Inside the once-serene royal residence,
now lay a man once mighty—
confined and consumed, with only one woman by his side.
Prince Rachasiwong, once proud and radiant, now appeared desolate. His eyes were dull, his presence dim. He rarely left his bedchamber, cloaked in the lingering haze of fever… and dark magic.
At his side was Bua-gets.
The smile that once seemed gentle now gleamed with veiled cruelty. Her delicate hands never strayed far, tending to him with a devotion that felt more like chains than care.
Every word. Every gesture. A binding spell in disguise.
The chamber was heavy with scented oils, as if meant to lull the senses into slumber, keeping truth just beyond reach.
“My Prince Rachasiwong…”
Her whisper reached his ear, sugar-sweet and venom-laced.
His eyes remained closed. He heard nothing but her voice.
She was the only one who existed now.
Time passed like drifting fog.
And the deeper he sank… the clearer it became—this illusion could not last forever.
That afternoon, in the royal hall,
sunlight streamed faintly through sheer cotton curtains, falling in silence across polished stone.
King Silawet sat upon his teakwood throne, Queen Inthranin at his side.
Their expressions were carved in tension.
Before them stood the royal preceptor and the court physician, palms pressed in reverent greeting. The air felt still—too still—even the afternoon breeze seemed to hold its breath.
King Silawet’s voice broke the silence.
“What news of Prince Rachasiwong?”
The court physician bowed, speaking softly.
“Your Majesty… His Highness shows no sign of recovery. Furthermore… rumors say he has refused all medicine for two days and nights now.”
The preceptor stepped forward, voice weighty.
“There are whispers among the servants that Lady Bua-gets has taken residence within His Highness’s private chambers.”
A heavy silence followed.
Queen Inthranin lowered her gaze and spoke gently.
“You mean to say… this has gone too far?”
The preceptor pressed his forehead to the floor.
“Forgive us, Your Majesty… but yes.
If this spreads beyond the palace, the royal family’s dignity may suffer.”
King Silawet nodded slowly, his eyes like storm clouds before the first crack of lightning.
“Then let the marriage ceremony be arranged without delay.
I will not allow this disgrace to become a stain upon the House of Silawet.”
Queen Inthranin added quietly,
“Prepare it with full honor.”
The preceptor and physician bowed low in solemn acknowledgment.
King Silawet’s jaw clenched as he declared:
“Make it known throughout the realm—this wedding is the will of the King.
Not that of Prince Rachasiwong. Let that cut the rumors at their root.”
He sat tall upon the throne, voice iron-clad beneath strained composure.
“I… shall protect the name of this dynasty.”
The wind shifted gently through the palace curtains, carrying the faint scent of incoming rain—
a scent that, like bad news, was beginning to seep across all of Wiang Phasom Nakorn.
In Supimpa’s quiet pavilion,
only the soft rustle of wind brushing through rows of bamboo filled the silence.
Khamin sat unmoving by the window, his face pale, his eyes red from weeping until no tears remained.
Beside him sat a familiar silk chest—
inside, the twin-lion patterned sarong he had woven with every thread of his heart.
The creak of an old wooden door stirred the air.
Supimpa and Phenduern stepped in, dressed in simple silk robes, each carrying a small tray with sweets and tea.
When they saw Khamin unmoving, still as stone, they quietly sat beside him.
Supimpa reached out gently, resting a hand on his shoulder.
“Khamin… eat something, please. You’ve made us all—especially Prince Wihokrat—very worried.”
Khamin slowly lifted his face.
His eyes were empty shadows.
His voice was soft and trembling.
“I… I’m fine. Thank you… for your kindness.”
“You don’t have to bear this alone,” Supimpa said quietly.
Phenduern offered a small, knowing smile.
“We… we know everything now.”
Khamin paused for a long moment, then lowered his gaze.
His voice, when it came, was softer than the night wind.
“…I once loved someone.”
“Loved him enough to do anything…
Even things I should never have done.”
He took a deep breath.
“Prince Rachasiwong… was that person.”
Neither Supimpa nor Phenduern flinched.
They simply smiled—a soft, sorrowful understanding.
Supimpa spoke gently.
“I always suspected there was something deep between you two.”
Before Khamin continued:
“I’ve never told anyone.
That my heart… loved him—loved the Prince—from the very first day.
From the moment he risked his life to save me from the forest.”
His voice cracked, and soft sobs broke through in fragments.
“But now… I saw it with my own eyes.
He’s with Lady Bua-gets.
I… I must let him go.
And do what is right.”
Supimpa and Phenduern exchanged glances.
Then Phenduern reached out and clasped his hand.
“You don’t have to face this pain alone, Khamin.
We’re right here with you.”
Supimpa added softly:
“And… there’s something we need to tell you.”
Khamin looked up, his eyes rimmed with red.
“Word has come… the royal court has ordered preparations for Prince Rachasiwong’s wedding.
With Lady Bua-gets.”
Khamin paled. His lips trembled.
He said nothing for a long time.
Then, quietly, he opened the silk bundle beside him.
The threads shimmered under the soft daylight—
twin lions, woven in painstaking care.
Khamin’s fingers gently traced the fabric.
“This piece… I will give to him.
As a gift—on his wedding day.”
