Dream of Affection (Completed)

I stared at him, unable to comprehend the words that had just come out of his mouth. When I remained silent, he shook my arm roughly.

“Where were you?” he shouted. His voice cracked, as if dragged up from the deepest, most tormented part of him.

“Whom do you mean, Your Majesty…?” I started, but then my gaze shifted to the familiar white cotton robe with its stubborn flower dye stain. This was my room, the place where I had died, sealed ever since. And now, Princess Yoom had torn through those bindings. The Emperor was here, questioning her, but it felt as if he couldn’t bear to say what—or whom—he truly meant.

“Your Majesty,” I whispered.

He was asking if I had seen a ghost. He was asking where she had been. I felt frozen with disbelief. I had hoped, somewhere deep down, that he might remember me, but not like this. I had never wished for this.

I met his gaze with a serious expression, against all the instincts screaming at me to lower my eyes. I had to know if he was in his right mind. These were not the questions a father asked his twelve-year-old daughter, and if he had posed them to others… Heaven help us, even a ruler with a legitimate claim could not maintain the throne if whispers of madness circulated.

“You saw her, didn’t you?” he said.

I shook my head. I had to deny it. But the Emperor’s eyes, red-rimmed and unyielding, did not accept my silent answer.

“No, you did see her.”

His gaze was terrifying, but the pain within it made my heart feel as though it would shatter.

“Your Majesty, who… who are you speaking of?” I ventured.

“Shim Seo-hye!” he bellowed, his voice breaking with anguish. A tear slipped down my cheek.

Don’t cry. I mustn’t cry. It was unseemly, against every rule of propriety. Even now, propriety was everything. A woman of noble birth, especially in Seonna, did not cry. She remained calm, kind to others, obedient to those above her, and gracious to those below her…

I hadn’t heard that name in so long. Once, I had been Crown Princess Shim. The deposed consort, a title spat at me like an insult. But “Seo-hye”… it had been years since I’d heard anyone use that name. The fact that someone remembered me by it, that the person remembering was my husband, and that he spoke it after all this time… It broke me. A flood of grief, buried beneath years of composure, surged within me.

A second tear slipped out, trailing down my cheek.

I clenched my jaw, fighting to contain my emotions. I shut my eyes, trying to focus on anything else. I had practiced this countless times before. If I just concentrated on the sound of the wind, the distant glow of the lamps, the shuffling feet outside… anything to push the pain back down.

But then the pressure on my arm eased. His grip loosened as if he were unsure how to hold me. I kept my eyes shut; the tears weren’t done yet. I couldn’t open them while they still stung behind my lids.

“Is it you?” he whispered, the sound filled with desperate hope.

“Have you returned, inhabiting my daughter’s body?”

I snapped my eyes open in shock, the unshed tears spilling over. He gave a strained, broken smile, one that looked as if he might cry himself. Then, without warning, he pulled me into an embrace.

“You’ve come back… yes, you’ve come back.”

Startled, I pushed against him. He let me go, stepping back with reluctance, but his eyes never left mine. They scrutinized me, looking for any sign that could confirm or deny what he longed to believe. It was as if he were trying to separate the features of Princess Yoom from those of another person he cherished.

I shook my head, unable to find the right words. Was I trying to say, I’m not her? Or was I denying that I had ever meant to deceive him? I didn’t know myself.

“You were always good at needlework,” he said softly.

“No…”

“You were fair and just with everyone.”

“No, Your Majesty…”

“When you tried not to cry, you would close your eyes and tense your whole body.”

I nearly shut my eyes again but forced them open. I kept shaking my head, but he reached up and touched my cheek. His head tilted down so that our eyes were level, a gesture he often used to coax a smile from me.

“Yoom is not skilled with needlework and doesn’t hold back her tears. She still doesn’t know how to handle people. If you meant to deceive me, you would need to be more convincing.”

I shook my head once more, unsure of what I was even denying.

“If you’ve returned, that’s enough.”

“Your Majesty…”

“That’s all I need.”

Please don’t tell me it isn’t true.

The whispered plea broke me. It carried such yearning that I couldn’t bring myself to contradict him. When he pulled me into another embrace, I found myself grasping his robe, clinging to the familiarity. I had been trained for life in the palace my whole life—before and after becoming the Crown Princess. But no one had taught me what to do in a moment like this.

