Crown of Thorns

Chapter 11: The Crown Beckons

The palace grounds were in turmoil.

Word spread like wildfire through the city streets and the countryside alike—nobles were shifting their allegiances, backing Prince Ji-Hoon, the prodigal son who had returned not as the weak, spoiled prince of old but as a leader, poised to take control. The court, once a bastion of the king's authority, was now filled with whispers of rebellion. Discontent simmered beneath the surface, no longer contained by fear of the aging king.

Outside the palace walls, the people were growing restless. The kingdom had long been ruled with a firm hand, but under the king's tightening grip, the poor had grown poorer, the rich more corrupt. It wasn't long before the nobles' covert support of Ji-Hoon became public knowledge, and the common folk began to riot in the streets. The king's oppressive policies, combined with high taxes and famine, had driven them to desperation, and Ji-Hoon's name had become a rallying cry.

"Prince Ji-Hoon! Prince Ji-Hoon!" the people chanted, fists raised in defiance. The once-loyal subjects now demanded the king's abdication, calling for the prince to take the throne. To them, Ji-Hoon represented hope—a new beginning, someone who had suffered and returned stronger, someone who could lead them out of this dark age.

Inside the palace, the tension was palpable. The king paced in his chambers, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. His once-unquestionable rule had slipped through his fingers, and now even the palace guards exchanged uneasy glances, uncertain where their true loyalties should lie. The nobles had turned their backs on him, one by one, until he was left standing alone.

But Ji-Hoon was not yet king.

The king still held the throne, and he would not surrender it without a fight.

Ji-Hoon stood before the great doors of the throne room, his heart a steady, cold rhythm in his chest. He had prepared for this moment for months—no, years. The pain, the torture, the sleepless nights—they had all led him here. His father's crown was within reach, but Ji-Hoon knew better than to let his emotions cloud his judgment. He had learned from his mistakes. This was not a moment for anger or revenge; it was a moment for precision.

Behind him, the nobles gathered, dressed in their finest robes and standing as a unified force. They had chosen their side, and now they were ready to see the old king fall.

"Your Highness," Lord Sung whispered at Ji-Hoon's side, his voice laced with both respect and caution. "The people outside are calling for your coronation. The riot is growing. If your father does not abdicate soon, the violence may spiral beyond our control."

Ji-Hoon nodded but did not turn to face him. His gaze remained fixed on the doors, his mind focused on what lay beyond them. "I know," he said quietly. "But this will not end with violence. My father will see reason."

Lord Sung's expression darkened. "And if he doesn't?"

Ji-Hoon's eyes flickered with cold resolve. "Then we will take the crown by force."

Without another word, Ji-Hoon pushed open the massive doors, stepping into the throne room with the confidence of a man who already knew the outcome of the battle. The nobles followed behind him, their footsteps echoing ominously against the marble floors.

The king sat upon the throne, his face ashen but still proud, his hands gripping the arms of his chair as though he could hold onto his power through sheer will alone. His eyes met Ji-Hoon's, and for a moment, father and son stood in silence, measuring one another.

Ji-Hoon saw the fear in his father's gaze, though the old man hid it well. But more than that, he saw the stubbornness—the refusal to acknowledge that his time had passed. His father had ruled for decades with an iron fist, crushing any opposition that dared rise against him. But Ji-Hoon was not like the others.

"You dare enter my throne room with such arrogance?" the king spat, his voice trembling with fury. "Do you think you can simply walk in here and take what is mine?"

Ji-Hoon remained calm, stepping forward with deliberate slowness. His eyes, sharp and calculating, never wavered from his father's. "It's not yours anymore," he said, his voice steady and devoid of emotion. "The people have spoken. The nobles have spoken. Your rule is over."

The king's face twisted with rage. "I am your king! I am your father! You owe me your loyalty!"

Ji-Hoon stopped at the base of the throne, looking up at the man who had once been everything to him. He saw not a king, not a father, but a man desperately clinging to power, a man who had broken him in ways he could never forgive. Yet, Ji-Hoon felt no satisfaction in his father's suffering—only a cold, detached understanding that this was necessary.

"My loyalty?" Ji-Hoon repeated, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. "You took that from me the day you threw me into the pit. You wanted me to become strong, to survive the pain. Well, I did. And now, I'm stronger than you ever imagined."

The king's eyes narrowed, his knuckles white as he gripped the throne. "You think you're ready to rule? You think you can control the nobles, the people, the chaos that comes with power? You're nothing but a boy playing at being king!"

Ji-Hoon's lips twitched into a faint smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "Perhaps. But I am not alone. The people are with me. The nobles stand behind me. And they want change."

The room was thick with tension as Ji-Hoon's words hung in the air, the weight of his claim undeniable. The nobles shifted behind him, murmuring their support. Even the guards, who had once been fiercely loyal to the king, stood at attention but made no move to defend him. The tide had turned, and everyone in the room knew it.

"You have one chance," Ji-Hoon said, his voice cold and unyielding. "Abdicate. Step down, and I will ensure that you live out the rest of your days in peace. Refuse, and the people will tear down the gates of this palace. They will come for you, and I will not stop them."

The king's eyes widened with a mixture of disbelief and fury. "You would kill your own father? You would betray your blood for the sake of power?"

Ji-Hoon's face remained expressionless, but there was a hardness in his gaze that spoke of the torment he had endured. "You betrayed me first."

The silence that followed was suffocating. The king's breathing became ragged, his chest heaving with the weight of the choice before him. He knew, deep down, that he had lost. His kingdom, his power, his legacy—it was all slipping away, taken by the son he had tried to break.

Slowly, the king rose from his throne, his body trembling with the effort. He looked around the room, at the faces of the nobles who had once sworn fealty to him, now standing silently behind Ji-Hoon. His gaze fell on his son, the boy he had underestimated, the man who now stood poised to take everything from him.

"Very well," the king whispered, his voice filled with bitterness and defeat. "I will abdicate. But know this, Ji-Hoon—this kingdom will not be kind to you. The throne is a curse, not a gift."

Ji-Hoon's expression didn't change as he watched his father step down from the throne. He had expected these words, and they didn't faze him. "We'll see," he replied quietly.

As the king descended the steps, Ji-Hoon moved forward, standing at the foot of the throne. The room was silent, the air thick with anticipation. The nobles watched, the guards held their breath, and outside the palace walls, the riotous crowds roared with approval, sensing that the moment had finally come.

Ji-Hoon turned and sat upon the throne, his back straight, his eyes forward. The weight of the crown was not yet upon his head, but already, he felt the shift in power. The nobles bowed, acknowledging their new king.

But as Ji-Hoon gazed out over the room, he didn't feel triumph. The throne had been won, but the cost had been high. His father had fallen, but the scars of the past still lingered.

And now, the true battle began.