Chapter 8
“Not poison…?”
The sneer faded from the man’s face.
His mask removed, his features were merciless yet dangerously beautiful—like flawless porcelain, sculpted to perfection.
If such a sculpture could ever be made by human hands instead of a god’s, the sculptor’s fingers would have been shattered a hundred times over.
Yeo-ro swallowed hard and looked straight at the man. If she averted her gaze now, she would become prey—devoured whole.
Right now, your life is the only card I can wager.
“A day? Two days… At least two days since the symptoms began.”
“Go on, keep talking.”
“…Your throat must burn as though you swallowed fire. Every sound must feel distant, as though you’re sinking under water. The blood surging through your veins must be so hot it’s unbearable.”
Though her voice trembled, Yeo-ro’s eyes were steady.
“Am I wrong? Tell me.”
Those eyes, clear as a season reflected in crystal, could almost make one nod in agreement—even if her words were lies.
“…So if you’re right, what should be done?”
The man leaned closer to her. Yeo-ro carefully rose and took a step back. The man, as if waiting, closed the distance again.
That was how she noticed—his breathing had grown rougher. Yeo-ro forced a crooked smile onto her lips and asked,
“How much time do you think you have left?”
“What?”
“How much longer can you stay on your feet like this? I assure you, within an hour this inn will reek of incense. Do you understand? One hour.”
She spat out the last words and stepped back again, but her retreat ended against the wall.
Even so, Yeo-ro’s voice did not falter.
The man, towering over her cornered body, reached out and grasped her long, silky black hair.
“Cheap perfume… dressed in shabby silk. A fallen noble’s daughter, perhaps?”
Yeo-ro tried to avert her eyes, but his hand shot forward and clamped around her slender white neck.
He wasn’t choking her, but the fact that he held her life thread so easily in his palm was terrifying.
“What’s your name? Why should I trust you with my life?”
Yeo-ro clawed at his hand with trembling fingers, but only scratches appeared. His grip didn’t loosen.
Each breath drew in the heavy scent of clove clinging to him.
Her face flushed red like a flower bud opening. Biting her lips, she quietly withheld her name.
“My name is the last collateral I possess. If I fail to save you, then you may hear it—and cut my throat.”
“Ah. So I only learn your name if I die. That’s what you’re saying.”
The man chuckled and slowly released her throat—or rather, his strength gave out.
Now even standing on two legs seemed impossible for him, as if his breath couldn’t reach his lungs.
Life itself seemed trapped in his chest, unable to circulate.
Yeo-ro instinctively caught his collapsing body. His breath grew heavier, his shadow darker.
Just then, the sliding doors burst open and the warrior who had kidnapped Yeo-ro earlier strode in, supporting the man.
“Ah, Su-o… I kept searching for you.”
“Forgive me. I was escorting Princess Ja-ga to her quarters… What happened here?”
Only then did the man sigh deeply, as if finally allowing himself to relax, and went limp.
“She’s not the woman to discover the poison killing me. But she is the woman who can keep me alive.”
At those words, Yeo-ro sharply raised her head to look at him.
It was as if hope—light itself—had appeared.
“Your Highness, time is urgent. We must obtain a sample…”
Yeo-ro lowered her head again, hiding her face, but the words echoed in her mind.
Your Highness…
Yes, the man who just entered had addressed him as Crown Prince.
“I can do it! I know the method. My lord—no, Y-Your Highness…”
“Then leave it to her.”
Leaning against the doorframe, Princess Ryeo-hee appeared, limping slightly. Her face—so like Il-ip’s—smiled coldly at Yeo-ro.
“Is there another way? Even physicians failed. If this lowly girl claims she can succeed, let’s gamble on it.”
It was as though Yeo-ro had been granted permission. She bowed deeply.
“I will need tools. Long and fine needles. Please prepare them, Your Highness…”
“Il-ip.”
“…Pardon?”
“Call me Il-ip. At least know the name of the man whose life you intend to save or take. Don’t you agree?”
The man—Il-ip—lay down straight, letting out a shallow groan.
