Namakseong’s lord, who’d been lavishing flattery like a flowing river, fell silent. Though his expression didn’t shift noticeably, it was clear he wasn’t pleased by my interest in his daughter.
“I’m honored, Your Highness,” he said, bowing low, his face hidden.
“If you feel that way, I’d like to discuss this quietly. Is that possible?” I asked, nodding to myself.
“Of course, I know it’s improper to summon a lady from her quarters at this hour,” I added. “I don’t mean to discomfort you, so don’t worry.”
In the chilly atmosphere, the lord raised his head. “Yes, Your Highness. I’ll dismiss the others.”
He waved off the nearby servants, who rose and slipped away like a receding tide.
Alone with me, he spoke cautiously. “May I ask something, Your Highness?”
“What is it? Speak,” I replied.
“How did you come to know of my daughter?” he asked, hesitant.
The prince was of marriageable age, yet had no consort. The Deposed Queen’s death and the collapse of her faction might’ve played a part.
But the wastrel’s reputation was reason enough.
He seemed to think I was seeking a bride, hence his guarded flattery.
“I heard your daughter excels in beauty and wisdom, unmatched in virtue, and it piqued my curiosity,” I said.
The insincere words made my skin crawl, but I held it together.
“Indeed, Your Highness,” he replied, his voice tinged with feigned emotion.
Was it genuine or fake? Likely not deep.
“Which daughter are you referring to?” he asked.
I sensed he was testing me.
“Both are exceptional, from what I’ve heard,” I said, though I knew nothing.
Once I started lying, the words flowed easily.
“Either would be more than I deserve,” I continued. “Compared to me, I mean. Don’t misunderstand.”
“Haha,” he laughed awkwardly.
He had two daughters, but choosing either posed issues. If he was rational, he wouldn’t part with his adopted daughter, the seer.
Nor would he eagerly arrange a match with his eldest daughter. With no clear successor to the throne, aligning with Grand Prince Jean, the second prince, was the safer bet.
I wasn’t thinking of marriage, but of a counselor. He couldn’t know my intentions, nor would he want to.
“Hahaha,” he laughed again, his motives unclear.
The awkwardness lingered until the conversation resumed.
“Then I’ll bring my daughters to meet you,” he said.
“Very well,” I replied, smiling.
He nodded eagerly, maintaining a gentle smile that made his true thoughts even more intriguing.
“But, Your Highness, I’ve heard your purpose lies in the north, at Wolha,” he said.
“Is that so?” I replied.
“Our humble Namakseong hopes to contribute to your endeavors,” he said. “Forgive us, as we’re but a small city, unable to fully support your noble tasks.”
“Tomorrow’s meeting will be brief,” I said.
I raised a cup, sipping lightly, and asked, “Why’s that?”
“How could I trouble Your Highness, who travels to the far north for the nation?” he replied.
His sweet words grew tiresome.
“Why am I fine with it?” I asked, propping my chin on my hand, elbow on the table.
“I know Your Highness cares deeply for the realm, always mindful of state affairs,” he said. “With so much on your mind, how could our city add to your burdens? Never. Your safety is first, Your Highness, always.”
“You’re so devoted you’d cry for me?” I teased.
“I’m honored,” he said.
I praised his hospitality, and he resumed his excessive flattery.
It was a waste of time, so I left earlier than planned.
A tapping sound woke Gaeyeohwa from her uneasy sleep, her eyelids twitching.
Probably just a branch, she thought, turning over.
Even without disturbance, sleep eluded her tonight. She’d barely closed her eyes when an unsettling feeling arose, her chest burning. She tried to ignore it.
But the tapping persisted, growing louder. Finally, she sat up.
“What’s this in the middle of the night?” she muttered, irritation thick in her voice.
Her words trailed off as she spotted a small shadow on the window.
It was black, unmistakably a bird.
Why was a bird tapping at her window?
“What is this?” she said.
Thinking a loud noise would scare it off, she struck the window frame with her fist. The shadow didn’t budge.
No, it wasn’t entirely still—it tilted its head slightly.
Not a bird?
She hit the frame again. “Get lost!”
The shadow stayed put.
It tapped again, more forcefully.
Ignore it, and it’ll leave, she thought. At least by dawn.
But what if it didn’t? Her irritation grew. Already fuming from the day’s events with Namakseong’s lord, she was in no mood for this.
“Let me sleep! I get beaten by day, so let me rest at night! Is that too much for this wretched world?” she shouted.
“Stupid bird!”
She scanned the room, grabbing a bamboo brush from the desk. Bird or beast, she’d make it regret this.
She flung open the window. A cold breeze rushed in as it creaked open.
“I said get lost!” she yelled.
Her plan was to strike and shut the window, but as she swung, the shadow darted upward.
She screamed as the black shape flapped past her head. Startled, she let out a cry.
The night remained silent. Her quarters, hidden in the castle’s remotest corner by the lord’s design to keep her out of sight, stayed quiet.
That’s why she’d grabbed the brush to confront the shadow. Few knew she existed—likely just a lost traveler or a petty thief.
Her face paled from the shock, but then she saw the shadow clearly and sighed in relief.
It was a crow.
“Caw!” it croaked, its cry oddly stilted.
Was it mocking her? Why did it feel so strange?
Muttering to herself, she sighed deeply. A crow had flown into her room. What to do? She placed her hands on her hips, glaring between the open window and the intruder.
“Caw, caw!” it croaked again.
At least it wasn’t flying or causing chaos, but she didn’t want it staying.
“Not a bat or a ghost, but a crow in the dead of night? Unheard of!” she said.
“Get out, you!” she shouted, waving the brush.
She wasn’t cruel enough to strike it, just scare it off.
Her swings were more threat than force. The crow dodged lightly, settling in the center of her room.
“Please!” she pleaded.
She couldn’t tolerate a wild bird on her bed. Fastidious by nature, she never sat on it in outdoor clothes.
Furious, she shouted, “Just leave!”
Her cheeks grew warm, and she wiped them, finding tears.
“What’s this?” she said, her voice trembling.
The day’s events flooded back, and her shoulders slumped.
She felt utterly wretched.
“Why me? What did I do?” she sobbed.
Once the tears started, she couldn’t stop. She sank to the floor, crying like a child.
The crow watched her silently, then approached.
“Get away! I said leave!” she cried. “What’s wrong with you?”
It couldn’t understand, but she felt it did. Instead of fleeing, it tilted its head again.
Then she noticed a white paper tied to its leg.
Instinctively, she knew it was a letter. A baseless hope stirred—that it could save her.
She reached out.