The palace gates closed behind Yohan with a sound like thunder.
"Move."
A guard shoved him forward. Yohan stumbled, his torn clothes catching on nothing. Blood from his split lip left dark spots on the ground.
Courtyard after courtyard stretched ahead. Red pillars. Curved rooftops reaching toward the sky. Everything painted in colors so bright they hurt his eyes.
Palace maids whispered as he passed, their voices carrying in the evening air.
"The traitor's son?"
"Look at his clothes..."
"What does His Majesty want with that?"
Yohan kept his head down. Each step sent pain shooting through his ribs. His bare feet were numb with cold.
What could the King possibly want with me? Father died here. Am I going to die here too?
They climbed wooden steps. Passed under painted eaves. The smell of incense drifted from somewhere inside, mixing with the scent of pine from the gardens.
Finally, they stopped before doors that seemed to touch the clouds.
"His Majesty will see you now."
Commander Yoo's voice was flat. Empty.
The doors opened.
---
Yohan's knees hit the floor before he could think.
The throne room was vast and cold. Candles flickered along the walls, casting long shadows between the pillars. Officials in court robes lined both sides, their faces like stone masks.
And there, on the throne at the far end...
King Suho.
So young. I thought kings were supposed to be old and wise.
Yohan had expected someone old. Grey-haired and bent with age. Instead, the king looked barely older than himself. Sharp features. Perfect posture. Clothes that probably cost more than most people saw in their entire lives.
He was staring at Yohan like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
"Your Majesty," Minister Kang stepped forward, "this is highly irregular. Surely you cannot—"
"Quiet."
The word dropped like a stone into still water. Every voice died.
Yohan pressed his forehead to the floor. His heart hammered so loud he was sure everyone could hear it.
Silence stretched. And stretched.
"Look at me."
The command was soft but absolute. Yohan's body obeyed without permission. His head lifted.
King Suho was leaning forward slightly, studying Yohan's face with an intensity that made his skin crawl. Those dark eyes moved from his split lip to his swollen cheek to the bruises along his jaw.
Something flickered across the king's face. Too quick to read.
The Queen Consort sat rigid beside the throne, her painted lips pressed into a thin line. She looked like she wanted to set Yohan on fire with her eyes alone.
"Your Majesty," she said, voice dripping honey, "surely there has been some mistake—"
Suho raised one hand. She stopped mid-sentence.
Then the king did something that made the entire court gasp.
He stood up.
And walked down from the throne.
Kings don't do this. Kings don't leave their Throne for a commoner. What does he want?
Ministers stepped back as if he carried plague. Even the guards looked shocked. Kings didn't leave the Dragon Throne. Not for anyone.
But Suho descended those steps like it was the most natural thing in the world. Each footstep echoed in the silent hall.
He stopped directly in front of Yohan. So close that Yohan could see the expensive fabric of his robes, smell the subtle scent of sandalwood that clung to him.
Yohan couldn't look up. Couldn't move. The king's presence pressed down on him like a physical weight.
A finger touched his chin.
Gentle. Almost tender. But firm enough to lift his face until he had no choice but to meet those impossible eyes.
Why is he touching me like this? In front of everyone? What does he see when he looks at me?
Up close, King Suho was even more devastating. Perfect skin. Perfect features. Eyes so dark they seemed to swallow light.
He studied Yohan like he was memorizing every scar, every bruise, every terrified breath.
"You will bear my child."
Bear his child? Men can't— I can't— This has to be a nightmare.
The words hung in the air like smoke.
For a heartbeat, the throne room was dead silent.
Then chaos erupted. Shouts from the ministers. A strangled cry from the Queen Consort. Gasps and whispers that filled the vast space like rushing water.
But Yohan heard none of it.
The prophecy. He really believes it. He thinks I'm going to... but how? Why me?
The words echoed in his head, impossible and terrifying. Him? The outcast? The traitor's son?
The painted ceiling above began to spin and the candles blurred into streaks of gold.
The last thing he saw before darkness swallowed him was King Suho's face, those dark eyes watching him fall with something that looked almost like satisfaction.