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Chapter Text

Sheltered behind the gates of Eighth Prince’s residence, Soo forgets. Goryeo, or modern Korea; it’s all the same where it truly counts. There is always a war. Here, it’s waged for power and riches and politics, the battlegrounds called drawing rooms and libraries, pavilions where the powerful take tea and slash at each other with words if not swords. Where conscription is called marriage and children have no choice but to comply.

Unni is gone, Eighth Prince is broken, and Soo forgets.

Her uncles arrive as the grass turns green and snowdrops bloom where Unni rests. They gather their spoils before her, piling her arms high with richly coloured silks and jewelled pins for her hair.

The maids take her to the bathing pool and scrub away the topmost layer of her skin, leaving her clean and pink and glowing and raw. Steam rises in wisps around her, as they massage warm oil into her scalp and she struggles against them because it is only here that she can. She flails her limbs about, splashing them with water, screaming her frustration at her helplessness. Go Ha Jin was a normal working girl, but Hae Soo is a noble lady. She wears luxurious hanboks and has maids attending her needs. Yet in the end, her status means nothing in the face of her uncles’ greed.

Soo cannot weep for the injustice. Chae Ryung does it in her stead.

With gentle hands, they wash her hair with shampoo flavoured with oranges, letting it dry loosely over her shoulders as they paint her lips and powder her cheeks with peach-coloured blush. They dress her in finer robes than she’s ever worn, the silk underclothes like crushed petals against her skin, the mahogany skirt embroidered and cumbersome. Her hair is braided into a coil; jewels are tucked into the folds, the braided ropes sitting heavily atop her head, the rest tumbling over her shoulders. Her sash is tied like a vise around her ribs. Her wrists are bare underneath her long white sleeves, but she sees shackles, anyway.

“The first daughter of the Hae clan will be wed to the Fourth Prince,” reads the king’s decree.

Three seasons have passed since Go Ha Jin took the name Hae Soo. That’s three seasons that she’s known the man who is to be her husband.

(Small consolation: it could be worse.)

Slaves dressed in the Hae clan’s colours carry her to the palace in an ornamental palanquin. They weave their way through the dusty streets of Songak, while Soo presses her fingers to the bars covering the window and watches the citizens line up along the streets, in front of the merchants’ stalls. They talk eagerly amongst themselves, the children beaming at her as she passes, chirping excitedly when they catch the uneasy smiles she gives them.

The procession is a declaration of the festivities to come. Soon, one of Goryeo’s princes will be wed.

There will be a feast and a festival, Songak’s marketplace will be bustling, the merchant city thriving. It’s a blessing for the people at a time when they stand on pins and needles, hoping for precious rain. They cannot call it a drought, yet. But with no rain to wash it away, dust clings to every surface, floating in the air, crawling into their lungs. They cough up clouds and watch the dust rain back onto the ground.

Whatever else it might mean, the talk of her wedding brings smiles to their faces. Soo isn’t so selfish as to begrudge them that.

“The Astronomer will choose a wedding date today,” she’s told by Oh Sang Goong when she arrives at the palace, “And you will stay at the Damiwon until you are married. So, please make yourself comfortable, Lady.”

That task is near impossible. Her head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, from the jewels, the braids, the screaming urge to run—which she knows she cannot. She shouldn’t. It could be far worse, she reminds herself. She gets to stay in the city that’s become her home. And the Fourth Prince is almost a friend. Half a friend. Maybe even three quarters.

In this era where marriages are alliances first and foremost, she is lucky.

All the same, she cannot breathe in this prison of a room as she waits for what feels like her trial. She pokes at her hair and strands unceremoniously fall out of their pins. She stands up, then sits back on the bed, then stands up again, her hanbok rustling as she moves. When the confines of the room go from stifling to suffocating, she makes for the door. She’s a guest here, not a prisoner, and she’s about to go crazy from claustrophobia.

Soo rounds the corner—

And runs right into someone, her forehead knocking into his pointed chin. Her foot catches on the hem of her skirt, and she’s tripping, tumbling backwards, bracing herself for the fall that doesn’t come. His arm snakes its way around her waist, and she’s pulled against the hard plane of his chest.

There’s a moment, a pause. She looks at him, at the sculpted lines of his face, and he looks at her. His eyes reflecting the image of her in their dark pools. This thought has struck her a few times; if he’d give people the chance to actually take a good look at him, they wouldn’t be so quick to believe the rumours of his being ugly. It’s fairly ridiculous. Fourth Prince is many things. Ugly isn’t one of them. 

(She says this from a professional standpoint—she is a makeup artist.)

He lets her go when she’s steady, taking a step back and looking studiously away.

“Ow,” she complains, rubbing at her forehead.

“You bumped into me,” grumbles Fourth Prince.

He’s dressed more formally than she’s ever seen him, in a black version of Eighth Prince’s blue formal hanbok. It suits him; the gold brocade on the black silk. She’d told him months ago, that he finally looked the part of the prince now that he’d moved to the palace, but it is here that he truly does. He’s clean-shaven, his hair is tied neatly back, his fringe tamed, and he’s really quite—

It’s the fact that he’s her fiancé. It really is. It’s her survival instinct trying to make the whole situation more palatable.

(She can almost believe that.)

“Did you come to see me?”

“Oh. Yeah…Baek Ah told me about that stuff you talked to him about—about being free? I know this marriage…” he winces, “If you don’t want to go through with this, tell me. I’ll find a way to get you out of the palace.”

“I never thought you’d be on my side, Your Highness,” she says softly.

“It’s not that, just,” he says gruffly, “I won’t be your prison. Nothing’s worth living like that.”

“It’s a royal decree—you and I must get married,” she says tiredly, “What’s the punishment for disobeying one of those?”

