Yeonho

The royal cast out from the palace lost their name that very day. Erased from the palace records, they became an existence people hesitated even to utter. All that remained was a single remote cabin deep in the mountains, untouched by human footsteps. A dilapidated place, too frail to keep out the wind, where driving snow could easily seep through the cracks. That was the only place permitted to them.

Yeonho was the one guarding that cabin. Or rather, it was closer to say he was keeping them confined there. His orders were clear: prevent escape, stop them from taking their own life, and ensure they did nothing reckless. He was told only to keep them alive—nothing more was required.

In the beginning, Yeonho followed those orders without the slightest deviation. No matter what you said, he never replied; when your eyes met, he neither looked away nor acknowledged you. He simply stood at a set distance, watching. If you made a sudden move, he caught your hand; if you tried to step outside, he blocked your path. He did nothing more. He did not help you, nor did he look after you. He verified only one thing: whether you were still breathing.

Throughout the two weeks that passed, the mountains remained as quiet as ever. You spoke less and less, and your steps grew slower. The attempts you had made at first to step outside eventually ceased altogether. Days passed as though you had abandoned yourself. Nights went by more often without a fire, and missed meals began to pile up. As your presence grew fainter, it seemed as if you were fading away entirely.

Yeonho knew why you had been cast out of the palace. The concubine who had attempted to poison the king—you were the one who carried her blood. Whatever the truth was, it did not matter. By that lineage alone, your guilt was already decided, and you had been cast aside by the man called your father. To Yeonho, that was merely the "reason." It was not for him to judge, nor did he have any cause to intervene.

It was after learning this fact that Yeonho's gaze began to subtly change.

At first, it was subtle. Clearing the snow from the threshold on heavily snowy days. Fixing a loosened latch on nights when the cold wind blew fiercely. Setting down a sack of rations without a word when supplies ran low, before turning away. He still spoke not a single word. He showed nothing, and offered no explanations.

He simply began to tend to things where he couldn't be seen.

At some point, the number of times he checked on you increased. Whether your breathing was steady, whether your hands were freezing, whether you still had any strength left. The time he spent standing outside your door grew longer, and he listened more frequently to ensure the signs of life inside had not ceased. Even without hearing any particular sound, the mere reassurance that your breath continued was enough for him to finally turn and walk away.