1 Prologue
TIDE BREAKS
The court falls silent, eerie as if men weren't standing but buried in the ground. The scroll his imperial majesty had thrown down the golden stairs leading to his dragon throne, spins and topples - one step at a time, making a huge resonance with each step until it topples to the ground.
Last of the triple doors leading to the Royal Court are thrown open. The force that had barged in, made them still waver from hinges, as if not a man but a storm had broken inside.
Yet, nothing had crossed the threshold.
The ministers fidget, moving just so that the emperor, rising to his feet, could see who stands at the threshold.
It is a young man; who veered on the edge between being a man and a child. He is tall, yet he had years yet to fill into his frame. His features are sharp, jaw set in a lithe line - yet his mouth had the fullness of childhood clinging to it. He would have made a pretty child, had it not been for his deep set, striking pair of silver eyes. They had the same sharp shimmer of a well cut blade yet none of his juvenile softness about them. As if to complete their sense of danger one of his cheeks is smudged with blood.
Somewhere beyond a court lady dropped a cup. Sound of breaking porcelain echoed in the hall.
The young man was drenched, unkempt hair plastered to his face. His cheek, his throat, both his arms and clothes glaringly splattered with blood. For a moment his silver eyes take in the stupefied crowd of older men. There is a flicker of sarcasm there, as if he ponders jumping at them, just to see who will run screaming.
But the look passes as quickly as it occurs and the boy doesn't move. Instead he drops his gaze, bringing their attention to the person he carries, lying limp in his bloodied arms.
The girl dressed in imperial white silks is equally drenched. Water drips from her long, unbound hair and pools on the ground. She is sickly pale, her skin almost seamlessly merging with the colour of her robes. Her head lolls as if she's nothing but an elaborately large ragdoll the boy had fished from water.
It takes a beat, then another, for the court to comprehend what they were seeing. By that time the emperor had already crossed the red hall to reach the boy, his trembling arms already reaching out for the girl.
The boy doesn't fight when he is relieved from the weight in his arms. Instead he shudders as if from a belated aftershock of drowning and collapses on his knees. Bloodied fingers rake through his face, drawing streaks of blood against his pale cheeks.
"Pardon me a hundred times Pyeha," his voice fumbles over the words. "This worthless servant deserves to die."
Those silver eyes roam and settle on the emperor who looks quite out of his depth, his arms if possible tighten around the unconscious body of his daughter cuddled against him. A silent look passes between them and the boy heaves a sigh, white fire of his eyes dimming.
"Prince Geon is dead."
His body fails him and the boy slumbs to the ground, a mess of blood and water and a decade of fragile peace tumbles into chaos.