“Death,” he replies, without missing a beat, “But I’ve never put much stock in Paeha’s judgements.”

“But I’d have to live on the run. We both would.”

“Well, yeah.”

She could run away. It’s really not an option, if she thinks about it logically. But she looks at Fourth Prince, at the stubborn line of his jaw, and. She’s almost sure he’s serious. If she tells him right then that she doesn’t want this, then he will find a horse and spirit her away before the guards can so much as sneeze. And it’s—the first real choice anyone has given her.

Ironically, it’s this that makes the decision for her.

“Thank you—I appreciate the sentiment, but—I’d rather just go ahead with it, if it’s all the same to you,” she exhales shakily, “I’ll marry you.”

He frowns, his brows furrowing, as if he’s disbelieving. “Are you…sure? You’re okay with me?”

She huffs. “You’re not so bad that I’d rather die than marry you. I’ve told you before, haven’t I? I like my head where it is, I’d rather not lose it.”

“So…we’re doing this, then.” his smile is rusty, unpracticed, and—

She finds herself smiling back. Fourth Prince is someone she can trust, she thinks. He won’t—whatever else he might be to the rest of the world; he won’t be cruel to her. He’s more than three quarters of a friend. He’s easily ninety-percent of one. Maybe even the full deal.

“I guess we are,” she steps forward and grabs his arm, “But first, you have to get me out of here. I need fresh air.”

“Okay,” he nods, “I can do that.”

(The gardens behind the Damiwon is the first corner of the palace he shares with her.)

“Hyung-nim isn’t like what the rumours say, you know,” Baek Ah-nim says to Soo when he comes to have tea with her, before the betrothal ceremony. “He acts scary, but that’s only because…”

He shakes his head. “Anyways, my point is, I think you two could be good for each other.”

Soo sighs. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to run, or anything. It was stupid of me to believe I’d be able to marry for love, anyway. I’ll just. Make the best of this situation. I think that’s wise, under the circumstances, don’t you?”

Baek Ah-nim smiles, but it’s—bittersweet. “It looks like the daughters of the Hae clan are destined to be my sisters-in-law.”

Soo presses her chin into her hands and closes her eyes. “It would’ve been nice to have Unni around, today.”

“I miss her everyday,” he says quietly.

So does she.

Astronomer speaks of stars aligning and fate and how theirs are entwined, and its. Overwhelming if she thinks about it seriously. That everything that has happened to her has had a purpose. From being robbed to drowning in Lake Cheonjuho, to stumbling upon Fourth Prince bleeding and bloodstained, in the midst of a destructive rage. To finding him in his gentler state, alone, staring at the palace as if it was a wish. If it’s to be called home, I need a family, he’d said.

She wonders if it’s home yet.

Fourth Prince scoffs as Astronomer speaks, rolling his eyes and sipping his tea.

“You don’t believe what Astronomer is saying?” she asks him in whispers.

“Man moves the heavens,” he tells her, “Not the other way, around. Why? Do you believe it?”

“No!” she blusters, “I’m not crazy!”

But that’s a lie. It’s a ridiculous explanation for why she’s here, but it’s an explanation better than what she has.

(The wedding is set for the end of the half moon cyle.)

Eighth Prince visits her in the Damiwon after the betrothal ceremony, but he is quiet and distant and he won’t look at her. It is not the norm between them, but these days they don’t have one. She looks at him and she sees how she’d betrayed the person who’d been a mother to her. She remembers Eighth Prince’s heartbroken sobs on the floor of his study, his repeating it had been love, it had been love, it had been love, until he was hoarse. And—she’s sick to her stomach. That she’d taken his affections while her dying Unni had craved them. She’d denied them their final, fleeting chance at happiness.

This political marriage is more than she deserves.

“I’m sorry,” he says to her, “I promised Lady Hae I’d look after you, and now…”

“Don’t worry,” Soo shakes her head, “I don’t think it’s going to be so bad, living here. I’ll get to see Baek Ah-nim and Jungie-nim and Eunie-nim every day, too.”

“If I’d known the elders would be marrying you to So, I would’ve stepped in. I would’ve—”

Married her. He would’ve. Of this Soo is sure. And maybe if the circumstances had been different, if he hadn’t been the man her Unni had loved, the man whose affections she’d stolen, the man who Unni had given to her even as it broke her heart. Because she loved the two of them and she wanted them to be happy.

A marriage to Eighth Prince would’ve been worse.

“It’s okay,” she says gently, “You were grieving, Your Highness. And I’m going to be fine. Fourth Prince is my friend. He’ll be good to me.”

“Soo-yah, you’re still precious to me,” he steps forward and puts his hands on her shoulders.

She steps back, pushing his hands away. “I’m to be your sister-in-law in two weeks. We’re to be family, and I don’t want to go back to how it was before.”

“Soo-yah—”

“I will care for you as a brother, but I’m to be married now, I won’t…” she sighs, “Goodbye, Your Highness.”

“No,” he says emphatically, “I won’t say goodbye to you. You’re all I have left of Lady Hae.”

“We shall be family, we’re not truly saying goodbye, just. Goodbye to what we’d done in the past. It’d been wrong. And I’m repenting for it. So I won’t go back to that.”

He stares at her and he stares and he stares, his brown eyes searching her face for something, before he looks away and his shoulders slump. “I understand,” he says as he leaves, “Goodnight.”

She sinks onto the bed in her room, letting out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

Mornings at the Damiwon start hours earlier than what she’s used to. She’s woken with gentle hands on her shoulders and pleading entreaties. “Lady, it’s time to wake up,” murmur the Court Ladies, “We must get you ready.”

Her hanbok for the day is lighter than the ceremonial one she’d had to wear the day before, but it’s still more extravagant than anything she’d worn in the days when she’d been in Unni’s care. The jeogori is heavy, the skirt heavier still. She trips over her own feet a half dozen times until Oh Sang Goong has had enough, and draws her to the side, making her practice walking the length of a corridor until she learns the folds of the heavy underskirts.

