Where The Memories End

The man stood in front of the mirror for what felt like an eternity, studying the reflection staring back at him as if the answer to all his questions could somehow be found there.

The face was not unpleasant to look at. In fact, if he had crossed paths with this man in the streets, he probably wouldn’t have given him a second glance. There was nothing remarkable about him, nothing that immediately screamed that something was wrong. Dark hair, Brown eyes, a faint scar near the jaw and the kind of features one could find almost anywhere in the kingdom. Yet the longer he stared, the more uncertain he became.

Had he always looked like this?

The question settled in the back of his mind, refusing to leave.

Normally, the answer should have come naturally. Nobody needed to spend minutes examining their own reflection to recognize themselves. Yet every detail he focused on seemed wrapped in a strange fog. He could see the face clearly enough, but the memory of his own remained frustratingly out of reach, like a dream disappearing the moment he reached for it. There was no panic in the realization, only confusion. Perhaps there should have been more. Perhaps waking up in front of a mirror unable to fully recognize oneself was supposed to be terrifying. Instead, it simply felt... odd.

His hand rose to brush through his hair while he tried once again to remember the previous night.

That proved just as difficult.

Memories surfaced in fragments rather than a coherent sequence of events. A ballroom flooded with light. Music echoing beneath high ceilings. Nobles dressed in expensive fabrics. Servants moving between guests carrying silver trays. The palace had hosted one of its countless celebrations, though he could not remember the reason. Not that he would have paid much attention to it in the first place. He had not been there as a guest.

He had been working.

That much he knew with certainty.

Protecting the royal family had been his duty for years now, ever since his father had retired and passed the responsibility on to him. Balls, ceremonies, diplomatic visits, military gatherings—it did not matter. If members of the royal family were present, he was expected to be there as well.

His memory drifted again before settling on the palace gardens.

The cool night air.

The sound of the sea below.

The city stretching beneath the hill on which the castle stood.

He remembered stepping away from the celebration for a brief moment, seeking a few minutes of peace among the gardens overlooking the harbor. From there, the entire capital seemed to glow beneath the moonlight while the sea reflected silver across the horizon. It had been beautiful enough to momentarily distract him from his duties.

Then came the clearest memory of the night.

A hand resting briefly on his shoulder.

Prince Felix.

Of all the details his mind had lost, the heir to the throne remained strangely vivid. The prince had looked exactly as he always did and yet somehow different beneath the lights of the celebration. The elegant suit, the carefully arranged brown hair already beginning to escape its styling, and those freckles that seemed determined to capture attention no matter how often he tried to ignore them.

A faint smile appeared on his lips before he could stop it.

That, at least, felt familiar.

The prince had not approached him for idle conversation. He remembered that much. Felix had mentioned someone wandering near the eastern gardens, a man who looked out of place among the guests. Perhaps a thief. Perhaps merely someone who had taken a wrong turn. Either way, the prince had asked him to investigate, and he had obeyed without hesitation.

After that, however, his memory ended abruptly.

No suspicious stranger.

No confrontation.

No return to the ballroom.

Nothing.

It was as though someone had torn several pages from the middle of a book and expected the story to continue regardless.

His gaze returned to the mirror.

The reflection remained unchanged, patiently staring back at him while answers refused to come. Whoever this man was, he clearly existed. The face carried the marks of a life already lived, habits already formed, experiences he himself could not remember. It was not an empty shell created from nothing.

Someone had once called this body their own.

The troubling part was that, despite knowing that with absolute certainty, he could not shake the feeling that it was supposed to belong to somebody else.

He changed into something simpler for the day following the ceremony, leaving behind the formal clothes he had worn the night before. It felt natural, almost automatic, like a routine his body already knew without needing to think about it. Once dressed, he put on his shoes and left his room, making his way toward the kitchen to find something to eat.

The palace looked exactly the same as it always had. The long corridors, the paintings decorating the walls, the servants moving from one place to another as they prepared for the day ahead; everything seemed to carry the same familiar rhythm. There was nothing unusual, nothing that suggested that something had changed.

And yet, as he walked through the halls, a strange feeling remained somewhere in the back of his mind.

