이무기의 복 (Mourning Bride)

17. Scattered Scales

Seonghwa appeared in the morning as if nothing had ever happened. He didn't excuse Hongjoong's behaviour by claiming illness, and he pretended not to have played a role in the incident. Instead, he dumped a mass of utensils on the table in the foyer and elegantly swished the lower parts of his garments before he settled down.

San eyed him over the rim of his cup from narrow eyes.

"Why aren't we in the classroom today?" He didn't distort his voice into artificial nonchalance. His tone was biting and had no shred of mercy for the shaman.

Gracefully, Seonghwa inclined his head.

"I imagined you would want your peace here today. You seemed agitated last evening, so I wanted to offer my compliance to meet in your territory." Seonghwa set apart the pliers he had prepared to extract some scales from San's tail. They were one of the last steps needed for Seonghwa to finish with the bookbinding until the ritual.

San eyed them as if they were a venomous snake.

"This isn't my territory. It belongs to the king, just like anything else here. No choice is mine."

Once more, Seonghwa smiled patiently, as if he were dealing with a child. His patronising attitude had San's eyes darken. His brows pulled together, the last patience he had gathered so laboriously since the morning disappearing.

"All choices made for you are in your favour and you are free to deny them," Seonghwa said.

With a huff, San placed his mug down and reached for the pliers. When he neared his tail with them, Seonghwa made a protesting sound. A single glare from San shut him up.

"My choice."

San plucked out his scales, leaving shallow, bleeding wounds. He dropped the bloodied objects on the tray Seonghwa had brought. Wordless, the shaman gulped as he watched San ignore the healing ointments and cleaning rags he had brought.

In front of their eyes, San's wounds sealed. With a metallic clang, he dropped the pliers on the tray.

"That should be enough. Don't underestimate me, Seonghwa. I am a dragon."

The corners of Seonghwa's mouth twitched. He tried to hide his crude smile behind his sleeve, but the right corner curled far enough to his eyes that San caught it.

"An imoogi, you mean."

The rage that had boiled in San's gut all night sparked. When his eyes narrowed further, Yunho shuffled in his corner by the door. The threatening aura around the dragon darkened to near blackness.

"Do you believe that allows you to look down on me?" San's voice had lowered to a growl, his fangs flashing. The glow of his eyes penetrated the cloud of darkness he spread through the room.

Seonghwa lifted his hands. He was still unperturbed, not bothered by the inflamed dragon.

"I just wanted to clear up any misconceptions. You profit off this deal just how we do. If you insist there are no secrets between us, you do better also not keeping any." The gleam in his eyes was sly, but he was nowhere as imposing as the powerful dragon that breathed down his face.

"We may work together, but I believe we are not on the same level of perception." San's claws dug into the tabletop, leaving deep marks in the polished wood.

Seonghwa smiled with the grace of an angel.

"This matter can't concern you this much, mighty dragon king. If you are as dignified as you claim to be, the love between two humans should brush by your conscience. You, too, didn't marry the king out of affection. You are free to do as you please, so you should regard his personal feelings as well." Seonghwa's grin turned sinister, the sharpness of a fox shining through his glamorous veil. He was still beautiful, but beyond that charm laid a dark truth.