But Genie's gaze fixed on the valley that stretched before them, offered only a smile—a silence that spoke more than words.
Confounded, Danjin, the deputy commander swung toward Jade, the Minister who rode with serene composure.
"Minister Jade," he pressed, his tone betraying impatience, "what truly transpired within that hall?"
Jade, too, returned only a faint smile, his eyes lowered, as though guarding a secret known only to heaven and the queen herself.
Danjin, the deputy commander let out a breath heavy with frustration, shaking his head.
"Are you both sworn to silence, then?"
At last, with a weary chuckle, he bowed low in the saddle.
"Very well. Be it mystery or miracle, the result cannot be denied. The bandits have sworn to cast aside plunder and leave the palace in peace… and for that alone, the kingdom breathes easier this day."
Danjin lifted his eyes to the queen who rode at the head of the column, her figure outlined against the pale sky of spring. Admiration welled unbidden in his chest.
"Though I cannot fathom how Your Majesty accomplished it… it was nothing short of extraordinary."
But Queen Genie, serene as ever, only shook her head with quiet finality.
"It was not I who accomplished it," she said, her voice soft yet resolute.
Danjin frowned, perplexed, his brows knitting.
"Then… who?"
Her gaze rose to the heavens, where the March sky stretched boundless and clear.
"It was Heaven's doing."
At that moment, a shaft of spring sunlight fell through the branches, spilling over her countenance. The glow gilded her features with a radiance both tender and solemn, as though Heaven itself bore witness to her words.
Jade, riding a short distance behind, found his breath stolen. His eyes lingered upon the queen—upon the unearthly poise with which she bore crown and destiny alike.
'Your Majesty, you astonish me beyond measure.'
Unaware of the thoughts stirring in the minister's heart, Danjin turned just then—and caught sight of Jade's gaze. Steady. Unwavering. A gaze that could not be mistaken.
The deputy commander's heart skipped, his mouth gone dry.
'Minister Jade looks like he truly bears such forbidden affection for Her Majesty.'
The wind stirred the mountain path, rustling the banners at their side, yet within Danjin's chest there was only the thundering of his own suspicion.
Until this day, Danjin had believed that Minister Jade's rise to chief commander was owed only to the favor of the court and the weight of the ministers' voices. Yet now, as he beheld the minister's gaze, unwavering and fervent, he felt with sudden clarity that Jade's devotion sprang not from ambition, but from a heart wholly bound to the queen.
His eyes flickered between Queen Genie and Jade, widening with astonishment.
'Then perhaps… could it be Her Majesty too?'
The thought alone struck him like a thunderclap. For at that instant, the Queen turned her face upward, and the spring light, gentle yet resplendent, poured upon her features. Her beauty seemed illumined by Heaven's own hand, her countenance as radiant as blossoms newly opened after a long and bitter winter.
Thus it was that the procession wound its way back toward the palace, beneath skies clear and tender with the warmth of March. And as the mountain winds softened into a fragrant breeze, it seemed as though flowers stirred not only along the roadside, but within the guarded hearts of those who followed their sovereign—quietly, secretly, yet beyond their power to resist.
Casting aside his heavy court robes, Moonsen drew on a robe of light green, its folds plain yet dignified. With practiced ease he mounted his steed, the leather reins cool in his grasp.
Through the quiet rear gate of the palace he rode forth, for there was no time to lose. The queen awaited at the front, and he bore tidings too grave to delay—truths concerning the bandit chief, Teel, whose shadow lingered over the realm.
The horse's hooves struck sharply against the stone as he urged it toward the market road. Just then—
"Sir!"
A voice rang out behind him, urgent, strained with breath. Moonsen turned, his robe billowing with the motion.
There, hurrying toward him, was an attendant from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, his face flushed, his steps unsteady from haste.
Moonsen drew sharply upon the reins, and his horse stilled with a snort. His gaze softened as he leaned slightly in the saddle.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice low, calm as still water, though a ripple of unease stirred beneath.
The attendant staggered to a halt before him, chest heaving, his forehead damp with sweat. Looking up at Moonsen astride his horse, he managed between hurried breaths.
"Sir! Her Majesty… she is already returning to the palace!"
Moonsen straightened in the saddle, surprise flickering across his face.
