Dream of Affection (Completed)

The day of the Emperor’s birthday celebration had arrived.

The fatigue was relentless. Sleeping only left me drained from laboring in my dreams, and waking up brought with it the exhaustion from those same tasks. The accumulated weariness had reached its peak by the time the celebration loomed near. My condition, already strained from embroidering since the early hours, was dire.

I felt as though I could drift off into sleep the moment I closed my eyes in the warm water, but I knew that if I did, the celebration would be ruined. I fought to stay awake, though this young body of mine tired so easily.

Just as I was preparing for the late afternoon event, a summons came from the Empress’s quarters. Rushing to her, half-dressed, I found her in distress once more, unable to decide on anything, even whether to wear the phoenix hairpin.

“What should I do? What should I choose?” she muttered, pacing the same spot in circles. I gently guided her to sit and began working on her hair. It was a blessing, I thought, to have deft hands. I styled her hair into an elegant design, adorning it with ornaments that highlighted her delicate features.

The Empress needed to project authority, but today’s event belonged to the Emperor. The outcome of the night, who he might choose, would decide who emerged victorious among the consorts. I placed a tear-shaped beauty mark below her left eye and brushed her cheeks with a light coral tint, creating the illusion of pearl-like skin. Time slipped away as I worked.

This left me no choice but to attend the celebration in a plain outfit. For a twelve-year-old princess, appearance still mattered. Although Princess Yoom had no betrothed due to her unusual circumstances, at her age, it wouldn’t have been surprising for her to have one. Marriages were formalized after coming of age, of course.

The atmosphere during the celebration was tense. Guests watched the Emperor intently, gauging his every move. His authority was palpable, stifling even. My late father-in-law, the former Emperor, had commanded a strong imperial presence as well, but never had I witnessed an air so oppressive. Fear of even the slightest misstep was evident in everyone’s expressions.

The Crown Prince I knew, now the Emperor of this dream world, wasn’t one to find fault or provoke such tension. On the contrary, he’d been known for keeping peace, preferring to manage conflicts before they escalated.

Had ascending the throne changed him?

Or was this a trait woven into the fabric of the dream?

I waited, an anxious knot in my stomach.

Dancers performed before the feast began, each act more extravagant than the last. This event had been meticulously planned, drawing upon everything I knew to impress. A colossal vessel of wine hung from the ceiling, cascading into small ponds at each table. Plates were carved from jade in the shape of leaves, specially crafted for the occasion. For moon-gazing, doors had been replaced with panels that could fold away. Charcoal braziers shaped like turtles were placed for warmth, alongside fish-shaped soup ladles.

The preparations were flawless, I thought. I wasn’t one to make mistakes in such matters. But success didn’t come without effort; the past week had been grueling.

Though I didn’t expect acknowledgment, I did allow myself a quiet moment of pride. I believed the night would proceed without incident. But I was wrong. I realized this as the moment for presenting gifts to the Emperor arrived.

It felt as though all the treasures in the world were gathered there.

The sight was dazzling, a collection that had crossed deserts and oceans. Rarities from snow-capped mountains and cliffsides filled the room. I’d attended many imperial celebrations—first as the Crown Prince’s fiancée, then as Crown Princess—but never had I seen such extravagance. It was yet another testament to the Emperor’s formidable power.

The Emperor sat at the head table, half of his face concealed by a red mask. Perhaps it was the mask, but his expression was cold, so unlike the gentle Crown Prince I had known. It was an expression I’d never seen in the three years I’d served by his side—a detached, almost bored look as he watched the gifts paraded before him.

The tension in the hall was suffocating, and I realized it didn’t matter what wonders I had arranged. The Emperor didn’t seem to want to celebrate at all. Why, I couldn’t fathom.

Sensing the growing unease, the Empress ordered the presentation of gifts from the princesses. Mine was first, a tray holding nothing more than a simple handkerchief. Compared to the garments, carvings, and performances offered by the others, it seemed embarrassingly meager.

But there was no helping it. Tradition required that all imperial children prepare their own gifts, and I was no exception.

The tray was brought before the Emperor. He glanced at the handkerchief, giving a slight nod before it began to be withdrawn. But suddenly, he stood, seizing the handkerchief with such force that the tray clattered to the floor. The startled maid dropped to her knees, trembling.

The hall fell silent. Guests exchanged worried glances, unsure whether to bow or remain still. The clang had disrupted the evening, leaving everyone frozen.

The Emperor’s eyes were wild as he looked at the embroidered handkerchief, then fixed his gaze on me—a glare so fierce it was as if he were staring at an enemy. The tension snapped, and everyone in the room dropped to their knees, foreheads touching the floor. The music stopped, dancers froze mid-movement, trembling as they lowered themselves.

