you meet for the first time as children, caught in the crossfire of hatred.

historical note: "mama" is the korean equivalent of "your highness" & the proper address for a queen. her children can simply call her that, but others must add her official title as well.

"Quick. Through here. Hurry!"

Your mother's frantic voice rips you from sleep. You've never heard her sound like this before, panicked and scared all at once through the door that is suddenly shoved open before your stunned gaze. Before you can slip from your blanket, a woman you've only seen from afar comes hurtling into view, supported by senior eunuch Sang. Mother follows them in with a boy cradled in her arms. Red is splattered across their thin nightclothes, seeping through the fabric like a terrifying painting.

"Mom!"

She ignores you, jerking her head further inside at the eunuch. "Over there, onto the bedding!" She spares you a single look. "Be quiet, okay?"

You nod as you stand, heart galloping in your chest. You somehow manage to shuffle over to the door, shutting it. When you turn back, Queen Jeonghui lies on her side, and mother is letting the boy down. He leans dizzily against the small table, red smeared all over his face. You press your lips together hard to stifle the noises of fear that want to erupt at the sight.

"Jungjeon-mama, please, you mustn't move too much. Your wounds!"

Sang is frantically trying to hold the queen back but she keeps reaching out towards the crown prince with one of her arms. Even though she is shaking fiercely with strain, she cups his cheek, palm coming away bloodied but she keeps going back. "My son— My dear son— Yoongi-yah—" She chokes off on a sob. "Eun-a, help him first!"

"Put pressure on her wound." Mother shoves a cloth towards Sang. "I will take care of him," she says to the queen in a voice that might come off as soothing and calm, but you can hear the quiver. "I promise." Using the nearby basin of water, she starts to wash his face. He looks especially tiny when he's hunched over like this, only two years younger than you but that seems to make all the difference right now. But he doesn't cry, doesn't move a muscle. Just lets mother run the fabric over all the red.

"Oh!" A loud gasp slips from you when mother tilts his head up and you see the deep, jagged cut running down over his right eye, a stark contrast to his pale skin. It's still so raw, and you can't even begin to imagine how it hurts.

Mother's gaze flashes to you and you think she might scold you. Instead, she snaps her fingers. "Bring me the salve. The brown one."

You almost trip in your haste to get it to her. Up close, the angry red slit makes you want to cringe, but the prince stays still. Even as mother coats the cool balm onto the wound, which should most definitely sting, he stays still.

"How could this happen...?" The queen mutters as if in a trance as Sang pushes against her left arm, trying hard to stop the bleeding. "How could she do this?" Her eyes have glazed over, lost all their regal light. Every inch of her is trembling, sweat and tears matting her long hair. She rocks back and forth, back and forth.

"Please, I need to treat you," your mother tries to say, but the queen's not listening. "Your gash is much worse. I need to get to it now. Please, turn over."

"Oh my precious, precious son—"

"Mama."

The prince does not even let out a whimper. He takes the hand closest to his mother and places it over her cheek. He waits until her water-logged eyes focus on him. "Mama, I'm okay. I'm okay."

"...Thank the heavens." With a delirious half-laugh, she finally rolls onto her back. Her eyes squeeze shut, riding out the adrenaline-ridden pain.

As mother starts to work, the prince doesn't take his tiny hand away, nor does he allow a single tear to fall past his determined jaw. He just gives the queen tiny, strained smiles when her eyes flutter open every so often.

But you see it. You are the only one to see how he crushes his other hand into a secret fist so tight it leaves bruises that last for an entire week behind.

Later, mother tells you the official story: the crown prince had an accident with a few sharp stones. His mother had slipped while trying to help him. There is no reason for anyone to question the tragic incident that leaves the queen without use of her left arm for the rest of her life, and the prince with a scar that refuses to heal no matter what expensive balms are applied. No one questions the increased guard presence at their doors either. You are to keep their visit to your private room an absolute secret.

"But mom, why did she come to us at all?" You ask while she runs her fingers through your hair, braiding it. Other court physicians live in the palace too, ones much more experienced and higher ranked than your mother.

She pauses. Hums a single contemplative note. "Trust." Then she never speaks of that night again.