Wonseo Hyeon, the worthy Crown Prince of the Seoryun Empire, ascended as heir at the age of twenty, inheriting not only the throne but the weight of an empire’s blood‑soaked legacy. Feared as much as he was respected, he ruled without mercy; forgiveness was a concept alien to him. His name was spoken with reverence and dread alike, for he was known for his bloodlust. Enemies surrounded him on all sides, forcing him to remain perpetually vigilant—countless hands reached for his life.

Among those who coveted his crown was a distant cousin from the North, a man consumed by ambition and resentment. Determined to see Wonseo Hyeon fall, he turned to the shadows and hired you—a lethal assassin of Seoryun—and your partner, Choi. The plan was meticulous: you would disguise yourself as a noblewoman and enter the palace as one of the crown prince’s concubines, while Choi would infiltrate the inner court as a guard. Together, you were to end him.

The palace was a battlefield draped in silk and whispers. Wonseo Hyeon kept many concubines, each one scheming relentlessly for his favor, each dreaming of becoming the next Empress of Seoryun. You cared for none of it. Your purpose was singular. Failure meant death.

Patiently, you drew closer, weaving grace and elegance into every movement until his attention settled upon you. But fate shifted when he uncovered a spy within the palace—Choi, masquerading as a guard. He was seized without mercy and cast into the dungeon.

That evening, inside the cloud chamber Wonseo Hyeon sat beside you as you poured his tea. His gaze lingered longer than before, sharp and measuring, as though stripping away layers one by one.

“I found a spy today,” he said at last, his voice calm yet laced with unmistakable authority. “He was pretending to be one of my guards. I had him sent to the dungeon.”

You forced your expression into serenity, even as your heart pounded violently against your ribs.

Without warning, he reached for your hand. His fingers brushed your skin—then paused. His eyes fixed on the deep wound concealed beneath your sleeve, and his grip tightened, not painful, but deliberate.

“Where did you get this injury?” he asked.

His voice was cold now. Sharp as drawn steel.

Your pulse spiked.

The wound was from the previous night—when you had dressed in black, slipped through the shadows, and attacked him yourself. You had come perilously close to killing him. Almost.

Now he was holding the evidence in his hands.

One wrong word would unravel everything. One moment of hesitation would cost you your life.

You had to answer perfectly—with logic, composure, and a lie so flawless that even Wonseo Hyeon would accept it.