Chapter Text
Her wedding procession is a funeral march. The spectators don’t smile, they do not sigh at how beautiful she is, the stray gazes cast her way are of something that isn’t envy. Eyes are averted as she passes them, the sound of her feet on the stone path to the shrine echoing clumsily through the courtyard.
“Won’t there be a festival?” she asks Fourth Prince in a sigh, clutching her hands so tightly, her nails bite stinging crescents into her palms. And though she whispers, her voice carries over the heads of the guests in their finery, a sea of brilliant purples and pinks and greens and blues.
“For Songak’s pariah, Wolf Dog’s wedding?” he mutters under his breath, “Unlikely.”
The sun beats mercilessly down upon Soo, blistering her skin. Sweat dampens the back of her neck, her layers upon layers of crushed silk underclothes cook her slowly. Every step she takes in the heavily embroidered skirts is a trial in and of itself. She doesn’t trip—Oh Sang Goong has taught her enough that she can manage this much. But the lady mistress of the Damiwon isn’t god; she cannot will away the intensity of the heat from the unfiltered sunlight. She cannot make this journey to the shrine any less unbearable.
And the thought of there not being a thing to look forward to at the end of the day drains the spring from her step.
“I see,” she swallows, “Nothing to be done about it, then.”
Her step falters, the toe of her shoe catching ever so slightly on the hem of her skirt. She feels her balance falter, her center of gravity struggling to keep her upright, and then—there is a hand on her elbow, holding her steady. When she regains her composure, the ceremony has come to a standstill, all eyes are glued to the infamous Lady Soo and her even more infamous husband-to-be.
Fourth Prince shrugs, and it’s—a trick of the light, the sun pricking her eyes, but she swears she sees him smile, though his lips don’t so much as twitch. I didn’t say anything, she hears him in her mind, clear as day. She purses her lips at him, then faces forward once more, her chin stubbornly, proudly jutting forward.
He lets go of her, and she almost immediately misses the comfort of it, the momentary reassurance his touch had brought her. And she finally gets it; why the brides of a thousand years from now made their journey down the aisle on the arm of a person they loved. It’s easy to face the future, when there is a safety net to catch you. Soo’s gaze drifts over the crowd of strangers assembled as her guests, and—she wonders if any one of them would catch her if she were to fall off this precipice.
(The answer: no.)
They make no vows to each other. Soo kneels before the altar and faces Fourth Prince in the west. The officiant instructs them to bow, his deep voice booming over the realm, pounding in her ear drums. She feels her face twist into the beginnings of a scowl, then stops herself, the conditioned fear of Oh Sang Goong’s thinly veiled punishment pulling her back to toeing that line between noble lady and perfect heathen.
Soo washes her hands in the holy water, half expecting her skin to burn. For at least the deities to recognize her for what she is; a phony, living the life of a girl she is not. A peasant masquerading as a blue blood. But her hands remain intact, there is no smoke, no blood, no screaming accusations of imposter, and she offers her hands to her attendant to dry. The faces of her cousins are a tearstained blur from the funeral, but Soo almost remembers her; her lady cousin, the first wife to the head of the Im clan. A man with two other wives and a half-dozen concubines, Soo faintly recalls Unni telling her, in the hours she had spent explaining and explaining again the branches of their clan and their relations with the powerful families of the neighbouring provinces.
Her cousin is beautiful, all porcelain skin and rosy cheeks. Well-suited to the finery afforded her station. She cannot imagine what her husband must be like; the epitome of slimy middle-aged man who takes full advantage of his power and keeps a dozen women. Their eyes meet when she holds the gourd as Soo pours warm rice wine into the jade cup, and—there is no envy to be seen on the lady at Soo’s fortune. No; the dejected look in the corners of her eyes, the sympathy in the way she slouches in a wince is—
Pity.
