Two nights earlier, the prince had fled into the forest thicket, wounded and terrified. He had no time to stop and process what had happened. He struggled through the mountains all night, blindly, by sheer luck not falling into ravines, not meeting wolves or tigers.

  When dawn broke, he reached the outskirts of a small village. There he managed to steal someone’s drying clothes (Yi Hyun was deeply ashamed, but he understood it was necessary), hid his dragon-embroidered silks in a nearby hollow, and drank his fill of cold well water. Then he returned to the forest and, at last, was able to sort through the events of the night.

  Everyone he knew had been brutally killed.

  He had an understanding that someday he would have to fight for the throne, but had not expected it to strike so quickly and so inexorably. And all his friends, companions, servants, all the unnamed soldiers who had protected him at the port — did they all have to give their lives for him?

  He did not know how long he had sat with his back against a tree, swallowing angry tears. But then a bird burst out of the bushes with a loud rustle, and Yi Hyun flinched back into the present.

  He was not yet safe. They were surely hunting him. His wounded arm ached and throbbed beneath its tight bandage. He had no idea where he was, but somehow he had to reach the palace. Hanyang at least.

  And now survival had become a matter of honor, to ensure his companions’ sacrifice had not been in vain.

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  Yi Hyun rose to his feet, clenched his fists, and headed toward the road. The sea lay to the west; Hanyang should be east.

  At first he planned to walk through the forest alongside the road, but once the village he had robbed was behind him, he meant to step onto the main road and blend in with some group of commoners heading to the capital. He could pretend to be an unlucky hunter or a robbed merchant — and it would serve as an excuse for his wound. Though it was better not to show it at all.

  Yi Hyun carried a seal wrapped in cloth, the symbol and proof of his right, but money, for instance, he did not have. A prince rarely had to pay for anything himself, and the box meant for “public outings” was still in his baggage and filled with Qing coins. He could not sell his precious rings or carved jade pendants without drawing dangerous attention.

  In short, Yi Hyun had no money, and thus hunger quickly overtook him. He staggered along the road, nauseous, when the storm caught him. But fortune smiled on him after all: around a bend, between the trees, an inn appeared, and the grumbling hostess allowed him to shelter under the roof.

  He curled up in the darkest corner, rested his head on his arms, and fell deeply asleep, barely noticing the other guests. Rain pattered warmly across the roof, human voices blended into a single hum…

  The sleep did him good. He woke rested and ready to walk another day or two toward his goal. But first he decided to go out to the back courtyard and look around (and perhaps find something edible). The thunderstorm had not ended yet. In the yard, a young man in dark clothing was fighting three older men. Surprisingly, he defeated them with ease: two ended up sprawled across the yard, and the third, wounded, fled.

  Yi Hyun intended to slip quietly back inside, pretending he had seen nothing. He did not need to be involved in anyone’s quarrels at this time. But he was late — the man noticed him, pinned him to the wall, and addressed him as prince.

  This was clearly the end.

  Yi Hyun jerked. The assassin tightened the grip on his shoulder — exactly where the inflamed wound hid under his clothes — and narrowed his familiar grey eyes. The pain became unbearable, but Yi Hyun clenched his teeth stubbornly, refusing to cry out. Darkness rushed over his vision, and he collapsed, sliding down the wall onto the rain-spattered gravel.