No wonder he hadn't frozen like he usually did. His lips still held a faint bluish hue, but far from frostbite. For an ordinary person, the cold would have been unbearable, biting like snowflakes on a mountain. For Dohyun, however, this was the warmest night he had ever endured outside.

But… who could have left it? Everyone he had met yesterday had been unwelcoming. No familiar face came to mind.

As he pondered, Dohyun stood and dusted off his clothes, attempting to present himself with composure. He fixed his tangled hair, adjusted his robe, and draped the warm, heavy blanket over his shoulders. He still had to convince the princess, after all.

Yet, when he took a step forward, he froze.

In the courtyard of the grand south palace of Hwachon, amid blooming white chrysanthemums, stood a distant figure. Short black hair, neatly tied with a headband, reflected brown hues in the sunlight. Her face radiated authority, yet was untouchable, mingled with fear, grief, and anger. Her gaze met his disheveled form, burning with rage. Dohyun could almost hear her teeth gritting at the sight with a, "Tsk!

She turned, striding toward the palace gates in silver armor over a maroon uniform, her lethal sword dangling at her hip. At the gates, a black stallion awaited. She fastened herself, the gates swung open, and she stormed out, "Ha!!"

Could it be her?

Dohyun scratched his head, utterly confused. He couldn't decipher her expression. If she hated him so, why would she leave him a blanket? The blanket fit him curled up, suggesting it belonged to someone shorter. Maybe Shin Haerin had thrown him a spare one? But she was almost the same height as him.

"Ahhh… I don't know!" he muttered in frustration.

Unnoticed, he had already wandered into the palace corridors. The palace inside stretched with quiet elegance. Polished stone floors gleamed under soft lantern light, and lacquered wooden pillars lined the corridors with a steady grace. White chrysanthemums were everywhere - arranged in delicate clusters on carved wooden stands, in ornate vases along the hallways, and placed near doorways and pillars. Their petals looked almost alive in the warm light, like they might sway with even the smallest breath of air.

The scent of the flowers filled the corridors, sweet and soft, mixing with the faint smell of polished wood and beeswax. In the corners, small burners sent thin wisps of sandalwood smoke curling through the air, adding a warm, grounding note. Together, the smells wrapped the palace in a calm, almost gentle embrace, though beneath it lingered a quiet tension, as if the halls themselves held secrets and watched with unseen eyes. Every step through the corridors carried the scent of blooms and authority alike, creating a space that was beautiful, serene, and quietly alive.

"Young Master looks frustrated," a calm voice spoke from behind.

Dohyun froze.

A middle-aged woman stood before him, hair neatly tied in a bun, clad in a palace uniform: a gray-and-white robe. Yet her muted attire could not diminish the quiet warmth of her presence. She carried a silver tray with a steaming bowl, approaching with a gentle smile.

"Wait… Young Master?" Dohyun stammered.

"I- I'm not a Young Master," he corrected nervously.

She smiled patiently. "You are Wang Dohyun, yes?"

"Yes… but how did you know? I didn't see you yesterday."

"I am the Princess's personal maid, Sung Chunhee. Naturally, I must know those around her, and most of what occurs in her life."

Dohyun bowed deeply, realizing her importance, third in the Princess's hierarchy.

"My apologies, I did not recognize you."

"It's alright," Chunhee chuckled softly. "I was recently appointed. It is only fair that you wouldn't know me, coming from the northern palace."

"Yes…"

She glanced at the blanket draped over his shoulders. "What is that you hold?"

"I... don't know. I was sleeping outside and woke to find it over me. I want to return it, but I don't know whose it is."

"Anyone in mind?"

"…Shin Haerin?"

Chunhee almost laughed but restrained herself. "Young Master, your jests are amusing."

Dohyun considered it. After witnessing her disapproving look from earlier, it couldn't have been her. It just can't be her. Perhaps it was this kind woman, showing mercy. Yes, that seemed more plausible.

Still, the repeated "Young Master" worried him.

"I'm not a Young Master," he said nervously. "I don't deserve such a title."

"Why not? Are you not the son of Han Dojin?"

"You… know my father?"

Dohyun was stunned. No one in the northern palace dared speak his father's name with respect. Yet she did, calmly, with reverence.

"Of course," she said, walking as he followed. "I served a noble family once close to one of the Prince's officials. His family name....something like Ahn. Your father was a man of honor, respected and kind. I used to see him often whenever he visited the noble family with Sir Ahn. He was fortunate, yet ill-fated in some ways."

Her expression darkened, recalling the past.

"A man of his caliber, poised to receive honors, yet he declined them. You are his son. To fail to address you with due respect would be to insult him, and I will not."

Dohyun's heart thumped. Gratitude flooded him. Finally, someone acknowledged his father's worth besides him.

"Thank you, Ms. Sung. Knowing someone remembers him… it brings relief."

"I cannot say what is true about the stories of his betrayal," she said as they reached a large door, "but I know his character. You needn't believe the rumors."

"I don't," Dohyun whispered, holding back tears.

"Good," she said, presenting the silver tray. "This is chicken soup for her highness. She has been unwell, refusing rest. You should deliver it."

"Me? But I--"

"I trust you. Knowing your father, I believe in his son. You will do well by her highness."

Dohyun accepted the tray sincerely, feeling the weight of gratitude and opportunity. He realized that Ms Sung was doing all she could to support him. He was genuinely thankful.

Chunhee retrieved the blanket and guided him forward. He bowed slightly and entered the courtroom of the southern palace of Hwachon.

Sung Chunhee exhaled in relief, walking toward the Princess's chambers. She would tidy the sheets and prepare the laundry; the blanket she held was dirty anyway. Might as well get them altogether to wash.

As she entered the princess's chambers, one question struck her:

"Huh? Where is her highness's blanket?"