In a kingdom torn by power struggles and political intrigue, Jieun, the rightful heir to the throne of the East, finds herself sidelined as her brother, Jungwon, takes control. Determined to reclaim her birthright, Jieun seeks alliances and forms a...
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LATE NIGHT CALMED THE CITY AND THE FEAST HAD BEEN LONG FORGOTTEN. A gentle breeze brushed through the curtains to her bedchambers, kissing her skin with a cold touch. Her nightgown lay twisted around her body after she had tossed and turned in her sleep.
Jungwon sat on the armchair by the fire, an empty cup of wine in his hand. His breathing was slow, but he was awake. If Jieun was awake, she would have known he was thinking, despite his eyes being closed. The way his eyebrows were furrowed, his lips forming only the smallest of pouts, something that happened without his control when he was focused.
When he opened her eyes, they were stricken with tears. Slowly rising from the armchair, Jungwon held the cup in his hands, careful not to drop it to startle her. His steps were hesitant when he walked over to her, eyes glancing over her sleeping face. If he did not know better, he would have thought she was their mother.
She had their mother's eyes, doe-like yet filled with wits and knowledge. Their mother's nose was also something Jieun inherited, but her lips were identical to those of their mother's, the very same lips Jungwon had.
His hand brushed over her face, pushing a lone strand behind her ear.
He wondered what she was dreaming about.
Fuck, he felt bad.
Late nights were the scariest for Jungwon. It was the time where the silence let his thoughts speak freely. The thoughts that he was far from good enough. And Jungwon knew he was not fit to be king, he knew he would make a terrible one. He liked to believe himself strong. He was strong in the eyes of others, but when it came to his own, he was still a little boy. A little boy that yearned for his older brother. All he had was Jieun.
His father was no use.
Never was.
All of those times Jieun told Jungwon she loved him more than herself. Was she honest with him? Jungwon could not tell. He wanted her to be, but what was there to love? He was a mere shadow of what Jiho once was ━ if even that.
No, Jungwon should have ran away. He could have travelled to the Free Man's Islands and lived amongst the pirates. He could have drunk himself drunk each night, danced with women and stolen gold. The pirate life seemed far too romanticised for him. Surely it could not be as good as some of the commoners painted it to be. They traded money for blood, sweat, and tears. Money Jungwon already had, yet it was beyond his reach. He could not spend it on anything, nothing was in his reach, not even his future.
Or he could have thrown himself off the highest tower like his great-grandmother.
A dead boy was no burden.
He felt lonely in his life, trapped in his own body. Jieun had been right. He was good for nothing. Jungwon was not Jiho, he was not a good heir, he would make a terrible king. Politics bored him and he showed no talent in the art of swordsmanship.
He was nothing.
Leaning down, Jungwon pressed a kiss to her forehead, a tear running from his cheek, landing on her skin. A feeling of shame swept over him, and he tried his best to put it out of his mind. He had never been good at expressing his emotions. They were supposed to stick together, and Jungwon felt like he was driving them apart.
He truly was nothing.
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