Laughter echoing in the palace corridor.
Crown Prince Ji-ho hears a familiar voice before he sees him.
His cousin arrives like a gust of foreign wind, dressed slightly differently, carrying foreign silk, maybe speaking with hints of learned Mandarin phrases from his time in Ming territory. His hair was tied loosely, not in the rigid court fashion, and a smile curved lazily across his face as though palace protocol had never truly impressed him.
He bows lazily instead of formally.
He grins instead of kneels.
"Cousin," he said, as if they had parted yesterday. "You look thin. Has someone been trying to kill you again?"
Ji-ho did not rise immediately. He studied him instead.
Years away, yet the same sharp eyes. The same deliberate casualness.
"You have heard."
"Of course I have heard," the cousin replied, stepping fully into the room. "The entire border heard. Three assassination attempts, on your journey to You will go to Sungjoo Village, to meet the Ming representative. The fall from a cliff during an assassination on your life which lead to you being attacked by tigers and almost killed. Getting trapped in a cave for days and almost getting killed. I leave you alone for a few seasons and you attempt to die in increasingly dramatic ways."
That drew the smallest curve from Ji-ho mouth.
"I survived."
"Yes," his cousin said softly, gaze narrowing with quiet amusement. "Because of her."
The air shifted.
"Where is she by the way?" His cousin asked.
"Don't worry, I'll introduce you two soon" Ji-ho said.
The guards withdrew discreetly. The doors closed.
The room felt smaller.
Ji-ho leaned back slightly. "You wasted no time."
"I did not travel across provinces and mountains merely to speak of weather." He removed his outer robe and draped it carelessly over a nearby chair, another small rebellion against formality. "Tell me everything."
Ji-ho did not answer at once.
Instead, he poured tea.
The cousin watched him, observant in ways most men failed to notice. Ji-ho movements were precise as always, but there was something beneath them now. Something warmer. Softer.
The cousin accepted the cup.
"Well?" he prompted.
Silence lingered only a moment longer.
Then Ji-ho began.
The first assassination had been clean.
Too clean.
An arrow from the treeline. A shift in the air. The unmistakable scent of metal before blood.
"She moved when things began to grow bloodily," Ji-ho said, voice even. "When my guards failed."
His cousin leaned forward slightly.
"She should not have been there," Ji-ho continued. "Yet she was. She pushed me aside."
He did not describe the way Bella's hands had gripped the blade. Or the fury in her eyes. Or how her body had shielded his without hesitation.
"She fought," he said instead. "Like she had known death before."
The cousin's gaze sharpened. "And after?"
"My father summoned her. Questioned her."
"And?"
"She spoke without fear."
That memory flickered behind Ji-ho's eyes, the throne hall heavy with suspicion, ministers whispering, Bella standing alone in foreign gesture beneath their scrutiny.
"She became my bodyguard," he finished.
The cousin smiled faintly. "From savior to protector. How convenient."
Ji-ho ignored the tone.
"The second attempt was not so precise."
"No?"
"No. It was chaos."
Steel flashing in daylight. The violent shove that sent both of them tumbling from stone and into nothingness.
"We fell," Ji-ho said quietly.
"Ah," the cousin murmured. "The cliff."
"We should have died but we made it. Found ourselves far from the palace, in a stranger's home and almost at death's' door."
But they had not.
There had been rock. And water. And darkness swallowing them whole.
"A cave," Ji-ho said. "Sealed except for the underwater passage."
The cousin did not interrupt.
"She kept me awake when I was bleeding. Tore her clothing to bind wounds. Found water. Forced me to drink, even though dying herself."
Ji-ho tone had shifted without him noticing.
Not admiration.
Something else.
"And the tigers?" the cousin asked lightly.
Ji-ho's eyes flickered.
"It stalked us on our we to another village, after the second assassination attempt."
"And?"
"She did not hesitate."
Steel. Blood. The raw animal fury that had filled the forest.
"She killed them," Ji-ho finished.
She.
The cousin smiled slowly.
"You speak of her with great admiration."
Ji-ho's jaw tightened faintly.
"We reached a town unfamiliar to us," he continued. "No banners. No allies. Only people."
"And she?" the cousin prompted.
"Her story. Admiration flew like a phoenix. And whenever trouble came, she'd-"
"Save you again."
"Yes."
The word was quiet.
The cousin leaned back, studying him openly now.
"You are in love with her."
It was not a question.
Ji-ho exhaled slowly. "Do not be foolish."
"Am I?"
Silence.
"You have faced death before," the cousin said mildly. "You have faced betrayal. You have faced Father's expectations. Yet when you speak of this woman, your voice-"
He tapped the table lightly.
"-softens."
Ji-ho looked away.
"That is not love."
"No?"
"No."
The cousin leaned forward.
"You do not look at any noble lady that way. Or low borns. Or the things have known you to fancy. Or even yourself."
Ji-ho's mouth twitched despite himself.
"It is gratitude," he insisted.
"Gratitude does not make a man stare into firelight as if it holds his future."
Jihod did not respond.
The cousin tilted his head. "What have you done?"
