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They say toddlers have their own language, one that unlocks an entire new world for their parents once decoded. Compared to their older, adult selves, toddlers were beings of action over words. Tae-Eul was a chief example of this at ten months old. She had been quick to walk, an eager child with an entire world to explore that would not be withheld by the lack of means to adventure it. 

She could barely speak, only babble, her need for mobility far outweighing her need to verbally communicate. As an only child, Tae-Eul was the absolute center of attention, her needs always so clearly displayed on her face that anyone could tell what she wanted. She had her parents wrapped around her little finger, never wanting for anything, always having either of them at her side or more accurately, her at their side. Initially, for the first part of her life, while her parents had just started the taekwondo dojo, Tae-Eul spent the majority of her time with her mom, while her father worked to support them and Ha-Ran’s dream. 

Ha-Ran adored her daughter’s every moment in life, from each little expression and movement, to even the way she would babble while still developing her speech. Her greatest worry in life was that her daughter would misstep, fall over and get hurt, especially in the first few months whilst Tae-Eul’s chubby legs were still shaky, her balance not yet totally developed. Even when she would be teaching, little Tae-Eul would be nearby, always in sight to keep her fears at bay. This slowly lessened as Tae-Eul grew more confident, her parents allowing her to wander a little more and play in their house unsupervised for just a few moments, their ears constantly listening for trouble. However, independence was not something little Tae-Eul had wanted, quite the opposite in fact. 

Tae-Eul, even though she was barely up to her mother’s knees, wanted to be with her parents at every moment. Not playing or watching cartoons. When her mother went downstairs to the dojo, she would follow, even if it meant the daunting stairs that were akin to descending a mountain. Tae-Eul was always two steps behind her mother in the kitchen, always underfoot but never chastised, her toothy grin chasing away any reprimanding that may have been destined for her. She even followed her mother to the bathroom, the thin barrier of a closed door being too much for her little heart to bear. She was for all intents and purposes, a clingy child. It was a trait that neither of her parents wanted to change for the world, even if it proved to be inconvenient at times. 

It was Children’s Day of 1991. The spring day was warm and the humidity of summer had not yet arrived, the flowers were all in bloom as the little family spent the day out in Seoul’s Grand Park amongst the hundreds of other families spending the occasion together. The atmosphere was loud in a chaotic but happy way, the shrieks of laughter from children echoing all around being the loudest of them all. A perfect setting to enjoy nature, to let Tae-Eul explore all she wanted before her first birthday.

She wasn’t, however, interested in the parks and swings. Nor really with playing with the other children. Tae-Eul liked the pretty array of flowers, picking a few to hold onto, a few more to pick the petals off as she bounced up and down the path, jumping with two feet, wobbling with her hands out to the side and then repeating, parents in tow basking in the sight of their daughter. But her attention was quickly stolen when they closed in on the lake, the reeds hiding the waters edge from them. It was not the water, though, that Tae-Eul had been so taken by.

It had been the family of ducks. A mother and her four ducklings.

Tae-Eul had frozen in her step on the pavement, letting in a comically loud gasp as she dropped the flowers that she had so carefully been looking after to bring her hands to her mouth. Ha-Ran laughed a little, hand coming up to cover her mouth seeing how wide her daughter’s eyes were, sparkling with the kind of reverent wonder that could only be evoked by a child as she looked at the bird family. The couple crouched down next to either side of their daughter, hands on her little back as she all but shook with excitement.

“They’re ducks baby.” Ha-Ran murmured to her daughter, as Tae-Eul let out another gasp of awe just hearing the name of the creatures that had captivated her attention. “Do you want to go say hi?” The quick nodding was enough, Tae-Eul holding out both her hands, fists clasping eagerly for her parents to take so that they could go and say hi.

Do-In chuckled next to them, standing up to grip one of his daughter’s little hands, small and delicate in his own, waiting for his wife to grip their daughter’s other one before they slowly moved towards the reeds.

“We have to be careful, my Tae-Eul.” He whispered, holding a finger over his mouth as Tae-Eul’s eyes widened and she pressed her lips together so tightly they turned white. Her parents chuckled, but were quickly silenced by a demanding tug on their hands. Tae-Eul sported a clearly unimpressed expression, completely convinced that any noise might scare them off.

“We can’t move very fast otherwise we might scare them off and we can’t touch them either baby.” Ha-Ran told Tae-Eul, who slowed down dramatically into tiny tiptoeing, barely moving at all, her eyes locked onto the ducks, ever so eager to finally reach them.

When they got close enough, the trio stopped, crouching down once again as Do-In tried to lure them a little closer so that Tae-Eul could see them a little better. They were brown, flecks of white in their feathers, happily resting by the shore even with the encroaching family only a small distance away. The one of the more curious ducklings moved closer, an action that had Tae-Eul leaning into her mother, tugging on her father’s hand.

“Eomma.” She whispered in that comically loud way children did when they were trying to be discreet. Her voice was hesitant as she looked up to her parents for reassurance as the ducks waddled closer.

“It’s okay, they won’t hurt you.” Ha-Ran assured her, pushing her hair back as she gently moved Tae-Eul closer to the ducks with a nudge. “You can go a little closer, but remember not to touch them or they could get scared.”

It was encouragement enough for Tae-Eul to take her first hesitant step, crouching down when she had ventured as close as she dared to observe the ducklings. They quacked and ruffled their feathers, their every movement captivating Tae-Eul attention, whose mouth was parted in fascination. When they began to move away, disappearing in the water, Tae-Eul’s eyes tracked them carefully, her attention never wavering.

Her face had scrunched together, nose wrinkling as she thought long and hard, before decisively standing up and preparing to join them in the water. Tae-Eul’s intent was clear, she wanted to play with the ducks some more and she would not let them escape her sight.

“No, you can’t Tae-Eul!” Do-In quickly grabbed her, hands coming under her arms to pull her up onto his side, knowing exactly what his daughter was about to do even though she had yet to learn how to swim, her venture into water a death sentence. His look of alarm was not shared by his wife who was just giggling. Ha-Ran’s tenacity had developed in their daughter and Do-In wasn’t entirely sure it was a good thing in situations like this, though it clearly delighted Ha-Ran.

“Appa, duck!” Tae-Eul huffed, trying to wriggle out of his grip to go back to what she so wanted to do. Her face was scrunched up with annoyance, her eyes narrowed in the adorable way that signalled Tae-Eul was about to vehemently protest.

“Baby you can’t follow them. We can just watch from here.” Ha-Ran soothed, patting Tae-Eul’s hair as she pointed out to the lake where the ducklings were following their parents in the water. “Look, they’re having family time today as well.” 

Tae-Eul humphed reluctantly, trying to keep her eyes focused on the ducks even as they were closely moving away from her sight. She had stopped wiggling, but was practically falling out of Do-In’s arms to be as close as physically possible to the object of her attention.

“The ducklings remind me of our Tae-Eul, yeobo.” Ha-Ran whispered, leaning into her husband with a satisfied smile, observing the trail as they disappeared along the sun-spotted water, the reflection of the light sparkling in their eyes.

“She’s our little duckling.” Do-In laughed, adoringly smiling at the little girl he treasured most of all in his arms. Tae-Eul was exactly like those baby ducks, trailing after them, always safest under their wings. “Tae-Eul, do you want to go and eat?” He turned his attention back to her, who had gone limp in his arms happily resting her head against his shoulder now that she couldn’t see the ducks anymore. Her response was less than optimal, a loud yawn as she nodded sleepily, ready for a nap, eliciting even more laughter from her parents as they returned back to the path.

After that day, the nickname had stuck. It hadn’t been a one-off, passing moment that would only be faintly remembered. In fact, the nickname had stuck so well that after her first day of kindergarten, Tae-Eul had to be reminded that she should respond to her given name, not the nickname that had been so fondly given to her. The teacher, a poor young lady, was sure that Tae-Eul would continue to not respond to it and for the most part was right until Tae-Eul finally got reused to hearing her own name with the constant chattering of children calling for her to play.

Even then, it didn’t stop. While it was exclusively reserved as a nickname from her parents, Tae-Eul certainly received its equivalent in birthday gifts from her friends and relatives, accumulating quite the collection duckling themed clothing and toys, her delight for tiny ducks never faltering even when everyone else wanted things from their favourite cartoon shows. 

It wasn’t to say her own parents did not shower her with themed toys. One of her first doboks had ‘duckling’ on the back rather than her own name, and even her little white belt had it embroidered there. But the object of her affection had always been the little stuffed yellow duck with a tiny mint cardigan, entirely hand-knitted by her grandmother. It was still fluffy and soft, her companion as she went to sleep each night. The little stuffed duck had been one of the final gifts before her last remaining grandparent had passed, a present deeply treasured by her parents as well.

Her obsession with ducks eventually did slowly teeter off as she grew beyond the confines of her family home. Her doboks eventually had her name embroidered on them instead of the nickname, though it remained her constant call. Her neighbours even joked upon seeing the small family that they knew she was in trouble because they could hear the nickname being called down the street, echoing against the concrete pavement and the close quarter buildings.

The calling of her nickname ended when Tae-Eul was six. It was a nickname far too painful for her father to utter without his throat closing at the flood of memories that it was associated with. One that Tae-Eul cried at night about. It was the expression of their short time together as a whole. 

Over time, slowly, without Tae-Eul noticing, all the duck pieces were gradually relegated to being hidden in boxes, into wardrobes and closets, not to be seen again. It had broken Do-In when he had taken the hand-knitted duck from Tae-Eul’s bed when she was on a two week camping trip, when he had carefully put it in a ziploc bag, and placed it in a box, within the darkness of their storeroom.  

As the years passed, Tae-Eul appeared to have forgotten about the cardigan clad duckling, her childhood flying by in a whir of taekwondo lessons, play dates and homework. 

But with time passing, and as Do-In’s wounds healed, his courage to take out that tiny duckling finally erupted. Always when he particularly missed his wife, recalling all those beautiful little moments, and always that wonderful, perfect day at the park. His sadness slowly, achingly, turning into hope that perhaps one day, when his duckling had one of her own, that little stuffed duckling would see the light again.

Myeong Seung-Ah

In her own opinion, new hires were always fun to train and now that she was in the job of her dreams, Myeong Seung-Ah took even greater pride in showing them the ropes of the career she adored. 

The Press Office had needed a handful more persons to fill their ranks, as their task had grown larger not just having to manage one royal, but two, combined with the looming fact that Secretary Mo was increasingly being pulled away to manage even more minute details for the Royal Couple which were subject to change more often than not.

Working in the Press Office, even more so as a member favoured by the Royal Couple themselves had its perks. Whilst she still worked hours most would dread, Seung-Ah had benefits that easily surpassed any other job anywhere else in the world.

She didn’t mean the exceptional salary, full year of fully paid maternity leave, total cover insurance, housing allowance for one of the most expensive cities in the world, company car and phone, and unlimited gourmet meals. No, the real benefits were seeing the expressions of new hires on their induction day. How their faces would comically light up, mouths hanging from their jaws, minds haywire at the vital information that they were now privy to.

Seung-Ah’s day had started simply, waking, getting ready for work and going to work. Simple, effortless to the point that it took hardly blinking to complete. The first order for the day was getting something to eat and spending the first hour browsing the internet for any and all rumours concerning the Corean Monarchy. Anything urgent flagged, otherwise mostly hilarious rumours so inaccurate that were usually accompanied by hundreds of comments dragging the original poster across the internet.

Training days differed though. Instead of heading straight for the first tasks of the day, as assigned by Secretary Mo, she had the ever easy job of awaiting the new hire to be escorted into the Press Office by a member of the guard. She hadn’t seen her up to this point, not in person at least. Stalking her every social profile and scanning the background check didn’t count in her eyes.

Their new hire wasn’t as tiny as Seung-Ah had imagined, above average actually, but had a face that suggested she was barely out of high school even though her papers duly informed Seung-Ah that their new member was in fact nearing thirty. She was shy, or at least shy at first glance, bowed a hundred times and held her bag close to her, in a complete dazed awe of the palace around her.

Seung-Ah could even picture the thoughts that were going through her head. Not because her face gave them away, but because they were identical to her own when she had come here first.

“Hi, I’m Myeong Seung-Ah. I will be showing you the ropes today.” Seung-Ah offered a friendly smile, clutching her tablet and notebook under one arm ready to induct a new member into their team. One very desperately needed.

“Thank you. I’m Park Bora.” She said quietly, her voice pleasant to listen to, returning Seung-Ah’s smile with a small one of her own. “I’m a little nervous.”

Seung-Ah laughed, holding her hand over her mouth as she nodded in agreement, waving her to follow behind. Even with the quietness and the nerves, Bora reminded her a lot like herself.

“I was too on my first day. But don’t worry, we’re all quite friendly.” She informed her, before stopping at the door to the office. “Now, first things first. We’ll start the tour off here, this is the Press Office. It’s where we do the majority of our work. So managing SNS, releasing statements, observing the news, and planning events, just to name a few. Secretary Mo is the head of the Press Office and our boss. She’s not here right now, but you’ll meet soon. She’s the one who personally handles anything with the King and Queen including engagements.”

Bora faintly remembered seeing Secretary Mo, even though they had never met before. She was one of those people, her face recognisable to any Corean, even though she wasn’t a celebrity or in fact someone directly in the spotlight of fame. No, her face had and was in connection with the King, alongside him, a step and a half behind, managing all the events for the past decade.

“Now, the only other person who is particularly— no, incredibly important is Head Court Lady Noh, she runs the palace. Behind Pyeha and Mama, she is the most important person here. She’s the one you did the interview with.” Seung-Ah smiled, emphasising how much of a role the elder lady played in the palace. The last thing she wanted was to lose a team member because they didn’t show the right person the correct respect.

Seung-Ah knew she was right when Bora swallowed, undeterred, still confident in her conviction to be here. Lady Noh was enough for most to be scared off, her interviews conducted with a scrupulous eye that made anyone more nervous than they had ever been before.

“Lastly the other few people are Captain Jo Yeong, Head of the Royal Guard and King’s Guard. He is always with Pyeha, but when he’s not, Sub-Captain Seok Ho-Pil is in charge. The other important guard is Lieutenant Park In-Young, Head of the Queen’s Guard and like Captain Jo, is always with Mama.”

Bora nodded wordlessly, mentally cataloguing everything in her head. She knew of all of them, well, at least Lieutenant Park and Captain Jo. They were just about as famous as their Royal counterparts. Jo Yeong more so in particular though, every girl for the better part of the last decade had most definitely had a crush on his handsome looks if they weren’t absolutely infatuated by the King.

They then moved out of the room and onto the palace itself. She was in awe of all the beautiful furnishings, the dark wood contrasted by the brilliant vases of seasonal flowers littered in amongst all the artwork adorning the walls. Seung-Ah diligently explained each section, sparing no detail as well as providing every possible tip to help her. Slowly covering all the distance as they moved through the area where all the offices were located, 

“This is the more… Boring area. You’ll find the offices and rooms for all the staff here, including in-house living staff. Also, importantly, the palace doctor is this way. It’s a bit further along, but easily accessible if you get injured. But try not to get injured, the report is a nightmare to fill out. I once got injured, I cut my thumb and it was hell to text for the following day, on top of all the paperwork. So much paperwork.”

Down to the cafeteria;

“The palace provides food whenever. If you’re hungry, this is the place to come. Don’t miss jjigae night, the chefs are something along the lines of magicians, I don’t know how anyone can make seaweed soup taste this good. But they can. Another tip, if someone says there is kkwabaegi, run. They run out so fast and they are so delicious.”

And then onto the section that most new hires were desperate to see. It was beyond opulent, a far cry from the much more muted working areas. In comparison, these flowers were much brighter, each arrangement larger and fuller, smelling even better than the ones previous. The art here was even more beautiful, historic pieces that were strategically placed to captivate their viewers. The hardwood floors shiny, without scratches, and walls painted a deep emerald green.

“Now, this is what is referred to as the inner palace. Those doors lead to Pyeha’s State Study or the Office as we affectionately term it. This is where he does a lot of his official work and more so, where he meets the Prime Minister.” Seung-Ah pointed, but did not attempt to move closer. “Unless you are accompanying another member of the Press Office or His Majesty invites you in, the rule is to stay out. Now that being said, both Pyeha and Mama do frequent this area so just keep an eye out.” 

Bora nodded, eyes not even lingering on those doors. Her heart wished to know what they looked like in the flesh, peeking her head inside for a momentary glimpse, but she had fought for this job for years. She wasn’t about to throw it down the drain because she couldn’t control herself. 

Seung-Ah could see the obvious longing, and couldn’t falter her for it. She had wished so badly for the same  and the need had only been satisfied when she was slowly inducted into the inner circle within the palace, consisting of the Royals, Lady Noh, Secretary Mo, Yeong and In-Young.

“Now for the really important part of the palace.” Seung-Ah said, a mischievous smile gracing her face as she led them further and further into the palace, closer to Gwangyeongjeon. 

Bora was in awe at how everything seemed to get ever more brilliant, entirely more glamorous. Everything sparkled, gleamed and glistened in an unnatural state of perfection. Even the smallest of crevices were dusted, polished and shined, places she was sure no one but the cleaners would ever spot. However, the obvious change was not just how everything just seemed so much more royal, but also in the atmosphere. 

In the staff areas it seemed a little more relaxed, while it was still an area crowded with employees and had the distinct air of office work, here it was much more stifled. Perhaps it was just her as Seung-Ah strode along the corridor confidently, completely unfazed by the increased guard presence. They were no longer occasionally lingering at every other corner, but rather now present at every strategic point in numbers. 

Bora felt like an intruder, even though she proudly wore the palace issued ID badge that confirmed her place among the elite that served the Royal Family and was accompanied by a well-known member of the Press Office. She hoped that it was something that would wear off in time, so that she too could walk even half as confident as Seung-Ah seemed to be, even as every eye of each guard locked onto their forms. 

“We’ll stop here.” Seung-Ah slowed, pausing at the end of the hallway that split off into new sections that were absolutely teeming with guards in an excess that somehow, impossibly, eclipsed before. “Now this is the entrance into Gwangyeongjeon. The private residence of Pyeha and Mama.”

Bora’s eyes widened almost comically as a hand rose to cover the very fact her jaw hung low, mouth forming a perfect circle as she tried to take in as much detail as she possibly could. 

“The only room that you may possibly see is the one directly ahead. That is Pyeha’s private study and both he and Mama spend a lot of time there.” Seung-Ah pointed to the doors at the end, ornate, but completely unlike those of the formal stateroom. They lacked the golden plum blossom, more understated but still far more opulent than anything she could’ve possibly imagined owning. 

Who needed golden door handles?

“Further along are their bedroom and other private rooms.” She finalised, her tone completely shutting off any ideas of wandering, though that may have also been due to the obvious dressing down that she was receiving from one of the guard’s stares.

“A word of advice, if you have to go into any of these rooms—” She let out a slight hum, brows furrowing before shaking her head, “actually any room. Knock. Trust me on this knock at least once and make sure you knock loudly. And then some.” 

“Knock?” Bora squeaked, body completely turning to the senior press officer. She would’ve knocked regardless, but this seemed to be something of importance greater than most else.

“Seriously, don’t go in without hearing an answer. But also don’t listen at all. Trust me.” Seung-Ah’s voice warned, her lips pulling into a tight smile as if she was remembering something she wished she had never seen.

“Why? Is it confidential?” Bora asked quietly, her eyes narrowing as she took in her surroundings once again. 

“They’re like teenagers, just—” Seung-Ah sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, “stupid newlyweds, making it impossible to get any work done. I swear if I have to call the cleaners once more...” She whispered to herself, an onslaught of near misses running through her head in a way that made her want to bleach her eyes and brain.

Bora snickered, finally understanding. If she hadn’t been so close and the hallway so quiet, she was sure she would’ve missed the near silent whisper. But she had to wonder exactly how bad it had to be for this kind of annoyance.

“Nevermind that, just be careful around the palace. For the most part it’ll be perfectly fine, just keep your head buried in the sand.” Seung-Ah exhaled, her smile returning before waving them away from Gwangyeongjeon and towards the Press Office once more.

“I suppose then we’ll probably be releasing baby news sooner or later.” Bora commented lightly, hearing Seung-Ah choke hearing that, her eyes turning toward her. “I wonder if they’ll have a boy or girl. A girl would be nice, the first Queen of Corea.”

Indeed, new hires were always plenty of fun. Seung-Ah concluded that Park Bora would be a perfect fit, clearly intelligent and equal parts reserved and witty, already spewing out diplomatic allusions to sensitive topics.

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Jo Yeong

He had once thought that the marriage of his oldest friend would promise a quiet that had not been present for the past twenty-five years. A promise that did not deliver, and instead, quite possibly was in reality a nightmare.  

Lee Gon still disappeared from the palace from time to time, though now with Jeong Tae-Eul in tow, usually off exploring a different world completely unprotected. He also continued to lock himself in his study, though now it was typically for a new type of study, one that was purely physical and entirely too loud.

The only constant was that they barely separated, making joint security much easier for the new Queen’s Guard, a section of the Royal Guards that had been disbanded upon the death of the last Queen over thirty years ago. Park In-Young shared many of his own views that included ensuring they were under lock and key at all times.

Almost.

New protocol offered a single point of escape. Any time the pair were in the room together, alone, the cameras were shut off. It was an uncompromisable rule, one that had been ordered directly from Gon himself and approved immediately after that little debacle in his office. While the Royal Family owned all the rare-earth minerals in the country, buying new furniture would absolutely end up bankrupting them every time Gon and Tae-Eul had to erase footage of their indiscretions because Yeong absolutely refused to reuse or even sit ten feet near the old ones. Not when he knew exactly what had happened.

The next protocol that was now strictly enforced was knocking. Certainly, it had been previously used, but not to the same critical degree it was now. It hadn’t been him that had consequently ensured this rule was now the norm, since Ho-Pil had very nearly walked in on the pair. Yeong wasn’t entirely sure how that was possible, they weren’t discreet in the slightest, nauseatingly infatuated with one another, completely oblivious or just impervious to general emotion of the guards around them. It didn’t help that the rooms weren’t entirely soundproofed as much as he wished, both because it was a security hazard but also due to the age of the palace.

Perhaps his hopes rested in the possibility of a baby, not in marriage. Yeong had hoped so dearly that a baby was the answer to his new headache.

He was so, so very wrong. 

Technically, he had been right, but only for a couple of weeks. When Tae-Eul had first found out she was pregnant, she suffered from a relatively minor bout of fatigue that gave Yeong a glimpse of how peaceful life could be when he wasn’t perpetually on the lookout for Gon and Tae-Eul jumping on each other at the most inopportune moments. And even so, he had only been half right for those blessed two weeks, because Gon still couldn’t keep his hands off Tae-Eul, throwing her the most nauseating glances of affection, kisses dropped on uncovered skin and hand skimming over her body almost all the time. 

The second trimester, despite the excellent news that Tae-Eul and the baby were in good health and out of the woods, drove Yeong the closest he had ever been to handing over a letter of resignation. The two were getting it on near constantly, and frankly he didn’t even know how it was possible for Gon to be keeping up with Tae-Eul at this point and he found himself weighing whether it would truly be a security breach if he proposed building thicker walls for their bedroom and just locked them in there until the baby was here. 

For all his complaining though, Yeong accepted his fate to look over Gon’s safety, and he couldn’t deny that he was sincerely happy for Gon. Since finding Tae-Eul, and even more so since getting married, Gon was the happiest he had ever seen him. More than anyone, Yeong bore witness to the loneliness that Gon battled, how his heart fought against all his circumstances to emerge kind, industrious and honest when he could have been the opposite. 

