"Yes, Your Majesty."
The physician bowed deeply before retreating, leaving the king alone with the prince and Eunuch Ho. The doors shut with a muted thud, and silence settled heavily in the chamber.
"Seowoo," the king called, his voice low yet deliberate. "I wish to speak with you."
Prince Seowoo stepped forward and bowed respectfully. "Yes, Father?"
For a long moment, the king said nothing. His eyes searched his son's face as though trying to memorize it. The years had not been kind to him; faint lines marked his once-imposing features, and exhaustion lingered behind his gaze.
"Growing old takes its toll," the king began quietly.
"Long before I became king, I dreamed of making Joseon a great nation."
Seowoo listened carefully, though unease slowly crept into his chest. His father rarely spoke of the past unless something significant was to follow.
The king gave a faint, rueful smile. His pale complexion seemed almost drained of life beneath the candlelight.
"It is true I was the first king who did not have to shed blood to claim the throne," he continued. "But perhaps that was also my weakness. I believed mercy alone could build a kingdom. And yet…" His smile faltered. "Despite everything, I still failed to create the Joseon I once envisioned."
The words were calm, but beneath them lay regret — deep and heavy.
"Seowoo…" The king hesitated, his gaze fixed firmly on his son.
Even if he had failed to shape the nation as he dreamed, he still held onto one fragile hope — that his children would succeed where he did not. That they would not pay for his mistakes.
He had once endangered the lives of those he loved for the sake of stability.
He would not repeat that sin.
He could not.
Seowoo felt the weight behind his father's silence. Something in his chest tightened.
Why does he look at me that way?
Doubt flickered in his thoughts.
Is he uncertain of me as well?
Does he not trust me… like Mother never truly did?
"Seowoo," the king called again, as if pushing past his own hesitation. "I want you to take over as Head of the Eastern District. At the next assembly meeting, I will make the announcement."
The words fell like a verdict.
The king's thoughts churned restlessly. The ministers would resist — they always resisted when royal authority threatened their influence. But this time, he would not yield. Even if he had to force their compliance.
The Crown Prince's star was fading. The court astrologers had not said it plainly, but he had seen it in their eyes. If he did not act swiftly, instability would follow.
Each prince needed power.
Each prince needed protection.
They had to be strong enough to shield one another when the inevitable storm came.
Seowoo's jaw clenched.
So this is it.
He lowered his head to hide the flash of hurt in his eyes.
Even Father wishes to send me away from the palace.
The Eastern District. Far from court. Far from influence.
Does he believe distancing me will prevent me from reaching the throne?
Does he think I am incapable?
He knew he had not been born under a king's star. The astrologers' whispers had followed him since childhood. A prince without destiny. A spare piece on the board.
But must they always act as though he were unworthy?
"Do you understand?" the king asked.
The question pierced deeper than it should have.
"Yes, Father." Seowoo bowed formally, though his fists tightened against the fabric of his robe until his knuckles whitened.
He would obey.
He always obeyed.
But obedience did not quiet the sting of rejection.
"May I take my leave… Father?"
The king nodded slowly.
As Seowoo turned and walked away, his steps remained steady — dignified, controlled. Only when the doors closed behind him did the mask crack, frustration burning silently in his chest.
He would prove them wrong.
Even without a king's star.
Even without their faith.
Inside the chamber, the king remained motionless.
His thoughts drifted not only to Seowoo, but to all his sons.
He prayed they would rule with wisdom and compassion.
That they would not be blinded by ambition.
That they would never be forced to sacrifice what he once had.
And that the mistakes of the past would not repeat themselves through them.
The candles flickered.
Outside, unseen, the night deepened.