The candlelight in Queen Saha's chamber flickered against the pale silk drapes as she sat
on the edge of her bed, her slender fingers trembling as they tightened around the folds of
her dress. The ridicule she had borne these past weeks had carved deep lines into her spirit.
When the king entered, dismissing the guards outside, she did not rise to greet him. She
simply lifted her eyes, red-rimmed yet steady.
"Younghae," she said, her voice quiet but edged with steel, "let us end this farce. Tonight… let us sleep together. I will bear a child. And once I have given birth, I will leave this palace by hook or by crook."
The words struck him harder than any blow.
He froze by the door, staring at her as though he had not heard her correctly. "Saha…"
Her lips quivered, but she forced the words out. "Do you know what it is like to be mocked
every day? To be called barren? To hear the whispers that the king is not a man? This is not who I am.... I've been broken more than enough and I don't want to hear that I didn't care or love you enough as a friend. I have done everything you ask of me, I have broken myself because of you I have sacrifice everything for you just so you can be happy because you're my best friend. Is it a crime I chose you to be my best friend." Her voice
broke, and for a heartbeat she sounded like the carefree girl she once was. "I cannot endure
it any longer."
Younghae crossed the room in three long strides, kneeling before her, his hands gripping
hers. "You don't have to. Just give me more time. I swear to you, I am almost done
preparing… Once all is ready, I will send you away, free, as I promised. We don't need to…"
His throat tightened, his words faltering.
Because deep inside him, he knew the truth: during these months, while Seorin remained
distant, his heart had slipped into dangerous waters. What had begun as gratitude and trust
had grown into something deeper. He had fallen for Saha—too deeply to deny. And now she was asking for his child.
He should have rejoiced. Yet her next words pierced him like ice.
"Do not try to stop me, Younghae. Once I have secured my place through this child, I will
leave. That has always been our agreement. Do not ask me to stay."
His hands trembled around hers. His heart screamed to keep her, but his lips could only
whisper, "Please, Saha… just a little longer…"
But her eyes were resolute.
That night, against his pleas, they shared the bed as husband and wife for the first time. It
was not born of love but of necessity, a desperate attempt to silence the world's ridicule. Yet,as the night faded, a silent weight bound them together—a bond neither truly wished for.
Days passed. Then weeks.
Until one evening, as the late winter winds rattled against the palace windows, Saha
collapsed suddenly in her chamber.
Younghae rushed to her side, his face draining of all color. She clutched at her stomach, her
lips pale, her skin clammy as she began to retch violently.
"Bring the royal physician!" Younghae roared, his voice cracking with fear. He gathered her
trembling form into his arms, his robes soaking in the bitter scent of bile. His heart thundered
with dread.
When the doctor finally arrived and examined her, the silence in the room was suffocating.
Younghae held his breath, waiting for the words that would seal his fate.
The physician straightened, bowing low. "Your Majesty… Her Highness is not gravely ill. She
is with child."
The words crashed into Younghae's chest.
Saha is pregnant.
Relief, joy, and a piercing sorrow all collided within him. His wife, the woman who wanted
only to leave, was now carrying his heir. The court's ridicule would end, the kingdom would
rejoice—but the cost was the chains tightening around all three of their lives.
And as Saha lay weak in his arms, he whispered her name, torn between triumph and terror.
The news spread like wildfire through the palace. The queen was with a child.
The ridicule that had once stained Queen Saha's every step evaporated in a single
proclamation. Ministers who had whispered that the king was unfit now bowed low, their
mouths filled with congratulations. Courtiers who had smirked behind her back now sang her praises.
The court was alive with joy.
"An heir at last," the ministers declared. "Heaven has blessed this kingdom."
But amidst the echo of celebration, one soul sank deeper into silence.
Seorin.
When word reached her chambers, she sat motionless for a long time, staring at the
flickering flame of the oil lamp. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her nails digging
into her palms, but she did not notice. Her chest felt hollow, as though something had been scooped out from within.
Her sister, Lady Hanuel, watched with worry but did not press. Seorin had always been
strong, always swallowed her pain. But that night, she did something she had never done
before. She left her palace.
The king's chamber was filled with the faint scent of ink and candle wax when she entered.
Kim Younghae looked up in surprise, the scroll in his hand forgotten.
"Seorin?" His voice softened, uncertain. She had avoided him for weeks.
She lowered her gaze, hiding the storm in her heart. "Your Majesty… I came to congratulate
you."
Younghae's breath caught. He wanted to rise, to take her hand, to tell her the truth—that it
was never Saha who held his heart. But her smile stopped him. It was a small, fragile smile,
yet it cut him more deeply than any blade.
"I wish you happiness," she whispered. Then, with all the courage she could summon, she
added, "But… I wish to leave the palace. To taste freedom, if only for a while."
Younghae froze. A part of him had hoped—foolishly—that she would stay, that she would
remain by his side no matter how much distance the throne had built between them.
Perhaps even that she would fight for him.
But her request was a dagger, sharp and unyielding.
He swallowed hard, forcing his voice steady. "Then go. But return after one year.
The words left his lips before he could stop them.
Seorin's eyes widened, shock rippling through her as if the ground beneath her had given
way. She had hoped, foolishly, that he would beg her to stay, that he would hold her in place
with his words. Instead, he had pushed her away with a command as cold as winter.
Her lips trembled, but she did not speak. She bowed deeply, turned, and left without looking
back.
When the doors closed behind her, Younghae pressed his face into his hands.
The crown, the court, the kingdom—everything weighed upon him. But in that moment, he
realized he had lost the one thing he could not bear to lose.
And in the quiet of the chamber, his heart whispered the name he dared not speak aloud:
"Seorin...."