Morning arrived like a slap of cold water.
No soft warmth, no echo of his voice lingering in my ears, no memory of his hands lightly brushing mine.
Just duty.
Duty, the only thing I had left that was still mine.
I tied my hair, strapped on my boots, secured the sword at my hip, and stepped into the corridors of the East Pavilion long before the palace servants yawned awake. My steps were sharp, clean, and, most importantly, silent.
A bodyguard.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
The way it should have always been.
The Crown Prince noticed the difference immediately.
When I entered his study chamber that morning, he looked up as if he'd been waiting for me, hoping for me.
His eyes warmed instantly.
I did not let mine do the same.
I bowed.
Perfect.
Precise.
Emotionless.
"Your Highness," I said, tone like polished steel.
His smile froze.
He opened his mouth to speak, maybe to apologize, or to explain, or to say something that would undo what had happened the night before.
But I cut in.
"Your training schedule begins in five minutes. We should depart."
His shoulders stiffened.
"…Right."
He stood, but the small flicker of hope in his expression dimmed when he realized I wasn't walking beside him. I walked ahead, not behind, not close enough to accidentally brush against his arm like before.
Just enough distance to make it clear.
There was him.
And then there was me.
And between us, duty sat like a brick wall.
Days passed.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Like time itself had a grudge.
We followed the same rhythm:
I trained him.
He studied.
I studied.
I guarded him.
We barely spoke.
He tried.
Oh, he tried.
Little attempts slipped from him daily, soft "Good mornings," gentle questions, small comments in English he hoped would pull a smile from me. But I answered with formalities so sharp they drew invisible blood.
Not once did I let my eyes linger.
Not once did I let my heart slip.
Every time he looked at me with those aching, searching eyes, I turned away.
Hyejin noticed immediately.
"You're stabbing him with manners," she hissed one afternoon. "Ha-neul. He looks like a puppy that got left out in the rain."
"Good," I muttered, tying my sword strap tighter. "Maybe he'll stop trying."
She stared at me.
Long, suspicious.
Too perceptive.
"…What happened between you two?"
"Nothing happened."
"It doesn't look like nothing" she stared at him as he practice pathetically.
"Well it is."
It was the most painful truth I'd ever spoken.
The Palace Was No Longer Quiet
Because the letters went out.
Golden envelopes bearing the royal seal, gliding out of the palace like arrows aimed at every noble family in the kingdom.
Families who would bring their daughters.
Daughters who would bow.
Bow to the title I could never touch.
The Crown Princess Selection Ceremony.
Whispers filled the palace like smoke.
Excitement.
Curiosity.
Greed.
Servants gossiping about dresses.
Nobles preparing their flawless daughters.
Ladies adjusting their family reputations like jewelry.
All while the Crown Prince walked through the palace looking like his soul had been wrung out to dry.
Every glance stole a piece of me.
I kept walking.
The Queen Dowager .
Her arrival announced itself before she did, dozens of court ladies in deep plum silks swept in, perfumed air trailing behind them like the scent of an old, powerful dynasty.
Then she entered.
I had no idea she had been in this palace The Who time (The palace was so huge, that if you weren't careful enough, one could get lost).
The Queen Dowager.
Grandmother of the Crown Prince.
Mother of the King.
Widow of the great King Lee Hyeonjin.
She was elegance carved into human form: stern lines softened by age, posture that spoke of kingdoms survived, not just ruled.
Her eyes, sharp as winter water, assessed everyone in the hall.
She reminded me of my own mother, her softness and charm.
And when she looked at the Crown Prince, her gaze softened just a fraction.
A grandmother's love.
The hidden kind.
The quiet kind.
The painful kind.
She never said it.
But anyone who watched closely could see it tucked between her breaths.
"Where is he?" Her question cracked through the room like a ruler snapping on a table.
The King stiffened.
"The Crown Prince is-"
"Busy?" she cut in bluntly. "Training? Studying? Pretending he isn't drowning, no doubt."
The King's jaw flexed, but he said nothing.
The Queen Dowager waved a hand.
"Bring him to me."
Her attendants scurried instantly.
I watched all of this from behind my post, silent, invisible, a shadow with a sword. And yet her gaze flicked to me once.
A single heartbeat.
A glance.
A knowing one.
She saw everything.
The Crown Prince appeared moments later, breathing a little too fast, as if he'd run. When his eyes found his grandmother, relief washed over him.
But then…
He saw me.
And something in him cracked.
Small.
Silent.
Painful.
I bowed deeply, refusing to meet his eyes.
The Queen Dowager watched the exchange with the keen interest of someone reading a forbidden romance novel behind her fan.
Then she said:
"Grandson. Walk with me."
A command disguised as an invitation.
He hesitated, just a second-glancing in my direction as if hoping I'd look up, meet his eyes, give him something.
But I remained still.
He followed her.
The doors closed behind them with a soft, echoing thud that felt like a wall going up between us.