The sun was going down.
Long after Cheongya's footsteps had faded, Ihwa sat in the pavilion without moving. He lifted the paper crane she had folded. One wing was crooked. The neck tilted to one side. And yet — it wasn't bad.
A breeze came through and nudged the paper curtain. The crane and the butterflies knocked together with a soft, whispering rustle. Ihwa watched them, then looked back down at the crane in his lap.
She's a good person.
That was what he thought. Clear and unafraid. She would be a good friend to Cheonghyeon and Hyowon, no question. Unlike him.
His fingers traced the crane's crooked wing. Not to straighten it. He just wanted to touch it.
"……A good person."
The words drifted into empty air, reaching no one. The sun was sinking beyond the pond.
At that same hour.
Wolha Hall's study was dim, lit by only two candles.
Cheonghyeon had set his brush down on the documents and hadn't moved. Hyowon stood with his back against the wall, arms crossed. The silence between them stretched long.
Hyowon spoke first.
"I don't like it."
"The queen consort going in and out of Suyeong Palace. Ihwa telling her to come back. All of it."
Cheonghyeon didn't answer. Hyowon knew the silence was agreement.
"Ihwa can't turn people away when they show up. You know that. He's not the kind of person who can say 'don't come.'"
"I know."
"Then why did you let it happen."
Cheonghyeon's hand rested still over the brush. After a long moment, he spoke.
"Because Ihwa was smiling."
Hyowon's mouth closed.
"……It's been a while. Not the smile he shows us. In front of someone he'd just met — nervous, but happy. I haven't seen that in a long time."
Hyowon turned away. The moon hung outside the window. He said nothing. After a long pause, he spoke.
"I suppose. We were the only ones, before. He refused to let servants in, even. That's exactly why I don't understand it."
Cheonghyeon looked at him. Pressing his lips shut, turning away from something he already knew — like a child refusing to admit the obvious.
"You know why he had to bring the sacred woman into this."
"……I still don't like it."
"Neither do I."
Neither of them smiled. The candles flickered. Hyowon pushed off from the wall.
"But Ihwa's smiling…what are we supposed to do about that."
Cheonghyeon didn't answer. Not answering was the answer.
Three days passed.
Cheongya came to Suyeong Palace every day. By the second afternoon she walked straight through the front gate without a glance at the court ladies watching her. Ihwa was always in the pavilion — folding paper, sketching, or sometimes lying in the flower beds with his eyes on the sky.
On the third afternoon, Cheongya pushed open the front gate and stepped inside.
The pavilion was visible. But something was different.
Ihwa wasn't there. Not in the pavilion. Not in the flower beds. Not by the pond. She was about to turn back when a faint sound reached her through the paper-paneled door.
So faint she almost missed it.
"…Ihwa?"
Ihwa's hand hung limp at his side.
Cheongya's heart stopped.
"Ihwa!"
She went into the room and grabbed his shoulder. He was burning. Hot enough to scald her palm.
"Ihwa, Ihwa—"
His eyes opened halfway. Unfocused. His lips moved but made no sound. After a long moment, a thin thread of voice slipped out.
"……Cheongya……?"
"Your fever is too high. Can you move? I'll get a physician."
Ihwa shook his head.
"……I'm fine. This happens."
His voice was so thin that a cold wave of dread moved through her.
"That's not fine! I'm going to get a physician."
"I mean it. I just need to rest."
Cheongya looked at his face. Cheeks flushed with fever. Dry lips. And still — he was trying to smile. As if to say he was all right. As if to say don't worry.
"…Cheongya…those two…Hyowon and Cheonghyeon…please don't tell them."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Why?"
"When I'm sick, they — they can't handle it. Hyowon takes it out on something, and Cheonghyeon swallows it down. I hate being the reason for that."
Ihwa's voice grew thinner. Whether from the fever or something else — the corners of his eyes were red.
"……When I hurt, they hurt more. That's the worst part."
Cheongya looked down at him for a long moment. This person — sick as he was — was worried about hurting the people around him. Unable to say he was in pain, trying to protect everyone by hiding it.
It made her chest ache.
But when she looked into his eyes, she couldn't refuse. What she saw there wasn't a request. It was a plea. Please. Just this one thing.
"……All right."
She wrung out a cloth and laid it across his forehead.
"But don't hide it from me."
Ihwa blinked.
"If you're hurting, say so. Suffering in silence when you don't have to — that's its own kind of cruelty."
Ihwa looked at her for a long time. Then, very slightly, he nodded.
"……Okay."
