The queen's procession amassed in front of the palace's main gates, servants being ready to raise the shining palanquin with its silken curtains. Armored guards mounted their horses, court ladies formed three even lines behind the palanquin, and the king stopped to say goodbye to his fourth queen. There were whispers in the palace that Queen Yeon Hwa had fallen gravely ill and wanted to see her hometown, for it was unclear whether she would live or die. Some said that she was poisoned, while others said she had displeased the king and was being sent away to preserve her honor.

There was not even the hint of a whisper of pregnancy, and Yo had to grudgingly admit that Won knew very well what he was doing. He walked forward, and parted the curtains of the palanquin, looking at the woman inside.

Yo had his own suspicions about her, that she was a simple dockside whore, or something of the like that Won had found to play the part of the queen; but she played her part well, and it was all that mattered. What happened to her after she had played it didn't matter either. Her painted face was blank, and she bowed her head. "Your Majesty," she said. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Yeon Hwa," Yo said, loudly enough to be heard, but not loudly enough to be theatrical, and then ducked out, letting the curtains fall.

Depending on Won was dangerous, but it was all he could do, and both of them knew it. He had been backed into a corner, and Won had been the only way out. Yo was not a fool, Won had a plan. But he was exhausted from lack of sleep, an aching head from much concentration and reeling from the wine he had drunk to try and force himself to sleep. The wine hadn't worked, and now he had a care in his step that wasn't present normally and an over-sharpness to his speech to mask the effect of the wine.

That morning, before the sun had even risen, six men and two women had left the palace on horseback, bearing the sigil of a minor branch of the Kangs. Five men were simple guards with spears slung over their backs, one woman wore the simple clothing of a maidservant. One man wore armor over the clothing of a low-ranked merchant-lord, and one woman matching. They rode in the direction of Pyeongsan, avoiding the main roads, but not taking the back ways either, riding mostly through the countryside.

Won had smiled and said Yeon Hwa would be perfectly safe with him, and that he would take very good care of her. Yo had drawn his dagger, pointing it at Won's armored chest. "Don't make me regret trusting you," he growled.

"Oh, Your Majesty," Won had said, spreading his arms and ignoring the scrape of Yo's dagger point against his chest-plate. "Do you trust me?"

"No," Yo snapped. "I would be a fool to."

Then Won had laughed, looked over at Yeon Hwa, being helped onto her horse by a guard, and smiled softly. "I will give a solemn vow to Your Majesty that she will be safe. My holdings are small, my estate is not a fortress, but out of anywhere in Goryeo, it is the safest for Yeon Hwa." He smiled craftily, leaning forward. "Or, rather, my distant poor cousin from the capital, Ji Na. A lovely girl. Pity she is so shy."

"I will have you executed if anything happens," Yo promised, and Won had smiled at him, bowed low and mounted his horse. Yeon Hwa rode across the near-empty yard to face him, and looked down. She bowed her head. Yo looked up at her and saw once again why he had fondness for her at one point. "Stay well," he said quietly.

Yeon Hwa's lips curved. "I will, Your Majesty. I will return with your son."

"Do you know that it is a son?" Yo asked, eyebrows rising.

She lay a hand on her belly, its curve barely noticeable even when she wore nothing. "I can feel it. It is a boy, Your Majesty."

A slight smile, and he nodded. "Good," he said, then turned and walked away, back into the palace.

He rubbed his temples to assuage the ache building behind them as he walked to his chambers. Perhaps another cup of wine would see him through, though, he supposed that if he got any drunker, someone would be bound to notice. Enemies. Enemies everywhere. Pyeongsan was neutral, half the Parks choosing to stay loyally nonaligned, and the other half amassing behind Park Sul Hui. The bitter, honorable Kims remained bitter and honorable, Wang Shik Ryeom was too busy dealing with conflict up in the West; there, the Hubaekje rebellion had never cooled since Taejo's days.

Here, in the palace, where the walls had ears and even his own mother seemed to be against him, he wished for a battlefield where at least you knew that the man with the different sigil from yourself was going to kill you, and the one with the same sigil wouldn't. He wanted to distract himself, do something that would take him away from the amassing headache of politics and plotting. He was too drunk for archery and too sober for anything else.

But when he arrived at his quarters, he saw an out-of-breath Soo and a stoic-looking Jung standing at his doors, and he mentally cursed them both, throwing them a dark look. "What do you two want?" he snapped. Not waiting for an answer, he glared at the servant standing beside them. "Bring me wine!" Drunkenness be damned – today he didn't care.

Soo bowed and Jung offered what could have generously been called a deep nod. "We have something we wish to speak of with Your Majesty," Soo said.

"It's important," Jung added.

Yo rolled his eyes. "It better be." He threw himself down into his chair with a sigh, pulling the pin from his tightly tied hair and letting it fall to his shoulders. He winced and rubbed his temples further, then glared down the table at his wife and younger brother. A court maid entered, bearing wine and three cups. She set the tray down on the table, but Yo waved her away and poured his own wine. "Tell me," he commanded.

