Slaughtered Sheep

"Please… I only ask that you grant me a moment," Dohyun pleaded, the desperation in his voice threaded with a quiet dignity. "I can prove my worth-"

Yet the words died on his tongue.

Miye had already turned away. From the bare angle of those pale cheeks, Dohyun could see the Princess's expression twist into something ghastly: her eyes blown wide, pupils shrunken like frostbitten seeds. Her skin, usually soft as fresh snow, drained of its color dry in an instant. A trembling hand clutched at the cloth over her heart, as though trying to cage the panic within.

"Haerin… escort me back to my chambers," Miye said, voice strained despite the fine porcelain composure he tried to maintain. "I am… unwell."

A chill slipped down Dohyun's spine. What did she see in that box? What could make a person like her, so refined and composed, turn so deathly pale?

"We may speak again when Your Highness recovers," Dohyun murmured, lowering his hand in reluctant retreat. "I shall wait."

"Suit yourself," Haerin replied with a frosty look before guiding the Princess away, their figures fading into the lantern-lit corridor.

….

Night unfolded over the palace like a silk tapestry, star-embroidered and hushed.

Alone, Dohyun wandered into a quiet corner of the backyard, a place forgotten by moonlight and men alike. He found a patch of grass beside a bush and arranged his small cloth bundle as a pillow.

It was hardly unfamiliar. The cold ground had once been his only bed, and hunger his most loyal companion.

He lay beneath the vast night sky, hands tucked behind his head, one leg resting over the other. Stars glittered like distant lanterns, and in their faint glow, old memories rose like unwelcome guests. 

Since childhood, he had been the boy everyone scorned. 

The traitor's son. A shadow no one wished to touch. 

He remembered the two weeks he spent starving outside a nobleman's house. He remembered the rooms he cleaned: rooms polluted with liquor, pipe smoke, and stains that clung even after he scrubbed until his small hands numbed. 

For a while, it earned him food. A night at a time.

Until…

One of the nobleman's regular guests noticed Dohyun playing quietly with a broken stick in the backyard.

"You, boy. Come here," the man said.

Dohyun knew instinctively that obeying him was safer than refusing. 

Obediently, little Dohyun had come forward. The nobleman, as malicious as he seemed, began to scan through the child as if he were picking grains. Then, he raised an arm to check underneath Dohyun’s collar. It wasn’t very audible, but Dohyun’s sharp hearing made it clear, 

“Hm… he’d make good money if I sold him now… needs a little polishing tho-”

He didn't understand fully, but he understood enough. His small hands tightened around the wooden stick, and before the man could finish processing his words, a sharp jab landed in the man's eye, then the frantic pounding of the child’s feet against the ground as he ran and ran.

That night, he received no food. Nor the next. Nor the one after.

His employer beat him regardless, whether he knew the truth or simply didn't care.

"Great… why remember that now?" Dohyun muttered, brushing his forehead with a weary hand.

His stomach growled fiercely. He curled onto his side, drawing his knees closer, trying to ease the hollow ache gnawing at him. The night wind was cold, but it was the kind of cold he had known long before he understood warmth.

At last, exhaustion pulled him under, and his eyes drifted closed beneath the indifferent stars.

…