A month had slipped by almost imperceptibly, each day folding into the next as spring deepened across Hana Kingdom. At last, Moonsen and the cultural envoys returned safely, their journey bringing with them news of success and goodwill.
By mid-April, the kingdom was bathed in the soft light of the season, peaceful and orderly. The cherry blossoms had begun to fully bloom, scattering petals across the palace gardens and streets alike, and the air carried a quiet serenity. The successful envoy trip to Ash Kingdom had strengthened Hana's position, securing a sense of stability that resonated even among the common people.
Life in the capital hummed along in calm rhythm. Markets bustled without worry, soldiers trained diligently in the courtyard, and the royal guards maintained their silent vigilance at every gate. Yet beneath the ordinary flow of daily life, small ripples of change and hope lingered—subtle but unmistakable, like the first green shoots of spring beneath the fallen petals.
The kingdom, it seemed, had found a rare moment of balance, its people safe, its rulers steady, and its future quietly bright.
The chamber fell into stillness. Outside, the noon sun washed the terrace in gold, but within, the quiet stretched long as the physician moved from one examination to another—eyes, tongue, pulse, breath—each moment laden with unspoken tension.
An hour passed. At last, he closed his box with deliberate care and looked up at Genie. His eyes carried sorrow.
"Your Majesty," he said slowly, voice low, "forgive me for what I must say."
"Continue," Genie answered, her tone calm though her hands pressed lightly against her lap.
"It seems… your condition is strange and unstable. Your pulse is irregular, the signs do not align with any one illness I can name. I cannot yet determine the true cause, nor can I call it by a certain name." He bowed deeply, his words laced with apology. "But, Your Majesty, I strongly urge you to begin treatment at once. I will prepare the finest herbal remedies and strengthening tonics to sustain you."
Genie listened in silence, her gaze turning briefly toward the open terrace where cherry blossoms drifted in the sunlight. Then she gave a slow nod.
"I understand. Whatever the treatment may be, I will receive it. But there is one more thing."
Her eyes fixed upon him, steady and commanding.
"You must not speak of this matter to anyone beyond these walls. Do you understand?"
The physician bent low until his forehead nearly touched the floor.
"Of course, Your Majesty. Unless you permit it, I would not dare."
"From now on, Chief Han and Lady Park will oversee your daily treatment visits here, in my pavilion," Genie said, her voice even, her posture straight. "They shall take charge of the arrangements. Now tell me truthfully—if I receive proper treatment, can this illness be healed?"
The physician hesitated. His lips parted, then closed, before he released a quiet sigh and bowed his head.
"Hopefully… perhaps, Your Majesty. But—" His voice lowered into regret. "I cannot make a promise."
Genie inclined her head slowly, her gaze distant, as though the truth had already been known to her heart.
"It seems," she murmured, "that the same illness which once struck my late father has now found me as well." Her words hung in the spring air, fragile yet firm. "Very well. You may leave for now."
The physician rose with deliberate care, gathering his box, and bowed deeply.
"I shall return tomorrow, or at any hour Your Majesty commands."
"Thank you," Genie replied softly.
With that, the physician withdrew, leaving the faint scent of herbs lingering in the chamber.
Chief Han and Lady Park approached quietly, while the other court ladies and guards remained respectfully at a distance. Their steps were hesitant, their faces taut with worry.
"Your Majesty," Chief Han spoke gently, her voice carrying a trace of fear.
Still seated, Genie's eyes rested on the wide view of the palace gardens where cherry blossoms floated like pale confessions upon the wind. Without turning her head, she said,
"To you two, I entrust this matter. From this moment, the physician's visits must remain secret. Not a word shall pass beyond these walls."
The two women exchanged a brief glance, their brows furrowed with concern.
At last, Lady Park, her voice trembling despite her efforts, asked cautiously,
"Your Majesty, forgive my boldness… but is there truly an illness upon you?"
Genie's eyes lingered on the blossoms beyond the terrace, their fleeting petals scattering like unspoken prayers. At last, she lowered her gaze and spoke in a quiet, steady tone.
"He does not yet know the exact nature of my illness. But yes—" her voice faltered for a breath before regaining its composure, "I believe I am unwell, and it does not seem to be a light matter. Please… keep this truth from everyone."
Chief Han and Lady Park bowed their heads at once, their voices hushed yet resolute.
