Jake woke to the sound of hushed voices and the gentle rustle of silk. For a blissful moment, he thought he was back in his Seattle apartment, and the voices were just his neighbors starting their day. Then he opened his eyes and saw the ornate ceiling with its painted dragons and flowering vines, and reality came crashing back like a cold shower.
Right. Medieval Korea. Royal wife. Fake head injury. Suspicious husband.
The hushed conversation was taking place near the door, and Jake could make out at least three different voices—all speaking in rapid Korean that might as well have been advanced calculus for all the sense it made to him. He kept his eyes mostly closed and tried to listen, hoping to catch even a single word he might recognize.
What he got instead was tone, and the tone was decidedly concerning. There was urgency in the way they spoke, and what sounded like disagreement. One voice—older, female, probably the head court lady from yesterday—seemed to be making some kind of report or recommendation. Another voice, younger and more deferential, was asking questions. And the third voice...
Min-jun. Even without seeing him, Jake could recognize the King's voice now. There was something distinctive about the way he spoke—measured, authoritative, but with an underlying warmth that suggested he actually cared about the people around him.
Right now, though, Min-jun sounded tense.
Jake risked opening his eyes a fraction and could see the three figures silhouetted against the morning light streaming through the paper windows. Min-jun was dressed in what appeared to be formal court attire—layers of silk in deep blues and golds that made him look even more imposing than he had yesterday. The older court lady was gesturing toward the bed while speaking, and Jake had the uncomfortable feeling that he was the primary topic of conversation.
They're discussing my condition, Jake realized. Probably trying to figure out if the Queen is well enough for whatever royal duties I'm supposed to have today.
This presented several immediate problems. First, Jake had no idea what Queen Soo-jin's normal daily routine involved. Second, he still couldn't speak Korean beyond "mianhae" and wasn't entirely sure that meant what he thought it meant. Third, he was going to have to interact with people who expected him to know them personally, and he had no clue who any of them were beyond Min-jun and the obviously senior court lady.
Think, Jake. You're a systems analyst. Break this down into manageable components.
Component 1: Language barrier. Solution: Continue pretending the head injury affected his ability to speak clearly, buy time to learn basic phrases.
Component 2: Daily routine. Solution: Claim confusion from the injury, let others guide him through activities while observing carefully.
Component 3: Personal relationships. Solution: Be generically pleasant and let context clues reveal who people are and how he should interact with them.
Component 4: Royal protocols. Solution: Follow others' lead, err on the side of being overly formal rather than too casual.
It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was better than his previous strategy of blind panic and hoping for the best.
The conversation by the door concluded, and Jake heard footsteps approaching the bed. He quickly closed his eyes and tried to look like someone peacefully recovering from a head injury.
"Soo-jin-ah," Min-jun's voice was soft, gentle, concerned. Jake felt the bed dip slightly as the King sat down in the chair beside it.
Jake opened his eyes slowly, blinking as if adjusting to the light, and turned toward Min-jun. The King was leaning forward slightly, studying Jake's face with an expression that was part worry, part curiosity, and part something else that Jake couldn't quite identify.
"Good morning," Jake said in English, then immediately tried to translate it into something that might sound Korean. "Ahn... annyeong... hasayo?"
Min-jun's eyebrows rose slightly, and there was definitely amusement mixed with his concern now. He responded with what sounded like a gentle correction of Jake's pronunciation, speaking slowly and clearly as if teaching a child.
Jake nodded enthusiastically, as if this was exactly the kind of help he needed, and attempted to repeat what Min-jun had said. His pronunciation was still terrible, but he thought he caught a flash of something that might have been fond exasperation in the King's eyes.
He's used to his wife being difficult, Jake realized. Or maybe just endearingly stubborn about certain things.
Min-jun said something else, and his tone suggested he was asking how Jake felt this morning. Jake touched his head gingerly and made what he hoped were appropriate "still hurts but getting better" expressions.
"Better," he said in English, then tried to think of a Korean equivalent. "Jo... joa?"
This time Min-jun definitely smiled, though he tried to hide it. He reached out and gently touched Jake's forehead, checking for fever, and Jake had to fight not to lean into the contact. There was something about Min-jun's touch that felt both familiar and electric, as if Jake's new body remembered this man even if his mind didn't.
Cellular memory, Jake thought wildly. Maybe Queen Soo-jin's body retains some kind of emotional imprint from her relationship with Min-jun.
