Lady Park, standing steadfastly beside him despite the biting winter wind, glanced up at Jade with gentle concern.
"Minister… you may go inside first. We will keep watch here."
For a moment, Jade said nothing. His lips pressed into a hard line, his breath misting faintly in the frigid air. The ache in his arm pulsed with every heartbeat, but it was nothing compared to the weight pressing down on his chest.
Finally, he answered, voice low, steady, yet hoarse with emotion. "No… I will stay here with you."
How could he take even a single step forward when she was inside—alone in her sorrow, crumbling beneath the weight of grief? He would not intrude, but neither could he turn away.
Behind those doors… Her Majesty was saying farewell to her father. The thought of Genie, kneeling alone before that bed, mourning the last tie she had left in this world, made Jade's chest tighten painfully, as though iron bands were crushing his ribs.
It was then—
"Father!!!!!!!"
The scream shattered the silence like glass, raw and sharp, piercing into the bones of everyone who heard it.
Queen Genie's anguished wail burst forth from the Hall of the Late King, echoing down the long stone corridors, wrapping around pillars, curling like smoke through the palace grounds.
The royal physician flinched, his composure breaking, and hurriedly rushed back inside, his robes flaring behind him. The court ladies standing nearby clasped their trembling hands before them, their faces pale. Even the palace guards, trained in discipline and stoicism, faltered, exchanging stricken glances as their gazes instinctively dropped to the cold ground beneath their feet.
Through the narrow crack of the slightly opened door, Jade caught a fleeting glimpse of her.
Queen Genie—kneeling before the great bed where her father's lifeless form lay—was hunched over, her shoulders shaking violently. Her body looked impossibly small against the vast expanse of royal silk and embroidered finery.
Then, the door closed again, sealing that private agony within.
But the sound remained—the soft, heart-wrenching sobs slipping past the heavy wooden doors, spilling into the winter air like unseen shards of broken glass.
'Your Majesty…'
Jade's throat tightened, his fists clenching at his sides until his knuckles turned white beneath the bandages. There were no words. No strength in the world could shoulder the grief that poured from that room.
All around him, the gathered attendants stood with heads bowed, their faces carved with sorrow. Court ladies, royal guards, even the lowest attendants—all stood together in that silent, helpless reverence, unable to comfort their Queen but unwilling to leave her alone in that moment.
And then—the news began to ripple outward like a slow-moving storm.
"The Grand King is dead."
Whispers, then voices, then hurried footsteps carried the word through every corridor, every courtyard, every hall.
Before long, the once-empty grounds outside the Hall of the Late King swelled with people. Ministers, officials, high-ranking court attendants—all gathered in solemn silence, lining the steps, filling the courtyard. No one spoke above a murmur. Their robes rustled faintly in the wind, but no one dared disturb the stillness.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, heads bowed, each man and woman standing there not only as subjects of the Hana Kingdom, but as witnesses to the breaking of a daughter's heart.
Queen Genie's muffled sobs drifted faintly beyond the closed doors, like the last notes of a mournful song fading into the night.
No one moved. No one spoke.
And for a long, breathless while, all who gathered there stood together beneath the weight of grief, bearing silent witness to the sorrow of their Queen.
Amidst the crisp breath of early winter, the funeral of the late King Gen unfolded beneath a cold, cloudless sky. The season itself seemed to mourn with them, the quiet falling snow covering the world in a hushed reverence.
A sea of white garments swept across the palace grounds, hundreds of court attendants clad in traditional mourning robes forming a long, solemn procession that stretched toward the distant royal tomb.
At the center of it all was the royal bier, bearing the remains of the sovereign who had once led the Hana Kingdom with wisdom and dignity. The bier was adorned in muted splendor, its carved wooden frame draped in pure white silk embroidered with the royal emblem—now a symbol of farewell rather than authority.
Palace guards flanked both front and rear, moving with steady, deliberate steps, escorting the departed King to his final resting place.
At the head of the procession, Jade walked with measured, silent resolve. The frost-laced wind tugged at the hem of his dark cloak as he marched before the Queen, every step leaving a crisp imprint in the soft, freshly fallen snow.
