The palace of Goryeon stirred awake with cold purpose. The northern sky, once clear, had turned to steel and with it came a message stained in blood.
By the gates, a half-frozen horse collapsed beneath its rider. A soldier from the distant northern borders, his hands trembling, managed only a few words before the frost and fatigue claimed him:
"The tribes… they're uniting. Preparing for war."
The court gathered swiftly. Ministers whispered behind their sleeves, and the Queen Mother's gaze remained fixed on the king, sharp and unyielding.
King Hwan Seong stood tall, face unreadable. After a long silence, he spoke:
"I will go myself."
The room murmured in alarm, but no one dared challenge him.
Except the Queen Mother.
"Then take your brother. Hwan Jae is beloved by the people. Let them see Goryeon's strength two sons of the throne, side by side."
The king gave a short nod.
By mid-morning, the two royal figures one quiet and stoic, the other bright-eyed and loyal rode out under the gray sky, leaving the palace to breathe in their absence.
And in that breath, something shifted.
Seo Yul stood alone in the empty courtyard, hands folded in front of him, unsure if he should be waiting for someone or hiding.
He hadn't seen Hwan Jae since morning. There had been murmurs of departure, of the king riding out north, and of his younger brother going with him. But no one told Seo Yul anything. No one even looked his way anymore.
He thought maybe the silence would feel freeing.
It didn't.
The wind stirred, and a sharp scent of perfume filled the air.
A woman's voice sliced through the quiet.
"I wondered how long you'd keep enjoying the luxuries of this place."
Seo Yul turned slowly.
There, standing on the polished stone path, was Lady Eun Hye. Draped in silver and pale rose silk, she looked like a painting come to life delicate and elegant, but with a coldness in her gaze that made even the breeze hesitate.
She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the stone.
"I suppose you must think yourself lucky," she said, voice laced with honeyed spite. "To survive what your family did not… to be invited into the palace of your conqueror."
Her eyes moved over him, unimpressed.
Seo Yul kept his gaze low, his hands clenched at his sides.
"But mercy," she continued softly, "isn't the same as belonging."
A pause.
Then, turning to a nearby maid, she snapped:
"Bring him gloves and a shears."
The maid blinked, surprised.
"My lady…?"
"The rose gardens are in dreadful shape," Lady Eun Hye said, still watching Seo Yul. "Have him tend them. Since he enjoys standing here doing nothing, he may as well be useful."
Seo Yul didn't speak. He bowed slightly, his heart thudding.
Lady Eun Hye didn't wait for a reply. She turned with the grace of a noblewoman who had said all she needed and left.
Later that day, Seo Yul knelt in the garden, sleeves rolled above his elbows, a pair of too-large gloves swallowing his hands. The shears were dull, and the thorns bit into the fabric like they knew him.
Every cut sent up the scent of crushed petals and sap.
Sweat mixed with dust on his forehead. His knees ached against the stone path.
Servants passed. Some glanced. None spoke.
Not once did he complain.
The next morning, he was called again.
"The southern hall hasn't been swept in days," Lady Eun Hye said lightly. "Dust gathers quickly in places unused by kings."
Seo Yul bowed his head and took the broom.
And so it continued.
Three days passed. Then four. Every day brought a new task.
Carrying scrolls. Polishing lanterns. Emptying ash from the braziers.
He ate only after the servants, slept only once the halls were cleaned, and kept his eyes down so he wouldn't invite further cruelty.
The wing that once felt like a place of quiet became a cage of silent endurance.
Still, he never complained.