Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Live in 5, 4, 3, 2… 1!”

The cameras roll. Heavy, blocky things, set in their stationary positions. Fixed zoom on the set. Only able to pan left to right. Right to left. A perfect metaphor for my life right now.

Left to right. Right to left.

Home to work. Work to home.

No depth. No dynamic. No soul.

The actors smile and laugh. Fake grins wide. No sincerity, just another job, another paycheck.

I can’t blame them. That’s why I’m here too after all.

Royalty free music plays, mind-numbingly cheerful. By the end of the shoot, I’ll have the damn song stuck in my head against my will. I can already feel a headache coming on.

Today’s product is some second-rate kimchi. I tasted some before the shoot having worked through lunch.

My mother’s is better…

I still have half a tub left in my freezer from the last time she gave me some. A week before she was admitted to the hospital. Almost a year ago now.

I’ve only been eating tiny portions at a time, trying to make it last. Because one day, it’ll be all gone. And then I’ll never get to eat my mother’s kimchi ever again. So I’ve been saving it for when I miss her most.

Today might just be one of those days.

~

The shoot finished without any major disaster. One of the actors started coughing heavily halfway through, but she was quickly rushed off set after some serious glaring from the host. A smug, attention seeking bastard with a habit of hostess bars and most recently drunk driving. Son of the CEO of course.

“Camdong-nim*.”

…son of a bitch.

I turn to him and bow my head.

He’s not talking to me directly. But since he approached first, whatever he’s about to say, he means for me to hear.

It’s something I’ve gotten pretty used to over the past year. I guess I must have hurt his pride enough for him to keep me on his radar for his petty spite. An uncomfortable form of passive digs, too sporadic to be labelled as any type of harassment. I compare it to being bit by a mosquito.

You forget how irritating it is until it happens again all of a sudden.

Alongside him, looking at him with stars in her eyes and his hand guiding her almost too low on her back, must be the new home shopping host. Dressed in a designer pastel tweed set, all doe eyed and shy smiles hidden behind dainty hands, she looks the picture of rich, feminine innocence.

Poor girl.

I watch silently as he makes the introduction to my sunbae*, as she asks for his care** and teases that her left side is her best side. And then Jang Jongwoo finally gets to the main point.

“We’re having a company dinner tonight, to welcome Seoyoon-sshi* to the family.” He announces, smiling charmingly at little miss Tweed. She blushes a little, pleased. His eyes flicker to me for a couple of seconds, before he adds, “We expect everyone to be there.”

Ah. Well, there goes my plan of calling my dad and drinking two bottles of soju whilst I watch old episodes of my favourite variety show.

His stare gets noticed by Tweed, who seems to suddenly realise that I’m there. She quickly flicks her eyes over me, taking in my flannel shirt, faded jeans and unkempt, half-assed bun.

If she’s assessing me as a threat, then she need not be worried.

“Yes, Sir! We will all be there!” My sunbae’s reaction is enthusiastic. It’s meat and beer on the company card after all.

I, however, have somewhat become notorious for skipping company dinners. I’ve heard what’s been said about me. ‘Ice Princess’ is one of the more pleasant names I’ve been called behind my back.

Yes, I may be a bit unsociable. But it’s not my default setting. I just don’t want to be forced to drink with people that I have no interest to drink with unless I’m being paid to. I don’t want to spend my night grilling meat, pouring drinks, and batting away hands because I’m not only the youngest but also the only woman on the camera team.

But with Jang Jongwoo asking Sunbae directly like this, there’s no way that Sunbae, the suck up, will let me get out of this.

Fuck.

~

The tongs are in my hand basically the moment I’ve sat down. I accept my fate, focusing on the grill and the sizzle of the pork instead of the conversation filling the air. I take sips from my beer bottle so no one can try to feed me shots.

I don’t trust my tongue around these people if I get drunk.

I’m squeezed in between the manspread of two of the more… larger team members. Tweed sits across from me as the only other woman at this table. Jang Jongwoo steered her this way with talk about how the camera team should be a host’s closest friends.

She seems to be enjoying herself at least. Kind enough to try and offer to help me at first, until she was shot down by Jang Jongwoo. She had tried to call me eonni*. She seems only a few years younger than me. I’m undecided if I feel offended or not. Or if I care enough.

I remember being in her position. I remember the sense of excitement and nerves, being at my welcome company dinner. Eager and enthusiastic. As the rest of the team had been, to have a shiny new toy.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” had been one of the very first questions asked.

“You must have been very popular in high school.”

“What’s your ideal type?”

“You should be in front of the camera, not behind it!”

And so, the night had gone on with probing questions, thinly veiled ‘jokes’ and ‘accidental’ touches. Not being able to say no to shot after shot. Growing increasingly more uncomfortable but at that time brushing it off in my head. Saying it was no big deal. That this is how it was.

I had needed to be friendly, be pleasant.

I had needed the job more than preserving my pride.

I had also once caught the eye of the handsome CEO’s son, the star of the show. Whispering into my ear because it was just too loud. A few flirty looks exchanged during shoots. Brushes against my hand as we passed in the hallways. All built up to a sweet kiss in his car after he drove me home to avoid the rain…

His pregnant wife had visited him on set the very next day.

That had promptly ended that.

There had been no drama on my end. After the initial shock and realisation had set in, any budding feelings for Jang Jongwoo had been dowsed in gasoline and burned to ash within seconds. Along with any sort of respect for him as a human being.

He had tried to give me all sorts of excuses. His marriage had been arranged, there was no love between them. His feelings for me were real. It had been love at first sight. He was going to divorce her once the baby was born. He wasn’t even sure the baby was his.

He had sounded so pathetic it had curled my stomach.

I had told him then and there, in the corner of the stairwell where he had ambushed me, that I had no interest in a married man, a man who had deceived me-

“I never lied to you!”

“Yeah, you just never mentioned it! How is that any better?”

-and that even if his feelings had been true and he hadn’t just been looking for some office mistress, I would never care about a piece of trash that can even think about cheating. Especially with a baby on the way.

He hadn’t liked that. His attitude shifted swiftly from pathetic to angry. His hackles raised. His pride didn’t like me looking down on him.

Cue the thinly veiled threats to get me fired. That had panicked me. I still needed the job.

Hospital bills were expensive.

“If you fire me, expect an unfair dismissal lawsuit.” I had been bluffing for my life. There was no way I could afford it. “I can imagine the headlines. CEO’s son, sued for firing the woman he tried to have an affair with, all because she found out the truth.” He had paled.

Nothing scares chaebol* heirs more than damning headlines and being scolded by their fathers for bringing shame upon the company and threatening their stock prices.

Dramas had taught me that. It was apparently true.

He had collected himself, before threatening to twist the truth. “Or perhaps you’re just an ambitious slut, trying to sleep your way to the top." He had smirked. "I wonder which story people would believe more?”

“The one with the most evidence, obviously.” I had smiled sweetly. Before he had shown up I had screenshotted all of our conversations in KaoKaoTalk, along with the few pictures we had taken together and saved them to my cloud drive. Not to mention that the building of my rooftop apartment was very safe… CCTV everywhere. “I’m sure your wife would be very interested to see it.”

“So how about you don’t fire me, I don’t tell your wife and instead we just end this quietly?” I had to compromise. As much as I wanted to reveal how much of a bastard this asshole was…

As much as it sickened me to think how easily I had been deceived…

As much as I never wanted to see him again…

…I needed the job.

Chemotherapy was expensive.

I hadn’t quit my dream university a year before graduation and busted my ass for this job, just for this son of a bitch to ruin it all.

After he had agreed, and my legs had collapsed after he'd left, I vowed never to even so much as consider flirting with anybody at work for the rest of my life.

No more smiles, no more fake laughs. I even dressed down. I remained polite and spoke when spoken to, but that was all.

It was only until after my mother died, that I completely stopped giving a shit.

~

I recognize the moment he puts his hand on Tweed’s thigh. She startles, looks down at her leg with wide eyes, clears her throat and then shifts away in her seat. She looks uncomfortable as she picks up a piece of pork with her chopsticks. Our gazes meet for a second before she looks away, cheeks getting redder.

Jang Jongwoo is of course oblivious.

I really shouldn’t get involved.

He turns from Seoyoon-sshi to address someone down the table.

It’s really not any of my business.

From the past two hours I’ve come to believe that Seoyoon-sshi is sweet if not a little naïve. At first, I misjudged that it was hearts in her eyes, fallen for his good looks like cupids’ arrow. But she rambled on about how her halmeoni* loves the channel, how she thought Jang Jongwoo was so funny and cool and how he inspired her to become a TV host. He is her idol.

He’s also an asshole.

In the beginning she could have interpreted his kindness and attentiveness as from a welcoming sunbae. But I doubt that’s the case anymore. He’s made his true intentions clear the second his hand found its way to her thigh. It’s up to her if she wants it or not.

But there’s probably a very important piece of information that’s been so far withheld.

“I hear congratulations are in order, Sir.”

The table quietens a little as I interrupt the conversations. I’ve barely said a word since we arrived, so it seems to surprise everyone.

I pick up a bottle of soju and offer to pour him a glass.

“Congratulations? What for?” He asks, a little wary, eyebrow raised in suspicion. I haven’t addressed him directly in a few months. Nevertheless, he still raises his glass, finally taking his hand from Seoyoon-sshi.

“Isn’t it your wedding anniversary soon? Congratulations!” I smile innocently. “How many years has it been now?”

Seoyoon-sshi’s eyes widen, and she stiffens.

Just as I thought.

The table bursts into echoed congratulations and a call for cheers.

Seoyoon-sshi makes a quick escape to the bathroom whilst Jang Jongwoo is distracted.

“Actually, it’s not for another couple of months.”

“Oh? Apologies. My mistake.”

I shrug and take a slow sip of my beer.

Ahh… delicious.

~

Once Seoyoon-sshi returned from the bathroom she swiftly found refuge with the makeup and wardrobe team.

Smart girl.

Jang Jongwoo isn’t happy about this. He’s drinking more and he keeps glaring at me. After a while of ignoring his heavy gaze and grilling a couple more slices of pork belly, he finally leaves the table.

Time for my escape.

Saying a half assed farewell to my team, I grab my coat and bag. As I’m heading out of the door, I meet Seoyoon-sshi’s eyes with a meaningful look of, ‘be careful’. She nods slightly and refills her glass of water. Message received it seems.

I get outside and I can finally breathe. I can’t wait to get home, shower off the barbeque smell, change into my comfiest sweats and down soju until I pass out on the couch. Fuck it, it’s Saturday tomorrow.

I take a couple of steps towards the road to try and hail a taxi when-

“Ya.”

Fuck.

I turn towards where he’s leaning against the side of the restaurant, out of sight of the windows. The end of his cigarette glows in the darkness.

“Come here.” He orders, beckoning with his hand. His palm is sidewards instead of down. Not quite disrespectful, but it still pisses me off.

“I’m heading out now, Sir,” I bow my head at him, my grip on my bag strap tightens out of irritation. I was so, so close. “Have a nice weekend.”

He sucks in air through gritted teeth as if saying how dare you, eyes narrowing. “I said come here.”

I sigh and walk over as he takes another drag of his cigarette. I stand in front of him, purposefully out of arms reach. But he still takes a step towards me and exhales, the smoke blowing in my face. I turn my head to try to avoid most of it, my nose wrinkled at the smell of the smoke and alcohol breath.

“Ya,” he leans over into my space, an intimidation tactic that fails when he sways slightly and has to catch himself, “what the hell was that?”

“What was what, Sir?” I respond tartly, crossing my arms.

After flicking away his cigarette butt, he brings his hand up, poking my forehead. “You know what I’m talking about.” He accuses. “Wedding anniversary? All of a sudden?”

“Aah, that?” I scoff and knock his hand away before running my hand through my hair to push it out of my face. “Looks like you’ve drunk too much tonight.” I tut at him. “You’ve forgotten you’re married. Again.”

“Aish,” He groans, hanging his head back in frustration. “Is that your business? You said you would keep your mouth shut.” He takes another step further into my space.

“To your wife maybe.” I shrug, “And I have so I don’t understand why you’re bothering me right now. You’re drunk. You should probably sober up.”

He scoffs. “You’re telling me what to do now? Me?”

“Some advice, that’s all.”

“You have some nerve you know that?!”

“What?” I raise my voice right back at him. “What have I done that’s so wrong? Go ahead, tell me.” He can’t of course. Admitting any of his misdeeds out loud would make him realise what a piece of shit he is.

So I do it for him.

“Omo*, forgive me, Sir!” I bow overdramatically like a eunuch from a Joseon* drama. “How dare I tell the new hire that you’re married. You wanted to fuck her but because I told her the truth, she won’t even look at you now! Aigo! How will you live!?”

Several passers-by overhear and gasp, laughing and gossiping amongst themselves.

“Ya!”

“What?!” I shout back.

He looks around, having the nerve to look embarrassed before grabbing my arm tightly. “Have you gone insane?!”

He shakes me a little.

“Let go.” I warn him.

He doesn’t.

I grab his wrist and squeeze the pressure point. He shouts out in pain as I twist his hand off me and behind his back. I hold him there, leaning close enough to his ear to make sure I’m heard.

“Listen carefully. You may have fooled me. I blame myself for not seeing it sooner. You had so many excuses and at the time, fine, yeah, sure, it made some sense. But when I think back on the time I wasted on you, it makes me feel sick. I’m so fucking ashamed and I have to live with that.” All the things I had kept inside were now pouring out. “So it’s the least I could do, to stop you doing that to someone else if I can. You’re angry I told Seoyoon-sshi that you’re married? You should have done it yourself, you cheating pig bastard!”

 I finally let go and push him away from me. He curses at me and rubs his wrist as I readjust my bag. He stares at me aghast, as if he can’t believe what just happened.

“Crazy bitch!”

“Crazy bitch?” I scoff. “Ya, then watch your words carefully. Or do you wanna see how crazy I can really get?”

I step towards him and he retreats like a cowering dog.

Good.

“Get your act together, Jongwoo-sshi. For fuck sake stay faithful or get a divorce. Stop hurting other people just ‘cos you want to dick around.” He at last looks like he’s taking my words somewhat seriously. “It’s pathetic.”

I turn around and head towards the road. Even as I hear a curse and a crashing sound, I don’t look back. I only assume he’s done something stupid like kick something. When I hear his cry of pain, I guess I’m right.

I stick my hand out and hail an approaching taxi. After greeting the driver and giving him my address, I let out the sigh I’ve held in all night. My neck and shoulders are stiff from all the tension and its starting to ache. I rummage around in my bag and when I find them, put in my earphones.

Just for a little while, I want to cut myself off from the world and forget my worries.

I press play and my music picks up from where I left it.

It’s okay, now when I say one, two, three, forget it

Erase all of the sad memories

Hold each other's hand and smile

[2! 3!]

~

The plastic bag rustles as I take the last step up the stairs and arrive on my rooftop. The two bottles of soju and the three cans of beer that I bought from the convenience store all softly clink inside.

I head straight to the pyeong-sang* and flop onto it.

This little rooftop apartment was the cheapest place I could find after having to move out from the student dorms. Well, the cheapest one that was liveable and safe enough to live in. The main room was just about large enough to fit in a double bed, a rail for my clothes, a small desk and chair. The kitchen may just be a sink, a half fridge and a couple of cabinets. The bathroom no bigger than a storage cupboard with a leaky shower and temperamental hot water.

I’d toiled the first week I’d moved in to get rid of the outdated wallpaper and paint the walls. I’d looked up online to fix the wonky cupboard doors and the window that didn’t quite close all the way. I had spent hours on my knees cleaning the grout around the tiles of the bathroom, choking on the bleach fumes.

All to make this place more somewhat of a home.

All it did was make the landlord increase the rent.

My phone pings.

I pull it out of my pocket and look past the shattered screen to see that I’ve a message from my best friend since middle school, Lee Eun-sol.

Ah, Sol-a’s bailing on our plans tomorrow. Her soon to be mother-in-law wants to take her to lunch. Her wedding is in a couple of months, and she’s been bravely fighting against her mother-in-law’s questionable tastes. Everything from wedding hall to napkins to flowers has been a battle so far.

Her fiancée, her sweetheart since freshman year, has been walking on a tightrope, stuck as mediator between the two.

This must be something like the 5^th time she’s had to reschedule this month. And I get it, of course I do.

A wedding is no easy feat.

Just…I wish it didn’t leave me feeling so damn lonely. And then feeling angry at her for making me feel lonely and then feeling guilty for feeling angry because it’s not her fault that she has a life and I don’t have my shit together.

Honestly, I wouldn’t even choose me right now. It’s not like I’ve the best company to be around lately.

I feel like I’m being caught in a vicious emotional cycle. Stuck in a whirlpool, like the ones in the sink when the plug has been pulled, just waiting to be dragged under the water and down the drain.

Enough. I say to myself.

Best stop here.

The crack of the soju bottle top is satisfying as I twist it open. I take two large gulps straight from the bottle. Then a third. Then a fourth. Then I put it down.

I lay back on the pyeong-sang looking up into the night sky. The stars are barely visible, hidden behind the smog and light pollution of the city as usual but the moon…

Must be hiding behind the clouds.

My music still plays through my earphones, the soundtrack for my evening.

Maybe I, I can never fly

I can't fly like the flower petals over there

Or as though I have wings, yeah

Maybe I, I can't touch the sky

Still, I want to stretch my hand out

I want to run, just a bit more

[Awake]

I feel my eyes burning with unshed tears before I just give in. Covering my eyes with my sleeve I finally cry. Pitiful little whimpers escape my lips as my chest shudders with my quiet sobbing.

I don’t even realise when I eventually fall asleep.

Or when the moon was revealed from behind the clouds. Big, bright, and beautiful.

The scientists would say it was an unprecedented celestial phenomenon.

And it was shining straight down on me.

~

My head fucking hurts.

It’s that same pulsing pain when ridiculously hungover and I can feel my heartbeat in my skull. I don’t want to move from where I’m lying on my back. Or even open my eyes because I feel that as soon as I do I’ll get nauseous and just might throw up.

I swear I didn’t even get round to drinking that much last night. But then again, when trying to remember, towards the end it gets a bit hazy.

For example, the last thing I remember was being outside but at some point I obviously crawled into bed because I can feel the weight of the duvet and there’s a pillow beneath my head.

I slide my hands around my bed in search of my phone. It must be daytime I guess because it’s light beyond my eyelids. I’ve probably slept half the day away.

Well, it wasn’t like I had anything better to do.

I must have turned off or slept through my alarm. I run my hands around my bed looking for my phone, bringing them up under my pillow because that’s usually where it ends up, but I find nothing.

I reach my hand out towards the edge of the bed where a stack of books makes do for a bedside table, to see if I had any sense to plug it in last night…

But there’s no phone. There’s not even the stack of books. No bottle of water, no bedside lamp just the edge of the duvet and then… floor?

That’s weird.

Did I sleep outside? But nope, I can’t feel any wind, I can’t hear any traffic and I’m not choking on fine dust.

So, what, did I pull the duvet off my bed and end up on the floor?

Can’t solve anything with my eyes closed, I berate myself, feeling just a hint of anxiety beginning to rise, so I muster up the courage and slowly peek.

This is not my apartment.

…so where the fuck am I?

My eyes are wide open as I stare dumbly at the traditional silk folding screen ahead of me. It’s beautifully painted with a garden scene of flowers and butterflies, but it partially obscures a clear view into the rest of the room.

I scramble to sit up. My head throbs in protest. I wince and hold my hand up to my head in a futile attempt to soothe it, but I’m surprised when I touch cloth. A bandage is wrapped around my head. I unravel it and stare at the blood stain. Sure enough when I touch my head again, my forehead is tender and it feels like a scab is just starting to form near my hairline.

I suppose at this point only a head injury would explain these hallucinations, right?

Because that can’t be a thick, long braid tied with a ribbon, falling over my shoulder. I can’t really be dressed in a thin, white hanbok*, sitting on a silk embroidered bedding, surrounded by traditional furniture that should belong in a museum…

…or in a Joseon drama.

No…

Surely not…

Either I really am hallucinating… or this must be a dream.

…Right?

I’m still holding the bloody bandage in my hands when I squeeze them hard enough for my nails to bite sharply into my palms.

“Ah!” I yelp, dropping the bandage because shit that hurt.

Well, congrats to my imagination then because this is a very, very vivid hallucination.

“Your Royal Highness!”

I startle and whip my head towards the voice, finding a woman in typical palace maid uniform, standing in the now open doorway, holding a large silver bowl.

“You’re awake! Oh it’s such a relief you’re awake!”

She looks like she’s about to cry as she rushes over to me. The water from the bowl spills slightly in her haste to put it down before she is throwing herself to the floor in front of me in a formal bow.

“Please forgive me, Your Royal Highness!” She sobs dramatically but strangely enough it feels incredibly sincere. “It’s all my fault, I failed to look after you. I committed a sin worthy of death, please punish me!”

I just stare at her speechless. My brain failing to comprehend this whole new situation and rapidly filling up with so many questions that my head might burst.

“I’m sorry…” I try to say but it comes out as a horse whisper. I clear my throat and try again, “what did you call me?”

She peeks up from her bow, confusion in her watery eyes.

“Y-your Royal Highness?” She stutters, both a question and an answer.

I keep staring at her blankly, my mouth involuntarily gaping like a fish. She lowers her eyes, plainly uncomfortable with the intensity of my gaze.

…

“What the fuck?!”

Chapter Text

~

“What the fuck?!”

The maid gasps, her eyes widening at the swear, but how can I possibly be expected to worry about manners right now.

“Who? Me?!” I emphasise by patting my hand manically against my chest.

She nods twice meekly.

A bit of a hysterical laugh bursts out of me in disbelief, making the palace maid jump. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

“Your Royal H-highness…?”

“What Royal Highness?” I interrupt, still chuckling over the absurdity of it all. “Who exactly do you think I am?”

“Y-your Royal Highness is the C-crown Princess.”

“Crown Princess?”

She nods eagerly. I scoff. Me a princess?

“Look, this is some kind of prank…right?” I lean towards her, with a what I hope is a warm smile. “You got me good. But see, I didn’t sign up for this, so I need to see the PD or whoever’s in charge here, right now. You can’t just hit people over the head and abduct them for a show. I have rights, you know.”

“PD?” She repeats the word as if it’s foreign to her tongue. She’s a good actress, I admit. Dedicated. Not breaking character in the slightest. If I didn’t know that it was completely impossible, she would be very believable.

“The project director,” I say bluntly. “You know, of the show. I have to admit the production value for a prank show is something else.”

I get to my feet and take in the room, running my fingers over a nearby white porcelain jar. I pick up an old looking book from the top of a stack. ‘The Book of Odes’ the title says, written in Chinese characters.

…That’s strange…

I can’t read Chinese. I’d forgotten long ago anything I’d learnt in middle school.

“Your Royal Highness… what are you talking about? What joke?”

I turn around to face the maid with the book still clutched in my hands. My grip on it tightens, the paper creases, my eyes widen.

“This… this is a prank, right?” I ask her, my voice unsteady. My hands start to shake as I flip open the cover of the book.

Guan-guan go the ospreys,

On the islet in the river.

The modest, retiring, virtuous, young lady

For our prince a good mate she.

I drop the book as if it’s on fire. How can I understand it? I shouldn’t be able to read it. The letters should mean nothing to me. I shouldn’t be able to translate them so easily. It doesn’t make any sense.

I shallow thickly. What is going on? Have I actually gone crazy?

“What year is it?” I quietly beseech the woman dressed in the palace maid uniform. She hasn’t moved or taken her eyes off of me.

“It's Ki-myo*, Your Royal Highness.” She replies without hestitation, looking even more distressed. 

Ki-myo? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?! That doesn’t tell me anything, except that…

Oh shit, it's the Chinese 60-year calendar cycle.

“No way,” I shake my head in disbelief. That system is archaic. I fist my hands into my skirt to try and stop them trembling. “This has to be a joke. Or I’ve gone crazy, one or the other.”

Option A or B, because the possibility of option C is just too farfetched to even consider…

…That I’m actually in the past.

I lift up the long skirts in my hands to free up my legs. I’m going to make a run for it. It’s the only option I can think of right now. Adrenaline has ignited my fight or flight instinct.

If this is a prank, then there’s got to be staff somewhere. And when I find those bastards, I’ll give them hell for abducting me. If I have gone insane and am in some pysch ward, then the nurses and guards will stop me from leaving, pump me full of drugs and hopefully stop this delusion.

The maid seems to snap out of her daze as I dart past her, heading straight for the same door she entered from.

“Jo-Sanggung*!” She desperately calls out, her hand reaching out towards me frantically as she tries to catch me.

The doors burst open.

I skid to a stop, windmilling my arms ridiculously to try and keep my balance. Blocking my path is a stern looking older woman in the typical jade dangui* uniform like I’ve seen a million times on TV.

The ultimate nannies of the palace… a Senior Court Lady.

“Your Royal Highness.” She says, relieved, looking me over like a concerned mother fussing a child. The doors close behind her, seemingly by magic if I didn’t guess that there are probably like, a dozen more maids stationed outside.

I weigh up the option of pushing past her, but her arms are already out wide like a goalkeeper. And she looks as sturdy as a bull. I glance around for another exit, but it looks like I’m trapped for now. Well, unless I want to try and jump through a wall like a stuntman.

The maid reaches us and once again throws herself to the floor, but this time at the Court Lady’s feet and gripping her skirts.

“Jo-Sanggung-nim,” She sobs. “You must call for the Royal Physician at once. There’s something seriously wrong with Her Royal Highness!”

Royal physician? Goddammit, I really don’t want some old timey quack poking me with needles.

The Court Lady looks at the maid with alarm before turning that gaze to me. Just as I open my mouth again to speak, she loudly commands to the maids outside.

“Summon the Royal Physician! At once!”

Aisshh– *

~

The Court Lady takes me by the arm and straight back to the bed, making me lay down once more whilst we wait for the physician. God this woman is strong. My resistance is futile. I’m now outnumbered. So I try to argue that I’m fine, and that a doctor is unnecessary, but the scolding gleam in her eyes tells me that she doesn’t believe me.

“You must rest, Your Royal Highness.” She insists.

She stays by my side like a guard dog whilst the maid returns to her bowl of water, dipping in a cloth and ringing it out before bringing it towards my face.

I flinch away. “What are you doing?”

“I-I’m washing your face, Your Royal Highness.” She replies like it’s obvious.

“Well, I’m an adult, I can do that myself.” I tell her, reaching for the cloth and attempting to sit up once more.

The Court Lady pointedly clears her throat and I freeze. We have a brief stare off, but dammit her will is just too strong for me to win. The maid takes this as a sign of victory and begins her task.

I might as well play nice and get information whilst biding my time for the next opportunity to escape.

“So, what on earth happened? How did I get here?” I ask as I settle back down into the blankets with a sigh of defeat. The cloth is cool and soft against my skin as she wipes my face clean. If I wasn’t so wound up it would be relaxing. Like getting a facial. The maid moves to clean around my forehead, causing me to hiss when she strokes over the wound I’d forgotten about. “Why am I like this? How did I get injured?”

“Last night we found you by the lake, Your Royal Highness,” the maid begins to explain, sniffling a little. “And your poor head – there was so much blood! I thought you were dead!”

“We believe you fainted and hit your head,” The Court Lady adds. “You’ve been unconscious ever since.”

“I was by myself?” I ask curiously. From what I remember in dramas, the royal family were rarely alone – constantly being trailed by their servants.

“We’d left you in your room after the evening meal. You told us you wanted to be alone to read.” The Court Lady tells me with a slight tone of reprimand. “But when we came back at Ja-shi* to prepare you for bed, you were missing.”

“We had everyone searching the entire palace for you.” The maid interjects emotionally. “We were so worried!”

It seems like this girl really cares for me…

Wait a minute…

Am I still me?!

“Mirror! I need a mirror, where’s a mirror?!” I panic yell, sitting up abruptly. The Court Lady must be able to see the fear in my eyes because she doesn’t even argue and nods to the maid, who was looking to her for permission.

The maid turns around and pulls out a box, a beautifully ornamented medium sized box which I can’t fully appreciate right now in my sudden identity crisis. She pulls back the hinged lid, which reveals the mirror, and faces it towards me. I grab at it impatiently and bring it closer.

I don’t know if I should be relieved or more concerned.

The face in the mirror staring back at me is, without a doubt, the face I’ve known my entire life. The only difference is the current semi-fresh cut on my forehead. I breathe a sigh of relief. Everything else is exactly the same. Including all of the familiar flaws. A dramatic change however is my hair, now pure black, straight, and ridiculously long.

This is starting to look less and less like a prank show…

But what does this mean? If this face is mine… then just who is the Crown Princess that these people know? These people obviously have memories and a history with her. How does she look exactly like me?

An ancestor? But I’m pretty sure I wasn’t related to royalty when I did my family genealogy project in middle school.

My musing is interrupted by a voice from outside announcing the arrival of the royal physician. When he enters, he bows ninety degrees in his greeting, clutching his medicine box to his chest. The poor man is red in the face, huffing and panting as if he ran all the way here like his ass was on fire.

Once the physician manages to catch his breath, he sits down and starts his examination. He takes my pulse first, laying a cloth over my wrist so that he doesn’t touch my skin directly. I recognise the act but to be perfectly honest, it just makes me question the accuracy of the results.

With the physician here, I don’t feel comfortable probing the ladies for more information in his presence. Doctor/patient confidentiality has always easily been broken in the sageuks* I’ve seen. The walls have eyes and ears in the palace. Someone is always spying on someone. And the medical history of someone is one of the best weaknesses to exploit.

I notice that even the Court Lady doesn’t divulge just how bad my ‘memory loss’ truly is. She doesn’t seem to fully trust him either. The palace maid just keeps quiet.

At some point I need to find out who’s on the Princess’s side if I want to survive. And I need to survive if I want to go home.

Or do I?

If a sudden blow to the Princess’s head is what caused me to suddenly end up being here like this… would another blow to the head send me back? But that’s just a theory. A risky theory. Because I don’t really want to smash my head in and die whilst attempting it…

And there’s no sure guarantee that dying could make me wake up back in 2019 like it did in Moon Lovers. It could just make me dead.

If I’m here in her body… does that mean she’s there in mine? A Joseon Crown Princess waking up and wondering around 21^st century Seoul? Going from living in a literal palace to a 9 pyeong* apartment. It’d make for an entertaining drama, that’s for sure.

Is this the situation then? A body swap? A Freaky Friday scenario that has somehow transcended time? Or perhaps, is she still in here somewhere? Trapped, able to see and hear everything, but unable to speak or even control her own body?!

Have I somehow possessed her??

If you can hear me, Your Royal Highness, I beseech politely inside my head, please give me a sign, wriggle your fingers.

I let my free hand go lax, as if giving up control, and wait in suspense.

…

Nothing.

I wait a little longer, holding my breath. My eyes watering as I try not to blink, just in case I miss something.

….

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

I let out a sigh in relief. It would be terrible to be holding someone’s consciousness hostage inside their own head.

Something cold, wet, and slimy touches my head and it immediately snaps me out of my thoughts. It’s just the physician applying herbal ointment to my cut.

“With head injuries such as this, it is not uncommon to experience some loss of memory.” He explains, I think to the Court Lady. I hope he hasn’t been talking to me this entire time because I haven’t been listening to a single word. “But the memories should return, in time. I shall brew some medicine that can help. But in the meantime, I advise you rest, Your Royal Highness.”

“Thank you,” I tell him, although I have a feeling his prescription can’t fix this situation. I doubt even modern medicine could help me right now, let alone a few needles and some herbs. “You worked hard.” **

They all look at me, stunned, as if I just cursed him instead. Is the Princess showing a little appreciation that shocking to them? I guess it could be. I should really find out what kind of person she was. An overnight complete change of personality would be super suspicious.

The physician stutters and bows, taking a few steps backwards in respect before leaving.

Once the doors close behind him and we are left alone, I turn back to the Court Lady and palace maid. Time for the interrogation.

“Now, let’s pick up where we left off, shall we?”

~

I’m still very tempted to run away. Or hide under the blankets until the world makes sense again. I’m usually good at that. Avoiding reality.

However, waking up in the past seems a little too important to ignore.

“You said you found me by the lake?” I ask. If I had any hope of making sense of all of this, then I need to know all about what this Crown Princess had been up to. What I need is the background story. The recap. A ‘previously on the last episode’.

“Yes, Your Royal Highness,” The Court Lady confirms.

“And there wasn’t anything else strange? Why would sh- I go to the lake that late at night?”

The ladies exchange a look between them, hesitating.

“Tell me, please. I need to know everything,” I plead.

“We don’t know why you went there, Your Royal Highness.” It’s the maid who answers. “But when we found you, you were by the water’s edge and—” She takes a deep breath and lowers her voice, “you had taken off your shoes and robe.”

Taken off her shoes by the side of a lake? I doubt it was for some late-night swimming. More like… suicide?

“But I wasn’t in the water? I wasn’t wet at all?”

They both nod.

She didn’t actually jump into the water. Contemplating suicide then? Or perhaps she was about to go through with it but suddenly fainted? Or perhaps someone hit her over the head and then tried to make it look like a suicide but got interrupted before they could throw her in?

The maid moves to start washing my hands gently, but I take the cloth from her and do it quickly by myself. I’m not a kid and the pampering is kind of making me uncomfortable.

“Can you take me there?” I ask hopefully. “To where I was found.”

“You must rest, Your Royal Highness.” The Court Lady looks like she might just sit on me to make sure I do. I won’t be leaving this room anytime soon then, I guess.

“It might help bring back my memory,” I attempt to persuade her. The crime scene might tell me something more about the situation. I’ve certainly seen enough detective shows to try my hand at spotting some clues. Signs of struggle, direction of blood splatter and the like.

But the Court Lady narrows her eyes in response as if saying ‘just try it’. I sigh and concede. “Perhaps later then?”

“Yes, of course.”

I turn to the maid who seems to have pulled herself together a bit more. No longer looking like she’s on the verge of tears. “Is there anyone you can think of who was out to get me?”

They both look confused again… is the wording too modern?

“Is there anyone who wants to harm me?”

“No, Your Royal Highness! Who would dare to want to hurt you?” The maid is either an excellent actress, clueless or genuinely appalled at the idea. I think she might be trying to be kind, but it’s utter bullshit.

This is the Royal Palace in the Joseon Dynasty. Everyone and his mother desires money and power and will betray, maim, and kill anyone in their way to get it. If someone wants to hurt me, then my bet is on an opposing Minister who wants his own daughter to be Crown Princess in my place. And the only way to achieve that is either deposition or death.

“Okay, sure,” I continue, unconvinced. “How about me then? Was I, like, behaving strangely before yesterday? Unlike my usual self.”

The Court Lady looks like she wants to say I’m behaving strangely now, but the maid thinks seriously for a bit, pursing her lips in thought. She glances at the Court Lady before speaking.

“You’ve been a little more… quiet than usual lately.” She answers, carefully. “The past few months or so.”

“Quiet?”

“Yes, sometimes when you didn’t know I was watching, you looked… sad, and… lonely.” She tells me with some commiseration.

Well, that hits just a little too close to home. Maybe me and this Princess have more in common than just our face.

“And you’ve barely been eating, Your Royal Highness.” The Court Lady adds. “You’ve been sending all of the tables back after barely touching them. You’ve been wasting away.”

“Did I also sleep a lot? And I didn’t want to do things that I used to enjoy doing? Anything like that?”

“Y-yes, exactly like that, Your Royal Highness. Do you perhaps remember?”

I shake my head, bring my hand to my chin as I think.

This sounds like a classic case of depression. No appetite, no energy, no will to live. All these signs are pointing towards the likelihood of last night being a failed suicide attempt.

But why? What could be the reason?

Let’s see… money? Pfft. No way, she’s a princess. I doubt she has crippling debt or loan sharks after her.

Bullying? More than likely, the inner court is too often depicted as treacherous and full of peril. One misstep and the in-laws can make your life a living hell. The court full of snakes and vultures. Her own family could very well be just as toxic, seeing her as just a tool for their own means – to be the family of the Future King. To have that power and control.

Love?

Where’s the Crown Prince been in all of this? He’s not been lovingly by her side, holding her hand since the moment she was hurt and waiting anxiously for her to wake up. So then there must not be any warm feelings in this relationship. At least not coming from his side.

Which has been common enough in history. I mean, it’s not like he got to choose his own wife. That decision would have been left by the Queen Dowager or the Grand Queen Dowager if she’s still alive and kicking. And they would have unquestionably selected someone that would be advantageous to growing the power and influence of their own family. Not for something as trivial as love.

Maybe she loves him though? A one-sided love. The maid did say that the Crown Princess looked sad and lonely… maybe she finally had enough of being ignored and unloved and decided that death might be better.

How tragic.

But this all comes to the question… who is the Crown Prince? And oh fuck, am I actually married to this guy?

Please, please, please, I pray to all and any deities that could be listening. Please, anyone but Yeonsan*. If it’s Yeonsan… Shivers run down my spine. I can’t think of anyone worse. A mad tyrant if that movie about him had any historical basis. Hands down the cruellest king in all of Joseon’s history.

But wait. The when might just be more important. What if it’s just before the Japanese Invasion? Oh my god, who was the Crown Prince then? Shit, I should have paid more attention in school. All that I can remember from history is from what I’ve seen in the sageuks and even then the dates don’t stick.

“What year is it again?” I urgently ask the Court Lady.

“Ki-myo, Your Royal Highness, the thirteenth year in the era of Jeongdeok*.”

…

That still means nothing to me.

“Okay…?” I wait for her to elaborate a bit more, circling my hand in a ‘please go on’ gesture, but I get nothing. Her face doesn’t even twitch like she already expects this kind of crazy behaviour from me now. I think the palace maid’s eyebrows might just become permanently scrunched. “Well, what’s that in numbers? Like…how many years has it been since the founding of Joseon?”

“One hundred and twenty-seven years, Your Royal Highness.”

I try to do the math in my head. What was it? One solar year is 1.03 lunar year? Fucking lunar years. I can only keep track of when Seollal* is each year because I have Naver to remind me.

…

1519? I think? … Maybe?

…500 years in the past?!

That’s practically medieval times! Sure, I guess I don’t have to worry about the Japanese takeover… just everything else. Like smallpox, plagues, poison, torture, tigers and even… chamber pots. I cringe at the thought.

I move on quickly before I can freak myself out even more. I ask my original question.

“The Crown Prince, who is he?”

Once again, their expressions fall as if I’d just spouted gibberish. Even the Court Lady can’t keep her composure this time. But now I’m confused at their confusion. This should be a simple straightforward question… and I definitely said it in a way that they’d understand.

“The…Crown Prince?”

“Yes, the Crown Prince…” I repeat once more, a bit slower and enunciating more clearly in case that was the problem. “The heir to the throne? The king’s son? My husband?”

“Your Royal Highness… you aren’t married.”

…Huh?

“Then how on earth am I the Crown Princess?”

They share a look as if this is the craziest thing I’ve said since I’ve woken up. The Court Lady clears her throat and holds my hand in hers, patting it gently.

“You are the heir to the throne, Your Royal Highness.” She explains to me like I’m a child, in the same way as if she’s telling me the sky is blue.

“What?” Now I’m confused. How can I be the heir if I’m a Princess? They’ve definitely been calling me Princess and not Prince, right? I peek down at my body and yep, I’m 100% certain I’m still a woman. This isn’t making sense. There’s no way a woman could inherit the throne.

“You are the daughter of Her Majesty, the Queen.”

“Okay…” I draw out the word. So, I was born into royalty instead of marrying into it. That still doesn’t explain. I try a different question. “So, who’s the King?”

“There is no King, Your Royal Highness.” She replies, shaking her head. That was not the answer I was expecting. Then in a hushed tone, like this is something that shouldn’t be spoken about, she adds, “There hasn’t been a King of Joseon since Grand Prince Suyang* overthrew King Danjong*.”

Suyang… Danjong… I rack my brain.

Wasn’t Suyang one of Sejong the Great* sons? His second son? Because the first son was weak and died only a couple years after being crowned, then left the throne to his kid, Danjong? But then Grand Prince Suyang ended up taking the throne by force for himself, even killing some of his brothers, and became King Sejo*?

What does she mean that there’s been no King since? I’m pretty sure that that isn’t right. There’s an entire song about the Kings of Joseon. I could probably still recite it.

Unless…this is not the Joseon I know.

“Her Majesty the Queen has come.” A man’s voice announces from outside all of a sudden.

Oh shit.

This is the lady I do not want to meet. I’m a stranger in her daughter’s body and if anyone could realise that something is up, then it would be her mother. And if she’s the Queen, then she might just have me executed. Impersonation of a Royal Family member is a serious crime!

The Court Lady quickly jumps to her feet, bringing the palace maid up as well by her arm. Stepping back from the bed, they both fold their hands in front of them and bow ninety degrees towards the door.

I remain in the bed where I am frozen, heart beating wildly in fear, eyes wide on the door where the Queen enters.

She steps in so gracefully, as if walking on wind, but one glimpse at her and I can tell that she is no meek, dainty thing. Not at all. She holds herself with a confidence of having absolute authority. I bow my head quickly as the strength of her presence commands the room. I don’t have the nerve to look her in the eyes.

All I can see is that her gown is red and gold and embroidered with the dragon emblem of the royal family. It has five claws. Her hands are free of rings except a thick white jade band around, strangely enough, the little finger of her left hand. A single golden mugunghwa* decorates it. It catches my eye as she approaches.

“Yoon-ah.” She says softly, lowering herself to her knees and clutching my shoulders.

I don’t recognise the name she calls me, but she says it fondly. I can hear the love and concern within the gentle tone. Yet it’s the familiarity of her voice that makes me pause. I  look up to see her face.

I gasp, bursting into tears.

This isn’t a dream and I haven’t gone mad.

…

I must be dead.

Because that can be the only explanation…

“Eomma*??”

Chapter Text

~

“Eomma??”

I throw myself into her arms. I hear a someone gasp, but I don’t care. I only care that I finally have my mother’s arms around me once more. She holds me to her and strokes my hair whilst I sob into her chest.

All of the grief that I’ve been buried under. All of the longing. The pain and rage because she was taken from me too soon. The sharps thorns of guilt. That I wasn’t attentive enough, I didn’t visit enough, I didn’t always answer her calls, was too busy with my studies-

It all rolls through me like a typhoon.

“My child, what is the matter?” She murmurs into my hair, hugging me tighter. Her voice just like I remember it.

“I m-missed you,” I weep. “I missed you so much, E-eomma.”

“I have not gone anywhere.” She pulls me back and holds my face in her hands, offering me a gentle smile. I notice her eyes examine the wound on my head. “You gave us such a fright, daughter. You must be more careful,” She tuts. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” I sniff wetly. “I don’t remember.”

“I was informed.” She strokes my cheek with her thumb, “I am glad to see that you have not forgotten me.”

“Never, Eomma, n-never.” I shake my head vehemently, fresh tears spilling over.

I take in her face. She looks just like she did before she was admitted. No sallow skin, no sunken cheeks, no dull, tired eyes filled with pain. Her hair is thick and shiny, with just a small sprinkle of grey.

“What else can you remember?”

“You d-died. Eomma, you died, and I-I tried to stay strong like you said. But it was so h-hard.”

“Oh, my child.” She hugs me to her once more and hushes me, rocking me soothingly. “You must have had a terrible dream.”

A dream. Yes. It feels like a dream now. A terrible nightmare with the sound of flatlining, the hospital’s cloying antiseptic smell, the white chrysanthemums, and the cremation urn.

How many times did I pray for it all to be a dream?

“Now, dear daughter, dry your tears.” She says, wiping them away. “You must try to remember quickly. And what you cannot remember, you must relearn. Those vipers in the court would use this against you if they were to ever find out. You must not give them any excuse. Do you understand?”

She gives my shoulders a shake when I just stare at her wide eyed. “Yoon-ah, do you understand?” It’s the same tone of voice I heard countless times as a kid. ‘Don’t touch that it’s hot’, ‘don’t run out into the road’, ‘don’t go off with strangers’. That tone tells me this is a serious situation and to pay attention.

“Yes, Eomma.” I answer automatically.

“Without your memory, there are some that could take the opportunity to try and manipulate you,” she explains. “For now, you must trust no-one in the palace except for your maids, your guard, your fathers, and myself.”

I turn to look at the ladies who’ve been at my side since I woke up, but they’ve disappeared. They must have left when I'd been bawling my eyes out, which I’m grateful for as it will save me some embarrassment when I face them again.

But something else that she said is what piques my interest.

“Fathers?”

I can’t help but feel bad when I see her heart break a little in her eyes. She holds my hand in hers and squeezes it tightly. “Yes, my child, your fathers. You do not remember them?”

I shake my head, feeling small and ashamed for some reason. But ‘fathers’… plural? As in more than one? Do I have, like, a stepdad or something?

I watch her as she takes a breath and steels herself. She slides off the white jade ring from her little finger, revealing four fine lines tattooed there. Each line completely circles her finger as if they are rings themselves. Whoever did the tattooing was incredibly good, with not a single wobble in the lines. Three are red. But the first one, the closest to her knuckle, is black.

“The Queen’s Consorts. My husbands.” She strokes along the tattoos lovingly, but when she touches the black one there’s also sorrow. “Your fathers.”

My mother… has a harem?

I mean, Korea is no stranger to polygamy. It had long been the norm and very legal throughout history until… when? The 20^th century?

But that was just for men of course because of bullshit inequality.

Men could have a wife and as many concubines as he could support, all whilst still visiting a kisaeng parlour every night, and no one would bat an eye. Whereas a wife was expected to kill herself after the death of her husband to protect her chastity and be praised as a ‘virtuous woman’. The idea of any woman of ‘good upbringing’ to have a lover, before marriage, during or after, was so scandalous that her parents might just put her to death for bringing shame to the family.

But here, to find out that the Queen has a harem…

The Queen who is my mother…

It just reminds me that, right now, I know nothing.

Nothing about what’s happening or why it’s happening. I can’t even rely on what little history I remember because everything is so different.

If there is no King, then that means there’s no harem of Concubines, each one all vying for their sons to become the heir through means of manipulation, betrayal, or poison. Which means there’s no ministers holding the strings of their puppet daughters.

But does this mean that instead, it’s my ‘fathers’ who are battling each other for their child to take the throne?

Aisshh, apparently, I’m the heir. Do I now have a gaggle of siblings all waiting to stab me in the back for my position?

And if the jealousy amongst the Palace women was cold and cunning– between several men and one Queen, wouldn’t it be violent and explosive? How much more dangerous does that make the Inner Court? I’ve witnessed men stupidly fighting over a woman before. It’s always been a chaotic flurry of fists, but these Joseon men will have been martially trained. With weapons. With intent to kill.

I’ve just got here, and my life could already be at stake. Who knows who's plotting what against me.

My head hurts.

If I try to think about all this too hard, I’m pretty sure my brain will implode.

So, should I just stop thinking?

Here, I can see my mother’s face, hear her voice, and be with her once again. That’s good enough for me. Everything else is inconsequential.

I look up into her face to find my courage.

I can do this.

Because of her.

~

She briefly tells me about the men who are my ‘fathers’, in hope that doing so might spark some recognition.

She starts with the eldest, Consort Hwang. Second son of a prominent military family. His father is a loyal general, currently protecting the Southern coastline against Japanese raiders along with his eldest son.

“He insisted on teaching you everything to know about martial arts from the moment you could walk.” She reminisces, smiling. “When you were five years old, he gave you your first wooden sword. You slept with it in your bed for months. No one could pry it away from you.”

The next is Consort Choi. The scholar from the South. Came to the capital to take the government exam and passed in first place with flying colours. But his promising career in government was over before it could begin once he was introduced to the Queen.

“His mother has never forgiven me.” My mother scoffs before muttering disdainfully, “that old witch.”

Consort Choi’s mother also lives in the palace. The only in-law, the only one of many grandparents, to do so. She did not want to be separated from her first-born son, so made a huge scene pleading for permission to live in the palace on her knees in front of the Queen’s Palace…

The morning after their wedding night.

What a way to start a honeymoon. I feel bad for my mother if that woman is that kind of mother-in-law.

“Whilst you were learning to talk, he would read you to sleep, every single night,” she tells me more about my second father. “Even when you were just due for a nap, he would show up book in hand. It took a while for you to be able to have a proper conversation with him. Every time, you would become sleepy just from the sound of his voice.”

I smile politely whilst she chuckles at the memory. It’s a very sweet story… and I can almost picture it. A chubby cheeked little princess, eyes heavy and yawning whilst talking with her father. Not out of any kind of disrespect, but because his voice has been her personal lullaby since she can remember. A warm, soothing voice that tells her she’s safe and loved and that it’s time to sleep…

And finally, the last and youngest, Consort Song. Third son of one of the richest merchant families, who went to study abroad in China. When he returned to Joseon, (with fame, wealth and more than a handful of marriage proposals) he travelled with the group of Chinese envoys, visiting from the Ming Empire to witness the coronation of the new Joseon Queen.

“After hearing one of his stories, you told him that you wanted to see an elephant,” my mother says, shaking her head with fond exasperation. “But I would not allow him to go to Ming to bring one back. So, he made you a doll instead. All by himself. Because apparently a dozen maids from the Clothing Department could not get the right shape.”

If all three of the Queen’s Consorts doted on the Princess like my mother described, then she must have been spoilt rotten with no lack of affection. So far, there’s no clear winner as to which one could be my biological father.

Which could it be… the warrior, the scholar, or the merchant?

But another thing I can’t help but notice, is the way she talks about these men. There’s no change of affection. The gleam in her eyes, her smile, they don’t change. I recognise it instantly because it’s a familiar feeling.

It’s like talking to an OT fan.

~

The door opens and in walks the Court Lady with the medicine prescribed from the physician, and another, much older, Court Lady. They both bow, and then whilst mine stands next to me, the other one goes to my mother.

“Your Majesty, the ministers will soon be expecting your return to the morning assembly.”

“I understand.” My mother sighs, nods and reaches out to take my hand. “I requested a recess once I heard that you were awake,” She explains. “I have already been away for too long. I should return and save your fathers from their suffering. They will want to know how you are.”

She moves to stand, and I try to stand with her to see her out, but she gently holds me in place. “No, child. Take the medicine and then rest for now. You will need it.”

She turns to my Court Lady who bows once more under the Queen’s attention.

“Jo-Sanggung, you must prepare her for tomorrow.” She commands my Court Lady, although politely. “We cannot postpone it, so teach her everything that she will need to know. There can be no cause for suspicion.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I do not have to remind you of what will happen if word of her condition becomes known outside of these walls,” The Queens tone lowers, and her eyes sharpen. Her expression becomes fearsome. A tigress protecting her cub. “Do I?”

“O-of course not, Your Majesty.”

“And her Guard is to stay by her side at all times. She is to go nowhere alone. No other incident must befall her.”

I don't even try to refuse. A personal bodyguard right now sounds great. At least just until I can find my feet in this place.

Before she steps over the threshold of the door to exit, my mother turns back to me and offers me a reassuring smile. “I shall try to see you when I can. Try not to cause any trouble in my absence.”

The words ring so familiar in my head. Countless times she would call out to me ‘don’t cause any trouble’ as I rushed out the door for school. I feel myself tearing up again.

“I can’t help it if trouble finds me.” I respond, just like I always used to, smiling broadly.

Her hand flutters to her chest, her breath hitches. A strange reaction but she smiles in return. “It is so good to see you smiling again, my child. You seem back to your old self.”

Once the door closes behind her, I wipe away the last remnants of tears from my eyes with my sleeves. The Court Lady hands me a white porcelain bowl filled with an ominous dark liquid. I scrunch my nose when I get a whiff of it, but before I can hesitate, she pushes the bowl to my lips. I try to one shot it, but I almost end up spitting it back out because it’s so damn bitter.

~

I sit stiffly, with my back ramrod straight, trying to appear as royal and dignified as I can. My best effort cosplaying a Princess. My face emotionless, just like Jo-Sanggung instructed, sitting on the silk cushion with hands folded in my lap, hidden underneath the silver dragon embroidered, pale lilac hanbok they’ve dressed me in.

‘They’ being a pack of palace ladies, who had basically dragged me out of bed in order to get me ready for today. They washed and dressed me, brushed my hair and my teeth, and painted and powdered my face. All whilst I was still half asleep. And what was the point of being dolled up? No one can even see me properly through the blind that hangs down in front of me. It totally obscures my face from the five men that stand in a line and offer me a formal bow.

At least the location is pretty. They’ve set it all up in a beautiful, raised garden pavilion, painted a typical red and green, overlooking a small lake in a park-like space dotted with huge thick trees and flowerbeds.

Although, exactly where I am in the palace, I have no idea. This place is damn maze. I won’t have any hope of ever finding my way around this place by myself. Too many gates and turns and buildings that look exactly the same. I can’t even tell if we’re in the Eastern Palace* anymore.

I fight back yet another yawn. It must have been very late last night when I finally got to close my eyes. I’d basically passed out as soon as my head was allowed to hit the pillow. Completely wiped out from the sheer mental and emotional exhaustion that yesterday had brought.

//

“What’s tomorrow?” I’d asked the Court Lady once I’d choked down the last of the medicine. “What do I need to prepare for?”

“It is the day when the noble bachelors who wish to marry this year come to the palace. They’ll present themselves to you, Your Royal Highness.”

“Present themselves to me?” I’d been curious, this wasn’t a custom I’d heard of before. “How come? Do I need to congratulate them or something? Hand out cash envelopes*?”

“They come in order to get permission. Since you have not yet found your consorts, it has been law since you became of age that no man can be married unless he presents himself to you first.”

“Wait,” I had shifted to my knees in my unexpected excitement, “There’s no, like, formal consort selection or anything? I get to choose my consorts?”

“Choose? Oh no, Your Royal Highness… there is no choice.”

Well shit-

“The Heavens have already chosen those who are destined to be by your side.” She continues to explain. “They are the ones it is said that your soul will recognise with a flash of lightning. However, you just need to find them.”

‘My soul would recognise’—no way, like a soulmate?

Oh-ho, that had gotten my full attention.

I’d been no stranger to the whole soulmate trope – having read countless stories and manhwa about them. The concept of having someone perfectly made for you and you for them was too ideal for me to ignore. It cut out the bullshit of trawling through the fishing grounds* altogether, which I just didn’t have the mental energy for.

How romantic to be brought together by destiny.

Tied together by fate with a …red…string.

The tattoos I’d seen around my mother’s little finger… it’d suddenly clicked.

And I hadn’t been unfamiliar with reverse harems either. Especially when it came down to fanfiction. Frankly it was my favourite kind. The whole idea of not having to choose being far too tempting. A group of men who all love you, are utterly devoted to you, and worship you day and night…?

Sometimes even all at once?

I’d blushed at the image that’d been conjured up.

And ever since having discovered the often-explicit genre, the love triangles in the dramas had started to frankly irritate me. If the female lead loves them both, then why should she pick just one when polyandry could be an option?

And to think, I’d just been told that this was expected to happen to me.

‘I might just be in heaven,’ I’d thought.

//

The process of trying to find them so far though, has been hell.

I’ve been sat here for hours now. Thankfully, I’ve been shaded by the roof of the pavilion from the glaring afternoon sun, but the air is still stifling and there’s been barely a breeze. The multitude of layers that I’m wearing for this hanbok don’t help. Da-eun fans me from the side, trying to keep me cool and prevent me from sweating.

I'd finally gotten my act together enough last night to ask the people around me for their names. The maid’s name is Da-eun. I felt quilty when I had to ask her to reintroduce herself to me. She’s been with the Princess ever since she was little, starting out as a playmate whilst being educated on how to serve her. She was the Princess's most loyal companion. It was the same for the Court Lady as well. She even used to be the Princess’s nanny and hasn’t left her side since. She told me that I only need to address her by her title, Jo-Sanggung.

I cast my gaze to the line of men that trail around the garden and out through one of the gates. Many are dressed in fine clothes, black gats* with decorative beads, flexing their status with their clothes and accessories like peacocks. Some try to make the best of this opportunity to build connections and brownnose those of higher standing. Several manservants hold large parasols to shade their rich masters, totally contrasted in their plain cotton clothes and straw sandals*.

