The Court Maiden's Prince

Fractures Beneath the Surface

Within the Lim clan residence, the air had turned heavy.

Servants moved more carefully than usual, their footsteps softened, their voices lowered. Even the lantern flames seemed to flicker with restraint—as though aware that something within the household had shifted.

At the center of it, Lim Do-Yung stood in silence.

A servant approached, head bowed, offering a tightly rolled piece of paper with both hands.

Do-Yung took it.

Unrolled it slowly.

His eyes moved across the contents once—then again.

The paper crumpled in his hand.

Without a word, he cast it into the brazier. The flame caught quickly, curling the message into ash.

Only then did he exhale.

A sharp movement followed—his hand striking the edge of the table. Not enough to overturn it, but enough to send the inkstone sliding, spilling dark streaks across the polished wood.

“Father?”

Lim Do-Yun entered swiftly, his gaze sweeping the room.

Do-Yung did not turn immediately.

“General Shin,” he said at last. “He marches for the capital.”

A pause.

“He will arrive before nightfall.”

Do-Yun’s expression hardened.

“The army follows him without question,” he said. “If he reaches the palace…”

He did not finish.

He did not need to.

Silence settled between them.

Tight.

Measured.

Then—footsteps again.

A second servant entered, bowing low.

“My lord… a carrier pigeon has arrived.”

Do-Yun extended his hand.

“Give it here.”

The message was small—barely more than a strip of paper.

He read it.

Once.

Then—A faint smile curved at the edge of his lips.

“We are not yet undone,” he said.

Do-Yung’s gaze sharpened.

“What is it?”

Do-Yun handed him the message.

“The royal caravan,” he said. “The Queen… and the princes.”

A slight pause.

“They travel through the mountain pass. Lightly guarded.”

Do-Yung read in silence.

Then, I folded the paper carefully this time.

“No coincidence,” he murmured. “Only timing.”

His eyes lifted.

“Even the heavens seem… accommodating.”

He turned to his son.

“You will withdraw our men from the capital,” he said calmly. “Make it appear as though they were never there.”

Do-Yun nodded.

“And you?”

Do-Yung’s expression did not change.

“I will take a smaller force.”

A beat.

“To greet our fleeing royals.”

No further explanation was needed.

Do-Yun gave a short bow.

With a single gesture, two men clad in black stepped forward to follow him.

Within moments, he was gone.

Do-Yung remained where he stood.

For a long while.

Then turned—and walked toward the night.

By the time the King stepped into the courtyard, the palace had already begun to tremble under the weight of unrest.

Before him stood the leaders of the uprising—men dressed not in armor, but in worn garments, their hands calloused, their faces hardened by long-held grievance.

“NO! That is unacceptable!” one of them shouted.

“We demand that you abdicate the throne—and leave this land with your entire family!”

The King stood unmoved.

“That is not within my power to grant,” he replied evenly. “I may relinquish the throne—but my sons will decide their own fate.”

Another voice rose.

“Then we will drag you from it!”

The King regarded them quietly.

Then asked—“Tell me this… what has driven you to this?”

A pause.

“What has my house done… to earn such hatred?”

Laughter answered him.

Bitter.

“You do not know?” one man said. “Then you are worse than we thought.”

Murmurs followed. Anger—raw and unfiltered.

The King exhaled slowly.

“If you will not answer, I will not force you.”

His gaze sharpened.

“But understand this—General Shin marches even now. By nightfall, he will stand within these walls.”

A ripple passed through the crowd.

“This palace will hold until then,” the King continued. “Leave now… while mercy is still within my power to offer.”

He turned and walked back toward the hall. The doors closed behind him. Barred.

Outside, uncertainty spread.

The leaders exchanged glances, voices lowering, confidence beginning to fracture under the weight of what they had just heard.

Then—Another presence entered.

“Minister Lim—!”

Relief washed over the rebels as Lim Do-Yun approached, his steps steady, his expression unreadable.

“You have come at last,” one said hurriedly. “The King refuses us—and claims General Shin—”

Steel flashed.

The man’s words ended in a wet gasp. He collapsed where he stood.

Silence followed.

Do-Yun raised his blade slowly, as though nothing of consequence had occurred.

His voice rang out, clear and sharp—

“Death to those who defy His Majesty!”

For a heartbeat, confusion held the crowd still.

Then his men moved.

What followed was not a battle.

It was a s*******r.

Blades cut through unarmed men. Halberds struck without hesitation. Some turned to flee—others fell to their knees, begging.

It made no difference.

The courtyard filled with cries—then fewer, then none.

Inside the great hall, the King turned sharply.

“What is happening?”

A soldier rushed in, breathless.

“Your Majesty… the Minister of War’s men… they are killing the rebels.”

The King’s eyes widened.

“Open the gates,” he ordered. “Stop them—now! Let them inside!”

The soldiers obeyed at once.

But when the doors opened—it was already over.

Bodies lay scattered across the stone. Blood traced thin paths along the grooves of the courtyard floor, pooling where the ground dipped.

One soldier stepped forward and knelt.

“The rebellion has been quelled, Your Majesty. The instigators have been dealt with.”

The King stared.

Recognition came slowly—then all at once.

“You…” he said quietly. “You serve the Lim household.”

His gaze hardened.

“What have you done? Where is the Minister of War—and his father?”

The soldier bowed his head.

“They received word that the royal caravan was in danger. They have gone to secure it, Your Highness.”

Silence followed.

Then the King turned sharply.

“Captain,” he said, his voice cutting cleanly through the stillness. “Gather the remaining men.”

A brief pause. “We ride for the mountain pass.”