Was he not devoted enough to his mission? Had he miscalculated somewhere along the way? There were only two ways his story could end: He either manages to kill the King or he perishes. He could see no other option. Unless he gave up.
“I’ll change your mind.” The King’s words echoed in his mind, as he laid in bed, half-covered in the linen comforter. The heat had only intensified in the last two weeks, as the Festival drew closer, just a night away, drenching everything in its scathing warmth. The darkness in his room had adjusted into a silver hue, as the light of a gibbous moon, nearly full now.
A cool breeze beckoned him outside, and he found it difficult to resist such a sweet temptation when slumber evaded him. Wrapping himself in a thin silk jacket with vines curling on the wide cuffs, he walked out of his room. Min-jun pulled the ends of his hair out from underneath the jacket, pausing to wonder if he should put it up. He quickly calculated the chances of meeting someone in the middle of the night. Not probable. Loose hair, it was.
Opening the doors, he announced his departure, much to the chagrin of the servants waiting outside.
“Dressed like that?” his attendant asked, eyes bulging. “My apologies, Highness, but you look unseemly.”
Min-jun passed him by, ignoring his complaints. “You can stand guard at a comfortable distance, then. I’ll go hide in the bushes if I have to. None of us are sleeping, so we might as well enjoy the night’s tranquility.”
Stepping outside, he breathed easier. Min-jun found comfort in the wind as it skimmed over his skin, and in the rustling of tree branches, much less distracting now that he didn’t have to ignore them in favor of sleep. Overdressing would’ve spoiled the effect.
Something deep in his chest wanted to be near water, and the closest water source was the lake in the garden behind the villa. The servants followed him there, passing under archways and gazing at elegant pagodas. They followed a stone path, their footsteps light on the rocks, until the lake came into view, glimmering in the moonlight. A few meters away, he ordered them to stay put. Privacy was a luxury he could afford on a night like this.
Min-jun advanced toward the bridge that cut the lake in half and had stepped onto its wooden planks before he could even notice the figure on the bridge. He halted, and then he took a few steps back, aware of his own state of undress.
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.
Too late. The man had spotted him from his perch on the bridge’s banister. Well, this was Min-jun’s property now. He’d give him a good talking to …
“Your Majesty,” he breathed, his mind scrambling to form a proper sentence other than, My, I’d like to throw you into that lake. “What are you doing here?”
“What did you say to get your servants to allow you such a scandalous appearance?” the King asked, his tone rising and falling in the sliver of a laugh.
His hands pulled on the jacket until it covered his chest and torso. “I ignored them. As I am tempted to do with you. Why are you sneaking around behind my home?”
“It’s technically mine, you know,” the King said, tipping his head back to stare at the sky, tendrils of hair beginning to escape his tidy bun. “Everything here is.”
Min-jun crossed his arms, refusing to draw closer. “There must be prettier gardens in the palace.”
The King glanced at him and smiled. “I like this one the best.”
“The garden hosting your intended assassin?” Try as he might, Min-jun couldn’t understand the King’s mind. He should’ve killed him. It was the rational thing to do, much more rational than allowing him to live for the off chance that he might change his mind. Tyrants shouldn’t be able to afford mercy.
“I hear you’ve been sending letters to Sun-woo.”
Was he here to threaten him? That suited Min-jun just fine. “I have.”
“I’ll get him to remove his curse,” the King told him. He jumped off the railing and landed softly on his feet with all the balance of a man with too much military experience. Step by glacial step, he moved closer to Min-jun. “So whatever you plan to do, you should reconsider.”
Min-jun took some pride, some demented joy in watching him plead and bargain. “I suppose losing a weapon like that would inconvenience you.”
“I’m asking because Sun-woo is a dear friend of mine.”
With a click of his tongue, he nodded in a slow, mocking movement. “Indeed, my parents were quite dear to me. Didn’t stop you from letting them bleed out on stage and making a spectacle of it.”
The King searched his face. “We executed them publicly?” As if he’d satisfy that with an answer. “Were you there? In the crowd.”
“I’m leaving. Enjoy the water.” He took a step toward the head of the bridge but felt a gentle grip on his arm pull him back to the King. That earned his Majesty a slap to the face, full of all the force and fierceness Min-jun kept away from prying eyes.
“Don’t. Touch. Me,” he seethed, as his trembling index finger pointed at his victim.
“Duly noted,” the King said, holding a hand to the injured cheek, now tinged a light pink. “I think that might’ve shaken my skull.”
Min-jun would’ve expected the King to have a higher pain tolerance. “If we weren’t in front of an audience, I would’ve punched you.”
“Indeed, I’m eternally grateful to them.”
“Not that one.” He doubted the servants would care much outside of gossip. The man pinning him down with a glare proved to be much more worrisome.
“You noticed him?”
He had glimpsed Sun occasionally following him around ever since the incident with the shaman. Usually, he kept enough distance to only keep an eye on him, disinterested in his conversations with others. Min-jun had concluded, therefore, that the King must’ve sent him for protection rather than extensive espionage.
Sun stood partially hidden behind the trees, dressed in green and black. His malice had given him away. Well, that and his mishap of breaking a few branches when Min-jun had pulled his hand back to slap the King.
“A slap is never taken as seriously as a punch in the face,” Min-jun said, touching the pink skin gingerly, and to an outside perspective, lovingly. “It’s much easier to forgive.”
He didn’t touch him. and Min-jun withdrew his hand, letting it hang at his side. “You seem to have quite an accurate measure of different types of pain.”
“I’ve learned from the best,” Min-jun said, regretting his words as they passed between his lips.
With the King, even the simplest sentence seemed to give away too much, those clever eyes unfolding every layer and secret beneath the sounds.
“You learned from someone.”
Ouch…
❤ Cheol is going to need to put some ice on that
Uh-oh…
😈
Eep!
😈
Seriously lol 😆 Min Jun be glad the king isn’t like some others . Is there Seriously no boundaries you won’t cross !! He should have slapped u right back