I glance to Jo-Sanggung who comes over to my side immediately. It’s like she’s attuned to my every movement.

“Can we hand out water to everyone in the line whilst they’re waiting?” I ask in a hushed tone.

“Yes, Your Royal Highness.”

I nod my consent but then I catch her sleeve to stop her to add, “To everyone. Even the servants.”

She bows in understanding before passing along the message to a couple of the palace attendants who wait by the bottom of the stairs of the pavilion.

I turn my attention back to the five men who are presented in front of me. Seeing that my attention has returned to the task at hand, a eunuch reads out their names, as well as who their fathers are (if they’re anyone of note) from a scroll.

I don’t know exactly what it is that I’m waiting for. So far, I’ve felt nothing that I would deem ‘soulmate’ worthy. I haven’t heard the chiming of a bell or felt as if struck by lightning or whatever’s supposed to happen. Some of the men that have come and gone were certainly attractive. Some of them I would have even dared tried to shoot my shot and ask for their number if this was in 2019.

I’ve only gotten through about maybe a third of the men since we started this morning. Considering how excited I was at the beginning of it, it’s been a bit disappointing. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so excited.

Apparently, twice every year for the past five years, this kind of event has been going on. Ever since the Crown Princess had finished the majority of her royal education when she turned twenty. Unlike a typical marriage ban, which forbade anyone throughout the entire country from getting married until a royal spouse was chosen, this process was put in place to be able to allow marriages to continue. All eligible men just needed to check that they weren’t the princess’s soulmate first before they could marry someone else.

I can’t imagine having to go through this process year after year, meeting endless men with high hopes, and yet still having no luck in finding your soulmate. No wonder the Crown Princess had been looking so lonely. I’m sure if it’d been me, after five years of this even I’d have given up any hope of love by now.

I remember being briefly told last night that the whole point of this man parade was because of the very first Queen. She’d found one of her Consorts later on, when he’d already married. Which ended up causing a huge drama.

It had already been a scandal for the Queen to dare take multiple husbands, so this was just the icing on the cake for that issue.

The guy’s wife and her family had really not taken it well. They’d arranged the marriage to improve their wealth and status and here was the Queen fucking things up for them. So, they’d basically conducted a smear campaign. Pretty ballsy considering it’s incredibly treasonous in these times. The family found themselves with a choice in the end. Divorce or dismemberment. They made the smart decision.

A new batch of men arrive after the last line was dismissed. They’d exited the pavilion, all receiving a fancy looking scroll, each one stamped with the Crown Princess’s Seal in red ink. I cast my eyes over the new group that arrives, my interest had long been waning but when I see the face of the first in line, I’m stunned.

My head snaps to Jo-Sanggung and she hurries over.

“Exactly how old is that kid supposed to be?!” I whisper-shout harshly.

The boy can’t be older than sixteen. There is absolutely no way this kid could ever be my soulmate. Just the thought of it repulses me. He looks like he’s just started puberty… he doesn’t even have on the proper adult Joseon clothes. Which means he hasn’t had his coming-of-age ceremony. And yet he’s come here so that he can get married?!

I was aware that they used to get married young back in these days, but that is not for me. No fucking thanks. Hard pass.

She scans over a copy of the register. “Born in the year Eul-Chuk, Your Royal Highness.”

...Still don't know that calender. So I make sure what I say next is as clear as can be.

“I am not interested in anyone younger than twenty-one. They can all leave.” I say without a second thought. I just so happen to spot someone waiting further down in the queue with heavily greying hair. “And anyone over the age of thirty-five. They can get their marriage pass and they can go. I won’t need to see them.”

She bows and heads over to the eunuchs, passing along my command. They start by escorting the kid from the pavilion and then disperse, going down the queue and dismissing others. It thins the crowd significantly. There’s some confused muttering and speculation, but no one causes a fuss.

“Seriously? Why were they even asked to come? They’re basically children.” I mutter to Jo-Sanggung disapprovingly when she returns to my side. Da-eun passes me a small cup of water which I gulp down, forgetting my graceful princess cosplay for a second.

The announcer Eunuch clears his throat before continuing, his flow having been interrupted with the disruption.

“Moon Daewon of the Nampyeong Moon clan. Son of the Deputy Chief Scholar.”

The man in question composes himself at the sound of his name, bowing deeper in greeting. I take a glance at his face. From what I can tell, he has a cute puppy-like face with a boy-next-door vibe.

I sigh.

Still nothing.

A shame.

“Seo Chungho of the Dalseong Seo clan.”

“How much longer is this going to take?” I murmur out the corner of my mouth to Jo-Sanggung. “My ass is getting numb.”

Da-eun lets out an innocent giggle at the word ass. I smile at that. Jo-Sanggung however shoots her a glare. Da-eun avoids her wrath by refilling my cup. She’s about to hand it back to me when a hush falls over the world.

All the background noise disappears.

All but for the next name which rings in my ears, clear like a bell.

“Kim Seokjin of the Gwangsan Kim clan -”

The cup slips from my hand and clatters noisily onto the wooden table. The drink splashing onto my silk skirts.

“- Second son of the Deputy Minister of Taxation.”

Da-eun fusses over me instantly, trying to wipe up the spill whilst profusely apologizing, but I’m already on my feet.

Because I had just heard a name that would give any Army pause. Hell, Sol-ah used to joke that the real reason we’re called Army is because of the way we snap to attention whenever we hear anything slightly Bangtan related, just like in response to a true military salute.

“Your Royal Highness…?” Someone asks. I don't care who. I ignore them.

Everyone freezes and falls quiet as I step towards the blind.

My heart thunders in my chest.

There’s probably no way. The name and the family clan are just coincidentally the same.

It can’t actually be…

Too impatient to walk around, I shove the blind straight up and over my head so that now nothing separates me. It disturbs the silence, clattering noisily as it falls back into place.

All four of the remaining men present had bowed at the waist the instant I stepped into view. I half-notice the line of people outside all are craning their necks to get a look at the commotion.

I gravitate towards the third man in line. He holds my sole focus. The world around him becomes a blur. I scan every detail of him that I can see. From the pale pink hanbok he wears to the white jade floral beads that are dangling from his gat. From his broad shoulders, down to his long slender fingers and large hands, one clasped tightly over the other…

“Kim Seokjin?” I echo, dazed from disbelief. The man in question startles slightly before he bows even deeper in acknowledgement of his name.

I didn’t hear it wrong.

“Rise, please.” I request. My tongue feels heavy in my mouth and I have to concentrate on the words so that I don’t trip over them.

I need to see his face.

He hesitates. He must be nervous that he’s in some sort of trouble. But then he slowly unfolds from his bow.

I find myself holding my breath.

He straightens to his full height, towering at least a head above me.

Then, at last, he raises his face.

I see his lips first. One of his most defining features. My favourite.

Plump. Perfect. Instantly recognisable lips.

Then his eyes.

Large, warm, deep brown. Beautiful.

They stare straight at the floor, blinking anxiously, not daring to meet mine.

I stare.

And stare.

And his ears begin to turn red from the attention.

I find myself blurting out the first thing that pops into my head.

Like an insane woman.

…

“Do you know BTS?”

Chapter Text

~

“…Do you know BTS?”

His eyes meet mine.

I would like to say I’m able to keep my composure.

However, I would be totally lying.

My hand flies to my mouth as I have to swallow back a squeak of surprise. I have to fight with all of my might to suppress every fangirl impulse that I’m having. My knees lock in order to prevent me stumbling back on my ass.

Because the Kim Seokjin is looking straight at me.

Daebak*.

The thousands of photos I have of him in my phone do not do in-the-flesh bare-faced in-full-hanbok Jin any justice. I’m not sure if I can handle it.

He lowers his eyes once more as he speaks. I’m sort of relieved when he does. The direct eye contact was far too much for my poor heart, but I also immediately miss having that connection.

“Forgive me, Your Royal Highness.” He responds and I’m mesmerized by the way his lips pout as he forms the words. It’s one thing to see in videos, a whole different thing seeing so up close and personal. His voice is the exact same, even when he’s using the most formal kind of antiquated speech. “I don’t understand...”

Oh, shit well of course he wouldn’t. I just spoke in English. A phrase any Army would know, yet… he shows no sign of recognition.

It’s all the proof I need. This can’t actually Bangtan Seoyeondan’s* Jin. There’s no way he wouldn’t get that reference if he was.

So I guess, like me, he must be some sort of doppelganger…

“Ahh… that?” I rub the back of my neck nervously, not knowing what to do with my hands. “…it doesn’t matter, don’t worry about it.” I hurriedly explain, waving my hands in front of me.

He peeks up at me through his lashes and I hiccup.

The fuck is wrong with me? I tap on my chest, utterly embarrassed. I realise that I must be making a terrible first impression. I barely have control over myself. He may just be the spitting image of Jin but he’s still just so damn attractive and he’s right in front of me!

Those bold straight brows…

That perfect, round nose…

With those high cheek bones and lovely squishable cheeks…

I don’t hear Jo-Sanggung approach, so her voice startles the shit out of me. Funnily enough, I notice that Jin flinches as well.

“Your Royal Highness,” she informs me in a hushed voice, “we must proceed.”

I’d completely forgotten that other people existed. More witnesses to my awkward fangirl fumbling and not-at-all princess-like behaviour. And there’s still a long line of men that I have to get through by the end of today. Most have travelled in from all over the country, so it’s not like I can postpone it.

But all I want to do is keep talking to Jin. I have a strange feeling, like if I let him out of my sight, then I’ll never see him again. And I’ll somehow end up convincing myself that he had just been conjured up by my imagination. Anxiety trickles into my head. I look to Jo-Sanggung with wide-eyed panic. She must have some kind of telepathy because after reading my expression she calmly nods at me, her eyes twinkling.

“Please, if you could take a seat over there, Young Master.” She says to Jin, motioning to a different seating arrangement that’s been set up far off to the left from my own. “There is more Her Royal Highness would like to speak to you about.”

I think I love this woman. She knows exactly what to do.

“Ah, yes, I understand,” Jin gulps before answering. He nods his head politely to her and bows again to me before heading over to the seat. He steals another glance at me as he sits down, but his eyes dart away quickly with a few rapid blinks. A nearby eunuch places down a table with a tea set in front of him and offers him a drink.

His ears are still burning bright red.

I remain frozen in place for a few seconds, just following Jin’s every movement with my eyes. Jo-Sanggung pulls at my arm forcefully and escorts me back to my seat. My feet drag a bit reluctantly but it’s probably for the best.

I seriously need to calm the fuck down. I’m probably making him so uncomfortable and that’s the last thing I want to do. I scold myself internally. I had always told myself that I wasn’t the sort of person who would freak out if they met their idols.

I’m such a fucking liar.

Da-eun offers me a bright, excited smile, her hands clasped together by her heart. She looks like the ideal candidate to share my fangirl joy with. I smother the urge to clutch her arms and jump up around excitedly screaming. Instead, I restrain myself and make the effort to sit down gently, trying to regain some of my dignity to uphold my princess cosplay. I have an image to restore.

I glance out of the corner of my eye to see Jin taking a sip of whatever tea he’s been offered.

I feel myself swooning. He looks so elegant. Like a prince. The image would totally be perfect if there were cherry blossom petals fluttering down around him. My fingers twitch with the ingrained urge to snap a photo…

Who am I trying to kid, several hundred photos.

I miss my phone.

I feel a sharp pinch on my arm. I hiss and slap a hand to the injured area, glaring accusingly at the culprit as she leans to whisper in my ear. “Focus, Your Royal Highness. There are many eyes on you, so you must maintain your dignity. Fret not, he will not go anywhere.”

Okay, I can forgive Jo-Sanggung for pinching me if she’s going to promise me that. I clear my throat, take a deep breath, and refocus on the others in front of me that have just been completely ignored.

“Thank you for coming. I wish you every happiness with your marriages.” I tell them in a blatant dismissal.

Three more down, who the hell knows how many more to go.

Let’s get this over with, as fast as I can.

I’m feeling highly motivated all of a sudden.

~

The next few hours are even more torturous.

Before I was just hot and bored. Now I’m hot, bored, and impatient. And everything is starting to ache. I just want this all to end quickly so that I can be alone with this Joseon Jin.

JoseonJin? JoSeokjin?

I swear time is moving at a snail’s pace just to fuck me over.

I thought we’d have been able to move through the queue much faster now, having reduced the age parameters, but people have just kept on appearing through the gate with no end in sight. I must have seen over hundreds of men by now and there’s still been no kind of reaction.

Plus, Jin’s presence has been a huge distraction.

I’ve been slyly stealing glances at him at every chance I could. Checking that he’s still there, mainly. But then I’d catch myself just observing him.

He looks completely composed. Total press conference professionalism. Even his ears have cooled down which is the sure-fire way to tell when he’s feeling shy or embarrassed. He’s just sitting there with his head slightly lowered and hands in his lap. The angle of his head is causing the wide brim of his gat to cover his eyes. Occasionally he’ll take a sip of his drink. From this distance I can’t tell if he’s still tense and uncomfortable or relaxed.

I’m interrupted from my thoughts by two female attendants delivering a large table that’s covered in dishes. At the delicious smell of all the food, my stomach cramps angrily in order to remind me of just how hungry I am.

I’m so relieved that it’s lunch time. Finally, I get a break.

The attendants set down the table in front of me and I automatically thank them with a smile, just as I would with any server. I don’t see their stunned expressions at my gratitude because I’m too busy checking out all of the dishes.

“Mmm, it looks delicious!” I say mostly to myself, wiggling a little in my seat with anticipation.

Jo-Sanggung coughs pointedly behind me.

It’s a struggle to hold myself back from just diving in, but I have to wait. Da-eun picks up a pair of silver chopsticks then proceeds to taste a little from each plate. She even takes the time to poke around the dishes a bit, carefully observing the end of the chopsticks for any sort of reaction.

Because silver turns black in the presence of poison.

I’ve seen this so many times on TV, but I can’t remember if the theory was actually proven true or not by modern science. I’m still a little sceptical about the test, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.

Once Da-eun places down her chopsticks and nods to me that it’s safe to eat, I pick up my own, biting my tongue to stop myself from instinctively saying “I’ll eat well!” ** I’d said it last night and Jo-Sanggung had sternly told me that this was only something said by the lower classes.

So what? I can still be grateful for food even if I’m a princess.

I go straight for the marinated pork, humming happily when the taste hits my tongue. Royal cuisine is something else. Watching TV, I could only imagine the taste, but it’s really, really good. I’d been amazed yesterday during my first meal at just how good it tasted - even without any MSG*. It was all totally organic.

I look over to Jin to see how he’s enjoying his meal but freeze when I see that no food has been delivered to him. I turn to Jo-Sanggung in order to immediately rectify that, but I halt at seeing her expression.

She looks at me pointedly. Then to my table. Then to Jin. Then back to my table. And back to me, finishing with a quirk of her eyebrows and tilting her head in Jin’s direction.

…

She’s a genius.

I hide my grin by rolling my lips inwards and pressing them together before I pick up another slice of the pork.

“Would you like to try some?” I ask Jin, offering up the food. “It’s very delicious.”

He looks at the food hesitantly. The eunuch who’s been tending to him coughs heavily in order to catch his eye, shaking his head as he does so.

“I couldn’t possibly dare to eat from your table, Your Royal Highness.” Jin answers, having read the room. His eyes and head are lowered once more. He looks disappointed. I don’t know how long he’s been here, but he must be starving.

“What about if I insist?” I suggest. Anyone who tries to stop him from eating will get an earful from me. That eunuch dude will be the first to feel my wrath. I narrow my eyes at him when he looks my way. I feel satisfied when he cowers.

Jin stares at the food, subtly licks his lips. His gaze moves to land on something over my shoulder and he becomes more assured at whatever he sees there. He swallows… and then gets to his feet, softly pads his way over to me before kneeling down at the table.

Success.

“Your grace is immeasurable**, Your Royal Highness.”

“Here,” I say, offering the pork I’d been holding up close to his mouth, cupping my other hand beneath it to catch any spills.

He leans back, startled, and I freeze.

It suddenly occurs to me what the fuck I’m doing. Where did I get the audacity from? I just met him and all of a sudden, I’m trying to feed him? Oh no, this is embarrassing. My hand hesitates in the air as I try to decide if I should just commit to it in an attempt to save face, or do I retreat in shame? For a moment we’re both frozen, just staring wide eyed at each other. His ears have turned bright red again. His gaze flickers down to the chopsticks in between us with a confused expression.

Retreat. Quickly. I’m utterly mortified. Retreat, Retreat!

However, my hand hasn’t withdrawn even a full centimetre when Jin tentatively opens his mouth. I can do nothing but blink stupidly as he leans forward, closes the distance, and takes the bite.

I can’t believe I actually feed Kim Seokjin. With my own hand. I can’t believe I’m witnessing Eat Jin in person. With my own eyes.

I can’t believe I’m jealous of my own chopsticks.

His eyes close as the taste hits his tongue, his lips pouting so cutely whilst he chews. I can’t help but watch them. Transfixed, like some kind of pervert. I feel my cheeks heating.

I laugh awkwardly, plastering what I hope is a charming smile on my face to try and cover up the earlier unease. “Delicious, right?”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness, very indeed.” He answers, his lips beginning to turn up at the corners. But then something else steals his attention.

“You’re hurt!”

He’s up on his knees, his hand is reaching out towards my face…

Suddenly remembering the wound that I’d awoken with, my hand darts up to hide it, even though it's too late now. He stops before his fingers can actually make contact. Instead, he curls his fingers back into his palm and withdraws his hand.

“Ah, that, don’t worry about it! I’m fine. I… just a scratch. Really! It’s nothing!” I wince at my pitchy voice. I don’t sound convincing, I’m much too flustered by the idea of him about to touch me. Meanwhile, he's settled back cross-legged on the floor, tucking his hands beneath his knees.

I clear my throat. My cheeks are probably bright red right now. I touch a side with the back of my hand. Yep, like I expected, it's too warm.

I abruptly begin feeling super self-conscious about how I look. I had checked myself in the mirror before coming out here and even though it’d been strange to see myself all Joseon-ified, like a tourist at Gyeongbokgung*, I’d been pretty satisfied with how I’d looked.

Well, except for the slicked down, middle-parted hair. I’m much more used to adding volume. I feel like everyone can see the shape of my skull. And the pretty floral pins that they’d placed above my ears are starting to dig in uncomfortably.

After washing off the herb poultice this morning, the cut was in its ugliest stage of healing. The ladies had managed to conceal most of the bruising, and the wound itself was situated close enough to hide in my hairline, however the scabbing was still obvious. Jo-Sanggung had even suggested wearing a veil to hide it, but I’d refused because of the heat. Which I’m regretting a bit now. It would have certainly hidden my flushed cheeks.

How the hell could I have known that I’d be eating a meal with a Joseon version of Kim Seokjin?

“Eat as much as you want,” I tell Jin to distract him, finally digging into the food myself. But then a different thought comes to me. “Is there anything that you can’t eat, by any chance…?”

Jo-Sanggung brings over another set of eating utensils and a bowl of rice from somewhere, as if they’d already been prepared.

“Oh? Ah… yes, Your Royal Highness, potatoes, and garlic.” He replies as the extra additions are set down before him. Jo-Sanggung overhears that and lingers to pick out a few dishes and move them away from him.

… His answer makes me pause. I had only asked on the off chance because I don’t want anything here to make him sick. Yet his allergies are eerily the same. It could just be a coincidence…

“How old are you?” I ask, curious to find out if there’s any other similarities. The question must be so out of the blue that he looks puzzled. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Twenty-eight* years old, Your Royal Highness. I was born in winter.”

I don’t respond. I pick up a piece of what looks like some kind of jeon* instead to occupy my mouth. Because if I ask if he was born on December 4^th and he was, I wouldn’t be able to explain how I know that. Because how could I possibly explain that he’s a carbon copy of one of my all-time favourite idols from five-hundred years in the future, which by the way, is where I’m actually from?

I’d be deemed insane. And likely dragged away to wherever they hide the crazies from society in these times.

I clear my throat before changing the subject. “And so, you’re here today because you’re finally looking to get married?”

He chokes a little on his food at the sudden mention of marriage and begins to cough. I pass him over a cup of water which he takes, turning away and taking a long drink.

But that’s why he’s here right? He needs permission to marry. So that means he wants to get married. Does he already have a woman in mind? A fiancée? A lover?

That would be just my luck.

“Ah, yes, Your Royal Highness.” He says once he’s able to talk. I stay silent in nervous anticipation, dying for an answer but dreading to find out. “My mother… she had always been focused on my hyung*, but now that he’s married and has a good position in government… so now, it’s my turn. She’s hired a matchmaker… but finding a match has not been easy.” He confesses, rubbing his hands on his knees. It’s an action I recognise BTS Jin does as well when he’s anxious.

So, no fiancée yet?

“How come? With a face like yours, what sane woman would say no?” I remark in disbelief.

“Exactly.” He mutters, agreeing with my sentiment without thought, pushing around some food on his plate. He stills as if realising what he’s just said and looks up to gauge my reaction to his brazenness.

I hide my grin behind my hand, used to Jin’s honest remarks about his own visuals. And rightly so. He’s Worldwide Handsome, you know?

“Has there been no one to your liking?” I probe, pretending to be nonchalant, but I realise I’m gripping my chopsticks way harder than I need to be.

Say no. Please say no.

…

I’m stunned a little by my sudden internal reaction. I’m usually the type to preach that idols should be free to date and what not, without fear of the insane possessiveness of the more intense fans. They’re human too so let them be. But that is not the sentiment I’m feeling right now.

“Ah… well that too…” He says, as if that hadn’t even been a consideration. “However,… no family has agreed to further discussions yet…”

Behind my passive mask, I’m absolutely overjoyed.

“I’ve failed the state exam. Twice.” He clarifies. “And I don’t have any hopes of getting a high-level position.” He doesn’t sound particularly ashamed of that fact. Just acceptance. “Everyone’s so ambitious.” He grumbles. I’m not sure if I was meant to hear that and so I don’t respond, I just add some of the tender flaky fish I’d just tried to his bowl.

“Do you even want to work in government? You don’t seem like the type to me.”

“No,” He agrees. “I’ve never had any desire to work there.”

“But your parents want you to?” It’s a common story even in the future. Doctor, lawyer… the dream careers for parents, providing them with ultimate bragging rights. But the pressure from that can be suffocating.

“Yeah…” He sighs, picking at his food. “My mother.”

“So then, what do you want to do?”

“I’m not sure…” He answers, looking up at me like the thought never even occurred to him. I realise that he appears to have relaxed a little since we’ve been talking. He looks a lot less tense and unsure. And he hasn’t been lowering his gaze as much. He’s actually been looking into my eyes. It could just be because of the food - food is always a great way to bond. I place the largest piece of a beef from a dish onto his spoonful of rice this time, encouraging him to eat more. “I’ve never really thought about it before.”

“Well, is there anything you’re good at? Or enjoy?” I haven’t had this kind of conversation since senior year of high school so I’m a little rusty, but I want to be supportive. Like I’d be supported. Finding the courage to carve out your own path isn’t always easy.

“I enjoy food” -I smile at that. Yet another similarity- “And the only thing I can say I’m good at, is the Gayageum*.”

Gayageum, Gayageum…. That doesn’t ring any bells. What could it be? I glance over quickly to Da-eun for help and see her make a subtle plucking motion with her fingers in her lap. An image of one of those long wooden board-like instruments with strings pops into my head. The one that sounds a bit like rain drops.

“Music? …By any chance… do you sing as well?”

“Only when I’m drunk,” he jokes with an offhanded wink, his cheeks stuffed with food.

The wink was so unexpected, but so typical that I chuff out a laugh before chuckling, having to cover my mouth with my hand.

“I bet you sing beautifully,” I say with 100% confidence.

He chuckles at the flattery, his laugh low and rich, and I melt at the sound. But then it gets better, because he genuinely smiles. One of his warm and wide, moon-eyed smiles. Since meeting him, it’s the first time he’s shown me one. Something low in my stomach flutters at the sight. I avert my eyes bashfully and clear my throat.

After putting down my chopsticks, the meal between us having been entirely demolished whilst we talked, the attendants come over to collect the table. And the eunuch approaches to collect Jin.

“Thank you, for eating with me,” I blurt out when he stands. “A meal always tastes better when eating with good company.”

“It was my honour, Your Royal Highness.” He responds and damn it he smiles even brighter at me.

Butterflies aren’t just fluttering in my stomach - they’re exploding in there like fireworks.

“Would you perhaps stay and keep me company… until I’m finished?” I ask hopefully.

“Certainly, Your Royal Highness.”

~

I’m absolutely thrilled when the last man receives his scroll and leaves.

We managed to get through all of the rest in half the time once I’d told the announcer eunuch not to bother with them anymore. I said that if I wanted to know, then I’d ask. And instead of groups of five at a time, just have the men filter in continuously as if they were on a conveyor belt. I gave each one my undivided attention as they passed through, since my being so distracted with Jin before lunch had been majorly slowing down the process.

I’m still unsure how about this whole recognising a soulmate should feel like. It’s something to ask my mother the next time I see her. I recalled Jo-Sanggung mentioning having a dinner tonight, to meet my fathers.

Once the announcer eunuch reconfirms that there is no one left, I raise my arms high above my head. Arching my back to stretch my aching muscles, I let out a small, satisfied moan.

“Da-eun, help me up, please,” I extend my hands out to her pitifully, “I don’t think I can feel my legs.”

She giggles at my grabby hands. “Yes, Your Royal Highness.”

She helps pull me up and I groan like an old woman as I get to my feet. My legs tingle as the blood rushes through them. I go to take a step but my knee weakens under my weight. I would have collapsed back down in a heap to the floor again if it hadn’t been for strong hands quickly steadying me by my shoulders.

I turn to look at my saviour and…

I can’t breathe. This is much, much too close.

Jin grips me to help straighten me back up and I can feel the warmth of his body behind me, the heat of his hands through my jacket.

My heart is pounding far too fast, I think it might burst.

I hear a quick shhick of a sword being unsheathed.

It’s Yeong, my bodyguard, a tall older man who’d been stood behind me like a shadow this entire time. He steps forward aggressively, the blade of his sword glinting red with the setting sun, and aimed at Jin’s neck.

Something dark and angry flickers to life within me.

Especially when Jin releases me and takes two hurried steps back with his hands up in supplication. He looks afraid. And I don’t like that.

Not at all.

“Ya, what the hell are you doing?!” I snap loudly, quickly stepping in between the two of them. Without thought I knock the blade away and spread my arms wide to shield Jin behind me. “He was just helping me!”

Yeong quicky lowers his weapon and returns it to its sheathe with a click. He bows his head immediately at my reprimand, asking for forgiveness. With the danger gone, the unexpected anger fizzles out as quickly as it had overcome me.

“Wasn’t that a bit too much?” I tut at him disappointedly and he withdraws back five paces with his tail between his legs. Jo-Sanggung steps up to him and gives his arm a sneaky reprimanding whack. Yeong doesn’t react to it and keeps his head lowered, looking like a scolded puppy.

Well now I feel a bit bad.

I understand he’s just doing his job. I do. My logical brain totally understands that. And I’d be grateful if he had been threatening anyone else who had randomly grabbed me because I’m a person who cherishes my personal space. And having someone around who’s dedicated to enforcing that is, to me, a major perk.

But it was Jin who Yeong was threatening…

Turning back to face Jin, I’m relieved that he no longer looks scared. He cautiously lowers his hands with his eyes keep darting between me and Yeong. He’s on edge now and I hate it.

“Please forgive him, that won’t happen again,” I assure him. Eager to regain the peace, I gesture to the garden that lays out before us. “I need to stretch my legs after sitting for so long… would you- would you like to walk with me?”

~

We must have strolled around the lake at least ten times.

Followed from a distance by my retinue, so that we had at least the illusion of being alone, we'd talked… well, Jin mainly talked, as he answered my stream of questions.

I had wanted to know all about him. I was so curious. I'd begun with simple questions at first. What’s his favourite food? Favourite drink? Season? Does he prefer the mountains or the sea*? Answers that I could respond to in kind with little thinking required.

But then, as the conversation flowed, it’d become deeper. When had he started learning music? What is his favourite song to play? What else does he enjoy doing? Things that naturally led into anecdotes.

How he had never been a serious child, preferring to explore and play, running through the market and sneaking out of his studies to go and watch the wandering entertainers. How when he was younger, his older brother used to be Jin’s sworn enemy.

“When Hyung brought friends home to visit, she would lay out a huge feast!” He told me, complaining a little at the memory. “But when I would bring over my friends, we never got anything. So, I told her, ‘Does Hyung have a mouth whilst I only have a muzzle? Why don’t you feed us like that too?’ And do you know what she said to me?” ***

“What?” I asked between my giggles.

“’You bring your friends over every day when your brother only brings them once a month!’” He quotes. “’If I fed you like that every single time, you’d eat us straight out of our house!’”

That conversation led onto more stories about his family. He was closer to his father, the Deputy Minister of Taxation, more so than his mother. His father was happy to leave his youngest son be free as he wished, whereas his mother seemed to be constantly nagging him. Out of love, I’m sure, and he couldn’t help but feel like he fell short when she compared him to his older brother. Which she always did.

When I’d looked upon his downcast expression, my hands had twitched with the urge to comfort him. But I didn’t. I held back.

Whenever he’d asked me questions of the same vein, I’d been hesitant to answer. I was only able to give him vague and short responses, then quickly deflected with yet another question of my own.

It was only when the sky had darkened to the point that lanterns were being lit that Jo-Sanggung had interrupted us, telling me that it was almost time for me to meet with my mother and fathers.

“Ah, right.” I say, twisting my hands whilst looking to Jin regrettably. It’d be way too much to ask him to stay any longer. “I guess you’ll be going home then.”

Fuck I still don’t want him to go. We’ve been talking for maybe a couple of hours now, but I’m still not satisfied. There’s so much more I want to know.

“Yes.” He says with a rueful smile. Is he also a bit reluctant to leave? I wish he was. “It was an honour, Your Royal Highness.”

“Thank you, for today… it was lovely.”

“For me as well.” And with that he bows deeply. Seeing him lowering his head to me like that, it doesn’t sit right with me. It’s uncomfortable, a feeling that prickles my skin. If anything, I should be the one bowing to him, for having such patience putting up with me.

That same eunuch, who had ended up tagging along, once more steps forward to escort Jin. This time though, he begins to lead him out of the palace.

Watching him walking away from me, a heaviness grows in my chest. That same anxiety that he’s simply going to vanish into thin air surges up once more.

“Wait!” I call out to him, before the distance between us grows too far.

At the sound of my voice Jin stops in his tracks and turns back around.

There’s a pause as we just stare at each other. Me gathering up the courage and him waiting for me to speak.

“Do you have any plans tomorrow?”

“No, Your Royal Highness, nothing.”

“Then perhaps… could I meet you again?” I ask hopefully, then immediately backpedal. “Only if you’d like to, of course.” I don’t want him to doubt that he can’t reject the invitation if he wants to.

“Yes, Your Royal Highness,” That lovely smile reappears. “I’d like that.”

Chapter Text

I arrive at the Queen’s quarters, with no recollection of how I’d gotten there. I’d just been walking on autopilot, following Jo-Sanggung as she’d led the way with a lantern lighting the path. My mind had been far away, analysing every second of my interactions with Jin. Swooning at his every action, whilst kicking myself at my own behaviour. I hope I’d at least managed to somewhat redeem myself towards the end.

It was a small wish, but I hope that we could perhaps become close. Friends even.

I couldn’t dare dream for anything more than that.

As I enter the halls of Sajeongjeon*, I’m met with a long string of attendants who line the corridor, standing two by two. Maids dressed in pink outnumber the eunuchs in green. The closest to the door stands the Chief Senior Court Lady, the wizened woman that I’d seen accompany my mother before.

“The Crown Princess has arrived.” She announces, before a pair of maids pull open the doors in perfect tandem. Da-eun and Jo-Sanggung don’t follow me as I step inside. I take a deep breath once I enter, nerves twisting my stomach for what I’m about to do - meet the three men who are called my fathers.

Although the room is large and mostly unfurnished, the atmosphere is warm and inviting, the space softly lit by a number of wooden framed lanterns. On a slightly raised platform at the other side of the room sits a long wooden sofa-esque seat, made from dark wood, decorated with what I can only presume is real gold, and cushioned with a plump, gold, silk pillow. Behind it stands a spectacular landscape of a mountain range, painted on a huge folding screen. A large moon hangs in the middle of the sky, surrounded by four distinct stars. A low table made in matching wood is set in front of the seat, ladened with paper, a small array of brushes, a heavy black carved inkstone and a large pile of fancy colourfully wrapped scrolls.

Yet the seat is empty.

Instead, my mother is sat on the floor with the steps to the platform at her back. Laid out in front of her is a large circular table with a veritable feast, served with way more than enough food for just four people.

She wears her royal scarlet dangui, matched with golden skirts. An exquisite, roaring, gold dragon binyeo* holds the thick, heavy plaited bun at the base of her neck. A matching dragon cheopji* rests on the top of her head where her hair is parted in the middle and slicked down flat like mine. Those two are the only ornaments that she wears in her hair. No other delicate or luxurious accessory. She has no need for unnecessary embellishment. Only the symbols of her position as ruler of this nation.

Two strangers sit either side of her.

The first on her left looks gives off a cold, imposing aura. His fox eyes suit his sharp featured face. When he sees me, however, the corners of them crinkle deeper as he offers me a small welcoming smile. That one small change in his expression warms his entire demeanour.

Laying on the floor within his reach, I notice a black sheathed sword. Simple in design except for a gold circular accessory that hangs from the handle. The man himself wears black military styled clothes, the ones that are belted tightly around the waist and forearms.

Consort Hwang. The warrior.

In comparison, on her right, is a man who has a softer, gentler face, but studious. This must be Consort Choi. It wouldn’t be impossible to imagine him in thick framed glasses, teaching as a professor at a university, probably in some serious topic like Math, History or Law.

His samo* -those ugly black rounded hats worn by men of the court- is cast aside on the floor. His topknot held in place with a simple but golden Sangtugwan*. The binyeo that pierces it is yet another dragon, a much smaller version of my mother’s. He wears a dalryeongpo* with a jade square belt much like the government officials. But his is in a wine-like purple instead of the usual red or blue and has the circle dragon embroideries of royalty, not the square storks. He has the same golden accessory, but his is attached to his coat.

I’m sensing a theme.

The last man sits across from her, his back facing me. By deduction it has to be Consort Song. He turns at the sound of the door closing, a small white porcelain cup filled with clear wine already in hand. He flashes me an unrestrained, wide smile and toasts his cup towards me with total Gatsby vibes. His outfit is certainly the flashiest of all three, dressed in a turquoise sleeveless overcoat with magenta inner coat beneath, both fabrics woven with luxurious flower patterns and stamped with a gold print. And yet another identical accessory.

As I make my approach, I carefully scan at their faces not only to commit them to memory, but also to see if I can spot any resemblance, for which one might be my biological father. It’s difficult to tell, however, as I’ve always resembled my mother the most.

Once I’ve closed enough distance, I bow in greeting. A proper formal bow, raising my folded hands in line with my eyes before slowly lowering myself to the floor. Back and head tilted forward at fifteen degrees, it’s a lot harder than it looked to keep myself steady and not wobble. It’s especially harder than I thought on my core muscles.

“Daughter,” My mother greets me with a smile once I’ve successfully raised myself back to my feet. She looks happy and relaxed. “Come join us.”

“Yes, Eoma-mama*.” I use the highest term after Jo-Sanggung gave me an earful the night before for calling my Royal Mother so informally.

“Come now, there is no need for formalities when it is just family, dear child.”

I nod my head in acknowledgement and take a seat on the cushion left out for me, between Consort Hwang and Song.

“How are you feeling?” Consort Choi inquires as I settle. His voice is just as my mother described, low and smooth. He would make a killing as an audiobook narrator. “Your mother told us of your condition. Is there really nothing that you can remember?”

“Some things feel familiar,” I half lie. Only half because I recognise a lot of things from TV. “But the memories are hard to grasp, Cons- I meant, Abeo-nim*,” I say apologetically. “As if they are mist.”

Consort Choi nods with understanding at my description. He strokes at his beard in thought, his other hand lighting tapping at the table. I glance around to check the other’s reactions and I feel a heavy stare to my right. I meet Consort Hwang’s eyes as he takes a sip from his cup. Gone is the smile, his gaze has turned serious and contemplative. It makes me feel as if I’m being scrutinized… as if he can see right through me.

Before I can grow too paranoid, Consort Song suddenly swings an arm around my shoulders and brings me in close to him. I tense for a second in surprise at the contact.

“Surely you remember me, right?” He winks as if sharing an inside joke. “I am your favourite father after all.” He has an infectious smile. It’s warm and carefree with youthful dimples in his cheeks that despite his age, make him look mischievous. I find myself relaxing and have the urge to grin back.

In my peripheral vision, I notice Consort Choi roll his eyes in exasperation.

I shake my head regretfully. “Please forgive this unfilial daughter.” That was the kind of stuff that they used to say right?

His expression falls, like a sad puppy, softly letting me go. “Truly… everything?” He looks to my mother with worry.

When I straighten back up, I realise how un-awkward his affection had felt. A stranger older man pulling me towards him like that would normally have made me immediately uneasy and making a quick escape… preferably after giving a good kick to their shin. But with Consort Song, I’d felt no discomfort at all. Weird.

My other father…  the one from the 21^st century, had never been much of an affectionate dad. The only time we’d been somewhat close was when he’d been training me – the time when he just saw me as his student and not his daughter. But that had ended when I was in my first year of high school. I’d utterly disappointed him. Daring to want to walk down my own path, and not the one he had set out for me.

“Not everything… names and faces, mostly.” I add, not wanting it to sound like I’ve become a complete amnesiac who can’t remember how to read. I can even read Chinese now apparently, so I’d say I’ve levelled up in that regard.

“If it is like that, then you will have a lot of studying to do. I will get you a copy of the Record of Appearance* to memorize.” Consort Choi declares. “And I shall help you, of course. I shall test you to see what knowledge you may have retained. Until then, we should cancel your daily lessons with your tutors. We can announce that you collapsed from exhaustion and thus need time to recuperate.” He looks to my mother for approval, which she gives with a nod. “But I will tutor you privately until you are ready to return.”

Aiishh- studying? I’d always been terrible at studying. I was never a top student. I hadn’t wanted to waste my youth with my nose in textbooks. Not when novels and webtoons had been so much more interesting.

“You were right, my Queen, the Ministers cannot know of this.” Consort Hwang lowly murmurs to her, leaning into her ear as he refills her cup. “It would only be another weapon.”

But I caught it. I’m about to open my mouth and ask what he means by ‘another’ weapon, when my mother interjects before I can. “Yoon-ah, tell me, how did you find today? Any good news?”

“Oh, ah… well, I-I don’t think so?” I answer, my voice pitching at the end, caught off guard by the abrupt change in topic. “I mean, I don’t even what I was really looking for…”

I drift at the end, trying to lead my mother into giving me more details. Maybe for the next one, I’ll be more prepared. She gives me a look that I can’t decipher, placing down her cup after having a sip.

“When I first met each of your fathers, I knew immediately.” She begins in a reminiscent tone. “I could not avert my eyes from them. And not just because they were so handsome-”

“I’m still handsome, my Queen,” Consort Song interjects cheekily. “That has not changed with age.”

“-or so incredibly charming.” My mother adds, giving her youngest husband an amused smile before continuing. “Even though we had never met before, my heart was able to recognise them for who they were… who they would become. My balance, my strength, but also my weakness…”

“That’s great but what did that feel like?” I say, impatient for a more straightforward answer. Poetic prose is pretty and all, but too vague and subjective.

She raises a brow at me, probably unimpressed at my attitude. I drop my head, my apology already on my lips when-

“An instant attraction.” She says, cutting straight to the point as I’d wished. She punctuates each point with a raise of a finger. “A feeling of familiarity. And a strong desire to stay by their side.”

Okay, finally something more solid I can work with. Sounds a little tame compared to some of the fiction I’ve read… but I guess in this Confucian society, where it’s a scandal for unmarried men and women to be alone together, immediately jumping bones would be a bit-

Consort Choi clears his throat pointedly, drawing my attention and derailing the direction of my thoughts.

“Does that perhaps make things a bit clearer, daughter?” He doesn’t give me time to respond when he adds, “Perhaps… might it have been that way… with the young man I saw accompanying you around the lake?”

…

What?

“What?!” Consort Song echoes my thoughts out loud and slaps his knees excitedly, grinning from ear to ear. “Yoon-ah, is that true?!”

“What? No!” I vehemently deny, laughing awkwardly at such an absurd suggestion. “I mean, yeah, like, we walked together, but it wasn’t anything like that!”

Consort Choi lifts his brow sceptically.

“In all these past years, you have never once shown the slightest bit of interest in anyone.” Consort Hwang joins in with a comment from my other side. “Let alone invite someone to dine with or accompany you-”

Wait a second…

“Were you spying on me?” My mouth falls open, aghast.

“Merely keeping an eye on you,” He admits without shame. “Out of fatherly concern.”

“Hyung! You knew as well?!” Consort Song looks to him betrayed, glaring accusingly back and forth between the two others. “Why am I always the last to find out?” He grumbles.

“Because you have light mouth**.” Consort Choi answers immediately, reaching over and giving said mouth a tap. Hwang nods solemnly in agreement with his arms crossed whilst the youngest fusses, pushing Choi’s hand away in irritation. “I am amazed that you had not been hiding nearby.”

“I had business outside of the palace,” He bemoans. “I missed it all.”

My mother has just been quiet, staring at me expectedly, as if she’s just patiently waiting for me to come clean. I can feel the pressure of it, but there’s really, honestly, nothing to confess!

“I swear it wasn’t like that! He was just-” I repeat, waving my hands frantically in front of me in denial. How on earth can I explain my private pseudo fan-meet to them? “I just thought I recognised his name from somewhere… so, you know, I thought that he maybe he might be someone that I knew… from before…!”

“Was he?” Consort Song asks eagerly.

“Well… no. It was the first time we’d met-”

“For the first time you had met, you were sure sad to see him leave.” Consort Hwang mutters dryly, proudly sipping his drink.

“Abeo-nim!”

Just how long had he been watching?!

“Hush now.” My mother says, motioning to her husbands. For a fleeting moment I think she’s about to save me from this nonsense.

“Yoon-ah, you as well. Calm yourself.”

Now that I’m no longer being attacked by misconstrued logic, I can take a moment. I huff out a breath in an attempt to soothe my rising frustration.

“Now, I want you to think carefully… how did you feel, being with that young man?”

I quirk a brow at her cynically, like 'really?' but she just quirks one right back at me, 'yes, really'. I’m not getting out of this it seems. So I do as she asks, closing my eyes to avoid distraction and take a moment to recollect.

I had felt like I was living out every fangirl’s ultimate dream. I’d been nervous and excited. I’d had goosebumps and my heart had been racing. Which was totally understandable. The whole thing had felt incredible and surreal. But I can’t exactly tell them that. They would just keep misunderstanding. I’m aware of how fangirling can appear to someone from the outside.

“What were your first thoughts of him?”

That he’s beautiful and perfect and I couldn’t believe he was in front of me. Even more so all dressed up in hanbok because it suits him so well. And he looked way better than when he did that Run BTS penalty at the airport, because it wasn’t just some weak costume. It’d been the real thing. And it wasn’t just his looks. He’d been obviously a bit awkward at first, but he’d always remained polite and kind. A total manner prince as expected. Even when subjected to my strange behaviour.

My mother has been watching my expression carefully whilst I open my eyes, trying to contemplate the best way to try and explain it all, her lips slowly pulling up into a smile at whatever she thinks she can read there.

“Oh Yoon-ah.” She places a hand over her heart and heaves a sigh of relief. “This is so wonderful… This brings me such joy.”

Oh no. Now they’ve all gotten the wrong idea. It's four-to-one and I don’t know how at this point I can convince them. My head falls into my hands, and I let out a frustrated groan. “I told you it’s not like that.”

…However much I wish it could be true.

“Then why invite him to return?” I hear Consort Choi point out to me. From the tone of his voice, I just know that he’s smirking at me.

“You did?!” I feel Consort Song’s hand come down on my shoulder and shake it a little. “When? What time? I want to get a good look at this young man!”

“Appa*!” I exclaim, quickly lifting my face from my hands to give him a warning glare. “Don’t you dare!” I pass the glare around to my other nosy fathers. “Don’t do anything. Please, just stay still! ** Otherwise, I won’t forgive you! Any of you!”

They laugh at my reaction, even the stoic Consort Hwang lets out a low chuckle. My face disappears into my hands once more to cover my embarrassment.

“If you are so adamant that we are wrong, then there is something you can do to prove it.” My mother offers. Although… why does it sounds like a challenge?

“Yes, anything!”

“Touch him.”

…

I look up, stunned. For several long seconds my brain is just buffering. I’m not sure I believe my ears.

“Say again?”

“Touch him,” She reiterates with a knowing quirk of her lips. “A brief touch is all that is needed, but it has to be skin to skin. Then, my dear child, there will be no doubt.”

~

Meanwhile

~

“Young Master Kim, oh I’m so glad you’ve come!” The Deputy Minister’s Wife immediately hurries over to him as soon as he enters through the large doors of the front gate. Looking more harried than usual, she grabs him by the arm.

“What has happened, Eomeo-nim*?” The Young Master asks, following along he’s dragged by Seokjin’s mother down the familiar path to her youngest son’s quarters. He wasn’t too concerned at her behaviour, as it wasn’t uncommon for her to make a fuss over trivial matters.

“How am I supposed to know?! He has been in a complete daze ever since he came home. He hasn’t said a single word. Not to me, nor to his father! And he came back ever so late. What on earth happened in that place for him to be acting like this?” She mutters with suspicion. “No, something happened, I am sure of it. But he will tell you. And then you must tell me what happened, at once."

The Young Master doesn't attempt to answer as she just continues, barely taking breaths.

“We have a meeting with the Minister of Commerce tomorrow, and I can’t have him behaving like this! Absolutely not! Nothing must go wrong. She may be the youngest daughter, but this is the best gunghap* we’ve had. I have to ensure it happens no matter what! Or what will become of him? Oh, my poor boy,” She laments. “Oh, why does this keep happening to him? What on earth have I done to deserve this?”

It was a familiar tirade that the Young Master had heard several times over the last couple of months. Ever since Seokjin’s mother had turned her full attentions to her youngest son’s marriage, she was often found to be hitting her chest and bemoaning his fate. The Lady was well known for her… enthusiasm.

She had begun with such high expectations.

Due to his striking appearance and polite manner, there certainly hadn’t been a lack of interest in Kim Seokjin. Many young ladies had been awaiting the day that the handsome young bachelor’s family began to look for a bride. Seokjin’s mother had thought she would be able to choose the best of the best in wealth, family, or beauty to be her newest daughter-in-law.

But then he’d failed the state exam. Again. The more ambitious families had lost interest after seeing no prestigious career in his future. But that hadn’t been a major concern. There’d still been plenty more candidates to choose from. Some families just desired their daughters to live peacefully and happily.

It had been whilst in very promising negotiations with the Governor of Gwangju*, after they had sent her son’s saju*, when everything began to fall apart.

The Governor had immediately sent back a refusal to the marriage once the couple’s compatibility had been read. Which at the time had been a disappointment. But there had still been plenty more options.

But then every single attempt that followed had ended the same.

The Lady had pestered every saju master in the city for second opinions, several times over, yet none had been able to give her the good news that she had wanted to hear. Every time, every attempt, no matter who the young lady was, the saju masters would tell her almost the exact same thing - if the marriage was to proceed, the future bride would have great suffering.

With the list of failed matches ever growing, rumours had started spreading amongst the mothers of Hanyang*. Rumors that said that Kim Seokjin was ill-fated. Cursed. Thus, should be avoided at all costs in order to protect their precious daughters.

The gossiped speculations had grown even more ridiculous lately. The latest being that Seokjin was haunted by a virgin ghost who would terrorise and kill his bride out of jealousy. A ghost whom he may have or may have not himself murdered. Which was complete bullshit, of course. The Young Master knows this. Anyone who personally knows Kim Seokjin knows it.

Yet the gossipmongers cannot comprehend how such a handsome man, from such a prestigious family, would have such a foreboding fortune. They’d been convinced that there must be an explanation and they had been enjoying letting their imaginations run wild with guesses.

The Lady Kim was beginning to become desperate. With the list of candidates ever dwindling, her high standards were being forced to lower, as now most of the notable families would not even entertain the idea of marrying off their daughter to her son.

Unlike Seokjin’s mother, the Young Master does not believe in such things like curses and fates. Shamans and saju masters, in his opinion, were farfetched with no true basis in science. But something about this situation did strike him as odd. Considering the number of variants, how could each reading have produced near identical results? It could not be a mere coincidence.

Was it really due to Seokjin having such a terrible fate? He severely doubts it. The reason for all this is much more likely to be human in nature.

But who? And for what reason?

“What makes you so sure that something happened at the palace?” The Young Master says as he slips off his shoes on the terrace stone.

“Something must have happened,” The Lady insists. “I know it because he hasn’t touched his food. Something is worrying him. And you know how rare that is for him. That boy does not usually have a care in the world! Now, find out what that is for me, won’t you?” She ends the conversation, pushing him towards the door.

The young master stumbles but quickly finds his feet. As he rights himself, he takes a second to straighten out his clothes which had become rumpled under the fretting Lady’s attention. He glances back to her, and she shoos her hands to urge him inside.

He expects that she’ll most likely stay close by to try to eavesdrop.

He steps over the threshold and makes his way through to the inner doors of Seokjin’s sleeping quarters. He clears his throat before announcing his arrival, “Hyung, it’s me.” He waits briefly for a response, but he’s only met with silence. A slither of worry creeps into his mind. Sliding back the door, he enters.

He finds Seokjin sprawled out on his bedding, as if he had just come in and collapsed there. Not an unusual sight, but this time he hadn’t even made the effort to take off his gat, which was being crushed beneath his head.

“Oh, Namjoon-ah, you’re here?” Seokjin says listlessly, not even lifting his head to greet his closest friend. His eyes remain fixed on a blank spot on the ceiling.

Namjoon huffs a laugh, sitting down in front of the dinner table that remains untouched. “Are you not pleased to see me? Why are you so out of it?” He playfully swats at Seokjin’s leg that’s closest to him.

“Oh?”

“You’re not eating this right? I’m starving.” Namjoon enquires, picking up chopsticks. He’d been studying all day, deep into his preparations for the exam. He had been so caught up in his reading that he hadn’t eaten yet. The food in front of him may have cooled, but it was still delicious. He’d hate to see it go to waste.

“Oh,” Seokjin weakly waves his hand. “I’m full. Go ahead.”

“Is something wrong? Your mother is worried, more than usual.” Namjoon says, trying to elicit something other than just a short response from his friend. “She thinks something happened at the palace.”

Seokjin’s body tenses.

“Did something happen?” Namjoon pauses, that slither of worry quickly growing. “Did you do something wrong?”

He knows his hyung has exemplary manners and the ability to charm most people. Especially those older than himself. But he could also sometimes speak without thinking. Namjoon couldn’t imagine Seokjin causing any kind of trouble on purpose. But then again, Namjoon doesn’t know the rules of the palace. Even a tiny transgression could be deemed punishable within those walls.

“No,” Seokjin replies, lifting his head to look at Namjoon, sounding a bit affronted. Then he pauses. “At least I don’t think so…”

Encouraged from provoking even that little bit of emotion, Namjoon pushes on. “Then why are you like this?”

His hyung drops his head back down with a thud. “I don’t know either.”

Such an obvious lie.

A silence forms between the two as Namjoon focuses on eating instead, giving Seokjin some time to collect his thoughts. He knows that his friend will confess eventually. After a while, he tries again, diverting to a different topic that he had always been curious about.

“Did you manage to see the Crown Princess? What was she like?”

Seokjin hums affirmatively. Namjoon waits patiently, taking a spoonful of the lukewarm soup.

“Beautiful.” His hyung’s voice is quiet… wistful.

“Huh?” Namjoon asks, freezing with the spoon raised to his mouth.

“She’s beautiful.”

Namjoon abandons any further thought of eating. With the conversation having taken such an unexpected turn, it will require his full attention. He grabs the jug of wine, with a feeling that they’ll probably be needing it.

“What’s this?” He laughs whilst pouring himself and his hyung a drink. “Kim Seokjin calling someone other than himself beautiful?”

Seokjin finally sits up, the crushed gat falling from his head and limply hanging around his neck by its ties. He pulls it off in frustration and throws it away without care.

“Ya, I’m serious.”

“And so am I!” Namjoon defends, though his sincerity is lost in his chuckle. “I’m just surprised, truly. In all the long years I’ve know you, Hyung, you have never once shown the least bit of interest in a woman. I was starting to think that you might just end up alone with your mirror! But then all of a sudden… the Crown Princess?”

Seokjin doesn’t reply. Instead, he looks away, avoiding Namjoon’s probing stare. The tips of his ears were starting to darken.

“Oh, Hyung.” Namjoon sighs with understanding. “The Crown Princess is not someone who you should ever dare to admire. If it’s not willed by the Heavens, then it’s not something you can even dream about. You’ll only end up hurt.” He reaches over and pats his friend’s back to offer some comfort. It was the last thing that he had expected to find when he’d entered this room - Kim Seokjin with honey dripping from his eyes**.

“Now that you have your permit, you should concentrate on your marriage. Your mother told me that you have another meeting tomorrow. You should just forget today and turn your thoughts to that instead.” Namjoon says, commiseratively to his friend. Seokjin’s mother has been dragging her son along in order to try and dispel the rumours, hoping that a family would disregard them due to her son’s charm and good looks.

He doesn’t envy Seokjin in the slightest. Namjoon could even be considered lucky that he would not have to undergo the same process.

Because once Namjoon finishes his studies at Sungkyunkwan* and receives a permit of his own, his father will formally commence with Namjoon’s marriage. Which has long been arranged between Namjoon, and the daughter of the Chief State Chancellor, Jeong Ji-Yeon.

Namjoon was the sole reason that the marriage had become so overdue. He had been the one to suggest waiting until after his studies were finished and then waiting until afterwards when he becomes an official. In order to provide her with the best life suited for her, he had said.

It was also Namjoon who had kept delaying applying for the state exam. He had been successful in convincing his father to allow him to undertake a couple ‘just one more’ years for his studies.

Truthfully, he was trying to avoid this marriage. Although Jeong Ji-Yeon was a perfect example of a woman - beautiful, graceful, delicate, and demure… Namjoon felt nothing. Hidden in his heart was a wish to marry someone that he truly loved.

He had certainly tried with Jeong Ji-Yeon. He had visited often, spending time with the lady in order to encourage feelings to take root and bloom. But it had been fruitless.

Wanting love, however, was not a reason that would convince his father to break the arrangement that had been promised between the two families. Therefore, he’d tried other ways to escape his engagement.

He’d even gone so far as to be ‘caught’ seen frequenting kisaeng parlours across the city. Hoping that rumours of his improper behaviour might reach the right ears. But in the end, they never had. They’d been abruptly buried, by his father, most likely.

Since then, Namjoon had reluctantly accepted his fate. He had done all he could think, all that kept his morals intact, and now he could not delay it any longer. His father’s patience had run out. Namjoon was to take the exam and get married, before the end of this year.

“They didn’t give me one.” The sound of Seokjin’s voice yanks him from his thoughts.

“Didn’t give you what, Hyung?” Namjoon asks. He’d been in so deep that he’d forgotten what they were discussing.

“A permit.” His hyung turns to him with a wide-eyed look of realisation.

“You do not have one?”

“No.”

…

“No one’s ever left without being given a permit before, Hyung.” Namjoon says with confusion. “Did they forget? Did they tell you anything?”

“Well… as I was leaving, she told me she wanted to meet again tomorrow.” Seokjin rubs the back of his neck as he considers. “One of the Court Ladies just said to wait at the Palace Gate tomorrow in the afternoon. But no one gave me anything...”

