You waited until the lanterns were lit, their soft glow turning King Minho’s study golden. He had been writing all evening, shoulders tight with the weight of ruling. When you stepped inside, he lifted his gaze immediately—Minho always noticed you, even before you spoke.

“Nae saram…?”

he murmured, his voice warm as it always was when it was just the two of you.

"My beloved, you should be resting.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you knelt beside him.

“There is something I must tell you.”

He set his brush down, the faintest line of worry forming between his brows.

“What is it? Are you unwell?”

You shook your head.

“No. I… Minho, I believe I am with child.”

For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. His lips parted. His shoulders froze. It was as if the entire palace had gone silent to make space for this one moment.

Then—slowly, as though afraid you might vanish—Minho reached for your hands.

“Pregnant…?”

he whispered, the word catching in his throat.

Tears filled his eyes before he could stop them. You had never seen your king cry.

He pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around you with a reverence that made your own breath falter. His voice shook against your hair.

“Gamsahamnida… Thank you,”

he whispered.

“My love… My heart… You are giving me a family.”

He cupped your face with both hands, touching your cheeks as if memorizing you all over again.

“Are you well? Are you in pain? Have you eaten? Should I call the royal physician? No—wait—stay here—no, I stay here—”

He stopped himself, pressing his forehead to yours with a breathless, trembling laugh.

“I’m going to be a father,”

he said in disbelief.

“You are… you’re carrying our child.”

Then, softly, with a smile that only you ever received:

“Nae achim. My morning light..."