Do-hyun sat motionless in the dim study, his fingers tracing the embroidery on Hae-ju's abandoned silk handkerchief. His father had sworn to protect her—a promise he had once believed sacred, until it was broken. The fabric crumpled in his grip, her laughter clashing against the silence of her absence. Again and again, failure replayed 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 now, only fragments of what could have been remained.
The room was suffocating in its stillness, the air thick with grief. A knot of guilt twisted inside him, tightening with every breath. He clutched the handkerchief until its delicate fibers slipped through his grasp, as 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 and knowing—a look that held 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—a sorrow carefully hidden—but she held him tightly, as if willing him to stay afloat in the storm raging within.
"You did all you could," she whispered, soft yet fragile.
The words should have been a balm, but they deepened the ache in his chest.
"Because of you, she lived long enough to be free of him."
Do-hyun swallowed hard. The intended solace only echoed his failure—he had not been enough.
His wife's embrace remained, yet it did little to ease the gnawing guilt that rooted him to his seat. The tide of regret was relentless, pulling him under. He exhaled a shuddering breath, his voice barely 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 village, sealing it with the weight of finality. Kim Gyu departed 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 as the words blurred 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 flickering downward before meeting Do-hyun's again.
"He's in despair. Nothing can ease the wound."
The words struck like a blow. Do-hyun's breath caught, his body turning rigid. The ensuing silence was suffocating. Even Kim Gyu, usually reserved, stood tense, his composure shadowed with concern.
Do-hyun closed his eyes, trying to steady himself, but the weight of helplessness was unbearable. A tremor ran through his hands as he clenched them into fists, grasping for something—anything—solid. Yet nothing felt real anymore.
"And my father?" His voice came hoarse, raw.
Kim Gyu's jaw tightened. He dropped his gaze momentarily before forcing himself to meet Do-hyun's eyes.
"Collapsed after hearing the news. He hasn't woken since."
Cold dread spread through Do-hyun's chest, an iron grip tightening around his ribs. His heart pounded as his vision tilted; for a fleeting moment, the world blurred at the edges, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts.
Then, amid the chaos, one thought anchored him—his son.
"What happened to my son? What comes next?" His voice trembled as he forced the question out, heavy with unspoken fears.
Kim Gyu bowed slowly. As he turned to leave, Do-hyun spoke again, his voice low yet resolute.
"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 late."
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, his 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 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 impossible choices as well.
How many paths could one walk before everything blurred into a single, inevitable fate?
The weight of their separate battles pressed on him, yet he knew—sooner or later—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 were clouded with heavy news, much like Do-hyun's. The urgency of their situation 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 gravity. "Soon-i," she called, her eyes weary under the weight of the moment.
Soon-i bowed respectfully. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"Did you send the letter to my brother?" Seo Yeon's words hung like a storm on the horizon.
Soon-i nodded, her expression shadowed with concern. "Yes, Your Majesty. He... he wept for two days. Only his son could console him."
Seo Yeon closed her eyes, her breath stilled as she absorbed the news. Lifting a hand as if to hold back a flood, she murmured, "Enough," dismissing the words before they could settle too deeply.
Soon-i bowed once more, her eyes betraying the sorrow she held tightly under control, then turned to leave. Each step was heavy with a rising fury. The rumor mill had begun to stir, and she felt it deep in her bones. Her heart pounded as the maid hurried to Concubine Yoo Ha's quarters. Soon-i's sharp gaze followed her departure, suspicion clouding her thoughts. Something was shifting, though its full shape remained hidden.
Footsteps echoed in the dim corridor. From the shadows, Yoo Ha emerged, her presence commanding the space like a cold wind. She studied the maid with a calculating gaze, eyes flicking over the report with a knowing smile that never quite reached her lips. The smile faltered as the maid spoke, and the room grew colder under the weight of Yoo Ha's silence.
In a low, cutting tone, Yoo Ha commanded, "I'll leave it to you."