As for Tae-Eul, while his girlfriend was closer to the Queen than he was, it was impossible to spend as much time watching someone as closely as he did without picking up on the best and worst aspects of their personality. And the Queen was, by all accounts and his own, a wonderful woman. She complemented his best friend wonderfully, and was the pillar of support and love that Gon had gone through the majority of his life without knowing. 

When Tae-Eul had gotten pregnant, Yeong was concerned that Gon would need muscle patches for his jaw, he was smiling all the time, and it widened whenever Tae-Eul walked into a room. Gon was so excited to be a father, and the light in his eyes when he spoke about how his little girl could now hear, or kicked him in his face made Yeong truly believe that fate, however cruel, would always ensure that balance was returned. 

So no matter how much Yeong needed to mentally wipe his eyes, and master the art of tuning out when he heard noises he did not and never wanted to hear again, it was an honour and a joy to stand guard for their Majesties, and the new tiny life their love had made. 

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Park In-Young

In-Young had immense respect for the Queen. 

In fact, most people— actually everyone In-Young knew did. It wasn’t difficult, not when the Queen was who she was, kind, funny, honest, and principled. She was down to Earth in a way that was foreign to nobility and royalty, entirely unaffected by the wealth and privilege that surrounded her every single day.

She didn’t bury herself in selfish pursuits, bury her head in the sand whilst others suffered. Their Queen had never done so and even while she couldn’t actively be out there continuing the good work she had been doing before marrying their King, she was still constantly looking for ways to use her influence to make the country better. 

All of it was magnified by just how much their Queen loved their King. A fact so glaringly obvious even the impaired could sense the way they moved around one another as if they were actually one soul, separated by two bodies. It was a strange thing to respect someone for, but they had been a people broken by betrayal and having someone who looked at their King like he was just a human, eyes soft with love and affection, unaffected by status and power, was greater than any other form of healing.

In-Young was just honoured being able to be in their presence, be in her presence. Bask in the light of the glow their love gave off, even if it was so nauseatingly sweet at times. She, however, had never expected to be in the same position as her Captain. In the middle, treading the ever so fine line between friend and guard.

If anyone had told In-Young when Tae-Eul and her had met that they would be in this position, she wouldn’t have been surprised. She couldn’t be. Because it had been difficult to see her as merely a charge only days after being assigned to protecting her, a feeling that had developed only deeper as they spent time together. In-Young had liked her from that first moment. Tae-Eul didn’t mince her words, had an entirely no nonsense attitude that In-Young appreciated and above all, had good taste in food and alcohol. 

In-Young, if she was being honest, she also loved the way she could keep Corea’s best bromance in check. She could never deny herself the smug satisfaction that arose when Tae-Eul cut down the King and her Captain with a single, well placed glare, whether or not they deserved it.

The only thing that had held her back from enjoying it all had been her professional feelings. A fear that had been shattered when the King himself had approached her that fateful evening, and Tae-Eul’s father— Do-In, and told her not to hold back her friendship if she desired it. It was like a great weight, a heavy burden relieved from her chest at his words.

He hadn’t been imposing an obligation of any sort, rather his words had just been observations of a situation he had distanced himself from. Not holding open the door, but just unlocking it and permitting her entrance if she so chose. Pyeha would never speak on behalf of his wife, and In-Young knew very well that Tae-Eul, regardless of the situation, would have plenty of choice words for her husband if he tried.

She had been hesitant at first. It had been hammered into her that in her line of profession, things got dangerous when they were personal. Things were bound to breakdown when they got personal. Someone always got hurt when feelings were involved. 

So, In-Young did nothing for a while after their talk, weighing everything in her mind, even when it kept her up late pondering the world. Not until Captain Jo had walked up to her during a lull, half the guards elsewhere and gave her a few words of advice.

“It can be hard sometimes. But like all things difficult, if you want it enough, there is no reason to stop.” 

Even then, she hadn’t immediately dived into their friendship even if the kinship was already present. In-Young could see the way Tae-Eul would try to engage her in conversation and banter, and the guardswoman always felt bad when her charge’s face would fall slightly when she hesitated or put space in between them. It was unconscious on both their parts. Tae-Eul wasn’t used to the divine respect and worship that came with her title and In-Young still held onto fears that mixing her professional and personal life would lead to disaster.

But it had slowly happened, who had cracked first remaining a mystery. At first it had been quiet, unheard gestures on In-Young’s behalf before slowly evolving into something more, until she had finally become a confidante, a friend, a sister to Tae-Eul, to the Queen of her country.

Looking back, In-Young didn’t know why she had been so hesitant. Their friendship had fostered a need to protect her that burned brighter than ever before. She had always understood, in theory at least, how her Captain could be so unflinching, so unhesitant in protecting the King. He was protecting his friend, protecting the sole occupant of the throne, of someone who was vital in improving the lives of millions of her fellow countrymen.

But theory and reality was so different. Experiencing that feeling, that sheer readiness to jump into front of Tae-Eul for any reason, seen or unseen, false or true, lethal or not, without regard to her own wellbeing or safety was like entering another world. 

Of course, in this new world, In-Young could see in a new light who would do the same as well. She could see the readiness of her Captain to jump, to dive, body always tense, waiting. Not just for their King, though he was his priority, but for their Queen too. In-Young knew better than to be offended that Jo Yeong kept an eye on her charge, because it was an unspoken vow between the most senior members of the Royal Guards— to protect the King, you must protect the Queen.

It wasn’t a fickle, laughable vow that could be gone against. If anything, protecting her was far greater than protecting him, because until Tae-Eul had entered his life, he had been untouchable. He let them know too, not in words, but in his body language, the way his eyes held her form like the last drop of  water on a journey across the desert. There was no one, absolutely no one, more prepared to step in front of danger, to protect Tae-Eul, than the King himself.

In-Young didn’t know if the public could see it. Maybe they were blind to it like she had been until she had befriended the fiery ex-detective. Blind to the way that Pyeha’s eyes were vulnerable to her, and her alone. Certainly they knew she was his whole world. Because he looked at her that way, but that was merely skimming the surface of an ocean of devotion to her.

Even she hadn’t known until later, when she had finally joined the last stages of security planning with the King and Yeong. How he barely, if anything, glanced at his own, fully focused on hers. How every last security plan concerning her was personally attended to, particularly for events that he didn’t attend with her.

Her understanding of them had developed late too, when she realised Tae-Eul could do anything, within reason, because Gon adored her. He respected her and her every choice and preference without wanting or trying to change her. They always looked at each other like they were seeing each other for the first time, soulmates reuniting in another life. They were so attuned to each other's beings, a familiar face, but still frozen seeing each other in the flesh, captivated, the electricity between them thick and binding.

Their first year together had been what Captain Jo remarked as the hardest, finding the balance and the places for personal feelings over professional ones. But it had been otherwise wholly unremarkable. Tae-Eul was an easy charge to look after, aside from some minor disappearances that were just sighed at, but not too troublesome. But then, one day, out of the blue, the King had approached her again, just like he had all those months, a year, ago. 

This time, it had not been an invitation to be friends or to allow personal feelings into their relationship. This time, it had been a quiet command to never let Tae-Eul out of her sight. One that detailed that she needed to ensure her charge was never uncomfortable, catered to her every need. In-Young had been surprised by his words, words that had an underlying current of something in his instructions, words that were meant to be confidential to everyone, even Tae-Eul herself. 

She had been doing exactly that already, and the way he said it wasn’t a criticism that he didn’t think she was doing her job. Just that now, more than ever, he wanted— needed her to do better. So she did, even as her being was filled with anxiety and confusion, scowling at anyone foreign coming near her with an innate inferno of protectiveness that In-Young couldn’t even pinpoint herself, a reason not yet available to her.

That was until Tae-Eul had asked her to get some pregnancy tests. It was like a fog lifting and everything made sense until that point. Then In-Young could appreciate her King’s words, that he knew that Tae-Eul was likely pregnant long before she did herself and in that tiny fraction of a moment, it was like witnessing a fable, a fairytale in motion. She didn’t know if she would ever bear witness to another couple as in tune to one another as they were, two halves of a whole.

From that moment, it had become a whirlwind of enhanced security plans, her job now micro focusing on her charge more than ever, no longer in charge of just Tae-Eul, but their baby as well. It was a good thing that In-Young liked her job, or at least, liked Tae-Eul as much as she did, or she may have quit and monetized her front row seat. There was a reason why there were a hundred thousand ‘Just 10 times the King and Queen made us feel single’ articles online and she would have made a lot of money spilling the tea.

Besides, she didn’t know what to do with herself without them. In-Young had never given much thought to the prospect of settling down or getting married. Her career was the priority of her life, and right now she knew she couldn’t settle for anything less, or more for that matter. Money didn’t matter in her life, she was paid well enough, she just enjoyed being there with them, even as a bystander, to witness the sheer respect and totally, wholly unconditional love Gon treated Tae-Eul with.

If she was certain about one thing, even if people might call her boring for it. It was this— a man treating his partner like an equal was the pinnacle of romance. Being privileged to watch it everyday was a gift.

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The Closet: The Dressing Staff

The first thing the collection of staff that populated the Royal Wardrobe noticed about the Queen, long before her status as even the girlfriend of the King was the single fact that he could not take his eyes off her.

His Majesty, the King of the Kingdom of the Corea, really liked looking at the Queen. 

In fact, most were sure that he looked at her as if she were the only being in the universe that was in colour, whilst everything else was just shades of grey. It was obvious to all that if he could, if he had been gifted with the divine power to command everything and anything, it would be used to justify looking at her forever. The look in his eyes upon the sight of her was beyond anything, something unexplainable, unattainable and above all, beyond reverence, a look that more often than not, accompanied a budding, giddy smile that made onlookers still.

Only the senior dressers knew that the King had been an incredibly distant person before she had come, even in the privacy of the palace. Only politely smiling, let alone having anything outside of the world of mathematics and his duties capture his attention for longer than a few minutes and then overnight, it was like a fundamental shift in all realities. He had disappeared for a week, come back, gone to visit Captain Jo in hospital and then disappeared for a little longer. But, that time, when he had come back, it was like meeting someone new. Gone was the sullen, studious and overly serious man, replaced by someone who had just seen the wonders of the Earth, seen the sun, bursting with someone so fundamentally different— it was only then that the senior dressers knew, for the first time in more than two decades, what genuine happiness looked like on their King. 

At first, they thought it was only temporary, perhaps a new theory proven right. Perhaps he had even formulated a theorem himself. But when it lasted into the second day, their hearts held and hoped. Then it was a week, and the smile still continued and the whole palace was holding their breaths, praying that the King’s happiness was here to stay, until it was finally released at the sight of baggy denim and soft wool. 

They had hoped it would signal the end of this drought, that their King could finally be happy and so they waited with bated breath, hoping and praying that she was there to stay. “She” being a tall but slim woman with a warm smile and slightly messy hair, one who slapped and talked back to their King, the person responsible for the warm, content smile that was slowly becoming a permanent fixture on his face. A month passed and then a few more, each week Jeong Tae-Eul reappearing at the palace and then they were engaged.

So the time flew from there, every moment like the first. At least in the dressing room. The staff had laughed and giggled over the new clothes brought in to christen the newly partitioned closet, the King trailing not far behind excitedly, cataloging each piece in his mind and telling them exactly what she liked and did not like. The staff were impressed, though in hindsight they shouldn’t have been, at the stunning accuracy of the King’s understanding of their soon-to-be Queen. 

More giggles erupted with the lingerie packages that arrived next, only a few days before she was due to move into the palace. They wouldn’t say it, not only due to how improper it was, but also in fear of popping the bubble that surrounded them, but they were almost certain there was a newfound pattern emerging. Especially since it was all but confirmed when many of these pieces failed to return to the closet afterwards. They were pretty sure that the lingerie, or most of them at least, were bought for the ultimate purpose of the King being able to rip them from the Queen’s body. 

It wasn’t limited to lingerie either. While some despaired over the loss of beautiful, limited edition gowns, most were happy not to mind the general destruction of the garments. It just meant more space for new items, no hard decisions of which ones to throw away or to put into storage to make space for a new season of clothing.

Especially when new clothing meant witnessing the silent conversations between the King and Queen when she tried on a new outfit. She’d look at herself in the mirror first, head cocking in the reflection before finally turning to face him. In those months, one single plush chair had made itself a home right next to the mirror, for the sole purpose of admiring the other. 

The Queen was a creature of habit. Truly predictable in the single sense that she continually went back, time and time again, to the styles that she loved. Always choosing the edgier and sleeker masculine styles over the form fitting feminine ones readily available. It made it obvious to all the staff when she picked out something not just for herself, because her style would be traded in for something that leaned ever so slightly the opposite. It wasn’t always for the King, though naturally, he was one of the larger reasons why, but the Queen did dress for other occasions too. She would venture out of her comfort zone, picking muted, soft styles when their schedule was children orientated or long gowns for formal evenings out.

In fact, they weren’t entirely sure whether or not the King had a preference at all. His preference just seemed to be her, and the only noticeable thing he seemed to care about was whether the Queen was comfortable and happy wearing whatever she pleased. The cooler months of course, always brought about talk whether or not the outfit was warm enough and the near constant reminder to add an extra insulated jacket just in case it was cooler than they thought, but that, again, was entirely for her comfort, not his.  

Regardless of what she wore, his eyes would rove up and down her body with appreciation, always accompanied by a multi-faceted stare, one that could be roaring with the black depths of hunger to a soft adoring grin when she tested out her outfit of the day and always, absolutely always, was followed by the slight tilt of his head, just to double check if she was comfortable.

It had changed again in January, after their first anniversary in a single cloud of confusion. To the staff, after the first weeks, it had become just a tad more obvious because they would appear together, the King’s hands firmly holding her close, always straying to her stomach and then away, only to return moments later. The staff had giggled each time they left, the elder ones with knowing, warm smiles and the younger ones with swooning sighs at the utter reverence he held his wife in.

They waited and then the announcement came, followed by the bursting of joy. The couple spoke freely then, though never about clothes. The Queen wasn’t showing, not when they had told the world. Not visibly at least, though the ones closest to her, managing her wardrobe had noticed a single inch in sizing change, marking the beginning of another change in the Royal family.

Then the King came to them. Traditionally, anything he had to say was done during fits and the rest was decided by Lady Noh herself, but this time, he had appeared in the dressing room, just before lunch, alone, eyes ensuring that the Queen was not behind him. His request? The Queen’s wardrobe and the impending changes that would be made to it.

Even the most experienced dresser couldn’t stop the flutter of their hearts as his eyes, full of childlike wonder and hope, shone as he began to explain his idea to them, taking them deep within the Queen’s wardrobe. At first, he had picked out the Queen’s favourite items, staples in her wardrobe that she gravitated back to, time after time, explaining that he didn’t want her noticing the change when her clothes no longer fit. 

She would fit them for now, but the King had, while not saying it aloud, stressed that buying and altering all the clothes she’d want to keep wearing were the priority. He didn’t care if they spent hundreds of thousands buying every piece in every size, or if they had to hire an entire tailoring team to fit others that were one offs, just that his wife would be happy. All they had to do after that was switch out the sizes when needed, careful in their effort to ensure the Queen wouldn’t feel like she had grown out her clothing.

When the Queen had begun showing, the small but very obvious bump making itself known in between her hips, even the blind could see the way the King seemed to fall in love with his wife all over again, and how he had a newfound obsession for her bump. The new bet in the staff members was the gender and subsequently, all the adorable, little outfits they could pick out for the latest member of the Royal family. There were hundreds of outfits they could pick to coordinate with their parents; tiny dresses if they were to have a new Gongju, miniature suits if the baby was a new Wonju, and rompers, of course, regardless of the child’s gender. 

Their excitement at the prospect of picking out new outfits was entirely snuffed out by the King himself, only to be replaced with giggles and gushing when the dressers realized that the new father was personally picking out outfits for their baby, packages of clothes delivered from the best baby stores with strict instructions that these were to be placed in the nursery and only opened by the King and Queen. If they had been downcrested by the fact they didn’t get to pick the clothes, it was certainly a figment of a long gone past, the look in the King’s eyes was more than enough to make up for it. Nothing could put out the sheer, burning hopeful love in his eyes.

The next shock to them came in the form of the Queen herself. Bubbly and glowing, bump so very clearly on display, she had waddled up to them carefully holding something still in it’s packaging, obscured from their view. 

“Where is the laundry?”

It was a question they had never expected her to ask or even think of. But she did with a quiet, mysterious smile as she held her little package close to her body, fingers gently playing with the edges. Of course they had immediately offered to take whatever it was that she had to the laundry to be cleaned, but she just smiled politely and shook her head.

“I just want to do this one myself. It’s our butterfly’s first outfit. Gon picked it out.”

If she hadn’t been there, all the dressers would’ve broken out into squealing giggles at the cuteness of the situation they found themselves in. But alas, they could only contain their happiness in wide grins as the most senior dressers led the Queen to the laundry room, allowed her in and showed all the important things before stepping outside to protect her privacy.

Then they could be excited, outside the door clutching each other’s hands in adoration, slightly weepy at the love this new baby was already receiving long before they had been born. Not just from their parents but from everyone, the way the baby was always wished nothing but health, because this tiny being had brought the brightest light into the family, like the most brilliant star in the sky leading everyone home.

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The Kitchens: Chun Si-Woo

For Chun Si-Woo, it was sometimes difficult to see the King as anything other than an oversized baby who, once upon a time had once refused to drink milk without honey. It was a fact that made him laugh in one moment and then pained in the next. Perhaps it was because that little fact was continuously accompanied by the fact that his little quirk had been developed at the hands of his parents, deeply loved by the both of them. Parents who fate had seen fit to steal from him before he had reached his first decade on this Earth.

But, regardless that he had once upon a time, had everything meaningful stolen from him, he had still grown up to be benevolent, kind and selfless. Even though there was a glimpse of sadness evident in his eyes when at his most vulnerable, the King was a man of immense strength and still the thoughtful little boy who he had been all those years ago.

Without fail, Gon would first immediately ask after him and his family upon strolling into the kitchen, as he made a direct path to the industrial sized fridge observing the contents, and then continue into a conversation made about the latest ongoings in the kitchen. The King even sent gifts to his wife and son on their birthdays because Si-Woo may have briefly touched that he would be taking the day off to celebrate. A tiny fraction of a second that he had taken care in remembering, then planning a gift which was always based on the little off-hand conversations they had shared.

Si-Woo didn’t always see him in the kitchens though. As he grew older, it became more of a rarity that he could spend large quantities of time in the space, but he knew that Gon would be okay when Lady Noh would come to him and ask about spicy tteokbokki with a single all-knowing look in her eye. Si-Woo would make it exactly like he had been since the King had been a child, extra hot with a heaping of spring onions over the top. Just how he enjoyed it as a child. Then Si-Woo would wait and, without fail, the dish would come back empty, scraped down to the last morsel of food as a sign that he was doing just fine.

But, even if his schedule was brimmed, Si-Woo could always count on the King’s heart bringing him back down to the stove. When Lady Noh had fallen ill one winter, Gon would commandeer a stove himself and make porridge for the beloved Court Lady himself. Si-Woo was happy to step back, especially when all the kitchen maids in the vicinity would stifle their blushes and giggles unsuccessfully, fixated on the sight of the King who not only was handsome, but could cook too.

Si-Woo could even tell when he had a tough day, because the request for ginseng tea would make an appearance in the kitchens, followed by a list of specific herbal broths. The very ones that had been favoured by the deceased former King and Queen. Occasionally, and oh so rarely, Gon would come into the kitchens himself on those days. He wouldn’t say anything, just sit across the counter, lost in his head as he stared at Si-Woo working, happy to just take over the peeling and cleaning of vegetables as a means of escape.

But, without fail, Gon’s toughest days were his parent’s birthdays and his own. He never said anything, but Si-Woo had had the luxury of working for the Royal Family long before the King had been born, he could recognise the smells of all their favourite dishes being cooked on those days. Meals that the King would cook, regardless that it was too much food for just one, and eat all alone on those days. Meals that he had never had the opportunity to make for them, but continued to make year after year in honour of them. Meals Si-Woo knew the King would’ve made every year had they still been alive.

For the most part, life in the kitchens was the same year after year. Except the one time when Gon had become a teenager and had read a tidbit in a book that said cooking was a way to impress girls. So, naturally, he had come down into the kitchens, politely dismissed all the staff and asked. Most would not have taken notice enough to picture the moment in detail, but Si-Woo had, because he could remember him, this boy, before him, reserved and quiet, but with big brown shining eyes that stared up at him, staring deep into his soul.

“What’s a meal that would impress a girl? I know cooking in general is good, but what is a meal that would actually be impressive?”

Si-Woo had to temper a bout of sadness that washed over him. It shouldn’t be him at that moment, answering these questions. It should have been his mother, or his father, both of whom had adored their son so dearly. They would’ve laughed, chuckled a little at their son’s expense, teasing him that he was finally realising girls were more than befriendable, but telling him all the same. Si-Woo could have even imagined the hug that the former Queen would’ve pulled her son into at the signs of growing older.

“Simple is best Pyeha. Perhaps a dish like steak and rice? If you plate it well with banchan, it should impress any girl.”

He could even remember the way he had squared his shoulders in that moment, preparing in a way to perform the duty of a parent even while he felt like an imposter. But Gon didn’t seem to notice, throwing himself fully into learning and unsurprisingly mastering it in one go.

“Now, I know you can do whatever you want, Pyeha. But I hope this meal is only reserved for a very special girl.” 

Si-Woo had looked at the boy King after that, smiling at the way he lit up. Like a child getting praised for the first time, though for what Si-Woo was not privy to. Whether it was the prospect of a girl, or unconditional love, or even the near informality he was experiencing, he didn’t know.

He continued to not know for a long time after that, the moment forgotten for the longest time. Not until a single night many years later, with a singular text from Jo Yeong requesting steak, vegetables and rice. Si-Woo had snorted, glad no one else was around, but assembling the raw ingredients into an area, finishing with a single egg in a red bowl next to the foodstuffs. It was the closest he could get to wishing him good luck.

It may have been presumptuous of him, but Si-Woo felt like he knew everything he had to know about the new Queen before he had even met her personally. Informed simply by how the King had changed. 

Before her, the King had walked around the palace and in public with a grace unmatched, he was confident, but to the very, very few that knew him, the caution in his step was obvious. Like the dead reanimated. He held everyone at arm’s length, even the few closest were still distanced in some way. However, when she had entered his life, it seemed like life had reentered him, like he was finally truly living and not just going through the motions of duty. He was full of joy, emanating from him so purely. To Si-Woo, it was reminiscent of when he was a little boy, his mother feeding him bits of panjeon across the kitchen counter, giggling, bouncy and made of pure unconditional love.

The few glimpses of their relationship that Si-Woo had been privy to right from the beginning were eerily reminiscent of the late King and Queen’s own. He had fallen in love with a commoner, like his father, a woman with the same disregard for wealth and status, who was firm but yet with a good heart, and charming with an excellent sense of humour. In those few glimpses, Si-Woo knew very well that they would’ve loved her and he wished desperately he could tell the King that his parents would have adored his fiancée.

Jeong Tae-Eul was everything that Gon’s mother would have wanted for him. She protected, defended and grounded him foremostly, but made him laugh unreservedly, smile even when he was in the darkness, like a guiding light outward. Since Tae-Eul had become a fixture in Gon's life, Si-Woo had never seen him so at peace, as if his weary, broken heart had been mended and was now beating strongly to the rhythm of hers. 

