The emperor's day was set in stone.
He rose at the Myo hour and washed his face, held morning court at the Jin hour, attended to state affairs at the Wu hour, ate at the Wei hour, attended to state affairs again at the Shen hour, practiced martial arts at the You hour, ate dinner at the Xu hour, and went to an imperial consort's residence at the Hai hour.
For ten years, this daily schedule had barely changed. The only thing that changed was the name of the residence he visited at the Hai hour.
Morning court ended early today. There had been no reports from the frontier, and the Revenue Office's revenue report was concise. The emperor rose from the imperial throne and headed for the Private Audience Hall. Chief Eunuch Yu-an followed half a step behind him.
"Your Majesty, tonight you are scheduled to visit Consort Suk's residence."
"I know."
"And a report has come in that Consort Deok has changed the fourth prince's prescription."
"Did the Imperial Medical Office approve it?"
"Yes. The imperial physician prescribed it personally."
"Then that's fine."
The emperor asked no more questions. It wasn't that he had no interest in the fourth prince's health. It was simply that his way of showing concern was different. If the child fell ill, he sent an imperial physician. If medicine was needed, he ordered it prepared. Once that was done, his duty was finished. He had held the child before. But he hadn't done so because he wanted to. He had held him because Consort Deok had looked up at him in a way that made him feel he ought to do something.
Sitting in the Private Audience Hall, he read memorials. Piles of papers covered in dense writing were stacked before him. The emperor read quickly, judged quickly, and quickly took up his brush. He was a capable ruler. His ministers feared his judgment, and foreign envoys bowed their heads before his majesty.
But there was no warmth in that capability.
When he had finished reading the memorials and set down his brush, Yu-an brought him tea.
"Your Majesty, the Empress wishes to pay her respects."
"Tell her to come tomorrow morning."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The emperor drank his tea. The Empress. Eleven years since their marriage. Longer still if one counted from when she had been Crown Princess. The Empress was wise, her family was dependable, and her skill at governing the Office of Palace Women was beyond reproach. The emperor trusted the Empress. That was all.
The emperor did not know that trust and love were different things. He felt no need to know. Nights spent with the Empress were a duty, and nights spent with his imperial consorts were a duty as well. Feeling a woman's warmth in bed and feeling something for the woman herself were different, but the emperor had never distinguished between them.
He had received his first bedchamber maid at fourteen. He had still been Crown Prince then. He could not remember the maid's face. After that, countless women passed through the emperor's side. Imperial consorts who entered through selection, palace maids to whom he granted imperial favor. No one's face remained with him for long.
There had occasionally been palace maids who caught his attention. Perhaps her eyes were clear, or her walk graceful, or the way she smiled unfamiliar. When that happened, he granted her imperial favor. It had happened four times. Two of them received investiture decrees and became imperial consorts, and one bore a child. Yet the way the emperor remembered those palace maids was no different from the way he remembered his imperial consorts. Name, residence, court rank. That was all.
The emperor knew the word love. It appeared in poetry, in historical records, and occasionally in his ministers' memorials. But he did not know what it meant. When he was hungry, he ate. When he was tired, he slept. He ruled because the realm had to be governed. There had been no room for love between those things.
No—not that there was no room. It simply wasn't needed.
The sun began to set. Yu-an appeared again.
"Your Majesty, it is time to go to Consort Suk's residence."
The emperor rose. He changed clothes and walked through the covered corridor. Tonight would be the same as yesterday. He would go to the appointed residence, spend the appointed amount of time there, and return without feeling anything.
As he walked through the corridor, he passed through the garden. Late-spring flowers were blooming beside the pond. The emperor did not look at them. Flowers were not something he needed to look at.
And yet, several days later, in this garden, the emperor would see something he had no need to see.
But not yet. Not yet.