"I will be the one to leave with Phiengwad… as La-Orchan." La-Orduen's fingers tapped impatiently against the wooden floor as she let the words sink in before delivering the final blow. "And you… you will stay behind in this house… as La-Orduen."
"P'La-Orduen!" La-Orchan gasped in shock, her voice trembling with disbelief. She had never expected her sister to even consider something like this. Her eyes widened in sheer panic, but La-Orduen only stared back at her with unwavering determination. She would not relent.
"Why?" La-Orduen raised a mocking brow. "Are you raising your voice at me now, La-Orchan?"
Her tone dripped with amusement, yet there was something dangerous beneath it.
"You and I both stand to gain from this, do we not? You get to stay in the capital, free from that wretched marriage to Sir Ramdecha, while I—" her lips curled into a smirk, "I get to live the life I desire with P'Phiengwad…"
La-Orchan shook her head slowly. "This cannot be, sister. It is deceit. You would be deceiving Phiengwad." Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet the pain in it was unmistakable.
La-Orduen, however, was unfazed.
"Oh, but this is your chance to atone." She leaned in slightly, her voice sweet like poison. "To atone for breaking your oath to me… and to the great stone Buddha itself."
She watched her sister closely, searching for hesitation. "If you do this, you can cleanse yourself of your past sins. And in return… I will forgive you."
She spoke the words as if she were offering a lifeline. But La-Orchan remained silent.
When persuasion failed, La-Orduen turned to coercion. Her demeanor hardened, and her voice took on a threatening edge.
"If you refuse, then I shall go to Father this very instant. No one will leave this house. Not you. Not Phiengwad. You will both be forced into marriage with men chosen for you."
She paused, letting the words sink in before delivering the final blow.
"Could you truly bear to see Phiengwad suffer such a fate?"
.
.
At the mention of Phiengwad, La-Orchan's resolve began to waver. She said nothing, but the fight in her eyes dimmed. In the end, her trembling fingers reached for the golden ring set with a ruby—the ring Phiengwad had given her—and she slipped it off with a heavy heart.
With tears brimming in her eyes, she held it out to La-Orduen, her hands shaking as she spoke.
"I entrust my heart to you, sister."
A single tear fell upon the golden band before La-Orduen took it with satisfaction. A triumphant smile spread across her lips as she slid the ruby ring onto her own finger. Then, she removed her own golden ring inlaid with a pearl and handed it to her twin.
La-Orchan took it, her hands numb with grief, and slipped it onto her own finger—a ring that felt heavier than the weight of her sorrow.
"From this moment on," La-Orduen declared with wicked pleasure, "I am La-Orchan—the only woman Phiengwad loves."
.
.
Saiyood, who had witnessed everything, could only stare in stunned silence. Never had she imagined her mistress would surrender to La-Orduen's schemes. A quiet sigh escaped her lips, her heart aching with pity for the woman she served.
…
A Night of Deception
In the dead of night, La-Orduen, disguised as La-Orchan, slipped away from the estate with Saiyood, La-Orchan's devoted maid, who had been forced to accompany her. The decision was not Saiyood's to make; it was a calculated move to prevent Phiengwad from growing suspicious.
Left behind in the now-quiet manor was La-Orchan, utterly alone. She sat motionless, gazing into the suffocating darkness beyond the wooden terrace. Silent tears streamed down her pale cheeks as her shoulders trembled with quiet sobs.
Just then, Sai-Bua, La-Orduen's personal maid, entered the room, carrying a small oil lamp. She had come to check on her mistress, as Lord Krai had instructed her to ensure that La-Orduen had gone to bed.
The sound of muffled crying in the dimly lit chamber made Sai-Bua hasten her steps.
"My lady, why are you still awake?"
she asked, her voice laced with concern. But when she saw the glistening tears on what she believed to be La-Orduen's face, her heart clenched.
"My lady! What has happened?" she exclaimed, setting the oil lamp down on the nearby table before kneeling beside her mistress, hoping to offer comfort.
La-Orchan quickly wiped her tears away, though her lips trembled, still dry from sobbing. Her slender wrists quivered as she tried to suppress the pain that threatened to consume her.
