Nailah cradled the Imperial Prince in her arms, his tiny mouth latched to her breast as she sat in the shaded nursery. He was only a month and a half old—warm, heavy with milk, his small fist curled against her skin like he already knew how fragile the world could be. She fed him slowly, rhythmically, letting the simple act ground her when everything else felt like it was slipping through her fingers. His soft suckling sounds were the only noise in the room. When he finally drifted off, cheeks flushed and lips parted, she handed him back to the nursemaid with a quiet nod.
Then she rose.
She walked to the eastern pavilion alone. The maids had already arranged everything: low table, porcelain cups, steaming jasmine tea, fresh fruit arranged like jewels. Nailah seated herself on the embroidered cushion, posture perfect, face serene. Inside, the numbness had hardened into something colder—something that could wait.
Kanha arrived moments later, rose-pink silk floating around her, pearl pins glinting in the morning light. Her smile bloomed the instant she saw Nailah—bright, familiar, the same smile that had once felt like family.
"Nana!" Kanha hurried forward and wrapped her arms around Nailah in a warm hug. Nailah returned it, arms light but steady, lips curving into a small, practiced smile.
They settled opposite each other. Nailah lifted her teacup first, took a slow sip, then set it down without sound.
"So," she said lightly, "how was Taico?"
Kanha's smile widened, genuine relief softening her features. "Never better. The air is sweeter there, the gardens fuller. I missed the quiet."
Nailah nodded, smile still in place. "I'm glad."
A beat of silence. Then Nailah tilted her head, voice soft as ever.
"And how long have you been pregnant, Kanha?"
The smile on Kanha's face froze. Her fingers tightened on the cup until her knuckles paled.
"I… I did—"
Nailah raised a hand, gentle but final. "Seriously?"
Kanha's mouth opened, closed. The color drained from her cheeks.
Nailah leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to something calm, almost kind. "Kanha. I trusted you. Is this what I get in return? You told me—you, Kanha you said Lord Kaisen proposed to you. You said he loved you. That was a lie. And to make your lie real… you drugged him?"
Kanha's eyes widened. "I did not—"
Nailah's voice stayed even, almost soothing. "Are you still going to lie?"
Kanha's breath hitched. Her shoulders began to shake.
Nailah continued, quiet, relentless. "You are so lucky no one knows you drugged the emperor's cousin to trap him into marriage. So very lucky."
The dam broke. Kanha's face crumpled. Tears spilled over, fast and silent at first, then louder—choking sobs that made her whole body tremble.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered, voice cracking. "I'm so sorry, Nana… I didn't want it to go this far. I swear."
Nailah watched her cousin sob. Watched the tears fall onto rose-pink silk. And then—finally—it clicked.
"Lord Kaisen," Nailah said slowly. "He was in love with Mirha."
Kanha cried harder, head bowed, shoulders heaving. She didn't deny it. Couldn't.
Nailah's gaze sharpened. "So that's why. That's why you manipulated me into giving her to the emperor. To remove her. To clear the path for your own scheme."
Kanha could only nod—small, broken movements.
Nailah reached for her teacup. Her hand was steady. Then, in one sudden motion, she hurled it sideways. Porcelain shattered against the pavilion floor in a spray of shards and hot tea.
"Would it have killed you to be open?" Nailah's voice cracked for the first time—low, raw. "To come to me? To tell me the truth?"
Kanha lifted her tear-streaked face. "I didn't want to bother you—"
"I am the Empress," Nailah said, each word a quiet strike. "Did you think I would let my own cousin marry into a lower house? A middle one? Did you think I wouldn't protect you?"
Kanha's sobs quieted to shuddering breaths. "I… I thought—"
"Now look at what your actions have brought." Nailah's voice was ice again. "You—a bastard child on the way. A potential loveless marriage. A man who will never forgive you if he found out. And me…" She paused, throat tight. "A loveless marriage.
Kanha started to speak. "But the emperor loves—"
Nailah cut her off, sharp and final.
"Mirha. He loves Mirha. Not me. Not anyone else."
The words hung between them like smoke.
Kanha stared at her cousin—eyes wide, red-rimmed, understanding dawning too late.
Nailah rose slowly. She did not look back at the broken cup, the spilled tea, the sobbing woman on the cushion.
She walked out of the pavilion, silk trailing behind her like a shadow.
The morning sun was bright now.
But inside Nailah, everything remained cold.
Kanha's sobs broke the silence first—raw, desperate, the sound of someone watching their world collapse in real time. She slid from the cushion to her knees on the pavilion floor, rose-pink silk pooling around her like spilled blood. Her hands reached out, trembling, grasping at the hem of Nailah's jade gown.
"Nana, please," Kanha begged, voice cracking on every syllable. "Please help me. I can't—I can't do this alone. The child… Lord Kaisen… I'll be ruined. You're the Empress. You can fix this. You have to help me."
Nailah stood motionless for a long heartbeat, looking down at her cousin crumpled on the marble. The woman who had once been her confidante, her family, now looked small—pathetic, even—tears streaking kohl down her cheeks, hair coming loose from its pins.
Slowly, deliberately, Nailah stepped back.
She turned.
And walked away.
Kanha's cry followed her—sharp, wounded. "Nailah! Are you going to report me?"
Nailah stopped at the edge of the pavilion, silk whispering against the threshold. She did not turn fully, only enough for her profile to be visible against the morning light—beautiful, cold, untouchable.
"You will reap what you sow, Kanha," she said quietly. "If I could find it out in one day, they are bound to find out. The court whispers. The guards see. The maids talk. Your schemes have legs of their own now."
She paused, letting the words settle like stones in deep water.
"I wash my hands of them. And of you."
Then she stepped out into the sunlight.
Behind her, Kanha collapsed fully—forehead to the floor, shoulders shaking with violent sobs. The broken teacup lay forgotten beside her, shards glinting like accusations. She clutched at the empty air where Nailah had been, whispering broken apologies to no one.
She knew.
Karma was not a distant thunder anymore. It was already walking the palace halls, patient and inevitable. Lord Kaisen would learn the truth—perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow. The emperor's family did not forgive deception, especially not when it touched their bloodline. The child she carried would be born into scandal, if it was born at all. And Mirha—Mirha would remain untouched, cocooned in Arvin's obsessive love, while Kanha burned.
The sobs grew louder, echoing off the silk screens, until even the birds in the garden fell silent.
Nailah did not look back.
She walked the corridor with measured steps, chin high, expression blank. The numbness had returned, thicker now, protective. Somewhere deep inside, grief still bled—quiet, steady—but on the surface she was Empress again.
And empresses did not break for traitors.
Even when the traitor had once been called cousin.
She disappeared around the corner, leaving only the sound of Kanha's weeping to mark where everything had finally shattered.