The cups are exchanged and Soo wets her lips with the wine Fourth Prince has poured for her. And her cousin pities her. Another step closer to her marriage being set in stone, and she’s an innocent in their eyes, being led to her death. She knows; Soo knows that her cousin, her family, any number of the guests gathered at the palace for this wedding have only rumours of Fourth Prince to judge. He is not what they imagine.
But the rest; the people inside the palace, the Queens and their King, the ministers, the lords with powerful last names—they know. They know what life in the palace must be, this place that is far too big to be a home. The place that shall be her home, now.
And though sweat soaks her undergarments, her toes are blocks of ice. She understands now, why they’d called it cold feet.
A band of crimson silk ties her to Fourth Prince, deceptively luxuriant for what it truly is; shackles. She and Fourth Prince shackled together in this prison that they haven’t asked for, don’t deserve. Now it’s just them. The two of them making their bows to Paeha, the Hae clan elders, the guests. Standing atop the hill and facing the steep climb of the rest of their lives.
I’m not alone, so I’m okay, she’d said to Fourth Prince.
(He shall have to be person enough.)
The reception following the ceremony is no party. Food is abundant, drinks flow freely. Servants dressed in their best uniforms, with their hair pulled severely away from their faces, dance around the tables with platters upon platters of delicacies. But she can barely eat, with how the court ladies have tied her into her hanbok, the layers squeezing her innards so tightly, there is room only for delicate sampling. Intentional on their parts, Soo thinks, scowling. Oh Sang Goong must’ve guessed that the offerings of the wedding feast would’ve tempted her into enjoying herself, and solved it with the painful contraption that is her robes.
Musicians from the Gyobang play their tunes on their string instruments, the songs deep and wistful. Somewhere, she supposes, there is a troupe of gisaengs putting on a show. There are children too; cousins of hers and his, playing together in the area designated for them, watched over by their nannies. But she cannot see a thing from her place in the pavilion. She hears only the absence of laughter and snippets of barbed conversation, the free-flowing alcohol sharpening tongues instead of diffusing tensions.
“This is an insult,” a stranger—a cousin says, in the brash young voice of a privileged man, as he walks past the pavilion, “A lady of our Hae Soo’s breeding and upbringing married to Paeha’s disfigured, monster of a son? In exchange for my men going out and fighting his war? Is Uncle insane? At the very least, he could’ve arranged for the marriage to be with Fourteenth Prince! Queen Yoo is a far better ally than the Kang clan, who aren’t even Wolf Dog’s blood—”
He is shushed by his companions, but the damage is done. Soo’s ears burn, her eyes flit to Fourth Prince who looks ahead with steely eyes, the line of his jaw tensed. He swallows the remnants of his cup of wine, and stops the eunuch who rushes forward to refill his cup with a scowl. The blood drains from the poor man’s face, and he steps meekly back with his head bowed. Fourth Prince pours the alcohol until his cup is nearly overflowing, then gulps it down. He has barely set the it back onto the table before he’s pouring another.
“You’ll never find happiness,” she reminds him, forcing levity into her voice, “if you keep glaring at people like that.”
“I am a prince of Goryeo,” he says, his voice sharp, “I do as I wish.”
“Yes,” she nods, “You’re privileged, so you should be the one to forgive.”
“I am not phased by such pettiness,” he scoffs, “The sentiments of those people matter little, so long as they serve their purpose.”
But he is. She sees it in the way he doesn’t meet her gaze, in the tensed line of his jaw. And as the disquiet between them lingers, widening into a chasm with his silence and her loss for words, Soo becomes increasingly uneasy. This is not how she would have her marriage start. With the callous prejudice people hold against him pushing him from her. Her family is not her safety net. Eighth Prince had been. And now that she’s married, it might just be Fourth Prince that stands between her and the dead drop; some gaffe that leaves her disgraced.
So, she builds a bridge. Their minefield of questions an easy pattern to fall back into.
“Your family doesn’t come to wish you well. Why?”
His eyes narrow. “Neither does yours. Why?”