"Of course, Your Majesty," Chief Han replied firmly. "We shall arrange your appointments with the physician in the strictest confidence. Just command us, and it shall be done."
Lady Park also bent low, her eyes shimmering with worry, and gave a silent nod.
Genie turned her gaze upon them, her lips curving into a gentle smile, though shadows lingered behind it.
"I am so grateful to God for you two by my side."
At those tender words, the women's hearts softened even as unease pressed upon them. Their faces, touched by both concern and devotion, glowed faintly beneath the warm noon light.
"Your Majesty…" Lady Park whispered, her heart stirred, her eyes moist.
"We are always here for you, Your Majesty," Chief Han said, her tone firm as an oath. "Always."
The chamber fell into a quiet stillness, the rustle of blossoms outside carrying the unspoken weight of their loyalty and the Queen's concealed burden.
That evening, Queen Genie rose from her desk, gently closing the stacked books she had labored over. The lamplight flickered behind her as she stepped out of the Queen's pavilion, her white robes brushed with silver under the glow of the moon.
She lifted her gaze skyward. Stars, scattered across the deepening heavens, shimmered alongside the pale, steady moon. The court ladies followed her at a careful distance, their steps hushed on the stone path.
"It is spring," Genie murmured, her lips curving faintly, "and yet I have not once stepped outside to see a lantern festival in the village."
Lady Park smiled softly at her words, her eyes full of gentle affection.
Chief Han, walking just behind, also smiled and asked, "Your Majesty, would you wish to attend one of the spring lantern festivals beyond the palace walls?"
Genie smirked and shook her head, her wavy hair swaying in the moonlight.
"It would be a joy to go… but the palace leaves me no leisure. Now that the bandits' unrest is settled, I must attend to the officials' performance reports. It is work I have neglected since first ascending the throne."
Her words held neither complaint nor weariness, only a quiet resolve.
Turning gracefully, she said, "Come, let us return to the bedchamber. Tomorrow must be met with strength."
The court ladies followed, their faces touched with composure and pride. Chief Han and Lady Park, walking closest to their Queen, exchanged knowing glances. Their hearts were warmed by the sight of how far Genie had grown into her sovereign's role, carrying her burdens with dignity.
That same night, when the palace had quieted, Chief Han and Lady Park bore a small stack of books from the Queen's office. They crossed the silent courtyards and arrived at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. With careful hands, they placed the books into the designated delivery chest, then stepped back into the night.
As they walked slowly through the garden of the Ministry, lantern light glowed faintly along the stone path, mingling with the fragrance of early blossoms. Their footsteps echoed softly in the tranquil air, the weight of both duty and devotion upon them.
Lady Park let out a soft sigh as the two women walked beneath the pale lantern glow.
"So Her Majesty is skipping the lantern festival, even though she so dearly loves it. I only wish she could have a feast of her own once in a while," she said quietly. "Last year, even her first birthday as Queen… she forbade us from holding a celebration."
Chief Han gave a firm nod, her expression thoughtful.
"It is because Her Majesty wishes the palace to keep its eyes upon the people, not herself. She always says the lives of Hana's citizens must come first. And besides… she was away in Arabia for so long, no one here knows her birthday—she never told them."
Just then, the sound of footsteps stirred the quiet night.
"Chief Han? Lady Park?"
The two women turned, startled, and saw Moonsen emerging from the shadowed path. He smiled gently, offering a respectful bow.
"My apologies," he said, voice warm yet cautious. "I could not help but overhear… Her Majesty's birthday—when was it?"
Lady Park hesitated, exchanging a glance with Chief Han, as though seeking silent permission.
At last, Chief Han inclined her head.
"Her Majesty's birthday falls in December. But last year… we passed it by, at her own request. She did not wish the palace to make a mess of it."
Moonsen's eyes softened, and he lowered his head slightly, his smile touched with regret.
"I see… Then I failed to even offer Her Majesty a word of congratulations."
The night breeze stirred the branches above them, scattering a few stray petals across the stone path. The weight in Moonsen's voice lingered, a quiet vow unspoken.
Lady Park lowered her eyes with a trace of guilt.
"I, too, feel sorry for Her Majesty… even though she herself asked us to let her birthday pass unmarked."
At that, Moonsen's eyes brightened, a sudden spark flickering within them.
"Then… what if we prepare a surprise birthday celebration for Her Majesty, even though it is late?"
Chief Han and Lady Park both turned to him in astonishment, their brows lifting.