“There is comportment you must learn before your wedding,” Oh Sang Goong tells her, “As a member of the royal family, there are certain standards you must uphold.”

By lunchtime, she’s exhausted.

She begs off her lessons after the midday meal, but is handed a pile of books to study anyway. The Court Ladies carry them into her room, depositing them neatly on the table, before walking backwards out of her room and pulling the door shut. And Soo is alone, with nothing but a pile of meaningless squiggles to keep her company.

She tries. She opens the books, squints at the characters, tries to remember what they stand for. But she’s never been much of a reader, never had a brain meant for studying. An hour later, her hair is falling out if its braids, her fingernails are in danger of being completely bitten off, and she’s had enough.

She hikes her skirts up to her knees and climbs out the window.

“This is insane,” she yells, once she’s in the privacy of the garden, “They wake me up at the crack of dawn, then they stuff me into this straitjacket, and make me exercise. And now they want me to spend the rest of my afternoon, reading. Reading!”

“Get used to it,” rumbles a voice, in the grass, and she falls backwards with a startled scream, pain shooting up her tailbone as she lands on the ground.

Fourth Prince sits up, rubbing his eyes. “You’re very clumsy, aren’t you?”

“I’m not clumsy,” she sputters, “Anyone would be startled if you snuck up on them, like that!”

“I did no sneaking,” he crosses his arms, “I was here first. You’re the one that came and interrupted my nap.”

She hauls herself up, dusting off her backside. “Is that what you were doing in the grass? Napping?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “I always take naps here.”

Soo frowns and walks over to him, sinking onto the grass beside him. “Why here, when you have a perfectly nice bed, indoors?”

“I like it here. The grass is soft and there’s a breeze. My quarters are suffocating.”

“Must be nice, being a prince,” she sighs, lying back, with her head in the shade, “You get to wear comfortable clothes, you can take naps whenever you want to, there’s no one to boss you around…”

“Of course it is,” he says imperiously, “It’s why I was born a prince.”

“Hah,” she scoffs, “You didn’t choose to be born a prince. You were just lucky enough to be born as one.”

“Lucky,” he laughs breathily, “I guess you could call it that.”

They fall into a silence, but it’s neither uncomfortable, nor stifling. He lays back with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. The coils of hair piled on her head make lying on her back nearly impossible. Still, the sky is clear and blue and she’s. At peace. For maybe the first time since Unni passed away, she’s not poisoned by guilt, she isn’t stifled by the knowledge that perhaps Unni had left early because of her and the feelings she’d had for Eighth Prince.

She’s half-royal and nearly married, and she’s finally at peace.

“Do you still have nightmares, these days?” she asks, letting her eyes fall shut.

“Who do you build your prayer mantle for?”

It’s a game they’d started playing, back when he’d been staying at Eighth Prince’s home. She’d ask him questions and he’d turn them on her. They’d trade them like jabs until one of them found one they were willing to answer. It’s about as much fun as running through a minefield. But they’d fallen into this habit, and. She doesn’t really mind it, when he asks. She doesn’t know why, or how they’d even gotten to this point. Just—she doesn’t mind. 

Her turn. “Are you really okay with this whole marriage business? Or do you want to run away?”

“I wouldn’t run away, even if I could,” he says, his voice low and soft, “My loyalty is to my brother, the Crown Prince. He is my priority. And he’ll need the Hae clan’s support when he takes the throne, but your clan is far too important for their daughter to be made a prince’s concubine, so. Here I am.”

“I see,” she says softly.

“Does that disappoint you?”

She shakes her head. “I expected it.”

“I am sorry that you got caught up in all of this.”

“Who knows,” she sighs, closing her eyes once more, letting the fatigue of the last few days overwhelm her, “Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. I don’t think I was meant to stay long at Eighth Prince’s home, anyway.”

(He is gone when she wakes.)

There is a line that he doesn’t cross. Fourth Prince paces outside her room at the Damiwon, but he refuses to go inside. He refuses to even knock. She honestly wishes he would. She doesn’t know how long he spends waiting for her to finish being tortured, but she’s always, always ready for a reprieve, and he only ever appears when Oh Sang Goong tells her she’s allowed a break.

The Court Ladies bring her tea and pastries, and it’s when they open the door to enter that she sees him.

“I thought…” he rubs the back of his neck, “Maybe you needed a break from your lessons?”

“Sorry, I’ll take my tea later,” she tells the ladies before they can protest. Once she’s out of their earshot, she grabs his arm and glares at him. “You couldn’t have knocked a little earlier? Maybe an hour ago?”

“Oh Sang Goong will be angry if I interrupt before she’s ready to let you go,” he tells her, leading her to the main entrance.  

“Please,” she drawls, as she kicks her skirt away and steps over the threshold, “As if you’re scared of anyone.”

“Well,” he says indignantly, “The lessons are for your own good, anyway.”

She scowls at him. “Of course you would say that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what you think it means,” she huffs, stumbling when the tip of her shoe catches the gap between two stones paving the path. He catches her before she falls flat on her face, and her face burns.

“Don’t say it,” she warns, “You’d be clumsy too, if your clothes were this big.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he shrugs.

He chokes on his laughter, his shoulders trembling as he bites it back. But—she finds she can’t begrudge him his humour even if it’s at her expense. She’s known him for three seasons. She knows he prefers to glare and growl and intimidate over smiling and sharing laughter. That he shares it with her is, well. It feels like a compliment.

She’ll take it.

