Yeon asked why he had disappointed her so deeply. The pale face that posed the question was so steeped in despair and grief that it almost seemed an illusion.
She truly acted as if he were her own child—as if she had raised him with unwavering devotion.
She spoke of the years spent watching over him, refusing food, forsaking sleep, as if they had built upon her soul like carefully laid bricks.
But Ryu could not understand.
Ryu’s mother was once known as Princess Cheongyo. However, after her father staged a coup, her true status was revealed and she was stripped of her royal title. Nevertheless, she remained the rightful empress of Taejong and the noble mother of his legitimate heir.
Never, not even once, had Ryu confused Yeon for his mother. Even though Yeon had been by his side since she was just a baby, he had always known who was who.
“Your Majesty.”
“Do you remember the days I kissed you on the lips?”
He gave a crooked smile.
The day he handed her a handful of wildflowers. The days he would steal his grandmother’s and aunt’s hairpins just to place them in her hands. For Ryu, she had always been an object of affection. Never—not once—a mother.
So he could not understand why Yeon was crying now. They were barely eight years apart.
Yeon was a beautiful young woman—mature in both body and demeanor, more than enough to stir his heart.
“Haven’t I always tried to steal kisses from you, whenever I could?”
“That was…”
“They were all sincere. I’ve never seen you as anything else.”
As far as he remembered, Yeon had always been like that to him—and it felt unfair. To Yeon, he had been a pitiful child, orphaned and longing for a mother. But he remembered none of that.
Since boyhood, he had been the impudent child who stole kisses from her and ran away. Later, he became the young man desperately trying to catch her eye.
Back then, Yeon was much more mature than him. All the noble girls their age had been married off early.
Ryu was feeling impatient. He wanted to make Yeon his. He wanted to present himself to her as strong and dignified, but she always treated him like a child. He feared that one day, another man would win her over.
Yeon often spoke of ‘Haga’. When she was alone with Princess Sukon, it seemed that they were talking about marriage. This gnawed at him. He kept a watchful eye on every man who tried to get close to her.
Yeon was a beautiful woman—anywhere she went, in anyone’s eyes. Which meant she could be taken from him at any moment.
Ryu recalled the man from years ago, the one he had killed with his own hands—or at least, the one whose death was as good as his doing.
“Your Majesty.”
“Is it because of him?”
His lips twisted with bitterness. He stared at her face, bathed in the early morning light. Her features looked eerily beautiful, as if carved from frost. Yeon immediately knew who he was talking about. Pressing her lips together, she hesitated before answering.
“The one you once envisioned a future with.”
“…He has passed away.”
Yeon carefully steadied her breath, frozen as it was, and parted her lips. The man Ryu mocked was no longer of this world.
He had taken his own life.
Since then, Yeon had never once spoken to another man in front of Ryu. She had chosen not to let her cheeks flush with feelings sparked by dreams she knew she could never dare to have.
“Did you love him?”
“How could you say such a—”
Yeon couldn’t finish her sentence, instead dropping her gaze. Looking at Ryu’s cold, sneering smile was too difficult. Her eyes began to burn and her nose stung.
Song Yeong-ha had taken his own life five years ago. Yeon hadn’t been surprised. He had once been part of the emperor’s elite imperial guard, the Jeokryongwi. He came from a family of bureaucrats; his father was a sixth-rank official who had served the state.
A man like that could never have endured such shame and humiliation. And so—
“That’s why he died.”
The frost in Ryu’s voice was merciless.
Yeon remembered Song Yeong-ha, with his dishevelled hair, being dragged away in disgrace. On that day, she realised for the first time that Ryu was the emperor. The boy who had always clung to her, begging and pleading, had actually always got what he wanted — and was capable of anything.
With just a tilt of his chin, he could condemn her to the most pitiful death imaginable.
And yet he had clung to her. He had pleaded for her affection. He poured his love onto her as if it had never been returned. It was as if every whispered ‘I love you’ fell into a cracked, bottomless vessel — never reaching her, never being returned.
“Any man you choose who isn’t me will die. You know that, don’t you?”
