THE CONCUBINE || TAEKOOK ||

FIFTY FOUR

Midnight

The door opened.

Taehyung's heart lurched. He had been sitting alone in the darkness for what felt like hours, his hands empty, his ears straining for the sound of Haneul's cries that had long since faded into silence. The torchlight that spilled through the doorway was blinding after the blackness of the tower room, and he raised a hand to shield his eyes, blinking, trying to see.

King Daehyeok stood in the doorway.

A smoking pipe dangled from his fingers, the ember at its tip glowing red in the darkness, and the smoke that curled from it smelled sweet, cloying, sickly.

Behind him, two guards stood in the shadows, their faces hidden, their hands on their swords.

"Oh, look who we have here," Daehyeok said, his voice low, smooth, pleased. "A beauty waiting for me. What a lovely night."

He laughed a soft, throaty sound and walked into the room. His steps were slow, unhurried, the steps of a man who knew he had all the time in the world. He circled Taehyung once, twice, his eyes moving over him, appraising, claiming, and then he sat.

His thigh pressed against Taehyung's. The heat of him seeped through the fabric of Taehyung's robes, and Taehyung's skin crawled.

"May I know the reason for your arrival in my lowly palace?" Daehyeok raised the pipe to his lips, drew in a long breath, and blew the smoke directly into Taehyung's face.

Taehyung coughed, his eyes watering, his lungs burning. The smoke was thick, sweet, coating his throat, his tongue, his nostrils.

Oh, how weak." Daehyeok laughed again, and his hand shot out, grabbing Taehyung's chin, turning his face toward him. "You do not smoke? How pure. How beautiful."

He held Taehyung's face in his grip, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh of his cheek, and studied him with eyes that glittered in the torchlight.

"Oh, I forgot," he murmured. "How can someone so pure, so beautiful, smoke? It would ruin you. It would spoil the perfection."

Taehyung said nothing. He stared straight ahead, at the wall, at the shadows, at anything but the face inches from his own. He would not give this man the satisfaction of his fear.

Daehyeok's grip tightened. His thumb pressed harder into Taehyung's cheek, the bone beneath grinding against his fingers.

"I asked you a question," he said, and his voice was no longer smooth. It was hard, sharp, the voice of a man who was not used to being ignored. "Do not show me that attitude. You are my guest. You will answer me when I speak to you."

Taehyung's jaw ached. His eyes burned. But he forced the words out, each one measured, each one cold.

"No. I do not smoke."

Daehyeok stared at him for a moment longer. Then his grip relaxed, his hand falling away, and he smiled.

"See? That was easy." He leaned back in his chair, the pipe returning to his lips, the smoke curling around his face.
Taehyung turned to face him, his hands clenched in his lap, his voice low, fierce.