YEAR: 946

Yesterday, the first snow had fallen, muffling all sounds from outside, the setting sun casting a fiery hue over the frosted palace. Soo had watched it from her room, remembering a similar night several years ago, watching the snow fall with someone who would become a good friend and eventually, even more than that. It was not good for her, thinking so wistfully all the time, falling into an ennui of lonely depression. Wang So had become so important to her she had forgotten what it was like without him. Now, she stood on the wall-top wrapped in furs, watching and hoping for a group of men on horses to come over the horizon – but knowing that it was impossible.

Her fingers wandered over the snow-covered lip of the wall, melting powdery snow with her touch, odd patterns emerging. There was no wind and in the unnatural stillness, muffled by the thick sheet of snow over the palace, she made out the crunch of booted footsteps over snow behind her.

"You seem intent on freezing yourself to death this evening," Yo drawled, looking down at her. "I'm sure that your frozen corpse standing on the wall-tops will be a warning to all those seeking entrance to the palace, but I still have use for you."

Soo bowed. "Morbid, Your Majesty," she said mildly.

"As reticent as usual, Hae Soo," he replied dryly. "He won't come, you know. Not until I call him." Was he mocking her? Reminding her?

She said nothing to that, only dipping her head.

Yo looked mildly amused as he raised an eyebrow, gazing over the horizon that Soo had been looking at. "As amusing as it is to watch you foolishly cling to your role of nobly suffering damsel-in-distress, there will come a time when you will have to admit that you are lying to yourself. He won't come for you," he said, shaking his head. "You are a queen of Goryeo, and yet all you do is sigh." He shook his head. "I do not understand you at all, little wife." He snorted. "No matter. …When you feel that your blood is freezing in your veins, that's a sign you have been outside for too long."

Soo looked over at him. "Your Majesty does not enjoy snow?"

Looking at her as if she had grown a second head, Yo let out a dry laugh that steamed and dissipated. "It's cold," he said, his tone dropping in a way that implied he was stating the obvious. "Of course not."

"But… As a child, your Majesty did not play in the snow?" Soo asked, not thinking, only surprised, scooping up a handful from the lip of the wall and forming it into a ball.

That was the wrong thing to say. Yo's expression hardened. "No. A prince does not lower himself in pursuit of such debasing, childish activities," he spat. "It was beneath me." Somehow, it sounded as if he was reciting something, as if it was something someone said to him once.

Soo had a nagging thought that she knew who it was. With a mother like Queen Yoo, it was painfully obvious. She bowed. "I apologize, Your Majesty," she said softly, taking another, smaller handful of snow and making it into a smaller ball. "I did not know."

He said nothing.

The small ball in her hands was cold. With one finger she poked in eyes, taking a pinch of smoke and making it into a little nose. She set the little head on top of the larger ball and looked at the little snow sculpture critically.

Behind her, Yo shifted. "…It doesn't have arms," he said, a note of grudgingness in his voice.

She turned, smiling slightly, brushing the snow away with her foot and among the pebbles picking up a small twig that must have been blown onto the wall-tops. She snapped it in half, sticking the little arms into the sides of the tiny snow-person. 'On second thought…' She picked up two more pebbles, putting them into the depressions she'd made for the snow-sculpture's eyes.

"Childish," commented Yo. Then, "What about a mouth?"

With her little finger, she poked in a small, round, surprised mouth. "Like that?" she asked turning to him with an involuntary smile. The sun had already set and clouds in the sky were dropping more snow, white flakes landing in her hair, the temperature dropping even further. The cold brought red to her pale cheeks, little hairs coming undone from her queen's updo. Her hands were wet with snow and really, really cold. She tucked them into her sleeves.

"It looks like someone told it that it is going to melt soon."

"Huh… Aw, poor guy," Soo said. "What does Your Majesty think?"

Yo looked down at her with a sort of odd observing gaze, one that searched her for something he did not seem to find. "…Acceptable," he said, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

"High praise from Your Majesty," Soo said, bowing slightly. "My thanks."

There was a momentary silence, then he raised an eyebrow at her, brushing snowflakes out of his beard. "Now that you have succeeded in freezing me as well, little wife, I think it high time for dinner inside, where the temperature is not so barbaric."

She relented. "Yes, Your Majesty."

/

In the spring, Soo took her morning meal on the wall-top, Chae Ryung pouring her tea. A warm breeze blew, carrying with it the small of plum blossoms from the palace gardens. Across from her, at the table, Baek Ah took a sip of tea. "…The building at Seokyeong is slow, but steady," he said carefully.

