UN 13

Chapter 13

Soran, startled, flailed and reached out in a panic. Gyo-heum easily avoided her hand and kept scrubbing the bowl. From between his teeth came an indifferent voice.

“I can’t sleep either.”

“Ah! You shouldn’t scrub that hard. You’ll end up scratching the brass bowl.”

“Hm?”

Now that he looked, unlike hers, his bowl wasn’t shiny at all—it was covered in tiny scratches. It was probably a defective one.

Soran stamped her feet where she sat.
“You have to rub it with just the right amount of force. Not too strong, not too weak.”

As she spoke, she demonstrated. Her small hands flicked back and forth quickly.

Shine. The bowl in her hands looked brand new.

“But how do you know so well, madam? You’ve never washed bowls before, have you?”

“…Pardon?”

Clang. The bowl in Soran’s hand rolled across the floor once more.

Gyo-heum raised one eyebrow, watched the bowl spin, then slowly bent down. He picked it up and handed it to her. Soran took it with trembling hands and hurriedly spoke.

“I–I’ve never washed bowls before. Truly.”

“…”

Gyo-heum stared at her in silence. Feeling guilty, Soran quickly averted her gaze.

Clatter, clatter. The bowl in her hands made a loud noise.

Gyo-heum withdrew his gaze and silently began rubbing his own brass bowl again—this time, neither too hard nor too softly.

At the same time, a faint breath drifted in from beside him. A sigh that sounded like relief.

No more words were exchanged. The two of them simply kept polishing brass bowls in a light silence.

The firewood in the hearth burned gently, and a warmth unbefitting a late-winter night lingered around them.

The silence was more comfortable than expected.

Gyo-heum glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

Soran, who had been fidgeting moments ago, was now fully absorbed in polishing. Her tightly pressed lips stuck out like a little beak.

Scrape, scrape. Shine.

Each time her hands brushed over it, the brass bowl seemed to change into new clothes. The eyes reflected in its surface sparkled just as brightly.

I finish one, and she finishes three?
She was suspiciously skilled.

Had the daughter of the Chief State Councilor ever washed brass bowls?
Impossible. Even if she were a concubine’s daughter, the servants of that household would have raised an uproar.

Then how could she be so adept?

—If you don’t go now, I really will get angry.

He recalled her voice, raised deliberately at a maid. The voice that pretended to be angry had been trembling faintly.

Only after Yeonsan-daek left did she bury her face in her skirt and finally let out the sobs she had been holding back.

No—at first, he hadn’t even realized she was crying. If he hadn’t seen her shoulders shaking through the crack of the door, he might never have known.

Yes. She had been crying. In the way she was most accustomed to—silently enduring.

What are you, really?
Gyo-heum found himself thinking that more and more these days. He glanced at Soran again.

Her face, lit by the flickering firewood, was redder than usual.

Even so, her jet-black eyes shone conspicuously bright—like the brass bowls she had polished to a gleam.

“Is this enough?”

Gyo-heum handed over the bowl he was holding. Soran examined it carefully, then broke into a bright smile.

“Yes.”

“!”

At that moment, Gyo-heum’s eyes widened.

Thud. Something fell. Yet the brass bowl was still firmly in his hand.

Clenching his jaw, he sprang to his feet.

“I’ve just remembered something important. I’ll take my leave first.”

“Yes? Ah—yes.”

Soran nodded as if urging him to go. Gyo-heum left without looking back.

Bang. His face was stiff as he shut the door.

He wouldn’t be fooled by her smile. Others might be, but not him.

“I won’t forget that you are the daughter of the Chief State Councilor.”

Muttering to himself, Gyo-heum began to walk. A shadow darker than the night followed behind him.

After changing into her nightclothes, Soran walked toward the bed with a long yawn. Polishing brass bowls for the first time in a while had actually left her stiff body feeling refreshed.

Maybe I’m just destined to work until the day I die.

“I need to wake up at dawn to check that the embers haven’t gone out.”

When she lived in the Chief State Councilor’s house, waking in the middle of the night had been pure misery—partly from exhaustion after a day of hard labor, and partly because the thin blanket did nothing to keep out the drafts.

Compared to that, this place was a paradise.

It was cozy enough that she couldn’t even tell if there was a draft. The brazier beside the bed was warm, and the thick quilt pressing down on her body was wonderfully comforting.

