Sisters in the Royal Court
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 2: Sisters in Service
Historical Sex Story: Chapter 2: Sisters in Service - 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
Jiwon was six years old, and it was the coldest morning of winter, when they told her that her sister had arrived.
She was in the middle of morning duties—preparing Prince Hyeon’s quarters for the day, laying out fresh writing materials, ensuring everything was precisely arranged—when one of the senior court ladies appeared in the doorway.
“Park Jiwon.”
She turned, bowing low. “Yes, Aunt.”
“Your sister has entered palace service. She is in the Saengaksi quarters. You have one incense stick of time to see her, then you return to your duties.”
Jiwon’s heart leaped. “Thank you, Aunt.”
She ran—which was forbidden, but she was small and fast and the corridors were momentarily empty. She reached the training quarters breathless, sliding the door open to find a cluster of new trainees kneeling in a row, their faces pale and frightened.
And there, smallest of all, was Jisoo.
Four years old. Round-cheeked. Eyes red from crying.
“Jisoo-yah,” Jiwon whispered.
Her little sister’s face crumpled with relief. “Unnie!”
Jiwon knelt beside her, reaching out to squeeze her hand. The gesture was brief—physical affection was discouraged among servants—but necessary. “I’m here. I’m here, and you’re going to be fine.”
“I want to go home,” Jisoo whimpered. “I want Mama.”
“I know.” Jiwon’s throat tightened. She wanted their mother too—the soft voice, the gentle hands, the warm smell of their small kitchen. But that world was gone now. “But we’re together now. You and me. That’s what matters.”
Jisoo nodded, tears streaming down her face.
“Listen to me,” Jiwon said urgently. The incense was burning down; she had so little time. “Do everything they tell you. Learn quickly. Don’t talk back. Don’t cry where they can see you. Be invisible until they need you. Can you do that?”
“I don’t know—”
“You can. You’re my sister. You’re strong.” Jiwon squeezed her hand again. “I can’t be with you all the time—they’ll keep us in different groups because of our ages. But I’ll check on you when I can. And you’ll be safe here. Fed and clothed and—”
“Park Jiwon.” The instructor’s voice was sharp. “Your time is finished.”
Jiwon stood, reluctantly releasing Jisoo’s hand. Her sister looked so small, so lost. But there was nothing more she could do.
“Be strong,” she whispered. “I’ll find you when I can.”
Then she bowed and left, her heart aching.
The palace’s structure was merciless in its efficiency.
Trainees were grouped by age and ability, their training tailored to their developmental stage. Jiwon, at six, was in the intermediate group—girls who had survived their first year and were now learning the more complex aspects of service. Jisoo, at four, was with the youngest trainees, barely more than babies, learning basic etiquette and simple tasks.
Their schedules rarely aligned. Jiwon caught glimpses of her sister sometimes—across a courtyard, in passing during meal times, once during a ceremony where all the Saengaksi were assembled. But they couldn’t speak, couldn’t embrace, couldn’t even acknowledge each other beyond the briefest eye contact.
It was like being alone together.
Jiwon threw herself into her training with renewed intensity. If she advanced, if she became valuable, perhaps she could eventually help Jisoo. Perhaps she could create some protection for both of them in this vast, indifferent place.
Her literacy set her apart immediately. While other trainees struggled to form basic characters, Jiwon was already practicing more complex calligraphy. Her brushstrokes were clean, confident, beautiful. The instructors noticed.
“You have a gift,” one told her. “Calligraphy this precise is rare. It will serve you well.”
But more than her writing, it was Jiwon’s mind that distinguished her.
She learned the hierarchy of the palace in weeks—who outranked whom, who reported to whom, which families were allied and which were rivals. She memorized the preferences of every member of Prince Hyeon’s household. She understood, intuitively, how to read the moods of the court ladies and adjust her behavior accordingly.
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