It was either that or Jake was developing serious feelings for someone he'd known for less than twenty-four hours, which seemed both impossible and problematic for multiple reasons.
Min-jun spoke again, and this time Jake caught what sounded like a question about eating—probably asking if Jake was hungry or ready for breakfast. The mention of food made Jake realize that he was, in fact, starving. His last meal had been a hastily grabbed sandwich before the thunderstorm that had apparently transported him through time and space, and that felt like a lifetime ago.
"Hungry," Jake said, nodding and patting his stomach. "Very hungry. Food would be... joa."
Min-jun's smile was more visible this time, and he called out something to the servants waiting by the door. There was an immediate flurry of activity as they presumably rushed off to arrange breakfast for the Queen.
So far so good, Jake thought. Basic needs are apparently universal.
Min-jun settled back in his chair and picked up what appeared to be official documents from a side table. As he began reading, Jake took the opportunity to study him more carefully. In the morning light, the King was even more striking than he'd been yesterday. He had the kind of classical features that would have made him perfect for historical dramas, but there was nothing artificial about the intelligence in his dark eyes or the strength in his hands as he held the papers.
If I have to be trapped in someone else's marriage, Jake thought, at least I hit the lottery in the attractive husband department.
The thought was immediately followed by guilt. This wasn't his marriage. He was essentially an imposter wearing Queen Soo-jin's face and receiving affection that belonged to someone else. The fact that he was finding Min-jun increasingly attractive just made the whole situation more complicated and morally questionable.
Min-jun looked up from his papers and caught Jake staring at him again. Instead of looking away, the King held Jake's gaze, and something passed between them—a moment of connection that felt deeper than it should have, given their circumstances.
"Saranghae," Min-jun said softly, and even without understanding Korean, Jake could hear the emotion in the words.
Love, Jake thought with sudden certainty. He just said he loves me. He loves Queen Soo-jin.
The realization hit Jake like a physical blow. This wasn't just a political marriage or a convenient arrangement. Min-jun genuinely loved the woman he thought Jake was, and Jake was deceiving him with every breath.
"I..." Jake started, then stopped, because what could he possibly say? He couldn't return the sentiment honestly, but failing to respond at all would hurt Min-jun and raise more suspicions about the Queen's condition.
In the end, Jake reached out and touched Min-jun's hand, trying to convey through gesture what he couldn't express in words. Min-jun's fingers intertwined with his, and the King's expression softened into something that was purely tender.
They sat like that for several moments, connected by touch and looking at each other with an intensity that made Jake's chest tight with emotions he couldn't name. It was intimate and comfortable and completely terrifying all at the same time.
The moment was interrupted by the return of the servants with breakfast. They entered in a choreographed procession, carrying what appeared to be enough food to feed a small army. Low tables were arranged beside the bed, and dish after dish was carefully placed with the kind of precision that suggested this was a daily ritual with very specific protocols.
Jake stared at the spread in fascination and growing alarm. There were at least a dozen different dishes, none of which he recognized, and all of which looked like they required specific knowledge about how to eat them properly. There were various pickled vegetables, what appeared to be rice in multiple preparations, several soups, grilled fish, and other items that might have been delicious but were completely foreign to someone whose idea of a fancy breakfast was putting everything bagel seasoning on his scrambled eggs.
Min-jun watched Jake's expression carefully, and Jake realized he was probably supposed to have preferences about these foods—favorite dishes, things he disliked, specific ways he liked things prepared.
When in doubt, let someone else go first, Jake decided.
He gestured to Min-jun and said something that he hoped conveyed "please, after you" in whatever language his brain could manage. Min-jun looked slightly puzzled by this—apparently Queen Soo-jin didn't usually defer breakfast choices to her husband—but he began selecting items and arranging them on small dishes.
Jake watched carefully, trying to understand the proper etiquette. There seemed to be a specific order to things, certain dishes that were eaten together, particular ways of handling the chopsticks that Jake was already dreading having to master.
When Min-jun had filled his own dishes, he began preparing a selection for Jake, choosing items with the care of someone who knew his wife's preferences well. This was both helpful and panic-inducing, because it meant Jake was going to have to eat things that Queen Soo-jin liked, whether or not they agreed with Jake's palate.
Min-jun handed Jake a pair of elegant chopsticks, and Jake accepted them with what he hoped was appropriate gratitude. He'd used chopsticks before, but only at the occasional Chinese restaurant, and never while wearing voluminous sleeves that seemed determined to drag through every dish on the table.
