Rayeon fell silent at the biting sarcasm. She had never intended to use Jahyang’s safety as an excuse to save herself, but she knew any denial would fall on deaf ears. As she struggled to find the words, Jahyang’s next murmured remark made her bite her lip to keep from crying.

“You must have been desperate to live.”

There was no doubt in her voice. She was convinced Rayeon had cunningly used her to save herself. Since childhood, Rayeon had been blamed for things she had never done.

She was used to being misunderstood. But she doubted she would ever get used to hearing those accusations from Jahyang.

“So, what conditions did he set?”

Jahyang had been considered a future queen since childhood. Others praised her virtue, but Rayeon had always believed her true strength was her sharp mind. Even now, she was uncovering precisely what Rayeon had chosen to leave unsaid.

“His hold on power is weak. Even a princess in name alone could help strengthen it. Well? Did he ask you to marry him?”

Jahyang’s guess was so accurate that Rayeon had nothing left to say. Nothing definite had yet been discussed, but what the Red King wanted was clear. The Geum bloodline. Taking her silence as confirmation, Jahyang narrowed her eyes further.

“Congratulations, Princess! But why are you looking so solemn? You should smile! Your wish has come true! That calls for a celebration!”

“I never wished for such a thing.”

When had she ever wished for anything so terrible? Her only brother imprisoned, her life spared through a marriage meant solely to make her bear a child, a queen’s title with nothing behind it—when had she wanted any of that? The accusation was too unjust to bear in silence. Yet her denial drew only cold mockery.

“He told you to bear him a child, didn’t he?”

Once again, Jahyang had guessed the truth. She bit her lip, then let it go. Resentment burned in her bloodshot eyes as she spoke again.

“You killed my child, and now you intend to have one of your own?”

“…”

“After making sure I could never have another child.”

Losing her child was devastating, but discovering that she would never be able to conceive again filled her with an even greater sense of emptiness. What could be a more wretched existence than that of an infertile queen?

A king could not belong to just one woman, but she had believed that she and Gyo Geung were different. Having been chosen as his future queen from childhood, she had seen a lot of him, and their affection for each other had grown over the years.

He had never so much as glanced at another woman, and his devotion made her feel grateful and secure. She longed to give him a child to strengthen his position and bring them closer still.

“Congratulations, Your Majesty!”

She could still vividly recall the royal physician bowing low before her. She had longed for that child so desperately that her joy had been beyond words. She had never known the dream would shatter so soon.

“Why did you do it, Princess?”

Unable to accept that she was now expected to encourage Gyo Geung to sleep with another woman, she refused all food and drink. Rayeon had condemned her to an endless hell by denying her even the comfort of jealousy.

“Why did you keep asking when I would have a child, as though you wanted one as badly as I did?”

Not once or twice, but constantly. Rayeon would furrow her brow, fret that there was still no news of a child and lament how much time had passed since the wedding.

Sometimes, sounding older than her years, she would talk about how lovely it would be to hear a baby’s cries in the palace. Looking back, it had all been an act. Pretending to care. Pretending that she truly longed for a niece or nephew.

“You were waiting for the right moment to give me that medicine.”

When Jahyang voiced the certainty that had become her suspicion, Rayeon’s face stiffened. What a shameless woman! Only her dignity as queen stopped Jahyang from hurling the foulest curses at her. Countless times, she had wanted to cast decorum aside, grab the princess by her thick hair and yank it out.

“Princess, there is something I must ask. I truly wish to know, so please answer me.”

Is this a disguised accusation? Most likely. Rayeon waited in silence. All she could do now was endure Jahyang’s anger without protesting. Sometimes, she wished Jahyang would simply beat her. If her dignity as queen prevented that, she could at least order the servants to poison her food. But all Jahyang had ever given her in return were a few blunt words.

“Ask me.”

“What medicine did you use?”

What medicine? Was that really what she wanted to know, after all this time? Rayeon forgot about their differences for a moment and looked at her in bewilderment. Jahyang smiled calmly. It had been so long since she had smiled at Rayeon that the familiar warmth made her heart tighten as if they had gone back in time. She did not yet know how deeply it would hurt.