His elegant fingers grazed her cheek. Only then did Yeon realise she was crying.
She had never seen Song Yeong-ha’s body. She didn’t even know what his face had looked like in his final moments.
And yet, in that moment, she felt as though she could clearly see his face in front of her. The afterimage was that vivid.
It was strange. But then, everything about that man had been strange.
Yeon laughed at herself in bitter self-mockery. That spring, when she was twenty-five, she hadn’t even fully understood what she felt for Song Yeong-ha.
She couldn’t tell. She had no way to distinguish it.
That smile was everything: warm and gentle like spring sunshine. All she wanted was to look at it for a little while longer. Was that such an impossible dream?
Princess Sukon had said the same thing.
“Guard Song is a good man. His father, too, was a sharp and upright official. Lady Han may be a bit frail, but she’s said to have a gentle disposition, so it shouldn’t be too difficult for you to serve her.”
The princess smiled faintly, holding a round teacup. Instead of nodding, Yeon thought of Song Yeong-ha and his wife.
Yeon had served the emperor as a wet nurse for many years, but she was not born a commoner. However, she was not connected to any noble families either. While her devoted service to the young emperor might have qualified her to marry into a respectable household, it did not mean that she could ever become the primary wife.
She knew her place and did not want to make any unreasonable requests of Princess Sukon.
Song Yeong-ha was upright and beyond reproach. The fact that his family was free of scandal stirred a quiet flutter in Yeon’s heart.
She didn’t know much about his wife, Lady Han, and had neither heard nor seen anything about her. The princess had once mentioned that she had become frail after giving birth to their eldest son.
Lady Han was said to be the daughter of an official from Seonhoe Province, and was described as a graceful, mild-mannered noblewoman. So Yeon thought she might get along with her as well. After all, she had served the two most formidable women in the imperial palace — the austere Empress Dowager and the warm yet particular Princess Sukon — with the utmost sincerity.
Becoming Song Yeong-ha’s concubine and serving Lady Han didn’t seem like such a difficult or burdensome task.
With that in mind, So Yeon began to feel hopeful — even confident — about the future. She believed that she could manage anything once she left the palace. The mere thought of Song Yeong-ha in his green military uniform lifted her spirits.
It felt like a new future was finally opening up for her.
Like other women her age, she wanted to have children and live a modest, peaceful life. It wasn’t that she was dissatisfied with her current life. But one day, she would have to leave Ryu’s side. When he became an adult, he wouldn’t need her anymore.
In truth, even back then, there was no real reason for her to stay with him. But Ryu had no one else.
However, even that sentiment — ‘no one else’ — was something of a convenient delusion. Yes, he had lost his parents, but he still had his twin siblings, his grandmother and his aunt. Compared to Yeon, who had lost her mother and had no one left, Ryu was not alone.
Nevertheless, when she saw him sitting alone on the cushions, quietly waiting for her, she felt she had to take his hand and smile gently at him.
‘By the time Suin enters the palace, you too will have a harmonious family of your own.’
Yeon, gazing at the spring sunlight shining through the round window, blushed faintly.
It had seemed like a good future. No—perhaps it would have been the best future she could ever hope for. But then…
“Yu Seol-yeon.”
“How could I forget?”
Yeon parted her dry lips to speak. Morning had already arrived. Her gaze wandered, unable to meet his, settling instead on his knees.
She gave a faint nod.
Yeon realized it on the day Song Yeong-ha died: she could never afford to dream. As time passed, that truth only became more certain. Now that she was thirty, it was undeniable.
After taking abortion pills in the past, her womb might no longer be able to carry a child safely. And she was no longer young.
There would be no man who would want her—except Ryu.
She had once dared to hope that, after Suin entered the palace, she might be sent away, even as a concubine, to marry a sincere, ordinary man from a farming family. But Ryu had never shown any intention of letting her go.
In the end, he had gotten her pregnant.
Yeon had no other path left.
“…Do as Your Majesty wishes, then.”
At last, Yeon gave up on herself completely.
It didn’t hurt as much as she had expected. There was no crushing ache.
She was simply… captivated by the red light of the rising sun.