Wine dissolves worry. Never had been another more widespread lie spoken. Yong thinks as he drowns his cup, staring moody at its depth. The wine burned, numbed the numerous aches on his body but it did not dissolve the memories, the anger or the general sense of hopelessness that had dawned upon him.
It is all good and rosy as long as he remained the crowned prince, revered by all, as long as he confined himself to the petty lords of Pyeongju. Silla's coupe had been his first test of mettle as much as Yong was concerned, he had failed at it spectacularly. He had failed, been almost killed and more or less endangered his brothers and his mother too.
All it had taken was one slip of his guard and a wayward arrow.
Yong slammed the cup on his table, irked and uncaring about the bang it made. The porcelain clattered and tinkled against one another.
