#maid servant kim

[herroyalbubbliness]

Alchemy Of Souls- The Finale

An Emotional Whirlwind

Photo Credit: IG @tvn_drama

We explore the concept of monsters. Are humans not the greatest monsters? The human vices of greed, the maddening desire for power, and stopping at nothing to claim it even if we are destroyed in the process.

Is power dangerous or is that determined by the nature of the one who wields it? Leadership Vs tyranny. For example, Jang Uk and Jin Mu. Jang Uk broke records in achieving the highest points of power and the ice stone power rebirthed him and filled him with even power. And yet, even in his grief, he continued to use the power to protect the people he loved and cared about. When you take a look at Jin Mu on the other hand, that at every turn was a tyrant through and through unleashing havoc on the innocent to feed his ego and placate his insecurities.

Nature Vs Nurture. Jang Uk while having a tragic background having lost his parents, and being constantly insulted initially for his lack of powers and "illegitimate" birth had people who showered him with love which he also received and they helped to ground him. And whenever he behaved badly or almost deviated, they brought him back. Jin Mu on the other hand with a tragic background too who was also shown love but refused it and instead preferred to remain paranoid, selfish, and greedy in his thirst for power.

I really loved how everything was tied up in the ending which I had been very anxious about. It turned out to be one of the most poignant, pleasing and satisfying conclusions to a story I've ever seen and didn't seem like fan service either. Hong Sisters said they would give us the happy ending we craved but we will work for it first, haha. I have to say every tear I shed as my heart was ripped out and my chest hurt was worth it and I'll do it all over again.

Every tragic moment was handled with care, and respect and rang true to the nature of the characters and their motivations that honestly if they had remained dead, my broken heart would have understood. It didn't seem like let's kill off some beloved characters so we can have a bunch of tragedies. The scene where Park Jin had to close the door out of responsibility to the people he vowed to protect while damning his wife to her inevitable death juxtaposed with remembering her love and reassurance in full support of this decision, was twisting the knife in my heart.

These people were members of high society and status with power and riches at their disposal and yet when it came to it, they were willing to lay down their lives in service to their people. Powers and riches aren't dangerous on their own, however they reveal who a person is. Lady Jin who gained my respect as she resolved to protect the dangerous relics to her last breath. And I did sympathize with her. There is a Yoruba saying that translates to a dead child as better than a lost child. This is not meant literally as both tragedies, I wouldn't wish on my enemy. It means a dead child, one knows the child is in the grave while with a lost child, one rests not knowing where or what condition the child is in. I'm glad she found some closure in the end with the revelation that Bu-yeon was reincarnated as Jin Seolran and she came to a place of acceptance and could finally show her second daughter the love and respect she had always deserved and craved from her mother.

Master Lee is a strategic chess player, always observing and taking notes. And I believe his being a soul shifter gave him the nuance that was needed to be able to see the whole situation clearly from a perspective that wasn't clouded by the prejudice against soul shifters (and rightfully so).

"Only the impossible can do the impossible" - Lestat

He had gone through an impossible experience (shifting souls without going wild) and could believe the impossible now from reincarnation to star-crossed lovers being happily together to resurrection, rebirth and more. I believe Jang Uk and Cho Yeong's decision to focus on doing what needed to be done to save their world and their marriage which Master Lee said was them declaring their love to the skies were key moments that must have touched Jin Seolran as she could relate to both instances through her personal experiences which may have played a part in her breathing life again into Cho Yeong.

Sacrifice in a time of uncertainty is a recurring theme that beats a drum throughout the finale from Maidservant Kim having to sacrifice her life to help Lady Jin to Lady Jin preventing the unleashing of dangerous relics to Park Jin having to sacrifice his wife to Jang Uk watching the love of his life he just reunited with slipping away and having to do what needs to be done at the same time to Bu-yeon/Jin Seolran that had to wait for years to save humanity before finally reuniting with her love. It sure shows what can be accomplished when a community of people who love the other person and have a common goal can do it. They are almost unstoppable.

This truly felt like a finale as the cinematography looked epic, especially in the scene of the final destruction of the firebird. It made sense that the Firebird will die at the lake where the sky, water, and ice met. And I love that it ended at the Lake Gyeongcheondaeho where it all began where Naksu had fought Songrim and Bu-yeon had discovered the ice stone before she was pushed to her 'death'. This was a beautiful full-circle moment and Cho Yeong was right there with Jang Uk albeit not physically present.

Jang Uk proved what I've always known about him when he gave the plaque to the  Crown Prince. He had never cared for seeking more power nor did he desire a political position. And I love when he told Jin Mu, he would see what it's like for someone with the power to gain even more power as he took control of the Firebird to which Jin Mu burst into a regretful and maniacal laugh in agreement as he burnt to a crisp, said the weak ones die. I found his death satisfying. He had suffered at the hands of Naksu although not as long as I would have liked and was consumed by the very power he had destroyed many lives for. I call it poetic justice.

I love that Naksu went by her birth name Cho Yeong. It signified her rebirth, redemption, her freedom from the shackles that had been placed on her, a new dawn with the love of her life, and her rediscovering and reclaiming who she really is and not the labels (murderer's daughter to assassin) people had tagged her with. She was finally shedding the masks she had been forced to wear and had to wear for survival sake and could finally be her true self both inward and outward. It was also her acknowledging her roots, heritage and the family that had brought her into this world. And I thought it was fitting that the very blade that had been a string on her when she was a puppet was now wielded by Jang Uk fully in control and with one primary purpose in mind to protect her with his life. She let go of Jang Uk as her pupil which was her saying there is only one thing I want you to be, my husband, partner, lover, protector. Naksu had been his master, and Cho Yeong is his wife in her true essence.

This is the power couple I had looked forward to seeing and more. And Jang Uk being her light & Cho Yeong being his shadow, I cannot think of a better symbolism. Even as Naksu/Mudeok, she was always with Jang Uk, loyal to the core and doing everything both possible and impossible to make sure all of his potentials was unleashed. She was the shadow that caused his light to spark, shine and have an impact. And from the first day he saw her beautiful blue eyes, just as light casts every shadow, he protected her (even when he had no powers yet), not allowing anyone else to see his shadow (her being a soul shifter). One could also say as Naksu/Mudeok, she was like a shadow of herself (stripped of her power/purpose, living in another's body), and in her journey with Jang Uk (light), she became her true self. As Bu-yeon, she had absorbed the wraiths (demons/darkness) around him which was the price he paid for being the bearer of the ice stone and warmed his cold body reigniting his light.

I love that Seo-Yul became a master and redefined the requirements to be a mage rather than being defined by the status quo now by passion, character, and good energy also leveraging Cho Yeong's inherited divine powers. In the end Naksu and So-i were wronged by the systems in place and never stood a chance so Seo-Yul overhauling the systems was the best way for him to honor So-i's memory, sacrifice & death and his love & friendship he had found with Naksu/Mudeok now Cho Yeong. Because maybe if So-i and Naksu had an opportunity like this and weren't used by people like Jin Mu all her life, they could have led a different trajectory in a life filled with love, purpose, and fulfillment. Cho-yeong would have never had to become Naksu and maybe her family would have never been ripped apart from her in the first place. It's a thing of immense joy to see that Cho-yeong now has the influence, powers and opportunity to contribute to such a worthy cause. It feels right.

The ending was perfect in every way as Cho Yeong's eyes lit up in blue and Jang Uk felt it and smiled. With her divine powers, she has the vision. She is still calling the shots and Jang Uk is more than happy to submit and do the job as he told her to stay close to him (as his shadow) while he took care of the cat.

[pohaislovesoismaggi]

AOS 2

I have some gripes about AOS 2. For the sake of clarity, Naksu in part 1 will be Naksu 1 and Naksu in part 2 will be Naksu 2.

Naksu 1 & 2 felt so different - Naksu 1 was clever, scheming and put herself first. Sure as the story progressed, she found people who she loved and liked but was always cunning. Naksu 2, on the other hand, seemed more of a strong willed yet innocent first love kind of female protagonist you'd see in kdramas.

Naksu 2 was pouting and getting her feelings hurt most of the time - I can try and justify it by saying that maybe that's how Cho Yeong would have grown up to be had she not been taken in by Jinmu. But even when she gets her memories back, we get to see a tame version of her. Sure, she would feel guilty about her hand in Jang UK's condition but as a viewer when I know that the drama is coming to an end, I don't have time for noble idiocy of not telling him that she has recovered.

Where's her anger and hatred for Jimmu? How's the conclusion for their tale just her giving him an ice stone to rot?

