The moonlight grew paler as dawn approached. A thin mist settled above the water’s surface. The still current mirrored the silent air—as though the pond itself was waiting for something yet to come.
Buakes stepped softly toward the riverside pavilion.
Moonlight streamed through the wooden slats, casting shadows across a figure already waiting there.
Khamin turned his gaze and could not help but speak, voice gentle:
“My lady shines like the full moon in the night sky… Truly worthy to be the Queen of Wiangphasorn.”
Buakes heard the flattery, and her delicate lips curved into a graceful smile—yet her eyes were icy.
“I thank you…”
Her voice was sweet, a tone that might convince any soul she was gentle and rare in this world. But if one listened more closely, they would hear the chill beneath every word—a blade wrapped in silk.
Khamin bowed respectfully, unaware of the storm that brewed behind her smile.
Buakes turned to face the pond. The white mist hovered above the water like a veil obscuring fate.
She drew a long breath, then spoke softly.
“There is something I wish to ask of you.”
Khamin replied with humility.
“Please speak, my lady.”
Buakes turned back to him. Her eyes glimmered with something unreadable.
“I wish to pick a morning lotus myself… as an offering for today’s wedding rites.”
Khamin smiled gently, sincere.
“Then allow me to fetch a boat for you, my lady. The water is still this hour.”
Buakes gave a small nod.
Moments later, a lacquered black boat glided gently along the dock.
Khamin courteously offered his hand to help her aboard.
She stepped gracefully into the boat, the hem of her silk robe grazing the water in ripples.
Soon, the boat floated away from the shore—gliding silently toward the center of the still pond, as if drifting into the folds of fate.
…
The white mist thickened low above the cold water, swallowing the boat and the two figures aboard until they seemed part of the haze.
The faint lapping of water beneath the hull whispered a hidden song—one known only to the vanishing night.
Khamin rowed with practiced ease, peering ahead. A pale lotus bloomed in the middle of the pond, its white petals glowing against the mist. He turned and smiled softly at Buakes, who sat still at the bow.
“Dawn will break soon, my lady. You should pick the flower quickly… before the sun wilts it.”
Buakes didn’t answer at once. She stared at him. Then her lips slowly parted in a faint smile.
But just as Khamin reached forward to pluck the lotus…
Buakes reached beneath her shawl and pulled out a fine sinh—the very silk she had woven during the royal competition.
She unfurled it slowly, its golden threads catching the moonlight in glittering brilliance. And then, her voice rang out—cold enough to chill the mist even more.
“Mine.”
Her tone was low and sharp.
Khamin looked up in surprise, locking eyes with her.
“You… stole what I love.”
“You dare parade the cloth I wove—just to humiliate me?”
Fury twisted her face. She clenched the silk in her hand, then drew a small gleaming knife from her waist. The moonlight flashed along the blade.
“You are the curse of my heart!”
Khamin sprang to his feet in shock, raising his hand to stop her.
“My lady! I never sought to outshine anyone. I love Prince Rachasiwong with a pure heart—and now, he belongs to you!”
“Please… let us not do something we can never take back!”
But she didn’t listen.
“You’re nothing but a lowly servant—reaching beyond your place! You wanted both brothers! You know no shame!”
Her words cut deeper than any blade.
Without warning, she lunged. The knife aimed straight for his chest.
Khamin regained composure just in time. He raised the oar in his hands and knocked her arm aside.
The knife flew from both their grips and landed on the boat’s floor with a dull thud.
They wrestled in the cramped boat, limbs tangled in struggle.
Then, Khamin swung the oar—
Crack!
It struck her across the face. Buakes collapsed, gasping. Her hand clutched her cheek. Khamin moved quickly, grabbing a second oar and turning the boat back toward the shore.
Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes blazed with wrath.
The small boat rocked gently atop the cold waters.
Khamin’s breath came heavy, trying to steady his nerves. His hands gripped the oar tightly, steering toward the dock.
Buakes lay motionless for a moment. One hand still clutched her face. The other curled into a fist, nails digging into her skin.
Then she moved.
Like a crouched predator, she slid low—silent—reaching for the knife that still glinted on the wooden floor.
Khamin was unaware.
Buakes sprang—grabbing the back of his shawl and yanking hard. He lost balance.
Her other hand drove the blade straight into his abdomen.
Thud!
The sickening sound of steel piercing flesh echoed into the mist.
Khamin jolted—his eyes wide in disbelief.
He tried to raise the oar again.
But she wrenched it from his hands.
She raised it high—then slammed it into his ribs.
Whack!
The sound rang loud.
His strength gave out.
His fingers slipped from the edge of the boat—
And his body fell into the water below.
Splash!
The pond swallowed him whole.
Buakes stood in the boat, breath heaving. Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction. Slowly, her lips curved into a proud smile.
