WDCDF 13

Chapter 13

Unlike Seohwa, the disciples who had heard about her from Choi Myeong-hak didn’t seem surprised when they saw her. They weren’t startled by the sight of an unfamiliar woman coming out of the inner quarters—but many were taken aback by her cool, composed beauty.

The men, each with precise and disciplined movements, bowed their heads before quickly disappearing. It wasn’t so much an exchange of greetings as it was a one-sided acknowledgment. Seohwa didn’t even have the chance to return the gesture. She was momentarily flustered, but soon quickened her pace.

“Oh my.”

From the inner quarters, in the room closest to the men’s quarters, Ok-im—who occupied a large three-sectioned room—widened her eyes when she heard what Seohwa had experienced that morning.

“You say you didn’t oversleep? It’s not even past the hour of jinshi* yet. The disciples you saw must have been moving about so early because they have dawn training at the hour of myoshi*. Ah, since you’re here, why don’t we have breakfast together today? Call me foolish if you like, but having a daughter makes me so happy.”

*jinshi = 7–9 a.m.; myoshi = 5–7 a.m.

With Ok-im smiling warmly, her eyes crinkled, there was no way Seohwa could refuse. Caught off guard, she sat down across from Ok-im and listened as she spoke about the Choi family’s daily routine.

“What do they do in dawn training?”

“Nothing too grand—they just run a couple of laps around the training grounds. They say it helps the appetite for meals and benefits the training sessions in the morning. I’ve never tried it myself, so I can’t say if that’s true.”

The training grounds were unavoidable if you wanted to reach the main gate. If, as Yong-yong had said, the place was swarming with disciples from myoshi onward, then sneaking out early in the morning would be impossible.

‘So that’s why they didn’t assign anyone to watch me?’

While Seohwa was deep in thought, a maid entered carrying a breakfast tray. Her attention, which had been occupied with how to proceed from here, shifted immediately to the food before her. On the tray was a neat spread of white rice and four or five side dishes—even a soup with large chunks of meat.

It felt a little too heavy for breakfast. Even when the Seora Kingdom had still been prosperous, they hadn’t eaten meat in the morning. It wasn’t about wealth—it was about whether the stomach could handle it. So to find a breakfast table here laden with meat was naturally surprising.

Seeing that Seohwa hadn’t picked up her spoon, Ok-im blushed and hurried to explain.

“To endure such hard training all day, they need to eat well, and over time it’s become a habit… Should I have them bring you something lighter?”

“No, it’s fine.”

Fearing Ok-im would stand up any second, Seohwa quickly grabbed her spoon and shoveled a large mouthful of rice into her mouth. The side dishes weren’t bad, and she couldn’t trouble the mistress of the house after she’d gone to the trouble of serving precious meat. Only after Seohwa swallowed did Ok-im start eating with a relieved expression.

As the only sound at the table was the quiet clinking of spoons, Seohwa’s thoughts drifted.

‘I should finalize the deal before lifting the curse. Fortunately, the king seems like someone I can reason with…’

Ok-im studied her quietly. She knew her husband was a man who was bad at lying—that was part of why she’d decided to marry him. So when Choi Myeong-hak introduced Seohwa as his distant niece, she realized instantly that he was lying to her. But she hadn’t questioned it for one reason only—if this was the first lie he’d told her in over twenty years, there must be a good reason for it.

“Mm. Seohwa, if it’s all right, I’d like to ask you about your husband.”

When she’d first seen Seohwa set foot in this house, she had sensed that the young woman was from a distinguished family. It wasn’t her looks or clothes, but her posture and bearing. Seohwa carried the refinement of someone raised under strict discipline—bowing her head and yielding her body without being servile, meeting others’ eyes with calm dignity. She had smiled as though it were nothing, but Ok-im had been quite startled by her composure.

“Ah. If it’s uncomfortable, you don’t have to answer.”

Ok-im’s ears were tinged red—clearly thinking she had asked something inappropriate. Watching her, Seohwa thought of her own mother, whose face she could barely recall now. And for that reason alone, she decided to speak of something she hadn’t planned to.

It was a small and simple reason.

