Dan-Bi sat alone in his quarters, eyes fixed on the candle flickering in front of him.
He had been in situations of life and death before. Had faced ministers who wanted his head, soldiers who doubted his existence, and a Queen who saw him as a threat.
But nothing—nothing—had ever unsettled him like Seong-Jin's touch.
Dan-Bi exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers to his forehead as if he could erase the warmth still lingering there.
"It meant nothing," he muttered under his breath.
But his heart betrayed him—beating faster every time he recalled the way Seong-Jin had looked at him in the firelight.
This is dangerous.
If Seong-Jin was beginning to suspect something…
Dan-Bi shook his head.
No.
Seong-Jin was foolish, but he wasn't a fool.
Even if there was something lurking in his eyes that felt dangerously close to understanding.
Dan-Bi slammed his book shut and stood abruptly.
He had bigger problems.
The Queen had backed him into a corner. The ministers wanted him gone. And now, the trial would be overseen by none other than the Crown Prince.
If he wanted to survive, he needed to focus.
Not on unnecessary distractions.
Not on soft whispers and lingering touches.
Not on Seong-Jin.
Dan-Bi inhaled deeply, forcing himself to clear his mind.
Tomorrow, he would end this.
Seong-Jin leaned back against his chair, staring at the document in front of him.
Something about Dan-Bi didn't add up.
He had never questioned it before.
Never cared.
Dan-Bi was different—that much was obvious from the start. But for some reason, he had never truly belonged anywhere.
No known family. No detailed records of his past. Just a name and a title.
Seong-Jin tapped his fingers against the table.
After tonight, something in his gut told him—he was missing something big.
"Bring me all the records on Scholar Dan-Bi," he ordered his attendant.
The man hesitated.
"Your Highness, those files are—"
"Confidential?" Seong-Jin smirked. "I'm aware. Bring them anyway."
The attendant bowed and hurried off.
Seong-Jin exhaled, rubbing his temple.
He wasn't sure what he was looking for.
Only that every time he looked at Dan-Bi, there was something just beyond his reach.
Something that didn't make sense.
And he hated not knowing.
The wind howled outside, rattling the wooden panels of Dan-Bi's quarters.
He was reviewing a document by candlelight when—
A flicker.
The flame wavered—then died.
Dan-Bi's spine stiffened.
He wasn't alone.
The silence stretched—tense, suffocating—until—
A blade sliced through the air.
Dan-Bi barely had time to react. He dodged, rolling across the floor as the assassin's sword buried itself into the wooden table behind him.
His hand flew to his belt—where his own dagger rested—but—
Too late.
A second strike. Faster. Precise.
Dan-Bi gasped as the blade grazed his shoulder, slicing through fabric and into skin.
Pain bloomed, sharp and immediate.
But there was no time to feel it.
He grabbed the closest object—a ceramic tea pot—and hurled it at his attacker.
A distraction.
Not enough to kill. But enough to give him an opening.
Dan-Bi lunged—twisting, spinning—using his smaller frame to his advantage.
The assassin faltered—just for a second.
And that was all he needed.
Dan-Bi slammed his elbow into the attacker's ribs, grabbed the dagger from his belt, and—
Steel met flesh.
The assassin stumbled back—gripping his side—before vaulting out of the window and vanishing into the night.
Dan-Bi stood there, panting.
Blood dripped from his arm, soaking into the floor.
He clenched his jaw.
The Queen had made her move.
But she had underestimated him.
And that would be her mistake.