Chapter Text
1897
Winter was always an enchanting time in the palace.
A light dusting of snow coated the courtyards and pathways, decorating the roof of each building with another layer of delicate design. The stark white skies and ground drew the eye to the bright reds and greens of the throne room and pavilions.
Hyangwonji pond was hardened in places, patches of ice dusted with the powdery snow. The gazebo suspended above the water shone jade green in the evening light.
“The lamps will light soon,” came the voice of the Queen Mother, firm yet quiet, as to not disturb the peaceful night. At her side, a small boy nodded his head and squeezed her hand tighter as they began crossing the elegant bridge over the pond.
“Won’t we be late for my party, Hama?” the boy wondered.
“One of the most important lessons you will learn about royal life, Taehyung,” his grandmother noted, “is that when festivities are held in your honor, they cannot truly start without you.” Her gaze shifted to the prince, a small, sly smile adorning her thin lips.
The contrast between the Queen Mother’s subtle expression and the wide, open grin that broke out on the young prince’s face was as stark as it could possibly be. The boy’s smile was all teeth and gums – a rare smile that he was only able to show to his family, and only in private.
The Queen Mother raised her chin once again, schooling her expression into the porcelain mask she had honed over years at court. The boy’s gaze was quickly diverted elsewhere at the loss of her attention.
One of the young prince’s favorite things about winter was being able to see his breath puffing out of his mouth. He found himself playing with the clouds of vapor, testing out different exhales and how they changed the shape and density of the puffs. Blowing quick, cold streams of air yielded nothing, but dropping his jaw and exhaling slowly brought forth a large, white wisp that lasted a few seconds.
As his grandmother’s hand tightened around his, Taehyung drew his attention to safely stepping off of the footbridge. Hyangwonjeong pavilion, in its bright red and green, almost seemed to shine amidst the white and gray of its surroundings.
He could see the quiet sigh that left his grandmother’s lips as it curled higher into the air, the sound of it too soft to discern through the peaceful wind and snow.
“Your grandfather’s old residence to the north connects to this islet, did you know that?” she said, her words dipped in a fond, faraway remembrance. “When they began building Geoncheonggung, this area was made into a pond. This little pavilion was one of his grandest gifts to me.” She caught her breath, her perfect mask beginning to stretch and crack. “It’s truly a shame you never had the chance to meet him, my little miracle. And it’s a shame his great palace has been taken over by those…” She pursed her lips tightly, choosing to err on the side of caution rather than air out her current grievances. The walls had ears, after all.
Taehyung watched her movements as she smoothly knelt down to face him. She brought a hand to his forehead, tapping the mole there lightly with the tip of her finger, before dotting the moles on his cheeks and lip in the same way. She ended with a dab on the tip of his nose where his last mole was, enjoying his bell-like giggles as he scrunched his face together.
“Do you know that your grandfather, King Hojong, gave you a gift as well?” she asked him after his laughter died down. The boy simply shook his head. “He gave you your name.”
“My name?” the prince wondered, tilting his head slightly in confusion.
The Queen Mother nodded her head once. “Indeed. He told your father, after your two oldest sisters were born, that if he wasn’t alive to see the day when he would have a grandson, that his name should be Taehyung. He wanted you to be able to carry his blessing – and the blessing of our family – even if he wasn’t able to give it to you himself.”
Taehyung nodded his head, scooting a small pile of snow together with the toe of his shoe. “Can I thank him in my prayers tonight?”
“I think he’d appreciate that very much, my little miracle.”
The prince gave his grandmother a tight-lipped smile, before looking back at the ground. His nose began to sting, and his bottom lip started quivering.
“Why do you have to leave, Hama?”
The woman sighed out another plume of vapor. “It is simply time to go. I’ve stayed too long already, but I needed to know that you would be alright.” Running her hands over the boy’s small shoulders, her eyes darted across his face to commit every centimeter to her memory. “After the queen died, I knew I couldn’t leave you until I was certain you would be in good hands. But your sisters and your caretakers will raise you well.”
“Eomma-mama didn’t die,” Taehyung pouted, sniffling against the cold. “She was killed.”
There was a moment of hesitation visible in the Queen Mother’s expression. “She was,” she admitted, knowing it was better than trying to protect him from something he already knew. “And you were far too young. You’re still too young; seven is still too young...”
“Then don’t leave me!” the boy cried, rubbing away the tears that tried to fall into the cool evening air. “Or- Or take me with you! To that city full of angels you talked about!”
