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Two hundred years ago

The first light of dawn pierced through the canopy of great trees by the Mekong River. A delicate veil of morning mist floated above the still waters. Slow, solemn notes from gongs and lutes echoed through the air in ceremonial welcome. Royal barges, grand and graceful, glided one by one down the current. Along the royal pier, nobles, inner court officials, and chosen citizens of Wiang Phasom Nakorn stood in solemn anticipation.

It was the day the daughters of the five vassal kingdoms would arrive, summoned to partake in the Royal Consort Selection Ceremony for Prince Rachasiwong, the sole heir of King Silawet, ruler of the land.

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The first barge emerged upon the water’s horizon. Lady Supimpa of Nakorn Lamkhunchee stood tall at its teak prow. Her expression was carved serenity, hair tied high with golden pins, and each step unfaltering despite the river’s current. She was daughter of a land famed for its woodcarvers and naga-patterned weavers.

Soon after came Lady Phenduern of Nakorn Lammoon, cloaked in indigo silk deep as nightfall. Her slender form and stark-pale skin contrasted her raven hair and melancholic gaze. Her homeland was revered for its natural dyes and artisanal crafts.

Third came Lady Kantra of Nakorn Wiang Paksa, a fierce beauty from the eastern frontier. Her tall frame held poise and command, adorned in madder-dyed cotton and tanned leather. The booming tribal drums that escorted her barge spoke of strength no woman dared claim—except her.

The fourth, Lady Wilawan of Nakorn Phanom Champa, stepped with dancer’s grace and courtly charm. Her complexion gleamed like silk. But pride lingered behind her poised gaze. Surrounded by maids in radiant gold, she exuded the majesty of a city famed for lotus palaces, silk artistry, and court dancers.

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The gongs fell silent.

All four barges docked in order.

“Where is the fifth kingdom?”

A whisper stirred among the nobles near the receiving dais. The steward flipped through the ceremonial registry. No sign of the barge from Nakornluang Phapang.

Queen Inthranin lowered her gaze. Her slender fingers clutched the fan tighter.

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In the inner courtyard, motion stirred. Someone… was missing from the royal residence.

At that same moment, hooves thundered deep in the western forest—carrying one man straight toward a fate no one could outrun.

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Chaos rippled through the palace grounds. Attendants rushed in all directions, questions flying, faces tightened with unease. Palace maids ran across the courtyard with hands clasped in prayer, their worry mounting as they arrived at the carved teakwood chair—empty.

“Prince Rachasiwong… has vanished?!”

“Who stood guard this morning? Speak! Which way did His Highness go?”

The royal eunuch’s voice trembled with urgency. A young page at the west gate bowed, avoiding the gaze.

“I-I saw His Highness leave through the western gate at dawn… with Prince Wihokrat and a few guards, sir.”

“And you didn’t ask where they were going?”

“I… I dared not ask, sir…”

Inside the Grand Hall, King Silawet sat tall upon his throne, fingers curling slightly against the armrest. His gaze was sharp with displeasure. His voice, low but commanding, brought silence.

“He dares flee… on the very day of the ceremony?”

The royal preceptor stepped forward, bowing.

“I was informed, Your Majesty, that His Highness had declared this morning his intention to inspect the northern trade routes. There have been several bandit raids reported this month, Your Majesty.”

The King turned to his Queen. “Inspecting trade routes? Or avoiding princesses?”

Queen Inthranin did not respond at once. She lowered her gaze, the fan in her hand stilling. Her voice was calm.

“A mother knows her son’s heart… I understood him long ago.”

She smiled faintly. “Our Rachasiwong… not one to flee from battle, but brave enough to flee from marriage.”

King Silawet exhaled deeply, then waved toward the preceptor.

“Send someone after him. If he’s out hunting bandits—bring back their heads. But if he’s chasing his heart—tell him to return and face his parents like a man.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

As the sun crested the ridges, the ceremonial dock remained still. Yet from deep within the western forest, a scream rang out.

Two riders tore through the trees—Prince Rachasiwong and Prince Wihokrat, galloping into a destiny not even the skies dared whisper.

The scream echoed from the western valley. Prince Rachasiwong surged forward through damp brush, his brother close behind. Hooves beat the earth softened by last night’s rain, the path winding through dense forest.

“Surely they wouldn’t send the princess alone with just a few carriages,” Prince Wihokrat called out. “Or perhaps they knew… you didn’t want to meet anyone.”

