The royal office in Princess Genie's palace blazed with warm light, casting a golden hue over the intricately carved walls and polished wooden floors. It was late, but within the heart of the palace, a pivotal meeting was about to begin.
Around the grand office table sat three of the most trusted figures in the kingdom: Han Son, the Minister of Culture; Moonsen, the diplomat from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; and Captain Jade of the Royal Guards. At the center, composed and commanding, sat Princess Genie.
She rose slightly from her seat, her hands placed firmly on the desk. Her expression was solemn, but her voice—when she spoke—was resolute.
"From this moment on," she said, eyes moving from one face to another, "we are no longer simply ministers or guards or royalty. We are comrades—bound by duty and ready to risk our lives for Hana, no matter our rank or title."
A hush fell over the room as she continued.
"My father led Hana with divine guidance, always placing the people first. But if the Ju Tak faction gains power, Hana will lose its light. It will stray from the will of the heavens and cease to serve its people. I cannot—will not—allow that to happen."
Moonsen was the first to respond. He bowed deeply, the candlelight glinting in his eyes. "Yes, Your Highness," he said with quiet conviction. "You have my loyalty. I will give my all to protect Hana, in the spirit of its founding."
Han Son followed with a thoughtful nod. His voice, calm and measured from decades of political experience, carried weight. "Your vision honors your father's legacy. You lead not with fear, but with purpose—and that is what Hana needs. I stand with you, Your Highness."
Genie's gaze then shifted to Jade. He hadn't spoken yet. His silence hung in the air, taut with something unspoken. When their eyes met, he held her gaze for a long moment before giving a slow, deliberate nod.
"Yes, Your Highness. I will do everything I can to serve you—and the nation," he said. But his voice softened at the end, almost faltering, as a familiar discomfort stirred within him.
Genie didn't press him further. Instead, she straightened her back and looked over her small but steadfast council.
"It is decided, then," she said, her voice steady as a blade drawn for battle. "Our numbers may be fewer than the Ju Tak faction's, but we will not be shaken. I believe in the divine power that guides us. There is no turning back now."
Jade looked at her then, really looked—and in that moment, he saw a woman transformed.
Though only twenty-three, Princess Genie bore the poise and presence of a sovereign far beyond her years. She stood not just as the daughter of a king, but as the true heir of a legacy built on justice, wisdom, and compassion. Her love for Hanag burned bright in her eyes, and it humbled him.
But alongside that admiration came a creeping fear—one that coiled in the pit of his stomach like a serpent.
The day would come when Genie would learn the truth.
The truth about who he truly was.
And Jade didn't know if, when that day arrived, she would still see him the same way.
Early that morning, Princess Genie walked briskly through the corridors of the palace, a scroll clutched tightly in her hand. The parchment detailed the planned August feast—a lavish event meant to honor the newly appointed officials and the noble elite. Yet, as her footsteps echoed through the still halls, her thoughts were elsewhere.
She reached a tall set of ornate double doors. Beyond them lay the meeting chamber of the Noble Women's Society.
As the doors creaked open, fifteen well-dressed women looked up in unison. Some blinked in surprise, others exchanged sharp glances, the kind that held more judgment than curiosity. At the center of the long table, Lee Jan sat—serene, poised, and watching the princess with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Your Highness," she said smoothly. "I didn't expect you to join today's meeting."
Princess Genie met her gaze without flinching. She walked steadily to the center of the room, her posture unyielding. Stopping in front of Lee Jan, she looked her directly in the eyes.
"May I sit here now," she said, her voice calm yet piercing, "as the lead of the Noble Women's Society?"
Gasps rippled through the room. A visible tension clutched the air.
Lee Jan blinked, startled for the briefest moment. But she recovered quickly, her sly smile returning like a veil. Rising gracefully, she gestured to the seat.
"Of course," she said with a bow of her head. "You deserve the seat, Your Highness."
Her steps were slow but heavy as she moved aside, heels clicking against the marble floor. Genie took her place at the head of the table and set the scroll down with deliberate force. Eyes turned to her, most with suspicion, others with thinly veiled disdain. She felt their gazes digging into her like cold knives. But her face remained composed, her spine straight.
She was scared—just a little. But fear was never something she allowed to dictate her choices.
"I received this report late last night," she said, unfurling the scroll. "It outlines the details of a feast scheduled in August—hosted here, in the palace—for newly appointed officials and members of the noble class."
Lee Jan's lips curled into a smug expression. "Yes. It's customary."
Genie kept her voice even, though the fire behind it threatened to rise.
