Chapter 28 – The Prince of Lanterns #4
By the end of the meeting, even Mirae had quietly retreated before either of them could ask her opinion.
The prince had eventually stared at Seolhyun across the table and said,
“You realise we have spent an hour debating a road.”
“You spent an hour debating a road.”
His expression had suggested murder.
Seolhyun had smiled sweetly.
The scholars had suddenly become fascinated by their notes.
In the end neither had won.
The western road would be used.
With modifications.
The prince had declared this a reasonable compromise.
Seolhyun had declared it proof she was correct.
Neither had convinced the other.
Later, as she reflected upon the exchange, she found herself laughing.
It was an alarming development.
Somewhere between kidnappings, missing women, prophetic dreams and palace conspiracies, she had apparently begun negotiating with a prince as though they were an elderly married couple arguing over furniture placement.
The thought should have horrified her.
Instead it felt strangely familiar.
Which was perhaps even more alarming.
Unfortunately, amusement could not change reality.
That morning an envoy had arrived from the House of Listening Wind.
The oldest monk had finally responded.
His message had been brief.
Preparations were already underway for the departure of the prince’s sister and the Tang delegation.
Rumours suggested she would return to her new marriage and her future household by sea.
A great ceremonial procession would accompany her south.
Officially it was diplomacy.
Unofficially it might be something far more valuable.
An opportunity.
The tunnels beneath the palace had proven too dangerous.
Too many eyes.
Too many secrets.
Too many ways for people to disappear.
But a royal procession…
A moving city of nobles, servants, guards, merchants and pilgrims…
That was different.
For the first time in weeks, a path forward had begun to emerge.
If they were going to move the women safely, it might be their only chance.
And time was running out.
Not a storm. Not yet.
A soft curtain drifting across tiled roofs and stone courtyards, turning lantern light into blurred halos of gold.
Seolhyun stood beneath the covered gallery overlooking the palace gardens. Water gathered along the eaves before falling into the darkness below.
The kingdom felt different lately.
As though it were listening.
Behind her came familiar footsteps.
The prince.
Neither spoke immediately.
He joined her beneath the shelter and watched the rain.
“You left the scholars arguing.”
“They hardly noticed.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“True.”
Silence returned.
The prince folded his hands within his sleeves.
“I have spent most of my life studying how kingdoms survive.”
Seolhyun glanced at him.
“A strange opening.”
“It is relevant.”
The prince watched the rain.
“The Tang court teaches order. The scholars teach order. Confucius teaches order. A son obeys his father. A wife obeys her husband. A minister obeys his king.”
“And does everyone obey willingly?”
“No.”
The honesty surprised her.
The prince continued.
“But they obey because the alternative is chaos.”
His gaze moved toward the distant city beyond the palace walls.
“Every famine. Every rebellion. Every war begins when people decide their place no longer suits them.”
Seolhyun listened quietly.
The prince looked at her.
“You disagree.”
“Yes.”
“I expected as much.”
She turned toward the gardens.
“I think people misunderstand order.”
The prince raised an eyebrow.
“And what do you think it is?”
For a moment she searched for words.
Then her eyes settled upon a bronze temple bell visible beyond the trees.
“The bell.”
The prince followed her gaze.
“What about it?”
“The bell does not ring because it is struck.”
His expression became openly sceptical.
“It quite literally does.”
She laughed softly.
“No.”
The sound surprised both of them.
“It rings because metal, air, distance and silence all agree to become sound.”
The prince stared at her.
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
He shook his head.
“It sounds like something a monk would say before asking for donations.”
She laughed again.
The prince looked unexpectedly pleased with himself.
Then the amusement faded.
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Answer a simple question with something impossible.”
Seolhyun’s smile disappeared.
“So do you.”
The prince blinked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You answer every problem with duty.”
His jaw tightened.
“Because duty works.”
“Does it?”
The words landed harder than she intended.
The prince looked away.
The rain seemed louder.
After a moment he spoke.
“You think me blind.”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Seolhyun hesitated.
Because the truth was more dangerous.
“I think you are afraid.”
The prince turned sharply.
His expression revealed genuine offence.
“Afraid?”
“Yes.”
The prince almost laughed.
“Of what?”
She met his eyes.
“Change.”
For several seconds neither moved.
Then he looked away again.
Not because he was defeated.
Because some part of him recognised the accusation.
“The kingdom is changing,” she continued quietly. “The women are disappearing. The crystals are awakening. Things people buried long ago are returning.”
The prince’s voice became colder.
