Chapter 25: The Consort (1)

A heavy darkness draped over the world, stretching densely from the highest reaches of the heavens to the absolute lowest plains of the earth.

The pale light of the moon, which had begun its slow tilt toward the western skies, spilled like a quiet current into the inner chamber of the detached pavilion through the open window.

Anok had dismissed his dinner table early. After swallowing the usual herbal tonic handed to him by Court Lady Jo, he had sent all the attendants away. Though he had lain down to sleep much earlier than was his custom, a peaceful rest eluded him. A deep-seated anxiety and tension had pursued him into his slumber, visiting him in the form of a nightmare.

In his dream, Anok was holding a child. At first, he had cradled the infant with agonizing care, constantly terrified that the babe was too fragile and that he might let it fall. But now, his movements in the dream were practiced and natural; he supported the child in a stable, comfortable posture, even swaying his arms in a gentle, rhythmic rock.

A small, warm child. A child that was alive, exhaling soft, fragile breaths. Anok stared into the infant’s face for a very long time, gazing upon it as though marveling at a wondrous miracle.

The one who quietly fractured this serene peace was Yeo Jae-won. Given that the Head Eunuch—who usually heralded the Emperor’s arrival with a resounding cry—remained completely silent, it seemed the prince had made a conscious effort to tread softly, mindful of the sleeping babe.

—Would you care to hold him?

Anok, who had been smiling down at the child, looked up and asked the question to Yeo Jae-won, who had silently come to a halt right behind him. Yeo Jae-won lingered in a contemplative silence for a moment before carefully extending his arms.

—You must support his neck properly.

Anok gently guided him on how to hold the infant, relying on the instructions the wet-nurse matron had once drilled into him. Though the prince’s posture remained somewhat awkward and rigid, the child merely stirred for a brief instant before settling back into a peaceful, trusting sleep in his father’s arms.

Watching the person he adored above all else share a quiet space with the child who was more precious to him than life itself, Anok prayed with all his heart that this tranquil harmony would endure forever.

Yet, Anok already knew how this story ended. In the blink of an eye, time within the dream surged forward with ruthless indifference.

The child, who had not even reached his hundredth day of life, was ravaged by a raging fever. Exhausted from the ordeal, there came a point where the babe stopped crying altogether. For an infant so young, the remedies available were agonizingly scarce. Though the Imperial Medical Academy labored day and night without pause, no medicine brought even a flicker of improvement.

It felt exactly like cradling a small, weeping ball of fire. From the very moment his instincts warned him of the impending end, Anok had refused to let the child out of his embrace. And right there, pressed against Anok’s chest, the tiny body slowly began to grow cold.

—Summon the Imperial Physician. The child’s fever has broken.

—…….

—Now that the fever is gone, they must examine his pulse again, must they not? Why do you stand there doing nothing? Hurry and fetch them!

As those words tore from Anok’s lips, his face was entirely hollow and deathly pale, as though his very soul had departed his body. Deep down, he knew the truth. The fever hadn’t broken; the child was dead.

Only when the small form had turned completely cold did Anok’s tears finally spill. It was only then that the desperate wailing and the frantic, agonizing denial truly began.

He could never forget the way Yeo Jae-won had looked down at him in that precise moment. That utterly expressionless, merciless countenance, and the brutal words that ruthlessly drove a stake through the reality of the child’s demise:

—Get a hold of yourself, Anok. The child is dead.

Accompanied by that chilling phrase—one he could never grow accustomed to no matter how many times he relived it—Anok snapped his eyes open.

Breathing heavily and erratically, Anok struggled to master his frantic respirations. His limbs, which had locked up with rigid tension, slowly began to relax, but he knew with absolute certainty that sleep would not visit him again tonight.

Stumbling weakly out of bed, Anok dragged his feet across the floor toward the chaise longue positioned right beneath the window where the moonlight filtered through.

If he remained by Yeo Jae-won’s side, this agonizing torment was destined to repeat itself. He lacked the strength, the courage, and the resolve to endure it a second time. Gathering his knees tightly against his chest, Anok buried his face in his lap.

To make matters worse, his physical condition had been deteriorating over the past several days. It was entirely because of the medicine from Consort Sa that Court Lady Jo kept forcing upon him. With his cycle becoming violently disrupted, his body felt completely foreign, as though it no longer belonged to him.

It felt as if a biting, frostbitten chill permanently enveloped his skin. Occasionally, a violent shudder of chills would rack his frame, forcing him to crawl beneath his blankets and pull them all the way over his head, lying paralyzed in bed.

His emotions, too, were fluctuating wildly. This erratic state had intensified dramatically ever since Yeo Jae-won’t sudden visit on the day of his wedding robe fitting. No matter how flawlessly the prince suppressed his pheromones, the mere trace of an Alpha scent leaking into the air would have been more than enough to awaken the hyper-aware body of an Omega standing on the precipice of his heat.

Tilting his head to the side, Anok cast his gaze up toward the profound, ink-black sky, and the moon that floated within it, solitary and majestic.

Suddenly, a strange impulse seized him, and Anok rose to his feet. A vague, almost obligatory thought gripped his mind: If I run right now, if I pierce through the manor grounds this very instant, perhaps I can truly escape to anywhere.

