The palace of Bulgul slept beneath a sky bruised with clouds, the moon pale and wavering like a frightened witness. But inside the birthing chamber, nothing slept. Torches burned low, shadows twisted, and the thick scent of herbs clung to the air like an anxious prayer.
Queen Jihwa's scream pierced the silence—raw, desperate, the sound of a woman fighting heaven and earth at the same time.
"Again, Your Majesty," the midwife urged, wiping the sweat from the queen's temple. "Push."
Jihwa's fingers clawed the sheets. Her breath trembled; her heart hammered against her ribs.
And above all the pain, one truth echoed relentlessly in her mind:
Please… let it be a boy.
Outside, pacing like a caged predator, King Jae gripped the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles whitened. His voice thundered through the hallway:
"Heaven help her if she gives me a girl."
Even the guards flinched.
The kingdom of Bulgul had existed for centuries—founded on steel, blood, and the unshakable law that no woman shall ever sit upon the throne. Every king considered it his holy duty to secure a male heir. And King Jae, prideful and brutal in equal measure, wore that duty like armor.
Inside the chamber, Jihwa pushed with a strangled gasp.
And then—quiet.
A soft cry, small but steady, filled the room.
The midwife's breath caught.
The child was beautiful. Dark eyelashes. Pale skin. A calm, steady cry.
A girl.
For a moment, all sound vanished.
Jihwa lay rigid on the bed, staring at the infant, unable to breathe. She had known this possibility existed, yet hope had clung to her like a fever dream.
"A girl…" the midwife whispered, her voice trembling.
Jihwa's world tilted—the king's threats ringing in her skull like a curse.
I will kill it. And bury you with it.
She saw, in that instant, the grave she would share with her newborn daughter.
"No." Jihwa's voice cracked. "No. No one must know."
The midwife looked up, eyes wide with terror.
"Your Majesty… if the king discovers—"
"He must not."
Jihwa's whisper was fierce.
"Listen to me. You will tell him… that I have given him a son."
"A son?" the midwife breathed.
"A son," Jihwa repeated, as if forcing the lie into reality. "Please. I beg you."
The midwife hesitated only a moment. She was a woman. She knew what men like King Jae did when their pride was wounded. And she knew what fate awaited this child.
"I will protect her," she vowed, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I swear it on my life."
She wrapped the infant quickly, hiding the delicate features beneath layers of cloth. Then she stepped out into the hallway.
King Jae's eyes snapped to her.
"Well?"
His voice was a loaded blade.
The midwife bowed to the floor.
"A boy, Your Majesty."
King Jae exhaled sharply—relief flooding him like warm wine.
"A boy! At last!"
He stormed into the chamber, beaming, ignorant of the truth that hung in the air like smoke. He looked down at the child, wrapped tightly and still, and grinned with triumph.
"My heir," he declared. "My son."
He named her Yoongi, meaning to shine.
And the kingdom erupted in celebration—bells ringing, feasts prepared, gold coins tossed into the streets.
But Queen Jihwa lay trembling on the bed, tears leaking from her eyes.
Her daughter lived.
But she would live as something she was not.
And that was only the beginning.