Chapter – 16
Gyohum lifted his head, slowly closed his eyes, then opened them again.
“Is it because petitions urging His Majesty to abdicate are pouring in?”
“That’s exactly it.”
“But isn’t the Crown Prince still very young?”
“You speak as if you don’t know.”
The Chief State Councillor’s eyes twisted slightly. Only after glancing around the empty room did he lean his upper body forward.
A serpentine voice slithered across the tabletop.
“I say this only to you.”
He always began that way—making the other person believe they were someone special, someone close.
He was less a scholar-official than a crafty politician.
“The plague that broke out in Sangju the year before last, the fire in the palace last year—how many people died because of them? When ominous events like these happen in succession, the blame always falls on the king.”
“Isn’t this too hasty? Abdication over something like that—”
“So far, yes. But imagine a flood or a drought on top of it. At that point, things will spiral out of control. Which is why, once you enter the palace, there will be something you can do—for His Majesty.”
More accurately, something for the Chief State Councillor.
Gyohum concealed his thoughts and put on an expression of earnest loyalty.
“Yes. I will do anything for His Majesty.”
“I’m sure His Majesty will find that reassuring.”
The Chief State Councillor smiled as he patted Gyohum on the shoulder. Bowing deeply, Gyohum stared coldly at the floor.
“I will do my utmost.”
When he raised his head again, his expression was as gentle as before.
The Chief State Councillor was not the only one capable of hiding a pitch-black heart.
Sniff.
The moment Gyohum entered the room, Soran unconsciously twitched her nose.
Her face suddenly stiffened. Seeing that, Gyohum frowned as well.
He slowly lifted his sleeve to his nose, but smelled nothing.
—My nose is just a little sharper than most.
He recalled what Soran had said a few days earlier and let out a quiet chuckle.
No matter how sharp her nose was, there was no scent on him.
At best, there might have been a trace of cooked rice from the kitchen he’d just passed.
Then Soran cautiously spoke.
“Today…”
Gyohum casually removed his outer robe as he turned to look at her.
“You met the Chief State Councillor… didn’t you?”
He froze mid-motion.
Gyohum stared straight through her.
Forcing a slight smile, he asked in an even tone,
“How did you know? Did the Chief State Councillor send you a message?”
“No.”
Soran shook her head. Inside her sleeve, her hand clenched into a tight fist.
There was a faint smell of blood on Gyohum.
That metallic, fishy scent—undeniably blood.
Ever since some time ago, her father, who used to smell of bleak winter wind, had begun to carry a sharp, vivid stench of blood, as clear as passing by a slaughterhouse.
“….”
Gyohum gazed quietly into her pitch-black eyes.
Eyes that usually shone like well-polished bronze bowls seemed unusually dark today.
That was strange.
She had met the man who cherished her so dearly—why did she look like this?
Shouldn’t she be delighted, asking eagerly after her father’s well-being?
No—before that—
“If you didn’t receive a message, how did you know?”
At his question, Soran’s eyes widened. Her pebble-like pupils trembled as if they might roll out at any moment.
“The smell…”
“The smell?”
Gyohum again brought his sleeve to his nose. Still nothing.
Watching his expression, Soran whispered in a shrinking voice,
“My nose is a little sharper than most…”
“How sharp would it have to be to smell someone I met earlier in the day?”
He said it half in jest.
“Um… very sharp.”
After hesitating, Soran quietly inhaled. Then, as if forcing out difficult words, she asked,
“What did you… talk about?”
Her fists trembled from how much tension she held.
Memories of that house resurfaced—so vivid it was shocking she’d ever forgotten them.
The Chief State Councillor’s cold indifference.
Lady Munhyeon’s venomous curses.
Sehwa’s relentless torment.
Those memories seized her legs as if they had happened just yesterday.
Soran feared that the Chief State Councillor would once again dictate her life. That he might destroy the lives of everyone here, just as he had done to hers.
“We didn’t talk about much. He said he was passing by, stopped in briefly. We exchanged greetings and parted.”
“Is that… really so?”
Soran asked anxiously.
Gyohum smiled gently.
