A pestle turned in Jun's hand in slow, steady circles.

Dried ginseng. Honeysuckle. Peony root. To combat fatigue.

"Has she been eating?" the King asked, his voice thin but still carrying the same warmth before illness bound him.

The scrape of stone filled the silence between words. Doctor Seok Jun moved with the quiet grace of ceremony, each gesture honed through repetition, deliberate down to the curl of his fingers as he sifted a fine powder into a porcelain bowl.

"Enough to keep appearances, Your Majesty." He reached for another bundle of dried herbs. Ginger. Angelica. Licorice Root. For respiratory symptoms. "Though the Queen's appetite falters when she grows anxious."

Behind him, the King coughed into a cloth lined with blood. "She has been anxious?" he rasped.

"Of course. Her Highness worries for you. As we all do." The doctor didn't look up from his work.

"She shouldn't have to worry," the King murmured. "I brought her here. Took her from her home. Promised her comfort and gave her this… mausoleum."

Jun's gaze flicked to the sleeping mat where the King lay. The opulent silk robes folded neatly in the corner without a wearer to boast them. The fire guttering low in the brazier. The way death seemed to lie in wait in the corners.

"She is resilient, Your Highness," Jun remarked.

"She is lonely," the King countered.

Jun didn't say anything as he gave the pestle another stir. Three rotations clockwise. The pestle met the bowl with a crisp, rhythmic chime. The sound, light and clear, made something in his chest tighten. It was the sound of her laughter, echoing in memory. He hated how easily it came to him. How often it filled the spaces between thoughts meant for work. How he longed to always hear it, to be the reason for it. He kept stirring, pretending he could grind the echoes into silence.

"She laughs still," he said without thinking, his voice coming out softer than he meant to allow.

"Does she? Good… I miss her laughter." The King's voice was affectionate, wistful.

Jun said nothing as he scraped the pulp into another bowl. Honey and wine in equal parts to dilute the bitterness. His mind seemed to be elsewhere as he watched the tincture simmer.

"You've grown quiet, Jun," the King muttered.

"You need rest, Your Highness," the doctor replied, straining the liquid through a silk mesh. "Not conversation." The amber drip slowed until it seemed to count down seconds.

The King chuckled weakly. "You sound like her." His smile became somber. "There have been rumors," the King said suddenly.

Jun's hands paused. "Rumors always come in both famine and illness, Your Majesty." He reached for the final vial and uncorked it. Prussic acid. One drop, then another, timed between heartbeats.

One.

Two.

The faint scent of bitter almonds slipped into the steam and dissipated.

"Some whisper that she does not act as a queen should." The King's disagreement with the sentiment was palpable.

"Her Highness bears their envy with grace."

"If I cannot recover…" The King's voice hesitated, raw as he finally acknowledged the sombering possibility of his end. "She will be unprotected. And you…"

Jun turned. Their eyes met but it was no longer his King he saw. Now he was just the man beneath the robes, the man who treated Jun not as his staff but as family. He was simply Go Hyun.

"You have always been loyal to me, Jun," Hyun said. "But I ask something deeper now. Not as your sovereign. As a friend."

A pause.

"Watch over her."

Hyun looked at him the way one man looks at another when death has already made its introductions. And Jun, for one fleeting second, hated him for it. For trusting him. For giving him something sacred when he had no idea what kind of monster he was feeding.

He bowed his head low before remorse could let out something he would regret.

"Of course, Your Majesty."

He held out the cup. The tincture was warm, fragrant, deceptively mild. The King took it with both hands and drank slowly, sighing into the steam.

Jun watched every swallow.

And said nothing.

---

The corridor outside the Queen's quarters was silent except for the muted sweep of his robes. The air felt lighter here, freer. Until he reached her doors. Two attendants stood at either side, all polite tension and lowered eyes, their presence an ugly reminder of the protocol that bound the palace. Jun didn't spare them more than a glance and a courteous bow.

"You are not to disturb us," he said, already slipping into authority. "We must ensure no transmission whatsoever. Her Majesty's health is still fragile." That word. Fragile. He liked the way it justified his presence. The attendants bowed low and stepped aside, letting the doors slide closed behind him with a hush that felt final.