Taking it as her cue, Yeo-ro lifted her skirts and hurried to the door.
“No.”
But before she could step through the threshold, Princess Ryeo-hee’s firm voice stopped her.
“We’ll bring the tools. Until my brother rises again, you will not take a single step outside.”
Yeo-ro’s breath faltered. Her eyes trembled behind closed lids, then stilled.
“…I understand.”
She bowed heavily. The doors shut behind her.
Ryeo-hee descended the stairs, hand on the railing, each step adding to the noise below.
The air was thick with the savory smell of oil and the musty rot of old wood.
“Princess, what if that girl tries something reckless…”
“No.”
Ryeo-hee laughed girlishly, shoulders drawn close. The sound sent a chill down the attendant’s spine.
“She won’t dare move carelessly. Do you know why? Because a child was captured along with her. Send the needles up through that child’s hands. That way she won’t forget her situation.”
Ryeo-hee giggled again, swaying so much that her hand slipped from the railing. Just as she nearly toppled, a strong hand caught her.
“Princess.”
“Husband.”
Smiling innocently, Ryeo-hee looked at Su-o, without a trace of shame.
“I trust you, Princess. But sometimes… only sometimes… I fear the world you see is far too dark.”
Ryeo-hee’s smile faltered for a moment, then curled back. Her eyes, however, did not smile as they met his.
“Why worry? You’ll always be by my side.”
Su-o gave a bitter smile and lowered his head.
Then he scooped her up and carried her down the creaking wooden stairs.
When he set her down lightly again, her silk skirt fell like a butterfly’s wings.
As Su-o disappeared to fetch hot water and towels, Ryeo-hee watched his back and murmured,
“To have a weakness… is such a foolish thing.”
The noisy world resumed between them, as if shackles had been broken.
Watching Su-o’s shadow melt into the crowd, Ryeo-hee smiled with an unreadable expression.
“It’s not an antidote.”
“Yes. Strictly speaking, that’s true.”
Yeo-ro calmly wrung out a towel over a basin.
Water trickled down her pale wrist.
“Clove lowers body temperature and calms the mind. Since you took it while already healthy, you felt fatigue. Then, trying to restore yourself, you ingested more.”
“And?”
Il-ip wordlessly extended his arm. Yeo-ro checked his pulse at several points, then wiped his skin with the damp towel.
“Such tonic herbs strengthen vitality—but also raise body heat and quicken the pulse. Whatever energy remained in your body twisted when combined with clove.”
“Why didn’t the physicians notice?”
“…They likely didn’t know what you had ingested.”
“But you do?”
“…How could I? I’m only drawing out the clove’s influence and helping your circulation settle.”
Poisons fall into two categories: those that require knowing the exact substance to cure, and those that can be drawn out simply by reversing energy flow in the body.
Il-ip’s case was the latter.
If not for my mother, I wouldn’t have recognized even this chance.
Avoiding his gaze, Yeo-ro set the towel back into the basin.
“When nobles are sentenced to death by poison, conflicting herbs are sometimes mixed in. That thought occurred to me, that is all.”
Il-ip sighed lightly.
“Ah, so you staked my life on a mere guess.”
His mocking tone made Yeo-ro’s hands freeze for an instant. But she quickly resumed her calm movements.
Clinking her tools, she knelt closer, folded her skirts neatly, and sat before him, looking straight into his eyes.
Il-ip stared back silently for a long time.
In those pure eyes, neither shadow nor light could remain hidden.
“I’ll use needles. If you still don’t trust me, stop me now.”
“You said you needed to expel the clove’s energy. Why acupuncture?”
“To quicken your circulation further.”
Il-ip frowned skeptically. Yeo-ro, without meaning to, gave a small chuckle.
“…Why laugh?”
“Could it be… you fear needles, Your Highness?”
Il-ip let out a sharp, incredulous breath and glared at her. He had thought her clever—but her insolence was infuriating.
“Now then, take the herbs.”
Il-ip looked down in shock at his arm—already pierced with a long needle.
What a brazen, impudent girl she was.