The luxury still felt unfamiliar, but tonight she felt she could sleep deeply without even dreaming.

As Soran let out a soft breath, wishing for the well-being of the youngest child of the Yeonsan household, the door suddenly opened without warning.

“Go on and get some sleep—oh.”

Thinking it was Kkeut-sun bringing water, Soran smiled—then froze.

Standing in the doorway was Gyo-heum, changed into his nightclothes.

Why? Soran’s eyes blinked slowly.

She racked her brain, trying to make sense of the situation, but no clear answer came to mind.

Gyo-heum entered the room with a gentle smile. Click. The door closed behind him.

Like someone facing a wild beast, Soran didn’t take her eyes off him as she cautiously backed away.

In a sweet voice, Gyo-heum whispered,

“My mother instructed me, so shouldn’t we start sharing a bed from tonight?”

Sharing a bed.

“!”

Only then did Soran grasp the meaning of his words, her face filling with shock—as if she’d realized the beast before her wasn’t a fox, but a wolf.

How could he…
Gyo-heum, watching her with slanted eyes, walked step by step toward the bed.

Soran’s gaze seemed to take on shape as it traced over his skin—first his cheeks, then his shoulders, and then—

“Even if you look at me like that, I’m just going to sleep.”

“…Pardon?”

Soran asked blankly. Gyo-heum replied with deliberate nonchalance.

“I’ve been busy all day because of the murder case at the market. I have to head out early again tomorrow, so tonight I’ll just sleep beside you.”

“…”

“Wouldn’t it be better to sleep together than to let baseless rumors spread?”

“…”

“If madam is hoping for more, I wouldn’t be entirely opposed.”

“W-what do you mean?”

Soran asked without thinking, then immediately shook her head hard.

“N-no! Please sleep! Just sleep! You must be tired, so please get some rest!”

For a moment, Gyo-heum’s eyes slanted dangerously. Was it really necessary to look so horrified? Maybe he should just pounce on her—

Hm? He frowned slightly.

Ridiculous. No matter what, coupling with an enemy’s daughter was out of the question.

In the end, Gyo-heum let out a long sigh. A deep weariness suddenly washed over him.

“I’m truly exhausted.”

Murmuring weakly, he lay down on the bed and pulled the quilt over himself.

He sensed Soran fidgeting behind him.

Glancing back with just his eyes, he saw her carefully lying down as well.

“…”

Unable to cover herself fully with the quilt, Soran dangled precariously at the edge of the bed.

Did she think him some kind of pervert? In a way, he felt unfairly accused.

They were husband and wife; sharing a bed wasn’t something to be so shocked about.

Honestly, even more than that would have been acceptable. Yet Soran lay there, clinging to the far edge of the bed, as if even her fingertips touching his would be unbearable.

Good grief.

Growing up constantly compared to his upright older brother, Gyo-heum had developed a bad habit—when told not to do something, he wanted to do it all the more.

Watching her made that nasty impulse flare up again and again.

Should I just pounce on her?

He shook his head at the thought.

No. What if she ended up pregnant? Or worse, what if physical intimacy bred affection?

He had no intention of abandoning his revenge against the Chief State Councilor, nor of complicating matters.

So his relationship with Soran needed only to be that of a seemingly affectionate couple—nothing more.

He wouldn’t pity her. Just enough distance that he could cut it off cleanly if necessary—that was ideal.

“…”

Soran’s breathing evened out; she seemed to have fallen asleep.

Slowly opening his eyes, Gyo-heum frowned faintly as he looked at her curled-up back.

Anyone would think he’d been mistreating her, when he was restraining his true nature and putting on an act of kindness.

Turning over, Gyo-heum let out a short sigh and pulled the quilt over her shoulders.

That left his own side barely covered, but the weather wasn’t cold enough to complain.

He closed his heavy eyes.

He’d thought his mind was too tangled to sleep—but without realizing it, consciousness slipped away in an instant.

The door opened quietly. Soft tiptoeing drew nearer.

Half-asleep, Gyo-heum pretended to turn over toward the door.

“Hh—!”

A sharp intake of breath sounded. There was no need to check who it was.

It had to be Soran, who had just risen and slipped out of the room moments before.