Jade followed the line of Genie's hand, his gaze resting on the distant corner of the palace where the old Princess's chamber once stood.
"Yes, Your Majesty," he said softly.
In his heart, a voice whispered, 'How could I ever forget, Your Majesty. How could I forget the place where I first met you.'
Genie's eyes lingered on the chamber, now repurposed as a hall for music.
"Ever since I ascended as Queen, I ordered that place to be changed into a music room for the court players. It has been long since I last set foot there," she said, her voice faintly wistful. Then, almost unexpectedly, she added, "But sometimes… I wonder if I should have left it as it was."
Jade turned his eyes back to her at those sudden words. The spring sunlight, filtering gently through the open windows, caught in Genie's round, luminous eyes, making them glisten like dew upon morning grass.
He gathered his courage and asked carefully, "May I ask why, Your Majesty?"
Genie met his gaze and smiled—warm, soft, almost fragile. At that smile, Jade felt his chest brighten with warmth, though it ached faintly as well.
"Because in that place," Genie said slowly, her voice carrying a trace of longing, "I was not the Queen. I was not burdened with the throne… nor weighed down by duty. The pressures were fewer, and my heart was lighter."
Jade's heart sank with quiet bitterness.
Then, almost in a whisper to herself, Genie continued, "I sometimes wonder… if I had not been the Queen, could I have lived as just a woman?" Her words were barely audible, carried away by the spring breeze. A soft chuckle escaped her lips, and she shook her head.
"What am I saying?" she murmured with a gentle laugh. "I wanted this life. To reign this kingdom according to God's will, to guide our people in the way of Jesus Christ. I longed to be a Queen worthy of my father, my grandfather, and the line before me. That has always been my desire… and it still is."
Jade's gaze lingered on Genie, the weight of unspoken words pressing against his chest.
'Your Majesty… sometimes I wonder. If you had not been the Queen, would I have been free to say what I feel? To reach for you without fear?'
He opened his mouth, his voice low. "Your Majesty…"
But before he could continue, Genie turned to him with a soft smile, her eyes catching the fading light.
"You know," she said gently, "if I hadn't been the princess—and if I hadn't become the Queen—then perhaps we would never have met at all, right?"
Jade hesitated, struck silent. Her words pierced through him, sweet and cruel all at once.
Genie giggled lightly, a sound that always unraveled him.
"I wouldn't have been able to summon you whenever I wanted," she added playfully, her smile glowing with warmth.
Jade's lips curved despite himself. Even in her teasing, she was disarming, unbearably endearing.
Stretching her arms lazily toward the sky, Genie let out a soft sigh.
"It's no time to complain about being Queen," she said, her eyes turning back to him with a mischievous glint. "I must've sounded like such a spoiled child earlier, wondering aloud what life would be like if I weren't."
Jade chuckled, shaking his head ever so slightly.
"No, Your Majesty," he replied with quiet reverence. "Though I cannot know every burden you bear, I can see it… the weight you carry as Queen of this kingdom."
Her smile softened at his words, her eyes holding his for a moment longer than necessary. Then, with the grace of command slipping back into her tone, she nodded.
"All right," she said at last. "That will be all for today. You may return now."
A quiet pang of disappointment twisted in Jade's chest. He longed to remain—to linger in Queen Genie's presence just a little longer—but he buried the yearning beneath the steady discipline of duty.
He bowed low, his voice calm though his heart resisted. "Then I shall take my leave, Your Majesty. Please have a good day."
Straightening slowly, Jade turned and began to walk away. His measured steps carried him across the second-floor terrace, past the curious glances of the court ladies. The faint rustle of his cloak stirred the night air, trailing behind him as he neared the corner where moonlight pooled in silence.
"Jade."
Her voice stilled him at once. His body reacted before thought—he turned immediately, eyes alert, heart pounding in his chest.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Genie's gaze lingered on him. Under the silver glow of the night sky, her smile shone radiant yet delicate, touched with something fragile, something unspoken.
"Thank you," she said softly.
The simple words struck him with the force of an arrow. Her smile, her tone—gentle yet weighted—etched themselves into his heart, sweet and sorrowful all at once.
A faint smile found its way to his lips, though beneath it a quiet ache stirred. After a pause, his reply came low, almost reverent.
"No, Your Majesty… thank you."
For a heartbeat, the silence between them felt alive—thick with unspoken thoughts, with emotions neither dared to reveal.
