Assassination Attempt #1

*TWO WEEKS LATER*

"You're going to get in, Min-jun." Hyun-woo sat on the floor near his desk, meticulously peeling an orange. Min-jun paced in front of him, gnawing on his lip, his fist drawn close to his mouth. What would happen if he wasn't selected? Mother had never specified, never acted like he might not become the King's consort. What would happen to Su-jin?

No. He was being silly. Mother would never cut off Su-jin's access to her medicine just because he failed the first time around.

Then again, she wasn't prone to mercy.

Something cold and sweet entered his mouth. Hyun-woo had pushed an orange slice between his lips, looking unimpressed.

"Sit down," he told him, moving back to his spot. "Your pacing is making me nervous."

He sank down to the floor, as if his knees had given in. Their room was quiet save for the muffled sound of another orange being peeled. It made him nervous. His fingers began to drum against the table, almost painful. Hyun-woo shoved them off.

"God, you're a mess. Honestly, what's the worst that can happen?"

I fail and that menace of a King continues to live with the blood of my parents on his hands. Min-jun bit his tongue. No one else knew of his desire for revenge, nor Su-jin's reliance on Mother's aid. They wouldn't understand.

"I don't enjoy failing, Hyun-woo."

He pointed his knife at him. "That pretty face of yours has made you too accustomed to getting what you want. Here, eat. It'll make you feel better."

Right, he was too pretty to reject. That was what Mother always said. He was too pretty and clever and he had all the tools of seduction at his beck and call.

"I need some air," he finally breathed, stumbling a bit as he stood. Hyun-woo watched him go, knife held mid-cut.

"Don't stay out too long."

"I know."

He raked a hand through his loose hair. Usually, he'd wear it up. There was too much of it to keep it all under control, from his scalp to his hips, but he couldn't be bothered right now. The black strands caught between his fingers like ink stains. He leaned back against the stone wall of the building. A few people were drunkenly making their way inside. Some of them noticed him, recognizing the detective that kept waking them up in the middle of the night chasing criminals. They all lived in that ruin of a building, thirty of them, all barely acquainted with one another and yet too intimate to be strangers.

He heaved a sigh, watching leaves drift off trees. What he wouldn't give for a drink right now. His nerves were completely shot. Hyun-woo would kill him if he smelled even a drop of alcohol on his body, though. Nothing could get past him, especially not after that one time when Min-jun passed out in the middle of the street and got himself kidnapped (entirely not his fault, if you must know).

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a young man skipping toward him, a satchel full of scrolls at his side. At this hour? It could only mean one thing. His chest felt painfully tight for the way his heart was beating.

"Hello, Min-jun-nim," the man sang, coming to a stop next to him. He dug around in his bag, eventually bringing out a scroll tied together with a red string. "An invitation from the palace."

"Thank you," he said, bowing slightly, his hands tightening around the scroll. An invitation. To the palace. In three days. He'd passed.

Now he really needed that drink. Min-jun bit his lip, looking back toward the building, his hand rubbing at his neck. Surely, Hyun-woo wouldn't notice if he took one cup of wine. A cup would be fine.

Min-jun nodded to himself, turning on his heel to take the path to the city and all the blissfully numbing alcohol it produced. He only managed to take a few steps before a hand grabbed onto his arm and pulled him back toward the entrance of the building.

"Knew I couldn't trust you."

"It's one drink, Hyun-woo," he said, bumping into him on their way inside.

They were back in their little room. The mattresses had been rolled out now, the table having been moved to the corner. Hyun-woo released him, sitting down on one of the mattresses and shuffling through some of their reports for Friday. Ah, Min-jun would probably be long gone by that time. "With you, it's one drink and then a dozen more."

"I got in," Min-jun said.

Hyun-woo's hands paused on the pages of the reports. He didn't look up, fixing his gaze down, as if in thought. He flipped a page, and muttered, "Congratulations."

"So we should celebrate."

"No."

. . . . . . . . .

He was taken away three days later in a wooden palanquin painted red and gold. The men handling the palanquin gave him a quick once-over, not quite believing that he was the cargo they were meant to carry to the palace. He'd worn his nicest hanbok, but even that was rather lackluster. A radiant smile and the official scroll proved to be enough to persuade them.

Hyun-woo wasn't able to see him off, or maybe he didn't want to. Either way, their paths wouldn't cross again. It was too dangerous to have them cross again.

