2. Daehyun
At Prince Daehyun’s birth, theshaman prophesied that he would be put to death this year. He did not know the hour or the day, but one thing he was resolved to make true: He would not die at the hands of his half brother, the king. He was determined to trick the heavens, if needed, to live long enough to carry out one act.
Treason.
“Little brother,” Yeonsan drawled as he sat proudly on his steed, holding the reins with one lazy hand, “I had a dream last night.”
“Did you, indeed?” Daehyun replied, riding alongside the king. “Was it a fortuitous dream, jeonha?”
“It was a nightmare. Or perhaps a dark omen…”
Daehyun waited while the sun beat down on him and His Majesty’s hunting party, scorching them as they traveled through a hamlet. Government officials huffed and complained among themselves while high-ranking royal concubines flapped their wide sleeves, outraged by the heat. And then there was row after row of captives, the stolen women with faces shadowed with grief. But Daehyun remained still on his horse, his gaze fixed on the villagers prostrated on the ground, trembling with their heads bowed.
“I dreamed that a brother of mine stole my dragon robe and sat on my throne while I still lived.” Yeonsan glanced at him, a black patch tied over his right eye, the one perpetually infected. “Have you ever coveted the throne?”
Daehyun donned his well-practiced mask, widening his eyes and sliding an innocent note into his voice. “Never, jeonha. I am the former king’s bastard. How could I ever presume to dream of the throne?”
It was partly true. He had never coveted the throne—even if he had, he was illegitimate and held no sway over the government. But he did covet power. Enough power to defy the cruel grip of fate. He refused to be ripped apart like the others, or beaten to death by Yeonsan’s fists, or exhumed after death to have his skeleton crushed, forever denied a proper afterlife. He wanted the power to wipe the grin off King Yeonsan’s face and to see him cower as those he loved had cowered before His Majesty.
“The heavens mandated you as king, jeonha,” Daehyun continued, filling his voice with reverence, “so how dare anyone dream of changing the will of the heavens? I may be an ant in your eyes, jeonha, but I am an upright ant.”
“An upright ant,” the king repeated. “Then what am I to you, little brother?”
“You are the ruler of the sun and moon, the mountains, and the ten thousand rivers.” Daehyun spoke loud enough that a few villagers raised their heads, and he knew what they saw, for it was what everyone in the royal court saw: a sycophant.
“Everything belongs to you, jeonha,” Daehyun pressed on, looking away.
Yeonsan let out a great laugh. He sat taller on his horse, and the sun gleamed off his silk hunting robe and winked off the gilded crown that encased his topknot. “You are my favorite brother, and yet I’m not sure that I know you.” His Majesty’s smile sharpened. “You are a trickster, through and through. One never knows what you are truly thinking, or whether you can be trusted. I suppose only time will tell who you really are—and whether I was a fool to favor you at all.”
Who I really am?He cast a glance back at Hyukjin, the royal guard riding a few rows behind. It was a question his longtime friend often inquired of him. “Where has he gone, the Daehyun we both knew? And who is this man before us now, so cold and hollowed out?”
Daehyun knew the precise date he had lost himself: The twentieth of the third lunar month, two years ago. The day of his foster mother’s death.
“And time will show, jeonha,” Daehyun replied in a smooth voice, “that I am indeed an upright ant.”
The burning of the sun finally cooled, the oppressive heat of the open ground easing away as they entered a shadow-engulfed forest. Sunlight peeked through the darkness in spears of gold, illuminating patches of earth and the tense faces of His Majesty’s entourage. Daehyun felt his own shoulders tighten as Yeonsan rode ahead with his personal guard. Would the king suggest another game? His Majesty often did during his excursions, and the games always ended in at least one death.
“Jeonha,” came the nervous voice of another prince. “The heat is overwhelming today. Please take care of your body, and do not exert too much strength. You oughtn’t stay out too long in this weather—”
“Quiet,” the king ordered.
Everyone halted.
At the head of the party, Yeonsan sat pompously on his mount. He stretched out his arm, hand open in the gesture for silence and stillness. Leaves rustled; twigs cracked. In the distance, a doe and her fawn broke from cover, ambling out of the thicket to drink water by a stream.
Daehyun could feel His Majesty’s grin chilling the forest air—the same grin that had split the tyrant’s face while staring down at Royal Consort Jeong, the woman who had taken Daehyun in as her own child. He could see her now, her still corpse with a sack over her head, her life drained out in a rivulet of blood.
Sweat broke over his brow. Banish the memory, Daehyun urged himself. Do not dwell on it.
It took a few moments to recompose himself. With a smile secured on his face, he turned his focus back on Yeonsan. His Majesty had raised his bow, fixed his arrow, and now lined up his shot at the doe. The creature lifted her head quickly, as though sensing something unpleasant; her ears twitched, then she and her fawn darted back toward the trees.
Run, Lady Jeong had whispered on the eve of the king’s bloody purge. The king will kill us all—
The arrow pierced through the forest, whistling with ferocious speed. It struck its mark with a horrible thud; the doe collapsed, its body hitting dirt. There came no cry, not even a whimper.
Smile, he commanded himself.
He forced his lips into a rigid arch as drums were struck, instruments played to celebrate the king’s excellent hunting skill. The frightened fawn darted and disappeared beyond the thicket, an orphan now.
“’Tis a fine day for hunting!” Yeonsan announced, beaming. “Would you not all agree?”
“Yes, jeonha,” the entire entourage replied in synchrony, “a very splendid day.” Heads bowed in subservience. The shoulders of government officials sagged under the weight of the humiliating shineonpae His Majesty had forced everyone to wear, a small plaque tied around their necks with writing inscribed:
A MOUTH IS A DOOR THAT brINGS IN DISASTER.
A TONGUE IS A SWORD THAT CUTS OFF A HEAD.
A BODY WILL BE IN PEACE
AS LONG AS ITS MOUTH IS CLOSED
AND ITS TONGUE IS DEEP WITHIN.
The king stretched his arms out wide, his silk sleeves billowing in the forest breeze, as he turned to the crowd of princes huddled on their horses. “My brothers, I am in an excellent mood!” A look of thrill glinted in his one eye. “Let us play a game, shall we?”
Daehyun gripped the reins tight, preparing himself.
“Prepare your bows and arrows, princes. Any of you who returns by sundown with no carcass shall be executed.” A ferocious grin stretched across His Majesty’s teeth. “Let the hunt begin!”