Kyeong'ui led Ryang to the encampment's archery range. At a table behind the platform, Ryang removed his black hat, smoothing his hair with his fingers. He took off his silver earrings, setting them aside, and tied the silk wristguard Kyeong'ui offered him around his sleeve, his movements precise and practiced. Kyeong'ui watched him, her mind drifting back to his e arlier lecture on the Scions. Were all of them as elegant and refined as he is? The thought amused her. The Scions... the word itself felt strange on her tongue. They were a relic of the past, a fallen people who had brought about their own destruction.
Yet, she couldn't deny that Ryang's lineage intrigued her. Though character wasn't always inherited, she couldn't help but see him through the shadow of his grandfather's legacy, his unwavering loyalty. And Ryang himself, despite her initial impression, was neither a sissy pimp Hyeok had described nor a vulgar merchant. He was a man of integrity, his speech refined, his manners impeccable. His upright posture and unwavering gaze bordered on arrogance. He reminded her of Gahngyun Yeol, with his unwavering loyalty and strong sense of duty. But unlike Yeol, with his rough edges, Ryang possessed a certain elegance and refinement. Kyeong'ui doubted he would succeed as a merchant; she suspected his sister, Seon, was the true brains behind their operation.
The more certain she became, the stronger her desire to bring Ryang to Sunyahng grew. She had yet to meet anyone like him in Sunyahng, neither among the young officials nor the nobles who frequented the Sanctuary of Intellect. Their knowledge was stale, their circles predictable. Ryang was different, a breath of fresh air. Her invitation to the archery range stemmed from a desire to know him better. The calluses on his hands sparked a curiosity about his archery prowess. She trusted, perhaps foolishly, in the character his hands implied, and hoped he possessed the skill to match.
Kyeong'ui nodded and Ryang stepped onto the platform. He lifted the bow, his movements fluid and graceful, and notched an arrow. With a deep breath, he drew the string back, his muscles taut, his gaze fixed on the target. The arrow flew through the air, finding its mark in the center of the target. A satisfied smile spread across Kyeong'ui's face. Ryang, relieved, lowered the bow. Archery was his only true martial skill; he wouldn't have fared well in a sword fight against the princess. He assumed, from her eagerness to test his skills, that she was also proficient with the bow.
Kyeong'ui stepped onto the platform, her own bow in hand. "Impressive," she remarked. "But you said you don't hunt."
"I don't," Ryang confirmed.
"With such skill," she said, drawing her own bow, "shouldn't you be hunting instead of practicing?"
Ryang smiled sheepishly, but didn't reply. His smile didn't reach his eyes, which remained cold and distant. Kyeong'ui notched an arrow and drew the string taut, aiming towards the target. Suddenly, she shifted her aim, the arrow now pointed towards the vast expanse of the reddening sky. They waited, their breaths held, the silence broken only by the distant cries of seabirds. With a swift motion, Kyeong'ui turned and released the arrow. It soared through the air, propelled by the sea breeze, and struck a bird in mid-flight. One of the soldiers, who had been waiting at a distance, rushed to retrieve the fallen bird. Ryang's lips parted in surprise. Kyeong'ui smiled triumphantly.
"The target is merely an ideal," she said. "The true prize is the prey, reality."
Ryang's heart sank. Her words reminded him of Cheon Hwan, who had often mocked Ryang's dedication to archery, claiming that the bow was merely a distraction, a plaything compared to the sword. He had scoffed at Ryang's preference for the quiet solitude of the archery range, his disdain for the visceral thrill of close combat, the clash of steel against steel. Does Kyeong'ui share his bloodlust? Her eyes, however, seemed clear, untainted by such darkness. Ryang pushed aside his worries. Their relationship was built on deception; her true nature was irrelevant.
"Isn't the ideal more beautiful than reality?" he countered with a gentle smile.
Kyeong'ui laughed, shaking her head. "That's a very Ryang-like response," she remarked.
"Your skill is impressive, Your Highness," Ryang said, changing the subject. "I'm quite surprised."
"It would be rather embarrassing if someone who spends as much time at the range as I do couldn't achieve this level, wouldn't you say?" Kyeong'ui replied.
"What drove you to spend so much time here?" Ryang asked.
Kyeong'ui's smile faltered. She met his gaze, her eyes searching his.
"How do you think I lived my life?" she asked back.
Ryang remained silent as she notched another arrow and sent it flying towards the target.
"I didn't have many options," she continued. "I wasn't allowed to leave the palace grounds. The high officials even demanded the execution of my tutor for teaching me beyond my station. They claimed a princess shouldn't concern herself with lofty ideals. So I spent my days in the library, devouring every book I could find. And when that wasn't enough, I would sneak into the forbidden archives beneath the Court Library and read the banned texts, the Azure Scripture, anything I could get my hands on. I needed that knowledge, that escape. And when I couldn't bear the confines of the library, I would come here, to the archery range. When my mind was racing and I couldn't sleep, I would come here andlose myself in shooting arrows. I've even seen the sunrise from here. I may not be as old as you, but I imagine I've spent as much time with a bow in my hand as you have with a book. And yet, some still question my dedication, wondering why a princess bothers with such things."
Ryang listened intently, his own arrow finding its mark beside hers. "You aimed your anger at the target," he observed.
"Is that wrong?" Kyeong'ui retorted sharply.
"A king fueled by anger rarely brings prosperity to their kingdom," Ryang countered.
