Chapter 5: Empress So Hyun

The late empress So Hyun, my predecessor, was a warm and wonderful woman, by all accounts.

When I moved into the palace upon my marriage to the emperor, there were reminders of her everywhere.

In those heady early days, I was young and silly, flush with the fever of first love; adamant that I would fill the hole in Lee Hyuk's heart. For everyone knew that he had loved his wife deeply, and had almost collapsed at her untimely demise, brought upon by a sudden cardiac arrest, in the third trimester of her pregnancy. The nation had wept with him, and I, too, had shed tears of sorrow at the sight of that lean, beautiful face, haggard beyond recognition, his cheeks hollow, his eyes bloodshot, painful to look at in their stark grief and despair.

He had loved her, and his unborn child, and he had lost her.

He had been reluctant to speak of her; the mere mention of her name would make his lips tighten, his face flinch. And so I grew to avoid the mention of her name in front of him, and to pretend that she had ever existed.

But she was there in all the shadowy corners of the palace, in our bedroom, on the balcony, in the gardens. I imagined her running lightly up the stairs, her long, slender fingers trailing lightly, skimming over the railing, hurrying to Lee Hyuk, waiting impatiently for her upstairs. There were pictures that she drew, paintings that she had left behind, in a trunk, pushed deep into a corner, in the empty room at the far end of the hall. There were notes that she had written, on sheets of paper, torn out of a notebook, written in a firm, spidery writing, that I had found pushed deep in a drawer in my bedroom, forgotten, unseen, written by a woman who had lived with, and loved, the man that I live with, and had loved, once upon a time, a long, long time ago.

To my darling Hyuk,

I love you more than ever

                From your Hyun

To my darling Hyuk,

I miss you

         From your Hyun

To my darling Hyuk,

Hurry home

        From your Hyun

To my daling Hyuk,

Stay with me always

         From your Hyun

I knew her face, what it looked like; she stared at me from the framed photographs in the gallery: a small, oval face, the clear pale skin, the dark hair swept back from a smooth forehead, the full red lips curved in a brilliant, joyous smile. I imagined her scent, her smile, her laughter. She looked happy in the photographs; she looked like a woman who loved, and was loved, in turn.

I remember the ball so clearly.

I had been so nervous as it was my first ball ever as the Empress. 

The Empress Dowager had surprised me by paying me a visit in my chambers, something that she never did.

"This is my gift to you," she smiled, as her maid stepped forward with a box.

"Open it," she said.

I opened the box.

Inside it was a scarlet gown, the most exquisite gown that I had ever seen.

"Wear it tonight to the ball," she smiled widely. "Lee Hyuk would think that you are so beautiful in it. He would be so proud of you, his beautiful empress."

She looked at me critically.

"My maid will dress your hair," shs smiled again. "You need to look perfect tonight."

So I wore the gown to the party, with my hair piled up, adorned with a row of freesia flowers that the maid had carefully arranged on my swept-up hair.

I walked down the grand staircase.

The guests were assembled in the hall.

They turned to look at me as I descended the stairs.

There was an audible gasp from the crowd.

Lee Hyuk was standing at the corner, chatting with a gentleman, a glass of champagne in his hand.

He turned, and saw me.

The glass of champagne fell from his hand and shattered on the floor.

He strode toward me.

His face was white.

"Why are you wearing that - that gown?" he spoke through clenched teeth.

"W-what?" I stuttered.

"Take it off at once," he said, his voice trembling, his eyes blazing with fury, "or I shall tear it off you here, now."

He pushed past me and stalked off.

I turned and stumbled away, blinded by tears.

I tore off the dress in my room feverishly.

My maid picked it up, her face distraught.

"That gown," I said, through stiff lips, "what's wrong with it?"

"That was Empress So Hyun's gown, Your Majesty," she looked at me with stricken eyes. "She wore it all the time. It was her favourite gown."

She touched the freesia flowers on my hair with trembling fingers.

"These were her favourite flowers," she whispered. "The Emperor banned them after she died. He had all the flowers burnt in the gardens."

I tore the flowers from my hair in a frenzy and threw them on the floor, where they lay, crushed and broken.

Like me, I thought dully. Like my heart.

"You've got something on your lip," a voice next to me says.

With a start, I realize that I am in the breakfast room.

It is now, and I am having breakfast with my husband, Ari, the Empress Dowager and my sister-in-law.

I am no longer in the past, in the heady early days, flush with the fever of first love.

For it is a fever that can burn and hurt you, and make you cry, when a careless remark, a cruel word, can bruise you so easily, can wound you so swiftly, and tear your loving, tender, foolish heart to shreds.

The old me, that young, foolish me, burned and bruised often in those early days.

The new me, the clever me, no longer trembles with fear at a unkind word, nor yearns for a kind word of affection.

He is looking at me, his eyes amused.

"You are so deep in thought," he murmurs, bending close to my ear.

He taps his lip and grins at me.

I touch my lip.

"Wrong spot," he says, laughter in his voice.

"Here, let me," he leans toward me, so close that I can see me, my face, reflected in those dark eyes b with laughter and mischief.

He brushes his thumb lightly, gently, over the edge of my lip.

"All done," he says softly, and smiles into my eyes.

I feel the hot colour rise in my cheeks.

I draw in a sharp intake of breath.

With an effort, I turn my face away.

I freeze.

The Empress Dowager is watching us from the far end of the table, her eyes unblinking like a hawk's.

There is a little pucker, a tiny frown between her brows.