Namjoon’s mouth opens as he processes the words.

“Wait a minute- she as in the Crown Princess?” He says in shock before lowering his voice, conscious of any listening ears outside. “The Crown Princess spoke to you?”

“Yeah.” His hyung admits it so casually, as if he doesn’t grasp how unprecedented that was. “After everyone else was sent home, I stayed for a while.”

“The Ice Princess-”

“Ya! Don’t call her that,” Seokjin snaps all of a sudden with his eyes narrowing. His jaw clenches.

“I won’t, sorry.” Namjoon quickly apologizes, surprised by such a strong reaction. “But Hyung, seriously, a former sunbae of mine told me that he accidentally made eye contact with her when he went last year. He said that he actually felt his balls shrivel up back inside his body and-”

“Nonsense,” Seokjin scoffs. “If anything-”

Namjoon waits but his friend doesn’t continue. “…If anything, what?” He urges, curious how Jin was going to finish that sentence.

“Nothing… forget it.” His hyung states with a bashful mumble, ears becoming even darker. Namjoon decides not to press and takes a moment to collect his thoughts.

The Crown Princess, he ponders. From all accounts he’s heard, she’s a cold, apathetic woman with a demeanour carved from ice - hence the nickname. Rumours whispered amongst the male population even proclaimed that her stare alone could freeze the heart of man, thus warning to never look directly into her eyes. Namjoon has seen a couple of his friends get chills when they recalled their brief encounters being in her presence.

That same Crown Princess has shown an interest in Seokjin, if his hyung is to be believed. For her to verbally engage with a man from the presentation had never been heard of before. At least, until now.

Namjoon does not know what to make of it. He cannot help but feel a bit worried for his hyung. Seokjin has been his closest friend since childhood. The two of them are like true brothers, having grown up together side by side.

What on earth will this mean for his Seokjin-hyung?

“Hyung… start from the beginning.”

Chapter Text

I’m singing and dancing around in the kitchen. Which ordinarily wouldn’t be such an unusual sight, except that I’m the Crown Princess and in the Royal Kitchens. Plus, I have an audience. Who aren’t exactly looking like they appreciate my spontaneous karaoke session.

The cooking staff had basically pissed themselves when I’d shown up without any warning this morning. I guess the Crown Princess must not have been very interested in cooking before. But they hadn’t denied me when I’d asked to use the kitchen, so here I am taking full advantage.

I hadn’t wanted to disturb the cooks from preparing breakfast for my family, so I’d claimed a small unoccupied table in the corner and had requested all of the ingredients and tools that I’d need in one go so that I didn’t have to keep pestering them. But of course, just my mere presence was a disturbance. Even more so after I’d started singing.

I had started out cooking in silence… but it was strange for me to cook without music or the background noise of the TV, so I’d ended up mindlessly humming to myself. Which then escalated into a full BTS medley, to no one’s surprise. Well… the staff and Da-eun had been very surprised. But I hadn’t been able to help it. It was only natural considering a particular member had been on my mind since yesterday.

I was excited to see him again. Not only to confirm that what happened yesterday had indeed happened, but also just to spend more time with him. To get to know him more. To see his smile and hear his laugh.

I was also incredibly nervous.

My mother’s words have been stuck in my head. ‘Touch him’, she’d said. That was my main mission for today. Find some kind of natural way to touch him and prove to them that they were wrong. But then there’s a tiny little voice in my brain that occasionally whispers, what if they’re right? What if he is your soulmate?

I have to keep violently crushing that thought before it can grow and spread into some sort of hope. I would rather have absolutely no expectations. Because there would be nothing more devastating than getting my hopes up, and for it to not come true…

…

[Boy With Luv]

Oh my, my, my

Oh my, my, my

I've waited all my life

I want to be with all of you~

Oh my, my, my,

oh my, my, my

Looking for something right

Now, I kinda get it~

I rhythmically pat my hands against my chest and wave my body to the left, weakly mimicking the choreography. I don’t know if it’s my singing, the lyrics, or the swinging of my hips… but my audience looks shook. Their expressions are so scandalized, and I find it hilarious. This dance is totally tame compared to some of the others I have memorized. That key move of Bapsae particularly comes to mind.

Da-eun is watching me with her hands covering her mouth. Her eyes seem bright so maybe she’s even hiding a smile. I point to her with a finger heart and shoot her a wink. Yeong, however, has physically turned his back on me. Instead of my spectacle, he’s watching the kitchen staff with stern eyes, being all silent and intimidating.

I return to my task of rolling up the second batch of kimbap* whilst rapping Yoongi’s part. I imitate his intonations. And all the backing adlibs. Because it’s impossible not to.

Ever since I got to know you, ya~

My life is all about you, ya~

You’re a star that turns ordinaries into extraordinaries, oh yeah

From one to ten, ayy, ayy

everything about you is special, ayy, ayy

Your interests, your walk, the way you speak

and your every little habit, ayy~

Hope World! 

After using the kimbap in place of a mic, I check it for any bursting before brushing on a layer of sesame oil and grabbing the sharp knife to cut it into bitesize pieces. I’d decided on kimbap because not only is it tasty, but it’s perfect for eating outside. It’s not so difficult to make either, as I’d spent a summer during high school working a part-time job at a snack bar.

There wasn’t really anything else I could think of doing for our date today. It’s not like we can go see a movie, play at an arcade, or even visit a café. Besides, the weathers so nice again today that a picnic would be perfect. Like a date by the Han River.

I place the second load of kimbap into an empty drawer of the tall lacquered handled lunchbox and contemplate if it’ll be enough for the two of us. I’ll steal some spare side dishes that are laying around the kitchen, but maybe I should make another roll just to be sure. After all, Jin’s a foodie.

~

I’m almost finished with cutting up the final roll when Jo-Sanggung makes her entrance. I’d sent her out on an errand this morning, to see if she could find an idyllic spot in the palace for the picnic. My only notes were for it to be out of the way of the public eye, near some trees for shade and with a nice view. I didn’t think it would have been a strenuous task, so I’m a bit puzzled when she comes bursting into the kitchen red in the face and sweaty like she’s just run a marathon.

Oh-whoa, oh-woah, oh-woah, oh-woah, aah~

Love is nothing stronger~

Oh-whoa, oh-woah, oh-woah, oh-woah, oh~

Than a boy with- Than a boy with luv~~

I end the song with a flourish, swooping my hands above my head into a big heart. Da-eun politely claps for me with tiny motions and a smile on her face. But then she sees Jo-Sanggung and abruptly assumes the proper position of a court maid, with hands folded and head bowed.

Jo-Sanggung stares at me with her eyes bulging almost out of her skull and I can’t help but giggle at her expression whilst I pack up the side dish. I wipe my hands on the apron I have wrapped around me and as I’m rolling my sleeves back down, she seems to have overcome the shock.

“Your Royal Highness…” She seems at a loss for words. She approaches, her eyes reading the room, and warily looking over the kitchen staff.

“Perfect timing!” I tell her with a bright smile, cutting her off before she can think to nag. “I’m just about finished.” I grab a handful of sesame seeds to sprinkle over the rolls.

She gets distracted from whatever she was about to say, noticing the kimbap that I’ve set out in one of the drawers of the lunchbox. “Wha- what is all this?”

“It’s called kimbap, try it!” I pick up one of the end pieces I’d left out and offer it to her. She opens her mouth, maybe to refuse, but I’ll never know because I quickly stuff the slice in. She takes a moment to process before she’s chewing. Her eyebrows raise and she lets out an unintentional little hum of approval.

“Da-eun-ah, you too,” I say, holding up the other end. She is much more eager and bounces over. I could tell that she’d been dying of curiosity the whole time I was making it. “What do you think?”

“It’s really good, Your Royal Highness!” She smiles happily, her cheek stuffed like a hamster after I feed it to her. “You’ve never cooked before. You must be a natural!”

…Crap. I hadn’t thought about that. It’d be better to keep any other unexplainable ‘hidden talents’ on the downlow for now. Jo-Sanggung already looks like she’s trying to figure it out.

“I have never seen something like this…” Jo-Sanggung says holding one up to inspect it. “Rice wrapped in kim*… how did you come up with such an idea?”

“…Let’s just say it came to me in a dream.” I tell her nonchalantly, people invented new stuff from dreams all the time. I turn to the closest kitchen staff who’s been working nearby. “Would you be able to make this for me if I asked?”

“Wha-?” The cook stutters when I suddenly put him on the spot.

“I mean you were watching me so intently… you should have some idea on how to do it, right?”

He drops to his knees. “Forgive me, Your Royal Highness!”

“You’re not in trouble,” I reassure him with a wave of my hand. I really wish they would stop overreacting. I really wasn’t trying to accuse him of anything. “I just wanna know if you think you can make it or not.”

“Ah… y-yes, Your Royal Highness… I believe I would be able to do so.”

“Good!” I nod, satisfied. I might crave it once in a little while and be too lazy to come make it for myself. I wonder if there’s any other more modern recipes that I could get them to try and make for me… like fried chicken! Or corn dogs! Wait, does jjajangmyeon exist yet? Ah, that would be so good! To imagine my life never able to eat those foods again would be totally unbearable.

Turning my attention back to my lunchbox I catch the tail end of the hushed conversation my two attendants are having.

“- she said it was a new way of dancing, Sanggung-nim.”

“Well, it was highly improper! And in front of all these servants!” My senior court lady harshly whispers. “No wonder gossip has been spreading! You should have put a stop to it immediately!”

“… But she looked so happy-”

“Jo-Sanggung,” I interrupt, before Da-eun can be scolded any further. If anyone needs to be held responsible for my actions, then it’ll be me. Not her.

“Yes, Your Royal Highness?”

I close up the lunchbox, making sure all the levels are closed and secure. “How did it go? Did you find a nice spot?”

“Ah yes, Your Royal Highness,” she replies, successfully distracted. “Although… forgive me, I am not quite sure I understand…”

“Oh right! It’s for a picnic.” I explain, picking up the lunchbox to carry but Da-eun quickly swoops it into her arms. Waving goodbye to a few of the kitchen staff, I begin to head out of the kitchen. They don’t wave back though. Rude. “Oh, and a blanket! We’ll need a blanket too.”

Jo-Sanggung stops in her tracks looking scandalized. Even Da-eun holds up her hand to her mouth with a tiny gasp.

Why, what was it I said?

…

“Not bedding!” I catch on and laugh at their misunderstanding. “Just a large piece of cloth or some fabric we can put on the ground.” I don’t want to be sat on the grass, I want a barrier between me and the bugs and the dirt. “Maybe a couple of cushions too. But nothing fancy! That’s not the vibe I’m going for.”

I just want it to just feel like two normal people having a normal date… well as much as it can considering how I’m going to be having a picnic with Kim Seokjin. I don’t want him to feel intimidated by my status like he might have done yesterday. Honestly, I want to completely get rid of the social hierarchy between us if I can.

“Do you know if there’s some games we could play?” As an icebreaker perhaps, or if he starts to get bored with me. Besides, after watching all those Run BTS episodes, playing a game together would fulfil an ultimate dream of mine.

“Oh! And some good alcohol!” I exclaim, snapping my fingers. I can’t believe I almost forgot. “Even better if there’s soju.”

I’ll be needing some liquid courage.

~

I step back up with my hands on my waist, inspecting the finished setting for the picnic. The blanket is all straightened out, a couple of cushions are placed either side with the trays from the lunchbox laid out in the centre. I’ve made sure that there’s cups and silverware for us, as well a couple of porcelain jugs of alcohol. I’d already taken some shots from them… taste testing of course. I’d even swiped some sweets and fruits from the kitchen for dessert.

The whole setting looks good. Simple. Which was what I was aiming for.

But now looking at it… is it too basic? What if he thinks I didn’t put any thought into this? Does it make it seem like I don’t care? Should I have gotten some flowers or candles to spruce it up a bit? But I don’t want it to scream ‘date’. It’s really more of a friendly hanging out type of thing. I’ve just been calling it a date in my head from wishful thinking and delusion. I nibble at my thumb as the thoughts cloud my mind, each one shouting over each other raucously.

“Your Royal Highness,” Jo-Sanggung draws my attention from my fretting. “He is here.”

Well shit, it’s too late to change anything now.

I turn around and see Jin coming down the path, following behind a eunuch. They’re heading this way, but Jin hasn’t spotted us yet. He’s looking around curiously. He might just be taking in the sights, or he could be searching for me. My tempo of my heart starts to pick up. Without thinking I raise my arm high above my head and wave to catch his eye.

Jo-Sanggung had really found a lovely spot. It had a great view of Bugaksan* rising up behind the palace buildings and you could see the water of the nearby pond glistening in the sunlight. Infrequently uniformed servants would walk by, but we were far enough from the path not to be noticed. I’d sent away the four extra maids that usually trail after me so that I could be a bit more incognito, so I was just left with Jo-Sanggung, Da-eun and Yeong. I’d told them that they didn’t have to hang around because we’d be serving ourselves, but they insisted on at least staying nearby.

Jin eventually spots me, bringing his hand from behind his back and doing an awkward little red-carpet wave in return. The eunuch escorting him stops and motions for Jin to go on ahead, bowing once in my direction before leaving. Jo-Sanggung also begins to shepherd the other two away to their predesignated spot, leaving us alone.

I find my feet carrying me to meet Jin halfway, damn near skipping to reach him.

“You came,” is the first thing I say to him, grinning from ear to ear. My pulse may be racing, but I’m totally relieved. As if I can finally take a full breath now. There’d been an errant thought bouncing around in my mind of the likelihood that I’d be stood up. Although I’d heard it from Jin himself, I’d only half-heartedly believed that he’d actually want to see me again. Even with all my excitement, I’d been totally preparing for the worst.

But he was here, looking breath-taking as usual, today dressed in sky blue and white.

“I greet you, Your Royal Highness,” Jin says whilst he bows. I immediately want to stop him. I even take a step forward but end up clenching my fists to resist. I quickly hide them under my dangui whilst he’s not looking.

“Please, you don’t have be so formal.” I tell him gently. Using honorifics and formalities would only just keep each other at arm’s length. And I so desperately want to close that distance. “It’s just us here and I really don’t mind.”

He seems a bit at a loss for words, like he wasn’t expecting that, but does nod.

“Have you eaten?” I ask, leading him over to the picnic. I carefully watch his face awaiting his reaction. I feel anxious all over again. Does he like it? Yes? ...No?

A soft smile appears on his face before he catches me staring and clears his throat. “What is all of this?” He asks curiously, gesturing to the set up.

“I prepared a picnic for us.” I tell him, before proudly pointing to the kimbap. “I even made some of it myself.” I feel like I’m a puppy wagging its tail whilst waiting for praise. Ugh, calm the fuck down, please. All of my nervous energy is making me act hyper.

Jin looks at me, but with an expression I’m not able to instantly decipher. It’s not anger or disgust however, so I take it as a good sign.

“You prepared all of this… for me?”

“Well, yeah…” I reply hesitantly.

“Why?” His blunt question throws me off.

“Because I wanted to?” My unsurety makes it come out like a question.

“You did not have to trouble yourself, Your Royal Highness.”

Wonder… that’s the look on his face right now. Is he… touched?

“I wanted to,” I repeat more confidently. “It was really no trouble.” Feeling somewhat reassured now that he doesn’t totally hate it, I slip off my shoes and climb onto the blanket, settling down onto one of the cushions. He watches me, but remains standing until I pat the other one, inviting him to join me. “If I’d really wanted to go all out then I would have cooked you a steak or something.”

…That’s actually not a bad idea.

“Seu-tae-keu?” He repeats the word with confusion as he sits across from me. Now that we’re both sat, the cushions seem a bit too far from each other... I should have put them closer together.

“Mhmm,” I hum affirmatively with my lips pressed tightly together. I’m squealing on the inside because his English is so cute. “Ah, it’s a cut of beef.” I explain, hoping he might just think it’s some fancy terminology instead of totally different language. Damn loanwords*. “When cooked just right it’s really juicy and tender. I have a feeling you’d really like it.”

“I would be honoured to eat anything you cook, Your Royal Highness.” He says softly with a faint bashful smile.

So, I push one of the trays of bulgogi* kimbap towards him, again with the golden retriever behaviour. “Well then go ahead and try it. I’d appreciate your feedback.”

He picks up a piece with chopsticks, takes a closer look and sniffs it before popping it whole into his mouth. His eyes light up at the taste. I feel so happy. Everything seems to be going well so far.

Ah, fuck, no, don’t jinx it.

“Do you cook?” I ask him after he’s swallowed.

Jin moves to grab another slice. “No, I’ve never tried.”

“Oh? Considering how much you like food, you might enjoy it,” I suggest. I don’t reach for any myself. My gut is still twisting with nerves. Besides, I feel full just by watching Jin eat**.

“There has never been a need for me to learn really. I’m well fed at home.” He explains, having thought about it whilst he ate. “Besides, I doubt I would be able to make anything half as good.”

He gestures to the kimbap, and I could burst with pride.

“It’s still a necessary life skill though. I think everyone should at least learn the basics. Even pampered yangban sons.” I jokingly dig at him before gesturing to myself. “Even Crown Princesses. Nobody can predict the future. What would you do if you ever found yourself living alone without your family or any servants to take care of you? Would you let yourself starve?”

Jin takes another moment to finish yet another slice before he responds.

“No, I’d eat at a restaurant,” He answers with certainty. “There’s one I always go to in Hanyang, they make great gukbap*.”

It’s a smart answer, I’ll give him that, but it’s dodging the point.

“That’d cost a fortune though,” I contend. The thought of constantly eating out was horrifying to me as I’d been so frugal for the past couple of years. I’d been living off of cooking family sized batches and then freezing the leftovers. “For three meals a day every day for the rest of your life? What if you had no money?”

“…Then how could I cook if I have no money for ingredients?” Jin asks, a sly smile forming as he finds a flaw in my argument. He has me there.

“Well…. true-”

“So if I had money for ingredients,” he continues, “why could I not spend it on someone else’s cooking?”

Now I feel like he’s teasing me. I narrow my eyes. When did this even turn into a debate? And why do I feel like I’m losing? The irritation is a prickly feeling creeping over my skin.

“’Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.’” I quote the Chinese proverb sagely, as a last-ditch effort to get my point across.

“That’s good then, since I already know how to fish.” He responds cheekily.

“If you want to eat just fish for the rest of your life, then sure!” I scoff a laugh. “You at least know to gut and cook them then?”

“Not at all,” he replies, mouth half full and looking far too smug. “Therefore, I’d sell the fish and use the earnings to eat at the restaurant.”

I shut my mouth, turning to look ahead at the view. I don’t want to waste precious time with him with a petty argument. Jin looks like he’s been enjoying getting a rise from me.

“I’d be eager to learn.” He says with a grin, leaning forward to try and get me to look him in the eyes. Which I do, with a side eye. “If you would be willing to teach me.”

My irritation is washed away in wake of a rising blush. Come be my teacher~ melodically sings through my head against my will. I find myself unable to respond. Just like the line in the song, it had sounded a little suggestive. Probably just all in my mind but I had not been prepared.

I reach for the closest jug of alcohol. I’m tempted to take a swig straight from the bottle, but I restrain myself and pour it into a cup instead. I one-shot it, exclaiming with a kkyaahh* from the back of my throat as it burns its way down.

“Is that alcohol?” Jin questions, looking astonished.

“Yes.” I answer bluntly whilst pouring another. He laughs at me. One of his pitched giggles that make his body rock forward. I cover my mouth with the cup to hide my smile. Although it’s a an absolutely delightful sound that makes my heart skip a beat, I’m still kind of pouting.

“It’s the middle of the day…”

“I know. But I’m sick of tea,” I complain. All they ever offer me is tea in a thousand different flavours. But I’ve been a devout coffee drinker since I was a teenager. I idly wonder if I’ll end up going through withdrawal. “Besides, there’s nothing wrong with day drinking once in a while. It’s nice to enjoy such good weather with a bottle or two.” I shake the jug at him in offering. “Want some?”

He takes it from me from the bottom with both hands*, avoiding my fingers that grip the neck.

“It’s almost empty.” He says in surprise, shaking the jug and listening to the remaining alcohol splashing around inside. He pours himself a cup and there’s just enough left to fill it before it stops dripping.

“It’s fine, there’s another.” I shrug, pointing to where it sits behind me with my thumb. “I think it’s some sort of wine though.”

“Did you drink this all by yourself?” I think he looks a cross between concerned and a little impressed.

“Ah… yeah, I… needed some courage.” I admit quietly, mumbling into my cup. He tilts his head at me but I avoid his questioning gaze. “You have a lot of catching up to do.”

Jin chuckles and raises a brow. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Your Royal Highness?”

I swoop in and clink his cup with mine. Our fingers only just miss each other. I grin at him and shrug.

“Maybe I’m curious about your singing.”

~

We continued to sit and talk, enjoying the sun, the sound of the birds singing, the calm peace, and each other’s company. The conversation continued more light-heartedly as we sipped at our drinks and snacked on the food. I’d stopped drinking altogether once my cheeks had begun to warm. I was at a good level, letting any remaining awkwardness fade, laughing and smiling more freely, yet not making a complete fool of myself with loose lips and no impulse control.

I dread to think the things I could end up confessing if I got too drunk. Or the lines I might cross.... Being around Kim Seokjin is dangerous.

As the time passed, we’d both found ourselves relaxing, even unfolding out of the stiff cross-legged postures that we’d started out in.

Some tension, however, remained.

Like when I’d had to eventually stretch out my legs to prevent cramping and my skirts had slid up, revealing a slither of my leg that had peeked out between the hem and my white silk socks. I hadn’t noticed at first, only realising when Jin had turned bright red and turned his head away so fast that I’d thought his neck could have snapped. He’d stuttered when I’d asked him what was wrong. I’d giggled at his overreaction but didn’t quite have the heart to tease him more for it. In fact, I’d felt quite victorious that I was even able to make him so flustered like that. I’d considered it payback for all the times he’d done it to me.

Then there’d been that moment when I’d been worried that he might have been growing bored. There’d been a long rest in the conversation, so I’d suggested playing a game of Tuho*.

“I dare not, Your Royal Highness,” Jin had laughed.

“Why not?” I’d asked, not understanding the problem. He’d leaned in a bit closer to reply and my eyes had instantly been drawn to those pouty lips of his.

“I get the feeling that you hate to lose,” they’d said.

“Does anyone like to lose?” I’d muttered, having to drag my gaze away to calm my impulses.

Jin had smiled broadly, as if fully aware of his effect on me, but had shrugged with nonchalance. “Sometimes I don’t mind losing.”

“Really?”

He’d looked ahead, breaking our eye contact, and taking in the scenery. I’d been stuck dumb admiring his profile. “It just depends on what I’m losing… and to whom.”

“Like what?” I’d prompted, hugging my knees and leaning my cheek on them without taking my eyes off him. I’d thought I’d heard something more in those words.

“Hmmm…” He’d pretended to think about it, the corner of his lips quirking as he’d controlled his expression. Then he’d looked down at me, straight in the eyes and made his attack.

“My heart?”

~

Throughout the date, the task my mother had set for me had stayed in the back of my mind. To touch him. To find out for sure if he was indeed my soulmate as my parents suspected, or to confirm my claim that he totally wasn’t.

There had been plenty of opportunities that I surely could’ve taken advantage of. Our hands reaching for the food at the same time, a stray rice grain stuck to the corner of his mouth… yet I always wavered, hesitant to close the distance and swiftly retreating whenever he approached.

I was a fucking coward.

A part of me was dying to know and yet the other part was terrified. It was a war inside my head. And neither side was winning. So I ignored them. Determined instead to just enjoy my time with Jin without feeling like the whole date had an ulterior motive.

“I feel that I must confess something, Your Royal Highness.” Jin says in the midst of a comfortable silence, a moment where the both of us had been just lost in our own thoughts. He’s leant back on his hands, with his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles.

“Hmm?” I ask, idly pulling at blades of grass beside the blanket. A confession? I’m intrigued but also a little wary as he sounds a bit serious. Hopefully it’s nothing bad, but a foreboding feeling begins to rise from the pit of my stomach “What is it?”

“I am not sure if such trivial things have reached you inside of the palace… but there are many rumours… about me.”

The blades of grass in my grip snap. I throw them away to the wind and give him my sole attention.

“Rumours?” I ask, a little annoyed that apparently someone is out there spreading rumours about him. Where do I find a lawyer because those people need to be sued. “What kind of rumours?”

He huffs a half-hearted laugh as he starts picking at a loose thread from the cushion he’s sat on.

“I mentioned before, when you were asking me about marriage… that finding a match has not been easy…”

“Yeah… because you failed the exam?” I nod, remembering being secretly pleased, and thankful to all those ambitious social climbers for keeping him a bachelor. Totally their loss and my gain. Yet I’m not sure what that has to do with this.

He sighs heavily. “…That’s not all.”

I can see it’s something he’s reluctant to talk about, as if he can’t believe he’s even deigning to acknowledge whatever it is.

“The gunghaps have always been bad. Terrible, even.” He chuckles before lowering his voice and speaking dramatically, “’The bride shall suffer terrible misfortune.’”

I tilt my head. That’s… definitely not what I'd thought he was going to say. But though he appears unbothered, he’s betrayed by his restless hands. He watches me apprehensively, awaiting my reaction to what he says next.

“Because of that… people say that I’m cursed.”

…

“The fuck?!” I scoff incredulously, causing Jin to comically widen his eyes. I don’t think he’d been expecting me to swear. “What kind of dog-sound* is that?”

His shoulder begins to shake, and he half attempts to cover his mouth with the back of his hand but then he bursts out laughing. It’s his iconic windshield wiper laugh, and I would be so delighted right now, if I wasn’t so pissed off on his behalf.

Once he’s able to stop laughing and catch his breath, he tells me the whole story.

From the sounds of it, it’s total ahjumma* superstitious gossip. Yeah, the whole doomed bride thing might be a little strange when I think about it… but at least it doesn’t say that anything bad will happen to Jin. And for that, I’m relieved.   

“I paid it no mind before,” Jin admits softly, looking relaxed once more. “However, I was worried… of what you’d think…”

“I don’t care,” I tell him truthfully. We lock eyes and I hope that he can feel my sincerity. “Cursed, not cursed, it doesn’t matter to me. It wouldn’t change anything…”

Not how I see him or think of him or…

Fuck.

…

How I’m starting to feel about him…

A tear rolls down my cheek.

…

I wipe it off, looking confused at the wetness on my fingertips, because I’m definitely not crying. I look up to the sky and I’m met with the dark bottom of an overhead cloud that had snuck up on us. Another stray raindrop splatters on my hand. Then another on my skirts.

And then the heavens open.

The rain comes down thick and fast. The type of rain that can drench you in seconds. Scrambling quickly to my feet and slipping on my shoes, I start trying to pack everything up as quickly as I can but I’m stopped by Jin.

He catches me around my sleeved wrist and pulls me in close. I turn into him with the momentum, my other hand splaying out on his chest to catch myself from falling. It feels firm. I can feel the racing of his heart beneath my palm. I gulp trying to wet my now dry throat. I dare not look up at his face this close, so I glue my eyes on my hand which twitches with the desire to squeeze.

Jin raises up his other arm high behind me, the long fabric of his sleeve covering my head from the rain. I’m fully encircled in his arms. Even the scent of him engulfs me, something warm and woody with a hint of a ripe fruit*. I sway forward involuntarily, wanting to chase the fragrance to the source, but then we’re suddenly moving.

He tucks me under his arm as he rushes us to the trunk of the nearest tree. Safely under the shelter of the leaves he releases me from his arms but does not step back. I don’t move an inch either.

I find the courage to peek up at him. Thankfully he’s not looking at me, but up into the sky as he watches the downpour.

“That was close,” Jin murmurs with laughter on his lips.

I have the most perfect view of his sculpted neck and jaw, showcased by the V of his collar. I drag my bottom lip into my mouth with a sharp bite, fighting the intense desire to just lick.

The beads of his hatstring softly jingle as he tilts his chins down to look at me, probably having felt the burning intensity of my stare. My eyes are drawn to his, hopefully I blank my face in time to conceal my thoughts, but I can’t hide the red in my cheeks.

His examines my face with a furrow appearing between his brows. His lips part slightly. I hold my fucking breath in anticipation of what he’ll do next. He brings up his hand…

Pulling the edge of his sleeve under his fingers, he grips the fabric and using the silk of his sleeve, he gently dabs away the remnants of rain from my face.

“You’ll catch a cold…”

I dare not move, speak, or even think, not wanting this moment to shatter.

Once he seems satisfied that my face has been somewhat dried, he stops. Yet his hand still hovers in the space between us.

The world quietens. I can’t even hear the heavy patter of the rain. There is only the quiet rustle of cloth, the soft exhale of our breaths and my heartbeat thundering in my ears.

He unfurls those long fingers of his, his sleeve falling back into place, reaching out and…

…our skin touches.

Chapter Text

A pregnant silence hangs heavy in the throne room as the Queen reaches for the last appeal of the day. Some of the notable Ministers in attendance glance around, finding their like-minded colleagues amongst the formation in which they stand and exchange unspoken words with subtle nods of their heads. The moment they had been waiting for has come.

The Queen unfurls the scroll and begins to leisurely read the inked words on the paper.

They were prepared for her anger… they were not prepared for her to smile.

“The Heir to the Throne is the foundation of the country and safeguards the Royal bloodline…” She quotes the written words directly. Her expression remains a touch amused. It confuses and unnerves those who had been eagerly awaiting this moment. She had been expecting this, and to think that it had arrived at such an opportune time.

“The Crown Princess has long been of marriageable age and yet has failed to accept a Consort. The Crown Princess neglects her duty as the royal heir and threatens the legacy of the Dynasty. As loyal subjects, we can no longer ignore this dereliction of duty and implore you to immediately depose the Crown Princess to restore our nation’s foundation.”

Seemingly unperturbed, she lets the scroll fold in two and puts it down on the table in front of her.

“How interesting,” she says to herself, with a hint of a smirk and the intention of being overheard. “You may discuss.” Her command rings out loud and clear whilst she calmly sits back and waits.

A brief silence falls over the throne room once more, brimming with tense anticipation at who will dare make the first move.

“Your Majesty,” The bravest amongst the opposition steps out first after clearing his throat. “It has been some time since the Crown Princess became of age… and yet, by the will of the Heavens, she remains unmarried and without an heir. This issue has become a serious concern for the future of our great nation…”

“The Crown Princess is still young, Your Excellency.” An ally responds with a scoff, jumping in at the pause his opponent had left open. “There is still plenty of time for her to take a Consort.”

“Her Royal Majesty was the same age that Her Royal Highness is now when she ascended the throne. And she had already birthed two children by then.” The Minister of Taxation sniffs with pomposity. “When shall the Crown Princess be wed and fulfil her duty to the country? One year? Two? Another five? Only the Heavens can know. But the later it becomes, the higher the risk for both the Crown Princess and the child. We must think of Her Royal Highness’s health. With every passing year, the concerns have grown amongst the people, Your Royal Majesty.” He says, turning to address the Queen directly.

“There have also been whispers amongst the people, that the Heavens have not blessed the Crown Princess with destined matches. That she will never find her Consorts as she is not the firstborn daughter-!”

“You dare to repeat such preposterous rumours in front of Her Royal Majesty!?” The Queen’s most devoted ally erupts. An intelligent man, but anger makes him brash. “I caution you to think carefully before you open your mouth again, Your Excellency.”

“You misunderstand me, Left State Chancellor.” The outspoken Minister has the audacity to put on a wounded guise. “I am merely questioning if we should gamble the future of our nation on such… uncertainty.”

“The Crown Princess is the future of this nation, Your Excellency. Yet you speak of deposition? I fear your logic is unsound.” The Minister of Rites counters, joining the discussion.

“The Crown Princess is not the only child of Her Majesty.” Declares the deep voice of the Minister of Justice. “The Grand Prince already has one child and with another soon to be born. In this branch at least, the bloodline is already secure-”

“The Grand Prince has a son. Not a daughter. The throne has been passed from daughter to daughter since the tumultuous time after the death of the Late King Sejong!”

“And before that, in the long eras before this land was named Joseon, the throne was passed from father to son.” The Minister of Justice retorts with a sneer.

“You appear to be well versed in our nation’s history, Minister.” The Chief State Councillor speaks at last, drawing the attention of the room as the highest ranked official. “Then surely you know also of the constant turbulence and strife recorded in those times. Brothers killing brothers, uncles killing nephews - the Royal Family tearing itself apart! Countless times the country was thrown into chaos and suffering. Because of the greed and ambition of the Inner Court instigated by the maternal relatives of the Royal Family. Since the Late Royal Majesty, Queen Sunjong ascended the throne, the country has thrived in peace and prosperity.”

There is a low murmur of agreement amongst the royal court.

“Indeed, I do not require lecturing, Your Excellency.” Is the snide response. “I only point out that there is no other direct female descendant of royal blood. If the Crown Princess should fail to ever birth an heir, then who should inherit the throne? Naturally it should pass to the next direct blood relative of Her Royal Majesty, female or not!”

The officials erupt, shouting over each other with accusations and arguments whilst the Queen calmly watches on. After letting them nip at each other’s throats for a while, she once more picks up the appeal, only to slam it back down loudly on the table.

The ruckus falls to immediate silence.

“Right State Chancellor,” She addresses the man. “You have been remarkably silent. I am curious for your thoughts on the matter.”

He bows his head to her. “Your Royal Majesty, I too hold concerns for the Crown Princess and for the future of the nation. But in my humble opinion, I do believe that imploring for Her Royal Highness’s deposition, is far too drastic a solution when there is a much simpler alternative. Marriage.”

The Queen cocks a brow, demanding further explanation.

“Her Royal Highness has not yet found a husband chosen by the Heavens, true… but what is to prevent her from still marrying? She would be able to continue the royal bloodline, become a strong and stable foundation of the nation and ease the people’s worries.”

“Outrageous! You propose defying the Heavens themselves!” The Minister of Rite shakes his finger accusingly as his face grows red.

The Queen holds up her hand for silence.

“A very interesting proposal, Right State Chancellor.” The Queen remarks, nodding her head as if mulling it over seriously. “And how would we determine who would become the new Prince Consort?”

“Gantaek*, Your Royal Majesty, as was the tradition.”

A consort selection, he suggests. An opportunity for the sons of the noble class to marry into the royal family. Undoubtedly there would already be a predetermined candidate in mind. He would not be suggesting it so assuredly otherwise. The process would be rigged.

This whole affair has been a clever misdirection. This was their true ambition. To have one of their own eggs snuck into the nest. This suggestion definitely has the appearance of a wise and reasonable alternative when compared to deposition…

It would make the Queen appear utterly unreasonable if she were to refuse such a simple and logical solution.

She smiles politely as she dismisses the idea without hesitation. “That will not be needed.”

“Your Majesty-”

“I had intended to do this in a more private setting, but since this topic appears to have been weighing so heavily on the minds of the Royal Court, it seems that I have no choice…”

She crooks her finger to the Head Eunuch, and he brings forth a scroll, stepping down from the dais of the throne and plants himself in the centre of the base. He clears his throat.

“Deputy Minister, Kim Yeo-heok, come forward and receive the royal decree.”

The officials all murmur amongst themselves, overflowing with curiosity and surprise. The man had not contributed to the heated discussion, keeping himself quiet as per usual. For the man to be called upon so suddenly was unexpected. They watch as the Deputy Minister of Taxation steps forward and lowers to his knees in front of the Head Eunuch, his expression strangely calm.

“‘Kim Yeo-heok of the Gwangsan Kim clan, Deputy Minister of Taxation and senior official of second rank, Her Royal Majesty the Queen hereby proclaims that, by the will of the Heavens, your son, Kim Seokjin, has been recognised as future Prince Consort to Her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess. Therefore, it is Her Royal Majesty’s intention to propose marriage and honour the wishes of the Heavens.’ Kim Yeo-heok, do you accept this decree?”

“I hear and accept, Your Royal Majesty.” He says as he receives the scroll. He bows once with it held above his head before he rises and bows once more. “The Heavens and the Crown honours my family.”

“Wonderful.” The Queen says, restraining her grin at the entertainment that is the official’s reactions. She especially keeps an eye on the Right State Chancellor, but his face remains stoic for all that he must be burning on the inside. She turns to address the Minister of Rites, who himself does not hold back his satisfied smile. “How soon can we have the wedding, Minister? The officials have all been so very anxious, it would be best not to delay.”

“Within two months, Your Royal Majesty, given the importance of the matter.” The Minister replies cheerfully with his head held high as he steps forward into the centre aisle.

“Good. Make it so. And spare no expense, for it has been such a long-awaited occasion.”

“Yes, Your Royal Majesty,” The Minister bows in response and returns to his place. “It shall be done.”

“Now my dear Ministers…” The Queen says as she observes each individual Minister in attendance. She lifts a brow audaciously. “Was that all?”

~

It has been two weeks…

Two weeks since my wildest dreams come true…

Two weeks and I still can scarcely believe it…

I hold my left hand out and stare at my little finger, as I do whenever the small voice in my mind whispers its doubts. My eyes are drawn to the faint, perfect white line that circles the skin below my knuckle.

The white line that had appeared the instant our skin had met…

The absolute, irrefutable proof that Kim Seokjin…

…is my soulmate.

~

Consort Choi had visited that same evening to fetch me for my private tutoring, only he’d found me completely out of it and staring at my finger as if mesmerized.

At least he had arrived too late to witness me scissor kicking the blankets and muffling my shrieks of pure fangirl happiness into the pillow…

He’d darted to my side and had snatched my hand to inspect the mark. Then he’d hastily called for someone to fetch the rest of my parents. When they’d arrived, they’d been thrilled –and annoyingly smug– as they’d congratulated me. Consort Song had even given me a bear hug and spun me around in his excitement.

But then they’d all started discussing a wedding.

“Marriage!?” I’d choked with the shock. “I barely know him, Abeoji*! This is only the second time we’ve met! It’s far too soon to be discussing marriage!”

Hearing me surprisingly be so against the idea, they’d seen no choice but to fill me in about the current political situation. My current political situation. Because ministers were calling for my deposition and were using my ‘old maid’ status for the excuse. Announcing that I have now found my soulmate would shut them up and secure my position as Crown Princess. The official’s ammunition would be made obsolete, whilst I would gain the support of the Gwangsan Kim family and add to our allies in the royal court.

My parents had warned me that this won’t be their only attempt, because ultimately, they want my older brother to take the throne.

…My older brother who happens to be married to a distant niece of the Right State Councillor.

For an avid historical drama fan, it was such a standard plotline – a power-hungry politician wants to become Kingmaker. They want a monarch that is under their control. A puppet who dances to their tune, dangling from the strings of a debt and tied to them forever.

That I even have an older brother had been news to me. I mean, that I’m not the only child of a literal harem makes sense, but no one had ever mentioned him or even alluded to that fact during the family dinner. Then again, I guess they’d been preoccupied with first, the seriousness of my memory loss and second, teasing me about Jin.

I’d always been an only child. I’d always wondered what it would have been like to have a sibling and grow up together... If I’d had a sibling, would I have been freed from the spotlight of attention? My friends who had them had always made it sound like it was the worst thing in the world when we’d been kids, with tales of constant pettiness and fighting. But surely it wouldn’t be like that now, would it? I mean, being both adults, we siblings must have grown out of childish rivalry by now, right?

However, I can’t help but wonder, that if the ministers are trying to put him on the throne, trying to discard me so that he can take my place… what does that mean for our relationship?

…I guess I’ll just have to wait and find out.

~

Ever since that day, my new life has become hectic. As if trying to play on fast-forward.

Each morning I’ve been greeting my parents, as is a duty of the Crown Princess, joining them for breakfast. It’s a time that they’ve carved out of their busy schedules to just be a family. Catching up with each other and sharing their joys and worries. I’ve been really enjoying feeling a part of a family again.

Lately they’ve been filling me in on ‘my’ childhood stories. Sharing the precious memories that they had with the Crown Princess. It’d felt strange, at first, listening to them. Unbeknownst to them, it felt as if they were reminiscing about their deceased loved one to me. Sharing stories that I would have no way of knowing. But the more I heard, the more I grew curious about her. To me, her childhood seemed idyllic, full of joy and abundant in love.

It’s been making me wonder why she was contemplating jumping into that lake…

After the meal is over, I’ve then been locked up in the study/private library with Consort Choi for his intense, short-course tutoring. He’s been talking me through the Record of Appearance as promised, whilst also filling me in on who’s on which side in politics. Naturally, I was most curious about Jin’s father.

“An intelligent and sensible man with a lot of integrity,” Consort Choi had told me. “He has a great mind for numbers which makes him perfectly suited for his position.” Yet my father told me that his loyalties have been persistently neutral, even despite the fact that he works under the Minister of Taxation, who is firmly in the ‘bad guys’ column. Sat on the fence between the two main political parties, Jin’s father has worked peacefully and has not been involved in any trouble.

The Gwangsan Kim clan itself is a highly respected family that hails from Gwangju and can trace their bloodline to a third son of ancient Silla* royalty. They have a couple of notable family members working as governors across the country and have several members who are high-ranking military officers.

My parents seemed particularly pleased to be gaining them as in-laws, telling me that they would be a good family to support me, and how it would push the Deputy Minister’s loyalties to the Crown, strengthening the family’s power.

I didn’t care about any of that.

Hearing about all the strategic benefits of my marriage to Jin didn’t sit quite right with me. Even though I certainly didn’t want to be disposed (and surely end up in some sort of fatal ‘accident’ shortly after being kicked out of the palace), saving myself wasn’t the reason why I’d eventually agreed to the hasty wedding.

I’m marrying him because he’s Kim Seokjin.

Even if I had never heard of BTS, even if I had never been a fan, even just by meeting and knowing the Jin that I had met, I would still want to marry him.

Because he’s Kim Seokjin…

Because he’s funny and kind and thoughtful and stunningly good-looking.

Because by some obscene amount of luck, he happens to be my soulmate.

I’d be a fucking fool to say no.

~

Without a doubt, the favourite part of my days was when I would take a break for lunch. That’s because during that time I’ve been able to invite Jin to the palace.

It had been one of my conditions of agreeing to such a hasty wedding.

I’d requested to be able to spend as much time as I could with Jin before we actually got married. To have the time and opportunity to allow feelings to grow and to form an actual relationship. It had seemed like a bit of a strange concept to my parents, who’d married basically as soon as they’d met and had gotten to know each other after the ceremony. They had seen the evidence of the soulmate bond and that was it. But to my modern mind that wasn’t nearly enough. I was of the mind that marrying a guy after knowing him for only two months would just be insane.

Jin may be confirmed as my soulmate, willed by the Heavens or whatever, but I’ve got to be confident that he maybe, perhaps, has some sort of feelings for me, at the very least. And I want- no need some assurance that he’s marrying me of his own will. And not because he’s obeying his parents, not because he’s obeying my parents, and definitely not because of any potential soulmate type of insta-love crap.

Not once did he decline the invitations to see me. And I made damn well sure that the messengers I’d sent knew that they were invitations, not summons. I’d found it promising. I’d even found myself beginning to feel a little optimistic.

We’d been able to spend at least a little bit of time every day together, and I was able to make some precious memories with him, that I’d never forget. Such as when I took him up on his suave suggestion of teaching him some basic cooking.

Not once had he been too proud or afraid to get messy. He’d gotten stuck in straight away, taking to it like fish to water. He’d even started an amicable chat with the other chefs, who’d been watching our little date curiously from the corner of their eyes and had charmed them with his friendly and easy-going nature.

There’d even been a heart fluttering moment as I’d been teaching him how to chop up some simple vegetables. I’d stood by his side as I’d watched over him carefully, worried for the safety of his fingers whilst he used the knife, so I’d unthinkingly placed my hands over his to assist. It was only once the cutting was finished and I’d looked up at him to praise him that I’d realised what I’d done. And just how close our faces had been…

He'd cried whilst cutting an onion for the first time and I’d laughed until I’d started crying at his reaction. But then he’d wiped away my tears. And after we’d finished, we’d eaten his very first handmade meal together -just a simple soup- then and there in the kitchen courtyard.

With every meal we shared I’d become more confident in feeding him. Now, when I offered him mouthfuls, he accepted them without hesitation and with a delighted grin. One time, when he’d been feeling particularly playful, he’d grabbed my hand that held my chopsticks, and directed it to his own mouth in order to steal the bite from me. When I’d called him a thief, he’d told me that it tasted better when I fed him.

The skinship* between us had been steadily growing bolder and was happening more frequently to my delight. Our hands would brush as we walked side by side, not yet daring enough to reach out and hold, we would wipe away stray food that was only millimetres from the other’s lips…

With every new heart-fluttering, knee-weakening moment, I could feel myself slipping more and more… likely soon to fall.  

However, our little dates were always cut short. Far too short. The time for the second half of my lessons always seemed to arrive so quickly. Each day it had been getting harder and harder to watch Jin have to head home, leaving an empty feeling in my chest. It even had me selfishly wishing that the wedding day could come sooner, if it just meant that he would no longer have to leave.

~

For the evening lessons, my father chose to focus on reviewing the Five Classics*. Even if I was able to read them, it didn’t mean that I can understand them or the sage wisdom that they’re apparently meant to hold. And I soon discovered that even though I could read Chinese, it didn’t automatically mean that I could write it.

It was a huge relief that I was in a time where Hangeul* existed.

To help me memorise the texts, instead of just duplicating them, I’d been tasked with transcribing all of them into Hangeul. Which wasn’t easy considering how I was used to writing with ballpoint pens, not ink brushes. My handwriting was an utter mess. My father had been shocked upon seeing my first attempt. Which just meant I had to copy the pages several times over until it was at least somewhat legible. Although that had certainly helped with the memorisation. I might come out of this with the words embedded in my brain forever.

I hated evening lessons the most.

Even more so than the brutal training that Consort Hwang had me undertaking every night.

The first night he’d requested to see me in the training grounds, I hadn’t known what I was in for.

//

“Abeo-nim?” I’d called out to him as I’d approached him, his back turned to me and standing in the middle of a sanded arena dotted with a variety of weapons, targets and straw training dummies. “You wanted to see me?”

Once I’d reached him, Consort Hwang had turned, quick as a viper and striking out suddenly with a sword aimed for my head. I’d barely been able to dodge in time, the momentum of leaning backwards near Matrix style making me having to retreat several steps to regain my balance.

“What are you doing!?” I’d cried out, alarms ringing in my head that he’d seen through me. He’d realised I was an imposter and was trying to kill me.

He’d hadn’t answered, his face devoid of emotion as he’d just continued ruthlessly with his onslaught of attacks. I’d felt my body dodge out of the way out of pure instinct and adrenaline, but some blows had been much too swift to dodge, and I’d had to block them with my arms. I’d only dared because the sword he’d been wielding had remained in the sheathe. Even so, the man hadn’t been holding back on his swings. It had fucking hurt, leaving bruises littering my skin.

I’d been chased further backwards, spinning underneath and out of the reach of his swings. Sweat had dewed on my skin whilst dodging strike after strike. His moves had been so fluid that there’d been not even a slight opening for me to attack back, I’d only been able to remain defensive.

It had brought back vivid memories. Of the musky scent of my dad’s dojo filling my lungs as I gasped for breath. Of a sweat soaked dobok* clammy against my skin after hours and hours of training. Of the crushing weight of pressure. Of the torrent of emotions that choked me as I held them back. Of feeling caged and wanting to break free.

Consort Hwang had feigned a swing at my face but twirled past me, managing to get in a sharp whack to my thigh. My leg had buckled with the pain, and I’d dropped to my knee with a shout. I’d felt the impact of the hit in my goddamn bone. I’d looked up to him with panic, fearing that this was the end.

He’d had the sword pointed at my neck. His eyes emotionless as he’d stared down at me.

But an animal is most dangerous when they’re wounded and cornered.

With a desperate roar I’d shifted my weight and swung out a kick with my unhurt leg, aiming for his hand where it gripped the hilt. The sword had dropped, and Consort Hwang had taken a step back in surprise.

I’d stayed on the ground, my heart a pounding drum in my chest as I’d drawn in ragged breaths. My muscles had remained tense in anticipation for another attack. The sword had flown just out of my reach. I would have to lunge for it-

But then he’d smiled, relaxing his stance and had given me a satisfied nod with once again warm eyes.

“Your mind may have forgotten, but your body still remembers.”

Then he’d offered me a hand to help me up. I’d frozen, confused, glaring at him from the floor. My mind had needed a moment for the adrenaline to fade and to conclude that he hadn’t, in fact, been trying to kill me.

No. It’d just been some sort of test.

The overwhelming relief had made me want to burst into tears. I’d been terrified that I’d been about to die. But I’d also been majorly pissed off at the thought of being killed for something that I’d had absolutely no control over. And how utterly unfair it would have been.

I hadn’t even had the chance to kiss Jin…

His lips had twitched into a small smile as if he’d been able to hear me cursing at him in my mind.

“However, it should have taken me twice as long to get in a hit.” He’d given me a challenging smirk. “Well done though with that disarm. A good technique. Even I would not have thought of that.”

I’d calmed down enough to take his hand, feeling a familiar warm glow in my chest at the praise, but that was something that I’d quickly shaken off whilst he’d helped pull me up. I’d not wanted to fall back into that old trap, to find myself regressing into my eager-to-please, desperate-to-do-anything-for-a-crumb-of-affection, childhood self.

“You caught me off-guard,” I’d grumbled bitterly, trying my best to not sound like I was whining.

“Even so,” He’d chuckled. “You should always be prepared.” It was a gravelly laugh that I hadn’t been expecting. Crossing his arms across his broad chest, he’d tilted his head with amusement. “Until you are back up to par, you shall be training with me every night.”

//

And true to his words, I had been.

It’d been tough on my mind falling back into such a rigorous training regime. Even though this was a completely different scenario to the one I went through before. This wouldn’t be for medals or to bring pride and glory. These skills could be key to ensure my survival here. They could be the difference between life and death. Especially in these medieval times.

So, I’d been trying to focus on remembering the difference. But that hadn’t stopped bitter memories from clouding my mind every so often, blending the past with the present and confusing me until something brought me out of it.

I never would have thought that’d I’d be going through this again…

The forms and stances were similar enough to the ones that had been engraved into my muscle memory that I picked them up quickly. After all, I did have 15 years’ worth of experience - all overseen by my Hapkido World Champion dad, who hadn’t tolerated anything but perfection from his progeny.

Ha… I guess it hadn’t all gone to waste like he’d said it would.

The archery was a totally new experience though. Fun and different. And I was at least able to hit the board most of the time under Consort Hwang’s patient guidance and with a little bit of beginner’s luck.

Consort Hwang’s teaching style wasn’t what I was used to, at all. Yes, he’d been serious as he ordered me to persistently practice over and over until I perfected it… that had been all too chillingly familiar, but that is where the similarities ended. Hwang was a far more patient teacher. Far freer with voicing encouragement. And when he knocked me down, he would help pick me back up.

It made me wonder how different it might have been, to have a teacher, no- a father like him back then…

…

In the early hours, after I’d been released from training, I’d been collapsing into bed every night. I’ve been sleeping so deeply lately that I don’t think I’ve had the mental energy to even dream. Then, with each new morning, I’ve been waking up to repeat the same schedule.

But today is different. Today is a day that I’m very excited about. Because today I’ll be getting a break.

It’s Consort Hwang’s birthday, and we’re celebrating with a royal hunt.

~

This morning, I’d been woken up at the crack of dawn and stuffed into a palanquin*. I’d chosen to ride it rather than a horse because I was so tired that I’d been scared that I’d end up falling off. Not to mention, I’ve never ridden a horse before. A pony, when I was little and we’d had a family holiday to Jeju*, but certainly not one of those full-sized horses that they have in the stables.

It had been a strange yet surprisingly comfortable experience, being stuffed into what was essentially a wooden box. It was a relief that I don’t suffer from claustrophobia. The rocking of being carried on the shoulders of eight men had been even somewhat relaxing, so much so that I’d ended up napping almost the entire journey. It was the first time I’ve been let out of the palace so I’d been a little regretful about having missed passing through the city, but I’m sure I’ll be able to see it on the way back.

Now that I’m here, and almost fully rested, my excitement has rekindled. Not for the hunting. No. Hunting was the last thing on my mind. It’s because Jin is here as well and so I plan to spend the entire day with him. But as much as I’m happy, I’m also sad.

As this will be the last day that I’ll be able to see him for a while…

Starting tomorrow he’ll be sequestered away in the Detached Palace and basically secluded for 50 days. Whilst stuck in there, he’ll be undergoing training on royal etiquette, preparation for palace living, and all sorts of other unnecessary crap like that. I won’t be allowed to see him, at least not until the ceremony.

Therefore, I’m determined to spend the whole day together. Fuck everything else.

I stand still whilst Da-eun flitters around me, in the tent in the encampment that’s been set up for me, adjusting the final bits of my outfit.

Instead of the usual layers of skirts, I’ve been dressed in wonderfully comfy, white baggy trousers that are tightened around my ankles. On top I wear a short-sleeved overcoat that covers the shape of my ass and hips for the sake of modesty, but it’s wrapped around the waist with a wide belt, giving me the cinched waist silhouette that I’m so much more accustomed to. The overcoat still has the same silver dragon embroideries as all my wardrobe does. The flower embroidered danghye* have been replaced with sturdy, black slip-on boots. It’s basically a man’s outfit but it’s been fitted to me.

But my favourite thing about the whole ensemble, is that it’s mostly black. Wearing pretty pastel hanboks is great and all, but today’s outfit is so much more comfortable and totally my style. I feel like a badass warrior princess. I love it.

Outside of the tent I can hear the hustle and bustle of the hunting ground. All of the important ministers are in attendance. Most have even brought along their families. I was surprised that that included their daughters. But then I’d realised that the young unmarried ladies were here instead to enjoy a different type of hunting, with a different prey in mind - prospective husbands. This event gave them a perfect opportunity to check out candidates.

The sons also seemed to be of a similar mind, peacocking and awaiting their chance to show off their prowess in front of the ladies. I’d even witnessed a couple of people sneakily passing notes to the opposite sex as they passed each other. Calling this place a hunting ground now seems apt in more ways than one. I chuckle to myself at the thought.

It's at that moment when a group of voices becomes clearer. Closer. As if they are idling nearby outside of my tent. A group of minister’s daughters from the sounds of it. But it’s not the voices that catch my attention. No.

It’s what they’re talking about.

“I was curious how you took the news, Hwa-young-sshi.” One of the voices asks. “You must have been heartbroken. Weren’t you convinced that you were in love with him last year?”

“L-love? Not at all,” the other chokes on her response with denial. “I just thought him pleasant to look at.”

“Ah yes, so much so that you would follow him around whenever you caught sight of him, did you not?”

“I did not!”

“I don’t blame her.” A different voice chimes in. “I mean, just look at him…” There’s a brief silence as I assume they do exactly that. “Such a shame. You would have thought a man who looks like that, would be blessed, not cursed.”

It’s the moment that I’m certain that they’re talking about Jin. And Da-eun seems to know it as well as we share a look. Curious, I draw closer to the tent wall so that I can overhear better. Da-eun follows, fidgeting with her hands.

“I’ve always known something was not quite right about him,” one murmurs.

“You did not.”

“I did so.”

“How?”

“Have you even noticed his fingers?” She answers in a lowered voice. “I mean really looked at them? They’re not normal. Look.” There’s yet another moment of silence. I don’t like what I’m hearing. “Don’t be distracted by his face and look carefully. You’ll see what I mean. See!? There! See how the tips bend backwards. I tell you it’s a sign of ill omens.”

“Omo! I see it! How did I never notice before?”

How.

“What in the world? How strange! I have chills, look!”

Fucking.

“Can you imagine being touched by such-”

DARE THEY!?

I choke the handle of my sword, full of fury. I’m about to storm out and start taking fucking heads. But Da-eun stops me, blocking the entrance with her body and arms spread wide. She frantically shakes her head.

“You mustn’t, Your Royal Highness!” She whispers pleadingly. I could easily push her aside, but it seems there’s still a smidgen of rationality left in my brain. Because it shouts at me, murder is bad!

