Chapter 13
“Goodness, I’ve lived to see the strangest things. The Imperial Consort gifting clothes to Her Highness the Princess!”
Yuso chattered excitedly as she twisted up Yeo-ro’s hair and fastened a hairpin.
“What do you mean, ‘lived to see’? You haven’t lived long enough for such talk.”
“Oh, but Princess, I may be young, yet I’ve seen all kinds of things—good and bad!”
“Fine, fine.”
Yuso suddenly shoved her head in front of Yeo-ro’s face, pouting and whining with dissatisfaction.
“Hey, really! Why won’t you believe me? That’s unfair!”
“I said I believe you, didn’t I?”
Only when Yeo-ro giggled like a girl her age did Yuso finally raise her puffed-up cheeks. At that moment, Yeo-ro caught sight of the bronze mirror before her.
Because her hair was pinned up, her slender neck was clearly revealed, and her pale skin shone with almost ghostly brightness.
Earrings, necklaces, and bracelets… all had long since been traded away for her mother’s medicines, leaving her neck bare and empty.
“It’s fine. Your Highness is so beautiful already. What jewel could compare to you?”
Sensing her mistress’s sadness, Yuso quickly covered it with cheerful exaggeration. Yeo-ro found the gesture more endearing than irritating and gave another small laugh.
“Now then, it’s time to change.”
Yuso picked up the jacket with sparkling excitement, as though she herself were the one dressing up. Yeo-ro smirked and slipped her arms into it. The dangui she wore tied across her chest shone pure white.
“Something feels…”
Yeo-ro’s hands stopped mid-knot, trembling slightly. The touch against her skin felt ominous somehow.
“Something feels strange.”
At her words, Yuso circled around, inspecting the garment, then shook her head.
“Nothing strange at all! But imagine—the Imperial Consort gifting white silk embroidered with gold thread?”
“Yuso, if we sold this dress, would it cover the cost of my mother’s medicines?”
“It would more than cover it! Just look at the sheen of this silk—”
“Then shorten the hem so that my ankles show. If the skirt gets dirty, we won’t be able to sell it for full price.”
Brightening, Yeo-ro quickly finished tying her knot, while Yuso picked up a lantern. Though it was still early evening, an order had been given to extinguish all lamps in the quarters so the banquet would shine brighter—meaning she would need the lantern for the night path.
“…I’ll be back. Please take good care of Mother.”
Yeo-ro looked at her mother, still asleep under the effect of medicine, and left the request with Yuso. The girl nodded firmly, playfully waving her off as if to say not to worry.
Without a single servant accompanying her, Yeo-ro carried her lantern alone to the banquet. Her entrance was simple, but the eyes of servants and attendants followed her from the corridors.
Flustered, she wondered if her outfit looked odd, checking herself repeatedly, but found no real flaw.
The servants did not announce her arrival to the Emperor. Instead, Yeo-ro herself pushed open the large wooden doors with a creak and stepped inside. In that brief instant, every gaze in the hall turned toward her.
The whispers among the courtiers quickly grew louder, soon overpowering the banquet music. The consorts and even the Empress Dowager let their eyes slip—disrespectfully—toward the Emperor.
“This is clearly mocking His Majesty!”
One of the Imperial Consort’s people, So Dabeung, suddenly leapt up, pointing straight at Yeo-ro and shouting. The Consort herself sat calmly, sipping wine, so Yeo-ro could not understand the reason.
Yeo-ro quickly lowered herself to the ground in a deep bow.
“Isn’t that the very white dangui worn by Lady Heo when she entered the palace?”
At those words, Yeo-ro’s head snapped up to look at the Consort. The woman covered her lips with her sleeve, smirking.
“And afterward, she neglected His Majesty and went mad. That white robe became an ill omen, a sign of disrespect to the throne!”
Dabeung spoke as though reciting lines from a play, words clearly memorized. The Empress pressed her forehead, troubled.
The Emperor lifted his wine to his lips, then set it down again. Instead of anger, he let out a coarse laugh that filled the room. Dabeung and the Consort exchanged puzzled glances. Then, with a casual flick of his hand, the Emperor signaled Yeo-ro to stand.
As she rose hesitantly, the Emperor smiled. But the beard trembling under his chin betrayed that this was no kind father’s smile.
“Your mother was skilled in song and dance. Surely her daughter is no different. Shall we see a bit of the Princess’s performance?”
“Wh-what?”
Forgetting her manners, Yeo-ro looked up at him in shock, then quickly lowered her gaze again.
“Has the Princess not heard His Majesty’s command?”
It was the Empress who scolded her this time.
Uneasily, Yeo-ro stepped into the center of the hall. The music stopped. It seemed they would not even give her accompaniment. Her pale face flushed pink with distress.
All eyes fixed on her—when suddenly the banquet doors opened again.
“The Crown Prince of Geonryung has arrived.”
At the eunuch’s announcement, Yeo-ro turned in surprise toward the huge wooden doors. There stood Il-ip. He, too, looked equally startled.
When they had searched the area earlier, not even a single strand of hair could be found. Who would have thought they’d meet again in the palace? His lips curved slightly, awkwardly, in disbelief.
“Princess!”
The Dowager Empress’s sharp rebuke made Yeo-ro flinch. Clutching her white skirts tightly, she turned her back on Il-ip.
So that was it—standing in the center of the hall, she had been mistaken for nothing more than a dancer.
Even so, Il-ip bowed politely to the Emperor. The Emperor waved dismissively, then strode down the steps, clasped Il-ip’s hand, and led him to an honored seat.
“Princess Yeo-ro, do you intend to shame me before our guest?”
The Empress thundered again. Yeo-ro had no choice but to raise her trembling hands above her head. Every nerve in her body was aware of Il-ip as she began, while the onlookers held their breath, eager to witness her humiliation.
“The wind blows, even in this season…”
A thin thread of song flowed forth. With her hands raised like butterfly wings, she gathered them gracefully and stretched her arms skyward.
“When the flowers shake, and time flows away.”
Pivoting on her toes, she spun in place. The hem of her skirt, shortened earlier, revealed pale, delicate ankles gleaming under the lantern light. As the fabric fluttered, it bloomed in the air like a white flower, drawing dry swallows from the watchers.
“The white dew falls, turning into frost.”
Even without instruments, her voice became both string and bow. Her clear tones rolled through the hall like pearls. Il-ip’s gaze fixed on her—so she could heal lives, and now she stirred hearts as well.
“The seat of the one I long for remains empty still.”
Yeo-ro felt his piercing eyes settle somewhere upon her skin. With his unfeeling face and sharp gaze, he seemed like a divine being who had endured countless years unchanged.
“That person… is across the river, far away.”
Her arms folded forward, pressing outward, gestures delicate as rippling waves, yet edged with fragility.
When her song and dance ended, silence held the hall. No one dared break it, not until the lingering echo of her voice dissolved.
Only the Consort trembled with anger. Just then, Yeo-ro stepped forward—and her foot caught on her own skirt.
That was when it happened.
A ripping sound tore through the air—the stitches of her white robe burst open, thread by thread.
