Chapter Text
Kim Byeong In’s most admirable quality is his complete inability to hide what he is thinking at any time, despite what I imagine are his best efforts.
In particular, there is a way that he holds his face, as our Yung Jun once described to me, when he is uncomfortable and is struggling not to show it that is so amusing I often find myself looking for ways to encourage that expression to surface.
Last month, I stopped by Byeong In’s place unannounced, as I had had a trying day and found myself needing to get away. Oktajeong seemed—too obvious, and I didn’t want to disturb my brother and his wife, who rarely got to spend any time together as it was, seeing as he still headed my security detail.
“Hello,” I said evenly when Byeong In turned around to find me lurking in the corner of his study.
He made a sort of strangled sound in the back of his throat. “Your Majesty,” he hissed indignantly, “what an honour.”
“Oh,” his servant (who I later learned was his only one) peeked his head into the room, “you have… company? My Lord?”
“No,” Byeong In grit out through his teeth, “I do not.”
“Jong Cheol,” I smiled wide and nodded amicably to the man, “Jang Jong Cheol.”
“I will fetch you some refreshments,” his servant said before scampering off.
“What kind of name is that?” Byeong In exhaled loudly through his mouth.
“I brought you some of that tea you like,” I said instead of answering his question, holding out the box of jasmine tea I had brought along.
“You brought me some of the tea that you like,” Byeong In corrected me. Still, he had his servant serve us a pot, and sat down with me for a few cups.
“Will your… friend be staying the night?” his servant (who for some reason looked ecstatic to see me) asked tentatively when he returned to the room with an assortment of alcohol and anju.
“No,” Byeong In swiped a hand down his face in exasperation before shooting a glare in my direction, “Jong Cheol will be leaving shortly.”
I stayed until all the teapots and plates were empty, as it was a shame to let his servant’s efforts go to waste.
Last week, I returned, but this time I knocked. “Good evening,” I offered when Byeong In stared at me in disapproval, having come to see who was at his door in the middle of what looked like changing into his nightclothes.
“This is a private residence,” Byeong In sighed as he stepped to the side to let me in anyway.
“Byeong In,” I said with the lilt at the end of his name when we had sat down in front of some tea I asked that he brew (it was late enough that Byeong In had dismissed his servant for the night, and he was not keen to wake the man just for me), “I came to warn you.”
His eyes temporarily went wide with confusion, and he then narrowed them again in suspicion. “Is it against intruders?” he muttered mirthlessly.
I waited until he lifted the cup of tea to his lips to take a sip to speak. “Our Yung Jun asked me the other day if you had a wife,” I replied with as much innocence as possible, “as you have never mentioned living with any women.”
Kim Byeong In spluttered and coughed, setting the teacup down so roughly that it tilted over and spilled.
“I told him the truth,” I continued lightly, “of course.”
“What,” he shook off the hand that the piping hot tea had sloshed over, sounding panicked.
“That you are unfortunately single,” I added after a long, deliberate pause, “I mean.”
“Get to the damn point,” he snapped, having regained his composure as he realized I was making fun of him.
“Well, you know how the Grand Prince is,” I took a sip of my own tea, “He only wants the best for you. He’s asked that a matchmaker be hired for you in secret—and I could hardly refuse such an altruistic request. You will meet her tomorrow; I thought you might appreciate a head’s up.”
Kim Byeong In got to his feet and reached inside a cupboard to take out a bottle of wine, which he uncorked and brought to his lips while making direct eye contact with me.
——
From time to time, I consider how fortunate it is that as humans we only live for an infinitesimal fraction of time compared to the gods, when our hearts ache and break so easily. It is a welcome comfort, to know that there is an end to our suffering.
The gods are immortal and must endure for an eternity; they are sentenced to the everlasting agony of grief with no respite.
It’s no wonder they are often described as being so deranged—so quick to take umbrage, and then just as swiftly sliding back into tranquility. We too, would find forever too cruel of a fate.