“I have no memories of any of these people. I…hurt my head, not long before you came to Songak. So I don’t know any of them—I don’t think I ever did. My only family had been my Unni, and she’s…” Soo swallows, “Gone. My uncle sees me as an asset, my cousins talk big games and call me theirs and pity my situation, but they don’t know me. They don’t know how I’ve lived. Their wishes for who I marry are their own—especially given that they’re driven by their own political agendas. I have no use for any of that. They are not my family.”
I have no family. She doesn’t say it, but the words hang between them, all the same.
Silence stretches between them once more. Soo takes the flagon of rice wine and pours herself a cup, knocking it back, not caring that it’s unladylike. It isn’t as if it matters anymore. Whatever anyone says—her marriage is a done deal. On the other side of the pavilion, her uncle is embroiled in deep discussion with Paeha. Likely counting his spoils.
“So, you wouldn’t rather marry Jung, then?” Fourth Prince asks, his voice small and cautious, “You call him your friend, do you not? You bear affection for him.”
“Marry Jungie-nim?” Soo laughs incredulously, “He’s a little brother to me—a child. And you’re my friend, too.”
“Well it’s too late now, anyway,” he says, glancing at her and then away again. “We won’t be allowed to divorce anytime soon. At least—not while Paeha needs the support of the Hae clan.”
When he picks up his cup, Soo refills her own then clinks the two together. “For better or for worse, it would seem,” she toasts, then drinks, the alcohol burning a warm trail to her stomach.
Fourth Prince sighs, then swallows his own drink. “So it would.”
A slow growing smile blossoms on Baek Ah-nim’s face when he comes to find them. Soo feels her ears grow hot, the certain implications in his eyes blatant. You two could be good for each other, he’d said to her when she’d gotten betrothed. Do you see what I mean? He asks her now, though not in words. She doesn’t; she doesn’t know what it is Baek Ah-nim sees in the two of them, that would make him so sure of this. Even now, when it’s become clear that this wedding is little more than an unhappy obligation on everyone but Paeha and her uncle’s parts.
“The day is an auspicious one,” Crown Prince tells them, pouring them drinks, “The stars have blessed you, little brother, and—Sister-in-law. May you both live long and happily together.”
They speak of fate; the officiant, Astronomer, Paeha and now Crown Prince. Of her star joining with Fourth Prince’s and rising above the palace. As if it had been fated to happen. But—and here’s her dilemma; this is Hae Soo’s life she lives. The people gathered here are Hae Soo’s family. The finery, the luxury afforded royalty is Soo’s birthright. She is Go Ha Jin; down on her luck makeup artist. So, is it the vessel, this corporeal body, that’s tied to her fate inscribed in the stars? In that case, she’s no more than a thief.
But this is the scarier thought: that everything in her life as Go Ha Jin had been pushing her to that day at Lake Cheonjuho. To dying and coming back to life as a Goryeo lady of noble birth. That she’d always been destined to meet the princes, to marry Fourth Prince is—a relief as much as it scares her. That no matter what she does, she can’t mess up the course her life is meant to take. But then; she is truly helpless to change. Whatever control she thinks she has is an illusion, she may as well be blind and deaf.
The guests; his brothers—a drunk and slurring Eunie-nim with a beset-upon Jungie-nim trying to keep him upright—swarm around her. Soo lets her worries go; there will be time to ponder, later. For now, she allows herself to relax in her place beside Fourth Prince. She accepts gifts of jewellery and hand painted bone china with gratitude in elegant speech. In these moments, she’s a beautiful bride on her wedding day, accepting well-wishes from her friends—her brothers, now. When she catches Fourth Prince’s wry, amused smiles as he looks at her, she can pretend she is cherished.
And maybe this isn’t how she’d imagined her wedding as a child. She wears no white dress, she has no parents to escort her down the aisle. Her husband is a friend instead of a lover. The future looms, grey and uncertain before her, as stray rocks tumble over the edge of the precipice. But—despite all of this, in this moment, she can’t say she’s unhappy.
