The Heir That Wasn’t
919 Words
Three days later—
A royal messenger arrived at the residence of Magistrate Lee.
He was received without delay.
Inside the study, the magistrate unrolled the scroll and read in silence.
Then—
“The King requests your immediate return to the capital,” he said.
Consort Lee stilled.
“The uprising… has it ended?”
“It has.”
A pause.
“But not without cost.”
Her expression shifted.
“The Queen,” he continued quietly, “the Crown Prince… and his wife… are dead.”
The words settled heavily between them.
Consort Lee covered her mouth, her breath catching.
“All of them…?”
The magistrate nodded once.
Then, after a moment—
“You are to be crowned Queen.”
He rose and embraced her.
“Congratulations, my daughter.”
The door slid open abruptly.
Man-Ju entered, breathless, eyes bright with expectation.
“There are soldiers outside—are we returning to the capital? Has Father sent for us? Or—”
He stopped.
Something in the room had changed.
Consort Lee forced a smile.
“The Crown Prince…” she began softly, “…was killed.”
The words did not seem to reach him at first.
“Bandits attacked the caravan.”
Silence.
Then—
“…No.”
His voice trembled.
“That cannot be true.”
Tears welled in his eyes.
“He is the finest swordsman in the kingdom.”
His breath hitched.
“And Young-Sik…?”
Consort Lee glanced at her father.
The magistrate spoke.
“He has not been found.”
A pause.
“Some believe he did not survive.”
That was enough.
Man-Ju broke.
His composure collapsed under the weight of it all. He wept openly, his grief raw and unguarded.
Consort Lee drew him into her arms—
But the sorrow did not lessen.
By nightfall, the mountains had turned hostile.
Rain fell without restraint, drenching the earth until the ground softened beneath each step. Thunder rolled across the sky, distant at first—then nearer.
Young-Sik pushed forward.
Ahead—faint lights flickered in the distance.
“We have reached it,” he said, breathless. “Nyuong-gum.”
He began to run.
“Stop!”
Eun-Ae caught his arm.
“It is too dangerous. I found shelter—a cave nearby. We should wait until morning.”
He pulled away.
“I will not.”
His voice rose, frustration breaking through.
“I am tired of the cold. Of sleeping on the ground. Of eating leaves.”
Rain streamed down his face.
“I am going home.”
“If you remain,” he added, “then remain alone.”
He turned and ran.
Eun-Ae hesitated only a moment—
Then followed.
The path narrowed.
Mud shifted beneath their feet. Stones loosened with each step.
“Listen to me!” she shouted, struggling to keep pace. “You will fall if you continue—”
Lightning split the sky and struck the ground near where the children stood.
For a brief instant—
Everything was illuminated.
The cliff.
The drop.
The danger.
Then—
Thunder followed.
Violent. Immediate.
The ground trembled beneath them.
Young-Sik was thrown forward, hitting the earth hard.
For a moment, he could hear nothing but ringing.
When his vision cleared—
Eun-Ae was gone.
“Eun-Ae!”
Her voice answered—
faint, strained.
“Your Highness—!”
He turned.
At the edge—
She clung to a jagged rock; her body suspended over the void.
The earth beneath her shifted.
He dropped to his stomach, reaching out.
“Take my hand!”
Their fingers nearly met—
so close—
Then—
The rock gave way.
Her grip failed.
For a brief, suspended moment—
Their eyes met.
Then she fell.
Swallowed by darkness.
“No—!”
His voice broke.
He reached out again—
But there was nothing left to grasp.
“Eun-Ae!”
Only silence answered him.
The storm raged on.
But to him—
There was nothing.
He crawled back from the edge, his body trembling, and collapsed onto the path.
He curled into himself.
And wept.
Morning came.
Too quietly.
The storm had passed, leaving the mountains washed clean. Sunlight filtered through the trees, as though nothing had happened.
A search party moved along the ridge.
“It has been four days,” one soldier muttered. “A child would not survive this long.”
“Perhaps His Majesty does not expect us to find him alive,” another replied. “Only… to bring him home.”
They walked in silence.
Then—
The captain slowed.
Something lay ahead.
At first, it appeared to be nothing more than discarded cloth.
But as he approached—
He recognized the pattern.
A two-clawed dragon.
His breath caught.
“I have found him.”
The soldiers gathered.
The boy lay still.
Unmoving.
The captain knelt, pressing an ear to his chest.
Then—
His eyes widened.
He checked again.
Breath.
Faint—but present.
“He lives!”
Relief broke over the men like sunlight after a storm.
By sunset, the ministers had gathered once more.
The registry lay prepared.
Ink.
Seal.
Finality.
“Your Majesty,” Do-Yun said, stepping forward, “the matter must be concluded. The line of succession—”
The King said nothing.
His hand hovered over the seal.
Heavy.
Unbearable.
A single tear fell—
landing softly against the wood.
And still—
He could not bring himself to press it down.
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