Do-hyun sat motionless in the dim study, his fingers tracing the embroidery of Hae-ju’s abandoned silk handkerchief. His father had sworn to protect her, a promise he had believed sacred—until it wasn’t kept. The fabric crumpled in his grip, her ughter cshing against the silence she had left behind. Again and again, failure repyed in his mind: her outstretched hand, his hesitation, the finality of her loss.
He had imagined a different outcome—one where he was her shield. But all that remained were fragments of what could have been.
The room was suffocating in its stillness, the air thick with grief. A knot of guilt twisted inside him, tightening with each breath. He clenched the handkerchief until its delicate fibers slipped between his fingers, fleeting as the time he had with her. Regret sat heavy in his chest, relentless and unyielding.
Then, a shift in the room.
He lifted his head to find his wife standing across from him. Her gaze—steady, knowing—carried an understanding he could neither escape nor bear.
"I promised my father I’d protect his friend’s children," he murmured, his voice rough with regret. The words hung in the air, brittle as ash.
She stepped forward, her arms slipping around him. Her warmth pressed against the cold settling deep in his bones. There was a tremor in her touch, sorrow kept tucked away. She held him tightly, as if willing him to stay afloat in the storm raging within.
"You did all you could," she whispered, her voice soft yet fragile.
The words should have been a balm, but they only deepened the ache in his chest.
"Because of you, she lived long enough to be free of him."
Do-hyun swallowed hard. It was meant to soothe, yet all he heard was his failure. He had not been enough.
His wife's embrace remained steady, but it did little to ease the gnawing sense of regret that rooted him in pce. The tide of guilt was relentless, pulling him under. He exhaled a shuddering breath, his voice barely above a whisper.
"As long as she’s free, I pray she finds peace. I’m sorry, Hae-ju…"
The next day, Do-hyun forced himself to move forward. He penned a letter to a distant vilge, sealing it with the weight of finality. Kim Gyu left to deliver it without a word, his purpose unspoken yet understood. When he returned, Do-hyun sat in his study, fingers tracing the edges of a book, the words blurring into meaninglessness.
"Young Lord..." Kim Gyu’s voice broke the stillness, heavy with sorrow.
Do-hyun straightened, pulse quickening. "How did it go?" His voice was tight with anxiety.
Kim Gyu hesitated. His gaze flickered downward before meeting Do-hyun’s again.
"He’s in despair. Nothing can ease the wound."
The words struck like a physical blow. Do-hyun’s breath caught, his body turning rigid. The silence that followed was suffocating. Even Kim Gyu, a man who rarely betrayed emotion, stood tense, his usual composure shadowed with concern.
Do-hyun closed his eyes, willing himself steady, but the weight of helplessness was unbearable. A tremor ran through his hands, and he clenched them into fists, grasping for something—anything—solid. But nothing felt real anymore.
"And my father?" His voice came hoarse, raw.
Kim Gyu’s jaw tightened. His gaze dropped momentarily before he forced himself to meet Do-hyun’s eyes.
"Colpsed after hearing the news. He hasn’t woken since."
Cold dread spread through Do-hyun’s chest, tightening around his ribs like an iron grip. His heart pounded, vision tilting. For a fleeting moment, the world blurred at the edges, breath coming in short, shallow bursts.
The silence deepened. His thoughts fragmented, colliding too quickly to grasp. And then, through the chaos, one thought anchored him—his son.
What of his son?
His voice trembled as he forced the words out. "What happened to my son? What comes next?"
The question lingered, heavy with unspoken fears.
Kim Gyu bowed, slow and deliberate. As he turned to leave, Do-hyun spoke again, his voice lower, yet weighted with newfound resolve.
"Kim Gyu."
Kim Gyu paused, his hand resting on the doorframe.
"Yes, Young Lord?"
"If anything happens to me…" Do-hyun swallowed hard. "You must take my son as your student. And Jin Hwi, too. They need to learn before it’s too te."
Kim Gyu’s shoulders stiffened. Silence stretched between them before he finally nodded. "Understood. For their future."
As Kim Gyu departed, Do-hyun remained in the study, gaze distant. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows, the weight of an uncertain future pressing down on him. Fear and hope coiled together, fragile and fleeting—like the final breath before a storm.
He couldn’t help but think of Seo Yeon. They were now caught in the same tempest, driven by forces beyond their control. As lost as he felt in his own turmoil, he knew she was facing her own impossible choices.
