18 Laughter Echoed

Dread hung heavy in the air outside the throne hall. Ministers huddled together, their hushed whispers laced with palpable anxiety. Faces etched with worry, they spoke of ill omens and impending disaster.

"What an ominous sign this is," one muttered, a tremor in his voice.

"I can't believe we were just sending aid to the people of Umusa Kingdom, and now... now there's a serious outbreak in the northwest!" another exclaimed, frustration mingling with fear.

"I'm more afraid that the Tanggolian misunderstood our aid to the Umusa Kingdom and launched a war on our southern border," a third chimed in, his brow furrowed with deep concern.

"I'm greatly opposed to His Majesty sending the Fourth Princess to help," a booming voice cut through the murmurs. "No matter what His Highness thinks, the Fourth Princess is a princess after all, not a prince!"

"If her aid fails, the kingdoms around us will surely laugh at us," a cynical voice added, a hint of despair in his tone.

"I believe this is the punishment given to us by the late king," a solemn voice declared.

"Yes, I agree," another minister quickly assented, nodding gravely.

"Or maybe it's a sign that our kingdom faces huge losses if the throne passes to the Crown Prince," a conspiratorial whisper concluded, as the gathered Magoli ministers stood muttering in front of the throne hall stairs. Their voices quickly faded to hushed tones as they noticed Esen approaching, a respectful silence falling amongst them. He was, after all, Yargui's father, Bastsaikhan's fiancée's father, and the father of their future queen's betrothed.

The grand doors of the throne hall creaked open, and the ministers, straightening their robes, ascended the stairs to take their designated places within. Moments later, the door to the left opened, and Batukhan and Tong entered. Batukhan moved with a practiced stride to his throne, his gaze sweeping over his assembled ministers.

"Please sit down," Batukhan commanded, his voice firm, yet tinged with weariness. He waited for the rustling of robes to subside before continuing. "You may have heard that the epidemic in the northwest city has spread to twenty villages and three big cities, killing six thousand people." He paused, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "Additionally, flooding in the southwest destroyed four villages, leaving thousands of residents without food and homes. There is no word yet on the soldiers we sent to aid Umusa Kingdom." His eyes, filled with a profound weariness, met those of his ministers. "The battle is long, and the outcome is unpredictable. Therefore, today we will not talk about the war in Umusa Kingdom. Our focus is on how to deal with the epidemic in the northwest and the floods in the southwest." He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intensifying. "Please tell us your opinion and what you have done so far for these cities and villages."

Esen stepped forward, his voice clear and decisive. "Your Majesty, I have ordered the summoning of doctors in Hmagol to support the northwest. Many doctors have advised people in those villages and cities not to go to other provinces and cities to prevent the spread of the epidemic. After today's meeting, I will ask the doctors to outline what preventive measures need to be taken."

Tarkhan followed, his tone confident. "Regarding the flooding in the southwest, I have provided assistance to them. And I have also written to Mayor Orgil asking him to build temporary shelters for villagers in nearby villages."

A genuine smile touched Batukhan's lips, a rare sight amidst the current anxieties. "Okay, then I will leave those two to you two," he said, a hint of relief in his voice. He sighed again, a different kind of sigh this time, one of anticipation. "Starting with the Royal Wedding..."

Suddenly, a guard burst into the hall, his hurried footsteps echoing through the chamber. He knelt before Batukhan, breathless. "Report! A soldier brought an urgent report from Umusa Kingdom!"

Batukhan's heart plummeted. The news he had been dreading, yet desperately longed for, had arrived. His pulse quickened, a frantic drumbeat against his ribs. He stared at the kneeling soldier, his mind momentarily blank. The royal wedding, all thoughts of it, vanished, replaced by a chilling premonition. If Chinua had been defeated by the Razaasia soldiers, the next person to take her place would undoubtedly be Bastsaikhan. Swallowing hard, he fought to steady his voice, a faint tremor still betraying his apprehension. "Bring the soldier in," he managed to command.

With trembling hands, Batukhan slowly unfolded the letter. His eyes scanned the parchment, the ministers watching him with bated breath, their gazes fixed on his every twitch and furrow. And then, a sudden, booming laugh erupted from Batukhan, startling everyone in the throne hall.

"Misheel!" Batukhan exclaimed, his face radiating joy as he practically thrust the letter into his minister's hands.

Misheel, his eyes wide with surprise, rose from his seat and strode to the center of the throne hall. "The minister is here to carry out His Majesty's order," he stated, a hint of awe in his voice.

Batukhan, his smile uncontainable, practically beamed. "Order the imperial guards to raise all the flags on the east side of the city wall!" He looked at Misheel, his eyes sparkling with triumph. "The General of the Eastern border successfully defended Hosha City!"

A collective gasp rippled through the throne hall. A few ministers cheered, their faces alight with relief, but the majority stood frozen, their earlier pronouncements of doom now making them flush with shame. All the ministers rose as one, walking to the center of the hall. In a thunderous unison, they cried, "Congratulations to His Majesty! Congratulations to the Eastern General!"

