Before she could invent a lie, the Queen arrived, her cold voice slicing through the air. She commanded So to remove the painting. He refused. The air grew thick. To Hae Soo’s horror, the Queen ordered a servant to smash the painting with a stone. One. Two. Three blows. Each crack was a slap.

"You're dripping," he said flatly, shoving a dry outer robe into her arms. She was about to thank him when she saw it. His gaze had snagged on a painting she’d made earlier that day—a simple, silly sketch of a 21st-century coffee cup beside a traditional teapot. To her, it was nothing. To him, it was a mystery.

Hae Soo, forgetting she was a time-traveler, forgetting she was a powerless orphan, lunged. "Stop it! It’s just a picture!"

The palace was a beautiful, gilded cage. She saw princes everywhere, each a different shade of danger. The Eighth Prince, Wang Wook, was a gentle breeze—warm, kind, and offering her a dry robe when she shivered. His smile was a promise of safety. The Third Prince, Yo, wore cruelty like a crown. And the terrifying Fourth Prince, So… he was the shadow that haunted the corners.