Chapter – 27
It must be a lie. Lady Jami was gentle by nature—she was only trying to comfort her.
“It’s true. Watching you eat makes even someone with little appetite like me feel hungry. Look—at first you could only manage one dasik, but now you eat two, don’t you?”
“……”
Soran cast a sidelong glance at the plate of sweets, suspicion flickering in her eyes.
Lady Jami smiled kindly.
“I look forward most to the time I spend drinking tea with you.”
“…So do I.”
Soran replied with a shy smile. Lady Jami nodded.
“Still, in front of others, it might give them something to criticize. I’m telling you in advance.”
“Yes. I’ll remember.”
Soran nodded firmly, as if engraving the words in her heart.
“Now then, finish the rest of the sweets.”
“Yes.”
Soran picked up a piece of dasik and brought it to her mouth, gently biting it in half with her front teeth.
Chewing quietly, she ate without puffing her cheeks, yet clearly savoring the taste.
Lady Jami watched her with an inexplicably wistful gaze.
“The weather’s grown much milder, hasn’t it, Captain Jungnang?”
The officer, strolling along carelessly, spotted Gyoheum and snapped to attention. Gyoheum frowned.
“You’ve only been in the palace a few days and already your discipline is slipping?”
“Slipping? Hardly. I’m wound up tight. If I mess up, you’ll be the one blamed for bringing me here—why would I let that happen?”
“I’d be blamed?”
Muttering the words, Gyoheum frowned again. His thoughts drifted to the conversation he’d had with Soran the previous evening.
As they ate together, something had felt off.
Unable to pinpoint it, he’d continued eating with an uneasy feeling—until realization struck. Soran’s cheeks weren’t puffed out as usual while she ate.
Watching closely, he saw she was serving herself less food than normal.
—Have you lost your appetite? I should tell them to pay more attention to the side dishes.
—What? No. It’s delicious.
—Then why are you eating so slowly today?
—Ah…
Soran set her chopsticks down and placed her hands neatly on her lap, then met his gaze calmly.
—Isn’t there a gathering of captains’ wives in a few days?
—There is.
Gyoheum raised an eyebrow, as if to ask what that had to do with anything.
With a composed expression, Soran continued.
—I’m practicing in advance, so I won’t give them anything to criticize.
—Ah.
Only then did Gyoheum understand.
—Who would dare find fault with the Chancellor’s daughter?
—I’m no longer the Chancellor’s daughter. I’m your wife now. If I behave improperly, it’s you who’ll be talked about.
He thought, briefly, that a little gossip wouldn’t hurt anyone.
But in the end, he said nothing.
“How unfortunate,” he muttered.
“Yes? What is?”
Snapped out of his thoughts, Gyoheum shot the officer a stern look.
“Stay alert.”
“There’s nothing to stay alert for—it’s so quiet it’s boring.”
The officer replied flippantly, then straightened abruptly, putting on a sharply disciplined expression.
“Of course, even in boredom, I never let my guard down!”
Gyoheum shook his head instead of scolding him. If not for that personality, he’d be perfect.
Then the officer spoke again, as if something had just occurred to him, his posture already loosening.
“I heard you visited the Chancellor’s residence?”
“How did you hear about that?”
“There are no secrets here. Everyone’s talking. They say you’re only passing through this post, and soon you’ll be transferred to His Majesty’s personal guard—the real power of the Inner Military.”
“Nonsense.”
Gyoheum started walking again. The officer followed a step behind, chattering.
“They don’t say it outright, but they all look jealous. Of me, that is—the confidant of confidants.”
“That’s exactly the nonsense I’m talking about. Who else would I bring? There are plenty who can’t even earn their keep. At least you’re worth half a man.”
“Half a man?”
The officer pouted, but he knew the words weren’t meant harshly. He firmly believed himself to be Gyoheum’s right-hand man.
…Without that belief, enduring Gyoheum’s temperament would’ve been impossible.