[You’ve never told even Yul that, so why did you tell that woman?]

After marriage, women would wear their hair in a chignon, but they couldn’t keep hairpins in all day. In the mornings or evenings, they would braid their hair and let it hang down, or loop the braid into a knot. Seohwa preferred to simply braid it or tie it back, as she did now.

Just as she was about to respond to Yong-yong’s question, which had lingered in her mind throughout the meal—

“It’s well known that at Old Man Choi’s table, there’s never a meal without meat. I came worried you might be skipping meals, but it seems my concern was unnecessary.”

The voice was far from concerned—if anything, it was cheerful. Seohwa knew who it was before she even turned her head to look.

She couldn’t understand how a king could come and go so freely from the palace. Her father, the emperor, couldn’t take a single step outside without dozens following him in a long procession. Just what kind of country was Ryeo that its king wandered around alone?

“You didn’t… climb over the wall, did you?”

“If you already know, then asking must mean you want to talk with me more.”

“…I see Your Majesty has a talent for inviting trouble early in the morning. Please come down—someone might see.”

Her words weren’t wrong, so Ryeohwan said nothing more and hopped down from the wall. Seohwa shook her head as he landed with a puff of dust.

“But really—why did you come?”

At that, Ryeohwan stopped brushing off his clothes. Why did he come? He hadn’t expected to be asked that, nor did he have a good answer. In truth, he didn’t even know himself.

Yesterday, as he’d warned Biyun, he was supposed to attend the morning audience. There was still some time before it began, but not enough to justify leaving the palace. Meeting Seohwa’s questioning gaze, he cleared his throat.

“I felt bad for leaving without explaining properly yesterday. The Captain of the Guards scolded me harshly.”

“You were scolded?” she asked skeptically.

“Yes. A loyal minister’s remonstrance should be heeded—so I came to apologize in person.”

His hand rested over his heart, his expression solemn. Seohwa almost reached out to him—not out of being moved, though his voice carried a persuasive power. The problem was that his face, even as he spoke seriously, was brimming with amusement, making his words sound like a joke.

The real reason she reached for him was different—yesterday, the curse that had been faint was now startlingly vivid. Draped along the arm that had been resting on the wall was a curse that looked like the robe of a celestial maiden—red energy flowing like airy fabric, as if it might float away into the sky at any moment. Just as her fingers were about to brush the edge, Ryeohwan seized her wrist roughly.

“That’s far enough.”

His voice drew a clear line—this time without a trace of humor. Startled, Seohwa looked up. His expressionless face reminded her of a cruel, beautiful ruler. She didn’t need to be told she’d displeased him. Without answering, she shrank back slightly, and he leaned closer.

The soft rustle of his luxurious robes made goosebumps rise on her skin. He was watching her closely enough to catch even that small reaction.

Ah… yes. Lowering his head over her shoulder, his eyes took in her long, tied-back hair—and Ryeohwan finally realized why he’d come to the Choi household at the crack of dawn.

“You still have something to say to me before you lay a hand on me.”

He hadn’t received a definite answer—whether she would lift the curse or not. In his haste to drag her here, he’d never even thought to ask. Clearly that had been a mistake.

“Of course, now that you’re in my grasp, you have only one choice.”

At those words, Seohwa’s demeanor shifted. She, who had been merely watching as the man loomed over her like a great blaze, now reached out her hand.

“In your grasp? Me?”

Her fingers pressed firmly against his shoulder—it was surprisingly solid—but not enough to move him.

Ryeohwan considered for a moment. He could grab her hand now and force an answer—after all, here in the capital, she had only two choices: lift the curse or die. She wouldn’t choose death; even rolling in the filth of life was better than dying. She had survived ten years on the run. She would answer that she’d lift the curse.

If he pressured her here, she’d be easier to control later. But in the end, he chose to step back.

“My being here was my choice, Your Majesty. So if you want me to lift the curse, don’t ever try to force me again.”

And it was a wise choice. If Ryeohwan had tried to suppress her, Seohwa—though it would have been reckless—would have tried to escape. Her eyes now blazed as though sparks might fly from them.