The air in the Crown Prince's palace, the Donggung, was my personal domain. It smelled of beeswax for polishing the dark wood floors, of old paper from the thousands of scrolls in the library, and of the clean, sharp scent of pine resin incense. I, Head Court Lady Song, had cultivated this atmosphere for nearly two decades. It was the scent of order, of discipline, of a world insulated from the cloying perfumes and frivolous intrigues of the main court. With His Highness Yi Hyun's return just days away, my every waking moment was a campaign to ensure his world was exactly as it should be.
My footsteps were silent on the gleaming floorboards as I moved through the residence. It was a palace within a palace, sprawling yet austere. Unlike the opulent quarters of other princes, decorated with vibrant paintings and precious jade, Hyun's residence was a place of function. The walls were lined with maps of Joseon's provinces and the bordering Ming territories, marked with notations in His Highness's precise, sharp hand. Bookshelves groaned under the weight of military treatises, agricultural surveys, and histories, not volumes of poetry. This was the headquarters of a commander, not the parlor of a prince.
"No," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet diligence of the maids. I stopped a young girl who was about to place a vase of lush peonies on a low table. "The blossoms are too ostentatious. Their scent is distracting. His Highness prefers a single branch of plum blossom, if anything at all. Remove them."
The girl, new to this household, bowed hastily, her face flushed with the terror of a minor mistake. She scurried away, and I sighed. They knew the Crown Prince as the Wolf of the North, a figure of legend. They did not know him. They did not understand his disdain for needless ornamentation, his focus on substance over style. They did not understand the ghost I still served, my late mistress, Lady Min Seo-yeon.
My inspection took me to his private study. I ran a hand over the vast writing desk, its surface kept polished but unadorned, currently cleared in anticipation of his return. It was at this very desk that the true measure of my young master had first revealed itself to me, a memory as sharp and clear as cut crystal.
Lady Min, a woman whose gentleness was a stark contrast to the son she was raising, sat beside him. He was a boy of seven, yet he possessed a stillness that was utterly alien in a child. He was not fidgeting, not distracted, his entire being focused on a complex scroll of celestial charts she was explaining. Her long, elegant finger traced the sweeping arc of a comet. "And this one," she had said, her voice a soft, melodic hum, "is a wanderer, my Hyun. A guest in our sky who appears only once in a man's lifetime."
The young prince had looked up from the scroll, his dark eyes fixed not on the heavens depicted on the paper, but on her face. "Then its path is not wandering, Mother," he had stated, his child's voice startlingly clear and logical. "It is merely a circle so large we cannot see its beginning or its end from where we stand."
Lady Min had frozen. Her beautiful smile faltered for a barest fraction of a second, her own intellect stunned by the sheer scope of his. Then, her smile returned, brighter, suffused with a love so profound it seemed to illuminate the room. She placed a hand on his head, a gesture of overwhelming affection. "My clever, clever boy." In that moment, he wasn't a prince or a prodigy destined for greatness. He was simply a son, anchored and safe in the orbit of his mother's unconditional love, the only true warmth he had ever known. He had leaned into her touch, a rare, unguarded moment of childish affection.
A junior court lady clearing away a stray teacup pulled me from the memory's poignant grip. The warmth vanished, replaced by the cool, hard reality of my duty. My mistress was gone, taken by a palace "fever" that had been all too convenient. But her son remained, and my duty to him was absolute, a sacred oath sworn to her memory. I would be the guardian of his past and the unyielding steward of his world.
It was as I was reviewing the guard rotations with the captain of the household staff that the unwelcome visitors arrived. I saw them from the veranda, crossing the meticulously raked gravel of the courtyard: Lady Yoon Su-min, and her two sons. The elder, Yi Tae-min, walked with a peacock's swagger, his expensive silk robes tailored to emphasize his warrior's build. His eyes, arrogant and restless, roved over the serving girls, undressing them with a glance. The younger, Yi Ji-hoon, was a different creature entirely, his scholarly bearing seeming almost apologetic as he trailed in his family's wake.
I swept down the steps to meet them at the main entrance, my posture erect, my face a mask of impenetrable, formal neutrality. I was Head Court Lady Song, and this was my domain.
"Lady Yoon," I greeted, my bow a precise, shallow inclination of my head—correct to her station, but offering not an ounce of warmth. "The Donggung is in the midst of extensive preparations for His Highness's return. I am afraid this is not a suitable time for social calls."