"Does he ask about me?" Soo asked quietly.

Baek Ah paused, looking down and slowly setting his cup down. "Ah…-" He cut himself off. "Well… Not as such… I told him you were well, waiting for any sign from him. He… Said nothing."

Soo let out a slow breath, closing her eyes, heart hurting.

"I'm sorry…" Baek Ah said. "I so hate being the carrier of bad news and seeing your sad face like this." He shook his head. "He took all of your letters, but I know not if he read them. I, ah, well-"

"No," Soo said softly. "It's okay. You don't have to be sorry. As long as he is well, it does not matter. Thank you for doing this for me, Baek Ah."

"Don't worry about it, Soo," Baek Ah said, waving his hand and taking another sip of tea. "Woo Hee has inquired after your health. She worries for you."

Taking a sip of tea, Soo shrugged. "I am, as always, well. How is she?"

"Well, also," Baek Ah said with a grin.

Soo smiled. "Did she receive my gift?"

Baek Ah grinned. "The set of hair ornaments? She wears them often."

"Oh, good!" Soo said, smiling.

Tentatively, Baek Ah looked at Soo, sideways, as if the whole of his gaze would injure her somehow. "…And what of His Majesty?" he asked carefully.

"What of him?" Soo asked.

"There have been… Rumors," Baek Ah said hesitantly, then winced. "Well, not rumors as such – but more whispers, whispers that one could hear if at the right places and listening carefully enough. It is said that while he is an iron hand that rules Goryeo during the day, at night he suffers from attacks of madness."

Soo looked at him sternly. "Baek Ah, if you talk like that, someone might take it the wrong way."

"They are but rumors," Baek Ah said, raising his hands as if in surrender. He leaned over the table and said in a low voice; "It is also said that you are his favorite wife, so I learn to take them with a grain of salt."

Raising her eyebrows, Soo shook her head. "The stuff people come up with!" she exclaimed. "He makes me eat dinner with him so he can, ah, verbally flay me."

Baek Ah snorted. "Well, look on the bright side, Soo."

"There's a bright side?" wondered Soo, raising her eyebrows.

Raising a finger and looking her seriously in the eyes, Baek Ah said, "At least he's only verbally flaying you."

He laughed at Soo's rapidly souring expression. "Oh, you really know how to give a girl a positive outlook on life…"

/

The spring storms had come for the first time on that night, heavy clouds darkening the already pitch-black night sky – and the rain fell in a thick curtain. The soothing sound of rain on roof tiles helped Yo fall asleep, cool under silken bedsheets, hair undone for the night so that he would not wake with a headache, as Soo, that strange woman, had once told him.

Wang Yo dreamed of his throne, shining gold, and his mother sitting upon it, looking down at him, kneeling in front of her. He was a child in the dream, rich golden rings too big on small fingers, hands in his lap. To his left, kneeled a small So and Jung – his two younger brothers both seeming the same child-age as him, and to his right, his long-dead brother Tae, his narrow, pale face holding a blue tinge as on the day he died, dark eyes empty and staring.

On the golden throne, his mother's red lips curved into a smile, and she called for him, her voice sweet and gentle. She chose him. "Come, Yo, my son," she said, her voice echoing, "Sit up here with me."

Yo's heart swelled with pride and happiness and he rose, now an adult, taking a step forward. An older Jung grinned at him, and So did not look up, even once, his scar bleeding red on his sharp face. One more step forward, and he would reach the steps. Above, his mother continued to smile, waiting for him to ascend to his rightful place.

But he could not move.

Looking down with frustration, he saw Tae's icy cold hand gripping his ankle, tightening his grip. "No, brother," he hissed, "Do you not see?" His face was drawn and gaunt, eye sockets empty and black, bloodless lips stretched across skeletally protruding teeth. His hissing voice did not move his mouth in the slightest, echoes twisting around Yo. "It is false. The gold is false."

Filled with horror, Yo stared at his brother, then looked up at his mother who held her arms out expectantly. He saw her nod, and he kicked at Tae's hand with all his strength, crying out. His older brother fell back, and it was Moo instead of Tae, laying spread-eagled on the floor, lips blue, his face bloated with drowning, eyes staring emptily up at the ceiling. Yo cried out again, scrambling back, his palm hitting one of the steps.

He turned and began to run up the steps, reaching for the pedestal upon which his mother waited for him on his throne. It seemed so oddly out of reach, and he quickened his pace, finally falling at her feet, panting.