Naksu 2 was so underutilised in part 2. She's the protagonist, yet we only get to see her in action twice - one of them when she's not aware of her actions. All viewers wanted to see her and UK together in action but no. We get to see her sappy, die and come back to life.

Why are we seeing child Bu Yeon? We have already seen grown up Bu yeon's soup several times in AOS 1. It did not make sense for child Bu Yeon soul to appear now to scheme with Jang Uk.

I still don't get what is Master Lee's basis of deciding which info he wants to disclose to whom and when he wants to take action. He seems to do whatever is convenient for the plot. Same goes for Park Jin - he is a bit stupid when it comes to emotions, sure,fine. But how can the same person who gives veiled threats and understand veiled insults from Jinmu + Unanimous Assembly not be able to understand word plays when talking to Heo Yeom and Maid servant Kim? Also I still can't get over the fact that he forgot Naksu's face. Another character that seems to be socially inadept whenever the script needs him to be.

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Bound By Blood (m)

synopsis: A servant to the state since birth, forced to work for the royal family until you die. These are the conditions that have granted you life, yet are they are the same ones that can take everything away. He can take everything away. But he would never, for you are his future, his eternity.

k.taehyung x f.reader

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: wc: 16.0k

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: genre: royalty au, soft yandere, fluff, smut, smidge of angst

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: content: soft yandere!prince!taehyung, maid!reader, power imbalance, talks about death/violence, blood, slight predator/prey dynamics, manipulation, misunderstandings, dom!tae, tae calls reader lamb, oral (f.receiving), marriage related dirty talk, virginity kink/loss of virginity, size kink, praise, reader is fucked dumb, implied kissing reader while she sleeps, implied offscreen somno, implied stalking, ownership, tae is rlly sweet and adorable

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: notes: hello!!! this was meant to be a drabble but as you can see it spiralled out of control lmao. i got a little hyper fixated (and grew a really bad crush on this taehyung) so it ended up being way longer than i initially thought! regardless, i hope you all enjoy it as much as i did writing it!!

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

The Kim Empire. 

Your home, your family, your livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

They practically brandish your mind, have been since you were no more than a babe. Stuck in the clutches of everything Kim since you were born. Your mother a maid, your father gone from the face of the earth. At least as far as you are concerned he is, anyway. 

He is better off dead. The alternative of him living scott free in some far off land, meanwhile you have to serve the hand and foot of the king sets no more than the bitter taste of coffee beans against your gums. 

Bedding your mother, no more than a fresh-faced maid at the time. Outcasting her the second after when he had to have known the rules of the palace. The demise it would cost both her and her future daughter. Perhaps every generation that followed as well– if there were to be any, that is. 

Housestaff are not meant to have relationships. They are meant to serve the king and his bountiful family. How are you meant to do anything else with a child bouncing at your hip, a husband grabbing at your ass. 

You’ve heard the speech plenty of times. The words ingrained in your skull just as the brand you received when you were far too young to remember the pain of it. Evidence that you are bound to the palace by blood until the very moment you take your last breath. 

The punishment for becoming pregnant within the walls of the palace are simple: your child belongs to them. For anything within the Kim Estate is their rightful property, given to them by the grace of god. 

You, a gift from god to serve the empire. You would snort at the notion if training from a young age prohibited it. You are just a result of your mothers kindness, her naivety. 

You could never find it within your heart to blame her. She was just a girl who thought she was in love. Fired for her love. Had her daughter taken from her to serve for her love.

Love is something you will never be granted the property of. 

You will be granted an allowance to send home to your mother to keep her afloat. You will be granted a room to sleep in, clothes to wear, food to eat. A secure job in which you can never be fired– well. That is a lie. Though, your termination would come at the end of an axe, rather than a piece of paper. 

You used to muse at the thought– when you were a young girl, no more than 11 or 12. Going through your melancholy years, hating the rest of the world for simply existing. For putting you in a position where you could not change your fate, instead had to endure your present. Feeling like a  girl trapped in a tower just like the bedtime stories had always prescribed. 

One time you had caused such a ruckus in front of the oldest Kim son you really did think you were going to get the axe. Hell, you were even prepared for it. Locked away in a cell for two nights, brought before the executor. 

Right before the swing was meant to be brought down against your neck the head maid ran into the room, gave some sort of letter to the man. She apologised profusely, gripping your ear and dragging you away from the scene. 

You hadn’t acted ary since then. It taught you your place. Made you realise the need to survive buried deep within your bones. In the innate way some sort of wildcat would lash out until it was bloodied and on its last breath. 

You would not die at the end of a knife. You’d live your life, acting a maid until you could die peacefully of old age. Even if it meant surrendering yourself to servitude for the most annoying brat you’ve ever laid eyes on. 

A quiet sigh slips past your lips at the mere thought of him. The sound would get you punished if anyone were to hear, especially in respect to the coveted crown prince of the kingdom. Few share the same opinion as you of him– but then again most that work here aren’t forced. 

It is only when the stars are strung high in the sky that you allow yourself to feel such things. When you stay awake past the beginning of rest hours, most of the staff (save for the night shift) falling to sleep hours prior. Only then when you’re out in the gardens do you allow indignation to satiate your brain. 

For the few hours of freedom you may hold dear until the next morning begins and you are forced to live the same day once more. Over and over again until the end of time. 

Your fingertips reach out as you walk, bruised from the scrubbing of floors, to find purchase against the walls of flowers rimming the maze. Rough fingertips dance against the gentle petals of roses, lulling in the feeling. Picking themselves against the thorns without much of a thought, not withdrawing. Only pausing feet to observe. 

How can something so delicate and beautiful wish to cause harm? It does not. It simply desires a way to survive. You could never fault it for that. 

“Pretty, are they not?” A dark, husky voice sends cold down your spine. Hairs become on edge, back straightens taught, ears perk just as if you are an obedient dog. Fear flashing through your entire being.

You do not wish to turn around. Do not have any want to face the man that has caught the air in your lungs. The one catching you in the garden without any proper attire in place. Though you must. You must bow, grovel at his feet for forgiveness for allowing him to see you in your nightgown. For not being in bed as you should. 

Prince Kim has never been known for being kind. 

Your body acts for you while your mind sets on pause– taking several steps forward, bending your body at the hips to give a proper 90 degree bow. Your hands clasp before you, hair coming down in front of your face. 

“Prince Kim–” You rush, suddenly out of breath, “Please forgive my insolence. I-I am not of right attire or mind to be standing in front of his excellency right now. Nor should I be excused for touching the property of the palace. I have no proper excuse and any punishment you decide will be deserving. Please forgive me.” The words recite from your lips like a bible– instruction of them being heard time and time again. 

Cold night air whips at your ankles, fluttering the gown around your ankles. The chill only adding to the cold sweat you’ve discovered has perspired. Making your hair dance around your shoulders.

You expect something, anything really. A slap, a single word. Though there is only silence in response. Silence that extends far too long and feels far too pungent for your taste. If he was going to do something, you rather he just get it over with. 

After what feels like an eternity, you finally hear the baritone of his voice once more.

“Pretty, are they not?” He asks again, repeating the same sentiments as before. Confusion bristles through as a kite in the summer air. Why is he asking you this? Is he not annoyed he caught a maid in such a level of disrobement? What is he trying to gain? What does he want? 

All the questions you do not have any hope to answer rush through you causing you to feel confused and incomposed. Every boring lesson you were forced to sit through never taught you how to deal with this exact situation. You aren’t sure what he wants, nor your place in the garden. The thought scares you. 

Against your better judgement, you allow your chin to tilt up only slightly. Only enough to look at the man– to try and read the expression on his face so you can better analyse your next action. 

The shock you feel when you find his face is only inches from your own, frame bent down to make his eyes level with yours is something you cannot explain in words alone. 

You would prefer to scream and run, however that is not an option at this moment, or so it appears. Instead, your eyes only widen in shock, in trepidation. Your mouth opens into a small ‘o’ as you stare.

Never before have you made eye contact with a member of the family. Never before have you had the luxury to view one so close. In any other circumstance, you suppose, you would surely be punished for such a thing. Someone lower should never view a future king in such a way.

You wish you could say he was a heinous, ugly beast for hatred of the palace alone. Yet you can’t, for he isn’t. He is beautiful. 

Sure, you knew that already. Paintings of him are plastered across the walls– his face is everywhere eyes are able to reach. Yet this close, at this angle, you can’t stop the way your heart skips a beat. Can’t help but admire every facet of his complexion before being thrown in front of the lion again. 

