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First born princess of Goryeo is promised to Silla in marriage. What has begun as a promise between families becomes a pact sealed in blood when her betrothed is mysteriously killed. Now what binds Seol, the lady Ha In of Goryeo to Silla is a blood debt – to turn away from it would be to topple the country into irreparable chaos. Yet, her heart lies with another. Raised from obscurity of illegitimacy, fate of concubine - born last son of northern Kang clan rests on the emperor’s grace. However, being tasked with the guardianship of the imperial princess is the last of his worries. In the whirlwind of emotions that she brings along, it is not just his title that is at stake, but his heart and a secret that he had brought from a grave of a different time. Theirs is a fate from an age gone by, but a love impossible to attain. Theirs is a story written upon dying stars. *** From inside: The snow caressed him in a way she yearned to; fluttering against his lashes, tangled up in his hair. She has always felt home in north, in the valleys that filled themselves with her namesake and with this man beside he, arrows slung over his shoulder and laughter in his eyes. Silla and her betrothed would never take that place. Seol opens her mouth; it is now or never. “Don’t say it,” he cuts her off, a hand stretched out for a lonely snowflake to perch upon. It turns translucent against his roughed palm. “My hand isn’t made for snowflakes,” he sounds joyous, as he always does – when she is weeping within. His eyes remain resolutely elsewhere. “I’ve been summoned to the garrison,” he continues in that same flat tone. “My last duty here will be to deliver your highness to your betrothed.” She is unaware of the tear that has escaped, until an ice cold thumb brushes it off. “Don’t cry,” he says then and she sees the laughing spark in his eyes for what it truly is; longing. “It breaks my heart.” ***
TIDE BREAKS
The court falls silent, eerie as if men weren't standing but buried in the ground. The scroll his imperial majesty had thrown down the golden stairs leading to his dragon throne, spins and topples - one step at a time, making a huge resonance with each step until it topples to the ground.
Last of the triple doors leading to the Royal Court are thrown open. The force that had barged in, made them still waver from hinges, as if not a man but a storm had broken inside.
Yet, nothing had crossed the threshold.
The ministers fidget, moving just so that the emperor, rising to his feet, could see who stands at the threshold.
It is a young man; who veered on the edge between being a man and a child. He is tall, yet he had years yet to fill into his frame. His features are sharp, jaw set in a lithe line - yet his mouth had the fullness of childhood clinging to it. He would have made a pretty child, had it not been for his deep set, striking pair of silver eyes. They had the same sharp shimmer of a well cut blade yet none of his juvenile softness about them. As if to complete their sense of danger one of his cheeks is smudged with blood.
Somewhere beyond a court lady dropped a cup. Sound of breaking porcelain echoed in the hall.
The young man was drenched, unkempt hair plastered to his face. His cheek, his throat, both his arms and clothes glaringly splattered with blood. For a moment his silver eyes take in the stupefied crowd of older men. There is a flicker of sarcasm there, as if he ponders jumping at them, just to see who will run screaming.
But the look passes as quickly as it occurs and the boy doesn't move. Instead he drops his gaze, bringing their attention to the person he carries, lying limp in his bloodied arms.
The girl dressed in imperial white silks is equally drenched. Water drips from her long, unbound hair and pools on the ground. She is sickly pale, her skin almost seamlessly merging with the colour of her robes. Her head lolls as if she's nothing but an elaborately large ragdoll the boy had fished from water.
It takes a beat, then another, for the court to comprehend what they were seeing. By that time the emperor had already crossed the red hall to reach the boy, his trembling arms already reaching out for the girl.
The boy doesn't fight when he is relieved from the weight in his arms. Instead he shudders as if from a belated aftershock of drowning and collapses on his knees. Bloodied fingers rake through his face, drawing streaks of blood against his pale cheeks.
"Pardon me a hundred times Pyeha," his voice fumbles over the words. "This worthless servant deserves to die."
Those silver eyes roam and settle on the emperor who looks quite out of his depth, his arms if possible tighten around the unconscious body of his daughter cuddled against him. A silent look passes between them and the boy heaves a sigh, white fire of his eyes dimming.
"Prince Geon is dead."
His body fails him and the boy slumbs to the ground, a mess of blood and water and a decade of fragile peace tumbles into chaos.
