Every time the palanquin swayed on its way down the mountain, Cheongya pressed her toes against the floor.
She was sitting on twelve layers of silk, and still her backside ached. When she'd first climbed in back at the mountain estate, she'd touched everything out of curiosity—but half a day later, that curiosity had completely dried up.
*Bored to death.*
Cheongya dragged her fingernail along the inner wall of the palanquin. She wanted to look outside, but she'd already been told three times not to lift the curtain. She had no interest in hearing it a fourth time, so she endured.
Her lady's maid's voice came from outside.
"My lady, once we crest the pass, you'll be able to see Cheonghwa."
Cheongya's eyes lit up.
There was no longer any reason to hold back. Without hesitation, she swept the curtain aside. Her lady's maid called out—"My lady!"—in a rush, but it was already too late.
The wind came first. A wind unlike anything she'd smelled in the mountains—earth and people and the scent of cooking rice all tangled together. Cheongya's eyes went wide.
Cheonghwa spread out below the pass.
The rooftops of the market district overlapped like scales, and between them people moved like tiny ants. Smoke rose in one place, cloth hung drying in another, children ran through a third. Cheongya held her breath. It was nothing like what she'd read in books. Books had no smell. No wind. Nothing moved in such dizzying, simultaneous abundance.
"…It's so big."
She murmured it to herself. Her lady's maid reached to pull the curtain back down, then caught a glimpse of her face and stopped.
Twenty-four years in the mountains. Autumn leaves fell and winter came; snow melted and spring followed. She had thought that was the whole of the world. Sometimes she'd coaxed a servant into fetching books from the market stalls, and between the lines she'd caught the scent of a world she didn't know. Each time, she'd looked out at the mountains beyond the window and wondered.
*What's on the other side?*
Now she was looking at it.
"Can we stop at the market?"
"My lady, we cannot."
"Fine."
Cheongya let the curtain fall without argument. But she couldn't hide the way the corner of her mouth lifted. She'd be living inside those walls soon enough. No need to rush.
The palanquin swayed again. Cheongya looked down at her hands resting on her knees. White hands. Hands that had never once touched soil.
*The wedding ceremony.*
She turned the words over in her mind. No particular feeling came. She didn't know the king's face or his voice. She only knew that she had been born a sacred woman, that the king needed her power, and that was why she was going.
The night before she left the mountain estate, the elders had given her their final instructions.
"This time, the Cheon-a was born male. The Selection will not be held. So go to His Majesty and take your place at his side without worry."
"Yes."
"…The position of queen consort is a heavy one. Do not conduct yourself lightly."
Cheongya had nodded. The only words she'd truly heard were the first ones. A Cheon-a born male. Someone who had come into the world on the same day, under the same moonlight as herself. What did he look like? What did his voice sound like? He was somewhere inside the palace, they'd said. Would she be able to meet him?
The palanquin stopped.
"We've arrived, my lady."
Cheongya drew one steady breath and stepped outside.
The gates of Cheonghwa Palace stood before her. A scale she could never have imagined from the mountains. The tips of the guards' spears on either side of the gate caught the sunlight and flashed, and beyond them the covered walkway stretched on without end.
*So this is where I'll live.*
Cheongya tilted her head back and looked up at the sky. It was the same sky she'd seen from the mountains. That alone felt familiar.
Her lady's maid came close and smoothed her robes. Cheongya watched those hands for a moment, then asked quietly.
"Am I shaking?"
"…No, my lady."
"Good."
Cheongya looked ahead. Officials had come out from inside the gate and were bowing. Beyond them, a path stretched forward. A path she had never walked before.
The wedding ceremony was held in Wolha Hall.
It was the oldest hall in Cheonghwa Palace—the first building raised on the day Geumdong and Cheonno founded the kingdom. Every pillar was carved with patterns shaped like the moon, and on the ceiling hung a moon painted in deep blue pigment. For hundreds of years, countless kings had taken their vows beneath that ceiling.
The hall was thick with incense. Danflower incense. Its sweet scent drifted slowly through the heavy air.
Civil and military officials stood in rows on either side. Between them, red silk had been laid down the center, and at the far end of the silk, two people stood facing each other.
Cheonghyeon wore his royal robes. His dark blue hair fell neatly beneath his crown, and his blue eyes were fixed straight ahead. His expression was blank—a face that gave nothing away. Only Hyowon, standing beside him, noticed the faint tension at the line of his jaw.
Hyowon stood at his post. His gold eyes swept the hall in one practiced pass—the officials' faces, the positions of the shamans, the exits. Habit. But today his gaze wasn't moving on habit alone. It paused for a moment on Cheonghyeon's hands. Beneath the sleeves of the royal robes, his fists were clenched.
Hyowon looked away.
Across the hall, Cheongya was walking toward them.
She was dressed beautifully, but her pace was slightly too fast. It wasn't the measured step the rites required. Her lady's maid was subtly tugging at her sleeve to slow her down, but Cheongya didn't seem particularly concerned about it.
The beads on the pin in Cheongya's blue hair swayed as she moved. Her eyes—blue and red—swept the hall: the carvings on the pillars, the moon on the ceiling, the rows of officials on either side. Things she had never seen before. Her eyes were bright.
Those eyes met the eyes of the person standing at the far end.
The king.
Cheongya didn't break her stride. She only thought, quietly:
*He looks cold.*
Cheonghyeon was watching her approach. He didn't let himself think. If he thought, other things would follow.
The two of them came to stand side by side on the red silk.
The officiant stepped forward. An old voice rang through the hall.
"Before heaven and earth, in accordance with the will of Geumdong and Cheonno——"
The ceremony began.
Cheonghyeon bowed. Cheongya bowed. In the prescribed order, they raised their cups, recited their vows, and bowed again. Everything was determined in advance. Where to breathe, where to lower their eyes, where to look at each other.
As she spoke her vows, Cheongya looked at the eyes of the person across from her. Blue eyes. Deep and cold, holding nothing.
No—eyes that were working hard to hold nothing.
Cheongya noticed. She noticed, and she let it go. She had no particular feelings about this either.
When the final bow was done, the officiant declared:
"The wedding ceremony is complete."
There was no applause in the hall. The officials bowed their heads, the lady's maids began to move, and the incense still drifted through the air.
Cheonghyeon turned first. Cheongya turned after him. The two of them walked out of Wolha Hall side by side—but between their shoulders was a gap just wide enough for a fist.
Hyowon followed behind.
Outside Wolha Hall, the wind picked up. Danflower incense came riding on it from somewhere—sweet and light, gone almost as soon as it arrived.
Cheongya breathed it in and turned her head to look deeper into the palace grounds. Buildings continued beyond the covered walkway, and beyond those, there would be something more.
There were still so many places she hadn't been.
At that same hour, another palace tucked into a far corner of the grounds was perfectly still.
Hair the pale blue of a winter sky—nearly white—stirred faintly in the breeze. On his lap lay a half-folded sheet of paper, and beside it sat a few finished paper cranes and paper butterflies, arranged neatly in a row. A half-finished paper curtain hung from one of the pavilion's pillars, fluttering in the wind.
Ihwa stopped folding and looked up at the sky.
Clear. Not a single cloud.
The music announcing the wedding ceremony drifted in from somewhere far away.
Ihwa lowered his head and went back to folding. The wings of a butterfly took shape. He pressed the edges carefully to set the form.
He released the finished butterfly toward the lake. It caught the wind for a moment, lifted—then settled on the surface of the water, and slowly sank.
Ihwa watched it for a long time.
Then he reached for a new sheet of paper.