The palace gates creaked open on a spring morning, and with them entered a whirlwind of
warmth and curiosity. Lady Go Saha, the only daughter of the Minister of State, came to visit
her father. Though noble in birth, she carried none of the stiff airs of the court. Her long
raven hair shimmered like silk in the sun, her wide sleeves embroidered with peach
blossoms fluttered as she walked, and her bright eyes always restless, always searching
seemed to drink in every detail of palace life with unguarded wonder.
To the courtiers, she was bold, perhaps too bold for a young lady of her station. To the
servants, she was lighthearted, pausing to ask their names, smiling as if the palace
belonged to her. And to the Crown Prince Kim Younghae, who had lived a life of discipline,
restraint, and measured words, she was… refreshing.
At first, her visits were brief, no more than a daughter's duty to see her father. Yet somehow, she often wandered into the Crown Prince's path sometimes in the library, her head tilted in wonder at scrolls she could barely read, other times in the gardens, where she chased butterflies like a child.
One afternoon, when Younghae found her examining an old map in the royal study, she
grinned and said,
"Doesn't it feel strange, Your Highness? All these lines and borders, yet the sky above has
none. If I could, I'd erase them and let the world be whole." The prince, who had grown accustomed to heavy talks of diplomacy and war, stared at her in surprise. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed soft at first, then full-hearted.
From that day, they found themselves drawn together by small, shared curiosities. He spoke
of the stars, and she listened with fascination, pointing out shapes he had overlooked. She
spoke of stories outside the palace walls, and he leaned closer, as if her words themselves
were freedom. She teased him when he grew too serious, he scolded her when she was too
carefree, and together they struck a balance that neither had known they were missing.
And when Saha was present, the palace changed. The solemn corridors filled with the sound of her laughter, a laughter so contagious that even the Crown Prince who rarely smiled was seen laughing with her. Servants whispered of it. Ministers noticed it. Even the guards stood straighter, as if the warmth had spread to them as well.
But for Lady Seorin, the fire deity who had been Younghae's confidante since childhood,
every echo of Saha's laughter was a knife.
She had stood by his side through his youth, his loyal advisor, his most trusted companion,
the one who steadied him when the weight of duty grew unbearable. She knew the rhythm of
his footsteps, the furrow of his brows when he thought too long, the rare smile he reserved
for moments of true peace.
Yet, as days passed, she began to see that smile more and more and it was no longer directed to her.
From the shadows of the court, she watched. She told herself it was nothing. That
Younghae's affection for Saha was fleeting, a brightness that would dim once duty called him back. That she, Seorin, would remain unshaken, the one who knew him best.
But when she saw the way his eyes followed Saha as she entered a room… when she heard
the sound of his laughter mingling with hers… when she felt the distance between them
widening in ways she could not name… the fire within her began to twist.
Not with warmth, but with jealousy. And beneath that jealousy, a growing, desperate fear overwhelmed fear.