The dumplings were soft, the chicken filling spilling out with fresh juice at every bite. He slurped the rice noodles gracefully and mixed the rice into the Dakgaejang. The meat in the soup was slightly dry, tasting different from the usual poultry, as if it hadn't been cooked until tender or perhaps overcooked. However, that small discrepancy did not diminish his enjoyment.

"Won't you eat, Your Highness?" Miye asked, his mouth half-full of rice.

Yugwon only smirked. "I would much rather watch you eat."

Miye was perplexed, but he didn't press the matter. Within minutes, the dishes were scoured clean.

"Did you like it?" Yugwon asked, his indifference making it impossible to read his thoughts.

"I did, Your Highness."

"Very well." The Prince rose. "You may leave."

Was that truly all? Where was the retribution? For a grave sin against the Prince, to be summoned at the hour of the moon only for a feast... it was bizarre. Still, Miye didn't want to wait for Yugwon to change his mind.

"Then, I shall take my leave." He bowed and moved toward the door.

"I must say," Yugwon spoke just as Miye reached the threshold, "That dove was remarkably difficult to tame."

Miye’s feet froze. The dove? The bird from the games? He turned, his heart beating faster than he could breathe. "What do you mean...?"

"You know," Yugwon picked up the empty bowl that had held the Dakgaejang. "The more an animal struggles, the tastier it is when it is finally cooked."

Miye’s heart dropped. The room seemed to tilt. It can't be... he didn't… he didn’t, right?!

"You…" The words died in his throat.

Yugwon let the bowl fall. It shattered against the floor, the ceramic exploding into shards as if to demonstrate Miye's internal state.

"Did it feel as good," Yugwon’s sharp eyes lifted from the debris to pin the trembling, pale figure, "as to swallow my pride and humiliate me with that mouth of yours?"

"Why..."

"Tell me, does your heart feel heavier?" He smirked, swaying slightly as he stepped forward. "Now that it beats for the two of you?"

Miye’s stomach lurched. He rushed to the nearest window, the rich meal turning to ash in his gut. He retched, puking it all out in grotesque, wet sounds. Yugwon watched in silence, his hands folded.

As he continued to heave, the cloying scent of the meat mixed with the bile and the sharp tang of kimchi, making the nausea unbearable. His head throbbed, his vision blurring from the pressure. 

Suddenly, a hand caught his hair, wrenching his head back and away from the window.

Yugwon looked down, his face a mask of pure satisfaction at Miye's miserable state: eyes wide and bloodshot, tears trickling down a face smeared with filth. He lowered his head and slowly licked away Miye’s salted emotions before it fell off his cheek.

"Now, you will remember this taste before you ever think to humiliate me again." He shoved Miye away, casually wiping his hands on his night robes.

"Get out, now."

....

Ever since that night, Hwa Miye had fallen terribly ill.

Whenever sickness claimed him, it never released him easily. Two full weeks would pass before his body even began to recover.

And yet, despite this, his presence was demanded at court by the very man who had been the cause of that grotesque night.

But did the Prince care?

If his presence was absolute, then so it would be.

Dragging himself out of bed, Miye forced his trembling body upright and stepped out of the room. His vision swayed. Before he could reach the door, his knees buckled, and he nearly collapsed, only to be caught instantly.

Startled, Miye lifted his gaze.

Before him stood a woman with gentle wrinkles etched by time, her beauty calm and dignified. She was moon-like, fair and distant, yet carrying a warmth that soothed rather than blinded. Her hair was neatly tied into a bun, palace attire draped over her slender frame.

"Your Highness," she said softly, her voice calm and steady, like a lullaby once sung by a loving mother. "I strongly suggest that you rest. You are not well."

"…Who are you?" Miye asked faintly.

The woman supported him with care, her brown eyes curved into a kind smile.

"I am Choi Yuna, your newly appointed personal maid," she explained gently. "The Prince assigned me to you yesterday. However, I had other matters to attend to and did not wish to disturb you so late at night, so I was unable to present myself. Please forgive me, Your Highness."

“Never mind."

"My lady," she continued, scanning his thin garments down to his bare feet, "may I help you change your clothes first? You are dressed far too lightly. This will only worsen your condition."

Miye had never truly known how to care for himself. As a child, his mother had done everything for him, and after she abandoned him, he had grown accustomed to relying on the Prince instead, especially after he began cross-dressing.

The Prince, however, had never fulfilled that role.

"Then…" Miye murmured, something vulnerable seeping into his voice, "Please help me choose a warmer robe."

A strange warmth bloomed in his chest. It felt unfamiliar - long forgotten, like the ache of having wanted this kind of care for far too long.

Soon, Hwa Miye was dressed in new garments: a pristine white inner robe, twice as thick as the one he had worn before, and an extravagant blue outer robe adorned with intricate golden embroidery. A golden waist belt tied it all together, its delicate ornaments resting against his slender waist.

"Oh my…"

Choi Yuna froze.