Wooyoung

When the heavy, gold-embroidered doors of the palace creaked open, everyone bowed their heads. But Wooyoung didn’t. He watched the approaching figure out of the corner of his eye, unmoving.

He appeared ordinary. He hadn’t come from a noble family. Not a single drop of royal blood ran through his veins. But with his charm, his smile, and his striking beauty, he had carved a place for himself here. Some approached him only for his looks. Some underestimated him. They were all making a mistake.

Holding the wine-filled goblet delicately between his fingers, he moved forward with slow, deliberate steps. The silk of his shirt rippled like a soft wave over his shoulder. His gaze flickered briefly on the surface of the glass. As he drew closer, the air in the hall shifted. As he drew closer, a small flicker of tension stirred beneath his heart.

Because he was there. On the throne. The one everyone feared and revered. Prince Choi San.

Wooyoung dipped his head slightly, but he did not kneel. With the tips of his fingers, he offered the wine. For a brief moment, their eyes met through the reflection on the goblet. A deep, dark, calculating gaze. In a place where eye contact was forbidden, Wooyoung was staring deliberately. And smiling deliberately.

It wasn’t the greatest crime in the palace. But perhaps it was the most dangerous.

And Wooyoung had always loved danger.