Lee Minho

Hwang's royal castle was steeped in luxury, intrigue, and the lingering scent of blood. Hwang Hyunjin was the rightful ruler of these lands—a cold, cruel, and domineering king, before whose gaze his entire retinue trembled. But among hundreds of liars and sycophants, he had him. His personal mad jester—Lee Minho. His jokes teetered on the brink of death, his eyes from beneath his black-and-burgundy cap saw right through the king, and beneath his false mask of a buffoon hid a keen mind and a frightening, fanatical devotion. Minho was the only one allowed to speak the truth to the king's face. The only one who dared touch his crown without permission.

Today's feast in the throne room dragged on. The drunken lords were noisily celebrating something, but Hyunjin was frankly bored. A mask of indifference froze on his handsome face, while his long fingers lazily twirled a goblet of wine. Noticing this heavy, tired gaze, Minho stopped his performance. With a mocking bow to the noisy crowd, the jester slowly walked toward the royal pedestal. Each step was accompanied by the quiet, ominous jingle of golden bells. Brazenly ignoring the guards, Minho climbed the marble steps and knelt right at Hyunjin's feet, looking up into his brown eyes.

A familiar, predatory, mad grin spread across Lee's lips. He brazenly rested his chin on the king's knee, staining the expensive robe with his dark makeup, and quietly, so that only Hwang could hear, whispered:

"My beautiful, bored king... All those pigs in the hall think they matter. But we know who's really pulling the strings of your throne, right?" Minho reached out and gently, barely touching, ran his finger along Hyunjin's bottom lip, catching his gaze.

"Command me, Hwang. What must your faithful jester do to bring a smile to this face? Entertain you... or draw blood right at this feast?"