This was the highest level of humiliation Yoon Ji had ever endured in her life. Her stomach churned with a mixture of anger and disbelief, and only sheer willpower kept her from lashing out at the palace maidens quietly standing as her attendants. Her pride, groomed and polished like the lacquered hairpins in her bun was being ground underfoot, and she could feel it.
The meeting chamber she had been led to was elegant, almost offensively so, as if its opulence served to mock her discomfort. Gilded screens painted with cranes and pine trees lined the walls, and latticed windows allowed a gentle breeze to carry the faint fragrance of peonies through the air. The silk cushions beneath her were finely embroidered, yet offered little comfort. Yoon Ji sat in the most poised and graceful position she could manage, spine ramrod straight, chin slightly tilted. She hadn't shifted once since the sun began its slow climb across the sky, and now her feet throbbed with pain. She couldn't even wiggle her toes.
She had rushed here. Hurried her makeup. Squeezed into the elaborate silk gown picked for its formality. Climbed into the palanquin in haste, fearing she might already be late. The servants had worked swiftly, touching up her lips and setting her hair with trembling hands. But it had all been in vain. The Queen Dowager was sleeping, she was told, and Yoon Ji must wait.
Wait.
A palace maiden approached her quietly, her steps so delicate they barely made a sound, and she refilled Yoon Ji's teacup with practiced grace. Yoon Ji smiled, if it could be called that, a tight, artificial curve of the lips that seemed more like a sneer. The maid hesitated for a fraction of a second before bowing and stepping back. Yoon Ji didn't reach for the cup. She had consumed more tea than she had in a month, and her bladder throbbed with protest. She longed to tell Bu-ran to massage her feet, but she couldn't. Bu-ran wasn't allowed inside, and this wasn't her home where she could command freely.
Still, she knew it would be difficult to stand when the time came, so she shifted subtly on the cushion, maintaining her graceful posture with the precision of a nobel. She doesn't want to embarrass herself in tripping over if the Queen Dowager shows up and she had to stand up.
Meanwhile, the offerings her mother had carefully selected were whisked away by the palace maidens, handled with routine efficiency, never to be presented by her own hand. She had even taken the time to memorize each item's origin, rehearsing their significance in case she was asked. But now, all that effort felt like a fading echo in a place that moved without her.
Just as she considered asking where she might relieve herself, a voice rang outside the chamber:
"Attention, young Miss Tae Yoon Ji. The Queen Dowager has summoned you to the Outer Hall."
It wasn't joy she felt, not quite. Nor was it relief. It was the bitter satisfaction of finally being acknowledged, twisted together with the sting of having been made to wait like a servant at the gates. She could feel the pity in the palace maidens' eyes, and it burned her. She imagined their whispers later, how they'd describe her desperate composure, the endless tea, the twitch in her lip. What nickname would they assign her? 'Tea Ghost'? 'The Waiting Swan'?
No. She wouldn't let it stick.
She reminded herself this was only temporary. All of it. Once she was officially within the palace, once her place was solidified, she would soar above them all. Let them whisper while they still could.
"Young mistress…"
Bu-ran's anxious voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. Yoon Ji stood carefully, every movement measured to hide the stiffness in her legs. Outside the chamber, Bu-ran looked distressed, her brows creased in concern. Kang Mu, ever the statue, stood impassively behind her.
There was a new face, a palace eunuch who had likely made the announcement. He bowed deeply, his hands tucked into the voluminous sleeves of his deep blue robe, the golden embroidery glinting like starlight under the midday sun. His face was powdered pale, almost porcelain-like, with a soft elegance common among eunuchs of high station. His brows were arched and well-groomed, his lips tinted slightly pink, and his voice was smooth and practiced, betraying years of service.
He turned wordlessly and began leading them through the palace.
Yoon Ji followed, flanked by Kang Mu and Bu-ran, the clack of her embroidered shoes echoing softly against the polished stone floor. The Queen Dowager's palace was vast, far more expansive than Yoon Ji had imagined. Its beauty was breathtaking: jade-green roof tiles shimmered under the light, and delicate wooden archways stretched overhead like the arms of sacred trees. The gardens beyond were lush, blooming with wisteria and plum blossoms, winding paths disappearing into manicured courtyards and koi-filled ponds. Everything radiated a quiet, unshakable power.
Yoon Ji felt envy twist in her chest. The Queen Dowager had lived here for decades, protected and adored. Clearly, the late Great King had cherished her beyond measure, to have gifted her a palace more splendid than most princesses could dream of.
She kept her eyes trained ahead, unwilling to gawk like a village girl, but something at the edge of her vision pulled her gaze.
A figure at the far junction of the corridor. walking with unhurried grace.
Song Yeon.
Her hair was styled in an elaborate twist, adorned with a gleaming gold ornament shaped like a phoenix in flight. Her gown was lavender silk with silver embroidery that shimmered like moonlight, and her complexion was as flawless as the finest porcelain. A gentle, serene smile rested on her lips, and her every step was poised, accompanied by her guard and a demure handmaiden carrying a silk fan.
The sight of her was like salt in an open wound.
Yoon Ji's mood darkened. She could feel the blood rushing to her ears, her lips twitching with the effort not to scowl. Song Yeon's presence was the last thing she needed. The effortless way she carried herself, the calm confidence in her gaze clearing showing that she hadn't been waiting in a room for hours.
The fire in Yoon Ji's chest burned hotter, but she swallowed it, letting it simmer in silence. She had already been made to look like a fool once today and she wasn't about to show that to Song Yeon, she would rather act like she just arrived but then she was a bit curious about why Song Yeon was there and if she just arrived.
"Yoon Ji-nim."
