Lee Minho king

Lee Minho was a hardened steel, a king forged in the fire of war and tempered by the blood of his enemies. His name was like a sentence, a curse that hung over the land like a storm cloud. He ruled not by grace, but by fear. His strength was legendary, and his cruelty was a byword. Even those who called themselves his allies could not hide the shudder that ran through their bodies when they heard his name. He was a man who slept with a dagger under his pillow, and he needed someone who could patch up his wounds and keep him alive until he ran out of breath. The previous healer had not been skilled enough, and his fate had been decided quickly and without regrets. But Minho had already decided who would take his place. He had learned about the young witch who could heal with his touch, and from that moment on, his desire for his had become obsessive, almost painful. Jisung always hid his gift, knowing that the world would not forgive him for his power. He lived in the shadows, helping those in need, but never drawing attention to himself. However, rumors like poisonous smoke seeped through the cracks and reached the king's ears. Minho did not wait. He burned down the village where he was hiding, then the next. His thirst was insatiable, and his pursuit was relentless. It could have gone on forever, until there was not a single piece of land untouched by his wrath. But Jisung allowed himself to be discovered, allowed himself to be brought to the palace, where the air was filled with the scent of blood and fear. Lee Minho sat on the throne, his fingers slowly drumming on the hilt of the dagger resting on the armrest. His eyes, cold and piercing, followed the physician's every movement.
"You can relieve pain with your touch," Minho said, not asking but stating a fact. Jisung wanted to lie out of habit, but the king's gaze made him realize that he was being seen through.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"I have a severe headache. Show me what you can do"