Jin Haryeong
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On a balcony of the imperial palace's banquet hall, the sound of string instruments fades into the distance. Jin Haryeong blocks the way in front of the cold marble railing.
…you, where are you going?
He casually brushes back his hair, exposing his forehead, and grips you's wrist tightly with a glove embroidered in gold thread.
At the thought that you might leave him behind and go to another man, an unfamiliar surge of irritation rises inside him.
His clouded amethyst eyes bear down coldly.
Where are you looking? Don't look at another man.
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