How many paths could one walk before everything blurred into a single, inevitable fate?
The weight of their separate battles pressed on him, but he knew—sooner or ter—their fates would intertwine once more.
Meanwhile, in the Queen’s chambers, Seo Yeon stood by the window, the soft evening light casting long shadows across the room. Her thoughts, too, were clouded with heavy news, much like Do-hyun’s. The urgency of their situation had gripped her in a vice, suffocating her with the same unbearable pressure he had felt moments before.
She turned toward Soon-i, her voice barely a whisper, thick with the gravity of the moment. "Soon-i," she called, her eyes weary, the weight of the situation pressing on her. Soon-i bowed respectfully. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"Did you send the letter to my brother?" Seo Yeon’s words hung in the air like a storm on the horizon.
Soon-i nodded, her expression shadowed with concern. "Yes, Your Majesty. He... he wept for two days. Couldn’t rise from his bed. Only his son could console him."
Seo Yeon closed her eyes, her breath stilled as she absorbed the news. She lifted a hand, a quiet gesture as if to hold back the flood of emotion threatening to spill. "Enough," she murmured, her voice little more than a breath, dismissing the words before they could settle too deeply.
Soon-i bowed once more, her eyes betraying the sorrow she kept tightly under control. She turned to leave, each step slow and heavy with a rising fury. The rumor mill had begun to stir, and she felt it in her bones. Her heart pounding, the maid hurried to Concubine Yoo Ha’s quarters. Soon-i’s sharp gaze followed her departure, suspicion clouding her thoughts. Something was shifting, but she couldn’t yet see the full shape of it.
Footsteps echoed in the dim corridor, and from the shadows, Yoo Ha emerged, her presence commanding the space like a cold wind. She studied the maid with a calcuting gaze, her eyes flicking over the report with a knowing smile that didn’t quite reach her lips. The smile faltered as the maid spoke, and the room grew colder under the weight of Yoo Ha’s silence.
With a voice low enough to cut through the tension, Yoo Ha commanded, "I’ll leave it to you."
The maid nodded quickly, her composure slipping like water from cupped hands. She retreated, vanishing into the gloom, leaving the hall thick with an almost palpable tension. Yoo Ha’s eyes lingered a moment longer, intent clear—she would uncover the Queen’s secrets, no matter the cost.
Back in the Queen’s chambers, Seo Yeon’s thoughts spun in disarray, grief and confusion intertwining until she could hardly distinguish one from the other. The coldness of Hyun Yeol’s distance had swallowed her in ways she hadn’t fully realized, and now, in the silence of the room, that distance felt like an insurmountable chasm. Her heart ached, torn between the remnants of their connection and the growing realization that something essential was slipping away.
She blinked, the weight of it pressing down, but then—almost imperceptibly—a shift. Her son. The thought of him, his future, grounded her, offering a crity that cut through the fog of her emotions. She had allowed herself to drift, but now, with painful crity, she understood what truly mattered. Family. Her resolve began to solidify, not as a rejection of Hyun Yeol, but as an anchor for what she could still protect, the love she could still offer.
That was where her strength needed to lie. The sharpness of the moment, her son’s need, cut through the haze of her own sorrow. She knelt beside Lee San, her hand settling on his trembling shoulder, her fingers cold against his heated skin.
"Prince Lee San…" she whispered, her voice threaded with quiet concern.
Lee San’s fingers dug into her skirt, his breath shallow and frantic, each inhale feeling like he was drowning in a sea of his own helplessness. His chest rose and fell in a desperate, erratic rhythm, the crushing weight of his fear suffocating him. "I can’t lose her," he whispered hoarsely, the words slipping out before he could stop them, the desperation raw in his voice. His body trembled uncontrolbly, every muscle straining against the overwhelming panic that threatened to unravel him. Seo Yeon’s steady hands on his shoulders grounded him, but the storm inside him raged, relentless, and consuming.
"Mother Queen..." His voice trembled. "I almost made a mistake..."
Seo Yeon’s chest tightened, but she said nothing. She pulled him into her arms, holding him with a tenderness that spoke volumes.
"Breathe, my son," she urged gently, her voice a soothing balm. "Breathe. Once you're calm, we’ll speak."
