The cries of cicadas rose in urgency within the dense forest. Leaves rustled in the evening breeze, and bamboo tips swayed under the twilight wind.
Buakesa, now disheveled and worn, hid beneath the canopy of a giant banyan tree, far from the eyes of any soul. Beside her, Kaew, her weary maid, looked pale and exhausted.
The two had fled far—until they came upon a rotting wooden pavilion, abandoned in the heart of the woods.
“My lady… are we really going to rest here? It’s terrifying,” Kaew whispered, voice trembling.
“I fear nothing. What is there to fear when my life is already a descent into hell?”
Buakesa’s voice was hoarse, low. She stepped toward the pavilion without hesitation.
Suddenly, the faint scent of incense drifted to her nose, followed by the quiet scrape of something from a corner of the structure.
A hunched old woman emerged silently—clad in tattered hemp cloth, white hair tangled, eyes murky but with a strange, knowing gleam that sent chills down the spine.
“What is it you desire… my lady?”
Her rasping voice blew like wind over dry grass.
Kaew gasped, clutching Buakesa’s arm. “Don’t speak to her, my lady. She’s mad!”
But before the warning could be finished, the old woman began chanting something low under her breath.
Kaew collapsed at once, clutching her stomach in pain.
“Agh… my stomach… it’s twisting! My lady!”
Buakesa’s eyes widened in horror. She gritted her teeth.
“Stop! I… I’ll do it! Just let her go!”
The woman ceased chanting, and Kaew’s breathing steadied—as if by some eerie mercy.
The old woman smirked slightly, then leaned close.
“And you… what is it you want?”
Buakesa lifted her head. Her eyes flared with rage, burning with a fire that nearly ignited the night.
“The only thing I want… is to be Queen of Wiang Phasorn.”
The crone nodded slowly.
“That can be arranged… if you are willing to trade something.”
From her ragged robes, she pulled a small wooden figure—carved in the likeness of a woman wearing a high royal headdress. It had no eyes, no mouth, yet it radiated a chilling aura that made Buakesa’s skin crawl.
“Take this. Feed it… and what you desire shall come.”
The woman’s whisper brushed her ear like a cold gust.
“I accept…” Buakesa’s voice trembled as she bound herself to the pact.
A sudden bolt of lightning cracked near the pavilion.
Buakesa staggered back—but when she looked again, the old woman was gone. Nothing remained but silence and empty space.
She jolted awake.
Gasping for air, her face soaked in sweat. But the chill on her palm—
The wooden figure was there.
She clutched it, eyes flickering with a mix of fear… and twisted wonder.
“It wasn’t just a dream… this thing has power. Real power.”
She whispered to herself.
A cold wind stirred the trees. Crickets buzzed faintly under the pre-dawn sky.
She held the figure tight in her palm—but before another thought could form, heavy footsteps came from behind.
A hand yanked her violently backward.
“Aiiie! Let me go!!”
Her scream drowned Kaew’s as they were both seized by several rugged men emerging from the shadows.
“Got ‘em! The two pretty ones wandered right to us!”
“Who are you!?” Buakesa shrieked.
One of them chuckled.
“Who else? We’re men of Black Tiger—the great bandit lord.”
They were tied roughly, arms wrenched behind their backs, dragged through the forest to a cave near a creek—a hidden lair of bandits.
Firelight flickered off damp stone walls, illuminating the towering man at the center—dark-skinned, hardened, and cruel.
The infamous Black Tiger.
“Well, well… such fine faces.”
He strode toward Buakesa with a low, amused growl.
“Be mine willingly, and I might spare your life.”
“I am no village wench!” she roared.
“I am a noble daughter of Phapang’s capital! Touch me, and you will die by royal decree!”
The bandit chief burst into laughter.
“Fiery, huh? Tie her to the post. I’ll decide what to do later!”
They dragged her, binding her to a thick wooden pillar. She wept—not just from pain, but from humiliation.
She turned her face skyward and murmured:
“It’s all because of Kham-In… that wretched servant…”
Her fingers slowly slipped into her blouse.
She touched the wooden doll.
“If you truly hold power… show it now. Help me escape. I beg you…”
A cold wind swept through the cave.
The fire crackled. The flames flickered—as if something had answered.
…
Nightfall in Wiang Phasorn settled into serene silence. Pale moonlight brushed across the leaves outside Supimpa’s residence. A gentle cold wind swept through, as wild chickens called faintly from deep within the foggy hills.
Kham-In sat on the small rear veranda, hands slowly winding silk thread into neat spools. His gaze was lowered, quiet. Only his drifting thoughts wandered far beyond the palace walls.
Footsteps approached softly.
“Kham-In… you’re still awake?”
It was Prince Wihokkarat, his familiar voice laced with mischief and worry.
“I couldn’t sleep… my heart still carries many worries.”
Kham-In gave a faint smile, eyes distant.
The prince sat beside him, resting his chin in hand.
“My brother is leaving tomorrow to hunt down the Black Tiger Raiders… and I came to ask if you would come with us.”
Kham-In turned abruptly. “Go… with the army?”
Wihokkarat laughed.
“Not as a soldier! I need you in the field kitchens. If my brother eats only bland food in the jungle, I guarantee he’ll be miserable.”
“But… it’s dangerous…” Kham-In murmured.
Wihokkarat’s tone softened.
“I know. But you’re brave—and your heart is strong. Would you rather sit here, waiting for news that may never come?”
Kham-In was quiet for a moment, then slowly nodded.
“If it is a royal request… I will follow.”
Wihokkarat beamed, jumping up.
