Chapter 28 – The Prince of Lanterns
The morning after the performance, the palace seemed almost pleased with itself.
The princess’s marriage alliance had been secured.
The Tang envoys smiled.
The ministers congratulated one another.
The musicians were still discussing the resonant dance performed by the twelve women the night before.
For the first time in weeks, no one was shouting.
Which made Seolhyun nervous.
In her experience, silence was often far more dangerous.
The invitation arrived shortly after breakfast.
Not from the king.
Not from the Crown Prince.
The younger prince again.
The women were still praising Seolhyun for helping them alter their performance and guiding them through their first appearance before such an audience. They had performed countless times beside Cradle Lake, but never before ministers, nobles, foreign envoys, and an entire royal court.
Hanul read the invitation once.
Then again.
Then a third time.
Finally he sighed dramatically.
“He wishes to walk in the gardens.”
Mirae groaned.
Nari’s empty place at the table seemed to echo louder than ever.
One of the younger women exchanged a look with another and whispered,
“Oh no.”
The second woman nodded solemnly.
“The chessboard moves.”
Across the room, Taejin looked delighted.
Jaeho immediately looked suspicious.
“This is excellent.”
“It’s not excellent.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you.”
Taejin grinned.
“And I get to watch you suffer.”
The prince had become a regular visitor.
Not often enough to cause concern.
Just often enough to become annoying.
Which somehow made him dangerous.
He never pushed too hard.
Never demanded.
Never threatened.
He simply appeared, smiled, asked questions, and somehow learned things.
The palace servants adored him.
The ministers tolerated him.
The king was frequently exasperated by him.
And the taverns of the capital knew him entirely too well.
“He is a gambler,” Bokjin whispered one evening.
“He owes money,” Hanul added.
“He wins it back.”
“He loses it again.”
“He flirts.”
“He drinks.”
“He sings.”
“He gets into trouble.”
“He once disappeared for three days.”
The women listened with fascination.
The rumours grew stranger from there.
Some claimed he spent more time in entertainment houses than official residences.
Others claimed he could recite poetry in four languages.
Some insisted he had nearly been exiled twice.
Others claimed the king had once threatened to send him to the southern island simply for peace and quiet.
“Why is he still here?” Mirae finally asked.
Hanul considered the question carefully.
“Because everyone secretly likes him.”
The answer annoyed everyone because it was probably true.
The garden walks began shortly afterward.
Always public.
Always supervised.
Always proper.
At least officially.
The palace gardens remained open late into the evening.
Moonlit ponds.
Stone bridges.
Flowering trees.
Lantern-lit pavilions overlooking still water.
Beautiful.
And far too convenient for conversation.
General Hwanryuk approved the arrangement reluctantly.
Refusing would only attract attention.
Which meant Jaeho was assigned to accompany them.
Officially as security.
Unofficially as a very unhappy observer.
The first walk lasted nearly an hour.
The prince was charming.
Unfortunately.
Seolhyun had hoped he would be arrogant.
Or foolish.
Or unbearable.
Instead he proved intelligent.
That was far more troublesome.
“You don’t like palace life,” he said casually.
As though discussing the weather.
Seolhyun nearly laughed.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Only to people paying attention.”
The answer made her pause.
Most of their earlier conversations had consisted of harmless questions about gardens, flowers, temple customs, and music.
This was different.
The prince watched koi glide beneath a stone bridge.
“You look at gates.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“When most people visit gardens, they look at flowers.”
He pointed casually.
“You look at walls.”
Then another direction.
“You look at exits.”
Another.
“You count guards.”
For a brief moment Seolhyun felt cold.
Not because he knew.
Because he was closer than he should have been.
Above them, hidden within a second-storey pavilion, Jaeho watched miserably.
Taejin sat beside him eating fruit.
Entirely too comfortable.
“You know—”
“Don’t.”
“The prince is handsome.”
“Don’t.”
“He has money.”
“Taejin.”
“He owns at least three horses.”
Jaeho looked ready to commit a crime.
The older soldier laughed so hard he nearly dropped his tea.
Finally Jaeho muttered,
“She doesn’t belong here.”
None of them do.
Meanwhile the women had developed their own system.
If they were being watched, they communicated differently.
Hairpins.
Flowers.
Ribbons.
Parasols.
Tiny signals hidden inside ordinary fashion.
A language women had perfected long before men realized they were speaking it.
A blue ribbon meant too many guards.
A white flower meant someone is listening.
A parasol carried on the left side meant do not discuss tunnels.
A particular arrangement of hairpins meant plans had changed.
The palace believed it was watching them.
The women knew better.
The palace watched words.
