The King’s grip tightened on Min-jun’s shoulders, and it was perhaps the only thing keeping him from breaking down in that moment. Lies. This must be some sort of trick.
“What sort of nonsense are you spewing?” Min-jun’s voice was harsh and his throat felt tight. Traitors. Murderers. None of it was true. His parents had been noble and kind and good.
“Min-jun,” the King said, softly. He pulled Min-jun back behind him so that they would not see his face. Min-jun’s lip trembled as he took hold of the King’s sleeve. “We mean you no harm. We’ve traveled here in hopes of learning more about Min-jun’s parents.”
“You can’t ask ‘em yourselves?” the old woman asked, harshly.
“They passed away several years ago,” the King said.
For a moment, the old woman’s face changed, but Min-jun couldn’t pinpoint the emotion in it. He let the King take his hand, intertwining their fingers.
“How’d they die?” the old woman asked, quieter now.
“Execution,” Min-jun whispered, and for a moment, some of his old fury was reignited. Blood splattered, a sword cutting through flesh, one after the other. “Seven years ago.”
The old woman sank down to the floor, and her companions jumped to take her arms. “Dead,” she whispered. “That demon woman?” When she laughed, it came out as a wheezing, tired sound. “Good riddance. So there is some justice left in the world.”
Though her words were tinged with a sense of victory, something in her tone betrayed a more somber note.
“Dead,” she murmured again.
“What do you claim they did to you,” Min-jun spat out, finally, “that you would spew such filth against the dead?”
“She murdered our daughter,” said the elderly man. “Though they were the best of friends.”
Memories, hazy and long-forgotten, returned to Min-jun. A woman with cheeks that never seemed to lose color, rosy as the blush of dawn, and with a laugh that sounded like bells in the wind. Her hands would guide his as he learned to play the zither under her tutelage, and she’d teach him mountain songs when the three of them went on hikes along the forest trails, his mother humming along as they did so.
“What are the songs for?” he’d asked one day. The woman had turned back with a secretive smile.
“It’s to ward off the demons. They hate beautiful things.”
Min-jun’s hand tightened on the King’s. He remembered the night that his mother had so frantically packed their belongings and fled the city.
“Are we gonna leave without saying goodbye?”
His mother had smiled, though he could now see the tears in her eyes. He’d never seen them before. “It’s for the best.”
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.
“Ktja’r lwqbrrlyif,” Zlc-pec rjlv. Ktf Blcu qijmfv tlr jgw jgbecv tlw jcv ygbeuta tlw mibrfg. Ktf jmalbc wjvf Zlc-pec agfwyif. “Pwqbrrlyif.”
“Glv jcsbcf rff la tjqqfc?” atf Blcu jrxfv, klatbea wlrrlcu j yfja. Lf mbeiv tfjg atf ojlca atgfja lc tlr nblmf.
“Lfg vjeutafg tjv obiibkfv tfg bea,” rjlv atf wjc. Lf uijcmfv ja atf sbecu wjlv, ktb mbeiv yjgfis ibbx ja Zlc-pec, ktbrf tjcvr agfwyifv rb wemt atja rtf tjv ab mieamt tfg vgfrr ab xffq atfw ogbw rtjxlcu. “Vtf klacfrrfv atf rajyylcu. Lfg ojatfg rbbc pblcfv tfg. L-tf qjrrfv jkjs atgff wbcatr ijafg, ecjyif ab yfjg atf tfjgajmtf.”
Min-jun would’ve pushed further, declared them all liars if he could, but he recalled the terrified look on the young maid’s face, the way she recoiled when his eyes passed over her, and he relented. Slowly, he touched a hand to his own face, his mother’s face . . . nearly identical.
“Cheol,” he whispered, feeling out of breath. The King turned all his attention to Min-jun, his hand at his back. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
. . .
“You really had no idea, all these years,” said the grandmother, as they all sat around an old wooden table. Min-jun’s mind would not calm itself, whirling around until his head felt like mush and all he could do was lean it against his hand and keep himself from screaming or crying or whatever other impulse was building up inside of him. His other hand clutched the King’s, too tightly, he knew, but he could not let him go.
“I was a child,” Min-jun muttered. “How could I have known something like that?”
“Well, now you know,” the grandmother spat. “You can be on your way.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Min-jun said, having lost his patience and his tact all at once. “You don’t actually think my mother would’ve killed someone in cold blood? There must be more going on here.”
“It’s been seven years, boy. Don’t go tearing up old wounds just to satisfy your own curiosity. You’ve already done enough damage showing your face here.”
“I refuse.” Min-jun crossed his arms over his chest. He heard the King muffle a laugh and sent a sharp glare in his direction, before returning his attention to the grandmother. “It was my mother’s letter that sent me here. That means she wanted me to dig deeper into this case.” Clear the air, even.
“You will leave.” The grandmother met his gaze. “Or you will be driven out.”
Min-jun couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. With the King by his side, who could stand in his way? “Are you so quick to turn away a chance to know why your daughter was murdered?”
“It will not change a thing,” the grandmother said. “A death is a death.”
“Then, when I solve this case, I will be sure not to tell you about it.” Min-jun stood, spun on his heel, and walked out of the room.
The King followed him, clicking his tongue. Min-jun raised a brow, tilting his head to look up at the King, and almost rolled his eyes at the expression on his face. Not that look.
He felt the King’s breath on his ear, as he leaned in. “That wasn’t very nice of you.”
