Shin Gwiryeong began speaking with a deeply meaningful tone.
The story of the Deposed Queen was, frankly, so intriguing that I couldn’t help but be drawn in. It was a tale that had spread from the capital to the backwater of Seopyeong, known even to street urchins. How could I not be curious about such a scandal?
“The Deposed Queen entrusted me with certain words, Your Highness,” Shin Gwiryeong said calmly.
Their serious demeanor prompted me to put on a grave expression and listen closely.
“She only asked that I help Your Highness live quietly.”
Those words were absurd.
Live quietly? Born as a prince, I was never destined for an ordinary or quiet life. Besides, if I didn’t keep moving, jumping here and there, I’d likely end up dead at the hands of Grand Prince Jean’s faction in the future.
It seemed the Deposed Queen had foreseen that the second prince and his allies wouldn’t leave the first prince alone.
“I don’t believe Your Highness is unaware of the meaning behind this,” Shin Gwiryeong continued.
I nodded lightly in response.
“Yet, if you insist on continuing to take the Jongmeoki Flower…”
Their gaze slid to the white inner garment peeking out from under my sleeve.
“I believe there must be a significant reason for stopping.”
The emphasis on “believe” carried weight.
Shin Gwiryeong looked as if they’d been waiting for this moment, their silk-clad figure exuding confidence.
A misunderstanding?
No.
The fact that they sought me out the moment they heard I was stopping the Jongmeoki Flower meant they’d been anticipating this. I dared to assume they’d planned for it.
Instead of answering hastily, I stared into Shin Gwiryeong’s dark eyes, trying to discern what thoughts were swirling in that cunning mind. I couldn’t tell.
I could’ve brushed off their question, saying there was no particular reason. Or I could’ve fabricated some grand motive. Simply put, I could’ve dodged it by saying the poison was becoming a burden. After all, I’m a prince—what could they do if I insisted that was the only reason? But when I opened my mouth, I didn’t want to give such a flippant answer.
I wasn’t sure how to respond to gain their trust. Oddly, I felt the need to win Shin Gwiryeong over. I tend to rely on instinct over deep thought, so I decided to trust my gut this time too. I gave a vague reply first.
“Well, doesn’t everything have a reason?”
“I humbly wish to hear Your Highness’s true intentions.”
They weren’t going to back down. Of course, if they’d gone to the trouble of summoning me like this, they probably didn’t intend to waste time with casual banter. Nor were they in a position to do so.
So, should I answer honestly?
But what if this person suddenly switched sides and ran to the second prince, saying their half-brother was scheming for the throne? If word got out, it’d be my head rolling—literally—before I could blink.
Even if they were close to the Deposed Queen, I couldn’t fully trust them. The one they were close to was the Queen, not her son, me.
How could I bare my heart to someone I barely knew, just because they claimed to be my mother’s friend?
“To be honest, I wish Your Highness would aspire to the throne,” Shin Gwiryeong said.
Cough.
I choked, though my mouth was empty.
Aspire to the throne? That wasn’t a wish—it was a bombshell.
I leaned forward, coughing as if I’d swallowed wrong, and asked, “What?”
Shin Gwiryeong blinked, their earlier confidence replaced by a different demeanor.
“Who would lie about such a thing?”
I was dumbfounded, my mouth agape. I wanted to crack open that slick head of theirs to see what thoughts were brewing inside, but that would just make me a murderer.
“I mean, come on, no way.”
Was I really considering stopping the Jongmeoki Flower because of that strange voice?
“Could you express it any more oddly, Your Highness? It’s enough to turn the world upside down.”
I was at a loss for words.
It seemed everyone but me already knew.
If the Jongmeoki Flower was delivered through my grandfather, he must’ve known too.
Suddenly, I felt like a fool being played.
Was I being toyed with by the Founder King?
I hesitated, recalling that the Deposed Queen was connected to that voice.
I opened my mouth. Shin Gwiryeong said they didn’t know me personally, so it should be safe to ask.
“What did my mother tell you?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
The realization that the Deposed Queen had predicted events after her death—and that her predictions were mostly accurate—wasn’t hard to grasp.
She had recognized the possibility of the first prince becoming king and foresaw that it would put his life at risk.
You don’t half-hand your child’s fate to someone and distrust them. At the very least, in the Deposed Queen’s judgment, Shin Gwiryeong was a trustworthy ally.
That made things clearer, though I still didn’t like them.