At this hour, the domestic usually greeted him. They had worked together for years, hadn’t they? There were always small conversations, simple exchanges that came from seeing the same people every day. But this morning, one of the servants simply bowed before continuing on their way, and for a moment he wondered why he had expected anything else.

The thought passed quickly.

Before he could dwell on it, he found himself standing in front of the kitchen door. He hesitated for a brief second, not because he did not know where he was, but because something about entering felt strangely unfamiliar. It was an odd sensation, one he could not explain, and before he had time to question it further, the door opened suddenly.

A chef nearly walked into him, a large plate balanced carefully in his hands, filled with small pastries covered in cream. Some kind of French dessert, he assumed.

“Let me help you,”he offered naturally.

The chef looked at him with a strange expression.

At first, there was only confusion, as if he was trying to understand why this man was standing in front of him. The guard noticed the reaction but couldn’t understand it. Wasn’t this someone he saw every morning?

Before he could say anything, another member of the kitchen staff came rushing out with another tray. She stopped immediately when she saw him, her eyes widening as if she had just seen something impossible.

“Prince Jeongin?”

The name reached him before the meaning did.

“What are you doing here dressed like this?”she asked, clearly surprised.“I mean, it is a pleasure to see you, of course, but shouldn’t you be in your sister’s room helping her prepare for today?”

For a moment, he simply stared at her.

His sister?

The words felt strange.

Not because they were impossible, but because they belonged to a life he could not remember.

And then another realization followed.

Prince.

She had called him prince.

But he was not a prince.

He was a guard.

He had spent his entire life protecting the royal family. His father had served them before him, and when he retired, the duty had naturally passed down to him. That was what he knew. That was what made sense.

Yet the name continued to echo in his mind.

Jeongin.

It felt distant, like something belonging to someone else.

And at the same time, it carried a familiarity he could not deny.

The strangest part was not that they were wrong.

The strangest part was that a small part of him wondered if maybe they weren’t.

“Ho... I wanted to have breakfast first, before going to... to my sister.”

The first part of his sentence was true. He really did want breakfast.

The rest, however, felt strange the moment it left his mouth.

The lie stayed in his mind, repeating itself quietly like an old song he couldn’t remember learning.

The woman looked at him for a second before letting out a small laugh.

“You will have to wait for that.”

The chef and the other members of the kitchen staff quickly apologized before leaving, continuing their work elsewhere. He remained where he was, standing in front of the kitchen door with no idea what he was supposed to do next.

There were too many questions.

And not a single answer.

For a moment, he simply stood there, trying to understand when exactly his life had become something he couldn’t recognize.

Then, as if someone had heard his silent confusion, a gentle hand rested on his shoulder.

The touch was warm.

It didn’t leave.

Not until he finally turned around.

Only then did the warmth disappear from his shoulder, replaced by the sight of the man standing in front of him.

His eyes moved slowly, taking him in from head to toe.

Black shoes.

Navy pants.

A perfectly fitted white shirt.

Gold jewelry catching the morning light.

And those freckles.

For a few seconds, he simply looked at Felix.

Not like a guard looking at a prince.

More like someone standing in front of a painting, trying to understand why he couldn’t look away.

Then Felix spoke, and the moment broke.

“What are you doing here? Did you lose your way?”the prince asked with an amused smile.“I can understand why. The palace is huge. Even I still manage to get lost sometimes.”

The two of them laughed quietly.

It felt natural.

Too natural.

“But at least you found one of the best places here,”Felix continued.“The kitchen.”

And he was right.

The kitchen had always been the place where the palace felt different.

Here, titles mattered less.

Everyone worked together, everyone shared the same food, the same warmth. Especially when Felix decided to come down and prepare desserts himself. In those moments, even a prince became just another person covered in flour, arguing with the chefs about whether a recipe needed more sugar.

The guard remembered those mornings.

Or at least, he thought he did.

He remembered watching Felix cook, pretending he had no reason to stay longer than necessary. He remembered the smell of freshly made pastries filling the room, the laughter of the kitchen staff, the way the prince seemed more comfortable here than anywhere else in the palace.

But why did those memories feel so distant?