So it didn’t surprise him in the slightest when the public had fallen not just for the Queen, but for the King and Queen as a pair. Their love for each other, the undercurrent of mutual attraction and admiration was so obviously palpable in the air, so strong that it was almost tangible. A couple forced under harsh public light who adored each other unreservedly was unheard of, until them.

Everything had changed with her after all. Even in the palace, Si-Woo had become used to Gon’s random, but always purposeful requests to change particular parts of the menu or add new dishes entirely. The first one had been mastering the art of cooking fried chicken, because that was the new Queen’s choice of a late night snack. He didn’t have to learn much though, she wasn’t a picky eater and loved alcohol, the monthly deliveries of soju and beer greatly amusing him. Si-Woo had half a mind to ask to install a tap so she could enjoy tap beer instead.

The King, not long after they had married, had then come to him with a list of specific foods he wished to incorporate into meals throughout the week. Si-Woo must’ve let his confusion slip past his face when the King went on to explain that it was solely for the purpose of nourishing his wife’s liver. He chuckled at that, nodded and stared at the retreating figure of the boy who had become a man before his eyes, and in those moments couldn’t help but think his parents would’ve been so very proud of him.

Then came the King once more, over a year he had married his beloved wife, into the kitchen delicately holding a new request. It wasn’t any stranger, but the way he delivered it with an air of tender determination and a light in his eye was. He said nothing in particular, just that he needed to be subtle in incorporating these food items into his wife’s diet before disappearing once more. Si-Woo had known not to ask questions, but he was not a young man. He had been around for a while and looking at the list of foods which contained high amounts of calcium, folate and iron, he had quietly kept to himself the fact that the Kingdom would have a new prince or princess very soon.  

When the news was finally announced to the public, the King had paid him yet another visit, quietly dismissing the other staff with a proud grin and thanking him for looking after the most precious beings to him. Then he chuckled, eyes dazing out and good naturedly joked it no longer was him to watch out for, but his wife’s growing appetite and that their baby’s likely would just be as large as their mother’s. If Si-Woo was being honest, he had barely registered what he was being told, instead focusing on the way his eyes shone so deeply with pride and love, so like his father’s when the late King had told Si-Woo about the birth of the man who stood before him. 

That night his prayers for the boy King had changed from just wishing happiness on the boy he had seen grow up before his eyes to the addition of praying for a healthy baby. That this would be a continuation of the happiness of the little boy who had overcome so much, and was once again going to be blessed with a family that he had lost so many years before. 

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Park Bora

Bora was on a cloud of happiness.

Her new job had been everything she had hoped, dreamed of and more. She had joined halfway through the first year of the King and Queen’s marriage and now she got to witness, up close and personal, the most exciting news that the country had heard in decades. The announcement of the first Royal baby since Se-Jin had been born and the first child to a monarch since the King himself.

Whilst others in the Press Office, while delighted, were drowning in the tedious process of sorting through each and every last gift, cards and well-wishes, Bora was over the moon. It brightened her more than anything to see the country as embedded in this shared happiness as she was.

Maybe it was the sheer hope that came with the new little life the Queen was currently carrying. Maybe it even was the conclusion of a fairytale in real life. The Prince, or King in this case, finds and marries the love of his life, they have children and live happily ever after. It certainly seemed to be going that way, with the baby to come in late summer. 

Or perhaps, it was the actuality that she now got to open a hundred thousand gifts every day, in amongst the numerous bouquets of the most magnificent flowers that surrounded the palace and filled every crevice. Bora couldn’t help but swoon at the sight of the softest baby swaddles, the most endearing stuffed animals and the tiniest clothes she had ever seen in her life.

Bora also couldn’t help but enjoy the bemused reaction of Seung-Ah, who was behind three screens, with her phone constantly glowing, not only cataloguing items with an amused snort of a grin, but managing any crisis that was happening that day. While she had not been senior enough to be tasked with assisting to draft the announcement of the Queen’s pregnancy or the follow up communications, but she was confident that she would be asked to help with the announcement of the baby’s birth, a task that was more exciting than all those years she had spent learning her craft. 

She giggled and smiled too often these days, her excitement, despite being at an all time high was nowhere near the King’s. From the little, limited glimpses she caught of him, even she could see how he was practically bouncing off the walls, of course with dignity and grace befitting a King, entrenched in the anticipation for the arrival of their baby.

Four more months. 

Four of the longest months of her life.

“We are a family.” 

Her pregnancy was a closely cherished thing for that first little week. A secret shared between Tae-Eul and Gon, basking in the joy of a new life. Their anniversary was them curled up, hands rediscovering each other as they had one year prior, a celebration of so many things, of how it was no longer just the two of them. It was worshipful, reverent, full of praise and pride.  

The following week, Tae-Eul and Gon had both returned to Doctor Kang under the cloak of even more secrecy, Yeong and In-Young by their side. In-Young had known, but Yeong’s eyes had widened upon seeing their destination, piecing together the dopey grin that Gon had been wearing all week, one Yeong was sure would remain even as the world collapsed around them, and Tae-Eul’s new glow, how she hadn’t been more than a step away from him since their anniversary.

Their hearts had fluttered and raced when Doctor Kang carefully answered every question they had. Gon had far more than Tae-Eul, who was content to listen to whatever Mo-Yeon had to say to her husband, his questions clearly thought through and carefully picked out, curated to provide him with information on how to take care of his wife and baby.

They learned that Tae-Eul was not actually just a few weeks in, closer to a month and a half, nearly two, remarkably free from the nastiest of the dreaded pregnancy symptoms. Doctor Kang had laughed when Gon had asked with concern if it was normal, saying that some women didn’t find out they were pregnant until they were months and months in, that Tae-Eul was perfectly fine, perfectly normal. They had even been given a due date, something that made Tae-Eul drift off into little dreams about what their baby would look like, always centering on a miniature Gon.

When it came time for the ultrasound, their hearts had raced, Gon’s eyes had been glassy as his hand tightened around Tae-Eul’s when he looked at their baby for the first time. She hadn’t missed the way her husband lit up from the inside, like a flame in the dead of night, how his eyes remained fixed on the screen for a long while before he looked at her. Her own eyes were glassy, threatening to brim over with tears when he had pressed a kiss to their intertwined hands before pressing another to her lips, his breath taken away by the sheer fact they had created an angelic miracle.

Unlike the last time when she had been alone with the image and sound of their baby,, this time they were together, allowing Tae-Eul the privilege of being able to see Gon’s reaction of hearing the faint heartbeat for the first time, the magnificent sound that it was not a dream, but their beautiful reality.

It was like an underwater flutter, a constant, gentle thump through the machine in the darkened room, echoing like a siren’s call. It was surreal, almost dreamlike to see the little heart flickering on the screen in time with the beautiful sound, a rhythmic song already so strong. 

Tae-Eul waited with bated breath, looking at the machine and then to Gon as he just froze in absolute awe, entranced by the sound, the glossiness of his eyes becoming diamond like tears escaping down his cheeks. She wanted to cry in response, at the sheer wondrous hope his eyes held, how his hand squeezed hers as he took in a single shaking breath. 

Gon held their hands up to his forehead in an almost prayer like pose, his other hand encasing their already intertwined hands as he just absorbed their little moment. Their baby’s heartbeat. Almost weeping right there, as Tae-Eul gently petted his hair until Gon finally looked at her with those heartbreakingly wide, hope filled eyes, adoringly looking at her as if she had hung the stars and the moon in the sky.

“They’re strong. Their heartbeat is incredibly strong. Baby looks very healthy.”

Doctor Kang had sent them off with a handful of ultrasound images, carefully tucked in the inner pocket of Gon’s coat right over his heart, waiting to be handed out to all the right people. Tae-Eul had kept a brave face in the hospital room and on their way back to the car, but once she was encased within the security of tinted windows and Gon’s arms, she burst into tears,  one of her hands firmly placed against the little life growing in her belly. It still didn’t seem real, that their tiny baby was right there. 

Gon had chuckled, stroking her hair back and peppering kisses to her face, only ever slightly pulling away to dry the tracks of tears that stained her skin, before pulling her back into the crook of his neck as her chest heaved.

“Why are you crying? We’re happy.” 

Tae-Eul giggled wetly, pulling away to look up at him with eyes that crinkled at the corners before turning to hide her face back into his shoulder, nodding weakly.

“I am.” She whispered, turning her head so her cheek lay against his shoulder, hot breath against his neck. “If this is a dream. Don’t wake me up.”

Gon nodded, letting the sound of silence refill the air before he spoke once more. The car journey was silent, perfect calmness. 

“I used to think you were a dream.” Gon confessed, as Tae-Eul nuzzled into him. “But this is too perfect to be a dream.” All those dreams seemed to be nightmares without you anyway.

Tae-Eul inhaled, cuddling closer, tugging her seatbelt to just be fractionally closer to him. She could hear the unspoken words, he was an open book just to her, there basking in their moment underneath the sun, in the light of the brightest star. Their little piece of happiness.

“I love you.” Tae-Eul whispered, closing her eyes with the gentle sound of the humming of the car, the road underneath the tires. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

Week 7. I would’ve started at six, but the note you wrote was too beautiful. I had never dreamed of having a family of my own, but you continue to astound me in every moment my beloved zero, you have given me the greatest gift of my life. To our little one, appa loves you, grow well, and please don’t give your eomma a hard time.

Their schedules were cleared for the following day, emptied of anything regardless of its status— none of it was as important as what they were doing today. Tae-Eul was burning, heart longing to return to Seoul to see her father, to tell him that they weren’t the only Jeong’s now. It wasn’t just two of them anymore. In the helicopter, she had rehearsed a hundred times how to say it, getting up and pacing the floor as she imagined the scene, overwhelmed even when Gon beckoned her into his arms to just lower her heart rate before she started over. “It’ll be okay. He’ll be happy no matter what.” He murmured into her hair, Tae-Eul curled into his lap, trying to contain the nearly daily hormones that seemed to want to leak from her eyes. It had been just over a week and he had already learnt that the mother of his child was prone to tears for any little reason.

“I know, but—” Her throat closed up. Do-In had been occupying her former childhood home alone for over a year now, and everytime her thoughts strayed to her mother, she wanted to cry. “But eomma, I wish eomma was here. So I could tell her too.” Tae-Eul’s voice cracked, a flash of Ha-Ran’s face in her mind enough to well hot, thick tears into her eyes once more.

“We can tell her too.”

“And your eomma and appa. We need to tell them as well.” Tae-Eul told him, pulling back with sad, pouting eyes that tugged at his heart strings which already ached inside his chest when she had mentioned his parents, how she wanted to tell them too. “I wish they were here.”

“I do too.”

In the car to her childhood home, Tae-Eul was vigorously trying to not tear up, to dry the tracks and redness on her skin before she saw her father. It was a futile effort, her eyes had been slightly puffy for a little while, and she was sure she hadn’t cried so much in her life for an occasion so joyous.

Tae-Eul was right. When their car had pulled into the little space in front of the house, in the gated front yard, she had broken into tears once more, chest feeling heavy, but so, so relieved. Gon had pulled her into his arms again, carefully, slowly rocking them to calm her back down from the spontaneous tears. 

Gon pressed a kiss to her head, smiling into her hair. He recalled the time Tae-Eul had burst into tears over seeing an orange, a single, round orange that had been alone on the counter in the kitchen. She hadn’t even paused, leaning in to hide her face, a slow trail of tears leaking from her eyes.

“Why are you crying?” Gon worried, gently pulling her face away from his chest, big eyes determined to scan her face for the problem, however small, so he could wash it away. “Tell me so I can fix it. Don’t cry.”

“I don’t know.” Tae-Eul sniffed with an equally confused look, hands moving to wipe away the wetness on her cheeks. “I’m just crying.”

Tae-Eul had calmed down facing him, with glossy eyes that shone under the fluorescent lights, a picture of beauty even though Gon could see a tinge of redness rimming her eyes. Until she turned back to the counter, tearing up once again, as she was pulled back into his chest and stood leaning against him. 

His chest felt weighted by his wife’s inexplicable tears, eyes glancing around their surroundings for any sign of something that could have resulted in this. The only thing that had changed since breakfast was that lone orange, so vibrantly coloured, lying lonely on the centre of the stone bench. Gon carefully waddled them towards it, guiding Tae-Eul backwards so he could pick it up and present it to his wife.

“Are you sad for the orange?” Tae-Eul glanced up, back to the bench, then towards him and then to his hand that held the singular citrus, staring at it with pondering eyes of her own. 

“Maybe.” Tae-Eul nodded sheepishly, she hadn’t burst out into tears looking at the bench that time, the change being the relocation of the fruit. “It’s not lonely with us.”

Something rumbled in his chest at her words, so innocently sweet. The tears had been the result of a little fruit alone, an inanimate object. His heart clenched and he fell a little more in love with her in that moment, pulling her impossibly closer to his chest, peppering kisses to her face.

“No, it’s not lonely with us. We won’t let it be.”

He had to issue a discreet command to the staff to ensure everything had a pair, even though it raised eyebrows, but it was a small, inconspicuous gesture for his wife. Gon hated seeing her cry, the tears like a blade to his soul. He didn’t care that people thought it was strange, but it was only a minor issue to preserve both his heart and hers.

Once Tae-Eul had moderately collected herself, they carefully alighted from the warmth of their car, Gon out first, aided by Yeong, darting around to her door to carefully pull her out, ensuring she was set on her feet, his arm around her before he even thought about looking away from her. 

All he wanted to do was focus on her. Not on the movement around him, or the weather, or the possibility of intruding eyes, if any. He could hear the guards’ footsteps surveying the property preventing the possibility of his last thought, though it was likely unnecessary. Gon had ensured his father-in-law’s safety from the moment he had re-found Tae-Eul in this world. Even though he had married her, been married to her for over a year, been with her longer, Gon always wanted to keep looking at her, as if she was the sun which had grown brighter in their universe.

Despite the faintest hints of snow on the ground in January, the wind nipping at their ears and noses, Gon would stand there forever to be near her. Even when she was carefully dabbing at her eyes with a soft, cotton handkerchief that had become a constant companion these days, whether she was carrying it or he had it tucked away in the pocket of a jacket or coat. In-Young and Yeong both had one as well, just in case, to dab away the precious liquid gold.

When Tae-Eul was ready, they carefully ascended the stairs, and she knocked on the door, three distinct raps, before letting themselves in. Do-In knew they were coming, they came often and for family, being welcomed meant making themselves at home rather than acting like guests, as if Tae-Eul hadn’t been raised in these walls.

“Appa! We’re home!” Tae-Eul called out, carefully pulling off her shoes in favour of the well worn slippers just inside the door. 

“I’m in the kitchen.”

Tae-Eul laughed, it was ever so slightly watery and sniffed a little bit more, Do-In was always in the kitchen when they came. It was like an instinct to be there, preparing a meal for them, regardless that he wasn’t always sure when exactly they’d arrive. It was uncanny, he’d already be cooking or just about had dinner ready when they walked in. 

Her chest was filled with butterflies as her father came into sight. He was just like he was last time, maybe with a few more grey hairs, but with the same, comforting crows feet signalling years of smiling that always made her feel like she was safe.

“Ah, you’re just in time. The jjigae is ready.” He looked at them with a warm smile, glancing over the pair, his eyes lingering on Tae-Eul for a moment longer before facing the counter once more. It was the involuntary look, just to make sure she was okay, that now that his little girl was out of the house, she was being doted up, exactly as she should be.

“Jjigae?” Tae-Eul bounced, mood changing instantly from weepy to ravenous, choosing to ignore Gon’s chuckle and tugging out of Gon’s arms directly for the stove to peek at the stew that lay in wait, hot, steaming and tormenting her stomach that seemed to rumble in response to smelling it. 

She sat down at the dining table and picked up a bowl of rice, halfway ready to grab a spoon to shovel it in her mouth before paused, looking from the fluffy white rice, to her father, immersed in bringing the pot to the table and to Gon who was carefully laying out the banchan. Gon held in a laugh but nodded, and Tae-Eul shot him a quick glare before starting to eat, even though rationally Tae-Eul knew she should’ve put the others in their place beforehand.

Her baby was hungry.

“When was the last time you ate?” Her father looked at her with a suspiciously calm look, “has my son-in-law not been feeding you?” 

Tae-Eul had the audacity to look offended for all of them, swallowing her mouthful of rice, and holding onto her bowl a little tighter.

“Just before we got on the helicopter.” Tae-Eul said, carefully gathered another mound of rice and spooned it into her mouth, “why?”

Do-In hummed, taking the remaining dishes to the table, and sat down opposite her and Gon, giving them a pensive look.  

“You need to eat more Tae-Eul.” Do-In told her, his eyes glinting at her as he began to dig into their feast. “Stay healthy when you’re away from me.”

Her hand froze, spoon still in her mouth as she felt her mouth quiver, eyes well ever so slightly back to her eyes as she tried not to burst out crying. Again. She had been resolved to wait until after dinner to tell him, but the words wanted to spill from her mouth right that moment.

“Appa…” Tae-Eul swallowed, placing her spoon down before taking in a deep breath. She was resolved to make it until the end of dinner, just a little bit longer hanging onto this little secret. 

You’re making this really hard.

Tae-Eul could feel Gon’s eyes on her, one hand disappearing from above the table to pat her thigh, a resolved look in his eye for whatever she wanted to do. It was a silent agreement that she would tell him, one he had been so fully aware of seeing her pace in the helicopter, forcing the words out of her mouth, bubbling with excitement and nerves, joy and hormones.

“Eat some more Tae-Eul-ah.” Do-In directed, placing a piece of kimchi onto her rice, and pushing the bowl a little closer to her. “The kimchi is very good.”

His words were enough to relieve the pressure from behind her eyes, nodding, as she picked up her chopsticks to distract herself by eating, even as the words bit behind her tongue.

“Did the imo down the road make it?” Tae-Eul asked. That imo had become a staple in her life when her mother had died and her father had been unable to watch her, always bringing her homemade kimchi with her for the few hours they spent together until Do-In had come home. Tae-Eul could recognise the very particular, homemade flavour anywhere.

“When Tae-Eul was about six, maybe seven, I had to work the occasional weekends and I would ask our neighbour to watch her. We’ve known her for years, so she would come for a few hours and always bring a tub of kimchi with her that she made with her daughter-in-law. Better than anything that you can buy.” Do-In explained to the confused Gon, who nodded in assent.

“She moved away a few years ago, but she was in the neighbourhood and brought some for me.” Do-In continued, Tae-Eul’s lips twitching into a smile that even though distance had separated the wonderfully kind imo from them, she still came back. “Tae-Eul even used to go around to make it with them.”

Gon’s lips twitched as he looked towards his wife, who was lost in her own thoughts, still happily eating away with little abandon, only pausing to share his look with unusually wide eyes as he chuckled.

“We should make some at home.” Gon spoke, Tae-Eul putting down her bowl and giving him a look that distinctively was a ‘no’.

“I wasn’t good.” She denied, shaking her head, “it’s really not a good idea.”

“We can practise.” Gon told her, cheekily raising his eyebrows as he looked at his wife once more. Tae-Eul scowled, turning away from him to refocus on the food that was still steaming.

“Last time we practised…” Tae-Eul murmured, shaking her head, sipping on the jjigae. Her emotions were like a whirlwind, even for her. Her rational, non-pregnant mind was baffled by how quickly she wanted to cry, to how quickly her mood changed, all uncontrollable on her behalf.

Dinner continued, anecdotes and childhood stories passed around the table, recounts of their daily lives shared, even though Do-In kept up with the news and Tae-Eul knew his daily life never changed, she was just glad to hear that he was okay without her.

When clean up came about, both her father and Gon made sure she stayed at the table, carefully gathering up the dishes to clean all while she sat, listening to the conversation between the two men. Even though she had just eaten, Tae-Eul was lured into the cupboard, going straight for a packet of honey butter flavoured chips, carefully pulling them out and returning to her seat.

She could see the pair of them give her a look, but ultimately said nothing when she raised an eyebrow daring them to challenge her. Dinner may have just been finished, but there was always an aching hunger unsatisfied within her. It had been like that for weeks, though now with an obvious cause. Doctor Kang had laughed, stating with the lack of traditional morning sickness, something else may replace it. This was that.

“Do you want me to make you something else?” Her father asked, looking over his shoulder, “we have ramen.”

“I’m done.” Tae-Eul shook her head, eating the last handful before putting the remaining away, carefully squeezing in between the two larger men to wash her hands. “I can help.”

“We’re nearly done.” Do-In shook his head, pushing her back. “It is father and son-in-law bonding Tae-Eul-ah. Just sit down and relax. You look tired.”

“I am not tired.” Tae-Eul chastised, face pulled down in an unhappy frown though she listened to her father, sitting at the dining table to remain close, “I want to bond too.” But truthfully, seeing her best men standing together, laughing about something made her happy enough that it didn’t matter that she was sat there, an onlooker instead of a participant.

“We can bond in the lounge, it’s warmer and the news is on.” Do-In reassured her, turning off the tap as Gon put away the last of the dishes. “I can’t remember the show after the news, but we’re watching that too.”

Without fail, this was their routine when visiting. The utter normalcy of eating a home cooked dinner and then sitting down to watch television together, just like they had when Tae-Eul was a child. Her and Gon didn’t have a habit of watching television after dinner, and even when they did, television viewing usually resulted in physical exercise, their attention diverted quickly away from anything on the screen in favour of each other.  

As the men finished and Do-In led the way from the kitchen, something clicked inside of Tae-Eul as she watched her father’s back. It was like cracks forming in a dam, that small window of time perfectly presenting in front of her, about to flutter away from her.

“Appa.” Tae-Eul called, stopping in her tracks, standing facing him as the courage she had been trying so hard to find had found itself manifesting in her heart at that moment.

Do-In paused, turning to his daughter, whose hand was tightly clasped in her husband’s as she took a deep breath and looked at him with those eyes he loved, warm, bright eyes, shining under the lights of the house. Like the little girl she had been once, now in the form of a beautiful woman standing before him.

“I’m pregnant appa.” Tae-Eul’s chest felt tight as she waited with a bated breath for her father’s reaction. His face had frozen for the barest of seconds, before shifting as a newfound light shone in his eyes.

“I know ducky.” Do-In chuckled with a wide smile, arms open for her to find refuge in. Tae-Eul jumped, burrowing her head into his chest with more, definitely happy, tears. “You’re just like your eomma. Very teary, very grumpy and always hungry.”

Tae-Eul let out a watery laugh, pulling back, palm ready to wipe away the tears that had leaked out from her eyes once more. Only to have her father carefully push the loose strands of hair away from her face and do it for her, just like he used to when she was a child without fail, even when he himself was grieving for her mother, he was there to wipe away her tears.

“You’re happy right appa?” 

“Are you?” Do-In asked her, pulling her in closer when she nodded, “then I am happy. My little duck is having her own duckling.” He pulled back to look at her once more, petting her head in a way that made more tears fall forth.

“You’re going to be a halabeoji appa.” Tae-Eul whispered, even as Do-In chuckled, his daughter the spitting image of his wife when she had told him of Tae-Eul. Except it was Tae-Eul telling him of a new star in their family.

“You two will be amazing parents.” Do-In whispered, looking up to Gon who was just a step back, waving him a little closer to join in. “They’re really lucky to have you.”