She held a hand out to him, helping him stand, then sitting him on his throne. He was so tired he could not move, and frozen, he watched as she arranged him on the throne, putting his hands in his lap, putting the headdress of a king onto his head, tilting his chin up, cold fingers pulling the corners of his mouth into a grin, putting a sword in one of his hands. The sword dripped blood onto his robes, and he wanted to tell her, but he could not even speak, only able to move his eyes.

His mother stood behind the throne, her hands on his shoulders.

The drip, drip, drip of the bloody sword staining his clothes was much too loud. So loud.

He could hear someone's voice faintly, and when he looked out over the throne room, he realized that So had taken the bloody sword from him.

His fourth brother stood in the middle of the floor, standing over a terrified Wook. Wook looked up at Yo with wide eyes. "Brother! Will you let this happen? Please I-"

Yo could say nothing, and behind him, his mother spoke in a cold, clear voice. "Do as your king commands, Wolf-dog. Kill the traitor." He wanted to turn around to tell her to wait, but So with his blank eyes and tightly squared jaw swung his sword back and struck.

Blood splattered everywhere; onto So, it seeming as if his face had been cut open again – onto Yo, staining his golden robes red – onto a wide-eyed Jung, held back by faceless guards.

But the body on the floor of the throne room was not Wook.

It was Tae, his empty black eyes fixed onto Yo.

The first roll of thunder echoed through his dreams and woke him. He sat up suddenly, with a harsh cry, panting and covered in cold sweat. Again, afterimages flashing on the insides of his eyelids, he saw his brothers in his dreams. "Go away," he whispered. "You're already dead. Leave me alone…"

The second roll of thunder startled him, and cried out in surprise, jerking back against the backboard of the bed, tangled in blankets, his eyes wild. With a shaking hand, he reached down between the bed and the wall, pulling out a dagger he'd hidden there; holding it before himself, the lightning reflecting off the blade and dancing madly over the walls.

There was a soft tap at his door and he let out a sound that was half gasp and half yell. In the flash of lightning that came, he saw the silhouette of his mother against his wall. Her wig was large, her robes rustled- The dripping of rain from the outside became the sound of dripping blood. The roll of thunder that followed crashed through his bones, weakening him as he dropped the dagger and fell to the floor, still tangled in blankets and sheets.

His mother's silhouette continued to approach and he scrambled back, unable to form words, only a terrified gasping sound that ripped painfully from him. When she reached him, she would sit him on the false gold throne-

But the soft voice that followed – it did not belong to his mother at all. "Your Majesty? Are you alright?" Illuminated by a brief flash of lighting, she bent over him, lips slightly parted in surprise, the pale, heart-shaped face drawn with concern – dark, liquid eyes large and deep enough to swallow him whole. She glanced down and picked up the dagger laying by her, eyeing it with confusion.

In the next roll of thunder, he refused to cower, yet convulsions took him over, shivers that wracked his whole body. His wide eyes met hers and he choked on his breath. 'Why is she here? Am I still dreaming? Will she kill me? She has watched two kings die before her eyes already – what is a third?' He could say nothing, staring at her, and when he finally found his voice, it was hoarse with fear, sounding as if he had not spoken for years. "Quickly," he choked out. "Do it quickly."

"W-what? Your Majesty, a-are you okay?" There was concern in her voice, and she put the dagger on the nearby table and bent over him. A warm hand touched his forehead. "Oh, you're burning up…" she said, letting out a shaky breath, then quickly jerked her hand back, realizing what she had just done. Did she think he actually cared at this point? "I'll get the royal physician-" she began to say, but he grabbed her wrist to keep her from getting up.

Forcing the words out through his teeth, he met her wide eyes. "Tell no-one of this, if you do not wish to die, woman," he growled, but- A flash, the thunder boomed again, the deep sound echoing through his very bones, setting his teeth chattering.

Soo, with her wide eyes showing no fear, let out a shuddering breath. "Okay. Yeah, that's fine." The foreign syllables rolled soothingly off her tongue, her tone gentle. "Just let's get you into bed, okay, Your Majesty?" It was the sort of tone that he'd heard women using with frightened children, or horse trainers whispering to their horses. She offered him a hand and with a most un-lady-like grunt, heaved him into bed.

