NEFARIOUS

2 / 두

  The corridor was deathly quiet. No single movement came to Yoong Il's sight, even the guards who had been standing in firm before each door in the palace didn't pay attention as she passed by. When Yoong Il was younger, she'd often thought the guards were possessed by her ancestors' decayed souls, making them still as statue, especially when the night came. But it had been nothing but a mere imagination of a child.

  Daehyun, her private bodyguard, stood before her doubled-doors with robust shoulders. A sword settled on his hips, its hilt winked at her. He was the only guard who nodded at her presence, as if the others were shadowed ghosts of the night. 

  In the glimpse of light, a line of scar beneath his shadowed eyes was visibly seen, along the new bruises surrounded his hollowed eyes. He was not older than Yoong Il's seventeen years, only younger a few months than her. But his grim face indicated he was much older than that, others would have mistaken his age easily.

  She quickly averted her gaze when Daehyun almost caught her staring.

  "You come late, my lady." He said, gaze no longer meeting hers. 

  When Yoong Il gripped the handle to open her chamber, Daehyun murmured, so quiet that she barely heard him, "the Crown Prince is inside."

  Yoong Il shut the doors immediately as she stepped inside, not wanting to give her brother an attention until she shrugged off her dark cloak and released her danghye.

  The wooden floor beneath her felt cool with only beoseon on her feet, but not as rigid as the stare her brother gave to her.

  "Where have you been?" Won-Shik had been sitting on the edge of her bed, her crumpled notebook in his hands.

  He was still wearing dark blue gonryongpo since she met him in council meeting, the white color of the dragon robe on his shoulders and chest dimmed in the darkness. His eyes, deep black like an endless pit, stared through her.

  "I was looking for fresh air." Yoong Il admitted, at least she didn't entirely lie about this.

  Lifting a shoulder, she continued, "I'm not the one who broke in into my sibling's room without permission." Yoong Il gave her notebook a brief glance. "Speaking of which, I never knew you liked my writings."

  "The Commander was looking for you." Won-Shik snarled.

  Yoong Il slumped into her bed, stretching her back while straightened her hands above.

  He continued, "You should be glad it wasn't father who didn't find you anywhere in the palace."

  "That explains Daehyun's newest bruises then." Yoong Il yawned, she let her back head fall onto her pillow, and her forearm settled on her forehead. "Go back to your chamber, Won-Shik. I want to sleep."

  Won-Shik snorted. Yoong Il couldn't see his face, but the expression on her brother's face would be surely either disgust or peeved. "Certainly, releasing the Queen tires you wholesomely."

  Yoong Il kept her eyes close. There had been days when she and Won-Shik played in the garden without any suspicion or hidden purpose. Only a boy and a girl with delight smiles and bright hopes.

  She'd missed those sweet moments, until she was aware enough to sense that Won-Shik was a puppet of the King and his cursed government officials.

  There were many names of him; The crown prince. The King's right hand. The charming one. But Yoong Il knew better, her brother had become nothing but a monster. Blood and violence had clouded his vision, and he would kill any person without hesitation if the King ordered him to.

 He is a symbol of freedom and peace, the King had said to her, eyes gleaming with something Yoong Il couldn't grasp on, a future for the people of Joseon.

  She wouldn't forget the look on his brother when the King had demanded him to sentence death a traitor of the kingdom. She'd thought of seeing the anger and vengeance from his night sky eyes, yet the only thing came to sight was the void of an empty soul.

  "You accused me of stealing the keys and let go the Queen?" Yoong Il almost laughed. "Come on, brother. I thought you're much clever than this."

  "I never said about breaking the door with keys."

  "Oh? there's another way to open it?"

  "You're playing fool again with me."

  "If there's a way, dearest brother, I didn't know it."

  "Liar."

  Yoong Il couldn't help but staring at his brother. He didn't change his cool expression, still as ever. His messy dark brown hair reminded her of his younger, innocent self. A very contrary thing to his hollowed eyes. He continued, "You know everything. Always. Especially when it comes to feeding your curiosity." 

  "What do you want me to say, Won-Shik?" Yoong Il woke to sit above her bed.

  Some strands of her hair tangled near her eyes, she probably looked like a fool with disheveled hair before her brother. But she cared less about such thing. "Ah, I broke the door and saved the Queen from her trial. The saints must be proud of my sacred heart! Are you satisfied now?"

  Won-Shik set his jaw. "There's no holy in discharging the Queen. She's a walking demon."

  "Well, I'd be damned then."

  When her brother did not say anything, it was Yoong Il's turn, "Now," she said, slowly closing her eyelids, "if you excuse me. The hour is already late."

  She felt her bed shift with a low crack. Won-Shik put something on the small table near her bed, presumably her poetry notebook.

  He stayed at the doors for a moment, Yoong Il could hear his steady breathing before he said, "I don't know what you're planning, sister. But if it risks the whole kingdom, I won't hesitate to stop you. It's a warning."

  Yoong Il let out a bitter laugh. "What, Won-Shik? You're going to dispose me?"

  A pause. "I will if I have to."

  He slammed the doors close. Yoong Il fluttered her eyelashes open, watching the high ceiling above.

  Her mind ensnared herself from slumber, proceeding toward thousand possibilities and future plans. She hoped Death would be kind to her this time. It was too soon to dig her own grave.