“What else do you think I might have discussed with the Chief State Councillor?”
If you know something, say it.
He was giving her a chance. If she was in league with the Chief State Councillor, now would be a good time to confess.
Soran stared at the floor, then slowly lifted her head.
Their eyes met.
“….”
At last, her lips moved.
“I will have the meal prepared.”
With that, Soran turned away.
The moment the door closed, the warmth drained from Gyohum’s face.
So you won’t say it after all.
Only then did he realize that he was disappointed.
He had thought he expected nothing from her.
“Did she ever ask whether I’d met my father?”
Too late, he noticed something odd.
Why had she said “the Chief State Councillor,” not “Father,” not “my father”—as if speaking of a stranger?
“Ah.”
Gyohum nodded slowly.
“Did you really think you could fool me with something so trivial? Then you have gravely underestimated me, my lady.”
She might have tried to distance herself from the Chief State Councillor—but it was far too late.
After all, that very man had declared with his own mouth that she was a daughter he kept close.
After changing clothes, Gyohum left the room unhurriedly.
It was time to sit down for a meal with her, wearing the face of a gentle husband.
He wondered who would be smiling at the end of this farce.
Most likely, it would be him.
As he stepped down from the stone stairs, a sharp wind carrying the promise of spring brushed past his cheek.
For a moment, he thought he smelled flowers.
He stopped and looked down at the courtyard.
“That can’t be.”
Only a few buds had just begun to form on the branches, and not a single blade of grass had grown beneath the walls.
It was far too early for the scent of flowers.
He resumed walking, leisurely crossing the yard.
Gyohum paused mid-ladle and glanced across the table.
Soran had been lost in thought for some time now.
Her eyes were unfocused, her movements sluggish, and whenever he spoke, her replies were clearly absent-minded.
She grabbed a piece of boiled chicken and brought it to her mouth.
As if on cue, her cheeks puffed out.
How small must her mouth be, for her cheeks to swell so much over a single bite of meat?
Chew, chew.
Her round lips moved rhythmically. Only after chewing longer than usual did she finally swallow.
“…is what I said.”
“Yes.”
“Are you listening to me?”
“Yes. …Yes?”
A beat late, Soran blinked rapidly as she came to her senses.
At times like this, she looked exactly like a squirrel.
Light brown hair paler than most, and eyes darker than anyone else’s.
Perhaps that was why his heart gave a small jolt.
Gyohum had no taste for tormenting creatures weaker than himself.
“Are you truly all right with that?”
“With what?”
She asked sheepishly, having clearly not heard him at all. Even so, her chopsticks faithfully advanced toward the chicken.
“You should eat some vegetables as well.”
“…Yes.”
She hesitated.
The chopsticks hovering over the chicken changed direction and weakly picked up some napa cabbage greens.
Gyohum realized, for the first time in his life, that chopstick movements could look dejected.
Chew, chew.
As she ate the cabbage, her eyes drooped as if they might sink into the floor.
His conscience pricked again.
He wasn’t bullying her, was he?
If anything, wasn’t he looking out for her? Was telling someone to eat a balanced meal really such a crime?
“Go ahead.”
In the end, Gyohum pushed the chicken dish toward her.
Her eyes immediately lit up.
She snatched a piece of chicken and brought it to her mouth, savoring it with the happiest expression in the world.
She always ate as though it were her last supper.
Because she never knew if meat might disappear from her table tomorrow—
If the people here came to dislike her.
Chew, chew.
Watching her puffed cheeks, Gyohum rubbed his eyebrow with his index finger.
Even when his heart burned with red-hot vengeance, watching Soran eat somehow drained all his tension away.
“Come to the office around noon tomorrow.”
“Pardon?”
“Were you not listening again?”
“…I’m sorry. I was lost in thought for a moment.”
She obediently apologized, setting her chopsticks down.
Her cheeks were still stuffed with chicken, making the apology somewhat unconvincing, but Gyohum generously nodded.
“My mother suggested that you and I go out to the market tomorrow—make a little outing of it.”
“An outing?”
Soran’s eyes widened, as if she were hearing the word for the very first time…
