Nightfall had blanketed Wiang Phasorn Nakorn. The first breeze of the post-rainy season full moon swept gently around the northern pavilion. Shadows of trees swayed softly in the wind, as if reaching out to caress the small figure seated before the loom.

Kham-In sat straight-backed, one hand cradling the shuttle, the other carefully drawing thread by thread with solemn precision. Every motion was a meditation, every weft woven in time with the quiet rhythm of his own heartbeat.

The glow of an old oil lamp beside the loom illuminated the twin lion pattern emerging clearly across the silk. Golden threads shimmered in harmony with the crimson background, revealing a design of two lions facing each other—graceful, yet filled with love, loyalty, and a deep, silent promise.

…This was his heart, woven into every strand with every breath of his soul.

Footsteps, faint but deliberate, sounded outside the pavilion.

Startled, Kham-In gently pulled his shawl tighter over his shoulder.

A tall figure in simple garb stood behind the cotton curtain. The deep, steady voice of Prince Rajasihavong broke the silence of the night.

“To the one weaving behind the curtain…”

His voice was soft, yet firm—low… but penetrating.

“I want you to know that what you're doing… it doesn’t matter whether it's right or wrong. Because in the end, the cloth itself will decide… whether you are worthy of me. Tomorrow… I will make my choice. And I shall choose with my heart—only with that.”

Then the voice was gone, fading with the retreating steps.

Kham-In remained still, heart pounding so violently it felt as if the thread in his fingers trembled with it. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He spoke no words in return—not even a note left behind.

He simply looked up at the still-swaying curtain and whispered, as if sending his voice on the wind to the one who had already walked away.

“This cloth… I wove it with love… with heart… with soul. Let it bear witness to our love, as the twin lions on this cloth do… Ai.”

A single tear fell onto the unfinished silk. Yet it left no stain.

Instead, it glinted beneath the moonlight… like a gem resting upon a hidden heart.

…Tonight would be the final night. A night where truth remained veiled, but his heart… had chosen long ago.

…

At dawn, soft sunlight filtered through the morning mist above Wiang Phasorn Nakorn. It brushed against the polished columns of the Sirarom Pavilion, where the golden teak glowed with grace beneath trellis rooftops adorned in floral motifs. Before the pavilion, the ceremonial courtyard filled with nobles, attendants, and townsfolk who had come to witness the most anticipated event of the year.

The five daughters from the vassal states were dressed in their respective traditional silks, each elegant in her homeland’s colors:

Supimpa of Lam Khun Chi, in strong brocade with coiling naga patterns.

Phen Duean of Lam Mun, draped in indigo-dyed cotton softly across her shoulders.

Kantra of the borderland, in crimson-dyed cloth mixed with animal hide accents and a headscarf.

Wilawan of Wang Bua, radiant in pale golden silk adorned with lotus garlands.

And… Buakesa of Phapang, in finely detailed crimson silk with a gold headdress.

The first gong rang, resonating through the air…

King Silawet, Queen Intraninil, and their two sons arrived amid the sound of conch shells, flutes, and murmuring voices.

Queen Intraninil took her seat at the temporary jeweled dais in front of the pavilions. Her gaze swept calmly across all five halls before she gave a quiet command:

“Unveil the curtains of all five pavilions. Let the head stewards present each woven cloth upon a tray before us.”

As the ladies-in-waiting began to move toward each pavilion, just before reaching the northern one, a sharp voice broke the solemn rhythm.

“May I have your grace, Your Majesty!”

All eyes turned to the source—Buakesa, stepping forward from her line.

With a slight bow and a voice sweet yet poised, she said:

“Your Majesty, I humbly propose… that these woven cloths are delicate in nature. If removed by unskilled hands, the alignment may be ruined, threads might tear, or the patterns be misarranged.”

She paused, then added:

“I request that each daughter personally remove her own cloth from the loom—for the sake of preserving its integrity, and respecting the artistry of its maker.”

Murmurs stirred among the nobles.

Queen Intraninil raised a brow slightly, but said nothing to deny her.

“Very well. If that is your will, proceed as you see fit.”

Her words were soft, yet unreadable.

