'Why…? Isn't it obvious?'
"To defeat the enemy," Wanan answered cautiously. "To conquer them."
Jade's expression hardened—not with anger, but with something sharper.
Conviction.
"That's wrong."
The weight of those two words was like a stone thrown into still water, rippling outward into everything Wanan thought he knew.
"A warrior wields a sword," Jade continued, "to protect the people they cherish."
The courtyard fell into utter silence.
Wanan stood there, stunned, his breath caught in his throat.
'Protect…?'
Not once—not during the brutal training in Ash Kingdom, nor through all his years of hardship—had he ever heard those words.
He had been taught to grow stronger to destroy others. To break. To conquer.
But this… This was something different. Something he had never known he'd needed to hear.
And strangely, instead of despair, hope stirred in his chest—tentative at first, but growing by the second.
With sudden, burning determination, Wanan dropped to his knees and bowed deeply, his forehead nearly touching the ground.
"Minister! Please—accept me as your disciple!"
Jade's voice came, gentle and steady. "Raise your head."
Slowly, Wanan lifted his gaze, his heart pounding against his ribs.
Jade met his eyes with a calm that carried no judgment, only certainty.
"As the Chief of Hana's military," he said, "everyone here is my comrade. That includes you. There's no need for formality."
For a long, breathless moment, Wanan stared at him, unable to speak. He was still so young—barely past twenty—and yet in that instant, he felt like his whole life was beginning anew.
'For as long as I can remember… I've always been alone. I walked this path because I had to. Because it was the only way to survive. Ash Kingdom taught me strength through cruelty.'
But here… here was something else.
Ever since stepping onto Hana's soil, and especially after meeting Jade, the very foundation of his world was shifting beneath his feet.
No—he was changing.
And for the first time, that thought didn't terrify him. It gave him hope.
'I'll learn from you, Minister. I'll start over, from the very beginning. And I'll become a warrior who protects what's precious… just like you.'
That early autumn morning, Queen Genie finally concluded a long and exhausting meeting with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, one that had dragged on relentlessly until lunchtime.
"It's already this late. Let's adjourn for today," said the Minister of Foreign Affairs, speaking respectfully on behalf of the gathered officials. His voice carried both relief and gratitude. "Thank you for gracing us with your presence so early in the morning, Your Majesty, to personally discuss our diplomatic course with the Ash Kingdom."
The Queen shook her head gently, her expression composed yet warm.
"This is an issue we must resolve together. Thank you all for enduring such a lengthy discussion. You've worked hard."
With that, she rose gracefully from her seat, the folds of her royal robes falling neatly into place. Immediately, the ministers seated on either side followed her lead, standing with synchronized bows, their respect palpable in the quiet tension of the chamber.
Among them was Moonsen. He, too, bowed, but unlike the others, his gaze lingered—not just out of protocol, but because of the person she was to him.
He stood quietly, watching as the Queen's elegant figure disappeared beyond the polished wooden doors. A faint, unfamiliar emotion stirred within his chest—not loud or insistent, but steady, like a whisper echoing in a hollow place he hadn't noticed before.
Outside, the crisp winter air greeted Genie like a familiar friend. She paused at the entrance, inhaling deeply, letting the sharp cold fill her lungs. The faintest smile played on her lips—small, subtle, but genuine.
Walking beside her, Lady Park, one of her oldest and closest attendants, glanced sideways with a knowing grin.
"Your Majesty, you seem to be in rather high spirits today."
Genie turned her head slightly, a flicker of amusement glinting in her gaze.
"Do I?"
"Indeed, Your Majesty. Might it be because of your lunch appointment with Minister Jade?"
At the gentle tease, Genie responded with laughter—not a restrained royal chuckle, but soft, warm, and human.
Ever since admitting to herself the truth of her feelings for Jade, she no longer flinched at Lady Park's teasing. Those careful masks she had worn for years, protecting herself as both queen and woman, were beginning to fall away—one by one, in small, beautiful pieces.
Lady Park, thinking back to all that Genie had endured—the disqualification of Minister Jade from the royal consort selection, the Ash Kingdom's brutal invasion, the relentless isolation that came with her crown—felt a quiet joy rise in his chest. It felt good to see her like this. Not just standing tall as a sovereign, but smiling softly as a woman in love.