A gorgeous, blinding smile wipes across his face the moment you face him. Lips forming into an adorable box after he finally has your attention fully drawn on him. You’re startled back once again, sending your brain into a further whirlwind than before. 

He desires an answer.

“I um… Yes. I suppose they are.” You nod slowly in response, following in his footsteps as he returns to full height. 

You must follow his lead– it is how you will survive. 

You usher a stray lock of hair over your shoulder, trying to stop it from hitting your face. The air starts to become stale again, feeling empty in the lack of his reply. It is awkward, and the way he stares at you, eyes darting around your face– your figure, has you feeling in some sort of girlish, embarrassed way. 

You think you dislike the feeling. 

“Are you a fan of roses?” His arms are pulled behind him, wrapped together as he bounces on his toes in something that looks like… boyish delight? The muddle of your brain can't help to understand a single thing. He is making no sense, trying to make conversation with you. Trying to find a morsel of companionship in someone who is meant to bow to him like he is the true god of your mortal plain.

You will have to oblige until he allows you to depart. 

“I suppose so.” 

He frowns. Try again.

“I adore them, the palace always has the most gorgeous petals all year round.” You smile at him, hoping it masks any discomfort you feel. 

The smile returns to his own lips as he begins to walk. Tilting his head to you as a cue to join him. You try to keep your paces a few behind his own, a maid should never walk beside a member of the family. Though he only slows in response, matching your gate even though it is obvious he hates having to slow down. 

Why is he behaving in this manner? It makes no sense to you. 

“The flower of devotion.” He nods, breaking the silence once more and keeping his eyes straight ahead. 

You almost want to admire his profile– the gentle curve of his nose, yet you refrain. Training your eyes ahead, keeping your fingers laced in front of you. Trying to look as put together as possible at this moment. 

“Is it?” You quiz, unable to take the awkward silence anymore. He doesn’t seem to mind it. Unbothered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his loose, flowing sleep pants. 

“Of many other things, as well.” He nods, sending a slight smile at you. 

“I don’t know much about the language of flowers.” Though it feels wrong to be talking with Prince Kim so casually, you try your best. The more you give in, mayhaps the sooner he’ll bore and the faster you will be able to run from the cage. 

“Tell me your favourite, maybe I can tell you its meaning.” He pauses and you find yourself at the foot of the gazebo. He reaches out his hand, offering to help you up the small stairs of it. 

All over again you find yourself taken aback. The prince is requesting that you touch him, not for his service, but your own. He desires to help you. Is for some reason treating you like a lady. 

You don’t understand it, yet with great hesitation you oblige. You place your hand on his much larger one, allowing it to encase it. Help you up the stairs.

“I don’t know many…” You hope he cannot hear the hesitation in your tone, “Though I’ve always been fond of lilies.” You tell him, attempting to pull your hand away from his own as you reach the top. 

He doesn’t allow it, keeping your small palm tight in his own. Fear trickles in once more, circling around your heart, constricting it. 

You knew you shouldn’t have trusted him in the slightest. It is here where you shall face punishment for all the previous misdemeanours committed. White stone shall be painted with red and you will be left to your own devices to clean up the mess.

Your lungs start to take in more air, though of course you try to disguise it. Turning around to face him, to discover why he has kept you held firm, air is leaving your lungs for another reason entirely. 

He holds your hand close, examining your fingers. Tilting it back and forth, smoothing his thumb over the back of your skin. If he takes note of the little dots of red, he doesn’t make comment of it. He only curls his fingers upwards, hooking against your own. Bringing your hand up to his lips as if it was the most delicate thing on earth. Staring at them with a passion you doubt you’ve ever seen before.

“Rebirth.” His breath fans across your knuckles, slowly lowering to place a gentle kiss against the skin. His lips are soft, so gentle against your weary flesh. So full of safety, so full of song.

When he retracts, he pulls away no more than a millimeter, though his grip tightens. 

“Purity.”

Your first meeting with the prince had left you with a flurry of emotions, none of which you could hope to syphon through. For hours he kept you in the gazebo, sitting with you. Talking until it appeared the sun was cresting over the horizon. 

He refused to release your hand the entire time. His fingers playing with your own, perhaps obsessed with the feeling of your tiny hand laced with his own pristine skin. Did not pay any attention the several times you tried to excuse yourself, only changing the subject of conversation to try and keep you in place.

It was strange. Confusing. You did not understand the reasoning or cause behind any of his actions. 

Well, at least until the next morning while you were scrubbing the floors. Your friend Annabell cleaning right by your side. Catching up, gossiping about the new recruits found in the manner. It is only times like these when you actually get the chance to talk, to giggle with someone meant to be your equal in both age and house status. 

The only chance you’re truly able to forget about the fact she is able to leave once her contract expires. But it does not matter– any small amount of spite you hold is slashed away by her kind smile. The understanding in her eyes as she treats you like just another maid set to work for the king instead of a captive. 

It is only after the 7th yawn of the morning she asks about the poorly covered bags under your eyes. You had gone to bed with the rest of the girls, there is no reason you should be so tired. You never appear to be, at least it is not shown around others.

You struggle with yourself for a moment, trying to decide whether the night before was meant to be kept as a closely guarded secret to your chest. Yet one look at your closest confidant had you spilling everything. 

The entire night– the stars, the flowers, the way he prattled on. How tight he gripped your dirty, calloused hand against his pristine soft ones. 

You feel strange speaking of it, remembering it in any way. It causes your cheeks to heat and a fury to settle below your ribs. 

It is a strange feeling, yet not an entirely unwanted one. 

Your eyes train to the floor as you spill your soul, unable to keep it in once it starts pouring out. You try to keep your tone as neutral as possible– to tell her about the night as if it was a simple news story you heard from a guard. Though, you’re unsure of your success in the matter. 

A poised laugh leaves the lips of your counter, her eyes cresting into half-moons. 

“You cannot be serious right? You tell stories.” She giggles, shaking her head before continuing her assault on the floor. 

You simply shake your own. 

“It happened, I was as shocked in the moment as you seem to be now.” She lets out a small bellow of giggles once again. 

“No, no. I believe it happened entirely. I’m only talking about the fluster of your face.” She giggles, lifting her rag and shaking it for dramatic effect. You roll your eyes, cracking a small smile.

“There is no such thing.” You laugh knowing that there is. 

“Oh my heavens. Y/n, you cannot tell me you’ve grown fond of the Prince, have you?” Her words are hushed now, much more so than before. As if someone may be listening to the conversation. 

You tense in reply, unsure of the answer yourself. The closest you’ve ever felt to fondness of another man was a stable boy a few years back. Only 17 at the time, head wrapped in romance novels that you didn’t entirely understand. He was handsome and he was kind. However just as you were starting to become closer to him, he was sent away to work at another palace. 

You had not been optimistic since then.

She takes your silence as an answer in itself. Moving towards you, gripping your shoulders and hauling you to sit on your haunches. Forcing you to look at her face as she speaks. 

“You cannot be serious.” She repeats again, hoping for any sign of doubt. All she receives is bewilderment in reply, “Y/n. You can never trust Prince Kim.” 

You sigh, “I know, Anne, I–” You’re cut off with her own voice again.

“No, not in the way you’re imagining.” She sighs, letting her hands drop from your shoulders to continue scrubbing at the floor. Making work of herself as she speaks, “The other maids don’t tell you of much, do they?” 

You can’t deny it. Your seclusion within the castle walls is only partly of your own design. 

Other maids do not feel as though they can trust you, seeing as you are full property of the crown. In their eyes, you hold not a crumb of loyalty to your own kind. Few maids speak to you like Annabell does for fear the second they say anything wrong you are going to tell the world. 

You would never, though your word is worth its weight in feathers to them.

“They don’t care for me as you do… no…” You admit, continuing to clean as well. She already knew the answer, letting out an exhale before she speaks.

“Prince Kim has a pension for… debauchery… I shall say,” She flinches at her own words, yet doesn’t know a better way to put it, “The variety in which he uses pretty words to seduce young ladies to bed with him. Royalty from other lands, general’s daughters, maids. It matters not. He likes them for the night then pretends they shall never exist again.” 

Each word she speaks sends another stab into your gut. A dull pain blooming from the same places which a swirling was forming before. 

Ah. It all makes sense now. 

“Oh.”

“He has a particular fondness for the other maids, you know. Bedding them without a second thought.” A grimace forms on your friend's lips, scrubbing harder into the already shining floors, “There is no reason to form any sort of affection for that man. It will only end with his seed inside your core and a knife in your heart.” 