One by one, the five daughters ascended their pavilions, carefully retrieving the woven pieces created over the past month, releasing each one from its reel with gentle precision.

The scent of silk… the faint footsteps… the breath held in stillness…

Everything was calm—except for Kham-In’s heart, racing behind the shadow of the cloth.

…

The second gong sounded, welcoming the late morning sun.

From each of the five pavilions, the daughters emerged, carrying their finished cloths—woven with their breath, their hands, and their hearts.

Each was neatly folded atop velvet-lined golden trays, ready for the royal presentation.

Tray One – Supimpa

A silver silk, shimmering like a naga swimming through flowing water, interwoven with fine golden thread resembling its glittering scales. Powerful, yet graceful.

Tray Two – Phen Duean

Cotton indigo with silver silk streaks. The scent of real indigo still lingered. Patterns of mountains, rivers, and clouds emerged, as gentle as post-rain winds in a forest.

Tray Three – Wilawan

Soft pink silk embroidered with gold threads and tiny pearls in lotus motifs. Each petal looked alive, delicately stitched as if prayed upon—refined and elegant, like the serene lady of Wang Bua.

Tray Four – Kantra

Blood-red cloth with a fierce tiger under the full moon woven in its center. The deep colors shimmered like flames in sunlight—bold, intense, and fearsome in its artistry.

Final Tray – Buakesa

Crimson silk folded tight as if concealing a breath. But when sunlight hit its surface, a diamond-cut pattern shimmered with incredible precision. The “twin lions” motif emerged—golden-red waves in perfect symmetry. Their noble heads and fierce eyes faced each other… balanced, unwavering.

The courtyard fell silent.

Queen Intraninil’s gaze lingered on the final tray. Slowly, her hand reached out to lift the cloth and unfurl it carefully before her.

As a breeze passed beneath the pavilion eaves, the cloth seemed to glow on its own. When it opened fully, revealing the twin lions at its center, the Queen, usually composed and reserved, murmured with awe:

“Exquisite… this is cloth woven with heart.”

Gasps and quiet affirmations spread among the court. All eyes turned to that piece—its golden and red silk sparkling like a thousand stars on one canvas.

The five trays stood ready—waiting for judgment to begin.

…

The ceremonial ground before the Sirarom Pavilion fell utterly silent.

The five cloths had now been laid upon silver trays, each displaying the unique artistry that reflected the character of its weaver. But it was the last piece—the twin lions glowing under the morning sun—that captured and held the gaze of all.

Queen Intraninil, after a brief pause, turned to the Crown Prince who stood beside her. Her voice, though soft, carried through the quiet air:

“My son… which cloth shall you choose?”

Prince Rajasihavong stood motionless for a moment. His eyes moved from the gleaming fabrics to a face he knew well—that of the young servant from Phapang who sat quietly behind the row of attendants.

Kham-In.

In a modest servant's outfit, with a shawl humbly draped across his shoulder, his eyes were red with sleeplessness. For a brief second, he lifted his gaze to meet the Prince’s. In that moment, time seemed to stop. No words passed between them—only a look… one that silently urged:

“Please, choose with duty. Choose for the kingdom… even if my heart wishes otherwise.”

The Prince drew in a deep breath and stepped forward. His deep, steady voice echoed across the courtyard:

“The most beautiful cloth, in my eyes… is the one woven by Lady Buakesa, daughter of Phapang.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd. Some murmured praise. Others whispered doubt. But no one dared to speak out loud just yet.

Moments later…

King Silawet, seated atop the royal dais, rose with commanding presence. His voice boomed with authority:

“Then let it be so… Arrange the betrothal ceremony between Crown Prince Rajasihavong and the daughter of Phapang.”

The gong resounded, announcing the royal decree.

Servants began moving swiftly to prepare the ceremonial procession. But from one corner of the pavilion, a young woman rose. With elegance, she lifted the tray holding her cloth and stepped forward with unwavering grace.

She was Wilawan—and she was about to say what no one had dared to say.

…

Amid the hush of restrained celebration, just before the echoes of the gong faded completely,

Wilawan, daughter of Wang Bua, stepped calmly forward. Her poised eyes gleamed beneath a golden headdress. Her voice was clear—yet so composed it stunned the entire courtyard:

“Your Majesty… I wish to ask—was the cloth presented by Lady Buakesa truly woven by her own hands?”

