That night... Wiangphasorn Nakhon lay silent as if under a spell.

The full moon hung low, casting its pale silver light over the spires and sanctums. The shadows of trees in the royal garden stretched across the stone path like unseen hands caressing the earth.

Inside the inner palace, silence reigned.

Golden-embroidered curtains fluttered softly in the breeze from the river. Dewdrops gathered upon the window frame, reflecting the slender figure of Lady Buakes, who stood before her perfumed vanity.

She removed her gold earrings and unfastened the necklace from her swan-like neck, her gaze lingering upon her reflection. Her eyes were touched by sorrow—yet beneath them burned an unwavering determination.

Tonight… was the eve of the royal wedding.

Her long, slender fingers brushed the deep crimson silk sash around her waist—a cloth she had never once removed since obtaining it. Hidden within was a small fabric bundle, pressed close to her skin. She slowly unfurled it by instinct, unaware that someone’s eyes watched her from the shadows outside the window.

Prince Wihokrat, clad in black, hid beneath the shade of a gum tree along the side veranda. His gaze was steady, his heartbeat slow like a man long familiar with danger. One hand raised in signal toward a maid he had stationed nearby.

The maid, dressed in lotus-pink silk, lay in wait near the veranda steps. She watched for the moment Lady Buakes would part from her treasured bundle. As the lady stepped down from her dressing platform and began undressing to bathe for the ceremonial purification, the maid crept in.

Silent… slow… unseen, as the silk sash fell upon the grooming mat.

The maid seized the moment. In the blink of an eye, she snatched the bundle and retreated quietly… without being noticed. Lady Buakes, unaware, continued her bathing ritual.

Moonlight shimmered through gauzy curtains, painting her bare skin like that of a goddess beneath the rainy season’s moon.

Maid Kaew, her trusted servant, poured warm scented water over her shoulders. Her eyes shone with admiration, and she whispered:

“You are radiant, my lady… as radiant as the full moon. Truly, you are worthy to be Queen of Wiangphasorn.”

Lady Buakes smiled faintly, as if she had heard such praise a thousand times before.

Kaew gently scrubbed her mistress’s back with lotus fiber. Lady Buakes then spoke—her voice soft, but certain:

“Tomorrow… everything shall be mine.”

Her words fell like feathers on a blade’s edge.

Kaew bowed low in deference.

“Yes, my lady… I await that day.”

Buakes caressed her skin gently. A slight curve formed at the corner of her lips, as she imagined herself robed in queenly garb, beside her king.

…

Outside the chamber

Prince Wihokrat received the bundle from the maid. He gave a small nod before tucking it into a prepared velvet pouch. He hesitated briefly… then vanished into the darkness, hurrying toward the Royal Priest’s Hall before first light.

Behind him, the water in the wooden bath splashed softly, as if praising—or cursing—what was to come.

…

A breeze stirred from the sacred pond behind the grand sanctum, fluttering white curtains like ripples on water. The moonlight etched cryptic patterns on the stone floor, like the handwriting of fate being rewritten.

Inside the Royal Priest’s Hall, oil lanterns flickered in rows, trembling like they were bowing to an unseen presence.

The Royal Priest sat motionless at the center, back straight, eyes sharp beneath thick brows. He examined the velvet bundle with care.

Prince Wihokrat knelt before him, offering the pouch with both hands. His voice was barely a whisper.

“I have retrieved the item, Royal Master.”

The priest said nothing. He took the bundle slowly and unwrapped it—revealing a grotesque object within.

A wooden doll in the shape of a woman, face twisted beyond human likeness. Its limbs were shriveled, and its surface was cracked with blackened scars, as if cursed by sins. Dark inked runes spiraled across its body, surrounded by ashes fused into the grain.

A stench filled the air—thick and suffocating like that of a forsaken grave.

Prince Wihokrat clenched his jaw. The Royal Priest closed his eyes, murmuring low:

“E-hng-ngah… a forbidden charm.”

His voice rasped, straining to conceal his revulsion. He brought his hands together in prayer, then drew a deep breath.

“Evil clings. It must be burned. The curse broken. No spirit must remain.”

Prince Wihokrat bowed low and rose to prepare the ritual: yantra cloth, incense, white candles, sacred rice, flowers, and clean firewood.

Soon, the ceremonial platform was set in the hall’s center. The cursed doll lay atop the yantra board, flanked by two candles.

The Royal Priest lit three incense sticks and began his chant, voice deep and echoing like water in a cave:

“Om Ma-A-U… cleanse the dark, undo the curse, return to the cycle.”

The chant flowed, old and unfamiliar in tongue, shifting into a language of ancient rites.

When the opening incantation ended, he opened his eyes.

“Add the firewood.”

Prince Wihokrat surrounded the doll with dry wood. The priest wrapped it in the yantra cloth and lowered a flame from a lantern.

