Chapter 54: The Wounds of Memory

If scent had a physical form, it would surely resemble the soft, pure white fabric of a newborn’s swaddling clothes.

Anok pondered this as he looked down at the child in his arms, who had only recently learned how to open his eyes. The infant’s cheeks were exquisitely pale and plump. Stroking the soft wisps of hair—which felt as delicate to the touch as dandelion seeds—Anok let out a quiet, gentle smile. Seeing his father smile, the child narrowed his eyes and beamed back in return.

“When the Imperial Prince smiles, he bears a striking resemblance to Your Imperial Majesty,” the prince’s wet nurse ventured softly.

Standing on the opposite side of the chamber, the head court lady and the chief eunuch of Gyoeong Palace glanced at the wet nurse with anxious eyes. By the time she noticed their subtle, warning shakes of the head, it was already too late. The handsome face of the twenty-seven-year-old Emperor had already hardened with a touch of quiet sorrow.

“It would have been better had he resembled His Imperial Majesty the Emperor instead……”

“Though comparing the Imperial Prince to the children of common houses is a grave breach of etiquette,” the head court lady interjected smoothly, well-acquainted with Anok’s sensitive and perceptive nature, “infants naturally change as they grow. Is it not normal for a child to take after both parents? Pray, do not burden your mind with excessive worry.”

Even as she spoke, Anok merely held the infant close, gazing silently into his tiny face.

“Did His Majesty say anything during the morning audience today?” Anok finally asked the chief eunuch, having held the prince in silence for a long while.

The eunuch forced a faint, wrinkled smile, subtly signaling his awkward predicament. “The Imperial Prince is the precious firstborn son of the legitimate line, born to the imperial family for the first time in over thirty years. As the one who will eventually enter the Eastern Palace and ascend the throne, His Majesty cannot rashly decide upon so noble a name. The Ministry of Rites is deliberating carefully, so pray……”

Though wrapped in pleasant, comforting words, the truth remained plain: the Emperor had once again refused to bestow a name upon the child.

Anok felt a profound, aching disappointment. It was beyond doubt that the child he had borne was the Emperor’s legitimate firstborn son. What reason could there possibly be for withholding a name? Did the Emperor intend to deny the child entry into the imperial family registry altogether?

Anok could endure being unacknowledged himself, but he could not bear to watch his child be cast aside. Yet, there was nothing he could do.

Such was the nature of the imperial palace. Unless one was born into the royal bloodline, an outsider’s power within these walls was entirely dictated by the standing of their natal family. No matter how high a title one achieved, without personal backing, there were severe limits to exercising that authority.

Consider Hyeon Hui-yeon, the treasured daughter of the Prime Minister, Hyeon Sang-eun. Within less than a year of entering the palace, she had risen from a low-ranking concubine to the status of Consort—despite the Emperor never once summoning her to his bedchambers. That was the raw power of the Hyeon clan at work.

Anok, by contrast, was the child of a traitor. He carried the split bloodline of the Seol clan, who had raised an army in defiance of the peace treaty signed when Baekya Manor voluntarily submitted to the Great Jin Empire after failing to survive the long winter. Lacking a prominent family to back him, Anok occupied the seat of Empress solely through the Emperor’s tolerance.

Thus, Anok could not utter a single word of complaint or pressure to the Emperor. Realizing his own utter powerlessness once more, he swallowed a bitter, dry laugh. Unaware of the harsh reality surrounding him, the swaddled babe simply babbled and smiled.

“His Imperial Majesty is approaching Gyoeong Palace!” a young eunuch announced, rushing inside.

Anok carefully handed the child back to the wet nurse and rose from his seat. Stepping out of the inner chamber, the thunderous voice of the Chief Eunuch echoed through the hall, formally announcing the Emperor’s arrival.

“This servant greets Your Imperial Majesty.”

Having hurried outside, Anok had not even paused to throw on a cloak. Though the season had passed the awakening of spring, the wind remained biting and cold. As the chill swept over him, Anok instinctively huddled into himself.

Ever since giving birth, his body suffered unnervingly from even the slightest draft of winter wind. The imperial physician had explained that even though Anok possessed a sturdy male frame superior to that of most women, the severe toll of childbirth was unavoidable.

“……!”

The Emperor, who had seemed ready to stride past him, suddenly paused, turned back, and draped a thick, fur-lined cloak over Anok’s shoulders. Embroidered with gold thread dragon motifs over black silk, the cloak was lined with silver fox fur and radiated immense warmth.

Moreover, it retained the lingering body heat of the man who had just been wearing it, wrapping Anok in a comforting embrace. Smelling the deep, rich scent of agarwood wafting from the snow-white fur encasing his neck, Anok lowered his head.

After the child was born, Anok had resolved to extinguish his romantic feelings for the Emperor. He knew all too well that an unrequited affection would never be returned.