Yes, everything she is saying makes perfect sense. You feel almost stupid to not see it before. Maybe you just didn’t want to see it– want to think about it in any sort of fashion. But this makes much more sense than the crown prince wanting to speak to you for any other purpose. Explains why he was acting as a true gentleman to someone so much lower than him. 

However, you find that it does not take away the cavernous pit that has formed in your gut. 

“I see, I have no desire for either.” You nod your head in understanding, not sure of what else to say. “I don’t understand why he’s taken an interest in me, though.” 

She gawks, “I don’t understand why it has taken him so long to in the first place.” She shakes her head.

“Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter. Y/n, you must promise me. You will not fall for him, nor give any part of yourself to him. He is not someone that will care for you like you deserve.” She states, blue eyes piercing icicles into your own. She is determined and will not relent until you agree.

“I do not wish to. Not after hearing all of…” You make some sort of motion with your hand, “that. Anyone would be a fool to like him.” 

You nod your head while Annabell smiles in agreement. 

“Good.” 

Those are the last words you exchange with anyone for hours. The rest of the day passed by with lightning, an endless turnstile of things to take care of. A ball was to be held soon meaning the castle would be a wreck for the next few days. Too much planning, cleaning, sewing, coordination had to take place before anyone could rest. 

Honestly, you were grateful for it. A break from thinking was much needed. As is a good night’s rest. 

You sigh, already imagining how lovely it would feel to pull off your shoes for the day. Peel the cotton off your body and replace your dress with something more comfortable. 

Oo! Hopefully enough warm water will be left for a quick bath. That would be just wonderful, your muscles would be able to unfurl. The perfect thing to lull you into a glorious sleep.

Your arms stretch over your head as you finish descending the staircase into the maid hallways. Bones in your back pop from the pressure, causing a sigh to make its way from your lungs. Your nimble fingers make their way to the ribbon holding your hair in place, untying it and allowing the tresses to fall. 

Soon you would be in the maid resting quarters– your appearance would matter not there anyway. 

You send small smiles to other staff members passing you, those that have either just woken for the night or those who still have work to do. Yet in return, each one of them just stares at you with an incredulous look. Turning and whispering to their friends as if you were not still in front of them. 

You can’t help to understand why. Those around you may not have considered you a friend, but they were never rude. Always polite when need be. It has you feeling strange, some type of nervousness as you get closer and closer to the hallway extending to the maids personal rooms. 

Rounding the corner, you discover exactly why. 

His frame looks entirely out of place standing there. A perfect, pristine picture in a hallway of drab, illuminated only by the lanterns hanging on the wall. Royal blue tunic draped on his shoulders only emphasising his status. 

He looks as though he was never meant to be here. Like a mistake was made along the cobblestone walls. No, he looks as though he is meant to be among the living. Not in your dreary, windowless life. Nothing could change that. 

You stand there frozen, a deer caught in the lanturn of a hunting party. A pounding of your heart, as well as the dark swell of your gut coming back to life. Why is he here? Why the hell does he have a bouquet of flowers?!

You wish to scream, but you don’t. You have already been caught. 

His eyes look up from where he created a small pile of dirt on the floor. His face coming alight in an instant, pushing himself to full stature from where he once leaned against the wall. Long legs making their way towards you while he suddenly has the decency to hide the bouquet behind his back. 

Annabell certainly did not mention this method of Prince Kim’s seduction. You had never seen him down here before. 

“Hi.” Is all he says once he is finally face to face with you. His face bright and youthful. Excited.

It seems all formalities have been dropped in his mind, though you refuse the notion. 

“Prince Kim.” You simply reply, lowering yourself in a curtsy. 

He pays no mind, almost pretending you never did it in the first place. Instead, he simply rocks back and forth on his heels, bouncing slightly in delight. Wanting something, unable to voice it. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, hoping to end the encounter swiftly to stop all of the prying eyes leering into your being. 

“I brought you something.” His eyes do not break contact with yours once and you can see his hand twitch by his side as if it wants to reach out for something. You're glad he has the decency to hold back, so you shall do the same by pretending you never saw the flowers in the first place. 

You choose not to ask yourself why he brought you a present. It must just be a trick of seduction.

“I am honoured to accept such a thing.” You send a small smile his way, something between real and fake. It seems to make him beam. 

His arm comes out from behind, holding the flowers between both of your bodies. You look down at them, shock written across your features. 

Sure, you had noted them as flowers before. But you think these may be the prettiest ones you’ve seen in your whole life. Petals of orange, white, and purple cloud in your eyes. Stomatas filled with the sweet pollen.

Lilies. All different kinds– ones you’ve never seen before.

They’re out of season, at least you think they are. How did he get these? Why is he giving them to you? Why is he trying to get the butterflies to return? Why is he trying to make your heart explode?

“Prince Kim…” You’re not sure what to say– instead gently reaching out to feel the velvet of a petal. Staring intently at their colours, unable to pull your eyes away. 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” His voice is a husk of a whisper, as if you’re the only two in the hallway. As if other maids are not passing, as if they are not staring at the two of you.

“Yes… I… I’m not sure what to say.” It is all so hypnotic. 

“Thank you would be a good beginning, no?” His smile is soft, a light chuckle present in the tone.

You pause, tilting your head to look up at him fully– a large, real smile donning your lips.

“Yes. Thank you.” 

You feel as if you are floating, just as you would when reading those romance books in your late teen years. Like the world has stopped moving save for the prince in front of you slowly passing the flowers into your arms. 

Your hands brush against each other and you feel his fingers twitch, tightening ever so slight. Wishing to grab onto your hand just as he had done the night before. Wishing to insect every line that traces over your fresh once more.

However, he refrains. Allowing his ringed fingers to sink themselves into his pockets.

“I was just going to have them delivered. I’m not really meant to be down here, you know,” His smile is shy, “But I didn’t know your room. That, and I wanted to see you again.” 

You look down, unable to keep the eye contact he presses you for. Prince Kim is too much for you. You don’t understand how he couldn’t be too much for anyone. 

“Oh…” You’re a flush, “Thank you for saying that.” 

“It is nothing to thank me for.” He chuckles, bangs dimming the hues of his eyes, “I’m sure I bored you with all of my ramblings.” 

He did, partly, but that was more discombobulation for the situation and a sense of tiredness creeping into your bones. You shake your head quickly.

“Of course not. I had.. Fun.” Mayhaps fun isn’t the right term, yet there is no word that exactly describes your emotions of last night, nor the ones of today.

“As did I.” His lips are tight in a smile again, feet bouncing on their heels once more. He’s nervous, wants to say something again but isn’t sure how.

You’re not sure how to feel about learning what that habit means. Not sure how to feel about what any of this means. You have not had a moment alone to truly dissect what all of it is. 

“I would love to spend the night talking to you again, if you would allow me.” You don’t think you would love anything more, yet you know you would not be able to function. Would probably make a fool of yourself, too. 

“I-I think it would be best if I were to get some rest… I had not even an hour before I had to start working last night.” 

He frowns, “That’s not good for your health…” He pauses, searching your face for any signs of distress, “Then let's talk in your room. I will only stay until you sleep.” 

You pause, air drifting back into your lungs.

Ah. Right. 

The words of your friend sink in once again, breaking you out of whatever trance he had put you under. Whatever spell he laced through both of your ears to have you singing songs of praises for him and the crown. 

He wants you as a notch in a bedpost. Nothing more. It is clear as day and you are a fool to think anything other than that. This is all just a cleverly rehearsed show. You will not fall victim like your mother. 

All royalty is the same. Use use use. Beat a dead horse until it stops coughing up any sort of reprise. 

Your posture is suddenly tense, fist gripping the flowers so tight your knuckles appear white. 

How dare he think so low of you. How dare he think he might be able to fuck you for nothing. 

“Men are not allowed in the women's private quarters.” Your voice is staunch, though it is not as if he can tell nor cares. 

If he does, he doesn’t show it. 

“Ah,” The lilt is still evident in his tone, the cat playing with the mouse, “But I am not any man, am I?” His body leans a bit closer, pulling his face parallel to your own. Smirk playing on his lips. 

Beauty is a deceptive thing, isn’t it? “When I am king I’ll make it so I can see you whenever we both desire.” Something heats in your gut at those words, yet anger quells it just as fast. 

“It is a shame that you are not King yet, then.” You nod politely in his direction, trying to excuse yourself. Yet your words only seem to excite something in his eyes, lighting a fire behind them. 

