Chapter 28 – The Prince of Lanterns #5
The girl lowered her voice.
“And places where men pay for information.”
That earned their full attention.
“The Tang merchants know him,” she continued. “Government officials know him. He has also caught the attention of Lord Gyeon Minseok’s younger brother.”
Jiho exchanged a look with the scout.
That was less comforting.
Lord Gyeon Minseok himself had already chosen his side.
The younger brother remained far less predictable.
“If Minseok stands with Nari,” the scout murmured, “and if the Tang have already begun making their own arrangements, then the younger brother may be one of the few men still searching for the truth.”
“What about Seolhyun?” Jiho asked.
The girl smiled faintly.
“That is more interesting.”
Jiho immediately disliked where this was going.
“The prince met with her again.”
The scout smirked.
“And?”
“She made it very clear she was not a piece on his game board.”
That sounded like Seolhyun.
“Every time he tried to place her somewhere,” the girl continued, “she simply stepped somewhere else.”
The scout laughed.
Jiho tried very hard not to.
“I have stopped worrying about that part,” she admitted.
“The prince may be dangerous.”
“True.”
“He may be brilliant.”
“Also true.”
“He may even genuinely like her.”
Neither man spoke.
The girl shrugged.
“But anyone with eyes can see that Seolhyun has absolutely no intention of becoming anyone’s prize.”
To his annoyance, Jiho felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.
The scout noticed immediately.
“Oh, that made you feel better.”
“Be quiet.”
The scout’s grin widened.
Unfortunately, relief did not change reality.
The servant girl’s expression darkened.
“Information is becoming valuable.”
“What kind?” Jiho asked.
“The women.”
Silence followed.
“The crystals.”
Worse.
“The caravan.”
Worse still.
The scout’s smile vanished.
The girl lowered her voice further.
“Most people still do not realise a woman is missing.”
Jiho’s stomach tightened.
“But if someone discovers that…”
She left the sentence unfinished.
She did not need to finish it.
The implications were obvious.
The prince.
The Tang.
The court.
Everyone would suddenly become interested.
“How do you know she is not lying?” the scout asked casually.
The servant girl frowned.
“What?”
“Seolhyun.”
The scout folded his arms.
“How do you know she is not playing her own game? The prince has used women as informants before. Court ladies. Servants. Entertainers.”
The girl considered that.
“Because power follows ambition.”
Neither man interrupted.
“If she wanted influence, she would already have it.”
The servant looked directly at Jiho.
“She keeps walking away from opportunities most people would kill for.”
The tunnels fell quiet.
That answer felt uncomfortably honest.
Finally Jiho looked toward the darkness.
“What does the prince know?”
The scout’s expression hardened.
“He does not know.”
Jiho frowned.
“But he suspects.”
That was somehow worse.
“He suspects the women matter.”
“He suspects the crystals matter.”
“He suspects the monks know more than they admit.”
Jiho remembered the prince’s questions.
The resonance.
The dreams.
The replacements.
The strange disappearances.
The prince was assembling pieces.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Dangerously.
“What about General Hwan Ryuk?” Jiho asked.
The question mattered more than all the others.
The servant girl could not answer.
But the scout could.
“The General knows enough.”
Both men made certain she could hear the next part.
“He knows the women are being used as bargaining pieces.”
“He knows the king wants them hidden.”
“He knows the Tang want them close.”
“He knows neither side can be trusted completely.”
The scout paused.
Then looked directly at Jiho.
“And if everything collapses…”
The tunnels seemed to hold their breath.
“He will choose the women.”
For the first time that evening, Jiho felt genuine relief.
Small.
Fragile.
But real.
General Hwan Ryuk was many things.
Stern.
Uncompromising.
Dangerous.
But he was not cruel.
And unlike most men in the palace, he understood the difference between power and responsibility.
As Jiho and the scout continued their discussion near the closest entrance to the women’s chambers, the problem remained the same.
Timing.
Everyone knew it.
The king wanted isolation.
The Tang wanted access.
The prince wanted influence.
The merchants wanted profit.
The monks wanted balance.
And somewhere in the middle sat eleven women, one missing woman, one disguised intelligence operative, a handful of soldiers, and a priestess who knew far too much.
Above them, palace bells marked the passing hour.
The servant girl suddenly stiffened.
“I must go.”
The scout squeezed her hand briefly.
Not romantic.
Simply reassuring.
“Be careful.”
She nodded and disappeared into the darkness leading back toward the palace.
For a long moment, neither man spoke.
Finally Jiho looked upward.
Toward the stone ceiling.
Toward the palace above.
Toward the prince.
Toward Seolhyun.
Toward a future none of them could fully see.
“The prince isn’t going to stop.”
The scout shook his head.
“No.”
“Neither are the Tang.”