Then, slowly, Jade turned once more. He walked on, the flutter in his chest betraying his calm exterior. Each step carried him farther away, and yet with each step he bore both joy and a lingering ache that clung to him like the night breeze.
A soft spring rain drizzled down from the late morning sky, the palace courtyards glistening under a silver veil of mist. Moonsen walked beneath a blue umbrella, the patter of raindrops echoing lightly against the silk. Having just left the dining hall after the noon meal, he moved with several fellow royal officials from the ministry, their robes brushing against the damp stone paths as they conversed in low voices.
It was then, across the rain-slick courtyard, that Moonsen saw Jade approaching—the Minister, clad in dark robes, a black umbrella tilted above him. Beside him walked the deputy commander, Danjin, his stride sharp and disciplined.
Moonsen slowed, his eyes instinctively drawn to the tall figure framed by the gray drizzle. He paused and offered a polite bow, his umbrella dipping slightly with the gesture.
Jade's gaze lifted. His deep eyes, shadowed beneath the black umbrella, flickered briefly toward Moonsen. With only a slight nod, restrained yet unmistakably courteous, he passed by.
Moonsen's steps faltered. His companions moved on ahead, oblivious, their umbrellas drifting forward like muted lanterns in the rain. But Moonsen turned his head, his eyes following Jade's back as he strode across the courtyard. The sight lingered, carved against the mist and rain, until Jade's figure vanished beneath the carved wooden eaves of the dining hall.
'Minister Jade… the man Her Majesty likes in her heart,' Moonsen thought, his expression carefully composed though the weight of the realization pressed heavy inside.
He exhaled softly, adjusted his grip on the umbrella, and then turned back, walking on in measured silence to rejoin his fellow officials.
Inside the dining hall, Jade closed his umbrella, droplets scattering faintly as he stepped across the polished floor. Danjin walked beside him, but his eyes, sharp with curiosity, lingered on Jade's face. The Minister's brow was faintly furrowed, his expression distant, as though his mind were far away.
"Minister," Danjin said, his voice low, testing. "You look deep in thought."
Jade's lips curved into a faint smile, though it did not reach his eyes. He gave a small shake of his head.
"No, nothing," he replied.
But Danjin, ever observant, caught the faint exchange outside. He remembered the way Moonsen had paused in the rain, his bow lingering, his gaze following the Minister longer than mere courtesy required.
As he walked beside Jade, Danjin's sharp eyes narrowed slightly.
'Administrator Moonsen… he seemed to look at Minister Jade with some thought. Almost too long. Is there something going on that I don't know?'
His curiosity prickled like the steady drizzle against his shoulders. For a fleeting moment, the soldier in him wanted to dig deeper, to trace the lines of court politics that often hid beneath gestures and glances. But then, with a faint shake of his head, he dismissed the thought.
'It's none of my business.'
That evening, Jade pushed aside the final scroll of military reports and straightened from his desk. His shoulders ached from the hours bent over ink and parchment, but his mind was sharper than ever. He extinguished the oil lamp, casting his office into half-shadow, and quietly changed his black and gold ministerial robes into a deep red silk top—plain, yet elegant enough to conceal his true station.
He slipped the hood over his head, fastening it with steady hands. Tonight, he was not Minister of the Military. Tonight, he was only Jade, a man chasing whispers in the rain.
The downpour outside was relentless, a curtain of water blurring the lantern-lit streets. With a black umbrella sheltering him, Jade strode through the palace's back gate, his boots striking puddles that rippled outward in silence. His pace was swift, purposeful—toward the hidden residence of Bong, the reclusive yet legendary private detective whose name was spoken in secret corridors of Hana's nobility.
But halfway down the narrow road, his instincts stirred. He slowed, eyes narrowing, the sound of rain thundering in his ears. Something felt off.
Turning slightly, Jade let his gaze drift over the street. People bustled past, their umbrellas bobbing like dark blossoms against the storm. Merchants locked their stalls, servants hurried with baskets, children clung to mothers' skirts. Nothing seemed unusual.
And yet.
Jade's hand tightened on the umbrella handle. His eyes lingered for a heartbeat longer before he gave a faint shake of his head. Perhaps it was only his own caution, sharpened by too many years in war.
He turned back and resumed his stride, cloak swaying with each step.
Far behind, just beyond the blur of rain, a figure trailed him. Hanan's gaze never left Jade, his own umbrella tilted just enough to mask his face. Silent, patient, and watchful, he followed—like a shadow threading through the storm.