I imagine it will delight His Highness.”

Before she could finish, soft footsteps approached.

The carved doors opened slowly, revealing a young man dressed in elegant indigo robes, smiling gently.

“The scent of banana steamed with coconut… was too tempting to ignore.”

The voice belonged not to Wihokkarat—but to Prince Rachasriwong himself.

His warm gaze met Buakesa’s directly—for the first time.

She froze.

The world stilled. Even the wind was silent. And in her heart, only one thought rang clear:

He is… even more beautiful than in my dreams.

—

Prince Rachasriwong accepted the tray from Wihokkarat, but his gaze lingered briefly on Buakesa.

"Many thanks to the daughter of Phapang… My mother once mentioned her fondness for banana sweets from your land."

Buakesa offered a graceful bow, every gesture refined.

“Thank you, Your Highness… I made these myself, with all my heart.”

She smiled—triumphantly—before withdrawing slowly with her attendants.

—

Back at her residence, Buakesa lounged across her silk divan, waving a fan lazily with a contented grin.

“He is the one… My future husband.”

“His gaze is worthy of a lion prince, his form strong and gallant… I couldn’t even breathe when he looked at me.”

Nang Kaew sat nearby, listening to her lady’s musings with a quiet smile.

“And what about Kham In? What do you think?”

Kham In, who had been silently folding banana leaves, looked up briefly and replied with quiet composure:

“I’m simply glad… the banana sweets pleased His Highness.”

No one noticed that his eyes… had darkened with sudden sorrow.

—

The soft light of afternoon danced along the tips of bamboo leaves. The scent of steamed banana and frangipani still lingered faintly in the courtyard.

Kham In sat cross-legged beneath the old tree by the riverside pavilion. A small bundle of banana leaves rested beside him. Carefully, he peeled one open—revealing the last two pieces of banana cake, still topped with snowy coconut.

The scent… still warm, though not quite like when fresh. But enough to offer comfort to an unsettled heart.

Buakesa’s words still echoed in his mind:

“His complexion… more radiant than the full moon.”

“If I could stand by his side for even half a lifetime, I would ask for nothing more.”

Kham In lowered his gaze. He touched the warm edge of the sweet to his lips… but could not taste a thing.

“Maybe… because I made it myself,” he murmured.

A soft sigh escaped his lips.

Then—footsteps.

He turned sharply.

A man in deep indigo stepped through the grove. Kham In knew that gait well.

“The banana sweets from Phapang still linger in the air… Is there any left for me to taste?”

The voice was low and familiar.

Kham In stood quickly, palms pressed together, bowing low.

“I… I didn’t know His Highness would be here.”

“No need to rush,” Prince Rachasriwong replied, smiling. “I’ve just finished sword training. My arms are sore… my mind tired. But the sight of you—and the scent of banana—lifts the weight off me.”

Kham In hesitated, ready to excuse himself.

“Stay,” the Prince said gently. “Keep me company. Just for a moment.”

Kham In quietly sat back down, offering the banana-leaf tray. His slender hands still held traces of flour and the soft scent of coconut.

Prince Rachasriwong accepted it slowly. Instead of immediately picking up a piece, he leaned in, letting his nose hover just above Kham In’s fingertips—drawing in the lingering aroma of sweet bananas.

Kham In froze, heat blooming across his cheeks. He quickly pulled his hand away.

“You… shouldn’t do that, Your Highness…”

But the Prince caught his wrist gently, eyes glinting with knowing clarity.

“Did you make these yourself?”

Kham In lowered his gaze, heart pounding too hard to answer.

“They were an offering from Lady Buakesa… She made them for you, Your Highness.”

“Is that so?”

The Prince’s voice was calm, but firm.

“Strange. The scent of freshly pressed bananas still clings to your fingers. You shouldn’t lie.”

Kham In said nothing.

The Prince gave a soft smile.

“It’s fine… even if you don’t say it. I understand.”

He leaned closer, plucking one of the banana cakes from the tray—never once looking away—and took a bite.

Kham In flushed again, hastily pulling his hands back.

“You… shouldn’t…”

“What shouldn’t I do?”

The Prince’s voice was gentle, his gaze unwavering.

Kham In pressed his hands together, kneeling low to the ground. His heart burned with a mix of emotion—longing, fear, reverence.

“You are the royal heir… I am but a servant. How could there ever be… anything equal between us?”

Silence.

Then the Prince replied softly:

“You and I… are both human. We bleed, we feel, we sweat, we breathe. Are we not?”

Kham In did not respond.

The Prince smiled faintly, voice lowering.

“You seem younger than I am. When it’s just the two of us, you may call me ‘Ai.’(a name only someone close may use.)”

Kham In slowly looked up, lips barely parting.

“…Yes, Ai.”

Prince Rachasriwong leaned back against the tree, eyes half-lidded in ease.

“Let me hear it again… Kham In.”

Kham In hesitated, lowered his eyes, and whispered quietly:

“…Ai.”

—

The scent of bananas drifts through soft sunbeams,

Shade beneath trees eases the heart’s unease.

Though words fall silent across distance unseen…

Two hearts draw near, in moments serene.