“Come here,” he said, lifting me into his arms after a long silence. I gasped, startled. I hadn’t been held by anyone since I was a child. The sensation of being lifted off the ground felt strange and instinctively, I clutched at his shoulders. He responded by wrapping an arm securely around my back, pulling me close. It wasn’t forceful, but there was a firmness to it, an insistence that I lean on him. I had no choice but to rest awkwardly against him.

“You’ve done so much for a child’s body. Rest now.”

His shoulders were broad and solid. Leaning against him, I felt a strange drowsiness wash over me. Sleep beckoned, and I realized how tired I truly was. I’d been weary for a long time, ever since he’d left for the southern battlefield.

“Hold on just a little longer, and I’ll return as soon as I can.” Those were his parting words to me, and it hadn’t taken long for me to understand their true meaning.

When he left, disaster after disaster befell me in the Eastern Palace. I had learned to navigate the complex life of a royal woman, adept at surviving the rivalries within the palace. But against the onslaught of external threats, I was powerless. In the end, I fell without knowing how to stop it.

Ever since coming to the Cold Palace, I had dreamed this dream. The dream was fascinating but exhausting. Preparing for the Emperor’s birthday celebration, pretending to be someone else, facing the Empress—all of it took its toll.

When had I come to rely on him so much? We were merely betrothed, childhood companions paired by duty. When had I begun to depend on him this deeply?

And when had he started to…?

Lost in my thoughts, I drifted into sleep without meaning to. It was a sweet, deep rest, so comforting that even as I felt myself being laid onto my bed, I couldn’t rouse myself. I felt his hands smoothing my bedding and his gentle touch reassuring me. And then, I sank fully into slumber.

How long had I slept? Awareness seeped back, but I stubbornly kept my eyes shut. I didn’t dare face the cracked ceiling of the Cold Palace. I feared what emotions would rise within me if I looked at it—an unbearable reminder that I was alone, that last night’s encounter was just a dream.

My husband, or rather, the man who had once been my husband, had always cared for me, even in reality. Yet, I didn’t believe he would long for me in the way he had in the dream. He was neither indifferent nor passionately emotional; he was warm like a cup of fine tea—elegant, subtle, valued like gold. Beloved by all, and worth its weight in that precious metal.

He might have felt pity for me, but he would undoubtedly become a kind husband to the next Crown Princess. Meanwhile, I, the traitor’s daughter, would die here. The dream was only that—a dream. And I dreamed only because I had nothing else left, no other freedom but to dream….

So, for now, I refused to open my eyes.

“Your Highness, Your Highness.”

Chief Maid Seo’s voice jolted me. Why was I still in the dream? I looked at her, startled, and she mirrored my confusion with a hesitant, “Your Highness?” I shook my head, a foolish reaction that likely made me seem dazed.

“His Majesty approaches.”

Here?

Ah, of course.

Last night’s events came rushing back. But still… I couldn’t recall any precedent in the palace for an emperor visiting a princess’s chambers. With my sleep-fogged mind, I struggled to piece it together.

Though the Emperor was above protocol, Princess Yoom was not. If he came here, any blame would fall not on him, but on her. Yes, it would be my fault.

A princess was supposed to meet her father in the presence of her mother, never alone in her chambers. Such an occurrence was so rare that I didn’t know how to properly receive him. And beyond that, I was once his wife, was I not? Though I’d been deposed and effectively divorced…

Should I face him as a criminal?

“Announce—”

“Rise,” he interrupted as he entered. I had only begun the formal greeting when he stepped in and took my hand, pulling me to my feet and guiding me to a seat. He addressed me formally, using honorifics that were reserved only for the Dowager Empress or, on occasion, the Empress herself.

I was too stunned to do anything but stare. We could communicate so much with our eyes alone; we had always been that way. Maybe it was because we were alike in some ways. When I sent him a silent message that he shouldn’t be addressing me so formally, he laughed—a clear, bright laugh that sent a shiver down my spine. It was unsettling, as if there was a trace of madness behind it.

He spoke, “Is this about the protocol you always spoke of?”

Princess Yoom wouldn’t have mentioned protocol. I gave him a questioning look, but he simply smiled and said, “I am the Emperor.”

I? The Emperor’s decree explicitly stated that he should refer to himself as “We.”

I didn’t know how wide my eyes grew, but they must have been large because he laughed even more, as if my reaction amused him greatly.

This wasn’t the husband I knew. Who was this man?

Last night, I thought I had seen my husband again. Now, I was lost in confusion once more.