The ministers gathered at the Chief State Minister's residence to discuss the urgency of the matter at hand.
The residence stood grand and imposing, built with dark stone and ancient wood that spoke of old power. At its center lay a spacious council hall, a place often used in secret gatherings away from the palace. Low lanterns lined the hall, casting long shadows across the polished floor. A wide wooden table sat at the center, surrounded by floor cushions where ministers often debated the fate of the kingdom in hushed voices.
"Lord Shikryeom," the Minister of Taxation asked, his tone more serious than intended, "do you think His Majesty will truly give up the crown prince?"
"Minister of Taxation," the Minister of Rites replied, "did you not hear His Majesty during the previous assembly? He clearly stated he would not depose the crown prince."
"How cruel of the king," the Minister of Personnel scoffed.
"Has His Majesty forgotten how much the ministers have sacrificed to build this nation?"
"The king turns a blind eye," the Left State Minister added angrily, "while the crown prince secretly investigates the assets of the nation's founding families."
The atmosphere thickened with resentment.
Lord Shikryeom was about to speak when a guard entered the hall.
The guard bowed respectfully to the ministers before stepping closer to Lord Shikryeom. He whispered into his ear, briefing him on what had transpired between Prince Seowoo and Royal Noble Consort Yeonhwa.
A slow smirk curved Lord Shikryeom's lips.
He straightened his back and dismissed the guard with a subtle gesture. His fingers brushed the rim of his teacup as he placed his hand on the table.
The ministers stared at him, puzzled.
"Would it not be more compelling," Lord Shikryeom said calmly, "to place an ambitious man on the throne?"
His eyes gleamed as he scanned their faces.
"Prince Seowoo seems to be a better candidate."
"Prince Seowoo?" the ministers echoed, exchanging uneasy glances.
Lord Shikryeom gazed into the distance, a malicious smile lingering on his stern face.
The training field stretched wide beneath the open sky. The ground was hard and scarred with countless marks from blades and spears. Weapon racks stood neatly at the edges, while the air carried the faint scent of iron and sweat.
Prince Seowoo stormed onto the field.
Without warning, he grabbed a sword and swung it toward his guard.
The guard barely reacted before freezing. The moment his eyes met Seowoo's, he dropped to his knees.
"I apologize, Your Highness," he stammered, unable to lift his head.
"I deserve to die."
"Pick up your sword."
Seowoo's voice was low and trembling, his jaw clenched tightly.
"Fight me," he said through gritted teeth.
"Until one of us is dead."
"Pardon?" the guard asked, confused, his eyes darting in fear.
Seowoo charged again.
The guard stumbled but quickly regained his footing, drawing his sword as they clashed. Steel rang sharply through the field as they fought relentlessly, Seowoo's movements wild and fueled by bottled rage.
Seowoo suddenly twisted his wrist, making a swift movement meant to end the fight—
When a shadow fluttered down between them.
A carrier pigeon landed at his feet.
Seowoo froze.
He dropped his sword, his chest heaving as he struggled to regain his composure. The guard stepped back, panting, equally shaken.
Seowoo bent down, his movements cautious. He picked up the pigeon and carefully untied the letter fastened to its foot.
His eyes darkened as he read the words.
"If you wish to claim the palace, you must be willing to sacrifice something."
Seowoo's grip tightened around the letter, his heart pounding as the weight of its meaning slowly sank in.