Her hands trembled slightly—not from fear, but from overwhelming triumph. She had done it. She had removed the thorn from her heart at last.
She dropped the oar to the floor, turned the boat around with composure, and began to row back to shore—unhurried, calm, with a heart fluttering not with guilt, but with anticipation for the new dawn…
A dawn without Khamin.
A chill wind swept across the pond, whispering like the voice of the waters recording sin in its silent current.
…
The sound of the oar dipping into the water echoed softly amid the stillness of the sacred pond at dawn.
The pale moonlight faded. The eastern sky slowly lit with a dim, silvery glow—as if time itself was stalling.
Buakes rowed back toward the dock with steady ease. Her expression was unreadable, as though what she had just done was as insignificant as a petal fallen from a flower.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded in the quiet.
Prince Rachasiwong arrived at the riverside pavilion, soaked in sweat, breathless from running. His eyes darted wildly, full of dread.
And then he saw it.
Buakes, alone in the boat, returning from the center of the pond.
No sign of Khamin.
His heart sank.
His face turned ghostly pale.
No word was needed. No proof required.
He knew.
Without hesitation—not even a breath’s pause—Prince Rachasiwong leapt into the frigid water.
Splash!
The water erupted as he plunged into its depths.
Buakes stood stunned, frozen in the boat, watching him vanish beneath the surface.
Moments later—
Prince Wihokrat arrived with a group of soldiers. They spotted Buakes, drenched and alone, eyes shifty and hands trembling.
Wihokrat pointed with authority.
“Seize her!”
Buakes snapped out of her daze and turned to flee.
But two guards had already flanked her from both sides. She slipped, falling into the muddy ground.
Footsteps thundered.
The water churned more violently now—Prince Rachasiwong was diving beneath the surface again and again, desperately searching for the one he loved.
Beneath those waters—
The cold current wrapped around Khamin’s frail body, dragging it downward. Crimson blood drifted into the water, dark and slow—like ink dissolving in silence.
His body floated still. Eyes closed.
The jade bracelet on his wrist slipped loose, tumbling through the stream.
No sound. No struggle.
Only cold.
Only stillness.
As his consciousness faded,
Khamin prayed silently.
“If another life awaits…
May I love someone who deserves my heart.
Let me…”
His thoughts faded like the wind at the edge of the world.
Prince Rachasiwong opened his eyes underwater. And then—
He saw him.
A familiar shape drifting in the darkness.
He surged forward, grasping Khamin’s limp form with all his might, and pulled him upward toward the surface.
Hwaah!
The two bodies broke the water in a violent splash.
Water droplets scattered like shattered stars.
Prince Rachasiwong dragged Khamin’s unconscious body ashore. He laid him gently onto the soaked grass.
The Prince knelt beside him, hands trembling as he pulled the man into his arms, clutching him tight—trying to give him warmth.
…
The current still flowed softly. A bell chimed from the palace far behind them, echoing faintly into dawn.
A dull silver light spread across the sky. But no warmth reached this corner of the world.
By the sacred pond’s edge,
Khamin lay motionless on the damp grass. His skin pale, his clothing stained with mud and blood from the wound in his abdomen. The wound still bled slowly—water seeping from it with each moment.
Prince Rachasiwong knelt at his side, one hand cradling Khamin’s head in his lap, the other gently brushing the wet hair from his lover’s pale forehead.
His lips trembled. Tears welled in his eyes as he spoke with a cracking voice:
“Khamin… wake up… look at me…”
He shook the body softly, waiting for a miracle that refused to come.
“Please… Khamin… please open your eyes…”
His plea was as soft as the wind—too soft to carry even a shadow.
Khamin lay still.
There was no sign of life.
But at the corner of his cold eye… a tear still clung, frozen in its final fall.
Prince Rachasiwong’s hand shook.
He lowered his forehead to gently touch Khamin’s.
“I haven’t told you yet… how deeply I love you…”
“I haven’t said goodbye…”
“I haven’t… lived with you at all…”
His tears fell silently, one drop at a time, landing on Khamin’s pale cheeks.
His breath shuddered—sobs he could no longer contain.
The cry of a noble man echoed softly into the morning—not the cry of defeat…
But of loss.
Of something that could never, ever be retrieved again.
He held Khamin tightly in his arms. Tighter than he had ever held anything.
But no matter how strong his embrace, it could not resist the pull of fate.
Beside them—
Prince Wihokrat stood silent. His eyes red. Even the soldiers nearby turned their gazes away, saying nothing.
The first rays of sunlight brushed upon the two forms held together on the riverbank.
One had lost his breath.
The other… his soul.
…
Tears fell at the end of life’s stream—
Love held a hollow ghost upon its course.
No matter how many lives must drift apart,
This heart shall still remember… forever.
The Prince wept beneath the morning light.
The wind carried his soul beyond dreams.
Though hope was lost and life torn away,
His vow remained… until the end of time.
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