(It’s a start.)
In the privacy of the dressing room inside the Damiwon, the court ladies strip Soo down to the last of her undergarments, undoing the heavy gold belt, the sash, lifting the weight of the silks from her shoulders. They peel off the layers of her wedding hanbok, damp and disgusting in patches, until she stands in only her petticoat, the fabric gauzy against her legs by comparison to the discarded layers, her shoulders bare. In the absence of her ornate robes, she is positively naked and deliciously free. The windows are latched, but the junior court ladies in their bright yellow polka dots fan her, and Soo sighs in contented gratitude.
Oh Sang Goong orders a bucket of water drawn fresh from the well, and Soo doesn’t understand why until the court ladies begin dabbing at her skin with cloths soaked in the blissfully cool water. They take their time, wiping at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, her arms, her back, their practiced hands lulling her into slumber.
The robes they put her in once they’ve finished are flimsy, made of an airy blend of fabric that isn’t unlike her undergarments. A light sort of silk that kisses her skin. The skirt slipped over her sokjeogori and petticoat is rich crimson and flirts with her ankles, the square pattern embroidered along the hem in fine gold thread sweeping the floor, but light enough that she can move the folds aside easily as she walks. There is little danger of her tripping and embarrassing herself, and she must bite back her groan at the unfairness of it all. It’s a thousand times lighter than her wedding hanbok and at least twice as pretty, and she only gets to wear it now that they’ve arrived at the end of the long day.
A thick band of ornately embroidered mahogany silk is wrapped around her chest and tied snugly at her back. An embroidered red and white jeogori with wide sleeves that hang past her fingertips, embellished with bands of faint gold is draped over her shoulders, the fabric so light she looks twice to make sure it really is there. The ladies leave it loose and falling open as an untied robe, stepping back in unison once they’re finished.
When Soo finally peeks at the mirror, her face is set aflame. There’s nothing indecent about what she wears; it’s more modest than any of the outfits she’d worn a thousand years from now. But it’s the way the fabric falls, the lightness of it. The fact that she’s missing an entire layer of skirts, so that the pieces might be removed easily. It’s the most comfortable hanbok she’s worn since she’d arrived at the palace.
But there’s no doubt in her mind of the practical purposes of the design. And the thought of—that she has a husband now, that somewhere between now and old age, they’ll have to have children, throws her heart into tailspin, pounding a furious, nervous rhythm. It’s a topic she’s skirted around; the nature of their marriage, if they will be married in the truest sense of the word. Now she stands in the sexiest hanbok she has ever worn, prepared to meet Fourth Prince, her husband, on their wedding night, and—Soo is quite at a loss.
She’d said she could endure. But that’d been—she hadn’t had that part of her future staring her in the eye, demanding that she pay up.
A knock sounds at the door. When Oh Sang Goong nods to her, Soo clears her throat, takes a breath to calm her pounding heart and calls in a strangled voice. “Yes?”
“My lady, the Lord Hong Ha Jin would see you before you retire,” comes the light voice of a court lady.
Her stomach twists in anxiety. She has never shared a conversation with the man who is her uncle. He’d only informed her of her nuptials as a command, and left. She’d never had his ear. He’d given her no explanations, never mind affection or even regular familial kindness. So for him to wish to see her now, when it’s all over, when she’s done as he’s wished and is no longer a matter of concern seems—pointless at best.
“I would see him now,” she says, her tongue sliding smoothly over the elegant speech patterns Oh Sang Goong had drilled into her head over the past weeks. Her voice, the turn of words, the gold in her skirt and the red of her lips; together they make her what she is not. When Soo looks at the mirror once more, she can barely see Go Ha Jin.
Or; perhaps it’s just that Go Ha Jin would never have found herself in this predicament.
The ladies open the doors and she steps into the adjoining sitting room, where her uncle lounges on a settee, being served wine by a court lady outfitted in red.
