“Your Majesty,” the Head Eunuch whined as he ran to keep up with Cheol’s pace. “The Queen will be waiting for you. Yo-your Majesty.”
Cheol could hardly keep himself from rolling his eyes. Really. “I have not been able to get a moment alone with Consort Hui in months now. I’m sure the Queen will be alright if she has to wait a while before our greetings.”
“But Your Majesty, what are we supposed to tell her?”
“Lie, if you must. I’m a busy man, I’m sure you’ll think of something plausible.” Now. For the matter at hand. Min-jun would likely pretend to be cross with him initially. Cheol would have to apologize to him properly. He hadn’t expected to let time get away from him like this. If he could, he would’ve spent every day by Min-jun’s side, although Min-jun might not have appreciated that as much as Cheol. Just to hold you in my arms, I will feel as if my strength has returned.
The maids greeted him at the doors to Min-jun’s quarters, bowing their heads. He paid them no heed, his heart feeling lighter just at the thought of being so near his Consort. His bliss was cut short when he peered inside the room, and Min-jun was nowhere to be found.
“Min-jun,” he spoke, uncertainly. “My love.”
He must be waiting in the bedroom. Or perhaps he was taking a walk in the gardens. Cheol opened the door to the bedroom. It was empty as well, the scent of roses lingering in the air.
“Your Majesty.” One of the court ladies had gone up to him.
“Where is Consort Hui?” he asked, trying to keep the concern out of his voice. He did not want to alarm them.
“His Highness left for the Investigation Bureau this morning with his guard,” she replied.
Oh. Oh love. Cheol should have anticipated this. Min-jun wasn’t the type to sit still. He must’ve gone to the Investigation Bureau to look through the reports of recent cases. The records room, then. Cheol turned around briskly, his servants struggling to catch up to him as he walked out of Jangmi Villa. A small powdering of snow had covered the trees since that morning, and now the snow had returned, snowflakes gently drifting down from the gray skies.
. . .
The records room was empty when Cheol entered, but signs of Min-jun remained. The books laid out on one of the tables near the windows, illuminated by the gray light from outside. He’s gone.
He asked again. “Where is Consort Hui?”
“He left with Lord Sun,” one of the maids answered. “They have not returned here since then.”
“How long ago did they leave?”
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
“Cgbecv atf tbeg bo atf rcjxf, ws ibgv.”
Vb ibcu jub? Ccv cb bcf tjv ybatfgfv ab rjs jcsatlcu? Ca ifjra tf’v ajxfc Vec klat tlw, yea atja kjr ilaaif mbcrbijalbc ktfc atf fcalgfas bo Vjgb rffwfv ab yf mgjkilcu klat fcfwlfr ijafis.
Raking a hand over his hair, Cheol walked over to the records sprawled out on the desk. He picked up on of the books and flipped it open. This is . . .
Ktf gfqbgar bc atf agjoolmxlcu glcur lc Ljcrfbcu. Jtfbi rtea atf ybbx klat j rcjq.
“I know where he is,” Cheol murmured, setting the book down on the table again. In trouble. “Alert the rest of the Information Bureau. We’re going hunting.”
One of the officers that had followed him inside nodded.
Let’s see how well you’ve planned this, my love.
. . .
Min-jun and the women were transported one by one to a creaky ship that smelled of old wood and sweat. He looked up toward the sky, where falcons circled, searching, before he was plunged into the depths of the ship and placed in a small compartment with the rest of the women. They were imprisoned, with no sign of being let out any time soon.
“Well, when’s your King supposed to be arriving?”
Min-jun turned to look at the women. The small spark of hope from a few hours ago had all but vanished now. They were hungry, tired, and hopeless, huddling together for warmth. The boat rocked with the sea. The cold wind entered through the sole small window in the cabin.
Despite their miserable states, Min-jun hadn’t lost a shred of trust in the King’s ability to save them. He just had to help things along a little. “I said you’d have to trust me.”
He took a lockpick out of his robes and approached the door. It was a simple series of locks that wouldn’t take long to pick. The real concern would be the men guarding the door if there were any.
“What’s picking the lock going to do?” Minho asked, leaning against the wall beside the door. “We’re still outnumbered, and they all have weapons.”
“They have to eat at some point,” Min-jun replied. “And judging by the smell, that will be sooner rather than later.”
“So?”