“When you conceive, Princess, I intend to send you the very same medicine myself.”

She meant that Rayeon’s child deserved to die as well. Having declared her determination to cause that harm, Jahyang pressed her.

“Why are you silent? Surely it was nothing harmful to an unborn child?”

“…”

“Tell me now, Princess. What is there left to fear that you must keep it such a closely guarded secret?”

“…Antae-eum.”

Rayeon answered bitterly. Antae-eum was a well-known medicinal formula used to stabilize a high-risk pregnancy and protect the unborn child. The moment she heard its name, Jahyang let out a sharp, incredulous breath.

“So you want to protect your own child before it has even been conceived? I suppose you are human after all, Princess.’”

“I…”

She hadn’t lied about sending Antae-eum. Having been told that it was beneficial for expectant mothers, she had checked the ingredients herself. There could be no mistake. She had brewed it herself, tending the fire for half a day.

Her arms and legs had gone numb from crouching in one position for so long, but as she wiped away her sweat, she felt nothing but pride. She could never have imagined that all her careful work straining the herbs and squeezing out every last drop would result in poison.

Her already tense relationship with Gyo Geung was beyond repair after that. In the eyes of the grieving couple, everything she had done was part of a calculated scheme. She was the wicked princess who had killed her unborn niece or nephew out of her hunger for the throne. The heartless princess who had shed no tears beside the unconscious queen. No one saw how long she wept alone afterwards. They only knew what they had witnessed.

“Perhaps it was for the best.”

Jahyang shook her head in resignation, then smiled at Rayeon. Her expression looked almost relieved. Having been shunned for so long, Rayeon tensed under Jahyang’s direct gaze. Jahyang tilted her head as though puzzled by her reaction and spoke slowly.

“Otherwise, my child would be a hostage by now.”

The anguish would have consumed her. What peace could a mother find while her child was being held hostage? Perhaps the chance to worry would be a mercy, as it would mean her child was still alive. But how could she rest in peace, even in death, knowing the indignities her child might endure?

She had never even seen the face of the child she should have raised. Now it was Rayeon’s turn to suffer. With bitter satisfaction, Jahyang delivered her rebuke.

“Now learn what shame is, Princess.”

Jahyang wanted Rayeon to realize how serious her actions had been. The ease with which she confessed to that unforgivable crime filled Jahyang with disgust. However, someone capable of feeling shame would never have committed such a monstrous act.

“I will stay with His Majesty.”

Since her miscarriage, Jahyang’s health had been fragile. Even a brief chill could leave her bedridden for days. Imprisonment with Gyo Geung would quickly drain her remaining strength. She might not even live to see another day. Rayeon could not let her go without trying to stop her.

“I do not think that would be wise.”

Alarmed, Rayeon reached out and rested a hand on Jahyang’s shoulder as she tried to rise. Jahyang fixed her with an icy glare, then slapped her hand away sharply. There was no pain, but the shock made Rayeon’s heart pound. She clasped her hand, stunned, as Jahyang sneered.

“Then shall I stay here and play house with you?”

“…”

“Princess, merely looking at your face makes me sick. I do not have your stomach for such things.”

Her clasped hands went numb. Rayeon stood frozen, chilled as though every drop of blood had drained from her body. Did Jahyang truly understand what she was implying? Rayeon hoped she did not, but Jahyang left no room for doubt.

“Princess, your behavior is so vulgar and shameful that your noble birth is wasted on you. At first, I could hardly believe my ears.”

Rayeon knew what she meant—the rumors of men visiting Yeonhwa Palace late at night. She was certain this, too, was a lie her brother had spread. But she had no way to prove her innocence. All she could do was raise her head and deny it.

“The rumors are false. I swear I have never done anything so dishonorable.”

“You always say the same thing, Princess. Do you think insisting it never happened will make it true?”

With a cold sneer, Jahyang lifted her chin haughtily. The rigid set of her neck made her resolve clear: she would neither look back nor exchange another word with Rayeon.

“Attend me.”