Lee San’s shallow breaths began to slow, his body quivering less with each inhale. After a long moment, he pulled back, his eyes clouded with doubt, but his tears had ceased. Seo Yeon guided him back to his study, her touch light on his arm. She dismissed the dies-in-waiting, leaving only Soon-i by their side. The tension in the air was thick, but Seo Yeon’s grip on her son was steady and strong.
Seo Yeon sat in her chambers, the evening light casting long, fragile shadows. Min Byu Saek entered with a deep bow.
"What brings you to my quarters, Guksa Min?" Her voice was calm, yet there was an edge—like a bde left out in the open air, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Byu Saek straightened. "Your Majesty, His Majesty neglects his duties. Since the Crown Princess’s death, he has withdrawn from state affairs. You must remind him of his obligations."
Seo Yeon’s fingers clenched into fists, nails digging into her palm. Her jaw locked, but she remained perfectly still. Byu Saek paused, noticing the change in the air.
The casual mention of Hae-ju twisted inside her—grief rising, dark and sharp, like a knife edge against her heart. She swallowed it down, forcing her expression to remain still.
"Mind your tongue, Guksa Min," she said, her voice low, colder than the winter nights they once shared. "The te Crown Princess was my sister in all but blood. Speak of her as if she were a mere casualty of politics again, and I'll have you begging for the ground beneath your feet."
Byu Saek's eyes widened. He pressed his lips tight, bowing even deeper, his face drained. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I meant no offense..."
Seo Yeon took a long, controlled breath, her voice like ice over the fire of her fury. "Enough. I’ll speak to His Majesty. Now, leave before I decide your presence is more trouble than you’re worth."
He hesitated, before bowing once more and retreating swiftly. The door clicked shut behind him with a finality that seemed to echo through the chambers.
Soon-i stepped forward, pcing a bundle of papers on the desk.
"Guksa Min left these, Your Majesty."
Seo Yeon’s gaze lingered over the documents, one after another, each page a fresh wound. They were reminders—painful, unavoidable—of the mess Hyun Yeol had left behind. Her chest tightened with each line she read, the weight of the chaos growing heavier.
Every day it worsens, she thought, the bitterness of it flooding her thoughts. The unrest, the failure, the constant struggle to keep it all from unraveling completely.
She set the papers aside, her fingers trembling slightly as she folded her hands on the desk. Her heart felt as if it were pounding in her throat, but her expression remained calm—too calm, perhaps. I cannot wait any longer.
The words came out quietly, almost to herself, but Soon-i was there, waiting for her command. Seo Yeon’s voice broke the silence, steady but resolute. "Prepare to go to the King’s quarters."
Soon-i’s breath caught at the sharpness in her tone. She hesitated, the weight of what Seo Yeon was asking sinking in. "Your Majesty, the King has forbidden all visitors…" The words seemed to hang in the air, an unspoken warning in them.
Seo Yeon’s eyes flickered up, narrowing with a sharpness that could cut through steel. Her gaze hardened, and for a moment, the room felt colder, as if the very air had thickened with her resolve. "Then we’ll see if any man dares bar a Queen from what is rightfully hers."
Her voice had dropped to a dangerous softness, but there was no mistaking the power behind it. Soon-i hesitated, but only for a breath. There was nothing left to say, and with that, she moved to prepare.
She stood, her movements fluid and purposeful, her steps unwavering as she made her way to the King’s quarters. At the entrance, a eunuch bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty... The King has requested no visitors."
Soon-i bristled, a fsh of defiance in her eyes. "How dare he lock himself away while the court rots with whispers!"
Seo Yeon raised a hand, silencing her before turning to the eunuch. "Where is Eunuch Lee?"
The eunuch shifted uneasily. "He is... on an errand."
Seo Yeon’s eyes narrowed, sharp as a hawk’s. "For whom? Concubine Kim Yoo Ha?"
The eunuch paled, his hands trembling. "I swear, Your Majesty... I know nothing."
Seo Yeon’s lips curled into a cruel smile. "Step aside. I do not repeat myself."
He lowered his head and stepped aside, fear etched into his every movement. Seo Yeon entered, unchallenged. Inside, Hyun Yeol sat before a rge portrait of Hae-ju, a jar of liquor in his hand. At the sight of her, he chuckled—mocking, bitter—and his lips twisted into a cruel smile.
"My Queen! Come, Hae-ju wishes to see you."
