Chapter 17

​“Beside me?”

​Is Hwi a dansu? Is that why he wants to share a bed? In truth, whether Hwi preferred the company of men mattered little to Yoo-ha—he was of that inclination himself, after all. But even so, would this be wise? Setting aside the divide between master and servant, was it truly alright for Hwi to sleep right at his side?

(T/N: “dansu” [단수/斷袖 – “cut sleeve”] is a poignant historical euphemism for male-to-male romance.)

​“Yes,” Hwi repeated. “Beside you.”

​Ye-hwi watched with a flicker of amusement as Yoo-ha furrowed his brow, clearly flustered and deep in thought. It would have been stranger, he supposed, if a master naturally accepted a servant’s request to sleep under the same blanket.

​“Do not worry. I have no intention of sleeping with you unless you want to.”

​At least, not while we are here.

​He omitted the second part to reassure Yoo-ha, but contrary to his expectations, Yoo-ha’s expression grew even more panicked. Like someone terrified of being overheard, the boy’s large eyes darted around, scanning their surroundings for listeners.

​“Hwi, how can you say such things so carelessly? Is… is the Mir Kingdom truly so different?”

​Yoo-ha caught himself mid-reproach, pivoting to the question instead. Hwi saw Yoo-ha’s true character in that reaction. He was a man who scrutinized everything with extreme caution. Considering he was languishing in this annex despite his lineage, every day of his life must have felt like treading on thin ice.

​Even if Hwi wasn’t truly a servant, the word “sleeping” was bold enough to warrant a rebuke. Yet, instead of scolding him, Yoo-ha sought a reason to excuse the behavior, assuming it was a cultural difference of the Mir people.

​“You do not have to think so hard when you are with me,” Hwi said.

​He met Yoo-ha’s gaze—which seemed to ask for clarification—and continued.

​“I mean that if you have something to say, say it. Do not worry about my origins or my status; just speak your mind. That is the only way I can know what you are thinking.”

​Yoo-ha had a habit of masking his expressions. He couldn’t hide them perfectly, of course, but his vague, ambiguous looks made it difficult to discern his feelings. Hwi wanted to know what was happening behind those eyes. It would be far easier to manage the man if he understood his thoughts.

​“Then, Hwi… if I agree, will you stay until Nanny is well?”

​“I will.”

​“That is a promise?”

​“Yes.”

​Only then did Yoo-ha smile, looking genuinely relieved. Ye-hwi found the man’s nature puzzling. Why was he so expressive regarding the welfare of others, yet so guarded about his own feelings? More importantly, why was he so preoccupied with Yoo-ha’s emotions? Even if Yoo-ha could soothe his fever, he was essentially just another Maru. While Hwi wanted to understand him for the sake of convenience, there was no logical reason to care for his feelings.

​Still, seeing that smile was far better than staring at an unreadable mask. Hwi gave his word. It would be six months at most. Soon enough, he would discover why Yoo-ha was so obsessed with that specific timeframe. And once the reason was clear, changing the duration would be a simple matter.

​Just then, a voice called out from beyond the door.

​“Young Master, the banquet is about to begin.”

​“Understood.”

​Yoo-ha stood, straightened his robes, and departed for the main house where the festivities were being held. With Yoo-ha gone and Yong-rae occupied with Nanny’s care, Hwi sat quietly on the wooden veranda and let out a sharp whistle. At the sound, his bodyguard Geon-seo materialized from the shadows and bowed low.

​“How fares the investigation into those who ambushed me?”

​“My apology, Your Highness. We are continuing our search, but traces have proven difficult to uncover.”

​“Report to me the moment a lead surfaces. And my brother?”

​“The Prince says to visit whenever it is convenient for you.”

​The man Ye-hwi referred to as ‘brother’ was the First Prince of the Mir Kingdom. His mother had been a Maru from an insignificant clan; her body had been ravaged by childbirth, and she had succumbed to mental illness in her waning years. With the Emperor’s lineage diluted by the thin blood of his mother, the First Prince was born with only mid-tier Telekinesis—one of the four innate abilities of the Mir—and even that had degraded to low-tier following a certain incident. When his mother died in disgrace shortly thereafter, he was reduced to a mere nuisance within the Imperial Palace.

​The four abilities of the Mir were defined as follows: Strength (Jeongryeok), Wisdom (Hyeryeok), Telekinesis (Yeomryeok), and Divine Power (Shinryeok). Each was categorized into high, mid, and low tiers. The Mir Kingdom was a land ruled by the Ye Emperor, where blood was law. Because the Imperial family typically possessed exceptionally potent blood, a prince born with only low-tier abilities was treated little better than a commoner. Such was the plight of the First Prince.

​After his biological mother’s passing, none of the Emperor’s consorts were willing to take the boy in. Even with meager abilities, a Mir was still a Mir—a potential rival to their own children. Just as the First Prince faced abandonment, Ye-hwi’s own mother stepped forward to raise him. Thus, Ye-hwi and Ye-jin grew up together in the Girin Palace. Hwi knew the truth behind the death of the First Prince’s mother, and he suspected Ye-jin knew it as well. For that reason, Hwi had always found the First Prince’s outward affection and kindness to be unsettling.

​Survival. It is likely a ploy for survival.

​“Inform him that while I may visit, I will not be returning to the Mir Kingdom for some time.”

​“Are you suggesting you will not depart with the diplomatic mission, Your Highness?”

​“I am.”

​“Understood.”

​“Is there anything else?”

​“We have located the Jinso Merchant Guild, the organization that controls the sea routes of the Ansi Kingdom. Shall we proceed?”

​At Geon-seo’s words, Yehwi surveyed the quiet annex, gave a curt nod, and stood.

​The Ansi Kingdom was a land blessed with rich minerals. However, as it was hemmed in by mountain ranges on all sides, trade was a perpetual struggle. Extracted minerals were little more than common stones if they could not be sold; consequently, in Ansi, true power resided with those who commanded the sea routes and the mountain passes.

​For the Mir Kingdom—founded by the descendants of dragons and boasting formidable military might—minerals for weapon-smithing were a vital resource. And so, Mir had made several attempts to open sea routes to facilitate trade with Ansi, but these efforts were perpetually thwarted by Ansi’s passive resistance and lack of cooperation.

​Ye-hwi understood the Ansi royalty’s hesitation to some extent. Opening the sea routes enough to streamline trade increased the risk that the two resources sustaining their kingdom—minerals and the Maru—would slip through their fingers like sand. In the end, it was nothing more than narrow-minded protectionism designed to safeguard their own interests.

​“I have investigated the guild’s background as you ordered, Your Highness, but I found no families or officials significant enough to be considered a true backer.”

​Ye-hwi listened to Geon-seo’s report while studying a shop tucked into the deepest corner of the marketplace, its entrance devoid of any signboard.

​“Dig deeper.”

​A mere merchant guild without substantial backing could not possibly dominate the sea routes. Even if the Kingdom of Ansi was a secondary power, it still possessed a standing military. The idea that a single guild, working hand-in-hand with pirates, could control the nation’s only maritime path was impossible. That had to be a mere facade. Surely, a figure of great power stood in the shadows behind them.