Fourth Prince shows her corners of the palace she’s certain no one knows about. They’re always empty, the buildings abandoned, sometimes falling apart. But always breathtakingly beautiful. She doesn’t know when or how he’s found these places, but when he shows them to her, she’s almost certain. Living here with him, with the princes who are her friends won’t be bad at all.

And perhaps she won’t get her epic love story. These days she’s not sure she needs one.

“What is this place?” she asks, stopping by the railing on the bridge, watching the cherry blossom petals rain down from the trees and blanket the water.

Surrounded by shades of blue skies and green leaves and pink and white flowers, the foliage rich and healthy and untamed, Soo is relaxed, unburdened, uncaring of the past behind her, and the future ahead. If there are places, sanctuaries like this, she can get through it. No matter what comes her way.

“It’s a Lake called Dongji,” Fourth Prince tells her, “It’s the first place where the sun rises at the palace.”

“How do you know this?”

“I’ve seen a lot of dawns.”

“What kind of a place is the palace?” she asks him, on one of their walks.

Three nights remain until their wedding. Soo is getting used to Oh Sang Goong’s lessons. All the same, she finds herself waiting for Fourth Prince to finish his own and come and find her. They take their walks, and he shows her something new, everyday.

“It’s a place that’s hard to enter and even harder to leave,” he tells her, his voice low, “You end up dying if you trust anyone. You’ll live if you remain alert and wary of those closest to you. It’s that kind of place.”

Soo smiles softly. “Well…then it seems like you don’t know everything, either.”

“Everyone here is alone. That is one thing I know for certain.”

She curls her hand around arm as they walk because—it just feels right. “I’m not alone, so I’m alright.”

“You’re not alone?” he asks with a puzzled frown.

“You’re here, Your Highness. So how am I alone?”

“You’ll be in trouble if you remain so reckless,” he chides.

“Everyone who lives here is a person, too,” she tells him, “So I can handle it.”

He is silent for a while, as he looks at her. She wonders if he understands just how much of an uphill battle this whole royalty thing feels like. She wonders if he would believe her if she said she had been raised in a working-class family and not a noble one. That she’s afraid she’ll make a misstep and fall flat on her face in one of her fancy new hanboks.

“I suppose you can,” he smiles softly, “I guess life around the palace won’t be boring anymore, now that you’re here.”

Her wedding dawns with the sun bleeding into the sky. There is no rain, no clouds to promise it, either. Clouds on her wedding day would be a blessing. Rain would be a miracle. But the skies remain clear and the noise of the preparations for the first true wedding since Ninth Prince married his first wife rises to a crescendo. The Damiwon buzzes with activity, the court ladies rushing to complete the final touches.

Soo soaks in the bathing pool until her fingers and toes resemble raisins, playing with the jasmine flower petals floating in the water. Oh Sang Goong supervises her preparation herself, instructing her subordinates to bring out the oils and the body soaps, watching over them as they massage her shoulders, her scalp. The knots in her muscles loosen and then loosen some more. She’s quite boneless and relaxed by the time they’re finished.  

She supposes this too, is a sign that she’s at least close to having assimilated herself into Goryeo’s high society. That she can let these strangers touch her and wash her, without feeling violated.

But she insists on doing her makeup herself, picking through the horsehair brushes and the rouge and powders, lining her eyes with kohl and spiking her lashes. She dilutes the rouge into the lovely pale pink she favours and dabs it lightly onto the apples of her cheeks.

“Well?” she asks Oh Sang Goong, once she’s finished, “What do you think?”

“You’re beautiful, Lady. His Highness, the Fourth Prince will be very pleased.”

Soo cheeks flame—in indignation. Of course. “Oh, this isn’t for him. It’s for me. I’m only getting married once—it’ll hurt my pride as a makeup artist if I don’t look perfect.”

“Of course, Lady,” Oh Sang Goong demurs, “It is as you say.”

She might as well have said I don’t believe you for how sincere it sounds.

They comb out her hair, teasing it and pinning it and braiding it and coiling it into one massive, intricate bun. Ornamental pins made of brilliant gold are threaded through her hair; extensions and real strands alike. It’s unbearably heavy, and she could cry for the rest of the day that looms ahead. Unni had worn her hair in a similar hairstyle every day. Soo cannot, will not do the same.

Expectations be damned.

The court ladies swathe her in layers of cobalt and crimson over layers of white silk underthings, the golden embroidery of the jeogori weighing her arms, her shoulders. The sleeves are long and flared, draping elegantly over her knuckles. They wrap her in the fabric, tying the pieces together, fitting the sash last over her midsection.

Soo isn’t ugly. She knows this—it hadn’t mattered that her cheating scumbag of an ex-boyfriend hadn’t thought her pretty enough. She knows her face is pleasant to look at. She knows she looks good in the clothes she wears. But in the blue and red and gold of her wedding finery, she is. Royal.

They carry her to the prayer tower in the ornamental palanquin, cousins she cannot recognize helping her out with gentle hands clutching at her elbows and shoulders. She does not trip. She doesn’t faint dead away from the weight of her jewellery. At the end of the procession, she sees Fourth Prince standing in stark contrast to his brothers in their brightly coloured robes, and with every step she takes, she grows more confident. In his elegant black and gold and red, mask obscuring a third of his face, he is familiar and trustworthy. He is someone she knows. Knows well, she might even dare to say.  

Marriage to a man who is her friend. It’s more than she could’ve asked for.

He smiles uncertainly when she draws closer, looking at her, then looking away. Then looking back at her once more.

Soo smiles back. She’d been right. She isn’t alone.

Let me in the walls
You've built around
We can light a match
And burn them down

Chapter Text

Her wedding procession is a funeral march. The spectators don’t smile, they do not sigh at how beautiful she is, the stray gazes cast her way are of something that isn’t envy. Eyes are averted as she passes them, the sound of her feet on the stone path to the shrine echoing clumsily through the courtyard.