"By now, Chief Han is probably overseeing the preparations herself, making sure today's lunch is flawless," Lady Park said, voice playful. "Since it's with Minister Jade, she's determined to make it something special."
"Thank you. You always think for me."
Genie didn't say too much, but she often wondered how she would have endured the burdens of her reign without the quiet, steadfast support of people like Chief Han and Lady Park. More than attendants, more than advisors—they had become the family she had chosen for herself along the way.
"Thank you," she repeated, this time quieter, deeper.
"We will always be on your side, Your Majesty," Lady Park said simply, his words steady with conviction.
Just then, a familiar voice echoed across the courtyard.
"Your Majesty!"
Everyone paused. The guards shifted into protective formation by instinct, the court ladies coming to a graceful stop.
It was Moonsen—hurrying toward them, breathless but smiling, that unwavering brightness in his expression like sunlight breaking through clouds.
"Your Majesty," he called again, stepping forward with a measured bow, composed despite his hurried arrival.
Genie regarded him with calm grace.
"What is it?"
For a moment, he didn't speak. His breath caught—not from exertion, but from the subtle weight of what he was about to say.
"There was something I wanted to ask earlier, but I held my tongue with the other ministers around." His smile curved faintly, tinged with something that wasn't entirely happiness. "Might I request the honor of sharing lunch with Your Majesty today?"
"Ah…" A quiet regret flickered across Genie's face. "I'm sorry. I already have plans for lunch."
Moonsen quickly shook his head, his usual cheerfulness returning like a practiced reflex.
"No need for apologies, Your Majesty. It was sudden of me to ask. Perhaps another time, if Your Majesty's schedule allows."
"Of course."
"Then please—enjoy your meal today."
He bowed deeply once more, wearing the same bright smile he always carried, like armor worn over something more fragile.
But as Genie watched him, that quiet pang of guilt pressed heavier against her chest. It wasn't just the regret of declining his offer—it was the silent knowledge that no matter how kindly he approached her, no matter how gently he sought her favor, she had nothing to offer him in return. Not the way he hoped. Not the way he deserved.
Even so, she smiled brightly, shielding the weight beneath her composure.
"Thank you. You too—please enjoy a good meal."
Turning again, she resumed her steady, queenly stride, her attendants and guards falling in step behind her, their presence a quiet shield as they moved across the winter courtyard.
Moonsen stood alone in the open space, the cold wind brushing past his hair, his breath curling faintly in the air before vanishing.
Then, from behind him, the softest whisper came. "Her Majesty is on her way to dine with Minister Jade. I believe she may be free next week, if you'd like to call again."
It was the youngest of the court ladies, lingering just a heartbeat before darting after the others.
"Ah… Thank you," Moonsen murmured, but the words felt thin, distant, lost against the winter wind.
Something stirred within him—an ache unfamiliar, unwelcome, yet impossible to ignore. He didn't know whether it was disappointment, longing, or the quiet sting of realization that his heart had carried hopes far heavier than he'd dared admit.
He remained there, unmoving, staring after the Queen's retreating figure until it vanished entirely from sight.
It was true. From the moment he had been nominated as a royal consort candidate, he had admired her—her grace, her wisdom, her unfaltering dignity. At first, it had been enough to simply want to support her, to stand as one of those who might share in the weight of her burdens.
But somewhere along the way, that admiration had grown into something more.
The Queen was no longer just the sovereign he respected.
She had become the woman his heart longed for.
And yet, astute as ever, Moonsen had long recognized the subtle, tender connection between the Queen and Minister Jade. He had seen it in the stolen glances, in the softened tones, in the warmth that neither of them could quite conceal.
And for a time, he had convinced himself it didn't matter—that duty would triumph over personal longing.
But now…
Now, that gentle ache was growing into something he could no longer deny, no longer push aside as mere loyalty or fleeting affection.
Expectations tangled with resignation. Hope coiled with dread. Beneath it all was something sharp and helpless—something that made him feel, for the first time, as though he were standing on the outside of something beautiful he could never truly reach.
With a soft, almost self-mocking laugh, he exhaled into the cold.
"My heart has grown too full for Her Majesty."
And in that moment, with the snow beginning to fall faintly in the distance, Moonsen stood utterly still, the autumn wind carrying his quiet heartache into the sky.