"She is already on her way back?"
The young man nodded eagerly, a smile breaking through his fatigue.
"Yes, sir. Word has just arrived—the negotiations were a success, and Her Majesty will soon return in triumph!"
A slow smile curved Moonsen's lips. Inwardly, he marveled.
'So, once again, Her Majesty foresaw what even I had only just discerned. Always… always, she walks a step ahead of my thoughts.'
His expression eased into quiet satisfaction. He looked down kindly upon the attendant.
"You must be weary, running so far to deliver this news. You have done well. Come—let us return."
"Yes, sir!" the young man replied, his face brightening.
Moonsen swung down from his horse with effortless grace. Dust rose softly as his boots touched the earth. He held out the reins.
"You must be exhausted from running. Take the horse and ride it back."
The attendant's eyes widened in alarm.
"Oh, no, sir! I could never—how could I take your mount?"
Moonsen only laughed quietly, the sound warm beneath the still air of spring. Placing a steady hand against the young man's back, he gave a gentle push.
"Go on. I find myself longing to walk for once. With such fine weather, there is no burden in it. Ride the horse back to the palace."
The attendant bowed his head, his eyes glistening with gratitude.
"Yes, sir… Forgive me, but I will."
With unpracticed movements he grasped the reins and swung himself onto the saddle. His posture was stiff, his legs trembling as he tried to steady the horse.
Moonsen, watching from the roadside, could not help but smile, his stern features softened by fondness. The sight reminded him of a younger self—earnest, unpolished, yet striving to serve with all his strength.
Side by side they made their way back toward the palace gates. The spring sunlight poured gently upon their shoulders, and the air carried the fragrance of plum blossoms stirring in the breeze.
Thus they walked and rode together, master and servant, their shadows stretching long upon the ground—returning to the palace not in haste, but with the quiet peace of a realm momentarily at ease.
A day slipped by, and night once more veiled the palace in quiet anticipation. The great gates, usually solemn in their stillness, now stirred with life—court ladies in rows, their lanterns glowing like fallen stars, gathered to await their sovereign's return.
Among them stood Moonsen, his hands folded before him, his heart beating with restrained eagerness.
At last, the deep voice of the gatekeeper resounded like a drum across the courtyard.
"Her Majesty the Queen arrives!"
With a thunderous groan, the gates swung wide. Torches flared as the queen's procession entered—Queen Genie at the fore upon her steed, Minister Jade and the armored warriors following in disciplined array. Their return carried the air of triumph, yet also the weariness of long roads traveled.
"Your Majesty!" cried Lady Park, her voice breaking the stillness.
Chief Han and the gathered court ladies bent low in reverence, their sleeves flowing like rippling water.
The queen reined in her horse and smiled gently upon them, her voice carrying warmth even beneath the formality.
"Has everyone been well in my absence?"
"As ever, Your Majesty," they answered together, their voices ringing like a single note of devotion.
Then her gaze, calm yet keen, moved over the gathered faces until it found Moonsen. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still.
Moonsen stepped forward, bowing low with a smile touched by relief and pride.
"You have returned safely, Your Majesty."
"Moonsen," she said, her voice gentler now, "you too came to greet me."
Her words, simple as they were, fell upon him like sunlight after rain.
From the corner of his eye, Danjin stole a glance at Minister Jade. The man's face, usually composed as stone, now betrayed a shadow of displeasure. His lips tightened, and with a faint scowl he turned his gaze away from the queen.
A wry thought crossed the deputy commander's mind.
'So… even Minister Jade bleeds like any other man. Truly, he is human after all.'
Before the murmurs of the courtyard could swell, Queen Genie raised her voice, calm yet resonant, addressing those assembled.
"My faithful attendants and ministers, I thank you for guarding the palace in my absence. From tomorrow our duties will press upon us once more—so tonight, rest well and take ease."
The officials bowed in unison, their sleeves sweeping the ground.
Her gaze then shifted to the warriors who had ridden beside her through mountains and dust.
"You too have endured much toil on this journey. You have served me and the realm well."
The thirty warriors lowered their heads, their voices deep as they answered in one accord.
"We are honored by Your Majesty's grace."
At last, her eyes returned to Jade.