This is going to be a disaster, Jake thought as he attempted to pick up what appeared to be a piece of pickled radish.
The first few attempts were exercises in frustration. The chopsticks felt clumsy in his fingers, the sleeves kept getting in the way, and the pickled radish seemed to have developed a personal vendetta against being eaten. Min-jun watched this performance with an expression that cycled through concern, puzzlement, and what Jake was beginning to recognize as fond amusement.
Finally, Min-jun set down his own chopsticks and moved closer to Jake. Without a word, he reached out and gently adjusted Jake's grip on the utensils, his hands covering Jake's to guide the proper positioning.
The contact sent another jolt of awareness through Jake's system, and he had to concentrate on breathing normally while Min-jun patiently corrected his technique. The King's hands were warm and steady, and he smelled like sandalwood and something else that was distinctly, appealingly masculine.
Focus on the chopsticks, Jake told himself firmly. Do not think about how good he smells or how nice his hands feel or how close he is or how this is probably the most intimate breakfast tutorial in history.
With Min-jun's guidance, Jake managed to successfully pick up and eat the pickled radish. It was actually quite good—tangy and crisp with a complex flavor that was completely different from anything he'd eaten before.
"Mashissoyo," Jake attempted, trying to indicate that the food was delicious.
Min-jun's face lit up with pleasure, and he said something that sounded like praise for Jake's language attempt. Then he began pointing to different dishes and providing their names, turning breakfast into an impromptu Korean lesson.
Jake repeated each word carefully, knowing his pronunciation was terrible but hoping that enthusiasm would make up for accuracy. Min-jun was patient and encouraging, gently correcting him when necessary and praising his efforts with a warmth that made Jake's heart do complicated things in his chest.
He's a good teacher, Jake realized. Patient and kind. Queen Soo-jin is lucky to have married someone like this.
The thought was immediately followed by the uncomfortable realization that Jake was starting to think of himself as Queen Soo-jin more naturally, and that the growing attraction he felt toward Min-jun was becoming harder to dismiss as just physical chemistry or cellular memory.
I'm in trouble, Jake admitted to himself. I'm actually falling for someone who thinks I'm his wife, and I have no idea how to handle this ethically or practically.
They continued breakfast with Min-jun teaching Jake food names and Jake attempting to master chopstick technique without destroying his clothing or the furniture. The servants hovered nearby, ready to assist but clearly puzzled by their Queen's sudden inability to feed herself properly and her need to relearn basic vocabulary.
About halfway through the meal, there was a commotion outside the room—voices raised in what sounded like urgent discussion. Min-jun immediately tensed, setting down his chopsticks and turning toward the door with the alert expression of someone accustomed to handling crises.
A court official appeared at the entrance and spoke rapidly to Min-jun, clearly delivering some kind of important message. The King's expression grew serious as he listened, and he asked several sharp questions that the official answered with increasing urgency.
Jake watched this exchange with growing anxiety. Even without understanding the words, it was obvious that something significant was happening, something that required the King's immediate attention.
Min-jun turned back to Jake, his expression apologetic but determined. He spoke gently, and Jake caught what sounded like an explanation and an apology—probably telling him that royal duty called and he had to leave.
"Go," Jake said, waving toward the door. "Important. I understand."
Min-jun looked surprised at Jake's ready acceptance, then pleased. He stood and leaned down to touch Jake's forehead again, checking his condition one more time. Then he did something that completely short-circuited Jake's brain—he pressed a gentle kiss to Jake's temple.
It was clearly meant as a casual, affectionate gesture between married people, the kind of unconscious display of love that happens naturally in long-term relationships. But for Jake, it was electric and overwhelming and completely devastating to his attempts to maintain emotional distance.
Min-jun said something that sounded like a promise to return soon, squeezed Jake's hand briefly, and then swept out of the room with the court official, leaving Jake alone with the servants and a head full of confused feelings.
I am so screwed, Jake thought, touching the spot where Min-jun had kissed him. I'm falling in love with someone else's husband while pretending to be someone else's wife, and I don't even know if any of this is real or some kind of elaborate coma dream.
The head court lady approached the bed and spoke to Jake in what sounded like a gentle but firm tone—probably suggesting that he should finish eating and then rest some more. Jake nodded and attempted to continue breakfast, but his appetite had largely disappeared, replaced by a growing knot of anxiety in his stomach.
What happens when he finds out I'm not really Queen Soo-jin? Jake wondered. What happens if I can never get back to my own time? What happens if I can, but by then I've fallen completely in love with someone I can never really have?
