Yeon gazed at the flame of the ceremonial candlestick. Dedicated to the late emperor and empress dowager, the candle burned brightly. She knelt on a silk cushion. The fragrance from the jade-coloured incense burner was mysterious. As she sat quietly taking it in, she couldn’t help but think of Ryu’s birth mother.

Empress Dowager Hwaseo had died wearing a mourning headdress. Ryu must have been barely a year old at the time.

It was around then that it happened. Yeon had been sweeping the snow from the courtyard. News of the Empress’s death had reached Seoguk Palace before it had spread across the nation.

Yeon stopped sweeping and looked at the Prince of Seoguk. He simply stood there, letting the snow fall on him.

The Grand Empress Dowager had once feared that Suin might grow to resemble the late empress, who was fragile from birth and pure and gentle in nature.

Yeon never wanted Suin to become like her. She wanted her to live a long and healthy life, enjoying harmony with the emperor.

She wanted her to be safe from the Emperor and his blood-scented love. Love could be heavy and cruel at times.

Yeon understood the kind of love that Ryu’s parents had shared. Empress Dowager Hwaseo died less than two years after Emperor Taejong’s death.

Despite her intense hatred, was she truly unable to distinguish love from loathing? It was a kind of love that Yeon could not begin to fathom, nor could she fathom the bottomless hatred that came with it.

Even the sky has limits. She feared that Ryu might take after his father.

***

“What’s so enjoyable about that?”

The man, who had been suckling and fondling her br*ast alternately, looked up at her and asked a question.

His face was flawless and carved like jade; it was breathtaking. His tidy gaze held a murky glint.

Yeon raised her hand and caressed his cheek. Ryu took her small hand in his and brought it to his lips. He kissed the back of her hand once, then her fingers several more times. A gentle smile bloomed across his lips like a wildflower.

“I should enjoy it while I still can, before our child is born.”

He had mentioned having a child once again. A child that would never take root in her womb. He spoke so lightly of something that would never be allowed to happen. Yet he smiled as if his soul were unblemished.

Yeon could not smile with him. The night she had spent carrying a lifeless child for ten days came flooding back. It had merely been called an ‘accident’.

Meaning, it had been something wrong.

Yeon brushed off the memory of the child she had lost, as though it meant nothing to her. Back then, and still now, the loss meant nothing to her. Her damaged womb was no different. The child had died before it could grow, so it had barely begun to exist. Perhaps it felt a little wasteful because it had been Ryu’s.

However, letting go of that lump of flesh had been good for her too. In many ways. To borrow the words of the Prince of Seoguk, the child’s death had been good for everyone involved.

“That’s an outrageous thing to say.”

“Why is it?”

Ryu’s smile faded. Yeon looked at him.

This was before Suin had entered the palace. No matter how different the emperor might have been from other noble youths, he was still a man of marrying age.

If he already had a child with a woman of low birth — not just humble origins, but a mere servant from the palace baths — what noble house would welcome such a situation?

Besides, the House of Seoguk was not to be taken lightly. Its head, Lord Gyeong Bohyeon, was not an easy man. On top of that, Yeon had originally been a slave in that household.

Suin was her mistress and would soon enter the palace as empress — Yeon would still have to serve her then.

“The rightful wife has the authority over a concubine’s pregnancy.”

That’s what the Grand Empress Dowager always used to say.

Yeon was never free to become pregnant whenever she wanted.

When she remained silent, Ryu grabbed a fistful of her black hair. Yeon’s gaze drifted to the hairpin he had thrown so far away.

“Yeon.”

“Oh, you’re heavy. Please, go away now.”

She pushed against the firm chest of the man towering over her, trying to shake him off. But Ryu didn’t back down easily.

Usually, in moments like this, he would tease her a little and playfully retreat.

Tonight, however, Ryu seemed genuinely upset, probably because of what had happened two days ago.

“Answer me.”

He furrowed his brow, gripping her trembling wrists tightly as though pinning her down like a specimen. Yeon inhaled sharply, but said nothing.

After all, she hadn’t even been granted the title of concubine. She was neither a consort nor an official concubine.

But it wasn’t that she longed for such things. Yeon had no interest in a life of luxury. Whatever the Prince of Seoguk might think, she knew her place and wasn’t one to covet anything beyond it. A concubine’s title was one such thing.

