The carriage came to a halt, the horses stamping impatiently in the warm evening air. Dust settled slowly around the wheels.

At the main entrance, the entire household stood in silent formation—servants with downcast eyes, guards in polished bronze armor, all motionless as statues.

Kim Seokjin stood at the center, a figure carved from shadow and silk. His black robes caught the dying breeze, the traditional scarf draped over his head swaying gently, exposing only the sharp lines of his jaw and the calm darkness of his gaze.

He did not move as the carriage door opened.

He did not blink.

Then she appeared.

For a single, suspended breath, the prince's composure flickered. His eyes traced over the newcomer—her posture, her clothes, the way she carried herself after such a long journey. He saw no weakness in her. Only curiosity. Only stillness.