“They weren’t very nice to me either,” Min-jun replied. “Stay close. They might try something stupid.”
“Oh? Will you protect me?”
Min-jun snorted. “Of course not. You’re the one who will deal with them if they try their luck. That’s why I brought you along.”
“Of course.”
They entered their room and Min-jun exhaled, letting his shoulders drop. The doors shut behind him and Cheol’s soft footfalls grew closer. Through the window, even in the dead of night, the snow cast the earth in a faint glow. An overwhelming weariness befell him, and Min-jun reached up to touch the wooden pin in his hair. He let his hair down, the waves falling down his back. They looked akin to the night sky, the strands shimmering in the lantern light. He could feel Cheol’s eyes on him, drinking him in.
“Cheol?”
“Yes, my love?” The voice was soft as the snowfall. Min-jun met his gaze, and his breath left him in a shaky, slow exhale.
“Could you hold me?”
A small smile curled on Cheol’s lips. It did not take him long to oblige. Min-jun sank into his embrace as if it were second nature to him. One of Cheol’s hands rested on Min-jun’s shoulder, the other on his hip. Min-jun buried his face in Cheol’s chest, breathing in his scent, reveling in his warmth as they stood in that drafty room.
Murder? His mother a murderer? His parents had been slandered in so many ways. It couldn’t be true. Min-jun wished he could convince himself that it wasn’t true, but then the vision of the young maid’s face flickered in front of him, and he could not deny what he’d seen with his own eyes. Why would you do such a thing, mother?
Traitors. Murderers. Had he ever really known the people he’d called his parents? What other secrets were they hiding?
“We’ll go first thing in the morning,” Min-jun said. “I need to see what she left there.”
“Alright.”
What would’ve come of this day had Cheol not been here to negotiate? Min-jun let his eyes close shut. He could not bring himself to whisper a word of thanks to his King, the words clogging his throat, so he only held his King tighter.
“Cheol-ah,” Min-jun whispered. “Let’s rest for tonight.”
“Alright. Let’s rest.”
A few hours later, the two of them lay together in bed, the King’s arm wrapped around Min-jun’s waist. Min-jun, on the other hand, had rested his head on the King’s chest, listening to his heartbeat in that steady rhythm that was uniquely his. Though it calmed him somewhat, Min-jun could not bring himself to sleep.
“Cheol?” Min-jun spoke the name into the night, half-expecting silence to be his only reply, but shortly after, he heard a low hum of acknowledgment.
“What is it, my love?”
The term of endearment put him at ease, and he shifted a little in his position on the bedroll. He’d grown accustomed to the luxurious bedding of the Palace, and now he felt every lump and divot in the mattress beneath him.
“Do you believe them? About my mother?” he asked.
“That she murdered her best friend in cold blood?”
Hearing it laid out in such plain terms left Min-jun feeling queasy again. “Mmm.”
“Murder . . . I wouldn’t be surprised. You saw the girl’s face yourself. Tsk. Gawking at you like that, my love. Quite rude if you ask me –”
Min-jun cut him off with a playful jab to the ribcage, propping himself up on his elbow. “Be serious.” But the mood had lightened a bit, and he placed his head back down on Cheol’s chest, wrapping his arm around his waist.
A hand came up to play with his hair and Min-jun closed his eyes, listening to the wind outside, focusing on the gentle press of the King’s fingers, the softness of the comforter around them.
“I’m sure she had her reasons,” the King answered, at last. “She did not seem cruel the few times that we interacted. She took me in when I’d collapsed on the street, and even helped me regain my strength after that. She could’ve been a murderer, but she was certainly a loving mother.”
“She could’ve been a traitor.”
“Are you worried, my love?” The King kissed the top of his head. “That she is not what you wanted her to be.”
“I’m worried about what we might find under the mountain,” Min-jun admitted. His heart leaped into his throat, pounding. He sat up. “More confessions? I’d always thought of them as heroes, but what am I to do if it turns out they weren’t anything like that? What if there were more victims? What else had they done?” The Minister had sold people. Had his parents done that as well? He remembered the young maid again, how terrified she had been. Would it be alright to love you, still, even if you’ve murdered, butchered, sold, terrorized . . . His hands rose to touch his face.
The King followed suit, taking Min-jun’s hands, but Min-jun could hardly focus on him. His lungs felt too shallow, as if he couldn’t fill them up with enough air. “Min-jun, my love, have you forgotten what we are here for?”
Master.
The King nodded, evidently seeing something in Min-jun’s face that told him he understood. “Whether she was a traitor or not, your mother is guiding us on the right path now. She loved you. That is the only thing of which we can be certain.”
Min-jun bit his lip, nearly drawing blood. “I just . . . I’m scared.”
“I know,” the King said, cupping Min-jun’s cheek. His vision blurred. “I know, my love.”
A moment passed by, silence filling the space between them. And in that silence, in that moment, Min-jun’s heart felt a little lighter. Scared, still, but not so much now that the King knew of his fears.
“No matter what happens, I will be by your side.”
A small smile flickered on Min-jun’s lips. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
A/N: Hello, everybody! Sorry for the long wait. Grad school has really been keeping me occupied. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. If you did, please let me know in the comment section below.
AUTHOR ITS BEEN SO LONG! THANK YOU FOR YOUR HARD WORK IVE MISSED YOU
we need answeeeers
also happy to see you back 🤭
So happy to see these two back. Cheol’s unquestioning devotion and support is beautiful as ever. While I’m worried for what Min-jun will find out, I know he’ll be alright.