The Kun’s Aran
Prologue

This story is set in a fictional Eastern world.

The imperial palace of Gayan was silent, just like its ruler. As Aran’s carriage passed through the palace grounds, the only sound was the rattling of wheels on the stone path. When she looked out the window, a cold wind hit her face. The air felt harsher here. Perhaps it was because she was far from her western home, or maybe it was because the north was drier.

Autumn had already been chased away. Winter came earlier in the north, and the journey from the western kingdom to Gayan’s capital had taken over two months. Aran looked outside until the winter chill made her nose hurt.

So much had happened on her way to Gayan’s palace as a hostage. She still cared for her little sister and loved her very much, but after everything she had been through, she would not choose to be a hostage again. The days had been cold, frightening, and painful. Aran never wanted to travel with Emperor Kun Chian Bayar of Gayan again.

“Your Highness, this is the Quiet Palace. You will reside here from this moment on.”

Aran sighed with relief as she stepped into the imperial palace’s eastern annex, finally released from the emperor’s hold. She had spent every night in his barracks for nearly a month and was glad he would no longer summon her.

I shall never have to see him again.

Or so she hoped. Aran did not wish to be face-to-face with him again until the day she returned home. She had grown tired of hating him, her strength too far gone to maintain it.

Aran followed a maid to her quarters, noticing girls whispering in small groups. They were all princesses from other nations Gayan had conquered. Each princess had her own maid, and one of them approached Aran and bowed.

“I am an interpreter, and serve within the Quiet Palace.”

The Quiet Palace was where the hostage princesses resided. It seemed interpreters were needed for them to communicate with one another.

“It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Seonwoo Aran, Princess of Seo.”

“Welcome. I am Sayan Ijiu, Princess of Mitan.”

Sayan’s smile was radiant, her beauty so striking that it made hearts flutter, even among the girls. After she introduced herself, the other girls came forward one by one to offer their greetings.

“Now that another has joined us, the palace shall be more lively,” one said.

“Pleased to meet you,” another said, stepping closer. “I am Anya Jama, Princess of Samir.”

Lakesh had aided Aran in many ways during the past month, so she was pleased to meet another Samiran like Anya. Aran exchanged words with each of them and then made her way to her quarters with her maid Jeongwol.

“At last, we have arrived.”

The journey had seemed unending, but it was over now. Aran would no longer be taken to Chian’s barracks, only to awaken in his arms in the morning. Now that she had entered the Quiet Palace, Chian would find another woman to warm his bed.

Kun Chian Bayar would no longer be a part of Aran’s life. She would forget his dark eyes with the smallest glint of blue, his broad, calloused hands, and his muscled shoulders crossed with scars. All she had to do was to erase them from her memory. She hoped it would one day allow her to release the anger and hatred that had gathered in her heart.

Aran desperately wished to be free from the cry that tormented her.

“Filthy wh*re!”

That voice echoed even in her sleep. She woke up with a start nearly every day, hearing a man’s shout just before his head fell from his shoulders. Each time it happened, she hated Chian for forcing himself on her. He had invaded her country, humiliated her father, and murdered her people, yet she had been made to please him.

The mortification was over now. She no longer had to feel tainted. Now, she hoped she could leave it all behind. She enjoyed a quiet evening for the first time in many, many days. As the sun went down, giving way to darkness, she could hear voices outside, and the dread that filled her told her the peace would not last.

Her fear was confirmed when Jamuka announced loudly, “Your Highness, the Kun summons you.”

Aran thought of him as the bringer of death. Jeongwol moved to open the door, but Aran stopped her.

“Please inform His Majesty that I have fulfilled my duties.”

There was a brief silence. Jamuka seemed unsure how to proceed.

Then he pleaded in a trembling voice, “Your Highness, I beg you to reconsider.”

“Jamuka, I shall not change my mind. I am nothing but a hostage. I fulfilled my duties on our way here, so please tell His Majesty I will no longer see him.”

It was her way of saying the emperor should find another to share his bed. Jamuka heaved a troubled sigh and lingered outside the door for some time. When he finally departed, Aran realized she had been shaking. She sank onto her bed, and Jeongwol came to massage her arms. It took several minutes for her anxiety to subside. Her headache slowly faded.

She had believed she would be free of Chian once she entered the Quiet Palace, and she was angry that he had sent Jamuka to bring her to his bed again. There were many women in Gayan to entertain him, yet he had called for her immediately—she knew what this meant.

He does not wish for me to be free.

