Saiyood stepped into Phiengwad's bedchamber, her heart heavy with the burden of truth.
The moment she saw Phiengwad's frail figure, her chest tightened with sorrow.
The words she had carefully rehearsed got caught in her throat.
She hesitated.
Would revealing the truth do more harm than good?
But before she could decide, Phiengwad spoke first.
"Whatever it is, Saiyood, just say it. I'm listening."
Her voice was soft—gentle, even—but laced with exhaustion.
Saiyood took a deep breath, steeling herself.
"Lady Phiengwad… there is something I must tell you. Something about that night."
Her voice trembled with pain.
"The night Lady La-Orchan drowned."
At the mention of her beloved's name, Phiengwad's weary eyes sharpened with sudden focus.
"What is it, Saiyood? Speak, and tell me everything."
Saiyood swallowed hard before continuing.
"That night… Lady La-Orchan fell into the river while saving Lady La-Orduen from a snake bite. It is true that she was bitten herself and lost her footing…"
She hesitated, fear creeping into her voice.
Then—
She made her choice.
"But… Lady La-Orduen forbade anyone from saving her."
Phiengwad stiffened.
"What…?"
Saiyood forced herself to go on, tears welling in her eyes.
"She ordered that no one was to enter the water. She threatened to have any servant who disobeyed beaten to death. And afterward, she made sure that neither I nor Saibua would ever speak of it."
Silence.
A crushing, suffocating silence.
Phiengwad sat frozen, as if struck by a blow she had not been prepared for.
Her wide eyes trembled, her lips parted slightly—yet no words came.
Saiyood could no longer hold back her own tears.
"I could not bear to see Lady La-Orchan leave this world with no one knowing the truth," she whispered, her voice breaking.
Phiengwad finally found her voice—weak, shaking, but demanding.
"You're telling me… that La-Orduen let La-Orchan drown?"
Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper, as if saying the words aloud made them more unbearable.
Saiyood gave a single, tearful nod.
A strangled sound escaped Phiengwad's lips.
Her hands shot up to cover her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape.
But the pain was too much.
Tears spilled freely down her pale cheeks, and her body shook violently with grief.
She could hold it in no longer.
She broke.
And in that moment, her cries of agony filled the room—
A sound so full of sorrow, it was enough to break the heart of anyone who heard it.
…
That Night…
After her heated argument with Lord Noradit, La-Orduen had only one thought in her mind—she had to escape.
No matter the cost, no matter the means.
And there was only one person she could turn to—Phiengwad.
Deep down, she knew Phiengwad might refuse to help her.
She had, after all, stood in the way of Phiengwad and La-Orchan's love countless times before.
But with no other choice, La-Orduen sent Saibua, her trusted maid, to deliver a message through Gulab.
In that letter, she wrote of her urgent need to meet and arranged a secret meeting at the temple—the very place where they had first crossed paths on a sacred day.
She wasn't sure if Phiengwad would come.
But she knew this was her last chance to escape the fate her father had chosen for her.
More than anything—
She hoped Phiengwad had not yet learned the truth about what had happened by the river that night.
What La-Orduen did not realize, however, was that the truth had already been revealed.
…
Phiengwad took the letter from La-Orduen.
Her eyes lingered on the familiar handwriting, one she had once mistaken for La-Orchan's.
The twin sisters' penmanship was nearly identical, indistinguishable at first glance.
She remained silent.
Her once gentle, expressive gaze was now void of warmth—so cold and unreadable that even Gulab, who stood beside her, felt uneasy.
The quiet stretched on for too long, pressing against the walls like an unbearable weight.
At last, Gulab broke the silence.
"Will you go, my lady? Will you meet her?"
Phiengwad lifted her gaze.
Her dark eyes flickered—just barely—but when she spoke, her voice was steady.
"Yes."
A single word.
Short.
Final.
But something in the way she said it made the air in the room grow colder.
Gulab shivered.
She had served Phiengwad her whole life, yet she had never heard her mistress speak in such a way.
A quiet, terrifying certainty settled into the air.
Phiengwad did not need to say more.
Gulab swallowed, hesitant, before asking, "Then… shall I make preparations?"
Phiengwad did not answer.
Instead—
She smiled.
But it was not the soft, kind smile Gulab was used to.
It was a smile laced with something far more dangerous.
Something sharp.
Something filled with quiet, seething rage.
"No need." Phiengwad's voice was almost sweet. "I will meet La-Orduen myself. You need not do anything."
Gulab felt a chill creep up her spine.
A sense of foreboding settled deep in her bones.
She knew—
Whatever was about to unfold…
Would not end well.
…
Inside the same old temple, La-Orduen knelt before the grand green stone Buddha statue, her hands pressed together in prayer.
Yet, her mind was far from calm.
Her anxious gaze flickered toward the temple's entrance every few moments, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it against her ribs.
A thin sheen of sweat formed on her brow as she wrestled with doubt.
Would Phiengwad come?
Would she agree to help her?
Then—
Soft footsteps echoed through the temple.
Phiengwad appeared at the doorway.
Hope surged in La-Orduen's chest, and before she realized it, a small smile formed on her lips.
Phiengwad walked toward her with a measured pace, her eyes locked onto La-Orduen.
She offered a faint smile in return—not warm, not cold, but solemn.
