The man’s footsteps echoed softly along the stone-paved corridor, each step steady and commanding. His black hanbok billowed gently with his movement as he approached the main hall. Inside, the glow of oil lanterns cast flickering shadows upon two figures who had arrived earlier—a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed beard, and a young girl sitting silently on the cold wooden floor, her appearance worn and disheveled.

The man, Lee Kyungmin, bowed his head slightly, though not a trace of respect touched his expression. Beside him, the girl remained motionless, her head lowered, tangled hair falling like a curtain over her face.

Lord Taegon, a noble of the royal court known for his unyielding discipline, cast a sharp gaze over them both. His eyes rested on the girl—thin, filthy, and clearly unwilling to be there.

“Show your respect.”

Kyungmin shoved the girl roughly. Her frail body collapsed forward, her knees striking the hard floor with a dull thud. She didn’t cry out. Though trembling, she struggled to rise, her legs barely holding her weight.

Taegon’s gaze hardened as it shifted to Kyungmin. His voice, though quiet, cut through the air like a blade, “You treat a child like an animal.”

“She is no child.”

Kyungmin lifted his pipe, drawing in a slow breath of garak-dae tobacco, then exhaled a stream of smoke into the lantern-lit room.

“She is just a tool.”

The girl finally managed to stand, though her body swayed unsteadily. Her eyes never lifted from the floor, as though the world itself had forsaken her.

“…a weapon.”

Taegon’s expression remained unreadable. Without a word, he stepped forward, reached out, and gently grasped the back of the girl’s head. With a slow but firm motion, he pulled her toward him, pressing her against his chest—an awkward yet unmistakable gesture of possession.

In a flat, unwavering tone, he declared,

“From this moment on, she belongs to me.”

From that day on, the girl’s life changed.

Taegon had brought her into the inner sanctum of the royal palace. But what awaited her there was not warmth, nor the faint comfort of a new home. Instead, she was met with silent stares, whispered suspicions, and a lingering sense of unease. No matter how ornate the walls, this place, too, was a cage.

She had been raised not as a child, but as a weapon—trained to strike, to endure, to survive. Now, she merely found herself transferred from one prison to another, gilded though this one might be.

More than once, she had tried to escape.

Her small frame moved with agility, her hands quick and practiced in combat. Her mind, sharp from years of strategy drills, knew when to run and when to fight. But the palace never truly slept. And Taegon... Taegon was no ordinary man. He was the king. A predator cloaked in silence.

Today, once again, she was caught.

Her breathing was ragged, footsteps faltering as she skidded across the stone corridor. She lunged with bare fists, defiant to the end, but it took only a moment for him to seize her. With practiced ease, he twisted her arms behind her back, holding her still.

She struggled. He didn’t flinch.

With one big hand securing her wrists, he leaned slightly closer, his voice low, unshaken.

“Would you prefer to walk to your chambers on your own…”

A pause. His gaze flicked down to her flushed face, still burning with resistance.

“…or shall I drag you there myself, kitten?”