The man I had failed to banish from my thoughts stood before me.
When my eyes met Kang-dae's, the world stopped.
The rain seemed suspended midair, every droplet frozen between heaven and earth. The courtyard fell silent. My heart pounded like a war drum inside my chest, so loud it deafened me.
Then reality returned all at once—the rain resumed its fall, movement stirred, and sound rushed back into the world.
My father stared at me in astonishment, his gaze sweeping over the mud staining my hanbok and the water soaking through the silk.
"Haneul? Are you well? Why are you in such a state?"
I could not answer. I stood motionless, staring at Kang-dae.
My momjong's subtle touch on my back restored my senses. I bowed deeply, lowering my torso in silent apology.
"Father, please forgive the disgrace your daughter presents before you."
My father glanced at the subgeneral and added quickly, embarrassment threading his tone, "Forgive her. She is often carried away by nature. But I assure you, she is properly educated."
Kang-dae's expression remained stern, unyielding as stone. Yet in the depths of his eyes, something struggled—an almost-smile threatening to escape at my reckless state.
A soldier interrupted to report that everything had been loaded onto the carriages. Kang-dae nodded and handed over the maps still in his grasp.
Seeing that the rain had not softened, my father stepped forward with courtesy.
"Subgeneral, would you honor us by staying for a meal? My bueok yeojong can provide for your men and allow them a moment of rest."
Kang-dae surveyed the courtyard. He saw the exhaustion in his soldiers' faces, the weariness in the horses after days of travel in harsh weather.
Without thinking—without caution—I spoke.
"It would be an honor if you joined us."
His gaze returned to mine.
After a brief sigh that softened the rigidity of his posture, he accepted.
My momjong wasted no time.
"My lady, we must prepare you at once."
I walked toward my chambers, feeling the weight of his stare lingering on my back.
The hot bath eased the chill from my limbs but did nothing to quiet the storm in my mind. Steam coiled around us as my momjong scrubbed my shoulders with fragrant herbs, muttering reprimands beneath her breath.
I barely heard her.
He was under our roof.
Breathing the same air.
"We must choose something that erases the image of the mud-covered girl he just saw," she said, selecting a silk hanbok in lavender and cream.
I allowed myself to be dressed.
Each layer felt like armor.
The norigae was secured at my waist. My hair was drawn tightly into a perfect knot. My hands—no longer stained with ink or mud—still trembled faintly.
In the Cheomseongdae, among the stars, I ruled my world.
But here, beneath etiquette and beneath his gaze, I felt exposed.
When I entered the dining room, I bowed, though my body swayed slightly.
I longed—desperately—to meet his eyes, yet the customs of our era forbade me from lifting my gaze toward a subgeneral.
Conversation flowed strangely.
My father, with a fervor I had never witnessed, questioned him endlessly about war strategies, territories conquered in the King's name. The man who had always loved ink and paper now spoke of slaughter as though it were necessary arithmetic.
Then it came.
"And tell me… what does your daughter do?"
Kang-dae's voice cut through the room like steel.
My father fell silent.
The smile vanished from his face. His fingers trembled as he clasped my hand.
"She is my only daughter, Subgeneral. Her mother passed away when she was born. She knows only this house and the humble life I can provide."
I tightened my grip around his hand, fear sliding down my spine like ice.
Kang-dae continued eating with unsettling calm, as though his question had not plunged us into freezing water.
Could he hear my heartbeat?
The silence that followed was not emptiness—it was weight. I heard the faint scrape of his chopsticks against ceramic, slow and deliberate.
Had he recognized my hand in the maps?
Had he seen through the lie?
I stared at the wood grain of the table, forcing my breath into quiet submission.
I felt like one of the stars I observed nightly—small, distant, at the mercy of forces far greater than myself.
Then a sound broke the tension.
A low groan.
My father bent forward, clutching his stomach as if struck by sudden pain.
"Take me to my chambers," he whispered urgently to his guard. "End this meal."
Panic seized me.
As the guard helped him away, I rose instinctively to follow—
But a hand caught mine.
Warm. Rough. Unyielding.
I turned slightly.
Kang-dae stood close now, dressed not in armor but in a dark cheollik, the leather belt firm at his waist. Without the rigid plates of war, he appeared even more imposing.
He held my hand deliberately—not harshly, but with purpose.
And in that instant, a terrible suspicion bloomed within me.
Had he been waiting for this?
Waiting to be alone with me?
The rain drummed against the roof above us, steady and indifferent, while my blood roared in my ears.
I could not move.
The warmth of his hand reminded me that, despite stars and maps and secrets, I was made of flesh.
I stood suspended between fear and longing—between the dread of being discovered and the desperate wish never to let go—
While outside, the storm raged on, unaware that in that quiet corner of the world, my destiny had just shifted its course forever.
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