My deep soul

Chapter 43

The candlelight in Jinheung’s chamber flickered against the carved beams, casting shadows across his strong face as Jinyoen entered. His posture was rigid, one hand pressed against the armrest of the throne he still hadn’t grown accustomed to sitting in. When he lifted his gaze to her, there was a storm brewing in those eyes—a mix of uncertainty, pride, and a rare flicker of fear.

“Sunwoo…” his voice was low, weighted. “He is also a sacred bone, Jinu. That means the blood of kings runs through his veins just as it runs through mine. He has as much right to the throne as I do. Tell me—what should I do?”

Jinyoen’s lips curved softly, though her dark eyes studied him with quiet intensity. She walked toward him, her steps unhurried, graceful, until she stood close enough to feel the heat radiating off his tense frame.

Instead of answering right away, she reached up and touched his jaw, tilting his face down toward hers. “You’re troubled, my king,” she whispered, searching him. “But why? Is it because you fear losing the throne… or because you fear losing a friend?”

Jinheung’s breath caught, and his jaw clenched. “Both,” he admitted, the word slipping out with raw honesty. “Sunwoo… he was by my side as a brother. He fought for me, laughed with me, trusted me. And now… now he may be set against me, by the very hands of those who seek to ruin Silla. If he stands as my rival, I may have no choice but to…” His voice broke, and he forced the last word out like poison. “…destroy him.”

Jinyoen shook her head slowly, her hand still against his cheek, grounding him. “No. That is not who you are, Jinheung.” Her voice was firm, unwavering, yet tender. “You and Sunwoo—your bond is not so easily broken. He knows you—not just the king who revealed himself in the council chamber, but the boy who lived among the Hwarang, who carried burdens in silence, who protected his friends with his own blood.”

Her smile deepened, carrying both comfort and challenge. “Talk with him, my love. Speak not as a king to a rival, but as a brother to a brother. He will see you.”

Jinheung stared at her for a long moment, his chest rising and falling as the tension slowly unwound. At last, he closed the space between them, pulling her against his chest, holding her as if she were the only anchor left in his turbulent world.

“You always see through me,” he murmured into her hair. “When the weight of the crown makes me doubt, you remind me I am more than just a king. You remind me I am still a man.”

“And you always will be,” she whispered back, her fingers curling into the folds of his robes. “So long as you remember that, no throne, no minister, no rival can take that from you.”

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The moon was high when Jinheung entered the secluded hall he had chosen for the meeting. No ministers, no guards—just the two of them. The air was cool, touched by the faint fragrance of night jasmine creeping in from the palace gardens. He waited, his back straight but his fingers curling unconsciously at his side.

When the doors creaked open, Sunwoo stepped in, his expression a mix of wariness and ease. They had fought together, laughed together, bled together as Hwarang brothers. But tonight, the air was different. Tonight, they were not just brothers—they were two men bound by bloodlines that made the entire kingdom watch their every move.

“Sunwoo,” Jinheung greeted, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed the storm within.

“Your Majesty,” Sunwoo replied with a half-bow, though his lips curved in a faint smirk. “Or should I still call you Jidiwi? Hard to keep track.”

Jinheung’s jaw tightened, but then he chuckled softly. “To you, I will always be Jidiwi. Titles do not matter between us.”

“Good,” Sunwoo said, walking further into the hall, his footsteps echoing against the stone floor. “Because if you ask me to bow every time, I’ll probably quit speaking to you.”