Carrying the Child of the Man Who Killed Me

Even before that, Wolha Palace had been a neglected place where few cared for Yeocheong. But as preparations for Jihyuk’s return began, the palace felt even more abandoned. The capital was aglow with celebration at Jihyuk’s victorious return, but Wolha Palace seemed worlds away from that joy.

“Things are already so busy, and now this. Ugh, I can’t even touch anything until His Majesty deals with it personally.”

Yeocheong’s meals became increasingly sparse. The food arrived at irregular times and often seemed to be leftovers – poorly prepared and barely edible. Even Seok, who had at least bothered to check on him, hadn’t been seen for more than two weeks.

But none of that mattered to Yeocheong. What filled his heart now was the joy of knowing that he would soon have the chance to see Jihyuk again.

‘If I can just see him and have the chance to speak, that alone will be enough. If I’ve done something wrong, I’ll ask him to tell me. He might mock me for not knowing on my own, but… if I can learn, I can fix it.’

The cruel remarks from the attendants no longer fazed him. Their words were meaningless until Jihyuk himself spoke to him.

Determined not to greet Jihyuk with a haggard appearance, Yeocheong forced himself to eat despite his lack of appetite. From the few remaining clothes he had, he carefully selected and prepared the cleanest ones.

“I heard His Majesty will arrive in the capital tomorrow,” one of the attendants remarked.

“Minah, didn’t you say your brother went to war?”

“Yeah, and my family’s so excited. We’re just glad he came back safely.”

“I heard they’re holding a week-long banquet. We’re going to be run into the ground.”

“Still, there’s bound to be some scraps that fall our way during all the festivities. Just thinking about that has me excited already.”

Just beyond the door, the world felt entirely different. While Yeocheong sat with a heart heavy with uncertainty, the attendants of Wolha Palace were buzzing with anticipation and cheer.

“So, do you think we’ll all get reassigned to new places?”

“Probably. There’s no one to use Wolha Palace until the new mistress arrives. Even if they do, the place needs to be renovated first. We’ll probably be scattered elsewhere for the time being.”

“Ugh, it’s annoying, but honestly, working here wasn’t bad. We didn’t really have a real master to serve, and we still had the budget for a queen.”

“What’s the point of a budget? It all goes straight into the steward’s pocket anyway”.

Their careless chatter echoed through the walls, oblivious to the stark contrast between their excitement and the weight of Yeocheong’s despair.

“At least we occasionally got decent ingredients, and the heating was good, so the winters weren’t so cold.”

“That’s true.”

The attendants, who seemed to have forgotten any need for discretion, spoke openly, even in places where Yeocheong might pass. There were far too many voices to remember, all dripping with contempt.

‘I don’t even want revenge. I don’t need anything else…’

But Yeocheong did not bother to remember her words. He had long since grown accustomed to such treatment, even in the Imperial Palace of the Song Nation, where he had often been ignored like a shadow or a fixture on the wall.

These words didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but one thing – that Jihyuk would return as he once was. If this one person could come back to him, Yeocheong was sure that he could forget the pain of these three long years spent in isolation.

The day that had seemed so far away, the day when the endless waiting would finally end, had finally come.

***

On the first day, Yeocheong said to himself that Jihyuk must be exhausted from the journey. It was only natural that he wouldn’t show up.

On the second day, he thought that Jihyuk had been gone for three years and there must be countless things that needed his immediate attention. It made sense that he was too busy.

But as the days turned into a week, Yeocheong’s carefully constructed justifications began to crumble.

One day passed, then two, three, four… A week passed and Yeocheong had no excuses left. The small amount of weight he had regained was gone, and the clean clothes he had prepared now looked slightly faded from being laid out every day in anticipation.

It wasn’t until a little over a week after Jihyuk’s return that he finally came to see Yeocheong. But it was not the meeting Yeocheong had imagined.

“Your Majesty.”

“You’ve lost a lot of weight.”

Jihyuk noticed, his tone cold and distant.

