My Enemy, My Love

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔈𝔩𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫

Two weeks later...

Prince Ray [Pond]

The dining hall of the Tansurai estate in Krabi was brighter than I expected, dressed in warm golds and soft pinks that glowed under chandeliers shaped like flowers in bloom. It was beautiful, tasteful—and nothing like home. I sat straight-backed at the long carved table, flanked on either side by nobles and relatives of my betrothed, Lady Sarinda. We had never met before tonight, and yet we were to be married in just over a month.

Thanks to my parent's scheming.

She was seated across from me, dressed in a delicate seafoam gown, her dark hair braided with pearls. Lady Sarinda had the bearing of someone raised to please and to smile through discomfort—charming, demure, with intelligent eyes and an easy laugh. She would make an adequate wife, I supposed. A fine mother to our future children, the kind of woman courtiers would approve of. But love? That would never grow between us. It already belonged elsewhere.

Anurak.

I'd received no letters from him. Not a single one since his departure to the western border with the First Battalion. It had been weeks now. I imagined him in the fields of dust and smoke, shouting commands as captain of a regiment he never wanted, sending men into battle while he stood behind the shield of his title. He'd never wanted to be noble, not like that. And I... I had failed him.

I reached for my wine and drank deeply.

"Prince Ray," came the voice of Sarinda's father, Lord Vejsan, breaking my thoughts. "What is the state of the army in Bangkok? We've heard news of two provinces falling to the West this week—Lopburi and Suphanburi, I believe."

There was a murmur around the table.

I nodded, setting my goblet down. "Yes, the reports are true. The Western forces have advanced far more rapidly than expected. They've pushed through several outposts, and there are rumors of covert aid from within the Northern provinces."

"How soon until they reach the Southern Kingdoms?" asked one of Sarinda's uncles, his voice edged with concern.

"At their current pace? Days," I said. "Maybe a week before they reach the eastern ridges of Nakhon Si. The Southern Kingdoms are rallying their defenses, but..." I trailed off.

"But they are not ready," Lord Vejsan finished for me, grimly.

Lady Sarinda spoke then, her voice gentle but clear. "What of the King of Bangkok? They say his health declines by the day."

A heavy silence fell over the table.

"There are whispers," I admitted. "He has not been seen in public in over two weeks. If the King falls, Bangkok will be left vulnerable. Prince Thyme must be ready to take the throne—and his husband must be ready to rule beside him."

A round of solemn nods followed. I could almost feel the weight pressing against my spine.

The conversation shifted, but I drifted. My thoughts went again to Anurak—of our last moment together, and the letter I had written but never sent. I had folded it, sealed it, and kept it hidden like a coward. The ink was fading now. Just like us.

When dinner concluded and the family began to drift into separate wings of the house, I excused myself from a lingering nobleman's query about trade routes, only to find Lady Sarinda waiting in the hallway with a soft smile.

"Prince Ray," she said, folding her hands before her. "Would you care to walk with me in the gardens? Just for a short while. The moon is beautiful tonight."

I hesitated.

Everything in me screamed no. But I offered a smile and inclined my head. "Of course."

The gardens were quiet, glowing under the silver light. The air smelled of jasmine and lemongrass. Sarinda walked beside me with practiced grace.

"I don't wish to intrude," she began, brushing a stray curl from her cheek, "but I would like to know more about the man I'll be marrying. What were you like as a child?"

I gave a short laugh. "Troublesome. Too clever for my own good."

"And your education? You must have studied at the Academy."

"Yes."

She waited for more, but I offered nothing. Every word I spoke about my past felt like peeling back a layer that belonged to Anurak. He was in all of those memories—he was the memory.

Undeterred, she continued. "I used to dream of studying politics at the Academy. But I was sent to the convent schools instead. My mother said a lady's sharpest weapon is her silence."

I gave a hum of acknowledgment, trying to focus, to stay present.

But as she spoke, her voice fading into the hum of the night, I looked up at the stars, tracing the constellations we used to name together. My throat tightened. My chest ached with the kind of sorrow no battle could replicate. I wanted to cry. To collapse right there in the garden and let the grief of everything wash over me. But I didn't. I couldn't.

So instead, I nodded along to her stories, and smiled when it was appropriate.

Even if it hurt.

Even if I was breaking.

Because duty always came first.

And love? Love had already gone to war.

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