“Then get ready, my dear cook. This forest march won’t be gentle!”
He strode off into the mist, leaving Kham-In on the veranda. His heart, once clouded, now stirred with purpose.
…
The next morning, the army of Wiang Phasorn moved slowly through the dense forest. Horses’ hooves clopped against damp earth, the remnants of last night’s rain muffling the world. A temporary camp had been built beside a wide creek, its waters flowing clear beneath towering trees.
Prince Rajasihavong stood before the royal tent, eyes scanning the distant treeline. The sound of the stream echoed like the unease in his chest.
“Brother…”
Wihokkarat arrived, bowing playfully.
“There’s someone here… who’s been wanting to see you.”
Before the prince could ask, a familiar figure stepped from behind the tent.
Wearing simple, pale garments, hair still damp from the morning dew—Kham-In.
The prince’s eyes flickered from surprise… to deep concern.
“Why are you here?”
“I… I asked to come,” Kham-In replied softly, avoiding his gaze.
“It wasn’t Prince Wihokkarat’s doing.”
“You two… always stubborn.”
The prince muttered, but a smile tugged at his lips.
They shared a quiet midday meal. Kham-In sat silently beside the tent, folding napkins and pouring water.
Afterward, the prince turned to his captain.
“Any news? Have we found the Black Tiger’s trail?”
“Not yet, Your Highness,” the soldier bowed.
“It seems they use some form of… magic to conceal their paths.”
Wihokkarat frowned. “If they use spells—what will we do?”
The prince’s gaze turned steely.
“No magic can match a resolute heart. We will find them. And we will end them.”
…
That afternoon, the sun cast its warmth through the trees. The heat in the air matched the rising heat within his chest.
The prince turned to Kham-In again, his voice gentler this time.
“Come with me. There’s a place I want to show you.”
He led Kham-In along the creek, deep into the woods. Birds chirped softly, leaves rustled in the wind. A silver stream of water cascaded down the rocks ahead—a hidden waterfall, white and cool, misting the air with fine droplets.
Kham-In stood in awe.
“It’s beautiful… I’ve never seen a place like this before.”
The prince chuckled.
“It’s hot today… shall we swim?”
When Kham-In gave a shy nod, the prince removed his head wrap, his shoulder sash, and finally his sarong. His strong, battle-scarred form caught the dappled sunlight before he stepped into the water with calm confidence.
Kham-In flushed red, quickly turning his head.
The prince looked back, extending his hand.
“Come. I just want you to feel joy—if only for a while.”
Water splashed softly as Kham-In stepped gingerly on the stones, the cold stream caressing his bare ankles.
The prince stood in the middle of the pool, his wet skin gleaming under the waterfall’s veil. When he turned and smiled, Kham-In felt his breath stop.
“Come closer. It’s not cold—just refreshing.”
The water flowed between them, brushing against their skin. One noble like a king of the forest, the other delicate as a wildflower hidden beneath its canopy.
The prince stepped closer. Gently, he reached out and touched Kham-In’s arm.
“Is your heart racing?” he asked, voice barely audible over the stream.
“I’m too afraid to listen,” Kham-In replied, cheeks burning, clutching the edge of his wet robe to his chest.
The water streamed around them—two bodies, two hearts—so near.
The prince lifted his hand, gently tipping Kham-In’s chin.
“I don’t know what tomorrow will bring… but I want you to remember: I love you with all my heart—more than my life.”
Kham-In placed his hand upon the prince’s damp chest, eyes misting with emotion.
“I know… You don’t need to say more.”
They leaned in—faces close, breaths mingling. Their lips almost met when Kham-In lifted a hand to stop him.
“Let’s not… Even if I wish otherwise. The forest spirits might be watching.”
The prince paused, then smiled.
“So… if we had true privacy… you’d say yes?”
Kham-In lowered his eyes and nodded softly.
The prince’s grin returned. He took his hand and led him back to shore. Their soaked robes clung to them as they redressed under the soft golden light of the forest.
A breeze stirred the curtain of their riverside tent. The scent of wet woods mixed with warm skin and sunlit air. The two lay side by side on a smooth mat of soft cotton.
No royal silks. No chains of duty.
Just bare skin, shared warmth… and love unbound.
Kham-In lifted a hand to caress the prince’s cheek, his fingers tracing the contours as one might admire the threads of a masterwork tapestry.
The prince lowered his head gently, pressing a kiss to Kham-In’s lips—tender, slow, savoring like a fine meal. Their eyes met in stillness.
And then… the weaving began.
No words. No sound. Only soul answering soul.
One hand embraced. Another explored.
The loom of love was set in motion.
The prince’s hands moved with reverence, exploring the lotus field. His lips sought the sweet bud, savoring its hidden taste.
Kham-In, trembling like silk in wind, returned each touch, each motion. He reached the unfamiliar shuttle, and with a steady hand, began the rhythm—threading soul to soul.
He sat upon the loom, slowly, painfully at first. But pain gave way to bliss.
The sound of weaving grew—gentle, then faster, in perfect sync. Two bodies, two spirits, crafting a tapestry of love beneath the moonlight.
The final strike of the loom fell.
And together, they laid the last thread upon a cloth none would ever see—but both would hold in their hearts.
A cloth woven not by duty, not by fate—but by love.
Like the Twin Lions that could never fade.
...
One loom, one thread—like your heart to mine,
Woven with shadows, patterns hard to unwind.
Our hearts entwined, returned each night,
We wove our vows with threads of light.
When the final stroke of the shuttle falls,
Let love remain though duty calls.
Though fate may scatter what time began,
These hearts shall weave one cloth again.
…
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