“Enough talking,” Rachasiwong said curtly.

His eyes were locked on a thin wisp of smoke rising from a nearby hill.

He urged his horse forward, with Wihokrat following fast. They pierced through thick undergrowth, careless of dust or thorns.

“Brother! I think the sound came from the lower valley—near Huai Samsai!” Wihokrat shouted.

“There—see the smoke?” Rachasiwong pointed toward the treetop haze. “Hurry!”

When they reached the hilltop, the sight below was chaos: overturned carriages, scattered belongings, unconscious servants crawling for safety. A woman’s sobbing rang out from behind a tree.

A middle-aged woman burst from the thicket, face streaked with tears and mud.

“Please! Help my son! They’ve taken him into the forest!”

It was Kamlaa, mother of Khamin. Her hands gripped Rachasiwong’s sleeve tightly.

The Prince met her eyes briefly, then nodded.

“I will help him myself.”

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Prince Rachasiwong turned to his brother. “Take the lady and the remaining attendants back to the city. I’ll go after the one taken.”

Wihokrat hesitated. “But that’s dangerous, Brother—the forest may hide more men.”

Rachasiwong’s eyes were steady. “If he stood alone against bandits with nothing but his own body, then I have no right to leave him to die alone.”

Wihokrat nodded, though his brow creased. “Be careful, Brother. It may not be just bandits in that forest…”

Rachasiwong offered a thin smile and vanished into the trees.

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Deeper within, Khamin sat bound, wrists loosely tied. His captors had fled in separate directions, leaving him momentarily forgotten. He looked skyward, through the leaves above, where light filtered softly onto the worn fabric at his waist—a handwoven cloth of intricate pattern.

No one had ever seen it, never worn it. But still, he believed someone—someday—would.

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The rustle of leaves. Hoofbeats. The thump of an arrow into soil.

Through a haze of drifting smoke, Prince Rachasiwong appeared.

“Are you safe?”

Khamin looked up at the young man with fierce, unwavering eyes. He lowered his gaze respectfully.

“I… I am unharmed, sir.”

One sentence. One voice. One name.

And something about it—about him—felt achingly familiar.

Before either could speak again, a low thunder rolled in the distance.

The first drop of rain fell between them.
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Raindrops whispered against leaves, a soft curtain cloaking the forest in damp hush. The downpour never thundered, but fell steadily—enough to soak the ground and chill the air. Beneath the broad trunk of a towering tree, the two young men found shelter by a narrow stream.

Prince Rachasiwong sat with his back to the bark, unfurling a thick soldier’s cloak he had taken from his steed. He draped it loosely over his head and shoulders. Beside him sat Khamin—tall, lean, and silent. Though his jaw was tight, his eyes betrayed restraint, as if holding back something unspoken.

The prince broke the silence, voice soft beneath the rhythm of the rain.

"We’ll have to stay here until morning. The path is too slick for horses."

"The slope toward Mount Luang will be treacherous in the dark," Khamin agreed, kneeling neatly as he wrapped a thin, worn cloth around himself. It was so threadbare it offered no real warmth.

Prince Rachasiwong watched him for a moment. Then, without a word, he shifted closer and extended his large cloak over both of them.

Khamin startled, quickly turning to face him.

"Please, don’t— Your Highness—I'm but a servant. I shouldn’t—"

"If you freeze to death here," the prince interrupted gently, "what good will rank or duty be?"

He met Khamin’s eyes with quiet conviction, holding the edge of the cloak firmly but respectfully. He did not press in, merely stayed beside him—still, and steady.

Khamin hesitated. Then, averting his eyes, he shifted just slightly to the side, keeping polite distance.

"I never thought someone would care for me like this," he whispered. "But you… should protect your own dignity."

"I already have," Rachasiwong replied. His voice dropped to a murmur.

"But I can’t protect this heart… that only wishes to keep you warm tonight."

Khamin stilled. He said nothing. The gaze he had cast downward now rose, if only briefly, to meet the prince’s. Then turned away once more.

The prince didn’t speak again. He merely sat beside him, silent under the cloak they now shared. The fabric covered half their shoulders, but the space between their hearts… had grown infinitely closer.

Prince Rachasiwong watched as the other slowly closed his eyes.

