Chapter 1
The fire crackled softly in the apothecary's hearth, though the air around Lady Yeon was cold enough to freeze the bones. Outside, Mt. Saryong lay wrapped in mist, a silver veil shrouding the forest like mourning silk. But Yeon was not one to mourn. Not anymore.
She ground the last of the winter aconite into a fine powder, her sleeves pushed up to her elbows, revealing pale arms kissed by old burns. Even poisons had uses, if one was clever enough to know them. And Yeon always knew.
"Danji," she called without looking up. "If the mountain spirits don't claim this fog by nightfall, we'll have visitors."
The tall man standing by the threshold gave a short nod. His eyes, sharp and dark, scanned the distant road visible through the slatted wooden blinds. He was already counting how many blades they might need.
Behind her, Chae-ran stirred a simmering pot of pine resin and mugwort, glancing nervously between the steam and her mistress.
"Do you think it's the palace?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Yeon did not answer right away. She poured the powder into a small porcelain jar, sealed it with wax, and only then turned to meet Chae-ran's eyes.
"They wouldn't dare send soldiers without hiding them in fog."
Chae-ran swallowed hard. "Then… it's him?"
The door creaked open before Yeon could answer.
A man stood at the edge of the threshold, drenched in the pale morning light. Not a soldier. Not a servant. But his presence pressed on the room like winter pressing into marrow.
Crown Prince Jiran.
The weight of his name filled the silence.
He did not bow. Neither did she.
"You live too far from the capital," Jiran said, stepping into the apothecary without invitation. "It's unwise for someone so… valuable."
Yeon didn't move. "Then the capital should learn to climb mountains."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face — too fleeting to be real.
Danji stood at attention, ready to unsheathe his sword. But a single look from Yeon stilled him. She walked slowly to the hearth, ladled tea into two mismatched cups, and handed one to the prince.
"Speak," she said.
Jiran accepted the cup, though he did not drink. "My father is dying."
"All men are."
"This country is dying with him."
Yeon's gaze didn't soften. "And you want me to save it?"
"I want you to help me rule it."
The words hung in the room like smoke.
Silence.
Then laughter — sharp and low, escaping Yeon's throat like the hiss of a viper.
"You don't need an apothecary for that. You need a sorceress."
Jiran stepped closer. "I need someone who sees through poison — in potions and in people."
She met his eyes, their fire matching.
"You don't want my help, Your Highness. You want my mind. My influence. My loyalty."
"Yes."
"Then understand this — I do not kneel."
A pause.
Then Jiran raised his cup.
"Then let's sit at the same table, Lady Yeon."
Outside, the mist thickened. The forest held its breath.
And high on the mountain, history began to stir.