Riding a horse after so long felt good.
It wasn’t my imagination—my escorts kept glancing at me as if surprised I could ride.
Me, riding leisurely, felt like some kind of marvel.
Just riding a horse, yet it seemed like I was performing a stunt, drawing gasps from the onlookers.
As we left the palace, the city’s cheers grew overwhelming, but once I understood why, they dulled.
So, I decided to savor the freedom of leaving the capital.
“Fresh air!” I shouted.
The inability to gallop freely due to the group’s pace was a shame, but after rotting in the palace, even this felt exhilarating.
While riding, I glanced at the sky.
Above me, a black speck followed, circling against the clear blue—Gonjo.
He was probably cursing me as he flew.
Since we weren’t headed somewhere pleasant, I’d considered leaving him at Hyeonnyeongdang. But he’d thrown a fit, insisting on coming along. He made such a fuss I had no choice but to bring him.
He said he felt safer by my side.
To go through such hardship just to follow me—what a stubborn bird.
His reason for coming was to avoid attention. I could’ve perched him on my shoulder or saddle, but I couldn’t ignore others’ eyes. A wastrel prince with a wild crow? That’d start rumors, and I’d have no defense.
I’d have to be cautious to keep him discreet.
Letting him be seen would have to wait until I’d shed the wastrel stigma.
That stigma.
It had its perks, of course. Being known as a wastrel meant Yehwi didn’t guard against me too closely. Queen Wu and her clan’s blades didn’t see me as a threat. And being seen as a drunk who beat people meant most dismissed my actions as expected.
I’d asked Hanseon and checked the archives. The Deposed Queen hadn’t done anything wrong. So why was she deposed and killed?
From the circumstances, she’d been a stand-in for the martial families. The result was my grandfather’s deep-seated resentment.
After that, the martial selection process became a farce, ignored by the martial families.
I recalled King Bonhyeon opening the armory before his death.
Did they kill the Deposed Queen and sideline me for that?
If so, could the martial families rally to my side?
I glanced at Yu Geung, riding two steps ahead on my right, then at Heo Seokkyeok, matching pace on my left.
Heo Seokkyeok turned, meeting my gaze.
He stared intently.
Like he wanted to say something.
“You look like you’re in a good mood,” I said.
“There’s a promising figure among us, Your Highness,” he replied.
“Oh? Interesting,” I said.
His facial muscles twitched—he was holding back a laugh. Surprisingly, Heo Seokkyeok was weak to praise.
“Someone like you should be a royal guard,” I added.
I watched his mouth closely.
It twitched again, confirming my guess.
He’s easy to read.
If he’s this transparent, how does he survive in the Geumowi? Martial officers aren’t just brutes—they need some tact and thick skin to thrive.
Well, that’s his problem, not mine. If I support and promote him, fine. If he’s incompetent and demoted, that’s his issue, not mine.
Building rapport like this couldn’t hurt. Heo Seokkyeok might rise high—he’s already a Geumowi captain. Yu Geung could reach that level too. If I guide him away from death, this rapport could make them valuable allies later.
And my grandfather.
Among the capital’s elite, how many aren’t in my corner? My grandfather was one of the few I could win over easily.
Not that he’s against me.
He’d supplied Jongmeoki Flower through Shin Gwiryeong, delivering it to Hyeonnyeongdang. That was support. How could I say otherwise?
If that got exposed, it’d hit him hard. The Deposed Queen’s incident had already caused enough damage—her fate was a wound itself.
To win him over, I’d need to heal his broken heart from losing a child. Not let him retire quietly, but fuel his desire for vengeance, to place me on the throne.
There was no other choice. If I didn’t, history would repeat. Without becoming a proper king, the first prince would die.
With heavy thoughts, I pressed on.
By late afternoon, Oroseong came into view.
Oroseong wasn’t prosperous. Its surroundings were barren, with sparse houses exposing their poverty.
It was far from the border but not close to the capital. It lacked fertile fields or major rivers—a place with no defining traits.
Was this why King Bonhyeon insisted I visit?
Was he deliberately making it tedious?
Surely not.
I could guess how Oroseong’s lord would act. He wasn’t a hereditary lord but a former capital officer. With a son, he’d care about who’d be the next king.
I couldn’t confirm my guess yet, but one thing was certain: he was interested in my visit. He was waiting at the gate before I arrived.
Spotting me from afar, he bowed. Behind him, a crowd of his people stood, bowing in unison as he did.
“Let’s enter,” I said.
Showing respect to Oroseong’s lord couldn’t hurt. As I dismounted, my entourage hurriedly followed. Hanseon, holding the reins, wobbled and nearly fell.
I approached the lord directly.
“I greet Grand Prince Ikwon,” he said.
He was elderly, introducing himself as Oroseong’s lord.
He bowed while standing. Up close, he seemed older than my grandfather or Hanseon.
“Raise your head,” I said.
“I’m grateful, Your Highness. Was your journey tiring?” he asked.
I replied casually, “It was fine.”
He’d been waiting, it seemed.
“Of course, Your Highness,” he said, his tone suggesting he couldn’t not wait.
He apologized repeatedly for missing King Bonhyeon’s banquet, saying it was an honor to meet me, flattering me excessively.
No need to gild my face.
Meeting a wastrel prince wasn’t an honor—nobody knew that better than me. No matter how kind the words, they didn’t reach my ears.
Oroseong’s lord led the way inside. Once an officer, he was now a frail old man. At his age, clinging to royal favor was understandable, and I couldn’t ignore his effort.
He prattled about Oroseong’s virtues as we walked. It was just a village—its merits wouldn’t outshine any other rural castle.
I didn’t interrupt, listening half-heartedly.
Still, it was decently managed.
With little banditry, it felt safe and orderly.
At the inner hall, the lord said, “I’m ashamed to host Your Highness in such a humble place.”
I quietly surveyed the room. It was indeed humble. Compared to the palace, it was bound to be. Even Hyeolyunseong, worn by constant battles, wasn’t this shabby.
If Hyeolyunseong’s state came from neglecting upkeep for war, Oroseong’s stemmed from a lack of effort.
Still, my room was reasonably clean. They’d clearly worked hard in the short time before my arrival.
I couldn’t dismiss their hospitality.
“It’s simple but peaceful. Don’t say such things,” I said.
The lord’s wrinkled face brightened.
He didn’t leave immediately, lingering with something to say.
Recalling he had a son, I hesitated before speaking.
“I heard you have a son,” I said.
He replied cautiously, “Yes, Your Highness. I have a son.”
Then, with forced sincerity, he added, “Since you’ve come so far, I’ve prepared a modest gathering.”
I noticed his hands clasped tightly, knuckles white.
Bowing to me didn’t sit well with him.
Not just discomfort—he seemed to loathe it. Was he cursing me inwardly?
He knew I was a wastrel. Even a Seopyeong villager knew that—how could he not?
Knowing I was a wastrel yet seeing it firsthand felt strange.
I chuckled.
He wasn’t worried about my fatigue or mood. This old man, bowing to a young wastrel prince, was only thinking of his son’s future.
It’d be the same if Yehwi had come. As the stronger heir, Yehwi might’ve received even more courtesy.
I almost acted petty but reconsidered, nodding. “I’m grateful.”
Was he trying to curry favor to soothe my temper?