Startled by Sohwa’s uncharacteristic agreement, Hwayeong looked at her suspiciously.
“...Why aren’t you stopping me this time?”
“Why do you think, Miss?”
“...Is it that bad?”
Hwayeong glanced at the half-finished embroidery cloth in front of her, a product of trial, error, and eventual surrender.
She tilted her head in confusion.
Sohwa didn’t hold back, her tone brutal and honest.
“It’s not just bad, Miss. It’s horrifying. If anyone were to see your attempt at embroidering the royal dragon—a symbol of the imperial family—they’d call it treason. And if you were accused of insulting the royal family, all members of the Baek family would be literally wiped out from the country, and I’d lose my head as your servant. So, let’s not risk it, shall we? It’s not like it’ll help you avoid getting kicked out of the palace, anyway.”
Though Sohwa’s voice was calm, her every syllable carried suppressed anger, as if she were on the verge of snapping.
