Seong-min stood at the edge of the candlelit strategy chamber, fingers steepled, gaze locked on Ji-hwan.
"You brought me proof," the king said. "But I need more than truth now. I need blood."
Ji-hwan looked at him. "Then use mine."
A sinister smile flashed across Seong-min's face. "You're much too willing to bleed for me, Lord Yoon.
He unrolled a scroll—an invitation to a spring festival, received by the Choi family under the king's seal. A public event. An abundance of witnesses.
"They'll come thinking they've won," Seong-min said. "They'll see you at my side and think I've fallen for you again."
Ji-hwan raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you?"
Seong-min's smile wavered—just a hair. Then cut in sharper. "Not enough to spare you."
Ji-hwan took a step closer. "Then spare me after."
For one breath, neither spoke.
Then Seong-min handed him the scroll. "Attend with me. Let them see you. Let them believe you're mine again."
Ji-hwan took it, fingers brushing the king's.
"I always was."
The tension snapped like a pulled string—tight, charged, electric.
Seong-min turned away first. "The bait is set. Don't break the spell."
Ji-hwan's voice was soft, but sure. "I won't."
As he left, Ji-hwan didn't look back. But he could feel Seong-min watching him.
Not like a king. Not like a lover.
Like a man striding into the flames with someone finally wanting to burn at his side.