Even if he were to be captured, a fierce, primal urge dictated that he must break free, entirely dominating his consciousness. It felt as though a voice from the deepest, most hidden recesses of his mind was screaming at him to stand up and flee this place immediately.

As if possessed, Anok stood up and walked out, entirely oblivious to the fact that he was clad only in a thin layer of night garments. The detached pavilion was completely shrouded in slumber; only the faint, flickering candles nestled inside the stone lanterns scattered throughout the courtyard cast a fragile, dim glow.

Not a single soul detected his departure as he slipped outside. Descending the stone steps, Anok was about to turn toward the path when his eyes caught on something small and low to the ground, arresting his stride.

It was the pear tree sapling.

—This is a pear tree that His Highness, the Prince of Myeong, personally commanded to be planted here.

He could not fathom it. Why on earth had Yeo Jae-won ordered a pear tree to be planted in this specific spot? Of all the flora in the world, why did it have to be a pear tree?

Biting his lower lip firmly, Anok desperately tried to suppress an emotion that was rising within him, though he could not even identify what it was.

Was it his desire to flee? Was it the lingering embers of affection that still flickered toward Yeo Jae-won against his own will? Or was it… simply a raw, desperate will to survive?

He could not tell which of those impulses he was fighting so hard to stifle. Perhaps it was a tangled mess of them all.

His prominent throat bobbed once. Swallowing hard against his dry throat, Anok turned his back on the pear tree, just as he had done once before in the past.

“Where exactly were you planning to go?”

And there, he collided with the last person he ever expected to encounter.

Pushing past the side gate, Yeo Jae-won stood tall in the shadows. His long, languid eyes locked onto Anok, silently waiting for an explanation.

“Your Highness… what brings you all the way to this pavilion?”

Because he had merely rushed out on a blind, reckless impulse, Anok found himself completely devoid of an excuse. If anyone should be bewildered by this encounter, it was him.

Situated far from the primary residential buildings of the estate, Yeo Jae-won rarely, if ever, set foot near the detached pavilion. In fact, discounting the day of the wedding robe fitting, the prince had never once visited this place.

To have him appear at such a godforsaken hour of the night—it was a shock that caused Anok to instinctively counter with a defensive question.

Yeo Jae-won kept his eyes anchored on Anok as he stepped over the threshold of the side gate. The moment Anok instinctively began to retreat backward, Yeo Jae-won smoothly reached out and caught his arm, as if concerned that his blind steps might cause him to trip and fall.

“This is my manor. For what reason should it matter where I choose to walk?”

The prince’s voice was inherently deep, but carrying through the stillness of the night, it seemed to resonate with an even lower, heavier gravity. That voice, the solid grip of the hand pinning his arm, and the suffocating proximity between them—it all felt entirely too overwhelming.

His cycle was actively being pulled forward. Remaining this close to Yeo Jae-won was dangerous. While it was true that he desperately wanted to shatter this impending marriage, triggering his heat right now and collapsing before the prince would inevitably drag him into a nightmare of scandalous rumors.

“Now it is your turn to answer. Where were you heading?”

Forced to halt by Yeo Jae-won’s grip, Anok stood perfectly still and looked up into his face. Even though he knew that staring into those features would never grant him the ability to decipher the man’s elusive thoughts, his eyes remained fixed on him regardless.

How could a person possibly possess such absolute, unshakeable composure? Even after having someone look him dead in the eye and declare that there was someone else in their heart, and that they could never love him—how could he remain so entirely unfazed?

Anok found himself wishing that he could have been Yeo Jae-won instead. If, upon opening his eyes to this second life, his soul had awakened inside the prince’s body, he would have lived a life of quiet contentment, grateful for the privileges of the position, never desiring too much, and living in perfect moderation.

“I believe I told you before—if the new bride flees, my honor will be compromised. Do you truly possess no regard whatsoever for the face of the man who is to be your husband? Or did your paramour come seeking you in the dead of night?”

At the sharp inquiry of whether a lover had come to find him, the lips Anok had held tightly sealed parted slightly, and a bitter, hollow laugh escaped him. The sole object of his long, grueling, one-sided love was standing right in front of his eyes.

Yeo Jae-won’s thin eyelids cast down slightly as he studied Anok’s face. The brilliant moonlight carved sharp, dark shadows against the bridge of his prominent nose.

“Were you plotting a midnight elopement with your lover?”

Hearing a voice so entirely devoid of tension for someone discussing a scandalous elopement, a sudden, sharp desire to scratch at the prince’s perfect composure flared within Anok.

“If the opportunity presents itself, I will do so at any moment.”

Only then did one side of Yeo Jae-won’s face, sculpted by the dark shadows of the night, twitch with a subtle, hard distortion.

“How audacious.”

“However, even if you were to deploy your private guards to scour the perimeter of the manor right now to seize an intruder, you would find no one. Fleeing was never my intention.”

“……?”

“The upcoming wedding has left my mind in a state of turmoil, so I merely stepped out to clear my head with a walk.”

“Ha….”

The hand that had been gripping Anok’s arm with sudden, crushing force gradually lost its tension. Yeo Jae-won turned his head to the side, letting loose a hollow, incredulous laugh.

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