“Niece,” he greets, “Take a seat.”
I’ll stand. The snippy retort sits at the tip of her tongue. Soo swallows it and sinks onto the settee opposite him. “Uncle. I trust you’ve enjoyed yourself at the reception.”
His eyes snap up, black and beady, examining her as a master might one of his horses. Bile rises up Soo’s throat, bitter and caustic.
“I have. It was a very important day for our family. Do you understand what all of this means?”
“Sure,” she drawls, “The union of the royal Wang clan and the Hae clan of Sabi.”
“Simple girl,” he laughs, the sound thick and suffocating in how condescending it is. “Of course you wouldn’t comprehend it. I do not care how much of the politics you understand. But know this, Niece; your wedding may be over, but the repayment of your debt starts tonight.”
She does not fancy herself a political player. Survival is hard enough as it is. She doesn’t have the strength of mind, the knowledge of this time to move pieces on a chessboard. But the way he speaks to her—Soo clenches her hands into fists, her nails biting into the skin of her palms. She isn’t some simpleton, and she certainly doesn’t deserve to be spoken to as if she is.
“Debt?” she asks, forcing her voice steady, “What debt do you speak of?”
“The debt of your years. Of the money that has gone into your clothes, your jewellery, your care, your education. The debt for keeping you after your parents passed.”
“That’s not…Unni cared for me, I lived with her, not in Sabi with the rest of the clan.”
“And who gave her the money to pay for all the nice things you had? It certainly wasn’t Eighth Prince and his disgraced maternal clan with their forever-dwindling coffers.”
There is ice in him. She’d realized it first, when he’d arrived for Unni’s funeral. He’d offered Eighth Prince the cordial condolences of an acquaintance far removed from the tragedy of Unni’s death. He’d given Soo nothing. The days they’d prayed for Unni’s soul, he’d spent cozying up with his in-laws. And then he’d left and when he’d come back, it’d been to set her world on its ear.
Soo exhales in a resigned sigh. “What would you have me do then? To repay this debt?”
Uncle sets down his cup. “It’s quite simple. I want a child—within the next two years. A royal child of Hae descent.”
There they are. The implications she hadn’t the foresight to consider, coming back to haunt her.
“I’m sure,” she dismisses nervously, biting the inside of her cheek, “that I will have children eventually. But these things aren’t in my hands. A child—I shall have one when it is time.”
“Do not give me that written in the stars nonsense, girl,” he narrows his eyes, “This alliance means nothing if you don’t secure your position as first wife to the prince. And the only way you do that is by mothering his heir.”
She doesn’t understand what his rush is. It isn’t as if the Hae clan needs an alliance with the royal family in order to maintain their power. She doesn’t know much about the politics of the hojeok, but this she’s discerned from the sheer amount of deference she’s experienced today; the Hae clan holds sway. A considerable amount of sway. So she cannot understand why her uncle is so insistent upon her securing their position further, by having a child with Fourth Prince. It’s what she’d agreed to it in theory, when she’d chosen not to run away, she knows this now, with the reality of her future breathing down her neck. But for Uncle to be in such a rush, to invoke a debt seems—out of place, no matter how she thinks about it.
“Your marriage will be consummated tonight,” he says, rising, “See to it that you keep your husband pleased. Otherwise—you do not want to cross me, Niece.”
Or maybe not. This era is still little more than a mystery to her. She doesn’t know enough about the politics Hae Soo had been born into to judge what is odd and what is not. She looks at the facts, instead: her uncle believes he owns her. And though she doesn’t have the full picture, she doesn’t know where Hae Soo falls into the clan hierarchy, this she knows to be true; his claim upon her is strong enough that he could sell her as a possession without anyone protesting on her behalf. If he commands her to sleep with Fourth Prince until there is a child growing inside of her—
What choice does she have?
