POV: Hae Na Ri
The white rooms are cells and well-rested means to knock her out.
The cells are white hospital-like rooms with prison-like furniture. A bed, sink, toilet, a camera, and a table with chains. There are some dark spatters on the table and the short and tight chains that currently circle my wrists and ankles. Someone must have spilled sauce here while having fries.
Lately, I have been trying to be positive.
Some female guard unbuttons my coat and searches me everywhere. It is followed by a collection of my fingerprints.
Then they start torturing me.
By telling me all sorts of delusions these cult followers believe in. Honestly, it's pitiful. These people need help.
Captain Kang is the one interrogating me. More like trying to convert me into a 'believer'. According to him, we live in the Kingdom of Korea and it is ruled by that ridiculously attractive man who had the honour of having me on my knees in front of him.
I tell him about the real world. The name, the prime minister, the DMZ. But he's so lost, he insists there's no DMZ, Korea is whole and monarchy was never abolished. After a while, he hears something in his earpiece, touching it.
"You are dead," he threatens.
"I am telling you the truth! Just go and search on the internet." Now please don't tell me he thinks the internet is propaganda.
"No, I don't mean as a threat. You show up in the national system as dead."
"That's not possible–" Wait, maybe this is another one of his delusions. "Please, connect me to the police. You can't hold me here like this, this is against the law."
He eyes me sharply. "His Majesty is above law."
"No one is above the law," I counter.
But that's not true. The rich, the elite are above the law.
He hears something again in his earpiece and leaves silently. After a while a guard gets in and serves me a bowl of black pepper noodles. I just hope it doesn't have perilla leaves and ravish it.
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POV: Hae Na Ri
At some point in the night, I had dozed off. Now I wake up with a start when the metal door clangs open.
Seeing the Captain in his bulletproof vest and black mask again washes away any trace of sleep.
Two more guards step inside and unchain me. A third guard covers my head with a black bag. Without any warning.
I am too afraid to make a sound.
"Follow me," the Captain says.
At first I think he is saying that to me and I almost said I can't see you, you idiot.
It's the guards who haul me to my feet by arms, handcuff me and push me forward. My whole body is stiff from being chained to the table. I groan in pain as I am dragged somewhere.
We walk–they walk while I get dragged–for a long time before a door is opened and I am pushed inside. The tense arms holding me let go. I stumble over my long skirt and can't stop myself from falling on the floor. Aches vibrate from my knees to my whole body.
"Your Majesty," the Captain says with utter respect. I imagine he's lowering himself in greeting.
There is a long silence in the room. I try to take in deep breaths to stay calm. I don't want to see that cult leader again. There's something daunting about his gaze.
And then suddenly the bag is being pulled off my head and the handcuffs being unlocked.
The sudden light and brightness blinds me. I wince and squint.
"Help her up." It's him. The Captain grabs my arm roughly and the same man reprimands him, "Be a gentleman." It's not obvious if he is mocking or serious.
I look up at him defiantly, doing my best to counter his intimidating gaze.
He is leaning against a large desk, holding a tablet in one hand. His presence stands out like a golden light in a dark room. He is wearing beige trousers, a grey turtleneck sweater. His skin is slightly tanned. He is one of the most masculine, most men-est I have ever seen.
The calm authority he radiates makes me speak very cautiously.
"It's all a misunderstanding," I say smoothly.
"Get up first," he replies. There is a hint of curiosity in his gaze, if I am seeing things clearly.
The Captain helps me up–gently this time, holding out his hand and leading me to a maroon velvet covered sofa set on my side. I sit and the position allows the view of the entire room.
A woman, likely in her late 40s or early 50s, in a traditional Hanbok is making tea nonchalantly there, spinning a spoon in a cup as if no one had been brought in with a black bag on their head and handcuffs on their wrist and thrown on the floor.
The room is vast and lined with bookshelves. There is the desk 'His Majesty' is leaning against and a long gleaming meeting table on its one side and a floor to ceiling glass window on the right. There is enough space to walk around despite all the furniture and shelves. The remaining space on the walls is filled with paintings and pictures I don't have the energy to focus on.
They really made it look like a 'palace'.
There is another woman in the room, standing close to the cult leader. Maybe older than me by a few years but not much. She is wearing a long brown coat, buttoned and her dyed chocolaty hair are cut in a slanting bob.
For some unknown reason, she is glaring at me as if I have or plan to murder her family.
The woman in Hanbok places the tea cup in front of me. I eye it suspiciously and don't drink it despite my dry lips.
"Please have the tea." The woman stares and it feels like a threat. She has sharp cheekbones and a wrinkled forehead. Must have been a beauty in her time.
I am aware of every gaze being fixed on me. I take the cup and tell myself that they don't need to drug me. Not with the gun strapped on the Captain's waist.
The tea is pinkish, sweet and warm. A temporary relief.
"How did you say you entered the palace?" 'His Majesty' asks casually, as if it's not important at all, not moving from his spot. There's no intimidation in his voice nor suspicion, unlike the Captain.
I hold the warm cup in my lap. "Through a door in the garden. It was dark and I just…"
"There is no door in the garden that leads outside," The woman with the bob says sharply.
I remain calm. These people are mad. "That's impossible."
'His Majesty' ignores it. "And what were you doing in the Sangriya Forest in the middle of the night?"
"Seunjo Forest you mean?" I fidget in my seat. "Running– I mean jogging. I was jogging."
His brows furrow and I pretend to examine the room. There are some paintings and pictures of men and even a woman sitting atop a throne. Aiyo, they really did play the royalty part of the delusion.
The bob woman huffs. "You were jogging in the middle of the Sangriya Forest in the middle of the night?"
"It's Seungjo Forest," I correct her. "And why can't I? It's not illegal is it?"
"Who are you trying to fool?" The woman takes a step forward but stops as 'His Majesty' puts aside the tablet and strolls over. His gait is calm, even and graceful. The term 'His Majesty' suits him well.
But this makes him all the more lethal.
Whatever he does, he is probably excellent at it.