Kyeong'ui's lips twitched, but instead of answering, she notched an arrow and drew the string taut. The arrow flew through the air, landing just beside Ryang's. He watched her, his curiosity piqued by her sudden hesitation.
"Why do you desire the throne, Your Highness?" he asked.
Kyeong'ui opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again. She frowned at Ryang, who was watching her with a quiet smile.
"Why are you smiling?" she asked.
"I thought you would have an answer ready," he remarked.
Kyeong'ui felt a surge of annoyance, her impatience growing. "No one has ever asked me that question before," she explained. "No one has ever asked me what I want, let alone why I want to be the ruler."
Ryang's smile faltered, his brow furrowing. "Not even your Royal Attendant?" he asked. "I believe he's known of your ambitions for years."
"Why would he care?" Kyeong'ui retorted. "His duty is to serve me, to follow my orders."
Ryang's head tilted slightly. "I find that curious," he commented. "But you still haven't answered my question, Your Highness. Why do you desire the throne?"
Kyeong'ui hesitated. She didn't want to disappoint him, but her reasons seemed so insignificant, so selfish.
"It's the only dream I'm allowed to have," she finally admitted. "If I don't become the ruler, I'll be nothing. I can't live like that, a ghost in my own life. Everyone wants a chance to achieve something, to leave their mark on the world. I don't have any other choice."
Ryang pressed his lips together, exhaling slowly. He saw the sorrow and frustration in Kyeong'ui's eyes, a reflection of the countless hours she'd spent at the archery range. Anyone with a passing familiarity with history could imagine the life of a royal denied the throne, but even Ryang couldn't claim to truly understand a life lived in perpetual deprivation and fear. Yet, he shook his head.
"That's not enough," he said.
"Do you need a more noble reason?" Kyeong'ui retorted, her voice rising.
"If you understood the true weight of that power," Ryang countered, "you wouldn't ask such a question. Do you honestly believe your reasons will convince anyone to follow you?"
"Do you think the Crown Prince has some grand purpose?" Kyeong'ui scoffed. "Unless you're the founder of a new dynasty, you inherit the throne, not earn it. My brother is only the Crown Prince because he was born first. Why do I need a reason to rule?"
Ryang's eyes narrowed. "Because you're different," he insisted. "Have you considered the cost of your ambition? The blood that will be spilled? If you don't want to sacrifice the lives of those who follow you, then your cause must be greater than simply claiming what you believe is rightfully yours."
"Why do you ask?" Kyeong'ui questioned sharply. "Will you refuse to help me if you don't like my answer?"
"We've already pledged our support," Ryang assured her. "We will honor our word. I simply wished to understand who I am pledging my allegiance to."
Ryang felt guilt as he spoke. Allegiance? he scoffed inwardly. What a hypocrite. He found it ironic that he was lecturing the princess on cause while deceiving her. Kyeong'ui, oblivious to his inner turmoil, frowned.
"It seems my answer wasn't satisfactory," she said. "Have I lost your sincere support?"
Her eagerness was evident in her eyes, and Ryang felt a growing sense of unease. He shook his head slightly.
"I'm not sure what would be a satisfactory answer," he admitted. "But I wasn't moved by your explanation."
"I haven't had much time to reflect on my motivations," Kyeong'ui said.
"That's understandable," Ryang conceded. "But it's not my sympathy you are asking for."
Kyeong'ui looked away, her silence an admission of defeat. Ryang felt a pang of regret for his harsh words, but he also felt a strange sympathy for her.
"I believe I'll be indebted to you," Kyeong'ui said, her gaze meeting his once more.
"For what?"
"For asking me a question I should have asked myself long ago," she replied, her eyes sparkling with a newfound determination. "I will find an answer worthy of your loyalty."
Ryang averted his gaze. "There's no need for that," he said. "My loyalty isn't worth such consideration."
Kyeong'ui seemed about to counter, but Ryang offered only an unsatisfying silence, bowing curtly before hurrying away. Left alone, Kyeong'ui stood motionless, bewildered by his abrupt departure. Only after his emotions had calmed did Ryang return to the archery range, intending to straighten his attire. Kyeong'ui was gone.
On his way back to the city, Hongyoo accompanied him, but neither of them spoke. As they neared the edge of the encampment, Hongyoo finally broke the silence.
"She likes you," he remarked.
"That's good to hear," Ryang replied, eager to end the conversation. "But there's no need to see me out. I'm sure you're busy."
"I must insist," Hongyoo said with a smile. "The princess would be displeased if I didn't offer you a proper farewell."
Ryang's eyes narrowed as he noticed the ornate ring on Hongyoo's finger. He studied him, his gaze lingering on the details of his attire. Why hasn't he asked Kyeong'ui about her motives? Ryang sensed a falseness in his loyalty.
"I'm curious how a Sungian ended up as the princess's Royal Attendant," he remarked.
Hongyoo's smile faltered.
"Does the princess know?" Ryang pressed.
"She does not."
"It must be quite a story."
Hongyoo's smile returned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I hear you're not fond of drinking," he said.
"I rarely indulge."
"Then you'll never hear my story," Hongyoo said with a playful wink. "It's quite entertaining. A pity."
"Perhaps I'll make an exception, then," Ryang countered. "If you have the time, I'd be happy to share a drink with you."
"I'll be sure to take you up on that offer."
They walked in silence for a while, then reached the gate of the encampment. Ryang mounted his horse.
"That's a pleasant fragrance," he remarked.
The smile that usually adorned Hongyoo's face vanished. Ryang didn't wait for a response. He turned and rode towards the city, leaving Hongyoo staring after him.