My Enemy, My Love

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔑𝔦𝔫𝔢

Prince Ray [Pond]

The city of Phuket had never been so silent. Not when I was a boy, not when the festivals bloomed in every street, not even in the long, mournful days after a typhoon swept the coast. The silence today was different. Heavy. It pressed down like stone on every roof and shoulder. It was the silence of thousands watching a coffin make its slow, deliberate way through the heart of the kingdom.

And inside that coffin was Anurak.

I stood with my back as straight as it would go, my hands folded neatly before me as though posture alone could keep my grief contained. Beside me, my wife stood in her shimmering gown, her veil pressed against her lips as she bowed her head. To my left was Luka, draped in black and gold, his expression carved into stone. We had not exchanged a word since the procession began, but I felt his presence as I always did — sharp, knowing, unbearable.

The drums pounded low and steady. With every beat, it felt as though my chest caved in further. I wanted to collapse into the ground, claw at the stones until they opened and swallowed me whole. Instead, I kept my gaze fixed ahead, on the coffin borne by soldiers, wreathed in orchids and lilies, white petals brushing against the carved wood with each measured sway.

Behind the coffin rode a carriage. Anurak's parents sat within it. His mother's face was a ruin of tears, her cheeks hollow and pale as though a part of her soul had already been buried with her son. She clutched a rosary so tightly her knuckles glowed white. His father, by contrast, was marble. His eyes betrayed nothing — no anger, no grief, no warmth. Just a stillness that chilled me to my core.

I wanted to scream at them both. I wanted to tell them who he had been to me, what he had meant, that I loved him beyond words, beyond reason. But I said nothing. I clenched my teeth and swallowed down the truth until it curdled in my throat.

When the coffin passed, the sea of nobility stirred, as if the tide itself had shifted. The kings, queens, lords, and earls all began their slow, reverent walk behind it, like shadows pulled along in its wake. I moved with them, though my legs felt leaden.

"Ray," Luka murmured at my side. His voice was low, subdued, as though he feared to disturb the weight of this march.

I flicked a glance at him. "What?" My voice was hoarse.

He kept his gaze forward, his jaw tight. "I cannot believe it. Him. Of all men... to fall like this."

I swallowed hard, my throat raw. "There is nothing we can do about it."

"He was brave," Luka said after a pause, softer now. "Braver than either of us."

Something in me twisted. I wanted to lash out at him, accuse him of speaking empty words, but the way he said it — quiet, almost reverent — made my heart seize. He knew. He always knew. Perhaps he had always known.

I clenched my fists. "Bravery doesn't matter when you're dead," I said bitterly.

Luka's hand twitched at his side. He glanced at me then, eyes dark, but before he could speak, a touch at my arm jolted me.

My wife. She had come to walk beside me, her hand firm on my sleeve, her eyes shimmering with sympathy she could never truly feel. "Come," she whispered, "you should walk with me."

The fragile thread between Luka and I snapped, and I let her guide me forward, though my heart still burned with words unsaid.

We reached the Temple at last. Its great golden spires gleamed even beneath the muted sky, the air heavy with incense and the murmur of prayers. Inside, the nobility filed into their seats, the space hushed save for the occasional stifled sob.

The coffin was carried through the aisle, solemnly, gently, until it was laid upon the altar. Candles flickered on either side, casting long shadows over the lilies, the draped silks, the relics of faith meant to guide him to rest.

I watched it all as though from a great distance. The monk's voice rose, rhythmic and sure, but I heard nothing. My ears rang with silence. My chest felt hollow, as though every beat of my heart had been stolen away with his.

Somewhere behind me, I heard Anurak's mother's sobs, light but piercing. My hands trembled at my sides. I wanted to go to her, to fall to my knees beside her, but I remained still.

Time slipped strangely. One moment the ceremony began, the next it was ending. People stood, shuffled, whispered condolences as they drifted toward the exit. My wife tugged gently at my arm, murmuring that we ought to leave, but I couldn't move.

Not until Luka's hand fell heavy on my shoulder. "Ray," he said firmly.

Still, I did not stir. I stared ahead at the coffin. The room emptied. One by one, the voices faded, until only the hush of candles remained. And me. And him.

My vision blurred. The coffin wavered before me as tears finally broke, hot against my frozen cheeks. My chest heaved, the pain too great, too sharp. I could not breathe. I wanted to claw my heart out just to stop the ache.

When they carried him outside, when the earth was split open and his coffin lowered in, I stood frozen at the edge. My nails bit into my palms. Every muscle screamed to throw myself in after him, to bury myself alongside him, to never, ever leave his side.

But I didn't.

I stood there for hours, long after the last mourner departed. My wife gone, my family gone, even the kings departed to their palaces. I remained. Alone. My shadow stretched across the freshly packed earth as I whispered his name under my breath until my voice broke.

Anurak.

My Anurak.

This is all my fault.

And then silence again. Only silence.

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