“Won’t there be a festival?” she asks Fourth Prince in a sigh, clutching her hands so tightly, her nails bite stinging crescents into her palms. And though she whispers, her voice carries over the heads of the guests in their finery, a sea of brilliant purples and pinks and greens and blues.

“For Songak’s pariah, Wolf Dog’s wedding?” he mutters under his breath, “Unlikely.”

The sun beats mercilessly down upon Soo, blistering her skin. Sweat dampens the back of her neck, her layers upon layers of crushed silk underclothes cook her slowly. Every step she takes in the heavily embroidered skirts is a trial in and of itself. She doesn’t trip—Oh Sang Goong has taught her enough that she can manage this much. But the lady mistress of the Damiwon isn’t god; she cannot will away the intensity of the heat from the unfiltered sunlight. She cannot make this journey to the shrine any less unbearable.

And the thought of there not being a thing to look forward to at the end of the day drains the spring from her step.

“I see,” she swallows, “Nothing to be done about it, then.”

Her step falters, the toe of her shoe catching ever so slightly on the hem of her skirt. She feels her balance falter, her center of gravity struggling to keep her upright, and then—there is a hand on her elbow, holding her steady. When she regains her composure, the ceremony has come to a standstill, all eyes are glued to the infamous Lady Soo and her even more infamous husband-to-be.

Fourth Prince shrugs, and it’s—a trick of the light, the sun pricking her eyes, but she swears she sees him smile, though his lips don’t so much as twitch. I didn’t say anything, she hears him in her mind, clear as day. She purses her lips at him, then faces forward once more, her chin stubbornly, proudly jutting forward.

He lets go of her, and she almost immediately misses the comfort of it, the momentary reassurance his touch had brought her. And she finally gets it; why the brides of a thousand years from now made their journey down the aisle on the arm of a person they loved. It’s easy to face the future, when there is a safety net to catch you. Soo’s gaze drifts over the crowd of strangers assembled as her guests, and—she wonders if any one of them would catch her if she were to fall off this precipice.

(The answer: no.)

They make no vows to each other. Soo kneels before the altar and faces Fourth Prince in the west. The officiant instructs them to bow, his deep voice booming over the realm, pounding in her ear drums. She feels her face twist into the beginnings of a scowl, then stops herself, the conditioned fear of Oh Sang Goong’s thinly veiled punishment pulling her back to toeing that line between noble lady and perfect heathen.

Soo washes her hands in the holy water, half expecting her skin to burn. For at least the deities to recognize her for what she is; a phony, living the life of a girl she is not. A peasant masquerading as a blue blood. But her hands remain intact, there is no smoke, no blood, no screaming accusations of imposter, and she offers her hands to her attendant to dry. The faces of her cousins are a tearstained blur from the funeral, but Soo almost remembers her; her lady cousin, the first wife to the head of the Im clan. A man with two other wives and a half-dozen concubines, Soo faintly recalls Unni telling her, in the hours she had spent explaining and explaining again the branches of their clan and their relations with the powerful families of the neighbouring provinces.

Her cousin is beautiful, all porcelain skin and rosy cheeks. Well-suited to the finery afforded her station. She cannot imagine what her husband must be like; the epitome of slimy middle-aged man who takes full advantage of his power and keeps a dozen women. Their eyes meet when she holds the gourd as Soo pours warm rice wine into the jade cup, and—there is no envy to be seen on the lady at Soo’s fortune. No; the dejected look in the corners of her eyes, the sympathy in the way she slouches in a wince is—

Pity.

The cups are exchanged and Soo wets her lips with the wine Fourth Prince has poured for her. And her cousin pities her. Another step closer to her marriage being set in stone, and she’s an innocent in their eyes, being led to her death. She knows; Soo knows that her cousin, her family, any number of the guests gathered at the palace for this wedding have only rumours of Fourth Prince to judge. He is not what they imagine.

But the rest; the people inside the palace, the Queens and their King, the ministers, the lords with powerful last names—they know. They know what life in the palace must be, this place that is far too big to be a home. The place that shall be her home, now.

And though sweat soaks her undergarments, her toes are blocks of ice. She understands now, why they’d called it cold feet.

A band of crimson silk ties her to Fourth Prince, deceptively luxuriant for what it truly is; shackles. She and Fourth Prince shackled together in this prison that they haven’t asked for, don’t deserve. Now it’s just them. The two of them making their bows to Paeha, the Hae clan elders, the guests. Standing atop the hill and facing the steep climb of the rest of their lives.

I’m not alone, so I’m okay, she’d said to Fourth Prince.  

(He shall have to be person enough.)

The reception following the ceremony is no party. Food is abundant, drinks flow freely. Servants dressed in their best uniforms, with their hair pulled severely away from their faces, dance around the tables with platters upon platters of delicacies. But she can barely eat, with how the court ladies have tied her into her hanbok, the layers squeezing her innards so tightly, there is room only for delicate sampling. Intentional on their parts, Soo thinks, scowling. Oh Sang Goong must’ve guessed that the offerings of the wedding feast would’ve tempted her into enjoying herself, and solved it with the painful contraption that is her robes.

Musicians from the Gyobang play their tunes on their string instruments, the songs deep and wistful. Somewhere, she supposes, there is a troupe of gisaengs putting on a show. There are children too; cousins of hers and his, playing together in the area designated for them, watched over by their nannies. But she cannot see a thing from her place in the pavilion. She hears only the absence of laughter and snippets of barbed conversation, the free-flowing alcohol sharpening tongues instead of diffusing tensions.