Jung and Soo exchanged looks, and then, in a quiet voice, Soo began to tell of his mother's plan to make Soo convince him to instate Jung as his heir. She spoke only in statements, offering no evaluation of the situation; simply describing the conversations she had with Queen Yoo. When she finished, Jung and Soo looked at each other again, and then at Yo, waiting for something.

'An emotional breakdown? Rage? What?' That was what his mother did. Set brother against brother, king against prince, lords against kings, all in a desperate bid to claim more power for herself. He almost laughed. Oh, it hurt. It hurt badly. But he had seen this coming for a long, long time – and ultimately, it had been his choice. Be a powerful king, or be under his mother's influence. And he chose power. He would always choose power over whatever plans people had for him, whatever expectations they had of him. He would rule Goryeo. Yo remained silent emptying his wine cup before pouring himself more.

Soo's voice quivered slightly as she spoke. "What will your Majesty do?"

Yo smirked at her, meeting her eyes. "What I always do, little wife. What most benefits me. In this case, probably sleep after getting roaring drunk." He drank again, the warmth seeping into him. They sat in silence for a while, until Yo looked at Soo. "Who should I make my heir?" he asked her.

She froze, and Jung beside her. "Your Majesty… I know nothing of such things."

"Humor me."

"Ah…" She seemed at a loss. "Your Majesty has a son, right?" she asked

Jung nodded and Soo looked relieved. "Grand Prince Gyungchunwon," the fourteenth prince filled out for her.

Yo sighed. "All of four years old, and sickly."

"Your Majesty has other brothers?"

"Besides So and Jung, one," Yo said. "He was fostered over to Qing nine years ago."

"And, sisters… Two, right?" Soo paused. "Are women allowed to rule?"

With amusement, he shrugged. "They were in Silla. It doesn't specifically say anywhere they can't, I suppose, but it would be difficult for her."

Soo bit her lip. "And you can't pick someone to be Your Majesty's heir?"

Yo sighed. "I am not planning on losing the throne, in dying or stepping down for a very, very long time," he said honestly. "Naming an heir now, just when Mother wants Jung to be my successor… If I name him as my successor soon, she will move against me – bringing Jung to the throne to be a puppet king, just as Moo was. If I make my son my heir now – she will see my defiance, and the little prince will be dead within a fortnight – same for any of my other brothers or sisters." He gritted his teeth and felt the need to punch something. "She has me cornered, and if you two hadn't inexplicably decided to warn me – I wouldn't even know until it was too late."

"Oh…" Soo said quietly.

"I won't go along with it," Jung said stubbornly, squaring his jaw. "No matter what she says or does. I don't want the throne. I don't want the kingdom. I was never meant to be a king."

Yo leaned back in his chair, setting his empty cup down on the table and tracing the rim with a fingertip as he sunk deep into thought. "…Mother always intended for me to be king after Father, ever since I was born. Tae was always sickly and scholarly, no ambition, no strength. His 'greatness' was not so great as she had planned."

Jung and Soo both looked as if they were listening intently, concern in both their eyes. Yo wasn't sure if the concern was for him or for themselves, but either way, he hated it. 'These two soft, unambitious idiots… They're perfect for each other,' he thought bitterly. He continued to speak, however, the wine both loosening his tongue and making him reminiscent. He wanted to speak; not trying to explain himself out of guilt or shame, but rather to put what he had thought all along into words.

"'Yo' – I am named after a legendary emperor, one that was wise and strong. I would become her king, then. But by that point, Father had named Moo his Crown Prince. I would become what she wanted me to become, and take the throne, by force if I had to. I tried." It felt strange to speak out loud about it, but Soo listened silently, Jung also, and he continued to speak because he wondered how both of them would take it, how they would understand. "So is 'clarity'. She scarred him and discarded him – and I…" He sighed, drinking. "I knew that if I did not please her, I would face the same fate."

He spoke quietly and dispassionately, but she still reacted with such feeling, tears gathering in her large eyes.

"Jung is 'pure, chaste'. She had two failures and a future emperor, now she had a child that was pure and lovable – one that she could care for and play at being a mother with. You were always her favorite, I think." He fixed his eyes on the point between Soo and the wall, forcing his voice into evenness. "When a perfectly honed sword does not go where its' wielder wants it to, it is unusable and needs to be thrown away," he said, he stood, turning away, folding his arms behind his back and staring out of the window, unseeing, "Another is to take its' place." He collected himself for a moment and turned back, taking his cup from the table and raised an eyebrow at Jung, taking a sip. "And what do you think of Mother's glorious plan?" he asked mildly.

Jung rose, a determined light in his eyes. "Before you are a king, you are my brother," he said. "We have grown together, laughed together, trained together. You've taught me a lot. No matter what you do on the throne, you will be my brother, and I cannot betray you. We have the same blood running through our veins." He inhaled through his nose and met Yo's eyes. "You are the king of Goryeo, and I owe my loyalty and my allegiance to you." He dropped to one knee in front of Yo, his head bowed. "I want nothing of the throne, have never wanted it."