A gentle breeze, fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers, swirled through the royal garden, caressing the two figures seated within a tranquil pavilion. Bastsaikhan and Yargui were engrossed in a game of shatar. Bastsaikhan surveyed the board, a sigh escaping his lips as he realized Yargui had deftly surrounded him. He placed his gold shatar piece on the table, conceding defeat.

"What's the matter, Your Highness?" Yargui asked, her voice soft and inquisitive.

"You have surrounded me," Bastsaikhan admitted, a rueful smile playing on his lips. "The winner of the game is you."

Yargui smiled gently, her eyes twinkling. "The reason His Highness is besieged is that he's in a bad mood." She looked at Bastsaikhan, her expression softening. "I know you are worried about the Fourth Princess. But Your Highness," she continued, her smile widening, "you don't have to worry too much about her. Her Highness has made great achievements in these years. She is someone many young Magoli women admire, even me. She convinced me that we women are not victims; we are makers of peace, we are the backbone of a successful man, and all we need is a fighting chance."

Bastsaikhan chuckled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "I didn't know you looked up to Chinua."

Yargui's smile broadened, her voice a soft murmur, her eyes sparkling with genuine admiration. "Your Highness may not know, but the story of the Fourth Princess has become folklore. If she successfully aids Umusa Kingdom and restores trust with our ally, her story will spread to every corner of Hmagol's streets."

"You might be the future princess consort, but you still have to be careful what you say," a harsh voice cut through the peaceful scene. Qara approached the pavilion, her presence immediately chilling the air.

Yargui sprang to her feet, bowing deeply to Qara. "Your Majesty is correct," she said, her voice laced with deference. "Please forgive my ill words."

Qara's gaze was sharp, her voice devoid of warmth. "I don't want to hear the gossip of the peasants in the palace."

"Mother, it is a good thing that citizens praise Chinua," Bastsaikhan interjected, trying to soften the tension.

Qara settled herself at the table opposite Bastsaikhan, her expression unyielding. "Words of praise are not always good. They can hurt you." She glanced at the shatar board, then picked up a piece, placing it on the board with a decisive click. She reached for another as Gan, out of breath, rushed into the pavilion.

"Your Highness," Gan panted, positioning herself close to the table, between Qara and Bastsaikhan.

Qara's heart hammered against her ribs. She had sent Gan to the throne hall early that morning, desperate for news of Chinua. Her hand trembled, and the shatar piece she held slipped from her grasp, clattering to the ground. "What is it?" she demanded, her voice barely a whisper, thick with urgency.

"His Majesty just ordered that all the flags in the east of the city be raised," Gan announced, her voice filled with suppressed excitement.

Both Qara and Bastsaikhan stared at Gan, a mixture of disbelief and hope dawning on their faces. "All the flags?" Qara whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Gan nodded, a wide smile spreading across her face.

A deep, shuddering sigh of relief escaped Bastsaikhan's lips. All the flags raised—it meant the General and his captains were safe.

"That means... Chinua wins," Qara breathed, a knowing smile spreading across her face as she looked at Bastsaikhan. "Your legs have learned to walk." She picked up a shatar piece from the table, placing it on the board with a definitive thud. "Your move."

From Erhi's chamber on the East side of the palace, the crashing sound of objects reverberated through the air. Maids and servants huddled outside, their faces pale with terror, waiting for the furious commotion to subside.

"What? How come that thing is still alive?!" Erhi shrieked, her voice raw with fury, as she swept the makeup box off her dressing table, sending it crashing to the floor. Her eyes, narrowed to slits, glared at Nugai. "Tell Gegeen to meet me after the morning meeting!"

Nugai bowed low, then scurried out of the room, eager to escape the storm.

Erhi let out another guttural scream of pure rage. Her eyes were bloodshot, practically bulging with unbridled fury, and the veins on her neck, usually hidden, pulsed violently beneath her skin as she continued her destructive rampage, knocking everything within reach to the floor until almost nothing remained intact.

Gasping for breath, her chest heaving, she surveyed the wreckage: shattered vases, overturned furniture, a scene of utter chaos. She finally looked up, catching her reflection in the mirror. With an effort, she took a few shaky breaths, then picked up an overturned stool, placing it in front of the dressing table. She sank onto it, her eyes still blazing with hatred as she stared at her reflection. She picked up a comb, its teeth biting into her tangled hair.

"I sent you to the south, but you didn't die," Erhi whispered, a sinister smile creeping onto her face as she placed her hand flat on the table. "I sent you into the war, but... you didn't die." Her smile widened, a chilling, almost maniacal gleam in her eyes. "On your way to Tanggolia, let's see how many days you will live." With a sudden, violent snap, she broke the comb in two.

She picked up the broken half, its sharp edges scraping against her scalp as she began to comb her hair, a low, unsettling hum rising from her throat.