“Which is precisely why order is needed.”
“No.”
The word escaped before she could soften it.
The prince frowned.
“No?”
“No.”
She stepped closer to the edge of the gallery.
“The kingdom does not need control.”
“Then what does it need?”
The answer came before she realised she was speaking.
“Understanding.”
The prince looked genuinely exhausted.
“That is not a strategy.”
“It might be.”
“It is not.”
The frustration in his voice finally surfaced.
“People cannot govern a kingdom through dreams and feelings.”
The words struck deeper than he intended.
Because dreams were exactly what haunted her.
Dreams.
Memories.
Visions.
Lives.
Death.
Sometimes she no longer knew where one ended and another began.
The prince noticed the change immediately.
His expression softened.
“What is it?”
Seolhyun looked away.
The rain blurred beyond the palace walls.
When she finally spoke, her voice was almost a whisper.
“What if I do not belong here?”
The prince frowned.
“What do you mean?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
For the first time she admitted it aloud.
Not to Mirae.
Not to Nari.
Not even to herself.
“What if this place is not truly mine?”
The prince stared at her.
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t know.”
Her hands tightened against her sleeves.
“I remember things that have not happened.”
The prince remained silent.
“I know words I should not know.”
Silence.
“I know stars that have not yet been named.”
The prince’s face had gone pale.
“And sometimes…”
She swallowed.
“Sometimes I am afraid to sleep.”
The confession lingered between them.
Because it was the most honest thing she had ever said.
“When I first arrived here, I believed I understood what was happening.”
Her eyes found his.
“Now I am not certain of anything.”
The prince looked at her for a long time.
Then quietly asked:
“Do you think you are going to die?”
Seolhyun felt her heart stop.
Because she had never spoken the thought aloud.
Not once.
The prince saw the answer immediately.
The rain continued falling.
Far away a temple bell sounded through the darkness.
One note.
Then another.
Neither moved.
Finally the prince spoke.
“If I am honest…”
His voice had become strangely gentle.
“I do not understand you.”
A weak smile touched her lips.
“I know.”
“No scholar understands you.”
“I know.”
“No monk understands you.”
“I know.”
The prince exhaled slowly.
“I suspect you do not understand yourself.”
Despite everything, she laughed.
A small, broken sound.
“No.”
The prince nodded.
Then looked out across the kingdom.
“But I understand this.”
His voice became firm once more.
“The women must be protected.”
The simplicity of the statement struck her.
No philosophy.
No politics.
No argument.
Just truth.
The prince continued.
“Whatever is happening, it is growing worse.”
Seolhyun nodded.
“Yes.”
“And whatever happened before…”
His eyes drifted toward the distant mountains.
“…is happening again.”
A chill moved through her.
Because she believed that too.
The prince extended his hand.
Not as a husband.
Not as a prince.
As an ally.
For a moment she simply stared.
Then she took it.
The prince’s grip tightened once.
Only once.
An agreement.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Together they stood beneath the falling rain, watching the lanterns flicker against the darkness.
And for the first time, both understood the same terrible truth.
They were running out of time.
The cavernous rooms had become their second world.
Above lay the palace.
Below lay the truth.
At least, that was how Jiho had begun thinking of it.
Most nights he slipped into the tunnels long after the palace had fallen asleep. The old passages no longer frightened him. He knew the turns, the hidden stairways, the forgotten chambers and the cracks where candlelight should never be seen from above.
Tonight, he was not alone.
Waiting in the shadows stood one of General Hwan Ryuk’s planted men.
Officially, he was a eunuch assigned to palace duties.
Unofficially, he was one of the General’s most trusted intelligence operatives.
The replacement had settled into palace life surprisingly well.
Almost too well.
“You are late,” Jiho muttered.
“I was gathering information.”
“You mean gossip.”
The man grinned.
“Information sounds more professional.”
Jiho rolled his eyes.
A second figure emerged from the darkness.
The same servant girl from before.
One of the palace slaves assigned near the younger prince’s household.
Nervous.
Alert.
Looking over her shoulder every few moments.
The scout immediately softened his expression. Jiho suspected the man could charm secrets out of a stone wall if given enough time.
“What did you learn?” Jiho asked.
The girl hesitated.
“The prince lied.”
Neither man appeared particularly surprised.
“The monastery?” Jiho asked.
She shook her head.
“He visited one briefly. Only briefly.”
“And the rest?”
“Taverns.”
The scout nodded.
“Expected.”
“Gaming houses.”
“Also expected.”