How To Kill A King:

Chapter 14:

“I’ll take you to him,” the woman said, not bothering to ask his name. Without any further explanation, the woman took hold of her broomstick and made her way into the temple. Min-jun would’ve asked his maids to stay back if it weren’t for the fact that witnesses were helpful to have nearby. If the shaman made the wrong move, they would know. “What is your business with the Head Shaman?”

He glanced at the women, before turning his gaze back to the light brown wood of the temple walls and the elegant tapestries that partially obscured them. The other shamans – most likely students – bowed as they passed. He was now known on sight, though he supposed there weren’t many beautiful men surrounded by an entourage of maids stalking the palace grounds. 

“I have reason to believe he can help me solve a puzzle I’ve recently encountered. I don’t know much about faith, you see.” 

She led them to a set of doors, grander than the others, with a wooden hexagon connecting them in the center. Twice, she knocked, calling the shaman by his title. A low voice answered, his tone disarmingly gentle. 

“His Highness, Royal Noble Consort Hui has come to ask for your assistance,” the woman said, sounding tired. She often seemed on the verge of falling asleep, eyelids falling, her steps stalling without warning. 

Books dropped to the floor as someone rose to his feet too quickly, and then footsteps advanced toward them at a rapid, graceless pace. A second later, the doors opened, a tall man holding onto the doorframes a bit too tightly. His eyes found him quickly, widening at the sight of Min-jun. He cleared his throat, gathering himself. He had a gentle face, full of softness, and a tall, lanky body clothed in bright robes of red, blue, and green. The wide brim of his hat cast shadows on his face, his brown eyes appearing black.

“I am always ready to lend my knowledge to those in need of it. Please.” He gestured inside. “Let us discuss over tea.”

“I hope you do not mind drinking outdoors,” the shaman said. He had introduced himself as Yeom Sun-woo, one of the youngest Head Shamans of the century. The King had selected the shaman himself, after applauding his spiritual powers, granting him, a penniless beggar, a home in the palace. At the topic of the King, the shaman glowed with loyalty for his ruler, his eyes so full of love that they glimmered with tears. It was rather disconcerting. 

“I don’t mind at all,” Min-jun replied, observing his surroundings. The temple, just as the rest of the palace, flourished in full bloom. They sat around an ebony table, ceramic teacups brimming with a reddish-purple drink in front of them. Above them, the tiles of the veranda's rooftop showed off their intricate arrangements. “I rather enjoy the tranquility of the outdoors.” 

“Indeed, I’ve always been partial to it myself.” Sun-woo took a sip of his drink, giving a content sigh. “How refreshing. So, what is it you require of me? I’ll have you know right now that I do not deal in curses.” 

“Oh, I have no interest in cursing anyone.” He reached into his sleeve to pull out the booklet, setting it down on the table and sliding it closer to the shaman. “I’m more interested in understanding the significance of these prayers. Someone sent them to me as a gift, but I haven’t a clue what they mean or who its owner is.”

Sun-woo picked the booklet up, skimming the dusty pages. “I see. Not many commoners are exposed to these religious writings. They're uncharted territory, you could say.”

There was a beat of silence as both of them diverted their attention away from the conversation, Min-jun to Sun-woo’s expression, and Sun-woo to the booklet. Min-jun couldn’t get a read on him, but he presumed the slight raise in Sun-woo’s eyebrows was an indication of recognition. What part did he recognize?

 “I believe it is a shameful thing to omit the truth,” Sun-woo said, setting the book down, “and therefore I cannot lie to you, your Highness.”

Genuine, as far as Min-jun could tell. “That’s reassuring.” 

“The truth is.” He paused, fiddling with his cup, drumming his fingers against its walls. “I was the one who sent this to you, in hopes that you would one day come to see me in person.”

One day. Did he really think it would take him any longer than a few seconds to uncover who the probable owner was? What an insulting prediction!

“Your skills are truly commendable,” Sun-woo added.

“I suppose you have a message for me then?”

Sun-woo smiled, gently. “It appears to me that you already know what it is.”

“You know who I am?” He ran his finger around the rim of the teacup. “Quite an ominous thing to write.” 

“I know what you are,” Sun-woo corrected. “There is a distinct difference.”

“Let’s say there is,” he told him. “What is this part of me?” How soon do I need to eliminate you? Having his past exposed would ruin everything. An ex-courtesan would never be accepted as the King’s consort. A concubine, perhaps, but the King wasn’t required to take a concubine and keep them by his side. A concubine held no real power. 

“You are filthy.” 

Min-jun held back a laugh. “I can assure you I bathe frequently.” But that’s not what you meant, now, is it? He figured he’d meet someone like this eventually, but not this early. 

“Corrupted.” 

“Impure?”

The gentleness faded now. “Do not mock me, sinner. Normally, I would try to aid you in any way I can, but under such circumstances . . . I must ask you to leave his Majesty’s side immediately. You will only breed misfortune.”

He wasn’t wrong. “I refuse.” 

Sun-woo averted his gaze, pained. “You are not aware of what you are doing.” 

“Well, personally, I find corruption a rather ridiculous idea.” 

“Then, I must show you.” Sun-woo sighed, hanging his head. How dramatic. The shaman reached his hand across the table. A chill settled into Min-jun’s veins, his breath catching. A cold sweat broke out on his skin. Danger. He tried to get up on his feet, to put distance between them, but Sun-woo’s hand had taken a hold of his arm before he could act. His thumb rested against Min-jun’s pulse. For a moment nothing happened. Then, sharp, stabbing pain, like needles below his skin, spread from his wrist to his hand, then slowly up his arm. His veins turned a dark purple, clearly visible as if his skin had cracked. 

“Your soul is certainly weeping from your body’s actions against it. Endure. If you are not lost to us, it will pass.” He came closer to him, helping him lean against the wall, though the new position didn’t do him much good.

“Who decides that?” Min-jun managed. His maids had approached the table long ago, but the shaman’s students had stopped them in their tracks. 

The pain persisted, stretched over his arm as time stretched with it, a minute lengthening into an hour in his mind, but he dared not show how it affected him. Even he couldn’t slow his breathing, or ease the pinprick in his eyes. This torment fell second only to the hallucinations of the truth serum. 

How dull. I guess I will have to be saved this time. Haste does make waste. 

Perhaps there was another way. If only he could move, speak, and distract Sun-woo from his . . . well . . . whatever this was. 

Water made contact with his skin, drenching him in icy liquid that trailed down his spine. It eased the pain a bit, cleared his mind long enough to notice he had not been the only one drenched.

. End of Chapter .