“Omo! I’m so glad my father refused.”

“Oh! That’s right! Didn’t your families exchange sajus last month, Choon-Hee-sshi?”

“After his mother practically begged us.” She sneers in response. “My mother was so angry that my father even entertained the idea, that she’s only just started to speak to him again.”

“Was everything they say really true? Did it really say that you would meet a horrible death?”

“Yes! It was so scary. I could not sleep for days. I kept having nightmares and I swear that one night, there was a ghost in my room.”

“A ghost?! Really?”

“You have not heard? They say it is a virgin ghost who haunts him. They say she will murder his new bride in a fit of jealousy!”

“Omo! Is that why?!”

“Wait! Doesn’t that mean… the Crown Princess…?”

“Better her than me.” Someone scoffs, prompting giggles and mutters of agreement from the others.

I’m really struggling to hold myself back. Da-eun is looking more and more nervous, probably due to the murderous intent she can see in my eyes. I take a deep breath. And then another. I have to calm myself before I let my anger get me into serious trouble. I have to remind myself that murder is a crime. There are witnesses. I would be caught. Jin can’t marry a murderer…

Assault is also a crime, I tell my brain when it tries to helpfully propose an alternative.

“How ridiculous.” All of a sudden, a new voice joins, sounding like she’s approaching from a distance. “How have you not figured it out yet? Is it not obvious? He was always fated to be the Crown Princess’s Consort, so of course, any gunghap would foretell misfortune.”

“My thoughts exactly.” I interrupt loudly, pushing past Da-eun and stepping out of the tent with a swish of the flap to make my dramatic entrance. I let my head roll to the left and there they are, standing together in their little gossip circle. “How nice it is to hear someone finally speak some common sense.”

The one I assume is the highest ranking of the group has the audacity to look irritated at the interruption, shrewdly casting her eyes over me before they pop open wide at the dragon embroidery.

“Your Royal Highness!” The flock hastily greet me, bowing together as if they share one brain.

I can immediately tell who the guilty are as I make my unhurried approach. I can see it all on their faces. Only one of the girls looks unworried about my sudden appearance. She’s even standing a little distance away to separate herself from them. I don’t even bother looking to the gaggle of serving girls who accompany them. No. My targets are the five ladies who have turned sickly pale, especially when they notice that I’m carrying a sword in my hand. I enjoy the way they start to squirm. It brings a gleeful smile to my face.

“All this idiotic nonsense about curses and ghosts… when in fact, it’s just that he’s so beautiful that he required a little help from the Heavens in deterring anyone who might dare think of trying to seduce him before we could find each other. Makes much more sense, don’t you think?” I add rhetorically, but they nod all the same.

I take a good long look at their faces and sigh internally. The oldest of the group is probably barely even twenty. I find any thoughts of releasing my sharp tongue on them dissipating. They’re basically schoolgirls. Maybe making them wet themselves with my sudden appearance alone might be enough to satisfy my thirst for revenge. They’ll live in fear for a little while, constantly wondering just how much I’d heard…

“Your Royal Highness, we-”

Except that one. I recognise her voice. She’s the one that degraded Jin. And that, I can’t forgive so easily.

I turn my piercing gaze to her and she rightfully shuts the fuck up. I take the time to examine her from head to toe. She stands there like a poor little lamb trembling under the predatory gaze of a tiger. I then stroll up right into her space, making her uncomfortable. I reach out my hand towards her and she freezes, not even breathing, I think. But I only gently take the carved butterfly shaped jade pendant of her norigae* in my hand.

“How quaint.” I compliment, my lips curling into a smile as I inspect it. When she doesn’t immediately respond, I tilt my head to look into her eyes and quirk an eyebrow.

“T-thank you, Your Royal Highness…” She replies with a rushed breath, bowing her head to avoid my gaze and the seething anger that I’ve probably failed to mask in my eyes.

“I have a fondness for butterflies,” I tell her as I inspect it. “They’re so beautiful. But they’re oh so delicate... so easy to break.” I tighten my fist around the pendant as if I’m about the crush the thing. An unsettling action to do with the friendly expression I’m wearing. It makes her flinch. “Just one wrong move, just one little mistake and they can never fly again.”

I let the silence between my next sentence linger just a little too long, my gaze bearing down on her heavily. She holds herself rigid, but her breath is trembling. It seems she’s understood the meaning behind my words. Good.

“It suits you well.” I tell her, uncurling my fingers slowly and letting the pendant carelessly drop back into place. I wipe my hand on my coat as if I’ve dirtied it, just to add extra insult to injury.

Then I lean forward, aligning my mouth with her ear but keeping my distance. These next words for her ears only. “Personally, I just can’t wait to find out what those fingers can do.” I almost purr with the thought of it. “I imagine that they’ll be able to find that wonderful place of a woman’s body just perfectly.”

At my words however, she looks a little disconcerted, her eyebrows drawing down. It makes me realise that maybe she doesn’t know what I’m referring too. I wonder if she’ll ever get to understand… Joseon’s sex-ed only seems to care about male pleasure, after all. It almost makes me pity her. But not quite.

“Ah, and from now on, I suggest you hold your tongue the next time you even think of speaking about my husband. ” I warn her, my friendly facade dropping to just show how fucking serious I am. I raise my hand to her shoulder and brush off some imaginary dirt. “You never know when someone might decide to cut it out.”

She nods her head in tiny little movements, so I give her shoulder a light squeeze and a pat as I straighten and move away, once again all smiles.

“Would you care to take a walk with me?” I address the only lady here whom I have no issue with. “I don’t think we fit in with this flock of hens. Perhaps we should leave them to their… clucking.”

 “Yes, Your Royal Highness.” She replies, daintily bowing with her hand on her heart.

“Wonderful!” I say, with a clap of my hands. The sound makes the others flinch at the sudden noise. “Enjoy the rest of the festivities ladies!” I say cheerfully as I start to walk away. My new companion steps up beside me with Da-eun following us close behind. I throw up my hand in a cocky wave and call over my shoulder. “A word of advice, stay out of the forest! Wouldn’t want someone to mistake you for prey now, now would we?”

Walking away, my body feels light again now my anger has been purged. I have the urge to skip in satisfaction. Behind me I hear a thud as someone drops to the floor. It’s followed by worried exclamations from the rest.

I peek to the girl beside me who has her lips slightly raised in a suppressed smile.

“You are most merciful, Your Royal Highness,” she says with a touch of humour. Her voice is soft and calm, complementary to her elegant looks. A total classic beauty. “Such slander of the Royal Family is a great crime. You let them off easy.”

“They’re still young and ignorant,” I shrug. “Besides, it wasn’t the gossip that bothered me. I was aware of all of the rumours. It would be nice if there were more people in this world like yourself, that can put two and two together with plain common sense.” I tsk. “But insulting another for their appearance is just… cruel.”

I can still feel remnants of anger bubbling in my chest. I wanted to use far stronger words than that. But it’s not something I should be saying in polite company. My companion nods with understanding but doesn’t add anything more. She must have overheard them as well.

I pause in my walk, spotting Jin over on the opposite side of the field. It is as if my eyes are magnetised to him. He’s standing with who I can safely assume is his mother. It’s the first time I’ve seen her. She’s tiny compared to Jin, beaming beside him and holding his arm in hers whilst she’s engaging animatedly in a conversation with a few acquaintances. Which Jin must be the topic of, because even from here I can see that his ears are bright red. The sight makes me smile. I’m itching to go over to him, but I haven’t quite mustered up enough courage to introduce myself to my soon-to-be mother-in-law.

“I have yet to congratulate you, Your Royal Highness,” she says, having followed where my attention wandered off to. “Congratulations on your upcoming marriage.”

“Thank you.” I respond automatically without looking at her, still focused on Jin, probably with a dopey look on my face.

“It is such a blessing in this world to be marrying someone whom you love.”

“Hmm…” I agree, but then process what she just said and the hint beneath it. “Hm?! Oh, no no no, it’s far too soon for that.”

She brings her hand up to her lips to hide her smile. “You must be aware that you are luckier than most. Love is not a luxury most women will have the fortune of. Most will not meet their husbands until the ceremony is over.”

“Not you though?” I ask, looking to her again. She still wears the long plait of a maiden, but her tone makes her sound like she wasn’t including herself in that statement. Her cheeks tinge pink, realising she might have just given something away. It confirms what I’d thought. I let out a chuckle, finding her kind of cute underneath that poised demeanour and sophisticated beauty.

“Are you perhaps engaged?” I enquire, lowering my voice just in case it’s some sort of secret.

“Not yet,” she sighs, and I can hear a whisper of frustration in her voice. “At least… not officially. But I have known him since we were children.”

That makes me raise my eyebrows. “What’s the hold up?”

She lets out a soft chime of a laugh. “He’s devoted to his studies,” she explains. “But soon, hopefully... or so I have been told.”

Ah, he must be a class president type of guy. I think that type of man would totally suit her. I can picture them together, with him reading her some poetry whilst she quietly embroiders. They would be such a dignified couple.

“Is he here?” I ask out of curiosity, my eyes panning across the grounds.

“No, Your Royal Highness.” She answers with a fond smile. “This is not the sort of thing that he enjoys. He has a fondness for all living creatures, you see. He does not enjoy seeing them harmed. No doubt he is at home with his books, preparing for the exam.”

“Well, once you’re married, hopefully he’ll show you the same kind of devotion.” I tell her earnestly with a friendly nudge of my elbow.

“I hope so as well.” She smiles in response, but I can see a confidence within it. “I have been waiting for so long already. I believe I can wait a little longer… a sentiment you can sympathise with, I am sure. You must be happy that you finally found him, your Consort.”

“Yes.” I half lie. Truthfully, I can’t relate at all. I’d only been here a day before I met him. It’d all felt like a bit of whirlwind to me. But I am certainly happy, that’s for sure.

“You must be anxious to find the others as well.” She comments, making me pause. “I pray that they can come to you much more swiftly.”

…I had almost completely forgotten, so caught up in my focus of Jin, that it’s entirely possible that I could have multiple soulmates somewhere out there...

“Who knows,” I muse. “I guess all I can do is wait for them to appear, I mean, being stuck in the palace all the time-”

“Your Royal Highness.” A eunuch interrupts, appearing at my side. “Her Royal Majesty calls for you.”

I acknowledge him before I turn back to my companion. It’s been nice to have some female company. The only other women I’m close to in the palace, being sorely outnumbered by men, is my mother and my attendants. However, close as I might want to get to Da-eun, she’s still utterly subservient and committed to her role. She’s a great companion, but it’s not a friendship that can ever be on equal standing so long as I’m her boss.

“I should go,” I tell the young lady, who smiles with understanding. “I’ll let you enjoy the rest of the festivities. Hopefully, I’ll see you around.”

“It was an honour, Your Royal Highness.” She bows gracefully in farewell as I take my leave, heading towards the dais where the rest of my family are waiting for me.

“She was nice,” I remark to Da-eun once we get out of earshot, pleasantly surprised. “What was her name again?” I hadn’t been able to ask the girl directly just in case I might have known her before.

“Jeong Ji-Yeon, Your Royal Highness,” she replies. “She is the daughter of His Excellency, the Chief State Chancellor.”

Oh, excellent! That dude’s on our side, so there won’t be any problems there. It would have been a shame if she’d been the daughter of one of the assholes who are out to get me… I wouldn’t have been able to ever trust her if that was the case. She’d seemed intelligent and considerate without all the spoilt prissiness of what I’d expect from a typical high-born lady.

It’ll be nice to have a friend.

Chapter Text

It feels a bit like deja vu.

Once again, I’m bored out of my mind and waiting for a procession of men to just fucking finish already. They are seriously cutting into my date. As much as I want to sneak off, I can’t because there are too many eyes on me. With no possibility of escape, I’m on my best behaviour –with my princess cosplay donned again– as the ministers approach the dais one by one to present their gifts and well wishes to Consort Hwang.

He sits by my mother’s side as the guest of honour, whilst my other two fathers sat in their own seats that flank them on a one row below. Then there’s me, sat at the front on the lowest row, across from the seat that’s reserved for my brother. Who hasn’t shown up yet.

I’m not sure if I’m relieved that he hasn’t turned up. I don’t know how I’ll feel when I eventually meet him. My new sibling… who happens to be my rival for the throne.

Not that I have any ambition about ruling in the first place. I mean, it’s not like I’ve never thought about what I’d do if I ruled the world. I could totally bring Joseon into the modern age faster knowing what I know… like, indoor plumbing would be a fantastic place to start. Not that I know anything about the technicalities of plumbing or sewage, but I’m sure I could just give out the ideas and let smarter people figure it out.

However, it’s really fucking daunting to suddenly be faced with the very real possibility of it happening. Being responsible for an entire country and all of its people? Me? I can barely keep a houseplant alive. All of those brilliant, revolutionary ideas that I’ll have? More than likely to be stubbornly shut down by political opponents in the name of tradition. Even trying to abolish slavery 500 years early will likely be a losing battle. It’ll just end up pissing off the people who are scared of change. And then they’ll do anything it takes to get rid of me. People in charge rarely have it easy. Ruling takes patience and strategy – like playing a game of baduk*. 

I'm not good at playing baduk.

No, I’m confident that I would much prefer living an easy and peaceful life. With Jin. But, even if I were to announce that I’d be stepping down from my position tomorrow, there’d be no guarantee that I’d live long enough to see those days. I would always be a threat to the new monarch’s authority – even if it ends up being my own brother.

So I’m not going to fight for the throne for the desire of ultimate power and authority. No, not at all.

I’m going to fight to secure my safety. And more importantly, for Jin’s.

The Heavens or whatever decided to tie our fates together, dragging him into this dangerous mess of politics and power, so I have to protect him.

The next minister comes before the dais and motions for his serving man to bring forth the gift. I can already tell from the shape of the lacquered case that it’s yet another bow and arrow set. I’ve stopped counting how many sets he’s received so far. The gifts have been predictable. Weapons mainly, with a couple of horses thrown in. Some have tried to outdo each other with extravagance and price – as if my father cares about all that. The only gift I’ve seen him genuinely smile at so far was a jug of snow dew wine from Changwon, the bongwan* of his family’s clan. Other than that, I get the feeling that he’s enjoying all of this pomp and circumstance about as much as I am.

I think he would have much preferred to celebrate his birthday quietly and without all the fuss, but the hunt had been a suggestion of Consort Choi’s and approved by my mother. A distraction for the ministers, to let them feast on food and wine and blood sport. Plus, it didn’t hurt to remind our enemies just how deadly Consort Hwang and his special force of Royal Guards are when it comes down to hunting prey.

I side eye the empty seat. It was also meant to show off the harmony of the royal family. How strong and united we are. Which is hard to do properly when someone’s blatantly miss–

“His Highness, Grand Prince Hyeonseong* has arrived, Your Royal Majesty.” I overhear the Head Eunuch tell my mother.

I look to the line of ministers as a small group approaches –no one complains as they head straight to the front of the line– and I get a look the man who is my brother for the first time. Even if he was not the one leading the group, I would be able to tell that he is my brother. His face is so similar to Consort Choi’s in structure, but he shares with me our mother’s eyes.

He does not smile as he approaches us. He doesn’t even look at me though he must be able to feel my gaze. This isn’t looking good. I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but things suddenly feel a bit tense.

“Eoma-mama, Aba-mama*,” He greets, after he rises from his formal bow. His expression is calm and neutral –not at all what how I would have imagined for a family reunion. “Please forgive me for being late.”

“Grand Prince, I am glad to see you.” She replies, looking upon him with her motherly smile. “Were you delayed?”

“Yes, Eoma-mama,” I notice that he does not look her in the eyes as I tend to do. His gaze is aimed at her chin. “My wife felt pains this morning and I was reluctant to leave until after the physician had examined her. I apologize.”

“No need for apologies, my son, you did as you should have. Is all well?”

“Yes, both she and the babe are in good health, Eoma-mama. The physician said it was a false labour. Common around this time of pregnancy.”

My brother looks back to his party and holds out his hand. A little boy dashes out from behind the skirts of the female attendant and hurries to hide behind his father’s back. But my brother steers him to stand at his side and encourages him gently to greet his grandparents. Chubby cheeks and big innocent eyes, he looks around nervously but curiously as he does his little bow and greets us so formally with his tiny voice. He can’t be more than five years old, and he is adorable in his little hogeon*.

“I brought along my son, so that his mother could have some peace whilst she rests.” My brother explains with his hands on the little boy’s shoulders.

My mother smiles brightly at the appearance of the little boy and holds out her arms. “It has been too long since I saw my grandson. Come here, child, let me see you.”

My brother gently nudges his son forward and reassuringly nods to him when he looks back to his father with hesitancy. It makes me wonder how long it’s been since he’s seen us if he’s looking at us like we’re strangers, not family. When he reaches my mother, she coos over him and helps him up to sit next to her on the seat. Even Consort Hwang’s face turns soft at the cute child.

“Sit and have something to eat,” Consort Choi addresses his son, motioning to the unoccupied chair. “I know how worried you must be for her, but you should at least rest a while before you return.”

“Sometimes the best thing you can do for her at this time is to get out from under her feet.” Song nods sagely. He looks as if he’s speaking from experience. Knowing his personality, I can totally imagine him being a hoverer when he was in the same situation.

My brother bows once more before he approaches the empty chair. Again, so stiff and formal. It’s so different from how I’ve been treating them – I can’t help but note the difference.

“Halmeonim* did not come?” He asks Consort Choi as he sits. There is a moment when his eyes meet mine. I smile politely at him with a small bow of my head. He offers one back –the bow, not the smile– before continuing to ignore me.

“No, she told me that she was feeling a little unwell this morning.” Consort Choi informs him.

Ah, that’s right. The grandmother who had begged to stay in the palace. With the way my mother and fathers have talked about her, I’m glad I haven’t met her yet. Their faces turn sour every time she’s mentioned in conversation. Something tells me that she’s someone I should avoid for as long as I can.

I hear Consort Song let out a quiet scoff from behind me. When I turn to catch his eye, he rolls them in exasperation.

“Excuses." He shifts forward in his seat behind me, quietly filling me in when he sees the curiosity in my eyes. "As if that old woman would ever deign to come to an event that is not about her or her son. She holds no love for anyone who isn’t your father or brother for that matter.” He adds, nodding over to where the two were conversing. “But our Hyung-nim, she especially disdains him.”

I’m about to ask why when I’m distracted by the announcement of Jin’s father, and Jin who is at his side. I catch his eye after his greeting and break into a smile, shattering the emotionless mask that I’d been wearing for the sake of my cosplay. He’s the only son who’s approached with their father. There must be something about that that I’m unaware of. For some reason it’s felt a little like all the other official’s sons have been avoiding me…

Jin smiles back at me, a little more restrained because he’s currently standing in front of my parents. My mother welcomes them sincerely and when they present Consort Hwang with his gift –a rare copy of Thirty-Six Stratagems*– my father genuinely smiles. He looks the happiest I’ve seen him all day.

I wink at Jin. I might have given him just a little bit of insider information because Jin has been intimidated of my eldest father the most. He’d met all of my parents the night before our wedding was officially announced. Whilst Consort Song had been overly excited in meeting his future son-in-law –asking questions left and right– and Consort Choi had been remained calm and considerate, Consort Hwang had just stared at Jin with his arms crossed and had barely said two words. Which of course made Jin feel like my eldest father hated him. I’d assured him that that wasn’t the case, because when Jin was distracted with yet another probing question from Song, Hwang had given me a smile and nod of approval.

“I’ll meet you at the horses.” I mouth to Jin as they’re dismissed. He nods, understanding my message, before they turn to return to their seats.

“It is him, then? Your future consort?”

I turn my head to my brother.

“Y-yes, Orabeoni*,” I reply, a little surprised that he’s talking to me. He isn’t looking at me though, his eyes are fixed on Jin. My gaze meets his son’s instead, who’d returned to sit with him and is peeping at me curiously.

I can’t help but smile softly and wave at him in tiny. He’s too cute. “Annyeong*, little one.”

“I’m not a baby, I’m five.” He responds, adorably affronted and showing me his chubby little palm with the correct fingers held up.

“Aah~ is that so?” I say, humouring him in that way you do with little kids. “I guess you aren’t then, kkomaengi*.”

He lowers his hand and purses his lips, looking a little unsure of what I just called him.

“That’s not my name.” He puffs up his little chest and corrects me. His little pout just makes me want to tease him more. “I am Prince Seongnam*. My name is Yi San.”

I lean forward towards him, lowering my body a little so I’m no longer looking down at him.

“Yes San-i*, I know who you are.” –I totally didn’t know his name though. I’m relieved I don’t need to ask– “By any chance… do you know who I am?”

“Yes,” He nods, but he’s still looking at me like a stranger. “You’re the Crown Princess.”

“That’s right!” I praise him brightly, masking the strange stab of disappointment that I feel. Him calling me by my title and talking to me so formally confirms my thoughts that she must have had no relationship with her nephew before. “But more importantly, I’m your Appa’s yeodongsaeng*, so you can call me Gomo*. Why don’t you try it?”

“Gomo?” He repeats after a hesitant second.

“Yes, like that! Very good!” I applaud him and he smiles happily, pleased with the praise. And then his attention is caught by something else, his eyes widening and little mouth falling open. I follow his gaze to a small platter of treats left by Da-eun on the table to my side. I chuckle, holding it up. “Would you like a yakgwa*, San-i?”

I look up to my brother, to check it’s okay with him and pause at his expression. It’s not exactly a glare, but his brows are furrowed slightly, as if suspicious. I have the feeling he was watching my interaction with his son protectively. It makes my hackles rise a little, like, come on dude, as if I’d hurt him.

San looks up to him as well with the classic puppy eyes and his father’s face relaxes immediately, sharing with him a small smile. Taking that as approval, San immediately jumps to his feet and toddles over to me. My heart melts.

~

“Would you look at that… Her Royal Highness looks good with a child in her lap. Do you not think?”

Seokjin spills a little of his drink as his mother elbows him in his side. He cannot help but look over to where she sits at the mention of her, drawn to her as if she is a candle and he a moth. When in her presence, he finds it hard to look away. Especially when she smiles.

“Heavens be good, it will be her own child in her lap soon. You must work hard, son.”

That makes Seokjin choke. “Eomeoni*!” He chastises quietly, red with embarrassment, glancing around and hoping that no one had overheard. But of course they had. They're struggling to hold in their laughter.

“To think, soon I will be Her Royal Highnesses’ mother-in-law.” His mother sighs contently. “And my grandchildren will be royalty.”  

Seokjin could not say that he was surprised at her behaviour. When his father had come home after receiving the marriage offer, his mother –who had previously been abed with a headache from despair of having yet another proposal turned down– had jumped to her feet, overjoyed. And when she had found out that it was from the Crown Princess, she had nearly been laid out in shock. She had not stopped talking about how they were to become relatives to the Royal Family to anyone and everyone since. She especially took pride in relaying the news to those who had looked down on her during her struggle to find a bride.

“Who is to say that any of her children will share your blood,” An older woman who stands nearby comments out of the blue. “What with all the… variety she will come to have at her disposal.”

The area around them falls to an uncomfortable silence, as everyone had heard the distinct note of disapproval in the woman’s tone. Seokjin can feel eyes on him as they await his reaction.

But the woman is right. It is a known fact that the Crown Princess will have several husbands. There will be others. Other men. Men who he will have to share her attention with. For her time and her love. Men who might be smarter, funnier, more talented or more handsome than he is –well… probably not more handsome– but he is fully aware that he will not stay as the only one in her heart.

It would be a lie to say that this was the first time that these kinds of thoughts had invaded Seokjin’s mind.

He looks over to the Crown Princess to soothe the prickle of jealousy that arises whenever he finds himself imagining her in the arms of those faceless men. Her nephew is still by her side and they giggle together. As if she can feel Seokjin’s gaze, even from such a distance, she meets his eyes. Her lovely smile brightens and any dark doubts in his mind wither to dust.

There are only a couple of ministers who remain waiting. Soon the hunting will begin. She had found him when he had first arrived and asked him if he would like to go for a ride with her. He’d told her that he was not a very good rider, but he had said yes.

Of course, he had said yes.

Seokjin’s mother scoffs from beside him. “Every child of Her Royal Highness will be my grandchild, Lady Ahn, just as Her Royal Highness is the daughter of all the Consorts. But you seem to be of a different opinion?” She says, ending with a questioning inflection as she motions over to royal dais with a tilt of her head.

Seokjin knows what his mother means to imply. To deny that any of the Consorts were Her Royal Highness’s father is a very foolish statement to make in public. One poorly chosen word, one wrong tone of voice and it would be slander.

It has always remained unknown with whose blood the Crown Princess officially shares – like with all of the royal descendants. There have been a few however, like with that of the Grand Prince, where the resemblance is so apparent that it does not require any speculation. Yet, with the Crown Princess, it is near impossible to tell from appearance alone who might have fathered her. Even with her personality, Seokjin could see that she carries traits of all three men, just from that first meeting. She laughs loud and brightly like Consort Song, possesses a quick wit and sharp mind from Consort Choi and her glare, when annoyed, was identical to Consort Hwang’s.

What was even more curious, was the way that the truth does not seem to hold any importance to the Royal Family – for each Consort treats her as if certain that she is their own.

When he had first been introduced, he had witnessed first-hand how they treat his betrothed – and how they treat each other. Much like bonded brothers – so similar to Namjoon and himself. Even when sharing a wife, there does not appear to be a drop of malice or jealousy between them. It is unlike so many other families that he knows. They do not scowl or scheme when faced with the Queen showing another affection. In fact, they seem to be united in sharing their love for her.

Seokjin ponders if it could be due to the mark from the Heavens that ties the family together in such harmony. He wishes to seek the Consorts advice in private. He worries that something is wrong with him... to be feeling such spikes of jealousy as he has been.

Lady Ahn harrumphs at the loaded question his mother posed to her, but smartly falls silent. His mother, however, does not let her go so easily.

“I heard Lord Ahn brought in yet another concubine. A girl from a kisaeng house this time, was it?” She asks with a friendly guise but aims for the woman’s weak point. “Has she settled in well...?”

As the last minister approaches the dais, it is Seokjin’s cue to leave. He stands and murmurs his goodbyes, his mother waves him off without a word, her eyes never leaving her new opponent.

He begins to make his way across the encampment, to the area where the horses are being held, when someone suddenly steps out in front of him. He startles –as he so easily does– recoiling with a sharp yell, his arms tucking up to his chest and fear making them shake. When he recognises the person before him, he laughs awkwardly in embarrassment.

“Ah! Hyejoon-ah, you scared me!” He weakly chastises her, putting a hand to his chest to calm his heart. “I did not know you would be here today. Did Namjoon-ah come as well?”

“Of course not.” She scoffs. “You know how Orabeoni hates this kind of thing.” She reaches out and grabs his sleeve, tugging on it. “So, you should keep me company instead. Abeoji is going to join in the hunt. I will be so bored if I am on my own.” She pouts.

“Ahh... my apologies, I cannot.” Seokjin says, shrugging his arm out of her hold and sidestepping past her to continue on his way. He doesn’t want to be late. He hears the rustle of her skirts as she hurries to catch up with him.

“Where are you going?” She asks, following him in double time to keep up with his long strides.

“To the stables. I’m going for a ride.”

“A ride?” She asks in disbelief. “But you don’t like to ride. You get nervous on a horse.”

He chuckles. She was right. He was not a confident rider – not when horses could be so unpredictable. And he did not ride often enough to have gotten used to them. “You need not worry about me. I will be fine. I shall be in good company.”

He reaches out and pats her head as he has done many a time before, but he removes his hand quickly. The strange twinge of repulsion that had stirred in his stomach disappears.

“…You are going with her.” She states.

He hums in agreement.

“Seokjin-Orabeoni, wait, I need to speak with you–”

“Later. I have to go.” He says, cutting her off with a forced broad smile and dodging her hand that reaches again for him. He has a feeling he knows what it is she desires to say, however, he has no desire to hear it. “Tell Namjoon that I will see him tonight for that drink!” He says as he leaves her behind.

He can feel the weight of her gaze heavy upon him, but he does not look back.

~

We ride together through the lush green forest at a peaceful amble. Jin and I, alone at last. Side by side atop our horses, we pass through dappled sunlight to the soundtrack of birdsong and the wind rustling through the leaves. Every so often, I can make out the echo of ringing of gongs as servants flush out prey as part of the ongoing hunt. There was a competition going on.

“Are you sure that you would not prefer to be partaking, Your Royal Highness?” Jin asks me as far in the distance we can see a group chase after a deer. “I have heard that you are very talented.”

“No,” I answer simply. Apparently, the Crown Princess used to be an avid hunter, whereas I don’t even like to eat dakbal*. I’ve never killed anything before and just the thought of it repulses me. Maybe I could bring myself to hunt if I was desperate and starving... but there is no way I think I could bring myself to kill an innocent creature just for the thrill of. “I’ve been contemplating a lot these days about the importance of life, and how kindness should be extended to all things. Besides, this is exactly where I want to be. Here. With you.”

He smiles in response to my heartfelt words, ducking his head bashfully. I enjoy his cute reactions when I manage to catch him off guard. It’s almost become like a secret game between us. A game that he’s still winning.

I think I’m handling the horse riding fairly well so far. Well enough that I don’t think I’ve aroused anyone’s suspicion. I was able to get on first try without embarrassing myself, even though I could only just about see over the top of the horse’s back. It was mainly because Jin had given me a boost, supporting my thigh as I swung up into the saddle. I’m grateful that he’s such a gentleman and had offered without me needing to ask. But I’m a little worried about when it comes to getting off. My thighs are starting to ache. The horse’s girth is much wider than I was expecting. I haven’t had my legs spread so wide for so long in a very long while. I just hope that they don’t collapse beneath me when I'm back on solid ground.

As per usual we’re being followed from a distance by a group of guards lead by Yeong, but they’re so unobtrusive that it’s easy to imagine that they’re not even there.

“Why can’t the pony sing?” Jin begins out of nowhere with that mischievous tone to his voice. I look to him with a raised brow and great expectations. “…Because it’s a little horse.”

He bursts out laughing at the terrible pun, and I try to hold back, I really do, but I can’t help the snigger that escapes me, which soon morphs into a full bellied laughter with my eyes squeezed shut and my head thrown back.

My horse screams.

My first instinct is to make a joke about how it doesn’t appreciate Jin’s sense of humour, but then there’s a sudden drop in my stomach, and I’m desperately clutching to its neck so that I don’t fall backwards as it rears up on its hind legs.

“Ya! Ya- ya- ya!” I shout in panic.

Jin’s horse whinnies nervously, backing away from mine. Jin fights to regain control over it, looking at me with eyes wide with worry. I hear a shout behind us from Yeong, who’s aware of my sudden lack of equestrian skills. He’d even given me a little bit of basic training yesterday, but we hadn’t covered what to do if my horse suddenly freaks out for no reason!

Thankfully the horse lands back on four legs with a thud that jolts me in my seat. The front part of the saddle digs painfully into my stomach where I’m laid over it, still hanging onto the horse’s neck.

For a second I think the worst is over. But I’m wrong.

The horse fucking bolts.

~

I don’t know what the fuck to do. All I can do is scream and curse and hold on for dear fucking life as the demon horse gallops at full speed uncontrollably through the forest. The reins are flapping freely in the wind, slapping me in the face. I don’t attempt to grab them. I don’t dare loosen my death grip on its neck. I don’t even care if I’m choking it right now. At least that’ll get it to fucking stop.

My right foot must have slipped out of the stirrup when the damn animal reared, because it’s just dangling in the air. I kick my foot around pitifully in hopes that I’ll magically find it again and regain some stability. But of course, it doesn’t happen.

I’m fucked. I’m totally fucked.

I try to keep myself as flat as I can to the horse's back so that I’m not knocked off by any of the branches that hang low overhead or whizz past me, scratching up my face. I try to duck it into my chest and close my eyes. I don’t want anything taking my eye out. It stops the nausea that I was beginning to feel from the seeing the world blur by me, but it makes it ten times scarier.

The only thing that gives me hope is that I can hear the shouts for me in the distance as my party frantically follows. I can only pray that they can get the horse to stop and save me–

“Your Royal Highness!” A voice shouts out. He sounds closer than the others and fast approaching with another set of thundering hooves. Thank fuck, someone has finally managed to catch up.

“Help me!” I scream to him, still frozen in my position.

“Grab the reins!”

I try to. I honestly try to build up the courage. I peep with one eye and can see the leather strap lax and dangling about in front of me as if it’s fucking taunting me. But I’m bouncing in the seat too much. So much so that, if I make it out of this alive, my ass is going to just be one big bruise for weeks. All that’s keeping me on this hell beast is the grip I have on its neck. If I let go, I’ll fall. And if I fall, I’ll be trampled. If I’m trampled, I’ll get internal bleeding and that’s something they can’t fix with herbs and fucking acupuncture!

“I can’t!” I cry, my voice cracking as terror forms a lump in my throat. “Please, please, please help me, please!” I beg him. Fuck dignity. I don’t want to die.

I think he curses but it gets lost in the wind.

“Let go!”

“Are you crazy?!” I shriek in horror at the suggestion. He sounds even closer now, as if riding by my side.

“Please! Please trust me! I can save you, but you have to let go!” The man pleads with me. He’s starting to sound a little panicky. That’s not good. “On the count of three!”

I whimper and shake my head. I don’t want to let go. There’s no way I can do it.

I’ll fall, I’ll fall, I’ll fall.

“We’re running out of time! When I say three, let go! Do you understand me?! One!”

I nod my head, building up what remains of the courage that’s fled my body.

“Two!”

I should probably trust him, right? He obviously has a plan. He probably knows what he’s doing. Fuck it! I take a deep breath–

“Three!”

–and let go.

~

I think all the air is knocked out of me as I’m tackled from the side. I know it because I have no breath left to even scream.

For what feels like a long moment, my saviour and I seem to be flying through the air. His arms wrap around me, holding me to him tightly. A hand tucks my head to his broad chest with another braced around my waist. I can’t even hold onto him because my arms are trapped in between us.

I can’t see, my eyes are squeezed shut in fear. I don’t know which way is up. All I know is that gravity kicks in and we’re falling. My stomach swoops. I brace for impact.

I hear his grunt of pain as we crash land. I slam on top of him, head butting his chest. I’m only on top of him for a second before we’re rolling from the momentum. Branches snap and crack, scratching and clawing at us as we flatten the underbrush. Our legs tangle. Knees knocking and kicking shins. He doesn’t move his hands at all, even when they get squished between me and the ground. He just clutches me to him tighter.

Eventually, we slow to a stop.

I open my eyes and gasp in attempt to refill my lungs but there’s something heavy on my chest. I just end up coughing. My ribs ache, but thankfully there’s no sharp or excruciating pain. I think I’m lying on a rock though. I can feel it digging into my spine. It’s promising if I can feel it that I’ve not broken my back. I wiggle my fingers and my toes. I don’t think anything’s broken, but I do feel like I’ve just gone through a ten-round bout.

I lie there for a moment, just looking up into the blue sky and grateful to be alive. A small breathless giggle escapes my lips as a tear overflows from the side of my eye and trickles into my hair. I must be in shock.

Everything happened so quickly.

The body sprawled on top of me groans. I can feel it vibrate through my entire body. I’m relieved he’s showing signs of life because I'm sure he took the brunt of the fall... but he needs to get off me soon or else I think I'm going to suffocate.

“Hey, are you okay?” I wheeze as I try to see his face, but my face in buried in his neck. All I can see is the black of his hair and my lips unintentionally brush against his skin. From his clothes I get a strong waft of horses and hay –the scent of stables- and wrinkle my nose at the tang of manure. I turn my head away to try to escape from it. He doesn’t respond to my voice. I pat at his chest with my palms as much as I can with them still tightly trapped in between us.

He appears to slowly come back to his senses with another groan, sliding out his arms from beneath me. He shifts, planting his hands either side of my head, lifting up and finally taking off the weight from my chest. As soon as I have to space to breathe, I greedily gulp down precious oxygen. I concentrate on that, rather than the shift of pressure onto my lower half - where his hips and thigh is pressing down...awkwardly. He rises up fully once his arms are stable, lifting to his knees. One still remains inbetween my thighs. He's no longer touching me, but the position is still a little... If we were caught like this, it would certainly cause a misunderstanding.

I clear my throat to get his attention.

He stills as if he's just noticed that I’m caged underneath him. I can feel his breath on my cheek.

I turn my head back so I can finally look upon my saviour. I hadn’t expected his face to be this close though. My vision is filled with a round tip of a nose that has a little fleck of brown above the left nostril. It takes a moment for my eyes to refocus so that his entire face becomes clear.

Once it does, I blink. Rapidly – as if something is wrong with my vision.

Because that’s a familiar face hovering over mine...

The face of Jeon Jungkook.

Chapter Text

“…J- JK?!”

I fucking stutter. It can’t be helped.

Because I had not been expecting Jeon Jungkook to be hovering above me. I mean, the sight is incredibly flustering.

Those huge doe eyes of his are looking down at me, deep brown and staring into my soul. That little kiss of a mark beneath his plump bottom lip taunts me. He’s too close. I could easily lift my head and press my lips against it.

As if he realises it at the same time, he flings himself off of me – scrambling backwards with the look of a frightened bunny.

I sit up as well, to keep him within my sight. My heart drops when I spy red on his face. On his left cheek, blood seeps from a small cut.

My eyes dart over him franticly to assess for any other injuries. I would never fucking forgive myself if he had been badly hurt by saving me. His hands are scratched up with grazes. His clothes are dirtied and torn from the tumble. It takes me a second to compute, but I recognise the outfit he’s wearing. It’s the uniform of the servants who help out in the hunting.

Is that why he’s here...?

There are so many questions eager to burst from my lips, but I find that I cannot voice them. So we're just staring at each other, frozen – waiting for the other to make the first move.

His lips part as I think he’s about to say something–

“Your Royal Highness!”

That voice doesn’t come from him. It echoes from a distance. Desperate and pleading. It sounds like Jin. I snap my head towards the direction, but I don’t spot him amongst the trees.

“Over here!” I shout back.

I let out a sigh of relief. I’m going to be alright. They’ve found me. I survived, all thanks to Jungkook–

–Jungkook who takes the moment of my distraction as an opportunity to jump up and start sprinting away.

“Wait!” I shout after him, scrambling to my feet. Fuck, he really is like a damn bunny – fast and skittish. I take a step to run after him but pain shoots through my left ankle and I collapse once more to the ground.

“Fuck!” I cry as I clutch it, half pain, half frustration. I guess I must have hurt it in the fall. There's no way I can run after him… all I can do is sit and watch as he flees further and further into the forest.

~

Jungkook had long disappeared from sight, but I stay sitting there pathetically, eyes fixed on where I last saw him. l don’t understand. Why had he run? After everything... he’d just ran away? Like his life had depended on it.

Fuck. I didn’t even have a chance to thank him…

“Your Royal Highness!” I hear the echoes of Jin calling for me again.

“I’m over here!” I call back as loud as I can, but he doesn’t respond. I don’t know if he can hear me.

I stand up, cautious of putting weight on my injured leg and I start to hobble slowly in direction I thought I’d heard Jin’s voice come from. Pain spikes every time I limp forward, causing me to hiss, but eventually I can make out some figures up ahead where the trees begin to thin.

“Jin!” I shout as I spot him, pacing back and forth. He’s the only flash of colour amongst the black uniforms.

He spins around at the sound of my voice.

“Jin!” I shout again louder, leaning against the trunk of a tree to rest my throbbing foot. I wave my arm overhead. He must finally see me because he starts running.

I push myself towards him as he draws closer, and we collide as he wraps me into his arms.

“Yoon-ah,” he says, the sound muffled because of his face buried in my neck. My brain glitches for half a second at the intimate use of the name. He’d never used it before. He’d never hugged me before either.

I tightly grip him back. Over his shoulder I spy the guards halt in their tracks, turning their backs on our sudden display of affection. I don’t care enough to be embarrassed.

“I was so worried.” He confesses quietly as he squeezes me tighter. I relax into his hold, feeling safe and secure. But, with the sudden loss of adrenaline, I feel exhausted. I end up swaying on my feet, but Jin holds me steady. Then he’s pulling back to look at me in concern. His eyes dart anxiously as he inspects me for injuries. I’m too tired to feel self-conscious about my dirty, rumpled clothing and the foliage that’s probably stuck in my hair.

“Are you hurt?”

I shake my head, eager to reassure him as I notice a dark shadow of fear lingering in his eyes.

“I’m okay.” I respond softly. My hands have slide from his back to his waist and I grip the fabric there to help keep myself steady on one leg. “A few cuts, probably a lot of bruises and, I think, a twisted ankle, but I’m okay. Really.”

Jin looks down and sees how I’m holding up my foot tentatively. There’s only a second before he bends and sweeps my legs out from under me, lifting me up into his arms without warning. I squeak in surprise, locking my arms instinctively around his neck as I suddenly find myself in the air.

Damn. No one’s ever carried me princess style before… I think my Joseon panties just fucking melted.

He starts carrying me hurriedly back towards their horses. He relays to Yeong who falls in beside him, in his rare and serious hyung-mode voice, that I urgently need a physician. I can’t find the energy in me to object.

I’m in awe as we break through the dense treeline, and surprisingly straight onto a cliff. I look out in wonder at the picturesque view of the land below and reminding me that there’s a whole world beyond the thick walls of the palace.

It’s breath-taking.

I really need to get out more.

Beyond a wide spread of forest, I can even make out several little thatched villages surrounded by fields full of crops. But then my stomach twists violently as I realise that we are, in fact, really fucking high up. And that the deadly sheer drop of the cliff is suddenly looking a lot closer – precariously fucking close.

I cling to Jin just a little tighter.

I remain tense and reluctant to let him go as he lifts me up onto the back of his horse. I’m feeling very fucking averse to being back on a horse again so soon after that shitshow of an experience, but I know I don’t really have another option. It’s the fastest way to get back to camp.

“Move forward please, Your Royal Highness.” Jin asks, looking up at me as he holds onto the front of the saddle. Because we’re no longer alone, he’s back to calling me by my title. It feels kinda distant now. I hate it.

“Ah, yes.” I say as I shuffle forward, thinking that he’s correcting my seating, but nope.

He swings up into the saddle behind me, taking the reins in one hand and banding the other across my waist as he shifts in the seat to get comfortable.

My body turns to stone as I pour all of my concentration into not wiggling. His thick thighs frame mine. His entire front is pressed up against me. I swallow heavily, growing warm from the heat of him and from the rapid beating of my heart.

“Don’t be afraid,” Jin tells me quietly. I can’t tell if he thinks I’m nervous because of being on the horse or because of him. His breath whispers against my ear as he speaks and it shivers down my spine. He tightens the arm he has around my waist and I unconsciously clutch his wrist. I don’t know if I intend to pull him off or hold him closer, maybe even push his hand down–

Stop.

Oh my god.

I shouldn’t be getting so worked up right now. This is really not an appropriate time to be so–

…Although, I can’t deny that it’s totally taking my mind off being back in the saddle.

“I thought…” Jin continues, mercifully oblivious to the filth going on in my head. He clears his throat. “We saw your horse down the cliff and I thought…” His voice cracks slightly on the last word and the sound of it pierces my heart. He doesn’t finish what he was going to say. He doesn’t have to.

My mind rewinds through all the chaos. To hearing the panic in Jungkook’s voice. His insistence that there wasn’t enough time…

Oh.

Fuck.

Belated dread fills me, chilling me to the core.

My eyes are transfixed on the cliff edge. Where my horse had fucking run off to its death.

And would have taken me with it.

I lock my fingers with Jin’s, reassuring him, and myself, that I’m still here.

I’m still alive.

~

Having such a dark revelation had been incredibly effective in cooling me down. Like jumping into a cold shower. My mind had been so heavy that I hadn’t been able to perversely enjoy any of the rocking and grinding that comes with riding double.

After an hour of riding back at a steady but brisk pace, we arrive at the hunting encampment.

Thankfully it had been uneventful. No brushes with death this time. But the mood amongst all of us had been quiet and sombre. At a fork in the trail along the way, we’d reunited with two other guards. I hadn’t realised they’d been missing to be honest.

They had a whispered discussion with Yeong. Then they’d passed him something that I hadn’t been able to see. Whatever it was, had blackened his expression. Immediately after that, he had sent them off to ride on ahead in order to inform the physician that I’d be needing his services on arrival.

I’d been hoping that we could’ve arrived a little more incognito, because as soon as we enter the camp, I can instantly feel eyes on me. At the sight of me looking completely dishevelled, and locked in Jin’s arms, the speculations begin at once and ripple throughout the camp.

It’s a fight not to shy away but I keep my head held high.

When we finally reach my tent, Jo-Sanggung and Da-eun emerge hastily from the entrance at the sound of my return. They must have heard the news. But I guess I must look worse than I thought because upon seeing me, Da-eun covers her mouth with a gasp.

Jin jumps down from the saddle first, then reaches back up to me to lift me off. I’d expected him to deposit me on the ground, considering he might think it inappropriate in front of everyone, but he pulls me straight into his arms once more.

Without saying anything he storms towards the tent, so quickly that my attendants have to dash forward to hold up the flap out of the way for us. He aims straight for the makeshift platform bed and places me down gently. I notice that the Head Royal Physician is already inside, waiting with two female assistants, and bowing when my eyes fall on them.

“Are you alright, Your Royal Highness?” Jo-Sanggung asks, breaking the tense silence with her concern. “What on earth happened to you?!” She demands.

“I’m fine, really,” I insist. “Just sprained my ankle, that’s all.”

“She jumped off a horse.” Jin informs the tent. He turns to the physician. “She needs a full examination.”

Da-eun and Jo-Sanggung appear in front of me, one reaching to untie my belt and the other kneeling for my boots. As Da-eun begins to tug one off, I hiss as it wrenches my injured ankle.

“Carefully!” Jo-Sanggung snaps at her. Da-eun apologises meekly, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

“It’s fine.” I try to placate them both but I’m gritting my teeth. When she slides off my boot and sock, the ankle is most definitely swollen.

“The uinyeo* will check you thoroughly for any other injuries, Your Royal Highness. They will also help clean your wounds.” The physician notifies me, signalling the two women to step forward. Jo-Sanggung removes my belt and begins to untie the strings of my outer coat. The physician then turns to Jin, and motions to the entrance. “It would be best if we step outside, Prince Consort.”

I can see the reluctance to leave in Jin’s eyes, but alas… propriety and shit. My point is proven when Jo-Sanggung reaches for the strings of my inner coat and Jin quickly turns away and starts basically shoving the physician outside.

“I shall go and inform your family, Your Royal Highness.” He says before he exits as well, keeping his back to me. I watch his shadow as it lingers outside of the tent for a little while, before finally it moves away.

My attendants finish stripping me down to my underwear so I can be fully examined. Da-eun moves to clean off the dirt and sweat I’m covered in with a damp cloth, whist Jo-Sanggung begins brushing my hair and picking out debris. The female physicians examine me, prodding and make me go through motions to note down any pain or bruising. I have a pretty big one beginning to bloom on the back of my hip but thankfully nothing that screams internal bleeding.

The uinyeo are vigilant in their work, armed with ointments to slather on even the smallest of cut and scratches. There’s a few on my face and neck, and only a couple on my legs. My hands and arms are pretty much unscathed because of how they had been tucked safely in Jungkook’s protective embrace.

Jungkook…

His hands had been all scratched up. And then there had been that cut on his cheek…

Worries for him flitter anxiously through my mind and grip at my heart. Does he have medicine? Is he getting his injuries treated? I need to make sure he’s okay–

“Your Royal Highness!” Da-eun gasps, dropping the cloth to the floor with a wet splat. Her sudden exclamation makes me jump out of my skin and I’m not the only one. The nurses recoil and Jo-Sanggung accidentally pulls on my hair.

“What? What is it?!”

Da-eun stares down at my left hand, that rests in hers whilst she’d been cleaning it.

“L-look!” She stutters, shoving it in front of my face.

I look to my hand, rotating it back and forth, but it looks perfectly normal to me.

But then I spot it. The light from a nearby lantern illuminates the pale line of my soulmate mark…

…and the duplicate that’s appeared beneath.

~

I’m clean, redressed, and laying on the bed with my ankle wrapped and elevated as the physician takes my pulse. The uinyeo had reported the full extent of my injuries to him when he’d returned once I was made decent.

They did not mention the appearance of my second mark because I had ordered them to secrecy. The older uinyeo had even suggested wrapping my hand if I wanted to hide it. I wasn’t ashamed of it. I just don’t want news of my new soulmate spreading around yet – especially when I haven’t talked to Jin about it. I want him to hear it from me.

My new soulmate…

The tent flap flies open as Consort Song storms in, shortly followed by my mother and Consort Choi. I strain my neck to see if Jin is behind them, but the flap falls shut.

“Daughter, are you all right?” Consort Song reaches me first, taking a seat beside me, gently holding my wrapped hand.

Before I can reply however, with one sharp look from my mother, the physician is nervously spewing out his diagnosis – happy to report that my injuries are minor and that I’ll just need to be on bed rest until my ankle is fully healed.

“Leave us.” My mother orders, after a moment of tense silence once he’s finished. Her voice is quiet but powerful – the tone of her voice making the simple order sound like a threat. All the staff clear out of the tent very quickly, basically fleeing.

I comprehend why once she shifts her full attention to me.

Although her posture is calm and composed, the look in her eyes is ice cold – I can almost feel the temperature suddenly dropping. I have to stop myself from physically flinching. There is something terrifying and unearthly within her gaze.

She blinks and it’s gone. That presence that seemed to seep out of her vanishes. So quickly that I even consider that I imagined it.

My attention is distracted when the tent flap flies open. I hope for Jin, but it is only my missing father, entering with Yeong in tow. Yeong is stone-faced as always, but Consort Hwang is looking positively murderous.

I don’t understand why everyone seems so angry.

“What happened?” My mother snaps at Yeong when she sees him. There’s a vitriol in her voice. He immediately falls to one knee, a fist in hand and raised in line with his bowed head.

“My horse bolted all of a sudden.” I speak up quickly in order to save him from the anger that buzzes in the air like a swarm of bees. “I had to jump off and so I got a little roughed up, that’s all. It was just an accident, Eomma, it was no one’s fault.”

“It was not an accident, Your Royal Highness.”

My brows furrow at Yeong’s statement. The words float through my mind but don’t anchor. I look to my parents, but they don’t look surprised. I’m apparently the only one who’s confused.

“Wait, what?”

He pulls out a folded cloth from the inside of his clothes and presents it to my mother. She takes it and unwraps it. Revealed inside is a stone… just an average looking stone about the size of a coin.

“Some of the men stayed behind to investigate the area whilst we followed Her Royal Highness. That is what they found, Your Royal Majesty.”

“It’s a stone.” I say dumbly.

“There is blood on it.” My mother informs me. Her jaw clenches.

“I spoke with the men,” Yeong continues. “A couple remember hearing a distinct whistling sound, mere moments before the horse reared–”

“A sling.” Consort Hwang growls. His hand grips white knuckled around his sword. “They caused the horse to bolt.”

“Someone did this on purpose?” I ask. The confusion that had been clouding my mind lifts. The puzzle pieces slotting into place.

“A stone can blend in – be overlooked. Painful enough to startle the horse without being an obvious attack on you.” Consort Choi explains.

“Her favoured mare had come down with colic.” Yeong reveals, adding to the discussion. The evidence seems to be piling up. “Her Royal Highness was given another. I investigated the stables. The handler has disappeared.”

Choi nods, looking unsurprised. “The culprit put a lot of thought into covering their tracks… to make it seem like an accident.”

Oh, fuck.

It hadn’t been an accident. It had been a fucking attempt on my life.

Consort Song frowns as he feels me tremble. He puts his arm around me, but I can’t feel his comfort. I’m only half present. I can hear the words they are saying but I’m sinking under the weight of my thoughts, like quicksand.

I could have been seriously hurt. I could have been maimed. I could have been killed.

I should have been killed.

If it hadn’t been for Jungkook, I probably would have died.

I try to swallow around the fear lodged in my throat.

“Hunt down everyone involved.” My mother mutters darkly, locking eyes with her eldest, deadliest husband. “A stone and a theory are not substantial evidence. We need confessions. We need the perpetrators. We need to find the person behind this and make an example of them.”

Once more I can feel a shadow of that presence.

“I will send out the Royal Guard at once. They will leave no stone unturned.” Consort Hwang replies instantly, making a move to head out and relay his commands.

“W-wait!”

Everyone pauses and looks to me as I try to pull myself together. Just enough to say –  

“…I need to tell you something.”

~

I tell them about Jungkook. About him saving me but then disappearing.

They naturally erupt with suspicion.

“Who was he?”

“Why was he there?”

“Why did he run?”

I mean, yeah… they are all very good points. Even I’m starting to think that him showing up out of nowhere, all on his own, to save me but then bail is a tiny bit suspicious. However, I’m sure he must have had his reasons.

So I show them my new mark and it’s almost laughable at how quickly they drop their suspicions – like being my soulmate is some sort of ‘get out of jail’ card.

Considering the situation and the attempt on my life, understandably their reaction is not as joyous as it was when Jin was confirmed.

I'd lied and told them that I don’t know Jungkook's name, but I give Consort Hwang a detailed description of his appearance. If he’s going to be sending his Royal Guards out on a manhunt for the culprit, then I don’t want Jungkook accidentally getting caught in the crossfires.

If he’s still out there, that is.

Oh god, what if he’s still out there? What if he was really hurt? What if he’s laying somewhere there in the hunting grounds unconscious or dying? What if there's predators? What if they scent his blood? Oh fuck, aren't there tigers roaming around in these times?!

My anxiety turns from a snowball to an avalanche. My eldest father must see it on my face.

“We will look for him.” He promises me. “We will find him and bring him back to you.”

“No,” I choke out, surprising them all.

Yes, I do want him back. I’m dying to know that he’s alright. I want him safe. I want to start getting to know this Jeon Jungkook. But I can’t ignore that he left. For whatever reason, he left. He could have stayed, but he didn’t.

So I’m not going to send out men to hunt him down and have him dragged before me against his will. I tell them exactly that.

I tell them that if the guards come across him and he’s hurt, then yes, I want them to fucking save him, by all means. But if he’s fine, then I’d rather they politely invite him to see me so that I can thank him in person. If he declines, well… then they will just have to let him go. I’ll just have to think up another way for us to meet that doesn’t infringe on his freedom.

Consort Hwang assures me that they’ll follow my wishes. And I trust him.

The guards he oversees are like a mix of the Presidential Security Service and NIS* – responsible for the protection of the royal family and sent out for any super top-secret missions. All are highly skilled and loyal to the Crown. All are men who my father trusts implicitly – having always been by his side or personally trained by him. Even Yeong had been his student before he’d been selected to be the Crown Princess’s head bodyguard.

I ask Yeong if he could discreetly start looking for Jungkook amongst the staff around the camp. Just to let me know if he’s returned to camp and help assure me that he’s okay. And if not, then try and find out some information about him from people who might know him – no interrogations.

“I beg your forgiveness, Your Royal Highness, but I shall not be leaving your side” – is his answer. Instead, he assigns the task to his second in command, Geon-uk, instead.

We’re suddenly disturbed by the voice of the Head Eunuch calling from outside the tent. He relays a message for the Queen, saying that the ministers are showing concern about my wellbeing.

They're dying to know what’s happened, the nosey bastards.

“I must go and deal with them,” My mother says. She moves to head out but stops before lifting the flap, turning back to me. “You're safe now, my child. We will find whoever is behind this.” The anger and determination in her eyes tell me more. They tell me that when she finds whoever’s behind this, she’s going to have them fucking torn apart.

She steps outside, to go inform the fussing officials. Consort Choi joins her as backup, to be an extra pair of eyes in reading their reactions. I can only hope that the villains are as obvious as they are in the dramas. It’d make it so much easier to spot them. Consort Hwang departs as well, after giving me a kiss on my forehead that leaves me stunned, to try and hunt down the asshole who shot at my horse.

