A sharp impact exploded in his abdomen.
Jade's palm, bare and controlled, drove into Moonsen's stomach with calculated force—not enough to break bones, but more than enough to break balance.
"Ghh—!"
The strength drained from Moonsen's arms like water from a cracked jar. His grip slackened, and the sword slipped from his fingers, clattering softly at Jade's feet.
The silence that followed was deeper than before.
Without a flicker of triumph or disdain, Jade bent down and retrieved the fallen blade, the gesture almost casual, as if he were simply picking up a stray branch from a garden path.
He held the sword out.
"Take it," he said evenly.
Moonsen, one arm wrapped protectively around his stomach, reached out with the other and accepted the blade, the weight of it heavier now—perhaps because of the ache in his pride rather than his body.
"This is…" Moonsen forced a breathless laugh, "…quite embarrassing, Minister."
Jade's expression didn't change.
"That was an unnecessary challenge."
But instead of retreating into shame, Moonsen straightened, lifting his chin despite the lingering pain. A smile—genuine this time, tinged with defiance—pulled at the corner of his mouth.
"It wasn't unnecessary," he said. His gaze was steady, unwavering. "After all… you and I will continue to clash—over Her Majesty."
At those audacious words, something shifted. Jade's composure faltered, only slightly, but enough—a flicker of surprise breaking the smooth surface of his eyes.
The wind stirred between them again, colder now, sharper, as if the very night recognized the weight of the words just spoken.
But Moonsen wasn't finished.
"I know," he said softly, deliberately, "how you feel about Her Majesty."
Straightening his posture despite the dull throb in his abdomen, Moonsen lifted his chin and met Jade's gaze head-on. There was no longer any pretense in his expression—no smile to mask his nerves, no awkward gestures to hide uncertainty. Only the fierce, unshakable glimmer of defiance remained in his eyes.
"But I cannot," he said steadily, "simply give up my own feelings for her."
For a long moment, Jade didn't move. Then—just barely—the corner of his mouth curved upward, the faintest suggestion of a smile. But it wasn't one of amusement or mockery. It was sharp. Ironic. Dangerous.
"That," Jade murmured, voice like the cold edge of a blade unsheathed, "makes two of us."
Moonsen's lips parted in a grin, this one different from the self-conscious one he'd worn earlier. It was the smile of a man who had just stepped willingly into the mouth of a storm—and accepted the danger with open eyes.
"Finally," Moonsen breathed, nodding slowly, "you've said it plainly."
The silent acknowledgment between them was heavier than any blade.
"From now on," Moonsen went on, his voice gaining strength, "I want to face you fairly and openly."
Jade studied the younger man's steady gaze, searching it—not for weakness, but for conviction. And he found it there, steady as iron, burning quietly beneath the fatigue and the pain. A defiant flame.
The air between them seemed to thin, drawn tight by something unspoken, something inevitable.
After a beat of silence, Jade's voice cut through the stillness. "Can you handle it?"
"Yes," Moonsen answered without hesitation. "Today ended in complete defeat, I won't deny that. But…" He smiled again, almost gently, "…who knows what the future holds?"
For the first time, something flickered across Jade's eyes—not surprise, not doubt, but perhaps a quiet acknowledgement of the man standing before him.
"I have no intention of fighting you," Jade said, calm as ever.
"Could it be…" Moonsen tilted his head slightly, his tone sharper now, almost goading, "that you're afraid?"
The words hung like a blade poised inches from the throat.
A flash of something cold and dangerous flickered in Jade's gaze.
"Or perhaps," Moonsen continued softly, "it's because you're not entirely certain… of Her Majesty's heart."
The insinuation struck clean, precise.
For a moment, only the winter wind answered, sweeping across the vast training ground, rustling the folds of their garments, cold and merciless.
Then, quietly, Jade laughed. It was not the laugh of amusement or warmth—but of a swordsman recognizing the sharpness of a rival's blade.
Finally, his voice broke through, quiet but resolute. "I won't go easy on you just because you're young."
Moonsen gripped his sword tightly, lifting his chin with matching defiance. "And I won't go easy on you just because you're the Commander-in-Chief of this nation's army."
The cold wind howled between them, swirling like a herald of the coming storm.
After leaving the royal office, Queen Genie tilted her head back to gaze at the pitch-black sky above. Countless stars shimmered like scattered jewels across the heavens, their cold brilliance contrasting with the quiet warmth beginning to spread through her chest.
