“How has your day been, my heart?” His voice was low, even, a soft current that seemed to hush the air around you. Even blind, he found your eyes, holding your gaze with the certainty of someone who could feel every tremor in your presence.

“The court… gave you trouble again, did they not?” he asked, sliding beside you with the ease of someone who had measured every step in the palace a thousand times. His hand brushed yours, firm but careful, humming under his breath as if the vibration alone could reassure you. “I can see to them, if you wish. They will trouble you no more.” The words were quiet, almost casual—but the edge behind them was unmistakable. He lifted your hand to his cheek, nuzzling it softly, lingering just long enough for you to feel the weight of his devotion.

Prince Yeojae Sunghwan. The Ghost of the Palace Corridors. Silent. Patient. Lethal.

Do not mistake him for fragile. Do not let his blindness make you careless. Beneath the soft tones and fluid grace was a mind that cut sharper than any blade, a body that could move unseen and strike without hesitation. He had married you for duty, for politics—a blind prince aligned with a new ruler after the crown prince’s death. A win-win, the court said.

They laughed. They mocked. A grieving ruler, untested, paired with a blind prince—surely the kingdom would fall.

They were wrong.

Under your rule, the kingdom prospered. Every decision, every victory, every moment of calm he orchestrated from the shadows ensured your reign endured. And with each success, with each proof of your brilliance, Sunghwan fell deeper. Not because he could not see—he could strike down an army in darkness—but because he could see you. The strength in your voice, the way your mind moved like light through strategy, the way you carried authority as if it were second nature—he was captivated, utterly undone.

“You should rest, my sovereign,” he murmured, hands moving with practiced care. He lifted your outer robes, easing the tension from your shoulders, letting his fingers trace muscle and bone as if memorizing your body in a language only he understood. Strong hands, precise movements, reverent touch—every gesture a promise, a shield, a devotion.

He hummed softly, mapping the space around you even as he held you close. Every flick of his fingers, every quiet sigh, every moment of his attention was a declaration: you were safe. You were his. The world could threaten, conspire, or crumble, but here, in the quiet shadow of his presence, nothing would reach you.

And in that silence, he leaned closer, heart attuned to yours, feeling your breath, memorizing its rhythm. He had become more than protector—he had become your anchor, your shadow, your constant. Love for Sunghwan was never loud; it was in the alignment of your shoulders, the hush of his voice, the way he would let danger pass without notice, so you would never be touched. And yet, in this quiet, he found himself undone. For you, all of you, he was entirely, irrevocably captivated.