In the months following the Lady of the Lake’s departure—when I finally came to terms with her being gone, that was—up until around Yung Jun’s 100th day, I was near inconsolable. I kept those feelings at large to myself, as So Yong was doing me the enormous courtesy of carrying our child and then nursing him—and I do not think I honestly could’ve found the right words to describe the darkness that engulfed my soul for almost a year.
What could anyone even have done for me then? No amount of power and influence could have recovered the woman who was right in front of me, but simultaneously disappeared without a trace. The Royal Investigation Bureau would’ve had a field day, with their unhinged King demanding that they locate a mystic lady from a lake who looked just like the Queen.
Who could have possibly understood? No one had known the Lady of the Lake like I had—they had not fought with her, then alongside her like I had—and the Queen’s Court Lady and favourite maid certainly seemed relieved to have their Kim So Yong back. In my weakest moments, I entertained showing up at Kim Byeong In’s hut to ask for confirmation: that I hadn’t gone completely insane; that his cousin had been an entirely different person for months—
A person that I had loved fiercely, who had changed my world—changed me—whom I now did not know whether or not was safe.
I certainly understood that it was very unlikely that I would ever see her again—in this life at the very least, and—I’m not sure, still, if I would like to live another, as I once told the Lady of the Lake.
The best thing about living is that there is a conclusion. To do it over again—the thought is harrowing.
——
During the month and a half within which Byeong In lead Kim Jwa Geun on the mandatory 2000 ri walk into exile, I barely slept a wink.
Not only did our little prince turn out to be a handful (and much to our mutual frustration, I was forbidden from assisting with some tasks that would have been of great benefit to So Yong, simply because I was a man—did being the King mean nothing after all?), I begun to experience a strange new set of nightmares.
Instead of dreaming of being beheaded while I watched from outside of myself, I dreamt of plunging into a number of deep cold lakes after a version of the Queen I could never reach, no matter how much or how hard I tried and tried—
Each night I woke covered in a disgusting layer of sweat and panting for breath; it certainly felt, in the endlessly lonely dark, like I had drowned.
Indeed, I was suffocating during those days—from grief.
I did not call it by that name then; I thought myself merely mad, or perhaps possessed—because anything, even being overtaken by evil spirits—was better than the reality of having lost something so irreplaceable.
The week before Yung Jun’s baek-il I barely attempted to sleep at all—being up for too long was preferable to the oppressive clutch of closing my eyes only to find myself gasping awake in abject terror hours later. So until the early hours of the morning, I wandered about the palace, through the city like a vagabond, and over to the Delivery Hall where the Queen and our son were residing until he would be moved to his own villa in a few days.
I did not enter, as I did not want to wake or otherwise disturb them—instead I circled the building like some sort of disorientated tiger. What I was hunting, I don’t know.
One evening I noticed that the wisteria that’d been steadily climbing up the side of a wall was drooping from the weight of its own branches, the intrepid vines no longer able to cling to the framework and instead peeling away from the structure. Parts of the plant were also beginning to wilt, the once vibrantly green leaflets turning a pale, sickly yellow, and the flowers shedding handfuls of wet, mouldy petals.
Something about the sorry state of this tree I had never paid attention to before then caused a sharp twisting pain in my chest, and I made my way back to my chambers in an agitated daze.
Instead of laying down to rest, I reached inside a cupboard for a book I had not opened in many months—not since before Byeong In lured me out from the palace to act out that ridiculous rematch.
I traced my fingertips over the title on the cover I had painstakingly calligraphed almost a full year earlier: ‘The Queen’s Dictionary’
The remainder of the night I spent studying that precious glossary, until I’d just about memorized all the available definitions, and was keen on trying my hand at filling in the gaps based on what context I had.
After grating myself some ink and taking a brush into my hand, I realized that I had gotten the page wet with the tears that were now trickling down my face.
It was dawn on the 99th day of our Yung Jun’s life, when I finally allowed myself to truly weep for the mother he would never be able to meet.
——
Approximately nine months before our Eun Sol was born, I suggested to the Queen that we take some time for ourselves at a Royal Villa.
The Grand Prince was at a healthy year and one month, growing rapidly and instilling a profound joy in everyone that he graced with his company. I don’t think I would have believed it, if I had been told that Kim Byeong In was capable of smiling sincerely before Prince Byeongi came into this world.
