They reached the low wooden stairs—three steps rising toward the open-pillared terrace of the noble hall. The building stood without walls, its columns framing the spring air, its polished floor gleaming with restraint and formality.
There, seated with his back toward her, was a man dressed in a silk robe of deep green, his black hakchangui shorts pressed neatly beneath him. His figure was upright, his shoulders broad, the air about him steady and deliberate.
At the sound of footsteps, he rose smoothly to his feet and turned.
For an instant, Enna's world narrowed to the sight of him. His eyes, sharp yet not unkind, tilted slightly upward at the corners. A firm cheekbone lent distinction to his features, and his stature—tall, commanding—was evident even in the stillness of his bow.
Their eyes met.
For three long breaths, neither spoke. The silence carried the weight of formality, yet beneath it, the faintest undercurrent of something unspoken stirred.
Then Sir Juho's expression softened. He offered a generous smile and raised his hand in an inviting gesture.
"Good afternoon, Lady Enna. I am Juho. It is an honor to finally meet you."
Enna inclined her head with poise, her lips curving into a courteous smile.
"The honor is mine, Sir Juho."
She crossed the floor with unhurried steps, her purple silk gown flowing like quiet water, and lowered herself to the seat opposite him. Her posture was careful, her sleeves drawn neatly over her knees as she folded her hands with grace.
Juho's eyes lingered on her, calm and composed, studying the nobility in her bearing as though weighing the quiet strength behind her delicate frame.
Their attendants stood respectfully at their sides, still as shadows, while a low lacquered table was set between Lady Enna and Sir Juho. Upon it rested a porcelain teapot painted with cranes, two cups, and a plate of candied walnuts, their honey glaze glimmering in the soft light.
"Do you enjoy peach tea?" Juho asked at last, his voice measured, carrying the composure of a man well-accustomed to formality.
"Yes, thank you," Enna replied, her tone serene.
With deliberate care, Juho lifted the pot, tilting it so that the amber liquid flowed in a perfect ribbon into Enna's cup. He then filled his own before setting the pot down with the precision of someone raised in etiquette.
They both lifted their cups in silence. Enna sipped lightly, the faint sweetness of peaches mingling with the warmth of the spring air. Juho did the same, his expression unchanging, though his sharp eyes seemed to study her over the rim of his cup.
When they set their cups down upon the table, the space between them filled not with awkwardness but with a quiet serenity. Their smiles—small, subtle—seemed to mirror one another, as if they shared an unspoken understanding. With their noble bearing, their refined gestures, and the weight of family prestige behind them, it felt almost as though this meeting had been fated long before.
Juho's lips curved into a composed smile. His voice, low and deliberate, broke the silence.
"Lady Enna, have you decided?"
Enna tilted her head, her gaze meeting his with a glimmer of mischief that softened her otherwise noble poise.
"What is it you mean by that, Sir Juho?" she asked lightly, as if teasing. "That I have already chosen?"
Juho's eyes lingered on her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted in quiet amusement, a flicker of warmth beneath his composure.
Juho's fingers lingered on the porcelain teapot, tracing its painted cranes as though steadying himself in the warmth of the vessel. His voice was calm, almost ceremonious, yet beneath it pulsed the gravity of what he was about to say.
"As you know," he began, his gaze fixed on Enna, "I am twenty-two, as are you. We have reached the age in Hana where marriage is both expected and honored. My father holds you in the highest regard and it is his wish that you become my wife—as you have likely already heard."
The tea steamed gently between them, carrying the faint fragrance of peaches. Juho shifted the pot in his hand, as if its heat grounded him. Then he spoke again, his tone quieter, stripped of formality.
"But I would like to hear your opinion."
For several heartbeats, Enna said nothing. She held him in her gaze—serene, unflinching, her eyes deep as still water. There was a quiet strength in her silence, a dignity that unsettled Juho more than any spoken refusal.
At last, she parted her lips, the faintest curve of a smile brushing her expression.
"You ask to hear my opinion of what your father thinks of me?" Her words carried a soft laugh, delicate but edged with meaning.
