Chapter 41
Life outside the palace wasn’t all that different.
After all, Hong-ah and Hong-yeon were still the Crown Prince’s daughters—the king’s blood—whether inside or outside the royal walls.
Being constantly surrounded by court maids who followed the sisters everywhere felt no different from before.
What was hard to endure were the looks.
The poor little ladies who had lost their mother at such a young age—
that was how everyone saw Hong-ah and Hong-yeon.
The nannies they met daily, the court ladies, the servants from the palace quarters, even the officials from the capital office who came and went because of security—all of them.
Even the neighborhood children who sometimes caught a glimpse of them looked at the sisters that way.
Though they were still young girls, their mourning clothes had been lined with soft cloth so they wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Probably the finest fabric in the area was being used just for that purpose.
They were also the only ones who carried perfumed sachets with such fine fragrance.
But none of that mattered. No one admired what they had—their misfortune overshadowed everything.
People pitied the sisters and, in the same breath, turned their tragedy into idle entertainment.
“I suppose we must look pitiful.”
Even Hong-ah sometimes looked at her younger sister that way. Whenever she saw Hong-yeon struggling to accept their mother’s death, she felt a pang of guilt.
So she couldn’t entirely blame others for thinking the same. Still, irritation rose in her heart from time to time.
“The one who’s truly pitiful is Mother, who’s gone. I don’t need anyone’s pity.”
Hong-ah was getting tired of their sympathetic gazes.
It had been nearly two months since their mother’s passing. The wound hadn’t healed—and perhaps for her siblings, it never would.
But even if the pain remained, they couldn’t just stop moving forward.
If she didn’t keep going—if she let herself sink into grief—she wouldn’t be able to protect anyone: not her baby brother, nor her sister who clung to her in fear of being left alone.
She had to move forward, to create a better tomorrow.
“I wonder if Hong-wi is doing all right.”
Just before leaving the palace, the sisters had met Hong-wi for the first and last time.
Seeing the tiny baby—barely half the size of Hong-ah’s arm—they were both speechless. Hong-ah especially couldn’t shake the weight in her chest.
He was the child their mother had risked her life to bring into the world.
Whether Hong-ah and Hong-yeon lived or died wasn’t the only thing that mattered. What mattered was not letting their mother’s sacrifice be in vain.
Whatever it took, she would protect Hong-wi—and Hong-yeon.
She reminded herself of that vow every single day.
“My lady, did you cough?”
“Yes.”
The nursemaid’s voice meant it was time to leave for her lesson with Prince Anpyeong.
For now, all she could wear were mourning clothes, but she dressed as neatly as possible. Any frayed edge or loose seam would only draw more pitying eyes.
“And Hong-yeon?”
“She’s still asleep.”
“Good. Let her rest. If she wakes early, make sure she eats some porridge.”
“Of course, my lady.”
“She didn’t vomit last night, did she?”
“No, she’s much better now.”
Even after learning from the Crown Prince what had happened to their mother, Hong-yeon hadn’t improved.
Until the day they left the palace, the prince and Hong-ah had devoted all their attention to her, but nothing helped.
Only after meeting Hong-wi did the constant vomiting slowly begin to subside. Still, the illness hadn’t vanished, and the king had assigned two royal physicians exclusively to her care.
Contrary to fears that life outside the palace would worsen her condition, Hong-yeon was gradually recovering—slowly, but surely.
It was a great relief. Had anything happened to Hong-yeon too, Hong-ah might not have endured it.
After straightening her attire, Hong-ah climbed into the waiting palanquin.
The distance wasn’t far, and she normally preferred to walk, but lately she traveled only by palanquin—to avoid those pitying looks as much as possible.
“What on earth happened to you?”
The moment she stepped down, Prince Anpyeong exclaimed in horror.
So much for trying not to look pitiful—Hong-ah frowned, disappointed.
“You look like you haven’t had a proper meal in days! Are you even eating?”
“Ah…”
Startled by his outburst, Hong-ah let out a weak sigh and glanced down at herself.
She had lost some weight since her mother’s death. With Hong-yeon sick, she hadn’t been able to take care of herself.
Strangely, her height had increased instead, as if all her nourishment had gone into growing taller.
