Moon's Whisper, Heart's Echo

prologue

The winter air crystallized Nandi's breath into delicate patterns as she crossed the Yi family courtyard.

Her wedding hanbok – layers of heavy silk in the shade of dawn-touched clouds – rustled against the packed snow with each measured step. The servants had spent hours pressing pleats into the fabric until it moved like water.

A servant had warned her— silk dyed in shades of daybreak would mark her as foreign – too bold for a Joseon bride – but Lady Yi had insisted on the color, declaring that a daughter of Geum-guk and the Akan people should honor both her old home and her new family.

Now, watching the snow settle on her sleeve like scattered pearls, Nandi found her hand straying to the inner pocket where her father's letter lay carefully folded.

The parchment was worn soft at the creases, carried across oceans and mountains to reach her. She could almost hear his deep voice in the carefully penned words: "My daughter, may you bloom where you are planted, as your mother did before you." Her father, ever practical even in matters of the heart.

Movement caught her eye – Seong-hwan crossing the courtyard with that distinctive Yi family grace, his steps leaving precise impressions in the snow. The sight of him still made her breath catch, though she'd never admit it aloud.

He wore the deep blue hanbok of his rank, his hair pulled back in the traditional sangtu style that marked him as a married man. A style he'd worn proudly, despite the talks about taking a foreign bride.

"I found my wife admiring the snow instead of staying warm inside," he called out, his formal speech softening into the provincial accent he only used with her. "Should I be jealous of winter's charms?"

"Perhaps winter makes fewer mistakes in its calligraphy. Or that I was merely contemplating how fortunate I am that my husband's beauty makes up for his complete lack of grace in calligraphy." Nandi replied in her carefully practiced Korean, though she couldn't quite hide her smile.

Their calligraphy lessons had become something of a private joke between them, after she'd found him practicing late into the night, determined to improve before writing to her father.

Seong-hwan's laugh echoed across the courtyard. "Such cruel words from such lovely lips," Seong-hwan lamented.. " especially one who still mistakes 'persimmon' for 'government official' in her writing." He reached her side, adjusting her outer jacket with familiar care. "Though I admit, your confusion did make yesterday's market list particularly entertaining."

"I did wonder why the servants looked so alarmed," came another voice, warm with amusement. Jae-hoon emerged from the covered walkway, a books tucked under his arm – likely another text he'd found to help with her studies.

"Do you hear how your sister-in-law maligns me?" Seong-Hwan asked.

Though identical to his twin in face, Jae-hoon carried himself differently, with a scholar's careful precision. Where Seong-hwan commanded attention, Jae-hoon seemed to prefer observing from the quiet corners of rooms, appearing with an umbrella or a steadying hand exactly when needed.

" I'm afraid I must side with Lady Nandi on this matter. Your brushwork does leave much to be desired." He simply stated.

A gust of wind showered them with snow from the ginkgo branches overhead. Both brothers moved as one – Seong-hwan pulling her close while Jae-hoon raised his sleeve as a shield.

The instinct of it, the unthinking protection, made Nandi's flutter. This was what her father had hoped for her, she realized.

Not just a marriage, but a family.