The royal chambers were a world of their own, vast, towering, built as though to remind anyone who entered of their own smallness. A ceiling painted with dragons soared above, their golden scales gleaming faintly in the flicker of the light. From it hung grand chandeliers, though not of glass as one might imagine, but of finely carved bronze and crystal that caught the glow of countless candles. The polished wood of the pillars carried the scent of sandalwood, and the heavy silken curtains by the tall windows swayed faintly with the night air. It was a place of silence, a silence so heavy that even the faintest breath could be heard, as if the walls themselves were listening.
By the doors and corridors stood the royal eunuchs, hands neatly folded, faces expressionless. The maids remained kneeling, foreheads pressed to the floor, their bodies still like carved statues. None moved, none dared to breathe louder than necessary, for seated at the heart of this splendor was the Emperor himself.
Jo Han Ji, Emperor of the realm, sat upon his throne as if it were built only for him. His back straight, his jaw clenched, his fist resting upon the gilded armrest, he appeared as a man carved from stone, unshaken, immovable. Yet his eyes betrayed him. They burned with fire, with irritation, with thoughts too fierce to remain hidden. He stared off into the distance, as though his gaze could pierce the walls themselves. The quiet around him was suffocating, as if the air itself feared to stir.
And then, breaking that silence...the guards dragged in a frail, broken figure.
Kim Yunxi.
One guard held his arm twisted back painfully, another forced his head low to the ground. His knees scraped against the cold polished floor, his forehead nearly pressed into it. His body was trembling, his thin frame bent in a posture of complete defeat. His eyes, red and swollen, leaked fresh tears that dropped quietly onto the marble below. In that moment he seemed less like a living being and more like a discarded doll, lifeless, hopeless, someone awaiting death, and who no longer had the strength to resist.
The Emperor's gaze fell upon him.
Yunxi's heart clenched. He wanted to vanish, to be anywhere but here, but his body refused to move. He was still. Empty. Dead.
In that emptiness, memories stirred.
He saw her again, his mother. Her smile, so soft, so radiant, as she reached for him. How she used to laugh until her body shook, how she chased him around the courtyard as his father begged them to stop with playful irritation. That laughter...oh that laughter, it was the kind of sound no one would ever want to lose.
He remembered brushing her long hair, carefully parting it with little hands too clumsy for such delicate strands. She was always patient, always smiling. He remembered how she carried him on her back when he was tired, how she pressed warm bowls of porridge to his lips when he was sick, her voice stern but tender, "Eat, Yunxi. You must eat."
And he remembered her warning, the one she gave with such seriousness that it etched itself into his heart, "If you think he is not a good friend, then stop seeing him." She had simply told him, she advised him to end the friendship with a person she didn't know. Perhaps it would have been the same even if she knew who he was.
It was love.
Love for her child.
Yunxi remembered too well.
His chest ached. He remembered that day, the day he had come home soaked in sweat, sobbing into his mother's arms after seeing Jo Han Ji strike down the female guard. He had not told her the whole truth. He had not told her the way Han Ji's face showed no mercy, no hesitation. He had only told her he disliked the friend he had once spoken of. She had believed him, she always did. And he, a coward, watched her fall lifeless. He didn't help.
He couldn't
It was like the world had suddenly brought all the memories to him just to show him how this is his fault. He wanted to forget, but he remembered again a haunting memory that haunted his nights, the flames. His mother's lifeless body cast into the fire, her smile gone forever. His family, once proud and strong, reduced to prisoners in the dungeon. His father's silence. His own screams.
He remembered, too, how Han Ji had once warned him, voice sharp and cold even in his young self. "Never lie to me, Yunxi. Never go behind my back. I don't want to bring regrets to you."
And here he was. Regretting.
The Emperor's voice shattered his thoughts.
"Are you ready to speak?"
His tone was low, each syllable cutting like a blade. Slowly, he raised his hand, his fingers curling into a gesture of command.
"Or do you have another one of your family you consider an enemy?"
The words stung like venom.
Enemy? Yunxi's mind reeled. His mother, an enemy? His family, enemies? Maybe, but he doubted Han ji would pick out the right people. His lips quivered. He wanted to scream, but instead he shut his eyes, as if the darkness behind them could shield him from those filthy words. His body swayed slightly. The dizziness came again.
"Kim Yunxi," the Emperor's voice pressed harder, "You know if you say something, I will let you off." A pause. Then the faint curve of a smile tugged at his lips. A smirk.
But Yunxi remained silent.
The Emperor's fist slammed against the armrest. "Release him!"
The guards obeyed, letting go of Yunxi's arms. Yunxi remained unmoving, his head still bowed to the floor. A streak of blood had formed at the corner of his lips, his body refusing to rise.
"Get up," the Emperor ordered, his voice sharp.
Still, Yunxi knelt, motionless, lifeless.
The Emperor's smirk deepened. "Then bring her in."
The doors creaked open again. And the cry of a young girl pierced the silence.
Yunxi's head snapped up. His cousin.
"No… no, you can't! She didn't do anything!" His voice cracked, desperate. He twisted, trying to move toward her, but the guards shoved him back to his place.
"What do you want?" Yunxi begged.
"Come."
One word. Simple. Sharp. The Emperor's dark eyes pinned him in place.
Yunxi froze. He glanced at the Emperor, then back to the trembling figure of his cousin. She had no one. Her parents were no more, her brother dead from an unknown illness. She only had them as a family. The minister had raised her beside him, cared for her, protected her as his daughter. Yunxi might not have treated her like one, but he had promised his mother to not let anything happen to her, he was to treat her like family. So this, was for his mother. She was his mother's last remaining bond of a promise with him. And Han Ji knew it.
Yunxi's hands shook. His feet refused to move. Fear bound him, even as love for the girl pulled him forward. The Emperor called again, "Come," his voice edged with impatience.
Step by step, Yunxi dragged himself closer. His breath came in sharp gasps. The tension grew heavier, the air thick and suffocating. The closer he drew, the darker the Emperor's eyes seemed, a void of unspoken words, untold stories, unreadable shadows.
The Emperor lost patience. He seized Yunxi's clothes and yanked him forward, so close that their breaths mingled. The thick air pressed in around them, unbearable, choking.
Like a cruel spark of memory, the Emperor remembered.
That night.
He had once broke into the Kim residence, silent as a ghost, slipping through corridors until he reached Yunxi's chambers. He had taken him from his bed, hand clamped over his mouth, dragging him to the window where a horse waited. Yunxi had fought, stumbled, made noise, but he had still taken him.
At the entrance, Yunxi had seen the bodies, the blood, the stillness. His eyes had widened in horror. "Did you kill them?" he had cried as he questioned, pulling his hand away.
The prince then had been silent, his actions speaking louder than words.
"I'm not going with you!" Yunxi had screamed. It had been their fourth meeting. Yunxi had sworn to follow his mother's warning, to end this dangerous friendship. But still… still, he had answered Han Ji's letters.
Letters that burned with strange intensity. Letters where Han Ji had called him "Her." Even in person, the prince had referred to him as girl, calling him "she," as if he had always taken him for a girl, Yunxi had not given it time, maybe it was just a slip of a tongue.
The very first letter had been addressed to Yunxi's father, the minister. Han Ji's childish handwriting had asked: "Can I please be her friend?"
The family had laughed it off, calling it a mistake of a young boy. But now Yunxi had noted it. But he was always dressed like a boy, why would someone mistake his gender?
Did the prince think he was a girl?