Why did they feel like they belonged to someone standing beside him rather than himself?

“Come on,”Felix said, bringing him back.“I’ll take you to your sister’s room. You need to change, and she needs time to prepare properly. Today is a big day.”

The guard followed his voice more than his own thoughts.

“What big day?”

Felix stopped.

For a moment, the prince looked at him with surprise.

“Did you forget?”

The question should have been simple.

Yet somehow, it made his stomach tighten.

“Our fathers will decide the conditions of my brother’s marriage with your sister today.”

Felix kept his word.

He accompanied Jeongin through the corridors until they reached the room that had been prepared for Eunchae, then stopped just outside the door. For a brief moment, he seemed ready to follow him inside. His hand even lifted slightly, as though he intended to knock, before he appeared to reconsider.

“I should leave you two some privacy,”he said instead.

Jeongin turned toward him.

There was nothing unusual in Felix’s expression. Only the same gentle amusement he had carried since finding him near the kitchens, softened now by something that almost looked like concern. Perhaps Felix had noticed how quiet he had been on the way there. Perhaps he had simply assumed it was because of the meeting awaiting them.

Either way, he did not ask.

“I’ll see you downstairs,”Felix continued.“Try not to take too long. Our fathers have probably already turned breakfast into a council meeting.”

The remark earned a small smile from Jeongin, though he was not entirely sure why.

Felix smiled back as if the reaction had been expected, then stepped away. The sound of his footsteps faded gradually along the corridor, leaving Jeongin alone before the closed door.

For several seconds, he did not move.

His hand rested against the handle, but something prevented him from lowering it.

A sister was waiting on the other side.

His sister.

The words still felt strangely detached from him, as if they had been written into a story someone else had begun long before he arrived. He understood what they meant. He understood what was expected of him. But understanding was not the same as remembering.

He should have known the person waiting inside.

He should have known the shape of her smile before seeing it, the sound of her voice before hearing it, the small habits that came from a lifetime spent growing beside someone. There should have been mornings, arguments, shared secrets, perhaps even things he had forgotten for ordinary reasons rather than because his entire life now seemed covered by fog.

Instead, there was only a name.

Eunchae.

Even that had not truly belonged to him until a few moments earlier.

Jeongin finally lowered the handle and stepped inside.

The room was larger than the one he had woken in, though it did not feel more welcoming. Morning light passed through tall windows overlooking the sea, turning the pale fabric of the curtains almost silver. Several trunks had been placed near the end of the bed, some open, others still secured by leather straps. Dresses hung behind a folding screen, their fabrics spilling over one another in layers of ivory, rose and blue. Jewelry boxes rested unopened upon a nearby table, beside ribbons and hairpins that had been arranged with such care that no one appeared to have touched them since their arrival.

Despite the number of belongings inside, the room carried the quiet, temporary feeling of a place that had not yet become anyone’s home.

Only one person occupied it.

A young woman sat before the dressing table, slowly drawing a brush through her hair.

She had not noticed him immediately or perhaps she had and had chosen not to turn around.

Jeongin remained by the door, suddenly aware of how out of place he must have looked. His clothes were simple, practical, darker than anything else in the room. Clothes suited to moving unnoticed through palace corridors, not to standing beside a princess on the morning her future was meant to be decided.

The woman continued brushing her hair.

Each movement was careful, almost mechanical. The brush passed through the same section several times even though there were no tangles left to remove. Her eyes were lowered, but their reflection remained visible in the mirror.

He watched her for a moment longer than he intended.

The first thing he recognized was not her face but the tension in her shoulders.

The way her fingers had tightened around the handle of the brush.

The way she seemed to be breathing too quietly, as though making too much noise might remind the palace that she was there.

Those details felt familiar to him.

Not the familiarity of someone he had observed as a guard. This was something warmer. Older. It lived somewhere beneath the confusion, beyond the parts of his memory he could reach.

He knew this silence, what it meant when she refused to look directly at him. He knew she was afraid.

The certainty came without explanation.

Jeongin moved farther into the room. The door closed softly behind him, and the sound finally made her eyes lift.

Their gazes met through the mirror.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Her face was not unfamiliar. That was the strangest part.