"Is it customary," she asked, "to host a party funded by the people's taxes for nobles who already have more than they need? Is it tradition to invite only those who come from noble bloodlines, while excluding newly appointed officials who actually serve the people?"
The room fell into murmurs. The women exchanged glances. Their expressions darkened.
Lee Jan folded her hands on the table, speaking with feigned patience. "Your Highness… You've been away in Arabia for some time. You may not be fully aware of how palace customs have evolved. These events… they are a continuation of tradition."
Genie's eyes narrowed. She leaned forward slightly.
"Since when did this become the tradition?"
Lee Jan faltered.
The room quieted so suddenly, it was as if the air had vanished.
Genie's voice, steady but firm, filled the space.
"When my mother was alive, August was the month we visited the rural provinces. We delivered ice and water to the farmers during the heat. We repaired homes damaged by floods. That was our tradition. A tradition rooted in service, not indulgence."
Her eyes locked on Lee Jan's. "So I ask again. Since when did that vanish? Since when was it replaced by a lavish feast for the wealthy under the guise of a welcome?"
Lee Jan's mouth opened, but no words came out. Her lips trembled. The silence that followed was heavier than the words that had preceded it. No one spoke. No one dared.
Finally, Lee Jan's voice broke the tension, trembling with a mix of defiance and fear. "So… Your Highness… you truly intend to begin this…?"
Princess Genie rose to her feet, eyes cool and unreadable.
"What do you mean, begin?" she said, her tone almost casual. "It's already begun."
She turned to the rest of the women seated around her.
"I'll be leaving for now. And just so you're all aware…" she paused, letting the silence punctuate her words, "the feast has been cancelled."
Without another glance, she strode from the room, the scroll left behind like a challenge on the table.
Princess Genie walked out of the chamber with serene composure, her steps light and unhurried. Behind her, Lady Han followed closely, along with Lady's attendant Park.
Though the air in the meeting room had been thick with confrontation, outside, the palace grounds greeted them with gentle summer warmth. A soft breeze stirred the leaves of the tall green trees, brushing against Genie's cheeks like a quiet blessing.
As they stepped down onto the sun-dappled path, Park couldn't hold it in any longer.
"Your Highness," she burst out, her voice full of breathless excitement, "you were amazing in there. Honestly! The way you stared down Lady Lee Jan like that—it was just… wow. Your charisma? Totally mind-blowing."
Lady Han glanced sideways at Park, but for once didn't scold her for being overly enthusiastic. She, too, was visibly moved.
"You handled it with remarkable grace, Your Highness," Lady Han said softly. "You didn't bend to their arrogance, not even for a second."
Genie paused, turning to face the two women who had stood beside her through the quiet and storm alike. To Genie, they were more than just attendants or court ladies—they were her family in all but name.
"You really think I did well?" she asked, her eyes wide and hopeful.
Her serious expression broke into a radiant smile, playful and warm—more the bright young woman they knew than the commanding presence she had just been.
Park grinned ear to ear. "Did well? You basically set the room on fire and walked out like a queen. I've never seen anyone shut down Lady Lee Jan like that!"
Genie giggled, the sound light and airy against the rustle of summer leaves.
"Well," she said with a wink, "someone had to remind them what true tradition looks like."
The three of them continued down the garden path, the palace behind them and the day ahead full of new possibility—calm for now, but with a quiet revolution beginning to bloom under the summer sun.
The grand hall of the palace was filled to the brim with courtiers, ministers, and noble delegates. The murmurs of anticipation faded into silence as all eyes turned toward the raised dais, where King Gen sat slumped slightly in his throne, his once-robust frame now marked by the pallor of illness. Though his body showed signs of weakness, his eyes remained sharp—keen with the weight of his duty.
An attendant eunuch approached from the side, bowing low as he presented a scroll wrapped in gold-trimmed ribbon. With a steady hand, King Gen accepted it and unrolled the parchment without hesitation. His gaze lingered for a moment on the names inscribed.
'Ju Tak... no surprise,' he thought. The only candidate aside from Genie.
Lifting his head, he spoke, his voice deep and deliberate, resonating through the hall.
"I will now announce the two candidates who will partake in the successor throne trials," he began. "First—Princess Genie, rightful heir of royal blood and the traditional successor to the throne. And second—Ju Tak, the candidate nominated by the noble officials and the Noble Society."
Whispers stirred among the crowd, rippling like wind through tall grass. Many of the courtiers and noble officials exchanged knowing glances, nodding subtly—as if this announcement was not a surprise, but rather the confirmation of something long expected. The name Ju Tak had circulated through hushed conversations and behind-the-fan whispers for years. Now, it was official.