Inside, light spilled across the chamber in soft, warm streaks, catching on silk screens and trailing over the polished floor. There he saw the Queen sat across the room, sunlight catching in her hair. Jun's pulse betrayed him. For a heartbeat, he forgot the ritual of breath, posture, control.

Beautiful, his mind supplied. He ignored it and bowed, but not too deeply.

"Your Majesty," he greeted, his voice carrying that deliberate warmth he reserved for her alone, devoid of the practiced cold civility he normally used. "I trust isolation hasn't driven you entirely mad."

He moved to the side table, unwrapping a fresh bundle of herbs with careful, almost reverent hands.

"I've brought something new today," he continued, setting out the tea and tinctures with delicate grace. "A tonic to treat restlessness and boredom. Mostly harmless." A playful glint. "Mostly. Though I should warn Your Highness that this particular blend may cause elevated heart rate. Flushed skin. Perhaps even a racing pulse."

The tea steeped. He let it bloom for longer than necessary, savoring the pause between them. "I thought you might prefer something warm to the endless rules of confinement." His eyes flicked to hers, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "But I'm hoping my presence today may be a remedy as well."

He poured her a cup in silence. The ceramic clicked softly against the saucer. His fingers brushed hers as he offered it, letting his touch dwell on her skin.

"If Your Highness is still feeling restless after the tonic," he murmured, his tone slipping lower, "I can adjust the tincture… or find other methods to soothe you."

His gaze held hers across the rim of the porcelain.

"Would you like me to try?"

No mask. No apology. Only the hush of sunlight, the scent of steeped herbs, and Jun holding that question between them like a dare.

Today's excuse was the Queen's pulse. It had seemed slightly elevated yesterday. Maybe. Possibly. Enough to justify Doctor Seok Jun's presence at least. Enough to sit close again, to feel the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers under the guise of medical duty. Enough to see that smile aimed at him.

And only him.

Jun walked across the courtyard with slow, steady steps. The hem of his robe whispered against the polished stone but all he could hear was the whispers of her laughter. He shouldn't still be thinking about it, but the memory was burned into him like fever. That rare, bell-clear sound that refused to echo through any other corridor of this godforsaken palace but his own mind's. It was so beautiful, so bright he could feel it crack open the dim space in his chest. He should have looked away the first time he heard it. Yet he hadn't.

And he still hadn't.

"Your Highness appeared fatigued after this morning's council meeting. I simply wish to ensure her heart is recovering well after yesterday."

The line sounded perfect in Jun's head; he had rehearsed it three times after all. His mind was already at the Queen's door, imagining how she might turn toward him when he entered her chambers. The way her lips might twitch when he teased her about ignoring his last prescription. Brushing his fingers against her wrist just a moment too long when he checked her pulse.

Harmless things. Logical things. Things a physician ought to do.

Then raised voices shattered the fantasy.

"Ungrateful wretches!" Yi Geum hissed. "While the king lies bedridden, it is my daughter who holds this kingdom together."

Jun slowed his steps, expression smoothing into that perfect mask of cold politeness he'd spent his life forging. Ahead, near the Queen's quarters, stood a brewing storm. Madam Yi Geum, the Queen's mother, stood firm like a blade unsheathed. Across from her, Lord Go Cheol, the King's brother, bristled in his immaculate robes, his usual serpentine smirk barely concealed beneath the pretense of court civility and the arrogance of a man who believed the throne already bent to him. Behind him, a collection of councilors loomed behind him like vultures in silk.

Go Cheol clicked his tongue. "How convenient. A young queen gaining influence just as her husband's health declines. Tell me, is it grief or ambition that drives your daughter's loyalty?"

"Tread carefully, Lord Go."

Jun stepped forward before the accusation could fully rot the air.

"It is still unknown whether the nature of His Majesty's illness is truly fatal," he said smoothly, positioning himself between Cheol and the door. "Perhaps we should refrain from burying him while he still draws breath."

Cheol's eyes narrowed. "You dare—"

"And it is curious," Jun went on, "That you have returned only once such rumors began to spread. Tell me, is it cowardice or calculation that kept you away until the whispers of His Majesty's health reached a fever pitch?"