My remaining father squeezes my hand to get my attention.

“He’s been waiting for you outside.” Consort Song tells me with a gentle smile and a cheeky wag of his brows. “Shall I send him in?”

~

“How are you feeling?” Jin asks immediately as he enters. The flap falls into place behind him, hiding us from the rest of the world. I think this is the first time that we’ve truly been alone. No guards, no maids, no chaperones…

“Sore. But I’m alright now.” I answer truthfully, feeling a little more at peace now that he’s here. He’s still stood by the entrance though, hands firmly behind his back and looking a little rigid. “Are you alright?”

“I am now.” He nods as he answers. But he’s not meeting my eyes. His gaze is darting all over the place, like he doesn’t know where to look.

“Why are you still all the way over there?” I ask curiously, a little worried that he’s avoiding me.

He clears his throat. “Because you are not quite… dressed, Your Royal Highness.”

I look down in panic in case I’m accidentally naked, but I’m still wearing the clean set of men’s style underclothes that I’d been changed in to. They aren’t anything skimpy or scandalous, they're basically pajamas. I was completely covered from neck to ankle so I’m not sure what has him so flustered. I even covertly check if my nipples are perhaps poking out, but they’re wrapped up flat beneath my breastband.

“When we are married, you’ll be seeing me in a lot less.” I can’t help but tease him, with a suggestive lift of my eyebrow. “Perhaps, you should start getting used to it?”

His ears flush red and he swallows heavily. I lift my hand out for him in invitation, feeling a bit like a siren ensnaring a sailor. I can almost see the debate going on in his mind. I know which side I’m rooting to win.

“Jin.” I call to him, wiggling my fingers – impatient to be near him.

He finally leaves the safety of the entrance and approaches. Immediately when he steps into my reach, I take his hand, pulling on it just enough that he stumbles forward onto the bed. He rights himself quickly – with his hands firmly on his knees as he sits on the edge, straight backed and proper.

I take an extra long moment to just enjoy his shy reaction before I feel my smile eventually weaken and fall.

“There’s something you need to know...”

Chapter Text

~

“There’s something you need to know...”

I can’t help but be a bit nervous of how Jin might react…

Angry? Jealous? Upset?

…I know I would be all of the above if our positions were reversed.

I have to remind myself that this is a different world to the one I know – a straight-outta-fiction, reverse-harem-soulmate world. And that having multiple partners is to be expected as the Crown Princess.

But Jin and I haven’t had that discussion yet… about others.

I already considered myself the luckiest woman ever to exist, I mean- I have Kim Seokjin for a soulmate and soon-to-be-husband. That’s more than I could ever wish for – I wasn’t about to become greedy and ask for more.

But now the mark on my finger is telling me that I have not only Kim Seokjin but Jeon Jungkook as well?

…

…Did I save the country in a past life or something?

“What is it?” Jin gives me his full attention, sensing the sudden 180 from my shameless teasing. I avoid his eyes. I’m nearly always struck dumb when he focuses on me so intensely like that.

Instead, I look down at his hand that’s still held in mine. He caresses my knuckles with his thumb, lightly in a soothing motion, as if he senses my anxiety. I’m momentarily distracted at how large his hand is compared to mine, on the slightly rough catch of calluses and the warmth of his skin. To his matching soulmate mark.

I place my other hand on top, holding onto him – onto that safe, grounding comfort he’s offering me. Hopeful that he won’t withdraw it.

I take a breath and rip off the band-aid.

“Jin-ah,” I begin, finally meeting his eyes.

His reaction isn’t as intense as when I’d first accidentally called his name so intimately, but his eyes still light up upon hearing it.

I’d made such a mental effort to call him formally, but eventually his stage name had slipped past my lips. He’d turned away from me, covering his face to try and hide his pleased grin. Ears red and shy laughter bubbling up. It’d been absolutely adorable.

I haven’t called him Seokjin-sshi since.

“The truth is…” I continue. “I didn’t jump off that horse by myself. Someone helped me.”

“Who did?” He asks, his brows furrowing, his head tilting to the side. “There was no one with you…”

“Ah,” I clear my throat, “he… left.” I quickly carry on to pre-emptively answer his next question. “I don’t know why. So, I didn’t say anything at first…. And then with everything going on- I didn’t notice until later, but…”

I raise my left hand, drawing his attention to it. And to the new mark on my little finger.

~

I can tell the exact moment Jin notices it. His eyes narrow. Just a little. Aside from that, his expression doesn’t change.

“I’m so sorry.” I apologise. It’s an instinctual response. I put down my marked hand, feeling awkward. I have a strong urge to hide it from attention, but I ignore it. I refuse to be ashamed of Jungkook’s mark... Yet right now I can’t look Jin in the eye.

“Why are you sorry?” I hear him ask. He sounds a bit confused - not angry.

“We’re about to get married and now, like… all of a sudden this new guy’s shown up,” I murmur, feeling more guilty when I hear it aloud.

I feel like it’s a little unfair to Jin. We’re set to be married, but in truth we’ve barely begun our relationship. The thread that ties us together is still new and fragile. I think I wanted time for it to strengthen. So that Jin could be secure in our relationship –so that I could be secure– before thinking about sharing my attention and affection with someone else…

I’ve never dated multiple guys at one time. I may have some theoretical knowledge but I’ve no clue how to go about managing a real harem.

Jin tsks, causing me to look up at him. His brows are furrowed. His lips are pouting. It reminds me of a child reluctant to share his toy…

“I can’t deny that I wanted you to myself for a little longer.”

… I guess the toy, is me.

I press my lips together to suppress a laugh at the image my brain conjures up. Because being fought over by Jin and JK, would more likely involve being pulled on each arm in a game of Juldarigi*. With me in the middle.

“He’s the person who saved you?” Jin asks, his tone serious. I straighten out my face and nod. He squeezes my hand. He hasn’t once let it go.

“Then maybe I can forgive him.”

He may be grumbling, but acceptance in there in his expression. I feel such relief.

I don’t hesitate to lean forward and wrap my arms around his waist now that hugs have been unlocked. I hold him tightly, snuggling my face into his broad chest, just like I have always dreamed of doing.

It is paradise and I never want to leave.

“So… you’re okay then? You’re not upset?” I ask, just needing his verbal confirmation to get rid of the last specks of my anxiety.

Jin had frozen when I’d thrown myself at him. If I wasn’t able to feel his heart beating rapidly beneath my ear, I might have thought that he’d turned into a statue. I give him a little squeeze, which seems to reboot his motor functions, and he wraps his arms around me in reciprocation.

“It’s strange.” He replies. “I thought I would be… After all, just thinking of you with-” He cuts himself off.

I try to tilt my head up to look up at him, but he places a hand on my head to hold me still. I don’t resist, despite my intense curiosity, because that hand strokes my hair and I go boneless.

But really… Jin sounding a little jealous?

I’m quietly pleased.

“But more than that… I’m relieved.”

Relieved? What? Why?

“You could have died today.” He explains, seeming to read my mind. The words are quiet as if he doesn’t want to give them life. “And I didn’t do anything– I couldn’t do anything. You were in danger, and I– I was useless.”

I bristle immediately, pulling back out of his embrace. I hate hearing him say something so disparaging about himself. I clutch him by those famously wide shoulders, about to shake that sort of nonsense out of him.

“Jin, no-!” I’m primed and ready to refute that until I run out of breath, but I don’t get a chance.

“-But he wasn’t.” He insists, cutting me off. “He saved you. He did what I couldn’t. Someone like that… I’m thankful for that someone like that will be by your side.”

I swallow thickly, my hands sliding weakly from his shoulders as the fight leaves me.

Though it still hurts to hear, I understand.

Even in this life Jin is cautious – safety conscious. A person who would knock on a stone bridge before crossing*. He’s not the type of person who could so easily throw himself off a runaway horse.

He’s still very much a chicken.

A bee had flown into our path last week as we’d taken a walk through one of the gardens. Jin’s reaction had been exactly the same. He’d panicked, started apologising profusely to the bee, and had even hidden behind me -using me as a human shield- when it had followed him.

He’d been embarrassed once he’d calmed, worried about how I’d react to discovering his cowardly side and trying to laugh it off. His reaction had come as no surprise to me. In fact, I was thrilled at finding yet another similarity. I’d found it hilarious but tried my best to contain my giggles. I’d even been kind of endeared that he’d sought me out for protection. I’d managed to cheer him up by saying that the bee must’ve not known the difference between him and a flower.

I want to assure him that I don’t need him to protect me. I even have a dedicated team of bodyguards and, failing that, I can protect myself… pretty well usually. Just apparently not against rampant horses.

But for me to tell him all that… it would hurt him.

He may be the same Kim Seokjin who startles super easily, runs away from large insects, and flinches at loud noises, but he has his pride. After all, he still wants to be able to protect the people that he cares about.

“And now, I think I can be locked away tomorrow with a comfortable heart**,” Jin smiles – never too serious for too long.

I give him a little glare at that. Locked up. I’m already upset that I won’t be seeing him for basically a month, and now I feel even worse when he puts it like that. I’d tried my best to fight against it, but because it is my first marriage, my parents didn’t budge – insisting that everything be done as per tradition.

“I was worried that you’d be lonely without me. But knowing that he’ll be with you…. He’s not me, of course, but he should make do for a temporary alternative.”

I huff a half-hearted laugh. “I’ll have to find him first.” Something tells me that it’s not going to be easy.

“Good,” Jin grins, his large palm reaches out and cups my cheek. “Searching for him will distract you from missing me too much.”

“No, it won’t.” I lean my cheek into his hand, cherishing the tender touch. He smiles at my whining, pleased with my answer.

“I’ll have to teach that punk** some manners. How can he have just abandoned you.” Jin grumbles, only half serious. His other hand joins to smoosh my cheeks. “I take back what I said about forgiving him.”

“It was probably you who scared him off, come to think of it.” I chuckle, freeing my face from his clutches. “He ran away right after we heard you calling for me.”

“Then at least he has some sense**.”

I laugh happily.

“Do you have any clue to his identity?”

Yeah, sure, his name is Jeon Jungkook, he’s 23 years old, 1.79m and blood type A.

“Only that he was wearing an attendant’s uniform,” I answer instead. I feel a pang of guilt for lying to Jin. Maybe, one day I’ll be able to share with him everything I’m hiding. Maybe when I’m certain that he won’t despise me for being a fake. “I’ve given his description to a guard. Hopefully they’ll be able to find him.”

I know one of Yeong’s subordinates is currently trying to find him in the camp, but there’s got to be hundreds of attendants here today. I could easily pick JK out of a line up – but gathering all of the servants would draw too much attention from old nosey bastards who assume that they’re entitled to know my business.

My instinct is telling me that I need to find him quietly.

“… He’s a commoner?” Jin asks, looking a little taken aback.

I tense. “… Will that be a problem?”

It hadn’t even crossed my mind.

The social hierarchy in Joseon is a strict, unyielding structure with a wide, uncrossable gulf between the top and bottom. Those in higher standing often treat the ones deemed lower than them with disdain and abuse, seeing them as little more than animals - than vermin.

I can’t imagine Jin being one of them. He’s always interacted with the palace staff with politeness and appreciation. Surely, it wouldn’t be an issue…

“Hmm… well, it might be a bit harder for him to adjust,” Jin answers thoughtfully. I smile, having obviously held my breath for nothing. Typical Jin, he’s not even met Jungkook yet and he’s already worrying about him. “The palace is so different … it won’t be easy for him. Especially at first.”

I nod. Can totally relate. I’ve still not gotten used to people constantly following me around. Of being waited on hand and foot. Of the overwhelming amount of bowing and reverence from everyone who lays eyes on me.

“Luckily, he’ll have such a kind and generous and handsome hyung to help.” I smile at Jin innocently with my thinly veiled suggestion. He breaks out into a grin and looks away with a chuckle, shy with the sudden barrage of flattery.

“Hyung am I?”

“Eum*,” I confirm, then backtrack- “…or at least I think so, from his face.” I add, waving my hand in front of my own to get the point across.

“And his face… how is it?” Jin asks, mimicking the same gesture. I can see the curiosity burning in his eyes. “Is he handsome?”

“…Yes,” I answer honestly but apprehensively because my spidey sense is tingling.

“… More handsome than me?”

…

Fuck.

Just how the hell am I supposed to answer that?

I can see him growing a little uneasy when I don’t immediately respond.

“He had a very different kind of charm.” I attempt to pacify, struggling to conjure up a diplomatic answer. Jin just quirks his eyebrow, unappeased by my non-answer. Shit. I should have just said that I didn’t get a good look. “…He was cute, you know? Big doe eyes, like a rabbit- Yes! Exactly like a rabbit.”

That is, a muscle bunny with absolute insane duality who, when he flips the switch, can cause a riot with his sexiness…

But I highly doubt that this Joseon JK would know the choreography to Fake Love.

“And me?”

“Huh?”

“What about me?” Jin demands.

… Well, I can’t tell him that the animal he resembles is a llama. He’d have no idea what it is.

His stare grows intense as he waits impatiently for his answer.

“O-obviously, you’re beautiful.” I stutter, being overpowered by that beauty up close and personal. “A-an elegant and refined- classic sort of handsome.” Intimidating with just how damn perfect he looks. If I didn’t know him at all, a person might think he has sexy, aloof CEO vibes. But then when he smiles, he’s so warm. When he opens his mouth, he’s so charmingly down to earth and goofy.

His eyes lock with mine. He leans forward. Closer. My breath hitches in surprise. My mouth feels dry.

And then Jin smirks.

…Feeling dry is no longer a problem.

I’m practically salivating.

“That was unfair.” I chastise him, giving him a tap on his arm. “You can’t ask me to compare. How could I have a ult-bias** in my harem?”

The words feel so unreal to say. My harem.

... Does it count as a harem when there's only two people?

“Ult-bias?” Jin repeats the slang word, prompting an explanation. Luckily, the abbreviation is something which I can easily explain.

“‘The one I love most.’” I answer him.

…

I’m late to realise what words I’ve just said to him… and how close it sounds to a confession**.

“Ah~ so the most handsome will be the one you love most?” His smirk broadens into a happy, confident grin.

“No,” I state bluntly.

It was the truth even in my old life. I could never decide. Not when I found all of the members so fucking, insanely attractive. And even the smallest of things could change the rankings. An expression they made during a stage performance. A certain outfit in a photoshoot or hairstyle - like Mint Yoongi. Or even someone being particularly cute, funny, or chaotic during a Run BTS episode.

I quickly discovered that I’m fickle like that.

“Then?” He asks.

It’s my turn to smirk. To lean forward. My lips draw close to his ear -which is such a lovely shade of pink.

“It’s a secret.” I whisper, my breath caressing over his sensitive skin.

I withdraw back a little, satisfied with my successful payback. I can see in my periphery that his hand that supports him, planted by my hip, is clenched. Jin blinks, dazed, and looks at me in disbelief.

“Really? You won’t tell me?”

I seal my lips with a cheeky smile.

“Don’t you think I should get some privileges?” He enquires, his voice dropping - low and persuasive. “As your first Consort?”

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Then again… I might already have too many.” His eyes spark like he’s just had an epiphany. It feels dangerous. Just like that lopsided smirk that appears once more.

He raises his hand, brushing across the high curve of my cheek before cupping beneath my ear. His long fingers curling around my neck.

“Like what?” I ask, a little breathlessly. I’m trapped. Bewitched in his gaze.

“Like being the first to meet you,” He replies, his voice almost softened to a whisper. “The first to marry you…” His gaze lowers to my lips. His thumb brushes across them.

“To taste these lips…”

Holy fucking-

He looks me straight in my eyes.

“…may I, Your Royal Highness?”

~

My lips part, but I don’t trust my voice. My internal screaming might escape.

So I dip my chin in one, single nod. I’m trying to restrain my excitement.

My hands fist in the blanket. I don’t trust my body to keep from just reaching for him and taking what I so desperately want.

He leans in. Were we already so close? How did I not notice that we’re already close enough to share a breath. Our noses brush.

My eyes flutter close.

And finally, he softly presses his lips to mine…

But before I can savour it - before I can even begin to taste him – he’s drawing back. I sway after him, but he doesn’t return.

Confused, I open my eyes.

That can’t be it, right?

But I can’t bring myself to be annoyed. Not when he’s smiling so sweetly at me like that. His ears are blazing red. He looks so proud… like a schoolboy who had just had his first ki-

Oh!

Oh, my sweet, innocent Jin.

…I want to just. Eat. Him. Up.

“That was just a peck,” I whisper my complaint into the small space between us. He pauses in his retreat.

My hands unlatch from their self-restraining hold on the blanket. They reach out and skim up his chest. He stays still - allowing me to do what I want. I delight in feeling the firm muscles that are hidden beneath his hanbok. They twitch under the boldness of my touch. I wind them around the back of his neck.

“That wasn’t a kiss.”

I watch as his pupils dilate – darkening his lovely brown eyes near black.

Jin swallows.

“Ki-sseu?” The words sound so cute that I want to steal them from his lips.

“Let me show you.” I say before sealing my lips to his once more.

Pressing a longer kiss to his lips, I hold him gently but firmly in place. I wait until I feel him kiss back.

It doesn’t take long.

I give another, slower this time to let him feel my lips parting. I tilt my head, encouraging him even closer. I sigh through my nose, melting under his touch, when I feel a tentative hand land on my waist.

The next one, I aim for his plump bottom lip. How I’ve longed for this moment. How it’s driven me crazy with temptation. I draw it between mine and swipe my tongue lightly against it. It tastes as delicious as it looks.

Jin stills from surprise. But I don’t allow him the time to overthink about any lewdness as I lightly scratch at the nape of his neck. I release his lip as a I feel a shiver runs through him. I can’t help but take a quick peek through my lashes. To watch those luscious lips of his -pink, wet and already slightly swollen- parting.

It’s time to advance to the next level.

I dive back into our kiss, licking fully into his mouth this time. Just as I’m about to withdraw, our tongues meet and twine.

This is the difference between a peck and a kiss – the presence of tongue. ***

I moan quietly at the warm pleasant taste of him. And at the sound, his arm wraps around my waist and draws me closer - to the point that my breasts are pressed up against his chest. I arch into him automatically. I struggle to keep the kiss sweet and gentle as pleasure zings through me like a shock.

I want more. More kisses. More touches. More of his body pressed against mine.

I bite at his lip with a gentle tug and hear his sharp intake of breath.

I tilt my weight backwards. Slowly, with feigned patience. I intend to bring him with me. To bring him down on top of me.

But Jin feels that I’m shifting. He catches my weight and braces his other hand against the bed. Not knowing my intention, I guess he was worried that I was falling. He breaks our kiss but doesn’t make to move away.

Our eyes happen to flutter open at the same time. Both of us panting softly now that our lips are separated.

I stare into his dark, heavy-lidded gaze, half wondering if I’d ever been this turned on from just kissing before. I squeeze my thighs together for some sort of relief.

I draw a hand from behind his neck to trace his sharp jawline, stroking my thumb over the sensitive spot beneath. His breath trembles.

“I like you**.” As if I’m blissfully drunk from the sensation of him, the confession tumbles out unfiltered. Fuck it. I won’t be able to see him for so long. He should know. “Jin-ah, I like you so much.”

His answering smile is dazzling. Though his eyes are near closed, they twinkle. He looks so elated.

“That’s a relief,” He says with an echo of a laugh. “Because I like you so much, too.”

The words fill me with so much euphoria I think I could burst. It may just be the happiest moment of my life.

I might just cry.

Before tears can well in my eyes however, Jin moves forwards, re-melding our lips with an ignited passion. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, stroking and licking. He’s proven to be a quick study.

My mind drifts with what else could I teach him-

I’m suddenly pushed back flat onto the bed. My eyes fly open, and I gasp. I fully expect to see Jin hovering me with a hungry look in his eyes and I’m totally all for being devoured-

But he isn’t there.

I jolt up, searching for him-

And find him facing the wall with his hand covering his mouth… five steps from the bed.

Suddenly panicky, I’m about to ask him what’s wrong when I see out the corner of my eye, a figure standing in the entrance of my tent.

… It’s Da-eun. Standing frozen and wide eyed with a tray of tea and snacks.

I bury my face in my hands and sigh.

~

Sometime later that night

~

Namjoon pauses at the entrance of Seokjin’s room taking in the scene before him. He shifts quickly out of the way of the door as one of the servants approaches, and after greeting the Young Master with a bow, exits carrying a large, wrapped bundle.

The room is bustling with servants packing chests in preparation for Seokjin’s departure tomorrow to the Detached Palace. But the man himself is sat cross legged on his bed with a faraway look, elbow resting on his desk and chin in hand. Utterly oblivious to the goings on around him. A smile creeps over his face as he brushes a finger over his lip and sighs contently.

Namjoon happens to make eye contact with Seokjin’s personal manservant, Won, just as he finishes rolling his eyes. Won shares with Namjoon a close-lipped smile that speaks of his suffering, before putting down his task and bowing. The rest of the servants follow his lead and leave, all but for the serving maid that Namjoon had followed in. She places down the tray of drinking snacks, that he had asked her to prepare for them, quietly in front of Seokjin, who has still yet to snap out of whatever daydream he’s in and finally notice his guest.

Namjoon nods his gratitude to the maid as she leaves, closing the door behind her. He sits down directly in front of Seokjin and places the porcelain wine bottle that he'd been holding heavily on the table with a loud thud.

“You surprised me!” His hyung shouts accusingly with a large flinch. “Ya! Are you a ghost?! Since when are you so light-footed? I didn’t hear you arrive.” He continues to scold Namjoon whilst shaking his finger. 

“Obviously.” Namjoon grins as he unties and takes off his gat, always amused at Seokjin’s overreactions. “What thoughts had you so distracted that even a tiger could have prowled straight in here, Kim Seokjin-sshi?” 

He doesn't answer. But the corners of his mouth do twitch upwards.

“Ah~,” Namjoon sighs as he makes an educated guess. “Of course, The Crown Princess.” 

His hyung’s eyes widen and mouth drops. “How did you know?”

Namjoon tsks with a glare. “She seems to be all that preoccupies your mind these days. So much so that you've almost forgotten my existence.”

It had been half a moon** since Namjoon had last been able to meet with Jin. Though admittedly, Namjoon had been busy studying. He’d enjoyed the first couple of days of peace without Seokjin persistently calling on him to drag him fishing or out to a new restaurant he’d found. After all, these days the only topic that his hyung had been wanting to discuss, was the Crown Princess. No, not discuss – because Seokjin rarely gave Namjoon an opportunity to respond to his ramblings about the beautiful colour of her eyes or whatever hilarious thing that she had said that day.

But then, after being buried under books for so long with no rest or distractions, Namjoon discovered that he missed his friend. He’d even found himself curious about how Her Royal Highness was faring.

“What brings you here?” Seokjin grumbles, disgruntled that his infatuated behaviour was under scrutiny.

“Did you not tell Hyejoon-ah that you would see me tonight?” Namjoon raises a brow.

His hyung takes a moment to recall.

“Ah! That’s right, I did!" Seokjin remembers with a clap of his hands. He reaches over and pats at Namjoon’s shoulder. "Forgive me, dear friend. A lot has happened today."

Namjoon was already aware. 

The Crown Princess had tumbled from her horse. An accident that is being said to have been caused by an unknown assailant.

When his father and sister had returned from the hunt – both had been in matching dark moods.

//

His father had been furious. Though his expression had been as calm as a moonlit pond, Namjoon had known from the tight clench of his father’s fists, the stiffness of his jaw and the pronounced vein in his neck. Immediately upon arriving home, he had shut himself in his study with strict orders not to be disturbed.

His father’s mood, Namjoon could understand. After all, someone had had the audacity to attack the Crown Princess - the future of the nation. But to Namjoon’s knowledge, his sister didn’t have a reason to have been upset about that as well.

From the way she had held herself -unusually wilted but with a furrow to her brow and tight jaw- had told him that she had been more likely scolded by their father and thought it unfair.

When she had approached Namjoon to relay Seokjin’s invitation, he’d asked why she was looking so dour, but she’d been tight lipped. Except when he had turned to go.

"Orabeoni, you'll always be on my side, right?" She had implored him, holding onto his arm. Her hand had trembled. "You'll always support me, in whatever I decide, right?"

"You're my little sister." He'd replied, bringing her into an embrace and stroking her hair. "Of course, I will be." 

"You promise?" Her voice had wavered with emotion. Namjoon had been surprised. She had not clung to him like this since she was a little child.

"I promise." 

She’d stepped out of his hold with a sniffle. 

"And you want me to be happy, right Orabeoni?" 

"Of course." Namjoon had agreed immediately. Hyejoon was his precious little sister. He had fond memories of being a young boy and listening in wonder to his sister’s heartbeat as she'd grown inside their mother’s stomach.

She’d been the last gift that he’d received from her…

Namjoon had reached out to wipe the tears from his sister’s eyes. But there had been no need. They’d been dry.

"Thank you, Orabeoni." She’d smiled up at him brightly. "It comforts me that I can always count on you."

Namjoon had given her head a pat before she’d turned to return to her room.

He’d watched her walk away, shrugging off a tickle of unease.

//

“Is Her Royal Highness okay?” Namjoon asks Seokjin.

“Fortunately.” He answers with a relieved sigh, opening the wine and pouring them both a cup. After they clink, he downs the liquor in one gulp. "She sustained only a few minor injuries. However, it could have been a lot worse."

Unlike his hyung, Namjoon takes his time to savour the taste of the expensive wine that he'd taken from his family's collection. 

"She won't take to bedrest well. She’ll be so bored. Impatient, too." Seokjin predicts. "I'm worried that she'll insist she's fine before she's fully recovered just so that she can go look for him." 

“Look for who?”

His hyung's eyes widen as if he'd forgotten that he'd been talking aloud. He gulps nervously, avoiding Namjoon’s inquisitive stare. His eyes glance around the empty room to make sure that they were alone.

"This is a secret, Namjoon-ah. At least, for now." He says quiet and seriously as he leans forward.

Namjoon feels conflicted. He might be curious, but he’s not sure that he’s comfortable being privy to one of the Crown Princess’s secrets.

Yet he doesn't stop his hyung from telling him.

"She’s found another."

"Another what?" Namjoon asks, confused.

Seokjin doesn't answer. Instead, he taps his little finger on his left hand. On the band of white that marks him as the soon-to-be Prince Consort.

Namjoon sputters and starts coughing. In his shock, he’d forgotten the wine that he’d been sipping on.

“Are you okay?” Seokjin asks worriedly, moving to Namjoon’s side and patting him on the back.

“I’m fine.” Namjoon wheezes, wiping wine from his chin with his sleeve. “I was… just a bit surprised.”

His hyung laughs at him. “So was I. But funnily enough, I don’t think my reaction was quite as intense as yours.”

“How can you be so calm right now, Hyung?” Namjoon asks, genuinely bewildered. “Aren’t you angry?”

Seokjin shrugs nonchalantly, settling back onto his bed. “I was aware it could happen. From the moment this mark appeared. I hadn’t expected for it to happen so soon… but I always knew it would happen one day.”

Namjoon shakes his head. He personally couldn’t fathom his hyung’s casualness about the situation. He pours himself another cup, relishing in the distraction of the cold alcohol.

“How could I be angry when she would have died today if not for him?” Seokjin asks seriously, as Namjoon pours him a drink.

“Died?” Namjoon echoes. The words pushing past a sudden knot in his throat. The wine that he’s pouring spills onto the table. Seokjin barely reacts, so used to Namjoon’s clumsiness. He just calmly reaches for a cloth that was set aside and throws it down onto the growing puddle. His servants are used to it as well.

“The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that it was fate, Namjoon-ah.” Seokjin confesses.

Namjoon isn’t sure if he believes in fate. He’s more of the belief that one’s life was made from one’s own decisions.

“- but oh, when she finds that damn son-of-a-rabbit** I’m going to give him such a- hwack!” Seokjin hisses, raising his palm threateningly to demonstrate his intention.

Namjoon clears his throat.

“And you say you’re not angry?” He asks dryly.

“Well,” his hyung chuckles, his hand retreating to rub the back of his neck. “Not about what you’re thinking. I am angry that he left her injured and alone in the forest.” But then, in a bid for empathy, Seokjin adds offhandedly, “I’m sure that you would be too!”

But those words give Namjoon permission to imagine.

To imagine that he is in his hyung’s position. To be so foolishly in love that he could be captivated by just the thought of her and become oblivious to the rest of the world. To smile so brightly at even her mention. To be so eager to see her every day even if it’s just for a moment.

All those feelings which Namjoon dreams of… that are foreign and out of reach.

An ache twinges in his heart.

Namjoon can accept that the feeling is jealousy.

But he reasons that it is just jealousy of the love that his hyung has found…

His gaze catches on Seokjin’s mark.

… Of the love that his hyung was granted.

Namjoon isn’t aware that he is frowning, as he grows ashamed of the path that his thoughts begin to take.

“You see!” Seokjin exclaims as he clinks Namjoon’s cup, misinterpreting the reason for his friend’s expression.

…

Namjoon downs his drink.

Yes, he thinks. That’s all it could ever be.

Chapter Text

I’ve spent the past two weeks in bed.

All this trouble over a sprained ankle is almost laughable to me. I’ve had much worse injuries in my life, once having fractured a rib from a brutal takedown during training, yet I wasn’t coddled half as much as I’m being right now. Jo-Sanggung and Da-eun have been enforcing the total bedrest that the doctor prescribed with fierce dedication.

At first it was fine – I’d even relished a little in the care and attention. However, very quickly, the way that they hovered around me as if I were an invalid became grating. Suffocating to my sense of independence. They would cause such a fuss if I wanted to even use the damn chamber pot by myself.

I’ve never been a good patient. I don’t like feeling weak. And I’m stubborn about being told about my own body’s capability by someone else. Therefore, every day I’ve just been growing even more irritable. And more anxious.

Because there’s still been no news of Jungkook.

Yeong’s subordinate, Geon-uk, hadn’t managed to find him whilst we’d been at the hunting grounds. Neither had he been found when we’d returned to the palace. The royal stables had been the first place Geon-uk checked out because the only leads we had was the fact that I’d smelt horses on JK’s clothes, and that there was an attendant who had yet to be accounted for.

I couldn’t tell them that the name on the list isn’t the guy I’m looking for…

Because it doesn't say Jeon Jungkook.

It did make me wonder though – if perhaps he had a different name here. Which was strange, considering that Jin is still Kim Seokjin. Or perhaps JK was using an alias? But why would he? Ill intentions? But then why would he save me?

I can’t make any sense of it. So many questions have been circling my brain like a flock of crows. It’s been making me dizzy.

I need to find him. For my peace of mind at the very least.

Because the longer it takes to find him, the more the unthinkable worst case scenario takes over my brain like a rot.

I’ve even gone so far as to have a facial composite drawn up of Jungkook to help Geon-uk in his search. The likeness turned out so well that I asked for my own copy – of which I’ve been keeping safe in a secret compartment in my desk and taking out to look at when I’m alone. It reminds me of the days when I had posters and photocards.

…I should have had one of Jin made.

…

Maybe I should send a painter over to him tomorrow…

Although I’m not permitted to see him, we’ve been exchanging letters nearly every day since he’d entered the Detached Palace.

He’s been enquiring about my recovery, my meals, my search for Jungkook and I’ve replied with slow, delicious and ongoing. He tells me about what he’s been learning as well – asking me questions and sharing his thoughts so that as I read his letters, I can picture him right next to me filling me in about his day. It's been comforting.

One time, however, he’d made a brief mention about how his teacher was strict and ruthless.

I’d sent him an urgent letter back, furious and worried that he was being mistreated, and had demanded to know more. To which Jin had responded that his teacher would wake him at dawn, not let him sleep until well past midnight, and only let him rest briefly during mealtimes. He was reading so much that the letters would stop making sense, and that there was so much to memorise, and that he really, really hated studying... but that he was persevering and trying his hardest just so he can see me again sooner.

Even in writing he has a talent for making my heart skip a beat.

The next day, I’d sent a message to the Detached Palace to let them know that every three days should be followed by a complete day of rest – a free day in which Jin can do whatever he wants, whether it be sleep or invite his family over, Jin’s choice. When I'd been met with some resistance however, I’d followed up by a thinly veiled threat that should he look the slightest bit gaunt or exhausted when I’m reunited with him, I won’t be happy.

Nor forgiving.

I’ve also been making sure to send over Jin’s favourites snacks and fresh fruits to give him strength and show him that I'm cheering for him. Having gone through the hell that was prepping for university entrance exams, I can deeply sympathise.

Jin’s letters haven’t been the only distraction though.

Consort Choi saw no reason to pause my lessons just because I’m bedridden. Neither my head nor my hands had been hurt, he’d declared when I’d tried to wheedle him into giving me a little break.

He’s stated that I’ve been making rapid progress. My handwriting has dramatically improved from the squiggles and ink blots that it used to be, and now that I don't have to diligently focus on using a brush he's begun asking for me to explain and expand on the meanings of the passages I copy. Sometimes, I have no idea. But sometimes, it's like I have a sudden moment of clarity and can find the answer easily.

Surprising even myself.

My martial art lessons with Consort Hwang, however, have ceased for the time being. But he has still been visiting me, to update me with the investigation of finding the culprit, even though he’s no longer in charge of it.

The ministers had apparently been in an uproar after hearing about the incident. Both Hwang’s palace guards and my own unit of bodyguards were heavily criticized for not capturing a culprit and for failing to protect me. Some of the more enthusiastic officials had even suggested harsh punishment.

The Minister of Justice eventually had lead the demand that the investigation be placed in the hands of Royal Investigation Bureau.

I’d questioned my father why my mother agreed.

“It’s part of our plan, dear daughter.” He’d replied.

The Royal Investigation Bureau’s main purpose is to investigate serious matters concerning the royal family such as treason. And since a plot to harm the Crown Princess is indeed treason... there’s no logical reason to deny them taking over the case. The Bureau is supposed to under direct control of the Queen, but my family have had some suspicions that there might be a few snakes in the grass. In the past year alone there have been several suspicious deaths of prisoners whilst awaiting interrogations. Witnesses have conveniently 'disappeared'. Investigations have led to dead ends.

So this will be a test for the Bureau.

Hwang’s secret service Royal Guards have obediently handed the case over, but they’ll still be continuing their own investigation in secret. It'll be a race to find the culprit. And if by chance the results don't match, well... this way, my father can ascertain if the Bureau’s investigation is sincere. Or if they’ve been influenced, sabotaged or just are simply inept.

It's also somewhat of a trap.

We're counting on the fact that whoever targeted me won’t just stand still and patiently await capture. They won’t want any chance of fingers being pointed their way. They’ll be looking for a scapegoat.

It's a fundamental plot point in historical dramas so I’m familiar with the technique. They'll be looking for someone who they can use to frame their political rival or just someone they want to see gone. They'll threaten, bribe or coerce confessions through torture. And if we have no evidence to prove otherwise, some poor innocent person will end up dead.

I don't want that to happen.

I wish I could have the omniscience of an viewer, to be able to watch over the villain’s’ shoulder as they reveal their schemes and hatch their plots like I could when I watched dramas.

But this is my reality.

Right now, I only have my suspicions. And my suspects list has grown quite a bit.

Suspect No.1 – the Right State Chancellor. The most obvious. He’d been the suspected driving force behind the idea of my deposition, which revealed a secondary plot to try and marry me off to someone of his choosing - likely one of his gophers**.  Which was thankfully thwarted due to the timely meeting of Jin.

From what I’ve learnt, his family has never fully approved of having a Queen on the throne.

His great-great grandfather or something was one of Grand Prince Suyang’s supporters, and one of his closest allies during his coup against King Danjong. But when the First Queen, Sunjong raised armies against her treacherous half brother and was close to victory, he quickly defected and betrayed his master to save his skin. Probably claimed that it had been his grand plan all along.

The sons of his family have all ended up holding high positions in government ever since and their family has been like a deeply embedded splinter. A bit painful but relatively harmless... that is until the day it becomes infected.

With the current Right State Chancellor, such inflammation is starting to appear. Displaying far more cunning and ambition than any of his predecessors, the man has been quietly gathering power and slowly trying to tip the scales against my mother. It's demanding nearly all of her focus just to keep him in check. The man is highly intelligent and artful in the game of politics. The patient kind of snake that will constrict it's prey slowly. 

Next, Suspect No.2.

My brother.

I just hope that it’s not true. But something tells me that I shouldn't dismiss the possibility. His behaviour towards me had been so cold and distant. There had been no teasing, nor any annoying overprotectiveness... not any of the things I'd heard about having an older brother. He'd mostly just ignored me as I didn't exist.

It'd hurt, surprisingly. More than I'd expected.

On the day of the hunt, he’d left to return home around the exact same time my horse had run wild. Perhaps just a coincidence. Or perhaps for an alibi.

If he is envious of my position as heir, if he is resentful of being overlooked, if he does want me out of the way... then I wouldn’t be surprised if any of these flames were being fanned by Suspect No.1.

Or Suspect No.3.

The woman who’s suddenly appeared in front of me.

~

All day I’d been feeling uncomfortable and achy all over. Which had put me in a foul mood – snappy and irritable. Everything had made sense when my menstruation had started.

I’d just finished cleaning up with a nice warm bath. Thanks to the heat of the water, I was finally starting to feel a little more human again.

But I was still severely missing my usual go-to comforts of chocolate and strong Tylenol. Thankfully the old-school cloth version of a sanitary pad was comfortable enough but made me on edge about leakage every time I moved even slightly.

I hadn’t thought that my day could get any worse.

And so, of course, that’s when one of the attendants outside my door had announced that I had a visitor.

My grandmother.

Jo-Sanggung had been in the middle of pouring me a cup of chilled Daechu* tea, but upon hearing who was at my door, she’d almost dropped the pot from shock.

Both of my attendants had looked to me with trepidation.

Because the mother of Consort Choi visiting the Crown Princess, was a rare occasion.

I’d quickly checked my posture, shoved my hands beneath my dangui. Then, after having taken a moment to check that both Jo-Sanggung and Da-eun were ready in their positions, I’d responded.

“Let her in.”

Luckily my voice had sounded confident, but inside I’d been panicking, wondering how I should behave. I’d only heard about her. And it hadn’t been positive.

But now, I was about to meet her.

The doors had slid open, and in she stepped.

~

She doesn’t really resemble my father all that much. Perhaps his nose is a little similar but that’s all I can see. Her eyes are shrewd, her mouth thin and just a bit too wide for her face giving her a little bit of a similarity to a bullfrog.

With greying hair and a little elderly plumpness, she’s a smaller woman… and yet she walks into my room as if she owns it.

She approaches my desk without a word, not stopping until she’s close enough that I have to tilt my head up in order in keep her in my sight. Which is far too close to be polite. I find that I can only blink at her, stunned.

Still not yet saying a word, and quite literally looking down her nose as she looms over me, her eyes flick down to my seat and she raises a presumptuous brow. As if I’m in her way.

My hackles rise immediately. But I have to try and keep my cool.

I glance over to Jo-Sanggung to telepathically ask her if this old woman is being serious with her unspoken demand right now. Her mouth pressed tightly in a straight line with the displeasure she’s unable to voice, provides her answer.

I scoff in disbelief under my breath and turn my attention to the teacup on my desk.

“This is an unexpected surprise.” I comment, finally breaking the tense silence. “What brings you to my palace, Halmeonim?”

I raise the cup to my lips and take a graceful sip.

Seeing that I’ve no intention of moving, it signals to Jo-Sanggung to step forward with a cushion seat. She places it down on the opposite side of my table at a respectful, out-of-arms-reach distance.

I don’t look up to watch my grandmother’s reaction, but I hear her harrumph. She takes Jo-Sanggung’s extended arm and leans heavily on it as she sits – all the while emitting exaggerated noises to bemoan the great, aching effort.

She brushes her skirts with a misplaced scowl at my attendant as she steps back quickly to her position.

If she’d been anticipating that I would give up my seat on my bed in my room in my palace just for her, then she’d been sorely mistaken. I was under no obligation to surrender my place for anyone other than my mother, Her Royal Majesty, the Queen.

When the old woman turns to me looking as if she’s been slighted, I respond with a patient, placid smile.

“I heard about your accident, child.” She finally speaks. “I came over to see you as soon as I was able.”

She’s a terrible actress. Far too transparent.

“I’m touched by your concern,” I respond, after another leisurely sip of tea. “As you can see, I’m fine. You needn’t have troubled yourself so much. After all, you too have been unwell recently, Halmeonim. Please take care of your health.”

Unwell my foot . **

Consort Song had been filling me in on the gossip. Consort Choi’s mother was most displeased that her supposed “illness” had been overshadowed by my injuries, so had been milking it for several days to try and reclaim her son’s attention that'd been stolen.

It’d only taken one visit from him for her to all of a sudden miraculously recover.

“How kind of you to say, child, but I fear that is something I should be saying to you.” She draws up her lips in a smile that’s too sharp to be sincere. “It seems that misfortune has been favouring you quite a bit these days…. You should be more careful. I have quite a few talismans that can dispel negative energy and protect you from any evils spirits. I would be happy to give you have one.” Her words could be construed as having good intentions, but her delivery of them is just… smarmy.

I wouldn't trust anything she gives me. I get the feeling that it'd more likely be a curse.

At the sudden mention of talismans and evil spirits, I’m reminded that Consort Choi’s mother is a believer of Shamanism**.

…More like obsessed. I’ve heard that her quarters were pasted with the bright yellow papers and fogged with thick incense. The only time she ever leaves the palace is when she visits her mudang* so that the spirits can divine her future. Which I’m told she does often – as if she’s dependent on them and unable to make a single decision without a consultation.

She claims all the good things in her life are due to her devotion. Especially when it comes to things that involve my father. When he’d been taking the government exam, I heard that she’d prayed furiously whilst holding a ritual at her ancestral shrine.

But obviously, when things haven’t turned out exactly how she’s wished, she blames her misfortunes on evil spirits.

…Like his marriage to my mother.

“Did you go visit my dear Mudang Jang like I suggested the last time we spoke?” She asks me.

What?

I flick my eyes over the old woman’s shoulder to Da-eun, who’s standing behind her and keeping out of the way. She’s become my cheat sheet when I can’t ‘remember’ certain things.

“I did.” I answer, seeing her discreetly nod.

The Crown Princess had actually visited a shaman? I know she didn’t believe in that stuff, so why did she take the advice of this old woman? Aisshh– what on earth had she been thinking getting involved in that crap? Therefore getting me involved in that crap.

I’ve always personally found Shamanism really creepy, and so I’ve never been even the tiniest bit curious to try. The wail-like chanting, the spooky bells, the animal sacrifices… Nope. Not for me.

I’m firmly of the belief that if the spirit world does exist, then it should be well enough be left alone. The dead shouldn’t be called upon to answer questions about some random person’s love life or chance for a job promotion.

“…And?” She prompts me eagerly when I don’t say anything further.

“It was… interesting.” I answer, taking a sip of my tea just to be annoying.

Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you shit.

She tuts, frustrated. I can tell that she’s dying to know what I was told by that shaman. She quickly changes tactics.

“To be honest, I was most disappointed when you didn’t seek me out afterwards.” She starts laying it on thick – an elder's greatest weapon, guilt. “I thought that we might start sharing a common interest… it's always been my wish to grow closer to you.”

I have to raise my brow at that.

“I’d been waiting for you for days,” she continues, “but then I heard you collapsed by the lake! Oh, how worried I’ve been.” She finishes her act, giving me a look as if I was at blame for causing her concern.

But I was too distracted. The new information she’d just offered me struck me like a slap in the face.

The Crown Princess had gone to see a shaman…

Then just a few days later had been found unconscious.

Whatever the Crown Princess had heard… I’m certain it couldn't have been anything good. Not when there had been signs suggesting that she might have wanted to take her own life.

And then I’d shown up…

Body swap, timeslip, regression, a parallel universe… I’ve been keeping those kinds of theories locked up tightly in the back of my brain.

Here, I’ve been reunited with my mother.

Here, I’m living in fresh air and luxury.

Here, I’ve been granted Kim Seokjin and Jeon Jungkook as soulmates…

All the above are reasons why I've been wholeheartedly trying to accept this new life of mine. Sure, there are some downsides – the lack of internet, lack of modern medicine and being a target in dangerous underhanded plots for power... are just a few of the examples. But still, I feel like the pros far outweigh them.

I'm not looking to return to what was a miserable and grey existence.

Either given to me by luck or providence, I consider this life a second chance.

But if a fucking shaman has something to do with it –

I feel an icy chill run down my spine.

“You needn’t look so anxious, child.” Consort Choi’s mother says, reminding me of her presence. “I was much younger than you the first time I sought out the mystic powers of divination. I can remember how sceptical I was. How cautious. How ignorant.” That last one was particularly barbed. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “But once I witnessed what had been foretold had come to pass… well.”

She sounds like a damn cult recruiter – with a weird, blissful expression on her face, just to make it even worse.

“But you know, the spirits can be so cryptic with their words. The answers aren’t always clear. So why don’t you tell me what happened, hmm? Perhaps we can unravel it, together.”

“No need.” I respond without hesitation. Her face grows sour at my blunt refusal. “It was an interesting experience but truthfully, I wasn’t very convinced. But I can see why you’re so…” I mull over the right word to try keep somewhat polite because batshit crazy wouldn't go over too well. “…fascinated, by all of that.” I flicked my wrist dismissively, tapering off before I could add the word nonsense.

I miss my grandmothers expression as I place down my empty cup, moving it slightly to the side so that Jo-Sanggung knows to step forward and refill it. After I’ve thanked her, I turn back to my grandmother with the same strained tolerant, customer service smile that’s given to difficult customers.

“If you’re planning to stay a little while longer, may I offer you some tea?” I ask as if it’s an afterthought. I purposefully didn’t offer her it when she’d arrived. After all, she’d shown up out of the blue with no prior notice, so why the hell should I cater to her?

“No. I shall not be staying for much longer.” She sniffs haughtily, either bitter that I’m late to offer her anything or that I’m refusing to give her the answers she’d come for. I half expect her to leave in a huff – which would be fantastic – but she remains seated.

And doesn’t say anything.

Which is fine with me. I certainly don’t want to have to hear anything else she has to say. And I have nothing else to say to her except please kindly fuck off.

From the moment she entered she’s been nothing but rude. And obvious about it. She may be related to me, but I feel no familiarity from her whatsoever.

So, I don’t give her any more attention.

Instead, I reach for a gangjeong* that had been set out as a study snack. I take the daintiest, most princess-like nibble but it still crunches loudly. My grandmother’s fists clench in irritation.

I only need to withstand this silent standoff until my father arrives for my lesson. Which he’s due to arrive for soon. If she stills refuses to speak before then, then I might just have to pick up and start reading one of the texts that’s in front of me.

But I don’t need to.

“That boy you’ve chosen to marry…”

I freeze with my mouth parted for another bite. At the dismissive referral of him as that boy.

Strike one.

I look up at her from under my brows, with a sharp gaze that cautions her to tread very carefully. It wouldn’t be the first time that I threaten bodily harm to someone who insults him.

“…I’ve heard that he’s cursed.”

I set down my snack. Wipe my hands with a cloth. And then give her my undivided attention.

“And was rejected by half the ladies of Hanyang because of it!” She scoffs a loud laugh. “The whole country is talking about it. About how you intend to bring such a man into the palace. It has caused such scandal! He is already bringing disgrace on the Royal Family!”

Strike two –

“And yet you’re still determined to marry him?”

Abso-fucking-lutely.

“I’m curious where you heard of this, Halmeonim?” I inquire with icy calm.

“From my granddaughter-in-law.” She retorts with a sniff. “Who heard it from her mother. Her second sister-in-law’s cousin’s niece had foolishly been considering marriage with that boy. Luckily her parents had refused immediately.”

My eye twitches.

“And yet no one saw fit to inform me of something so important!” She huffs bitterly.

“They might have… had it been worth mentioning.”

She looks at me aghast. “…You don’t think the fact that death has been foretold upon any woman that he marries… as worth mentioning?”

“Not particularly.” I shrug with an aloofness that I don’t feel.

“…This is a serious matter, child!” She chides me. “You will bring doom upon yourself if you don’t heed warning, girl. He shall be the end of you. You must cast him aside. At once.”

…

Strike three.

“Never.”

~

My tone is final.

My anger is palpable.

Yet this old woman apparently can't read the fucking room.

Because she just keeps talking.

“I know that you’ve been blinded by his looks.” She lets out a frustrated sigh, heavy with disappointment. “You must think that all the sajus were just nonsense. But believe me when I say that this sort of thing is not something to be taken lightly–”

“I don’t think that it’s nonsense.” I state bluntly, cutting her off. “In fact, I believe that the outcome of the sajus were astonishingly accurate.”

She blinks at me. As if she doesn’t know what to do now that I’ve agreed with her on something. A smile twitches on her face, smug that she’s seems to be getting through to me.

“Well then–”

“All those women,” I cut her off one more. I idly circle my finger around the rim of my teacup. “…if any of them had ended up marrying Kim Seokjin, then yes, I believe they would’ve suffered. Most terribly so, in fact.”

My hand clasps around the teacup.

The thought of Jin being with anyone else– marrying anyone else, touching, kissing or fucking anyone else, leaves a sharp, bitter taste in my mouth.

“Because he’s mine.”

The word was a possessive snarl.

It leaves my grandmother speechless.

I take a sip of my tea to wash down the jealousy.

My hand is shaking – the intensity of my reaction was… just a little unsettling.

“Foolish girl!” She snaps with ire after she regains her wits. But seems she’s forgotten the honorifics. “You are just like your mother!”

“Good.” I retort. “I aspire to be.”

I take the insult to be a compliment. It catches her off guard and she flaps her mouth like a fish.

I’m done playing nice – of holding myself back.

“You dare speak so informally to your grandmother?!” Her voice rises shrilly. She points at me with an accusing finger. It’s the first time she’s even acknowledged our familial relationship.

“I thought that we’d finally grown closer, just like you wanted, Halmeoni.” I respond with the pretense of innocence, throwing her earlier words back in her face.

Her face contorts into a scowl.

“You have grown far too impudent since the last I saw you, Crown Princess!” She spits the title with irreverence. “Did that knock to the head leave you without manners?!”

“That’s funny coming from the person who saw fit not to greet me in my own room.” I sneer, calling her out with a sip of tea.

She puffs up like a blowfish.

“I am the mother of Consort Choi!” She fumes with arrogance, tapping on her chest to punctuate. As if that’s more than enough justification. The way the words leave her mouth so easily, tells me that it’s not the first time that she’s brandished her son’s position.

But she’s forgetting who she’s fucking talking to.

I slam my empty cup down onto the table.

“– And I’m the Crown Princess!”

I enjoy watching the blood drain from her face. The way she sputters in gasping silence, unable to say anything.

The woman may be my paternal grandmother and so for all this time I've been begrudgingly holding my self back – for the sake of my father and to uphold a modicum of filial piety.

But as the daughter of the ruling Queen of Joseon, I outrank her.

Significantly.

And so I should kindly remind her of her place.

Nowhere on her flauntingly bold and expensive Ming silk clothes, or in the excessive amount of gold and jade accessories in her hair, is the image of a dragon.

Because the woman is just an in-law.

Therefore, her entire attitude and behaviour towards me since the beginning has been way, way over the line.

Now that I’ve finally retaliated to it, she seems shocked. It makes me wonder how much disrespect the Crown Princess had allowed this old woman to inflict on her.

…I’m not going to let myself be stepped on so easily.

“Just in case you’ve forgotten.” I offer her a condescending smile. “Yet you called my title just a moment ago…. May I suggest you consult a doctor? I think your memory might be failing you.”

In utter outrage, she stands up with an agility she hadn’t shown on the way down.

“Your brother has never shown me such disrespect!” She snaps, taking a step forward in a pathetic attempt to physically intimidate me.

“I bet you’ve never treated him as you have me.” I scoff. I’m familiar with how much she adores my brother. “I decided that it’s about time I start giving back what I receive in kind.”

“Such insolence!” She seethes, turning on her heel quickly and storming towards the door.

Finally.

“As I should have expected from a child born of tainted seed!” She cowardly hurls the parting attack over her shoulder.

The sudden insult to my fathers makes me jump to my feet. I fight the overwhelming urge to hurl the teacup still in my hand at the back of her head in retaliation.

The maids are slow to open the doors as she nears, so she flings them open herself–

And reveals Consort Choi.

…

“Eomeo-nim.” He greets her stiffly. His eyes flick over her shoulder and meet my surprised gaze. I deflate immediately. And hide the teacup behind my back.

His mouth pulls tight into a grimace. He’s holding back anger.

...I’m just not sure where his anger is directed.

“My son!” She gasps with relief, stepping out towards him as if he’s some hero come to rescue her. “You would not believe the indignity that I’ve just suffered–”

“You needn’t tell me, Eomeo-nim.” He interrupts with a clipped tone. “I heard it all.”

“I-is that so?” She’s starting to look a bit nervous. She can't outright lie now, she can only perhaps embellish.

He ignores her question and looks to a eunuch at his side – one of his personal attendants. “See to it that my mother is escorted safely back to her quarters.”

“Adeul*–”

“I shall discuss this with you later, Eomeo-nim. I’m busy right now.” His tone is harshly respectful, and leaves no room for her to argue. He offers her a quick nod of his head in parting before he moves past her and steps into my room. She trails him with her eyes, mouth slacked in disbelief and looking like she has desperately more to say–

But then the doors slide close, finally ridding her from my view.

But not my ears. It seems she’s already started causing a fuss outside.

My father sighs wearily, raising his hand to his head and rubbing his brow as if to relieve a headache.

“I’m sorry, Abeoji.” I speak first, stepping out from behind my desk to stand before him. “My behaviour was shameful. I have no excuse.”

His hand reaches out to me, stopping me as I go to bow in apology.

“You did well.” He says, squeezing my shoulder. “You held back much better than I did when she commanded me not to marry your mother.”

His words are paired with a smile that’s half proud yet half remorseful – commiserating in our shared experience.

“Give us the room.” He says my attendants.

I nod to let them know that it’s fine. The fuss outside has been dragged away by now, so it'll be safe for them to leave. She might not be able to take her anger out on me, but she can surely take it out on my servants.

My father motions for us to sit down. He takes the place where his mother had just been sitting and rests his hands on his knees.

“I apologise for my mother’s ill-mannered behaviour towards you,” he begins.

I try to stop him. “No, Abeoji, you don’t have to–”

“I do.” He insists. “I knew that you two have never been… close. But I wasn’t aware that she could be so bold as to show you such lack of respect.”

He looks ashamed. It pains me to see. As much as I want him to take my side, I can guess how it must be hard for him, stuck between his mother and his daughter.

“I’ll talk to her, so that what happened today will not happen again.” He promises.

I nod my thanks, but I don’t make any promises of my own – I’m not confident I’ll be able to uphold them.

“I know she can be a difficult woman to bear.” He sighs. He’s putting it lightly. “And I know that the others think I’m too lenient with her. But she’s my mother, she gave me life.”

I get it. I do.

I too am familiar with the feeling of being indebted. For just being born. It dogs each step taken like a dark shadow. And even when I managed to shrug it off, I found that I still couldn’t completely escape it. Because it was just then constantly held over my head. 

I asked myself long ago if love is truly love if it's given with the condition of staying in line? Of surrendering control over your own life?

“She has only wanted for me to walk a path of flowers**. And she sacrificed a lot in order to lay it out. When I found out the extent of the hardships she went through, that my whole family went through because of me…, I felt unspeakably sorry towards her. But also, thankful.” He reaches out to pat my hand with a smile. “It was because of her that I was able to find my way to where I am now.”

He sounds very scripted. But weary. As if tired of repeating the same speech.

But he’s beseeching me to try and be understanding.

And I am…

Just not towards that old woman.

Instead, I feel a newly blossomed sense of camaraderie with my father in front of me. Because his smile looks bittersweet.

He found his happiness, but it came at the cost of his parent’s approval. 

And I know how that feels.

…

Logically though, whatever hardships he mentioned that she went through... haven’t they been made up for by now?