"N-nothing... It's nothing," she stammered, her voice unsteady as she struggled to steady her breath. "Why are you still awake, Sai-Bua?"
The maid hesitated before replying, "The coins you gave me the other day… they seem to have gone missing. I wanted to check if my coin pouch had fallen somewhere around here."
"Is that so? Let me help you look," La-Orchan offered quickly, brushing away the last traces of her tears.
Sai-Bua furrowed her brows slightly. Something felt…off.
She had served La-Orduen for many years and had noticed the drastic changes in her mistress ever since Phiengwad had entered her life. La-Orduen, who had once been poised and graceful like a still river, had become something else entirely—a raging fire, unpredictable and easily provoked.
Lately, La-Orduen had been irritable, prone to outbursts, and quick to unleash her frustrations on the servants. Though she masked her fury behind a carefully maintained elegance, those who served her closely knew the truth.
But tonight...
Tonight, she seemed different.
Sai-Bua observed her mistress closely, taking in every detail, from the way she spoke to the way she moved. Something gnawed at her, a quiet unease that whispered of something amiss.
Then, her gaze fell upon the ring.
A golden band set with a delicate pearl—a ring Phiengwad had personally commissioned. It belonged to La-Orduen.
And yet...
Something told her that the woman before her was not La-Orduen at all.
Her brows knitted together, and a wave of doubt washed over her, thick and suffocating. The thought made her chest tighten, but she could not ignore it any longer.
"My lady… Are you truly La-Orchan?"
Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but the weight of her words was undeniable.
La-Orchan flinched.
Her wide, tear-filled eyes betrayed her, flickering with panic before she forced herself to remain composed. But Sai-Bua had already seen it—the hesitation, the trembling breath, the fleeting moment of fear.
"W-what nonsense are you saying, Sai-Bua?" La-Orchan forced her voice to harden, but it wavered just slightly—enough for the maid to notice.
Sai-Bua did not look away.
She held her mistress's gaze firmly, searching…waiting.
"I know my lady well," she said, her tone steadier now, her conviction growing stronger.
"What has happened, my lady? What is the meaning of all this?"
.
.
La-Orchan recounted everything to Sai-Bua. The maid sat still, her heart pounding. The very thing she had feared the most had already come to pass.
She let out a long sigh, sympathy evident in her eyes as she looked at her young mistress. Yet, at the same time, she couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration toward her other mistress—La-Orduen. With honesty in her voice, she finally spoke.
"I have always been loyal to Lady La-Orduen, my lady. But I have never agreed with what she has done."
Sai-Bua paused for a moment, her voice carrying a weight of sincerity and conviction.
"And I cannot help but worry for Lady Phiengwad."
La-Orchan looked at Sai-Bua, suspicion flickering in her eyes. There was something behind the maid's words that unsettled her. Sensing her mistress's unease, Sai-Bua hesitated for a brief moment before continuing. She lowered her gaze, unable to meet La-Orchan's eyes directly.
"Do you truly believe, my lady, that Lady Phiengwad would not be able to tell the difference? That she would not know which twin is which? Or more importantly… would she not know who the woman she loves truly is?"
La-Orchan stiffened.
Sai-Bua's words struck deep—so deep that she had never even considered them before.
"Are you saying that I have made a mistake, Sai-Bua?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I would never dare to say such a thing, my lady," Sai-Bua replied carefully. She hesitated for a moment before continuing,
"But I cannot help but pity Lady Phiengwad. She fought so hard to protect her love, even willing to leave her home behind, believing she would start anew with the one she holds dear. And yet, in the end… the woman she loves is not the one waiting for her."
Her voice was gentle, but the sincerity in her eyes was undeniable.
La-Orchan fell silent, her thoughts racing. Sai-Bua quickly lowered her head, fearing she had spoken out of turn to a mistress she was not particularly close to.
"But I do understand you, my lady," Sai-Bua quickly added, hoping to soften the impact of her words. "Lady La-Orduen threatened to tell Lord Noradit… If I were in your place, I would have felt trapped as well. At the very least, leaving together might have been better than suffering apart."