The fire burst forth at once. The runes crackled violently as if the doll were screaming. The flames wrapped around it unnaturally fast.

Black smoke spiraled high, swirling into a vortex. Moonlight wavered behind the curtain. Wind surged as if the heavens shook.

The priest’s voice did not falter. He chanted steadily—guiding the dark spirit back to its end.

…

At the pavilion by the sacred pond

Under moonlight, Prince Rachasiwong stood in ceremonial garb.

He wore the Singha-patterned sarong, a white tunic trimmed with gold, and a translucent silk shawl across his shoulder.

The pavilion was draped in white, its flags fluttering. The gong sounded midnight from afar.

He gazed at the moon above the sanctum spire and sighed. Though calm outwardly, his heart felt clouded.

As he turned toward the ritual hall—

Suddenly,

His chest ignited in a fiery pain.

He staggered, clutching his chest instinctively. His teeth clenched. His vision blurred.

“Agh…”

A low groan escaped. His body strained, as if crushed by invisible force. His knees buckled.

Guards panicked and rushed to him.

“Your Highness!”

But his trembling hand rose—warning them back.

“Do not… touch…”

His voice cracked, his face twisted in pain. He bit back a cry.

A gust of wind surged. Moonlight flickered. Fine black threads seemed to dance in the air—alive.

The Prince was yanked forward, dragged across the stone floor—pulled by an unseen force—straight toward the Royal Priest’s Hall.

The priest saw it all… his face unreadable, yet his eyes lit with grim resolve.

The chant quickened:

“Om… om… spirits, curses, breath and fate—return to the wheel!”

The Prince collapsed at the steps of the hall, limp and soaked in sweat.

He clutched the Singha-patterned sarong tightly—as if it alone held him together.

His face burned with fever. His body shook like a candle in storm winds.

The fire roared higher. The wooden doll burned to ash.

The priest cried aloud:

“Withdraw! Now!”

The wind howled. Flames burst into golden shards dancing in the air.

Moonlight struck the Prince’s face. Sweat streamed down his cheeks. His lips were sealed tight, bearing the pain in silence.

The incense smoke lingered—unmoved even by heaven itself.

The Prince lay still on the cold stone, eyes shut, pale and soaked in sweat.

Prince Wihokrat knelt beside him, gently dabbing his brow.

“Ja-o Ai…”

A voice escaped—the name spoken softly.

The Prince furrowed his brows, eyes fluttering open, squinting at the firelight. He tried to rise, but collapsed again.

“Don’t move yet,” Wihokrat whispered. “The ritual just ended. You’ve only just regained your senses.”

The Prince turned to him, eyes still hazy, yet clarity returned to his mind.

“Ritual? What…?”

Wihokrat hesitated, then spoke firmly:

“Since returning from the battle… haven’t you noticed something was off? Your heart wasn’t your own.”

Memories rushed in—the obsession, the uncharacteristic compliance… the ease with which he submitted to Buakes.

“I…”

“You were cursed,” Wihokrat said.

“Black magic… cast by Buakes. Through that cursed doll. We just broke it. You’re free now.”

The Prince went still. His face hardened. All doubts vanished.

And in that moment… he thought of Khamin—loyal, pure… and wounded by his own hand.

His eyes widened. Guilt tore through his heart like a thousand needles.

“Tomorrow…” Wihokrat continued,

“You must marry her…”

Before the sentence ended, the Prince leapt up—swayed, stumbled, yet pressed forward with desperate strength.

“Ja-o Ai! You’re not ready! Don’t—”

But the Prince shrugged him off.

“I must find him,” he growled, teeth clenched.

Though his body was weak, his steps didn’t stop. The Singha-patterned threads fluttered in the wind—calling him to correct the wrong.

Wihokrat could only watch, eyes filled with concern, powerless to stop him.

Beneath the moonlight, the Prince staggered across the stone path toward his heart’s true north…

Khamin.

…

Under the moon’s glow, in perfect stillness…

Lady Buakes stood before her brass mirror, fully adorned.

She wore crimson silk embroidered with gold. A vibrant dok duang pattern shone on her sarong, cinched with a golden belt against her ivory skin.

Her hair was pinned into a graceful bun, crowned with a garland of white blossoms.

Her heart pounded with hope—tonight would be her triumph. She would stand beside the Prince.

Unbeknownst to her… the cursed doll she carried was already replaced.

Buakes looked down, her sharp eyes scanning her reflection. Her hand reached for a small, gleaming knife from an ivory case.

She tucked it at her waist, hidden beneath her shawl—no sign of the weapon save for the deadly glint in her gaze.

She took a deep breath… turned… and walked out into the moonlit path, heading for the river pavilion—where she had arranged to meet Khamin.

Not to speak.

Not to say goodbye…

But to kill.

The palace bell tolled softly—echoing into the night like a whisper of fate.

A whisper none could hear…

That this would be the final night the moon would ever shine… upon Khamin.

…