The world outside of the palanquin reflected none of his worries. The forest swayed in the fragrant breeze, sunlight slipping through the leaves of the trees. Eight people surrounded him: Four men to carry the palanquin, four to guard him. Among them was the interviewer he'd met almost a month ago now – Sun, wasn't it? He'd worn a disguise – a wig of good quality and a soldier's blue and red uniform – but nothing could mask those honey-colored eyes and that slight frown on his face.

Honestly, they knew Min-jun worked in the private investigation department. How rude of them to assume he wouldn't recognize Sun because of a half-baked facade.

He rested his arm against the wall of the palanquin. That was only the first of the insults this party had dealt him. The second had been the fault of the other servants, for believing he wouldn't suspect their little assassination plot.

Word had gotten around that he had been selected above the other noble ladies of Dal Province. It was only natural that they would try to get rid of him before he reached the palace. Before the King could begin to be felled by his wiles and charms. The other guards were the assassins, from what little information he'd gathered. They had laden themselves with weapons, their eyes shifting between Min-jun and Sun as his sparse belongings were packed into the palanquin. Then, one of the guards tried giving him some sort of drink while Sun busied himself with sharpening his swords. That meant Sun likely wasn't part of their plan. The King had probably placed him there to protect Min-jun instead.

It was just a theory. Min-jun shifted his gaze to the opposite wall and its floral patterns. He had never ridden in a palanquin until now, only watched them carry brides off to their future husbands like parcels. Now, he was the parcel. Would Sun deliver him straight to the King after the assassination attempt, or would he take him somewhere else to shield him from the possible dangers of getting too close to the palace?

The palanquin dropped to the ground, and he nearly fell onto the floor, his hand steadying him against the wall. An arrow shot past him. It would've shot right through his skull if he had not dodged. Lovely. They were here. Had the assassins only numbered at three it would have been embarrassing for both parties. I'm worth far more than three mediocre assassins.

Getting out of the palanquin now would be unwise since it would leave every part of his body in full range. Waiting for them to open the doors would also leave him with a sword through his chest.

"Your Highness," Sun said, riding up right beside the palanquin, "we're under attack."

That title would take some getting used to. Min-jun remained on the floor, far from the windows. "Really, I hadn't noticed."

"I need you to get out of the palanquin and grab hold of me," Sun said. "You'll only have a few seconds before one of them manages to shoot you."

Then how come they haven't managed to knock you off your pedestal yet? A scream sounded off somewhere to his left and Min-jun had to push down the urge to run in its direction. As an investigator, he'd always been a bit reckless. It was how he managed to solve seemingly unsolvable cases. He's not an investigator anymore, though, and he had somewhere to be in a few hours.

He leaped out, almost crashing into Sun, who held him close. One arm tightened around Min-jun's waist, while Sun's other hand gripped the reins of the dark brown steed beside him. Somehow, Sun seemed even larger than he'd appeared before, towering over him. Min-jun didn't particularly like it when other people were taller than him.

"Have you ever ridden a horse?" Sun asked, guiding him up into the horse's saddle, his hands never leaving his body. Sun slid in behind him. The poor horse would have to carry them both.

Min-jun glared up at him. "I'm a commoner with a budget of 500 mun per month. Do you really think I have the time for horse riding lessons?"

"Prickly, aren't you?"

"Very much so." Especially in the midst of an ambush. The path had turned into a battle scene now. The assassins weren't the only ones who had planned an attack. There were at least twenty men fighting against them, light glinting off their clashing swords. Men lay in the dirt, their blood sprayed onto flowers and leaves like raindrops. All because the King had decided to take a commoner as his consort. Min-jun doubted the others would be getting the same treatment, considering their noble blood and the support of their families. That was just a feud waiting to happen. But the son of a merchant? They would be doing the King a favor.

Sun snapped the reigns, tapping his heel against the horse's sides. Shifting his position, he moved closer to Min-jun, his chest against Min-jun's back. He had some nerve getting so close to the King's consort. No matter. Min-jun was no blushing virgin anyhow. He could handle some proximity when it served only to shield him from the onslaught of the assassins (who were not particularly good at their jobs).

"Are you nervous?" Sun asked.

"Considering they're trying to kill me? I'm doing quite well, thank you."