La-Orchan said nothing. Tears continued to stream down her cheeks, but she swiftly wiped them away. Her lips pressed into a tight line as determination flickered in her eyes.
Then, all at once, she stood up.
Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for a shawl and draped it over her shoulders.
"Sai-Bua… I must go to Phiengwad."
Her voice was soft, but her resolve was unshaken. Her eyes, now filled with unwavering determination, gleamed in the dim light.
Without another word, she turned on her heel and ran out of the room.
Her hurried footsteps echoed through the quiet corridors, matching the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat.
Only now did she realize the grave mistake she had made.
And now, she had to fix it—before it was too late.
…
Phiengwad, Sir Det-Wijit, and Gulab, her loyal maid, hurried through the darkness, making their way toward the rendezvous point where La-Orchan and Saiyood were supposed to be waiting.
The escape was far from easy. The thick darkness that shrouded their path made every step feel treacherous, as if the very shadows around them were working against them. The uneven ground was littered with hidden roots and deep holes, while the crisp, dry leaves beneath their feet crackled loudly with every step, betraying their presence to the unseen dangers lurking in the night.
Phiengwad walked ahead, determined to reach her beloved as soon as possible. But before she could take another step forward, she felt a sudden, forceful pull on her arm.
"Phiengwad, stop!"
Sir Det-Wijit's urgent warning sent a chill down her spine. She barely had time to react before her eyes caught a glimpse of something moving beneath the dried leaves. Her body froze.
There, just inches from where she had almost stepped, a cobra lay coiled, motionless yet menacing. Its beady, dark eyes locked onto hers as its sharp fangs glinted in the faint moonlight. Slowly, its forked tongue flickered in and out, as if assessing its prey.
Phiengwad's heart pounded violently in her chest. A cold sweat trickled down her temple, and her trembling hand instinctively tightened around her brother's grip. She held her breath, afraid to make even the slightest movement.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely steady enough to mask the lingering fear.
"Never underestimate the dangers of the night," Sir Det-Wijit warned in a hushed yet firm tone. "This is their territory—we are the intruders."
Phiengwad nodded, her eyes scanning the ground with heightened caution. Every step from now on would be a calculated risk.
"Are you alright, my lady?" Gulab asked worriedly.
"I'm fine," Phiengwad replied, trying to steady her voice. Yet, deep inside, her nerves remained frayed. Her eyes darted back toward where the cobra had been, only to find that it had vanished into the darkness—silent and unseen.
Without warning, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed in the distance, followed by the flickering glow of torches piercing through the night.
Sir Det-Wijit turned sharply to Phiengwad and Gulab, his expression tense.
"Phiengwad! Gulab! Extinguish the light, now!" he commanded in a hushed but urgent tone.
The moment the flames were snuffed out, darkness swallowed them whole. The heavy footfalls and torchlight grew closer.
"Father must have sent men to search for us," Sir Det-Wijit murmured gravely. "We can't keep going this way. We'll have to take a different route—it's longer and more treacherous, but if we continue down this path, we will certainly be caught."
"But if we take the longer route, La-Orchan will be waiting for me even longer," Phiengwad argued, concern evident in her voice.
"We have no other choice," Sir Det-Wijit insisted. His gaze flickered around warily before settling back on his sister. "Trust me, Phiengwad. If we take the alternative route, we still have a chance. But we must go now."
Phiengwad hesitated for a brief moment, torn between urgency and logic. But in the end, she knew she had to rely on her brother's judgment.
"Then let's go," she whispered, squeezing Gulab's hand reassuringly.
Sir Det-Wijit nodded and led the way, guiding them into a path that was even darker and deeper into the forest.
The rustling of leaves in the wind sounded eerily like whispers—a warning, perhaps, of unseen dangers hiding in the shadows.
The further they ventured into the unknown, the heavier Phiengwad's heart became.
She prayed that La-Orchan was still waiting safely at the meeting point, unaware that the woman standing in wait for her was not La-Orchan at all… but La-Orduen.
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Hojicha Writer
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