She had paused in her arranging, her hand resting on the stem of a violet just short of placing it. Her expression was composed, but her lashes fluttered slightly in surprise.
"Me?" she asked, lifting her eyes. "Probably not. My father hasn't said anything to me."
Her voice was soft — tinged with both humility and a subtle uncertainty, like someone used to having expectations projected onto her but still surprised when they landed.
"And besides…" she added gently, "I don't think I'm the kind of woman Sir Juho is looking for."
The women erupted in a quiet protest.
"But you're perfect," one said, almost incredulous.
"Exactly," another nodded quickly. "You're the most plausible candidate, Lady Enna. Your family is one of the highest-ranking in the province — your father served under the royal court, didn't he?"
"And you're admired everywhere for your charity work and integrity."
"Not to mention," said one with a smile, "your noble features. It's said your profile resembles the Empress in her youth."
Enna offered only a shy smile in return, eyes falling once more to the arrangement in front of her. She placed the violet delicately into the composition, its deep purple hue anchoring the lighter tones around it.
"I'm not sure about that," she said quietly, her voice carrying a serenity that made the others fall silent again.
But somewhere, perhaps in the mind of one of the women—or in the breeze that carried through the open shoji—an idea had already taken root.
And like all things in spring, it would soon begin to bloom.
The lanterns lining the narrow path flickered gently in the night wind, casting elongated shadows against the quiet walls of the estate. The day had finally given way to dusk, and the air held the damp stillness that only followed long hours of service and breath held too long.
Enna stepped lightly onto the wooden porch, her hair loosely gathered, her sleeves dusted faintly with herbs from the community center. Behind her, a young servant girl hurried to keep up, clutching a small bundle of cloth.
"Lady Enna," the girl said with concern, her voice nearly a whisper against the creaking of the floorboards, "please… you should rest now. You've been giving all your time and energy to the sick. The village is healing, but you must take care of yourself too."
Enna turned slightly, her expression as gentle as the moonlight spilling over the porch.
"I will," she said kindly. "Let's just see everyone through this season first."
As they stepped inside, the scent of pinewood and old scrolls greeted them. Warm light spilled from within the house — and from the end of the corridor, the sound of footsteps approached.
"Enna," came a deep, familiar voice, weary yet affectionate.
Park, her father, appeared from the doorway of the master room, dressed in a long robe of indigo silk, his hair streaked with silver, though still held in a dignified knot. His eyes, though tired, softened the moment they found her.
"My daughter. You've returned so late again," he said, his brow gently furrowed with concern.
"I'm sorry, Father," Enna replied with a smile, bowing her head slightly in respect. "I was at the local community center again. The last batch of medicine was distributed today. Some still have a cough, but most are recovering."
Park studied her for a long moment — the quiet poise in her voice, the steadfastness in her expression — and something shifted in his eyes.
"Come with me," he said at last, stepping aside to let her pass. "There's something I must discuss with you."
"Discuss with me?" Enna tilted her head slightly, her curiosity stirred, but her voice remained composed. "Of course, Father."
The soft crackle of candlelight whispered against the silence.
Heavy beams lined the ceiling of the master room, thick with the scent of aged pine and ink. Papered doors were pulled shut behind them. Shadows clung to the walls like silent attendants, and between two flickering candles—each housed in a bronze holder shaped like lotus buds—sat Park, a man whose posture still bore the quiet dignity of court, despite the white threads beginning to streak his hair.
Enna followed quietly behind, her white hanbok trailing across the polished wooden floor like morning mist. She folded her hands before her as she stepped into the glow of the candlelight.
Park did not look at her immediately.
He gazed into the dark, as though gathering his words from the ether. Then his voice—measured and low—broke the silence.
"Enna... The former Minister, Kwon—an old friend of mine—has made a proposal." He paused. "A marriage. Between his son and you."
The words settled into the room like dust. The fire snapped once.
Enna blinked once. Then again.
Her eyes, dark as ink, slowly lifted to meet her father's. Her voice, when it came, was a soft river against stone.