We left Yung Jun for the week with his uncle, his Court Lady (who was also his wet nurse), and Eunuch—as well as of course, a whole myriad of maids. At that time, while I still wasn’t too fond of Byeong In, I at least trusted him to protect our son with his life.
“Shh,” Byeong In cooed as his nephew began to fuss, his mother having climbed into the palanquin ahead of me, “Be good for uncle.”
“Yung Jun-ah,” I gave my son a gentle pinch on the cheek, “Be good for father.”
He immediately went silent before splitting his adorable, round face into a huge smile, and I could not help but feel smug as I settled in the litter next to So Yong.
To our vacation destination I brought along two books: ‘The Queen’s Dictionary,’ and a blank volume that I intended to make use of if my wife was willing to assist me.
On the first night of our stay I stiffly asked for permission to be let into the Queen’s bedchambers.
“Your Majesty,” she had laughed delicately, “must we stand on ceremony even here? After all this time?”
“No,” I had agreed with a hint of amusement, “I suppose not.”
An awkward moment passed, wherein I did not know how to broach the subject I had come prepared to discuss.
“Your Majesty?” So Yong inquired when I did not sit down with her.
“Kim So Yong,” I said after I eased myself down onto the floor across from her, “I would like to share something important with you.”
“What is it?” she said very cautiously after a pause, nonplussed by my use of her name.
I revealed ‘The Queen’s Dictionary’ from where I had been hiding it within my robes, and set it down on the desk between us. “Something that is just as much yours,” I held out my hand for hers, “as it is mine.”
As she reached out for my hand with wetness welling up in her eyes, I knew then that I had someone who understood me, without me ever having to say the words—someone I should have confided in a year and nine months earlier than I ended up doing so.
After all, Kim So Yong had also loved and lost the Lady of the Lake—perhaps even more ardently than I did.
——
The night after that I invited myself into the Queen’s room again, this time with the fresh book.
I had taken the liberty of coming up with a title, but the pages within were still blank—the crisp, clean parchment open to endless possibilities.
“I’d like to better understand,” I had explained when my wife traced her eyes over the cover, “the woman who thinks of herself as Kim So Yong.”
She had nodded with a soft smile, watching as I flipped open the book labelled ‘The Story of Kim So Yong’ and began to write.
——
A month or so after we returned from the Royal Villa, we received the happy news that the Queen had once again become pregnant.
Excited for the baby that would eventually become our Eun Sol, a few months in I stopped by the building that had been the Delivery Hall last time for the Grand Prince, as then So Yong had not yet indicated she would like to have the princess at home.
The wisteria that had been, the last time I’d seen it anyway, on its way to turning into mulch seemed to have been revived with a splendour—someone had given it a good prune, and taken care to wind the vines that still had life in them onto a brand new pergola instead of leaving them to creep up a wall without support. Now its lustrous, deep lavender flowers hung plump and full to form a beautiful awning.
“Your Majesty,” the groundskeeper for that portion of the palace bowed to me when I went to inquire about how he had restored the plant, “it simply needed something to hang on to.”
——
Grand Prince Byeongi is eight this year, and his younger sister Royal Princess Yeonghye six—both of them seem to have boundless energy, much to the exhaustion of their uncle Byeong In, and my dearest friend Du Il respectively; the latter of which has sworn his devotion to our pretty little princess.
Almost a decade later, I still wonder about the Lady of the Lake every so often.
Had she been real? Did she really come from the future? Where is she now? How is she doing?
What would she think, of our precious Yung Jun? Of the babe that we created together with So Yong, and of his lovely little sister?
The Joseon that stands today, just a bit better than it had been yesterday—is it good enough? Will it ever be good enough?
Did she know, with certainty—that I adored her with every fibre of my being? That the world she left behind will never be the same?
Sometimes, I consider it thoroughly—begging Fate to allow me to live another life just in hopes that I will see her again—that is.
If it were possible, would it be something I really wanted?
The truth be told—I still don’t know.
— Fin.