“My, I didn’t know you felt that way.” He smiles coy. A flustered sensation overcomes you as you realise the double meaning behind your words. You had made it sound like you wanted him in that way when that could not be farther from the truth.

“I do not.” You state, your voice ice. Though once again, it seems that it does not pierce him. 

“There is no reason to be so cold, Y/n.” He sing songs, tapping one of his long fingers against the side of his head. 

“I am not being cold! You are just not listening.” You sigh in exasperation. Exhaustion and annoyance make you forget yourself, causing your volume to rise just as his own does. This only seems to excite him more. 

“I have heard enough.” He giggles, boyish and what others would describe as cute. Right before you’re able to argue back once again, he cuts in with his own voice once more.

“I will leave you for now. Find a pretty place for the flowers.” 

He smiles generously at you, beginning to walk away, “Have a good night. I’ll see you soon.” 

In your shamble of a disposition, you’re left stuck there. Staring at his back as he retreats down the hallway. 

The shock of everything that had just transpired coming over you all at once. How poorly you had behaved. How you spoke to him. He could have you killed for any one of those things however instead he left you with a bouquet of flowers and a promise for another night. 

You scramble to find yourself, to move yourself from out of the eyeline of every other maid. To make your way to your room, your one sanctuary as quickly as possible. 

It is only when you’re in those walls, hard oak door shut firmly beside you that you have to remind yourself of your promise to your best friend. Remember that the prince fights his battles with words and emotions. 

Your second meeting with the man had left you even more confused than the first. Thousands of questions and emotions real through your bones at a pace your brain can’t manage to understand. Leaves you fuming, trying to form a single coherent thought as you analyse the last two nights with a ferocity unimagined. 

In your state, however, you neglect to think of the one question that should be dancing before you, held on a string just out of reach. 

Why did he know your name? 

It is apparent that since that night, Prince Kim has located which room you find habitance in. 

This morning, another letter has found itself slipped under the base of your door. They have become commonplace now– letters detailing apologies for why he was unable to visit, what he had gone about on his day, his regrets that he has not heard back from you in what feels like ages. 

He’s tried to speak to you a few times in the palace when you work. His eyes always trained on you with something you’re unable to describe when you clean nearby. 

You wish you could say it was perverse in manner, but it was nothing of the sort. 

Every once and awhile you would catch a lily pinned to his breast pocket. He would send you a secret smile whenever it caught your attention. As if it was a tale meant for only the two of you to know. As if he wanted to carry a portion of you with him.

You may be naive in saying so, nor do you have much experience in the matter, but these do not feel like the actions of a man who simply wishes to find home under your dress. These feel more personal. More extravagant than anything else. 

Nevertheless, you ignore every single advance. Annabell made you promise, and it was a promise you were intent on keeping until your dying breath. 

Put the letters away in a box, never to be responded to. Avoided looking at him whenever he was near. Rushed out of rooms when it appeared he was intent on  making his war for you.

Icing out the prince is what is best. Whatever lilies he will wilt and die and you will be able to continue on with your hatred of the Kim family as well as your blood pact with the throne. 

You only wish it was that easy.

“Y/n!! Miss Y/n!!” There is a scramble outside of the door, voices hailing for your presence. You don’t know why– you’re on wash duty. Anyone, unless they’re extraordinarily new, would know that. 

The voice grows more erratic, more panicked. As if their life depends on finding you in that very moment. The other maids in the quarters send their glaces to you, urging you to go yet not one opens their mouths. 

At least one bonus of endenturing your entire life to the palace is that you have grown in rank. More than 10 years has granted you a decent position. 

A hushed sigh slips past your lips and your hands find themselves forcing the pile of sheets into the washing tub. Your hands quickly wipe away at your apron, ridding them of any moisture before pushing open the door. 

Stepping into the hallway lined with stone you notice only a single girl. Her entire form shaking as she paces the hall– panicked. Blonde curls bouncing with every step, cheeks a fluster. 

A new recruit, indeed. Celley is the name she wears. 

She had just entered with the last batch of new maids, starting at the palace no more than 2 months ago. She was a recruit you were unsure of– not having a lick of grace or balance, nor any experience with serving. But you suppose there are many reasons maids are chosen. 

You do not like to think of them.

Her feet are suddenly clamouring over to you, noticing your presence for the first time since you’ve stepped in the hallway. Her small, shaking hands grip your shoulders, holding you with all the will she seems to possess. 

“Excuse me have you seen–” She stops herself, tiny pants pausing as her eyes go wide, “Oh my days! Miss Y/n! You must hurry!” She rushes, hand gripping your wrist as she tries to pull you away. 

Though your face twists in confusion, your feet remain firm. 

“What’s the matter?” You ask, both sympathy and concern entering your frame. You can admonish her later for her lack of manners, however now, the girl seems truly frightened. Her large steel eyes looking back at you, pleading. 

“The crown prince! He’s!” She’s out of breath once again, continuing to try and urge you on.

This time, the second the word prince is muttered, you begin to follow her pace, “He’s lost his mind! He’s going on a firing spree! Locking up anyone who tries to calm him!” 

“What? Why is that? Did something happen?” You ask hushed, urging the girl to keep her voice down. Though you both are similar in age, it is apparent who has experienced this type of thing before. 

“He got into some kind of spat with his father. His instructor was fired when he tried to continue on with their lesson.” It seems she understood your message, continuing to hurry you down the halls. 

“And what am I meant to do?” 

“I-I don’t know!” She lets out a quiet yelp, pulling you closer as you exit the maid hallways and enter the palace ones, “His personal maid is away visiting family. She said to leave everything to you if something were to happen! I-I didn’t know what else to do!” 

Damn Eleanor and everything she stands for. Why the hell did she have to bring your name into this?! Shouldn’t the head maid be called in times like this?! Not you, someone who wants nothing to do with any member of the royal family. Especially the crown prince himself. Sure, there must be rumours spreading around but you had managed nearly three weeks without speaking to him!

You let out a sigh, squaring your shoulders in an attempt to appear more confident, more put together. You will do this, and you will come out victorious. Every battle before has left you victor. What is one more?

“I understand. It will be dealt with.”

The least you can gain is the idyllic picture of the prince to be shattered forever. That would be the most ideal outcome, something to truly force him out of your heart for good. You will not fall prey to him and his earthly desires. He will not win your heart. 

At least that is what you hope. 

The throne room's doors stand before you, delicate lacings of gold worth more than your entire being etched into its surface. A glittering picture for what is sure to be a bloodbath behind its contents. 

A deep inhale of warm air fills your lungs, hand pressing against the door as you force it open. Face someone you have not wanted to see nor extinguish the flames of in nearly a month. 

He stands before you, 20 paces ahead. A broken bottle in his hand as he heaves, shoulders rising and falling with the passion of ten thousand suns. The look of murder in his eyes as he stares down at a maid, her form on the ground. Bowing with as much might as she can possess, looking for any exit possible. Few other maids stand around the room, keeping their heads low, avoiding any eye contact possible. 

Though he looks like a mad man– mayhaps a god of war himself, not a single hair is out of place on his head. He is still the picture of sovereignty. And though your breath spikes, you find that you are not afraid. 

What a strange feeling it is.

The creak of the door sends single to him, has him whipping his head to face you. Anger etched into his features, a new target befalling his sight.

You stand tall, moving towards him. You will rise to the position given to you, even if it shall mean your inevitable downfall. As long as the new staff are safe.

Only, when he looks to you, no wrath is found. No anger or deceit. The second his eyes meet your own, his expression drops along with the bottle in his hands. More glass littering the floor in its wake. 

His eyes soften, his lips turning from a sneer into a gentle frown. His shoulders automatically lower, and suddenly it appears that there is no one else in the room. His legs move automatically, carrying themselves to you with such a hurried pace you would have thought he had seen a long lost friend. 

Oddly, this scares you more than when he was angered. 

You start into a bow, “Prince Kim, I’ve come in place of–” 

His arms wrap themselves around you before you can speak another word. Pulling you in, wrapping you into his scent as you're pressed against his sturdy chest. Strong arms keep you in place as he tries to make his body become one with your own. 

His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, one hand raising to tie itself in your hair. It forces you to stay in place, stay attached to him just the way he wants you to be. Allows him to inhale, breathing in all of you. Finally delving into the scent that he has been craving.

Your eyes only widen, hands staying firm at your side in shock. Heart beginning to race, head becoming lost in the soaps that only a member of a family could possibly own. 

You’re not sure what to do. How to behave. As far as you are concerned or aware, this is something that no other has had happen before. At least not so openly. Not so brazenly in front of a myriad of other people. 