“This is an insult,” a stranger—a cousin says, in the brash young voice of a privileged man, as he walks past the pavilion, “A lady of our Hae Soo’s breeding and upbringing married to Paeha’s disfigured, monster of a son? In exchange for my men going out and fighting his war? Is Uncle insane? At the very least, he could’ve arranged for the marriage to be with Fourteenth Prince! Queen Yoo is a far better ally than the Kang clan, who aren’t even Wolf Dog’s blood—”

He is shushed by his companions, but the damage is done. Soo’s ears burn, her eyes flit to Fourth Prince who looks ahead with steely eyes, the line of his jaw tensed. He swallows the remnants of his cup of wine, and stops the eunuch who rushes forward to refill his cup with a scowl. The blood drains from the poor man’s face, and he steps meekly back with his head bowed. Fourth Prince pours the alcohol until his cup is nearly overflowing, then gulps it down. He has barely set the it back onto the table before he’s pouring another.

“You’ll never find happiness,” she reminds him, forcing levity into her voice, “if you keep glaring at people like that.”

“I am a prince of Goryeo,” he says, his voice sharp, “I do as I wish.”

“Yes,” she nods, “You’re privileged, so you should be the one to forgive.”

“I am not phased by such pettiness,” he scoffs, “The sentiments of those people matter little, so long as they serve their purpose.”

But he is. She sees it in the way he doesn’t meet her gaze, in the tensed line of his jaw. And as the disquiet between them lingers, widening into a chasm with his silence and her loss for words, Soo becomes increasingly uneasy. This is not how she would have her marriage start. With the callous prejudice people hold against him pushing him from her. Her family is not her safety net. Eighth Prince had been. And now that she’s married, it might just be Fourth Prince that stands between her and the dead drop; some gaffe that leaves her disgraced.

So, she builds a bridge. Their minefield of questions an easy pattern to fall back into.

“Your family doesn’t come to wish you well. Why?”

His eyes narrow. “Neither does yours. Why?”

“I have no memories of any of these people. I…hurt my head, not long before you came to Songak. So I don’t know any of them—I don’t think I ever did. My only family had been my Unni, and she’s…” Soo swallows, “Gone. My uncle sees me as an asset, my cousins talk big games and call me theirs and pity my situation, but they don’t know me. They don’t know how I’ve lived. Their wishes for who I marry are their own—especially given that they’re driven by their own political agendas. I have no use for any of that. They are not my family.”

I have no family. She doesn’t say it, but the words hang between them, all the same.

Silence stretches between them once more. Soo takes the flagon of rice wine and pours herself a cup, knocking it back, not caring that it’s unladylike. It isn’t as if it matters anymore. Whatever anyone says—her marriage is a done deal. On the other side of the pavilion, her uncle is embroiled in deep discussion with Paeha. Likely counting his spoils.

“So, you wouldn’t rather marry Jung, then?” Fourth Prince asks, his voice small and cautious, “You call him your friend, do you not? You bear affection for him.”

“Marry Jungie-nim?” Soo laughs incredulously, “He’s a little brother to me—a child. And you’re my friend, too.”

“Well it’s too late now, anyway,” he says, glancing at her and then away again. “We won’t be allowed to divorce anytime soon. At least—not while Paeha needs the support of the Hae clan.”

When he picks up his cup, Soo refills her own then clinks the two together. “For better or for worse, it would seem,” she toasts, then drinks, the alcohol burning a warm trail to her stomach.

Fourth Prince sighs, then swallows his own drink. “So it would.”

A slow growing smile blossoms on Baek Ah-nim’s face when he comes to find them. Soo feels her ears grow hot, the certain implications in his eyes blatant. You two could be good for each other, he’d said to her when she’d gotten betrothed. Do you see what I mean? He asks her now, though not in words. She doesn’t; she doesn’t know what it is Baek Ah-nim sees in the two of them, that would make him so sure of this. Even now, when it’s become clear that this wedding is little more than an unhappy obligation on everyone but Paeha and her uncle’s parts.

“The day is an auspicious one,” Crown Prince tells them, pouring them drinks, “The stars have blessed you, little brother, and—Sister-in-law. May you both live long and happily together.”

They speak of fate; the officiant, Astronomer, Paeha and now Crown Prince. Of her star joining with Fourth Prince’s and rising above the palace. As if it had been fated to happen. But—and here’s her dilemma; this is Hae Soo’s life she lives. The people gathered here are Hae Soo’s family. The finery, the luxury afforded royalty is Soo’s birthright. She is Go Ha Jin; down on her luck makeup artist. So, is it the vessel, this corporeal body, that’s tied to her fate inscribed in the stars? In that case, she’s no more than a thief.

But this is the scarier thought: that everything in her life as Go Ha Jin had been pushing her to that day at Lake Cheonjuho. To dying and coming back to life as a Goryeo lady of noble birth. That she’d always been destined to meet the princes, to marry Fourth Prince is—a relief as much as it scares her. That no matter what she does, she can’t mess up the course her life is meant to take. But then; she is truly helpless to change. Whatever control she thinks she has is an illusion, she may as well be blind and deaf.

The guests; his brothers—a drunk and slurring Eunie-nim with a beset-upon Jungie-nim trying to keep him upright—swarm around her. Soo lets her worries go; there will be time to ponder, later. For now, she allows herself to relax in her place beside Fourth Prince. She accepts gifts of jewellery and hand painted bone china with gratitude in elegant speech. In these moments, she’s a beautiful bride on her wedding day, accepting well-wishes from her friends—her brothers, now. When she catches Fourth Prince’s wry, amused smiles as he looks at her, she can pretend she is cherished.

And maybe this isn’t how she’d imagined her wedding as a child. She wears no white dress, she has no parents to escort her down the aisle. Her husband is a friend instead of a lover. The future looms, grey and uncertain before her, as stray rocks tumble over the edge of the precipice. But—despite all of this, in this moment, she can’t say she’s unhappy.

(It’s a start.)

