He loved a girl who died in fire and memory—so why does Yue, with her quiet strength and hidden pain, feel exactly like her? Could the ghost he's been mourning be lying beside him, still very much alive?
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"There was a girl," he murmured softly.
"The princess. She treated me kindly when no one else did."
Yue's heart ached, each word landing like a pebble in water, creating ripples she couldn't control.
She stayed silent and still, listening intently.
"She was different from the others, brave and intelligent for her age," he went on, lost in distant memories.
"Did you love her?" Yue asked suddenly, unable to stop herself.
The question fell between them, and silence stretched out before he replied. He didn't meet her eyes.
"I did," he eventually said so quietly she almost missed it.
"She died when the palace burned. I've... never stopped dreaming of her."
Yue remained still, her throat tight, too raw to find words, her fingers clutching the linen.
"She had this look," he recalled, a fleeting smile.
"Like she could change the world if she chose."
His gaze drifted back to Yue,
"You have that same look sometimes," he said.
Yue's eyes widened, unsure of what to say.
"She died," he whispered as though trying to convince himself.
"When the capital burned. I always thought... if I had acted differently—maybe she'd still be alive."
Her vision blurred with the thought of the night when her family was massacred; she couldn't remember that night.
Not a single detail before waking in a field, her dress stained with dried blood and her lungs choked with ash.
Yue survived, but her past was shattered into fragments—vague sounds, fleeting sensations, elusive shadows.
His voice seemed to tug at a memory hidden in the fog.
She could sense it coming undone, like a thread being pulled.
"We were engaged."
"She was promised to me," he continued,
"It was an arrangement to strengthen the bond between our nations."
He closed his eyes for a moment.
Yue's heartbeat was loud in her ears. She felt detached from her body like she wasn't in the tent.
In a sudden vision, she saw—
Snowflakes drifted lazily from the pale sky, landing on rooftops and courtyards.
Standing before her was the Yun Kingdom's inner palace garden, with intricate pillars coated in frost.
There was a girl no more than twelve years old, wrapped in a pale blue coat lined with fur and stitched with silver thread.
Her cheeks were flushed with the cold, and her breath formed small clouds as she stood beneath a plum tree defiantly blooming with pink petals despite the snow.
Nearby, a dark-haired boy stood unnaturally.
He held a stick of candied hawthorn fruit wrapped in oiled paper.
His attire was acceptable but simple, typical of a foreign court, and he carried himself as someone always prepared to bow, unsure of his role.
"I got this from the kitchens," he mumbled. "They only give it out on festival days. I thought... you might like it."
The girl smiled and accepted it immediately.
"You're not so bad for a hostage," she teased, grinning as she bit into it and scrunched her nose at its tart taste.
Turning red, he looked down but slowly matched her smile. "And you're not so scary for a princess."
They settled on the stone bench beneath the plum tree, leaving the snow around them untouched.
She examined his gloves. "These are too thin. Don't you have warmer ones back home?"
"Maybe," he said softly. "I didn't bring much."
"Next time you come out, use my spare mittens. I don't care for them. They're itchy."
He blinked, surprised. "But they're yours."
"I'm giving them to you. That's how gifts work."
The boy turned away, "My father says being kind is a weakness. That I'll die if I trust it."
She looked at him, eyes full of belief. "Well, your father's wrong."
He turned back to her, and something in his face softened and grew warm.
Farther in the palace, bells chimed, signaling the afternoon court session. But they stayed still.
She giggled, plucked a plum blossom, and placed it behind his ear.
"There. Now you're dressed properly."
He swatted at it, embarrassed, but left it.
"You'll be a majestic prince one day," she said, rising and dusting off her coat.
"And you'll be a formidable queen."
"Good," she beamed. "Maybe I'll spare you."
Slowly, the vision faded.
Yue gasped softly as the tent came back into focus. She could not tell if it was memory or her imagination.
"You cared for her deeply," she finally said, her voice soft and rough.
Yue swallowed hard, her throat tight with unspoken words.
If she was that girl he had loved, why couldn't she remember?
And why did the absence feel like losing something valuable if she wasn't?
Yue met his gaze, and in that single look, she saw everything—his sadness, his guarded heart, and the heavy burden he carried for the girl he lost. For her. Or someone like her.
His jaw tightened. "I never got to tell her how I felt about her."
"I thought we'd have more time. I thought we both would."
The sadness in his voice was deep, touching her heart.
"Your Majesty should rest; it has been a long day," Yue suggested softly, fetching a thicker blanket.
She draped it over him, tucking it close to his chest. As she turned to leave, he caught her sleeve again.
"Stay here," he said, his voice steady now.
His eyes, usually guarded, were open, revealing a rare vulnerability.
"There's nothing I can do to you in this state," he continued. "I feel more at peace with you here."
Yue hesitated, then sat at the edge of the bed, not quite beside him but near enough to feel the warmth between them.
"Your Majesty..."
Outside, the wind rustled the canvas walls of the tent. Inside, the quiet returned—delicate, full of things unspoken.
He offered no explanation, and none was needed. His voice, soft and low, carried a gentleness.
"Stay."
It was neither a command nor a plea.
Looking at him—his face marked with exhaustion and the sweat on his brow—something inside her softened.
She nodded in agreement.
Yue dimmed the lantern, leaving the tent bathed in a gentle amber glow.
That night, they lay on opposite sides of the bed—not touching, yet bound by something more substantial.
Yue lay facing the canopy, hands under her chin, watching shadows dance above.
Sleep was elusive, her mind restless.
He was very close.
She could hear the sound of his breathing. It was slow and calm now, no longer complicated like before.
She imagined the warmth he gave off just inches away from her.
Despite trying not to, her heart raced with each of his breaths. She knew these feelings were not right.
He was the Emperor, a man shared by the dozens of women in the harem.
Yet, in the quiet of the night, as she lay beside him, he was just a boy— exhausted, hurt, and burdened.
She wasn't supposed to feel safe here.
And yet, the warmth from his side of the bed reached her like a quiet promise.
She curled tighter beneath the blanket, her fingers brushing the edge of his robe where it pooled between them.
Silence held all that was unsaid.
Eventually, despite her swirling thoughts, she fell asleep.
She didn't notice when he moved nearer during the night.
She didn't feel him settle on the mattress or sense how his body turned toward her as if drawn by something he couldn't explain.
He lay on his side, supported by the pillows, watching her sleep.
In the moonlight that came through the tent, she looked almost magical.
The hard edges she showed during the day—harsh words, cautious looks, the cold mask she wore around others—had softened.
Her long eyelashes touched her cheeks. Her lips were slightly open as she breathed steadily.
Now, she seemed gentle and peaceful, free from palace life's heavy worries and games.
Yet... He felt a strange ache in his heart.
A hair had fallen across her face. Without thinking, he gently moved it aside.
She didn't wake up. But his hand lingered near her.
Why did she feel so familiar?
He had told himself long ago that the princess was gone. She disappeared with the palace, lost with all from that destroyed dream.
And yet... Was he seeing someone from the past in Yue?
Was he chasing after the memory of someone he couldn't save, or was he trying to find the girl he lost in the woman next to him?
Conflicted, he shut his eyes, clenching his jaw.
His hand moved back, curling into the blanket between them.
He tells himself that he won't touch her again tonight.
But with her beside him, he could not resist; he leaned closer and let his lips gently brush her forehead, leaving a tender kiss.
It was warm, a silent confession.
"You feel like a ghost," he whispered softly. "But you make me feel alive."