Sisters in the Royal Court
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 4: Growing in Service
Historical Sex Story: Chapter 4: Growing 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
The seasons turned, and Jiwon grew.
By the time she was eleven years old, she had been in the palace for six years—more than half her life. The frightened five-year-old who had clutched a court lady’s hand was gone, replaced by a composed young girl who moved through Prince Hyeon’s quarters with quiet confidence.
She had been promoted to Jimil—apprentice in the bedchamber service—which meant she was now directly responsible for Prince Hyeon’s personal needs. His clothing, his meals, his study materials, his daily comfort. She prepared his rooms in the morning, ensured his evening bath was ready, managed his schedule of lessons and obligations.
It meant proximity. It meant trust. It meant she saw him not as a distant prince, but as a person.
1475 - Jiwon age 8, Hyeon age 10
After the incident with the book, something shifted between them.
Hyeon didn’t suddenly become warm or familiar—he was still a reserved boy, more comfortable with texts than people. But he noticed her now. Acknowledged her presence. Sometimes even spoke to her beyond the necessary instructions.
“The calligraphy you prepared today was excellent,” he said one morning, examining the practice sheets she’d laid out.
Jiwon bowed. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Did you study formally? Before coming to the palace?”
“My father taught me, Your Highness. He is a government official. He believed daughters should be literate.”
“Unusual.” Hyeon looked at her with interest. “Most fathers don’t bother.”
“My father is ... practical, Your Highness. He knew palace service would be easier for us if we could read and write.”
“Us?”
“My younger sister is also in service here, Your Highness. Park Jisoo. She entered last year.”
“I see.” He paused, then: “You must miss her.”
The unexpected sympathy caught Jiwon off guard. She looked up, forgetting for a moment to keep her eyes lowered. “Yes, Your Highness. We rarely see each other. The training schedules—”
“Keep you separated. I understand.” He smiled slightly. “I have sisters too. Several of them. Sometimes I think the palace is designed to keep family apart, even when we live in the same buildings.”
It was the longest conversation they’d had. Jiwon realized, with some surprise, that Prince Hyeon was lonely. Surrounded by servants and tutors and obligations, but fundamentally alone.
Just like her.
“Your Highness should tell me if there’s anything you need,” she said softly. “Anything that would make your days more comfortable. It’s my responsibility to serve you well.”
“You already do,” he said. Then, as if embarrassed by the admission, he turned back to his desk. “That will be all.”
Jiwon bowed and left, but she carried the conversation with her like a secret warmth.
1476 - Jiwon age 9, Hyeon age 11
As the months passed, their interactions became easier, more natural.
Hyeon began asking her small questions—what she thought of a particular poem he was studying, whether she preferred spring or autumn, if she had read a certain text. At first, Jiwon was careful, giving brief, deferential answers. But gradually she realized he actually wanted her opinions, not just polite agreement.
“I think the poet is too melancholic,” she said once, when he asked about a famous work. “He focuses only on loss, never on what was gained by having loved at all.”
Hyeon looked at her with surprise. “That’s ... a sophisticated reading for a nine-year-old.”
“I’m nearly ten, Your Highness.”
“Ah, forgive me. Nearly ten.” His eyes glinted with humor—the first joke she’d heard from him. “And you think the poet should be grateful for his suffering?”
“I think suffering is less painful if we remember it gave us something beautiful first, Your Highness.”
He was quiet for a moment, studying her. Then: “You’re very wise, Park Jiwon.”
“I’m very small and have very few possessions, Your Highness. It makes philosophy easier.”
He laughed—actually laughed—and the sound was so unexpected and genuine that Jiwon felt something warm bloom in her chest.
She liked making him laugh.
1477 - Jiwon age 10, Hyeon age 12
By now, Jiwon had established herself as indispensable not just to Prince Hyeon, but to others in the palace as well.
It started when Princess Myeonghye, Hyeon’s older sister, noticed Jiwon’s calligraphy while visiting her brother’s quarters.
“Who wrote this?” she asked, picking up one of the practice sheets.
“Park Jiwon, my Jimil,” Hyeon said. “She has exceptional skill.”
The princess studied the elegant characters, the perfect balance and flow. “Indeed.” She looked at Jiwon thoughtfully. “Child, could you write something for me? A short letter to a friend. My own hand is ... less refined than I would like.”
Jiwon glanced at Hyeon, who nodded permission.
“Of course, Your Highness.”
The letter was simple—a few lines of greeting and well-wishes. But Jiwon wrote it beautifully, each character a small work of art. Princess Myeonghye was delighted.
“Perfect. No one will know I didn’t write this myself.” She smiled at Jiwon. “You’ve done me a great service. I won’t forget it.”
Word spread among the princesses. Soon, other royal sisters were requesting Jiwon’s help—a formal response that needed elegant phrasing, a poem that required beautiful transcription, a letter where the calligraphy mattered as much as the content.
Jiwon became known for her writing. Not just competent—exceptional. Her brushwork was discussed in the women’s quarters with admiration and, occasionally, envy.
“You’re becoming famous,” Hyeon told her one day, sounding amused.
“I serve your household, Your Highness. If the princesses request my help, and you permit it, I am honored to assist them.”
“Always so diplomatic.” He tilted his head, studying her. “Do you ever say what you actually think?”
“I just did, Your Highness.”
“No, you said what was appropriate. I asked what you think.”
Jiwon considered this. It was a test, perhaps, or genuine curiosity. Either way, honesty seemed ... permissible. “I think it’s useful to be valued by multiple members of the royal family, Your Highness. It creates ... security.”
“Ah.” He nodded slowly. “So you’re thinking strategically.”
“I’m thinking about survival, Your Highness. For myself and for my sister.”
“Your sister.” He frowned. “You still don’t see her often?”
“Almost never, Your Highness. She’s in the younger training cohort. Our paths rarely cross.”
“That seems cruel.”
Jiwon shrugged slightly—a gesture she would never have made a year ago, but Hyeon had somehow created a space where small informalities were permitted. “The palace is efficient, not kind, Your Highness.”
“True.” He was quiet for a moment. Then: “If I have influence someday—when I’m older—I’ll try to help you see her more often. I promise you that.”
Jiwon’s throat tightened unexpectedly. “Your Highness is generous.”
“Your Highness is grateful,” he corrected. “For many things. Not least of which is having someone to talk to who doesn’t treat me like I’m made of porcelain.”
She smiled despite herself. “You are a prince, Your Highness. Some porcelain treatment is inevitable.”
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