She’s been allowed to live in the palace and even has her own quarters to my knowledge. And from her clothes alone, she doesn’t seem to be wanting for anything in terms of wealth. Even her creepy hobby has been somewhat tolerated to a degree.

She’s living the life right now, thanks to her son.

So why must she be such a bitter, angry woman? What the hell does she have to complain about?

I can only hazard a guess that it’s because her son can’t hold his own position of power in government. Or that her daughter-in-law isn’t subservient, like she probably wished for.

The impression I get from my grandmother is that she’d be a total cliché in the modern era. The exact type of mother who’d throw down a wad of cash to her son’s lover and demand they break up – because she’s thinks they’re not good enough for her son.

…But that’s not something she could’ve done to the Queen of Joseon.

“If you’re happy, then why isn’t that enough?” I ask even though I intuitively already know the answer. “Why is she so…” – Unpleasant? Arrogant? Rude? – “… Against my mother?”

My father sighs as he withdraws his hand.

“Becoming the Consort of the Queen was never something that she’d envisioned for me.” He explains. “Not even with all the divinations she received did she consider it an outcome. She’d been told that I would find myself a high position in the palace.”

I raise my brow confused. Wasn’t that exactly what happened?

“…She’d presumed that it meant in government,” he chuckles at my expression. “So, she was understandably surprised when I met your mother and the mark appeared. After all, it is something only known by the Heavens. The choice of a Consort is not something a mere fortune teller can foretell.” He says so confidently.

It answers a question I'd had about Jin’s readings - I’d wondered why they had never outright said that he was my soulmate.

I guess that would’ve made it too easy.

“You may be aware, but my mother can be quite stubborn when it comes to her own interpretations.” He tells me, suddenly sounding apologetic. But I can’t tell if its towards me or the criticism of his mother. “She believed that my future was upturned because of your mother.”

I question the soundness of his mother’s logic.

… Not aloud of course.

“It’s not only that.” He continues his explanation. “As you know, being a part of the royal family isn’t always a blessed and peaceful life. It can be turbulent and dangerous.”

Yes, as I was so rudely reminded last week.

“But still, wasn’t it something to celebrate? Becoming a Consort? Finding each other and knowing that you’re destined for each other?” I ask with Jin in mind. With his mother, at least, I don’t have to worry about this situation repeating. From what I’ve heard, she was absolutely thrilled.

“The marks are not something that everyone can understand. At least, not fully. It remains a great mystery to most.” He pauses, looking at his bright red mark. It shares the same positioning as the fourth one on my mother’s finger. My own are still being hidden from prying eyes beneath a bandage. Just until JK is found.

“After all, few outside our family know the whole truth.”

…The whole truth?

“Abeoji, what do you m–?”

“–Your Royal Highness!” A loud voice interrupts me. It came from outside my room.

“It’s me, Geon-uk!”

Yeong’s subordinate. The man who’s been looking for Jungkook.

I rise to my knees, clutching at my desk to steady myself.

“Forgive me, Your Royal Highness, but I’ve come with important news.”

There’s a tenseness to his voice that I don’t like the sound of.

“Let him in!” My father commands in my stead. He looks at me. There’s concern in his eyes. He knows how I’ve been waiting, desperate for any sort of news.

Geon-uk is through the doors before they’re even fully open. He moves with a sense of frantic urgency that I don’t like the look of it.

I don’t think I’m breathing.

Has something happened?

Has … has the worst happened?

I think I can feel Jungkook’s mark on my skin tingle.

Geon-uk halts in the middle of the room to drop down on one knee. He bows his head in greeting.

His breathing is heavy. His forehead dewed with sweat.

“Tell me.” I demand. My voice cracks. I gulp.

He raises his head to look me in the eyes.

And through panted breath says–

“I’ve found him.”

Chapter Text

"We’ve been out here too long–"

I shush Yeong as a figure of a man comes into view, approaching the house that we’re surveilling...

…But keeps on walking.

I sigh, disappointed. Yet another false alarm.

"We should head back to the palace, Your Royal Highness." Yeong suggests, for the third time in the past hour.

"Just fifteen more minutes." My answer is the same. For the third time as well.

I’d made the mistake of yawning and without Jo-Sanggung here, Yeong seems to have taken up her duty to mother hen me.

I hadn’t sleep at all last night, the thought of finally seeing Jungkook again had kept me up like an overdose of expresso. Now I guess, my adrenaline is running on empty.

…

…I’m still not going to leave though.

Even if I am tired. And cramping.

We’ve been here since this morning – hiding behind the wall of a house two doors down from the address we were given – but there's been no sign of him.

No-one's even home. There aren’t any shoes outside.

I would have come straight away last night but my father had blocked me from leaving. He’d sat me down with firm hands on my shoulders and advised me to wait until the morning. I’d argued, of course. But in the end he’d managed to subdue me with logic.

Eventually.

For me to leave the palace unnoticed, careful preparation was required. To dash out without a plan was reckless, especially when the sun had been so close to setting. What would’ve been the point of going out for only a little while before curfew had gone into effect? – had been a few of his arguments.

At that moment, I hadn’t particularly cared that much.

But what I had cared about was showing up at Jungkook’s house with the energy of a puppy with bad separation anxiety. Taking some time to chill the fuck out and pull myself together hadn’t sounded like such a bad idea…

But it’d been a lot harder than I’d thought.

Even though I’d agreed, I hadn’t been able to keep still. My knee had been bouncing with the impulse to run out the door. So I’d asked Geon-uk to distract me.

By filling me in on every single detail.

~

His investigation hadn’t been easy. And I hadn’t made it any easier for him by asking him to keep it undercover.

Without being able to ask the staff directly, Geon-uk had resorted to infiltration. He’d spent more time tending to his horse and quickly became acquainted with the stable hands so he could eavesdrop on their gossiping.

Word about my accident at the hunt had spread and the story been trending around the palace. But it’d been a different incident that had been whispered about in the stables.

A servant had dared to steal the Minister of Taxation’s horse.

The culprit had seized the opportunity whilst the hunting party had taken a rest … for His Excellency to relieve himself. Whilst his trousers were down, the servant holding onto the horse’s reins had suddenly leapt into the saddle and fled

His Excellency had been enraged.

... He'd made quite a mess of himself.

I’d snickered when Geon-uk had filled me in about that little detail. But my amusement had been short lived after hearing what had happened next.

“The other servants were… disciplined in the thief's stead.”

…It had taken all five men at least three days to recover from their injuries.

My heart had dropped to my stomach.

That bastard had ordered his men to beat them.

Because when demanded the culprit’s identity, no-one could answer. A few of them had remembered seeing him around – brushing down horses and carrying feed – but they'd had no idea who he was.

I’d suddenly felt very relieved that he’d vanished like a ghost. I’d dreaded to think what might have happened to him if he’d been caught. I’m sure he only took that horse because of me. I felt responsible.

The investigation had remained stagnant until a stable hand suddenly recalled that he’d glimpsed the name engraved on the palace entry tag the thief had had in his possession.

Han Deokwan.

The same name as the missing guy from the list. And the man who’d still not been seen at work since.

To find out if there was a relation between the two men, Geon-uk had gone to the house where Han Deokwan had been renting a room on the other side of the city. After asking the landlady, more of the story was revealed.

The morning of the hunt, Han Deokwan had received a message from his family. His mother had died. Like any good son, he’d left for his hometown right away, informing the landlady he'd be back in a couple of weeks.

Instead of riding for three days to Sokcho and search for him without even knowing his face, Geon-uk had made the decision to wait until he returned.

Which he finally did … yesterday afternoon.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Geon-uk had cornered the guy immediately, showing him the sketch of Jungkook and questioning him. It was only after receiving a... 'monetary incentive' that Han Deokwan gladly offered up information. Including an address.

And so here we are.

The thatched roofed house is small and ㄱ shaped. I think I’ve seen storage sheds in the palace that are bigger. It looks old with signs of disrepair, like most of the houses in this neighbourhood. Which isn't exactly the slums … but it’s not far off.

Yeong’s been on edge since we arrived, glaring at anyone who comes within ten feet. It’s been super effective. Upon seeing him, people have changed paths just to avoid us.

Dressed all in black with a straw cone hat that shadows his face, he looks menacing. If I didn’t know him personally, his deadly I'm-not-here-to-fuck-around seriousness would certainly intimidate me.

I'm very glad he’s on my side. 

It’s just the two of us. Even when Yeong had politely reminded me that I’d been the target of an attack not too long ago, I’d flat out refused to bring more guards like he'd wanted. More guards would have just drawn attention to me. I'm trying to blend in, not stand out.

Hence my disguise.

Da-eun lent me one of her day-off outfits. The muted blue jeogori and light pink skirt are basic but pretty. I’m hoping Jungkook will feel more at ease if I’m dressed commonly. I’m not even wearing any accessories apart from a basic red daenggi. I look like a daughter from a modest family.

No one would ever suspect that I’m the Crown Princess.

I’ve even been wearing a sseugae-chima over my head, at Yeong’s insistence. Just on the off chance that someone recognises me.

I just think it make me look suspicious.

A woman hiding her face, accompanied by a fearsome looking guard, skulking around a house for the past two hours...

People could think I’m a loan shark or some kind of crazy stalker–

The realisation hits me like a slap to the face.

– A fucking sasaeng.*

…

I lose all strength and drop to a squat, burying my face in my hands to muffle my groan of horror.

“Your Royal Highness!” I hear Yeong shout in alarm.

A motherfucking sasaeng.

I can’t fucking believe it.

What the fuck am I doing?

No. No.

It’s totally different, right?

Jungkook’s my soulmate.

…

That’s probably what they all say…

… Should I just die?

“Are you hurt Your Royal–?!”

I snap back to my senses and shush Yeong loudly to try and drown out the sound of my title. I peek from behind my hands and glance around to see if anyone could have heard him. Luckily, there’s no one.

“I’m fine.” I sigh, resting my forehead in my palm. My sudden mental turmoil has exhausted me. And great, now I feel nauseous too. I think I'm close to reaching my limit. “I just had a very disturbing thought. That’s all.”

He looks at me, perplexed. I know he wants to ask, but I’ll be taking that to my fucking grave.

“I’m hungry- are you hungry?” I bring up suddenly, to distract both Yeong and myself. "Do you have any snacks on you?”

I’d totally forgotten in my impatience to get here this morning.

He pats at his clothes but has nothing. "Forgive me, Your–"

I sharply suck in a breath through my teeth to cut him off again.

"... Agasshi*." He corrects himself. "It is almost time for your midday meal. If we leave now…"

I'm not ready to give up and return to the palace just yet. Not without meeting Jungkook.

But I also don't want to sink deeper into sasaeng-like behaviour.

I'm torn.

And now hungry.

... Maybe I should decide after a quick lunch break.

"Didn't we pass by some food stalls earlier?" I ask as I stand back up.

I’m sure there’d been a little neighbourhood market area. I’d been so hyper focused on getting to my destination that I hadn't even bothered looking around, but I remember the delicious smells. I'm starting to get excited at the thought of authentic Joseon street food. Maybe there’ll be Jinppang or meat skewers. Oooh, maybe even tteokbokki.

I take a last glance towards Jungkook’s house before I turn my back to it.

I’ve waited two weeks for him so far.

I guess I can hold out just a little longer.

~

The streets grow lively the closer we get to the market. Bedraggled children chase after each other laughing. Peddlers call out to passersby, hawking their wares with promise of good deals and large discounts. The atmosphere is just the same as the markets I'm familiar with. 

Yeong keeps a step behind me with his hand resting on his sword, blocking anyone who steps a little too close and keeping any pickpockets at bay. Thanks to him I feel comfortable idly wandering, browsing the bright tables laid with trinkets and accessories, embroidered ribbons and painted fans.

Should I bring Jungkook a gift? I contemplate, looking over a table of little carved figures - there's one of a rabbit which caught my eye. Or would that be too weird?  

I want to try one of everything from all the food stalls I can see, but I'm also desperate to sit down. My back hurts. Standing for two hours was too much. I spot what looks to me like some kind of restaurant and lead Yeong towards it.

It has tables out in the yard, but I grab one of the empty tables under the roof to help shade me from the sun. Sunscreen hasn't been invented yet, so I'm trying to keep my exposure limited. Plus, the raised floor will allow me to people watch. I have a great view of the main square.

After taking a quick glance around at what the other customers are eating, I place my order by calling loudly over to the lady working at the stove. 

“Imo*! Two servings of gukbap and some wine please!”

Yeong looks surprised. I suppose he wasn't expecting me to know how to order food in a place like this. I avoid his eyes.

“What do you think is going on over there?” I ask, nodding over to where a crowd has begun to gather.

He turns and takes a look. “Looks like a street performance, Agasshi.”

And loud tempo of drums begin to sound, joined by the metallic clashing of gongs and a high warbling melody of a trumpet.

“Wow~”

I watch with fascination as streamers begin to fly through the air above the top of the crowd, spinning in large circles from the hats of the dancers. The audience claps along.

I’m excited for the free dinner entertainment. Yeong might have been by my side since I woke up as the Crown Princess, but he’s not exactly the best conversationalist. I’d tried to get to know him better in the time we'd been staking out Jungkook’s house but … honestly it’d felt like talking to a chatbot. He’d only answer my questions with direct answers, and never offering anything more. Maybe it’s just how he’s like with me. I mean, I get it. I was never comfortable about my boss trying to pry into my private life either.

But still, I’d like it if we could become a little closer. Perhaps today could become a bonding experience.

Our food arrives as the head ribbon dancers finish, steaming hot and smelling delicious. I make sure to thank to the young server as she puts down a heaped plate of radish kimchi and the small jug of wine.

I reach for my wooden spoon and dip it into the broth eagerly, glancing over at the performers as two men step out with sticks and plates. They banter with each other, goading and making dirty gestures with their props. I can’t help but snort unladylike when one windmills his long stick around his crotch.

Yeong remains stone-faced and looks disinterested – but I can see that his gaze glances every so often over to the show.

The performers start the next part of their act, spinning the plates on the ends of their sticks to the ooh's and aah's of the crowd. They lift the spinning plates high into the air, balancing it on the tips of the fingers and on the ends of thin pipes. The next act is even more impressive, with tumbling and flipping acrobatics.

By the time I've cleared my bowl, I’m feeling a lot better. Much more energised now that my stomach's full. I sip at my wine, fully immersed in the show. Even Yeong seems to be secretly enjoying it now. I can tell because since we sat down, he hasn’t once suggested going back to the palace.

Once the acrobats finish collecting their tips from the outstretched hands of the crowd, the jovial music comes to an end when the leader of the troupe steps into the centre. The crowd immediately hushes as well.

“Our tale begins on a moonlit night.”

I rest my chin in my hand and find myself leaning forward in anticipation as the masked play begins.

An actor steps into scene, his white mask portraying a grumpy caricature of a king. He plays a small wooden pipe flute that he'd pulled out from the front of his trousers to raucous laughter. At the sound of his song, from behind held up black cloth with a large painted moon, a woman appears. At least, an actor dressed as a woman. I presume so from the lumpy, exaggerated breasts and fake falsetto. Whatever gender, they steal the show with their unmatchable energy and overdramatic sound effects.

I love it.

The fairy lady declares she was seduced by the sound of the king's song and vows to steal him away. But the king laments that he cannot leave his people. Moved by his loyalty, she agrees to stay with him and upon his death will take him away so that they can be together eternally. The characters are friskily rubbing up on each other when the villainous, jealous Queen enters, chasing the couple around the stage whilst they trade vulgar jokes and witty barbs.

I struggle to keep my snorting laughter quiet with my hand over my mouth, shoulders shaking at the onslaught of slapstick. When I can finally catch my breath, my body feels much lighter. It's exactly the ridiculous kind of comedy that I've been needing to relieve some stress.

How long has it been since I’ve laughed like this?

Before I was separated from Jin?

… I miss him.

I look over at Yeong, wiping a tear from my eye, to see if he’s enjoying it as much as I am, but he's glaring at the performance with disapproval.

“What’s the matter? You don’t find it funny?”

Maybe he's too mature for silly, crude jokes … or maybe he was born without a sense of humor.

“They should be reported for slander,” He grumbles.

“Slander–?”

But I shut my mouth, my eyes widening in disbelief. Because down the street, I've spotted a familiar face.

“It’s him.” I gasp quietly, tapping Yeong furiously on his arm as if I need to get his attention.

“Who, Your Royal Highness?” Yeong shifts into high-alert mode but thankfully matches my volume.

“Jungkook.”

Yeong moves to turn his head over his shoulder–

“Don’t make it obvious!” I hiss, feeling like I've reverted back to being 16, once again in the school cafeteria as my crush walks in.

Laughter rings out from the audience still enjoying the show.

Jungkook notices the commotion but doesn’t slow down his pace. He’s moving with a purpose, weaving his way through the market's foot traffic. And his path just so happens to draw him close by the restaurant.

I panic and look away, tugging the fabric around my face tighter in case he sees me.

Would he even recognise me?

“What are your orders?”

“Just… keep an eye on him.” I respond as I get to my feet, already opening up my little drawstring purse.

He’s heading in the direction we’d just come from and there’s nothing else that way but houses. He must be going home.

I weave through the tables towards the cook with Yeong close behind me. She sees me approaching and wipes her hands on her apron before holding it out for payment.

In a rush, I just grab a fistful of coins and hand them over hoping it covers the bill.

Her eyes widen as she sees the amount. She clutches it to her chest and bows deeply, again and again, thanking me loudly. My responding smile is closed lipped, concious about all the fuss she's making. I make a quick exit.

“… I overpaid, didn’t I?” I murmur to Yeong.

“About a day and a half’s earnings, Your Royal Highness.” He answers, guiding me into the street. “Your generosity knows no bounds.”

… Not really. I’m just still clueless about the currency. It's neither won or nyang or mun so I have no idea about its value.

But the food had been delicious and she'd seemed thrilled, so I can’t really regret my mistake. I’m pretty sure it’s all taxpayers money anyway, so I decide to just consider it as returning it to the people.

“Wait here just a second.”

I turn on my heel and head over to the performance area. The show must have ended because the crowd is quickly dispersing while the masked actors hold out their bowls for tips. The king’s lover actor is the closest, so I walk up to them. I drop another fistful of coins into their wooden bowl with a satisfying clink.

“Thanks for the show, I loved it!” My words spill out in a hurry, as I give them two thumbs up. “Keep up the good work!”

I rejoin Yeong, anxiously craning my neck to look over the top of the crowd for Jungkook. Somehow able to even recognise the back of his head, I spot him further down the street, turning down a lane that I remember leads to his house.

Perfect.

Now I’m convinced that he’s indeed heading home, I don’t rush to catch up to him. I don’t want our reunion to be in such a public setting.

After all, we have a lot to discuss.

~

“Waa~~! Didn’t I tell you coming to Hanyang was a good idea? Look how much we made ey~?” Kap-soo says gleefully, as he nudges him in his side with an elbow.

“Yeah, Haengnim*.” He replies, pulling up his papered mask. His eyes are transfixed to the retreating form of the pretty lady, right up until the moment she vanishes amongst the crowd.

His lips lift into a beaming heart-shaped smile.

“Best idea you ever had.”

~

“Stay here.”

“Your Royal Highness–”

“You’ll just scare him off.” And I don’t want to risk losing him again.

We’re back to where we started. The only thing that's changed are the shoes now on the stoop.

I take a breath and will my feet forward, approaching the house. Bordered with a low thatched fence, I can see that the yard is swept and tidy. A half dozen small onggi* stand by the walls of the house, a decent amount of firewood piled by the stove.

I rest my hand on the gate in front of me…

… but that’s where I stop.

The moment that I’ve been waiting for is just in reach but I stall.

Why am I hesitating? I’m almost there.

All I need to do is open the gate.

…

Just. Open. The. Fucking–

“… Excuse me?”

I whip around to the voice behind me.

The move startles them, and the large bundles they’d been holding drop with heavy thuds.

One bursts open. An array of fabric spills out and onto the dusty ground.

“Omo! I’m sorry!” I exclaim, fretting over the mess, promptly crouching down to pick them up.

“It’s alright,” I hear a woman’s voice, peaking and falling with a Gyeongsang-do* accent. “I’m sorry for giving you such a fright.”

I give the cloth a good shake, turning my head as road dust flies off it. I really hope they weren’t new… I’d be pissed if I was her. They look like clothes. Expensive ones.

But instead, she chuckles. “No need for all that now. I'll be washing them anyway."

She joins me to help, retying the bundle – this time with a firmer knot.

She's an older woman, dressed in simple and clean but well-worn cotton with mended frayed hems. The state of her clothes however, doesn't take away from the loveliness of her face. She has clear skin and warm, kind eyes with shallow crinkles in the outer corners. Her hair is still wholly black, tied up into a neat bun and pierced with a wooden binyeo.

“I think that one’s yours.” She says pointing with her chin to something behind me.

I look over my shoulder and see that my sseugae-chima had fallen off. I swipe it from the ground and fold it over my arm. There’s no point putting it back on when she’s already seen my face. My free hand reaches up to smooth down my hair self-consciously.

She stands up, picking up the bundles with a soft grunt of exertion. Her arms are straining. I shoot up after her and reach out to take them from her grip.

“Let me help you with those, they look heavy!”

"That's okay, A'sshi*, I wouldn't want to bother you."

"No, please, I insist."

She pauses takes a moment to look at me. A slow inspection from head to toe.

"Well... that's very kind of you. Then if you don't mind me troubling you for just a moment." She says, but relinquishes only one. It is heavy, it makes me wonder how she managed both on her own.

She steps around me. To push open the gate.

“Come in, come in.” She says, smiling invitingly as she waves me in.

I feel like I’ve just been hit over the head.

“By chance…” I need to clear my throat. “Do you live here?”

There’s a chance she might not be who I think she is –

“Yes, that’s right.”

– or maybe not.

 “Why? Are you looking for someone?”

She tilts her head at me, her eyes alit with amusement.

And grins.

…

As if–

As if she knows.

~

Moments ago

~

Jungkook slides the door to the room closed.

It only takes him a couple of steps to get to the other side and to kneel down in front of the large wooden chest in the corner. He pushes it aside with a strong heave, uncovering the broken floorboard that was gnawed on by rats last winter. He lifts it out of place then reaches into the space beneath, grabbing the small box that’s hidden there. He opens it, eyes quickly scanning the contents and counting that it’s all still there out of habit.

It is.

Setting it down, he reaches in between his jeogori to pull out the purse tucked within. He opens it, tipping that morning's earnings into his hand. After recounting once more – just in case – he adds the coins to his secret stash.

If he keeps working hard like this and nothing happens then perhaps by the end of next month, he might have enough. And they’ll finally be able to leave this city and go home.

After ten, long years.

He stares into the box, imagining the moment he'll show it to his mother. She'll be terribly angry with him at first, but then once he finishes explaining what it was all for, when he tells her that they can be reunited with their family, she'll tear up and smile.

He even imagines the look on his hyung’s face when they arrive home. The home he’d grown up in, filled with the happy memories of his childhood.

And of his father.

Jungkook looks across the room, to the red lacquered case.

He imagines the moment when he’ll be able to return the bow inside to its rightful place beneath the tiger skin displayed on the wall of his father’s study.

Even in their most desperate times, they’d never once considered selling it. His mother had sold all of her jewellery, her silk clothes… but never that bow. It would've been like selling a piece of his father’s soul.

Sometimes, just sometimes, when Jungkook holds that bow in his hands, when he nocks an arrow, straightens his back, holds his breath and draws, he can feel the warmth of his fathers hands once again on his shoulders.

He shuts the box, tucking it away and putting everything back into place. He doesn’t have time to daydream. His mother could be back any minute.

He quickly strips out of his outer clothes. He’s about to pull on his borrowed uniform when he notices dirt on the cuffs of his sokjeogori*. Knowing that his mother would question it immediately, he strips that off as well. Luckily, his only spare is clean. He’s pulling it on when he realises that he’s made a mistake.

His shoes.

He'd forgotten to clean his shoes. They were still muddied from the posthouse.*

The weathers been dry recently. If his mother sees them she'll question it instantly. And Jungkook is a terrible liar.

His mother may just kill him. If she ever finds out that he hasn’t been attending his lessons- that he hasn’t for the past year...

He rushes to the front door, praying he has enough time before she arrives. He flings it open -

And freezes, eyes locking with his mother standing in the yard.

“E-Eomma…?”

...

“Jeon Jungkook, just what are you doing?!”

She used his full name. That's always a bad sign.

Does she know? How did she find out?

“I- I-"

“We have company!”

Jungkook realises there's a young woman standing beside her, her face covered by her hands. ... Except for an eye which peeps at him through a gap between her fingers. Her gaze slowly trailing down-

“Go inside and get dressed at once!”

Confused, he looks down at himself, finding his sokjeogori untied… and open.

…

He yanks the fabric closed, retreating back into the house with a slam of the door.

“Please forgive my son, A’sshi…” He overhears his mother say to her guest. “I’m so sorry. You must have been so startled.”

“It’s okay.” He hears another voice squeak in reply. She coughs to clear her throat. “I just… had not been expecting that.”

Jungkook clutches at his head, hands over his ears as he sinks to the floor. He folds over himself in humiliation, wishing that the house would just collapse.

~

Jungkook finishes tying his jeogori closed.

Outside, he can hear the faint mumble of his mother’s voice followed by an unfamiliar laugh. He shrinks into himself, feeling like it's at his expense.

…

He wonders who the woman is. The witness of his indignity.

An acquaintance? A friend’s daughter? It wouldn’t be the first time his mother has tried to introduce him to someone. But in front of women, Jungkook stammers. His tongue gets twisted in his mouth. And when that happens, he loses his nerve and quickly retreats. ***

His mother is always trying to encourage him. She tells him that one day he'll meets a woman he likes and when he does, he'll want to hold her tightly instead of running away.

He sighs.

... If only his mother knew.

Her face flashes through his mind at once. The slope of her nose, the shape of her eyes, the curve of her lips…

He shakes his head to dislodge those dangerous thoughts, silently berating himself. Now wasn’t the time. He –

“Jungkook-ah!”

–  almost curses when the door abruptly opens.

“What are you doing?” His mother questions, frowning at him. She holds out her arm, motioning him over impatiently. “Come on outside now you’re dressed properly.”

He winces at the reminder.

“Quickly now! She’s waiting for you.”

His feet move on their own, unable to disobey his mother.

As he steps within her reach she wraps her arm around him, pulling him in close as she guides him to the entrance.

“Why didn’t you tell me you met such a beauty?” She exclaims excitedly with a whisper. He feels an admonishing swat to his backside.

Jungkook’s brow scrunches in confusion.

“Huh?”

“I’ll stay in here,” She grins, giving him a conspiratorial wink. “And give you some privacy.”

And then shoves him out the door.

He somehow manages to stumble over his own foot, but catches his balance before he can fall. He looks up self-conscious of an audience, but their guest has her back to him with her focus down the street.

A breeze ruffles the red ribbon at the end of her long, silky braided hair.

He slips on his shoes, hatefully glaring at the mud that caused his shame as he does so. He tentatively approaches her, his eyes squinting as they adjust to the glare of the sun.

“…Erm…”

He’s unsure of what to say.

He’s sure that he doesn’t know her. He doesn’t really know any woman. Except for the tavern owners daughter … but she’s much shorter, so it can’t be.

“H- hello?” He greets politely - the only thing he can think of. “I’m Jeon Jungkook…”

As she begins to turn around he offers a polite bow. His attention catches on the white bandage that she has around her left hand.

“Hello, Jungkook-sshi.”

The sound of her voice strikes a chord of familiarity but–

It couldn’t be…

As she lifts her head from her own bow, his eyes trace over the slope of her nose… the shape of her eyes… the curve of her smile…

“– remember me?”

Chapter Text

“Do you perhaps … remember me?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen in disbelief, unable to believe that the same woman he’d just been thinking about is here... In front of him. Looking at him. Speaking to him.

“Your– Your Royal High–?”

She steps up to him swiftly before he can utter the next syllable.

“Shhhh!”

He shuts his mouth, swallowing the rest of his words with a gulp. His mind blanks at the feel of the palm that covers it. He doesn’t dare move. He barely breathes.

“I snuck out– no one can know I’m here.” She harshly whispers, rising up onto her toes, neck craning to peer over his shoulder and to the house where his mother has retreated. “It didn’t seem like your mother knew who I am…” She comments quietly, dropping back flat on her feet. Her focus returns to him and he stiffens, held captive in her gaze. “You haven’t told her?”

He answers with a small shake of his head.

He’s told no one.

Even when his mother had fretted over the wounds he’d claimed happened from a fall. Even when, during the days that followed, she’d watched over him with worry as he’d barely been able to sleep or eat. His mother was no fool. Despite all of his hollow reassurances, she’d known something had troubled him.

She was safer not knowing the truth.

But there’d been no way he would have been able to prevent her from hearing the gossip. It’d been on the lips of everyone in the city. Jungkook had found himself paying more attention than usual, his ears pricking whenever he overheard someone mention the Crown Princess. He’d found himself eavesdropping on the ladies at the merchants shop where he unloaded deliveries, the drinking nobles at the tavern where he scrubbed the cauldrons, the guards at the posthouse where he mucked out the stables …

Yet amongst all the chatter, there hadn’t been a single mention of Jungkook. Not one.

… It’d made Jungkook wonder if he’d been forgotten.

Many times, he’d debated whether or not to just go the palace himself. He’d even gone so far as the gates once … but standing outside, shadowed by the tall stone walls, he’d frozen. Unable to muster the courage, he’d left.

The Crown Princess hums a vague response, her eyes inspecting his face closely. Then her brows furrow. Jungkook wonders if there’s some dirt left on his face from the posthouse. He fights the urge to wipe at his cheek as her gaze continues, falling upon his mouth… to where her hand still covers it.

Her eyes flare and she pulls it away sharply.

Jungkook snaps back to his senses. Quickly remembering his place, he drops to his hands and knees in a bow – what he should have done the moment he saw her.

“Ohmygodareyouokay?!”

He keeps his head down, cursing himself. He’s seen others flogged for meeting the eyes of a noble, and yet he’s been brazenly gazing upon the Crown Princess’s face. Again. He focuses on the dirt beneath him, where the small stones dig into the palms of his trembling hands.

“What– what brings you to my– this place, Your–” he cuts himself off to prevent repeating the same mistake, “– my lady?”

He can’t fathom what could bring her here alone and– No. Her guards are probably around here somewhere. Watching his every movement. Awaiting her orders.

His heart thunders in his chest.

“…To see you, of course,” is her response. “I’ve been worried about you…” Her voice is as soft as a breeze, but her words stun him. His head snaps up.

He hadn’t expected that she’d be crouching down in front of him, uncaring of the dirt and dust that’s soiling her skirt. Her eyes mirror his, wide in surprise. She’s close again. So close that he could count her lashes. They blink. Once… twice…

And then a smile curves her lips.

Her eyes narrow with the rise of her rounded cheeks and sparkle with warmth. His breath catches in his throat. Just as it did back then, when he first laid eyes on her…

Back then, his curiosity had driven him to dare glance across the encampment, to the royals sat upon their thrones and to look upon the man that his father had once greatly admired…

…The man who was the reason for his death.

But he’d unconsciously found his eyes drawn to the Crown Princess instead.

She’d been exactly as he’d imagined her to be.

The rumours he’d heard, the warnings he’d received – they had painted her perfectly. She’d been sat like a jade statue. Exquisitely beautiful, but cold and unfeeling. Her eyes sharp and glaring with disdain at the crowd beneath her.

But then a man had stepped forward. Tall and broad shouldered. Elegant and handsome. Noble.

And the Crown Princess had smiled at him. Bright and unrestrained and … lovely.

Just … just like she’s smiling now.

But … Jungkook isn’t her betrothed.

To someone like her, he is nothing.

So why …?

… Why is she looking at him like that?

~

“Ohmygodareyouokay?!” I screech as Jungkook suddenly collapses to the ground. I rush forward, crouching in front of him, my hands anxiously poised to help.

“What– what brings you to my– this place, Your– my lady?”

At the sound of his voice, I exhale a small sigh of relief, holding a hand against my racing heart.  Dammit, he fucking scared the shit out of me. For a moment there, I’d really thought he’d just collapsed.

But nope, he’s just bowing.

I’ve become somewhat accustomed now, since the servants in the palace are always quick to fall to their knees when they see me, wailing and beseeching how they deserve to die at the tiniest mistakes. But seeing Jungkook like this makes me feel uneasy. It’s the same way with Jin. It’s uncomfortable seeing them lower themselves before me. Especially when it should be me on my knees having just been blessed with a reveal of what’s been hidden behind those damn Cooky censor stickers–

Now is not an appropriate time to be drooling. I can recall that memory later … when I’m alone.

I'll need time to reflect on what I witnessed.

“To see you, of course,” I answer his question honestly. “I’ve been worried about you…”

It’s better if I just leave it at that. I don’t need to admit to him that I’ve barely been able to focus on anything else. Or confess that now he’s finally in front of me again my brain feels less frantic, less… fuzzy. More peaceful–

His head snaps up.

Luckily, I have quick reflexes. I manage to avoid being headbutted.

He still looks like he can’t believe I’m really here. His lips part, front teeth peeking between them like a baby bunny. I can’t help but smile. He’s just so. Damn. Cute~

“I’m… I’m not worthy of your concern, my– my lady.” He stammers, shyly dropping his head as he sits back onto his knees, increasing the space between us.

“That’s not true…” I laugh a little incredulously. “How could I not be concerned? You left so quickly...” I pause, fishing for the answer to the question that’s been driving me crazy. But he doesn’t take the bait. His hands clutch at the fabric of his trousers tightly.

I see the opportunity to check his hand, to confirm that his mark is actually there. I’d been about ninety-eight percent sure that it would be, and that Jungkook is definitely my soulmate, but still, seeing the pale line against his golden skin is a huge relief.

“…I didn’t even get to thank you.” I continue, reading his hesitance. I duck my head to peek at his face instead of talking to the top of his head–

“Thank me?”

– Success!

“…You know, for saving me?” I clarify with a comforting smile. I must have really surprised him – I think he still needs time to buffer.

… Didn’t he know that I’d come for him?

“It was– I merely did as anyone–”

“–No,” I dispute, cutting off his humble attempt to downplay his heroism. “You even ‘borrowed’ that minister’s horse. Not just anyone would have had the guts to do that, you know.”

I chuckle at Jungkook’s surprised Pikachu face – I guess he didn’t know that I’d found out about it. But honestly, the more I uncovered about that day, the more I could maybe, possibly, kind of be convinced that the whole incident was fate. Far too many coincidences just seemed to have perfectly lined up...

“Please, forgive me!” He startles me, dropping to his hands and bowing again.

“Eh? I wasn’t– I’m not scolding you or anything–” I rush to assure him. I mean sure, technically it was a bad thing to do, especially when considering Jungkook’s lower status. Technically he should be flogged or something for the theft but of course, I’m not about to let that happen to Jungkook.

No chance.

“Honestly, don’t worry about it.”

I’d already had a lengthy chat about all the legality details last night with my father and he’d agreed with me – those petty offences had only been committed in order to help me, which, of course, takes precedence. It could even be said that in saving the heir to the throne, Jungkook performed a commendable and heroic act of service.

So that’s exactly what we’ll say if the Minister of Taxation tries to kick up a fuss about it. According to my father, the old bastard’s already facing suspension and handing over a hefty compensation for ‘disciplining’ our employees at his own discretion. Feels like just a slap on the wrist considering how badly they were beaten though…

… So I’ve made sure that he’ll be paying double the amount for the compensation. To really hit him where it’ll hurt that greedy jerk the most.

“It’s really alright.” I promise, smiling widely because he still looks a bit doubtful – as if guards are going to suddenly appear and drag him away.

He swallows and rolls his lips, as if preparing to speak. I wait patiently, giving him plenty of time before I’m eventually forced to jump in.

“Um … Jungkook-sshi?” I ask tentatively. “Do you think we could stand up now? It’s just… my legs are getting numb…”

As he scrambles to his feet with another muttered apology, I follow him up at a more sedate pace, not enjoying the numbing tingle as blood rushes back into my feet–

And then… I feel it.

Another rush of blood… elsewhere.

Fuck.

Instantly on high alert, I smooth down my skirts, making a stealthy pass at my ass to see if I can feel if it’s seeped through. These fucking Joseon cloth pads are not fucking reliable and it’s day two – the flood gates are set to open.

If that’s not enough to mortify me, in the midst of my panicking, the door opens and Jungkook’s mother reappears with a tray in her hands. She smiles broadly when she sees I’m still here. My returning smile is just a teeny bit strained – what with alarms blaring ‘code red’ in my mind.

“I’m afraid we don’t have much to offer,” She confesses, seemingly embarrassed at the meagre plate. “But we do have some yeot* from the other day.” She tells me as she slips on her shoes and approaches.

“Eomma–” Jungkook murmurs in warning to his mother. His eyes dart between us nervously.

She ignores him, sidestepping around him to offer the plate to me. Looking at the yeot, I notice that they’re all uneven sizes, likely the pieces that were leftover or broken, but I can see that she’s put effort into trying to present them nicely. “My friend makes them you see and– well anyway, I promise that they’re very good.”

“Ah, thank you,” I tell her with a nod of respect, going to pluck one of the small white sticks from the plate. It wouldn’t be good manners to try and refuse–

“Wait!” Jungkook’s hand snatches up one of the pieces and stuffs it into his mouth before I can touch them. His cheek bulges, fixing me with an intent stare. I raise a brow, not understanding his message and pick up my own.

His mother swats his arm with the back of her hand, tutting in disapproval. “Fine, eat yeot too.” **

I choke back a laugh, even though she meant it in a literal sense. I hide my childish smile behind my hand as I bite off of a piece of the taffy, chewing it after it’s softened in my mouth.

“Delicious!” I say with the appropriate enthusiasm – even though truthfully, it’s a bit mild for my tastes. I’m more of a sour gummy girl, but I still finish the rest of my piece.

“Have some more.” She offers before I’ve finished eating. I pick up the pace under the pressure to answer quickly.

“Oh no, thank you, I think… I should really start heading home now.” I have to decline, making a show of checking my wrist for the time –

… and then remember where I am.

“Oh, really?” She asks, looking disappointed, her eyes glance to Jungkook …who’s seems a little… relieved? He must be feeling embarrassed with his mother interrupting. I’d felt the same in high school when my mother did the exact same, interrupting my first ever study date with a platter of fruit.

“Yes, I wish I could stay longer… but my parents will worry…” I explain, looking at Jungkook regretfully. I don’t want to leave. We haven’t had the chance to have a proper conversation, and there’s so many things I want to ask … But the longer I stay, the more I risk an overflow.

“Do you live far?” His mother inquires. “My Jungkook-ie will walk you home.” She then declares without waiting my answer. She pushes him towards me. He stumbles.

“–Eomma–”

“It’s not safe for a young lady to go alone.” She insists, shushing him. Whilst he turns to rub at his neck awkwardly, she gives me a secretive wink.

I smile in return, mentally high fiving for the assist. It was about an hour’s walk from the palace – a perfect opportunity for some more bonding time.

But then, as I feel another dribble and I’m reminded of why I have to leave in the first place.

“Ah, then, maybe just to the market?” I propose, my tone pitching so I clear my throat. “…My friend’s waiting for me.”

Once she approves, she takes her time saying goodbye, making sure to send me off with a pouch full of yeot and a not-so-subtle invitation to visit again.

~

“… Your mother’s really nice.” I idly comment to Jungkook, breaking the silence once we’re far enough from the yard. I have to turn my head to look at him, with my sseugae-chima back on it blocks my peripherals –

But I don’t see him.

I spin, searching for him with a heartbeat of panic that he’s vanished again, only to find him trailing behind me, two steps back. Like a servant.

“What are you doing?” I ask, pausing for him to catch up.

But he stops when I do.

“Escorting you to the market, Your– my lady.” He answers, snapping out of his thoughts.

“Like this?” I criticise our position. I won't be able to talk to him properly when he’s all the way back there.

His head lowers. “Please forg–”

“That’s better,” I say as I plant myself back beside him with a grin, interrupting his unnecessary apology. “Now then … shall we get going?”

He nods, his pupils shaking**. He’s so adorable when he’s shy.

I guess I’ll need to take the lead. At least, just until he gets comfortable.

I take the first step, keeping a close watch on him to see if he’ll stay next to me. I smile triumphantly when he does, although the space between us is big enough to fit another person. I keep my pace unhurried, intending draw out our remaining time together for as long as possible.

“You don’t need to keep apologising, you know,” I remark as we round a corner.

…

“I’m sorry.”

…

Should have seen that coming.

“You’ve done nothing to apologise for– well… except for disappearing like that–” I add with a pout, teasing him. “– but I forgive you.”

He doesn’t respond, probably unsure how to without another apology.

Soon we draw closer to the market, the streets becoming busier. From this point on, we’ll have to be more careful about our words in case anyone overhears.

“Did you think you’d get in trouble?” I ask softly, my second attempt to pry out the answer. “…Is that why you left?”

It’d been one of the many theories I’d come up with last night whilst trying to sleep – that he’d run away in fear of punishment for stealing the horse, or that it’d be found out that he wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place.

Consort Hwang doesn’t fuck around when it comes to security. I’ve heard that his reputation is enough to make even the toughest soldiers tremble. If I hadn’t been there, if Jungkook had been discovered by anyone else, he would have been interrogated. Thoroughly.

“…You were hurt … because of me…”

It takes me a second to decipher his quiet murmur.

“Better to be a bit banged up than be dragged off a cliff,” I joke, trying to assuage his misplaced guilt. “I’m fine. Completely recovered. Not a mark on me. So don’t feel bad.”

My eyes are drawn back to his cheek, where the cut from before sits, pink and healing. He’s worried about my injuries when he’s the one who’ll be left with a scar.

Not that the scar makes him any less attractive – not in the least. Actually, it adds a sort of roguish charm that invokes tattoos, motorbikes, and cigarettes.

Less boba … more bad boy.

… and there’s just something else about it which is really niggling at my brain... an odd familiarity –

The feeling of a heavy stare on my back distracts me. I tense, throwing a discreet glance over my shoulder to search for the source–

And see that Yeong has popped out from where he’d been hidden. He’s following us from a distance, offering privacy. I acknowledge him with a subtle drop of my chin before turning back to Jungkook. I catch him looking at me, before he immediately faces ahead. I suspect I saw him looking a little dubious.

“If you don’t believe me …” I lean closer to him so that only he can hear my soft murmur. “You can check if you’d like.”

“Eh?” His voice pitches and cracks. He freezes, before quickly glancing around in disbelief, checking to see that no one is nearby.

I just couldn’t help myself.

My shoulders shake from my giggles. His flustered reaction is everything.

“Your–”

“Please,” I interject. "Just call me Yoon-ah." If I’m taking the lead, then I might as well push for him to drop the titles.

“Noon-ah?”

…

I blink.

“Yep.” My voice squeaks.

I don’t correct him.

Jeon Jungkook just called me Noona.*

“That– call me that.”

“How– how could I–?” He stammers. “How could I dare–?”

“Sure you can!” I cheer encouragingly because I need to hear him say it again. “You’ll get used to it the more you try. Go on, try again.”

He’s looking at me like I’ve made an impossible request, but I guess his reluctance isn’t that surprising – being of a lower status, it goes against that strict sense of hierarchy that’s been embedded in him. But he’ll never see me as a woman or an equal if I don’t start trying to close the gap.

I fully turn to face him and wait expectantly.

“N–”

My eyes are drawn to his lips as he hesitates to form the word.

“N–”

… I can’t take my eyes off them. The way they purse around the sound looks like a kiss.

“Noo–”

Something hits me from behind. I stumble forward. Right into Jungkook’s chest.

He catches me, pulling me around him and out of harm’s way.

“Are you alright?” I can feel the vibrations of Jungkook’s voice in his chest … where my hands are placed. It reminds me of when we first met.

… Except this time, we’re vertical.

My hands drop as he steps back to hold me at arm’s length, his eyes running over me.

“I’m fine,” I reply. A little startled, but fine. I look to check what the hell had just knocked into me.

A small child is on the floor, a hand rubbing at their forehead and my dropped sseugae-chima by their feet. They’re young, no older than elementary age, and skinny as well as in desperate need of a bath. When our eyes met, they look fearful.

“Aigoo, are you okay kid?” I hurriedly step out of Jungkook’s hold, bending down to help them up. As I lift them under their arms to stand, I can feel just how light they are. My heart breaks, but I try my best to put on a smile for them as I help dust them off.

“I’m alright,” their small voice replies, a little shaky, but not crying.

“That’s good.” I tell them, still honestly unsure if they’re a boy or girl. Their hair is messy and unplaited, their clothes likely scavenged or hand me down rags that are too big. “That was some bump you had. You should be more careful so you don’t get hurt, okay?”

They bow as they murmur an apology.

“Were you playing with your friends?” I spot a group of five other children of mixed ages, all in a similar state, watching us from nearby. This kid looks to be one of the littlest. They nod, making me relieved that they weren’t being bullied.

“Then … if you promise me, that from now on, you’ll make sure to watch where you’re going, then I’ll give you some yeot that you can share with them, hm? Would you like that?”

Their little round face lights up at the mention of food. It cuts deep.

… I’d forgotten.

Living in the palace, surrounded by the finest luxuries, I’d forgotten the bleak reality of what life is like for so many people living in this time. No one seems to care that such young, obviously malnourished, children are roaming wild in the streets unattended. The owner of the market stall closest to the group watches them mistrustfully. A pair of well-dressed women who pass, look at them annoyance and disgust.

After securing a stamped pinky promise from the kid, I hand over the pouch of yeot from Jungkook’s mother. They check the contents and squeak out an excited thank you and bow, before running off to join their friends.

I straighten up, watching them run off into a side alley, all swarming the pouch and chattering excitedly before vanishing out of sight.

I can’t help but wonder when the last time they ate a proper meal was–

“Blood…?” I hear Jungkook say from behind my shoulder.

“Eh? Where?” I look down and check myself, confused. The kid had just bumped into me – it’s not like I was cut or stabbed so why would there be…

…

Oh no.

“Fuck–” escapes me as I realise, snatching my sseugae-chima from Jungkook’s hands and throwing it around my shoulders. It’s long enough that it should cover the stain. Fuck. It must have fucking soaked through when the kid ran into me. Fucking fuck–

“It’s not mine,” I state, lying shamelessly. “The child– the child must have had a cut or… something.” Whilst avoiding Jungkook’s questioning eyes, I happen to spot Yeong a ways behind him. I beckon him to approach with a quick tilt of my head.

Time to get out of here.

“I think this is far enough–” I rush out, looking to flee before this situation can get any more embarrassing. “Thank you so much for escorting me, but I’ll go on my own from here.”

His eyebrows furrow. “What about your–”

“Jungkook-sshi, this is Baek Yeong, my bodyguard,” I introduce as Yeong arrives, motioning between them with a gesture. Jungkook flinches at Yeong’s sudden appearance, taking an instinctual step back when he sees the sword. “Yeong, this is Jeon Jungkook, my– … well, you know.”

Yeong faces Jungkook and bows with militant stiffness. Jungkook, looking perplexed at the sudden show of respect from a man of higher authority, bobs a bow in return with a polite weak greeting.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay longer,” I lament, slowly backing away with a death grip on my sseugae-chima like it’s a shield. “But uh… something’s come up, so… I’ll– I’ll come see you again in a couple of days, okay?”

“Wh–?”

I hate that we have to cut short our goodbye. I just want to get back to the palace and wallow in my regrets.

I’m turning to walk away when I’m struck with the reminder of something important.

“Ah!” I exclaim, doing a one-eighty whilst reaching into a pouch that’s hidden between the pleats of my skirt. I pluck out the tasselled silver pendant I’d brought with me and offer it to Jungkook. “This is for you.”

When he doesn’t move to take it, I grab his hand, placing it in his palm and curl his fingers closed around it for him. His hand is warm. Big. And a little rough.

“If you need to see me before then, for any reason, just show this to someone at the gates and they’ll bring you straight to me, okay? Any time, alright? Doesn’t matter if it’s in the middle of the night.” I insist, letting him go after a brief squeeze. “So keep it safe.”

Jungkook unfolds his hand, dazed and computing. His eyes widen upon seeing the symbol of the Crown Princess’s dragon that’s stamped in the polished metal. “I– wh–?”

“I’ll see you soon, Jungkook-sshi…”

I leave him with a smile.

“…I promise.”

~

“If you would please follow me, Agasshi, I will take you to His Excellency right away.”

The guard hands back her identity token with both hands to the young lady’s handmaid. His indifferent attitude had changed the moment he’d finished reading the carved name, to one of fearful respect.

The young lady restrains her proud smile, basking in the evidence of just how much weight her family name holds.

No one can look down on her.

Her handmaid falls back into place behind her as they are guided through several courtyards, adjusting her hold on the heavy bapgori* which had been prepared as her excuse for this visit.

As they pass through the second set of the large and barren entrance courtyards, her eyes catch on the grand building of the throne room. She gazes upon it with contemplation, wondering what it might be like inside – in the place where the fate of the nation is decided by the most powerful and influential men of the entire country.

Her view is lost when she is guided to the west, towards the government offices. Officials of various rankings – a few of who she recognizes – wander about their business in the first courtyard. Several who notice her double take in confusion and start whispering to their colleagues.

She doesn’t cower under the scrutiny of their stares but straightens her shoulders with a proud bearing, daring anyone to find issue with her being here.

Any that dared approach to admonish her, would soon sorely regret it.

Those who are smart enough to know who she is are the ones who don’t look surprised. To those she knows as important figures, she bows her greetings from afar with a polite smile.

After being navigated through the maze-like paths, she arrives at the Ministry of Personnel – the office of her father.

“Your Excellency, your daughter has arrived.” The guard announces from outside of the door. “She has brought you your meal.”

The young lady motions to her handmaid to hand over the bapgori.

After a few moments, the doors open and several officials of red and blue exit with a quiet murmur of discussion.

“My, my… this is why you should always have a daughter.” She hears commented.

“Indeed. How kind you are, to come all this way to deliver His Excellency’s meal personally, little lady.”

“I know how much my father is busy these days.” She responds, with a humble lower of her head. “As his daughter, I can’t help but worry that he’ll forget to eat, thus I’ve come to make sure.”

“How jealous I am of your father. He has such a lovely daughter to look after him … No doubt that the man that marries you shall be a very lucky.”

She dislikes the look in the Minister’s eyes. At how his gaze rakes over her body, slowly from head to toe. It disgusts her. But she hides it well.

“You honour me with your kind words, Your Excellency.” She responds gracefully, gritting her teeth behind her pandering smile. “Then … please excuse me, my father must be getting hungry. I bid you a good day.”

Knowing that the reminder of her father will deter him from keeping her any longer, she brushes past the idling men into the building. When the doors close behind her, for just a quick moment, her mask falls and she allows herself to sneer in disgust before composing herself once more. Taking a steadying breath, she enters the room.

Across the room, her father sits at his desk. Brush in hand, he doesn’t look up, doesn’t so much as twitch in acknowledgement of her arrival – absorbed in whatever document is in front of him.

She approaches quietly, halting several paces away and waits.

…

"I thought I told you to keep to your room after that nonsense you pulled.” The quiet is broken with the sound of his voice, yet he still does not lift his head, does not pause in his task. "So why have you come?"

“I need your help with a plan, Abeo-nim.”

“My help?” An eyebrow raises, but that is all. “What more could you possibly ask of me when I’m already taking great lengths to ensure that our family isn’t annihilated due to your foolishness.”

Chastised, she lowers her head. But her desperation is enough to give her courage to continue.

“That marriage … it cannot happen.” She declares with fierce conviction. “It must not.”

“Oh?” He questions. There is a touch of amusement to the corner of his lips. He finally looks at her, and slowly puts down his brush.

Now, she has his full attention. “I know that you agree.”

He chuffs a soft laugh, smiling as he steeples his hands.

“What makes you so confident, that you know what I want?”

She shifts guiltily. “I overheard you – briefly – that day, when you met with the ministers.” She confesses.

“…What did you hear?” He demands, all amusement gone and eyes burning.

She wavers under his piercing gaze.

“… I won’t ask a second time.”

She hurriedly lowers to her knees at his tone. The babgori clatters as it hits the floor, but it’s ignored. “Just that– I swear.”

He stares at her intently, determining the truth. Admonishing her with a disappointed cluck of his tongue, he picks back up his brush.

“Never let it happen again.”

It is a warning.

But she must not back down now. She must persuade him. She swallows. “…I have a plan.”

…

“But to see it through, I need your help, Abeo-nim.” She forces her words to sound confident. She mustn’t sound too desperate.

She must show that he can have faith in her.

For a while, there is only the sound of brushstroke.

…

“Why does that marriage concern you so much?” The lilt of his voice implies that he already knows. He is just making her say the words aloud.

“I love him, Abeo-nim.” She has loved him for as long as she can remember.

He hums, contemplatively.

“So, you want him for yourself?”

She nods, perhaps a little too eagerly.

She wants him. She wants him more than anything.

And she has never been denied what she wants.

Her father returns his brush to rest in the inkstone, and leans back in his chair.

“And what makes you believe that, should the marriage be cancelled, he will be yours?”

For a moment, she is speechless. That had never been a consideration. There was only one obstacle that remained in the way of her everlasting happiness.

One that needed to be removed.

The chair scrapes loudly across the floor as he pushes it back to stand. He walks unhurriedly around his desk and approaches. From her knees, he cuts an imposing figure as he stares down at her. His face is unreadable.

“Had the Queen not raised the age for marriage, you would have become the wife of the Grand Prince.” He tells her. She has heard this before. Many times. “But instead, it had to be your cousin.”

“As your father, who you marry is my decision. And it will be a decision that I shall make based upon who best would benefit our family, so tell me … in what way would that talentless boy, who holds no power nor influence, benefit us?”

“His father–”

“–The Deputy Minster?” He interrupts sharply. “The man is a gutless pacifist. He has integrity, I give him that, but that just means that he will never sway unless threatened– besides, … why would I need him when I already have the Minister under my thumb?”

She cannot find the words that she needs to refute him. She doesn’t care about those things. She doesn’t need to think about those things.

It would be for her happiness. Is that not enough?

“But you are right.” He tells her softly, crouching down in front of her to stroke her hair. “That marriage must not proceed. That wretch must not be allowed to strengthen her position with an heir.”

“Why not just get rid of her?” She confronts him with the question that has been on her mind. Surely it would be the simplest solution. Yet she had never seen him so furious with her than when he’d discovered what she’d impulsively done.

His hand moves to her shoulder, squeezing tenderly.

“That proves to me that you’re still naive.”

She bristles. He stands with a sigh, turning his back to her, leaving her on the floor.

“The princess is guarded day and night by the most elite warriors. She is never alone.” He informs her. “As well as that, her food is diligently tested at every stage before it even enters her quarters. Ever since the disaster that happened during her birth, the Queen and her harem have been obsessed with the princess’s protection.”

She bites back the comment that’s on the tip of her tongue. As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, he turns back to look at her, his gaze serious. “But most importantly, and you must remember this well ... is that if the princess were to ever die unnaturally– if there were ever to be so much as a hint of suspicion… then the repercussions would drown this country in blood.”

His words are foreboding. She thinks she’s is mistaken to see a glimpse of fear in her father’s eyes.

“No, if a death is what’s needed in order to prevent this marriage ... then it would be far easier to just get rid of the groom–”

“No! Abeo-nim please!” Distraught, she rubs her hands together frantically pleading. “I beg you!”

He quietens her with a raise of his hand and a stern look.

She stops, but her heart continues to race in panic.

He sits back in his chair, bidding that she stand with a raise of his palm.

“…Well then, Hyejoon-ah … what do you suggest?

Chapter Text

“How do I look?”

…

Had it not been for the familiar voice, Namjoon might have thought that he’d been escorted into the wrong quarters.

His hesitation is a stutter as his mind comes to realize that the man standing in the centre of the room, surrounded by a flock of fussing eunuchs with his arms spread wide, is indeed his friend, Kim Seokjin.