Tae-Eul could feel Gon behind her, a hand ghosting on her side reassuringly, even as she clung to her father like a newborn. 

“Look after her.” Do-In looked at Gon as Tae-Eul finally, slowly untangled herself from him, peering up at him with another watery smile. “Keep looking after her.”

Tae-Eul couldn’t protest, not with her typical, ‘I could look after myself’. Because this time, there was an underlying tone of something greater than what was being spoken aloud. And then she was back in Gon’s arms, passed from her father back to her husband, reminiscent of their wedding day, when she had passed from being just a Jeong to being a Lee as well, and also to the day she had moved from Seoul to Busan, one home to the next.

They continued the short journey to the couch where they curled up in their respective spots. Gon was always next to Tae-Eul, some part touching, whether it was their thighs, hands or legs, and Do-In would take up the single chair with the ottoman, Ha-Ran’s own chair. Usually they’d have a beer, some sort of beverage, but tonight, they were happy with their emotions, the river of happiness that glowed within Tae-Eul spreading its warmth like wings.

Do-In was focused on the news, an old habit of his, attention entirely diverted to the reporters on screen leaving Tae-Eul and Gon to soak up the warmth of the family home, Tae-Eul’s head leaning on Gon’s shoulder, their hands intertwined, bodies touching. They didn’t speak for the reports, both Gon and Tae-Eul not entirely paying attention, all of it condensed into morning briefs and conversations with the Press Office, but enjoying the atmosphere nonetheless.

“How far along are you?” Do-In asked, his attentioned moved from the television now that the report had ended and there was a lull due to the advertisements, a moment of opportunity to talk about the single greatest event to happen in well over a year.

“Seven and a half weeks.” Tae-Eul answered, recalling what Doctor Kang had said to them and then her mind jumped straight to the little photograph carefully hidden in the pocket of Gon’s coat.  

Tae-Eul went to stand, but Gon’s arm tugged at hers, keeping her firmly on the couch as he got up instead with a look. One she knew would become familiar, one that already promised that he would be trying to keep her from doing anything strenuous or burdensome, anything he could do for her, she knew he would try to. She almost laughed, just shooting a happy smile at her husband before continuing her little recount of the check up.

“She said everything looks fine and is completely normal. The baby is healthy and strong.” Tae-Eul smiled a little wider, everytime she or someone else reminded her that her, their, baby was healthy, she got a little giddy, bouncing in her seat.

Tae-Eul felt Gon’s hands ghost her shoulder as he returned, carefully holding onto the photo before he moved around the couch and to Do-In, passing on the little black and white photograph to his father-in-law. Do-In accepted the photo from Gon as if it was a treasure, holding it with both hands, fixated on the unmoving, but unmistakable photo of his grandchild. 

Gon though, quickly returned to Tae-Eul’s side, eyeing the box of tissues on the coffee table in front of them, already seeing the glossiness return to her eyes as she just stared at her father, one hand unconsciously stroking the cloth over her belly. Tae-Eul knew her father would be enraptured, she had anticipated it, but she could still feel the tears well to her eyes and her breath became a little shaky at the gentle, warm smile that unfurled across her father’s face. Gon was there though, a comforting hand surrounding her, tenderly stroking her back in comfort.

“So tiny. Just like you were once my Tae-Eul-ah.” Do-In chuckled, “do you know if you want a boy or girl?”

“Not yet. We just want the baby to be healthy.” Tae-Eul sniffled, “we have to wait for another month to find out the gender.”

“Have you thought about twins?” Do-In asked, head leaning back in a dreamy fashion. “Twins would be nice.”

Tae-Eul’s tears were gone in that instant, dried up like a drought as a flood of images ran through her head at the thought of twins. She had steeled herself for one child, the labour of just one and all the pain that would come from that. Two at once was like being thrown under a truck.

“I think—” Gon began, only to be whacked by Tae-Eul, whose face was scrunched up into a frown.

“That you would like to live to see our child born.” Tae-Eul said as she glared at Gon, pausing before leaning over to his ear and hissing, “my vagina says no.” Gon raised his hands up in surrender, his annoying, wide smile still on his face as he looked at her before breaking out into soft chuckles.

“I was just going to say that I think that any child of yours will be nice.” Tae-Eul leaned over, another quick backhand to the chest as she glared at him. She could hear her father laughing from the other couch, immersed in their little display.

“Ours. Excessive cheese is not good for the baby.” She was quick to rebut him, carefully climbing off her own spot next to Gon to take refuge next to her father. “Appa, one is enough for now.”

“Yes my darling daughter.” Do-In chuckled, patting her head as she leaned into him, nearly poking her tongue out at Gon who hadn’t lost the smile on his face, carefully reclined into the chair awaiting for her to return to his arms. “One is enough. But a little girl would be nice, daughters are a gift.”

The waterworks weren’t far off once more, Tae-Eul curling into her father’s arms like a child, like she had so many years before, hidden in his arms from the big, bad world so sure that he was a superhero capable of protecting her from anything and everything.

“I want to come home,” Tae-Eul whispered, “at least once a week to be here. Can I appa?”

“This will always be your home ducky,” Do-In told her, grinning as his daughter grinned up at him like she was the little girl she always had been in his eyes. “But who are you and what have you done with my daughter, politely asking for permission to come here instead of just coming whenever you want?”

Tae-Eul pulled away, tear tracks evident, sparkling under the light, but eyes full of mirth as her father pointed out the obvious. This had been very much her house from the moment she had been born, both parents wrapped around her fingers, coming and going whenever she pleased upon reaching adulthood.

“Bring my son-in-law though, you’re of no help in the kitchen.”

The end of the night came too soon, Tae-Eul and Gon at the door, their warm car waiting for them to make the journey back to Busan. She had cried for the millionth time that night, sniffing as she wrapped her arms around her father once more. 

In that moment, Do-In was transported back to Tae-Eul’s childhood self, her too-short arms wrapped around his legs, begging him not to go to work. Except now, it was his baby girl, almost as tall as him, having a baby of her own, not wanting to leave him. He couldn’t help but hold back his own sniffle and he willed his wet eyes to not leak as he held her close until they were reunited once more. 

“You know you can always come home, not just once a week” Do-In gently patted Tae-Eul’s back, heart lightening when his girl nodded against his chest, “I love you my little duckling.”

He felt Tae-Eul gently untangle herself from him, and him and his son-in-law nodded at each other after Gon bowed, a silent promise and understanding exchanged between two men who loved the woman between them more than anything else in the world. Do-In stood tall in his front yard as he watched his children leave, Tae-Eul peeking back for a final wave goodbye, looking on as the dark sedan had disappeared out of his sight. Then he waited just a little longer until he couldn’t hear it before returning inside.

The morning after, Gon and Tae-Eul had found themselves in the car once more, even as the sun had only begun to rise over Busan, this time bound for the Royal Shrine. They had just three more people to tell before they could mention it to anyone else, Gon’s parents and her mother.

Shortly after they had married, under the advice of Secretary Mo, the couple had broached the subject of moving her mother’s ashes to the Royal Shrine in the Haedong Yonggungsa Temple, to father. The genesis of the move was centered on concerns that Ha-Ran’s locker in the columbarium in Seoul could be vandalized.

It was and had been a sacred, private spot for Tae-Eul and her father, and now had the pending concern that it had the potential to become a tourist attraction, all vying to look at the Mother of the Queen. The move to the Royal Shrine particularly had been at the behest of Gon, who had expressed sincerely that his jangmo-nim was now also a part of the Royal Family, and she belonged there lying at rest under the same roof as his parents. However, he had also offered a place in Seoul if Do-In so wished to keep her close, significantly more private so their fears would not be realised.

But Do-In had smiled, looking away with that wistful smile and then turned back to them after a momentary pause. Tae-Eul had half expected for him to want to keep her in Seoul with him, until he finally moved to Busan when he retired.

“She would’ve loved to be moved to the temple. I can see her now.” He had chuckled, a sad smile distorting the one already on his face. “‘Do-In, it is an adventure. We can’t remain stagnant. It’ll be fun.’” He told them, recounting words he knew she would’ve said.

The sun was warm on their backs as Gon and Tae-Eul walked into the temple hand in hand. It was empty, this time of morning too early for any visitors, but perfect for them, alone with three of the most important people in the world. It was as dark in the temple as Tae-Eul remembered from the first time and the second, air heavy with incense and faint smoke, the floral smell of the bone white chrysanthemums hanging everywhere where the smoke and incense did not.

But it was beautiful in a way that made Tae-Eul’s heart ache, the wonderful colours and immaculate layout, highlighting the three spirit tablets on the shrine made her chest tighten. When they had moved her, Tae-Eul was sure it would be separate, in a different part of the temple, but her mother was there, right next to Gon’s parents, proudly holding her own even against a former King and Queen.

It made her want to weep, Tae-Eul’s head leaning back slightly to try and prevent the tears already welling from falling, Gon’s hand gently letting hers go to wrap around her, rubbing comforting circles into her waist.

“Will you be okay?” She could feel him faintly whispering, even the slightest breath disturbing the peace and silence within the building, echoing in the chamber.

“It’s the hormones.” Tae-Eul murmured, waving him off as she tilted her head forward once more, hand raising to dab at the corners of her eyes. Tae-Eul didn’t think Gon believed her, and to be honest, she didn’t really believe herself, but it was easier to say that in hesitate that another else would have her broken down in tears.

They moved a little further in, bowing to the shrine and then kneeling on the little pillows just in front of the shrine, Gon ensuring that Tae-Eul was carefully and comfortably positioned before he knelt beside her, giving her hand one last reassuring squeeze.

“Eomma.” Tae-Eul breathed, her voice nearly hitched in her throat as she struggled to push the words from her lungs. “Abeonim. Eomeonim.”

She could hear Gon’s own reverant pleading whisper, calling to them as well, head slightly bowed before turning to look at her giving her a reassuring, gentle smile.

“Abeoji. Eomeoni. Jangmo-nim.”

Her jaws squeezed before her tongue darted out, wetting her lips as she sucked in a breath. She was nervous, even though she knew they would be happy if they could be here, but if they couldn’t be with them, Tae-Eul had resolved to bring everything to them.

“We brought someone else with us to see you today.” The words were soft, like a symphony building up to climax, Gon bringing up their intertwined hands and pressing a kiss of reassurance to the back of her hand. “We’re having a baby. You’re going to be grandparents.”

Tae-Eul could hear the rustling of her husband's coat, hand dipping into his pocket to pull out their new favourite photograph and a sprig of dried baby breaths. She didn’t know he had brought anything else, the smell of the dried flowers masked by his cologne, but she knew the significance of the little white flowers.

“The flowers are from the same bunch that Tae-Eul gave me when she told me she was pregnant, along with a photograph of your grandchild.” Gon said, voice even as he gently rose from his pillow, placing them in the forefront of the shrine, flowers carefully concealing the photograph from any prying eyes determined to intrude. 

“I promised to love and take care of her when I married her and I promise now to love and take care of them both. Please give us and your grandchild your blessings.”

Gon always knew what to say to start the waterworks, lips quivering, tears welling as Tae-Eul tried to keep her composure not to break down like a toddler. But her thoughts were like knives against her, all the ‘what ifs’ beating down in her thoughts about seeing her mother and Gon’s parents with their grandchild, not aged a day past their portraits, sat beyond their spirit tablets that watched over them in that moment.

Tae-Eul sniffed as the first tear fell, breath shaking, as Gon tucked her into his side, one hand stroking calming, slow circles into her arm as he held them there as if he were a pillar, bearing all the weight to hold them both up. If she closed her eyes, Tae-Eul could almost imagine it was the warm imprint of her mother, a faint, distant memory now, but one she clung to, envisioning in moments where she so desperately yearned for her.

Her head bowed to the altar, taking in a slow, measured breath as she hoped they were happy. In another life, Tae-Eul wished that her mother and her in-laws would be here, to offer support and guidance in something she had never known. A shiver was sent down her spine as she imagined the warm, vibrant smiles of elation of their faces, soft hands touching the bump, hearing their most precious news.

I miss you eomma. I wish you were here.  Don’t worry though eomma, Gon is the best. He’s taking good care of us, we are incredibly healthy and strong. Like you eomma, I hope the baby is strong like you. I’m glad you’re here in Busan eomma, I love you.

Abeonim, eomeonim, I wish you were here too. Gon is going to be the best father, he already is. His eyes are so beautiful when he talks about the baby, I hope he or she has his eyes. Please bless us.

We’ll visit again soon with an update and more photos. 

Gon bowed too, a fervent hope in his heart that they were watching and listening, as he knelt in front of their shrine, a man whose universe had grown from the small ball of flickering light into a smoldering ember, into a roaring hearth, still so fragile. Fate was so tender.

Abeoji, eomeoni. I know how you felt when you said I was a miracle. Doctor Kang says our baby is small, but healthy and it is like something had pulled me from Earth. I hope our baby inherits Tae-Eul’s beauty and courage. 

I want to ask a million questions, eomeoni, abeoji. 

Jangmo-nim, Tae-Eul is glowing. She looks like an angel. I’ll make sure Tae-Eul is safe, that she’s healthy and that she’s comfortable. Our baby is lucky to have her as their mother, just like I am lucky to be Tae-Eul’s. I’ll keep loving her until the end of time. Please bless us and our baby. Look after them.

They bowed once more, pleading that even though the immeasurable distance between the living and the dead, that their prayers were heard by their parents. Gon opened his eyes, turning unerringly to Tae-Eul’s, who was attempting to hold back tears as she gulped. He wrapped her in his arms without judgment, and she curled into him with an almost watery giggle at how ridiculous she felt crying all the time. But neither of them wouldn’t change it for any reason, the tears all caused by the little gift that was their baby would be worth it in the end. Even if it meant investing in waterproof everything.

It was late morning when they left once more, the first trickles of people arriving as their car pulled away from the temple. They didn’t speak in the car, absorbed their own thoughts, exhausted emotionally from their time in the temple, holding each other behind In-Young and Yeong, allowing themselves to get lost in the drive.

The next step in their list of people to tell involved the eldest of them all. Lady Noh and Prince Buyeong, Gon’s guiding hands as he grew. Gon wasn’t as worried, instead his heart pounded with fierce pride and gratitude. He was almost sure Lady Noh had figured something was askew and he had caught her eying Tae-Eul’s belly more than once despite the layers of clothing she insisted Tae-Eul wore, despite the fact that it was the warmest one on record.  

Prince Buyeong had been in the main palace only a few days after they had visited the shrines of their parents up at the Haedong Yonggungsa Temple, the perfect opportunity to corner the pair of them over a polite cup of tea to tell them happy news. The elder man hadn’t been nearly as obvious in his knowledge of what awaited them, but his eyes held a glint of promise when Gon and Tae-Eul had sat down in front of the elder pair.

“We have something to tell you.” Tae-Eul started, looking at Gon and cocking her head slightly. There was a pause that followed as the couple shared a look, with both onlookers sharing a half smile at their antics.

“Tae-Eul’s pregnant.” Gon told them proudly, with a wide smile that was entirely befitting of an expectant father. Both elders nodded, clinking their tea cups together with bright, knowing smiles, much to the confusion of both Tae-Eul and Gon who were staring expectantly for any reaction but that. 

“We were right then.” Prince Buyeong nodded, the twinkle in his eyes even brighter in light of the confirmation. “We’ve seen enough family members pregnant to know these kinds of things.”

“When is the baby due?” Lady Noh questioned, looking up to the calendar that sat proudly against the wall, down to her belly questioningly, as if she had been trying to work it out for herself.

“The eighth of August.” Tae-Eul confirmed, nudging Gon to bring out the precious photograph to share with them, handing it over as if it were greater than gold, rarer than tanzanite, “we find out in a month what their gender is.”

Light-hearted smiles were exchanged, the hearth of warmth in the palace burning a little brighter that night, with joy and tea being shared over stories of Gon as a baby, only known by them being passed onto Tae-Eul.

That night, at peace with sharing the news with those she loved most, Tae-Eul dreamt of a baby once more, the same little boy from her last one, so beautiful and bright eyed in Gon’s arms. Those stories she had been told had coloured her dreams, painting an even more vivid image of a potential future, crafted into a beautiful fantasy in her brain.

When she woke up, one thought clung to the back of her mind, gripping her bones with a strength she didn’t know was possible, a single whisper of a name that lingered on her tongue.

‘Lee Yeon.’

Her heart raced again, but died down as quick. Tae-Eul didn’t want to dwell on it, they only had a few days left of their official anniversary break before returning in time for the beginning of the new year of events and official engagements they were due to attend. She just wanted to spend time with Gon, curling back into the warmth of Gon’s arms and fell back into the comforting darkness.

On the first day back from their extended anniversary celebrations, the last people on their list to tell were the two who had been by their sides for the longest time, two who would be vital at maintaining the secret that was being harboured within the palace. Secretary Mo and Seung-Ah.

Gon, in the week after their universe had become a little more magical, had noticed a hundred little changes in Tae-Eul. Things that he knew others would be quick to catch onto. The clearest of all was perhaps the constant, soft smile on her face that lit her up from the inside, the one that drew him to her like a moth to flame. 

Telling both Press Officers was, while a personal show of faith and trust, was also partially selfish. He wanted to shout the fact that he was going to be a father to the sky, to the heavens and to every last person that bypassed him, but Tae-Eul didn’t. She wanted to hold onto it until they were in the safe-zone, where there was no risk of loss and with the way her eyes glistened, he could never say no to her. So telling the Press Officers would be crucial to upholding his wife’s wishes.

The couple were secluded away in the study, Gon going through all the documents that had built up in his absence, Tae-Eul curled up on the lounge, watching him with a fond smile on her face. She enjoyed the glasses he wore on the occasion, always capturing her attention with them, though if he ever asked, it was the reflection of the light.

She had been drawn to all pregnancy books, ones that had lingered from days of old, to new ones ordered electronically on a tablet for viewing, as hardcopies were still a tad too suspicious to bring in, with a hundred people watching at every corner. She felt mild intrigue and an equal amount of disgust knowing what was due to happen in several months' time, sending shivers down her spine as her nose scrunched up, while her husband had pursued the same books in half the time and with no small amount of wonder.

Tae-Eul didn’t even notice when the doors opened up, quietly creaking as the female duo entered the room. She did, however, notice the look shared between Seung-Ah and Yeong, snickering quietly at the very familiar look shared between the pair.

“Pyeha. Mama.” Secretary Mo’s voice called out, her tablet and various leather binders clutched close to her chest as she approached the desk at the end of the room, Gon looking up over his glasses, carefully taking them off with a polite smile. “I have new documents for you to sign by the end of the day.”

“I—”

“We.”

“Have news to share.” Gon continued, looking at Tae-Eul in amusement at her interjection which was complete with a snort. “Tae-Eul’s pregnant.”

There was a silence that followed, both women gobsmacked at the bomb Gon had just dropped. They both were awaiting a response, Seung-Ah the first to recover with a bright, shit-eating smile as she turned to look at Tae-Eul, raising her eyebrows up and down, eyeing her belly with a proud smile.

Secretary Mo was a little more reserved in her reaction, her eyes had gone wide and slightly glassy, bottom lip sucked into her mouth momentarily as she looked in between them, before she pulled herself together with the most composed look she could muster. 

“We want to keep it to ourselves until we’re out of the first trimester,” Tae-Eul clarified, all the eyes in the room falling to her, “they’re already speculating and I’m not sure how obvious it might become until we formally announce it.”

Secretary Mo hummed as Yeong covered a disbelieving snort with a well timed cough from the corner of the room, Tae-Eul looking at him in agreement and slight exasperation. Gon was not discreet with his newfound fascination with her belly, pressing kisses to it at every available opportunity, whispering to their baby even though he or she wouldn’t be able to hear them for a while longer.

“Yes, of course Mama. We will continue denying and ignoring any rumours until we are given the go ahead to announce the pregnancy. Congratulations.” Secretary Mo confirmed, giving her a solemn, resolute nod, prepared to go to any lengths to uphold their wishes.

“Congratulations, I’m going to miss my drinking buddy. But it was inevitable with how freaky you two are.” Seung-Ah nodded, snickering even when Yeong and Mo looked at her with withering looks, though Tae-Eul snorted in her own amusement, knowing very well that with the amount of sex her and Gon had, she would like have been pregnant a long time ago if not for birth control.

“Anyway,” Secretary Mo cleared her throat, cutting the conversation off from the rabbit hole that it would become between the two friends, “tomorrow you have the first of the International Conferences being held here in Corea, I have included the itinerary in this file for you and Mama to view at your discretion.”

Their first duties back in the public spotlight had led onto the second great change that was inevitable as a result of her pregnancy. Her security detail. It hadn’t been a great concern while they had been cooped up in Gwangyeongjeon, under the safety of all the Royal Guards in Corea, but now that they were leaving the safety of their nest, it was a pressing issue.

Twelve guards had chased after Tae-Eul around for the first year of her marriage, and the six months or so of their courtship, a steady number that bordered on being suffocating for a woman who had never experienced constant companionship and tailing. Immediately after telling Gon about the pregnancy, he had wanted to increase the number of guards surrounding her and their baby.

He had very well nearly succeeded just implementing the enhanced security detail without informing her, with the full support of Lady Noh and the entirety of Royal Guards. Tae-Eul had In-Young dutifully by her side making this known to her, sending Tae-Eul marching through the palace with a formal declaration that it was the father of her child who had ‘baby brain’.

“Yah! Lee Gon!” Tae-Eul called out down the hall, In-Young only a foot ahead of her, throwing the doors open with delicate force for the storm that was her. “More guards! Yah!”

She crossed the room in a second, whacking Gon on the shoulder to try to knock sense back into his body. He hadn’t even registered the whirlwind of events, his wife calling out for him somewhere far from the study in one moment, right next to him in the second. Even Secretary Mo and Yeong were standing there surprised by the tiny, pregnant, grumpy woman.

“Do you want to tell everyone right now?” Tae-Eul questioned, hands on hips, “who didn’t think that it would be suspicious to increase my guards and not yours. It’s like you want to put a sign on my back announcing, ‘oh hey, by the way, the Queen is pregnant.’”

Gon blinked, momentarily frozen as he processed her words. He had approved the increase in guards on outings, but paused to understand it wasn’t the increase she was unhappy about, but telling everyone indirectly. 

“It’s not me who has baby brain,” Tae-Eul huffed, pushing a hair out of her face as she turned to Yeong with a distinct, pointed look, “just whatever you two planned for me, do for him. At least until we announce it.”

Yeong’s lips twitched, he was always for increasing the number of guards surrounding Gon, to ease the burden of his job at keeping an eye of the formerly flighty King, and having a direct command that wouldn’t be opposed was the perfect opportunity to finally implement his wish.

“Okay.” Gon agreed, nodding and looking at Yeong who also nodded in agreement, raising a hand to his mouth to talk into the communication device on his wrist. “We’ll switch more guards to plain clothes to make it less suspicious.”

“I also don’t want a million guards following us to Seoul when we visit appa. We already have guards there, it’s a normal day for us.” Tae-Eul added, “we’ve done it every week so far and I want to keep being able to go there without feeling suffocated.”

There was a silence as Gon looked at her, half torn. He wanted to say yes, indulge her wishes to keep that one part of their lives relatively normal in comparison to everything, but she was so precious, their child was the greatest being in the world and they hadn’t even been born yet. He couldn’t afford to play with the slight, miniscule chance anything could happen.

“Gon, please.” Tae-Eul asked quietly, eyes glistening as she looked at him, “no one knows we go there, nothing is going to happen. In-Young and Yeong go with us, no one can get past them.”