Knowing Chian, she knew he was capable of doing this and more. He took lives without a second thought, so taking away Aran’s freedom merely because it bothered him was nothing. She had always known the emperor was ruthless, but she had not realized he could be so cruel.

It made her even angrier, but not at him. She was furious at herself for falling for him, for not seeing him for whom he truly was, and for being caught in a thick mixture of hatred and love. She had once allowed herself to be drawn to his dark eyes, and now she deeply regretted it.

“Your Highness, I shall prepare some hot tea.”

Jeongwol had come to know everything about Aran during their journey together, so she quickly found a kettle and went to fetch water. She knew how devastated her mistress felt, and Aran could hear her sigh with concern as she left. However, Jeongwol returned almost immediately, her face pale.

“Your Highness! His Majesty is making his way here!” she cried urgently.

Aran’s heart sank. She swayed, stunned, but clutched a chair to stay upright and willed herself to stay conscious. The women began whispering outside the door, their voices growing louder.

“He has never come to the Quiet Palace before, not once!”

“Why does he come here now?”

Each princess spoke in her own language, and interpreters hurried to translate.

The interpreter from Seo suddenly said, “The emperor is soon to arrive. Please make the necessary preparations.”

Aran groaned and bit her lip. Her thoughts were frantic, as though she were drowning. She scolded herself and tried to stay calm. With clenched teeth, she stared at her door.

“Your Highness,” Jeongwol called worriedly.

She took a deep breath and then made her way to the door. If she could not avoid it, she would face it with courage. If that proved impossible, she would pretend, as she always had.

When she stepped outside, she found herself in the long corridor of the palace. The evening sun cast a slanting light, giving the place a sad beauty. Aran walked through it, clenching her fists. She stepped out under the darkening sky and found numerous women bowing. Standing over them was an all-too-familiar black horse.

Chian leaped from his horse when he saw Aran emerge from the building. He strode toward her, his cloak stirring up dust as he moved. The startled princesses hurried out of his way.

“I have come to take you,” he said in the deep, resonating voice she had once loved.

Now, as she glared at Chian, she had to resist the urge to cover her ears.

“Please, leave me here in the Quiet Palace.”

“Come with me.”

“I have fulfilled my duties.”

His dark eyes flickered with emotion, a hint of the bluish gleam shining through. Then Chian lifted her into his arms, as he had done many times before. He placed her on his black horse and swung up behind her, taking hold of the reins. Shocked murmurs rippled through the crowd. The princesses spoke in different languages, but Aran could guess what they were saying. She bit her lip hard.

“Hold on,” Chian commanded.

“No.”

“You may fall and be injured.”

Aran spoke over her shoulder, so Chian could hear her clearly, “Your Majesty, I would rather die than hold you.”

Chian tightened his grip on the reins. Then he grabbed her waist roughly and urged his horse forward. Aran clutched the saddle, feeling tears sting her eyes. The cold wind was merciless as they rode. As the horse galloped through the unfamiliar palace, she felt the warmth of Chian’s strong arm around her waist. When the horse finally came to a stop, Aran jumped off the saddle before Chian could protest.

“Aran!” he called, alarmed.

She didn’t look back and ran as if fleeing for her life. She didn’t know where they were, or where she was going. All she wanted was to get her hands on a sword carried by the guard soldiers. She wasn’t even sure what she would do with it. She could end her own life, or perhaps Chian’s.

Too quickly, the emperor caught her before she could form a plan. She struggled and tried to twist herself from his grip, but it made no difference. Chian lifted her once again and carried her up the stairs. He put her down only after they’d entered his chambers. She glared at him.

“Aran,” he called, his voice asking her to see reason.

“Please, I would rather die,” she pleaded, filled with desperation and anger.

Chian’s eyes darkened, a look she recognized all too well. He sighed deeply and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

“No. I will not allow it.”

Aran recognized his unique scent, and she hated herself for it. If he had smelled of blood, she would never have given him her heart. Instead, he smelled of fresh, green grass, and she was helplessly, endlessly drawn to him. Blaming herself, she used all her strength to push him away. Then she spoke with all the resentment and disdain she had for him.

“Please, cast me aside and find another to share your bed.”

Chian’s black eyes slowly darkened until they rivaled the night sky.

“Until now, I had been willing to wait, no matter how much you hated and refused me.” She tried to step back, but he held her in place and whispered, “Not any longer.”

Aran stared at him with wide eyes.

“I will not wait again,” the emperor declared.

Then he tore the ribbon of her jeogori—the jacket of her traditional dress.