It had taken several years, but the truth was finally out.
The revelation came by accident.
Hwa Miye had been bathing and, in his distraction, forgot to bring a towel with him. Needing something to cover himself, he stepped out to retrieve his robe. He was certain the doors had been closed. No one was ever allowed inside while he bathed.
Yet the moment he emerged...
Choi Yuna froze.
The neatly folded clothes slipped from her careful hands and scattered to the floor.
Bathed in sunlight pouring through the window, the Flower Princess stood exposed, water still clinging to his porcelain skin. Droplets traced slow paths down his slender frame, catching the light. His build was lean and delicate: narrow waist, prominent collarbones, a body far too slight to belong to a woman. His chest lay flat beneath the glow, two soft pink petals lingering, unmistakably so.
Then her gaze fell further and her breath caught.
Yuna gasped.
Hwa Miye stood rooted to the spot, utterly speechless. His mind went blank - no thought, no reaction, no instinct to flee or speak.
Realization struck her all at once.
The honorable and esteemed flower princess was a man!!
She turned away immediately, face burning yet drained of color, shock trembling through her limbs as she hurried toward the door.
Panic surged through Miye.
No, he couldn't let her leave. Not like this. Not now. Not now. Not now.
He wanted her to stay. He wanted, selfish as it was, someone to remain by his side. Someone who cared. He wanted to continue to feel loved.
Grabbing his robe from the floor, he hastily draped it over his wet body and stumbled after her. His steps faltered, but he managed to catch her hand just before she reached the door.
His damp hair clung to his cheeks, lashes tangled together with moisture. Once again, his eyes brimmed with tears.
"Please…" Miye pleaded, voice breaking. "Don't go. Please, listen to me."
Choi Yuna stopped. She had no choice but to stay.
Hwa Miye told her everything.
From the moment he was born… to how he ended up here.
It was a story no one else knew. The servants who once knew the truth had all gone "missing." Anyone who had learned that Hwa Miye was male had vanished without a trace. To the world, only the Flower Princess existed, nothing more.
Yuna struggled to comprehend it all. Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
At last, she spoke.
"Your Highness… I will not leave you," she said quietly. "I will pretend that I never saw anything. I believe… this is for the best."
Indeed, it was.
Miye had only told her what she could bear to know. Nothing more.
True to her word, Choi Yuna stayed.
She continued to care for him, unwavering and gentle. She loved him, not in grand gestures, but in quiet constancy. So much so that Miye found himself missing his mother less with each passing day.
This very same person...
The one who loved him despite every secret he carried...
Now her severed tongue lay before him.
All because of him.
All because she knew the truth he was never meant to reveal. Because of him, she must have suffered unimaginable pain… perhaps even lost her life.
Clutching his chest, Miye forced himself upright and staggered toward the window sill.
No matter what, he had to see her.
If it was true....if she was truly gone, then he would at least give her a proper burial.
That much, he swore to himself.
As he rested his head against the window sill, Hwa Miye stared at the bright moon, its silver light brushing his face.
Tonight, the moon seemed especially aloof: grand yet unreachable, brilliant yet framed by darkness, beautiful yet mysterious. Hwa Miye had always resonated with this moon. He had cried before it, spoken to it, even smiled, as though it were his only companion.
Yet tonight, the moonlight did not fall upon him. Instead, it fell on a figure not far from his window. Curled behind a bush, the small form glimmered in the moonlight, resembling a pill bug in a deep slumber.
"It's that boy from before," Miye murmured.
Rubbing his red, swollen eyes, he squinted to see clearly.
Indeed, it was him.
Why hadn't he left? Did he truly mean it when he said he would wait? Was the job so important that he would endure this merciless cold rather than abandon it?
Then, Miye remembered the words from the earlier quarrel:
"And yer mother? Just some lowly bitch who ruined yer father's life!"
Is that it? Was that reason enough for him to risk his life? What was he trying to prove? Was it to honor his mother? To defy the cruel words of a bully?
Miye's fists clenched. He believed the boy was wasting his youth. Why fight for someone who no longer exists? For parents who cannot understand the depths of your devotion?
If only they knew....the suffering we endure just to see their smiles…
Anger surged. He turned from the window and slammed it shut. Already steeped in grief and pain, the sight of the curled pill bug only deepened his despair.
....
It was supposed to be a bitterly cold night. Dohyun should have awoken with purple lips, a frozen throat, and icy feet, no matter how tightly he curled himself.
That was how it was supposed to be.
Yet, Dohyun awoke surprisingly refreshed. His hair tousled, a stray blade of grass caught within it, he rubbed his warm eyes. When he fully stirred, he noticed a soft white blanket draped over him.
What…
No wonder he hadn't frozen like he usually did. His lips still held a faint bluish hue, but far from frostbite. For an ordinary person, the cold would have been unbearable, biting like snowflakes on a mountain. For Dohyun, however, this was the warmest night he had ever endured outside.
But… who could have left it? Everyone he had met yesterday had been unwelcoming. No familiar face came to mind.
As he pondered, Dohyun stood and dusted off his clothes, attempting to present himself with composure. He fixed his tangled hair, adjusted his robe, and draped the warm, heavy blanket over his shoulders. He still had to convince the princess, after all.