…

It’s not as if his hyung had suddenly become unrecognisable, no, but there is definitely something that has changed about him. Namjoon can sense it. But it’s difficult to determine. And that bothers him. Like the tickle of a stray hair on the back of his neck.

He casts his eyes over Seokjin, seeking the answer.

There isn’t anything different about his face…

In fact, that has remained unchanged since he passed through the awkward transition from boy to man, well over ten years ago. As if he’s some heavenly being immune to the passing of time.

No, the only thing that’s new to Namjoon’s eyes, is the garments. The ones currently being meticulously adjusted by the eunuchs for the perfect fit.

Namjoon’s never seen his hyung in something so formal, he realises. Nor so dark of colour. His hyung’s tastes– well his mother’s – had always leaned towards the light and carefree colours of spring.

But this blue silk is as dark as the night sky. The cloth even glitters with silver threads woven into intricate patterns of dragons and peonies across the fabric by the masters of the Sanguiwon*.

It brightens Seokjin’s complexion … as though illuminated.

As if he’d swallowed starlight.

“…You look good.” Namjoon answers truthfully, yet a complete understatement. Namjoon hadn’t thought it possible for his friend to be more handsome.

But he wasn’t going to say that out loud–

“Well, obviously.”

–because of that.

Namjoon catches some of the eunuchs exchanging quick glances, their lips downturned, brows raising, just before their expressions revert back into blank masks.

A worry crosses his mind.

Because those who do not know Kim Seokjin well, might hear conceit in his words, see arrogance in his smile.

But Namjoon knows his friend. Better than himself.

“What do you think? Does it suit me?”

Namjoon can hear the anxiety buried beneath the brazen facade. Can guess at what turbulent thoughts might be swirling through his hyung’s mind.

“It suits you.” Namjoon’s smile is warm and encouraging. “It suits you well.”

And it truly does.

He looks distinguished, wearing the attire with an air of dignity that Namjoon hadn’t thought possible for someone so easy-going as Kim Seokjin. His presence not the least diminished by the grand formality of the robes, styled after those of bygone Joseon Kings and reserved exclusively for momentous occasions.

Such as a wedding.

At Namjoon’s reassurance, Seokjin’s bold grin softens into something much more sincere, and the tension eases from his shoulders.

The overseer of the green-robed flock clears his throat and steps forward, seizing his moment to interrupt. With his head lowered, he addresses Seokjin. “The final adjustments are finished, Your Highness. All that remains is the embroidery.”

… Your Highness.

It's strange to hear, but of course, how else should he be addressed? He is no longer just Kim Seokjin, the friend he had grown up with…

He would soon be crowned Prince Consort.

And the magnitude of the reality sinks into Namjoon’s mind like a heavy stone in calm waters.

“Ah, yes,” Seokjin acknowledges. “… thank you.”

“–We have discussed this, Your Highness.” The eunuch’s tone is clipped, vexed by Seokjin’s undue courtesy. “You need not be so polite to those beneath you. You must always maintain the dignity of the royal family.”

Seokjin’s posture straightens under the admonishment. He nods, stifling his apology behind his lips.

The uneasy tension breaks as the rest of flock swoop in to disrobe Seokjin, folding up the exquisite garment carefully back into its mahogany box. Namjoon quickly steps far out of the way, his hands clasped together tightly behind his back.

From his experience, keeping a distance from anything precious was usually for the best.

Once everything is packed, the eunuchs all bow to Seokjin and back out of the room, moving like a regiment. All but one. A eunuch of similar age stays behind as Seokjin’s new attendant. He steps forward with a far plainer jeogori for Seokjin to change into.

As Seokjin is being redressed, Namjoon approaches with deliberate steps. He straightens his posture and with all exaggerated formality, bows deeply at the waist.

“I, Kim Namjoon, offer my humble greetings to you, Your High–”

“–Don’t.” Seokjin warns him.

With his eyes still lowered to the floor, Namjoon presses his lips together tightly, attempting to suppress his grin.

“Ya, I’m serious, you punk**.” He hears Seokjin reprimand when he doesn’t immediately rise. “Stop playing around.”

His tone betrays his words. They are less of an order and more like a desperate plea.

“Please forgive me, Your Highness!” Namjoon can’t resist and bows even lower.

“Ya! I said stop it!” Seokjin tries kicking at Namjoon, struggling to reach as he is still trapped in place whilst his coat strings are being tied. His flailing efforts break Namjoon, who finally unfolds, throwing his head back with braying laughter.

“Waah, this bast–” Seokjin points at him with a disbelieving huff, yet there’s relief in his narrowed gaze. With an annoyed swish of his coat, he slumps down onto his seat. A bitter expression marking his face.

“It’s been a while, Hyung,” as Namjoon's laughter falls quiet, he greets him again. Casually this time. Just as they’ve always been.

“Namjoon-ah, you can’t do that.” Seokjin complains whilst Namjoon sits and makes himself comfortable as well. “Not you. No one calls me by my name anymore– not even my parents.”

“It’s your title now, Hyung.” Namjoon reminds him. Understanding, but not all that sympathetic. “It’s only right.”

“I know.” Seokjin counters, “I know, but … I just can’t get used to it.”

He runs his hand over his face.

“Every time I hear it, I keep thinking, who? ... Me?” He confesses with bewildered laughter.

Namjoon isn’t surprised.

Though of noble birth, Seokjin had never been someone who thought himself above others. He’d always treated those below him with kindness and respect despite his rank. A trait which Namjoon admired greatly about his friend.

He’d often considered that a man like Kim Seokjin could be hailed as the ideal man of virtue which Confucius wrote of …

… If not for the unabashed pride in his appearance.

… Or his questionable sense of humour…

…Or how his mouth turned astonishingly foul when he lost at games.

So it made sense that Seokjin would find his new position somewhat … burdensome. To be exalted to an even higher place– no, one of the highest of places. And truthfully, Namjoon is glad to see that his hyung is still the same.

…As of yet anyway.

Too many people change with newfound power and position.

“Other than that, have you been well?” Namjoon asks.

“Of course,” Seokjin’s answer is a little too nonchalant. “The food is delicious~. The rooms are grand~. The bath is huge~… I’ve been treated very well.”

…

Namjoon waits.

…

It doesn’t take long.

“–But I’m so booored~”

Namjoon snorts at Seokjin’s complaint.

“Can a person die of boredom?” His hyung questions with all seriousness. “All I do is study. Every. Day. From sunrise until sunset just memorising all these damn texts.” He sweeps his hand dramatically across his desk, drawing Namjoon’s gaze to the array of books, papers and scrolls that have overtaken the space.

It’s a sight he’d have never imagined seeing in a room belonging to Kim Seokjin. The only books that his hyung had ever had any interest in were fantastical stories of brave heroes and grand adventures. Unrealistic flights of fancy. The ones popular amongst the common folk.

But now, there’s not a single one to be found.

Instead, the stacks are piled with volumes of ritual and propriety, records of strict royal etiquette and of endless important ceremonial practices. There are even titles on the subjects of history and philosophy, many of which are familiar from the library of Sungkyunkwan. But several that are not.

His fingers twitch involuntarily.

A long and weary sigh escapes from his hyung. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“I enjoy it.” Namjoon answers simply, unable to ignore a beautifully bound copy of the Analects which lays open, faced down on the desk in front of him with the binding strained and pages creasing. He sets it right, uncrumpling a discarded sheet of paper and carefully placing it inside to mark the place instead. “After all, ‘isn’t it a pleasure to study and practice what you have learned?’”

“Ah! I know that one!” Seokjin exclaims, eyes brightening with recognition. “Confucius!... Isn’t it?”

A laugh bursts from Namjoon, his eyes widening. “You have been working hard.”

Never had he heard Seokjin identify a quote before– or at least, not correctly.

Whilst Seokjin basks in the praise of Sungkyunkwan's top student, Namjoon slips a hand inside his jeogori, withdrawing the precious item concealed against his chest.

"Here.” He says, dropping it onto the desk in front of Seokjin casually, as if the effort of sneaking it into this place hadn’t made his hands tremble or sweat bead beneath his collar. “A present."

Seokjin's brows twitch into a furrow. "What’s this?"

Namjoon snorts at his hyung’s inability to conceal his disappointment at the appearance of another book. Inching closer, he taps the worn cover – intentionally plain and … unassuming.

“… It’s the favour you asked me for, Hyung.” Namjoon reminds him with a lowered voice. “To bring you something a little more … stimulating?”

…

Seokjin’s lips part, curling high into a broad, unrestrained smile.

“My dear friend~!”

Teacups rattle as Seokjin’s sudden exuberance startles the poor eunuch setting down refreshments beside them.

Seokjin doesn’t hesitate in swiping up the book. “I knew I could count on you!”

Namjoon watches on in amusement, eyes crinkling as his hyung begins to flick through the pages eagerly.

Whilst he waits, his eyes trail once more over the unappreciated trove of knowledge that is strewn around Seokjin’s desk. He wonders if he should demand a trade for his gift. A suitable reward for his efforts. His eyes catch a small pile of neatly arranged loose papers – letters, he realises. Probably from Seokjin’s young nephew, judging by the messy scrawl of the handwriting. But what intrigues him is the strange identical symbol marked the end of each one … like a misshapen arrowhead.

On the other side of the desk, a confused sound comes from Seokjin.

He stares at the book with knitted brows. He holds it aloft in front of him, leaning back and cocking his head at different angles – as if the change in perspective would help him better comprehend the content ...

But it doesn’t appear to be working.

He just looks even more baffled. Namjoon stifles a chuckle with his hand at the sight of Seokjin’s mouth hanging agape. If he’s right, then his hyung had just discovered one of the more … advanced pages.

Movement beside Seokjin grabs Namjoon’s attention. It’s the eunuch, leaning forward with a craned neck as he tries to peek–

Namjoon clears his throat. Loudly.

Flinching in surprise, Seokjin clutches the book to his chest instinctively. The eunuch catches himself before he topples over. His head drops back down subserviently, shrinking under Namjoon’s piercing eyes.

“Bring us wine.” Namjoon orders, ignoring Seokjin’s puzzled glance between them. His frigid tone sends the servant scurrying quickly out the door.

“Wine?” Seokjin inquires, having not noticed the issue. “All of a sudden?”

“If I’m about to be flogged for bringing forbidden material into the palace, then I at least deserve to have some of your fancy palace wine.”

Seokjin snorts, a begrudging smile twitches his lips at Namjoon’s dry statement and resumes flipping through said forbidden book.

“Why did you want that so desperately anyway? … Feeling a bit lonely are you, Hyung?” Namjoon teases with a waggle of his eyebrows and a mischievous grin.

“Oho!” Seokjin scolds him, peering up from his perusal. His eyes narrow at Namjoon’s insinuation. “It’s not like that.” He insists, his eyes falling back down to the pages. “… It’s for educational purposes.”

Yet his neck is reddening.

“Didn’t you learn about all this when you came of age?”

“Of course I did.” Seokjin mumbles, resolutely not meeting Namjoon’s eye, the blush spreading to his ears.

…

“Ah~” Namjoon muses out loud to himself. “It all makes sense now…”

Seokjin eyes him warily from beneath his brow.

“I’d always wondered why you never wanted the services at Oktajeong*…” Namjoon continues, sitting back with a satisfied smile and crossed arms. “It’s because you don’t know what to do with it–”

“–Iknowwhattodowithit!” Seokjin snaps.

Namjoon bursts into laughter, thrilled with his vicious denial.

It makes Seokjin want to throw something at him.

So he does.

He’s not the type to hold back his impulses.

“–Ack!*” The book strikes Namjoon in the chest. His hands fumble to catch it and it falls open in his lap. The large illustration that stares up at him is like an old friend.

He remembers the image fondly. After first discovering the book buried beneath the shelves and layers of dust in his father’s study, that particular page had quickly become one of his favourites.

Many a sleepless night had been spent scrutinizing every painted detail, with his eyes straining in the dim light of a dying candle. And his efforts had been proven worthwhile. The results had spoken for themselves when he’d finally been old enough to put all he’d learnt into … practical application.

In fact, the results had been screamingly apparent.

Smiling fondly at the memories, he shuts the precious book.

“Then why need this?” Namjoon asks, holding it up.

“Because.” Seokjin replies, as if that should be answer enough, extending his hand for it back.

But Namjoon has no intention of returning it until he’s satisfied.

… In the back of his mind, he’s aware that he’s behaving childishly.

Yet he doesn’t relent.

…

“Because…” Seokjin sighs, patience wearing thin in face of Namjoon’s stubborn resolve.

“What else can I do?” The words start to tumble out of his mouth. “Who can I ask? My parents? There’s no way I will ever, ever, ever put myself through that again– once was more than enough, and my Hyung? Forget it. He’d more than likely tell me something ridiculous and then torment me for the rest of my life.”

He flicks his hand towards the door, gesturing to those outside. “I’m surrounded by eunuchs, so what would they know? And to tell you the truth, I would rather die than ask her fathers for advice about how to ‘fulfil my duties’ with their daughter.

“So this, my friend–” He lunges forward, seizing the book from Namjoon in his stunned silence. “–is my only resort. Because I know there’s more to what I’ve been told– there’s got to be more than what I’ve been told. And I need to know more.”

Namjoon finds that he is unable to muster a single word in response, realizing that perhaps he’d pushed too far.

That he shouldn’t be hearing this.

“I want her to enjoy it,” Seokjin quietly admits, unable to look Namjoon in the eye. “… not just have to lay there like–”

Seokjin cuts himself off with a shake his head.

Namjoon’s grateful he did.

“So that’s why I need this,” Seokjin drops the book onto the desk with a defeated sigh, the whole truth having spilled from his lips. “I want to be like you.”

…

Namjoon’s brows crease.

“Me?” 

Seokjin rolls his eyes with a snort. “Come now, don’t be coy,” he smirks. “I was the one who had to drag you out of their beds in the morning before your father could find out, remember?”

… Namjoon vaguely remembers.

“I saw the women who’d … enjoyed your company.” Seokjin reminds him with a raise of his brow. “And the way they looked at you… well … they all seemed pretty … satisfied.”

Namjoon clears his throat, shuffling in his seat under Seokjin’s sudden intent focus. “Well… That’s…” He drops his head to conceal the raising corners of his mouth and trying to smother the swell of pride in his chest.

…

… Yet he doesn’t deny it–

Seokjin suddenly snatches up his hands.

“Namjoon-ah, help me.” He pleads with earnest eyes.

“Help you with what?” Namjoon’s voice is laced with suspicion as he attempts to gently pull free, but his hyung’s grip is insistent.

“Teach me.” Hope shines brightly in Seokjin’s smile. “Show me what to do.”

…

…

“Are you crazy?!”

Namjoon throws off Seokjin’s hands.

Seokjin rears backwards, eyes blinking rapidly in shock, mind whirling as he tries to understand Namjoon’s sudden aggression. “Huh? What? What’s wrong? Why are you like this, all of a sudden?”

“How can you ask me to– That’s not right, Hyung.” Namjoon clenches his fists on his knees, nails digging into the fabric.

“Why? You read it too, didn’t you?” Seokjin braces his hands on his thighs, jutting his chin at Namjoon. Awkward laughter peppers his voice. “You’re experienced. I thought if you could just show me–”

“I won’t do it.”

Seokjin blinks, slapped in the face by Namjoon’s firm refusal.

“Waa~ this brat … Why on earth not?” His voice rises, jagged and defensive as his words start to spit out rapidly. “All I’m asking is if you could show me some pages, you know, help explain a few things to me– Is that so much to ask? When my future happiness is on the line like this? If it doesn’t go well then, do you know what’ll happen?–I’ll tell you what’ll happen. She’ll never have me again. Why would she when she’ll have someone else. Cuter, younger … more energetic? Then what about me? What am I supposed to do? Don’t you have a conscience? How can you be so cruel to your hyung like this? After all those times you lost your money and I bought you food? And now when I ask for one thing, you act like this? Howcouldyoudothistome?”

…

Seokjin’s catches his breath after his tirade, leaving Namjoon stunned into silence. Because he’s realised his mistake. His shoulders curl as he buries his face into his large palm, unable to even look at his hyung as he withers in mortification.

“Hyung. Please.” He beseeches, squeezing his eyes shut as he massages his brow. “Please, be more careful with your words. I really thought you meant–” He stops himself abruptly.

But Seokjin, only ever perceptive in the moments Namjoon wishes he wasn’t, picks up on the unspoken words.

“Yaaa– You–” He scoffs incredulously, his face beginning to flush with embarrassment. “Waa~ unbelievable– really unbelievable, you fool~ Why would I–?” He glares at Namjoon, pointing his finger accusingly. “Ya, you– what on earth were you thinking?...”

With wide eyes, he suddenly covers his chest with his arms.

"… Are you a pervert?”

“–No!” Namjoon snaps back, his cheeks burning. “No, I just–”

“Forget it.” Seokjin cuts him off. “I don’t want to hear it.” He huffs, sharply turning his head away.

…

A suffocating atmosphere begins to form, hanging heavily between them like–

“So are you going to help me or not?”

Having never been able to stand uncomfortable silences, Seokjin’s question slices through it. He sneaks a glance at Namjoon from the corner of his eye as he fidgets in his seat, awaiting his response.

Namjoon sighs with defeat, really starting to regret that he’d ever accepted Seokjin’s invitation. That he’d obeyed his strange request.

That he’d befriended him as a child.

“I’ll help you.”

“Just to be clear, I’m not asking for some kind of personal tutorial.” Seokjin clarifies, finally turning back to face him. The corners of his lips twitch. “We’re not that close, you know.”

“I know.” Namjoon glares with the foreboding feeling that his hyung will never let this go. “It was a misunderstanding–”

“Good.” Seokjin grins, basking in Namjoon’s embarrassment. “So long as you don’t get any more strange ideas.”

“I won’t.”

“Well then…” Seokjin straightens, adjusting himself in his seat with eager anticipation. He bows his head toward Namjoon in a sudden show of respect only to undercut it when he peers up and winks. “I’ll be counting on you, Seonsaengnim*.”

~

Meanwhile

~

It feels so nice to finally be outside again.

I take in another deep breath of freedom, inhaling the crisp scent of petrichor. The puddles left behind by the latest sonagi* glisten in the sunlight that’s managed to sneak through a gap in the grey clouds – the ones threatening to burst again any minute.

I would find it peaceful, if it weren’t for the servants bustling about with a sense of urgency, rushing to do their tasks before the heavens open again.

So, I’m savouring the brief reprieve before I’m forced back inside.

I’d spent three days shuttling back and forth from my bed and my bath, wondering if it’d be worth ripping out my uterus with my bare hands.

It’d been pretty standard for my cycle. But Jo-Sanggung hadn’t been able ignore my pain and sent for the doctors.

They’d been ineffective – just taking my pulse and murmured about lack of Yang* energy. They’d feed me bitter tonics of angelica root and cinnamon and had tried very hard in persuading me to endure acupuncture, but I’d outright refused as the thought of being stuck with needles like a pin cushion made me feel faint.

Therefore, I’d suffered for three days wallowing in misery and discomfort, cursing life. My only ray of hope had been knowing that it would soon end, and I’d be able to uphold my promise to Jungkook.

But once my deluge of blood and pain ended, another abruptly took its place.

Jangma* had begun.

For the past two days the heavens had unleashed a downpour, wreaking havoc across the land. Rivers had overflowed. Rice fields had flooded. Roads had been swept away in mudslides.

Pretty quickly, my own personal grievance against the weather had felt really fucking trivial. I’d felt selfish, a heavy wave of guilt crashing over me for pouting that my date was delayed when countless people were stranded, homeless and hungry.

As Crown Princess this wasn’t something I could ignore. Not when I’m supposed to care for these people, to find solutions and fix the problems. And the idea of that. Was. Terrifying.

Thankfully, my mother had everything under control. Without hesitation she’d opened state granaries to keep the people fed, mobilized the army to help fortify broken riverbanks, and ensured that the local authorities didn’t flake on their responsibilities.

It’s admirable. How she cares so much for the people. How their wellbeing is her first thought. A true mother of the people. A natural born ruler.

Unlike me.

The moment I’d heard that houses had been collapsing, my first thought, my immediate priority, had been to make sure the little straw roofed house near the outskirts of the city where my soulmate lived was okay. I’d even ordered Geon-uk, the guard who knew the situation best, to brave the storms just to go check on them, to relocate them immediately if it was bad.

But thankfully, they’d been fine. The roof was a little worse for wear with the straw needing replacing, but there had only been a few small leaks due to Jungkook’s careful maintenance.

Not much of a surprise that the Golden Maknae*’s talents apparently include roofing as well.

But without even Jungkook needing my help, I’d been left feeling pretty useless, with nothing else to do but wait for the rain to stop.

Seeing me so dispirited, Jo-Sanggung suggested I focus on wedding preparations to improve my mood. But, again, there wasn’t a lot for me to actually do. Everything was being handled by the Ministry of Rites, all strictly prepared according to protocol and tradition. Venue, invitations, decorations… the most important day of my life and it felt like a pre-planned package deal.

Like a bride with a bulldozing mother-in-law, I had no say in any of it. Especially my wedding dress.

The hwarot* was beautiful, truly … a majestic masterpiece steeped in the proud history of Joseon. I should be so honoured to wear something of such significance, something that most people had only ever seen from behind museum glass or on a screen, and yet...

I hate it.

The damn thing has more layers than a crepe mille.

Trying on the ensemble had been a whole ordeal because just when I thought it was done, there was yet another skirt, another jacket, then another skirt until my chest had been so tightly compressed beneath all of the bindings that each breath had been a gasp.

And with the sweltering summer heat, I had some serious concerns about passing out before I even reach the altar. I’d tried bargaining with the ladies in charge to forgo just a few of them, but that idea had been firmly shut down. They “symbolized the layered aspects of life and marriage,” they’d said.

…

“I don’t want die from heatstroke on my wedding day,” I’d argued. But my complaints were lost to unsympathetic ears. They’d remained unyielding. Tradition being so much more damn important than comfort.

But that wasn’t even the worst of it.

The worst is the fucking Daesu* wig.

I swear, as it’d been lowered onto my head I’d heard echoes of the Imperial March.

The towering pile of hair crammed with an array of solid gold pins, combs and binyeos, each jewelled and ornate. And heavy. My entire spine had strained with just the effort of trying to keep it balanced on my head and my neck had felt like it would snap beneath the weight of the domed monstrosity. But again, I was just told to endure.

Understandably, I’d began to spiral.

… Just a little.

To feel I had some control of my life, I’d ended up pleading with Jo-Sanggung for something– anything to do.

And so here I am, surveying what will soon be my new home.

The true Eastern Palace.

It’s grounds so massive that they’re split into two distinct areas. I’d already been given a brief tour of the front section, the buildings designated for all the formal and educational stuff such as a reception hall to receive guests and dignitaries, a lecture hall for lesson, an office for administrative work, a private study hall and even a personal library.

I’ll be leaving those as they are. I’m much more interested in the central building. 

The Crown Princess’s personal quarters.

It’s a serious upgrade. Enough to make the place I’d been living in seem almost modest in comparison.

The bedchamber itself is probably three times bigger. The high ceiling supported by sturdy wooden beams which frame the bed sitting in the centre of the room. From the rafters hang sheer drapes, ready to be unrolled and veil the bed from the rest of the world. It sits on a low raised platform and draped with fine silk bedding.

…

I see only one problem.

“The bed needs to be bigger.”

“…Bigger, Your Royal Highness?”

“Yeah,” I say, finger tapping my lips as I size it up.

It’s a shame really. The dark wooden bedframe is a work of art, engraved with motifs of dragons and lotus flowers, phoenixes and peonies which tie in seamlessly with the lacquered screen that stands proudly behind the bed, painted with a serene landscape of mountains and waterfalls, cherry blossoms and cranes.

But it won’t fit all of us. Maybe four at a squeeze if laying side by side.

“Much bigger.” Jin and Jungkook are the only soulmates I’ve found so far, but there’s no harm in thinking ahead. But Bangtan are big boys, so trying to fit all of them plus me on there … “Someone’s gonna fall off.”

Jimin, probably.

“What?” I ask, noticing a sudden pinched expression on Jo-Sanggung’s face. Da-eun, meanwhile, is purposefully avoiding my eyes with her cheeks darkening. Both are looking scandalized. But it’s not like I’ve said anything weird…

I start to defend myself. “That old lady said–”

“–Yes, Your Royal Highness … but in sequence,” she corrects me, awkwardly clearing her throat. “Not– not together.”

…

“Ah.”

My face falls.

I’d been so excited when that old nursemaid, who’d been summoned to educate me on the ‘matters of marriage’, had enlightened me about that particular protocol.

That every month, I would spend the night of the full moon with my consorts.

…

All of them.

…

After just having sat through a heinously boring sex-ed talk for the second time in my life, my ears had suddenly perked the fuck up at that new nugget of information. I’d thought that I must have imagined it, because surely there was no freaking way that they’d not only allow something like that, but encourage me, a woman of royal birth in this strict conservative society, to partake in an actual orgy …

I’d listened zealously, with my mouth covered to hide my manically delighted grin, as she’d explained– because apparently, there was legit reasoning behind this madness, that this was to ensure the highest possible chance of conception. And that this would help prevent power struggles over parentage as, without a DNA test, no one would be able to determine who the true father is but who the fuck cared about that because I’d just been given a free pass to make my wildest, peak delulu fantasy an actual goddamn reality!

But now I find out, is that I’d have them one after the other instead?

Not that I have any objections, but it does kind of put a kink into my JinKook sandwich plans …

As I’m gazing at the bed remorsefully, a girl in maids uniform is let through the doors by the ones who are always following me outside. She heads straight for me panting softly with hurried footsteps.

“His response, Your Royal Highness.” She says out of breath, a bead of sweat running down her brow.

I immediately feel bad.

When I’d asked her if she could deliver a quick message to Jin, I didn’t mean that she had to run.

Head bowed, she offers up a simple folded piece of paper which looks ridiculous presented on a tray. Jo-Sanggung collects it before offering it up to me because Heaven forbid I’m handed anything directly. 

“Thank you.” I tell the maid, trying to recall her name. Bok-yeon or Bo-kyung or something, I think. I really should know it by now because she’s one of the ones who follow me around like ducklings. She even helps dress me sometimes when Da-Eun isn’t around. “How was he?”

“He was in good spirits, Your Royal Highness,” the attendant answers, blinking like a startled deer. “He was having a drink with company when I arrived.”

“Oh?”

“Please forgive me, I– I do not know who the young master was but um–” She stutters. “Ah! But I did hear His Highness address him as Seonsaengnim.”

I nod my head absent mindedly as I unfold Jin’s answer. It’s the same paper that I’d sent to him, with instructions to choose a number from one to seven. But he wouldn’t have known they were numbers, I’d written the western ones on purpose and spread them around the page randomly to make it fair.

He’s circled the two. And even added his own little message.

What’s this? A game?

Do I win a prize?

I’m curious.

Just reading Jin’s words is enough to make me smile like a fool. I bring the paper to my lips to hide it.

“Good work.” I say to the attendant, who looks desperate to be dismissed. “You should go drink some water and rest for a while,” I suggest.

She basically flees. I sigh as I watch.

My relationship hasn’t improved with the other staff at all, even though it’s been weeks now. They still seem pretty terrified of me despite my attempts to put them at ease. It’s like no matter how many times I smile or thank or praise them, they still look at me like I’m some villainess who’ll have them beheaded for breathing too loud.

It’s not a great feeling.

But maybe I’m thinking into it too much. Maybe it’s not about me, maybe this is just the way things are for all the palace staff—trapped by the hierarchy, endless rules, and the constant threat of corporal punishment for small slights. Not to mention that at any moment some pompous yangban bastard could decide to use them as a pawn who’s easily disposed of or made into a scapegoat.

Honestly, I guess I’d be on edge all the time too.

I ask Da-Eun to pass me the scroll she’d been holding. Looking at it, no one would guess that it’s supposed to be a map. Crude squares, rectangles and squiggly lines fill the paper. It looks like a very abstract drawing done by a five-year-old.

… I’m no artist.

I’d sketched it during my tour of the grounds, marking all the buildings and the pathways of the back area. If the front is for my work and study, then the back is for my rest and relaxation, a place where I can hide away from the world in a lush garden with winding stone paths and a pavilion overlooking an idyllic lotus pond. And then beyond that, separate for privacy, but close for convenience are residences for my consorts.

But the problem I faced, was that they were not all equal.

Two were large and prestigious, positioned closer to my own, obviously meant for consorts with higher status. They had names above the doors and small private gardens. More rooms with more space. Three were smaller, less grand and only a little further away but it’s not like they have a huge difference like First Class and Economy, I mean it’s still a palace, there’s obviously a high standard.

But that was it. There were only five.

There hadn’t been a Queen with more than five consorts before.

“Can we prepare two more?” I’d ask Jo-Sanggung after I’d found out. “Are there any places around that’d be suitable?”

“Seven?” Had been her response, voice pitched with surprise. Behinds us, there’d been some whisperings from the trailing gaggle of maids before Jo-Sanggung remembered herself and silenced them with a look.

“It’s my lucky number,” I’d smiled innocently, as if I didn't know anything, as if it was just on a whim.

So now two of the guest buildings will be refurbished as the new consort quarters. They might be the furthest away from my own, but they actually have the prettiest gardens.

Now what was left to do was to decide where I’ll put everyone. Naturally, what came to mind as the most logical solution would be a room selection game – as is the Bangtan way. Plus then nobody can cry about favouritism if the rooms had been picked at random by the consorts themselves.

Tradition would demand that I accommodate them according to status, that Jin, the son of a minister should be placed in the most luxurious quarters whilst Jungkook, as a commoner, would be placed in the smallest. To do that sort of bullshit in order to appease the social hierarchy and satisfy fussy in-laws.

But screw that.

“Have this one prepared for Jin.” I tell Jo-Sanggung, pointing it out to her on my map.

… It’s a bit insulting how long she stares at it before I see recognition in her eyes.

“Yes, Your Royal Highness, have you decided on a name yet?”

I smile. It had taken me all night to try and find the perfect Hanja* characters for Jin’s new palace.

“Wol-hae-bi.”

The Moon’s Reflection in the Sea.

Chapter Text

Thunk.

The arrow strikes true.

It sinks deep into the bark of the oak tree, joining the cluster already embedded within the crudely carved target, jutting out like thorns.

Under the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, Jungkook stands with his father’s bow in hand and his feet firmly grounded, his body briefly relaxing from the release.

He comes here often, to this small clearing in the forest. It’s his private space. A sanctuary. It began as a place to practice what his father had taught him, as a way to remember him, to keep him close in his heart. But as Jungkook grew older, it became more than that. A place to help settle his thoughts when he was faced with troubles.

Shooting helped clear his mind.

… Usually.

Without pause, his next arrow is nocked, fingers brushing up the soft fletching. With an inhale, he lifts the bow again. His elbow rises in a smooth arc to align with his shoulder, the tension building beneath his grip as he glides the string back to anchor in line with his chin. The bow fights to be freed, but he controls it, holding it steady.

Unlike his mind.

His thoughts are unsettled and wild, churning a swarm of doubts and suspicions which refuse to be quiet. They prick at him with fragments of unanswered questions.

Why–   

Thunk.

–had she come?

Leaving the opulence of her palace, just to sully her silk floral shoes with the mud and filth of Namchon*.

To see him, she’d said. Because she’d been worried.

He can still recall her voice. It echoes in his ears. He’d almost wanted to believe her…

But it just didn’t make any sense.

No, there had to be another reason.

Some sort of catch. A trap.

They liked to play that sort of game, didn’t they? The yangban. To entice those beneath them with kind words and false promises. Commoners were just pawns to people like them. To be used and then discarded. And what happened once the game is over. What happened to them when the nobles got bored?

Thunk.

Ruin.

He can’t trust her. Not her words. Or the smile she’d worn … with the way her lips had curved–

No. This– this interest, or whatever it is– it’s got to be because of something she wants.

…

But what could she possibly want from him?

He has nothing. Nothing she could possibly want. No money. No power. No connections.  

He’s just … a fool.

A coward, with only himself to blame for this mess he’s in.

He’d been too spineless to speak. To correct that guardsman. If he had then… well … he would’ve still been living quietly, unknown, until the day he can finally leave this foul city and return to where they belong.

Thunk.

He should have just stayed still.

He would’ve never caught the attention of the Crown Princess.

He wouldn’t be spending his days looking over his shoulder. Jumping at noise and every shadow. His heart unable to calm. His mind unable to rest.

Why–

Thunk.

–hadn’t she come back?

She’d said she would, after appearing like a summer storm. Gone as suddenly as she’d arrived, leaving him with a token and a promise and then–

…Nothing.

A day had turned into two. Then became a week.

He’d told himself it didn’t matter. Yet the promise clung to him like a thorn, sharp and persistent, and reasons for her absence cycled endlessly.

Her interest had waned.

She’d forgotten him.

She’d never intended to return in the first place…

She was busy.

She was hurt.

She was–

“There you are!”

As the voice cuts through his thoughts, Jungkook turns towards the sound, flinching in surprise.

The bow and arrow that was poised and primed in his hands, forgotten.

~

“Holy shit,” I whisper with an unsteady breath, unable to take my eyes from the arrow that is still slightly quivering ... right beside my head.

…

That could have been bad.

Had I taken just one more step–

… that could have been really fucking bad.

My eyes flick over to Jungkook as he appears in front of me, empty hands reaching out, mouth moving. Did he teleport?

Startled, I flinch.

Which was obviously a mistake, because now he looks as though he might crumble into the ground where he stands. Shock and fear and guilt clear as day in those expressive eyes of his.

“I’m okay.” I comfort him quickly.

“–Forgive me– please… I- I didn’t– I didn’t mean to–” His voice trembles, hands hovering.

“No, no–” An awkward bubble of laughter escapes my lips. “It was my fault.” I try to placate him. Dewed sweat starts to trickle down my back. “Guess I snuck up on you– ’m sorry.”

Won’t be doing that again.

I hadn’t even noticed the bow in his hand. Seeing him, I’d called out without thinking. Too excited at having found him after following the vague directions his mother had given me.

The sudden release of adrenaline leaves me trembling. I hear a ringing in my ears. It grows louder, drowning out everything else. My vision fuzzes around the edges, darkening. I feel myself listing to the side, the strength in my legs giving out. A little panicked, I blindly reach out for something to hold onto.

My hand finds what I think is a branch, and I cling to it with the last of my strength, keeping myself upright so that I don’t eat dirt.

“…’m fine.” I say again but my words slur. “Sorry… just– just gimme a second.” I request, letting my head drop squeezing my eyes closed. I lean against the trunk for support. My body feels too heavy, too unsteady, as though the earth itself is tilting.

Deep breath in…

…Deep breath out.

It’s all I focus on, repeating until the ringing in my ears begins to fade, leaving behind a dull hum. I focus on the roughness beneath my hand, grounding myself in the texture as sensation starts to return.

But that’s when I notice there’s a shift beneath my palm, subtle but unmistakable– a movement. My fingers tighten, quickly holding on more firmly, not sure if letting go would send me crashing to the ground.

But then it moves again. Another slight shift. And a soft inhale sways my head.

…

Trees don’t breathe.

Opening my eyes slowly, my vision is a blur of colour before everything shifts back into focus.

That’s the brown of the dirt. The green of the grass. The faded lilac of my skirt.

And that isn’t a branch that I’m clutching onto … it’s Jungkook’s arm. Solid and strong. He’s holding me steady, keeping me upright without wavering and braced should I falter again.

My thumb brushes against the coarse fabric of his sleeve. It’s a thoughtless motion, but one that feels magnified in the silent stillness between us. I can’t help but admire the tautness of muscle I feel. My breath stills, my gaze following the path of his arm and along to his…

Yep.

That’s not a tree trunk I’m resting my forehead against.

… It’s his chest. I can see how I was mistaken.

It brings a smile to my lips.

Ha~ … he always catches me.

How reliable.

“D-did you say something, Your Royal Highness?”

… Did I? I blink in confusion. But more importantly-

“I told you to call me Noona,” I chastise him softly. I have no control over the pout of my bottom lip.

“… Should I take you to a physician?”

“No,” I reply promptly, “I’m alright now.” As I lift my other hand, he raises his in tandem, silently offering more support. I accept it leaning against him whilst I raise my head from his sternum. The feeling of heaviness still lingers but I want to look up at his face.

Just as handsome as I remembered.

But it’s frozen, wide-eyed guilt and panic carved into every line as our eyes meet. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. I offer him a gentle close-lipped smile, squeezing his arms once more as a soothing gesture as his body is so stiff, as if locked in place.

“Don’t worry, Jungkook-ah.” I want to reach out and smooth away the deep crease between his brows. Growing ever more conscious that I’m still clinging to him, I reluctantly take a baby step back, praying that I don’t sway. His arms stay . “I’m not hurt, see?” I motion down my unpierced body. “You missed.” … Luckily. My gaze glances over his shoulder to what must be his practice target – the one riddled with arrows. The sight of it makes my stomach twist. “Waah~ You’re talented … you’d take home gold, for sure!”

He doesn’t respond, just watches me in my awkwardness, lips parting slightly in confusion.

“I mean that– well, you’re really good.” I don’t know what possesses me to give him an impressed double thumbs up. I maintain my smile, wishing that he’d finall–

“… My father taught me.”

His soft voice startles me the same as if it’d been a shout. I think it’s the first time he’s ever told me something that wasn’t an apology. The first time he’s offered anything personal about himself to me.

Progress.

But then, true to his shy boy nature, he clears his throat and casts his eyes back down.

“What brings you here, Your Royal Highness?” He asks, quick to return to formalities.

One step forward, two steps back.

“Your mother–”

“–My mother?” He interrupts, brows lifting with alarm.

“… said that you’d be here,” I finish, gesturing back towards the vague direction that I’d come from. “She asked me to come get you. Dinner’s almost ready.”

I smile, recalling the way she’d been so happy to see me. Escorting me inside the moment she’d spotted me walking towards the gate from where she’d been tending the cauldron. Her eyes brightening when I’d presented my gifts. The ones that I’d just picked up on my way.**

The moment had been nice … it’d felt so normal.

I haven’t felt like that in a while.

“Please forgive her, Your Royal Highness– She doesn’t know you’re– she– she wouldn’t have meant any offense!” He swallows harshly with a clenched jaw. “If there’s any punishment, I should be the one–”

“Jungkook, stop.” I interrupt him firmly, holding back an exasperated sigh. Squashing his apology habit might be harder than I thought. “There was no offense– I was glad to do it– well … until you almost shot me.”

…

My joke falls short. There’s no amusement on his face. In fact, at the reminder, his panic seems to increase.

…Guess it’s too soon to laugh about.

“Besides…” I clear my throat and press on. I hesitate only slightly, sweeping an errant hair that I feel sticking to my lip behind my ear. But now’s finally my chance so fuck it– “Honestly, I’ve been wanting to talk to you …  alone.”

And finally, we are. No more interruptions. No more annoyances. No more running away.

But first–

“I’m sorry it took so long. I meant to come back sooner but then with all the rain and … some other stuff, well, I couldn’t come out for a while–” I realize I’m rambling and force myself to rein it in before my explanation sounds like excuses. “Anyway, I’m here now. We can finally talk, properly.”

His gaze is intense. The full focus of Jeon Jungkook feels too much, too piercing, and it threatens my nerves. I glance down instead, my fingers fiddling with a stray thread at the sleeve of another borrowed jacket. I keep twisting the thread like it’s an anchor to prevent me from drowning in those eyes.

“… What about, Your Royal Highness?” There’s something in the way he says it– something in his tone, his expression, that makes my pulse flicker uneasily.

My eyes snap back to him.

“You know…” I smile widely, adding in a playful scoff as I gesture between us “…about us.”

“Us?” he echoes.

“Well, yeah, I mean we’re soulmates after all…”

It feels good to finally say it. It’s taken long enough. I know that he’s probably got a lot of questions. Perhaps a few worries. Maybe he’d thought I’d been avoiding him. Even felt a little neglected. The idea that I might have made him feel that way too doesn’t sit well with me.

I’ll be sure to make it up to him.

My smile lingers as I wait for his response, a tickle of anticipation dancing across my skin.

But then the silence starts to stretch as I study his expression, marking the furrowed brows and parted lips… The half vacant look in his eyes that he gets when his brain is working in overdrive. It’s the look of his utter bewilderment.

My excitement begins to waiver as doubt laps at it like a wave against the shore.

“I– … I don’t understand.” He murmurs, halting as if he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing.

My smile falters.

…

“You don’t… understand?” I repeat, voice dipping into disbelief. I search his face, looking for any sign that he’s teasing or testing me, but all I find is uncertainty.

For a moment, I can’t speak, the air between us thickening with silence. Then, almost reflexively, a nervous laugh escapes.

“Wait, you’re serious?” I ask, my voice breaking slightly. “You really don’t know?”

His lips part as though he’s going to say something else, but nothing comes out. He looks… sincerely confused.

Okay then. No big deal. I’ll just–

“Well then… okay, I’ll explain,” I say quickly, shoving down the odd unease that’s rising in my chest. “Soulmates are …” How to say this without sounding too cheesy? “… people destined to be with each other.”

Jungkook stiffens. “Destined?” he echoes the word, his tone tight.

“Yes,” I confirm, trying to keep my voice steady. “They say that the Heaven’s choose who will be Consorts so when I touch them, a mark appears.”

His gaze darts back up to me, wide and disbelieving. “A mark?”

“Exactly.” My excitement bubbles up again, relief blooming at the chance to explain. “It tells me who I’m meant to be with. It’s how my mother found my fathers– it’s how I found Jin too,” I smile at the memory. “It’s how I know that we’re–”

“–What mark?”

…

“…Th– that mark on your hand– that ring around your little finger…” I say, his interruption causing me to trip over my words.

His brows furrow deeper, and I see one moment of hesitation before his curiosity wins and he brings his hand up to confirm. His skin is brushed with dirt, cracked calluses decorate his palm and the pads of his fingers. He inspects it from all angles.

And then he spots it.

“It’s how I know,” I explain, my gut twisting uncomfortably as he rubs at it – as if he can wipe it off. “It’s– it’s the mark of our bond. Look, I have the same.” I insist, hastily unwrapping the bandage that has been hiding them. Shit, why are my fingers are trembling? “This one’s Jin’s and this one… this one’s yours.” I continue, filling the silence. Letting the bandage fall to the floor, I hold my hand out, taking a step closer to show him so that he can see the proof more clearly–

But he steps back. As if the very air between us pushes him away.

Repelled.

“See?” I ask, trying to ignore the sudden stabbing I feel in my chest. “…It appeared after we met at the hunt.”

… Less than five minutes ago, he’d been holding me in his arms. And now–

“What does it mean, for me, if I’m this … if I’m your…?” he asks me cutting himself off purposefully before the word can reach his tongue.

“… you’d become a Prince Consort … we’d be married.” I regret the words the instant they leave my mouth. I don’t miss the way his shoulders stiffen at the mention of it, and suddenly, I feel foolish for saying it aloud.

I know it’s too soon. Too much. Too fast.

Talking about marriage after three meetings, I must be fucking crazy.

I hadn’t expected that he wouldn’t know. And how could he not know? Wasn’t all of this soulmate shit –the heavenly chosen consorts, the whole damn marriage mandate– all public information?

…

Thinking back … I don’t recall a single man in commoner clothing being presented to me that day.

Only nobles.

Shit.

No wonder he’s looking at me like that. His expression twists to something tight, something fearful.

“This… I-it can’t be.” His words tumble over each other.

“Jungkook…” I say softly, reaching out despite knowing somehow I’ve already fucked this up.

“This doesn’t make sense,” he says, his voice low, trembling slightly. His gaze flicks to my fingers and back to my face, the disbelief written plainly across his expression. “It must be a mistake.”

My lips part, but no words come out. A mistake?

…

“It’s not a mistake,” I press, an edge of desperation creeping into my tone. “Haven’t you felt it? The connection between us?”

“… No.” His denial is sharp, immediate. He shakes his head sharply, as though trying to dispel the very idea of it.

“No?” My chest tightens, my hand faltering mid-air as I try to make sense of everything. I thought… I thought I’d seen something. In the way he held me earlier, in the worry in his voice– the fear that he’d hurt me…

A realization hits, cold and heavy in my lungs.

I replay the moments we’ve shared, searching for signs I might have missed. The way he spoke to me with his head slightly bowed. How he flinched when I teased him, like he wasn’t sure if I meant it as a joke or not. Even now, the distance he keeps, the way he refuses to meet my eyes – it’s not shyness.

It’s caution.

It’s fear.

The kind bred into those who know their lives hang in the balance of a single misstep. Who know the smallest error, an improperly bowed head, a misplaced word, can cost everything if they don’t please those above them.

…

And I’m one of them.

I’m the one he fears.

…

And this whole time I’ve been chasing after him– fuck I basically hunted him down, completely blind to how he’d been feeling, how my very presence must have felt like a threat.

Because looking back, not once has he shown interest in me.

Fuck– Has he ever once smiled at me?

My mouth sours.

I feel sick.

I feel ashamed.

The kind of shame that makes you want to disappear into the ground.

I swallow hard, my throat dry and tight. The silence between us grows unbearable, stretching and suffocating. Jungkook stands before me, his posture tense, his gaze flitting away like he’s looking for an escape.

… He’s always been looking for an escape.

I take a step back, lowering my hand, creating space between us. I tell myself it’s to give him room, but really, it’s because I don’t trust myself not to make this worse. The shame curls deeper into my chest, prickling and burning.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” I manage, my voice quieter now, less certain. “I just thought…”

That he’d be happy to be my soulmate? That he’d ask what took me so long and then pack up his life to join my harem just because some divine decree said we’d live happily ever after?

“I guess I got too excited, I didn’t–”

Didn’t even consider his feelings.

“…I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” My voice as steady as I can manage despite the cracks threatening to break through. “You saved my life and then just disappeared after. I was so desperate to find you because I knew you’re my soulmate. So when I finally found you… I was relieved. Happy. I couldn’t stop thinking about you but I… I guess I didn’t really think about how you might feel about… all of this.”

I glance away, hesitating, but then I force myself to meet his gaze even as my stomach churns. “I’d… I’d like to know you, Jungkook-sshi … if you’ll let me. Not as the Crown Princess… but, as a woman.”

I exhale slowly, the next words trembling on my tongue. I don’t want to say them. But I have to make sure he knows.

Knows that he has a choice.

“But of course, if you don’t– if you’d rather I leave you alone, then … then I will.”

He glances at me then, just briefly, before looking away again. It’s not anger in his expression – it’s something softer, something like confusion or maybe pity. And somehow, that’s worse.

I glance down at the band on my finger, a mark that had once seemed to promise certainty, but now…?

For a moment, I think he might say something – stop me, or at least acknowledge my words. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, the distance between us growing heavier with every passing second.

So I turn, my heart sinking with every step I take. I feel the sting of tears at the corners of my eyes and quickly blink them away. Crying now would only make this worse–

“Your Royal Highness.” The sound of his voice stops me in my tracks. I spin so quickly, that dying ember of hope–

“That… isn’t the right way.”

…

Oh.

… I’m starting to wish he hadn’t missed.

~

The house comes into view as we step out of the forest, and I can’t help but exhale a sigh of relief. The journey back had been … one of the most uncomfortable situations in my life.

And I’d once walked in on my best friend with her professor.

The silence had lingered between us like a ghost, growing heavier with every step. I hadn’t been sure that he’d even wait for me, not after everything that just happened. I’d half expected him to just vanish into the trees, leaving me behind again just like before.

But he hadn’t.

Maybe he’d tried. I’d definitely struggled to keep up with his fast pace and his long legs. My skirts had kept snagging on brambles and roots as if they’d been determined to hold me back. At one point, the hem of my dress had gotten caught on a particularly stubborn branch. I’d been seconds away from just tearing my skirt off out of frustration when without a word, he’d freed the fabric carefully, his movements deft and precise, still avoiding my gaze.

And then he’d kept on walking.

After that he’d slowed his pace ever so slightly, just enough that I’d been able to keep up. He’d held aside low-hanging branches for me, his hand lingering only for a second before letting them fall behind me. Even silently had offered his arm for me when we’d come to a steep rock, his touch steady but fleeting. Making my damn heart flutter and confusing the shit out of me.

How could he be so … attentive and yet so distant at the same time? Could he really not feel this connection? The one I feel thrumming between us like a live wire? This pull, this undeniable, magnetic force.

It feels so similar to what I feel when I’m with Jin but with Jin, there’s been no hesitation, no doubt just … warmth and ease. Yet with Jungkook …

I catch myself before the thought runs too far. It’s unfair to compare them. To either of them.

But … if this feeling really is a soulmate bond, not just my hopes and delusions, then why doesn’t he feel it too? Shouldn’t he? Isn’t that how this is supposed to work?

A darker thought edges into my mind, cold and unwelcome. What if he doesn’t feel it? What if … is it possible for soulmates to reject each other?

I mean I’ve heard of tropes like that before. Rejected ma–

Oh god.

Am I going to be rejected?

Then what?

My mind is quickly flooded with ridiculous ideas. In every story I’ve ever read the consequences were pretty shitty. Soulmate bonds weren’t just some gentle pull you could ignore – they were powerful cosmic forces. Almost always impossible to sever without some kind of pain or sickness, or wasting away until even–

…

Even death.

…

Okay, top fucking priority.

Find out.

Immediately.

The smell of sizzling meat pulls me out of my spiralling thoughts. Smoke curls into the crisp early evening air, and as we approach the house, I spot Jungkook’s mother crouched by the fire, grilling thick slices of samgyeopsal on an upside-down cauldron lid. She glances up as we step into the yard.

“Just in time!” she calls warmly, her smile as broad and welcoming as before. But it falters slightly when her eyes flit between us, scanning the tension. Guess it’s pretty obvious. “I was starting to get worried you’d gotten lost.”

She straightens, brushing her hands on her apron, and gestures toward the spread. “Hurry and sit. It’s almost ready.”

Jungkook shifts beside me, stiff and hesitant, and I glance at him, unsure. My instinct is to leave, to give him the space he so clearly wants. And if I’m being honest, the thought of sitting through more awkward silence feels unbearable.

“Ah, actually, I think I should probably get going–”

“Nonsense, dear,” his mother interrupts, waving me off with a warm smile. “You brought everything. How can you not stay and enjoy it with us?”

Jungkook’s head snaps toward me, brows furrowing deeply. “You brought it?”

“Not just the meat!” his mother interjects proudly before I can respond. She gestures toward the assortment of vegetables, sauces, and side dishes spread out neatly beside her. “Look at all this!”

“… We can’t accept this,” Jungkook says stiffly, his voice low. “We don’t need your-”

“Please, don’t insult me,” I reply quickly, just as quiet but my tone sharper than I intended. I sigh, softening my voice slightly. “It’s a gift.” His brows furrow deeper, and I can feel his discomfort radiating from him. “I couldn’t come back empty-handed. That’s not how I was raised.”

I brush past him, ignoring the sting to my pride as I slip off my shoes and climb onto the pyeong-sang.

I’d spent all morning obsessing over what to bring. It’d had to be thoughtful but not extravagant, something that wouldn’t feel like a burden so they couldn’t refuse. Fruit had obviously crossed my mind first but here, with how rare and expensive it is in these times, it would only raise questions. Questions I’m sure he doesn’t want his mother asking.

So instead, I’d gone for meat. I’d even purposefully kept it simple to keep up appearances, buying a modest quantity but decent quality. But then it’d seemed too little, so I’d brought a few side dishes as well.

His mother joins us, placing the plate of still sizzling meat in the centre. Her gaze bounces between us, sharp eyes narrowing as if she’s trying to piece together the mood. Whatever she sees, she must not like, because without a word, she disappears inside. She returns moments later with a bottle and small drinking bowls cradled in her hands.

“Can you drink?” She asks, passing one to me.

“Ah, yes,” I reply, accepting it with both hands as she tips the bottle, filling my bowl first with a cloudy alcohol before moving on to Jungkook.

I’m not sure I can stomach eating.

But I definitely need this drink.

A brief silence settles as we each take our first sip, the milky rice wine leaving a faint warmth in my throat, not punching as hard as I’d like. The quiet stretches, thick and expectant, and when I glance up, I find his mother watching me. Waiting.

I clear my throat and straighten.

“I’ll eat well,” I say, breaking the lingering silence as I reach first for a lettuce leaf. I use it to wrap up meat and vegetables with practiced ease and, without hesitation, offer the ssam* to his mother. “Here, Eomma-nim.”

She takes it with a delighted smile. “Such nice manners,” she compliments, glancing pointedly at Jungkook.

“You never did tell me where you met such a polite, beautiful, young lady.” she prods, a subtle interrogation, as she turns her expectant smile to me.

“He saved my life,” I answer, face burning from her praise as I prod at my rice.

“My Jungkook did?” Her eyes widen as she looks at him. “Why? What happened?”

Jungkook looks panicked, his wide eyes darting between us like a cornered animal.

There’s a flicker of temptation. A dark whisper that says to tell her who I am and what he is to me. But I tamp it down quickly. That’s not the kind of person I want to be. Not to him.

“It was a few weeks ago now. A horse had been running wild. He helped get me out of the way before I got seriously hurt.” I omit all the important details, but I don’t lie to her. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. He vanished before I could thank him and so when I saw him in the market last week, I was so happy to meet him again. I’d felt awful that he got hurt because of me.”

Not a single lie.

Her reaction is immediate. “Omo! That’s what happened? Why didn’t you tell me?” She swats Jungkook’s back, her hand landing with a sharp smack between his shoulders. He winces, jerking forward slightly before twisting to reach back to rub at the sting with a grimace.

“You told me you just fell messing around with the other students!” she exclaims, her tone equal parts disbelief and chastisement.

“Students?” I interrupt, confused. “You’re a student?”

Jungkook freezes.

“He studies at Sungkyunkwan,” his mother announces proudly.

I force a smile, nodding. “That’s impressive,” I say evenly, my eyes fixed on Jungkook. He squirms under the weight of my gaze, his discomfort practically radiating off him.

Because I know it’s total bullshit.

The report I’d been given had been thorough about his movements, and not once did it mention him attending the prestigious university.

… Seems I’m not the only one keeping secrets.

“Yes, I’m very proud of my Jungkookie,” she starts, her voice warm and filled with pride that feels weighted with a tinge of sorrow. “He’s such a smart boy,” his mother continues, her eyes softening as they land on him. “A good boy.”

I glance at him, noting the faint colour rising to his ears, the way his hand is curling tightly around his rice bowl.

“Even though things have been hard.” She lets out a soft, almost bitter chuckle, shaking her head. “It hasn’t been easy– for either of us…”

“Eomma.” I catch the note in his voice, the plea for his mother to stop talking.

“… But it’ll get better.” She nods, as if reassuring herself. “We may have been thrown off course for… well, some time now, but once he’s finished school and passed the exams, I’m sure he’ll earn a good position. A stable one. Something respectable.” She glances at Jungkook, her next words pointed. “Something that’s safe.”

Jungkook stiffens slightly on the other side of the table, worrying his lip.

“That won’t make his family worry.” There’s something in the way she says it – something heavy and unspoken.

I bite my tongue against the urge to ask.

It isn’t my place. This is obviously a family matter. And I am just a guest at their table. An outsider. An unwanted intruder in his world.

Jungkook’s rejection lingers at the edges of my mind, a cold echo that won’t fade, sharpening painfully every time I look at him.

I deserve it. I’d been so sure that I’d blinded myself to his feelings.

The thoughts tangle and knot together, looping endlessly with no answer.

No. I can’t spiral here. I’ve got to hold it together. For now. Until I’m alone.

I take another sip of my drink, forcing myself to swallow it down.

It tastes bitter.**

~

Meanwhile

~

Hoseok rolls the taste of the wine over his tongue, letting it sit there for a moment before swallowing. For some reason he’d thought it would taste different here in Hanyang, richer, more refined, maybe with that crisp bite of luxury he’d imagined nobles indulged in. But no, it tastes the same as anywhere else. Just poured into finer cups.

It's disappointing.