What could he possibly hope for from a cold, distant man who would not even grant his own son a name? Yet, whenever such careless acts of gentleness were bestowed upon him, Anok felt the fading embers of his love reignite, threatening to burn into a raging fire that would consume everything anew.

Having draped the cloak, the Emperor had already walked into the main hall. Anok, supported by the head court lady, followed quietly behind.

Looking down at the infant cooing in the wet nurse’s arms, the Emperor’s face remained entirely devoid of emotion. For a man past thirty holding his very first son, his expression was so cold and detachment that it bordered on ruthless.

Stepping forward gracefully, Anok took the child back into his own arms and approached the Emperor’s side.

“Would Your Majesty care to hold him?”

Only a few days prior, when the Chief Eunuch had repeatedly urged him to hold the prince, the Emperor had refused with an irritated, cold retort.

At Anok’s gentle proposal, a tense, fragile silence fell over the main hall of Gyoeong Palace. Only the infant remained blissfully ignorant, narrowing his eyes into tiny crescents as he giggled, his small hands waving aimlessly in the air outside his luxurious silk wraps as if asking to be held.

“……What if I were to hold him and accidentally drop him?”

Hearing a towering man—decades larger than the infant—express such an absurd fear, a soft, involuntary laugh escaped Anok’s lips.

“He will be fine, Your Majesty. You are his imperial father; how could you possibly drop him?”

“He is far too small.”

“All newborns are this small.”

As if telling him not to speak nonsense, Anok drew the baby slightly closer to the Emperor. Reaching out almost hesitantly, the Emperor extended his arms, and the soft fabric of the swaddling clothes rustled softly against the heavy silk of the imperial robes.

Anok carefully assisted him in holding the child. Upon being told that the infant’s neck required firm support, the Emperor’s right arm—cradling the back of the baby’s head—stiffened with rigid tension.

“Whom does he take after, to be smiling so foolishly?”

“Is it not simply because he loves his imperial father?”

“If he acts like this after ascending the throne in the future, it will be quite troublesome.”

At the rare, faint smile gracing the Emperor’s face, Anok smiled warmly as well. It was a gentle expression, entirely free from the anxious tension that usually consumed him.

However, the moment did not last long. The Emperor quickly summoned the wet nurse, returned the prince to her care, and straightened the wide sleeves of his robe.

As he turned to depart, Anok instinctively reached out and grabbed his sleeve before he could stop himself.

“Do you have something further to say?”

“Regarding the Imperial Prince’s name…… I heard that the Ministry of Rites has been submitting favorable characters daily for your selection.”

Anok’s words stumbled slightly, driven by the sudden embarrassment of having grabbed the Emperor so impulsively.

The Emperor turned back, looking down at Anok with eyes that had instantly frozen over.

“Empress.”

“Pray speak, Your Majesty.”

“Do not interfere in the matters of the Imperial Prince.”

“……Pardon?”

“You are merely the prince’s birth mother. Politically, your existence brings far more liability than benefit. Therefore, do not entertain the slightest thought of involving yourself in the prince’s affairs going forward.”

A heartless ruler.

As Anok dared to look up into the Emperor’s majestic face, tears welled at the corners of his eyes. His vision blurred in an instant. Yet the Emperor turned away with absolute indifference, leaving Anok to watch his receding back in complete silence.

The Seol clan of Baekya Manor was officially recorded as traitors. When the current Emperor ascended to the Eastern Palace after annihilating Baekya Manor, the general consensus of the court had been to reject Anok’s appointment as Crown Prince Consort altogether. Thus, he had no choice but to concede the bitter truth: politically, he was indeed a liability rather than an asset.

Feeling all strength leave his limbs, Anok sank helplessly to the floor. The head court lady and the chief eunuch rushed forward, supporting him from both sides.

“I shall summon the imperial physician!”

“……I am fine.”

“But Your Majesty…… ……Understood.”

The weight of the silver fox cloak draped over his shoulders felt impossibly heavy and suffocating. As Anok sat there, unable to stop the tears from pooling onto the floor, the infant in the wet nurse’s arms began to cry as well.

Hearing his newborn’s cries, Anok forced his trembling body upright. Over his frail, emaciated frame—worn thin since the harsh childbirth—the Emperor’s noble cloak slipped off and fell to the floor.

The noble face of the Empress was stained with tears. Yet, he extended his arms toward the wet nurse, seeking his child. Reading the head court lady’s approving nod, the nurse quickly placed the crying prince back into the Empress’s arms.

“Do not cry, my little one. Good child.”

Unable to stop his own tears, Anok used his raspy, strained voice to soothe the babe, slowly pacing back and forth across the vast hall.

By the time the infant—exhausted from crying with his tiny face crumpled—finally drifted off to sleep, Anok was sitting quietly at the edge of the bed.

“Pray hand the Imperial Prince to the nurse and rest yourself, Your Majesty. The sun has already set. I shall have the evening meal served.”

Anok shook his head in refusal, pulling the child even closer against his chest. His pale, tear-stained cheeks appeared exceptionally gaunt.

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