His hand reached for a small wooden-handled blade resting nearby.
Supimpa and Phenduern’s eyes widened in alarm.
“Khamin! What are you doing?”
He shook his head.
“Nothing, truly.”
With careful hands, he cut the cloth cleanly along the seam that separated the two halves:
— The first half, coarse and flawed, woven by Bua-gets.
— The second… delicate and true, woven by him.
The thread snapped with a soft crack,
like the sound of a heart breaking in silence.
Khamin placed his palms together and bowed deeply to the fabric, voice steady but soft.
“Bear witness…
that once, I loved him—
with all my heart.”
Then he folded both halves and placed them back where they belonged—
as if returning his heart to the heavens.
Supimpa and Phenduern sat beside him without a word.
There was nothing more to say.
Only silence remained, flowing gently through the room…
like a quiet witness to a love that was never meant to be.
Evening settled over Wiang Phasom Nakorn.
The crescent moon hid behind looming clouds. The sky was thick with storm.
Beneath the quiet eaves of the northern pavilion, the royal preceptor sat in stillness, hands pressed together in solemn prayer.
Across from him knelt Prince Wihokrat, posture respectful, face firm yet laced with worry.
“What weighs on your heart, young prince?”
The preceptor’s voice was low, steady.
Prince Wihokrat raised his eyes.
“I… fear for my brother, Preceptor.
He’s not himself anymore.
The court physician claims it is fever… but his mind… his soul… something isn’t right.”
“He’s consumed.
Obsessed with Lady Bua-gets.
I’ve seen sorcery before… and I fear this is the same.”
The preceptor nodded slowly.
“I share your thoughts.”
“His eyes are clouded.
His will… shackled.
These are signs of a love charm—dark magic. I’ve seen it before.”
Prince Wihokrat’s fist clenched.
“If that’s the case… how do we break it?”
The preceptor closed his eyes, contemplating.
Then, gravely, he answered.
“Such spells… cannot be undone—
unless we know the object that binds the enchantment.
We must find it. Destroy it.
Else no exorcist, no shaman, no priest in the kingdom could ever help him.”
Prince Wihokrat muttered beneath his breath.
“Then I’ll find it.
Before the wedding.
Wherever she’s hidden it… I will expose it.”
The preceptor studied him carefully.
Then nodded.
“Then may your determination save the soul of Prince Rachasiwong in time.”
A breeze stirred the darkness around them—
as if the wind itself whispered that secrets such as these… could not survive another dawn.
Morning broke with a sluggish wind
sweeping over the golden spires of the palace.
Prince Wihokrat, dressed in plain attire like a commoner of the city, crept silently behind a servant girl—Nang Kaew.
He followed her through winding paths toward the royal market.
Nang Kaew headed straight for a stall selling live animals.
She bowed, then selected a black chicken from its cage.
It flailed in her grip but was quickly bound and wrapped in thick cloth—handled with care, like something precious.
Prince Wihokrat narrowed his eyes.
She slipped back into the palace through a small rear gate, passing the men’s quarters.
Wihokrat pressed himself to the stone wall, hiding behind thick hedges.
Then—
Clack.
The sound of a heavy wooden lock turning.
Lady Bua-gets stepped through the door.
She glanced left, then right, her movements cautious.
Then she reached out and accepted the bundle from Nang Kaew.
Prince Wihokrat gripped his sword hilt.
As the two women vanished into the inner wing, he clenched his fists.
“It must be with her…
Brother, I won’t let you stay lost in this shadow any longer.”
Determination flared in his gaze.
He turned and followed—quiet, focused—beneath the shaded colonnades of the wooden palace.
Lady Bua-gets, draped in silk the color of tree bark, walked steadily toward Prince Rachasiwong’s chamber.
Wihokrat took a sharp breath.
Then stepped out from the shadows.
He knocked on the door. Once. No answer.
He paused… then drew his sword.
With a hard blow, he slammed the hilt against the door.
Bang!
It creaked open.
There, seated calmly in the center of the room, was Lady Bua-gets.
She raised an eyebrow, feigning calm.
“Forgive me. I was… not properly dressed earlier.”
“Is there a reason you’ve barged in like this, my Prince?
Surely… Prince Rachasiwong would not be pleased.”
Wihokrat ignored her words. His voice was cold.
“Search the room.”
Soldiers stepped inside and began combing every corner—
beneath cushions, inside chests, behind screens.
Nothing unusual.
Only a small cloth bundle rested atop the central bench.
A guard brought it forward.
Inside were oils, incense, lemongrass—scents faint but sweet.
Bua-gets smiled faintly, eyes gleaming.
“These are his favorites,” she said. “Nothing forbidden.
Will you accuse perfume next?”
Wihokrat’s jaw tensed.
She didn’t stop.
“If you have no further business…
Kindly leave.
Or I will tell the Prince of this intrusion.”
Wihokrat’s face twitched.
But at last, he bowed stiffly—then turned to lead his guards away.
Outside, he clenched his fists again, whispering low—
“It’s on her.
I know it.
Brother… I swear I won’t let you stay trapped in this darkness.”
...
His gaze burned with silent resolve—
a vow made in the hush of shadow:
Before the wedding day comes…
I will break the curse that binds you.
...
...
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