He exhales, tilting his head back against the wooden pillar behind him, eyes flickering to the darkening sky stretched above. The rain has started again, light at first, a drizzle barely noticeable beyond the eaves of the roof. But soon, it’ll grow heavier, the kind that drums steadily against tiles, fills the gutters, and turns the roads to sludge.

The kind that’s kept them from the streets, from performing. From looking for that pretty lady again. The one who’s fleeting smile was seared into his mind like a brand.

Red lanterns sway from the beams, their glow flickering each time the wind shifts. The soft plucking of strings echoes from the main hall, a melody light and steady accompanying conversations that weave through the air, the laughter spilling from the open doorways.

Oktajeong had been a blessing.

A stroke of good fortune, really.

It had just so happened that the kisaeng house had a vacancy, their previous troupe having left in a hurry.

No one had said why.

And they hadn’t asked. Not when they had a place to rest their heads without worry of being turned away.

It’s a well-known establishment, known for its skilled entertainers. This place appreciates art. Not just another pleasure house, but a true sanctuary for talent. So of course the noblemen, both young and old flock here, their purses heavy and their cups never empty.

Hoseok watches a group of yangban sons, their attention solely on the wine and the women at their disposal whilst the lavish feast before them sits untouched, growing cold on the lacquered tables.

People like them have obviously never known what it’s like to be hungry, he thinks, disgusted with envy, huddled on the far side of the courtyard around a small brazier with the others, cradling the bowl of thin rice soup in his hands.

The rowdy group on the terrace erupts into laughter, their voices thick with drink. One of them, a silk-robed prick that’s red in the face, grabs at one of the young serving girls as she tries to pull away.

Hoseok’s body moves before his mind does.

His bowl clatters to the ground as he surges to his feet, fists clenched at his sides. But before he can take a single step, a firm hand grips his arm, halting him.

“Don’ be getting’ involved now, Hobi,” Hagnam warns, his voice low, edged with quiet dismay. He shakes his head, his weathered face tight with concern. “We jus got ‘ere. S’too soon to be causin’ trouble.”

Hoseok grits his teeth but somehow he forces himself to sit back down. Only then does the old man release his grip.

“Don’ always haff ta be the hero, ya know,” he says, purposefully pricking at the meaning of Hoseok’s nickname**. He juts his whiskered chin towards the group. “Look.”

One of the other kisaengs has already intervened. She steps in smoothly, diverting the nobleman’s attention, slipping into his lap as she sacrifices herself to his grasp, his hands and lips violently claiming her instead. The girl he’d been pawing at scurries away, vanishing into the shadows.

Hoseok sees her face before she does.

She can’t be older than fifteen.

Hoseok can’t stop the memories that resurface unbidden.

His sister.

Her screams.

Her tears.

Back then, he hadn’t been able to do anything.

But he’s no longer a helpless kid.

He exhales slowly, unclenching his fists, forcing the tension from his shoulders. The anger is still there, simmering beneath his skin, but he tamps it down for now. Acting recklessly won’t do anyone any good.

“Find out all you can about that bastard,” he murmurs, voice low but firm.

The boy beside him nods without hesitation and slips away into the shadows, heading toward the servants’ quarters – the best place to gather information. If there was one thing he’d learned over the years, it was that the people who carried trays and poured drinks always knew more than the ones sitting at the table.

Hoseok exhales again, glancing down at the remnants of his meal. The bowl lies on its side, its contents spilled across the dirt at his feet. A waste. But there’s no use lingering. His appetite has long since soured.

Rising to his feet, he brushes the dust from his clothes and steps away, ignoring the quiet sigh from Hagnam at his side. He doesn’t have to look to know the elder man is watching him with that familiar weariness, the kind that strongly advises against making trouble.

Hoseok walks across the courtyard, passing the main hall where a performance is underway. From the corner of his eye, he catches the movement of the dancer on the platform in the centre of the room. Blades gleam silver under the lantern light, flashing with each controlled strike and sweep.

Hoseok’s steps slow for just a moment.

The dancer moves like water, their form precise, their lines sharp and graceful. It’s a complicated routine but each movement flows seamlessly into the next, a perfect blend of power and elegance. Only by the clothing can Hoseok tell that the dancer is a man, as his beauty holds both a masculine strength and a feminine delicacy – a contradiction, that only adds to his presence.

For a brief moment, Hoseok watches, captivated as he admires the dancer’s control, the way his body bends and turns without hesitation, completely synchronised with the beat of the music.

But then, as quickly as he stopped, he moves on.

There are more important things to do.

He has places to be.

People to see.

~

Though the sky is rapidly darkening, there are still people on the streets, their footsteps hurried as they make their way home before the curfew bell rings. A strange thing to enforce, Hoseok muses. He isn’t used to such strict curfews outside the capital. Where he’s from, the night belongs to those who can move within it unseen. Those with business best kept out of the daylight. But here in Hanyang, the darkness seems heavier, the silence between each distant voice stretched thin with caution.

He’s already been warned several times – Hanyang is not kind at night.

He keeps his head down, but his eyes scan his surroundings, tracking movement, watching for the ones who lurk rather than leave. As usual without his mask, he feels bare. Exposed. On edge.

Turning off the main road, he slips into a narrow street, navigating the city’s veins of twisting alleys. The pathways wind in senseless directions, splitting and narrowing into dead ends before opening up again in unfamiliar corners. Several times he has to stop, retrace his steps, pausing at unmarked doors and empty courtyards, until finally, he finds the right place.

The workshop is quiet, save for the rhythmic scrape of a blade against wood. In the dark a sole candle flickers on the desk, its wax pooling beneath the flame, casting a dim golden glow over the hunched figure seated before it.

The man’s broad shoulders are curled inward, his head tilted down in concentration. The carving knife in his grip glides steadily, shaving thin curls of wood from the piece in his hands.

Hoseok lets himself inside, his voice light as he announces himself. “You’re working late, Hyung-nim.”

The knife pauses mid-stroke, but the man doesn’t look up.

“This is early for me,” the response is dry as he continues his work, his blade gliding cleanly through the wood.

Hoseok steps further in, shaking off the lingering chill of the night air. “You’re like a damn dokkaebi*, eh? Haunting the night, making riches for someone else.” He lets his gaze drift over the scattered tools, the bowls and bottles that litter the workspace, the rumpled bedding in the corner.

His hyung finally pauses, rolling his stiff shoulders before throwing down the knife atop the worktable. Instead, he reaches for the bottle beside him, tipping it back for a quick sip before setting it down again with a quiet clink. “Daytime’s too noisy,” he mutters, more to himself than to Hoseok. “Too many people. Too much light.” He picks up the carving knife again, twirling it lazily between his fingers. “Night’s better. Nobody bothers me,” he stops with a pointed glance at Hoseok, “…usually.”

Hoseok huffs, watching as his hyung returns to his work, movements smooth and deliberate. “So you sleep all day, drink and work all night, eh?” he muses, crossing his arms. “… Sure, sounds like a healthy way to live.”

His hyung snorts, the faintest curve of a smirk tugging at his lips. “It works.”

Hoseok doesn’t miss the way he keeps his head low, his face mostly turned away from the candlelight. Night isn’t just his preference.

It’s his shield.

Stray strands of pitch-black hair slip from the messy knot at his nape, the length as crudely cut as it’d been the day they’d met. It makes him look wilder, untamed – like a man who’d stopped giving a shit about propriety long ago.

“What you working on?” Hoseok asks, moving closer to the table.

His hyung’s fingers never still as he answers, his voice clipped. “Wedding gift.”

Hoseok raises an eyebrow, interest piqued. “Who’s getting married?” He’s always liked weddings. The joy, the celebration … the pay. Wouldn’t be a bad idea to reach out and see if they’ve got any entertainment planned for the feast.

“Apparently someone real fucking important.” His hyung exhales sharply, setting down his carving knife just long enough to shake out the tension in his fingers. “Old bastard’s been up my ass about it for the past two weeks.”

Hoseok watches as he resumes carving the surface of some sort of box, the intricate pattern coming to life under his careful touch. It’s a work of art. And yet, it’s going to be claimed by someone else.

"You should be the one in charge, not him." The words slip out, half-encouragement, half-outrage.

 “And who’s gonna buy from a no-name craftsman with no title, no guild, and no connections?” His hyung lets out a scoff. "This shithole doesn’t care how skilled you are. Just your fucking name."

Hoseok shakes his head at the quiet resignation in his hyung’s voice, the way he’s just accepted it like some unchangeable truth.

Once, the man before him would have spat fire at the idea of being under the thumb of another. Would have cursed the very walls that confined him. Now, that same fire’s been reduced to embers.

Was this what time did to people?

Hoseok can still remember the boy from ten years ago, hollow-eyed and burning up from the inside with rage.

Kindred to the one within Hoseok himself.

"You really okay with this?" Hoseok presses, softer this time. “Working like a dog while your master gets all the fame and riches?”

His hyung’s shoulders lift in a lazy shrug. "What do I care for any of that? I’m dead anyway," he says, a smirk ghosting over his lips as he runs his fingers over the dangerously sharp blade to wipe off the sawdust.

The answer grates on Hoseok, but before he can push the issue further, his hyung cocks his head, eyes sharp despite their lazy tilt. “What’s got you so fired up tonight?”

Hoseok taps his fingers idly against his crossed arms. “Son of a bitch back at the house. Thought he could put his hands wherever he wanted.” He watches his hyung carefully as he speaks. “Lucky someone stopped him before I could.”

His hyung’s jaw ticks.

With a sharp exhale, he drives the knife into the table, the sudden thunk making Hoseok jump. His long fingers curl around the bottle next, knuckles taut as he lifts it to his lips, taking a long, steady swig. Once. Twice.

Hoseok hums, taking in the reaction, watching as those embers seem to spark back to life in his eyes. “You always did hate entitled bastards.”

“And Hanyang’s full of them.” His hyung responds as he leans back, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Then he turns to face Hoseok, extending the bottle in silent offering. “So…”

The candlelight flickers, casting deep shadows across his pale, jade-like face, catching on the vicious looking scar that carves its path from above his brow, cutting through the arch in a jagged line before trailing down the soft curve of his cheekbone.

“…what do you wanna do about it?”

Chapter Text

"You seem troubled," my mother remarks, her voice smooth and measured as we walk the winding stone paths of the garden. A cool breeze brushes against my skin, easing the lingering ache behind my eyes from the pitiful tears I’d shed last night under the cover of darkness.

The whisper of our robes against the pebbled walkway is muffled beneath the rhythmic crunch of our steps. Behind us trails our usual long line of attendants, each maintaining a respectful distance, their heads bowed, hands clasped neatly before them, ever watchful but silent.

Willow trees with sweeping emerald branches sway in the breeze, their long tendrils brushing the surface of the tranquil pond where koi fish glide beneath the lily pads.

My mother, regal even in repose, moves with practiced grace beside me, her expression unreadable. It was rare to catch her alone and in a moment of idleness, so I’d quickly seized the opportunity to get answers.

"Eomma," I begin, careful to keep my voice level as anxiety churns in my chest. "What would happen if a soulmate bond is rejected?"

She blinks at me, the only sign of her surprise, then lets out a soft laugh, continuing forward with a shake of her head.

"Rejected?" she echoes, as if the word itself is foreign. “That has never happened. The bond exists because it will be embraced.”

“But what if it isn’t?” I counter, “… what if it’s refused?”

Her lips quirk upward, just slightly amused. “The bond has always been absolute.”

She glances at me from the corner of her eye. The humor in her expression fades as she takes in the tight set of my jaw, my fragile composure. Her steps slow, as she turns fully to face me.

A slight furrow appears between her brows. "Why do you trouble yourself with such thoughts?"

My hands wring beneath my jeogori. "He didn’t know anything about it. He had no clue.”

At this, she finally turns her head to face me fully, the golden embroidery of the dragon glinting in the sunlight. "The commoner?" she asks, her voice a delicate balance between curiosity and something unreadable. "Jung Kiseok?"

“Jeon Jungkook, Eomma,” I correct her sternly.

She overlooks my tone with a soft exhale like the rustling of bamboo leaves. "Commoners have different concerns than us. Who sits on the throne matters little to those who only want a warm meal and a roof over their head. As long as they have a place to eat and sleep, the politics of the palace mean little to them. That is what your father once told me."

I frown, my fingers trailing idly against the smooth bark of a flowering peach tree. "Which one?"

For the first time, she hesitates. The air between us grows heavier, despite the pleasant breeze. She releases a sigh that carries something deeper – an old, long buried sorrow.

And I somehow know immediately.

The black mark on my mother’s finger.

“No one ever speaks of him.” I say, my voice quieter as we step onto a stone bridge, pausing at its peak. Below, a school of golden koi scatter in response to our shadows.

"His name was Do-hyeon."

The name lingers in the air, like an unfinished melody that has long since ended. The absence of a family name like a missing note.

"Who was he?" I ask.

A ghost of a smile flickers across her lips but never reaches her eyes.

"An orphan.”

She lifts a hand, trailing her fingers lightly along the bridge's railing as if tracing something unseen. “I met him by chance while I walked among the people in disguise." A small, wistful smile touches her lips before fading just as quickly. "He caught me where he shouldn’t have. By all reason we were never meant to cross paths. And yet we did. That is the strength of fate, my child.”

I hesitate a little before asking, my voice quieter, more tentative.

“What was he like?”

It’s a simple question, but the weight behind it feels vast as hearing her speak, I start to feel a sudden an ache wondering about a father I’ll never know.

She exhales softly, turning her gaze upward as if revering the heavens. "He was unlike anyone I had ever met.”

In a rare moment, the carefully composed expression of the Queen falters, revealing something warm, something achingly fond.

"He was foolish," she admits, but there is no real reprimand in her tone. "Brave to the point of being reckless. He would go anywhere, face anything, if it meant protecting those he loved."

She lifts her chin slightly, sunlight catching the smooth curve of her cheekbone. Her pause feels weighted with sorrow.

"And he was infuriating," she says, shaking her head with a quiet chuckle. "Utterly impossible at times. The way he carried himself, the way he spoke – so irreverent, so completely unconcerned about almost everything."

Her fingers tighten against the railing, just briefly, before she draws in a slow breath and releases her grip, as if catching herself before the memories pull her too deep.

"The ministers despised him for it.” A smirk twitches at the corner of her lips. “He never bowed deep enough. Never spoke with the caution they expected. And he never let anyone, not even me, try to change him."

Her words slow, deliberate, as if each one carries a precious memory.

"He had this way of making the world feel lighter … as if nothing could ever weigh him down." Her lips curve into a smile. "He made me feel lighter, too."

She turns slightly, leaning against the railing as her gaze drifts to the water below, eyes distant as if she can see the past reflected there.

Her wistful expression vanishes, her gaze turning cold.

“But to them, he was a stain on the royal lineage,” she spits. “And there were fools who tried again and again to cast him aside. It felt like a constant battle.” She straightens after a moment, her shoulders lifting as if shaking off the weight of memory. “But they could do nothing. After all, he had been chosen for me by a power much greater than mere mortals."

She looks at me then, really looks at me, and something unspoken passes between us.

I swallow, feeling the weight of her words settle deep in my chest. The warning is clear.

"You’re worried they’ll do the same?"

Her silence is answer enough. A hush falls between us, broken only by the gentle chirping of birds and the whisper of the wind through the leaves.

"I wish I could have known him," I whisper.

For a long moment, she says nothing.

"So do I," she murmurs.

"What happened to him?" The question leaves my lips before I can stop it, my voice hesitant, knowing that the answer might only cause pain.

"He died," she answers, her voice distant. Haunted.

A chill creeps over my skin, but it’s not born from the breeze. In fact, the wind seems to still.

…

It’s from her.

…

There is something in her eyes. Something sharp and cold, flickering just beneath the black surface.

Not just grief. Not just sorrow. Something deeper. Older.

A fury that doesn’t die.

"Eomma–" I whisper, fear rising–

"A fire," her voice cuts. Dark. Piercing. "The night you were born."

~

Before I could press her further, to ask the onslaught of questions occupying my mind, the Head Eunuch arrived, his presence a blade that severed the moment. His appearance meant one thing. That she was needed elsewhere. And her time with me was over.

"That’s enough for now," she’d said to me, placing a cool hand on my cheek, all traces of the– the thing that’d left me feeling so unsettled, completely erased from her gaze. "There is no point of getting ensnared in the past. Not when you have much happier things to look forward to."

In a daze, I found myself walking before I even knew my destination.

When I snap out of it, I find myself standing before the gates of Wol-hae-bi.

Jin’s quarters.

But he’s not here yet.

Fuck, I miss him.

I want to see him. I want to hear his voice. And I want, more than anything, to bury myself in his arms. To drown in his scent and forget all my worries. If only for a moment.

A thought, reckless and wild, flits through my mind.

How much trouble would I get into if I were to find a way to sneak into the Detached Palace?

Surely it wouldn’t be too impossible, right? The walls weren’t that high.

A wry smile tugs at my lips, though it fades just as quickly.

Because as I step over the threshold and enter the courtyard, I can tell that something’s wrong.

The air feels different, thick with unease. Servants gather in clusters, their voices low, their movements hesitant. Some stand frozen, others whisper anxiously amongst themselves. Near the entrance, a few eunuchs hover beside a pile of furniture, chests and lacquered tables, just abandoned outside the doors. As if someone had started moving them but then suddenly lost the nerve.

A hush falls over them as they notice me.

They bow hastily, their heads ducking low. But their fear lingers in the space between them, in the darting glances they steal at one another, in the tension thick enough to taste.

Something’s very wrong.

“What’s going on?” I murmur to Jo-Sanggung as she appears beside me.

Her gaze sweeps over the courtyard, sharp and assessing, before she strides directly towards a group of maids. I watch as she speaks, her tone clipped and commanding. The maids glance at each other uneasily before pushing a younger one forward.

Whatever she says makes Jo-Sanggung’s expression harden. She’s scowling when she returns.

"It’s just nonsense, Your Royal Highness," she says, lowering her voice an unmistakable edge of irritation beneath it, "a girl is claiming that she saw a ghost."

…

"A ghost?" I repeat, my voice thick and flat with skepticism.

…

Are you fucking kidding me?

I let out a slow, exasperated sigh. Abandoning all semblance of royal composure, my arm tightly crosses over my chest, whilst the other comes up to cradle my forehead, fingers pressing against my temple to knead away the brewing headache.

I can’t decide whether to laugh or swear. Maybe both. Because this is just the icing on the goddamn cake.

I was already feeling like I was close to the edge of what I can handle and now … now there’s a fucking ghost.

I want to scoff, to call it outright bullshit– I should.

Because ghosts aren’t real.

…

But soulmates had been fiction.

And time travel? Impossible.

…

And yet, here I am.

I straighten, schooling my expression, forcing reason into my tone as I decide that there’s no harm in hearing her out.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

The maid is ushered forward. She stands before me, her hands clenched in the fabric of her skirts, her head bowed so low that her shoulders tremble from the strain.

Seeing her brace for punishment sends an unexpected pang through me.

Jungkook had looked at me the same way…

The sting still feels fresh.

"Tell Her Royal Highness what you claim to have seen," Jo-Sanggung commands, her voice crisp and authoritative.

The maid swallows hard, trembling under the weight of so many eyes. When she speaks, her voice is little more than a whisper. "Last night, I-I was putting out the candles, Y-your Royal Highness, and making sure all the windows were closed … I was in the bedchamber by myself- and that’s when- when I heard a noise."

I wait, watching as she wrings the fabric of her skirts between her fingers, gathering the courage to continue.

“I thought it might have been one of the others, so I came out to check and then-” Her breath catches, a visible shudder rolling through her. “That’s when… I saw it.”

Her voice drops to a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might summon it back.

I force myself to stay level-headed. “Saw what exactly?”

"A woman," she whispers. "All in white and … she was just standing there. Staring at me."

My eyes narrow. “You saw her face?”

She shakes her head. “No, her hair, it was unbound, it- it covered everything.” Her hands lift to her head, fingers trembling as they mimic tangled strands.

What she’s describing sounds like it’s straight from a horror - the spectral figure dressed in white of a woman, appearing in the dead of night.

How cliche.

But ghost stories didn’t just come out of nowhere.

There’s always been something that’s sparked them. A shadow cast at the wrong angle, the wail of the wind, a flicker of movement caught just out of the corner of the eye.

The mind easily plays tricks.

She’d been alone. It’d been late. The palace, with all its winding halls and darkened corners, could make anyone feel like there is something else there. Maybe she truly thought she saw something. Maybe her mind filled in the gaps where logic should have been.

But an actual ghost?

Hell no.

I exhale slowly.

“Did she say anything?” I press, watching her closely now, searching for any flicker of hesitation. A waver in her voice or a crack in the story. “Make some sort of sound?”

She’s already shaking her head. “N–no nothing, I mean– I didn’t hear I– I just … I ran.”

A hush lingers over the courtyard. The gathered servants shift uneasily, their tension palpable.

And then, barely above a breath–

“… it’s the curse.”

The words slither through the crowd.

My gaze snaps toward the sound. But before I can think, Jo-Sanggung has passed me, crossing the space as swift as a whip. As she approaches another group of servants where several girls dart out of the way leaving–

The crack of a slap echoes through the still air.

I jolt, shock freezing me in place as the kitchen maid stumbles, clutching her cheek where a stark red mark blooms.

"How dare you repeat such nonsense in front of Her Royal Highness!" Jo-Sanggung seethes, lowering her hand as if sheathing a blade. “Take her away!”

Two of my attendants rush forward, seizing the woman by the arms as she gasps in alarm. She barely has time to struggle before Jo-Sanggung delivers her next command. “Give her the rod. Twenty strikes.”

The woman’s eyes go wide, terror bleaching the blood from her face. “P-please–”

“Stop!”

The word bursts from my lips, sharp and immediate.

The courtyard stills with bated breath. Though no one moves, I can feel their glances.

“That won’t be necessary,” I tighten my jaw, forcing my voice to remain steady, despite the way my pulse is hammering in my ears. “Let her go.”

Jo-Sanggung doesn’t argue. But there is the briefest pause before she motions for the woman to be released, where a flicker of something crosses her face, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Not anger, nor defiance.

But disbelief.

Like she doesn’t understand why I’d stopped her. Like I’m the one acting out of character. Even though I just witnessed her turn into someone I don’t recognise.

My stomach twists.

Because what disturbs me more is how easily it happened. How she’d struck without a second’s hesitation.

…

It’s a harsh reminder of where I am.

Of when I am.

The kitchen maid collapses to her knees, shoulders shaking.

“You should be thanking Her Royal Highness for her mercy.” Jo-Sanggung snaps.

The woman scrambles to bow, forehead pressing against the stone, voice raw with relief. “T-thank you, Your Royal Highness. Your grace is immeasurable.”

As I look down at her, my fingers uncurl from the tight fists at my sides, crescents left in the flesh of my palms.

I can’t help but feel sorry for her.

Even if hearing that stupid fucking curse again makes my blood boil, it doesn’t mean that they should be struck, humiliated, or beaten with a cane just for bringing it up.

Even if it infuriates me that that bullshit has followed him here. That it’s already been whispered amongst the people who I’m supposed to trust to serve him. The ones who’ll have access to his rooms, will be preparing his meals and pouring his tea…

Hysteria is like an infection.

It spreads and it festers, and if left unchecked, it’ll get completely out of control.

I can see it now, written on their faces. The hushed terror in their eyes, the way they steal glances at the shadows, as if expecting something to emerge. If I allow this to take root, it won’t just be a ghost story whispered among the servants.

It could end up being something worse.

And I can’t let that happen.

I push the thought aside, shifting my attention back to the gathered servants.

I raise my chin.

“Listen well,” I announce to the courtyard. “Because I’m only going to say this once...”

Their eyes remain fixed to the ground, their bodies stiff, waiting for my judgment.

“There is no curse.” My voice is confident, with the patience of a parent assuring a child that there’s no monster under the bed. I can’t show any doubt. “And there is no ghost.”

I can feel the stolen glances as they hang onto my words. Some shoulders ease just slightly, breaths held in quiet anticipation, waiting for me to chase away the lingering dread when–

A caw rends the silence.

Servants flinch. Fear rekindles.

Are you fucking serious?

I glare at the crow, perched on a twisted branch, its black eyes gleaming. The damn thing almost looks pleased with itself.

"Have guards posted here at night from now on," I instruct Yeong loud enough for the whole courtyard to hear, striding past him on my way to get the fuck out of there. “Let’s see if they’ll have anything to report.”

~

By the next evening, whispers of the ghost had wound their way through the palace, slithering through corridors, slipping beneath doors, curling like mist into every corner of the palace.

Even the ministers, men who prided themselves on their wisdom, were not immune. Some dismissed it outright, rolling their eyes at foolish superstition. Others laughed along yet quietly dosed themselves in salt the moment they were clear of the palace gates.

But whether they mocked or murmured in hushed tones, they all spoke of it.

Just not openly.

Except, of course, dear old Grandma.

She’d been practically shouting it from the rooftops.

Feeding the fucking fire, sending out protective talismans against evil spirits.

Consort Choi had been finding them everywhere. Tucked beneath his pillows. Slipped into the folds of his court robes. Hidden in the drawers of his writing desk.

She tried to have them posted at Wal-hae-bi too. To cleanse it, she’d reasoned.

But I wasn’t about to acknowledge this shit.

After I outright refused all of her ‘gifts’, she came to me with desperate pleas, clutching her chest as she wailed about the omens, lamenting how the palace was being warned. That we'd all be condemned if I kept foolishly ignoring the signs.

And then, then she found the audacity to demand that I allow her pet shaman to perform a ritual– an exorcism.

On Jin.

Fuck no.

That was never going to happen.

And I told her just as much. And, predictably, her “heartfelt concern” quickly unravelled into screeching rage.

But that hadn’t stop her from trying.

She’d bribed a eunuch to smuggle in the disguised shaman into the Detached Palace. Thankfully, they were caught before they’d managed to reach the inner gates.

When confronted, the eunuch had fallen to his knees, begging forgiveness. The shaman, I was told, remained eerily calm.

Protected by my grandmother’s favour, she was simply escorted out.

The eunuch wasn’t so lucky.

~

"It’s getting out of hand," I mutter, irritation curling beneath every syllable.

A soft breeze stirs the warm summer air, rustling the lowered blinds of the pavilion. The scent of ink drifts through the open space, mixing with the lingering humidity of the late season. Across from me, Consort Song sits at a low table, his sleeves rolled just past his wrists, a half-finished painting stretched before him. The inkstone beside him is still damp, a brush resting loosely in his fingers.

"The fact that anyone believes in this curse is absurd."

He remains silent, not looking up from his painting as he lets the ink dry, like he’s waiting for me to get there on my own.

But I don’t need his patience right now.

I need a plan.

The wedding is only ten days away.

And Jin … well, I’ve never felt grateful that he’s been cut off from the world. If he so much as overheard one word about this, he’ll freak out.

Getting him to step foot into that place will be impossible.

A wry thought slips into my mind, uninvited. That it wouldn’t be so terrible if Jin stayed with me every night instead. My lips almost twitch into a smile, but the reality of the situation snuffs out the moment of humour.

Cicadas drone from beyond the pavilion, long and unbroken symphony of noise that fills the heavy summer air.

"Absurd, yes," my father finally says, dipping his brush into the ink with deliberate slowness. "But absurdity spreads quickly, especially when fear is involved."

It’s rare to hear him speak like this – without his usual charm, without the teasing lilt in his voice. My father, the man who could laugh his way out of anything, isn’t laughing.

"Rumours are dangerous things," he continues, sweeping the brush across the paper in one fluid stroke. "A story whispered in the dark can turn into a blade in the light."

"I know," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "Public opinion can be ruthless."

I’ve seen it before. Plenty of times. Watched the news as public figures were reduced to nothing by whispers carried on an unforgiving breeze. A quiet accusation, a single photo taken out of context, and suddenly, careers are destroyed, reputations annihilated.

If I don’t figure out a way to fix this, these whispers about Jin’s so-called curse could turn into something far worse than just gossip.

So how do I stop it?

How can I protect him?

I don’t know anything about PR.

My father studies me carefully, but this time, there’s no playfulness in his eyes. No mischief, no lightness. Just something sharper.

"The more you try to silence them without explanation, the more they spread underground," he says, voice like steel. "Fear, when cornered, only grows bolder. You can’t just swat at shadows and expect them to disappear."

He’s right. If I start punishing people for gossiping, it’ll just make them believe that I want it hidden. That there’s truth to it all.

It’ll only make things worse.

"So what do I do, then?"

The wind shifts, catching the edge of the parchment on the table. My father presses it down with two fingers, smudging a line of ink before sighing.

"Outmanoeuvre them." He says it lightly, but his eyes are still sharp. "Guide the narrative. Redirect, reshape. Don’t try to crush it outright. Show strength, but not with force."

"I see," I murmur, the first hints of resolve creeping back into my voice.

His lips twitch.

"You’re good at this," I mutter, narrowing my eyes at him.

And just like that, some of his usual self returns.

"It’s one of my many secret talents." He replies, the teasing lilt returning. "And in this world we live in, it’s been a necessary one."

His words land with quiet finality, as he crumples up his ruined painting.

"Remember, dear daughter," he continues, voice softer now. "The truth is not nearly as fragile as rumours. But controlling perception? That’s the kind of strength that makes even the worst threats vanish."

…

I have ten days left.

Ten days to put an end to this.

~

I launched a counterattack.

I found the voices of reason among the palace staff – the ones not so easily shaken. The ones who rolled their eyes at the mere mention of ghosts, who muttered under their breath about foolishness and superstition. The skeptics.

And I made sure their voices were louder.

Whispers of fear were met with murmurs of reason, dismissal and jokes to spread doubt and smother hysteria.

And it was working.

I knew it was the morning Da-eun reported to me that she’d passed a cluster of maids near the kitchens who’d spoken in hushed voices, heads close together, but with no urgency, no terror.

"It doesn’t make sense," one of them whispered, frowning. "If His Highness is cursed… shouldn’t the spirit be following him around? Why’d it show up here?"

"Exactly," another muttered, shaking out a linen sheet before barking a laugh. "Did it get lost or something?"

The fear was fading.

It was a relief. A return to reason.

So that should’ve been the end of it.

…

And maybe it would’ve been.

If not for the crows.

At first, it was just that lone, arrogant bastard who perched on the eaves of the hall, its sleek black head tilting as it watched the servants pass below.

Then the next day, there were two.

Then four.

Then six.

Each passing day, more arrived. Their dark forms like shadows with wings, flocked around the consort residences, lining the rooftops, gathered in the trees, and watched.

The tension around those who worked in the Eastern Palace thickened once more. Anxious servants hunched their shoulders, their steps quickening whenever the birds stirred. Eyes flickered upward at every caw, breaths held as if waiting for something worse to follow. A few whispered prayers under their breath, fingers twitching in silent, desperate gestures meant to ward off evil.

It was definitely unsettling, being under the constant watch of an entire murder every time I stepped outside. Like some kind of corvid CCTV.

No one could ignore the crows. Unlike a ghost, they couldn’t be dismissed as a trick of the light. They were undoubtably real.

And their arrival, was starting to feel less like coincidence and more like ...

… they’d been summoned.

~

The weight of my sword is steady in my hands. An anchor. A distraction. A way to focus on anything other than the frustration simmering beneath my skin.

I exhale sharply, stepping forward and striking. Metal meets metal as Consort Hwang parries with ease, the sound ringing through the training yard like a temple chime.

“Some ministers have begun murmuring about a delay,” he’d said. Completely nonchalant.

A delay.

It wasn’t just whispers anymore.

They weren’t just an inconvenience.

Now they were starting to take root. Starting to interfere.

Ministers were discussing my wedding like it was some unsteady arrangement, something fragile enough to be postponed over unfounded superstitions.

I grit my teeth and step forward again.

"Who?" I demand, swinging harder.

Consort Hwang blocks with a flick of his wrist, not even shifting his stance. His eyes remain calm, calculating. "A handful of the usual voices. They claim it would be prudent to wait until these ‘disturbances’ pass."

I scoff. Prudent.

"How did Eomma respond?" I ask, adjusting my stance before lunging again.

"She dismissed them before they could say too much," he answers. "But the fact that they even dared suggest it…"

He was right.

The ministers had taken palace whispers and placed them into the same breath as political matters.

It’s been acknowledged.

Now it won’t just disappear.

If the wedding is delayed, even slightly, because of this it’ll only feed the rumours. It won’t ease fears. It’ll validate them. People will take it as proof that something is truly wrong, that even the court is treating the whispers as more than just superstition.

And once that doubt takes hold, it won’t just be gossip anymore—it’ll become truth in their eyes.

And if that happens?

He’ll forever be the Cursed Prince Consort, whose presence alone is an ill omen. Whose name will be muttered in the same breath as bad luck and misfortune.

He’ll be such an easy scapegoat.

There’s a drought?

Jin.

Flood?

Jin.

Plague?

Jin.

Stubbed their toe?

Jin.

It’ll always be Jin’s fault.

…

I adjust my grip more firmly on the sword.

Consort Hwang tilts his head slightly, observing me as we circle each other. His gaze sharp, thoughtful. I’ve gone up against him enough now that I recognize that look. The one that means he’s studying me. Not just my form, not just my technique, but something deeper.

Then, after a moment of silence, he speaks.

"And what does your husband-to-be say about all this?"

I falter for half a second, but it’s enough.

The question lands like a strike I wasn’t prepared for, slipping past my defences, sharp and precise.

I don’t answer immediately, jaw tightening as I adjust my stance before lunging forward again. "He doesn’t know about this," I mutter.

I certainly hadn’t brought it up in our messages. I’d been keeping them light and trivial, like complaining about the heat, making plans for what he wants to do or eat when he’s released.

But I had put the servants under strict orders. That no outside gossip was to enter the Detached Palace. They’d all nodded, sworn their silence, but I wasn’t naïve enough to believe in their absolute loyalty.

… There was always a risk of someone looking for favour in the wrong places.

But so far, thankfully, it seemed that not a whisper of it had reached him.

Consort Hwang meets my attack with frustrating ease, knocking my blade aside like it’s nothing.

"He will soon enough," he replies, voice even. "You cannot keep him in the dark forever."

The sting of the deflected strike shoots up my wrists, but it’s nothing compared to the bite of his words.

I know that.

Of course, I know that.

"You are letting them shake your footing," he says, easily deflecting my strike. "You regained control, but now you are chasing them instead of forcing them to follow you."

"–So what am I supposed to do?!" I snap, striking again. But this time–

I step forward too fast.

Too recklessly.

Consort Hwang moves before I even realize my mistake. A swift shift, a pivot of his weight, then the blunt edge of his sword slams into my ribs.

Pain explodes through my side. Air is punched from my lungs in a soundless gasp. My knee slams into the dirt.

Dust rises. My sword clatters to the ground beside me.

For a second, I just stay there.

Heart hammering.

Ribs aching.

Breath caught somewhere between shock and humiliation.

Above me, my father doesn’t move. He just watches.

Waiting.

I force in a breath, pressing a hand against where the ache lingers.

"Cease chasing shadows."

I lift my gaze to meet his.

His expression is calm, unreadable, but there’s something expectant in his stance. A challenge.

"Approach it as you would any other pest," he advises. "One does not chase a rat through the walls. One sets bait… and waits for it to reveal itself."

I clench my teeth and push myself back up, dusting off my knees before snatching my sword from the ground, fingers curling tightly around the hilt.

I let the thought settle.

Grow.

And a plan starts to form.

…

Consort Hwang smiles, slow and knowing, as I raise my sword once more.

~

I had the guards stationed around Wol-hae-bi withdrawn before that next evening.

To see what would happen.

To see if I was right.

It took longer than I anticipated. A full day turned into two, then three.

And whilst I waited, the crows grew bolder.

At first, they’d merely perched along the rooftops, staring with their beady black eyes. But soon, their presence shifted from eerie to aggressive. They began swooping, diving at unsuspecting maids, their sharp beaks snapping too close for comfort, talons raking at sleeves and hair.

Panic began to spread among the servants once more. Some were linking their unexplained aggression as a message, an omen, from the underworld. Maids have been hesitant to enter the grounds of the Eastern Palace, in fear of being attacked. Several have pleaded to be reassigned.

But their requests were denied.

I made sure of it.

But then, finally, Da-eun has brought me the news I’ve been waiting for...

The ghost has reappeared.

Someone else has seen it.

I’m out of my bed as soon as the words leave her lips.

Morning will be too late. If I allow the poison of rumour and fear to fester overnight, it will once more spread unchecked.

It has to be now.

“Where?” I ask, my voice is surprisingly steady, already halfway to the door.

“The maids’ quarters,” Da-eun answers swiftly, falling in step behind me. The lantern she carries swaying, casting flickering light along the walls.

The doors are opened as I approach and a horrified gasp pierces the moment.

“Your Royal Highness–!” Jo-Sanggung’s voice is tight with alarm.

I know what she sees. A Crown Princess who is barely presentable, dressed only in thin white layers of underclothes, her long hair unbound and falling in a tangled mess down her back. An unthinkable sight, one that would send every court lady within a hundred-mile radius into an early grave from sheer scandal.

But I don’t care. I’m already striding past her and outside, barely stopping to slip on my shoes.

Seeing me go outside like this, Jo-Sanggung lets out a strangled sound.

The humid air presses down, thick and unmoving, the scent of damp earth and blooming mokran* flowers clinging to the night. Crickets drone in the distance, their ceaseless hum buzzing against my skin. Guards and servants still lingering in the palace grounds freeze at my dishevelled state.

But then I feel something hastily draped my shoulders. Jo-Sanggung, ever the guardian of propriety, has caught up, her face lined with distress as sweat beads along her temples.

“Your Royal Highness,” she hisses, her hands holding the robe closed over my front, blocking me. “You cannot be seen like this!”

I huff, half in frustration, half in amusement. “Everything that needs to be covered is covered.” I point out to her as I slip my arms into the sleeves of the robe before stepping around her to continue forward.

Jo-Sanggung sighs behind me, clearly giving up the fight. At least for now.

For now, propriety can wait.

I’m almost there.

~

The maids’ quarters loom just ahead, their wooden doors slightly ajar, the glow of lanterns flickering within. Voices murmur in anxious clusters, shifting like restless birds.

I pause outside.

Steady my breath.

Then nod to Da-eun.

The doors slam open with a sudden crash, rattling the wooden frame. The sharp crack of wood against wood splits the night, sending a jolt through the gathered maids. The ones who’d been hanging on to every word.

They scream in unison, their voices colliding into a piercing shriek of shock. Someone scrambles backward, overturning a basin of water that spills across the wooden floor. Candles flicker wildly, nearly snuffing out before stabilizing again.

Their expressions shift between horror and confusion, while others clutch at each other as they start to recover from their jump scare.

For a moment, they’re too stunned to process anything beyond the sheer shock of the jump scare. But then, as their minds catch up with their racing hearts, recognition dawns.

Someone lets out a strangled gasp.

Their eyes go impossibly wide, mouths parting in stunned disbelief at my tousled appearance. For a single, unbearable moment, no one moves.

Then, panic takes over.

They drop to the floor in a frantic flurry of rustling skirts, heads bowed so swiftly that some nearly collide with one another. A few let out breathy squeaks of alarm as they fumble for proper decorum.

“Your Royal Highness–!” someone gasps in a strangled whisper, the name barely escaping past their lips.

I ignore them.

My focus is solely on the girl still sitting upright in the centre of it all.

The new witness.

Unlike the others she hasn’t bowed.

She hasn’t moved. The colour has drained from her face, her eyes locked onto mine, wide and unblinking.

At first, I think she’s simply in shock. A paralyzed reflex, like a deer in headlights.

I step forward–

She flinches.

It’s barely noticeable. Her hands tighten into fists, fingers digging into the fabric of her skirt as if grounding herself. Her breath is shallow, careful. Her gaze finally flickers to the floor.

…

This isn’t the usual dread that I’m met with.

It’s the fear of being seen.

…Too bad she’s got all of my attention.

I lower myself before her, slowly, and level our gazes. The lantern light flickers, casting jagged shadows against the wooden walls.

“Tell me,” I request, firm but gently. “What did you see?”

The girl swallows hard, her throat working against a silence thick with expectation. A bead of sweat slides down her temple, but she doesn’t lift a hand to wipe it away.

She stays still.

All except her eyes, which dart around the room from beneath her lashes, as if searching for someone to step in and save her. But the maids around her remain pressed to the floor, unmoving, afraid to even shift their weight.

Jo-Sanggung shifts behind me, her patience thinning. “Her Royal Highness asked you a question!” She barks.

The girl curls her shoulders, shrinking into herself.

…

“I–I saw her,” she breathes, barely above a whisper.

I say nothing, letting the silence stretch, waiting for more than that paltry answer. It’s only when I tilt my head expectantly that she finds her voice again.

"I swear it, Your Royal Highness, it was her … the ghost!" She exclaims, voice rising quickly. Suddenly she leans forward towards me, landing heavy on her palms, as she continues unprovoked.

"She was all in white, her clothes moving around like she was floating!" the girl continues, her hands sweeping the air, as if painting the image. "“Her body was pale, like she was made of smoke. Her hair hung down past her waist, all wild around her face. But I could feel her staring at me. It was so cold, Your Royal Highness, like the air had suddenly turned to ice!"

The other maids flinch at her description, a ripple of unease passing through the group.

I notice her eyes glance towards them.

"I– I was so terrified! At first, I couldn't move! But then I ran back to the others!” “And the whole time, I kept hearing footsteps behind me! Like– like she was following me. But when I turned around … nothing.”

The room is still.

"Did she speak?" I ask, my voice cutting through the silence.

The girl hesitates, lips parting slightly as if about to speak and a flicker of uncertainty crosses her face. But she quickly recovers. "No, no, she– she didn’t say anything. Just stood there, like she wanted me to leave."

The story is almost the exact same as before, however … there’s more details, more…

Enthusiasm.

I observe her for a bit longer.

I notice a thin, jagged scratches on her hand, just below the wrist. It looks fresh, the edges still raw, like something had clawed at her in a frenzy.

I study the wounds, brow furrowing.

Her eyes shift nervously as she catches me staring, and I feel the unease in her sudden stillness.

For a brief second, she daringly holds my stare. But quickly her gaze drops, unwilling or unable to withstand the weight of my attention.

There’s a similar mark near her cheek.

…

“Why were you alone?”

It’s a simple question. Considering how spooked the servants have been, the maids have especially been more desperate not to be alone. They’ve been lingering in groups. Doing their chores in pairs.

But it seems to catch her off guard.

Her eyes widen, her breath hitching at the sudden shift in my questioning. She stammers, but before she can answer, I turn my head and rise, letting the question linger in the air.

“I will be investigating this incident personally.” I declare, my voice decisive. “Be at Wol-hae-bi tomorrow morning. Everyone.”

“Pardon, Your Royal Highness?” Her voice trembles slightly.

I look down at her, a mask of calm as I dismiss her words. I don’t owe her an explanation. Besides, she, and everyone else will find out tomorrow. Then I look carefully at all the lowered figures crammed into the small room. “Go to bed. Get some rest,” I tell them. An order disguised as a request.

I turn on my heel, my robe flaring out me as I stride back out the door. My entourage of attendants follow wordlessly, their footsteps a steady rhythm against the stone floor as we cross the courtyard, heading back towards my palace.

“The first sighting,” I quietly inquire, so not to be overheard by anyone else but my two closest companions. “That girl, was she there?”

“I– I do not recall–”

“–Yes, Your Royal Highness,” Da-eun answers confidently in her stead.

…

I slow my steps to a complete stop, the rhythmic sound of footsteps halting abruptly as the others follow suit.

“Da-eun-ah,” I call her, turning to meet her gaze.

She steps closer, beckoned by the seriousness of my expression.

“There’s something I need you to do...”

~

The gathered servants shift anxiously in the main courtyard of Wol-hae-bi bathed in the pale, dawning light. They stand in neat rows, divided into departments. Each identifiable by their distinct uniforms. Court maids, laundry, kitchen, gardening, embroidery, bathhouse... Even the eunuchs.

Everyone who has ever entered or even come near this place in the past two weeks.

Watching them through the open doors, I sit comfortably atop a cushion inside the main building with my attendants by my side.

My gaze drifts over the assembled crowd, settling on both maids who’d seen the ghost. They stand in their respective groups, but they might as well be marked by the weight of my attention alone. I study them idly as we wait.

A sharp caw shatters the silence.

A few servants jump, their heads snapping toward the sky. A nervous rustle spreads through the ranks.

Another cry.

Then another.

Shadows break from the trees, circling the courtyard, their wings carving the morning air with the sound of beating wings, feathers ruffling in unseen currents. Then more arrive, dozens, perching along the rooftops, the surrounding trees, their sharp beady eyes scanning below.

It's like a scene from that old movie*…

Then, they begin to swoop.

Chaos breaks.

Shrieks tear through the courtyard as the first wave of birds dive, their talons outstretched, beaks snapping. Servants cry out, throwing up their arms, stumbling over one another in their panic. Maids duck, shielding their faces, while others flee from their positions, tripping over skirts and each other.

But not everyone is under attack.

Some of them seem to realise it quickly and retreat, shrinking toward the edges and leaving the real targets exposed.

A specific group.

A specific uniform.

The girls wail as they flail against the assault, their cries mixing with the furious squawking and wild beating of wings.

I allow it for just a few seconds more.

Then, I lift a single hand.

Jo-Sanggung catches the signal immediately and relays my unspoken order. “Enough! Take shelter inside!”

The servants surge toward the entrance, clambering over one another in their desperation to flee the aerial onslaught. The open doors become a bottleneck of bodies, pushing, shoving, gasping as they spill inside. The crows don’t follow, but screech in frustration, their cries echoing long after the last servant stumbles across the threshold.

With a nod to my attendants, they begin to pluck targeted maids from the mass of bodies and bring them forward. One by one, they pull them from the dishevelled crowd, faces pale with confusion and fear, and guide them forward. They sit where they’re placed, exchanging furtive glances, communicating their confusion silently.

"It seems you’ve made some enemies."

At the sound of my voice, the room stiffens. The only thing that breaks the silence is the uneven breathing of those still reeling from what the hell just happened.

It might have seemed cruel. It might leave me with a bad taste in my mouth but I don’t just need to uncover the truth… But to once and for all destroy this rumour. Leave no more room for speculation or doubt.

To understand that this isn’t anything supernatural.

The crows aren’t a kind of omen.

And that it has absolutely nothing to do with Jin.

…

"Did you know that crows are one of the smartest birds?" I ask, addressing no one in particular. "They’re actually really intelligent. They can play games, use tools, even trade. And they have fantastic memories ... they even remember faces."

It was just one of those bits of trivia, a random nugget of information that’d I’d come across from endless hours of internet surfing. And for whatever reason, it’d stuck with me.

"What’s even more interesting is that they communicate," I add, my tone darkening as I come to the point of my Ted Talk. "They can tell every other crow around for miles what someone looks like… if someone’s wronged them, and well …” I wave at the open doors, where the cawing cries echo in the courtyard.

“… they certainly can hold a grudge.”

The girl, that one I’ve been keeping my eye on, swallows hard. Her hair’s mussed. I spot fresh scratches on her hands.

I lean forward, resting my chin on my hand.

“Isn’t that just … fascinating?"

Slowly, I shift my gaze, letting it drift across the room, moving from one maid to another, seeking out those who chance a peek from their bowed heads. Noting a flicker of a glance here, a trembling lip there.

“So, tell me …” I make a show of settling into my position, as though I have all the time in the world, pausing deliberating. Dramatically.

“… which one of you pissed them off?”

The accusation drops like a blade, sharp and deliberate.

It’s met with quiet.

But I’d expected as much.

There are some small mutterings from the servants looking on from the outside, those that haven’t found themselves on trial, as understanding begins to sink it.

That the reason the crows are here, is because of something someone did.

I watch each of the ten maids in front of me react. One sneaks a glance at another, her gaze flicking up before she quickly looks away. Her lips pressing into a thin line. Another fidgets, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, and then, with a glance around, she shifts just slightly to get a better look.

I break the uneasy silence with a low hum of feigned surprise.

"No one?"

Of course not. After all, the first to defend themselves is always the first to raise suspicion.

They’ll need a little more motivation.

"…Then perhaps I should tie each one of you to a post outside … give a chance for the crows settle their grievance themselves.”

The reaction is immediate.

"It was Young-hee who was attacked first, Your Royal Highness."

One of them finally gathers the courage to speak. Despite the tremor in her voice, she keeps it level, careful.

“Yes, that’s right!” Another is quick to agree.

Once the first few voices rise, the floodgates open. They begin speaking over each other, tangling together into an incoherent mess of voices as they throw out accusations and recollections, refutes and denials.

I let them claw at each other for a few more moments, grasping at any explanation that might shift the blame elsewhere. Then, with an exhale of boredom, I raise my hand once more.

“Enough!” Jo-Sanggung commands.

Silence crashes down.

All eyes watch me as I rise to my feet.

And cross the room.

My steps are slow, deliberate. As I pass by, they hold their breath held tight in their chests. But they needn’t be so worried. My attention isn’t on them.

I already know who I’m looking for.

“I’ve given you plenty of chances to confess,” I tell her, stopping in front of her.

She stiffens. Hesitates. Then finally looks up, wide-eyed and confused. Checking, praying, that I’m not speaking to her.

"I– I don't know what you mean, Your Royal Highness, I swear– "

"–You lured them here.”

Her breath catches in her throat at my blunt accusation.

“Tell me why.”

She opens her mouth, but no words come out. She’s scrambling. Her mind racing to spin a story, an excuse, to twist the truth just enough to slip free. I can see it.

And I’ve run out of patience.

"Drag her outside."

Guards rush forward to seize her arms.

"W-wait!" she stammers, with a choked-off whimper. "What are you–? I didn’t–!"

She thrashes, her protests turning shrill as the crows continue their sharp cries outside, their dark forms circling, waiting. Her breath hitches. Her movements falter. Panic swells in her eyes, drowning out whatever defiance she had left.

“I just did as I was told!”

The words spill free from her throat with a ragged sob.

…

“Stop.”

The guards halt just at the threshold. She sags between them, breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

The wooden floor creaks beneath my feet as I step forward, slow and deliberate.

“And what was that, exactly?”

She exhales a stuttering breath. Whatever resistance she had left has crumbled, leaving only raw, quivering defeat.

“To make it seem like His Highness was cursed,” she finally admits. “So that the wedding would not proceed. So that he would be expelled from the palace.”

"Who told you to do it?" I ask, voice deceptively soft.

She shakes her head, chest heaving.

"I don’t know," she whispers.

A bitter laugh escapes me. "How convenient."

Her eyes dart upward, wide and pleading. “It’s true! I swear it!” She jerks forward, only to be restrained by the guards. “It was dark– t-they wore a cloak! I never saw their face!"

I don’t respond right away. Instead, I watch her squirm. The weight of my scrutiny presses down on her.

"So let me get this straight," I murmur, voice laced with mock curiosity. "You just did whatever this random cloaked stranger wanted you to do–" I pause, letting the weight of my words settle. "–risking everything, your job, your life … for what?"

She hesitates. The truth is there, right at the edge of her lips, but she fights it - clinging to the last shreds of her secrets, as if silence could still protect her.

It can’t.

"Money?" I predict, tone flat and sharp, cutting through her silence like a blade.

A whimper slips from her lips, her resistance cracking apart completely.

“Please forgive me, Your Royal Highness!” She throws herself forward, forehead pressing to the ground at my feet. “My younger brother is sick,” she pleads, shoulders shaking. “He needs medicine, or he’ll die.”

I tilt my head, watching tears well in her pitiful pleading eyes.

“…How touching.”

With a wave of my hand, I summon Da-eun. She steps forward without a word, carrying a cloth sack heavy with something unseen.

Then she empties it.

The sound is unmistakable. Heavy, metallic pings fill the room as purses spill open, revealing their contents. Silver. Gold. Jade accessories. Hairpins that gleam in the morning light.

The spoils for her betrayal.

"Or it would be…" I remark, watching as her face drains of colour, “if you had a brother.”

Silence.

She stares at the pile, unblinking.

"It must have been really difficult," I continue, "deciding how much your loyalty was worth."

A jade bracelet rolls away from the pile, stopping at the foot of another maid. Recognition flickers across her face. Around the room, others lean forward, eyes narrowing as they spot familiar pieces in the trove. A hairpin. A delicate ring. A silk pouch embroidered with a name that doesn’t match hers.

Not only a traitor it seems. But a thief as well.

The girl sways where she kneels, her breath ragged, eyes wide with growing horror. A tear spills down her cheek. Her lips part but words don’t form. Just a choked, silent sob.

She knows she’s fucked.

“…There was never any ghost, was there?” I prompt, needing this one last confession

A wracking gasp shudders through her body before she shakes her head, her shoulders caving inward as though she might be able to disappear into herself instead of facing the consequences of her actions.

“It was just you.”

It had been so simple.

She’d been there the night that this ghost story was born. But according to several others who were also there, she’d left early, claiming that she’d forgotten something in their quarters and needed to go back for it. Yet, when they’d returned, she was last to arrive.

Footprints had confirmed that someone circled round the back of the main building, cutting through flowerbeds, and lead to a tear poked into the paper screen window. A spy hole. To check the coast was clear. And then, by a near unlatched window, scuffed dirt marked the frame. Evidence of entry.

To create a ghost, all she had to do was remove the outer layers of her uniform, let her hair down in a tangled mess, and simply stand there, waiting for the inevitable jump scare.

But then afterwards, thanks to me, the place was swarmed with guards. Too many patrols. Too many eyes. There was no chance at pulling the same trick again.

The guards had reported it more than once – a maid lurking near Wol-hae-bi in the evenings. Strange, considering most did everything they could to stay away from that place after dark.

She’d had to think of something else to strengthen the ruse and quickly. To keep up the momentum.

A young crow was found. It’s rotting body concealed within the bushes of the courtyard.

In withdrawing the guards, I prepared the stage and rolled out the red carpet.

And she’d stepped right into the spotlight.

Perhaps she’d felt rushed, eager to breathe life into the dying rumours before they could wither away completely. Or maybe paranoia had begun to creep in, tightening its grip, making her reckless. Either way, the moment she found herself alone, she seized the chance to play the horror-stricken victim.

But fear isn’t so easily manufactured. Not in a way that rings true.

And unfortunately for her, she wasn’t much of an actress.

Unfortunately for her, I’ve seen enough detective dramas to know when someone’s lying. The twitch of the lip, the shake of their eyes, the way their hands fidget.

I scan the faces of our audience, the ones I gathered so that there could be no more dispute, no more debate, so that they can witness her admission of guilt. They stand frozen as they absorb what they’ve just heard.

That there was never a curse.

Never any ghost.

It was all a hoax.

And they’re realising that they’ve all been played for fools. That they all played their parts perfectly. How they’d helped the rumours spread like poison.

I return my attention back to the girl, feeling no sympathy as I see her shoulders shake, her head hanging low as her mind retreats, trying to escape the reality closing in on her.

Luckily, I don’t need her to say anything more.

For now.

"Take her away," I order, turning my back on her. The sound of rustling fabric and the scuff of hurried steps echo as the guards seize her arms. One of the guards throws a cloak over her head, shielding her from her feathered foes. Her sobs grow louder as they drag her away for further interrogation, fading until there’s only silence left.

“In case you’ve forgotten,” My voice cuts through the heavy, suffocating air. “Defamation of the royal family is a crime that can be punishable by death.”

The words are cold, deliberate, and they carry a weight that causes a few to tremble. I let them soak into their bones like an unshakable chill.

Because I’m not fucking around.

“Malicious gossip of any of my consorts will not be tolerated.”

A few heads dip lower as the threat lingers in the air, undeniable.

“And betrayal … Betrayal is unforgivable.”

Then I pause, my tone softening into something almost gentle. A kindness that isn't kindness at all.

“Don’t stupidly risk your lives for money.”

I take a slow breath, my gaze sweeping over them, each one of them caught in the storm I’ve unleashed.

“… This will be your only warning.”

~

As the sun rose over the Royal Investigation Bureau the next morning, the court maid named Young-hee …

Was found hanging from the rafters in her cell.

Dead.