Gon hesitated. Rationally, he knew that there was no active threat to Tae-Eul anymore, his uncle dead, and balance restored across universes. And Tae-Eul was a storm, strong and relentless and entirely capable of protecting herself, something that he was sure their child was bound to inherit too. But Gon couldn’t help but worry. How could he not when his wife and baby were his entire world, when Tae-Eul was the planet he orbited, and their baby was the stars that lit up their galaxy? Yet, he looked into those eyes he loved, shiny with tears and lit up with defiance and simply nodded in agreement.  

Tae-Eul lit up, head and hands immediately going to her little bump and whispering victorious cries that while meant only for their baby, floated over to him. They were waves of wondrous happiness, and Gon knew he had made the right decision when his eyes caught hers. Tae-Eul’s eyes were shining, glistening with something that just made everything fade away in comparison, blur around the edges, making her the sole centre of his universe. 

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Week 9. You’re glowing my love, you get more beautiful everyday. I didn’t think it was possible to fall more in love, but here I am, falling further each day.  Baby, eomma says she can’t tell yet, but there's definitely a little bump. Appa knows. 

In the weeks following, Gon had taken avid interest in the growing bump forming against his wife’s skin. It wasn’t apparent yet, not in the way that revealed that there was a life growing and forming within her, waiting to enter the world. 

At least, it wasn’t apparent to anyone but him. 

The skin there was a little more stretched than usual, still soft, supple, but ever so slightly different underneath his hands. Slightly raised, evidence of their little baby right there, created from their love.  

Tae-Eul had vehemently protested one evening when he was whispering sweet nothings to their child, his head gently resting against her stomach as she lay on their bed, her hands petting his hair.

“You’re showing.” Gon had murmured, pressing a kiss to the tiny little bump that peeked ever so slightly from her usually flat stomach.

“No I’m not. We’re not even ten weeks in, I cannot be showing.” Tae-Eul huffed, shaking her head. She had also taken an interest in her own abdomen, head tilted every morning in front of the mirror to see if anything, even slightly, had changed and altered in between the few hours that passed by. She didn’t want to miss a moment, not a single change, all of it utterly fascinating.

“Right here,” Gon hummed, head bending down to press a ring of kisses into her skin, “there’s a little bump.”

Tae-Eul sighed as she stared down icily at Gon. She may have been a confident woman, but his words, as innocent as they were, still held the connotations that it wasn’t the baby, but her own weight.

“I’m eating a lot, but not that much…”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Gon looked up, stretching to cup her face as he looked sincerely at his beloved wife. “I know your body well, very well, in case you forgot.”

His hand moved from her face, grabbing her free hand with his and pulling it down to her abdomen, right over her womb where he had pressed the circle of kisses into her skin and then looking back up through his lashes.

“Here, feel that?” Gon murmured, lips curling up into a proud grin. “That’s our baby.”

Tae-Eul snorted, eyes changing from nearly offended to sparkle with a smile that matched her husband’s, indulging Gon for a moment even though she felt no obvious change. Nothing was different to her, nothing obvious enough for her to notice at least.

“I don’t feel anything different.”

Gon shrugged and smiled. No, maybe she wouldn’t feel anything like he did. Tae-Eul had the wondrous privilege of carrying their baby everywhere as a piece of her, perhaps the changes wouldn’t be so obvious because she was changing with them.

“I’ll ask your appa if he notices anything changing in our visit next week.”

It was without fail that they returned to Seoul, to her father every week for dinner, right on the Monday, the first day of the working week when it was the least suspicious to go up there. Just as they had said they would. It worked out to be the day that no one would bat an eyelash at, and Tae-Eul enjoyed the routine of starting every week with a visit to her dad. Every week that passed was another moment Tae-Eul needed to share with him, another milestone to celebrate. 

The security plans in place were foolproof, planned down to the minute, and for that reason it was simply easier for them to depart for Seoul at the same time every week. More importantly, Gon had known how much Tae-Eul looked forward to visiting her father, the trips anchored her, a balm for any anxiety or exhaustion she felt from her pregnancy. He didn’t want Tae-Eul to have to wait for him at the cost of spending time with her father if any work-related emergency arose, and the pair came to an agreement that she would travel to Seoul as planned even on the rare occasion that Gon wouldn’t be able to join her, and that he would follow once he wrapped up work.  

Do-In himself was delighted with the weekly visits, seeing his daughter so frequently, her familiar features rounding as her pregnancy progressed. It was uncanny how identical his daughter’s own pregnancy was with his wife’s, and his eyes still lit up with an unfathomable brightness when he heard updates of a growing baby once more, this time about his grandchild from the mouth of his beautiful daughter. 

Every week, she would tell him about how big his grandbaby was, all the while hanging onto the bowl he had gently placed in her hands. It was always fruit, vivid shades of colour, carefully cut up into bite sized pieces, like she was still a child. 

“Why fruit appa, I know it’s good for the baby,” Tae-Eul had asked once, taking a bite of an orange that sat on the top of the pile, “but so is samgyupsal or beef”.

“Your eomma liked fruit when she was pregnant with you.” He told her, getting up to pat her head before disappearing off towards the kitchen once more, “exactly like that.”

Tae-Eul didn’t mention it after that, always happily accepting the bowl of fruit like it was a golden apple from the Hesperides gardens. Even if Lady Noh had fed her fruit for a week straight leading up to her visit, it wasn’t the same as her father's offerings, which tasted sweeter and caused a warm flutter in her chest, always feeling a little closer to her mother in those moments, curled up on the couch, fruit bowl in hand.

Do-In’s favourite gift had been when the pair had brought up a little audio clip, a week after telling him, the little sirenic whumps of his grandchild’s heartbeat reducing him to tears in his daughter's arms, as he cradled her a little closer. In that moment all he could see was Ha-Ran mesmerized by Tae-Eul’s own baby heart flutters three decades before.

Although Do-In loved his son-in-law visiting too, bearing stories of Tae-Eul’s antics and habits while pregnant, his most closely cherished moments were of his daughter pottering around the house during her visits alone, when she would quietly flip through family albums, exchanging memories of her childhood. Ha-Ran would have wanted exactly this, to dote on Tae-Eul as if she were a toddler all over again, bringing her warm drinks consistently and making sure she was well-fed. Do-in wondered if Tae-Eul ever missed Ha-Ran during these moments. 

She did. Tae-Eul’s heart ached whenever she entered her childhood home, one hand on her growing baby. It was in those moments that she wanted her mother the most, for all the little things that only she would know the answer to. Tae-Eul had read that knowing what one’s own mother’s pregnancy was like held benefits for expecting mothers. But she didn’t have that, all she could rely on was her father’s recount of the events.

Do-In told her about the way her mother had cried at every available moment. Once even bursting into tears in the dojo, halfway through a kick, before heavily sitting down on the mats and just letting the tears run down her face. Tae-Eul wanted to laugh when her father had admitted all he could do was mildly, though Tae-Eul doubted it was mild at all, panic and fret while her mother cried.

Then how her mother had doubled the grocery bill while pregnant with her, but wouldn’t cook, so he cooked every meal without fail even when he came home late. How the fridge would always be full with banchan and leftover food so that Ha-Ran could eat whenever hunger struck her.

“Appa?” Tae-Eul had asked one day, curled up on the couch, sorting through old photos of her mother even though they stabbed at her heart a little, feeling those memories fade with time. “I know you said eomma ate a lot and cried a lot when she was pregnant with me, but what else was it like? Was she sick or was she like me?”

There was a great pause as the question digested in the air and her father reappeared from around the corner, his eyes a little weary though they brightened when he finally looked down at her form on their sofa.

“Hmm, well Tae-Eul-ah.” His voice was gruff as he sat down next to her, eyes looking up as he racked his brain for all the little details she wanted. “She got really sick for the first trimester, you know she couldn’t even stand the smell of the kimchi for a few days.”

Tae-Eul snickered, but nodded. Do-In’s eyes glittered, a fond smile slowly surfacing as he turned back to her. It was a little funny, Do-In agreed, he had laughed a little at Ha-Ran even though her eyes would turn dark and she would curse him out for being the cause of that misery.

“But she was much better in the second trimester and then we had you.” He concluded, “you must be lucky to not be getting sick. Your eomma is watching out for you.”

Tae-Eul hoped so, she didn’t know if she could have done this alone without any familial feminine guidance on the subject. It was like going into a room blind, even though Gon was there holding her hand, with her father trailing behind to support them should anything happen.

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Week 10: You definitely have a bump now my zero. You look so beautiful. Our little one is growing so fast, we’ll know whether or not they are a wonja or a gongju. Sweet baby, eomma and appa can’t wait to meet you. The internet says you’re the size of a strawberry this week, I had to tell you because eomma was craving them.

“Do you want to think about names?” 

Tae-Eul peered up from her book, perched contentedly on the sofa in their room, over at Gon who was hovering over a bookshelf. She was only short of twelve weeks, on the cusp of exiting the turbulent, wavering first trimester and more importantly, in the window to first determine the gender. It had been a silent mutual agreement, that they both wanted to know whether they’d been blessed with a son or daughter, equally happy with either as long as their baby was healthy. 

“We find out in two weeks…” Tae-Eul trailed off, seeing the bright, hopeful look in Gon’s eyes, the elation that hadn’t worn off since she first told him of their baby’s existence. His hands were clasped around a book, one that looked well worn, the soft baby yellow a little lackluster under the light. “What is that?”

“A baby name book, I found it.” Gon told her, looking down to the cover, thumb brushing the front. The last couple who needed it, its last owners would’ve been his parents, who had clearly doted over the book long before he was born, dreaming about him. “It was my parents’.”

“One character right? That’s the tradition isn’t it.” Tae-Eul asked, setting aside her book and waving him over. She couldn’t resist his look, and she wanted to name the little flutter in her stomach so it wasn’t always referred to as ‘the baby’.

“Naming custom says one, but—”

“One is okay. They can be just like their appa and their halabeoji.” Tae-Eul grinned, pulling the book from his hands and opening it to a random page, near the back. Gon snorted but sat next to her, pulling her against his side to keep her warm, bodies touching as they poured over the various names and the unending variants of hanja meanings that followed them.

It was like finding a needle in a haystack without having seen the needle before. Like searching blindly for something that was just right with no guidelines, trusting they would find the correct answer.  

“How about Hyuk?” Tae-Eul shook her head as the words escaped from her mouth, frowning at the name. It was as if something didn’t sit right as she spoke the words into existence, like it didn’t belong to the baby in her womb. “I like the meaning, abundant, shining. But—”

“It doesn’t sit right?” Gon looked at her, knowing what the little scrunch of her nose was alluding to as she pondered the name. His finger tracing the printed name on the paper. “Lee Hyuk is a good name. Flames. Like their mother, but we can find something with a similar meaning.”

“I’ll ask the baby what they think.” Tae-Eul murmured, putting a hand down on her belly to see if there was a resounding response. Alas, nothing, not a flutter of movement or churn of her stomach. “I think that’s a no. Baby doesn’t like Hyuk.” 

“Also,” Tae-Eul said, setting a wholly unimpressed look at her husband, “my name does not mean flames.” Gon should, likely did know, that her name did not in fact mean that at all. Their wedding had included the official hanja, it was very much present on their marriage certificate and everything else. He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead before forming a reply.

“No, your personality.” Gon looked at her, only to be pushed away in mock annoyance. She was sure that their baby had Gon’s temperament already, gentle, sweet, because so far her pregnancy had seemed to be so easy. Even their doctor had commented on the ease she was feeling comparatively. “Not Hyuk then.”

They sat in silence once more, eyes darting along the pages, searching each name for something more. 

“Hye?” Tae-Eul whispered, “Lee Hye.” 

Tae-Eul sighed, lips pursing as her eyes became unfocused, staring off into a space that Gon was not privy to. Gon’s hand came to her thigh, stroking her knee until she finally came to a resolution on what she thought of the name.

“No, not that either.” She looked at Gon with an already tired look, nothing was right, but perhaps it was just because she had no idea what was perfect for their child. “This is harder than I thought.”

“We’ll find one, we don’t have to choose now.” Gon pushed her hair back from her face, even though he agreed, in theory, baby name choosing was much easier than it appeared to be in reality. Even with the limited naming pool, there were still hundreds of names with a thousand meanings attached to them.

The room lapsed into peaceful silence again, Tae-Eul shifting in her seat, pulling her feet up and underneath her body, positioning herself to curl even more into Gon, prepared to dig herself into this book. She still wanted potential names to call her baby anything but ‘baby’.

“Hyeon, Lee Hyeon.” Tae-Eul said, testing the name on her tongue, looking up at Gon with a mildly pleased look. “It has virtuous and shining meanings attached to it like Hyuk.”

“Let’s set it aside.” Gon hummed, eyes glinting with hope that scratched at Tae-Eul’s heart and made her chest puff up with pride, akin to a beautifully coloured bird on display for its mate. She grinned, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips before diving back into the list of names.

“Hoon?” Gon commented, watching as Tae-Eul cocked her head, eyes narrowing at the new name suggestion placed in front of them. 

“Hoon? Lee Hoon?” Her nose scrunched and she shook her head, something didn’t sit well with that name either. Their baby must’ve agreed too, staying motionless and silent in her womb, no reaction to the suggestion. “Baby doesn’t like that either.”

Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of the name just below that, one that she was so very familiar with, the word balling up in her throat as she looked at Gon and then back to the name so proudly on display.

“Ho.” She whispered, a tentative question, lips tensing as she glanced up at him. Gon just stared down at the name of his father, not blinking, entirely motionless for a moment as he digested the very real possibility of what she was suggesting. “What about after your father if it’s a boy? With the name meaning, tiger. For a baby born in the year of the tiger.”

Then Gon blinked, once and then twice, mouth twitching as he thought over his wife’s offer. To name their child after his father who had not lived to see him grow up, to see his happiness with her, to meet his grandchild. A part of him wanted to nod, say yes, to honor a great man, loving and gentle, but something deeper held him back like a vice, constricting around his heart.

“To name our child after him is…” Gon breathed, eyes focusing as he looked down at Tae-Eul with solemn eyes that spoke volumes of the oceans of thought behind them.

“Is it because of his fate?” Tae-Eul asked quietly, one of her hands leaving the book to find his, smaller hand intertwining, thumb caressing the back as she waited for an answer she already knew. “That if we name the baby after him, something…” 

Tae-Eul’s eyes darkened at the thought, voice trailing off as she sucked in a breath, was it an unlucky name? Gon gave her an equally dark look, a deep set fear lingering in his eyes of a trauma unerasable from his mind.

“I just want you to live long and healthy. For our baby to be healthy, to live for a long time. To see their own children grow.” Gon told her, “I love abeoji, but if a name is to their detriment with history repeating itself, I can’t.”

Her lip quivered at the solemn, vowed promise in his voice to protect their child, even from superstition or possibility. While Gon was a man of reason and logic, he could be ruled by emotion, driven to impulse because of it, but those sides were reserved almost exclusively for situations concerning her, and now concerning their child.

“Tae. For their eomma.” Gon looked at her, the name falling from his lips like a love letter to her, eyes sparkling in the faint light overhead as he gave her a goofy smile, lightening the air. Tae-Eul’s mood switched from the solemnity of his father's name, to incredulity of him wanting to name their child after her. “Typhoon like you, or beautiful like their eomma, maybe great like—”

“Eomma.” Tae-Eul snorted, “then if it's a boy we’re naming him after his appa. No, I do not accept objections” 

Gon chuckled, eyes crinkling up into the smiles that made identical ones form on her own eyes as he played with the idea of her offer, their children named after her for the penance of one named after him? It was the easiest, most gleeful deal he ever struck. 

“Deal.” He nodded, “if they’re anything like me then they’ll be able to find a love rivalling ours.”

“On second thought, deal’s off.” Tae-Eul rejected, “I pity my future daughter finding someone as—”

“Wonderful. Amazing. Loving.”

“Persistent.” Tae-Eul pushed him away with an even wider, faux exasperated grin on her face as she curled up to Gon just a little more. “Persistent even though we were universes away.”

“But I got to love you, so it was worth it.” Gon hummed, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then to her lips as Tae-Eul melted a little in his arms, even though his words were utterly cheesy. He was right though, loving one another was worth the pain and misery they had endured to get to that moment.

“How about Chul? Does that strike you in the heart? Lee Chul?” Tae-Eul giggled, imagining the name belonging to a tiny Gon, running after his father. “Maybe Lee Joon, playing in the stables with you?”

“Chae or Jae?” Gon retorted, “mine are for a boy and girl. But all of them are in the pile.”

“Lee Jin.” Tae-Eul breathed, the name sat funny, a little sharp at the edge for her likings until a thought hit her. “Maybe not on second thought. Didn’t we go to a world where your tyrant self was Lee Jin?”

“Not Jin.” Gon confirmed, very distinctively remembering the fear behind the eyes of the few citizens that had seen them, the paper very openly calling from his abdication of the throne or the total abolishment of the Royal family itself. “What about Eun?”

Tae-Eul tossed the name around in her mouth, a warm feeling blooming in her chest as she hummed in mild agreement at the name, non-verbally confirming to add it to the maybe pile as a possibility.

“We could name the baby after Yeong or In-Young?” Tae-Eul suggested, her thoughts going to two of the closest people in the world to her after Gon, two people she would be incredibly proud for her child to bear the name of if it meant they got even one of their traits from it. “But it might inflame the JoGon debate.” 

Tae-Eul giggled, throwing her head back at the very thought of the flood of comments that would most certainly come through. Seung-Ah had been incredibly vocal telling her about all the stories and rumours that had long circled not only the country, but abroad about the pair. Even after their marriage, there was still a devoted following who believed it was a marriage totally for show and that in fact, JoGon was real and she was dating In-Young.

“Probably.” Gon whispered to her, his grin cracking wide as he held in his own laughter at the ill-fated love match by the devoted netizens who had wanted it so badly for decades. “How about Yeon?”

Tae-Eul nearly stiffened, she had dreamed about a baby, one that had shared that name. It was a beautiful name, one that promised the idyllic fantasy that had been encapsulated in her dream.

“Lee Yeon is a beautiful name.” She agreed, looking down through the book for any other names to add to the limited list of names they had compiled in the one session sitting down together. “Seong maybe? Lee Seong is pretty too. It means strong. Victory. This is our victory, us being together. Or star. That’s pretty too.”

“It’s worth any pain.” Gon murmured to her, and meant it wholeheartedly. He would repeat every moment to get back to her in every lifetime, accept any pain as long as he had her. 

It had been a victory. It still was. They had won the war to be together, won a fight that many might have deemed hopeless. Now they were reaping the rewards of being together, creating the little life they both had dreamed of, coveting the secret just so it could be another moment just for the two of them until they had to share it with the world.

It was still technically a secret, though a painfully obvious one that anyone with eyes could see past. Or as Seung-Ah and Yeong had politely stated, anyone with a brain could recognise the signs of an incoming baby, that the dynamic they shared had fundamentally shifted.

It wasn’t Tae-Eul that everyone had their eyes on, though she was the one pregnant. Tae-Eul hid their secret with the proficiency of an incredibly well trained spy. Nothing about her, not a single sign was damning evidence that just under her skin was a small, extraordinary precious new life.

Her hands did not stray to her bump, even though they twitched to do so. The only place she allowed herself that freedom was in the private safety of their bedroom, in the study or within the bright foliage of her greenhouse. Tae-Eul was also not showing yet, so there were no obvious signs of a bump or waddling, though she had noticed just the slightest roundness around her face already, her cheeks a little puffier than usual. The other ace up her sleeve was that she did not have to flinch or protectively cover herself, her guards stuck to her like glue, barely a meter away, ensuring no one strayed too close.

In fact, the only thing that the public really saw was the newfound glow she had been sporting. Something obvious to everyone, including herself. Everything was a little brighter, even when Tae-Eul knew she had only slept a few hours and was bone tired, her skin was still luminous. Any rumours arising from this were brushed off as a new skincare routine, an excuse that might’ve worked, if not for one little factor.

Despite having lived under the spotlight for decades, affection for Tae-Eul was one thing Gon was unable to truly hide. This was never a problem during their relationship, but the existence of their little one had made Gon the proudest man to walk the face of the Earth, a quiet, steady confidence that thrummed above an electric undercurrent of pride that the public latched onto. He exuded an elated aura that was infectious to anyone in a square kilometer radius, with perpetually bright eyes and a permanent, genuine smile adorning his face.

It was Gon who was instinctively holding Tae-Eul closer than usual, looking at her like she had hung the moon. The public was enraptured by the way his fingers brushed her abdomen in passing or when he curled an arm around her waist to keep her next to him. It was unmissable how his eyes never strayed from her, regardless of where or whom was in front of him, watching her as if she was about to disappear in a moment's notice. 

No one missed how Gon was so very keenly protective of his wife, always first out of the car and at her door before she emerged, always on the side that opened to the road, and last in the car when they left. He sat down only after he had ensured she was comfortable, always gave up the only seat for her, lingering around the chair like a tiger would its cub. It hadn’t gone amiss that Tae-Eul was suspiciously not wearing heels nearly as often as she used to, substituting them for any flatter alternative in existence, the further pronounced height difference making it more apparent how Gon practically curled himself around Tae-Eul like a human shield.

The public, Seung-Ah had gleefully informed them, adored the way Gon looked at her, eyes shining, how he would gently push back any stray hair, press kisses to her temple with inaudible whispers, a kiss to the cheek on the rare occasions he had to leave her side, or the reverent, fleeting kisses he dropped on her shoulders when they were exposed to him, even though he knew it would be on the front page of every gossip channel within the hour. It wasn’t just ajummas hedging their bets now for a little prince or princess for the new year, the entire country was on the edges of their seats, obsessively looking at all forms of social media linked with the palace, feverishly consuming any potential gossip leaking from the palace.

It was quiet for the entirety of January, excitement building up as February appeared over the horizon. An announcement was hotly anticipated for the holiday, any and all tickets to get inside sold out in moments, with even more due to watch the national broadcast with feverish hope that the words would spill out.

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Week 11. Lunar New Year is tomorrow, another beautiful year with you, now with our little baby on their way. I know we’re waiting until next week, but I have never felt so happy in my life that I want to tell everyone tomorrow. Baby, appa is already so proud of you, I want the time to pass quickly so I can meet you soon. Keep growing, I love you little tiger.

Lunar New Year came once more, and still there was nothing from the palace. The night had passed with a passionate speech welcoming in the year of the tiger, both monarchs glowing under the lights in coordinated outfits, with wide, warm smiles, circling each other like yin and yang, and saying absolutely nothing the public was so desperate to hear.

Then there was the pit of despair from the public that it was possibly all a figment of imagination and they in fact were not expecting a child. But then the seventh came, six days after the Lunar New Year conference, and it had been a quiet day. The sun was on full display in the magnificent blue sky, not so cold for the end of winter, the first of the birds returning for the spring in the sky.

A single post had changed that peaceful day from a dime in a dozen to one in a million. The Royal Court and the Press Office announced what everyone had been waiting to hear with a singular line, that the Royal Couple was expecting, that they had been for twelve weeks, with a baby due at the end of summer. It was like an explosion of celebration for the anticipation of a new baby born into the Royal family for the first time in thirty-five years, happiness on behalf of the beloved King that grew up before their eyes and the new, but no less cherished Queen, thousands of flower bouquets suddenly appearing at the gates of the palace with congratulatory messages attached.

