It was a clear March morning, the kind of spring day when the air carried both chill and promise. The palace gates stood wide, banners rippling faintly in the breeze. Queen Genie, robed in her ceremonial gown, walked with measured steps, attended by her court ladies and flanked by the royal guards. At her approach, the courtyards hushed, and the gathered envoys, directed into neat ranks by Moonsen, bowed low.
As she crossed the threshold into the yard, all eyes lifted to behold her. The Queen's lips curved in a gentle smile, dignified yet warm.
"Good morning, Your Majesty," Moonsen said, stepping forward with a deep bow.
"Good morning," Genie replied, her voice soft as spring rain. She cast her gaze over the assembled envoys and attendants. "Good morning, everyone."
Again, all bent respectfully before her.
Beneath the generous light of spring, her white ceremonial dress, embroidered with emerald stripes, shimmered with an otherworldly radiance. Her dark hair, left to fall in soft waves past her breastline, caught the sun's glow, framing a smile that seemed to breathe life into the still air of the courtyard.
"So, you are all departing today," she said, her words carrying clearly across the yard. "It will be a long road, and a journey of weight. I am deeply proud of the dedication you have shown in your preparations. Though the bond between Hana and Ash is strained, our duty remains—to present the heart of our culture with sincerity. Do your utmost, and let your efforts speak for our kingdom."
The envoys bowed once more, reverence shining in their eyes.
Genie regarded them with serene composure, her smile lingering like a blessing.
From among the ranks, Moonsen lifted his gaze briefly, his expression softened by quiet admiration as it rested upon the Queen.
"Your Majesty, thank you for your loving care. We will return safely. Please remain safe and healthy within the palace," Moonsen said, bowing deeply.
"Thank you. Have a good trip," Genie replied, her voice clear and gentle. "I will watch you all depart."
At these words, a quiet stir passed through the envoys. Surprise and emotion shone in their faces. For the sovereign herself to stand at the great gates to see them off—such an act spoke more than a hundred proclamations of her love and regard for her people.
"Then we shall take our leave," Moonsen said at last, though his eyes lingered on the Queen. There was an affection there, unhidden and undeniable, as though his heart betrayed what duty alone could not conceal.
With Moonsen leading the way, the cultural envoys began their procession. Surun and Akan walked among them, their expressions solemn with resolve. Guards and soldiers followed in ordered ranks, their armor catching glints of morning sunlight as the great palace gates opened before them.
Genie stood in stillness, watching as their figures grew smaller, until at last they disappeared beyond the threshold of the capital road.
"Your Majesty, shall we return inside?" Chief Han asked softly, his hands folded with respect.
"Yes," Genie said, turning back with grace. "Let us return."
As she walked slowly toward the palace halls, the hem of her gown brushing against the stone, she lowered her gaze in prayer.
'Lord, please protect them from the first step to the last of this journey. Thank You for granting this bright day on which they set forth.'
The spring wind carried her silent plea upward, scattering it like petals into the boundless sky.
Before noon hour, the royal assembly hall was filled with the gathered officials of Hana. At the center, upon the Queen's chair beneath the tall canopy of carved beams, Genie sat in dignity, her bearing calm and unshaken.
The officials bent low in their greetings, the hall echoing with the rustle of silk and murmured voices. To her right stood Jade, his expression composed, eyes steady upon the Queen. Yet within him, his heart stirred—each glance at her was enough to quicken its pace, though no trace of it showed on his face.
Genie opened her lips, her voice carrying clearly through the hall.
"Our cultural envoys have set out for the Ash Kingdom. Let us all keep them in our prayers. And to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs—continue your duties diligently even in Moonsen's absence."
The officials bowed as one, their voices in solemn assent.
Genie's gaze swept over them with serene authority.
"And now, with the negotiations with the bandits concluded, one of our great troubles has been resolved. Yet that does not mean our vigilance may rest." Her eyes turned deliberately toward Jade. "Jade, see to it that relations with the bandit tribes remain stable. Let the royal guards stationed at the borders work with them, so that peace is preserved."
