The Goryeo court adored beauty.
Painted silk screens. Gold-threaded scrolls. Daughters who whispered softly and bowed lower than necessary.
But they had no place for thorns.
That's why they never liked me.
"Too bold," they whispered.
"Unladylike. Lacking the softness a proper bride should have."
And yet, here I stood.
Betrothed to the Crown Prince himself.
To him.
Hong Ahn — the Crimson Gaze.
The Red Eye that should have remained sealed beneath Mount Seonghwa, buried with the monks sworn to guard it.
But ambition fears no curse. Not when a queen demands an heir. Not when a kingdom needs a prince.
So they stole the Red Eye.
Gave it a body.
Gave it a name.
And now, they call him Hong Ahn.
But no one dares to meet his gaze.
No one. Except me.
Because someone has to.
In a court that worships masks and bows to fear, silence becomes the easiest answer.
But I was never fond of silence. Not when it tastes like cowardice.
And so, when the others look away, I do the opposite.
That evening, with the storm's breath still lingering in the air, I found him where he always went to be alone.
The garden lay in a heavy hush, as if the very palace itself was holding its breath.
Thick clouds pressed low, smothering the sky, while plum blossoms drifted lazily across the pond's surface — their soft pink mocking the tension that clung to every stone and leaf.
He sat beneath the wooden pavilion, unmoving.
Watching.
Always watching.
I approached without ceremony. No delicate footsteps. No rustling silk.
Just me, dragging behind the weight of what the court expected me to be.
He spoke first.
A rare thing.
"Do people really… find peace in things like this?"
His voice was quiet, the words slow, as if foreign to his tongue.
As if unsure they deserved to be spoken.
He didn't turn.
Typical.
But I was never one for silence.
"Some people find peace in slapping you across the face," I said, plain and sharp.
No sweetness. No empty flattery.
His shoulders tensed — barely. But I saw it.
A crack in the porcelain.
That was enough.
"And others," I continued, as if we were discussing the weather, "find peace watching someone like you sit here, pretending that staring into water will somehow make you human."
Still, he remained silent. Predictable. Beautifully so.
I sighed, stepping closer, my shadow brushing against his reflection in the water.
Leaning forward, elbows on my knees, I tilted my head just enough to intrude into his perfect, distant image.
"You know, Hong Ahn, you're like the tea they brew in the courtyards. Bitter. Strong. But left alone too long, you only get worse. People mistake bitterness for strength. But strength without warmth?"
My lips curved into a smile — sharp, deliberate.
"That's poison cooling in a cup."
No response.
It would be insulting if it weren't so... him.
"It's a metaphor, in case you missed it. Means you're unbearable when you're alone. But maybe you wouldn't be, if you weren't so gods-damned stubborn."
Nothing.
But I knew he heard me.
"So go ahead," I said, settling back, folding my hands in my lap like the perfect noble daughter I was never meant to be, "sit here and play at being a cursed mirror. I won't beg for your attention. You'll look when you're ready.
Maybe even your Red Eye will tire of its own reflection."
Still stone.
Still silent.
But he heard me.
I know he did.
Because thorns, unlike blossoms, are not easily ignored.