Yet, when he took a step forward, he froze.
In the courtyard of the grand south palace of Hwachon, amid blooming white chrysanthemums, stood a distant figure. Short black hair, neatly tied with a headband, reflected brown hues in the sunlight. Her face radiated authority, yet was untouchable, mingled with fear, grief, and anger. Her gaze met his disheveled form, burning with rage. Dohyun could almost hear her teeth grit at the sight with a, "Tsk!"
She turned, striding toward the palace gates in silver armor over a maroon uniform, her lethal sword dangling at her hip. At the gates, a black stallion awaited. She fastened herself, the gates swung open, and she stormed out, "Ha!!"
Could it be her?
Dohyun scratched his head, utterly confused. He couldn't decipher her expression. If she hated him so, why would she leave him a blanket? The blanket fit him curled up, suggesting it belonged to someone shorter. Maybe Shin Haerin had thrown him a spare one? But she was almost the same height as him.
"Ahhh… I don't know!" he muttered in frustration.
Unnoticed, he had already wandered into the palace corridors. The palace inside stretched with quiet elegance. Polished stone floors gleamed under soft lantern light, and lacquered wooden pillars lined the corridors with a steady grace. White chrysanthemums were everywhere - arranged in delicate clusters on carved wooden stands, in ornate vases along the hallways, and placed near doorways and pillars. Their petals looked almost alive in the warm light, like they might sway with even the smallest breath of air.
The scent of the flowers filled the corridors, sweet and soft, mixing with the faint smell of polished wood and beeswax. In the corners, small burners sent thin wisps of sandalwood smoke curling through the air, adding a warm, grounding note. Together, the smells wrapped the palace in a calm, almost gentle embrace, though beneath it lingered a quiet tension, as if the halls themselves held secrets and watched with unseen eyes. Every step through the corridors carried the scent of blooms and authority alike, creating a space that was beautiful, serene, and quietly alive.
"Young Master looks frustrated," a calm voice spoke from behind.
Dohyun froze.
A middle-aged woman stood before him, hair neatly tied in a bun, clad in a palace uniform: a gray-and-white robe. Yet her muted attire could not diminish the quiet warmth of her presence. She carried a silver tray with a steaming bowl, approaching with a gentle smile.
"Wait… Young Master?" Dohyun stammered.
"I- I'm not a Young Master," he corrected nervously.
She smiled patiently. "You are Wang Dohyun, yes?"
"Yes… but how did you know? I didn't see you yesterday."
"I am the Princess's personal maid, Sung Chunhee. Naturally, I must know those around her, and most of what occurs in her life."
Dohyun bowed deeply, realizing her importance, third in the Princess's hierarchy.
"My apologies, I did not recognize you."
"It's alright," Chunhee chuckled softly. "I was recently appointed. It is only fair that you wouldn't know me, coming from the northern palace."
"Yes…"
She glanced at the blanket draped over his shoulders. "What is that you hold?"
"I… don't know. I was sleeping outside and woke to find it over me. I want to return it, but I don't know whose it is."
"Anyone in mind?"
"…Shin Haerin?"
Chunhee almost laughed but restrained herself. "Young Master, your jests are amusing."
Dohyun considered it. After witnessing her disapproving look from earlier, it couldn't have been her. It just can't be her. Perhaps it was this kind woman, showing mercy. Yes, that seemed more plausible.
Still, the repeated "Young Master" worried him.
"I'm not a Young Master," he said nervously. "I don't deserve such a title."
"Why not? Are you not the son of Han Dojin?"
"You… know my father?"
Dohyun was stunned. No one in the northern palace dared speak his father's name with respect. Yet she did, calmly, with reverence.
"Of course," she said, walking as he followed. "I served a noble family once close to one of the Prince's officials. His family name....something like Ahn. Your father was man of honor, respected and kind. I used ro see him often whenever he visited the noble family with Sir Ahn. He was fortunate, yet ill-fated in some ways."
Her expression darkened, recalling the past.
"A man of his caliber, poised to receive honors, yet he declined them. You are his son. To fail to address you with due respect would be to insult him, and I will not."
Dohyun's heart thumped. Gratitude flooded him. Finally, someone acknowledged his father's worth besides him.
"Thank you, Ms. Sung. Knowing someone remembers him… it brings relief."
"I cannot say what is true about the stories of his betrayal," she said as they reached a large door, "but I know his character. You needn't believe the rumors."
"I don't," Dohyun whispered, holding back tears.
"Good," she said, presenting the silver tray. "This is chicken soup for her highness. She has been unwell, refusing rest. You should deliver it."
"Me? But I--"
"I trust you. Knowing your father, I believe in his son. You will do well by her highness."
Dohyun accepted the tray sincerely, feeling the weight of gratitude and opportunity. He realized that Ms Sung was doing all she could to support him. He was genuinely thankful.
Chunhee retrieved the blanket and guided him forward. He bowed slightly and entered the courtroom of the southern palace of Hwachon.
Sung Chunhee exhaled in relief, walking toward the Princess's chambers. She would tidy the sheets and prepare the laundry; the blanket she held was dirty anyway. Might as well get them altogether to wash.
As she entered the princess's chambers, one question struck her:
"Huh? Where is her highness's blanket?"