An explosion of murmurs broke out. Gasps echoed against the domed ceiling. Ministers turned to one another in disbelief, while scribes hurriedly scratched notes onto parchment.
At the center of it all, Minister Jade stood silently, eyes still and solemn as a mountain lake. He glanced briefly toward Queen Genie. Their eyes met—but neither spoke.
From among the gathered officials, Minister Ju Tak surged forward, his face red with fury. His jade-trimmed robes swirled around him as he raised his voice in protest.
"Foreign Affairs Officer Moonsen, are you accusing my wife of deceit?!"
The chamber vibrated with his thunderous outburst.
Moonsen stood tall before the sea of ministers, his voice calm yet firm, each word deliberate. "I mean no offense, Official Ju," he began, turning respectfully toward the fuming official, "but it is true—your wife has spoken falsely."
A murmur swept the court like a cold wind.
Ju Tak's face flushed with indignation, but Moonsen did not falter.
"She claimed that Minister Jade unlawfully entered your residence on the evening of the last day of the second week of September, while you were away in the provinces. But there is irrefutable evidence to the contrary."
A silence settled as all eyes turned toward the man standing in his crisp uniform at the back of the grand hall—the Deputy Commander of the army, Danjin.
With the practiced composure of a soldier who had spent years in the field, Danjin stepped forward.
"That night, Minister Jade and I left the palace together to meet with the frontier military captains. We remained outside the capital overnight."
He reached into his robe and retrieved a folded document. An attendant rushed forward to present it to the Queen.
"These are the reports we collected that evening," Danjin continued. "They are dated and signed by the commanders we met—proof that we were nowhere near the capital on that day."
The court buzzed again, louder this time.
Jade's brow furrowed in surprise. He hadn't expected Danjin to speak—much less to come so boldly to his defense.
Their eyes met briefly across the hall.
Danjin offered him a proud, almost brotherly smile. The silent gesture was one of honor—of loyalty.
Ju Tak, however, refused to yield.
"I was not only away on that one night!" he thundered, throwing a hand into the air as though to shake off the weight of the testimony. "There were several nights I was gone on provincial duty!" His voice rose, defensive and shrill. "My wife must have misremembered the exact date! She simply gave an approximation—something close! So what if the Deputy Commander was with him that night? It could've been a different night altogether!"
Just then, the grand doors of the royal assembly hall creaked open with solemn weight.
A hush fell over the room.
Heads turned as a small figure stepped inside—a maid in simple winter garb, her hands folded tightly in front of her, her steps hesitant but deliberate.
It was Onny.
Ju Tak's eyes widened. His brows furrowed in disbelief.
"Onny…?"
But he wasn't the only one caught off guard.
Queen Genie's lips parted slightly in surprise. She had explicitly told Onny there was no need to come forward—that her testimony had already served its purpose behind the scenes.
Yet Onny, standing now in the center of Hana's most sacred political chamber, held herself differently than before. No longer did fear grip her shoulders. The tremble in her voice had quieted. A new resolve shimmered in her gaze.
"Your Majesty," Onny said, bowing low, her voice carrying across the room, "I wish to speak the truth here and now."
Genie gave a small nod, her expression unreadable.
Onny turned to face Ju Tak, who stared at her, his lips parted in stunned silence.
"Sir," she began, steadying her breath, "there is a truth even you do not know."
The officials shifted in their seats, sensing the weight of her words.
"My lady—Lady Lee Jan—ordered me to steal Minister Jade's clothing from within the palace. She gave me the precise location of his quarters... and handed me a master key."
Gasps erupted across the chamber.
Ju Tak looked as though the ground beneath him had cracked.
"What…?"
"She told me to tell the guards that I was retrieving your garments. I followed her instructions and lied. I stole Minister Jade's clothing and planted it in your residence. Everything I testified to—that Minister Jade broke in and fled—it was all false. It was all... her scheme."
A stunned silence followed.