All heads turned sharply. The wedding procession halted. Queen Intraninil’s hand stilled, eyes narrowing.

“What do you mean by this, Wilawan?”

Another voice followed almost instantly.

Kantra, daughter of the borderland, joined her with resolute steps.

“I too had suspicions, Your Majesty. The daughter of Phapang often came late at night, her face covered. No one ever saw her weave. She avoided us all. I humbly request an inspection—for the sake of truth.”

The crowd murmured louder. Eyes turned toward Buakesa, who sat still. Her lips tightened. Suddenly, she sprang to her feet and shouted:

“What are you trying to say!? Accusing me of lies just because I won!? You’re jealous, all of you!”

She spun in a circle, eyes wild, then turned directly toward the Queen.

“I wove this myself! With my own hands! Not anyone else!”

A heavy silence fell again. Queen Intraninil remained still, then gave a calm nod to the stewardess nearby.

“Unroll the cloth. Completely.”

The stewardess bowed and knelt before the tray. With cautious hands, she unfolded the silk—layer by layer—until the entire piece was spread open under the bright sun.

…

It became clear to all—this cloth had been woven by two hands, two techniques.

The first half bore short, jerky threads, with tangled knots. But the latter half… was smooth, even, meticulously aligned—the mark of a skilled hand.

Queen Intraninil stepped forward slightly, her eyes flickering.

“And this… is the work of one person alone?”

Buakesa froze. Her lips moved, but before she could answer, another voice boomed through the courtyard.

It was King Silawet, his brow furrowed with rage:

“Such audacity in deceit! You used another to weave for you and claimed it as your own. I now command—Lady Buakesa is to be taken into custody!”

Two stewards stepped in to detain her. But she screamed and flailed:

“That servant! It was him! He wove it for me! Kham-In! How dare you let them discover it!?”

Kham-In remained silent, head bowed, still seated among the servants. But Buakesa continued shrieking:

“You and your lowly mother! I curse you both! May your lives be damned!”

She struggled fiercely, but was swiftly restrained.

From his high throne, King Silawet stood solemnly. His gaze returned to the crimson silk that still lay glowing before him.

The lions glimmered beautifully… but to him, it meant nothing if born of lies.

“This competition was meant to find a worthy match through skill—not trickery.”

His voice thundered, striking the hearts of all.

“To have one weave, and another claim it, is deceit against the court—and a corruption of this sacred rite.”

His face hardened.

“Confine Lady Buakesa to Bua Kham Hall. She is not to leave without permission, and shall await trial for her offense.”

His command was final—like the toll of a fate-bound bell.

Royal guards bowed and moved silently. Buakesa’s footsteps faded as she was dragged from the courtyard, leaving behind only silence beneath the pavilion.

…

The crowd slowly calmed.

The throne hall returned to stillness under morning light, which now bathed the twin lion silk in quiet brilliance.

Meanwhile…

Prince Rajasihavong remained unmoving. His gaze drifted to the row of servants, where a young man sat with his face still bowed—hiding the tremble in his chest.

The Prince descended from the royal dais. Nobles and courtiers watched silently, but before he could speak…

Queen Intraninil’s voice rang first—gentle, yet cutting through like a blade.

“Though this cloth bears the work of two hands, the most beautiful part came from one heart. A heart that gave everything—leaving nothing for itself.”

She turned to her son, her eyes filled with depth.

“My son… you know now, don’t you? Who it was behind the curtain?”

The Prince did not answer at once. He merely lifted his gaze—and turned toward the quiet figure seated among the servants.

Kham-In.

In his humble robes, he looked up just enough to meet the Prince’s eyes—then lowered them again.

No words were spoken.

But in the silence… the Prince’s gaze spoke louder than any words in the world.

…

One golden cloth once draped the throne—
Now torn as truth and lies are shown.
Two hands revealed, one heart alone,
No title… yet more beauty known.

A false weave fails when hearts are tried,
For threads of truth are hard to hide.
It was not silk… but love inside
That wove the truth none could divide.

...