The Queen Mother laughed quietly, cupping her grandson’s face in her cold hands. “You’ll visit me one day, in the City of Angels. You, and all of your older sisters. We’ll be able to see a different side of the ocean, operas, and ballets. And I’ll even take you to see those new French and American short films that they record on camera.”
“Really, Hama?”
As she looked into those bright and hopeful eyes, the woman thought back to her own youth, and raising her own son. A son who looked so much like the boy in front of her, who grew into a King. This boy would have the same fate, if the royal family was allowed to persist.
But fear of the alternative drove her to decide to leave her home. Her family. Everything she held dear.
“I promise, my little miracle.” She grabbed one of his little hands, pressing a kiss to the tiny knuckles. She unfurled his fist, holding onto his wrist with one hand as the other reached into a pocket on the inside of her sleeve. “Close your eyes.”
The little prince gasped, immediately squeezing his eyes together tightly as he understood that he was about to be given his first birthday present of the night. He bit his lip in anticipation, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
A weight, cool to the touch and well-balanced, was placed in his palm, almost bigger than his hand was.
“Open them.”
Taehyung’s eyes flew open, though he had to blink a couple times to refocus after having his eyes shut so tightly. What sat in his hand was a small, metal box, ornately decorated with carvings, stones, and paint. He ran his finger over the ridges in the side, admiring the swirling details and deep green accents.
“Let me see it for a second,” his grandmother said, lifting it from his palm once again. She twisted it around to show him the bottom, where there was a small switch and a gear for turning. She spun the gear three full times, slid the switch to the opposite side, and then opened the lid.
A graceful, tinkling melody played into the night air. After the first few notes, Taehyung’s mouth flew open in surprise. “It’s our lullaby!”
“It is,” the Queen Mother replied. “I had a craftsman in America make it just for tonight. So that you’ll have something to remember me by, until we can see each other again.”
As the notes repeated again, his grandmother began singing out the words of the lullaby. Her voice had a nasal, twisting tone on the end of some of the notes, but it was perfect to him. He watched as her song was forgotten by the breeze, the words not collecting in a cloud like the end of her breaths, but instead dissipating with the moment.
When the verse ended, and the music box slowed to a halt, she closed the lid and slid the latch on the bottom to its original position. “You can play it every night before you go to sleep, and remember that there’s an old woman on the other side of the ocean who is thinking about you. An old woman who loves you more than you will ever know.”
When she handed the delicate box back to her grandson, he jumped forward to wrap his arms around her shoulders. “I could never forget you, Hama. Never.” He dug his nose into her neck, smelling the gentle fragrance of almonds from her hair oil.
“I will miss you, my beloved Prince. My little miracle.”
1904
The August night sky could not compare to the diamonds in the palace’s halls.
Swirling colors and long robes flowed together in a dizzying dance. Men and women twirled around each other as they spoke, their backs straight and heads held high. Their silks and hairpieces were studded with the brightest jewels money could buy.
And it all looked so very interesting through the slightly crossed eyes of the young prince.
A child of the royal family – especially the Crown Prince – is to look composed and dutiful at all times. An easy way to do that is to let his brain rest and simply fade the world in and out of focus, taking in all of the bright spots and faded lights.
“Wonja.”
The prince blinked once to focus his eyes again, then glanced to his right with his chin appropriately raised.
“Yes, gongju?” the prince replied, pursing his lips slightly to hold back the cheeky smile pinching at the corners.
The girl’s gaze flattened slightly. “You’re asking for a beating when we get back to our rooms.”
“What are you talking about?” he responded, pinching his eyebrows together slightly to feign innocence. “I’m only being respectful. You addressed me by title; I don’t see how this is different.”
“The universe tests me every day I wake up and you’re my little brother,” she muttered under her breath, still moving her lips enough to appear as though she was speaking clearly.
“But what would you do without me, Ahnna-nui?” the prince asked, head tilting this way and that cutely. “Also, you should start getting used to calling me wangseja. I’m almost of age.”
He could see her holding back from rolling her eyes in the way her eyelids fluttered. “You still have two years before you’re of age. And the day I call you ‘seja-jeoha’ is the day I die.” She sighed quickly before recovering. “Either way, Tae-ah,” she continued, “did you notice Lord Lim asking Taehwa-unnie to dance?”
“I did, I did,” the prince murmured conspiratorially, an eyebrow slightly quirking as he quickly glanced back to the dance floor. “Miran-nui has been getting many requests as well.” He turned to sit facing the main room fully again, before adding, “It's almost your turn, nui.”