“Oh—by the way, is Madam doing well?”
“My wife? Why?”
“Well…”
The officer hesitated, then fell silent, rummaging through his memory. Suddenly, he slapped his fist into his palm.
“Ah! I meant to tell you, but you wouldn’t let me get a word in earlier. It’s about the rumors—about your wife.”
“If it’s that story, I’ve heard en—”
“The rumor that she was mistreated.”
“……”
Gyoheum stopped abruptly and slowly turned his head.
His gaze on the officer was sharp and dark.
“What do you mean?”
“I heard it from someone who lives near the South Gate. No one says it outright, but people in that area all know, more or less. They say she lived worse than a maid.”
“Worse than a maid?”
Gyoheum’s face twisted in disbelief.
“Yes. Washing clothes in icy water in winter, tending the hearth fire in summer. They say she wasn’t fed properly, worked like a servant. When people saw her running errands, her clothes were so shabby—no one would’ve guessed she was the Chancellor’s daughter.”
“……”
Gyoheum’s expression hardened. Moments that had once seemed merely odd resurfaced.
Her delight at tasting the simplest food.
The practiced way she scrubbed brassware.
The way she startled at the slightest stain on her clothes.
How she rejoiced over something as small as a stick of taffy.
“They say Madam Munhyeon tormented her for her entire life. Eventually, even the servants followed suit, emboldened by her authority. Who knows how much is true—but it can’t all be false.”
—We should visit my father soon to pay our respects. Thanks to you, I’ve been promoted. We can’t go empty-handed—what does he like? And when would Madam be free? It’s been so long; I’m sure she’ll be happy to see her father.
When he’d said that, what kind of face had Soran made?
Pale as death. Trembling eyes. She had been afraid.
And not only then. Even after arriving at the Chancellor’s residence, she’d remained stiff and tense throughout.
It wasn’t the demeanor of someone returning to a beloved home.
—Let’s meet again, Soran.
When Sehwa had greeted her warmly, Soran had clutched Gyoheum’s hand—almost as if in relief.
Now he understood why she wore only dull-colored clothes. Every garment she owned had come from her former home.
Ah.
Now everything made sense. The scattered pieces fell into place, forming a single, clear picture.
Soran was afraid of that house.
And yet—
—If my going helps you, then I’m ready anytime.
She had followed him without a single complaint.
“What have I done…”
Gyoheum murmured coldly, staring into the air. The pale winter sunlight shattered brilliantly along his eyelashes.
He clenched his fist and turned to the officer.
“Who was it? The one who told you this rumor.”
“Pardon?”
“Who is he, and where does he live?”
At the chill in Gyoheum’s voice, the officer unconsciously rubbed the back of his neck.
Swallowing hard, he forced himself to speak.
“A friend of the Captain’s, you say?”
Soran rolled her eyes subtly as she stole glances at the man.
Tall and slender, with a thin, smiling gaze—he reminded her of a fox that lived in the mountains.
Once, while gathering wild greens in spring, she had encountered a fox.
She hadn’t been able to run. She hadn’t been able to move at all.
The fox swished its lush tail back and forth, eyeing the rice ball she’d brought.
It was a rough grain ball, barely any rice, seasoned only with salt.
Having barely eaten that morning, Soran tried desperately not to lose it.
But the fox’s gently smiling eyes, its wagging tail, the way it flopped over and rolled cutely on the ground—she’d lost herself, and handed over the rice ball with her own hands.
It wasn’t until she was heading back down the mountain that her senses returned.
Clutching her rumbling stomach, she lamented belatedly that she must’ve been bewitched by a fox.
“Baek Jangho,” the man said.
Jangho smiled, narrowing his eyes into thin crescents.
Forgetting entirely that her behavior was rude, Soran stared at him openly.
Why did he remind her so much of that fox?
And stranger still—there was a sweet scent about him. It should have made her mouth water, yet instead her heart stirred uneasily.
