Trial Before the Sea God
1131 Words
The throne chamber of the Sea Palace glittered with cruel magnificence. The walls shimmered like living coral, and at the centre, upon a dais of carved obsidian shells, sat the Sea God himself.
Hi Joon’s breath caught.
In her manuscript, she had written him as a cold monarch—severe, merciless, draped in power like a cloak. She had described his presence as “like the storm before a hurricane, awe-inspiring yet merciless.” She had expected cruelty, not beauty.
But the man seated on the throne was far beyond the words she had ever strung together.
His hair was dark as midnight currents, falling in silken waves that caught the glow of lantern pearls. His skin was sun-warmed bronze, his features chiselled sharp, every line cut with an artist’s precision. And his eyes—gods, his eyes—were fathomless pools of indigo, a shade deeper than the deepest seas, glinting with danger and a power that could drown the world.
Ysabel’s heart stumbled in her chest.
I… I didn’t write him like this.
The realization shook her almost as much as the accusation she faced. It was wrong to notice, wrong to let her eyes linger—but how could she not? Even kneeling, even trembling, she could not deny the magnetic pull of the figure who sat above all.
The Sea God’s gaze cut to her, sharp as a blade.
“Consort Ysabel,” he said, voice rolling low and thunderous through the chamber, silencing the whispers of gathered consorts and concubines. “You dare to poison one under my protection?”
The weight of his words snapped Hi Joon back to the horror of her situation. Heat crawled up her neck. She dropped to her knees, forehead nearly touching the cold stone floor. Her voice shook, but she forced the words out.
“Your Majesty, I swear on my life—I did not do this. I beg you, grant me a moment, just a moment, to prove my innocence.”
“And why should I do so?” He asked in a lower icy tone that sent shivers down her spine. She dared not look up at him.
“Because I didn’t do it, your Majesty…!”
The chamber erupted in scandalized murmurs. A low laugh rang out from the side—Consort Liora, her silken gown trailing like sea foam, smirked with cruel delight.
“And since when did our unloved Consort grow bold enough to defy judgment?”
Others chimed in, jeering, their voices dripping with scorn. But above the noise, the Sea God’s eyes narrowed.
“His Majesty is wise and unjust unlike us…!” She replied, and the chamber suddenly became quiet.
“One moment,” he said at last, voice dangerous in its calm. “If you waste my time, Ysabel, your death will be slow and terrible.”
Ysabel’s chest constricted, but she bowed low. “I understand.”
She turned, heart pounding, to where Consort Mabella lay upon a pearl-inlaid bed, pale and weak, her breathing shallow. The other ladies leaned in, hungry to see Ysabel humiliate herself before them all.
Ysabel approached, every step heavy as stone. She knelt at Mabella’s side, pressing trembling fingers to her wrist. The pulse—steady. Not weak, not faltering. Relief rushed through her, though she dared not show it.
Her hand moved to check other vital signs, recalling half-forgotten lessons from the brief traditional medicine classes she once took for research. Mabella’s condition didn’t match the deadly effects of sea-mist flowers at all.
“She plays doctor now,” Liora sneered loudly. “When did the forgotten consort become a healer?”
Laughter rippled through the chamber.
The Sea God’s gaze sharpened, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “If this is a game, Ysabel, I will end you where you kneel.”
Ysabel’s breath caught. She pressed her forehead low to the ground, trembling. “Your Majesty, please. Just one more chance.”
The chamber stilled. A shadow crossed the Sea God’s face—irritation, cold and sharp—but at last he gave a slight nod.
The other consorts tried to object, voices rising, but his single scowl silenced them all. Fear rippled like a current through the room.
Heart hammering, Ysabel lifted her head. “Please bring me the cup—the same cup of tea Consort Mabella drank from”
A servant hurried forward with the porcelain cup, setting it upon a tray before her. All eyes followed the small, fragile vessel as though it were the sharpest weapon in the chamber.
Ysabel’s hand shook as she reached for her hair. She unclipped the silver pin glimmering in her dark locks. Holding her breath, she dipped the delicate ornament into the tea.
Seconds crawled by.
She withdrew the pin.
A ripple of gasps filled the chamber as the silver hairpin Ysabel dipped into the tea came out unchanged—gleaming bright, untouched by poison.
“Impossible,” one of the concubines whispered. “The healers said—”
Ysabel straightened, her voice unsteady but firm. “This cup holds no poison. If it did, silver would darken at once. There must be another cause.”
A hush fell. Every pair of eyes was fixed on her.
Her gaze flicked across the room, landing on Consort Loira. She was leaning back in languid arrogance, lips curved in a cruel smile, clearly savouring the spectacle of Ysabel’s downfall.
“Consort Loira,” Ysabel said, steadying her breath, “may I borrow your hairpin as well?”
Loira’s smirk vanished. She stiffened, eyes narrowing. “Why should I involve myself in your foolish charade?”
The chamber buzzed with whispers. Loira’s refusal was bold—but before anyone could comment, a single word from the throne cut through the air like a blade.
“Give it to her.”
The Sea God’s voice was quiet, but the authority in it silenced the room instantly. Loira’s face blanched. With a trembling hand, she removed the silver ornament from her lustrous hair and passed it to a servant, who delivered it to Ysabel.
Clutching both hairpins, Ysabel turned back to Consort Mabella. The pale woman lay perfectly weak against her cushions, sweat dampening her brow, her lips faintly trembling.
Ysabel inhaled sharply, then dipped Loira’s hairpin gently into Mabella’s mouth, brushing it lightly against her tongue before withdrawing it.
The silver gleamed… then darkened.
Black spread across the tip like ink spilling through water.
The chamber erupted in gasps.
“She was poisoned after all—!”
“No, look! The cup was clean—!”
“What is happening?”
The Sea God’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his voice a low tide of menace.
“Explain.”
- Writer