“No.”
“Neither is the king.”
The scout smiled slightly.
“And neither are we.”
For the first time that night, Jiho smiled.
A tired smile.
But a genuine one.
Despite the palace.
Despite the conspiracies.
Despite the crystals.
Despite the prince.
Despite the Tang.
Despite Nari’s disappearance.
They were still in the game.
And perhaps an alliance with the prince might actually get them all out of this alive.
Above them, beyond layers of stone and lantern light, Seolhyun returned quietly to the women’s chambers.
The crystal at her throat hummed softly.
Not a warning.
Not a threat.
Just a reminder.
Every path eventually led somewhere.
Soon enough, all of theirs would lead south.
Toward the harbour.
Toward the sea.
Toward whatever fate waited there.
And for once, the palace had become comfortable.
Which frightened Seolhyun far more than danger ever had.
Danger was honest.
Comfort was how people forgot they were prisoners.
The king’s secret remained intact.
One woman missing.
One crystal reassigned.
One carefully maintained lie.
The court slept peacefully.
The ministers argued about taxes.
The princess prepared for marriage.
The musicians rehearsed.
The servants gossiped.
And nobody officially acknowledged that one of the Twelve Dreaming Women had vanished.
The palace preferred harmony.
Even when harmony was built upon fiction.
As the weeks passed, the women settled into an increasingly absurd routine.
Teachers arrived constantly.
Music instructors.
Poetry instructors.
Court dance instructors.
Calligraphy instructors.
Tea instructors.
Etiquette instructors.
Flower arrangement instructors.
One afternoon Seolhyun discovered there was apparently an official way to hold a teacup.
She stared at the instructor.
The instructor stared back.
“Is this important?”
The woman blinked.
“Of course.”
“It’s a cup.”
The instructor looked genuinely distressed.
The women laughed about it for three days.
Jiho enjoyed those moments immensely.
The palace only ever saw Seolhyun.
He knew Claire.
The Claire who muttered modern expressions under her breath.
The Claire who rolled her eyes at nobles.
The Claire who referred to ministers as professional worry merchants.
And most of all, the Claire who had begun making observations about the prince.
“He disappears,” she announced one evening.
The women looked up.
“He’s disappeared again.”
“Princes disappear,” Mirae replied.
“No,” Seolhyun said.
“He disappears strategically.”
Nobody knew what that meant.
Unfortunately, Jiho did.
“He appears.”
She counted on her fingers.
“Creates interest.”
One finger.
“Disappears.”
Another finger.
“Creates mystery.”
Another finger.
“Returns.”
A fourth finger.
“Acts charming.”
The women listened carefully.
Then Seolhyun sighed.
“He’s basically courting three people at once.”
Jiho nearly choked on his tea.
“What?”
“The palace.”
One finger.
“The Tang.”
A second finger.
“And me.”
Taejin laughed so hard he had to leave the room.
The next time the prince arrived for tea, Seolhyun was prepared.
Far too prepared.
The prince settled comfortably into the pavilion.
Servants poured tea.
Lanterns glowed.
Birds sang nearby.
The entire scene looked absurdly peaceful.
“You disappeared again,” Seolhyun observed.
The prince blinked.
“I was occupied.”
“Of course you were.”
Something in her tone immediately made him suspicious.
“You know,” she continued, “you only appear often enough that people don’t forget you.”
The prince nearly dropped his cup.
Across the garden, hidden behind a decorative screen, Jiho suddenly found himself enjoying the afternoon.
Immensely.
“You’ve been thinking about me?” the prince asked.
“No.”
The answer arrived far too quickly.
The prince looked delighted.
Jiho looked delighted too, though for entirely different reasons.
The prince spent the next hour attempting to regain control of the conversation.
He failed repeatedly.
Every compliment was returned.
Every question redirected.
Every attempt at charm examined like a suspicious merchant contract.
At one point he finally asked,
“What would convince you to marry into the court?”
Seolhyun considered carefully.
“The court leaving me alone.”
The prince laughed.
“That defeats the purpose.”
“Exactly.”
For a brief moment they simply watched the koi drifting beneath the pavilion.
Then the prince surprised her.
“You still intend to leave.”
Not a question.
A statement.
The air changed immediately.
“What makes you say that?” she asked.
The prince smiled softly.
“Because every time you look at these gardens…”
He gestured around them.
“…you admire them.”
Then he looked toward the palace walls.
“But every time you look beyond those walls…”
His gaze met hers.
“…you miss something.”
For once, neither spoke.
The prince did not know everything.
Not even close.
But he knew enough.
Enough to understand that whatever role Seolhyun was playing, it would not last forever.
The conversation became lighter afterwards.
Safer.
Yet when he finally departed, Seolhyun found herself thinking.