She was quite content living as a mere attendant of the baths, with no title or rank. Since it would all end eventually, it was better to live quietly and almost invisibly. Like a weed growing in some forgotten corner of the palace. Disappearing one day after settling there brought her peace.

But Ryu clearly thought differently.

“Children are a burden. I know that from experience.”

Yeon smiled. Ryu’s face stiffened. He must have realised she was talking about herself.

She wrinkled her nose and gently pressed her index finger against his furrowed brow, smoothing it out.

No matter what anyone said, Ryu was her child. She had fed him, clothed him, and put him to bed. Even after listening to his endless whining all day long, she felt nothing but love for him. Perhaps he now behaved so recklessly because he couldn’t remember those days. She had seen men with no sense of filial duty.

In Yeon’s memory, the image of little Ryu — no, infant Ryu — remained clear.

“When did Your Majesty grow so tall?”

“Stop treating me like a child.”

“I only…”

“You will address me as ‘Your Concubine’.”

Ryu’s tone was unusually sharp. She no longer pushed back.

Despite her humble birth, she didn’t have a genuine relationship with the Emperor that would have warranted having a child.

Whenever she tried to say such things, Ryu would pull a face. First, she would look surprised, and then she would glare at her with piercing eyes. Her eyes were as cold as icy walls and stung like touching frost-covered roof tiles.

Yeon closed her lips. Ryu took her by the wrist and pulled her up. Then he seated her on his thigh. She slumped into his arms like a doll. Having been pestered all afternoon, she had no strength left. Naturally, her head came to rest against his shoulder. Ryu seemed pleased by that. She had behaved like a grown-up woman, and that seemed to soften him.

‘Such a simple child.’

To her, Ryu would always be a child. Even when he became a man in his thirties or forties, he would still be a child to her. That’s why this relationship never felt right. In truth, it was often repulsive and filthy.

Because Ryu was her child—and yet, he wanted to make a child with her.

“You shouldn’t accept anything from the Grand Empress Dowager anymore.”

“How could I possibly refuse her?”

“What I bestow upon you will be enough.”

“But Her Majesty the Grand Empress Dowager…”

“Do as I say.”

Ryu cut her off. Yeon furrowed her brow.

The Grand Empress Dowager had always shown Yeon special favor, overseeing everything she ate and wore. While she couldn’t control where Yeon slept—thanks to Ryu—everything else, from her garments to the ointments she used, came directly from the Grand Empress Dowager.

With the empress’s seat vacant and all seven palaces unoccupied, the only figure Yeon could truly consider a superior was her. In that regard, it was understandable.

But Yeon had never cared much about any of it. She wouldn’t have minded wearing rags. In truth, she didn’t want to be here at all.

“She’s a woman serving the Emperor, even if she was born of lowly blood—she should at least be presentable.”

She remembered the sharp, needle-like gaze of the aging Empress Dowager. The Grand Empress Dowager had always lived in fear that Yeon might one day conceive a child. That was why everything Yeon consumed, wore, or applied to her body had been laced with contraceptives. At one point, it had even been hidden in a ring adorned with pearls and agate. These days, she no longer knew where it might be concealed.

And yet, Yeon had once become pregnant. Though Ryu had never known.

“…How could I defy His Majesty’s will?”

Yeon looked at the blue hapwhanmok tree, bathed in the pale light of dawn. A flower blooming amongst the leaves seemed close enough to touch. Her lips parted with languid resignation. No one could defy Ryu. Not even the Grand Empress Dowager. No one had ever truly managed to suppress Ryu’s will — how could she, of all people, ever hope to?

If she could wish for anything, it would be for the flames of longing surrounding him to burn out just one day sooner.

“Call me Ryu.”

“You ask for difficult things. I’ve always…”

“Calling me that won’t twist your tongue, will it?”

“If someone were to hear, this one’s—no, your concubine’s tongue might be ripped out.”

“Yeon.”

“I like things the way they are now. Don’t you, Your Majesty?”

Yeon smiled. She soothed him exactly the way he wanted. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed her br*asts against his chest. Like the hapwhanmok tree, whose leaves curl inwards at night to embrace each other tightly, they became closely intertwined, leaving no space between them.