He could not remember seeing her before, and yet nothing about her felt new. The shape of her eyes, the curve of her mouth, even the way she tilted her head slightly when uncertain—all of it seemed to awaken something just beyond his reach.

A feeling rather than a memory.

Sunlight falling across another room.

A much younger girl sitting on a windowsill with her knees drawn toward her chest.

Laughter somewhere behind him.

The image disappeared before he could hold onto it.

Jeongin took another step.

She watched him carefully through the mirror now, and he wondered what she saw.

Did she notice the hesitation?

Did she find it strange that her brother had remained near the door for so long instead of greeting her?

If she did, she said nothing.

Her expression simply changed.

The uncertainty in her eyes remained, but it was joined by something sharper. Frustration, perhaps. The guarded look of someone who already expected to be told that her fear did not matter.

And somehow, he knew that they had spoken about this before.

Not he and Eunchae.

Jeongin and Eunchae.

The distinction should have been clear, yet it was becoming increasingly difficult to tell where one life ended and the other began.

There had been a conversation.

He could almost hear the echo of it.

A voice raised behind a closed door. A refusal. The mention of duty, kingdoms and a future that had been decided before either of them had been asked what they wanted.

The memory did not form completely. It remained blurred around the edges, but the emotion beneath it was unmistakable.

She had been frightened then too.

“Why are you scared?”The question escaped him before he decided to ask it.

Her hand stopped halfway through her hair.

Jeongin heard his own voice in the quiet room and immediately wondered whether it had been the wrong thing to say. It sounded too direct, too familiar for two people who had barely spoken since he entered.

Then another word followed. “Eunchae...”Her name came so naturally that it unsettled him more than his inability to recognize her had.

He had not needed to search for it.

He had not repeated it silently first or waited for someone else to address her.

It had simply been there.

Softened by years he could not remember.

The sound of it felt intimate in his mouth, familiar in a way that nothing else had since waking. For one brief moment, he could almost believe he had called her that a thousand times before.

Eunchae lowered the brush.“We already had this conversation.”Her voice carried no surprise at hearing her name. Only exhaustion.

She turned slightly on the stool, though she still faced him mostly through the mirror.

“You won’t make me change my mind,”she continued.“I won’t marry him.”

Jeongin said nothing.

Her gaze dropped toward the dressing table.“I don’t even know him.”The words remained between them, simple and heavy.

Jeongin looked at her reflection while trying to understand what he was supposed to feel.

He knew Prince Minho.

Not as family. Not as the man who might one day marry his sister. He knew him as a guard: through years of observation, through orders given in crowded rooms, through long ceremonies in which one learned more from silence than conversation.

Minho had never been the sort of prince who used his title to make himself larger.

He listened before speaking. When something went wrong, he was usually the first to step forward rather than the first to find someone else to blame. He treated the guards with the same respect he showed the nobles gathered around him, though he did so quietly enough that most people did not notice.

Jeongin had trusted him. That much he remembered. The thought brought a strange sense of relief.“But you need to,”Jeongin said at last, keeping his voice gentle.“It’s your role.”

Eunchae’s expression tightened almost immediately.

He noticed and regretted the words before he had even finished saying them.

Still, he continued.“I’m sure Prince Minho is a good man.”That part was not something Jeongin’s memories had offered him.

It came from the guard he was.

From years spent standing at the edge of rooms, watching the eldest prince make decisions when he believed no one important was paying attention. From the calm authority in his voice, the discipline in his posture, and the rare moments when his serious expression gave way to something warmer.

Minho was not a stranger to him.

But to Eunchae, he was.

Jeongin moved closer, though not close enough to touch her.“Eunchae, my dear...”The endearment slipped from him almost as easily as her name had.

His chest tightened. For one second, he saw a different room.

A child with tear-stained cheeks. His own hands—smaller hands—trying unsuccessfully to fix a ribbon in her hair.

Then the image vanished.

“Everything will be fine,”he finished softly.

Eunchae’s fingers tightened around the brush.“I have never even seen him.”This time she turned fully toward him.

Without the mirror between them, her fear was more difficult to ignore. It was not the fear of Minho himself. At least, Jeongin did not think it was. It was the fear of a future that already belonged to everyone except her.