The girl scoffed. A rather undignified response, but the youngest princess had never much cared for propriety.
“As if some ridiculous, gallivanting lord would be able to sweep me up,” she huffed, the volume of her voice rising slightly in her annoyance.
“Right, right,” the boy nods solemnly. “It couldn't be due to that pretty kitchen boy who sneaks you extra desserts, could it?”
“Taehyung!”
“ Wonja !”
Both young royals froze in their places. The princess bowed her head respectfully, holding herself perfectly still until she was told to get up.
After bowing his own head, the prince looked up to the source of the voice. The king sat tall on his throne, the cool look in his eyes as he addressed his youngest child absolutely damning.
“Yes, abo-mama?” the boy replied, trying to stamp down the guilt that filled his chest.
“I need not remind you of your position, do I, Taehyung?” the king said. His words were quiet enough so that no one on the floor could hear the Crown Prince being scolded for behavior, but still with an underlying power in his tone that made said prince swallow in shame.
“No, Father,” the prince answered, just as quietly. “I apologize.”
“I understand the night has been long,” the king acquiesced. “I was going to dismiss the court soon; I’m growing tired.”
“Would you like any help reaching your rooms, Father?” Ahnna chirped, ready to appease the king after her previous blunder.
“Just my attendants and guards will do, thank you, dear,” he replied, never able to stay upset at his youngest children for very long. As he rose from his seat – a smaller, less opulent echo of the one from his home palace – the room quieted down in an instant.
Taehyung did not pay much mind to his father’s closing remarks to the crowd. Instead, he combed through the sea of precious stones and painted faces to look for his oldest sister. Ora and her husband were supposed to be in attendance, and he had wanted to talk to her and see if her pregnancy struggles had eased up at all.
Her child would be the new youngest member of the royal family. A little prince or princess to carry on their great legacy.
However, in searching for his sister, his wandering gaze caught the attention of a few of the Japanese guards that were stationed by the walls of the hall. They made themselves present at every function and event that the nobility held. It was suffocating to Taehyung; their mere presence served as a reminder that everything his family stood for was beginning to fade away to nothing.
The dwindling number of guards and attendants in the palace, the nobles who flee the country or mysteriously go missing.
The death of his mother and the occupancy of his home palace.
He had only been able to set foot in his home of Gyeongbokgung a few precious times since his mother’s assassination. Gyeongungung was smaller, clearly not meant to be the hub of the higher echelons of society like the main palace. The modern and Western-inspired buildings stuck out like eyesores among the rest of the grounds, though some of the new technology was a welcome change. But his father moved Taehyung and his sisters to the smaller estate after the queen’s death as a way to keep a closer eye on his family.
After their family had fled, the Japanese had said that they were going to transform the former palace into a park of sorts. Taehyung spent every day holding his breath, waiting for the news of his home’s destruction. But to his surprise, it hadn’t yet happened.
Taehyung hated pretending like everything was fine. The palace still held social gatherings and appraised different scholars for their discoveries and merits. There were still parades that took them into the streets of Seoul every now and then, more as a chance for the Japanese to show them off like circus lions on leashes than to actually let the royal family be amongst the people.
His sisters felt the pressure too; Ora especially, being the oldest and the only one currently with child. Taehwa was two steps away from engagement with a formerly respected lord, and Miran’s studies were being strangled due to the destruction of the palace library. And Ahnna, who Taehyung had always considered his closest confidant, had nearly been muzzled due to her rambunctious nature and disdain for following orders.
Of course, Taehyung was still proud of his family – of his own title. He did not take being Crown Prince lightly, even if the position was really only ceremonial now.
The crowd around him suddenly all bowed in unison, marking the end of the king’s speech. At some point, Taehwa and Miran had rejoined them at the front of the hall, now standing in line between Taehyung and Ahnna. All of the king’s children bowed in unison to him as well, after the crowd had risen.
And as the moon climbed higher into the night, the king and his pride made their way across the grounds, escorted both by their own guards and a few Japanese soldiers.
Ahnna made good on her promise for a bit of roughhousing when they returned to their usually quiet section of the palace. Almost immediately after her attendants removed her hairpiece and outer robe, she pounced on him and locked her arm around his neck. He tried and failed to pry it away, rolling onto the ground as he attempted to force her to let him go.
“Oh, how quickly the pride of Korea falls,” a voice chuckled from the corner of the room. “If only there were someone more deserving to take the throne after our father.”
At that, Ahnna immediately relented her hold and jumped up from the floor, running towards the new person in the room. “Unnie! You’re here!”