But, it seems to calm him. To placate him in a way you’re not sure anyone could explain. 

You try to make a small twisting motion with your hand, try to urge everyone else to leave while they have the chance. 

They seem to take it, exiting the room as fast as possible. 

You’re sure word of this will spread throughout the castle quickly. You hope the consequences will not be dire. 

“Prince Kim��” You begin to speak after everyone has cleared out, after he holds you for what feels like a lifetime. You can’t find it in you to want him to pull away, no matter how embarrassing this seems. 

“Shh,” He quickly silences you with a gentle press of his lips to your pulse, “Let me stay like this for a moment.” 

You are unable to move. Unable to breathe after he kisses you. War could begin in that very moment and you’re not sure you would have noticed in the slightest. You are stunned into obeying his whim as he simply inhales and exhales. 

The umber in his voice only comes after a millennia, after his shoulders have completely sagged. After all the tension is removed from his body. 

“You didn’t respond to my letters.” He still doesn’t pull away, his grip on your hair tightening a fraction. 

You pause.

“I…I didn’t know where to send them.” You lie and his hand loosens. The correct answer. 

“My study. Put them under the door to my study.” He instructs like a king would. 

You’re not sure why the tone of his voice sends shocks to your gut. Pooling into something you only find in your dreams.

“But if someone were to see them–” 

“Let them.” Mumbles in your ear to you and you alone, a growl practically spiking through his voice, “I want them to know.” 

Oh. This is new. This is definitely new. This is not the same way you felt with the stable boy years ago. This has become something entirely alienating. A completely different beast. You know that now as his baritone voice sends waves straight through your gut. 

You simply nod in reply, your mouth unwilling to say anything back. The arm around your lower back grows more firm.

“Tell me where you will put your replies.” He commands into your ear. 

“Under the door to your study.” Your reply is automatic, years of answering to the kingdom evident in your tone. 

He sighs, unfurling his fingers from your locks to gently pet the top of your head, “Good girl.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, soft as he touches you.

“Good lamb.”

You sigh, fingers deftly searching through your wardrobe for just a single pair of underwear. But once again, you turn up empty. It seems like every day that passes, another pair disappears without your knowledge. 

Perhaps one of the new girls is causing a fuss, messing up the laundry for everyone else. 

That is the only logical solution, at least. 

But logic doesn’t seem to make much sense at all anymore. You couldn’t hope to understand why few of your other belongings have come up indignant as well. 

Your favourite perfume, one of your stuffed animals, even your toothbrush! All have magically vanished from thin air over the course of the last week. 

It is too bad that you haven’t had the time to think about it, either. Preparations for the ball have been raging throughout the palace. Everyone has been on their toes, unwilling to face the wrath of the planners as they try to make everything perfect. 

You have had not one moment alone to think, either swept up in cleaning, decorating, or well… recently you and the prince have been going on walks through the garden at night. Though that doesn’t matter much. It doesn’t mean anything– just another thing he made you promise to. Claiming he wishes to spend as much time with you as he can. 

His recent fixation is trying to get you to call him by his true name. 

You would never dare, nothing is more inappropriate than such a title. It is something only his most beloved is meant to call him, and that person is certainly not you.

You try to force any thoughts of him out of your head, though it is clearly a fruitless endeavour. Especially with the dream you had the night prior. 

His hands finding themselves between your legs, touching you in a way no other has. 

You flush, quickly shaking all thoughts of the night away. 

The tea! Your tea, yes. A prescription from the doctor for this very thing.

More often than not, you wake to find a mess between your thighs. Sticky arousal between them in a perverse fashion. The region sensitive and overstimulated combined with a mess of dreams. More sexual in nature than ever before.

Embarrassed, you had turned to the only person you could trust. The palace staff’s doctor. 

She had told you it was normal– that you were simply having what she described as ‘wet-dreams’. The title alone made you feel embarrassed.

Nevertheless, she prescribed you a tea to help calm your nerves. It was meant to be passifying in nature, calming any lush desires you may have beginning to form. 

You were not sure how it functioned, however you trusted her. Found that it quelled whatever fire burned inside of your heart for the time being. 

Perhaps just a new oddity to add to your reality, you suppose. 

Finally, you find a proper set of undergarments to pull over your legs. Letting out a breath in relief now that you finally have them. 

Today is going to be busier than the last month combined– the ball is tonight. You know for a fact you will be rushed around the palace all day, fixing everything into an acute sense of perfection that only the Kim family is known for. 

You reach to spray your second favourite  perfume across your skin, only to find that the bottle has gone missing as well.

Your hairs stand on edge, a dark pit forming in your stomach.

It is all too strange for you to want to understand. 

Okay, now you’re sure Annabell must be wrong. She has to be, right? There is no other conclusion possible. 

The thoughts run through your head as you pace the small confines of your room. Thumb between your lips, biting the skin feverishly. Contemplating what it is exactly that you should do. A heavy box sitting on your bed, a letter laying next to it along with a single lily.

A month ago, you met Prince Kim in the gardens. A month ago you spoke to him all night long. A month ago he brought you flowers. He has been leaving you letters ever since. Three weeks ago he held you in his arms, made you promise to write him back. Made you promise to meet him in the gardens as many nights as you can. 

But this, you could not accept. You could not possibly think this is real. Why has he gifted you something like this?

A dress lays on your bed. The most gorgeous dress you have ever seen, in fact. Lined with crystals and gems, many layers of tulle poof from the underskirt. It must’ve cost a fortune, but it was not meant for you.  It is a dress meant for a princess, not a simple maid of the palace. Not… Not someone the prince simply wanted to bed. 

So why did it lie here, along with a lace mask and a pair of shoes. Why did it come with a note from the Prince, telling you to put it on for tonight's events? Is this why the head maid dismissed you so early?

No. You could not. You will not make a fool of yourself. You do not belong up there, dressed as a princess when you are far from the thing. That is your decision. It will be the one you stick to.

Even as hours tick past on the clock, even as you can hear the night in full swing, you stay locked in your room. Feeling the same as you did when you were a girl locked in the dungeon all those years ago. Helpless, indignant, stubborn. 

Lost in your thoughts as you try to piece together a puzzle that has several spaces missing. Feelings for the stable boy– life with him, it would have been easier than this. You’re sure of it. 

You allow yourself to imagine what life could have been like if he stayed. It would have been a cosy, peaceful. A straightforward one that didn’t leave so many questions in your head. Jungkook was always like that, spoke his mind without leaving anything to be guessed. You adored it, wished you could revel in it now. Wish you could kiss him under the cherry tree once more.

A pounding wakes you from the dream you were just beginning to weave. Loud, angry knuckles against the firm oak of your door startling you to your feet in an instant. Chills running down your spine as if your body already knew who was behind it. 

You wait too long to reply, another series of rapts following in quick succession. You’re in trouble. You’ve angered the prince in a way you’re not sure you’ll be able to find your way out of, but you have no choice. He knows your inside. You know you must face him. You must be brave.

Right before another series of knocks can echo against the walls, you finally pull the door open. 

There stands the man you knew would be there all along, sculpted like the lord had made him himself. You wish you could behold him properly, to stare at his beauty in the suit specially prepared for this night. One he asked your opinion of several times during its construction.

But you are unable to, not when his shoulders heave like a bull planning its charge. Not when his eyes are narrowed into a glare that enters your soul without consequence. Never before had you felt his anger directed at you. 

The future king would be a fearsome thing. 

“It appears you are not dead.” He states, cold and detached in a way you have never heard before. It makes you feel small, feel weak. Though by now, you know he wants an answer. He will not accept the lack of one from you anymore. 

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, “I suppose not…” 

“Then what do you suppose.” You flinch. You’re not sure.

“I– Prince Kim…” 

“Taehyung.” He interjects, though you ignore him. Only his future wife is meant to call him by that name.

“Prince Kim, I could not possibly accept this gift. You have to understand.” The way he looks at you makes you want to shrink. To appear as small as possible to placate the lion you’ve wondered into the den of. 

“I do not. You are to accept any gift I am to give you.” He is stern as if lecturing the ground beneath him. He looks massive in your tiny room, taking up much more space than you wish to grant him.

You begin to grow frustrated, annoyed. Does he have no sanity? Does he really think it is okay to play with the hearts of women so carelessly? It is disgusting. Repulsive even! You do not deserve anything like this. You begin to grow tense, grow firm like a wolf cornered. Ready to lash out with no remorse. 

That is what you are, anyway. A cornered animal with no hope to escape. 

