Ji-hwan set out from Gwangha Fortress at dawn's break, draped in a merchant's cloak and darkness.
No farewell from Ban Seok-woo—only a nod and a sword concealed in black silk.
"For when words fail," he'd muttered.
Ji-hwan rode hard, speeding through villages and mountains in cover of mist. The trip to the capital took five days by road. He covered it in three.
He didn't go to his quarters. Didn't pass through the main gates.
He went straight to the royal garden, where Seong-min always walked alone after nightfall.
And he was there—crowned in starlight, half-hidden by plum trees.
Ji-hwan stepped into the garden without a word.
Seong-min didn't turn. "I wondered if you'd write back."
"I brought the answer instead."
Now, the king turned. Slowly. His gaze sharp. "You took a risk."
"I had to." Ji-hwan put a small pouch into his hands. Within it, a crushed wax seal—the mark of the Choi family, long believed devoted to the throne.
Seong-min's gaze grew darker. "A noble house?"
They were bankrolling the border insurrection," Ji-hwan stated. "But quietly. In secret."
Seong-min's fist clenched around the pouch. "I trusted them."
Ji-hwan's voice was subdued. "So did I. Once."
There was silence between them.
Then Seong-min pushed forward, filling the space between them.
"Keep coming back," he whispered. "Even knowing that I could kill you."
Ji-hwan gazed up, unwavering. "Then kill me. But let me burn with you."
For a single suspended moment, neither of them stirred.
Then Seong-min's hand brushed his face—soft, hurting, familiar.
"You already are."