Dozens of high officials turned their eyes to Jade, who stood still as stone—unshaken, unwavering, his presence dignified even in the face of false accusation. His eyes, however, had softened—watching Onny not with contempt, but with solemn understanding.
Onny turned to him and bowed low, her voice now trembling not from fear, but from guilt.
"Minister Jade," she said, "I have committed a grave sin. Even as a servant, I should never have followed her orders in falsely accusing you. I ask for your forgiveness."
Jade lowered his gaze gently, offering the slightest of nods.
In his heart, he whispered words she might never hear.
"Thank you… for your courage."
From her throne, Queen Genie's gaze flicked toward Jade.
She felt a quiet awe as she observed his calm strength—his refusal to let rage or bitterness define this moment.
Instead, he stood in noble silence, honoring the truth that had finally found its voice.
Then, Ju Tak finally broke the stillness.
He took a step forward, as if his body were heavier than before.
His voice, once booming with fury, now sounded strained, almost lost.
"Onny…" he said. "How… how could my wife make up such lies… about Minister Jade?"
No one answered.
Even Onny lowered her eyes.
The truth, at last, had been spoken aloud.
And in its wake, silence descended like the falling of snow—soft, cold, and irreversible.
Onny hesitated.
The words hung heavy on her tongue, too cruel to speak, too necessary to withhold.
She hadn't wanted to say this—especially not before a hall full of ministers, not to a man who had shown her nothing but fairness.
But Ju Tak stood there, waiting. Earnest. Hurting. Desperate for an answer.
"Sir... My lady still has not let go of her feelings for Minister Jade. That's why she did it. She wanted to stop him from becoming the Queen's consort—no matter the cost."
The chamber erupted.
Gasps. Murmurs. A wave of shocked whispers rippled across the officials like wind through brittle leaves.
Ju Tak stood frozen, as though struck by lightning.
He turned toward Jade, and for a moment, just looked at him.
Jade said nothing. He didn't raise his chin. He didn't gloat. He simply stood in stillness—tall, silent, grounded. The scandal and humiliation should have broken him, but there he was—his dignity untouched, his bearing proud yet humble.
Ju Tak stared at him, and something inside him crumbled.
He had always respected Jade. Admired him, even.
The man was everything he wasn't. Unshakable, principled, and devastatingly composed. Even now, under the weight of betrayal, Jade bore no hint of scorn—only the quiet ache of a man dragged into another's tragedy.
Ju Tak's voice, when it finally came, was dry and broken.
"I see now… why she looked at him the way she did."
He lowered his gaze in defeat, his pride scattered like ash.
From her throne, Queen Genie watched silently. Her fingers gripped the arms of the chair, knuckles pale. Though her face remained serene, her eyes shimmered with unspoken pity.
To witness a man discover that his wife still longed for another—it was a pain too intimate, too raw, for any public reckoning. And yet here they all were, bathed in the cold light of truth.
Jade bowed his head—not in shame, but in guilt.
He had done nothing wrong.
But he carried the burden of another's desire, and that weight, however unjust, still pressed on his shoulders.
Then Ju Tak turned back to the Queen, his voice barely audible. "This happened because… I lacked virtue as a husband."
A hush fell over the room once more.
He raised his eyes to Genie's, and she saw in them not defensiveness or denial—but ruin.
"Your Majesty," he said, "please… punish me instead of her."
Gasps broke again across the hall, but no one dared interrupt.
Even the most seasoned ministers sat frozen, watching a man unravel in front of them—not with fury, but with sorrow.
Genie's breath caught in her throat.
The crime committed was serious. Falsely accusing a minister, forging evidence, threatening the balance of royal succession, Lee Jan's actions were unforgivable.
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then, slowly, she stood up from the king's chair.
Her voice, when it came, was clear but gentle.
"This matter," she said, "touches not only the laws of our kingdom, but the hearts of those involved. It is not something to be decided hastily."
She swept her gaze over the gathered ministers.
"I ask each of you to submit your counsel before the next royal assembly. Only then will I render a final judgment."