The Prince's Inquiry

The summons came at midday, delivered by a stone-faced eunuch who gave Ra-on no time to protest.

"His Highness requires Hong Dae-sung's presence immediately," the eunuch announced. "You will come alone."

Daliah's stomach dropped. Ra-on's face went carefully blank, but her hand found Daliah's sleeve for the briefest moment, a warning and a lifeline.

"Remember," Ra-on whispered as the eunuch waited outside. "Speak little. Defer much. Do not meet his eyes for long. He is clever, Daliah. Cleverer than anyone I have known."

"Then he'll see through me anyway," Daliah said, adjusting the hanbok that still felt like a costume rather than clothing.

"Perhaps." Ra-on's expression was unreadable. "But perhaps he will choose not to look too closely. That is his way sometimes. He sees everything and acts on only what serves his purpose."

The words offered little comfort as Daliah followed the eunuch through passages that grew progressively grander. Servants bowed low as they passed. Guards stood at attention. The weight of hierarchy pressed down on her shoulders like stage fright, but worse, because the performance never ended here.

They arrived at a pavilion overlooking a garden where early plum blossoms defied the cold. Lee Yeong stood at the railing, his back to her, hands clasped behind him. He wore deep blue robes that caught the light when he moved. Even his stillness seemed deliberate, controlled.

"Your Highness," the eunuch announced. "Hong Dae-sung, as requested."

"Leave us."

The eunuch's surprise flickered across his face before training reasserted control. "Your Highness, protocol—"

"I said leave us." Lee Yeong's voice remained pleasant, but something in it made the eunuch bow and retreat without further argument.

Silence stretched. Daliah kept her eyes down, heart hammering against the binding cloth. She counted her breaths the way she did before difficult performances, finding center, finding balance.

"You may rise," Lee Yeong said without turning. "Tell me, Hong Dae-sung, what did your father do in Geumsan?"

The question came casual, almost lazy. A trap disguised as small talk.

"He was a farmer, Your Highness. Rice, mostly. Some barley."

"Prosperous?"

"We ate well enough."

"Yet he valued education. Taught you to speak like a scholar." Now Lee Yeong turned, and the full weight of his attention fell on her like stage lights at maximum intensity. His eyes were darker than she had realized, deep and searching. "That requires either wealth or extraordinary dedication."

Daliah thought of her own father, who had worked two jobs to pay for ballet lessons, who had believed in her talent enough to sacrifice everything. The memory steadied her, gave truth to the lie.

"Extraordinary dedication, Your Highness. He said education was the one thing no one could take from us."

Something shifted in Lee Yeong's expression, too quick to name. "A wise man. I am sorry for your loss."

The kindness in his voice was worse than suspicion. It made her want to drop the pretense, to speak honestly, to be seen as herself rather than this borrowed identity. Daliah recognized the impulse as dangerous and swallowed it down.

"You honor his memory with your words, Your Highness."

Lee Yeong moved closer, descending the steps to stand before her. Too close. She could see the fine embroidery on his collar, smell pine and ink and something else, something that reminded her of winter mornings.

"Look at me," he commanded softly.

She raised her eyes. His face was even more striking at this distance, all elegant lines and careful control wrapped around something restless, something that wanted to break free. She understood that tension intimately—the cage of expectations, the weight of other people's dreams.

"Your hands," he said suddenly.

Panic spiked. "Your Highness?"

"Show me your hands."

She extended them slowly, palms down. Her nails were short, practical. The binding cloth covered her wrists. But her hands were a dancer's hands, strong and expressive, with calluses in all the wrong places for a farmer's son.

Lee Yeong studied them with the intensity of someone reading a book. He reached out, stopped just short of touching. "These are not a farmer's hands."

"My father did the heavy work, Your Highness. I was small, weak. He kept me to lighter tasks." The lie came easier now, built on foundations of truth. She had been kept from heavy work, preserved for ballet, protected so her body could become an instrument.

"Lighter tasks," Lee Yeong repeated. His gaze moved from her hands to her face, searching. "You move strangely. Last night, I watched you in the courtyard. Your balance is unusual. Your awareness of space."

Her mouth went dry. Of course he had noticed. A prince who painted and composed music would recognize another artist's body, would see the training beneath the disguise.

"I am clumsy in new places, Your Highness. Everything here is unfamiliar."

"No." He shook his head slowly. "Not clumsy. Controlled. Like someone who has learned to move with precision." He paused, then smiled, and the expression transformed his face from merely handsome to devastating. "You are lying to me, Hong Dae-sung. The question is why."

The words hung between them, accusation and invitation both. Daliah felt the moment balance on a knife's edge. She could confess everything, trust this stranger with impossible truth. Or she could commit fully to the deception, wade deeper into waters that might drown her.

"Everyone in the palace lies, Your Highness," she said quietly, meeting his eyes with a boldness that violated every instruction Ra-on had given. "I am told it is how one survives here."

Lee Yeong's smile widened, became genuine. "So they do. But most people lie clumsily, Hong Dae-sung. You lie like someone who has practice." He stepped back, releasing her from the intensity of his focus. "I will learn your secrets eventually. I always do. The question is whether you will trust me with them, or whether I must extract them like pulling teeth."

"I am no one, Your Highness. My secrets are not worth your time."

"I will decide what is worth my time." He turned back to the railing, dismissing her with the gesture. "You may go. But Hong Dae-sung—stay close to the palace. I am not finished with you."

Daliah bowed and retreated, feeling his gaze follow her until she turned the corner. Only then did she let herself breathe fully, leaning against cold stone as her legs trembled with released tension.

She had survived the interview. But Lee Yeong knew she was hiding something, and his interest was now fully engaged. The question was whether that made her safer or in greater danger than before.

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