Gon and Tae-Eul didn’t have another engagement for the following days, quietly absorbing the blessings and elation which seemed to overflow into the palace, so akin to how they had felt themselves when they first heard the news.  

When she returned to her engagements, Tae-Eul still wasn’t showing yet and Lady Noh was still rugging her up in copious amounts of clothing to keep her warm in the dying winter, but people clamoured to capture a glimpse of her, even though the tinted windows of the sedan. She had never seen so many people lining up at every side to see her, Gon’s hand carefully placed on the small of her back to keep her right next to him as Yeong and In-Young led them wherever they were due to be. 

Everyone who greeted her had a smile wider than she had ever seen, rivalling that of Gon’s, fully prepared to ask her a hundred questions about the baby, to make sure they were both happy and healthy. It was akin to a large extended family bonding over a new addition, bursting with laughter and joy. Tae-Eul was inundated with flowers, hundreds of bunches and bouquets gifted to her. Hundreds of colours and a million shades of each, all radiating wonderful perfumes and smells that made her grin grow wider, almost aching her cheeks with happiness. Their home was a sight for a flower festival, with more varieties and shades, colours and arrangements than any florist could dream of. They littered the front gates, along the coastal walkway to their home and Tae-Eul, when perched at the highest point of the palace grounds, could see how loose petals had escaped their masters, floating in the breeze and carried away in the ocean.

Seung-Ah and the rest of the Press Office had been drowned in well wishes, not just from their fellow countrymen, but from overseas. The media blew up, not just domestically, but internationally with hundreds of requests for statements and quotes. They had congratulations from every other world leader and then some, with gifts arriving in droves.

At that point Tae-Eul almost felt overwhelmed, it was one thing to receive congratulations but another to see the sheer volume of gifts solely dedicated to their little one, and she had cried into Gon’s chest at the ferocious realisation that their baby was already loved not just by them and their family, but the entire world. Their baby had the entire world at their fingertips and they couldn’t even hear yet.

Tae-Eul adored all the gifts people had bought and sent, heart squeezing every time she saw a new stack of boxes and parcels from strangers who all basked in the same joy she was experiencing. But her favourite gifts had been from those closest to her. Seung-Ah had chosen a pair of little cream boots adorned with stars and Secretary Mo had given them the softest cream cashmere blanket. However, one gift stood out from the rest as her absolute favourite, at least until her father finally told her what the glint in his eye was about.

Lady Noh had appeared one evening while they had been cooped up in their study, laughing over baby books when she had gently knocked on the door carrying a satin covered box in her hands. Her eyes had sparkled as she offered them the gift with a single note that it was for their unborn baby, disappearing as fast as she came.

Tae-Eul had been entirely calm, until she finally pulled the lid off and her hands had started to shake a little at the sight of a little hand knitted tiger doll. Like Seung-Ah’s and Mo’s, it was soft and warm, but it held another quality that made her hands shake as she picked it up and held it in front of her, the tiger’s defiant eyes staring her down in a way that made her eyes well with happiness. Their baby’s first teddy.

‘A little tiger to watch over the little tiger gongju or wonju, a fitting companion for a baby born in the year of the tiger.’

The first week returning to her childhood home following the formal announcement had been laden with nerves. Not to return home, but for the newfound awareness that people were looking for her, looking at her.

Even though the trips were done with the utmost secrecy and no one actually knew that the Royal couple left the capital weekly, always with the same destination, the same route and the same guards, the announcement had ignited a new sense of wariness in Gon and Tae-Eul, just in case anyone was to stop them without the usual battalion.

“Appa!” Tae-Eul called, hovering over another album of photos. Instead of them being the ones with her mother in various stages of pregnancy, they were the ones of her growing up.

From her tiny dobok, with the little belt that showed ‘Duckling’ proudly, to the flowers she had picked one Children’s Day. There were moments filled with ice cream and candy, brightly coloured and sticky in a way that only slightly discoloured polaroids showed. Her lips curled at the carefree, lighthearted smile that shone through, chest aching when Tae-Eul saw her mother’s own expression matching her little one.

There was her first day of school, in that ugly bright yellow uniform that she actually remembered. Tae-Eul couldn’t remember much else of those days, but the uniform had stuck in her mind. In the photo, she stood proudly in between her parents, who looked so young, her mother in a floral dress and her father ever so dapper in a sweater vest.

“Mmhm?” Her father hummed from the other room, Tae-Eul blinked, head cocking as she searched the photos. She was up to a point where she had to be at least three, or just older, sometime in the winter with the date proudly marked ‘1994’.

“Appa, out of curiosity, why did you and eomma never have another kid?” Tae-Eul asked, “was it too expensive? Or was I too much hard work?”

At her last point she laughed, but it was a serious question. Tae-Eul had, at one point in her life, wanted a sibling. At least in this world. In the Republic, she had Eun-Seob and then Na-Ri. She hadn’t been short of companionship as a child in the same way she had been here. 

“Tae-Eul-ah…” Her father peeked around the corner, a weary look in his eyes as he caught sight of her. It made her take in a breath as she felt something heavier coming her way. 

“What’s wrong?” He didn’t say anything for a moment, taking a seat down next to her on the couch, “you don’t have to tell me.”

“I made a promise to myself when you were a baby that I wouldn’t lie to you, and I wouldn’t hide things.” Do-In finally spoke, giving her a deep, thoughtful look as if a weight on his chest was pulling him to the floor of the ocean. “I’m not going to break it now.”

Tae-Eul wanted to say something, but she couldn’t will any words from her vocal chords, nothing could be said to disturb the silence that had overcome the room at his statement. She wanted to tell him that it would be okay, that she would understand if he couldn’t speak about it or wanted to break his own personal vow. But Tae-Eul knew her father too well, he was a man of immense honour and integrity. He couldn’t break it. Not even in the face of a question that seemed to age him by the second.

“We hadn’t planned you, but when your mother told me she was pregnant. I was so, so happy. We both were.” Do-In began quietly, his voice just about a whisper, but it was like a shout in the silence. “Ha-Ran glowed every minute, even when she was sick and I was holding her hair back. I hated going to work when she was in the first trimester, I was always worried sick about both of you.”

He swallowed and then Tae-Eul sucked in a gasp of air into lungs that had been paralysed by the story. She hated that this wasn’t something simple, it couldn’t be not with the build up her father was creating, she could almost anticipate the punch to the gut that was oncoming. Like the hair on the back of her neck standing up on its ends, waiting, frozen.

“I wasn’t lying when I said your mother had an easier time after the first three months. It was normal, or as close as it could be. Shortly after the twelfth week scan, after we knew you were a little Tae-Eul not a Tae-Hyun, our doctor spotted an anomaly.” He continued, brows furrowing as his hands laced together in his lap. Tae-Eul was leaning forward, nearly to the edge of her seat, hand protectively covering her own baby,  jaw clenched and waiting.

“Your placenta was covering the cervix. Initially, there was belief that it would go away or it would move as you grew. I didn’t want your eomeoni to be more anxious than she already was, so we decided to focus on building your cot and picking out little dresses to put you in. But when your eomeoni started bleeding in the third trimester, that’s when the anomaly has developed into something else.” Tae-Eul’s head listed a hundred different syndromes and conditions, her list was narrowing by the second as her brows furrowed and eyes widened.

“The scan that we had after that had confirmed that it was more than just a poorly placed placenta. We had to be careful after that, your eomma…” Do-In looked down to his hands as they wrung together, as if the news was still fresh and not from over three decades before. As if it had turned out badly. She felt the pit in her stomach deepen as she waited.

“Appa…” Tae-Eul whispered, her voice nearly cracking as she so badly wanted to console him, but was frozen to her spot on the other side of the couch, limbs made of stone, too heavy for her body to move. She could do nothing to comfort her father at that moment.

“It had embedded too deep, so the doctor told us to pick a day in the next few weeks, to pick your birthday. To ensure both yours and your eomma’s survival, an early C-Section and then a hysterectomy had to be performed.” He said, “which meant you would become our one and only precious little miracle.”

“Did you and eomma ever want more children? Before you knew?” Tae-Eul whispered, a tear dripping down her cheek as she stared at her father with bright, shining eyes as a weight continued to hang on her heart.

“Maybe before you were born, but when I saw you that day. A little pink, wailing in your mother’s arms, you became my whole world.” Do-In told her, “I didn’t care that we couldn’t have another baby because you were enough. I was and still am, so, so happy you picked us.”

Her body moved instinctively, nestling into her father’s side as they just sat there, on the couch, in the silence of the city, three generations of Jeongs together within the safe haven that Do-In had built. Tae-Eul could feel her father’s arms wrap around her and hold her just a little closer.

“I’m glad I chose you too. You’re the best appa I could’ve asked for. Eomma was the best too.”

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The twelfth week could not have come soon enough, presenting itself like a great triumph at the end of a great struggling fight. A victory, one of many both parents knew were to come. They had only just announced it, the first baby expected by the Royal Family in decades, safely at the cusp of the end of the first trimester, hearts just a little lighter.

It was not just the relief of having this secret off their chests, free to share with the world, basking in the glow that was expectant parenthood not just with the people closest to them, but all the people who had watched Gon grow up, had rooted for his happiness, finally seeing it come to fruition. But, because the twelfth week was the first possible week to determine the gender of the baby resting inside her womb. 

Tae-Eul had been so eagerly awaiting the moment, bouncing with energy at every waking moment, wondering if those fantastical, mesmerising dreams she had been enraptured by at night had even an inkling of truth. She had been, night after night, led back down the baby blue corridor, back to Gon and their little son, cradled in his arms.

Her heart always skipped a beat thinking about the picture of Gon, all his features miniaturised onto the face of their son, giggling with the purest of joyful smiles as he beckoned her own to him. Even in her waking hours, she wondered about that little boy, whether he would be just as she hoped, gentle and intelligent like his father, whether or not he would have the wonderful heart Gon had. Tae-Eul was without a doubt he would, never able to imagine a world where that was not the case.

She didn’t know if Gon had been imagining their baby, whether he saw the little boy that had taken over her dreams, or whether he saw something else or nothing at all, that he was just happy their baby was growing strong and healthy. All Tae-Eul knew was that Gon’s smile hadn’t left, his every footstep just a tad lighter, caresses a little softer, beaming with a pride that she understood fully, created entirely by their baby.

Gon had been dreaming though. His dreams filled with Tae-Eul, her laughter as she cradled a pink bundle in amongst the beautiful greenery of her greenhouse, whispering sweet nothings into the ear of their daughter. Some dreams, it was just a baby girl, only a few months old, but others, it was a little toddler, in a beautiful copy of her mother's outfits, the picture of Tae-Eul. He could see the same stubborn personality that made her nose scrunch and eyes light up with an inextinguishable fire only sated with getting what they had set out to do.

But, both knew that regardless of the fantasy they had concocted in their heads, the little dream of a baby held by one another, the only tangible thing they longed for was a happy, healthy baby. 

The morning of their twelfth week scan was filled with anticipation. Tae-Eul had woken up long before the sun, practically bouncing in bed trying to hurry time alone. Gon was up the minute his wife was, chuckling at the sheer excitement and fervor in her eyes as she clambered out of bed towards the bathroom. He hadn’t planned on getting up so early, but when Tae-Eul head peeked out from around the corner exactly three minutes after she had disappeared, messy hair hanging as she stared at him, the peek of bare shoulders glimpsed around the wall, he knew he was getting up.

Breakfast was filled with the same energy, Tae-Eul perched in her seat in the kitchen with Gon making pajeon that made her stomach comically rumble as she watched every last step with hawk eyes, devoted to each step. Gon could see her mouth slightly open every time he flipped the pajeon on the pan, body leaning as far as it could to the food without leaving the seat. His lips curved at the corners, passing every freshly made pajeon to her plate until she had stopped eating like a ravenous little wolf.

Gon was sure that her appetite had doubled since becoming pregnant, all their meals a few dishes larger. Seung-Ah had joked that it had to be a boy with his mother's appetite, laughing harder when Tae-Eul flipped the bird at her, cheeks stuffed like a squirrel only furthering her point. Gon thought it just meant it was a little girl, exactly like her mother, with an appetite to rival hers. He only wished she wouldn’t share her mother’s penchant for alcohol.

Yeong and In-Young waited for them at the door, the car ready for them to leave for the hospital, they’d be the first in, the whole path cleared for them by the plethora of guards that accompanied them everywhere. Tae-Eul thought it was a waste having an entire floor shut down, but she was the only one who had any reservations, Gon backed by Yeong and In-Young in the situation. It was nice though, knowing they had the undivided attention of Doctor Kang, a room where they could experience all the magical moments of seeing their baby before they joined them in August.

Neither could sit still in the back of the car, though Gon was marginally better than Tae-Eul. She had shifted half a dozen times, pulling at the seatbelt, petting her belly once and then twice, humming as she looked out the tinted windows at the passing buildings, the commuters on their way to work, blinking at the trams that passed. It had been the one thing about Busan she still couldn’t get used to, the fact they were just a normal thing here, while they hadn’t been back in the Republic.

Gon’s hand found hers, thumb caressing the back of her hand, capturing her attention back to him, giving her an equally excited look. Her bouncing only increased as she caught sight of the hospital in the distance, almost leaning forward in her seat as if to reach it a little faster, hand tightening against Gon’s as she sucked in an excited breath, looking over to him with a childlike look of glee.

Tae-Eul wasn’t sure how to articulate into words that her heart was racing faster than any other point in her life. It hadn’t been this fast when she had met Gon, nor when she had been stabbed by Luna in their previous life. Her heart hadn’t raced so hard when she had walked alone, gun pointed into the void behind Lee Lim, nor had it been like this when she had finally walked down the aisle to Gon. It was a feeling that had only bloomed with their little one, something so unique to their baby, a feeling she would happily experience for the rest of her life for their little star.

She peeked over to Gon, who looked calmer than she felt, like a still ocean, with that unending smile that pulled at his lips. Tae-Eul wouldn’t admit to him, but even though he wasn’t the one pregnant, he glowed with an innate happiness that hadn’t left his being for weeks, something she wouldn’t give up for the world. He tensed as they pulled up to the hospital, car driving down into the underground parking lot that was for the exclusive use of doctors and VIP’s, stopping right at the doors, even though Tae-Eul threw her head back at the obvious violation of traffic laws.

“I know I’ve said it before, but this is a traffic violation Yeong-ah.” Tae-Eul told him, pointing her finger towards the guard in question, carefully undoing her belt as Gon slipped out from the car to race around and greet her at her own door. 

“Yes Mama, but it is also a safety matter of the Royal Family, therefore trumping traffic laws.” Yeong sighed, “besides, it is a private lot of the Royal Corean University Hospital, which is owned and funded by the Royal Family, so this is technically owned by you and Pyeha, therefore we can park here.”

Tae-Eul rolled her eyes, it seemed like every week he had a new way to rebut her argument that parking even a few metres away from the entrance was deemed ‘not fit for them’ and colourfully had managed to avoid her preference to not flout the law that she had spent years protecting and upholding. For the most part.

“I own a hospital too?”

Her ramblings were stopped when the door opened, Gon appearing in her field of vision, a hand offered out as Tae-Eul alighted the car. They were surrounded almost immediately, In-Young and Yeong immediately next to them, one slightly in front with the other slightly behind, several other plainly clothed guards appearing around them as they headed for the elevator that would take them straight up to where they were needed.

She was bouncing around once more, hand slightly tugging on Gon’s as she eyed the bright red numbers, glaring at them in an effort to silently force them to flicker faster. Tae-Eul had never felt quite the sense of impatience that she had while being pregnant with their little one, wanting the wait to be over so badly, to finally hold their baby in her arms.

Tae-Eul could feel the rumble of laughter from Gon, who was far more interested in her, his smile even wider when she finally turned to face him, scrunching her nose at him before turning back to the forsaken metal doors of the all too slow elevator.

“If I really own this hospital I want a faster elevator.” Tae-Eul murmured, even as the chime dinged above her, the doors carefully opening to an empty floor. In-Young was out just faster than Tae-Eul whose hand, tightly interlocked with Gon’s, was dragging him out as well with Yeong taking up the rear.

Tae-Eul could feel Gon almost directly behind her, keeping pace with her, body still rumbling with laughter as she powered down the white corridors, directly for the room Doctor Kang would be in, patting her belly in reassurance that she was about to reunite the little life within.

In-Young got to the door first, knuckles rapping sharply against the wood and stepping inside firstly. It was only for a split second, enough time for the rest of the group to catch up, and the guardswoman to step back out with a firm nod that all was well and safe. Tae-Eul was first in the room once again, closely followed by Gon whose hands had migrated from hers, to her waist, standing just behind his wife.

“Mama. Pyeha.” Mo-Yeon bowed, standing from her seat with a bright smile on her face. “Everything has been set up, if you would like to take a seat. We’ll begin shortly.”

It was routine from there, in the weeks she had done this, Tae-Eul had become familiar with all the little things she needed to do. She’d sit firstly, recount any new changes, little questions, Gon would ask a few more questions from the books he had studied, before they would finally get to the ultrasound.

This week was slightly different, Tae-Eul had the harder task of bringing up newfound knowledge. Her father had told her that while he had been told many years ago that it was unlikely to be genetic, there was no harm in telling her doctor so that it could be checked, so they could be just a little safer. 

Mo-Yeon had jotted down the new information, hand flying across her keyboard as her brow furrowed and eyebrows knitted together. 

“It isn’t genetic, but now that we know, we can keep an eye out in case of anything. But please don’t worry Mama, both you and the baby have looked so healthy, nothing is going to happen. We’ll keep the little one safe.”

Tae-Eul did admit she felt a little safer hearing it from her mouth, but worried just a little bit that it could be quite the opposite and that this baby very well could be the last if it was genetic or in the very, very rare case it happened to her too. Gon’s hand hadn’t left her back the entire time, rubbing comforting circles into the skin and patting gently as  she nodded to herself and looked at Gon, exhaling.

Her heart started racing when it was finally time for her to lie back, carefully pull up her shirt for the ultrasound. Tae-Eul felt her blood race, an uncontrollable grin overtake her every feature as she took Gon’s hand and eyed the still black screen where their baby would make an appearance.

She didn’t even flinch when the cold gel made contact with her skin, even though her skin raised in little goosebumps, her heart in her throat as she tightened her grip on Gon’s hand.

“We can find out the gender this week, if that is something you’d like to do.” Mo-Yeon murmured, looking at both parents as she waited for confirmation. “We’ll do a final confirmation at 14 and 20 weeks, but we should be able to determine it this week.”

It had never been a question of whether or not they wanted to find out the gender, she had been too impatient to wait, she needed to know. She was ready to know if their baby was a girl or a boy, so the ambiguity could be done away with. They could pick a name, pick out clothing, create their nursery.

“Yes.” Tae-Eul nodded, glancing up to Gon who’s smile had just grown wider as he looked down at her with the brightest, most hopeful smile she had seen on his face thus far. “Yes, we’d like to know.”

Then there was the familiar pressure on her skin as the ultrasound began, the little black and white picture taking form on the screen, their baby visible to them once more. 

They were in a trance, locking their eyes onto the little screen, the whole world fading away as they stared at their little baby. Even if the picture was far from clear, it still took her breath away, that they had made someone so tiny, so extraordinarily precious. Tae-Eul couldn’t look away, not even if the world burned around them, nothing could pull her gaze away.

“Baby looks very healthy, they’re growing well. They’re about six centimeters, about as big as a lime.” Mo-Yeon informed them, pointing out little things on the black and white screen. “There are the feet, and…”

She trailed off, peering into the screen, she moved the angle of the wand just a little more and then smiled a little wider. Mo-Yeon’s lips moved just a little bit as she took a final glance and then turned back to them.

“It looks like you have a Gongju on the way. Congratulations.”

It felt like all the oxygen was knocked out of their lungs in that moment, the little being in front of them, carried carefully underneath her skin was a tiny, precious little girl. A hundred thousand seconds may have passed, an entire eternity, before they could breathe again, before the realisation that it was a girl had finally made a home in their brains.

Tae-Eul could feel tears well up in her eyes as she broke out into happy weeping, head falling back against the bed where she was lying. They had created a little girl, a daughter. Her breath was shaking as she finally looked at Gon who was still staring at the screen, enchanted by the image.

His eyes were alight with something bright, so pure and warm that it eclipsed the beauty of a hundred stars, warmer than any sun, as his lips slowly, but surely broke into the widest, proudest smile Tae-Eul had ever seen. In a single moment, when their eyes met, she knew that their daughter had stolen his whole heart, just like she had hers.

“We have a daughter…” He murmured, his voice still in utter heartbreaking disbelief. Tae-Eul nodded, watery giggles escaping her throat as her hand tightened in his.

“We have a daughter.”

She could see the tears welling in his own eyes as his head leaned down onto their clasped hands, as close as it could to her belly with all the gel still on her skin, chest almost heaving as he held their hands to his forehead. Tae-Eul’s grin was watery as she raised her free hand to his hair, gently petting the soft strands as she just stared at him.

“Are you happy?” It was almost a rhetorical question, Tae-Eul had seen his eyes, she knew what this all meant. Gon was happy, he had the same light in his eyes as he did when he found her, standing in her garden with that blue bouquet of forget-me-nots, as he did under the light of the street lamps in front of the church, as he did when he heard their baby’s—their daughter’s—heartbeat that first time.

When he finally looked up, it was an explosion of emotion brighter than she had ever seen for their daughter. Gon had tears tracking down his face, but remained undeterred by their audience, entirely focused on her.

“I’ve never been happier.” Gon’s voice was only barely above a whisper as he looked at her, holding her gaze with those puppy-like brown eyes that pierced a hole through her heart. “This, you make everything worth it.”

Tae-Eul wanted to say something, but their little silence, their little moment was broken by the almost magical, sirenic thumps they had barely become accustomed to. Her heart leaped into her throat again, but she didn’t look away from Gon, eyes still entirely focused on him, even when he looked away, back to the tiny screen, focused on the little flutter beating out of the almost still picture.

“It’s like butterfly wings isn’t it?” Gon whispered, voice carrying to Tae-Eul’s ears as she finally pulled herself away from his visage and to the picture of their daughter. Their daughter. It was crazy even to think about it. “Her heart. It’s like the wings of butterflies in the greenhouse.”

Tae-Eul paused, staring at their daughter’s heart, mind floating back to her greenhouse and the butterflies that inhabited it. She supposed, her heart really did look like the wings of the butterflies. A little girl, with the spirit of a tiger for the year she would be born, as beautiful as a butterfly, always bringing them happiness no matter how dark their days get. Beating and fluttering, keeping them afloat in the wind, carrying them from flower to flower. 

“Our little butterfly.”

Week 12. We have a daughter. A baby girl. Her heartbeat is like the fluttering of a butterfly's wings, so delicate. She’s our little butterfly. I can never thank you enough for being mine Jeong Tae-Eul. That you chose me, that our butterfly chose us. Thank you for making everything a little more beautiful.

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Week 13. I think your eomma thinks I’m crazy, but I know she thinks the butterfly onesie and matching mittens are cute too. I know you’re supposed to be born in summer, but we have to be prepared, little butterfly. What do you think of a butterfly themed nursery? Eomma says no real butterflies in your room for now, but we can chase them together in eomma’s greenhouse when you’re older. 

“I bought something for our baby girl.”

Tae-Eul looked over her book at her husband, standing proud and sheepish at the end of their bed, hands behind his back. Gon was not known for buying things like a normal person, his spending habits very much the example of someone who had far too much money with no sense of economical spending.

