They rode in silence.
The sun set low over the ridges, gold bleeding into purple. Ji-hwan's hands gripped the reins too hard, knuckles white under the weight of what he wouldn't speak.
Seong-min observed him. Not like a lover.
Not like one.
Like a ruler examining the face of a traitor.
"You asked the oracle something you didn't tell," Seong-min said at last.
Ji-hwan smiled without warmth. "She offered riddles. Nothing helpful."
"That's not what your silence says."
Ji-hwan looked away from the road. "Some things are better unspoken."
Seong-min left the lie hanging there. For now.
That evening, they camped beside a stream. Ji-hwan started the fire. Seong-min poured the wine.
"You know I don't need you to protect me," Seong-min said softly.
Ji-hwan did not look at him. "It's not about need."
"Then what?"
Ji-hwan paused. Then spoke, "I'd rather die than lose you again."
The flames crackled between them.
Seong-min's voice was gentle. "Then you'll lose both."
Ji-hwan glanced up. "What?"
"If you decide to die alone," Seong-min said, "you won't keep me safe. You'll leave me to grieve for you once more. And I'll be the very king they feared—the one with no heart."
Ji-hwan's mouth opened. Closed.
Because the truth was raging inside him—
but fear shut his lips tight.
So he smiled again.
And lied.
"I'll be careful."
But that evening, Seong-min didn't sleep.
He gazed at Ji-hwan's back—how many more nights did he have left
before the prophecy claimed what he loved most.
And this time, he vowed—he'd bring fate down with him.