In the privacy of the dressing room inside the Damiwon, the court ladies strip Soo down to the last of her undergarments, undoing the heavy gold belt, the sash, lifting the weight of the silks from her shoulders. They peel off the layers of her wedding hanbok, damp and disgusting in patches, until she stands in only her petticoat, the fabric gauzy against her legs by comparison to the discarded layers, her shoulders bare. In the absence of her ornate robes, she is positively naked and deliciously free. The windows are latched, but the junior court ladies in their bright yellow polka dots fan her, and Soo sighs in contented gratitude.

Oh Sang Goong orders a bucket of water drawn fresh from the well, and Soo doesn’t understand why until the court ladies begin dabbing at her skin with cloths soaked in the blissfully cool water. They take their time, wiping at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, her arms, her back, their practiced hands lulling her into slumber.

The robes they put her in once they’ve finished are flimsy, made of an airy blend of fabric that isn’t unlike her undergarments. A light sort of silk that kisses her skin. The skirt slipped over her sokjeogori and petticoat is rich crimson and flirts with her ankles, the square pattern embroidered along the hem in fine gold thread sweeping the floor, but light enough that she can move the folds aside easily as she walks. There is little danger of her tripping and embarrassing herself, and she must bite back her groan at the unfairness of it all. It’s a thousand times lighter than her wedding hanbok and at least twice as pretty, and she only gets to wear it now that they’ve arrived at the end of the long day.  

A thick band of ornately embroidered mahogany silk is wrapped around her chest and tied snugly at her back. An embroidered red and white jeogori with wide sleeves that hang past her fingertips, embellished with bands of faint gold is draped over her shoulders, the fabric so light she looks twice to make sure it really is there. The ladies leave it loose and falling open as an untied robe, stepping back in unison once they’re finished.

When Soo finally peeks at the mirror, her face is set aflame. There’s nothing indecent about what she wears; it’s more modest than any of the outfits she’d worn a thousand years from now. But it’s the way the fabric falls, the lightness of it. The fact that she’s missing an entire layer of skirts, so that the pieces might be removed easily. It’s the most comfortable hanbok she’s worn since she’d arrived at the palace.

But there’s no doubt in her mind of the practical purposes of the design. And the thought of—that she has a husband now, that somewhere between now and old age, they’ll have to have children, throws her heart into tailspin, pounding a furious, nervous rhythm. It’s a topic she’s skirted around; the nature of their marriage, if they will be married in the truest sense of the word. Now she stands in the sexiest hanbok she has ever worn, prepared to meet Fourth Prince, her husband, on their wedding night, and—Soo is quite at a loss.

She’d said she could endure. But that’d been—she hadn’t had that part of her future staring her in the eye, demanding that she pay up.

A knock sounds at the door. When Oh Sang Goong nods to her, Soo clears her throat, takes a breath to calm her pounding heart and calls in a strangled voice. “Yes?”

“My lady, the Lord Hong Ha Jin would see you before you retire,” comes the light voice of a court lady.

Her stomach twists in anxiety. She has never shared a conversation with the man who is her uncle. He’d only informed her of her nuptials as a command, and left. She’d never had his ear. He’d given her no explanations, never mind affection or even regular familial kindness. So for him to wish to see her now, when it’s all over, when she’s done as he’s wished and is no longer a matter of concern seems—pointless at best.

“I would see him now,” she says, her tongue sliding smoothly over the elegant speech patterns Oh Sang Goong had drilled into her head over the past weeks. Her voice, the turn of words, the gold in her skirt and the red of her lips; together they make her what she is not. When Soo looks at the mirror once more, she can barely see Go Ha Jin.

Or; perhaps it’s just that Go Ha Jin would never have found herself in this predicament.

The ladies open the doors and she steps into the adjoining sitting room, where her uncle lounges on a settee, being served wine by a court lady outfitted in red.

“Niece,” he greets, “Take a seat.”

I’ll stand. The snippy retort sits at the tip of her tongue. Soo swallows it and sinks onto the settee opposite him. “Uncle. I trust you’ve enjoyed yourself at the reception.”

His eyes snap up, black and beady, examining her as a master might one of his horses. Bile rises up Soo’s throat, bitter and caustic.

“I have. It was a very important day for our family. Do you understand what all of this means?”

“Sure,” she drawls, “The union of the royal Wang clan and the Hae clan of Sabi.”

“Simple girl,” he laughs, the sound thick and suffocating in how condescending it is. “Of course you wouldn’t comprehend it. I do not care how much of the politics you understand. But know this, Niece; your wedding may be over, but the repayment of your debt starts tonight.”

She does not fancy herself a political player. Survival is hard enough as it is. She doesn’t have the strength of mind, the knowledge of this time to move pieces on a chessboard. But the way he speaks to her—Soo clenches her hands into fists, her nails biting into the skin of her palms. She isn’t some simpleton, and she certainly doesn’t deserve to be spoken to as if she is.

“Debt?” she asks, forcing her voice steady, “What debt do you speak of?”

“The debt of your years. Of the money that has gone into your clothes, your jewellery, your care, your education. The debt for keeping you after your parents passed.”

“That’s not…Unni cared for me, I lived with her, not in Sabi with the rest of the clan.”

“And who gave her the money to pay for all the nice things you had? It certainly wasn’t Eighth Prince and his disgraced maternal clan with their forever-dwindling coffers.”

There is ice in him. She’d realized it first, when he’d arrived for Unni’s funeral. He’d offered Eighth Prince the cordial condolences of an acquaintance far removed from the tragedy of Unni’s death. He’d given Soo nothing. The days they’d prayed for Unni’s soul, he’d spent cozying up with his in-laws. And then he’d left and when he’d come back, it’d been to set her world on its ear.

Soo exhales in a resigned sigh. “What would you have me do then? To repay this debt?”

