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Chapter 18
For no reason, her lips felt dry, but Yeon forced herself to speak as if nothing were wrong.
“Would you mind letting go?”
Ahem. Seo-jun cleared his throat and replied,
“I’m not holding you.”
Come to think of it, the hand that had grasped hers to help her up had been released long ago, and the warmth that had touched her back was already gone.
He had let go of her from the start.
It was Yeon who hadn’t moved.
The tips of her ears flushed as if they were on fire.
If you’re going to step back, then do it right away. Why stand so close and make it seem like something else is going on?
Yeon lifted her chin and snapped,
“Then why are you still standing so close?”
“Two o’clock, to your left. Someone’s watching.”
Yeon flinched and was about to turn her head, but Seo-jun softly brushed her cheek and murmured,
“Don’t make it obvious that you noticed.”
Her eyes darted around, rolling as if searching for whoever was watching her.
For some reason, Seo-jun didn’t like that and gently took hold of her chin, making her look at him.
“Not surprised?”
“Being watched or followed by the Imperial Family is like a polite greeting.”
Seo-jun’s eyes darkened.
What kind of life must it be for surveillance and tailing to be nothing more than a greeting?
What kind of mind did Yeon have to live enduring such a thing?
Even back when he was a police officer, when surveillance and tailing were simply part of the job, Seo-jun had never found them pleasant.
A bitter taste spread in his mouth.
“Are we going to keep standing like this?”
Yeon asked, and Seo-jun smiled.
A lazy, unhurried, yet refined smile—one that made Yeon’s eyes flicker for a brief moment.
“Is it uncomfortable? I like this distance.”
Seo-jun placed his hand back on her back and shifted slightly, as if to shield her from the watcher.
Several days had passed since Yeon learned that someone was tailing her even within the palace.
In that time, Seo-jun had contacted her so often that she almost missed the days when her phone had been quiet.
The strange thing was, it was all so regular that Yeon was confused.
Is this supposed to be the kind of contact lovers have?
The morning and evening calls reminded her of the formal greetings she gave to the Imperial elders. And the texts that came like clockwork at breakfast, lunch, and dinner felt like status reports.
Ping—just then, a message arrived from him.
“Speak of the devil, and here he is.”
[Have you eaten lunch? I had a simple meal with the party leadership.
(Photo)]
“Party leadership meal, yet you’re eating a canteen lunch?”
The photo made her wonder if the Labor Party’s finances were in trouble. Without thinking, she pressed save.
His text pattern was always the same—ask if she had eaten, share a few details, then attach a photo.
The first time she received one, she had wracked her brain, wondering if there was a hidden message in the picture or wording.
Of course she had.
Who would believe that Kang Seo-jun—known for being thorough, the man who had threatened the Emperor with leverage when her marriage was opposed—would send such trivial messages?
And what was with this regularity?
In the end, she asked him outright.
It was during a morning call that felt exactly like a formal greeting.
“I’m actually really smart, you know. I like quizzes, puzzles, mysteries… so asking this is embarrassing, but—give me a hint.”
—A hint? What do you mean?
Puzzled, Seo-jun listened as she confessed how much time she had spent analyzing his messages.
Silence fell on the other end. Yeon thought the call had dropped.
“What, did you hang up? Did it cut off? Is my phone broken?”
Just then, a deep, heavy sigh came through the receiver.
—I’m trying to score points as a boyfriend. I heard frequent contact is a must. Was it not good?
Hearing his reply made Yeon’s nose sting.
He had taken to heart the joke she made at Nak-hwa-ru about “points,” enough to ask around.
This was a marriage she had chosen for herself, and a man she had chosen herself.
Of course, she wasn’t naïve—she knew he had taken her hand according to his own interests as well.
Still, his unexpected earnestness pleased her.
“No. I like it. Keep doing it.”
And after that call, Seo-jun kept his word, sending the same type of messages faithfully.
“Kang Seo-jun again?”
Her aide, Seong-silan, asked as Yeon lingered over her phone.
“How’d you know?”
“You light up every time he messages you.”
“Me?”
Yeon shook her head, grimacing.
“I do not.”