The corridor stilled, tension taut like a pulled bowstring. Madam Yi smirked. The councilors shifted uneasily.

Cheol's jaw clenched like he'd bitten into a stone. He pivoted sharply. "Do not pretend loyalty, Doctor. The Queen has no right to remain in the palace. It has been over a year. No heir. No progress. She is—" his eyes flicked to Madam Yi with venom, "—unneeded. What right does a queen who cannot bear heirs have to occupy the palace grounds? Let alone rule from it? Does a year of barrenness not speak for itself?"

The councilors behind him murmured in agreement.

Jun should have measured his response. He should have weighed the consequences. Instead, he smiled. A small, polite thing laced with venom.

"That may no longer be true."

A beat. The councilors blinked. Madam Yi stiffened.

Jun continued, serene as ever.

"The Queen is with child."

The lie slid from his tongue smoother than any truth.

Stunned silence. The Queen's mother began calculating to herself. The councilors sputtered like candles in the wind, their weight shifting, their leverage slipping. Cheol's composure cracked for a breath but he was quick to recover with a brittle smile.

"Then, perhaps, I should offer my congratulations in person—"

"I do not advise disturbing Her Highness," Jun said without pause. "She is resting." A warning wrapped in a doctor's professional concern..

Cheol's eyes flashed with something ugly, but he forced a formality anyway. "Then do send her my pleasant regards, Doctor Seok."

With a bow, he turned on his heel and retreated, the councilors flanking him like leashed dogs. It was only when they disappeared down the corridor that Jun's smile vanished like mist in the sun. He pivoted toward the door, eager to retreat into the peace of the Queen's presence.

Then Madam Yi's hand caught his sleeve.

"Is it true?" she demanded.

He turned slightly. "No."

"Then we are back to where we began." She exhaled sharply. "An impotent king and a wasted crown. I should have known. That man hasn't touched her since the wedding. I doubt he even—" She waved a hand. "Useless."

Jun said nothing.

Yi Geum studied him.

"Artificial insemination," she said suddenly. "Can it be done?"

"No," Jun answered immediately. "That would be irresponsible to His Majesty's health." That was the truth. But not the full truth. The thought of his Queen carrying the King's child made something foul rise in his throat.

Her gaze narrowed. "Then what was your plan?"

"I did not have one," Jun admitted, quieter now.

She laughed bitterly. "Impulsive. Dangerous." She said it like a compliment.

Her fingers tapped along her crossed arms. "Hm." She hummed. "Perhaps we should simply steal a child from one of the concubines. Or a slave. No one would question it."

Jun's jaw tightened. He should have stayed silent, let the Queen's mother continue her own path of destruction in the name of power instead of offering his own in the name of devotion.

"If your goal is to secure the throne, I could… ensure it." The faintest tremor in his throat.

"Ensure it? What do you—" Madam Yi's surprise gave way to something colder, approving. Slowly, a smile curved her lips. "What a sensible man you are, Doctor Seok. I always said my daughter's health was safest in your hands. You have always looked at her with such... care."

Jun inclined his head, as if acknowledging a compliment rather than damnation. The echo of his own words horrified him and thrilled him all at once.

She leaned in and smiled wider. "You would not even have to lie about the conception. If you timed it right, you could even convince yourself it was a kindness."

Before he could respond, before he could rescind his offer, a soft creak interrupted them.

The Queen's chamber doors had opened.

Jun's breath caught in his chest, his composure faltering mid-breath.

Madam Yi stepped back and adjusted her sleeves, clearly satisfied with the outcome of the morning's altercation. "I will leave you to it, Doctor Seok" she said, her voice light. "You and my daughter… have much to discuss."

She glided away without another word.

Jun turned slowly to face the Queen, his features already smoothing into practiced calm despite the thoughts churning underneath. He couldn't tell what she'd heard. If she'd heard anything at all. So he did what he always did, what he was trained to do.

He gave a deep bow and offered a calm, clinical smile that masked the thunderous pulse of his treasonous heart.

"Your Highness, you look radiant as always. I notice you are up early today. How are you feeling?"