“Poison,” Min-jun said. Of course, he’d grabbed a packet of poison before he’d left, knowing this might happen. There was never a situation that didn’t call for poison. “It’ll put them to sleep for a few hours.” They wouldn’t die, since Min-jun still needed to squeeze as much information out of them as possible. Well . . . the King would have to squeeze as much information out of them as possible. Min-jun knew poisons like the back of his hand but torture was a little outside of his field of expertise.
Tch, talking about torture so flippantly. It was the King’s influence, no doubt. Even so, these men deserved it more than most.
“There we go,” Min-jun murmured, triumphant as the lock clicked out of place. When he stepped outside, there was no one around to stop him. Min-jun began his search for the kitchens, poison hidden away in his sleeve.
It did not take long to find them.
Min-jun stepped out of the room quietly, as to not alert any nearby passersby of his presence. The kitchen proved to be an easy find, as the scent of boiling stew filled the corridors. He cracked open the door and peered inside. The cook stood over a large cauldron, humming a tune. Min-jun shut the door again. What were the chances that the cook actually knew the difference between one of his own men and one of their male captives? He certainly wasn’t one of the men that had been in the Kisaeng house. His gray hair was let loose down his back, and he wore dark green and rust-colored robes that appeared just a tad too small for him. Tall and muscular, he looked a tad intimidating as he cut a bundle of cabbage into the stew.
Inhaling slowly, Min-jun stepped inside. The cook turned in his direction, his hand continuing to chop a handful of mushrooms. “I said another half hour before the stew is ready.”
“Sorry,” Min-jun replied. “I-I’m new here? Couldn’t keep anything down since I got on.”
“Land legs?” the cook said. “That’s why I told them to look for men with sailing experience. No use in a man who can’t even keep his dinner down. Waste of food, waste of time.”
“Right.”
The cook pointed to a low table just beyond the cooking area, where the cook and his apprentices ate. There were no apprentices to be seen tonight, however.
“Sit down,” said the cook. “You have any allergies?”
“No, sir,” said Min-jun.
“Then you’ll eat what I give you.” The cook set down a bowl of rice and soup in front of him. “It’ll help with the sea sickness.”
“Thank you.”
The cook turned away. Min-jun nibbled on the food, trying to appear like someone recovering from a terrible case of nausea.
“You don’t look like you belong here, boy,” said the cook.
“D-don’t I, sir?” Min-jun asked.
“No.” The cook dried his hands on a washcloth. “Your hands are too clean.”
Min-jun glanced down at his hands. Slender, long fingers, polished nails, the skin smooth as jade.
“I’m sorry, sir. What do my hands have to do with anything?”
“You’ll learn in time,” said the cook. “We all get our hands dirty around here.”
“Were yours clean once, sir?” Min-jun asked.
The cook glanced at him, and then a smile curved his lips. “No. Mine have always been like this.”
Min-jun pursed his lips, looking down at his half-empty bowl of rice. Consuming food prepared by a stranger on a boat full of criminals was probably not the best idea, but it would’ve been more suspicious to decline after professing how hungry he’d been. He finished the food. After all, whatever doctor the King brought with him would bring him back from the brink of death if the food was poisoned.
“Thank you for the food,” Min-jun said, standing. As he passed the cauldron of stew, noting that the cook’s back was turned, he tipped the sleeping powder into it. He placed his rice bowl in the pile of dirty dishes and asked if the cook needed any more help, seeing as he had no assistants.
“You best be on your way,” said the cook. “You’re living with a merciless bunch, boy. Don’t make them angry any more than you have to.”
Min-jun left the oddly reasonable cook to his own devices, wondering how someone like that ended up cooking for a bunch of lowlifes. There was an air of nobility around him that he hadn’t noticed in any of the other men.
His thoughts preoccupied, it was only as he passed the door of the Captain’s cabin that his mind registered the voices inside it. It took a few more steps for the pieces to click together.
“We’ve closed up shop at the Kisaeng House. Our men had spotted some of the King’s men in the area. Those nosy whores must’ve told them.”
“Now, now, my friend,” a genial voice replied. Min-jun recognized it as the voice of one of the officials that served the King, and, knowing this would be all for naught if someone who knew his face caught him, Min-jun quickly scurried away.
A/N: MJ’s reaction to every slight danger is now “the king will handle it”. Cheol has really spoiled this man smh. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the double update. I wanted to finish this little arc all in one go. If you liked it, please leave a comment down below!
smart but risky murder muffin
I almost feel bad for the nice cook. Luckily he won’t need to be on the traffickers good side to get a job 😄. Double update is fantastic!