"I see…" She hesitated, then stepped forward until the warm circle of candlelight caught her face. "Father, what... what would you have me do?"
The question wasn't performative. It wasn't timid. It was sincere—uttered from a daughter raised not with indulgence, but with quiet expectation. A life molded by the absence of a mother, and by the shadow of a man too respected to question.
Park turned to her now. The edge in his eyes softened.
He remembered the fever-ridden child she once was, clutching her nanny's hand as her mother's funeral rites were performed. He had raised her amidst scrolls and court records, between duty and grief.
And now, at twenty-one, she stood before him—a woman, yet still his daughter.
The candlelight shimmered between them—two flames burning steady, like father and daughter facing the inevitable tide of time.
Park's gaze softened as he studied Enna—her calm demeanor, the gentle curve of a smile that hovered on her lips. She sat with her back straight, her hands quietly folded over her lap, poised in the way only those raised in silence and expectation could be.
"I believe this is a good proposal," Park said, his voice low but certain. His hand rested beside him on the wooden floor, fingers lightly curled. "Ex-Minister Kwon… He's been a trusted friend for decades. Honest. Sharp-minded. A man of integrity, even when the court was steeped in politics and rot. I haven't met his son, Juho, not directly—but if the son reflects even a fraction of the father, he will be a good man. A solid man."
Enna listened with a stillness born of discipline, the corners of her lips holding a quiet smile. Not out of agreement—but affection. Respect.
Park glanced at her, searching. Weighing her silence.
Then, in a softer voice, he said, "But… your thoughts matter more than mine. This is your marriage, Enna. Not mine. What do you think?"
For a moment, only the distant sound of crickets outside broke the silence.
Enna looked up, her eyes warm. She smiled—not wide, but sincere, like sunlight slipping through clouds.
"To be honest with you, Father… I don't want to be married right now."
The words were spoken gently, yet firmly—like placing a delicate object into another's hands. Park flinched—not visibly, but something in his shoulders stiffened, a twitch in his jaw. The kind of reaction a man gives when hearing something he had feared but didn't want to name.
"I see…" he said quietly, the words barely above a whisper.
Enna's tone did not waver.
"I love my daily life here. Waking with the sun. Visiting the village women. Preparing food with the servants and sharing it with the community. Here… I feel alive, Father. I feel useful." She paused. Her eyes lowered, voice gentle. "But if I marry… I'll have to leave this life behind. I'd be expected to move to Gaegyeong. To live inside the walls of the capital. Under the rules of a house I do not know."
Park listened in silence, his face unreadable—only the slow exhale of a man reconciling pride and uncertainty.
"You're right," he murmured after a long pause. "You'd lose much. Much of what you've built here would vanish."
He looked down, his fingers gently pressing into the wooden floor.
"So if you truly don't want this…"
Before he could finish, Enna spoke.
Her voice was soft—but resolute.
"But Father… I do want to meet Sir Juho."
Park's head lifted. His eyes flicked to her, a brief flash of surprise parting the careful mask of composure.
"You do?"
Enna nodded once, deliberately. Calmly.
"Yes. I know that most women are married without meeting the man they're bound to for life. But if you are offering me a choice… then I would like to see the man I may one day call husband. Even just once. Not to judge him. But to understand what kind of path I would be walking, should I accept."
Park's lips curved into a deeper smile—subtle, but warm. A father's quiet pride blooming through the cracks of time-hardened restraint.
"You've got a point, Enna," he said, voice low and pleased.
"I'll arrange a meeting. You and Juho—this week. Would that be all right?"
Enna bowed her head gently.
"Yes, Father," she said, her voice as calm as the flickering candle beside her.
She stood slowly, her movements graceful, refined. A final nod of respect, and she stepped back.
"Then, I'll return to my room—if there is nothing more you wish to say."
Park watched her fondly.
"Go. And sleep well, my daughter."
Enna's lips lifted in a soft smile. She offered a final bow, and then, without another word, turned and walked toward the sliding doors.
The paper doors slid open with a muted creak. A breeze passed gently through the night, carrying with it the scent of pine and damp earth.