Chapter 17
The pale dawn wind filled her lungs. With ragged breaths caught in her throat, Yero abandoned all decorum and ran toward the outer palace where the Emperor resided. Even as she stumbled and nearly fell, she did not stop. Her entire mind was fixed on the imperial palace, already clinging in desperation to the Emperor’s robe.
The slaves sweeping the floors and the court ladies assigned household supplies for the day glanced at her as she passed. But the rumors were no longer confined only to the Cold Palace. Everyone must have already heard of the princess Yero’s miserable fate—whether with pity, or with scorn.
Even though her vision spun and no one reached out to support her, neither did anyone dare to lecture her about royal dignity now. That in itself was bitter and lonesome.
The outer palace was perched high, as though attached to the heavens. Yero lifted her skirt to her shins and dashed up the steps. The well-polished stone stairs gleamed under the sunlight.
The closer she drew, the stronger the scent of chrysanthemums grew. An ominous foreboding swelled in her chest until it felt as if her heart might shatter.
“Tell him… tell His Majesty that I have come from the Cold Palace!”
It was a command—no, a plea—to the guards and court ladies at the gate of the outer palace. But all she received were cold, indifferent looks.
“There is a guest with His Majesty. Her Highness the Princess cannot enter.”
The words were curt. Yero bit her lips until they bled, straightened her trembling body, and swallowed down the dawn air that had pooled in her mouth. Then she pushed the court lady’s shoulder aside.
“Is that so? Then let it be said I forced my way in.”
The Cold Palace princess, showing such resolve? Before the astonished court lady could react, Yero shoved open the massive palace doors herself. The hinges screeched. The court lady rushed in after her, grabbing at her shoulders in panic.
Before Yero could even lift her head, the Emperor’s brows had already furrowed. With a flick of his chin, he dismissed the attendants and guards.
“Your Majesty, I cannot go to Gunryeong!”
It wasn’t the scornful gaze of the Emperor that frightened her. What terrified her now was the thought of leaving her ailing mother behind for thousands of li. Her voice trembled, soaked in tears.
Someone let out a short breath. Only then did she notice the man seated opposite the Emperor. The guest calmly set down his teacup and slowly turned. His face was all too familiar—burned into her memory. It was Irip. Yero’s fingertips went cold.
“How dare a mere princess barge into my hall without leave!”
The Emperor’s roar struck like thunder.
“My own child, ignorant of manners, shameless as a naked savage—should I not fear the shame she will bring to Gunryeong?”
But the Emperor’s tone softened quickly. With languid voice, he turned his eyes to Irip. Irip sipped his tea once more, then let out a twisted chuckle as his eyes met Yero’s directly. The pity in his gaze only deepened her humiliation. She bit her tongue, enduring it.
Even in this moment, his composure was unshaken. Yero trembled—not with hatred for him, but at her own foolishness.
“No. On the contrary, she has much to learn. It will be a welcome diversion in this dull palace life.”
His gaze traveled up her body, slow and deliberate, as though she were stripped bare, as though her worth were being appraised at some street market stall. Yero shook her head, her shame burning.
There was pity in his eyes—but also a thin thread of interest. Both were unbearable. A chill ran down her spine.
I saved you. I spared you when you trespassed in the Cold Palace. And yet, you repay me with this humiliation. The kindness she had shown Irip curdled into poison, spreading through her veins. She gripped her skirt tightly, trembling.
“Well then, I shall take my leave. Preparations for the long journey are many. Besides, since a lady will be in our company…”
“Oh, I have detained a busy man too long. You needn’t bid me farewell when you depart. Did not our bargain go beyond courtesy already?”
Bargain. The price for which I was offered up. Yero’s hands shook as she clenched her skirt. Irip passed her by, but paused to whisper into her ear:
“Destiny always sinks toward the heavier side. It seems my fate is heavier than yours, Princess—for fate has chosen to favor me.”
With those words, he strode away. The cloying scent of cloves lingered in his wake. Yero turned her head aside, refusing to breathe it in. His words were not comfort, but mockery—for moving her fate without her consent.
His steps were steady, measured, precise—as though everything unfolding had been orchestrated by him from the start.
Disgust filled Yero’s mind. All her sacrifices for her mother—dismissed by this man’s arrogance. She loathed him.
“Why do you linger here? Come closer.”
The Emperor ordered fresh tea. What was there left to fear? Yero strode forward and knelt before him. His tone turned warm, as though addressing a beloved child.
“Gunryeong is like a hard stone lodged between great nations.”
So what? So you would sell me as a sacrifice?
She wanted to cry out, but her mother was still trapped in the Cold Palace. She dared not.
“I will go to Gunryeong. But please, allow my mother to be taken care of. That much, I beg you.”
“No. That cannot be. Your mother is a hostage.”
“A… hostage?”
Feigning benevolence, the Emperor stroked his beard and dismissed the servants with a glance. When only he and Yero remained in the vast hall, he whispered low:
“The day you return to this land, you and your mother will be freed from the palace and allowed to live once more in the open fields.”
Yero’s heart dropped.
“Truly…?”
She dared lift her head to meet his eyes, then quickly bowed low again.
“But—”
The word fell heavy, like a stone weathered for a thousand years. Yero’s heart shook not only from fear, but from dread.
“When you return alone. When you come back without escort. Then… poison the ruler of Gunryeong and return.”
What did I just hear? Yero’s eyes wavered, staring blankly at the floor.
“If you understand, withdraw.”
The Emperor’s voice rang with satisfaction. He leaned back against the throne, smiling. The burden had been cast entirely onto Yero.
Not because he trusted me—but because I am a pawn so easily discarded.
His promise to spare us if I returned alive sounded less like mercy, and more like a plan—that my death could simply be delayed until then.
For the first time, Yero realized: these people did not see her as a person. And she finally understood that this hall was the true altar. The sacrifice was her. The item bartered and placed on the table was her.
To answer would be to resist—and resistance would endanger her mother in the Cold Palace. So Yero chose silence, the only rebellion she could allow herself.
She remained kneeling, trembling, rooted to the ground. Only when the court lady came to pull her up by the arm did she stir, unable to move of her own will.
The sound of the Emperor sipping tea echoed sharply. Royal blood of noble lineage, yet born of a concubine in the Cold Palace—her fate split between opposites. That very fate was steeped in the tea he drank. Yero’s destiny lay before her—cold, sharp, and merciless.
