Sisters in the Royal Court
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 14: The Poetry of Day
Historical Sex Story: Chapter 14: The Poetry of Day - A story of two sisters who both became consorts to the same Joseon prince, both elevated beyond their station, both genuinely loved by a man who chose them for who they were. One brilliant and brief. One quiet and enduring. Both essential to the tapestry of a family built from loss.
Caution: This Historical Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Romantic Oriental Male Oriental Female
1486-1487 - Jiwon age 19-20, Hyeon age 21-22
There were moments in marriage, Jiwon discovered, that couldn’t be captured in grand gestures or formal ceremonies. Moments so small and ordinary they might seem insignificant to an observer, but which held entire worlds of meaning for those who lived them.
These were the days she would remember most, she suspected, when she was old and gray. Not the ceremony that made her consort, not the political victories, not even the passionate nights.
Just the quiet mornings. The shared laughter. The poetry of everyday life lived alongside someone you loved.
Morning Rituals
Hyeon was not a morning person.
Jiwon had known this intellectually—had observed it during her years serving him as Jimil and Nain. But living with it as his wife gave her new appreciation for just how deeply he resented being conscious before the sun was fully risen.
“Five more minutes,” he would mumble, pulling her back down when she tried to rise.
“You have meetings this morning.”
“They can wait.”
“The King’s administrators don’t wait for sleepy princes.”
“Then the King should schedule meetings at civilized hours.” But he would reluctantly release her, rolling over with a theatrical groan.
She learned to wake him gently—a soft touch on his shoulder, quiet words, sometimes a kiss to his forehead. Harsh awakening only made him grumpy for hours.
And she learned that he was sweetest in those first few moments of consciousness, before full awareness returned—pulling her close, murmuring affectionate nonsense, his guard completely down.
“Love you,” he would mumble into her hair.
“I love you too. Now get up.”
“Tyrant.”
“Your tyrant.”
“My favorite tyrant.”
It was silly and domestic and utterly precious. These moments when he was just Hyeon, not Prince Yi Hyeon, just a young man who wanted to sleep a little longer with his wife in his arms.
She treasured them.
Intellectual Partnership
Their days had their own rhythm now, shaped by responsibilities and shared interests.
Hyeon would study in the mornings—texts on governance, philosophy, history. Jiwon would work on household management or correspondence for the princesses. But they did this in the same space, often at the same table, comfortable in each other’s presence.
“Listen to this,” Hyeon would say, reading aloud from whatever text had captured his attention. “The sage ruler governs by example rather than decree. His virtue becomes the standard by which all measure themselves.”
“Idealistic,” Jiwon would comment without looking up from her work.
“You don’t think it’s possible?”
“I think virtue matters less than people wanting to believe their ruler is virtuous. Perception shapes reality more than reality shapes perception.”
He would pause, considering. “That’s ... actually more cynical than I expected from you.”
“I’ve lived in the palace since I was five. Cynicism is a survival skill.”
“Fair point.” He would return to his text, but she could see him turning over her words, incorporating them into his understanding.
This was their pattern—he would present idealistic philosophy, she would ground it in practical observation, and together they would find something closer to truth than either could reach alone.
“We’re good at this,” he said once.
“At what?”
“Thinking together. You make me smarter.”
“You make me more optimistic. I suppose we balance each other.”
“We do.” He smiled. “That’s what makes us work.”
Private Jokes
Over time, they developed their own language—references and jokes that made no sense to anyone else.
When court officials were being particularly tedious, Hyeon would catch her eye and make a subtle gesture that meant “this is excruciating, save me.”
When servants were gossiping within earshot, Jiwon would touch her ear—their signal for “the walls have ears, be careful.”
When either of them was frustrated or overwhelmed, the other would say “remember the book”—referencing the scandalous text she’d rescued him from being beaten over when they were children. A reminder that they’d survived awkward situations before and would survive them again.
“Your Highness,” a particularly pompous official droned on during one meeting, “if we consider the historical precedent established during the Goryeo dynasty...”
Hyeon’s eyes met Jiwon’s across the room. The tiniest twitch of his eyebrow: kill me now.
She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.
Later, in private, he would collapse dramatically. “I thought I would die of boredom.”
“You survived. Barely.”
“Only because I could see you trying not to laugh. That was the only entertainment in the entire room.”
These small moments of shared humor made the tedious parts of palace life bearable. They were allies in a world that often felt hostile or exhausting, finding lightness where they could.
Physical Affection
They had been married three years now, and the initial awkwardness of physical intimacy had long since given way to comfort and pleasure.
But it wasn’t just about passion, Jiwon discovered. It was about the casual touches throughout the day—his hand on the small of her back as they walked, her fingers brushing his when she handed him something, the way he would pull her close when they were alone, just to hold her.
“You’re very affectionate for someone who was so reserved as a boy,” she observed once.
“I was starved for affection,” he admitted. “Royal children don’t get much physical comfort. Too much protocol, too much formality. And then I found you, and...” He shrugged. “I suppose I’m making up for lost time.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“Good. Because I don’t plan to stop.” He nuzzled her neck. “Ever.”
“Even when we’re old and gray?”
“Especially then. I’ll be that elderly prince who still can’t keep his hands off his wife. People will gossip.”
“People already gossip.”
“Let them.” He kissed her softly. “I don’t care what anyone thinks as long as I have you.”
The passion was still there—they were young and in love and often found excuses to retire early or linger in their quarters. But the tenderness was just as important, maybe more so. The gentle touches that said I love you without words, the physical reassurance that they belonged to each other.
Shared Meals
Jiwon had discovered that Hyeon had particular opinions about food.
He loved spicy dishes but had a surprisingly sweet tooth. He would eat vegetables dutifully but without enthusiasm. He had a weakness for honey cakes that made him almost childlike in his eagerness.
“You’re twenty-two years old and you still get excited about dessert like a ten-year-old,” she teased.
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