“Am… am I unpleasant to look at?”

Startled, Yeocheong raised a trembling hand to his face. He hadn’t realised how gaunt and hollow it had become, little more than skin and bone.

‘After years of separation, I greet him looking like this… How shameful.’

Yeocheong’s head dropped and his face crumpled, tears welling up and spilling over before he could stop them. The vision of the person he had so desperately longed for blurred before his eyes.

“Her Grace has found it difficult to adapt to the Yeon Nation’s cuisine,” one of the servants interjected. “Especially recently…”

The words trailed off awkwardly, as if unsure whether to continue, but Jihyuk’s expression remained unmoved.

“Did I ask you?”

“M-my apologies, Your Majesty.”

The meeting, which included the steward, his attendants and several officers, felt less like a casual reunion and more like an interrogation, with Yeocheong at the centre of it.

Yeocheong, who had been staring blankly at Jihyuk’s face – the face he had longed to see for so long – began to cry silently as Jihyuk’s cold voice echoed through the room.

“What has Your Grace done wrong?”

“…”

“If I have done something wrong, I will correct it. I have thought about it and will work hard to improve myself.”

Swallowing his pride and shame, Yeocheong knelt on the floor and clung to Jihyuk, his trembling hands reaching for the hem of his robes. At first, he was frozen in the oppressive atmosphere of the room. But then he felt a sense of urgency – if he let this moment slip away, he didn’t know how long he would have to wait for another chance.

“So please, tell me. I will fix it. I have spent my time alone, thinking deeply.”

His words poured out, raw and desperate, as tears continued to trickle down his pale cheeks. He didn’t care about the onlookers, or the humiliation of baring his soul to them. All he cared about was understanding why – why the man who had once been so warm and kind had become so distant and cold.

Yeocheong, unsure of what he had done wrong, assumed it was all his fault. He blamed no one but himself. His thin, trembling hands clung desperately to the hem of Jihyuk’s robe.

“Even if you find me unbearable to look at now… there was a time when you didn’t… when you didn’t hate me, wasn’t there?”

“Your Grace, please, you mustn’t do this.”

One of the servants tried to intervene.

“Your Majesty… please, I beg you.”

Yeocheong couldn’t even bring himself to look at Jihyuk directly. He was too afraid of what he might see in his eyes. Instead, he bowed his head and begged. But the other attendants soon intervened, pushing Yeocheong away and pulling him back.

“Her Grace seems rather overwrought.”

Jihyuk said, his tone calm and cold.

“There seems to be little point in continuing this conversation. It would be best if you rested.”

“Your Majesty, no! I… I’ll calm down. Please, I’ll calm down,” Yeocheong pleaded.

“Escort Her Grace back inside.”

And with that, the conversation Yeocheong had waited for over three years ended in hollow silence. Jihyuk rose from his seat without a trace of hesitation or remorse. He didn’t even look at Yeocheong’s crumbling body before he left the room.

The pain in Yeocheong’s chest, the despair of seeing his pleas so easily ignored, felt insurmountable. The three years he had waited for this moment now seemed utterly pointless.

It was inevitable that the attendants would become even more brazen in their disrespect after what they had witnessed. The story of Yeocheong crying and clinging to Jihyuk only to be rejected spread like wildfire. By the end of the day, everyone in the palace had heard about it.

Now, even in Yeocheong’s presence, the palace staff didn’t bother to hide their contempt.

“Honestly, is his stomach a bottomless pit?”

Ashamed of his emaciated figure and the humiliating scene he had caused, Yeocheong became obsessively meticulous about his meals. But to those around him, this was just the desperate gluttony of someone about to be cast out.

He had long since ceased to be treated as a queen, but now even the nickname “Ghost of Wolha Palace” seemed too kind. They had begun to openly mock him as a ghost, a presence no longer worthy of acknowledgement.

“Look at him eating like that. No wonder His Majesty finds him disgusting.”

“Exactly. Ugh, we can’t starve him while he’s still technically Queen, but it won’t be long before he’s sent to the abandoned palace.”