Ji-ho blinked. "What?"
"With her."
Ji-ho's legs curled with excitement.
"That is not your concern."
"It is absolutely my concern," the cousin replied cheerfully. "You are heir to the throne. If you have secretly fathered a child in a cave or in a stranger's home-"
Ji-ho shot him a look.
"It was only the lips," he muttered.
The cousin stared at him.
"Only the-" He burst into laughter so sudden it startled even Ji-ho. "My cousin. Future king. Crown prince Lee Ji-ho. The man of the hour. And you have only kissed her?"
Ji-ho's ears warmed faintly.
"That is not insignificant."
"Of course not," the cousin said, still laughing. "The lips are a battlefield of their own. But is that all?"
Ji-ho hesitated.
The cousin's grin sharpened. "You have not…?"
"No."
"You have never-?"
"No."
"Have you at least read about it?"
Ji-ho's silence was answer enough.
The cousin covered his face briefly. "This palace has failed you."
"I have seen the instructional texts," Ji-ho muttered.
"Seen?" the cousin echoed. "Seen is not the same as studied or indulged."
"This conversation is unnecessary."
"It is vital," the cousin corrected. "You intend to take a wife. The bride selection is ongoing. If you plan to rebel against destiny, at least do so with knowledge."
Ji-ho fell quiet at that.
The laughter thinned.
"You are meant to marry," the cousin said more gently now. "The selection will conclude soon. The victorious family will expect legitimacy."
"I know."
"And her?" the cousin pressed softly.
Ji-ho did not answer immediately.
"She rejects me."
The cousin's brows rose.
"I have offered that we be more," Ji-ho said quietly. "More than once."
"And?"
"She refuses."
"Why?"
"She claims she does not belong here. That she belongs to a future far from reach."
The cousin's gaze grew thoughtful.
"Obviously she doesn't. She's a foreigner, and you want her to stay by your side. Right?"
Ji-ho hesitated.
"Yes, I want her to stay. I want her more than anything else in this world, more than anyone. I've never wanted anything as much before in my life as much as I want her. But you know the way the kingdom is, you know the way the kingdom rules, and what the kingdom expects of me. I do not wish her to be a concubine," he said instead.
Ah.
There it was.
The cousin watched him carefully.
"You would make her your queen."
"Yes." Ji-ho said without hesitation.
Silence settled between them.
Then the cousin's expression shifted, playfulness giving way to steel.
"You know why I truly returned."
Ji-ho met his eyes.
"Yes."
The laughter was gone entirely now.
"The Prime Minister grows bold," the cousin continued quietly. "Too bold. There are whispers of forged decrees. Of funds diverted. Of alliances forming beneath the Queen Dowager's nose."
"My father suspects."
"Suspicion is not evidence."
"I am aware."
The cousin leaned forward, voice lowering further.
"If you want her safe, you must first survive him."
Ji-ho's jaw hardened.
"The Prime Minister will not tolerate weakness," the cousin went on. "Nor scandal. If he senses that your judgment is clouded by affection-"
"He will use it," Ji-ho finished.
"Yes."
Silence returned, heavier now.
Outside, wind brushed the paper screens softly.
"You did not come merely to choose a bride, did you?" Ji-ho said quietly.
The cousin smiled faintly.
"My father insisted I return. But not for marriage."
"For alliance."
"For strategy," the cousin corrected. "The Prime Minister has underestimated me for years. He believes I prefer silk, wine and women to politics."
"And do you?"
"Of course," the cousin replied light smile. "But I also prefer survival."
A faint knock interrupted them.
"The Crown Prince," a servant announced softly. "Ha-neul stands outside."
The cousin's gaze flickered.
"Ah," he murmured. "The legend."
Ji-ho's gaze shifted toward the closed doors.
For a brief moment, he considered ignoring it.
Then he rose.
"I will return shortly," he said to his cousin.
The cousin's smile deepened knowingly, but he said nothing.
Ji-ho stepped out into the corridor.
The doors slid shut behind him.
The laughter, the warmth of conversation, dimmed at once.
Bella stood beneath the hanging lanterns, posture straight, hands folded neatly before her. Yet the faint crease between her brows betrayed her.
She bowed immediately.
"Your Highness."
"You should not still be stationed here," Ji-ho said gently. "It grows late."
Her eyes lifted just slightly. "I heard voices. Laughter." A pause. "I wished to ensure all was well."
"It is well," he assured her. "My cousin arrived this evening."
"Your cousin," she repeated softly.
"Yes. He has returned from his travels."
She nodded, though something cautious flickered behind her calm expression. "Then I shall remain outside until he departs."
Ji-ho's voice lowered.
"There is no need."
She hesitated. "But-"
"I am safe," he said, firmer now and warm. "You may retire to your quarters."
Silence lingered between them.
The palace corridor was quiet except for the distant hum of night wind against paper screens.
"Are you certain?" she asked softly.
He stepped closer.
Not enough to be improper.
Enough to be felt.
"I am certain."
Her breath shifted.
"I will introduce you to him tomorrow," Ji-ho added. "Properly."
