The palace woke before the sun. We were summoned before the first bell, barely rested, still aching from yesterday's trials. Yet as soon as we stepped onto the gravel of the Heart Court, all traces of fatigue were expected to vanish.
Mistress Choi stood waiting, arms folded, expression stony. Behind her, a dozen assistants held trays of practice goblets, silk veils, and wax fruit.
"Today is not a lesson," Mistress Choi said. "It is an examination."
We were split into groups. Some were to rehearse their serving techniques. Others drilled on gestures of politeness or practiced kneeling positions. I was assigned to the wine servers.
Each of us was handed a lacquered goblet filled with dyed water and made to walk the length of the reflecting pool, balancing it without spilling a drop. The slightest tremble drew scorn. The slightest misstep earned a full reset.
The courtyard grew hotter with the rising sun. My arms ached from holding the goblet at the precise angle. My fingers cramped. But I would not fail.
"Yeonhwa, again," Mistress Choi snapped when I faltered at the stairs.
I turned and walked the full path back.
Again. And again.
Until my spine was a rod of iron and my arms no longer trembled.
Then came the dining drills. We learned how to ladle soup without sound. How to place a dish without making eye contact. We practiced on wax replicas of the actual feast…dishes adorned with sculpted petals and lacquered trays.
"You are not simply serving food," Mistress Choi said. "You are part of a ritual. A single slip is a curse."
After a short break, we were ushered into the indoor practice court where a large dais had been constructed. A stand-in noble sat upon it…an old woman with eyes like razors.
"You will serve the king here," said Mistress Choi. "Now approach, one at a time. Begin."
We did. And many failed.
One girl tripped on the first step and burst into tears. Another forgot to bow. When it was my turn, my pulse thundered in my ears, but I lowered my gaze, stepped slowly, and poured the practice wine without so much as a ripple.
The old woman looked at me. Then nodded.
"Acceptable," she said.
I exhaled slowly.
We were allowed only a moment's rest before dance began again. Mistress Sook clapped her hands and the musicians resumed.
This time, the routine was longer, more intricate. Every pivot, every lift of the arm was timed to the notes of the bamboo flute.
"Your bodies are instruments," she said. "If you fall out of tune, you ruin the symphony."
The silk sleeves we wore caught in the wind, and one girl's snagged on another's hairpin. They crashed together and collapsed. Mistress Sook's fan smacked the floor.
"Out," she snapped. "Both of you."
They were led away, trembling.
And still, we danced. My legs screamed. My lungs burned.
"Yeonhwa, lift your arms higher," Mistress Sook barked. "Again. From the beginning."
"Yes, Mistress," I gasped, forcing my limbs to obey.
Hours passed. One of the girls collapsed from exhaustion, her face pale. A healer was summoned to carry her off. No one dared help her. It was understood: weakness was contagious.
After the final routine, we returned to the etiquette drills. We were made to memorize every noble's title who would be in attendance, their lineage, and their house symbols.
"If you bow to Lord Taesan as you would a general, you will offend the court," Master Bo lectured. "If you address the Dowager Empress without honorifics, you may never be summoned again."
He called out names. We had to answer with the correct gesture, posture, and spoken greeting. Mistakes were met with reprimands or extra drills.
Mira was called.
"Lady Jaeryeong of the Jade Province," Master Bo said.
Mira stepped forward and executed a flawless fan bow. "Noble Lady Jaeryeong of the House of Moon, may your lineage be long and blessed."
Master Bo nodded in approval.
Then he looked at me.
"Yeonhwa. The Crown Minister."
I took a breath and answered, voice clear. "Your Excellency, Minister Seokjin of the Eastern Court, bearer of the royal seal and counsel to the crown. May your wisdom guide the realm."
A pause.
Then a quiet: "Correct."
I almost sagged with relief.
At dusk, we were called to the Hall of Waters for the final movement rehearsal. The sound of the stringed gayageum floated in the air. The court musicians were already practicing.
Lady Hyerin stood at the front, her hands clasped.
"This is the last you will rehearse," she said. "Tomorrow, you will not be children. You will be seen. And some of you…only some…will be remembered."
Her eyes landed on me briefly.
"Begin."
We danced.
We poured.
We recited.
We bled inside our silks.
And when it was over, she turned without a word and left.
That night, sleep was a stranger.
I lay on the mat, staring at the shadowed beams above. Mira's voice came soft beside me.
"You didn't spill once today."
"Neither did you."
"Do you think he'll notice us?"
I was silent.
Then I whispered, "I think everything changes tomorrow."
And it would.