How To Kill A King:

Episode 17

There were several extra steps to Min-jun’s assassination plot now. Receiving the respect and affection of those around him in order to reduce suspicion once the King died had always been a given. Now he had to deal with magical superpowers, and a crazy shaman trying to murder him. Should he kill the shaman first, or try to figure out the ‘gifts’ of the people around the King? If he should uncover everyone’s gifts first, how long would it take? Would it even be possible? Would he have to extend his investigation to the entire Palace?

Things had gone off track. He needed to send word to Mother. 

Min-jun turned his attention to the King, wondering if, by some miracle, he would answer his questions. “Do many others in the Palace have gifts?” 

The King walked beside him, facing forward. “Here I thought you wanted me to stay silent.”

“Once you answer my questions, we may return to blissful silence.”

“Yes,” the King said. “Many of them have gifts. Gifts even I don’t know about.”

Min-jun peered at him out of the corner of his eye. He seemed so much more content than he’d expected, a grin on his face, his arms behind his back. The King that Min-jun had expected would’ve never taken joy in something like a stroll in the gardens. He also wouldn’t have let such valuable information slip by. “You haven’t asked?” Or interrogated.

“Oh no,” the King said as if he were scandalized at the very thought. “That’s none of my business. As long as they do their work, it doesn’t matter to me.” 

“That,” Min-jun said, pausing to gather the right words, “seems foolish.”

“I’m sure many would say so, but I believe it helps build trust. Besides, a man with a knife can kill me just as easily as someone with a gift.” 

“That depends on what gift they have.”

“You’re a skeptic, aren’t you?”

“I’d say you’re oddly optimistic.”

“I’m a King. I have to put my faith in others. Make no mistake, I’m always prepared for betrayal, but I’d rather not anticipate it. What about you? What makes you a skeptic?” 

He didn’t answer him. He was under no obligation to answer. 

“Have you spoken to any of the other consorts?” Min-jun asked. Mother always said becoming the King’s favorite was vital to the plan. He had worried the revelation of his hatred would make the King avoid him. It seemed it was a needless concern, but if they got too close too quickly, the other consorts might become angered (rightfully so, truly). 

“I spoke with them when they first arrived, but haven’t had the chance to since then. It’s only been a few days, so I’m sure they’re settling in. Not everyone is as reckless as you, my love.”

Love.

“I’ll ask you not to call me that,” Min-jun said. 

“Would you prefer it if I called you by your name, Min-jun?”

Min-jun’s fist curled. The name his parents gave him, spoken by his enemy. “No. Just call me by my title. I’m your consort. Nothing more.”

“It’s more than you seem to realize. Consider yourself my partner, even if you despise it.”

“Even though I’m imprisoned in the Palace?”

The King dropped his easygoing smile. “You’re hardly imprisoned here. It’s not safe for a consort to leave the Palace walls, that’s all. Especially for a consort of your social standing. You were nearly killed on the way here, and I can’t risk more lives on you.”

More. Had many of them died? He’d been so concerned with the King, and then Sun-woo, trying to keep himself alive, that he had forgotten about the slaughtered men in the forest. Min-jun didn’t let himself dwell on it. If he cried over every death, he’d never have time to concentrate on his own path. Besides, they were the King’s men. He’d sent them there, in the dozens, when he could’ve simply let Min-jun die. It was the King’s fault they were dead. 

. . .

When they returned, the woman who had saved him from Sun-woo was pacing back and forth in front of the entrance. Min-jun could hardly conceal his excitement. Part of his plan didn’t seem so harrowing anymore.-

“Sang, right?” said Min-jun, as they approached her. She looked a bit out of place in her old shaman’s uniform, but he supposed he looked about as out of place as she did when he’d first arrived.

Sang bowed deeply. “Your Majesty. Your Highness. I’ve come to apologize for my mentor’s actions.”

“He couldn’t come himself?” Min-jun asked. “Am I too corrupt for him?”

“I’m truly sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Come, lift your head,” Min-jun told her. “You’re making me seem like quite the tyrant. What sort of person would it make me if I treated my savior like this. You should join us for tea.”

She clutched the braid that had fallen over her shoulder. “What?”

“It’s the least I could do.” He held a hand to his heart, trying to seem sincere, and it drew her attention to his injury. 

“Does it hurt?”

He made a show of inspecting his hand with solemnity. “Quite a bit when I’m not on pain medication, but otherwise, it’s as if it was never there. I do hope I won’t have to cut it off.”

“In my experience, the curse shouldn’t spread as long as you’re apart,” Sang said. “I’ll make sure to keep away, don’t you worry. So please, don’t be too cross with him.” 

“Not at all. I understand the need to be protective over someone,” Min-jun said, squeezing her arm reassuringly. “You have nothing to fear from me.” 

She nodded, a small relieved smile twitching on her face. Then, her eyes focused on the King, who shook his head. “Sun-woo is a dear friend. Of course, I wouldn’t cast him aside over one transgression. Even so, he’ll have to be punished, as much as it pains me. Attacking a Consort is a dire crime.”

“What sort of punishment?” 

“Jail time. At least for a few months. Normally, it would be execution. Or a beating.”

Sang clasped her hands, concerned. “Surrounded by all those criminals. He might go insane.”

A chance. 

“Oh, darling,” Min-jun said, though it made him nearly want to vomit. He touched the King’s shoulder gently, and he appeared most surprised, violet eyes widening a fraction. “Don’t punish him so harshly. I’m sure he knows not what he’s done.” 

“I thought you hated him,” the King whispered, just loud enough for Min-jun to hear. 

Min-jun leaned in closer to whisper in his ear. The maids turned away as if it were a scandalous action. He’d done so much worse before. “Maybe I can change his mind if I’m kind. Being cured is my top priority, pride be damned.” 

He returned to Sang, taking her hands. “Back to the topic of tea, you simply must join us. I’d like to thank you properly.” 

“Oh no,” Sang said, moving away. “I can’t. My mentor doesn’t know I’m here, and he’ll be so worried if I waste another minute.” 

“I see.” A controlling mentor, hmm? “Another time then?”

“Yes. If he allows it.” 

Min-jun shrugged, a smile mirroring the one the King had worn forming on his face. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two about deceit from him, though Min-jun had often thought himself a master of that art. “Well, if he didn’t allow it once and you still came, I suppose it’s not impossible to engage in some quiet rebellion.”

“I suppose,” Sang said, a little more like herself now that her mentor’s well-being had been secured. “But it had better be the most stellar tea.”

“With only the most stellar company,” he told her, walking indoors. “Well, see you at a later date, Miss Sang. I’ll let you know the time.”

“Yes, your Highness.”

“With only the most stellar company,” the King repeated, mockingly, his voice still low enough to be heard only by Min-jun. “How come I never get such treatment? I’m a little envious.”

“Blame yourself for realizing too quickly,” Min-jun told him. “Is there a reason you’re still here? I have things to do?”

“Such as?”

Plotting how to murder Sun-woo by manipulating his student.

He stopped at the entrance to his room, facing the King, having already crossed the threshold into his room. “Reading about the current political climate. It’s invigorating.” 

“You could ask me. I’m quite knowledgeable on that subject.” 

“I’m sure you are.” Without warning, Min-jun shut the door in his face. Shame he hadn’t accidentally slammed the doors on the King’s foot. Luck really wasn’t on his side.