Into the Lion's Den

Daliah moved before Ra-on could stop her, slipping through the door and into the courtyard. The cold night air struck her face, sharp and clarifying. Her heart hammered against the binding cloth, but her feet carried her forward with the same determination that had sustained her through countless auditions, through her father's death, through her mother's bitter opposition.

"You there," a guard barked. "What are you doing out of quarters?"

Daliah bowed clumsily, remembering at the last second to keep her movements stiff rather than graceful. "This humble one heard the commotion. If there is an intruder, should not all hands help search?"

The guard's eyes narrowed. "You speak well for a country boy."

Panic fluttered in Daliah's chest, but she forced her voice lower, rougher. "My father valued education, sir. Before he died."

"Died recently, did he?" Another voice, closer. Daliah turned to see a young man approaching, not in guard uniform but in finer hanbok that marked him as nobility. His features were strong, handsome in a way that suggested both capability and carefully controlled power. Something in his bearing reminded her of advanced dancers, those who had mastered not just technique but presence.

"Last month, my lord," Daliah said, keeping her eyes down. The deference tasted strange in her mouth, she who had never bowed to anyone except ballet masters and grieving mothers.

"Kim Yoon-sung," Ra-on's voice came from behind her, slightly breathless. "This is my cousin, newly arrived. He does not understand palace protocol. Please forgive his forward behavior."

So this was Kim Yoon-sung, grandson of the Prime Minister. Daliah filed the information away, her modern mind already cataloging relationships and power structures the way she once memorized choreography.

Yoon-sung's gaze moved between them with keen intelligence. "Your cousin has courage, Sam-nom. That is not always a virtue in this place." He looked back at Daliah. "But courage can be useful. Very well, country boy. You may join the search of the servants' quarters. Stay close to the guards and touch nothing."

Before Ra-on could protest, a new commotion rippled through the courtyard. Guards straightened, and Daliah felt the shift in energy before she saw its source.

Crown Prince Lee Yeong swept into the torchlight like a storm taking human form. Up close, his beauty was almost painful to witness. Not soft or delicate, but vital, intelligent, alive in every gesture and glance. His eyes moved across the assembled people with the kind of focus Daliah recognized from her own mirrors, the look of someone who missed nothing, who turned observation into art.

"Yoon-sung," the Prince said, his voice carrying natural authority tempered with something warmer. "What have we found?"

"Nothing yet, Your Highness. I was organizing additional searchers from the servants."

Those intelligent eyes swept the group and landed on Daliah. She felt the impact of his gaze like stage lights, exposing and illuminating. Every instinct screamed at her to meet his eyes, to stand straight, to be seen. Instead, she dropped her gaze and bowed deeply, making herself small in a way that violated every lesson her body had learned.

"A new face," Lee Yeong observed. "Who is this?"

"Hong Sam-nom's cousin, Your Highness," Yoon-sung supplied. "From Geumsan."

"Geumsan." The Prince's tone shifted, became almost playful. "Then you must have passed through Gyeonggi Province. Tell me, did you see the new bridge construction at Suwon?"

Daliah's mind raced. She had no idea about any bridge, about geography, about anything that would make her story credible. But she thought about what a frightened country boy would say, someone grieving and displaced.

"This worthless one kept his head down on the road, Your Highness. After my father's death, I saw little but the path ahead."

Silence stretched. Had she said too much? Too little? Used the wrong form of address? Her ignorance was a minefield, each word a potential disaster.

Then Lee Yeong laughed, the sound surprisingly genuine. "Honest, at least. Or clever. I have not decided which." He turned to the assembled guards. "Search in pairs. The eastern quarter first, then expand outward. Whoever breached our walls may still be within the palace grounds. And someone bring me the guard captain. I want to know how security was compromised."

The courtyard erupted into organized chaos. Daliah found herself pulled along by a guard who paired her with another servant, an older man who eyed her suspiciously.

"Stay behind me," the older servant muttered. "And if we find anything, you let me do the talking."

They moved through narrow passages between buildings, checking storage areas and empty rooms. Daliah's modern mind cataloged the architecture, the organization of space, the casual cruelty of a system where people like Ra-on had to hide their fundamental identity to survive. Her dancer's awareness mapped the palace grounds, noting exits and gathering points, information that might prove vital.

In a storage room filled with ceramics and linens, her companion paused at a window. "Here," he said, pointing to mud on the sill. "Someone came through."

Daliah looked at the mud, at the size and shape of the prints. Her own boots, crushed under Ra-on's sleeping mat, would match those marks exactly.

"Should we report this?" she asked carefully.

The older servant studied the window with calculating eyes. "Depends," he said slowly, "on who benefits from finding the intruder, and who benefits from letting them disappear." He looked at her sidelong. "Politics, boy. Everything in this palace is politics. Remember that, if you want to survive."

He turned away from the window, deliberately ignoring the evidence. "Nothing here," he called to a passing guard. "We move on."

Daliah followed, understanding that she had just witnessed something important. Mercy or manipulation, compassion or calculation. In this place, perhaps they were the same thing.

When the search finally dispersed near dawn, Daliah slipped back to Ra-on's quarters, exhausted and more confused than when she had started. Ra-on waited inside, face drawn with worry and something harder.

"That was foolish," Ra-on said quietly. "You caught the Prince's attention. That is dangerous."

"Everything here is dangerous," Daliah replied. She thought of Lee Yeong's quick intelligence, his searching gaze. Of Yoon-sung's careful assessment. Of the servant who had chosen to look away from evidence. "But I learned something. This palace is built on secrets, and people choose every day what to reveal and what to hide."

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