Chapter 3
Music.
A sacred offering to the gods, written in their divine language.
There were only a few in the world who could read, understand, and interpret this celestial tongue.
At most, three people per generation were said to possess such a gift.
Those blessed with this ability were classified by their talents as the “Hearer,” the “Reciter,” and the “Seer.”
I was the one who could see the divine language.
The Seer.
One who, by seeing the language of the gods, could play any instrument as though they’d studied it for decades—without ever having learned or practiced.
Among all the instruments I could play, the one that captured my heart and opened my eyes to the miracle was the piano.
Sitting before it, I could see the will of the gods without effort.
Even I couldn’t explain how it was possible.
I could only lose myself—fall into a trance—and become the vessel that delivered the divine message through music.
I, a wretched illegitimate child no one wanted, had become one who could commune with the divine.
Because of that power, even the king who had once cast me away came looking for me again.
The day I first met him—
Draped in fine clothes and ornate jewelry, I was presented to him like a precious trophy.
He stared at me for a long time as I stood there, head bowed in silence.
Time passed, heavy and slow, until at last, he spoke.
“Raise your head.”
Obeying the command, I lifted my face.
What met my eyes were pale blue irises, cold as winter.
A chill surged through me.
And then came his harsh words:
“I thought you were utterly… worthless.”
It wasn’t a greeting of welcome.
Honestly, I hadn’t dared hope for a warm reunion.
In my mother’s stories, the king had been a gallant, kind man.
She’d said he’d hold me in his lap and promise to give me the world.
So yes—
I had held on to some naïve hope, some faint longing for my father.
But—
“Now, at least, I finally have a reason to claim you.”
His eyes were like a mirror reflecting my own—cold and terrifying.
“Watch yourself. Don’t go acting like your wretched mother. This is not the slum you grew up in.”
“…”
The chill. The contempt. The silence.
A storm of negativity crashed down upon me.
Ah, Largo. I was only fifteen back then.
It was too much darkness for someone like me to bear.
Even now, I can’t forget the icy weight of that moment.
“Expect nothing. Hope for nothing.”
He watched me wordlessly drown in his chill, and spat out one last sentence like venom:
“You are my weakness, my stain, and my greatest mistake.”
A warning in no uncertain terms to stay silent and live as if dead.
Thus, the king reluctantly acknowledged me as his daughter.
Of course, it was unheard of for an illegitimate child to be officially accepted as a princess, not even just as an adopted one.
But I was the Seer—so something impossible had become possible.
Life in the palace, however, was far from smooth.
The king, seemingly eager to distance me, gave me a residence in the westernmost part of the palace—his farthest wing.
People began to call me the “Western Princess.”
But more commonly, I was known by another title:
The Bastard of the West Palace.
No one welcomed my sudden appearance.
The maids disdained me for my background,
The king took no responsibility,
And the queen loathed me.
I had expected as much, so I held no complaints.
It was natural.
I never denied the sin of my birth.
From the moment I came into this world, my only reason for existing was to interpret the gods’ language.
Until I reached adulthood, I saw and conveyed thousands of divine messages each day.
And yet—
Somewhere inside, I must have still longed for things I could never have.
Five years passed.
I was beginning to grow up.
By then, I had abandoned all hope, all warmth, any lingering expectations.
And then—
I met you.
“You’re hauntingly beautiful.”
I had just emerged from a trance when I heard that whisper.
I turned my head in its direction.
Sunlight was filtering through the stained-glass windows of the temple, painting the air with gold.
A haze of glowing dust floated in the light, shrouding your figure like a mirage.
Someone approached my dazed, frozen self.
The shadow that fell over me felt like a gesture from the divine itself. I bowed my head low in reverence.
Tap, tap…
Your footsteps echoed against the temple floor until you stopped before me.
Your neatly cropped black hair swayed gently.
I looked up and was struck breathless.
How could a person be… this beautiful?
I felt I would never see anyone more beautiful, not in all eternity.
“So you’re the Seer.”
In your crimson eyes—deep and low—I saw my reflection.
Your hand brushed my cheek, then slid away.
Your lips moved softly, but your fingertips were calloused from hardship.
That unfamiliar warmth made me tense.
“I wonder… does the world you see look different from mine?”
Leaving that cryptic remark behind, you turned and walked away with elegance.
I sat dazed at the piano, playing the same divine refrain over and over again.
It was the first time I couldn’t understand what the gods were trying to say—
Or rather, the vision of your divine beauty haunted me so deeply, I couldn’t concentrate on their message.
That evening, I finally learned who you were.
The king had, unusually, invited me to a banquet.
The hall felt like a badly fitted dress—tight and uncomfortable.
I sat at the far end of the table, trying to avoid people’s eyes.
The queen, openly hostile, glared at me,
While the king said nothing, even as he saw me seated there.
I couldn’t even swallow a sip of water, but the banquet was lively.
From my corner seat, I watched you sitting beside the king, smiling.
The nobles at my end whispered to each other, just as I had once been captivated by your brilliance in the temple.
Everyone was struck by your beauty.
Then came the whispers:
“That’s the Crown Prince of Gong.”
No one had told me this, yet the words drifted easily around the room.
I listened closely.
“They say the king favors him most among the vassal kings.”
The kingdom had many vassal states loyal to the crown.
And you were the one he cherished above all.
It baffled me.
How could my father—the man who called even his own blood a stain—love someone like that?
I glanced at the king.
He was smiling, genuinely, as he looked at you.
A warmth I had never received radiated from him.
Only now, years later, do I understand the feeling I had in that moment.
“So, what brings you here today?”
The king dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief and got to the point.
You answered quietly:
“There’s something I want.”
“Something you want? You?”
“Yes.”
You lowered your gaze politely.
Even that small gesture drew a wave of admiration from nearby nobles.
“If I may be so bold… would you grant it to me?”
The king laughed heartily at your respectful tone.
There was such affection in that laugh—
I realized then that the king was capable of warmth.
“If it’s your request, what in this world wouldn’t I give? Speak.”
“I ask for the princess.”
“…The princess?”
The king tilted his head.
He repeated your words, as if unsure.
“The princess…? But the queen has no daughter…”
Then he trailed off, his expression twisting.
His eyes found me, quietly hidden at the far end of the table.
The fondness disappeared, replaced by irritation.
“You mean that girl from the West Palace?”
“Yes.”
That fading summer evening—
“I wish to marry the princess.”
You asked for me.
