Chapter 5 

“Madam?”

Soran snapped back to her senses and quickly shook her head.
Her round little head wobbled side to side like a startled bird.

“I’ve never gone hungry. Truly, never.”

“…I see.”

Gyohum accepted it casually, as if that was the whole issue.

It wasn’t a serious question to begin with.
Surely the Minister of the Center wouldn’t starve his own daughter.

Even if she was an illegitimate one…
Even if people called her a premature, unlucky child…

She was still his daughter.
No servant would dare starve her.

Gyohum knew only two things about Soran: that she was “heartless” and a “premature baby.”
So he simply observed her quietly.

After a pause, Soran added softly:

“It’s really true.”

“Yes, I understand.”

But even after that reassurance, she kept glancing up at him anxiously.

He smelled like cold winter wind.
She had smelled that scent once before—from the Minister at their first meeting.

It was the scent of deep, heavy indifference.

“…”

Soran’s eyes drooped sadly.

Of course he doesn’t like me. Why would any man like a wife rumored to be heartless and unlucky? I already knew that. So I shouldn’t be disappointed…

“You must be tired.”

Gyohum asked gently.
Soran blinked up at him, confused.

If he didn’t like her, then why did he look at her with such kindness?

“…”

The more she tried to understand, the more confused she became.
People who disliked her were always harsh.

Madam Munhyeon sneered openly.
Sehwa snapped at her constantly.
Yeonhwa bullied her when no one was watching.

The servants were no better.
They treated her like someone beneath them because she was only the Minister’s illegitimate daughter.

Their faces were always twisted in disgust or irritation.

But Gyohum…
Gyohum smiled at her warmly, like a spring breeze—while carrying the scent of bitter winter.

His attitude and his “smell” clashed strangely.

“Why do you look at me like that?”

“N-no reason…”

Soran forced a small, awkward smile.
She didn’t know why he smiled, but since he was smiling, she felt she should smile too.

Gyohum stood, towering over her again.
Only now did she truly realize how large he was—like a walking mountain.

“You must be exhausted after preparing for the wedding since dawn. Tonight, sleep alone and rest well.”

“…Pardon?”

Soran’s eyes went round.

Then Gyohum clicked his tongue softly.
There had been a faint edge in his words—more than he intended.

He needed to be more careful.

To use Soran as a chess piece, he first had to win her trust.
Nothing was easier to manipulate than a woman in love.

And tonight was their wedding night.
Even if they didn’t share a bed properly, perhaps lying beside her would have been wiser.

But every time he remembered she was the Minister’s daughter, rage flared inside him like wildfire.

Touch her? Lie beside her?

With the Minister’s illegitimate daughter?

Not yet.
Not until the fury boiling in his gut cooled.

“What I meant was—”

But before he could fix his words, Soran spoke first.

“Uh, um… th-thank you.”

“…”

Gyohum shut his half-open mouth and stared hard at her.

Soran slowly lifted her head, and when their eyes met, she gave him a shy little smile.

Hah…
A silent sigh slipped out between Gyohum’s teeth.

Thank you?
Just how spoiled must she have been by the Minister to be this clueless?
No wonder rumors called her dense.

Anger rose inside him again.
People who grew up pampered were always like this—no hardships, no sense.

Cutting words rose to his tongue.
He swallowed them with effort and instead spoke in a “kind” voice that was really mockery.

“Please finish eating. You still seem hungry.”

“…Really? May I?”

Her eyes grew even rounder, sparkling with innocent sincerity.

She completely missed the sarcasm—and somehow made him look foolish instead.

She swatted away his irritation without even noticing.

Gyohum answered in a tired voice:

“I’ll tell a servant to reheat the food. Wait a moment.”

“It’s fine. It’s late. No need for that. I’ll just finish what’s left. I’m already mostly full.”

Gyohum studied her again.

He had assumed she was spoiled…
But she showed consideration for the servants.

Maybe she wasn’t spoiled after all.

What kind of person is she?

Curiosity flickered through him—but then he shook it off.

Who she was didn’t matter.
She was the Minister’s daughter, and that would never change.

“I wish you a peaceful night. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Ah!”

Soran suddenly remembered something.
Gyohum paused and looked back.

Her cheeks were puffed out again, her tiny lips moving as she chewed.

Each time she swallowed—gulp—her eyes squeezed shut, then opened again.

He found himself staring at her helplessly.

Finally she swallowed everything and asked, with great seriousness:

“What time do we pay respects in the morning?”

“…Pay respects?”

“Yes. I heard—and was told—that greeting elders properly is the most important thing.”

By Paju-dae.

She swallowed the last part awkwardly.

She froze mid-reach with her chopsticks as Paju-dae’s advice echoed in her mind:

— “I don’t know any fancy manners. What if I embarrass myself?”
— “Don’t worry. Just act fearless—like you were raised too noble to worry about trivial things. Aren’t you the Minister’s daughter? People will accept it.”
— “…But still…”

Soran had looked unsure, so Paju-dae leaned in and whispered dramatically:

— “Half of everything is greeting properly.”
— “Greeting?”
— “Morning greetings. If you do that well, you’ve already done half your duty as a daughter-in-law.”

Soran had clenched her tiny fist with determination.

Greetings were one thing she was good at.
Sehwa scolded her often enough to make sure she practiced.

— “And the other half is just smiling. No one spits at a smiling face.”

Soran’s eyes had widened—then she smiled sweetly.

— “Oh, good. I’m confident about those two things!”

“…At dawn, when the first rooster crows, I’ll come get you.”

“Yes!”

Relieved, Soran happily continued eating.

Gyohum frowned slightly.

The more he watched her, the less sense she made.
She seemed lacking in some ways… and overflowing in others.

“…”

He finally shook his head and left the room.
Darkness swallowed him.

Night was deep. The world was silent.

Somewhere, an impatient frog croaked loudly—ushering in spring.

Sensing his presence, the servant Ggeutsun appeared from the shadows.

Gyohum stepped off the stone platform and spoke casually:

“The madam is still eating. Go in later, clear the table, and prepare her bedding.”

“Yes.”

Then he paused, suddenly remembering something.

“Ah.”

He turned with a gentle smile.

Ggeutsun bent again, half rising.

“Don’t wake the madam tomorrow morning. She must be tired. Let her sleep as long as she wishes.”

…But what about morning greetings?

Ggeutsun looked confused.
On the first day in her husband’s house, wasn’t she supposed to greet the elders?

But seeing Gyohum’s warm smile, she nodded.

“Yes.”

He’s already completely smitten with the young mistress. Newlyweds… how sweet.

Her shoulders trembled as she turned away—either from laughter or emotion.
The sound of her footsteps faded into the grass.

At the same time, Gyohum’s warm gaze turned icy.

He looked out into the darkness.

“I look forward to seeing her panic when she wakes up late.”

***

Gyohum dressed and stared out into the pre-dawn darkness.

Not long ago, he might’ve returned home at this hour.
But now, waking at dawn with a clear mind had become second nature.

Suddenly, Sahum came to mind—his older brother who always rose at the same time, dressed properly, and prepared for his government duties.

Without realizing, he was becoming like him.

If his brother could see him now, what would he say?

Probably nothing.
Sahum rarely criticized—but he rarely praised either.

“…”

Gyohum shook off the memory and stepped outside.

Cold air wet with dawn dew slipped into his collar.
The dry grass he stepped on last night was now damp enough to soak his hem.

He stopped in front of Soran’s room.

Would she be awake?

Most likely not.

Only servants with early chores woke at this hour.