The vast and beautiful palace, Hwan’s home and birthplace, felt like a suffocating prison. His lofty position as the Crown Prince was lonely, with no one to confide in or a place to relax. To escape the oppression, Hwan often disguised himself and ventured outside the city walls.

On one such occasion, he stumbled upon the Japanese hairpin at the vendor’s stall. Knowing it was a type of ornament his mother, Queen Heekyeong, favored, he felt compelled to purchase it without hesitation.

Excited about how delighted his mother would be with the hairpin, Hwan hurried back to the Central Palace.

“Her Majesty, the Queen, has arrived,” announced a servant.

“Bring her in,” came the response.

Entering the palace, Hwan saw Queen Heekyeong sitting gracefully. Her skin was pale like white jade, and her lips were thin and red, like those of a poppy flower. Her elaborate hairstyle was adorned with a sophisticated butterfly-shaped pin.

At first glance, anyone could tell she was the most noble woman in Joseon, the Queen. She seemed as beautiful as a rose but had a subtly sharp and prickly aura.

Upon seeing Hwan, she coldly inquired, “What brings you here?”

While a typical mother would show some affection for her child, Queen Heekyeong’s attitude toward Hwan was notably cold and distant.

However, Hwan seemed accustomed to this.

“I have brought a gift that I believe mother will be pleased with,” Hwan said.

“A gift?” she asked.
When Heekyeong showed a flicker of interest, Hwan eagerly presented her with the hairpin he had found in the market.

“Mother, don’t you favor ornaments from Wa (Japan)? It’s a rare find, and I was fortunate to come across it.”

Hwan hoped Heekyeong would smile upon seeing the ornament, but instead, she regarded it with an icy, indifferent gaze.

Concerned, Hwan cautiously inquired, “Do you not like it?”

“Do I not like it? Ha!” Heekyeong let out a scornful laugh, filling the room with her hollow amusement.

Soon, her face devoid of laughter, she continued, “Did you think these trifling ornaments would please me?”

“Yes…?” Hwan replied, bewildered.

“It seems you still lack understanding of a mother’s heart.”

Hwan’s eyes flickered with confusion.

Heekyeong had always been distant towards Hwan, treating him more as a Crown Prince than her son. She had never spoken to him tenderly, her expressions always cold.

Perhaps in all his memories, Heekyeong had never shown a relaxed smile within the palace.

Unlike King Yirul, who favored Gun, Heekyeong’s strictness towards Hwan was, in his belief, to prepare him to be a king one day. The occasional faint smiles she showed him while he was in his ceremonial dress were his only consolation.

Seeing such expressions from her, Hwan’s heart, burdened with chaos and suffocation, would ease, making her smile the only solace in his lonely royal existence.

Hwan’s effort in obtaining the hairpin, competing with Biyeong, was all to see that smile.

“How then should I…” Hwan struggled to find words, his lips barely parting to speak.

He had always endeavored to make Heekyeong smile, but all he received was her cold facade.

“…How can I make you smile?”

“Become the King.”

Heekyeong’s seasoned eyes scanned Hwan firmly.

“Become the King and make me the true Queen Mother of this country.”

“I am already the Crown Prince. In time, I will naturally become the King, and you will be the Queen Mother. Why the hurry?” Hwan questioned.

“What about Kwanghogun?” Heekyeong referred to Gun.

Gun’s name was a constant comparison in Heekyeong’s conversations. Since childhood, she compared Hwan with Gun, who always remained a shadow he had to surpass.

But Hwan no longer wished to concern himself with Gun, who was outside the palace. He was tired of hearing and even thinking about Gun.

Yet, every time Heekyeong mentioned Gun, Hwan had to suppress his displeasure, fearing any sign of resentment might cause her to withdraw the scant attention she offered.

“As long as Kwanghogun lives, no one can guarantee the throne. Haven’t you learned from the examples of previous kings?”

Moreover, King Yirul still favored Gun, born of a concubine. Though Gun’s mother, Concubine Jung, had long passed, there were still factions within the palace covertly supporting Gun.
Even Heekyeong had to admit that Gun’s talents were exceptional. In Hwan’s path to the throne, Gun’s existence posed the greatest threat.

The mere sight of Gun, a despised son of a concubine, was a thorn in Hwan’s eye. If Gun ever coveted the throne, both Hwan and Heekyeong’s positions would be jeopardized. The Queen Mother’s position couldn’t be shaken by a mere illegitimate son.

For Heekyeong to maintain her position, Hwan needed to stand firm. Yet, he seemed pathetically obsessed with a mere hair ornament used by women.

Heekyeong’s scolding caused Hwan’s head to drop in defeat, his fists trembling slightly.

“…When I become king.”

History proved that bloodlines often led to fratricide in the quest for the throne. With Hwan and Gun being King Yirul’s only sons, Gun was Hwan’s sole rival.

Despite Gun being outside the palace and seemingly indifferent to power, his mere existence was an undeniable threat to Hwan.

Struggling to voice his thoughts, Hwan forced out his words.

“Will you genuinely smile for me then?”

“Certainly. What is there that cannot be done?”

A hint of a smile finally graced Heekyeong’s lips, as if just imagining Hwan ascending the throne brought her pleasure.

“Become the king. It is the way to show filial piety to me and the only way to prove your worth.”

The smile on her lips wasn’t for Hwan. Yet, if Heekyeong truly smiled at him, Hwan was prepared to resort to any means, however vile.

As his resolve deepened, the shadow cast over Hwan’s face grew darker.