The first light of dawn crept through the cracks of the servants' quarters, painting thin stripes of gold across the dirt floor. Kim Do-hyun lay still on his thin pallet, listening to the slow, steady breathing of the man beside him—Yoon Ji-hoon, the palace steward who had taken him in when no one else would.
To Do-hyun, Ji-hoon was the closest thing he had to a father.
He rose quietly, careful not to disturb the older man. Ji-hoon had returned late last night, his knuckles bruised, his expression grim. He never spoke of where he went on those nights, and Do-hyun knew better than to ask. Questions were dangerous in the royal palace.
The wooden bucket was heavy in his hands as he made his way to the well. The morning air was crisp, the scent of dew and earth clinging to the stones beneath his bare feet. He worked in silence, drawing water, scrubbing the soot from the hearth, and laying out fresh robes for the royal attendants. His hands moved on their own, his mind dulled by routine.
Then came the laughter.
Prince Seong-won and his entourage swaggered into the courtyard, their silk robes glinting in the sunlight. The prince was young—barely sixteen—but his cruelty was already refined. His eyes locked onto Do-hyun like a hawk spotting prey.
"Ah, the mute rat," the prince sneered, kicking over the bucket of water Do-hyun had just filled. "Still pretending you're worth the air you breathe?"
Do-hyun kept his head down, his fingers tightening around the bucket's handle. He had learned long ago that resistance only made it worse.
One of the prince's lackeys, a boy with a face like a weasel, snatched the scrub brush from Do-hyun's grip. "Maybe if you worked harder, you wouldn't be such a disappointment."
The prince grinned, stepping closer. "Or maybe he's just too stupid to speak."
A sharp shove sent Do-hyun stumbling back, his knees hitting the wet stone. The prince's boot pressed down on his fingers, grinding them against the rough edge of the well. Pain shot up his arm, but he bit his tongue, refusing to make a sound.
Ji-hoon had warned him. *"The royal family does not forgive. Do not give them a reason to notice you."*
The prince leaned in, his breath hot against Do-hyun's ear. "One day, I'll find out what you're hiding. And then you'll *wish* you could scream."
With a final kick, the prince sauntered off, his laughter echoing through the courtyard.
Do-hyun exhaled, his fingers trembling as he picked up the overturned bucket. He would not cry. He would not fight back.
Because the truth was far worse than the prince could imagine.
And if the royal family ever discovered what he was—what his blood carried—they would not stop at bruises.
They would burn the world to get to him.