How To Kill a King:

Chapter Fifteen

He managed to wriggle his way out of Sun-woo’s grasp by punching him in the face. He'd been right. Sun-woo needed to focus to keep Min-jun in check. His body sore from the pain that had coursed through it just seconds ago, he limped away, though he had nowhere to go. Sickly blue lines still coursed over the skin of his arm. 

“You crazy bastard,” Min-jun breathed, holding onto his own wrist, feeling the pulse continue to quicken every second. The woman who had led them there stood behind him, a bucket in her arms. Even with an extra ally, it didn’t level the playing field much. They were still outnumbered eleven to at least thirty, and Sun-woo only drew closer. The woman placed herself between them, holding the bucket, her stance showing her willingness to throw it at her leader if need be.

“Sang, my dear . . . what are you doing?” Sun-woo asked. “You know the consequences of an incomplete exorcism.” 

“Just as well as I know the consequences of a complete one. You’re really planning on killing him? You’re already on thin ice after the Eden incident.” 

Any softness faded instantly, his pleading expression turning into a scathing glower. “The King will understand. He and I understand the sacrifices that need to take place. You three,” he addressed the students standing behind Min-jun. “Take him. I must finish this.”

They began to walk toward him, their hands ready to hold him down. It brought memories of the brothel with it, wholly unwelcome. His mind felt hazy, his legs shaking as he took a step back. Slowly, slower than he would’ve liked, an idea formed in his hand. 

Of course. We’re on a veranda. Which meant safety was just beyond the barrier. He glanced at the pine wall, assessing its height. Jumping over it shouldn’t be much of a problem. At least, it wouldn’t if he was in his normal state. But now, with his entire body shivering from the soreness in his limbs, that might not be possible. If he stayed put, he’d be finished off. He might as well try to escape.

With surprising agility, he sped toward the edge of the veranda, not giving himself time to look down. He lifted himself up onto the barrier, biting his lip bloody to distract from the strain on his arms, until he was sitting on it and then leaped down into the mud. It was disorienting, making his head spin, but the blood rushing in his ears urged him onward. 

He ran away. 

Some people found running a shameful act. He’d gamble that none of those people have ever been attacked by an insane shaman. 

“After him!” said Sun-woo, adding a quick, “please,” at the end.

Fuck. 

“Don’t worry, your Highness! We’ll be right behind you!” he heard Jeong-eun shout. He hadn’t even spared them a thought. 

He gazed down at his hand as he ran, staring at the veins there, feeling the pain pulsate. That’s new. There was no time to worry about that unless he wanted the rest of his body to get the same treatment. He’d spent so long tending to his appearance as well. What a waste. This had better fade with time. 

He managed to run out into the more crowded part of the Outer Palace and let his pace slow down, blending in with the swath of court officials, maids, and scholars. 

“Your Highness.” Min-jun jumped at the title, whirling around to meet his opponent. Sun looked down, honey-colored eyes pensive. “Are you alright? You're all wet. Never mind. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” 

Clearly, not everywhere.

Sun’s gaze dipped down to his hand, the only part of his injury left visible. “What happened?” 

He felt faint, now that he’d stopped running. The pain had turned to a stabbing migraine, floating lights appearing in his vision again. 

“Your shaman,” he managed, staggering toward him, swallowing nothing but air, “is completely insane.”

He passed out, only recalling Sun shouting his title a few times, asking what was wrong. A chill had taken Min-jun suddenly, crisp like a winter wind at his back. It was his own fault, he decided. He had gone in knowing too little about his enemy. Rookie mistake. 

. . .

He woke up in his room, wrapped in soft, cooling linen sheets. Voices conversed but he couldn’t place any of them, not with his mind so muddled. His lungs, hell, his entire body felt like it had just been boiled, and he half-expected his skin to fall off like the peels of cooked vegetables. When he raised his arm, he found those same dark blue veins on them, like scraggly roots.

“Welcome back.” Min-jun let his arm fall back on the bed, facing the man of his nightmares once more. The King gazed down at him, his expression warm, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Did you sleep well?”

He tried raising his head, but that only resulted in a dull pain that forced him back down with a groan. 

“I was worried you’d never wake up,” said a gruff, genial voice, so unlike the King’s soft tenor. It was the doctor his maids had been fawning over, just as handsome as he’d been a few … hours, days before? 

“How long have I been out?”

“Almost an entire day.” The King let out a sigh as he dragged the linen sheet up to Min-jun’s chin. “We were all worried, your maids especially. And of course, I was concerned as well.” The King took Min-jun’s hand where it peeked out of the covers, intertwining their fingers. 

“I’m sure you were,” Min-jun replied, refraining from rolling his eyes. 

“It’s bizarre,” the doctor rambled on. “I’d never seen anything like this before. It’s not like any rash I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot. Perhaps it’s some foreign illness.” He raised his hand, inside of which were two glass tubes. “If you would permit me to take some samples of the rash, I would be most delighted to see what it is made of. Oh, I could even test different cures on you … if your Highness and your Majesty are alright with that.”

“I think you can keep your experiments to yourself for now, Doctor Myeong-suk,” said the King, a laugh making its way into his voice. “I have some experience with this illness. All he needs is some time to heal.”

Liar. He was definitely lying. 

If the doctor had noticed the fibbing, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he laughed awkwardly, apologizing and eventually excusing himself. “I’ll come by to replenish your pain medication soon, your Highness. I do hope you feel better.”

The door slid shut, the footsteps growing further and further away until there was no trace of them left. Min-jun found himself alone with the King once more, their hands still clasping onto one another in an awkward angle.

The King opted to grip Min-jun’s arm, lifting it up and pushing the fabric of his sleeve away from his injury. His fingertips glided over the little symbols, from his palm to his wrist and up his arm. Min-jun ripped it away with all his might (which wasn’t much at the moment), and the King released him.

“I had never imagined,” the King began, “that he’d come after you so quickly.”

“What did he do to me?” Min-jun asked, hoping his tone matched even half the anger he felt inside. He held his arm close, wondering what it could mean to have this ‘illness’. 

The King nodded slowly. “I suppose, now that you’re afflicted, you have a right to know.”

“Well?”

The King shifted uncomfortably, choosing his words carefully. He wouldn’t want to reveal too much now, would he?

“How much do you want to know?"

. End of Chapter .