Her shoulders eased at that. "As you command."
She turned to leave.
But as she passed him…
His hand moved before thought could restrain it.
His fingers brushed against hers.
Light.
Accidental enough to deny.
Intentional enough to burn.
She stilled.
He did not withdraw immediately.
"Goodnight," he murmured, the title gone from his voice.
Just her warmth in the quiet space between them.
Her throat tightened.
"Goodnight… Ji-ho."
The way she said it, softly, carefully, felt more intimate than any embrace.
Only then did he release her.
She bowed once more, then walked down the lantern-lit corridor, her steps steady despite the tremor in her pulse.
Ji-ho remained where he stood.
Watching.
Until she disappeared from view.
Only then did he turn back toward the doors.
The next morning unfolded beneath pale sunlight.
Mist still clung to the palace rooftops when the sound of steel cutting air broke the quiet.
Bella moved across the training courtyard with disciplined precision.
Her blade flashed , not with showmanship, but with intention as she trained the young guards.
She did not hear them approach.
But the prince's cousin did her.
He stopped walking.
Ji-ho took one more step before realizing his cousin had gone still.
Yoo-jae's gaze followed the arc of her movement.
She did not stand like women of court, no softness shaped for display. Nor did she carry herself like palace-trained soldiers, whose discipline was rigid and rehearsed.
Bella moved like with the finesse of fire, and struck like water learning the shape of its container.
Her weight shifted not from drilled tradition, but instinct.
Foreign.
Not improper.
Simply… uncontained.
Sunlight caught against her skin, not pale like porcelain, not dark like bronze, but something in between, smooth as silk drawn fresh from a loom.
Her hair, unbound for training, fell in dark brown curly waves down her back. When she turned sharply, it followed half a breath behind her, like a shadow reluctant to leave.
The light struck her eyes.
And for a suspended second, they blazed.
Green.
Not the green of spring leaves.
Not jade worn at court.
Emerald.
Clear. Faceted. Alive.
Like crystal catching sunlight beneath river water.
Yoo-jae exhaled.
"Remarkable," he murmured.
Ji-ho glanced at him.
But Yoo-jae was not looking at Ji-ho.
He was studying Bella as though memorizing a rare manuscript.
Ji-ho stepped forward first.
"Bella."
She pivoted instantly.
The blade lowered.
Her gaze found Ji-ho, and softened for half a second before settling again.
Then she noticed the man beside him.
Her expression cooled.
"This is my cousin," Ji-ho said evenly. "Min Yoo-jae. Returned from abroad."
Yoo-jae stepped forward and bowed.
Not lazily.
Not theatrically.
Properly.
Measured.
Respectful.
When he straightened, his eyes met hers directly.
"So," he said gently, "you are the woman who refuses to let my cousin die."
Bella did not smile.
"I performed my duty."
Her voice held restraint, not shyness.
Control.
Yoo-jae's lips curved faintly.
"So modest," he replied. "He described courage. You describe obligation."
Her eyes narrowed a fraction.
He noticed.
And found that he liked that she did not yield her composure easily.
"Where are you from?" he asked, softer now.
"A land very far from here." She answered very deliberate.
Closed.
He tilted his head slightly.
"Then perhaps we share something," he said. "I too have stood in courts where I did not belong. Where language was borrowed and eyes were always measuring."
Something in her shoulders shifted.
Not relaxation.
Recognition.
Ji-ho saw it.
Yoo-jae saw Ji-ho see it.
Interesting.
"He speaks of you often," Yoo-jae continued.
Bella's gaze flicked immediately toward Ji-ho.
"Not enough," Yoo-jae added lightly before his cousin could respond. "He omits details."
"Such as?" she asked coolly.
"Such as how beautiful and magical you are."
Bella smiled but in a conning way.
"I thought that there are more beautiful women than I in all of Joseon."
But Yoo-Jae responded to her words, "I have traveled across provinces. I have seen many courts. Beauty is common. Presence is not."
Despite herself, the faintest curve touched her mouth.
Ji-ho noticed.
Yoo-jae noticed Ji-ho noticing.
Ah.
So that is how deep this runs.
They spoke of the cave.
Of the cliff.
Of the town with no banners.
Yoo-jae did not question her to expose weakness.
He questioned to understand.
He asked how she bound wounds without proper cloth.
How she found water underground.
How she calculated distance when disoriented.
He listened when she answered.
And when she finished, he looked at her not as one looks at a curiosity,
But as one recognizes something rare.
When at last she bowed and took her leave, Yoo-jae watched her go.
Not boldly.
Not hungrily.
But thoughtfully.
"She is formidable," he said quietly once she was out of earshot.
"Yes."
"And she does not bend easily."
"No."
Yoo-jae turned to him slowly.
"And you love her."
Ji-ho did not deny it.
Yoo-jae studied his cousin for a long moment.
Then he smiled faintly.
"She will not survive court politics unshielded."
Ji-ho's jaw tightened.
"Then we must be careful."
Yoo-jae's gaze drifted back toward the direction Bella had gone.
"Yes," he murmured.
Careful.