Jade bowed deeply, his tone firm.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Satisfied, Genie gave a small nod.
"Very well. Then let us proceed with the weekly reports from each ministry."
One by one, the ministers delivered their accounts—their words of grain, tax, roads, and law echoing in orderly fashion—while Genie listened with composed patience, giving answers where needed.
When all was said and the meeting drew to its close, the Queen rose gracefully from her seat. The court ladies gathered at her side, and with the rustle of robes she departed, her presence like sunlight withdrawing from the hall.
Jade watched her departing figure, his face still outwardly calm. But behind that mask of composure lingered a quiet longing, sharp and unyielding, that only grew as her steps faded from sight.
Even with her so near, Jade felt distance as vast as heaven itself. His heart thundered within his chest, each beat betraying a longing he dared not name.
'Your Majesty…'
His thoughts whispered silently as he watched her step away, her figure receding like the fading light of dawn.
Genie, though surrounded by attendants, felt the weight of his gaze upon her back. As if compelled, she cast a fleeting glance over her shoulder—just a heartbeat, quick as a falling petal.
'Jade.'
The name brushed across her heart, unspoken yet echoing with aching clarity.
The Queen continued on, her steps measured along the spring paths of the palace. The breeze carried the fragrance of blossoming cherry trees, their pale petals drifting like snow about her hem.
Chief Han, walking at her side, broke the silence with a smile.
"Your Majesty, it has been long since the palace has known such peace. Do you feel better these days?"
Genie returned a faint smile, though her gaze lingered on the cherry blossoms swaying gently in the light. "Yes, indeed," she said. Yet beneath the lilt of her voice trembled a shade of sorrow, too delicate to be hidden from those who knew her well.
Lady Park and Chief Han exchanged quiet glances, their eyes betraying concern at the soft sadness woven into their Queen's smile.
At last, Genie spoke again, her tone calm but firm.
"Han, please send the physician to my chamber before the noon meal."
Chief Han faltered for a moment, her steps pausing ever so slightly before she quickly lowered her head.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The wind stirred once more, scattering blossoms across the path. Genie walked on, her figure serene, yet the petals clinging faintly to her robe seemed to mirror the quiet heaviness she carried within.
The spring noon lay warm across the terrace, sunlight pouring in as if to gild even the smallest thing. Court ladies lingered at a respectful remove, their skirts a ripple of pale silks, while the air smelled faintly of boiled tea and crushed chrysanthemum. The royal physician set his medical box upon the low table and inclined himself with the care of one who knew how dangerous even a word could be in the presence of a sovereign.
"Your Majesty," he said softly, voice threaded with the strict courtesy of his station. "How do you fare?"
Genie turned from the lattice, the palace gardens spread before her like a painted fan. The cherry blossoms outside trembled in the light, petals drifting like pale coins upon a stream. She made a small, formal smile and motioned toward the empty chair.
"Good afternoon. Thank you for coming. Please sit."
The physician lowered himself and opened his box with the measured ritual of his craft: folded linens, a little cup of boiled water, a sachet of dried roots, a small mirror and a thin wooden spatula for the tongue. He placed them neatly and met the Queen's eyes with an expression that was at once professional and quietly concerned.
"You know why I asked you to come," Genie said, and her voice grew smaller, less the voice of a monarch than that of a woman who had kept vigil through many private nights. "I would have a careful examination. A doctor from afar once told me—some time ago—that I am ill."
The physician's eyes faltered as though weighed by unseen burdens.
"He told me to receive a precise checkup from the royal physician at the palace," Genie said softly. "That is why I summoned you. Please examine me with utmost care."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The physician bowed low, then opened his lacquered medical box. With practiced movements, he drew forth his slender tools and rolls of silk cloth. At last, he placed his fingers gently upon the Queen's wrist, his expression grave as he felt the faint, hidden rhythm of her pulse.