Sisters in the Royal Court
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 33
Historical Sex Story: Chapter 33 - 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
Epilogue - The Tapestry Complete, 1505-1507
Spring 1505 - Minji age 14, Jinwoo age 12
The cherry blossoms were blooming again—as they did every spring, as they had for centuries, as they would for centuries more.
Jisoo stood in the garden, watching the petals fall like pink snow, and thought about cycles. Seasons returning. Children growing. Life continuing despite loss, because of loss, beyond loss.
She was thirty-three years old now. Hyeon was thirty-nine. They had been married for fifteen years—longer than many marriages lasted, longer than either of them had expected when they’d first agreed to this strange arrangement born of grief and obligation.
“Mama!”
Minji’s voice called from the quarters. No longer a child’s voice—it had deepened, matured. Her daughter was fourteen now, on the cusp of womanhood, brilliant and fierce and preparing for a future that would undoubtedly be remarkable.
“Coming,” Jisoo called back, but she lingered for one more moment among the blossoms, savoring the peace.
Minji’s Achievement
Minji had just received word that her calligraphy had been selected for display in the royal exhibition—the youngest artist ever chosen for such an honor.
“They want to display three pieces,” she announced, trying to contain her excitement and failing. “Including the poem I wrote about Aunt Jiwon.”
The piece in question was a beautiful composition—characters flowing like water, the words expressing grief and love and the continuity of memory:
She who came before me
Brilliant flame that lit the darkness
Lives in beauty I create
In words I write
In love that endures
“Your aunt would be so proud,” Jisoo said, reading it again with tears in her eyes.
“Do you think so? Really?”
“I know so. She valued excellence, and this is excellent. But more than that, you’re honoring her while being completely yourself. That’s exactly what she would have wanted.”
Lady Song, now ancient but still sharp, had declared Minji ready to begin teaching others—an unprecedented honor for someone so young.
“You’ve surpassed my own skill,” the elderly teacher had said. “Not just technically, but artistically. You have vision I never achieved. It’s time you shared that with students of your own.”
Hyeon was almost bursting with pride. “My daughter, teaching calligraphy at fourteen. Do you know how remarkable that is?”
“She knows,” Jisoo said dryly. “She’s been insufferable about it for weeks.”
“I heard that, Mama!” Minji called from the next room.
“You were meant to!”
But despite the teasing, Jisoo was profoundly proud. Her daughter—hers and Hyeon’s, yes, but also carrying forward Jiwon’s legacy in beautiful new ways—was becoming someone extraordinary.
Not ordinary. Not invisible. Extraordinary.
Just as Jiwon had been. Just as, Jisoo had finally learned, she herself had always been.
Jinwoo’s Design
Jinwoo, at twelve, had submitted a design proposal for renovating one of the palace’s aging storage buildings.
The officials had initially dismissed it as a child’s fantasy. But when the master architect reviewed it, he’d been stunned.
“This is brilliant,” Master Han declared. “Not just structurally sound—actually superior to our current design. Better ventilation, more efficient use of space, improved water drainage. He’s solved problems we’ve been struggling with for years.”
They were going to build it. Actually implement a twelve-year-old’s design in the royal palace.
“I’m proud of you,” Hyeon told his son.
“It’s just practical,” Jinwoo said, characteristically modest. “The old building had obvious flaws. I just fixed them.”
“‘Just fixed them,’” Hyeon repeated, amused. “You revolutionized palace storage architecture. That’s more than ‘just’ anything.”
Jinwoo shrugged, but he was smiling. He knew it was significant. He just didn’t need to make a fuss about it.
“So different from his sister,” Jisoo observed later.
“Minji blazes. Jinwoo glows quietly. Both forms of brilliance.”
“Both our children,” Jisoo said with wonder. “Both remarkable in their own ways.”
“They are. And they know they’re loved for exactly who they are. That’s the greatest gift we could give them.”
The King’s Acknowledgment
That summer, King Seongjong summoned both Hyeon and Jisoo to a private audience.
He was aging now, his hair nearly white, his movements slower. But his mind remained sharp.
“I wanted to speak with you about your children,” he said without preamble.
Jisoo’s heart clenched with sudden fear. Had they displeased him somehow?
But the King was smiling. “They are exceptional. Both of them. Princess Minji’s artistic talent is already becoming legendary. Prince Jinwoo’s architectural vision is truly remarkable.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Hyeon said carefully.
“But more than their talents, I’m impressed by their characters. They are kind to servants. Respectful to elders. Diligent in their studies. Honest in their dealings.” He looked at them both. “You have raised them well. Better than I raised my own children, if I’m honest.”
The admission was startling. Kings didn’t typically express such self-criticism.
“Your Majesty is too kind,” Jisoo murmured.
“I’m not being kind. I’m being honest.” He leaned back in his chair. “When you married, I approved it as a practical arrangement—protecting a vulnerable young woman, giving my grieving son a purpose. I didn’t expect ... this.”
“This, Your Majesty?”
“A genuine partnership. A loving family. Children who are not just talented but good. You’ve built something rare, Prince Hyeon. Something precious. I wanted you to know that I see it and value it.”
After they left the royal presence, Hyeon said quietly, “That might be the first time my father has ever truly approved of something I’ve done.”
“He’s right, though. We have built something rare.”
“We have. Together.”
1506 - Conversations with the Children
Minji, at fifteen, asked her mother a direct question.
“Did you love Father when you married him?”
They were in the calligraphy studio, both working on separate pieces. Jisoo set down her brush carefully before answering.
“No. Not romantic love, anyway. I cared about him because he was kind to me, and because my sister had loved him. But I married him out of duty—to honor your Aunt Jiwon’s last wish.”
“But you love him now.”
“Completely. Deeply. He’s the love of my life.”
Minji absorbed this. “How did that happen? How did duty become love?”
“Slowly. Through shared experiences, through raising you and your brother, through learning to trust each other. Love grew in the spaces between grief and obligation.”
“That’s beautiful.” Minji paused. “Do you think you could have loved him if Aunt Jiwon had never existed? If they’d never been married first?”
It was a complicated question. Jisoo considered it honestly.
“I don’t know. Probably not, because I would have remained a servant and he a prince. Our paths would never have crossed meaningfully. But also—” She struggled to articulate it. “I think grief changed both of us in ways that made love possible. We both knew loss. We both understood pain. That shared experience created a foundation for understanding each other.”
“So Aunt Jiwon’s death was necessary for your love?”