He could barely move for the shaking, and she smoothed the blankets out over him, sitting on the edge of his bed. 'Go away,' he wanted to say. 'You are not supposed to see me like this. No-one is. Go away.' But what came out was a dry, mirthless, hysterical, heaving laugh. "Well, Hae Soo?" he asked, his voice not losing its hoarseness, "What is it like, attending to another mad king? Perhaps it is the false gold of the throne that drives us mad…" he mused. A flash of lighting threw the room into sharp boomed and he shuddered again, his eyes going wide. For a moment, it seemed as if the shadows on the walls were hands reaching for him, Tae's hands, gripping his ankle in their cold hold-

His breath came out fast and hard, and he couldn't get enough air into his lungs, holding his shaking hands up to feebly protect himself. "You're already dead," he whispered. "Go away!"

"There's nobody there, Your Majesty," Soo said gently.

He was mad with terror, grabbing her forearms as if it would anchor him to the world. "The dead will not leave me…" he whispered, looking into her eyes. "I see them, Tae, Moo, Wook-" A flash of lighting and a roll of thunder and he shuddered, falling back, his hold on her arms weakening. "It is not remorse…" he said with the sigh of breath and strength leaving him. "I regret nothing…"

Her hand was warm as she folded the blanket over his chest. "What is it?" she asked quietly, no mockery in her voice, only the desire to understand.

"You… I am not so easily softened as the Wolf-dog…" he breathed. "Goryeo is too harsh for your gentle wishes, Hae Soo…"

Her eyes were bright, shining in the dark. "Just close your eyes, okay?"

It was easier to obey than to fight. He shut his eyes. With every boom of thunder, he shuddered, every flash of lighting turning the darkness red through his eyelids. He fell asleep from sheer exhaustion in the small hours of the morning, when the booms of thunder sounded from a long distance and there was no more lightning, just heavy rain sounding like it was trying to destroy the roof and come tumbling like a waterfall to drown him.

Soo had never gotten up from where she sat on the edge of his bed.

In the morning, when the sun streaming across his face forced him to open his eyes, he saw her, sleeping sitting up, leaning against one of the bedposts, just as on her wedding night. There was sunlight in her hair and glinting off her earrings and ornaments, a pool of light warming her hands in her lap – and at a glance it seemed as if she, herself, was exuding the light. Full of exhaustion, he forced himself to sit up – and his shifting woke her. Soo woke up by degrees, first letting out a long, heavy breath, then opening her eyes, then sitting straighter. She rubbed a hand over her eyes, yawning audibly like a cat and pinching both of her cheeks.

They looked at each other for a while, Yo wondering what kind of threat he had to employ against her, and Soo waiting for him to say something, but as he didn't she said, "I won't tell anyone, not even the royal physician, if you don't want, Your Majesty."

He raised his eyebrows. "I command you not to." Sitting up straighter, he stared her down. "Do not make the mistake of thinking me weak because of what you think you understood – it will end badly for you."

Soo bowed her head. "Of course, Your Majesty."

He looked to the side, seeing his dagger on the table, then caught sight of himself in his mirror, and hissed with both surprise and annoyance. 'I look like Death warmed over.' His hair hung in front of his bloodshot eyes, which had deep, dark circles – and his face was deathly pale. If he went into court like this in the morning, there would be questions and doubts – and then it would all come out. Moo was the perfect example of a mad king – and mad kings were weak, soon deposed. He could not afford that.

Looking more closely at him, Hae Soo nodded, as if reading his mind. "Your Majesty… I think I have a suggestion."

He raised his eyebrows at her again, not having the strength or composure for anything else at this point. "What?" he snapped.

It was odd, for her tone assumed a light quality, as if she was trying to cheer him up. She held her hands up and wiggled her fingers. "I'll work my magic!"

Realization dawned over him as she poked her head out of his room and said something to the court lady outside, rattling off instructions. She made a show of holding her upper garment together with her hand as she did so, and Yo almost laughed. She was covering for him so admirably, this ridiculous, strange girl. Hae Soo was going above and beyond the call of duty again and again, for no reason other than she was that kind of person. He didn't understand her at all.

A few minutes later, she was handed something through the door, a wooden box – and she scurried back to him, grinning. "Okay," she said, rubbing her hands together, "Permission to, ah, make contact with Your Majesty's face?"

He snorted, amused. "Granted."

And she began to make him up like a woman or something. It was ridiculous, the powders and emulsions that she put on his face, even rouge – but when she was finished, he was surprised at the results. He looked normal and healthy, as opposed to one freshly risen from the dead – a marked improvement, if he said so himself. "How is it, Your Majesty?" she asked, pride in her voice.

"There are benefits, I suppose, to making a lady of the court my wife," he said offhandedly, but pleased. He did not miss her eye-roll in the mirror, and snorted again.