Chief Han stepped closer, his voice low and considerate. "Your Majesty," he murmured, "thinking that you might have some leisure time tonight, I took the liberty of preparing a bath for you in advance. Would you care to go?"
At the mention of a bath, Queen Genie's expression instantly brightened, her lips curling into a soft, radiant smile.
"A bath? How wonderful," she replied with genuine delight. "I was just thinking how lovely it would be to soak in warm water. Thank you, Han Bigam."
Not long after, a quiet procession of attendants and royal guards assembled near the entrance of the private bathhouse adjoining the queen's chambers. Genie dismissed them with a graceful wave of her hand, choosing to enter alone.
Clad in a thin silk robe, she stepped into the bathhouse, where the ceiling had been left open to the endless sky. The cool night air drifted lazily through the open space, mingling with the faint scent of cedarwood rising from the tub.
Testing the water with the tip of her foot, she felt the gentle heat ripple outward in soft circles. Slowly, she slid the rest of her body into the large wooden tub, her silk robe billowing around her before sinking against her skin. The warmth enveloped her fully, soothing away the lingering chill of the evening.
Leaning her head back against the rim of the tub, Queen Genie gazed once more at the sea of stars overhead, their brilliance mirrored faintly in the surface of the water. For a rare, precious moment, the burdens of the crown slipped away.
Closing her eyes, she let the cool night breeze brush her cheeks while the heat of the bath embraced the rest of her. The sensation was exquisite—a perfect harmony of warmth and chill, heaviness and light.
A faint smile touched her lips as the image of a certain someone quietly rose in her thoughts. How curious, she mused, that merely thinking of him could fill her heart with such a simple, quiet happiness.
'Have I ever felt this way about anyone else in my life?'
The question drifted through her mind, soft but persistent. After a moment of quiet contemplation, she gave a slight shake of her head.
No matter how far back she searched through the memories of her heart, no face, no name surfaced—none but his. Only Jade had ever stirred her like this, filling her chest with both ache and warmth all at once.
And then, like a floodgate opening, the memory of their very first meeting over eleven years ago surged back to her.
That day, during martial arts lessons with Do-han, he had appeared before her for the first time—newly appointed as one of the royal guards.
Tall and upright, his broad shoulders framed by the crisp lines of his uniform, those deep, melancholic eyes carrying stories untold, a finely sculpted nose, and lips curved with such symmetry it almost felt unreal. Even then, at just twenty-three, he was beautiful—striking in the quietest, most dignified way.
'Back then… I could never have imagined this.That he would become such a presence in my life…'
She recalled the days that followed: how, not long after their meeting, she had left for Arabia.
How foolish she had been to misunderstand, thinking he was promised to another, her heart heavy with a bitterness she didn't yet know was jealousy. How she had deliberately left him behind, refusing to take him as her guard—not because she disliked him, but because she felt too much.
And then… their reunion, eleven years later, beneath the foreign skies of Arabia.
From that moment on, everything had changed. Their journey together from the deserts of Arabia back to the Kingdom of Hana unfolded before her eyes like a series of painted lantern slides—danger, hardship, narrow escapes—but in the end, it was not the perils that lingered most, but the quiet joys. The glances exchanged beneath starlit tents, the small, wordless moments of understanding, the warmth of silent companionship.
As the night breeze cooled her damp cheeks, Genie slowly closed her eyes once more, breathing deeply.
"Lord… thank You for protecting me," she whispered into the stillness. "Through ambushes, betrayal, and countless dangers… You have carried me here."
A faint tremor of emotion wove into her words.
"I don't know what lies ahead. But I trust you. I trust that, in Your steadfast love, You will guide my steps, just as You always have. And for the one who has entered my heart…" Her voice softened, barely audible now, as if confessing a secret. "I pray, with all that I am, that he and I might continue to walk this path together, according to Your will."
When she opened her eyes again, the stars seemed closer somehow, each one gleaming like a whispered promise in the sky above. Gratitude filled her chest—not only for the beautiful heavens overhead, but for the unseen hand that had written such things into her life.
Perhaps it was the bath, or perhaps it was the prayer itself, but the heaviness she'd carried began to lift, warmth returning to her cheeks, a quiet vigor stirring in her limbs.
And then—like lightning cutting across a calm sky—a brilliant idea flashed in her mind. Genie's eyes widened, and with an almost childlike glee, she clapped her hands together.
"Aha!"