Part ll : The blossoming of wildflower
Time passed quietly in the village nestled between kingdoms. With care from the local children and warmth from the villagers, the exiled king Nareech began to transform. The harsh edges from royal betrayal softened. His hair, once cropped and battle-worn, grew long and lustrous, often braided by giggling children as he tended their wounds and listened to their songs.
He had become not only a symbol of protection but a soul of joy—handsome, resilient, and serene.
A Serendipitous Encounter,
One morning, on the cusp of the Spring Festival, Nareech wandered beyond the border while gathering wildflowers for village rituals. The scent of lilies and the soft hum of a nearby stream drew him in.
Beneath a tall willow tree, a young man slept with a book on his chest. His royal clothes, though casual, betrayed his status. It was Crown Prince Ratchathai son of full moon kingdom as Duanphen from Phra dynasty.
Nareech's moved cautiously to check if the prince was unconscious or worse. Just as he reached out, the prince's eyes flashed open, and in an instant, Nareech was pinned beneath him, a blade drawn.
"I'm not here to attack you," Nareech choked. "I came for flowers."
Ratchathai stared, confused. The man's voice was calm but firm, and his face—ethereal. Golden-brown hair framed steel-blue eyes. There was no deception, only sincerity.
Ratchathai's instincts, honed by years of solitude and paranoia, hesitated… then faded. He let Nareech go.
"You're… from the village?" Ratchathai asked, stunned.
"I'm no one," Nareech said quickly, dusting off and running before the moment became something more.
Ratchathai sat, watching him vanish among the trees—his heart, for the first time in years, skipping a beat.
Shadows of Greed,
Not long after, pylos soldier's descended upon the village under Prince Aeolus order's. He had heard rumors of a beautiful man, strong enough to rally peasants and disturb borders.
Nareech stood before the invading force, bow in hand, arrows flying. He was a vision—unafraid, graceful, radiant in the morning sun. Aeolus, upon seeing him for the second time again, was stunned.
This was no mere peasant. This was power wrapped in beauty.
"I want him," Aeolus whispered, lust darkening his eyes.
But Nareech's arrows struck down three of his guards in seconds. "Leave," he warned, voice calm, but sharp as a blade.
Aeolus left defeated but far from finished. Obsession had taken root.
The Festival of Nations,
When the Festival of Unity came, emissaries from all neighboring kingdoms arrived. Lanterns lined the sky, tables overflowed with offerings, and every kingdom offered tribute and friendship.
Among the guests, Queen Kim Maeve of seonhwa recognized Nareech at once. Daughter of Nareech's mother's best friend sister's, she embraced him joyfully, rekindling ties long lost. With her came , Lady Hannah from kingdom of Alythra , a noblewoman sharp-tongued but kind. Both became Narrech's companions during the festivities.
He laughed again. He danced in the fields and debated philosophy with merchants. His eyes gleamed with the joy of a man reborn.
A Watching Heart,
From the balcony above, Ratchathai watched. He saw Nareech's hair caught in the breeze, his laughter carrying across the festival grounds, his touch gentle with children, elders, queens, and guards alike.
He burned with something unfamiliar. Longing? Admiration? Possession?
Why can't I say it? Ratchathai asked himself. Why does my heart ache when he smiles at others?
But Ratchathai said nothing. He only watched, hidden behind shadow and silence. His pride, his guarded soul, would not yet allow him to speak.
Still, something had shifted.
As fireworks lit the sky and music carried through the twilight, the festival continued—but beneath the surface, storms began to brew. Aeolus's eyes tracked Nareech from afar. Ratchathai's chest tightened with every step Nareech took away from him. And Nareech himself remained unaware of how deeply he'd begun to change the hearts of kings and princes alike.
after festival night ,
The royal palace of full moon kingdom
Of Duanphen from Phra dynasty hold a grand
Magnificent banquet which had shimmered with opulence—gilded chandeliers, embroidered silks, and music that danced like court gossip. Nareech, dressed in the luxurious garments Ratchathai had sent him both the invitation and —deep violet robes threaded with silver—had carried himself with the quiet dignity only an exile could possess: a king once cast out, but never dethroned in soul.
He had not missed the stiff posture of the royal family, the barely concealed scowls from the Phra dynasty royal family , the murmured whispers from distant cousins. Ratchathai stood tall beside him, offering stolen glances when he thought no one watched.
But eyes were everywhere.
And the palace air was too heavy with unspoken bitterness to ignore.
After dinner, Nareech had taken refuge by the garden terrace, speaking with the neighboring seonhwa kingdom of queen Kim Maeve—his dearest friend and one of the few allies he still trusted. Her laughter had been a welcome balm, but he sensed something shift nearby . A tremble in the stillness. A coldness that brushed his skin like a warning.
Then came the silence. Then—bang.
A crash echoed through the wooden halls. A Glass Shattering.
Nareech froze. The queen noticed too, her brows furrowing. But Nareech was already excusing himself, robes brushing past marble pillars as he followed the echo of pain.
He found the door half-ajar.
Inside: chaos.
Shattered goblets, overturned chairs, blood streaked across polished wood. And in the center of it all—Ratchathai. Hand bloodied, breath ragged, tears trailing down a face twisted in anguish. His royal mask had broken. He was raw, real.
"Nareech…?" Ratchathai's voice cracked as he turned.
Nareech rushed forward, catching his injured hand. "What are you doing?!" he hissed. "Are you trying to destroy yourself for their approval?!"
"They insulted me!" Ratchathai shouted hoarsely. "In front of him! My own father—he couldn't even defend me. And they stood there, tearing me apart like I was a child unworthy of my crown!"
In a sudden wave of emotion, Nareech raised his hand—and slap.