Women watched everything else.
The prince noticed some of it.
Not enough to understand.
Enough to become curious.
Then came the question.
The question everyone had feared.
They had reached a quiet pavilion overlooking the pond. Moonlight shimmered across the water. Lanterns reflected among drifting lily pads.
The prince leaned casually against the railing.
“Nari.”
Seolhyun froze.
Not externally.
Never externally.
The prince watched the water.
“Did she wish to leave?”
The question sounded harmless.
Which made it dangerous.
For several moments neither spoke.
Then Seolhyun answered carefully.
“Nari wished for many things.”
The prince nodded.
“Such as freedom.”
A faint smile touched her lips.
“Everyone wishes for that.”
His gaze lingered on the pond.
“I hope she found some.”
The answer surprised her.
It sounded genuine.
Then he said something worse.
Far worse.
“You should marry.”
The words appeared from nowhere.
Seolhyun almost laughed.
“What?”
“You should.”
He seemed entirely serious.
“The court would leave you alone.”
“The kingdom would feel safer.”
“The king would sleep better.”
“Half the ministers would stop arguing.”
A grin appeared.
“And the other half would begin arguing about someone else.”
She laughed despite herself.
The prince looked pleased by that.
Above the gardens, hidden within a second-story pavilion, Jaeho witnessed the entire exchange and immediately hated everything.
The pond.
The prince.
The flowers.
The moon.
Probably the entire kingdom.
Beside him, Taejin observed all this with enormous satisfaction.
“You are jealous.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I am not.”
Taejin pointed toward the pond.
“The pond is innocent.”
Jaeho stared at him.
“The pond?”
“You looked angrily at the pond.”
The rest of the evening did not improve.
Yet when the prince finally departed, he left Seolhyun with one final thought.
One she carried back through lantern-lit corridors.
One she could not quite dismiss.
Just before leaving, he lowered his voice.
“Everyone in this place is watching someone.”
His smile faded slightly.
“Lately, I think someone is watching all of us.”
For the first time that evening, Seolhyun believed him.
And somewhere beyond the palace walls, beyond the harbour, beyond the sea itself, the pieces continued moving toward a future none of them could yet see.
While beneath the palace, hidden behind stone and shadow, the ancient tunnels waited.
Patient.
Silent.
And very likely to become important sooner than anyone wished.
The palace finally quietened after midnight.
Lanterns burned low.
Musicians retired.
The Tang guests withdrew to their residences.
Even the servants moved more slowly.
The endless celebrations had exhausted everyone.
Almost everyone.
The women sat together within their chambers.
Or at least what the palace believed were twelve women.
The illusion remained intact.
Barely.
Bokjin sat amongst them carrying the crystal hidden beneath layers of silk and fabric, still pretending to be part of the circle.
The poor eunuch looked as though he expected death at any moment.
Hanul patted his shoulder.
“You are doing wonderfully.”
“I am not.”
“You have survived.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Laughter spread around the room.
The tension eased slightly.
Only slightly.
Eventually the conversation returned to the prince.
Everything seemed to circle back to him.
“He knows,” Jaeho said.
The room fell quiet.
Nobody asked what he meant.
Everyone understood.
The question about Nari.
The way he counted people.
The way he watched the circle.
The way he observed the crystals.
“He knows something.”
Mirae nodded slowly.
“He kept looking. Not at Seolhyun. At all of us.”
That unsettled everyone.
Because it felt true.
The prince was not watching a beautiful woman.
He was studying a formation.
A puzzle.
A group that was supposed to remain unchanged.
The general’s warnings returned immediately.
The prince had no claim to the throne while the Crown Prince lived.
Yet princes who lacked power often sought it elsewhere.
Through information.
Through alliances.
Through influence.
And perhaps through crystals.
Seolhyun sat quietly listening.
The crystal rested against her collarbone, humming softly.
Not loudly.
Not urgently.
Simply enough to remind her it was there.
Watching.
Listening.
Remembering.
“The problem,” Jaeho finally said, “isn’t what he knows.”
Everyone looked toward him.
“The problem is what he suspects.”
That felt much worse.
The following afternoon the prince returned.
Naturally.
This time he requested tea.
Not a garden stroll.
Not music.
Not ceremony.
Tea.
The women immediately became suspicious.
Nothing dangerous had ever begun with tea.
Yet somehow every dangerous conversation eventually arrived there.
The prince appeared relaxed.
Comfortable.
As though he had nowhere else to be.
Which was probably a lie.
Seolhyun sat opposite him beneath an open pavilion overlooking the gardens.
A parasol rested nearby.
Birds moved amongst flowering branches.