Juho inhaled sharply, so faintly it almost vanished into the spring air. In that instant, he understood: he had misjudged her. She was not merely the obedient daughter of noble blood, waiting to nod at her elders' decisions. No—she was testing him, demanding to know if he desired her hand, not just his father.
A flicker of respect stirred within him.
"Forgive me," Juho said at last, a faint smile breaking through his composure. "I should have spoken my heart before invoking my father's will."
Enna inclined her head slightly, her sleeve brushing her cup as she raised it once more.
"Yes," she murmured, her tone steady, "I would hear that." She sipped the tea with quiet grace, her eyes never leaving him.
Juho set his shoulders, his voice clear, resonant, yet still serene.
"I want you to be my wife."
The two servants, standing quietly at the side of the chamber, widened their eyes at Lord Juho's bold and unhesitating words. Yet Lady Enna, seated with composure as if carved from jade, did not so much as flinch. Her countenance remained as calm as a mountain lake unshaken by wind.
Juho's gaze, earnest as the dawn sun, fell upon her. He leaned forward, his voice low yet resolute.
"From this day forth, I begin my official duties within the august halls of the palace," he declared. "As a man of noble lineage, I must raise a household, and it is my duty to pass down the blood of my clan. My family deems this essential, and I too consent to their will. And you, Lady Enna—" his tone softened into a serene, almost reverent cadence—"are most fitting for such a bond. Your lineage is sound, your virtue without blemish, your reputation admired. In every manner, you are the match Heaven has set before me."
Enna listened in silence, neither bowing her head nor averting her eyes. At length, she tilted her chin slightly, and a faint, unreadable smile touched her lips.
"So then," she replied, her words flowing gently but carrying an undercurrent as firm as iron, "if I were to present before you another maiden, of equal station, of noble heritage as well, would you not find yourself as content to marry her as to wed me? Am I mistaken?"
Her tone held a trace of mirth, like the glimmer of moonlight upon a blade.
Juho, caught unawares, blinked rapidly, the composure in his face faltering for a breath.
Enna's eyes, clear and sharp, held him firmly. They were not the eyes of a mere maiden waiting to be chosen, but of one who weighed the world with discernment. Her beauty was not that of dazzling blossoms; rather, it was the quiet strength of bamboo in winter, the elegance of ink strokes upon white silk—ordinary at first glance, yet upon deeper gaze, wondrous.
A smirk curved across Juho's lips.
"Lady Enna," Juho spoke at last, lowering his gaze to the steam rising from the porcelain cup in his hand. The hot tea quivered as he set the vessel down, its fragrance mingling with the tense stillness of the room. "Yes, if you were to introduce me to another maiden, equal in station and born of noble blood, I would not refuse such a match. I could, in truth, marry her."
Enna's serene eyes did not waver, but within her breast a quiet shadow fell.
'So he sees me not for myself, but only for the house I come from,' she thought, sorrow brushing her heart like a cold draft across silk.
Juho lifted his gaze then, his voice shifting as though a new thought had awakened.
"But," he said with measured pause, "it is you whom I wish to know."
Enna's lashes trembled, betraying the faintest falter.
"More than any maiden of noble house or high repute," he continued steadily, "it is you—your heart, your mind—I desire to learn of. None other stirs my curiosity."
At his words, a perplexity crossed Enna's face, though she sought to keep her composure.
After a breath, she answered softly, "I may not be the perfect wife you imagine, my lord. I delight in the hearth, not for idle comfort, but for the art of nourishment. Oft do I cook for the sick and weary, believing food to bear the power of healing. And even should I wed, I cannot promise to remain within the walls of home alone. I may still wander to those in need." Her voice, though gentle, quivered with an unhidden truth.
Juho leaned back slightly, a faint smirk touching his lips before softening into a nod.
"That is somewhat sorrowful," he said, "that you would not fit the picture of the flawless housewife I once held in mind." His eyes, however, glimmered with warmth. "Yet I am not an ordinary husband bound to ordinary hopes. Let us, then, come to know one another after we are wed. What need do we have for perfection when sincerity remains?"