In all his twelve years in Hana Kingdom, he had rarely heard even a passing mention of King Gen's eldest son. The Queen's childhood was no mystery to him—he had studied every page of it when he first entered palace service. And yet, the prince—her brother—was like a phantom, a shadow mentioned only in hushed tones from long ago, and then never again. A name erased from court memory.
He turned slightly toward her, the wind brushing through his hair, but he said nothing, sensing the weight behind her words.
"Please…" Genie said softly, still looking ahead. "Don't speak of this to anyone."
Jade straightened slightly.
"I promise, Your Majesty. I won't say a word."
She gave a faint nod, the tension around her eyes softening.
After a pause, she spoke again, each word slow and deliberate.
"Until recently, I believed my brother had died. That he had fallen to the same hereditary illness that took our mother. That was what I was told. What everyone believed…"
She swallowed, her voice almost trembling.
"But it wasn't true. He didn't die."
Jade's heart lurched, but he kept his expression calm. A secret of this magnitude—hidden for so long—was almost inconceivable. Yet looking at her now, he could see the trace of grief and disbelief still lingering in her eyes.
"When… did you learn this?" he asked gently.
She hesitated.
Then, with a breath, she answered. "Just before my father passed… he told me himself."
The words hung in the air like a revelation too heavy to fall.
Jade didn't know what to say. He wanted to offer comfort, but there were no easy phrases to soothe something so tangled and raw. He watched her as she tilted her head back, gazing at the vast winter sky above them.
"To think," she murmured, "that someone I had mourned… someone I believed completely lost to this world… is still alive." Her voice wavered, edged with pain. "It's astonishing… and confusing. I don't know how to make sense of it."
Her eyes fell to the snowy peaks in the distance, their edges blurred by the morning sun.
"Should I go searching for him?" she whispered. "Should I try to bring him back into my life? Or… should I keep living as though he's no longer here, as I've always done?"
She drew a trembling breath.
"Honestly… I don't know what to do."
Jade turned fully to face her now. There was something in her eyes he hadn't seen before—vulnerability. A rare glimpse beyond the sovereign mask she wore in court. She wasn't speaking as a queen now. She was simply a younger sister, lost in the aftermath of truth.
"…Do you wish to see him again, Your Majesty?" he asked, his voice quiet, but firm.
A sorrowful shadow passed across Genie's face as she looked into the distance, her eyes catching the faint shimmer of the wind. Yet she managed a gentle smile—soft and fragile, like the last petal clinging to a winter bloom.
"Of course I do," she said quietly. "But… I'm not sure my brother, who left the palace of his own will, would welcome my search." Her voice trembled, not with weakness, but with the weight of love restrained and hope buried deep.
Beside her, Jade turned, observing her in silence. The wind played with the loose strands of her hair, and for a brief moment, he thought he saw a glimmer at the edge of her eyes—moist, fleeting, perhaps the wind's doing… or perhaps not.
"I'm certain His Majesty's brother would be glad to see you again," Jade said softly, with the certainty of someone who had seen devotion in its purest form.
Genie hesitated, her voice barely audible. "...Do you really think so?"
Jade nodded, sincerity radiating from his eyes.
"Yes, Your Majesty. Even from afar… I believe he's watching over you. Supporting you—his sister, the Queen of Hana, who now carries the burden he once bore."
Genie's breath caught, and for a moment, her sorrow paused—stilled by the kindness in his words. Slowly, her lips curved into a smile, this time a little steadier, a little warmer.
"I hope what you say is true, Jade," she murmured. "I must do my best—so that if my brother is truly watching, he won't feel guilty for leaving the palace behind."
She tilted her chin upward, her eyes drawn to the sky—endless, cloudless, and painfully clear. There, in the silent expanse above, her heart searched for a presence that had once been so close. The longing in her gaze told stories no court scribe could ever capture—of love unspoken, of bonds unbroken, and of a Queen's quiet hope that someone, somewhere, still remembered.
With two modest bundles cradled in her arms, Enna stood at the palace gates, casting one last glance back toward the world she had known. The palace attendant, who had seen her off, pressed trembling fingers to her lips, struggling to keep her composure.
"Miss, please take care on your way…" the woman said, her voice cracking as tears welled in her eyes.
Enna smiled gently, her warmth like a quiet spring breeze. She lifted one hand in a soft wave.
"You take care, too," she said kindly. Then, after a brief pause, her voice lowered with tender earnestness. "And… please look after my father."
The attendant bowed her head deeply. "Of course, Miss… Please don't worry."
With a final look of affection and trust, Enna turned away, blinking back the sting in her own eyes. Her footsteps, though steady, carried the weight of both farewell and responsibility. She stepped past the towering gates and into the embrace of the palace, the hush of the royal grounds wrapping around her like a silent promise.
From within the entrance corridor, a young palace maid in fresh linens approached briskly. She gave a courteous bow.
"Master Cook. I've been assigned from the royal kitchen to assist you starting today."
Enna returned the bow with graceful humility.
"Thank you for coming to meet me. I'm Enna."
Before another word could pass, the court lady reached out to relieve her of the bundles.
"Oh— I can carry those myself…"
But the court lady gently insisted, her voice calm but firm. "Oh no, please allow me. I'll take them to your quarters."
Enna smiled, quietly touched.
"Thank you."
She followed the court lady deeper into the palace, her eyes taking in the surroundings with quiet awe. The grounds were vast and hushed, exuding a kind of noble calm. Elegant gardens lined the walkways with a modest charm—nothing flamboyant, only gentle arrangements of stone paths, trimmed shrubs, and flowering trees that seemed to sway in silent reverence to the land's order.
The buildings, too, reflected the character of the Hana Kingdom: clean lines, soft earth tones, and architecture that blended strength with grace. Even the air smelled different here—like cedar wood and blooming tea leaves.
As they turned a final corner, the maid gestured toward a long corridor framed by polished beams and sunlight filtering through paper windows.
"At the end of this hallway is your room, Master Cook," she said with a bow. "I'll return to the kitchen now to prepare for the afternoon meal."
At the doorway to the servants' quarters adjoining the royal kitchen, the young maid returned Enna's two bundles with a polite smile.
"Here you are, Master Cook."
"Thank you," Enna said, accepting them with a nod. Her voice formed a soft cloud in the chilly morning air. She shifted the bundles in her arms and glanced in the direction of the kitchen. "I'll just drop these off and head over to the kitchen right away. Is that alright?"
The court lady's eyes widened slightly, and she shook her head with a gentle firmness.
"You don't need to, Master Cook. You've been granted the next three days to rest and settle in. It must've been a long journey… Please, take today to rest well and adjust to palace life."
With a respectful bow, she turned and quickly disappeared down the corridor toward the heart of the kitchen buildings, her footsteps echoing faintly on the polished stone path.
Enna stood still for a moment, watching her retreat. Then, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, she turned toward her new quarters. The servants' dormitory was constructed of clean, honey-colored wood that gave off a sense of warmth even beneath the winter sky. Inside, the air was pleasantly heated, infused with the faint scent of dried pine and rice paper.
She made her way down the quiet hallway until she reached the final room at the end. With bundles still in hand, she paused, then gently grasped the wooden handle and slid the door open.