Chapter 23: The Duel’s Edge

The lords offered their respects, and King Bonhyeon, with his dead-fish eyes, received them. They voiced their grievances, and his gaze grew even drier. This tedious cycle repeated several times.

“Is this ever going to end?” I muttered.

“You must endure, Your Highness,” Hanseon replied.

My only conversation partner was Hanseon, and even he just whispered back. I squirmed, bored out of my mind.

Then, as another figure shuffled up the dais—some lord, I’d lost count—I froze.

I couldn’t help but freeze.

His steps were neither slow nor fast, but heavy, climbing the stairs with purpose. The swish of his robes filled the gaps between each step. Time seemed to slow. A chill ran down my spine.

Above all, his presence radiated violent authority.

I watched his disciplined steps, then slowly raised my gaze. My eyes felt numb, refusing to move.

My throat tightened. I grabbed at the table, searching for a drink, but found nothing. How could there be no drink? In a place like this—

There hadn’t been Jongmeoki Flower tea this morning.

So that’s why.

“Lord of Hyeolyunseong, Baekyeon, congratulates Your Majesty’s birthday,” he declared.

He’s here.

He’s really here.

“You’re safe,” I murmured without thinking.

I felt Hanseon’s eyes on me, but so what?

Though tension lingered, Hwawi hadn’t yet touched this kingdom. It was only natural that my lord was safe. I remembered that era, didn’t I?

But was it truly natural? Having gained this moment by a miracle, I couldn’t take the sight before me calmly.

“Hyeolyunseong’s lord accepting my invitation is cause for celebration,” King Bonhyeon said.

“I, unworthy, declined thrice and deserve reproach,” Lord Baekyeon replied.

“No, how could I reproach a vassal like you? Your presence at my banquet means Seopyeong is at peace—a joyful thing.”

“I am unworthy of such words,” Lord Baekyeon said humbly.

All I wanted, wherever I was, was Hyeolyunseong’s safety.

If I was to make a name anywhere, it had to be under Taejo’s banner.

Yet, frustratingly, Lord Baekyeon didn’t glance my way even once.

He spoke less than the other lords—what more was there to say?

He turned away immediately.

Our eyes met.

Call me Baekyeon.

Not the weary, sorrowful eyes of Hyeolyunseong’s final lord, but the vibrant gaze of one ready to burst into hearty laughter.

You’re my son now.

But then, he lowered his eyes and descended the stairs without hesitation.

Even remembering that voice, my mind had no room for other thoughts.

The banquet ended, and the next day arrived. I chose a time when King Bonhyeon might be free and headed to the royal chambers.

“I have a request for Your Majesty,” I said.

Though I arrived unannounced, the chamber’s eunuch let me in without objection.

A wastrel’s privilege?

“What does Grand Prince Ikwon want?” came the reply from within.

“Enter,” the eunuch said, opening the door.

Inside, King Bonhyeon looked more bored than the day before.

Was there a point to this?

I’d see.

“I greet Your Majesty,” I said, bowing.

No response came.

After holding the bow briefly, I raised my head. Normally, permission was needed.

Yet King Bonhyeon said nothing.

Why the colder attitude?

I wasn’t that curious about his growing indifference—truthfully, I wasn’t that interested in him either.

I cared more about Yu Geung’s sprained ankle than King Bonhyeon’s safety.

“I’m set to duel Yehwi’s escorts soon,” I began, feigning cheerfulness since he seemed in a good mood.

He frowned, cutting me off. “For no reason?”

“No, I mean, don’t I have a reason?” I countered.

Glaring without hiding my irritation, he spoke. “Planning to disgrace yourself again?”

His tone almost sounded concerned.

Or maybe angry—three deep furrows creased his brow.

“Spilled water can’t be gathered,” he said.

Looking at those furrows, I thought you could irrigate a field with them.

If you don’t want to age, don’t make wrinkles.

