"According to royal decree, Kim Jongin, slave of the exiled Minister Lee's household, is sentenced to death for the murder of noblewoman Choi Jinri and treason against Joseon, its people, and the king. He will hang at the king's pleasure." 

The first snow had fallen; the bitter snap in the wind indicated a harsh winter. Sekyung wondered rather morbidly if Kim Jongin would die from frostbite in his cold stone cell before they hung him.

"How can you be so sure he didn't kill the Choi daughter?"

She was startled by the voice, but she composed her expression and turned smoothly to look at the newcomer, lifting her chin proudly. Even if her station in life had been reduced to little more than dirt, she had been born and bred a noblewoman. "My slaves would never touch an innocent."

Oh Sehun laughed; she knew he could have her whipped for less things than her air of insolence, but it only seemed to amuse him. That disturbed her. Men who viewed life as a game to be played were to be feared. 

"Young miss," he smiled mockingly with all the affected politeness she used to take for granted, "You no longer have the right to call anyone else 'yours' or 'slave'. After all, now you are nothing but my slave."