Behind him walked Queen Genie, her form wrapped in somber ceremonial attire, her dark hair pinned simply beneath a white mourning veil. Just days ago, she had been consumed by raw, unrelenting grief, her body wracked with sobs.
Now, she walked with composure—face pale, but gaze steady, like a lake gone still after a storm. Only the faint redness lingering at the edges of her eyes betrayed the storm that had passed through her heart.
The snowy mountain path stretched endlessly before them, winding upward toward the silent, waiting tombs of her royal ancestors. The trees lining the way were bare, their skeletal branches coated in soft layers of snow like the brittle fingers of old men, reaching skyward in prayer.
As they ascended the path in solemn silence, Genie's quiet voice broke through the stillness.
"Winter… was my father's and my favorite season." Her words drifted in the air like warm breath in cold wind.
Jade glanced back at her, his sharp features softened by empathy.
His voice was steady, gentle. "The late King would be pleased, Your Majesty."
For a moment, Genie tilted her face toward the sky. The piercing blue above seemed impossibly bright against the white of the world below, as if heaven itself were clearer than ever.
"Right now… he must be happily watching over us from heaven," she whispered, a faint smile curling at the corners of her lips, delicate and fleeting.
Jade looked at her with quiet reverence.
"He is surely proud to see Your Majesty."
Her smile lingered just a moment longer before fading into solemnity. "I am still lacking," she murmured.
But Jade shook his head slightly.
"No, Your Majesty… I am certain the late King is proud of you."
His words, steady and certain, wrapped around her fragile heart like a shield against the cold.
As the procession moved forward, their footsteps muffled by the thick snow, Genie's thoughts drifted backward—away from the tomb, away from the present—back to the final hours by her father's side.
'Father…'
She remembered every detail—the way the royal bedchamber had smelled faintly of old cedar and medicinal herbs, the dim lamplight flickering softly across the withered lines of her father's once-mighty face.
"Genie…"
His voice had been frail, but his eyes—those steady, warm eyes—had held the last embers of life. He had summoned the very last of his strength to speak to her.
"Father…"
"There is something… I must tell you before I go…"
Her heart had pounded wildly, sensing the weight of something long hidden. Through tear-swollen eyes, she gazed at him.
"It's about my first son… your elder brother…"
"My brother…?"
The shock of those words had stolen the breath from her lungs.
"Yes… Until now, you believed your brother passed away long ago… but the truth is… he did not die."
For a long heartbeat, the world had seemed to stop.
"W-what…? You mean… Brother isn't dead…?"
Slowly, his frail fingers closed around hers, trembling like the last leaf before winter.
"He didn't die… He only left the palace…"
Stunned beyond words, Genie had sat frozen in disbelief. All her life, she had carried the sorrow of a brother lost too soon, the grief of a family fragmented by sudden tragedy.
'But all this time…'
"I'm so sorry… I couldn't tell you sooner…"
Her lips trembled.
"Why… why didn't you ever tell me…?"
A faint breath, almost too soft to hear.
"I couldn't… He asked it of me…"
"What…? What do you mean…? He asked you…?"
Confusion flashed across her tear-streaked face, but then—like a distant door opening in her memory—understanding flooded in all at once.
'The same dream…'
The dream she had always carried, unspoken but alive deep within her heart: the yearning to live beyond the suffocating palace walls, to be free—not as a monarch, not as a symbol, but simply as herself.
"Father… Did Brother… have the same dream as I did…?"
King Gen had nodded, weakly but unmistakably.
"You are correct… Like you… your brother… dreamed of living freely… not confined within the palace walls…"
For a long, aching moment, Genie had sat in stunned silence. But then, like a blossom blooming in the middle of winter, a faint, understanding smile curved her lips.
"I see now… I understand why you kept it hidden."
Of course he had. It was exactly the kind of man her father had been—valuing the happiness of his children over the heavy, burdensome traditions of royal blood.
'Because you're that kind of person… You've always valued our dreams more than the weight of lineage…'
With his last breath, King Gen whispered one final plea.
"When… you meet him again someday… tell him for me… tell him… I missed him dearly… that I longed for him…"