If the king wished to play, then Ji-hwan would ensure he did not win too easily.
Seong-min had spent the last week pushing limits—leaning in too close, staring too hard, talking in a manner that was almost, but not quite, unseemly.
And Ji-hwan, despite all his attempts at staying calm, had let him get away with it.
No more.
It started with the morning court session. While reading out a newly amended tax decree, Ji-hwan allowed his eyes to roam—not at the documents, but at him.
When their eyes clashed, the king sneered.
Ji-hwan sneered not back, but up. Instead, he smiled—small, respectful, with only the faintest brush of something unreadable.
Seong-min's face flashed with surprise.
Good.
Ji-hwan read on, never looking away. At the last line, he paused deliberately, then cocked his head.
"Did Your Majesty not hear me?" His tone was silky, taunting. A reflection of Seong-min's own tricks.
Seong-min's fingers tapped out a rhythm on the armrest of his throne. And then, slowly, he smiled.
"I heard every word."
The change in his voice sent a shiver down Ji-hwan's spine.
That evening, as Ji-hwan prepared to leave court, a guard stopped him.
"The king requests your company for dinner."
Ji-hwan's breath hitched.
Seong-min had never requested before. He had simply ordered.
This was different.
This was a challenge.
Ji-hwan straightened his robes. If Seong-min wanted a game, then Ji-hwan would play to win.