“Something? Or some things?” She narrowed her eyes. Tae-Eul was sure it would be things, it was always things. Gon would buy something in every colour and size if he had half the chance without care to the price.

“No, no I was good.” This time. “Anyway, it came this afternoon. I’m sorry I bought it without asking you first, but it was really, really cute and it will look really adorable on her.” Gon said, nodding comically and smiling widely at his wife, she was sure if he had been a child, he’d be bouncing on his feet.

Tae-Eul shook her head, she wanted to be a little annoyed, but the grin her husband was wearing was infectious. Gon’s excitement was so sincere that she didn’t even have the heart to tease him over the fact their little daughter, not even born, had him wrapped around her tiny fingers.

“Okay, let’s see what it is then.”

Gon crawled into bed with one hand, settling cross legged in front of her, giving the raised bump a kiss. Tae-Eul watched as her husband carefully laid down a onesie set in the space between them, white with pastel colored butterflies all over them, complete with mittens, a little cap, and the tiniest socks she had ever seen. She felt tears well up in her eyes, her hand delicately tracing the onesie, as if she was stroking her baby’s belly. 

“It’s so small.” Tae-Eul whispered, sniffling a little as she picked up the mittens. They weren’t even the size of her palm, extraordinarily delicate pieces of fabric, and her breath hitched as she looked up at Gon with tears in her eyes. She couldn’t help but to reach out for his hand, turning it up and placed the tiny little mitten against his palm. It barely even covered any of his palm, dwarfed in his hands.

“You did good. Her first outfit. We’ll take her home from the hospital in it.” Her hand raised, wiping away a few stray tears, sniffing a little more as she gave a watery laugh at the comical size difference. Gon’s hand gently enclosed her own as caressed her cheeks, wiping away any remaining water from her skin and when she finally looked up from underneath her lashes, she was met with a soft, incredibly proud smile and an even more excited glint in his eye.

Tae-Eul nearly laughed, inhaling shakily as she knew that look in his eye. Gon was far from subtle with her and this had very much been a test run to see what he could get away with when it came to  their little daughter. Her hand twisted, moving to hold his as she narrowed her eyes, very much sobered up from her teariness. 

“Hang on.” 

“Hmm?” Gon hummed happily, having diverted his attention to stroking her stomach. He looked up at her with an innocent glint in his eyes, even though she knew very well that it promised trouble. 

“New rule. You cannot buy out entire stores of baby clothes for her.” Tae-Eul paused, “and when she’s older, you can’t do that with toy stores either.” 

She didn’t know if her efforts would be futile, though she had the sneaking suspicion that they would be as Gon seemed all too happy to agree with her in that moment with a nod and hum of confirmation.

“I’m serious.” Tae-Eul snapped, she could see it now. Their baby would cry and Gon would move the heavens and the Earth to make her happy once more. Even if that meant having every toy manufactured on this planet under their roof, spoiling their girl beyond belief. Tae-Eul internally groaned at the conjured picture of mountains of clothes and toys that would inevitably bury them.

“I know.” Gon nodded, still smiling too innocently, leaning forward to press another kiss to her belly as she internally groaned. 

“You have to follow the spirit of the rule, not just the strict rule. You can’t just buy her anything she wants.” Tae-Eul knew she got him when his hand paused its movements for a fraction of a second. He pouted and she rolled her eyes. She knew him too well. 

“Lee Gon. Our daughter is not going to be spoilt.” 

“But we’ll spoil her, she’s our princess.” Looking at Tae-Eul’s arched eyebrow, Gon continued hurriedly, “She will not be spoilt. We won’t let that happen.”

“Uh huh,” Tae-Eul nodded, not believing a word her husband said on the matter. She was sure that without regulation, Gon would do anything for their daughter, buy absolutely anything for their daughter. This was most definitely the start of a newfound obsession at hunting down the cutest little clothes and outfits for their daughter, that would most definitely be expensive, even though it was February and their butterfly wouldn’t be born until August. 

“I will kill you if you spoil her.”

Tae-Eul was almost dumbfounded as Gon leaned into her belly, peppering kisses on the skin as he went to whisper to their daughter. 

“Hey little butterfly, you won’t let your eomma kill me right?” Tae-Eul scoffed when Gon peered up at her through his lashes, “maybe just hit me really hard. But you’ll protect me so I’ll still be around to give you cudd— Ow!” 

Tae-Eul had flicked his forehead, turning his full attention to her as she shook her head at him. Even though he annoyed her, just a little, she couldn’t help the fond stare that always made itself present when she laid eyes on her husband. Her hand snaked up, covering his over her swollen stomach, sighing as she let her head fall back.

“Appa won’t get killed so long as he doesn’t completely spoil you.” Tae-Eul sniffed, feeling the rumble of Gon’s chest as he chuckled, sitting up on his knees, carefully depositing the onesie set on the bedside table and carefully maneuvered his girls into his arms as he laid them down and pulled the covers over all three of them.

“I want to be an appa like yours.” Gon whispered as Tae-Eul buried herself a little further into Gon’s chest, letting him curl protectively around her. 

“Hmm?”

“Your appa. He loves you so much, but he also knows how and when to let you go and you still look at him like he’s your safe place.” Gon placed his hand over her stomach again, speaking firmly but gently, “I want to be her safe place.” 

“You will be.” Tae-Eul nodded, eyes welling with fresh tears at the honesty behind his words, like they were more a hopeful plea than anything else. Even when she thought she knew him, he continued to surprise her and make her fall just a little more in love with him. “She’ll love you so, so much.”

“I can’t promise that I won’t buy her everything she asks for.” Gon whispered to her, nose nuzzling her hair in his solemn promise, “but I promise I’ll give her all the things that can’t be bought.”

There was a pause as Gon exhaled, carefully stroking Tae-Eul skin as he formulated his next words, to vocalise them in words that would do what he felt any semblance of justice. He wanted their daughter to know nothing of what his life had been.

“I want her to have everything. To know that she’ll always be loved for just being herself. That she’ll come first. I want her to only see us as her parents and that our time together won’t be over the phone or with us in meetings or events. I want our little butterfly to be with us so we can show her the world. We can show her the stars and the moon, sunrise and fireworks. We can catch butterflies with her and I’ll teach her all about how they burst out of cocoons.” 

Gon paused in his world, swallowing as he could feel his own tears for this little, tiny, precious being that fate had gifted to them. To the family that had finally been given back to him.

“We’ll always be by her side” Gon’s voice cracked, before he said resolutely, “so she never feels alone.” 

Tae-Eul hadn’t been able to contain her tears, she never could when Gon said such beautiful words. She wanted everything for their daughter too. Even though he had said he wanted to be an appa like her father, Gon didn’t realise that he already was already a great appa, and their little girl hadn’t even been born.

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Week 14.  She can hear us from today, our little butterfly. She’s growing strong and healthy too. I would give the world to be able to always stay by your side to hear you talk to our daughter. I hope she loves your voice as much as I do. Butterfly, I hope you like my voice too.

As a general rule, Gon liked watching Tae-Eul do anything, even before she had become pregnant. Whether it was reading on her couch, rugged up underneath a hundred blankets whilst he worked nearby, drinking until she was giggling in his arms, killing her plants or carefully getting ready for bed— it was all terribly endearing, things that would steal his breath away with disbelief that he got to spend the rest of his life with her.

His new and by far favourite sight, however, was Tae-Eul’s newfound habit of talking to their daughter. Gon had been beyond excited to know that their little butterfly would finally be able to hear their voice, mentally listing fairy tales and stories to tell their little girl despite the fact that he had already been talking to his daughter constantly. Tae-Eul, however, had been significantly calmer, taking to teasing him incessantly about his new habit of kissing her belly every morning and night, wishing his tiny daughter good morning and asking her to sleep well every night.

Her own habit of talking to their daughter was one Gon was almost positive Tae-Eul wasn’t aware she was doing. The first time he had noticed, they had been in their study together, she was on her chair in his line of sight, waiting for him to complete the last few documents before dinner time. The temperature had dipped slightly in the room, not enough for him to need a secondary blanket, but enough to notice. It was silent, save for the occasional scratch of his pen against paper when he heard the tiny, low murmur resounding around the room. 

“It’s cold, you’re cold aren’t you baby?” She hummed, carefully pulling herself up off the sofa to the pile of blankets in the middle of the room, taking the biggest, warmest one from the stack regardless that it sent half of them tumbling to the floor. “I’m a little cold too, little butterfly, but eomma has a blanket so we can be warm.”

Gon felt like there was a hand clenched around his heart squeezing it at the sight of her shuffling back to her lounge, readjusting her position with the blanket carefully spread over them, as if she were tucking herself and their daughter in, nodding satisfactorily when she was finally happy and warm.

“There we go, all warm again.” Tae-Eul whispered, carefully rubbing her belly before she picked up her book returning to her previous state intently focused on it. 

He could see in it his mind’s eye, a fantastical dream that seemed almost too beautiful to be true. A smaller version of his wife, curled up against her chest, with the same soft smile that Tae-Eul seemed to be sporting everyday, little hands reaching out to the book Tae-Eul would be reading to their daughter while he worked in their study. Seeing it was like discovering the meaning of life, everything he had ever wanted right there in front of him.

The second time happened not long after, though he was sure Tae-Eul had been talking to their butterfly more often than he had caught. She was in the pantry, lost in the massive stacked shelves of food looking for a snack, one hand ghosting over the various ones on offer until she found something to her tastes with a running commentary about everything.

“What are we hungry for, baby girl?” Tae-Eul questioned, “let’s eat something fun, maybe something choco, but we need to be quick because if Lady Noh finds us, we’ll have to eat fruit again.”

Gon nearly laughed, clenching his jaw together to keep his presence a secret as his wife absentmindedly perusing the shelves. Tae-Eul had one hand occasionally rubbing her belly, as if silently listening to what their daughter had to say before continuing.

“A cereal bar? No, that’s too healthy, butterfly. How about a choco cake?” Tae-Eul hummed, picking up aforementioned snacks and almost holding them in front of her belly so that their little butterfly could see what she was meaning. “We’ll get something for appa then, I think Prime Minister Koo is being difficult again, he didn’t even notice us leaving the study.”

He had, it was like an inbuilt sensor for them. His heart ached when she even moved slightly from his reach, the sound of her footsteps encoded into his brain that had his ears perk up even when his eyes did not. Regardless of all the paperwork in the world, he would much rather be right there, with them, watching them do the most mundane of tasks with a goofy, adoring smile on his face, leaning against a shelf.

“Let’s give him the cereal bar, only half though. We can have the other half for ourselves, isn’t that right baby butterfly?” Tae-Eul continued, nodding to herself as she eyed up the cereal bar that had been picked out first, holding both treats close to her chest.

Gon had retreated quickly after that back to the study, taking up the position he had been in previously, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, one of the leather folios open in front of him. He looked up briefly through his lashes when she reentered, a skip in her step as she bypassed her chair to press that cereal bar, packet open and half the bar gone, into his hand with a kiss to his cheek before disappearing underneath her blanket on the chair. 

He couldn’t help but imagine it was a tinier, chubbier hand passing the bar to him, asking him to split it. He had to pause for a moment, because he knew right then that the little chubby hand would be attached to a pair of sparkling eyes lit up with the childlike, wondrous hope he had only ever seen on Children’s Day, something so precious that he already knew he would spend the rest of his life guarding it.

When he had caught the whisperings again, it had nearly made him cry. It had been on the cusp of the end of a busy week, days of pushing from various places all demanding his undivided attention, chewing up his time that he wanted to use just to spend with Tae-Eul, adoring her bump and their daughter growing inside. The night before, so unlike him, he had trudged from the study back to their room, kissing Tae-Eul and their daughter good night before crashing into bed, dead to the world.

He hadn’t woken up the next morning on his own volition, but to those sweet, honey dripped words that floated into his ears as the sun rose, rays shining through the white drapes. Gon registered her fingers next, a hand carefully carding through his hair, stroking back the strands with a light touch.

“—You’ll learn one day that dealing with snobby Prime Ministers is never fun. Appa is really tired, he’s been working really hard so that we could have the weekend to build your nursery, baby girl.” Tae-Eul whispered, cooing at her little bump as she looked over to Gon, still taken by the sandman, eyes closed gently. “Your appa is so excited to meet you, I wish you could see how excited he gets everytime he gets to buy something for you. Appa was so enthusiastic over the socks butterfly. Socks! You know he’d never bought anything before he met me and now he gets to buy you everything. Eomma thought he might’ve had an aneurysm over how happy he was.”

Even though he was supposed to be asleep, holding his emotions still was one of the hardest tasks he had ever faced up to then. Gon just tried to lie still next to Tae-Eul’s warmth as she fell silent for a minute, the slight rustling of sheets as she continued the slow combing of his hair. His heart felt like it was breaking when he heard her voice crack in the next moment.

“You’re so lucky baby butterfly, you’ve got the best appa. He loves you so much already, there won’t be a minute that goes by in your life where he won’t make you feel like the most precious being in the world. Appa can be your favourite person, I wouldn’t mind baby girl. Just promise me that you will tell him every day how much you love him.” 

His breath almost shook at her words, the certainty and conviction in her voice when she spoke the words into the air. From the moment he had known she had existed, their little butterfly had owned his entire heart, bound to bend at the curl of her finger. Gon couldn’t bring himself to ‘wake up’ just yet, he had hoped Tae-Eul would continue her little whispers to their daughter, but she fell silent afterwards. 

From that morning, Gon had begun to worry exactly what Tae-Eul’s little conversations with their daughter contained. He knew they were much longer than the ones he had witnessed, Tae-Eul would be telling their daughter about everything, acting like her eyes ensuring their baby knew everything. He got his answer in her greenhouse a few days later.

The sun had begun to set over the horizon, shades of peach orange and blush pinks painting rainbows into the usually white, fluffy cotton candy clouds. It reflected beautifully into the glasshouse, making the greens deeper and it almost even more magical inside the little slice of paradise placed on Earth for his growing family. If it had been any later, fireflies would have found their way into the greenhouse as well, like hundreds of moving lights, orbs that seemed to make time freeze.

Tae-Eul had been by the first of her plots of flowers, ones that had sprouted last year and the ones that were due to bloom this spring, the most beautiful ones yet. She held her little orange watering can, wetting each patch of soil as she told their little butterfly what each one was.

“That is fuschia, it looks pretty does it? The colours look really good in the light, they’re like little bells baby, and then we have the hibiscus. This one is patriotic, because it’s Corea’s National flower, isn’t it so pretty?” Tae-Eul started, admiring the flowers as she slowly walked past her beloved plants. “Oh! These are white chrysanthemums. I was expecting red ones actually, but these are the same colour as baby’s breaths.”

Gon leaned against the door, watching quietly as Tae-Eul stopped to run a finger gently over certain plants with a fond, faraway look in her eye. Her bump was beautifully protruding from the light, loose cotton dress she was wearing, feet hidden carefully in a pair of thin sandals. She had mentioned her ankles swelling, so all fashion decisions had been altered to keep her as comfortable as possible. Gon thought all the extra roundness made her look even more beautiful, everything about her glowing, fuller, healthier than ever.

“I gave your appa baby’s breaths when I told him about you, they mean love, innocence and purity.” Tae-Eul continued, carefully squatting next to the flowers in question, brushing the little white flowers with her fingers as she told their daughter the story behind their importance. “When you get a little older, I’ll teach you how to make a flower wreath like Eun-Bi showed me. Maybe you can make one for your grandparents, halabeoji would love one. He’ll make you really yummy food in exchange.”

Gon could see the image of their daughter in her arms once again, their beautiful baby girl, her eyes wide with curiosity at the sight of her mother’s garden and the hundreds of plants within. He could see how she would whisper loudly in Tae-Eul’s ears questions she needed an answer to, giggle and hide her face in Tae-Eul’s neck, with a miniature copy of her mother's smile on her face.

Maybe their little butterfly would be in a miniature version of her mother's outfit, equally as stubborn as her too. He hoped she would have Tae-Eul’s cute cheeks as well, bubbling with vigorous fire with an unquenchable childlike hope and wonder of the world around her.

“Aren’t these pretty, baby? I think you’d like these.” Tae-Eul slowly got up from the baby’s breath and toddled off towards the white lilies that were nearby their butterfly’s plot of flowers, “I wonder what colour you’d like best. I hope you like plants though.”

Tae-Eul had finally placed down the watering can, both hands coming up to cradle her belly as she looked down at it with a fond expression, caressing it with gentle hands as she hummed. Most days, she would always have a hand on her belly, just listening for their daughter underneath her skin, a thumb almost always absentmindedly stroking the skin there.

“I also hope you have a greener thumb than me, baby. I could use some help tending to the garden.” Tae-Eul had taken to project all her wishes and hopes into her little conversations with their daughter, already so in love with the sweet being still growing in her womb. Gon had to strain his ears to hear her next words. “Between you and me, baby girl. I need to win a bet against your appa. He thinks I kill all the plants, but they’re just being difficult. You’re on my side right? Us girls have to stick together. Let’s prove appa wrong.”

Gon’s lips lifted into a warm, dazed smile. He would happily lose any battle, any bet, so long as the opponents were his wife and daughter. He stood there staring at her for a little while longer, just taking in the way she seemed to be an angel stood amongst nature, hair loose over her shoulders, thicker than ever, lush with a silky sheen under the pale light.

A memory from years back surfaced to the head of his empty mind, one created on a trip to the poorer parts of the country, a visit that was few and far between. There had been a tsunami that had washed away a coastal village, the skeletons of concrete buildings the only thing left from the destruction.

A single, rugged old man, a little gaunt in the face, looking older than Gon was sure he had spoken words that hadn’t meant much then, but now gripped at him with a new world of truth, something only appreciated in practise. 

“I hope you have a family again someday Pyeha. I don’t have much beyond my wife and daughter, but they’re my happiness, they’re all I truly need.”

Gon understood now. He felt it in his very core, the purest form of joy manifested in Tae-Eul and the life she carried inside her. As long as he didn’t lose them, he would still be the luckiest man in the universe, his very being tied to the both of them.

He finally had the family he had lost all those years ago.

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Week 15:  Eomma doesn’t know it, but appa’s changed her entire wardrobe while you grow. So make sure you keep growing strong and healthy my butterfly. Your eomma is very teary over everything, so appa made sure she wouldn’t cry over her clothes not fitting. Tae-Eul, you’re so beautiful carrying our daughter. You take my breath away everyday.

One of the first things Gon had done early on in Tae-Eul’s pregnancy concerned her entire wardrobe. He had done it without his wife’s knowledge, and didn’t mean for it to be deceiving, but his heart broke every time she cried, each tear a knife that would stab his heart. Even when the tears were ones of happiness, Tae-Eul’s first trimester had been something akin to hell for him, with her breaking out in tears in every moment, for even the slightest of things in a way that made him want to hide his wife from the world.

So when he had spotted the little bump on her abdomen in the tenth week, the flourishing growth of their daughter, he knew there was an oncoming storm that he could prevent. Something so easily preventable with his resources and thus, the arrangements were made almost overnight.

Gon had slipped away while Tae-Eul had been in her greenhouse, appearing in their dressing room much to the surprise of her main dresser and the supporting staff that loitered at all times and explained his plan. Everything in her wardrobe had to be brought in every size above it currently, so that there was a full range of pre-pregnancy clothing up until full-term.

Even if the clothes weren’t meant to be maternity clothing, Gon ensured that an entire tailoring team adjusted everything for her, so that she was able to wear all her normal clothing even while carrying their growing daughter. He had seen the way the eyes of the staff had widened, a herculean task set in front of them, but one that was entirely necessary for his wife.

Nothing had been noticed for the weeks following, even though Gon was sure he had given it away with the shit-eating grin he wore every time he entered the dressing room with Tae-Eul. Or the way that if she looked a little closer, she could see two of the same outfits hanging elsewhere, just in case her bump had grown more than each dresser had anticipated.

Gon, after the first trimester, had finally decided that Tae-Eul had finally grown suspicious, eyeing up items that she was sure would no longer fit her, putting them on and finding they in fact still did. But she remained silent on the subject, often skipping out with a victorious grin when her favourite jeans or favourite dress fit over her bump in a way that made Gon’s heart race, all the effort entirely worth it.

His wife was smart though, and one evening, he had walked in from an overrun meeting to find his wife wearing nothing but her underwear and one of his sleep shirts, a single button fastened just at the top of belly, over her breastbone. 

“You forgot to also buy your clothes in extra sizes for me.” 

Gon was sure he looked like a fool, his mouth half open as Tae-Eul sauntered over to him and hugged him tightly, and he smiled when he felt the curve of her belly pressed against him. 

“I love you,” she whispered, “we are so lucky to have you taking care of us.” 

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Week 16: Our butterfly looks like you when you sleep, I’m sure of it, just as beautiful as her mother. She’s growing so fast. Your bump is bigger, our butterfly keeps trying to peek out. Appa loves you little butterfly, appa loves you more than words can describe.

Gon could proudly say, his new favourite image was that of his wife, curled up anywhere, eyes shut, napping. Maybe it was the way both hands always inevitably ended up holding her bump, or perhaps it was how she curled around their daughter, around her bump which wasn’t so little anymore, swelling from her skin.

It was getting warmer, spring surely on its way. Tae-Eul was more often than not tucked away in her greenhouse, cultivating beautiful blooms when he was in meetings. There had been a set of furniture installed in an area there, one such couch her new favourite place to curl up and doze under the warmth of the sun peeking out from underneath the cloud cover.

Her bump, their daughter, was the subject of much intrigue, with eyes all over ready to capture any moment, entire pages dedicated to the little bump analyzing the shape of the bump and how Tae-Eul was carrying, with betting odds of a wonju and gongju floating around the country.

Their second trimester had also brought in a new form of exhaustion. Sex. A lot of sex.

Even though he had read that it varied, Tae-Eul exclusively had stuck to one side. Her first trimester hadn’t been so dramatic, she had eaten a lot, cried and gotten upset, but otherwise had been normal. Her second though, involved all three plus the added factor of having a libido that somehow, impossibly eclipsed hers from before she was pregnant. 

Tae-Eul had become very much known to walk into meetings or conferences, send him a look and then walk straight out. Then there was the one she sent him while they were out at events, hooded eyes as she gave him a look that made his pupils dilate and pants feel far too tight. Not to mention her wandering hands in the back of cars and on the helicopter, even on the boat when they travelled to the racetrack.

If she had a refractory period before her second trimester, it was long gone. Yeong had once given him an, ‘are you crazy’ look and he could feel it, but Tae-Eul was far, far too enticing in her new form.

There was something about the newfound curve of her bump, the undeniable knowledge that he had created that swell in her body that seemed to instantly turn him on. The way everything was just a little softer in his grasp, her thighs and hips so soft underneath his hands, to the way her breasts were most definitely bigger than before. 

Another thing Gon had noted, was just how sensitive she had become in a matter of weeks. Little touches and caresses were heightened, a drag of his fingers could elicit such sinful sounds that he wanted to drown under. Even after she had been temporarily satisfied, Gon was entranced by how she looked, her knotted hair, swollen lips, the purple marks on her neck that claimed her as his, as if the bump wasn’t enough.

The other thing that Gon enjoyed thoroughly was that with her newfound penchant for wearing dresses, typically with her neck exposed, was how she had no longer the effort to cover up each mark. Proudly wearing them like an emblem, even though Lady Noh was scandalised and made an effort to try and hide them with high collared necks. She couldn’t quite do the same to him, Gon wearing his own matching marks with a pride that made his chest puff, though his own clothing lent itself better to covering most of the delectable reminders of what they had done. 