Lady Yoon, the woman who occupied my mistress's place, offered her signature placating smile. It was a smile I found particularly grating, a weak defense against a world she was not equipped to handle. "Head Court Lady Song, of course. We would not dream of intruding. We merely came to offer our humble assistance. And to deliver a small gift to welcome my esteemed stepson home." She gestured to a servant who stepped forward, holding a lavishly decorated box inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
My eyes flickered to the box, then back to her face. "His Highness requires no gifts," I stated, my voice as cold and smooth as river stones. "And his household, which I have managed for eighteen years, is perfectly capable of attending to his preparations. Your concern, while noted, is unnecessary."
Ji-hoon shifted uncomfortably, his scholar's sensibility clearly offended by the palpable tension. Lady Yoon's smile faltered. But it was Tae-min who took the bait, his face darkening with offended pride.
"Unnecessary?" he scoffed, taking a step forward, deliberately invading my personal space. "My mother, a Royal Princess of this court, offers her goodwill, and you dismiss it, you old relic? Have you forgotten your place?"
"On the contrary, Prince Tae-min. I know my place precisely," I replied, my gaze level, refusing to be intimidated by his physical presence. "I am the Head Court Lady of the Crown Prince's Palace. My authority within these walls is absolute until his return. And I am telling you that you are not welcome here at this time."
Tae-min's face, handsome in a coarse way, contorted with rage. He was a man accustomed to deference, to servants and women who bowed their heads and trembled. My defiance was a direct challenge to his fragile ego. "You insolent crone! You serve at our pleasure! My family—"
"Your family does not rule the Donggung," I cut him off, my voice dropping lower, gaining an edge of steel. "Crown Prince Yi Hyun does. And I serve him. Exclusively."
"Why you—!" He took another step, raising his hand, not to strike, but to shove me aside, to assert his physical dominance.
He never completed the motion.
From the shadows of the grand doorway behind me, two figures detached themselves. They moved with a silence that was more terrifying than any battle cry. They were not the colorfully dressed palace guards who patrolled the outer courtyards. They were men of the Steel Vanguard, Hyun's personal wolves, left behind to secure his den. Clad in practical, dark leather armor over their dyed tunics, their faces were hard, emotionless planes. Their eyes were empty of anything but a chilling readiness.
They didn't draw their swords. They didn't speak. One of them simply took a single, deliberate step forward, placing himself partially between me and Tae-min. His hand came to rest, almost casually, on the hilt of the long sword at his hip. It was not a threat. It was a statement of fact. A promise of swift, brutal, and final consequence.
The air in the courtyard grew thick and heavy, charged with unspoken violence. Tae-min froze, his arm still half-raised. The arrogant fury in his eyes was instantly extinguished, replaced by the wide-eyed shock of a man who had just walked to the edge of a cliff and realized the ground was crumbling beneath his feet. He could bluster at an old woman, but he knew, with a sudden, primal certainty, that these men were not courtiers. They were killers.
Ji-hoon, his face pale with alarm, surged forward and grabbed his brother's arm. "Tae-min, that is enough! Show some propriety! We are guests here."
"Let go of me!" Tae-min hissed, but his voice lacked its earlier force. He tried to pull his arm away, but the humiliation had set in, and he seemed desperate to regain some semblance of control.
Lady Yoon, her face ashen, finally understood the gravity of the situation. She rushed forward, bowing her head quickly. "A terrible misunderstanding," she stammered, her voice trembling. "My son is… overly passionate. Please, forgive his forwardness. We will take our leave at once."
She grabbed Tae-min's other arm, pulling her furious, utterly humiliated son back. Tae-min shot a look of pure, venomous hatred over his shoulder—not at the guards, but at me. It was the look of a man who would remember this slight, who would nurse this grievance until it festered into something truly poisonous.
I watched them retreat across the gravel, a dysfunctional procession of blustering pride and panicked fear. I held my posture, unbending, until they were out of sight. I gave a slight, formal nod to the guard who had stepped forward. He nodded back, a flicker of understanding in his cold eyes, before melting back into the shadows.
There was no triumph in my heart, only the cold, hard satisfaction of a perimeter held, a duty performed. This place, the Donggung, was a fortress of memory and loyalty. It was the last sanctuary my mistress had given her son. And as long as I drew breath, her ghost would stand at its gates, unyielding, turning away all who would seek to harm him or dilute her legacy. Let the peacocks preen and the schemers whisper. The wolf was coming home, and his den was secure.