“Still, it’s not so bad that he needs to panic like this.”
She pressed her cheeks with her fingertips. Her face had thinned, but when she looked in the mirror that morning, she thought she looked fine.
While she pondered this, the prince called for his wife, then the kitchen maid, urging them to prepare food immediately.
Before she knew it, she was seated in the guest hall instead of the study, with a large meal laid before her instead of books.
“You skipped breakfast, didn’t you?”
“I did, but… isn’t it a bit late to eat now?”
“You can’t study on an empty stomach. How can a scholar not know such a simple truth?”
“I’m hardly a scholar, Uncle.”
Grumbling, Hong-ah picked up her spoon.
She recalled a classmate who used to say he always gained weight after visiting his grandmother’s house. Now she finally understood.
Though her uncle wasn’t a grandmother, he was just as sharp about noticing when she skipped a meal.
“This is far too much for breakfast.”
Ignoring her protest, Prince Anpyeong carefully deboned a grilled fish and placed it on her spoon.
Even the Crown Prince hadn’t done that for her. It was absurd—but not unpleasant. Pretending to give in, Hong-ah quietly began to eat.
“Did you already eat, Uncle?”
“Yes. I went to the palace at dawn and had breakfast with Her Majesty.”
“You went to the palace?”
Her eyes lit up.
Prince Anpyeong nodded, picking the ribs clean and putting the meat into her bowl. His hand was clumsy, smearing sauce at the corners of her lips, but it was perhaps the gentlest gesture he could show his niece.
“They say that when one’s virtue is shown inside and out, it is called hyeon (顯); and when one is loyal, gentle, and pure, it is called deok (德).”
“…Is that so?”
The sudden statement made Hong-ah tilt her head.
“Isn’t that a beautiful meaning?”
“Chunghwa (loyal gentleness) is one of the six virtues mentioned in the Book of Rites, isn’t it? To possess every virtue in harmony—yes, it’s truly fitting.”
It was a strange turn in conversation. Was this another test?
Her uncle often posed questions out of nowhere, so her body tensed and her mind sharpened automatically.
“They say His Majesty personally chose the posthumous title.”
“What?”
Hong-ah blinked slowly. To show virtue inside and out is hyeon; to be loyal, gentle, and pure is deok. The words merged in her mind—Hyeon-deok (賢德).
“Your mother was truly a virtuous lady of the Eastern Palace,” Prince Anpyeong said softly.
After a moment’s silence, Hong-ah replied, her tone calm and composed.
“She was gentle and fragile by nature, yet also strong in spirit. Loyal outwardly, pure and modest within… Yes, it’s a name that suits her perfectly.”
“You seem to like it.”
“Yes. I like it very much.”
Hyeon-deok. Consort Hyeon-deok. Queen Hyeon-deok.
In her past life, she had spoken that name without feeling—but now it clung to her tongue, heavy and bittersweet.
Her eyes burned as she bowed her head toward her bowl.
Her mother was gone, but her name remained—a living presence beside Hong-ah.
In a world that wavered constantly between hope and despair, that alone was her greatest comfort.
“There’s other news too, though I doubt you’ll like it,” said Prince Anpyeong.
“Please, tell me anyway.”
If it was something she wouldn’t like, she could already guess what kind of news it was. Still, it was something she needed to hear.
“First—Hong Seunghwi is returning to the palace tomorrow with her baby.”
“Grandmother must be having quite the headache.”
Hong Seunghwi had given birth to a daughter a month earlier, staying at her private residence.
She was supposed to return to the palace after the customary thirty-seven days, but had kept delaying it under various excuses.
Claiming the palace was full of bad omens, she’d moved out for safety.
And with the Queen’s funeral still unsettled, she had even less reason to hurry back.
“Your father is probably the one giving His Majesty the real headache,” the prince muttered.
Hong-ah sensed where this was going and quickly shoveled rice into her mouth.
“You do realize how unfilial your father has been toward mine, don’t you?”
“Mmm.”
Pretending to focus on her meal, she avoided his gaze. Oh look, there’s an anchovy here, she thought, poking at her side dish with her chopsticks.
Prince Anpyeong’s sigh stretched long and deep across the room.