If Yo said he wasn't a little bit touched, he would be lying. However, he almost laughed at the affected grandeur of Jung's speech and at the wide-eyed look on Soo's face. He began slowly to clap, and when Jung looked up, startled, he began to laugh. "You have quite a knack," he said, taking a sip of wine, "For making grandiose statements. Maybe I should make you write speeches for me." He smirked. "So be it. I will hold you to that oath when the time comes, Jung." He laughed, shaking his head. "But really, I've always known that you are about as ambitious as Soo. Rise, brother."

Unsure, Jung stood, looking over at Soo, and then back to Yo. "Thank you," he said.

Yo raised his eyebrows, then smirked. "Don't be an idiot."

Jung sniffed and impulsively gripped Yo's hand. It wasn't a hug, but it was as close as Jung would come to one. Yo was king now, and it put an immeasurable rift between him and the rest of the world. Besides, he'd killed Wook in full sight of his youngest brother. That alone would have divided them greatly.

Still sitting at the table, Soo smiled, and Yo met her eyes over Jung's shoulder as the fourteenth prince drew back. The realization hit him. This was because of Soo. It was because of Soo that Jung hadn't completely alienated himself from Yo, even after he'd killed Wook. He shook his head and began to laugh, dropping into his chair and covering his face, laughing until he could not breathe, and then bending in half and laughing some more. "You're both ridiculous," he rasped, grapping for his wine cup. "Absolutely ridiculous."

Soo and Jung looked concerned again, exchanging glances that they thought he couldn't see. Yo rolled his eyes. "I'm drunk, not mad," he said, annoyance in his tone. He took another sip and fixed his eyes on the golden rings on his fingers. "And tomorrow, I'm going to remind Mother that I am king."

After they left, his wife and his brother, Yo returned to drinking, swirling the wine around in his cup and watching the room's reflection waver and distort. He took a sip. The wine barely tasted like anything at this point, and he set the bottle aside, leaning heavily back in his chair with a sigh.

Jung was seven years younger than he. When the boy had been born, Yo had been fascinated by the way his younger brother's tiny fists curled around anything that touched his palm, and the wispy tufts of hair that grew on his head. Small children, newborns and the like – they were so odd-looking, so fragile; it was a wonder they grew into actual people. When Yo was three, So had been born, but he remembered nothing of his fourth brother as a baby. Only a lot of high-pitched screaming, which Jung replicated.

When Yo was ten, So was scarred and sent away to Shinju. Jung was three at the time, and he remembered listening solemnly to his mother telling him that So was no longer a part of his family. Jung didn't understand a thing. Honestly, neither did Yo at the time. He had never been close to So and he took the news with some confusion.

"How is he not a part of our family anymore? Has he done someth-"

"He is Lady Kang's son now," his mother spat. "She can deal with him."

Ten-year-old Yo took this in stride, and never mentioned So again, taking on his mother's hatred for his brother, because it was what he was supposed to do. Jung, however, was something else entirely. When Yo was fourteen, seven-year old Jung had begun to pester him during his morning swordsmanship practice. Yo remembered the sun rising as he took a wooden practice sword into his hands, and the breeze blowing through the tall grass on the hills by the third queen's summer palace.

"I wanna do it!" the little prince had cried petulantly, small hands reaching eagerly for the pile of wooden practice swords.

Yo looked critically down at him. "Aren't you too little?" he asked.

Jung looked positively murderous. "I'm not little!" he said huffily; finally grabbing the practice sword with one hand and holding it aloft. His small arm shook with the effort of holding it, and he gripped it two-handed, glaring determinedly up at Yo.

"No?" Yo was amused now. He leaned down, hands on his knees. "Alright then, do as I do." He went through a simple set of forms, watching Jung thrash about from the corner of his eye. As he finished, Jung tried to copy a flowing movement, tripped, flailed – and hit Yo squarely on the back of the knee.

Surprised, Yo went down, sitting down hard in the grass with an undignified squawk. "You little-" he began to hiss, but cut himself off when he saw Jung's eyes light up with pure joy.

"I did it! I did it!" he squealed. "I'll be the best swordsman in all Goryeo! Even better than you!" He dropped the practice sword and spun around, jumping energetically up and down.

Yo pressed his lips together, watching his little brother, then slowly, laughter bubbled up inside him, soon overwhelming him. He doubled over, clutching his middle, tears coming to his eyes. Soon, Jung flopped down beside him and began laughing too, kicking his little legs.

Letting out a loud sigh, Yo downed the contents of his cup, then decided to give up completely on the cup and drink directly from the bottle. Those had been good days. Sometimes, Yo wondered if he had never been angled for the throne. Would he have been happy and oblivious, a different man entirely? Probably not. The throne was his destiny. This kingdom was his and would be his, come hell or high water.

There was a tap on the door. "A message for His Majesty," someone said in a low voice.

"Send him in," Yo said, trying and failing not to slur.

"His Highness the fourth prince is en route from Seokyeong," the messenger said, bowing low and not coming up until Yo slowly nodded.

"Good, good," the king said absentmindedly. "He'll arrive tomorrow, then, I suppose."

The messenger bowed lower. "It would seem so, Your Majesty."