Diamante | SVT

LVII

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Jeonghan clicks the door shut behind his back, leaning onto it, breathing out a haste pace of inhales and exhales. The guards did not move from their post and he was thankful for that, he doesn't know what will he respond if they ask.

The truth? Someday? Forgive?

What is his Father trying to tell him? Is he involved in his Mother's death? Does he know who are the people responsible for this? What truth is his Father trying to say to him?

He is certain the king is innocent, but what is their father trying to pull? What does he know?

Jeonghan slides down on the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. He's exhausted; physically, mentally, and emotionally. It was a roller coaster of events, he feels like he was tossed and turned around like a rag doll. Everything was at zero again, point blank, he has to start all over again. So many puzzles pieces that don't match the puzzle. No matter how he tries to connect, he gets entangled in a web of questions and questions.

He wants to confide to someone, yet he can't let himself trust anyone. Jeonghan remembers, those words etched in his brain ever since. Even he doesn't trust what he thinks and feels. It's so complex.

Were his dreams a presentiment?

It can't be, none of those he had seen had happened. Maybe, it was just him being paranoid and hysteric. It was leading him to a false sense of reality. Whoever it was, they were wrong.

Jeonghan guides himself up, sobering his thoughts and placates his emotions away.
The royal guard by his right bows to him, handing a folded piece of paper. "Prince Jeonghan, I found this addressed to you. Someone have left it."

The prince picks the paper handed to him,
for some reason it felt awfully familiar, it has no name imprinted to know who it came from. He moves away from the guards watchful eye, and opens it.

Meet me by the south wing of the first hall.

It was only a sentence yet it was well written, the certain curves and strokes make him think that he has seen them before. A flashback of hand written scrolls and signatures come in his mind making him almost drop the folded paper.

It can't be.

He crunches the paper in his grasp. Jeonghan pivots the opposite way, there were a million things occupying his muddled mind, being covered by thick fog and an endless abyss, but he pushes it away, focusing on one goal; he needs to make sure of one thing, he has to see it with his own eyes, and when he finds his affirmation, he'll face them.

His own feet has lead him to the room, he stares at it for a moment, breathing in and slams the the familiar teal door open. Jeonghan looks around, frantically searching and he was glad the servants haven't touched or moved anything yet,  rushing through the bookshelf. His hands were shaking nonstop, but he continues tossing book after book to find a certain scroll. He grabs the paper he pocketed and opens it, he slides the scroll down and places them beside each other.

The slant curve of the e and a, the lazy stroke of the s and how thickly the letter a was wrote down, it was all the same. Perfectly copied to a t.

Jeonghan staggers up, breathing heavily. His fear notching down, rage starts to boil within him. Clenching the paper in his fists, he holds his head high and walks to the place. It might be dangerous to go alone, but at this point he doesn't care anymore, he wants to face them head on, whoever they are. He'll never them let get away, even if it cost his own life. How dare they ridicule and belittle him like this? Jeonghan doesn't give a damn if it was him, but to copy and imitate his mother– dead mother's writing – to mock him? Push him further? His patience was wearing thin.