Outside, he could hear increased activity in the palace—running footsteps, raised voices, the general commotion that suggested some kind of emergency was unfolding. Jake wished desperately that he could understand what was happening, what crisis had pulled Min-jun away so urgently.
I need to learn Korean, Jake decided. Not just basic phrases for getting through meals, but enough to actually understand what's going on around me. I can't navigate this situation blind.
The court lady was still watching him expectantly, clearly waiting for him to finish eating so she could proceed with whatever the Queen's normal morning routine involved. Jake attempted a few more bites, then gestured to indicate that he was done.
What followed was a carefully choreographed process of clearing the breakfast dishes and preparing Jake for what appeared to be getting dressed for the day. This involved more servants than Jake had expected and a level of formality that made him realize that being Queen apparently meant never doing anything for yourself.
I'm going to have to learn to be waited on, Jake realized with a mixture of amusement and discomfort. This is either going to be great or absolutely horrible, depending on how much I value my independence.
As the servants began preparing his clothing for the day—another elaborate hanbok in shades of green and gold—Jake caught sight of himself in a polished bronze mirror and was struck anew by how completely he had changed.
Queen Soo-jin was beautiful in a way that was both classical and striking. Her features were delicate but strong, her eyes large and expressive, her black hair long and lustrous. She looked like someone who belonged in a historical drama or an ancient painting, someone who had been born to wear silk and rule kingdoms.
I wonder what happened to her, Jake thought, studying his reflection. Where did Queen Soo-jin go when I arrived in her body? Is she trapped somewhere, or did she simply... stop existing?
It was a disturbing thought, and one that added another layer of guilt to Jake's already complicated emotional state. If Queen Soo-jin was gone forever because of whatever cosmic accident had brought Jake here, then he was responsible for destroying someone's life, someone's relationships, someone's entire existence.
Maybe she's in my body in Seattle, Jake tried to convince himself. Maybe this is some kind of exchange, and she's dealing with my mundane software engineer life while I figure out how to be her.
But even as he thought it, Jake suspected it wasn't true. There had been something about the way he'd arrived here—the violence of the displacement, the sense of tearing through reality—that suggested this wasn't a simple swap but something more catastrophic.
The servants finished preparing his clothing and began the complex process of getting him dressed. This was even more complicated than Jake had expected, involving multiple layers, specific ways of wrapping and tying things, and a level of precision that clearly came from years of practice.
Jake tried to pay attention and learn the process, but it was overwhelming. Every piece of clothing had to be positioned exactly right, every fold had to be perfect, every accessory had to be placed just so. By the time they were finished, Jake felt like he'd been transformed into a living work of art—beautiful, but fragile and completely impractical.
How does anyone accomplish anything while wearing this? Jake wondered as he attempted to take a step and nearly tripped over the multiple layers of his skirt. Queen Soo-jin must have been incredibly graceful to make this look effortless.
The head court lady approached with what appeared to be the day's schedule, speaking in the tone of someone providing important information. Jake listened carefully, trying to catch any words he might recognize, but the rapid Korean was still completely beyond his comprehension.
I need a translator, Jake thought desperately. Or a miracle. Or to wake up back in Seattle and discover this has all been an incredibly vivid dream.
But the silk of his clothing was too real, the scent of incense too specific, the memory of Min-jun's kiss too visceral for this to be anything but reality. Somehow, impossibly, Jake Morrison had become Queen Soo-jin of historical Korea, and he was going to have to figure out how to live this life without destroying everything in the process.
The court lady was still waiting for his response to whatever she'd told him, looking increasingly concerned by his lack of reaction. Jake nodded and tried to look like someone who understood but was still recovering from a head injury.
Day two in medieval Korea, Jake thought as the servants began preparing to escort him to whatever royal obligations awaited. Time to see if I can fake being a queen long enough to figure out what's really going on.
Outside, the commotion was continuing, and Jake could hear what sounded like military preparations—armor clanking, horses being readied, urgent shouted orders. Whatever crisis had called Min-jun away was serious enough to mobilize significant resources.
I hope he's safe, Jake thought, and was surprised by the intensity of his concern for someone he barely knew. I hope whatever's happening out there, he can handle it.
As the servants opened the door to escort him to his first official day as Queen Soo-jin, Jake took a deep breath and tried to prepare himself for whatever challenges lay ahead.
Here goes nothing, he thought, and stepped forward into his new life.