I remember how it started with whispers…hushed voices that floated through the market like autumn leaves on the wind.
"They're sending scouts this year," someone murmured near the spice stall.
"Not just to the capital. Even to the outer villages."
"The king's choosing again. They say he wants beauty untouched by palace politics."
I tried not to listen. Rumors had a way of stirring hearts needlessly. But I noticed how the women began dressing more carefully, how mothers started looking at their daughters with a strange mix of pride and fear.
One morning, while I was arranging dried herbs on our stall table, I overheard a merchant from Hwangdo confirming it.
"They came last week. Red robes, palace horses, banners with the phoenix seal. Took four girls from the rice valley."
My fingers paused over a pouch of dried chrysanthemum. The words felt heavy in my chest.
That evening, as we sat eating radish stew, I spoke quietly. "Do you think they'll come here?"
"No," my father replied. "Daseong is too far. The capital doesn't know we exist."
"But if they did?" I pressed.
He exchanged a glance with my mother.
"Then we close the door and keep quiet," he said. "The palace is no place for village daughters."
"Your father is right," my mother added. "It's a life wrapped in silk and chained in silence."
Still, I dreamt uneasily that night. I saw crimson banners and faceless women standing behind veils.
Three days later, a rider passed through town.
He carried no scrolls, made no announcements. But his black horse bore the royal crest, and the moment he crossed into Daseong, every elder in the village grew silent.
He spent only moments at the village headman's house before galloping away.
By the next sunrise, it was official: Daseong had been marked for review.
The village square transformed overnight. Cloths were hung, chairs arranged, the temple bell polished. Every maiden between sixteen and nineteen was summoned to record her name with the village clerk.
"We don't have a choice?" I asked him as he scribbled down my family name.
He didn't even look up. "No one refuses a king's scout, girl."
The next morning, the town bell rang before dawn. Mothers scrubbed their daughters' hands with lemon water. Girls brushed each other's hair with trembling fingers.
"I heard they make you bow for hours in front of mirrors to test your spine," one girl whispered.
"No, they test your speech first," another countered. "If you speak too fast, they call you common."
My mother helped tie my robe's sash. "Don't slouch. Don't boast. Let them think you are made of calm water, not fire."
I smiled faintly. "What if I'm both?"
She touched my cheek. "Then they'll never forget you."
The scouts didn't arrive that day. Nor the next. Tension thickened until the village moved like it was holding its breath. The younger girls feigned sickness to avoid being seen. Some parents sent their daughters to stay with distant relatives.
But on the third morning, Lady Hyerin arrived and now, everything was happening
She did not come alone.
Three horses carried soldiers in dark armor. Two more held attendants carrying scrolls and brushes. Her palanquin was painted red, with silver phoenix feathers embroidered along the curtain.
She stepped down without assistance. Her robe was a flowing wave of scarlet silk, her hair coiled into intricate knots. Every movement she made was deliberate. Measured.
She met with the elders first. Then the village headman. Finally, she stood beneath the pavilion and addressed the gathered girls.
"You are honored. You have been seen," she said, voice low but commanding. "His Majesty seeks additions to the inner court. Not concubines, not consorts…maidens of discipline, grace, and decorum. Those who excel may rise. Those who do not will still bear the honor of royal service."
She paused.
"There will be no refusals."
We were told to remain at home and await instructions. The next day would be observation day.
That evening, I sat in silence by the hearth. My parents didn't speak. The only sound was the soft crackle of fire and my father's hands turning the wheel.
I finally asked, "What if I'm not chosen?"
"Then we thank the spirits and continue living," my father said.
"And if I am?"
My mother reached over and gripped my hand. "Then we let you go. But we pray every day until you return."
My father added, more quietly this time, "And you will return."
That night I didn't sleep. I walked to the riverbank and dipped my fingers into the cold water. The moonlight reflected on the surface, distorted every time I touched it, just like my thoughts.
I whispered to the wind, "Please don't pick me."
But fate doesn't hear such whispers. Or maybe it does and answers anyway.