Uncle sets down his cup. “It’s quite simple. I want a child—within the next two years. A royal child of Hae descent.”

There they are. The implications she hadn’t the foresight to consider, coming back to haunt her.

“I’m sure,” she dismisses nervously, biting the inside of her cheek, “that I will have children eventually. But these things aren’t in my hands. A child—I shall have one when it is time.”

“Do not give me that written in the stars nonsense, girl,” he narrows his eyes, “This alliance means nothing if you don’t secure your position as first wife to the prince. And the only way you do that is by mothering his heir.”

She doesn’t understand what his rush is. It isn’t as if the Hae clan needs an alliance with the royal family in order to maintain their power. She doesn’t know much about the politics of the hojeok, but this she’s discerned from the sheer amount of deference she’s experienced today; the Hae clan holds sway. A considerable amount of sway. So she cannot understand why her uncle is so insistent upon her securing their position further, by having a child with Fourth Prince. It’s what she’d agreed to it in theory, when she’d chosen not to run away, she knows this now, with the reality of her future breathing down her neck. But for Uncle to be in such a rush, to invoke a debt seems—out of place, no matter how she thinks about it.

“Your marriage will be consummated tonight,” he says, rising, “See to it that you keep your husband pleased. Otherwise—you do not want to cross me, Niece.”

Or maybe not. This era is still little more than a mystery to her. She doesn’t know enough about the politics Hae Soo had been born into to judge what is odd and what is not. She looks at the facts, instead: her uncle believes he owns her. And though she doesn’t have the full picture, she doesn’t know where Hae Soo falls into the clan hierarchy, this she knows to be true; his claim upon her is strong enough that he could sell her as a possession without anyone protesting on her behalf. If he commands her to sleep with Fourth Prince until there is a child growing inside of her—

What choice does she have?

The bed is curtained in gauzy red. And her husband stands tall and willowy by the open window. There is a breeze, but the air in the room is fraught with something. Soo finds herself quite unable to breathe.

She can do this. Soo curls her hands into fists at her sides, takes a deep breath to calm herself. It doesn’t help much. Anxiety makes her knees quake. She doesn’t know what she’s to do. Even scarier: she doesn’t know what Fourth Prince thinks of it all. And she’s the fool; for not bringing it up on any one of the walks they’d taken in the last two weeks. For not expecting that marriage would have consequences, that the expectations of this era, of consummation sealing the union of their families, of childbearing and rearing would apply to her.

You have a debt to repay. She hears in her uncle’s voice. There’s an irony to it; her life turned upside down for debts that aren’t hers. First Min Seok Oppa, now Hae Soo, gently reared Hae Soo slathered in luxuries that Go Ha Jin had enjoyed for a mere breath. And now she’ll have to pay up. Close her eyes and pretend that it’s the lips of a man she loves, kissing her bare skin. She’ll spend her nights in her husband’s bed until she has a child and she’ll somehow—

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Fourth Prince’s low whisper of a voice breaks her thoughts, “You take the bed.”

She falters, freezing with one foot in the air, unsure of where she might put her next step. “What?”

“It’ll be uncomfortable, I suppose. But the door will be guarded and I can’t leave out the window without being seen. So, I’ll have to stay here for the night,” he crosses his arms, and when he turns around, there’s a teasing glint in his eyes, “Know that it’s your honour—that you get to share a room with a prince, even if it is for a night.”

“The bed is…” The bed has a purpose, he’s not meant to sleep on the floor. He’s meant to sleep there, behind the curtains. After.

“I can’t sleep well on beds, I haven’t been able to get used to them since—” he shakes his head, “The point is, I sleep better on the floor. So, you take the bed.”

“I don’t understand,” she fidgets with her hair, pulling a strand out of it’s pins and wrapping it around her finger, “You and I won’t be sharing…? We’re married.”

He looks away. “I know that. But it’s—we’ve come this far because of Paeha’s decree. The rest…I would not live only as they will me to. You know this.”

“But then…” Soo bites her lips, “How would you live?”

Fourth Prince shrugs. “As I was, I suppose. As I am.”

Without a wife to think of. He’d said to her a week ago, that this marriage isn’t something he could run from. It’d mattered little who Paeha had chosen. The outcome remains the same: she’s an unfortunate consequence of his debt to his brother. A friend, but a consequence nonetheless. And that is where they end. Her uncle’s demands are not his concern, he won’t share her bed, and Soo—

Soo is freed and shackled all at once.  

“And I? How will I live, now that I’ve left my home?” How would she appease Uncle?

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “As you wish. As you will it. You’ll have to adjust to life inside the palace, but my residence will be yours to do with as you please. The rest—I’m sure you’ll find ways to occupy yourself.”

“I am resourceful,” she murmurs, nodding, repeating the words over and over and over in her head as a mantra.

She’s resourceful. She can endure.

Ha Jin had died and landed in this strange purgatory, wearing Hae Soo’s skin and her name, and she’s done fine. She’s rubbed elbows with the royal family, she’s bowed to the king and her head still sits prettily atop her shoulders. Her uncle—she’ll find a way. It’s what she does. The silken finery of her clothes, the jewelled pins in her hair doesn’t erase Ha Jin’s past. Doesn’t do away with the years she’d spent, struggling through dead-end jobs. Ha Jin’s memories don’t erase Hae Soo’s reality. Of the fact that she is a pawn in a patriarchal family, and will remain so until she finds a way to break Uncle’s hold on her. Soo pulls her hair out of its elaborate coils, combing her fingers through the cowlicks and kinked locks.

She is neither of them. She is both of them.

And this is how she’ll survive.

(“Good night. Sleep well.”

His voice is faint and muffled and barely there. In the ear-splitting silence of the night, she hears him anyway.

You too. Sleep well.)