The King Without a Son
838 Words
When the soldiers returned to the palace, dawn had already broken over the capital.
Still, there was no sign of the missing prince.
The courtyard, once filled with the noise of battle, now lay in uneasy silence. Mud and blood had long since been washed away, but the weight of what had happened lingered in every stone.
Inside the great hall—
“What do you mean… There was no trace?”
The King’s voice, though not raised, carried enough force to still every man present.
The captain lowered his head.
“We searched the pass, Your Majesty. The surrounding woods as well. There was no sign of the prince.”
Silence followed.
Then—
“Go back.”
The King’s hand tightened against the arm of his seat.
“Search again.”
His voice hardened.
“Do not return until you find my son.”
The soldiers bowed deeply before retreating at once.
The hall emptied.
And for a long moment, the King remained where he stood.
Then, slowly—
His composure broke.
Scrolls were swept from the table, scattering across the floor in disarray. Ink bled into parchment. Wood struck stone.
He sank into his seat.
And for the first time since the tragedy—
He wept.
Far from the palace, deep within the mountains—
in a place no search party had yet reached—
Two children stirred from restless sleep.
Eun-Ae stretched, her gaze lifting toward the rising sun.
“If the sun rises there…” she murmured, thinking aloud, “then north should be—”
“That way.”
Young-Sik pointed without hesitation, already stepping forward.
Eun-Ae scoffed under her breath.
“…You could at least let me finish.”
He did not slow.
With a sigh, she hurried after him.
Hours passed.
The forest grew denser, the path uneven beneath their feet. Hunger crept in quietly—until it could no longer be ignored.
Young-Sik said nothing.
But his stomach did.
Again.
And again.
Eun-Ae stopped walking.
“If you are hungry,” she said flatly, “you may say so.”
“I am not,” he replied quickly.
A pause.
Then his stomach betrayed him once more—louder this time.
He stopped.
“…Perhaps a little. But there is nothing to eat.”
Eun-Ae exhaled, already turning away.
“What do you mean we have nothing? Have you not been looking?”
She moved through the undergrowth, brushing aside leaves, scanning the ground with practiced attention. After a moment, she knelt and gathered a handful of smooth, bright green leaves.
She brought them to him.
Young-Sik eyed them with suspicion.
“…You expect me to eat that?”
“They are edible.”
“…Or poisonous.”
Eun-Ae’s expression flattened.
“If I wished you harm, I would not trouble myself with leaves.”
Before he could argue further, she ate one herself without hesitation.
Then pressed the rest into his hands and continued walking.
Young-Sik hesitated.
Then took a cautious bite.
His expression shifted.
“…It is not terrible.”
By the next moment, he was eating in earnest.
“Wait,” he called after her, hurrying to catch up. “Do not walk so quickly.”
Back in the palace, the ministers had gathered.
Tension hung thick in the air.
“We have confirmed,” one minister began, “that the uprising was driven by the recent tax increases.”
“The King did not authorize such measures,” another countered sharply.
“Then someone did,” came the reply.
A murmur spread across the hall.
“Are we to believe,” a minister from the opposing faction said, “that one among us has acted in the King’s name without consent?”
“There is no other explanation.”
Silence followed.
Suspicion settled—quiet, dangerous.
“What concerns me more,” another added, “is how these peasants came to possess military weapons.”
No one answered.
Because no one wished to.
Voices began to rise—
until—
“Enough.”
The King’s voice cut through the chamber.
All fell silent.
He stood at the head of the hall, his expression drawn but steady.
“Must I set aside mourning… to listen to this?”
No one dared respond.
Then—
Do-Yun stepped forward.
“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing deeply, “we share in your grief.”
A pause.
“My father gave his life to protect the royal family.”
His voice remained composed—measured.
“And yet… the kingdom remains.”
The King regarded him.
“Speak, then.”
“The throne stands without a Queen,” Do-Yun continued, “and without a clear heir.”
Carefully chosen words.
“A vacuum invites unrest.”
The meaning was clear.
After a long silence, the King nodded.
“…Send word to Magistrate Lee.”
His voice felt heavier now.
“His daughter is to return to the capital at once.”
With that, he turned and left the hall.
- Writer
