Page 32

Iseul

“Stop snoring ,” Iseul grits out, utterly aware of Seojin’s warmth beside her.

They are in a small room near the sickbay, one that smells of medicinal herbs and sharp, clean soap. The tiny window streams moonlight onto Seojin’s face as he sleeps beside her on the tiny mattress, a small crease between his eyes. Iseul is struck by the extremely foolish desire to take her finger and rub that crease away, like she used to do when they slept together.

Well—not together , in the deliciously salacious sense of the word. But there were many nights where she and Seojin slept in the same bed, his tall frame curled around hers, his sleepy breath rising and falling in her ears. She would snuggle close to him, delighting in the scent of him: ginseng and wood, the former from the hours studying healing herbs at the academy (before Konrarnd Kalmin swooped in like a mangy, carnivorous bird , of course) and the latter from…well, from him , somehow. Seojin has always smelled rather delightful, most likely in possession of some very strong pheromones, but now the familiar scent is like a bullet to Iseul’s poor, depressed heart. It reminds her too much of the nights spent in companionship, rather than in handcuffed misery.

Huffing slightly, one of Seojin’s eyes crack open.

Iseul, finding herself to be in a very contrary mood, opts to half rise and shove her face into his. “Stop snoring,” she says, this time very sweetly, “or I will disembowel you.”

“Iseul,” Seojin says, and his voice is like it always is after he wakes up—thick and scratchy, like a warm but irritating blanket (which is precisely how Iseul views him at this very moment). “Please get out of my face.” He tries to lift his right hand to push her away, but it also lifts Iseul’s left, and with a long-suffering sigh, Seojin closes his eyes again. Apparently, he does not seem to care that the Gumiho’s dark eyes are glaring down at him from mere inches away.

The knowledge that she is so close heats her blood in a mixture of resentment and something else that she knows she shouldn’t feel. He thinks her a monster. He thinks she has gone too far.

Oh, her former hobbies—kidnapping and ransom—were excusable, as long as she’d kept to her word and returned her victims. Seojin had explained that to her many times. Theft was also “fine.” Sunpo’s prices were terrible, and Iseul too often spent most of her paycheck on clothing and chocolate, forgetting the need to buy necessities like rice or meat. She knows Seojin could never bear the thought of Iseul going hungry.

And besides, Seojin’s brother had been a spymaster for a gang . Iseul could do anything unless it was worse than what his brother did, which had given her a very high bar. Somehow, she’d still found a way to launch herself gloriously past it.

Iseul is nothing if not talented.

“What,” Iseul sighs, staring at the crease that has returned between Seojin’s dark brows, “are you moping about, Seojin? Most men would be extraordinarily pleased to share a bed with me.” When her hand unconsciously moves to smooth out that furrow, she pivots at the very last moment and instead smacks him very hard on the forehead with her unchained hand.

There. That’s more like it.

Seojin has never been easily provoked, but as Iseul’s smack hits his head, his eyes fly open, and before long he is suddenly growling in frustration. Growling , as if he’s one of those territorial Dokkaebi males. For the heavens’ sakes. Iseul gapes at him and he catches her hand as it falls with his left.

Panting hard, the healer stares at the Gumiho, who does not seem apologetic in the least. “Nothing you don’t deserve,” she says with a saccharine twist of a smile, batting her lashes. “Do you want me to kiss it better?”

His eyes widen, darkening for a quick second in a way that has Iseul’s heart beating so very fast…but then they’re narrowing again, with clear disapproval. “We need to sleep,” he instead says, and his soft voice is gruffer than it was a few brief moments ago. His hand tightens around her own, as if spasming against his will. “At the break of dawn, we need to go to the sickbay…”

“Maybe you do.” Iseul sniffs haughtily. She wonders why Seojin is still holding her hand. And then wonders why she doesn’t precisely hate it. Seojin’s hands have always been large, strong, and calloused from the hours spent grinding herbs with a pestle. Yet they have also been so achingly gentle. Remembering his violence in the Gyeulcheon stables, she wonders what it means. If it means anything. She flexes slightly under his grip with the vastly senseless urge to shift her position so their fingers can intertwine. “ I , however, will be sleeping. I need my beauty rest, Seojin. You know this.”

“Iseul,” says Seojin, “we are chained together. Wherever I go, you go.”

And isn’t that true? Iseul’s nose wrinkles, and she snatches her hand away. And she tries to pretend very hard not to mind the loss of his calloused touch. “Well, in any case, stop snoring. It sparks murderous instincts within me, and I don’t think you would like to be on their receiving end.”

That’s true.

But Iseul still watches as Seojin falls asleep, devouring the sight of his eyes fluttering shut, the stern lines of his face relaxing into something that is opposite from his now-usual scowl. It’s not quite a smile, but it is enough for Iseul, who falls asleep soon after, pretending that things are different.