“How do you expect me to marry someone I don’t know?”she asked.“It’s not like you had to marry someone you had never met before.”

Her voice wavered, though she quickly forced it steady again.“You can’t understand.”

Jeongin looked at her and for a moment, he considered giving her the answer expected from a prince.

He could have spoken about duty. About alliances. About the responsibility carried by those born into royal families. Words he had heard countless times during councils and ceremonies, words men like him were expected to defend without questioning.

But they would not have been honest.

Because she was right.

Whatever life belonged to the body he now occupied, the life he remembered had never asked this of him.

A guard could lose his freedom in countless ways. His time belonged to the crown. His safety belonged to those he protected. His future depended on duty and obedience.

But no one had ever told him whom he would marry.

No one had ever expected him to smile while strangers discussed the terms of his life over breakfast.

“I don’t,”he admitted.

The answer seemed to surprise her. Some of the tension left her face, though only slightly.

Jeongin closed the remaining distance between them. He raised one hand, hesitated for the briefest moment, then rested it carefully on the top of her head.

The gesture felt natural.

Not planned. Not copied from a memory. His body simply seemed to know what to do and Eunchae did not pull away.

Jeongin’s fingers moved once over her hair, smoothing down a strand disturbed by the brush, and something inside him ached with a tenderness he could not explain.

He did not know her.

Not truly.

He did not know what she loved, what made her angry, whether she slept late or rose before sunrise. He could not remember the last conversation they had shared or the promises Jeongin might have made to her before this morning.

But she was looking at him like she needed her brother.

And somewhere beneath the confusion, beneath the guard’s memories and Jeongin’s instincts, he knew how to be that person.

“But I can be there for you,”he said.

Eunchae stared at him.

The room remained quiet around them. Somewhere outside, footsteps passed through the corridor before fading again. The sea moved beyond the windows, its distant sound almost lost beneath the silence.

Their gazes met once more through the mirror. The distance between them had not disappeared.

His missing memories still stood between them, invisible but undeniable.

Yet something softer had taken their place.

A fragile kind, built from the way he had answered her rather than the memories he could not provide.

Jeongin’s hand fell back to his side.

He glanced at the unfinished arrangement of hairpins on the table, then at the gowns hanging behind the screen.

“Let’s change,”he said gently.“Okay?”

For the first time since he entered the room, Eunchae’s expression softened.

A quiet laugh escaped her.“Look at you, brother.”

Jeongin followed her gaze toward his reflection.

“You really do look like a guard dressed like that.”

Jeongin looked at his reflection once again.

She was right.

The dark clothes hanging from his shoulders looked strangely out of place now. Only that morning, they had felt natural enough for him to leave his room without questioning them. They had belonged to the only life he still remembered. The life of a royal guard. Practical. Discreet. Familiar.

Now, standing beside Eunchae, they seemed almost ridiculous.

He smiled to himself.

“I suppose I do.”

The words were barely louder than a whisper.

A silence settled naturally between them while the morning light slowly crept farther across the wooden floor. Dust floated lazily through the room, visible only where the sun managed to slip between the curtains.

Somewhere outside, a few distant voices echoed through the palace before disappearing just as quickly, replaced by the cries of seagulls drifting up from the harbour below.

Life continued beyond these walls, yet inside the room, everything seemed strangely still. Eunchae turned away from the mirror first.

She crossed the room at an unhurried pace before stopping in front of one of the large travelling trunks resting near the foot of the bed. Her fingers lingered for a moment on the brass lock without opening it immediately.

Almost as if she wasn’t ready.

Jeongin watched quietly.

There was something hesitant about the way she stood there. Not because she had forgotten what she was looking for but because opening the trunk somehow felt heavier than it should.

At last, she released a slow breath before lifting the lid.

The old hinges answered with a low creak.

A faint scent escaped almost immediately.

Cedarwood.

Lavender.

Something softer beneath it that he couldn’t quite recognise. It wasn’t the smell of the palace, it belonged somewhere else.

Home.

The thought crossed his mind before he even realised it.

Eunchae remained perfectly still for a few seconds, looking down at everything neatly folded inside without reaching for anything.

