Hyun Yeol moved swiftly through the palace corridors, his steps echoing unnervingly in the silence. The usual bustle—the servants’ footsteps, the low murmurs of conversations—was absent. It was a silence pregnant with meaning, as though the weight of untold secrets hung heavy in the air. He reached his chambers and pushed open the door with a creak, the sound sharper than it had any right to be. Inside, Eunuch Lee stood at attention, his stance rigid, the space between them thick with unspoken words.

  "Your Majesty," Eunuch Lee greeted, bowing deeply, his voice tinged with a weight that mirrored the stillness in the room.

  Hyun Yeol didn't respond immediately. His eyes drifted to the window, where flickering candlelight stretched across the darkened walls, casting long shadows that seemed to whisper of things lost. His fists clenched involuntarily, nails digging into his palms, grounding him in a reality he wanted to escape. When his voice finally came, it was rough, barely holding together. "The search for the Crown Princess is over... She’s dead."

  Eunuch Lee froze. For a moment, his expression faltered before his eyes narrowed, the lines of concern deepening. "The Ming? Did they—?"

  "Yes," Hyun Yeol interrupted sharply, his voice tight with restrained fury. But under the anger, there was something else—a brittle layer of guilt that he couldn’t push aside. "They killed her. You were only trying to protect her." His words were a lie, heavy and bitter, but it was the only way he could hold on to control. The truth—the fact that the Ming had nothing to do with her death—was a truth he couldn’t face. It was his own weakness, his own negligence that had caused it.

  Eunuch Lee’s brow furrowed, a rare intensity flashing in his eyes, though his face remained calm. "We will act swiftly, Your Majesty."

  Hyun Yeol nodded, his mind clouded with thoughts of vengeance. But it all felt distant now, the fire inside him cold. "The Ming will pay."

  Before Eunuch Lee could leave, Hyun Yeol’s voice stopped him, raw and trembling beneath his usual mask of authority. "Send for an artist... and the Queen’s brother. Have them create a portrait of Hae-ju—of her as she once was. Bright. Beautiful."

  In her chambers, the Queen sat motionless, the news of Hae-ju's death settling over her like a wound—one that had never truly healed. She had seen this day coming, had felt the rift between her and Hyun Yeol deepen, until it had become an insurmountable chasm. Hae-ju was gone, but it was her husband who had driven the knife in. The grief, though sharp, was familiar—a constant ache she had learned to bear. But now, it was an open wound, bleeding and raw.

  Her hand moved mechanically, dipping the quill into ink, her strokes deliberate. The words she wrote held meaning only for those who could decipher them, but to the one who understood, they spoke clearly: a message. A final farewell. She sealed the letter with a heavy heart, the weight of it pressing down on her chest like a stone.

  In his study, Do-hyun sat motionless, the moonlight casting long shadows across the room. The letter lay on his desk, its contents stabbing at him, each word a wound. Grief churned inside him, but it was hollow—grief that refused to settle. The steward’s voice broke the silence, soft with concern.

  "Lord?" the steward asked, his voice edged with worry.

  Do-hyun’s gaze lingered on the moonlit night, but his eyes were unfocused, his mind trapped in the past, in promises broken and failures he couldn’t undo. A knot of guilt tightened in his chest. "I promised my father I’d protect his friend’s children... but I failed. I couldn’t protect Hae-ju." His voice cracked, and for a moment, the weight of his words felt too much to bear. His throat constricted, as though the very air conspired against him.

  His wife’s arms slipped around him, her touch warm, fragile, anchoring him to the moment. "You did all you could," she whispered, her voice thick with strength. "Because of you, she lived long enough to be free of him."

  But the ache inside him didn’t subside. It burned, relentless. "My sister’s still in pain... And I can’t comfort her without drawing suspicion." His hands curled into fists at his sides, his body taut, every word a battle to hold in.

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  She winced at the mention of Hyun Yeol but said nothing. "At least she’s free of him. No more fear."

  Do-hyun nodded stiffly, as if the simple gesture could break him. "Yes... As long as she’s free, I hope she finds peace. I’m sorry, Hae-ju..."

  The next morning, Do-hyun sent a letter to a distant village, its words heavy with finality. His bodyguard, Kim Gyu, left quietly, moving with the efficiency of someone who understood the stakes. When he returned, Do-hyun sat in his study, his thoughts tangled in dread and fleeting hope. His fingers traced the edges of a book, but the words blurred, meaningless.

  "Young Lord..." Kim Gyu’s voice broke the stillness, low and grave, carrying sorrow of his own.

  "How did it go?" Do-hyun asked, his voice strained, betraying the urgency beneath it.

  Kim Gyu’s expression darkened, his eyes shadowed with something unreadable. "He’s in despair. Nothing can ease the wound."

  Do-hyun’s face went pale. The weight of Kim Gyu’s words settled on him like a stone. "And my father?"

  "Collapsed after hearing the news. He hasn’t woken since."

  A cold dread spread through Do-hyun’s chest, his heart pounding painfully. "Thank you, Kim Gyu."

  Kim Gyu bowed, his movements slow, heavy with the gravity of the situation. As he turned to leave, Do-hyun’s voice stopped him once more.

  "Kim Gyu..."

  "Yes, Young Lord?"

  "If anything happens to me... you must take my son as your student. And Jin Hwi, too. They need to learn before it’s too late."

  Kim Gyu hesitated for only a moment before nodding, his resolve firm. "Understood. For their future."

  As Kim Gyu departed, Do-hyun remained in the study, his gaze distant. The flickering candlelight stretched long shadows across the room, and his chest felt weighed down by a future he could neither control nor escape. Fear mingled with the faintest trace of hope—fragile and fleeting, like the last breath before a storm.

  Meanwhile, in the Queen’s chambers, Seo Yeon stood by the window, the soft evening light casting long shadows across the room. Her thoughts weighed heavily on her, clouded by the news. 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 moment 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 calculating 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 seemed to grow colder under the weight of Yoo Ha’s silence.

  With a voice low enough to cut through the tension, Yoo Ha commanded, "Leave it to me."

  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 twisted, emotions tangling like vines. She had allowed herself to become too upset over Hyun Yeol’s coldness, but now her focus shifted. Family. That was what mattered. 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 grip tightened on her skirt, his breath ragged, panic evident in his fragile state. Seo Yeon immediately steadied him, her presence a calm anchor in the storm raging inside him.

  "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 ladies-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.