Even in sorrow, Phiengwad was as breathtaking as ever.
The sight of her standing in that temple made La-Orduen recall the first time they had met in this very place.
Back then, she had entered this temple only to find Phiengwad with La-Orchan—her twin, her rival.
But tonight, La-Orchan was gone.
Only the two of them remained.
Phiengwad knelt down, pressing her hands together in prayer before the Buddha.
La-Orduen hesitated before breaking the silence.
"P'Phiengwad, please help me. My father is forcing me to marry Sir Ramdecha in La-Orchan's place. You know I do not love men—I cannot marry one. Please… will you help me?"
Phiengwad did not respond immediately.
She lifted her gaze, studying La-Orduen's face, her expression unreadable.
A part of her did feel sympathy for La-Orduen—after all, she was facing the same fate as La-Orchan once had.
But another part of her—
A part that had not stopped grieving, not stopped burning ever since she learned the truth from Saiyood—
That part thought perhaps La-Orduen deserved this.
She considered her answer carefully before speaking.
"And how exactly do you want me to help?"
"Help me escape," La-Orduen said, her voice tense with desperation.
Phiengwad remained silent.
Her expression calm.
Unmoved.
She pressed her lips together, as if weighing something in her mind.
Then—
"I have a question first."
La-Orduen stiffened slightly but nodded.
"Ask me anything."
Phiengwad's gaze locked onto hers, piercing, searching.
"That night… when La-Orchan drowned—what really happened?"
The question struck like a blade.
La-Orduen's breath caught in her throat.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to maintain composure.
"That night… La-Orchan saved me from a snake bite, but she was bitten instead. She panicked and lost her balance… she fell into the river and was swept away."
Phiengwad listened in silence.
Her gaze flickered toward the Buddha statue, as if contemplating the weight of La-Orduen's words.
"And no one tried to save her?"
Her voice was steady, too steady.
La-Orduen felt the sweat at her temples.
She shifted slightly, feeling the weight of Phiengwad's unwavering stare pressing against her.
"No one could swim… I… I didn't know what to do."
A lie.
A carefully spoken lie.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
La-Orduen bowed her head slightly, pressing her hands together in silent prayer.
She prayed Phiengwad would believe her.
Prayed she would not see through the carefully constructed words.
Prayed she would not know the truth that lay beneath them.
Her heart pounded as she waited—waited for the answer that could determine her fate.
.
.
Phiengwad's eyes never wavered from La-Orduen's face.
Not for a single moment did she believe the words that were spoken.
Not for a single moment did she trust the woman kneeling before her.
And yet—
She thought.
She considered.
She weighed the consequences of the decision she was about to make.
Then, at last, she took a deep breath.
And she spoke.
"Very well. I will help you escape."
Her voice was firm, unwavering.
Her gaze met La-Orduen's—the twin image of the woman she had loved.
And for a brief second, something flickered in Phiengwad's eyes.
A certainty.
A quiet, concealed truth.
Because hidden beneath her composed demeanor, beneath the gentle curve of her lips—
Was something else entirely.
Something La-Orduen, for all her cunning, had failed to see.
Phiengwad had made up her mind. And she was going to make sure—That the woman who stole her love would finally pay.
…
The moment Phiengwad uttered her promise to help La-Orduen escape the forced marriage—
A wave of relief washed over La-Orduen, so overwhelming it felt as if the crushing weight on her chest had finally been lifted.
Hope surged through her veins, making her heart race.
"Truly? You will really help me escape?" La-Orduen's voice trembled with desperate excitement. "Can you swear it to me, P'Phiengwad?"
Phiengwad nodded slowly, her eyes unwavering.
"The night before your wedding," she said, her voice steady, "we will meet here, in front of the temple, beneath the great Bodhi tree by the large stupa. That will be the moment we leave this place together. It will only be us and a trusted servant. As for Sir Det-Wijit… I cannot ask for his help this time."
La-Orduen hesitated for a moment before making a suggestion.
"Would it not be better to meet by the great tree by the river instead?"
She was referring to the very place that had once been the secret meeting spot between Phiengwad and La-Orchan.
But she dared not utter her twin sister's name.
Phiengwad's lips curled into a small, almost amused smile.
Then, she shook her head.
"That night happens to be the temple's annual festival. If we meet here, no one will pay us any attention."
Her voice remained calm, but then she added—
"Besides… I have no desire for history to repeat itself."
A brief silence followed, thick with unspoken meaning.
La-Orduen reached for Phiengwad's hands, gripping them tightly.
Tears welled in her eyes—tears of relief, gratitude, and renewed hope.
"Thank you… P'Phiengwad," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Phiengwad merely offered a faint smile.
But her eyes—Her eyes remained cold, emotionless.
She looked down at La-Orduen, who clung to her as if she were her last hope in this desperate moment.
Yet in Phiengwad's heart, there was no warmth left for this woman.
Not anymore.
She had given La-Orduen a chance.
She had asked her, directly, about what happened that night by the river.
And even in that final moment—
La-Orduen had chosen to lie.
The same deceitful words, the same twisted version of the truth, all spoken with ease.
There was no regret.
No guilt.
Only a desperate plea for escape.
Phiengwad no longer felt pity. No longer felt mercy. She would do everything to make sure La-Orduen paid for everything.
…
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