Ora swung her youngest sister around one arm as a way to divert her momentum away from the bump in her stomach. “Yes, yes, I’m here. I asked Father if I could stay here for the night.”
“Miss us that much, nui?” Taehyung teased, standing from the floor and dusting off his robes. He cringed slightly as he noticed a patch of the silk that had been scuffed; he’d get an earful from their tailor if Ahnna put any rips in it.
“I just prefer the nurses here over the one Hyunjoon-orabeoni hired. Although, I’m second-guessing it now,” Ora laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand.
“I’ll go get Taehwa-unnie and Miran-unnie,” Ahnna giggled as she let go of her sister, running across the warmed hardwood. When Ora crossed the room to embrace her baby brother, her hand instinctively fell to streaming gently through his hair.
The night was peaceful. With their father already in bed, the royal children all gathered together to play the games that they had enjoyed as they grew up. Between rounds of go and cards, they would give each other small anecdotes from their recent lives. Taehwa did not enjoy being teased for her newfound inspiration for her poetry being that of a certain lord she was waiting for a special letter from, while Ahnna took great joy in ragging on her older sister for it.
When they had started to slow down, words and sentences being broken up by yawns, they all retired to their separate rooms. Taehyung puttered around his chambers for quite a while, unable to sleep. He began organizing the robes in his closet in a way that the messed-up sleeve of the robe he had worn that night would be hidden from sight.
But as he was sorting through his knick-knacks and medals he noticed something climbing through the air.
The smell of smoke.
Only in simple robes, he rushed to the bedroom door. He could hear some people speaking outside – only in Japanese – their footsteps unable to be completely muffled on the wood floors. The voices faded as the stench grew stronger, and plumes of smoke began to seep through the bedroom ceiling.
Taehyung backed away from the door, knowing that he couldn’t leave that way or whoever was out there would catch him.
He knew this day was coming.
Sprinting to the other wall, he grabbed the pommel of one of the decorative swords on the wall and smashed through the window. It wouldn’t be the first time he had climbed out of his room this way, but every time before had been for a game with his sisters.
Fumbling through with shaky hands, Taehyung rolled out of the window and landed in the dirt, slightly damp from a summer rain. He quickly stood back up, his bare feet carrying him around the building and up the nearest outdoor stairs. His lungs strained as he ran, the harsh smoke choking all of the clean air from around the sleeping quarters. He jumped up the stairs, skipping every other one in an attempt to reach the wall faster.
“Oi!”
Taehyung froze for a second. He couldn’t duck down, or they would be able to corner him. He couldn’t run through the rest of the palace grounds, because it was almost guaranteed that there would be Japanese soldiers stationed at every exit.
His only way out was over the wall and through the forest.
Scrambling back into motion, he rounded the corner of the terrace and pulled himself up onto the fragile railing. He would have to make a small jump to the roof of the wall. It wasn’t a huge gap, but the smoke had begun to burn into his eyes, forcing him to squint and making the gap appear larger than ever.
The sound of voices closing in and the feeling of his chest collapsing pushed him forward, over the railing.
The shingles shattered on impact, cutting into his smooth palms and through the knees of his robe. He tried to shake off any of the pieces that had stuck into his skin before climbing up and over the short, triangular roof. More shards of clay pricked at his heels.
On the other side, he was faced with the sheer drop from the top of the wall. Was it always this high? It never looked this high from the ground.
More shouting erupted from the grounds – some he could swear were the voices of his sisters – and he stood motionless until he flinched at a single gunshot echoing into the night.
He jumped.
One of his ankles caved beneath him, and his head knocked onto the hard dirt. Mud and soot caked his robes, and he could swear he felt something warm hitting his forehead.
Another gunshot sounded, and he forced himself to hobble into the nearby trees and try to reach the city on the other side. Every step sent a sharp, shooting pain through his right calf.
He pried through branches and weeds, some of them cutting into his arms and legs even more than the clay shingles had before. His lungs felt singed from the inside out, and he tried to swallow down the dry feeling in the back of his throat.
There were voices all around him – were they in the trees? Could the citizens see the flames? Was anyone going to go help his family?
In his panic, he tripped over his injured ankle right as the city streets came into view, and the wound on his forehead slammed into a tree before he hit the ground, and everything was smothered in soot-like blackness.
The death of the royal family of Korea would be labeled as an accident – a malfunction in the new heating pipes.
And across a vast ocean, an old woman received a letter that stole her entire world from her in an instant.