Chapter 5
“Are you dogs tainted by Lady Park of the Inner Palace?”
“Die, you wretched spawn of disgrace!”
Breaking the silence, an assassin raised his sword high and lunged forward. Ilip lowered his stance, seizing an opening, and instead carved a long gash across the man’s chest.
The assassin staggered back clutching his chest, but blood burst forth like mist and sprayed across Ilip’s face.
“What a pity. Your road to the afterlife won’t be a clean one.”
Dark-red droplets splattered thickly onto the parched ground—there was no way left to retreat.
Ilip strode forward at a leisure pace and drove his blade hard into the assassin’s neck.
“Speak. Who is behind this?”
The assassin clenched his teeth and twisted his head aside.
“One wrong answer… and I take off another inch.”
As Ilip dragged his sword across the tree with a grating sound, the stench of blood carried straight into the assassin’s face.
“Not talking? Or unable to?”
Again, the assassin shook his head. Ilip, true to his word, scraped the blade closer. At the sight of cold steel nearing his throat, the assassin finally broke, lips trembling.
“I-I’ll talk! I’ll talk!”
“Ah, sorry. Did you expect mercy? The truth is, I never needed an answer.”
What he wanted was to see the man’s desperate struggle. That way, death would strike deeper terror.
Without hesitation, Ilip swung his blade, slicing clean through the man’s neck. The severed head rolled, its tongue lolling grotesquely out.
Ilip shut his eyes and swallowed the dry air down his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
The stench of blood hung thick and suffocating.
But this stench—it was also what kept him alive.
“The assassins’ uniforms resemble those of Hoan’s soldiers.”
Su-o, rummaging through a corpse, pulled out a pouch heavy with gold and handed it over. Inside, among half-loosened strings, lay the currency of Gunryeong.
Ilip’s brow furrowed sharply.
“We return.”
He twisted his body lightly—but suddenly collapsed where he stood.
A black stallion, grazing nearby, galloped over at the scent of death oozing from its master, pawing anxiously at the ground.
“Your Highness the Crown Prince!”
Su-o rushed to support Ilip, but the prince’s dark eyes were already dimming.
“Su-o…”
“Yes, Your Highness! Lean on me, I am here—”
Ilip shoved him away irritably and instead seized him by the collar, dragging him close.
His ragged breath, reeking of blood, fanned across Su-o’s face.
“This matter must not reach Gunryeong or Hoan. They must see me as a valuable piece in Gunryeong’s hand.”
“But, Your Highness, your condition—”
“I cannot even call upon the physician traveling with us. We head straight to Simryeon. There I will find a healer for the poison.”
Ilip tried to rise, but clutched at his chest with a muffled groan. The heat of hidden breaths burned inside, scalding his stomach.
“If you’re worried for me, then hurry and set the road.”
Though he mounted the black stallion with composure, the veins crawling up his neck and brow betrayed the agony he suppressed. His trembling hands looked ready to shatter at any moment.
Still—if he survived today, if he was alive today—that was enough. With that resolve, he left the bloodied ground behind and pressed forward.
“Don’t even think of it. With that ruby ring, you couldn’t buy so much as an undershirt in Gunryeong, let alone their silks.”
At the silk merchant’s sneer, little Yuso’s face crumpled like a sulky child.
“Then what do I do? If I can’t bring back silk, our princess—no, our lady—will face disgrace.”
“What’s it to me? Out of the way, girl. Madam, come and see these fine silks from Gunryeong!”
The merchant pushed Yuso aside dismissively and spread out his richly embroidered silks, drawing passing women to his stall.
Shoved back, Yuso lingered, running her fingers along the edges of the cloth. The merchant clicked his tongue.
Even with his glare, the stubborn little girl showed no sign of leaving.
Finally, with a groan, the man scratched his head with the end of his bamboo pipe.
“Go try the market where Gunryeong folk gather. You might find silk cheaper there.”
At his words, Yuso’s eyes lit up. The merchant smacked his lips.
“Does it really have to be indigo silk from Gunryeong? Hoan’s silks are no worse.”
But Yuso shook her head firmly.
“No, it has to be that! If I fail, the p—princess, no, the lady will be in trouble! Still, thank you, sir!”
With a bright laugh, Yuso flung her arms around his thick waist. He only chuckled, puffed smoke, and waved her off.
Before the white smoke even cleared, Yuso darted away, splashing through muddy ground and vanishing into the crowd.
Once she reached a quiet alley, she pulled a pouch from her chest.
“Tch. Just copper coins… that pauper dares give me advice?”
She pouted, tossing the pouch away but pocketing the coins.
Quick hands, quicker feet—that was Yuso’s gift. By the time her damp clothes clung to her back and the lukewarm breeze felt refreshing, she had reached the outskirts of the city market.
“Where did she go? The p—princess—ugh!”
Her breath caught when suddenly a hand covered her mouth.
“Why not shout it aloud? That you snuck out of the palace.”
Yuso turned, embarrassed, to find herself clutching at Yero’s skirt. Even a common merchant had slapped her hand away, but the noble princess only adjusted her grip and drew the girl along.
Startled, Yuso glanced back just as a rattling cart narrowly missed them.
“You must be careful.”
Those gentle words from Yero always softened her heart.
It was Yero who had taken her in when she was a starving orphan fated to die on the streets, who brought her to the Cold Palace and gave her affection if not plenty.
A debt so deep, Yuso could never repay it in a lifetime.
“Empty-handed again? I suppose the silk was too difficult to obtain.”
“But, Princess! They say at the Gunryeong market, silks sell cheaper than usual. Since we’re already out, why not stop by?”
Seeing her mistress’s disappointed face, Yuso babbled hurriedly. Yero smiled weakly and nodded.
If she had known Yuso would suffer so much, she might have preferred punishment under the scorching sun. Better to endure the whip before siblings and consorts than to drag Yuso into this.
Heavy-hearted, Yero let herself be led to the remote quarter where Gunryeong folk resided.
The district lay north of the palace, a place where even in midsummer sunlight failed to reach, and winters came too soon.
As they walked through its dark alleys—so unlike Hoan’s bustling markets—Yero kept wary eyes on their surroundings.
Unkind stares followed their mismatched attire. A woman, hastily folding her laundry, turned her baby away from Yero’s gaze. A fishmonger slammed his knife into a log, abandoning his work.
Even Yuso, normally thoughtless, sensed the chill and lowered her voice.
“That shop ahead looks like it sells silk.”
Yero squeezed her hand tighter, nodding with care.
Long strips of silk hung from ropes, fluttering in the wind. A pale sun filtered through like mist, glinting between folds of fabric.
“Shopkeeper, are you here?”
With her veil lowered once more, Yero let Yuso call out.
After several unanswered calls, their vigilance slackened.
Yuso gaped at the fine fabrics, sneaking touches here and there. When a trinket caught her eye, Yero quickly seized her hand.
Shaking her head, her fine hair swayed softly.
Yuso’s old bad habit—stealing—was the mark of a girl who knew the terror of hunger.
“Yuso, no.”
With a pout, Yuso pulled her hand back and rubbed her palm against her dress. Just then, the wooden door creaked open.
Both girls turned at once, eyes drawn upward.
And there stood a man—his frame so massive, it seemed almost monstrous.
