The Forgotten Prince

The tantalizing aroma of the banquet curled through the air, teasing my empty stomach.

Rich, golden broths, succulent roasted meats, delicate dumplings—it was torture. My only feast was the gnawing hunger that had long since become my constant companion.

My aching hands moved quicker, scrubbing, chopping, stirring—anything to keep up. Beside me, my fellow servants toiled in silence, their faces drawn, sweat glistening on their brows despite the chill of the night. The only sound was the frantic clatter of knives against cutting boards, the sizzle of meats in hot oil, and the ever-present tension that clung to the air like thick smoke.

Rumors had swirled all day about the king's visit to Noble Consort Yeongae's residence for his son's fifth birthday. To stand in his presence was to stand at the mercy of fate itself. By the time the final dish was plated, I could barely stand. As the court ladies took over, I slipped away, my body begging for rest.

But the moment I stepped inside my chamber, my breath caught in my throat. Curled in on herself like a wounded bird, was Chunsim. Her slender frame trembled, her face buried in her hands. She hiccupped between muffled sobs, trying to stifle the sound.

"Chunsim? What happened?" I rushed to her side.