The days were passing too slowly. The workmen dared to look at him from the corners of their eyes, the same look the councilors and guards and Alcheon gave him, one of uncertainty, fear, distrust. He shrugged it off with his head held high. So long as Her Majesty never looked at him that way, he could bear it.

But she was still in the capitol. When he had only memories to recall – when he couldn't stand in front of her and see her eyes for himself - he wondered. Doubt crawled under his skin. Fear burrowed into his bones. Distrust…

The days were passing too slowly. Bidam cradled the ring in his hands and tried to believe.


In his dreams, he was with Munno. Just outside the cave filled with dead bodies, his master knelt before him and stared at him like he was a stranger. They swept through towns like ghosts. He lost all sense of home. Munno's sharp, angry words echoed like thunder, as if he was heaven itself passing judgement. The world got colder. His master pulled further away until he, too, became a stranger.

No matter how he tried to please him, he failed.

His hands were always empty.

His mother never smiled.

They never cared. They didn't love him, because he was useless even from the start. Twisted, reckless, frightening. Even his love was feared. Even his loyalty was refused.

Mishil studied him in the candlelight of her private room, and found her forsaken son still lacking.

Bidam woke every night to find his heart filled with an overwhelming ache, and his cheeks wet with tears. The ring, kept safe in the folds of his inner garment, felt weightless against his chest.


His manservant announced a visitor. Bidam narrowed his eyes, struggling to remain calm and not let his anxiety show as the guest was shown into the room. It was only a visitor, nothing more or less. But why did it feel like his very life was now hanging in the balance?

He felt only a slight relief when he saw it was Jukbang. The man bowed. Bidam said nothing. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Jukbang gave his greetings, and when Bidam continued to stare at him wordlessly, he cleared his throat and reached into his coat. He withdrew an envelope. It was golden yellow.

"Her Majesty has ordered me to bring you this letter."

Bidam snatched it from his hand before Jukbang finished speaking. He didn't bother dismissing him before scrambling to open the envelope and unfold the letter.

His heart stopped.

He stared, and stared.

And then, realizing Jukbang was still waiting, he nodded slowly. He released a breath and calmly took another one in. The trembling in his hands ceased.

"I see."

He felt Jukbang's eyes on him, boldly watching, studying. Bidam turned to him, and nodded again. A smile threatened to spread across his mouth, and he tried to restrain it, but knew he was failing.

He could hear Her Majesty calling him a child. And yes. In some ways, he was.

"Shall I deliver a reply?" Jukbang asked, clearly confused about what could have caused such a reaction in the Sangdaedang.

"Yes."

Jukbang bowed and left the room. Bidam gathered his writing supplies, and composed his message while Her Majesty's words swirled through his entire body.

Prepare a small house for us.

I'm taking care of everything.

My last royal act.

Wait for me.

His brush danced across the paper while his heart pounded, and the irrepressible smile broadened until his whole face ached from joy.

He looked over her letter once more. His gaze was caught by her signature – her own name. It wiped away in one swift, rushing stroke all his doubt and fear. He laughed aloud. How could he have been so foolish? How could he have ever distrusted her? One can – one should – doubt a king. But she had never been just a king to him.

She was the woman he loved.

He sniffed back his tears and steadied himself enough to paint her name with careful, loving strokes.

I am waiting for my beloved Deokman.