“Thank God he never fathered a child. Can you imagine?”

“Divine Providence, that’s what it is. Before His Majesty went to war, they shared a bed quite often, didn’t they? And yet no child… makes you wonder.”

They spoke as if Yeocheong weren’t there, just a few steps away. Their confidence was bolstered by the belief that his dismissal was inevitable, their contempt woven into every casual word.

Yeocheong, head bowed and hands trembling, felt their words cut into him like blades. But all he could do was stand in silence, their mockery echoing painfully in the hollow chamber of his heart.

‘Was it really because I was lacking that no child came? Was it my fault? It was the first time I ever dared to want something so badly.’

Yeocheong thought to himself, his hand resting lightly on his stomach, now so thin that it seemed to nearly touch his spine. His heart felt heavy with guilt and regret.

Just then, a low scoff broke through his thoughts.

“The heavens may have seen fit to intervene… but that’s not all, is it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You think His Majesty didn’t have a plan? He never intended to have an heir with the ghost of Wolha Palace in the first place.”

“And how would you know that?”

The attendant who had spoken smirked and looked at Yeocheong, the same mocking smile that had accompanied so many other jabs that Yeocheong was all too familiar with. He didn’t even bother to raise his head, knowing that whatever came next would cut deeply.

“A few months after the ghost came to the palace, something was brought in. Something most people didn’t notice.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Fruit from the Ejoo tree was delivered to the palace.”

“Fruit from the Ejoo tree? What’s so special about it?”

The others exchanged curious glances, oblivious to the growing tension in the air. Yeocheong, however, froze. His head remained bowed, but his heart began to race, a faint sense of fear creeping into his chest.

“What’s so special about it? My father often brews it into tea for himself.”

“It’s not poison. It’s actually quite healthy. But it’s not something you’d normally find in the palace.”

Yeocheong could feel the short-haired attendant’s eyes on him, but he didn’t lift his head. His face remained buried between his knees, as if trying to shut out the world.

‘There’s nothing I can do. It’s best to let their words go in one ear and out the other.’

But the next words froze him in place.

“It’s healthy, sure, but if an Omega drinks it, they can’t conceive during the time they’re taking it.”

“What?”

“I’m from Gangcheon, where the fruit is common, so I’ve always known about it. But I didn’t say anything before because I was afraid it would get me into trouble. But now that it’s out in the open, there’s no need to keep quiet.

“Is… is this true?”

“Whoa! Let go of me!”

Yeocheong had suddenly grabbed the speaker’s wrist, his thin fingers trembling with desperation. His grip lacked strength, but the urgency in his movements caused the other guards to step back in shock.

The guard easily pulled her arm free, but not before the weight of Yeocheong’s sudden action and expression had fallen heavily on the group.

Yeocheong, who had been listening silently like a screen in the background, moved suddenly. He approached the guard and grabbed her arm with trembling hands. The guard’s face twisted in irritation as she easily shook off his weak grip.

Yeocheong stumbled, falling to the ground from the force of her reaction. His thin, fragile arms couldn’t even hold their position against the slightest resistance.

The guard looked down at him with an angry expression.

“Why should I lie? I don’t need to make up stories. It’s already a fact that Her Grace will be removed from this palace soon enough.”

“Enough. Let’s not get involved. Let’s just go.”

With a dismissive snort, the servants turned and left, their expressions as if they had stepped on something dirty.

Left alone, Yeocheong sat motionless, staring blankly into the space they had vacated. Slowly, unbidden memories began to surface.

“At least you seem to enjoy this tea. That’s a relief, isn’t it?”

“I think I like it more because Your Majesty enjoys it.”

“Good. It’s healthy, too. Make sure to drink it regularly, my queen.”

Jihyuk’s words from the past floated back to him, accompanied by the warm smile that had once lit up his world. But now those memories felt like cruel echoes of a happiness that existed only in his mind, twisted by the revelations that had shattered his present.