“I won’t.” You raise your shoulders, stand taller and stare him straight in the eyes. If this will have you sent to the axe then so be it. 

He grows just as tense in reply, his lips forming a sneer as he takes a step closer towards you. 

Never before has Prince Kim been opposed like this before, you’re sure of it. The way his irises become darker is proof. 

“And why is that, lamb?” He mocks, and the fire inside of you only begins to glow brighter Of course, you’re just the lamb that's wandered into the lion's den. The lamb being prepared for meal. 

Steam clouds around your head, jaw becoming tense as you try to hold back your rage. Rage for your mother, rage for the life she was taunted into the same way the prince is trying to do to you now.

“I will not become another woman you bed and then lay waste to!” You practically shout, unable to hold back your emotions anymore. 

His nostrils flare, “Excuse me?” 

“You heard my words.” You state back, indignant, “I will not be an idiot. I will not become another woman who you use for your own pleasures!”

You hear him scoff, head turning away from you for the first time as he looks around your room. 

“You think that little of me?” His eyes make their way back to you, his face having the expression of somewhat… hurt? 

Suddenly, you’re unsure. You feel stupid all over again though you’re not entirely conscious as to why. You hurt him? How could you possibly hurt the most powerful person in the country? 

You falter in your stance, and it is obvious that he takes notice. Uses it to his advantage as he takes another step closer, makes his hand find your own. His thumb brushing soothingly over the knuckle. His hands are always so soft. 

“What else am I meant to think? I’ve heard the stories, Prince Kim.” Where once was fire lays blistering coals. Hot to the touch yet unyielding in their passion. The air in the room has changed in much the same way.

“Tell me of them.” He asks you, his voice now gentle, soft. 

It is strange, the complete change he’s had since first entering your room. Has your brain going a little haywire. Especially with the way he stares at your hands. Like they could be locked forever. 

“I…” You feel flush, embarrassed to mutter the words in front of the prince, “I’ve heard you seduce women… princesses, noblemen’s daughters, maids… the lot. Then you abandon them the next morning with your seed in their core and a knife in their heart.” 

You keep your eyes to your feet, face feeling hot by repeating the words of your friend. You refuse to look at him, you cannot take the embarrassment. 

A light chuckle leaves his lips, a hand coming up to attempt to muffle them, “Sorry, sorry.” He shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. You’re baring your soul to him! How dare he laugh! 

He coughs to muffle the rest of the sound, returning to the moment, “I apologise. I just had the realisation. You’re jealous of them, aren’t you lamb?” 

A mess of flutters takes up your stomach, your shoulders raising in alarm. Your lips open to try and form words, to try and deny the allegations made your way, yet you are entirely unable. 

Especially with the way he moves closer, crowds your space with such ease. Leads close to you, whispers words in your ear, voice lower than before. 

“You wish it to just be you I lay with, is that so?” You can practically hear the smile in his voice as another, more erotic chill finds its way down your spine. 

“Th-That isn’t–” You try to speak, but your voice sounds as light as air. He moves closer, arm carrying itself around your back, pulling you flush against him as he speaks sinful words. Words only for you. 

“Ah…” He sighs in relief, lips practically touching your ear once you’re finally connected to him, “You don’t like it when I go fuck your friends then come to spend my nights talking to you… writing to you… touching myself to the thought of you.” 

You cannot take it. You cannot take this, take him. Your head is spinning, clouding with the drug known as Prince Kim. Your knees feel weak, your limbs feel all too heavy. How can someone so pretty say such sinful words without a second thought. It’s too much. Far more than your poor little heart can take.

Your arms come up, press as firm as they can against his chest despite how weak they feel.

“Mmm…?” He asks in response, pulling back to look down on your face. Mock confusion spread across his features. He takes a step back, pretending to look you up and down. Like he is just playing a game of poker while all of your tells are as clear as day. 

“Or is that not what you wish?” He asks, head tilted to the side like a confused puppy, “You would like things to remain the same?” He smiles, drawing conclusions all on his own. 

He pauses, waits for you to say something, anything before continuing. But you do not, so he will keep playing this game by himself. 

“Then I shall go find someone to keep me company for the night. Mmm..” He taps his chin in contemplation, turning on his heels, meanwhile panic and dread fills every facet of your being, “What were those ones you’re friends with again? Celley? That pretty blonde? Oh, or maybe Annabell. I’m sure she would be prepared to go for a second round.” 

What? What? No, No! What is he talking about? Why is he starting to walk away?! Wait, Annabell, second time?! She has before?! 

Oh heavens, oh gods. 

“Anyway, I'll be sure to write to you after. Have a good night, dream of me.” You begin to hyperventilate as he takes one step out the door. No, he can’t leave. You don’t want him to. You don’t want him to be with anybody else. You can’t let it happen. You can’t afford such a thing! Ever! That is not where he is meant to be! 

Your body carries you before your mind does. Hand slipping out, gripping onto the back of his coat with all of the strength you can muster. Feet planted firm in your room, doing everything in your power to not let him leave.  

It is really too bad you do not see the sick smile that forms on his lips. Maybe then the pieces of the puzzle would have finally clicked in place. 

Instead he only tilts his head backwards, painting a complexion of boredom.

“N-No! I don’t want that!” You finally manage to stutter out, knuckles turning white with the strength you hold onto him. Afraid if you let go in the slightest he will pull away and disappear forever. “I don’t want you to be with other women!”

The silence that follows your confession feels a mile long. 

“Then go put on the dress.” Out of any response there could be, that certainly was not the one you were anticipating. 

“What…?” 

His chin tilts in the direction of it, urging you on, “If that is the truth, then go put on the dress.” 

“I…” You hesitate for only a moment, but scramble to motion once the prince turns to leave once again. 

You make quick paces to your bed, keeping your back to him. You feel his eyes on your back, intent on giving you no privacy to ensure you follow through on his order. 

In fact, all he does is close the door behind you. Making sure no one will be able to see in. No one will be able to watch you save for him. 

You slowly peel off the cotton of your nightgown, trying to appear brave even though his eyes are trained on your form. Even if your slip still remains on, you have never been this uncovered in front of a man before. You feel entirely bare. 

You do not look at him as you finally find your way through the tool, slipping the garment over your head with struggle, yet his face is practically predatory. 

You don’t know his plans, or what he wishes to gain. You never do. 

As the fabric settles over your hips, half of you wants to question how the size is perfect, but you refrain. Too embarrassed by everything else to even consider it an option. Your hands reach behind you to attempt to lace up the back on your own, yet another pair are already present in their place.

When did he get so close? How did he get so close without you hearing a thing? Your heartbeat must be the only sound in your ears, that must be it. 

His fingers work down your spine, tightening the dress so it fits you perfectly. Tying it off with skill you did not know he had. You feel his breath on the back of your neck. A fire begins to grow in your core. 

“I was going to present you to my father tonight.” He admits, placing a gentle kiss to the base of your neck, “The ball was meant to find my bride.” 

“Oh.” Those are the only words you can say when he is so close, arms enclosing around your waist. Pulling your back flush with his chest. 

Only words you can manage at the revelation.

“Imagine his disappointment, more so my own when the girl I had been speaking to him about did not show.” He grunts, almost as if it hurt him. Guiding your body to stand in front of the full mirror in your room. Asking– telling you to look at yourself. 

The sight is strange, yet incredible. The crown prince of the entire nation standing in your bedroom, in the maids quarters. Surrounded by squalor and chaos. Arms wrapped around a maid dressed as if she could be a queen. 

You look up at him to the best of your ability, regret plastered across your features, “Prince Kim–” 

“Taehyung.” 

“--I’m so sorry.” He does not look you in the eyes. They stay trained ahead, not straying once from the mirror. One hand rubbing small circles into the fabric covering your stomach, the other sliding to your waist.

He touches you without care, without reason. Feeling you against him for all that it is worth. 

“Actions have consequences, that is all. They can come later.” He states plainly, “For now I just wish to indulge in you.”

He brings his face down, placing it right next to yours. His hand rises, making your chin face the mirror as well. 

He forces you to make eye contact with him through it, forces you to understand each of his words clearly. 

“You’ll let me do that, won’t you?” 

You take a deep breath, gulping down all the air you can manage. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything more. 

With no more than a nod, his lips are on yours. 

Spinning you around, pressing your back against the mirror. His hands cupping your cheeks with such intensity you fear they may become etched into your skin forever. Keeping your lips closed against his own. 

His body cages you in, pressing entirely against you. Forming against you in perfect harmony, feeling two souls become one. Feeling each other fully for the first time– no pretence or public eye in the way to stop it. 