Jeongin’s eyes lowered as well.

Every piece of clothing had been carefully arranged before the journey. Shirts folded one over another without a single crease. Waistcoats wrapped inside thin linen cloth to protect the embroidery. Gloves placed neatly inside a small wooden box tucked into one corner.

Nothing looked hurried. Nothing looked as though it had been packed by someone preparing to leave forever. It looked...

Temporary.

His gaze wandered away from the trunk. Another chest remained closed beside the wall. A jewellery case still rested untouched near the dressing table.

Even the gown Eunchae had worn the previous evening had simply been draped behind the folding screen instead of being put away.

The room was beautiful.

Elegant.

But it did not feel lived in. It felt borrowed.

As though every object inside was quietly waiting for the day it would be packed again. Only then did Jeongin understand what had been bothering him since he entered. She hadn’t moved into this room. She had merely arrived.

Eunchae finally leaned forward.

“I know it’s somewhere in here.”

Her voice was softer than before, almost as though she was speaking more to herself than to him.

She carefully moved aside a neatly folded waistcoat before lifting another pile of clothes resting beneath it. A few ribbons had slipped between the fabrics during the journey, forcing her to untangle them one by one before setting them aside.

“I asked one of the maids to pack everything before we left,”she explained with a faint smile.“Mother insisted we would need far more clothes than we actually do.”

The smile lingered only briefly.

“I think she was hoping it would make this place feel more like home.”

Jeongin looked back inside the trunk.

It hadn’t.

Not for Eunchae.

Perhaps not even for the people who had packed it.

His eyes wandered from one garment to another without any particular purpose. Most of them looked the same to him. Fine fabrics, carefully embroidered collars, colours chosen with a refinement he had never paid much attention to during his years as a guard.

He had spent his life watching people.

Never their clothes.

Eunchae continued searching.“I’m sure I packed your favourite one...”She frowned slightly.“It should be here.”

Favourite.

The word echoed quietly in his mind. He almost asked her what she meant. Instead, he found himself crouching beside her.“May I?”

She looked up, then silently shifted to give him enough room.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. The only sound came from the rustling of fabric beneath their hands. Jeongin reached for the first jacket he saw before setting it aside almost immediately.

Too dark.

The second felt heavier.

The third...

His hand stopped. He hadn’t meant to pause.

The suit lying beneath his fingers wasn’t particularly remarkable. Compared to the others, it was almost plain. A soft beige fabric, simple embroidery along the cuffs, nothing that demanded attention.

Yet something about it felt...

Right.

His fingertips remained resting on the sleeve. A strange warmth settled quietly in his chest. Not a memory.

Never a memory.

Only the quiet certainty that this was the one he had been looking for.

Without questioning it further, he lifted it from the trunk.“I think...”His voice came almost absent-mindedly.“This one.”

Eunchae didn’t answer immediately.

Jeongin glanced toward her, she wasn’t looking at the suit. She was looking at him. For a brief moment, something unreadable crossed her face.

Surprise maybe relief. A small smile slowly curved her lips.“I was hoping you would choose that one.”

Jeongin frowned slightly.“I did?”

She nodded.“It has always been your favourite.”Silence settled between them once more. Jeongin lowered his eyes to the pale fabric resting in his hands.

He had never seen it before. He was certain of that. And yet... In real he hadn’t chosen it. His hand simply... knew where to stop.

“I’ll wait outside.”Jeongin said quietly.

Eunchae shook her head almost immediately.

“You’ve never cared about changing in front of me.”

The answer came so naturally that it left him without one. For a brief second, he simply looked at her. Another reminder.

Another habit that belonged to Jeongin rather than himself.

“...Right.”

The word felt awkward on his tongue.

Still holding the suit in his hands, he crossed the room until he reached the folding screen standing near the window. The soft morning light slipped through the carved wooden panels, casting delicate shadows across the polished floor.

He carefully removed the dark jacket first.

The familiar weight disappeared from his shoulders.

Then came the leather belt.

The shirt.

Each layer felt strangely symbolic, as though he wasn’t simply changing clothes but slowly peeling away the only life he could still remember.

