Chapter 14
And then came the tearing sound of silk, again and again. Even as Yeo-ro, in her fluster, crossed her arms over her chest and curled her body inward, once a tear had begun in silk clothes, it only continued to rip apart.
Shutting her eyes tightly would solve nothing, but still, what could she do except want to flee from this immediate humiliation? Her breath shook like a sob, short and shallow.
“No matter how stiflingly hot the night may be, this is rather improper, isn’t it?”
At the sound of the man’s voice right before her, Yeo-ro drew herself in tighter, crouching low as though she might sink to the ground. Then something heavy fell upon her shoulders with a soft thud. It was a robe, faintly scented with cloves, someone’s garment stained with fragrance.
She clutched the silk outer robe as though it were mercy itself and hurriedly wrapped it around her body. The oversized clothing hung awkwardly off her small frame.
When she looked up at Ilip through tear-wet eyes, he met her gaze with a face so cold that it seemed frost might spill from his expression. And yet, he gave a slight, twisted smile. He had taken off his robe, wearing only a blue changui underneath.
“Your Majesty, it seems tonight I do not belong here. Dressed in such shabby attire, I cannot stand in so splendid a banquet. I shall withdraw and wait for another chance.”
The emperor scratched his forehead awkwardly, forcing a laugh.
“It cannot be helped, can it?”
Ilip only bowed with formality, then strode out of the banquet hall. Yeo-ro clung tightly to the clove-scented robe, as though it were choking her throat. It felt as if all eyes were piercing her skin, flooding into her body like blood seeping through every vein.
“The crown prince of Gunryeong is arrogant.”
At Consort Gwi’s softly spoken, almost innocent remark, those gathered finally burst into laughter.
“What is Princess Yeo-ro doing? Will she ruin the banquet in such a state?”
The emperor’s voice lashed at her in anger, and Yeo-ro bowed deeply before retreating backward from the center of the hall. Before pushing open the heavy doors, she glanced at the Consort, but the woman was calmly sipping her wine.
Yeo-ro forgot even to take a lantern as she dragged her weary body back toward the Cold Palace. All the while she walked, Ilip’s eyes haunted her—eyes as dark as ink, resembling the midnight sky. Within them, disdain glimmered. It felt as though she had fallen into a terrible dream she could never wake from.
The path to the Cold Palace was dim and desolate. By the time she reached the abandoned quarters, night had already fallen. The servants had, as always, deserted the place as soon as dusk came, fleeing from its dread. Tonight was no exception. Yuso had likely fallen asleep already.
“Mother, I’ve come back…”
Exhausted, she dragged out a chair and sat down. The old wooden chair creaked beneath her. Suddenly, she grew sick of the smothering darkness all around her. She struck two stones together to light the lamp—and in that instant, saw a flicker of shadow beyond the spark.
“Ah!”
She gasped, leaping to her feet. The wooden chair screeched across the floor, then toppled limply to its side.
Her hands trembled in fear—had she really seen a shadow? Impossible. Even if this was the Cold Palace, it was still a consort’s chamber. How could an outsider man possibly enter?
Pressing her hand against her pounding chest, she reached for the lamp again. With trembling hands she struck the stones once more, coaxing a small flame. Before her, there was nothing—only empty darkness.
“I must have imagined it…”
She exhaled a breath of relief—yet in the very next moment, her lips were suddenly sealed, stifling a gasp.
“Shh.”
A man’s voice whispered right by her ear. He slammed down the lamp, extinguishing the flame with his bare hand. The acrid smell of burnt wick filled the air as the man spoke—no, commanded:
“If you promise not to scream, I will let you breathe.”
His low, rough voice raked across her heart. Yeo-ro thought she knew who the shadow belonged to. Quietly, she nodded. The robe that had been draped over her shoulders slipped to the floor with a thud.
“The living here in the Cold Palace is rather shabby.”
His voice casual, Ilip brushed past her, circling the room in a single sweep. Yeo-ro, trembling, picked up the robe and held it out to him.
“If you came to retrieve this…”
There was nothing but moonlight to rely on, and under that pale light, Yeo-ro’s face was as white as shattered porcelain. Seeing her, Ilip let out a crooked laugh.
She kept glancing sideways, as if fearing something unseen. You cannot lie, can you? Ilip muttered inwardly, his mind twisted with some hidden thought.
Thanks to Su-o’s directions, he had found the Cold Palace without trouble, yet when Yeo-ro had entered, his heart had oddly stirred.
“You still carry that scent.”
He tossed the words out, offhandedly.
“…What do you mean?”
“That decoction you gave me before—it carried a faint floral fragrance. The very same fragrance that now lingers on you. So I searched the Cold Palace a little…”
His gaze dropped to her pale, rounded shoulders. Her fragile body, seemingly too weak to defend itself, irritated him like a speck of dust in his eye.
“And I found this.”
He tossed a flower onto the table—freshly dug, its roots still caked with soil. Yeo-ro’s eyes slowly followed to it. Her clear gaze always caught truth at once.
Realizing she was frightened, Ilip checked himself.
“Ah.”
He removed the sword from his waist and laid it on the table as well. The sharp thud made Yeo-ro flinch—but only the moonlight between them bore witness.
With spies planted in the palace, carrying a sword had been easy. But in this Cold Palace with not a single guard, calling it an “intrusion” was almost laughable.
“This is Okru Flower.”
Yeo-ro brushed soil gently from the petals, careful as though even one petal was too precious to waste.
“Okru Flower?”
“Yes. It grows in the homeland of my mother’s people, the Hua tribe.”
“The Hua were wiped out.”
“The land may have changed masters, but the souls of its people were not stolen away.”
“A plant from an exterminated land… it must be rare.”
“Very rare. The root is poisonous, while the leaves are antidotal. A flower that holds both poison and cure.”
Her voice trembled slightly. She did not sound as if she were lying.
“Then if you gave me the leaves, it means… the poison I was suffering from was its root?”
“…Most likely.”
When Yeo-ro slowly lifted her lashes to meet his eyes, Ilip turned away. Her gaze, like a mirror, always reflected truth—he did not want to see what might be there.
“How could such a flower reach Gunryeong?”
It sounded more like a murmur to himself than a question. Yeo-ro strained to answer, desperate to fill the silence, until suddenly she gasped with realization.
“Now, only my mother, myself, and His Majesty know of the Okru Flower. It must have slipped in among the imperial gifts.”
So saying, she snatched the lamp from Ilip’s hand and lit its wick.
As the spark flared—crackling into life—had she seen Ilip’s expression then, she would have been terrified.
For as the light banished the dark, Ilip instinctively took a step back.