The bed is curtained in gauzy red. And her husband stands tall and willowy by the open window. There is a breeze, but the air in the room is fraught with something. Soo finds herself quite unable to breathe.
She can do this. Soo curls her hands into fists at her sides, takes a deep breath to calm herself. It doesn’t help much. Anxiety makes her knees quake. She doesn’t know what she’s to do. Even scarier: she doesn’t know what Fourth Prince thinks of it all. And she’s the fool; for not bringing it up on any one of the walks they’d taken in the last two weeks. For not expecting that marriage would have consequences, that the expectations of this era, of consummation sealing the union of their families, of childbearing and rearing would apply to her.
You have a debt to repay. She hears in her uncle’s voice. There’s an irony to it; her life turned upside down for debts that aren’t hers. First Min Seok Oppa, now Hae Soo, gently reared Hae Soo slathered in luxuries that Go Ha Jin had enjoyed for a mere breath. And now she’ll have to pay up. Close her eyes and pretend that it’s the lips of a man she loves, kissing her bare skin. She’ll spend her nights in her husband’s bed until she has a child and she’ll somehow—
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Fourth Prince’s low whisper of a voice breaks her thoughts, “You take the bed.”
She falters, freezing with one foot in the air, unsure of where she might put her next step. “What?”
“It’ll be uncomfortable, I suppose. But the door will be guarded and I can’t leave out the window without being seen. So, I’ll have to stay here for the night,” he crosses his arms, and when he turns around, there’s a teasing glint in his eyes, “Know that it’s your honour—that you get to share a room with a prince, even if it is for a night.”
“The bed is…” The bed has a purpose, he’s not meant to sleep on the floor. He’s meant to sleep there, behind the curtains. After.
“I can’t sleep well on beds, I haven’t been able to get used to them since—” he shakes his head, “The point is, I sleep better on the floor. So, you take the bed.”
“I don’t understand,” she fidgets with her hair, pulling a strand out of it’s pins and wrapping it around her finger, “You and I won’t be sharing…? We’re married.”
He looks away. “I know that. But it’s—we’ve come this far because of Paeha’s decree. The rest…I would not live only as they will me to. You know this.”
“But then…” Soo bites her lips, “How would you live?”
Fourth Prince shrugs. “As I was, I suppose. As I am.”
Without a wife to think of. He’d said to her a week ago, that this marriage isn’t something he could run from. It’d mattered little who Paeha had chosen. The outcome remains the same: she’s an unfortunate consequence of his debt to his brother. A friend, but a consequence nonetheless. And that is where they end. Her uncle’s demands are not his concern, he won’t share her bed, and Soo—
Soo is freed and shackled all at once.
“And I? How will I live, now that I’ve left my home?” How would she appease Uncle?
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “As you wish. As you will it. You’ll have to adjust to life inside the palace, but my residence will be yours to do with as you please. The rest—I’m sure you’ll find ways to occupy yourself.”
“I am resourceful,” she murmurs, nodding, repeating the words over and over and over in her head as a mantra.
She’s resourceful. She can endure.
Ha Jin had died and landed in this strange purgatory, wearing Hae Soo’s skin and her name, and she’s done fine. She’s rubbed elbows with the royal family, she’s bowed to the king and her head still sits prettily atop her shoulders. Her uncle—she’ll find a way. It’s what she does. The silken finery of her clothes, the jewelled pins in her hair doesn’t erase Ha Jin’s past. Doesn’t do away with the years she’d spent, struggling through dead-end jobs. Ha Jin’s memories don’t erase Hae Soo’s reality. Of the fact that she is a pawn in a patriarchal family, and will remain so until she finds a way to break Uncle’s hold on her. Soo pulls her hair out of its elaborate coils, combing her fingers through the cowlicks and kinked locks.
She is neither of them. She is both of them.
And this is how she’ll survive.
(“Good night. Sleep well.”
His voice is faint and muffled and barely there. In the ear-splitting silence of the night, she hears him anyway.
You too. Sleep well.)