Jongin rides hard, letting the wind sting his eyes and blow away the tears tracking down his cheeks. He makes great time, getting to Baekhyun’s village in under two hours. Which is perfect, because the sun is still up. He needs the light to be seen and an audience for this plan to work.

Jongin takes care to ride around the town rather than enter it’s northern gate. Finding a small copse of trees that provides adequate coverage, he changes into the royal hunting hanbok. He shakes out his long, dark hair, finger combing it as best he can, and assembles it as smoothly as he can up into a sangtu. Hair prepared, he affixes the borrowed gat and takes care tying the black ribbon neatly underneath his chin. Maybe it’s a trivial consideration in the grand scheme of things, but Jongin finds himself caring deeply about presenting as polished an appearance as he can since he is representing the Crown Prince and wouldn’t want any shame brought to his name.

The sun begins its slow descent toward the horizon, signaling the farmers to stop working in the fields and return home. In anticipation of their arrival, Jongin mounts his horse and heads into the village. His heart hammers in his chest, adrenaline coursing through him as he realizes there is no turning back now. This plan has to work. He has to draw enough attention to ensure the assassins will catch wind of it, but risks presenting himself right before them and losing any head start to the next village if he travels too deep into town.

He passes a few peasant homes that appear empty, walking his horse for the time being, not wanting to waste her energy until it’s truly needed. He can make out the far end of the marketplace up ahead, about a hundred meters away. Across from the last stall, he notices a tavern with one table occupied with clientele, homely villagers enjoy a bottle of makgeolli. Perfect.

Jongin canters his horse alongside the tavern, spots the owner, and requests in a fake parched voice, “Water, please.”

The owner acknowledges the request and fills a glass without even glancing Jongin’s way. When he extends the full cup, however, he notices the royal embroidery on his robe and nearly drops the cup in surprise.

“Your Highness!” he exclaims, bowing low. Jongin catches the cup and downs it rapidly, extending it again in a silent request for more.

“Highness?” mutters one of the tipsy patrons. “Yah, why would anyone from the royal family be--” he gasps as his friend drops his bowl of makgeolli with a clatter onto the table, splattering the alcohol onto the two of them.

“Can I get you anything else, anything at all?” the tavern owner asks, keeping his eyes down low out of respect.

“No, thank you. I promise in a few days, you’ll receive a more formal thank you for serving the Crown Prince in his time of need,” he says, imitating Kyungsoo’s voice as best he can and hoping this will do. “For now, I must go.”

“I thought the news bulletin said the Crown Prince died in a hunting accident??” the customer yell-whispers to his friend with a hiccup.

When Jongin turns his horse about to head for the south gate, he is satisfied to see the owner’s exclamation and drunkards’ talk has attracted the attention of nearby market stall owners and their customers, half of whom are now chattering animatedly in whispers and gesturing toward Jongin with shock evident on their faces. He spurs his horse and rides hard along the path closest to the onlookers, his mare kicking up dust as they fly back toward the gate with shouts of “ Wangseja, he lives!” behind him.

He dart past a different rows of homes, some now showing signs of life, with inhabitants poking their heads out to see what the marketplace commotion is all about. He keeps his head low, smirking as he reaches the south gate. His timing was impeccable - a dozen farmers just now reaching the village with their heavy A-frames on their backs jolt out of the way as he barrels past.

The news will surely spread like wildfire in this small town. The assassins should hear of it within the hour. The chase... is on.

Jongin races as fast as he can through the open countryside. He glances behind him every so often, and in the clear straight-aways can see a small clump of riders, maybe twenty minutes back, stark against the sky melting blood orange with the sunset. “Go, girl, go,” he shouts encouragingly to his horse as she makes him proud, dashing down the road with blazing speed.

He gallops into the next town a few hours later, and repeats the stunt he pulled at the previous one, getting water for his mare this time and leaving gasping villagers in the town tavern. As he sprints away, they’re abuzz with questions and declarations to summon the magistrate to send word to the palace immediately. The swell of the commoners’ support warms Jongin’s heart: Kyungsoo does have the people’s loyalty, more vocally in the countryside than inside the palace walls, perhaps, but the citizens of Joseon count for something, and government officials aren’t ignorant of this. It just got a lot more difficult to install a new heir.

A few hours further down the road, Jongin reaches Chungju, a proper city with guards stationed at the gates who would surely have questions for a rider dressed as the Crown Prince. He decides it’s best to circumvent the city and go on to another smaller settlement to steal some rest. Plus, the assassins will likely waste a full day looking for him in Chungju, only to find out he’s been spotted even further south.

(A/N: Mood music for this next section if you want it)

The next village can be his last before he turns back, to go return to his prince’s side. Jongin repeats this thought over and over, trying to stay awake and upright on his horse as they veer off the path and into the hilly, forested area east of the city walls. He’s ridden hard, and given the forest cover, he should probably take a light breather. He eventually dismounts and walks alongside his mare, in hopes to keep himself alert as well as give her a break.

About 15 minutes later, they reach a fairly high elevation, overlooking the sleeping city to the right. There are torches and lanterns lit throughout the streets inside and along the north, west, and south gates. The flickering lights almost look like candles, waiting for wishes to be made on them and then blown out. With a small smile, Jongin pauses his steps. He closes his eyes and makes a silent wish, blowing out a long, slow sigh that he knows can’t reach a latern directly, but perhaps the wind will carry it anyway, and grant his heart’s sincerest request. Let him one day be king, the greatest one Joseon has ever seen.

His horse whinnies, tugging him along as though in a hurry again. Jongin looks back, and can’t be sure if he’s hallucinating it, but he thinks he can make out several riders approaching the northern gate that he avoided. It must be 1am or later now, leaving little doubt as to who might be travelling their same route at this hour. With renewed determination, they hurry on, back down the other side of the hill to rejoin the road coming out the southern end of Chungju, and exhaustedly trot onward to one more village.

The sun is just beginning to peek up over the eastern horizon when Jongin finally comes across the end point of his journey. A tiny, unassuming village, a perfect hideout. He drags himself into town, looking for the first person awake. It’s an older ahjussi, awake and sweeping off the humble porch of his house.

Dead tired, Jongin approaches him with caution, easily catching his attention without even trying since he is the only other soul up at this hour.

“H-highness,” the man stutters out, bowing deeply and speaking with reverent amazement. “To what does our humble town owe this great honor?”

“Can I bother you for a place to rest?” he asks quietly. “Just for a few hours?” Jongin would love to turn around and head straight back to Kyungsoo immediately after the village is awake and he can make his presence known, but his body protests, having endured too much stress in the past several days.

“Yes, highness, yes of course,” the old man gestures to his home, open the door widely. “I’m afraid my home is not very accommodating, though. Perhaps I should walk you to the noble master’s home further down the path?”

“No, this will do fine. I only need a few hours before I must be going. Could you wake me if any strangers come to town