How To Kill A King:

Chapter 16

The King took a wilted carnation out of the vase in his room. He sat down on the edge of the bed. “A demonstration.” Slowly, the carnation lifted itself up, the stem gaining its strength, the petals returning to their brilliant carmine. The King twirled the flower between his fingers, admiring his handiwork. He handed it to Min-jun, who inspected it, both curious and positively horrified. 

“Is it magic?” he asked, bringing it to his nose. It smelled like it had been freshly picked, though it had been sitting in that vase for a few days now. Min-jun remembered asking the maids not to save them, taking some satisfaction in watching the King’s present to him wither away. 

“Perhaps.” The King’s gaze stayed on the flower. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure how it works. Just that some of us are given powers, ah, Sun-woo calls them gifts. He knows more about it than I do. They’re . . . well, they’re gifts from the Gods, is what Sun-woo thinks. He thinks there are a few chosen ones who have these abilities, and many of them are unaware of their own strengths. They’re quite subtle, you see. Sun-woo’s ability is really an anomaly.” 

“If they’re so subtle, how do you know we don’t all have them?” How many of the King’s men had gifts? And what were they? Could one of them figure Min-jun out? See his entire past condensed into a few seconds and sift through all his secrets with an expert eye? This complicated things too much. How was he to kill the King when he was surrounded by psychic soldiers? He needed to figure out their powers first, and make sure none of them would be detrimental to his plan. Well, he supposed Sun-woo was already a detriment. Nothing mattered after the King died, but Min-jun had to stay alive until then.

“We might.” The King gazed at him, grinning. “Why? Would you like a gift?”

Not unless it helps me rid the world of you. 

Min-jun didn’t reply, and the King chuckled. “I’m just teasing. Please stop looking at me like that.” 

He hadn’t noticed he had been looking at the King differently. His mask had completely slipped since their encounter a few days prior. If the King already knew, there was no point in hiding behind a facade anymore. It was almost comforting to not pretend.

“Anyway,” the King said, moving toward a satchel in the corner of his bedroom. He pulled a small flask out of it and a roll of bandages. “Let’s bandage up your arm for now. The side effects can be quite gruesome.”

To be tended to by the enemy. Min-jun felt warmth rush to his cheeks, an anger wrought from humiliation. The King didn’t seem to notice, taking his arm and beginning to wrap the bandage around it. No matter. He just had to focus on something else.

“Does he do this often?” Min-jun asked. 

“Mostly as a last resort. Few have managed to survive it.” 

What a surprise. “No one has lived up to his expectations?”

“He can be hard to please.” I suppose he finds your soul just fine. Clearly, Sun-woo didn't give out his punishments fairly. It was almost incredible how a man so obsessed with the idea of purity would end up swearing loyalty to a corrupt tyrant. “You won’t die. It hadn’t spread enough for that, but you might feel rather ill for the next few days. After that, the pain will most likely come and go. That’s what the painkillers are for.” He placed the little vial in his hands. “It’s rather unpleasant to taste, so drink it with tea. Two drops twice a day for a week. And then, two drops whenever the pain returns.”

Why was the King telling him what the doctor should've? There were more pressing questions at hand. “Is there a way to get rid of . . . whatever this is?” 

The King shook his head. “I’m afraid not unless you somehow convince Sun-woo to get rid of it. As long as his desire to purify you is alive and well I’m afraid you’ll have to bear it.” 

Wonderful. A lifetime spent on pain medication. 

“Are there any side effects of the medication?” 

“Doctor Myeong-suk talked briefly about them. Mostly just some drowsiness and nausea.”

Trading one torment for another. Fantastic. 

The pain in his arm flared up and he gritted his teeth as he clutched it, hoping the added pressure would make it subside somewhat. No luck, just the sharp, stabbing ache running from the tips of his fingers to his shoulder blade, concentrated in his wrist. 

Taking the pain medication with tea was probably safer, but at the moment, he was certain no discomfort could be worse than what he felt right then. He popped the cork of the bottle and tipped (approximately) two drops of the rust-colored liquid into his mouth. It tasted foul, like sulfur and bitter wine, somehow. What did they put in this? 

Wait.

He’d been in so much pain, he hadn’t even considered that this might all be part of the King’s plan. Have his friend confirm that Min-jun indeed had bad intentions and then kill him off with some terrible poison! It was a bit roundabout but perhaps the King had a palate for the theatrical. Oh Gods, how had he not seen this coming.

No death came to him, however, and soon, the pain seemed to subside. He felt weightless, suddenly.

“I have to admit,” the King continued, his voice slightly muffled. “I hadn’t expected you to drink it alone. I always have to drink it with something sweet.” 

For the record, this didn't mean the medication wasn't poisoned. Min-jun wasn't about to let his guard down yet. Even if his mind cheered in relief at the absence of all pain. Whatever it was, it was potent. The doctor, if he had even been the one to make it, was certainly talented.

“You’re probably aching to go out after being bed-ridden for so long,” the King said, suddenly. “Shall we take a walk around the villa?” 

“Why?” 

The King leaned in, conspiratorially, a sly smile on his face. He whispered. “there’s quite a lot of paperwork I managed to weasel my way out of thanks to your fainting spell.”

Min-jun pushed his face away with a hand to his cheek. Some fresh air would do him good, though. He needed to think and to think he needed to be outside. “Very well. But don’t talk too much. You make me angry enough when I’m not injured.” 

“Whatever his Highness requires of me,” the King replied. 

With that, the King led him out of his suite. The maids followed them on their way out of the villa, of course, trailing behind them as if it would make the feeling of being surveilled go away. He ignored them, returning to his thoughts. 

“As long as his desire to purify you is alive and well.” 

One couldn’t desire something if they were dead.