"I'm glad Your Majesty is so pleased with my work," she said sweetly.

There was something in the air of the king's chamber, something that was not there before. The weakness and terror that he had shown her in those thunder-filled moments in the night – those were inerasable, and for all of time, they would hang between the king and his third queen. She was nothing but a hostage a, leash around his Wolf-dog brother's throat, a too-cute girl with large, dark eyes and ridiculous ideas about believing, born as a mid-ranked noblewoman, lowered to the status of a mere court lady, then a lowly water-maid, then the Queen of the Damiwon – and his queen. Yet, now, it seemed that she had to be more than that. Someone who saw him at his weakest, and helped him to get back on his feet.

It was ridiculous, absurd – but it was so her – and a surge of something he chose to call amusement caused his lips to quirk up in what could have been a smile. 'No, Hae Soo will not soften me, as she does the Wolf-dog, but it will be amusing to see her try, now that she thinks she can.'

\

Hwangbo Yeon Hwa didn't like Hae Soo. If that was news to anyone, Soo would have asked them if they had been living under a rock. But what truly startled her was that Yeon Hwa was jealous. From what Soo understood of her fellow queen's character was that Yeon Hwa wanted power, and if she could have none, she would cling to those who had it, plotting behind their back how to take it. And perhaps it was because of Soo's perceived closeness to the king. There were whispers that Lady Hae was the king's favored wife, the one with which he spent the most time. It was funny, though – if they really knew what was going on… 'Well, wouldn't that be a study in shock,' Soo thought dryly.

Yeon Hwa was not stupid. She was, in fact, extremely intelligent. She knew exactly what Soo was to the king. But since it was not common knowledge, Yo 'favoring' Soo was a slight upon Yeon Hwa. Yo knew this, also, but he had his reasons.

"If I let her get too high an opinion of herself, her courage will grow – and one day we'll see her sitting astride a horse and wearing armor, amassing an army in front of my gates." He said it in jest, obviously, but Soo knew that it was an embellishment on what would actually happen if he transferred his 'favor' upon the fourth queen. Soo was the 'safe' queen, the one with barely any connection to any sort of powerful house. 'Favoring' her would do no harm nor any good – and Yo knew this. But it also seemed as if he was genuinely enjoying himself when he taunted and prodded at her with sharp words and amused smirks at her expense. 'What a guy.'

The first time she had seen him during one of the spring storms, she had not been shocked, but she had been very, very sad. This is what the throne did to people, it caused them to do horrible things, then made them go mad from what they had done – and then the mad king would fall, another taking his place. Would it continue this way forever? Would Wang So have to commit more terrible acts of violence in his life in order to become Gwangjong? She had seen him once, in a vision, seen him turn around and face her, his kingly robes as black as night. Would he grow weak, undermined and overthrown as Wang Moo had? Or, as Taejo had, would he live and rule for many long years, only to have his kingdom fall into political turmoil because of the machinations of his children? Could anyone who took the throne hope for a happy ending? So far, it seemed not.

The king did not want her pity. And she gave him none. She gave him kindness and silence, for, despite what he had done, Wang Yo was only a man. It was hard to see where the 'king' ended and the 'man' began, but he was in there somewhere. She tried to imagine him in the far-away land that she had grown up in, in the modern times that seemed ever more distant with every day. He would have gotten good grades in school and have gone to university, getting a degree in something… Law, perhaps? Business? She could imagine him in a sharp, dark suit, a ballpoint pen in his hand and glasses pushed up onto his head. Maybe he would be doing his military service, posing for a photograph with the rest of the young men.

It struck her, really, how young everyone was; how young sixteen-year-old Jung was, how young twenty-year-old So was, how young twenty-three-year-old Yo was, and how young she was, really. Go Ha Jin had been twenty-five in the sixteen-year-old body of Hae Soo, and she had grown so, so much. In the harsh Goryeo, a person had to grow up quickly; some more than others.

Summer came and went with its scorching heat, and still no word came from Seokyeong. No, that wasn't strictly true – word did come, but it was all from Baek Ah. So still said nothing, and her letters went unanswered. Baek Ah was sad when he told her this, and the way he treated her – as if she was something delicate that might break if he spoke too loudly – didn't make her feel any better.

If anything, the king's callousness and deliberately mocking words, smirks behind teacups and superciliously raised eyebrows – they were more welcome than careful, halting sentences and cautious looks at her. 'I will not break!' she wanted to scream at Baek Ah. 'I'm not that weak yet!'