Khamin—slender, fair-skinned, his complexion soft like honeyed jade. His wide, honest eyes hid quiet courage. Short black hair, brushed to the side, was tucked behind one ear—where a single white flower lay tucked. His lips were pale rose. He wore a simple cotton loincloth in earthen gold and a native-patterned shawl across his shoulder. He was beautiful—not flamboyantly so, but with a gentle strength that lay beneath every breath.

The rain continued to fall, quiet and constant. And within the stillness, it was as though the loom of fate spun silently between them—threading something neither of them could yet name.

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Morning crept gently across the forest.

Mist rose from the damp earth. Droplets dripped from leaf tips in steady rhythm. Sunlight filtered faintly through the canopy, gilding the shapes of two young men who now slumbered beneath the tree.

Khamin stirred first. His eyes blinked against the soft light—then widened when he realized he was cradled in someone’s arms. Strong, warm arms… wrapped around his shoulders protectively.

The man beside him still slept. His brow serene, his cheek resting softly against damp hair.

Too close. Far too close.

Khamin swallowed hard and shifted ever so slightly.

But before he could move away, a voice murmured low near his ear.

"Don’t move just yet."

He froze. Turned.

Prince Rachasiwong’s eyes were open. There was no surprise in his gaze—only calm. And something else Khamin dared not name.

"Dawn has broken," Khamin said softly, pressing his palms together. "Thank you… for letting me lean on you last night."

The prince stood without reply, then extended a hand.

"Come. We should leave before the path turns to mud again."

Khamin accepted the hand and rose. They said no more, yet in the silence that followed, their eyes spoke clearly.

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Upon the back of a black stallion, Khamin sat behind the prince. The path out of the forest was not long, but slippery and winding.

He kept still.

"I… never asked your name," Khamin said quietly as they passed over tree roots. "But you must be of high rank—a soldier, perhaps?"

The prince gave a faint smile.

"My name… is Si."

"It suits you," Khamin answered with a soft smile. "Like a lord of the wild."

"And yours?"

"Khamin. I serve Lady Buakes of Nakornluang Phapang."

They spoke no more after that. Only the horse’s hooves and rustling leaves filled the trail.

As they crossed the last hill, the outer wall of Wiang Phasom Nakorn came into view.

Gongs sounded from the city gate. Royal guards rode out with an empty carriage. Attendants in full garb came forward, bowing.

Khamin blinked, confused.

One soldier dropped to a knee, reaching for the reins of the prince’s horse.

"Your Highness! You’re safe!"

Khamin’s heart plunged.

He turned slowly.

The man he had only dared call "sir"… was not just a soldier. But the very prince of the realm.

Khamin slipped down from the horse at once, dropping to his knees with palms pressed against the ground.

"Forgive me… Your Highness. I have overstepped… I was unworthy—"

His voice trembled. His heartbeat thundered against his ribs. But Prince Rachasiwong’s voice remained even—calm, and quiet.

"You have done no wrong, Khamin."

Before Khamin could raise his eyes again, a cry rang out from the city gate.

"Khamin! My son!"

A woman darted through the crowd of servants and guards—Kamlaa, tears streaming down her cheeks. Relief, disbelief, and joy burst forth as she pulled him into a trembling embrace.

"I’m fine, Mother… I’m fine," Khamin murmured, his face buried against her shoulder.

Kamlaa clutched him tightly, then slowly turned to look at the man who stood beside them. One look was all it took.

He was not merely “sir.”

She tugged lightly at her son’s sleeve, whispering near his ear.

"Khamin… offer a proper bow, my child."

Khamin paused. Then, with slow reverence, he bowed again—deeper than before, hands clasped tight.

Prince Rachasiwong did not speak. He simply watched.

The royal carriage pulled up. Attendants approached. Courtiers and servants resumed their formal procession.

Kamlaa and Khamin stepped respectfully aside.

As the ceremonial wheels began to turn again, Khamin rose to his feet—shoulders still curved in humility, hands still clasped.

He did not see it.

But Prince Rachasiwong turned to look back—longer than any prince should look at a servant.

And his gaze held not only gentleness… but something else entirely:

A quiet, pulsing echo— of a heart he thought long lost— beating again in the presence of a soul he had only just begun to recognize.

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“A wandering wind sways hearts without warning, Beneath the moon, a hidden thread dreams forming. Two souls begin to weave through night and morning— Though fate’s design remains unfolding.”