ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ..|

ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀꜱ (Majapahit)

ᴹ!ᴹᵃʲᵃᵖᵃʰⁱᵗ ˣ ᶠ!ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

Beta reader: The_Rail_System

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Warning: Graphic depictions of violence, imprisonment, execution, grief, death, and emotional manipulation

The cicadas buzzed through the cold night air, ringing rise and fall in a rhythm that seemed to match the melody you hummed under your breath. A soft smile graced on your lips. You sat near the carved wooden screen of your chamber, the moonlight filtering through its delicate lattice work painted beautiful patterns on the floor. In your hands lay a folded letter, the edges worn by the fumbling fingers of your personal maid, who had succeeded in smuggling it through to you only a few moments before.

Your heart raced as you unfolded it, careful not to tear the thin parchment. The soft clinking of your golden bracelets filled the quiet as you fiddled with the letter, lost in thought. Your lips pressed into a thin line, trying to steady the mix of excitement and fear that swirled in your chest.

"I will not ask you to betray your blood," the letter read. "But in my heart, I know the ties between us are truer than those drawn by borders and kingdoms."

Your throat tightened as you reread his words. They felt like a lifeline in the midst of the storm your life had become. He wrote of longing, of stolen moments, and of the barriers that loomed between you, his words promising that this war, this rivalry, would never diminish what you shared.

You grip the letter more firmly as you recall your elder brother's words that had been sharp on that day, his face darkened with anger as he reminded you of your place. "From now on I forbid you to talk or meet with him." His words rang in your ears even now, like the clash of swords in the distance in your head.

"If I lose, your brother can take Majapahit," you continue to read his words. You didn't know what happened as your brother thinks you are too naive to understand what's going on. "But if I win, you must leave your kingdom and stay at Majapahit with me." you feel your face heat up at his sweet phrase.

Your maid, Rara, knelt by your side, her face furrowed with worry. "Putri," she whispered under her breath. "We should stop this—"

"Rara," you interrupted softly, folding the letter with trembling hands. The excitement bubbled in your chest, a giddy sort of thrill that made your toes curl. "You did only as I asked. I cannot let him think I've forgotten him."

The elder woman glanced at the door nervously, her brows furrowed. She turn back to face you, "Please, Putri. Promise me you will be careful."

"I will." you assured her, though your own voice lacked the conviction you hoped to convey.

The palace was alive with rejoicing, a grand feast prepared in your honor. Golden lanterns hung from the high beams of the great hall, their light glinting off the intricate carvings of garuda and lotus flowers that adorned the walls. The air was thick with the aroma of roasted spices, sweet rice cakes, and fragrant incense, but none brought comfort.

You sat at the middle of it all, in your finest kebaya in rich red silk with intricate batik patterns that represent prosperity and harmony. Golden trinkets jingled with every slight movement of your body—a necklace of hammered discs against your collarbone, bracelets on the wrists, and anting gantung earrings dancing at every turn. Your hair was bound in a graceful sanggul, fastened with dainty ornaments in flower shapes.