More than once he had to close his eyes, pinch the bridge of his nose and think of politics and recite pi to calm himself down. It never lasted for long before Tae-Eul herself, wearing those cotton dresses that seemed to get shorter as her bump grew bigger, would appear again by the door, give him a wicked look, occasionally followed by an unconscious lick of her lips and sashay back out of the room, inevitably calling him towards their bedroom.

He just followed her, like a rope was around him, some magical pull always leading him back to her regardless if he was halfway through a meeting or beginning the new budget. Tae-Eul was the top of his priorities, so if blowing off a meeting to satisfy her was what she commanded, cancelling a meeting was easily accomplished. Even to the chagrin of Secretary Mo, who had a newfound headache of rescheduling everything on top of managing the wild media focusing on them.

It just meant that going to the gym, horse riding or any rowing was now out of his schedule, even if he felt bad for Maximus. But Tae-Eul was a workout that trumped anything else in the world.

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Week 18.  I know eomma said you’re kicking, but I felt it for the first time today. You’re so strong. Eomma will say I’m being silly, but I think you’d be a good football player butterfly, we can play in the gardens together. Our daughter is like her mother, she’s like you, my Tae-Eul. 

Their butterfly had been living up to her name in the weeks leading up to the eighteen week scan, fluttering near constant at all the wrong hours of the day. Tae-Eul admittedly hadn't slept as well as she usually would, her bump seemingly massive on her tiny frame, already uncomfortable to sleep on despite Gon’s constant catering to her every whim.

Mo-Yeon had previously told her that their butterfly could begin to be felt kicking anywhere from that week, light little love taps against her abdomen slowly, but progressively getting harder as their baby grew stronger.

In all honesty, Tae-Eul wasn’t sure what the little flutters were. Gon was sure they could very well be the featherlight kicks that Doctor Kang had spoken about weeks prior. But then he did redact that statement with a warning that it could very well be the hiccups. He had taken to touching her belly whenever she offhandedly mentioned that her stomach was fluttering, his head intently placed against her belly, knelt in front of her as he desperately wished to feel as well.

Their eighteenth week scan came and went without a confirmed kick. Tae-Eul was less bothered, she hadn’t been reading every and any book she could get her hands on like Gon had, relying on the sole advice from her father from their weekly meetings in Seoul. It was common to start kicking later, she had kicked at twenty weeks as her father recalled, so their little butterfly had all the time in the world to start kicking.

Maybe it was also because she, unlike Gon, had the privilege of actually carrying their daughter, of having her little butterfly with her wherever she went, of feeling those little fluttering hiccups deep in her abdomen, like a secret language only they knew. 

Gon though, was a tad more worried, constantly pouring over books, trying out a hundred different wives’ tales to get their daughter to kick. He had gold rings and hundreds of different foods for her to try. Gon constantly fretted over her bump, whispering to their daughter, almost begging for her to kick.

Tae-Eul always giggled, indulging Gon’s wishes to try and elicit a kick out of their daughter. She had already felt her move, the quickening had happened, but there was still no kicking. Nothing definite yet. At least, nothing Gon could feel, which had her breaking out into laughter more than one time at the way his brows would furrow and he would look just a little bit frustrated, determined to find another way to tempt their daughter into moving.

It wasn’t until three days after their eighteenth week scan, Tae-Eul had happily eyed the ultrasound from that week and the definitive confirmation that they were having a little girl, all the while enjoying a bowl of fruit her father had placed on her growing stomach.

“It’s like my own mini-table.” She had laughed, snorting a little bit as she chewed on the orange that was so incredibly sweet, humming happily as she kept the little bowl resting as she lounged on her father’s couch. Her grin widened when she heard her father’s laughter from the other room and his muffled words afterwards.

“Your eomma said the same thing.”

Tae-Eul snickered a little more, focusing back onto the TV and tuning out the low conversation between her father and her husband in favour of the mindless variety show being played. Until her focus was finally pulled away from the TV and to her bowl of fruit that was now most definitely on an angle, hanging half off her bump. An action that had most certainly followed a very particular flutter that was considerably stronger than any one previous. 

“Do it again butterfly.” Tae-Eul whispered, righting the bowl on her stomach to see if it would move again. “For eomma.”

She waited with bated breath, staring at the bowl intently until it suddenly moved, sliding a little after a slight jolt and the same strong flutter. Her next test was to move the bowl from her bump, press a hand to the spot and hope for a repeat. When it happened, her heart raced as an uncontrollable grin overtook her face.

Tae-Eul didn’t want to move, in the hopes that her daughter would continue the little tirade of kicks to the same spot, so Gon could finally feel them for himself. Her head craned backwards, trying to spot her husband in an effort to quietly call him over, ultimately thwarted when she couldn’t see over the back of the couch.

“Gon.” Tae-Eul called, trying not to catch the attention of the hoard of guards just outside the wooden door that would burst through at even the slightest change in pitch or forcefulness in her tone. “Come here.”

She exhaled when she heard footsteps oncoming, leaning her head back until Gon finally came into view, looming over the couch she was sitting on. So far, no guards. 

“Have you had enough fruit?” Gon asked, but was silenced quickly with a look as Tae-Eul ushered him to take a seat just next to her on the couch, still slouching into the chair, unmoved from her spot.

Tae-Eul reached for his hand, placing it on her belly, right where the fruit bowl had been and then stared, hoping their daughter would understand what she wanted just from the pressure of a hand placed there. She did, Gon’s breath hitching when the tiny jolt hit his palm, freezing him in his spot.

Tae-Eul let go of his hand, keeping her eyes on his face as a hundred emotions passed his eyes in that split second. Her grin widened as he locked eyes with her in absolute disbelief before leaning his head forward just a little more, pressing his hand back on the spot a little more firmly.

“Butterfly, it’s appa. Do that again.” He whispered, pausing before feeling a resounding kicking response from their daughter, breaking out into chuckles as he pressed a kiss to the bump and then to Tae-Eul, breaking out into disbelieving laughter of elation.

“She finally did it.” Gon murmured, letting Tae-Eul slightly nuzzle into his side as she grinned, carefully patting her stomach, nodding in affirmation to the bump for keeping up the kicking to show her appa. “Our little butterfly kicked.”

“Mhmm,” Tae-Eul hummed, “so those little flutters must’ve been kicks after all. Not hiccups. Good work baby.”

The little family sat in peace, Tae-Eul’s hand creeping towards the bowl of fruit once more as she lay content, Gon’s hand still splayed over her belly.  

“Oh!” Tae-Eul gasped, craning her neck back once more, “we have to show appa too.”

She didn’t get far, Gon carefully pushed her back into the position she had been as he stood to go and get her father, ushered on by his wife who waved him off quickly hoping their daughter would still be as eager to give out kicks as she had been when Gon had come over.

Tae-Eul didn’t move, but she did continue to crane her head back in hopes to catch a glimpse of either of them, petting her stomach all the while.

“You have to do it again baby, for halabeoji.”

Her grin widened when she heard footsteps oncoming once more, waving them over to sit next to her with an excitement matched only by Gon’s own, looking up at her appa with an excitement that definitely made Do-In a tad suspicious, especially when it matched that of her husband who had unceremoniously dragged him from the kitchen without any explanation.

“Appa.” Tae-Eul whispered, patting the seat next to her, “I have something to show you.”

Do-In nodded, watching as Tae-Eul reached out the moment he had taken a seat, gently holding his hand and pulling it to the fabled spot on the top of her belly. She hoped that their daughter would heed her words from before and kick again, just like she had the previous five times.

“Come on.” Tae-Eul whispered, grin growing wider with satisfaction when her daughter finally indulged them with a kick, not as strong as the first four had been, but still enough to audibly take her father’s breath away when he felt it.

Her head turned away from where their hands were still placed, throat tightening when she saw the look of awe in her father’s eyes at the movement underneath his hands and when she saw tears visibly well in his eyes, her eyes following suit with an accompanying watery smile.

“She’s saying hi to her halabeoji.” Tae-Eul whispered, giving a watery giggle when her little butterfly punctuated her words with another kick reminding them both that she was very much present and awake, like she could speak for herself.

“She’s strong. Like her eomma and her halmeoni.” Do-In almost weeped, raising his hand off her stomach reluctantly to wipe away the traitorous tears that were leaking down his cheeks even though he was trying impossibly hard to hold them in.

Tae-Eul’s lips almost quivered at the comparison and the tears had already begun seeing her father’s, only comforted by a resounding kick from her daughter reminding her that it was a happy occasion.

“She’s persistent like her appa.” Tae-Eul gave a watery giggle as she looked back down to her stomach, her hand ghosting over the same spot, “she doesn’t want me to cry. She keeps kicking every time I cry.”

“Of course she does. She’s just like her appa,” Gon grinned, leaning his head down onto her stomach, entirely ready to whisper a hundred thousand praises to his daughter for keeping up the good work in ensuring one of his best girls wasn’t crying.

“O—” Gon gave a slight yelp, one that was much louder in the relative quietness of the room. One that Tae-Eul held her breath with, just waiting for the padding of footsteps that were sure to follow. 

They did.

Yeong was in first, followed shortly by In-Young, both of them had their hands on their guns as their eyes searched the room for the source of the yelp that had drawn their attention. They moved briskly to where they were huddled, stopping short when their minds caught up with their bodies, processing the scene before them, Tae-Eul on the couch surrounded by both men, all three turning to face the newcomers.

“Fals—” Tae-Eul begun.

“Little butterfly kicked!” Gon exclaimed excitedly, head darting up to share his excitement with the pair of them who just look utterly bewildered at the scene before them. The King and Queen were safe. All of the ruckus had been for a kick. “She got me on the cheek Yeongie! She’s only eighteen weeks and she’s already this strong!”  

Yeong’s face was equal parts happy, confused, and utterly exasperated. Was it treason if the heir presumptive kicked the monarch’s face? In-Young, on the other hand, was attempting to smother her laugh at the sight of her King looking absolutely delighted at being smacked in the face. Tae-Eul laughed as she craned her head to look at them, one of her elated, glowing smiles on her face as she waved them over.

“Come here, I’ll show you. Our princess is awake.”

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Week 20. Our daughter is the size of a little doll this week. You’re halfway through and you get more beautiful by the minute. 

Another thing that became a topic of palace wide discussion was the gender of their child. Whilst a handful of select people had the privilege of knowing, those of whom wouldn’t even breathe a word of this knowledge, the majority were speculating on the Royal heirs gender and consequently, the rights of succession to the throne.

Tae-Eul had only caught an inkling of the conversations that had been taking place from the minute they had announced the arrival of their daughter in the coming summer, but knew all of them revolved around the gender debate and whether or not Corea would see its first sovereign Queen in the Lee dynasty.

She hadn’t given it much thought herself, her baby was her baby, not an heir or any other words that everyone seemed to attach to the little life. Until she did, alone one morning in her greenhouse, In-Young somewhere just out of sight, Gon in a meeting that he had been required to attend, as much as she knew he wanted to stay in bed with them.

Corea hadn’t had a Queen. That was a fact that every Corean citizen learnt in primary school. Out of the hundreds of rulers that had come and gone, governing their prosperous nation, none had been women. Not in this dynasty at least. The last Queen had belonged to Silla, well over a thousand years prior, to a completely different family.

Tae-Eul’s hand had creeped down to her bump, her daughter would be the first born. They had discussed this, very briefly that night almost a year ago. It had been hypothetical, what ifs, but now had been spoken into existence, written into their fate like a higher being had heard them. They were having a daughter. A daughter who would be born into a monarchy, arguably a society, that still favoured boys over girls.

As to whether they would have another so their daughter was not their only child, quite frankly, that was all dependent on how much she disliked labour. She had always imagined having one child, if at all, but Gon made her head spin with ideas that she had never contemplated. Tae-Eul could easily imagine having another baby with Gon, maybe next time that little boy from her dream so their daughter could have a little brother and their son would have their wonderful noona.

She’d have to talk to Gon. Even if he was half a palace away and her feet were a tad swollen, and the flats she was in weren’t as comfortable as she remembered them being. Maybe after they could nap, and eat food, and nap some more.

“My little butterfly, you haven’t even been born yet and there’s still so much to do.” Tae-Eul sighed, petting her belly as she finally made her way out of the greenhouse, a hand loosely grabbing her arm as In-Young appeared beside her.

“Where would you like to go Mama?” 

“Unnie.” Tae-Eul corrected, “unnie please.”

She knew In-Young was giving her an unimpressed look, even without turning her head to look at her. Tae-Eul could feel her eyes drilling into the side of her head as if to try and smack some sense back into her baby brain. It wasn’t baby brain though, she had been trying to get In-Young to say the title without defaulting back for months now, even before she had fallen pregnant. In-Young was more co-operative at times than others, and progress was slow, though steady. 

“To Gon. Who is in the study, I think.” Tae-Eul informed her companion before pausing slightly, “he might be in the office though.”

Tae-Eul found herself, more and more, struggling to remember little facts that she would’ve otherwise remembered. It was like the hormones were clouding her brain, making everything but a few things clouded unless she was actively trying to remember said things. Which meant if she hadn’t had an entire team of dressing staff and assistants to help her remember, she would’ve lost, forgotten and misplaced far too many things.

“The office Ma—” Tae-Eul narrowed her eyes, giving In-Young an almost dirty look. “Unnie. Pyeha had a conference call with the state Ministers this morning.”

Conference call it was, though it should be over by Tae-Eul calculations. Even if it wasn’t, she was happy to take up residence on the leather couch in the corner of the office, peering out onto the throne while Gon finished. She could fantasise about everything they hadn’t done in that room, the best possible course of distraction amongst the drone of politics.

In true Tae-Eul fashion, she approached the door without knocking, pushed them open and slipped into the room quickly followed by In-Young, who had long gotten used to the casual manner her Queen wandered around with. 

Gon’s eyes caught her first, followed by his impossibly wide smile that reduced all tension from his brow as his eyes looked down to her bump and back to her face, giving her a wink before finally returning to his phone call. Tae-Eul smiled at Gon before making a beeline for the couch to take the weight off her swelling ankles, nodding quickly at everyone in the office who bowed at her.

She didn’t know how long had passed, just curled up on the couch with her baby, lost in her thoughts, before everyone finally exited the office in favour of leaving the couple alone. Tae-Eul had been entirely oblivious until Gon sneaked up on her and pulled her out of her thoughts and into his arms with a kiss to her forehead.

“How was your morning?” Tae-Eul hummed, nestling into her husband with unbridled affection surging within her.

“Tedious. What about yours? Are the flowers blooming yet?” Gon asked, mood instantly lighter with his wife in his arms and work firmly out of the door, held off by their guards for the moment. 

“Not yet, they’re late.” Tae-Eul told him, grinning when she felt his hand come down and caress her belly with a greeting to their daughter. “Our butterfly has been very good this morning.”

“Is that so?” Gon grinned, leaning down, carefully pulling up her shirt and peppering kisses onto her belly. “Have you been good for eomma princess?”

His lips brushed against her skin with every word, eliciting ticklish giggles as Tae-Eul squirmed a little in his arms, though was unable to move far with Gon’s hands firmly around her.

“I drafted the change in succession laws today.” Gon said, pressing a final kiss on Tae-Eul’s skin before rising back to face her. “So that if we have any more children, even if it’s a boy, our butterfly doesn’t have to compete or be displaced. It’ll be getting finalised and ready before she arrives.”

She almost snorted, nearly laughed as Gon spoke the words into the air before being distracted by their daughter again. The one topic she had been thinking about all morning and here Gon was, already taking care of it, taking care of her, as if he could read her mind.  

“Do you want more children?” Tae-Eul said, catching Gon’s attention as he finally looked up from the bump, “I know you were happy just having me and now having our daughter. But is one enough?”

As Tae-Eul had sat in the study watching her husband, she could almost see a younger version of him. Still handsome, and ever so poised, but bearing the weight of the throne alone for much of his childhood and his entire adult life. It was different for Tae-Eul, she went to school, had friends her age, and her chest had squeezed painfully at the man before him, who had no one who fully understood the burden he carried. Tae-Eul wouldn’t mind having more children, and as silly as it sounded, the thought of them being half Gon made even the thought of labour worth it, not that she would ever admit that aloud. She could imagine it, the footsteps of children chasing one another in the greenhouse, peeking through the green foliage with the bright smiles that matched their father’s, laughing as they passed her, always drawn toward their father’s presence. Maybe she had only imagined one other, prepared for one other, but she had only given thought to the one in her womb barely a year prior, and Tae-Eul loved her so dearly already. There was time.

“Do you want more?” Gon asked, eyes twinkling. “That can be easily arranged.” “Yah!” Tae-Eul whacked him, “do you want to die? It’s not that easy. For me.”

She paused as she shifted in her seat, Gon immediately moving to grab the blanket nearby to place over her, shielding her and their baby from the cold of the room as she pulled her feet under her to make herself more comfortable.  

“Maybe a little boy? Or another little girl?” Tae-Eul began inquisitively, before gently probing, “so our butterfly isn’t lonely.”

Gon understood what she meant immediately. She didn’t want their daughter to be lonely like he was, a being at the very height of power with no equal, until she came along. Even his sole friendship had been burdened by the titles and the formality. A sibling wouldn’t have that burden, the only person in the world that could understand and be truly honest with them.

“We’d have to wait until I decide whether I abhor labour first, but maybe after?” Tae-Eul grinned, petting her stomach, “just twenty more weeks to go butterfly.”

Gon broke out into laughter at her words and the way she sighed in resignation at the very factor that there was now only one way out of this. Labour. Painful labour and how the weeks impeding were closing in fast.

“I love you. And I think we would make very cute babies”, Gon teased, pressing a kiss over Tae-Eul’s pout, “but I still stand by what I said. I’m happy with you, and I’d be happy with any number of children, as long as you’re all safe and healthy.”  

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Week 21.  We haven’t met but I feel like I already know you.  You like choco pies, because your eomma says that you kick extra hard whenever she eats one, like you’re excited to eat it. You calm down when I recite mathematical theorems to you. Should I teach you to count Euler’s rule to sleep instead of sheep? Appa will teach you to love them though. You don’t like being told what to do, most of the time, just like your eomma. I hope you’re just like your eomma butterfly. I can’t wait to meet you.

The twenty-first week of her pregnancy marked the first time that Tae-Eul had to be in the presence of Koo Seo-Ryeong. For the most part, they avoided each other, she came in on Fridays, always scheduled in when Gon knew she’d be in the greenhouse or having a nap in their room, curled up around their daughter. 

Even their events were entirely separated from one another. Her and Gon were always a pair, always the highlight of the occasion, all eyes on the growing bump that peeked out from any and all outfits she sported. In contrast and because of the impending Royal birth,, Prime Minister Koo’s events were given far less attention.  

But it was unavoidable to miss one another. They worked in the same circles, it was bound to happen. In fact, Tae-Eul was more surprised that it hadn’t happened earlier.

Seo-Ryeong was still undeniably beautiful, in that false doll like sense that lacked any substance behind its surface. She still gave Tae-Eul the same feeling of weariness that she had gotten the first time she met her, back when she had come to the Kingdom. The sight of her conjured a distinct, unshakable feeling of needing to shower, but still being unable to rid herself of whatever it was that Tae-Eul disliked so fervently. 

She wore red today, such a deep, vivid red that if they had been out in sunlight, it might’ve been slightly blinding. Her hair was pulled back into a sweeping bun and she stood in front of Gon’s desk, shoulders rolled back as if she owned the place instead of being subservient to it. 

When Tae-Eul had entered the office, wearing her favourite white cotton dress, it was akin to that moment in the hall. She felt like she could still see the lightning scar on her neck behind the back of her eyes, the mark of murder thundering in the rain, a stain of shame no matter how much she wanted to forget about a reality that did not exist anymore. The two women stared at one another under a thinly disguised veil of pleasantries, followed by Seo-Ryeong’s bow to her and the quiet murmur that followed.

“Mama.”

“Prime Minister.” 

It was like the depths of winter once more. Their study halfway buried underneath ice and snow, a strong polar blast cooling them freezing the world around them just a little more. It was like two ends of a magnet meeting, always bound to repel one another. 

“Pregnancy suits you, you look well.” Seo-Ryeong complimented with a smile. “I suppose the media is right when Pyeha looks at you like you’re the most precious treasure in the world. You both glow.”

Tae-Eul wanted to shiver, that smile so cold, so fake that Tae-Eul’s insides churned, her spine tingling with a thousand creepy crawlies. Her hand instinctively moved to cover her bump to hold their daughter fractionally closer, and Tae-Eul suddenly wished she had a sweater or a cardigan, anything to hide her daughter behind from the woman in front of her. Instead, Tae-Eul forced a polite smile, the one perfected from being under constant media attention, and stood her ground. This was her palace, she was the Queen, and the baby lying peacefully in her belly was made by her and her husband.  

“It’s been an easy pregnancy,” Tae-Eul said neutrally, “perhaps one day you’ll understand.”

Seo-Ryeong’s jaw ticked, only fractionally, but ticked nonetheless, eyes steely as she inhaled and nodded with a laugh that rang out in the silence of the room, almost sinister in its bitterness. 

“One day, after I finish a few things and end my term as Prime Minister.” She nodded, turning to her Secretary, gesturing that this conversation was nearly over. “That’s all I have to report this week Pyeha, I’ll be going now and leave you and Mama to the rest of your Friday.”

“I will receive the next report the same time next week.” Gon affirmed, choosing to ignore the Prime Minister’s dismissive tone. Under any other circumstances, Gon would have made a point to return the tone in kind, but his eyes had firmly been on Tae-Eul the entire time and he just wanted the Prime Minister out of the palace, if only to make better what he recognised as intense discomfort under his wife’s cool facade. He didn't enjoy the company of this Prime Minister either, but unlike the previous version of reality, she hadn’t done anything to justify anything more than a brusque dismissal.  

“Of course. Unless anything changes.” 

Then the doors shut, and it was like winter had turned into spring, and he watched as Tae-Eul’s hands relaxed from where they had been around their daughter, carefully caressing the swollen roundness as she breathed a sigh of relief. Her eyes relaxed from their stare on the door, turning to face Gon with a tense smile, slowly pacing further into the room, into his waiting arms.

“How are you?” Gon asked, pushing back stray hairs that had fallen in front of her eyes with a tender, worried affection, before letting his hands run down Tae-Eul’s back before resting on her shoulders, applying gentle pressure to knead out any knots that formed during the very temporary meeting of the two women.

“Fine.” Tae-Eul affirmed, turning pliant under Gon’s hands even as she reached up to kiss his jaw, “our daughter missed you so we had to come visit.”

Gon’s eyes lightened as he let out a laugh, carefully lowering himself to his knees in front of her to greet their ever impatient daughter.

“Did you miss me butterfly?” Gon questioned, saying the words as he looked up through his lashes at Tae-Eul. Their gazes didn’t lock for long, not when their baby girl had kicked rapidly at the sound of her father’s voice and Gon’s attention was happily diverted to her belly again, his laughter rumbling in the air. 

This was the sight she would die happily for, Gon right there with their daughter, even though she hadn’t been born. He already doted upon her like she was the single most important being in the universe, a title she had previously held. One she was happy to give up to their daughter, the centre of their little universe.

“Eomma said you missed me.” He continued, pressing a kiss to her belly. “That’s alright, because appa missed you so much princess. I miss you and eomma whenever you’re not right next to me. I love you little butterfly.”