When the guard’s uniform finally rested folded over the nearby chair, he found himself staring at it for a moment longer than necessary.

Would he ever wear it again?

The thought lingered longer than he expected.

He unfolded the beige waistcoat.

The fabric was lighter than anything he had ever worn. Softer, too. His fingers instinctively searched for the rough stitching he was used to finding along the inside of a guard’s uniform.

There was none.

Everything about these clothes had been made for comfort rather than movement.

For appearances rather than protection.

Yet somehow...

His body knew exactly how to wear them. His hands fastened each button without hesitation. The sleeves settled naturally around his wrists.

Even the cravat, which should have required several attempts, seemed to tie itself beneath his fingers before he had the chance to think.

Jeongin froze.

He slowly lifted his eyes toward the mirror standing beyond the folding screen.

The man staring back at him no longer looked like the guard who had woken up only a few hours earlier.

The darker colours that had once allowed him to disappear into the background had been replaced by warm shades that drew attention instead of avoiding it.

The tailored jacket straightened his posture. The embroidered waistcoat softened the severity of his features.

He looked... Comfortable.

Like someone who had worn clothes like these his entire life. His breath caught in his throat not because the reflection was unfamiliar.

Because it wasn’t.

That frightened him far more.

He could still remember fastening the armour of a royal guard before sunrise.

He remembered standing for hours beside palace doors, the weight of a sword hanging from his belt. Those memories were his.

He was certain of it. So why...

Why did the prince in the mirror suddenly look just as convincing?

Behind him, Eunchae smiled quietly.“I knew it.”

Jeongin looked at her through the reflection.“What?”

She tilted her head ever so slightly.“Beige has always suited you better than royal blue.”

Once again... He had no memory of ever making that choice.

Eunchae stepped closer, gently straightening the collar of his waistcoat before taking a small step back to admire her work.“There.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him with the same concentration a painter might give the final brushstroke on a canvas.“Much better.”

Jeongin glanced down at himself.“I still don’t feel like a prince.”

“No,”she admitted with a quiet smile.“Not yet.”

He looked back at her. The answer should probably have unsettled him. Instead, he found himself smiling.“You make it sound as though I’ll eventually get used to it.”

“I think you will.”

There wasn’t the slightest hesitation in her voice.

She spoke with the quiet certainty of someone who had spent her entire life believing in him.

For a moment, Jeongin wondered what kind of brother Jeongin had truly been. Protective, perhaps. Patient.

The sort of person whose presence alone made difficult days easier to endure.

He hoped so. Because if he failed to become that man... Eunchae would be the first to notice.

She turned back toward the dresses hanging behind the folding screen, absent-mindedly brushing her fingertips over the fabrics as she walked.

“What about you?”Jeongin asked.

She glanced over her shoulder.

“What about me?”

“You said you wanted something comfortable.”

“I do.”

“Then why are you looking at those?”

A soft laugh escaped her.“Because they’re expected.”She let the fabric slip through her fingers.“If Mother walked in right now and found me wearing anything less formal than these...”She paused before smiling to herself.“...I think she’d faint.”

Jeongin chuckled.“Then perhaps we should avoid giving her that opportunity.”

Eunchae looked at him for a second.

Then another.

A surprised laugh escaped her before she could stop it.“You’re impossible.”The words came so naturally that she didn’t seem to realise what she had said until after they had left her mouth.

Her smile lingered.“So she used to say," she murmured almost to herself.

Jeongin’s expression softened.“Mother?”

Eunchae nodded.“Whenever you convinced me to sneak out into the gardens instead of attending etiquette lessons.”

A faint crease appeared between Jeongin’s brows.“I did that?”

“You did.”She laughed quietly, shaking her head.“You always said that if we were going to spend our lives acting like proper royals, we deserved to behave like children while we still could.”

The room seemed to grow quieter. Not because no one was speaking but because Jeongin couldn’t.

The words painted the outline of someone he had never met.

Someone who shared his face, someone whose kindness lingered in small memories rather than grand gestures.

For the first time, he wasn’t wondering what had happened to himself.

He was wondering what had happened to Jeongin.