“Do you intend to become the master of this land, Your Highness?” Shin Gwiryeong asked, their tone shifting to a casual one, as if asking what I’d eat for lunch. But the weight of their words was heavier than any we’d exchanged so far.
I hadn’t come here thinking of the throne, so I answered sincerely.
“If I’d thought that far, I wouldn’t have answered so lightly, would I?”
But if not today, when would I get another chance? Their words hit harder than expected.
“Frankly, going out so freely risks incurring the king’s wrath.”
“If I only visited this mansion, could I have met you?”
“Haven’t you considered that your outings could cause trouble?”
“What’s anyone going to care about what a wastrel does?”
My freedom to roam came precisely because I was a wastrel. Surviving as a reckless fool, dragging along Yu Geung of the Geumowi without reason, leaving the palace abruptly to visit a relative’s estate—all of it was possible because I was the wastrel prince.
The core issue was that, unlike the Deposed Queen’s unblemished son, I was seen as a worthless fool.
Shin Gwiryeong frowned.
“I believe that’s a misstep.”
Being called a wastrel gave me freedom of movement but branded me as unfit for the throne.
In the long run, it was a losing game.
I nodded.
“I know.”
No matter how convenient the wastrel label was, living like this forever wasn’t sustainable.
“I don’t plan to live this way for long.”
I’d been thinking about gradually shedding that image.
There were things in this world only I could do.
Some things only I could achieve.
A spark flickered in Shin Gwiryeong’s eyes.
For some reason, a chill ran through me.
What were they thinking?
If they were the Deposed Queen’s friend, were they treating me as their friend’s kin, or as a tool for her revenge?
The Deposed Queen’s death was tied to Grand Prince Jean, the current Queen Wu, and their faction—a poorly kept secret.
If I were her friend, I’d have targeted them too.
“In my opinion, you seem to be breaking a promise with my mother.”
Shin Gwiryeong gave a sly smile again.
I let out a sigh.
I was a tool, wasn’t I?
“Everything will proceed according to Your Highness’s will.”
I gave a bitter smile.
“Not exactly easy, is it?”
“But the responsibility is entirely Yours, Your Highness.”
Yes, the responsibility was mine.
“I hope you’ll allow me to persuade you.”
“Go ahead.”
I said this while feeling nervous. Honestly, it was true. In the future Seopyeong, Shin Gwiryeong, head of Pyeonggwang Trading Company, would wield more influence than my grandfather, the Generalissimo. For the first time, I felt the unfamiliar sensation of doing something that could help Hyeolyunseong in Seopyeong.
It was the realization that I was truly changing the future.
Shin Gwiryeong vowed to support my intentions with all their strength.
Sure, anyone can say that.
“You call yourself insignificant? At your age, building and running a trading company is no small feat.”
Insignificant? Shin Gwiryeong was anything but.
I let out a dumbfounded laugh. Shin Gwiryeong responded with a petulant tone.
“How have my foolish words made Your Highness laugh?”
“They’re not foolish. Keep going.”
Shin Gwiryeong stared at me as if I were absurd, then resumed speaking after a moment.
“Your Highness must have a reason to trust me.”
“Why’s that?”
“I know the art of navigating treacherous waters.”
I fell silent for a moment before asking, “I’ve never brought up such ambitions to anyone. How do you know about them?”
“It’s not from experience.”
Then who told them? My mother again?
Shin Gwiryeong didn’t answer. That was answer enough.
“Why did she entrust that to you?”
“She left me the power to guide Your Highness, so I have a duty to fulfill.”
“Why do you need to guide me?”
“Have you forgotten?”
“Forgotten what?”
I asked with a cold tone, setting down my teacup.
Shin Gwiryeong smiled and said, “Have you forgotten the anger of that day?”
No explanation, just “that day,” but I knew what they meant. It was likely the day the Deposed Queen died.
I’d never experienced or forgotten that anger, so I didn’t respond. I had no answer.
A brief silence followed. I had nothing to say, and Shin Gwiryeong was observing me.
How much time passed? My grandfather returned, opening the door. It was time to leave if I didn’t want to arrive late.
I spoke first.
“Let’s meet again.”
Shin Gwiryeong’s expression, momentarily blank, shifted as they added, “It won’t take long.”
They agreed, though their face showed dissatisfaction.
Gaining an ally didn’t feel joyful or rewarding—it felt heavy.
With a heavy heart, I left for the palace.
On my way back, everything I saw seemed to warn me that nothing was truly mine.
The scenery returning to the palace was different from when I came to my grandfather’s mansion.