“You do. If you don’t believe me, I can pull the CCTV footage.”
With “evidence” against her, denial was useless.
Sighing about her lack of privacy, Yeon changed the subject.
“No word from Gangnyeongjeon yet?”
Gangnyeongjeon was the Emperor’s bedchamber, but the term was also used to refer to the Emperor himself.
When Emperor Gojong proclaimed the Korean Empire, Deoksugung had been the Imperial residence, but about fifty years ago, the living quarters shifted to Gyeongbokgung.
It was a decision made to uphold historical tradition from the Joseon era and to bolster national prestige.
Thus, the Empress Dowager and the Emperor resided in Gyeongbokgung, while other palaces like Deoksugung were managed and inhabited by adult direct descendants of the Emperor.
But Byeong, under the pretense of “filial piety,” had remained in the Crown Prince’s quarters even after reaching adulthood and marrying.
Filial piety, my foot—he’s just spying on Their Majesties. That snake.
Yeon clicked her tongue.
“It’s only been two days since you sent the letter.”
Though phone calls and text messages had long been the main forms of communication, important correspondence within the Imperial Family was still sent by letter.
Critics joked that they might as well go back to writing with brushes, but the real reason for this preference wasn’t just tradition—it was because paper could be destroyed.
Calls and texts could be deleted, but forensic recovery was possible, and managing records required time and money.
Paper could simply be burned.
There was a small risk of loss in transit, but as long as it reached its destination, that was all that mattered. And managing people was easier than managing digital records.
“What did you write to Gangnyeongjeon, Your Highness?”
What Yeon had requested from Byeong was simple:
She would marry Seo-jun. Therefore, the Emperor should keep his promise to her.
She hinted that Seo-jun was a crucial piece in her plan to ascend to the throne. It was pressure on Byeong to keep his word and grant permission for the marriage, in line with the promise he had once made to support her after deciding to pass the throne to her.
“When the time comes, I’ll side with you three times.”
Yeon didn’t want to waste time waiting for the Emperor’s consent.
Even with the family’s blessing, there were countless hurdles ahead—background checks on Seo-jun, compatibility tests, approval from the royal relatives’ council, the formal establishment of the Marriage Bureau, and all the ceremonial procedures to follow…
They might even insist on holding a public bridal selection.
So she needed the Emperor’s public support as soon as possible. But Gangnyeongjeon had been silent.
“Should I go see His Majesty myself…?”
She was still mulling it over when—
Ping. A text arrived.
Yeon glanced at her phone casually, then her eyes went wide.
It was from Seo-jun.
[Heading to Gyeongbokgung this afternoon. His Majesty has summoned me. Any idea why?]
Was this a good sign, or a bad one?
Yeon couldn’t tell, so all she could say was, “Dress neatly.”
In the late afternoon, the sun’s heat had eased, casting soft light over the roof of Hyangwonjeong Pavilion.
The shadow of the pavilion stretched long across the water. The elegant lines of the tiled roof shimmered in the breeze, scattering and reforming over the pond’s surface.
Emperor Beom stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing absently at the scene.
From a prepared teacup, a faint wisp of steam curled upward before vanishing.
It was a truly tranquil afternoon.
But inside, Beom’s thoughts were far from calm.
The source of that disturbance was approaching.
He slowly turned.
Across Chuihyanggyo Bridge, which connected Hyangwonjeong to the shore, Seo-jun appeared.
Basking in the afternoon sun, he walked with the bearing of a victorious general returning from war.
His broad shoulders and strong thighs were impossible to hide even in a neat suit.
There was both the polished dignity of formalwear and the raw vitality unique to him.
The smile on his lips was smooth, and the unwavering look in his eyes held resolve.
For a man summoned so suddenly by the Emperor, he seemed almost too calm—overflowing with composure.
A truly bold man, one who stirred curiosity in his opponents.
Beom didn’t take his eyes off Seo-jun as he strode forward without hesitation.
When Seo-jun stepped onto the pavilion, he bowed his head with measured grace.
“I greet Your Majesty. I am Kang Seo-jun.”
“Sit.”
From the Emperor seated on the brocade mat, a cold wind seemed to blow.
