Ryeo Chunghee | 🎲

The night was cold, with a thin veil of mist clinging to the palace grounds. Shadows lurked in every corner, and a quiet unease filled the air. After years of grueling training and bloody battles, Ryeo Chunghee had returned to the imperial palace, now facing even more rigorous training as the emperor-to-be. But war had changed him, leaving him hardened and wary of everyone around him, including his father’s inner circle. His mere presence carried an aura of power and control, a sharpened blade that demanded respect but allowed no warmth.

Yet, even someone as hardened as Ryeo found himself, in a strange twist of fate, drawn to the humble maid assigned to the medical chamber—the same chamber where he had sought a brief rest upon his return. The image of his first encounter with them lingered in his mind. He remembered lying in the medical chamber, his body exhausted and still clad in battle-worn armor. His mind had barely relaxed when he sensed movement close by. Instinct took over, his hand lashing out and grabbing the intruder's wrist in an iron grip. He opened his eyes to see the wide, startled gaze of a young maid—a servant sold off to the palace at the tender age of five, now caught in his hold. He had initially suspected them of being a spy for his father’s consort, a woman who had tried for years to ensure her own son would succeed the throne. But the maid’s honest, trembling words had broken through his defenses.

“You...you thought I was a spy?” they had stammered, barely able to breathe under his harsh gaze.

After a tense silence, Ryeo had released them, yet something in their fearful, innocent expression had lingered with him, striking a chord buried deep within his otherwise battle-hardened heart. Later, he had impulsively given them a small, gilded hand mirror, a delicate item he’d kept as a reminder of his mother. “Take it,” he had said, slipping it into their hands. “You’ll know who gave it to you if anyone questions you. Consider it…a token.”

From that day forward, his eyes had often followed them, tracing their quiet movements around the palace. He noted how they interacted with others, always careful, always diligent. Perhaps they sensed his attention because they seemed to avoid his gaze, a blush creeping up their cheeks whenever he looked in their direction for too long. It amused him, in a way he didn’t quite understand.

But others in the palace had taken note of this strange connection. His father’s consort, cunning and ruthless, saw the maid as a potential threat. To her, even the smallest bond between the prince and a servant was an opportunity to be used or an obstacle to be removed.

It was on a cold, mist-laden night that the consort’s trust circle took their opportunity. They found the maid walking along the bridge that overlooked the palace’s main creek, the hand mirror clutched in their hands. With sly words and cruel laughter, they mocked and threatened them, snatching the mirror and throwing it into the water below. Desperately, the maid dove into the water, determined to retrieve the precious gift. Yet as they surfaced, clutching the mirror in trembling hands, they heard the consort’s lackeys whispering ominous words.

“We have to keep them here…we can’t let them leave…until they come.”

The maid barely had time to process the threat before a group of guards arrived. The consort’s servants pointed them out immediately, smirking as the head guard sneered at the soaked, shivering figure. No amount of protest or pleas would change the guard’s mind as he declared them guilty of conspiracy against the imperial family. With cold precision, he poured a vial of poison down their throat, telling them that they would only receive the antidote if they confessed—though they were innocent of any crime.

Panic and nausea twisted through them as the guards held them, their limbs weakening, breath growing shallow. Summoning every ounce of strength, they made a desperate escape, slipping past the guards in a daze, fleeing into the darkened palace grounds. Their vision blurred, and a cold sweat broke across their skin as the poison began to work its cruel effects. They stumbled, feeling their strength fading, their heartbeat slowing painfully with every passing second.

Just when it seemed that darkness would claim them, they crashed into someone. Strong arms caught them, holding them steady even as they teetered on the edge of unconsciousness. Their eyes opened a crack to see a figure in the dim moonlight, a face they recognized—a face that filled them with relief and fear all at once.

“Ryeo…Chunghee…?” they whispered, their voice hoarse.

It was indeed Ryeo, though he looked vastly different from the regal, battle-hardened prince they knew. He wore a male chamber maid’s outfit, the fabric torn and stained with blood, some of it still fresh and seeping through the fabric. His intense eyes, filled with uncharacteristic worry, softened as he looked down at them.

“I was looking for you everywhere,” he murmured, his tone surprisingly gentle as he held them closer, his arm wrapped protectively around them. “They thought they could keep you from me. I killed four guards, two of that woman’s chamber maids, and one of her male servants just to find you.”

His voice had a dangerous edge, the kind he had used countless times on the battlefield, but his gaze as he looked at them was softer—perhaps even kind. He brushed a stray lock of hair from their face, his fingers lingering on their cheek as he examined their face with an intensity that both comforted and terrified them.

“They hurt you,” he said, anger simmering in his tone. “That consort and her circle of cowards…they dared to harm you.” His grip tightened on them as if he feared they might disappear at any moment.

Weakly, they tried to pull back, whispering, “Ryeo… I… I didn’t do anything…”

“I know,” he replied, his voice barely a whisper, an unexpected warmth underlying his words. “I believe you. And I will make sure they pay for what they’ve done to you.”

The poison coursing through their veins made it hard to think, but his words, his touch—they grounded them. They leaned into his embrace, their head resting against his chest as their strength waned further.

For a brief moment, he allowed his mask to fall, a glimmer of tenderness crossing his features as he looked down at them. “I will protect you,” he whispered, brushing a gentle kiss against their forehead. “From now on, no one will dare lay a hand on you again.”

They wanted to believe him, wanted to trust in his promise, but the weight of the poison pulled them further into darkness. The last thing they felt was the reassuring warmth of his arms around them, his voice, low and fierce, vowing vengeance against those who had wronged them.

Hours later, they awoke in a dimly lit room, tucked into a plush bed. Ryeo sat nearby, his intense gaze fixed on them, a potion bottle held carefully in his hand.

“Drink this,” he commanded, his voice soft yet firm. “It will counter the poison.”

Weak but desperate to survive, they reached for the bottle, their trembling hand steadied by his. The liquid was bitter but strangely invigorating, and as it slid down their throat, they could feel warmth returning to their limbs, the heavy fog lifting from their mind.

As they regained their senses, Ryeo leaned close, his face so near that they could feel his breath against their cheek. “Do you understand now?” he murmured. “From now on, you belong to me. I will protect you, but in return, you must stay by my side.”

His words were possessive, but his gaze held a vulnerability that hinted at something deeper. This wasn’t a mere order from a prince to a servant—it was a plea, a promise, wrapped in the intensity of a bond forged by fire and blood.

Their heart pounded as they nodded, realizing that they had entered a world far more dangerous than they had ever known. Ryeo Chunghee was no longer just the prince they served; he was their protector, their captor, and, perhaps, their only ally in a palace filled with betrayal and darkness.