The maid nodded quickly, her composure slipping like water from cupped hands. She retreated into the gloom, leaving the hall thick with palpable tension. Yoo Ha 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 they became indistinguishable. The cold distance of Hyun Yeol 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 remnants of connection and the growing realization that something essential was slipping away.
She blinked under the weight of it all, then—almost imperceptibly—a shift. Her son. The thought of him, his future, grounded her, offering clarity that cut through the fog. She had allowed herself to drift, but now she understood what truly mattered: family. Her resolve solidified—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 her sorrow. She knelt beside Lee San, her hand settling on his trembling shoulder, her touch cool against his fevered skin.
"Prince Lee San…" she whispered, her voice threaded with quiet concern.
Lee San's fingers dug into her skirt as his breath came in desperate, erratic gasps, each inhale a struggle against overwhelming panic. "I can't lose her," he choked out, the words raw and unbidden. His body trembled, every muscle straining against the crushing weight of fear. Seo Yeon's steady hands on his shoulders offered grounding amid the storm.
"Mother Queen..." his voice trembled. "I almost made a mistake..."
Seo Yeon's chest tightened, but she said nothing, instead pulling him into a tender embrace.
"Breathe, my son," she urged gently, her voice a soothing balm. "Once you're calm, we'll speak."
Lee San's shallow breaths gradually slowed, his quivering subsiding with each inhale. After a long moment, he pulled back, his eyes clouded with doubt, yet his tears had ceased. Seo Yeon guided him back to his study, dismissing the ladies-in-waiting and leaving only Soon-i by their side. The tension was thick, but her grip on her son remained steadfast.
Later, Seo Yeon sat in her chambers, the evening light casting fragile shadows. Min Byu Saek entered with a deep bow.
"What brings you to my quarters, Guksa Min?" Her voice was calm, yet edged like a blade waiting 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 biting into her palm. Her jaw locked, but she remained still. Byu Saek paused, sensing the change in the air.
The mention of Hae-ju twisted inside her—grief rising, dark and sharp, like a knife's edge against her heart. She swallowed hard, forcing her expression to remain composed.
"Mind your tongue, Guksa Min," she said in a low, chilling tone. "The late Crown Princess was my sister in all but blood. Speak of her as if she were merely a casualty of politics, and I'll have you begging for the ground beneath your feet."
Byu Saek's eyes widened as he pressed his lips tight, bowing even deeper. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I meant no offense..."
Seo Yeon took a long, controlled breath, her voice icy 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, then bowed once more and retreated swiftly. The door clicked shut with a finality that echoed through the chambers.
Soon-i stepped forward, placing a bundle of papers on the desk.
"Guksa Min left these, Your Majesty."
Seo Yeon's gaze lingered over the documents, each page a fresh wound—painful reminders of the chaos Hyun Yeol had wrought. Her chest tightened with every line, the weight of the unrest growing heavier.
Every day it worsened, she thought, as bitterness flooded her mind. The struggle to keep everything from unraveling completely was endless.
Setting the papers aside, her fingers trembled as she folded her hands on the desk. Her heart pounded in her throat, yet her expression remained eerily calm. "I cannot wait any longer," she murmured.
The words came out quietly, almost to herself, but Soon-i waited for her command. Seo Yeon's voice broke the silence, steady yet resolute. "Prepare to go to the King's quarters."
Soon-i's breath caught at the sharpness in her tone. "Your Majesty, the King has forbidden all visitors…" The words hung as an unspoken warning.
Seo Yeon's eyes narrowed, hard as a hawk's. "Then we'll see if any man dares bar a Queen from what is rightfully hers."
Her voice dropped to a dangerous softness, yet there was no mistaking the power behind it. Soon-i hesitated briefly, then moved to prepare.
She stood with fluid, purposeful movements, 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 flash 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 sharply. "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 in every movement. Seo Yeon entered unchallenged. Inside, Hyun Yeol sat before a large 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."