"In which historical accuracy meets matchmaking sabotage."
Seoul in spring looked like something out of a dream.
The palace grounds stretched out before them in endless layers of ancient stone courtyards, lacquered red gates, and soaring tiled rooftops, framed by soft pink cherry blossoms drifting lazily in the morning breeze.
It smelled faintly of woodsmoke, fresh pine, and the unmistakable sweetness of blooming azaleas. Somewhere in the distance, a traditional gayageum string melody floated through the air, as if the entire world had politely decided to soundtrack itself for maximum emotional impact.
Ava adjusted the delicate silver binyeo hairpin tucked into her updo and tried not to gape like a tourist.
They were standing at the entrance of Gyeongbokgung Palace—reserved exclusively for today's matchmaking event—dressed head-to-toe in traditional hanbok, looking like they'd been plucked out of a K-drama casting call.