But I couldn’t move.

I knew I should bow, but my body wouldn’t respond. He kept looking at me, and it was a look I’d never seen before. He’d always been kind; I’d never imagined he could look this way. It felt as if I were standing unarmed before a predator.

“You….”

As soon as I widened my eyes in shock at the Emperor’s blazing stare, he was suddenly upon me, closing the distance in an instant.

“What…?”

Before I could react further, his hand clamped around my throat. The fierce pressure of his grip spoke volumes about his anger.

“How do you know?” he demanded.

“Y-Your Majesty…”

“This is something I gave to someone. No one but her should know about it. How dare you!”

The constriction around my neck robbed me of breath. Before I knew it, my body was hoisted into the air, feet dangling uselessly as I gasped for air. Tears sprang to my eyes, the pain and suffocation sending waves of panic through me. Was this what it felt like to hang by the neck? My vision swam, darkened, then lightened again as consciousness slipped further away. His voice cut through the fog.

“Who dared to—”

“Ugh… someone unworthy…”

“Who told you about this, and why can’t you speak?” His rage seemed boundless, the kind that promised utter destruction for whoever was behind it. Even if I could speak, I wouldn’t dare scratch at his hands for release. He was the Emperor.

But tears streamed down my face, and my vision grew dimmer with every second. Shapes blurred, then faded. My body, exhausted from the morning’s weariness, gave in. The last coherent thought I had as I fell into darkness was an unvoiced answer.

No one… told me…

Whether I managed to speak those words out loud, I couldn’t say. They didn’t reach my ears before everything went black.

I awoke staring at the cracked, familiar ceiling of the Cold Palace. It brought me an unexpected sense of relief, a strange comfort. For now, the last thing I wanted was to return to the world of dreams.

My throat ached. I reached for the teapot beside my bed, poured a cup, and sipped, clearing my voice with a small cough. The soreness made it feel as though I’d truly been choked. A mirror would have been nice, but such luxuries had no place in the Cold Palace. In times like this, not being able to see myself was frustrating.

I touched my neck absentmindedly, frowning at the heat radiating from the tender skin. In that dream, I was Princess Yoom, only twelve years old. For the Emperor to strangle a child, even if he was an absolute ruler, felt extreme.

Still, he was the Emperor… The consequences were for Princess Yoom to bear, not me. I hadn’t expected to provoke such wrath.

“This is something I gave to someone. No one but her should know about it. How dare you know!”

The sharp memory of his anger still echoed in my ears.

“Who told you, and why can’t you speak?”

…It seemed the Emperor of that dream hadn’t forgotten me after all.

I never thought he’d recognize such a small detail—the delicate flowers embroidered on that handkerchief. I didn’t know their name, and perhaps he didn’t either. Yet, he remembered giving them to me. Did he know that I cherished that moment, that it made me profoundly happy?

A distant memory surfaced.

It was a summer night. A sudden rainstorm had brought a chill. In Seonna, even during winter, women wore only thin silk dresses. In winter, they layered up, but in summer, the beauty standard was to wear gowns that revealed the upper chest and clung to the body’s contours. Unexpected cold snaps were unwelcome.

The palace had its rigid customs, even for nightwear, so I waited in my chambers, shivering in a thin robe, hoping for the Crown Prince’s arrival. He was delayed with matters of state, but when he finally arrived and saw me, his face immediately darkened. Without a word, he removed his outer robe and draped it over my shoulders.

“Couldn’t you have found something warmer?”

I must have been shaking more than I realized. I thought I was doing a good job hiding my discomfort, but he had noticed instantly.

“It’s the custom…”

“Customs are not more important than people.”

This was one of the things I admired most about him. He was unlike any other royal. No one else would have dared say that customs didn’t outweigh human needs. In the palace, rules reigned supreme, sometimes even above the Emperor himself.

Failing to follow them didn’t carry a death sentence, but it branded you as foolish. You became a target for gossip, ostracized not just by your peers but by the servants as well. Every action was scrutinized. But not by him.

As he adjusted the robe around me, he seemed to remember something and gently placed a flower behind my ear. I only saw it the next morning, wilted and sad, so I never knew how I looked with it. But I did remember how he had gazed at me, eyes narrowed with a smile as if I were the most radiant sight.

His hand had cradled my cheek as he leaned in, his lips brushing mine with a delicate touch. I remembered that warmth, the way he tenderly kissed my upper lip, and how he carefully traced it with his tongue. That sensation was vivid, as was the soft touch of his fingers against my ear.

I didn’t know if he remembered all that. But he hadn’t forgotten what he’d given me. The surge of joy in my heart was undeniable. I decided to accept that joy. I would set aside the fact that he had become a man who could throttle his twelve-year-old daughter.

After all, it was just a dream.