Eunchae remained where she was for a moment, her fingers still absent-mindedly brushing against the dresses hanging before her.“There are too many.”

“There are.”

She looked over her shoulder with an amused smile.“That’s not very helpful.”

“I’m afraid I’m not particularly knowledgeable when it comes to dresses.”

“You’ve certainly made that clear.”

He let out a quiet laugh.“I spent years making sure no one stepped on them at least.”

“Not wearing them?”

His eyebrows lifted in mock offence.“I should hope not.”

Another laugh escaped her, lighter this time. It echoed briefly through the room before fading into a comfortable quiet.

Jeongin found himself smiling without meaning to.

It felt... easy.

Far easier than anything else had since he had opened his eyes that morning.

His gaze drifted back toward the dresses.

Rows of colours filled the space behind the folding screen. Rich emerald silks embroidered with golden thread. Deep crimson velvet that seemed far too heavy for a summer morning. Shades of ivory, sapphire and pale rose carefully protected beneath fine linen covers.

Beautiful.

Impressive.

And entirely unsuited to the young woman standing beside him. Not because she lacked the grace to wear them but because they seemed to wear her instead.

He glanced toward Eunchae.

Even now, dressed simply while preparing for the day, she looked more at ease than she probably would beneath layers of jewels and stiff embroidery. Without realising it, he stepped closer to the dresses.

His fingers moved slowly across the fabrics, not searching for the most beautiful one, nor the most expensive. He searched for something else. Something that felt... Like her.

One dress after another slipped beneath his fingertips before his hand paused. Almost hidden between two darker gowns hung a dress in a soft shade of lilac.

The fabric was light enough to move with the breeze drifting in through the open window. Delicate embroidery followed the edge of the sleeves, subtle enough to catch the sunlight without demanding attention.

Simple, elegant, comfortable. He drew it carefully from the wardrobe.“This one.”

Eunchae blinked. Her eyes widened ever so slightly before she crossed the room to take the dress from his hands.

She looked at it for a long moment.

A smile slowly appeared.“I almost didn’t pack this one.”

Jeongin tilted his head.“Why?”

“Because Mother said it wasn’t appropriate for official meetings.”Her thumb brushed gently over the lilac fabric.“But...”

She looked up at him.“...it has always been my favourite.”

For the briefest moment, Jeongin felt something tighten inside his chest.

Not because of the dress but beecause somehow... Without knowing her or remembering her, he had chosen the one thing that still felt like home.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Eunchae’s fingers continued absent-mindedly tracing the delicate embroidery stitched along the edge of the lilac dress. Every now and then, the fabric caught the morning light, giving the pale colour a soft silver glow.

“It really is beautiful,”she murmured.

Jeongin watched the quiet smile resting on her lips. He saw it.. The fact that it wasn’t the smile of a princess preparing for an official meeting.

It was simply Eunchae.

For the first time since he had entered the room, she no longer looked like someone trying to escape the future waiting beyond the palace doors.

She looked... Peaceful.

A strange sense of relief settled somewhere inside his chest. He couldn’t explain why.

Perhaps because, despite everything he couldn’t remember, he had managed to ease at least one person’s worries.

Even if only for a little while.

Eunchae carefully folded the dress over her arm before looking back at him.

“I should get ready.”

Jeongin nodded.

“I’ll wait.”

She disappeared behind the folding screen, and almost immediately the room filled with the quiet rustle of fabric.

Left on his own, Jeongin slowly wandered toward the window.

The sea stretched endlessly beyond the palace walls.

Fishing boats had already begun leaving the harbour, becoming little more than white specks against the morning horizon. From this height, the city seemed peaceful. Ordinary.

People continued living their lives, unaware that somewhere above them, a man stood in front of a window wearing another man’s face.

His hand rested lightly against the stone windowsill.

Cool beneath his fingertips.

Solid.

Real.

Unlike everything else.

A gentle knock broke the silence. Three quiet taps.

“Your Highness?”A servant waited outside.“Prince Felix asked me to let you know that breakfast is almost ready.”

Jeongin remained still for a heartbeat before answering.“We’ll be there shortly.”

The footsteps faded once again. Behind him, the rustling of fabric came to an end.