Or maybe he’d turn into a flowerpot-head from overthinking.

Time to stop.

He clicked his tongue.

I bowed again.

“I’ve come to make a request, but not that kind,” I said.

His face soured further. “Then what?”

“I want to make a bet with Yehwi.”

“A bet with the second prince?” he asked, not even snorting.

“Not with Your Majesty—how could I?”

“Then do as you please,” he said, each word laced with scorn and mockery.

Just do what you want—isn’t that what you’re best at?

It was the first time I felt stung by formless words. Facing a wastrel’s reputation like this didn’t feel great.

I’m not like that, people.

“Will you hear me out?” I asked.

“Speak,” he said.

I spoke as calmly as I could. “I propose a bet with Yehwi. Let the winner of this duel have one wish granted by the loser—please ensure it, Your Highness.”

I had a point to make.

First, the wastrel prince had given away the Deposed Queen’s relics. Second, he’d thrown away his reputation.

King Bonhyeon sneered. “You think you’ll win?”

“I do,” I replied.

He didn’t believe me. “How can you say you’ll win?”

His tone was skeptical.

“Grand Prince Ikwon should know his place. You’ll see what’s big and small with your own eyes.”

He showed no sign of agreeing. Fine, I had a weapon—my trump card.

“If I win without hesitation and claim victory, I’ll go to Wolha,” I declared.

“Wolha?” he asked, his voice rising slightly.

His fingers tapped rhythmically on the armrest of his throne.

“Wolha,” I repeated.

“Yes.”

“Wolha.”

Tap.

He had to send someone. The lords were his hands, guarding the borders, but they could also gather power far away and challenge the king.

That’s why lords were both a prayer and a concern for him.

Wolha’s lord’s request must have been a headache. He had to constantly prove he cared for and trusted the lords.

Sending me to the north was his best option.

The king’s legitimate son, his eldest—though a wastrel, officially the strongest heir.

That’s who I am.

“Wherever it is,” I said, “I know what I’m saying.”

“It’s a place where clothes freeze on the line in winter, where wells ice over so you can’t drink easily—Wolha.”

Tap, tap, tap.

His fingers slowed, then stopped.

“It’s not a place you can endure,” he said.

“I’ve never been, but I know it’s not a place I can easily handle,” I replied.

“You’re saying you’ll go there?” he asked.

“For Your Majesty and the people.”

“Nonsense,” he scoffed. “You’re lying. How can I trust you, a wastrel?”

Of course, a wastrel might back out when the time came.

I replied diplomatically. “Lying on such a matter would disgrace my honor. Would I do that?”

He laughed openly. “Since when did you care about honor, Grand Prince?”

Harsh.

“Then let’s do this,” I said.

I had to use drastic measures.

“If I don’t go to Wolha, let my words be a tantrum. If any lie is found—”

There was no lie. I had no reason to avoid responsibility.

I’d earn merit, and going to Wolha was something I’d do even if he tried to stop me.

If I could indebt the king, why hesitate?

“Then, even if I harm Hanseon, I’ll accept punishment without complaint.”

Sorry, Hanseon.

But it’s not like I’d actually do it.

Just bear with me.

“It’s irrevocable,” King Bonhyeon said, staring at me.

I replied cheerfully, “As you say, Your Majesty.”

The day of the duel arrived.

A crowd had already gathered—mostly palace staff, some officials.

Yu Geung, Heo Seokkyeok, and another Geumowi junior officer whose name I forgot stood out.

To them, this was probably entertainment.

They might think the wastrel prince was now seeking grand defeats.

Who did they think would win? Yu Geung said yesterday at Hyeonnyeongdang that he hoped I’d win, but did he really believe I could? Laughter and disdain were different.

As I appeared in my finery, a murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd.

“Brother,” Yehwi called, approaching with a smile hiding a sharp edge.

“You’re here early, little brother,” I said casually.

“You must be looking forward to this,” I added.

“How could I not?” he replied.