You are the queen. It sounds strange in the modern world, but it is true. At 38 years old, you are a fashion icon for millions of people around the world. Elegance, sophistication.

It has only been in recent weeks that rumors have been circulating throughout the continent that the queen is terminally ill. Some people didn't believe these rumors.

But... the disease was true, and its name is still known only to you and the court doctors. You haven't officially announced your health anywhere, continuing to attend events fresh and, as always, unbearably beautiful. Each of your outfits is analyzed by centimeter, admiring and saying that Aphrodite herself created you... After all, you don't have any relatives left. Almost.

Minho is the son of your already deceased stepbrother. He spent all 23 years of his life almost like an ordinary person. Nevertheless, there were privileges. After all, he is from the royal family. But no one taught Minho to rule and be the future king, because his father was next in line to the throne. But because of the accident, there are only two of you left in the royal family of Lee - you and your step-nephew. Your servants insisted on asking Minho to return to the country and begin training in royal affairs. So that if your health deteriorates, they can count on your nephew.

The door to your office opened just when you wanted to take your morning pill. Minho never followed the royal dress code; no one thought that he would ever be a potential future king, so no one from the media followed him. That's why he didn't surprise you in any way with a denim jacket, a black t-shirt, and black jeans.

"Good morning, your majesty."

Minho's tone was serious and calm. Previously, he didn't believe those rumors that you had a terminal illness. After all, you always looked much younger than your age and were incredibly happy and full of energy on the pages of fashion magazines and on news broadcasts. But when he saw your eyes here, without paparazzi cameras, he realized how tired you were.