The sound echoed louder than any shattered mirror.
Ratchathai blinked, stunned. The rage seemed to falter in his eyes, replaced by something softer. Something broken.
"Enough," Nareech said, quieter now. "You don't get to self-destruct and think no one will care."
Ratchathai collapsed onto his knees, trembling. "I don't know how to do this anymore, Nareech. The politics. The loneliness. The guilt. Everything I do is wrong. Everything I feel is forbidden. Including this."
He clutched his injured hand, but his other reached forward—grabbing the hem of Nareech's robe like it was the only anchor he had left.
"I didn't ask to feel this way for you," Ratchathai whispered. "But I do. And it terrifies me."
Nareech knelt beside him, silent for a long moment.
Then, carefully, he took Ratchathai's bleeding hand and began to bandage it with torn silk from the edge of the ruined curtain. His touch was gentle. Reverent.
"I never asked for it either," Nareech murmured. "But the forest taught me this: even when you're cut down, even when winter claims the land, something always grows again."
Ratchathai leaned into him then, forehead resting against Nareech's shoulder. The silence between them was no longer hollow—but full. A quiet between heartbeats.
"You're not alone, Ratchathai," Nareech whispered.
He stayed there until Ratchathai fell asleep on the couch, hand bandaged and breath steady. As he rose to leave, Nareech turned back just once. He leaned down and kissed Ratchathai's forehead, tenderly.
But as he turned to go, a sudden grip on his wrist froze him in place.
Ratchathai, still half-asleep, pulled him back—eyes fluttering open just enough to find Nareech's gaze. Then, in a swift motion, he pulled Nareech down and kissed him—on the lips.
Soft. Honest. Full of every shattered thing that longed to be whole again.
Nareech gasped, lips parting in stunned silence. He stared at Ratchathai, who blinked in sleepy confusion.
"I'm sorry," Ratchathai breathed. "I just… didn't want you to leave."
Nareech's heart thundered. He stood up quickly, face flushed—and without another word, fled the room, the warmth of the kiss still burning on his lips.
The morning mist had barely lifted when Nareech stepped out of his cottage, heart still thudding from dreams he couldn't outrun. Dreams of warm hands, soft words, and a kiss that still lingered like honey on his lips.
He hadn't slept. How could he?
Each time he closed his eyes, he saw Ratchathai's gaze—raw and pleading. And each day that followed, the crown prince returned.
Unannounced. Undeterred.
Ratchathai would arrive on horseback, standing awkwardly by the garden gate, arms crossed, eyes occasionally wandering to the window where Nareech pretended not to look.
"Depe," Ratchathai called each time. "Let me in."
And each time, Nareech would chase him away—heart racing, cheeks flushed, retreating behind the safety of closed shutters and excuses. The villagers whispered. Children giggled. Even the birds seemed to mock his bashful retreat.
But Ratchathai never stopped coming.
Until one late afternoon, when golden sunlight soaked the fields in amber, and Nareech found himself walking again toward the kingdom's border. Toward the field of wildflowers, where the trees parted like a gateway between two worlds—his solitude, and Ratchathai's persistence.
And there, as if summoned by memory and longing, Ratchathai stood beneath the tree once more. Not in royal armor, but in a simple tunic, his hair unbound, eyes brighter than the sky.
Nareech hesitated. But this time—he didn't turn away.
He walked forward.
"Are you going to keep showing up like a ghost at my doorstep?" Nareech asked, folding his arms.
Ratchathai smiled. "Only if it haunts you."
A silence stretched between them. Wind stirred the wildflowers, and in that quiet bloom of color and scent, Nareech asked, softly, "Why does your family hate you so much?"
Ratchathai's smile faltered.
And then—words began to spill. Slowly. Painfully.
"My mother died when I was twelve. A fever. It came in the night and took her before dawn. I remember her last words. She said, 'Don't let them change your heart.'" His voice cracked.
"And your father?" Nareech asked gently.
Ratchathai's jaw tightened. "He fell ill just a year later. Some say it was grief, others whisper poison. I don't know. But he couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Just… laid there. And the council stripped his power while his body grew cold."
He looked away. "After that, my uncles, cousins… they all started circling like vultures. Calling me too young, too soft. They pitied me, but they also feared me. So they tried to humiliate me. Undermine me. Tell me I was unworthy of the crown."
Nareech stepped closer, his breath catching at the sorrow in Ratchathai's voice.
"I tried to fight them. To be strong," Ratchathai continued. "But I failed. I broke things. I bled. And no one noticed."
A single tear slipped down his cheek. "Until you did."
Nareech's heart ached.
Without thinking, he reached out and pulled Ratchathai into an embrace. No words. Just warmth. Just presence.
Ratchathai clung to him, trembling. And for the first time, Elion didn't pull away.
"I see you," Nareech whispered. "Not as a prince. Not as a threat. Just… you."
They stood there under the tree where wildflowers grew—two souls too scarred for fairy tales, yet pulled together like stars drawn to the same sky.
Ratchathai pulled back just enough to meet Nareech's gaze. "Then why won't you answer me? Why won't you say yes?"
Nareech hesitated. He wanted to say it. To give in. But the weight of past betrayals, the memory of two loyal knights who once looked at him the same way… it all tangled around his heart.
"I'm afraid," Nareech admitted, voice barely a breath. "Afraid that if I open myself to this… I won't be able to close it again. And I've lost too much already."
Ratchathai reached up and gently cupped Nareech's cheek. "Then let me be someone you don't have to lose."
The words hung in the air like a promise.
Nareech didn't reply. Not yet.
But he didn't run, either.
And perhaps, in the language of guarded hearts, that was already an answer.