Cheongya sat down beside him. She changed the cloth on his forehead, brought him water, and hummed a song her nursemaid had sung when she came up from the town below the mountain, back when Cheongya was small. She couldn't remember the words. Only the melody remained — slow and low, like the sound of wind through the hills.
Ihwa's hand shifted, barely. In his sleep — he caught the hem of her skirt. Lightly, the way someone clings to something they're afraid to lose.
Cheongya looked at that hand. Thin and pale.
She didn't pull away.
The sun was going down.
Cheonghyeon arrived at Suyeong Palace just as the last light was fading. Ihwa wasn't in the pavilion.
A familiar dread surged through him and drove his heart straight to the floor.
He moved toward the tiled building. Light leaked through the gap of a half-open door.
Cheongya was sitting beside Ihwa, who lay on the floor.
She turned her head. Her eyes met Cheonghyeon's.
"……How long."
"…He was already like this when I came this afternoon."
The color drained from Cheonghyeon's face. His hands trembled. He gripped the doorframe. If he didn't, his knees would give out.
He looked at Ihwa's face. Breathing steadily. Asleep. Alive.
But someday — Cheonghyeon knew — that breath would stop.
The sky had barely shifted from black to deep blue when Cheonghyeon returned to Wolha Hall.
He had kept watch through the night. He changed the wet cloth on Ihwa's forehead, listened to the faint rhythm of his breathing. The fever only began to break as dawn drew close. Only after he was sure Ihwa's breathing had steadied did he finally rise.
Cheongya had fallen asleep at Ihwa's side, still holding his hand. Cheonghyeon stood there a moment, watching, then quietly pulled the door shut.
He didn't light the lamp in the study. He sat down at the desk in the dark. A stack of unread documents waited. He reached out and picked up the brush.
His hand was shaking.
The brush touched the paper but formed no character. The ink spread and left a single black blot. He stared at it for a long time.
Ihwa's face came back to him. Flushed cheeks. Closed eyes. That fragile breath.
And the knowledge that someday — that breath would stop.
He covered his face with both hands. He was the king. King of this country. And there was not one thing he could do on his own.
He couldn't break the wards. He couldn't take Ihwa out of Suyeong Palace. He couldn't stop the blue moon from rising. He held power over a thousand miles of land, and he could not save the person close enough to touch.
Something rose in his throat. He swallowed it. It rose again. He swallowed again. Over and over.
Ihwa would smile and say he was fine. Tomorrow. The day after. Every time.
That was what frightened him most.
That Ihwa would smile through every moment that was not fine at all.
The door opened.
Hyowon came in, a sheaf of documents in one hand. It was still early, but Hyowon always moved before Cheonghyeon did.
He stopped when he saw the figure sitting alone in the dark. His eyes sharpened. He set the documents quietly on the desk.
"……Cheonghyeon."
No answer.
Hyowon stepped in front of him and dropped to one knee, bringing himself level.
"What happened."
Cheonghyeon lowered his hands. Hyowon looked at his face. He hadn't been crying. It was the face of someone who couldn't let himself cry.
"Ihwa collapsed."
Hyowon's hand went still. His gold eyes wavered for just a moment.
"……When."
"This afternoon. Cheongya found him."
Hyowon said nothing. He held Cheonghyeon's gaze. He bit down on the inside of his cheek. His jaw went rigid.
"……Is he—"
"The fever broke. He's still asleep."
Hyowon exhaled. Long and slow. What lived inside that breath — only Hyowon knew.
Silence settled. Cheonghyeon spoke first.
"I can't…"
His voice cracked.
"I can't do anything. I can't break the wards, I can't stop the moon from rising…there's nothing I can do. Not one thing."
Hyowon's hand came up. He gripped Cheonghyeon's shoulder. Hard.
"Don't fall apart."
Low and steady.
"If you fall apart, Ihwa hides more. You know how he is. He'll bury it so deep we won't even have time to regret it."
Cheonghyeon looked at him. Hyowon's gold eyes didn't waver. Whatever had trembled in them when he asked *when* — it was already gone, swallowed down.
"You can't break. If we break, Ihwa won't be able to hold on."
"So hold."
Hyowon's hand stayed on Cheonghyeon's shoulder. Firm. Unshaking.
But his other hand, resting in his own lap — was clenched into a fist. White-knuckled. Hard enough that he didn't notice his nails cutting into his palm.
He was afraid. Of losing Ihwa. Of watching this person shatter.
So he didn't let go.
Dawn was coming. Beyond the window of Wolha Hall, the sky was beginning to lighten, faint and pale. The night was ending. Morning was arriving. Today, too, the sun would rise.
As long as Ihwa was breathing, the sun would rise.