Song Yeon's voice was soft and lilting, like petals gliding down a tranquil stream.
Yoon Ji turned with the kind of smile her mother had carefully trained into her, elegant, neutral, and unreadable. It was the kind of smile that neither welcomed nor pushed away, the kind that could survive the palace.
"It is nice to see you here," Yoon Ji said smoothly, though her heart stirred with unease. "Are you also here to see the Queen Dowager?"
There was a note of honest curiosity in her voice, partly because she could not imagine what purpose Song Yeon had here and partly to mask the bitterness she felt blooming beneath her chest.
Song Yeon returned the smile, her face glowing with the natural ease of someone who had already begun making herself at home in places others only dreamt of. She fell into step beside Yoon Ji, both of them walking under the long eaves of the courtyard.
"Yes," she replied cheerfully. "I come once in a while, on quiet days like this."
Unbelievable.
Yoon Ji couldn't believe it. Song Yeon, the Prime Minister's daughter among many hopeful palace women that would soon enter the palace officially, was already appearing before the Queen Dowager casually, like a granddaughter visiting her halmeoni. The Queen Dowager, who governed the inner court with the grace and power of a monarch herself.
Yoon Ji tasted something bitter on her tongue, not from anything she had eaten, but from the quiet storm of resentment rising within her, sharp and unshakable.
"After the Queen Dowager's nap?" Yoon Ji asked, her voice low and laced with suspicion.
"Yes. She always rests at this time," Song Yeon replied with a warm chuckle. "Surely you know?"
Yoon Ji's expression barely shifted, but her heart sank. So the Queen Dowager's nap wasn't merely a matter of weariness, it was scheduled. Structured. A ritual in itself. Yoon Ji had been invited, an unmistakable sign that she had been granted an audience. But the timing of her visit, deliberately set during the Queen Dowager's afternoon nap, felt calculated. As if it were a quiet test of her patience, or worse, a subtle dismissal. Perhaps the Queen Dowager intended to observe how long she would wait, or perhaps… she simply didn't care about her at all. Yoon Ji found herself leaning toward the latter.
But watching Song Yeon, the effortless way she carried herself, the confident ease in her steps, it almost seemed as if she hadn't been invited at all, but had simply come of her own accord, unbothered and entitled. Whether she was summoned or not, Yoon Ji no longer cared to know. The thought itself felt tiresome.
"Of course I know," Yoon Ji said, her lie as smooth as silk. "I simply wanted to confirm that it was still her custom."
They were led then to the Outer Hall, a grand structure built like a soaring pavilion nestled above the garden courtyard. It sat high, requiring a long ascent of carved stone stairs. The marble glistened beneath their feet, and the breeze that floated up carried the perfume of fresh pine and lotus blossoms from below.
As they climbed, Song Yeon whispered, "You'll like the view."
Yoon Ji said nothing, but the words echoed in her chest.
And then she saw them.
At the summit of the pavilion, where sunlight poured like gold silk through the latticed screens, sat the Queen Dowager in quiet poise, her presence no less commanding despite the simplicity of her attire. Her silver hair was neatly gathered into a modest chignon, free of any ceremonial adornment. She wore a soft indigo hanbok, unembellished save for subtle patterns at the cuffs, graceful and understated, suited for a private midday meal rather than royal display. And yet, even without grandeur, she radiated authority. But it was the man beside her that struck Yoon Ji breathless.
The King.
He sat facing away from the stairway, his broad shoulders wrapped in a simple yet elegant robe of deep red, the silk catching the sunlight in a way that made it seem richer than it was. There were no grand embellishments today, no dragon-scale embroidery or ceremonial crown just the quiet dignity of a man at ease in his own skin. His dark hair was neatly tied back, and though his posture remained upright, there was a relaxed air about him, the kind that spoke of familiarity rather than formality.
And yet, it was his face that stayed with her.
He was striking. A noble beauty sculpted by the gods. Sharp brows over kind, discerning eyes; a straight nose, high cheekbones, and lips that bore no trace of arrogance. He looked like a ruler, yes, but also like a man capable of gentleness. The sort of gentleness that could ruin a heart.
Yoon Ji's breath caught in her throat. She quickly dipped her head low in reverence, the fabric of her jeogori brushing her chin.
Song Yeon was already bowing beside her.
"May the heavens bless Your Majesty's reign and grant the Queen Dowager long life," they said in unison, their voices soft but steady.
Yoon Ji had no time to think, no time even to breathe. The moment the King's presence registered, everything within her stilled. She doubted Song Yeon had expected to see him either, not with how her posture had subtly stiffened beside her, the confidence in her eyes faltering for just a heartbeat. A quiet wave of relief washed over Yoon Ji; at least she wasn't the only one caught off guard.
But unlike Song Yeon, Yoon Ji had managed to steady herself. Her voice had been calm, her bow graceful, her greeting offered with clear confidence, a small victory, but one that meant everything in a place like this.
And yet, something gnawed at her. Song Yeon, ever composed, had greeted the King and Queen Dowager with the same measured poise, not a hint of hesitation in her tone. She didn't stumble, didn't stammer, and worst of all, she didn't flatter and they even spoke in unison.
The Queen Dowager tilted her head slightly in acknowledgment, her gaze unreadable as always.
The King… was looking at them.
No, at her. For the briefest moment, Yoon Ji felt the weight of his gaze rest upon her like a warm breeze. Not heavy, not invasive. Just… there.
Then he looked away.
But Yoon Ji remained bowed, her mind a tempest beneath her calm exterior. She had come here today prepared for polite greeting, for measured smiles and veiled glances. She had not come prepared to see the King in such light or to be seen by him at all.
And suddenly, the stairs they had just climbed felt far too low, and the air in the pavilion far too thin.