It was a peaceful morning in the garden.
Seoryu sipped ginger tea. Kimchi, his chaos-fueled cat, lay lazily across his lap like a princess.
Then a palace maid arrived, eyes nervous.
"Lady Jihae of the Seong Clan invites you for private tea in the West Pavilion… She says it's urgent."
Seoryu blinked. "Urgent? What is this, a corporate ambush?"
Still, he stood. Adjusted his lavender robes. Leaned down to Kimchi.
"If I don't come back in an hour, avenge me." Seoryu said while looking at the kitten's eyes
Kimchi blinked. And continued napping.
The West Pavilion smelled of plum wine and well-masked threats.
Lady Jihae waited at the table, her expression smooth, her blue silk hanbok flowing like water.
"Lady Yura," she greeted. "I hope you're not allergic to honesty."
"Haha, as long as it's not fatal, I'm game."
She poured tea herself—rare, significant.
"I admire your… boldness," Jihae said. "It's not every day that a no-name concubine rises in favor so quickly."
Seoryu sipped. "What can I say? I'm full of surprises."
She placed a scroll on the table.
"I found this near your quarters. Recognize it?"
Seoryu's smile froze.
It was his panic note from last week.
Written in English, Taglish, and Hangul. Zero traces of Joseon.
"Fudge, I think I'm gonna pass out. May 'di ako alam sa royal etiquette. Pls help." (Translation: Fudge, I think I'm gonna pass out. I don't know some royal etiquette. please help.)
He laughed—awkward, wobbly. "Fanfiction ko po 'yan! Creative writing for stress relief!" (Translation: That's my fanfiction! Creative writing for stress relief!)
Jihae leaned closer.
"You're not from any noble clan. You don't speak like one. So tell me… who are you really?"
He smiled. "Who are any of us, really? Deep, 'no?"
Her smile dropped. "Then let's see if you can survive in silence."
That evening, the Empress Dowager hosted a 'quiet banquet' at the Lotus Courtyard. Only select concubines were invited. Gifts would be exchanged.
Seoryu arrived still shaken from Jihae's "tea interrogation."
"Lady Yura," a maid said. "This is for you."
She handed him a delicate, cut-glass perfume bottle with pink shimmer inside.
"Oooh. TikTok aesthetic," Seoryu whispered.
He dabbed some on his wrist. It smelled floral… with something sharp.
Across the courtyard, Jihae watched silently.
Hwayoung? Smirking.
Ten minutes later— Seoryu's world spun.
His wrist burned. His vision blurred. He gasped.
"My head… ngh—"
He collapsed to the floor, limbs shaking.
Screams echoed.
"LADY YURA?!"
Gasps rippled through the gathering.
Hwayoung clutched her chest. "Is she cursed?!"
Jihae covered her mouth—too composed. "Perhaps the scent was too strong?"
Servants rushed in.
Then—
"MOVE."
The Crown Prince.
He cut through the chaos like thunder. Eyes wild. He knelt. Scooped Seoryu into his arms.
Bridal style. In front of everyone.
"Get the royal physician. NOW."
Gasps. Stares.
He didn't care.
He carried Seoryu out without asking anyone's permission.
Jihae watched. Hands clenched. Rage barely hidden.
Jihae's mind: 'He didn't even glance at me.'
Seoryu stirred awake to a cool cloth on his forehead.
The Crown Prince was there—hair slightly loose, sleeves rolled, rage gone, worry remaining.
"You're awake."
Seoryu croaked. "...Did I die?"
"No," he said gently. "But someone tried to make sure you did."
He lifted Seoryu's wrist, now red and swollen.
"The perfume was laced with red aconite. A slow poison."
Seoryu whispered, "Sino…?" (Translation: Who?)
"I don't know. Not yet. But I swear to you—whoever it was… they'll regret ever breathing."
Silence settled between them.
"Why?" Seoryu asked. "Why protect me? In front of everyone?"
The Prince stared at him.
"Because I can't bear the thought of losing you. Even if… I still don't fully understand what you are."
Seoryu's throat tightened.
Seoryu's mind: 'Why does this feel real? Why do I want to cry?'
The Prince touched his cheek.
"Don't speak. Just rest."
He tucked the blanket around Seoryu like he was something precious.
Seoryu's mind: 'This man… he's dangerous. Because part of me… wants to tell him everything.'
Meanwhile…
Somewhere in a dark hall of the palace…
Lady Jihae stared into a mirror, her expression unreadable.
"The perfume wasn't mine."
She turned to her maid.
"Double the spies. I want every secret on Han Yura. Every scroll. Every whisper. Tear this palace down if you have to."
She smiled bitterly.
"Let's see how long a lie can survive in a house built on power."