His teeth nip at your lower lip, biting in a way that has you opening them in pain. He takes the opportunity to lick his way inside, somehow pushing even closer to your body. 

Something hard presses against you and the discovery has your knees wishing to collapse. 

The prince can’t possibly be this big. He simply can’t.

The kiss has you reeling, unsure of anything. Unsure of what to do at all. It is nothing like your first kiss under the cherry tree with Jungkook. That was soft and sweet, docile as two people discover something new.

This, this is nothing of the sort. It is hungry. It is a beast that has been starved, finally getting its first meal. It is intoxicating. It is needy and desperate in a way that has your fingers trying to press themselves even deeper into the glass. It has your breath being robbed. Your lifeforce wilts away to satisfy only the prince. 

The groan he lets out as you finally give into him, finally allow him to take control of the kiss as arousal pools in your gut. It is one of the most deadly siren’s calls you think you’ve ever heard. One that would have any woman throwing themselves overboard for just a taste. 

“Finally,” He grunts, pulling no more than a millilitre away from your lips, wetness still connecting them, “My whole life I’ve been waiting for you.” He mumbles, hungrily connecting his mouth back to your own. 

Before you know it, you’re lost in the man once again. Allowing him to move you, to guide you to your bed without withdrawing from you once. Tangling your fingers into his hair, trying to make sure he doesn’t pull away. Making you drunk off of his taste, off of him. 

When he kisses you like this, you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to live without him. 

Your knees hit the frame of your bed and all of a sudden you're falling backwards onto its plush lining. Panting, trying to regain some of the air he stole from you.

For the first time you’re able to look up at him, to discover the mess that he has become. Cheeks red, lips swollen. Eyes dark and twisted with lust. Hair ruffled messily from where your fingers laid. Shoulders rising and falling with effort as he catches his breath as well. 

He looks gorgeous and you can’t help yourself hoping this will be only a sight for you forever. 

He leans down, pecking your lips once more, “I couldn’t stop myself from imagining this. Since the moment I placed an order for your dress.” 

He huffs, dropping to his knees in front of you. You sit up on your elbows, face twisted into confusion as you look down at him. 

God. It is too dangerous to look at him right now. You know that as another wave of heat runs straight to your core.

“Pushing up the future queen's skirt.” He groans, hands gaining purchase on your hips, pulling you down so your waist sits at the edge of the bed, “Letting myself have a taste of her while everyone else at the party danced.” 

O-Oh. Oh. He sees you as, oh god. 

His fingers bunch in the material of your skirt, drawing in a shaky inhale as he holds onto any drop of sanity left. 

When he sees no hesitation from you, he slowly begins to push the material up your legs. Eyes trained on your own, looking to you for any sign of discomfort. 

“Have her come undone on my tongue while no else was the wiser.” He groans as he finally comes face to face with your panty covered core. 

Your brain moves at a snail's pace, trying to keep up with every tiny movement the prince makes. Trying to process his words while your head becomes fuzzy with your own arousal. 

You feel like mush, so pliable in his grip.

His large hands slowly begin to part your thighs, to look at what he has been craving for so long when your brain catches up with you, embarrassment overcoming your being. 

“Y-You can’t! I-it is dirty to do such a thing.” At least, that is what you had been taught. Though, the look in his eyes and the growl from his throat tells you the opposite.

“You could never be dirty. No part of you could ever be.” The sound he lets out is more akin to an animal than anything else, and suddenly you feel like a schoolgirl. Flustered and embarrassed beyond anything else. 

The muscles of your thighs untense, the look on your face blushed and biting. 

“You will let me?” He asks again, and despite your embarrassment, you nod. He is going to be king… his word is rule afterall. He wishes it, so it will happen. You could not be more pleased to oblige. 

His grip on your thighs is more firm than before, blunt nails digging into soft flesh as he pries your legs apart. He lets a groan resonate from the back of his throat at the sight. Panties sticking to your center, wetness pooling just behind causing the material to almost become transparent before him. 

You did not know it was possible for a man to have such an effect on you. 

Without a second thought, he pushes the material down your thighs. His tongue licking a long stripe up your cunt, savouring the flavour for every cent it is worth. 

He moans at the taste, not wasting a second before he dives back in. Lapping against you like it is his last meal. 

A mewl leaves your lips, too many feelings crossing you at once for any of them to be worth anything. 

Embarrassment, shame, fear all vanish the moment his lips wrap around your clit, sucking against the small bundle of nerves in a manner that has your back arching against the bed. Fingertips digging into the sheets to find a second lease on life. 

You try to look down at him, to find him between all of your small pants of pleasure, however he is gone. Disappearing until the layers of fabric while he brings you sensations you never thought were possible. 

His tongue moves like it is made to pleasure only you. Taking turns flicking your clit to lowering into your center. Licking up any bit of arousal he can make out. Trailing up once again to press flat against the bundle of nerves.

All of it has your legs kicking, your breath melting. 

He is not quiet either, letting you know exactly how much he adores this. Adores the feeling of your thighs wrapped tight around his head. Adores every little sound and reaction you have to give him. Adores the taste of you on his tongue. It was only meant for him.

It feels like he has been wishing to do this far longer than you would ever know. Consuming you whole from the inside out. Causing you to become addicted, to desire him just as much as he carnally craves you.

His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs as your hips begin to rock against his face, seeking out every ounce of pleasure that he is willing to give you. Your adorable mewls and whines grow louder, peaking every time he sucks on your clit. 

A coil has begun to form in your gut, feeling as though it could snap at any second. You wish you could see him, to look at his face and see the crazed gleam in his eyes. Observe the exact look on his face as he licks your cunt. 

You try to picture it. Try to imagine the way he would look up at you from between your legs. The dark umber his eyes would become, the gentle circles he would rub into your thigh as you finally make eye contact. 

Your walls clench around his tongue, sending a new waves of whines out of your mouth. He somehow moves faster, more precisely with every movement. Like he is able to hone in on the exact things that have your thighs quivering. 

His tongue moves up, takes your small, worn clit into his mouth. Alternating between sucking against it, flicking at it, and pressing against it firm with the flat of his tongue. 

Without warning, nor any reprise, one of his thick fingers is thrust into your wet heat. Filling you in a way you have never been able to do to yourself. Stretching you. And all of a sudden, you’re flying off the edge of a precipice.

“Prince Kim!” Your back arches off of the bed, head thrown back against the mattress as you let out a moan. Your hips jolt, cunt squeezing around his fingers, heels digging into the floor as you come undone before him. 

He works you through it with ease and grace, finger slowly thrusting in and out. Tongue firmly planted against your clit to ride you through your high. 

It would not be your last of the night. He must be gentle. 

Slowly, you relax against the bed, chest heaving from exertion. He pulls away from you, standing to full height before leaning over your shaking form. 

Your arousal coats his face, a sheen from his lips and chin evident against the soft yellow glow of the room. He looks down at you, concern and adoration written across his features. Though in his eyes, it appears that the beast has yet to be quelled. 

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You taste yourself against them. 

“You are delicious. I wish to eat you every night until I die.” He mumbles against your lips, his knee sliding between your legs. Muscle pressing against your swollen cunt. 

You try to flinch away, yet the hand on your hip keeps you in place. 

He will not have you running away. 

Not now. 

Your cheeks flush at his words, wide eyes looking up at him like he is all that matters. 

He is. 

He presses his knee further against your pussy while his lips trail down the column of your neck. Urging you towards the headboard with no words spoken until your head is against the pillows. 

Your arms wind their way around his neck, keeping him in place, “I-if we were married, I would let you.” You manage to speak, your voice shaky.

He only smiles in reply. Fingers digging deeper into your waist as if he is holding himself back.

“Then we shall call this practice for our wedding night.” He smiles, sitting back on his heels. 

Marriage, wedding night. You allow the thought to ghost through your mind, willing it to be reality. 

He smiles down at you, taking note in the way you seem to gleam at the idea. A small chuckle leaves his lips, you really are too cute for your own good. 

His voice is no more than a whisper, forcing you to stay enrapt, “You will let me, right?” He asks, eyes glancing down to where his pants strain against his hips, “I wish to make love to my future wife.”

Your mouth practically waters at the sight, his hard cock pressed taught against the expensive material. You swear there may even be a wet spot where his cum has leaked through. 

Your pussy clenches, wanting nothing more for him to find his way inside. For him to claim you for himself. Destroy you so no other man can have you in the same way.

You struggle against yourself for no more than a moment, but the way his hand reaches down, grips at his cock. Brushes his thumb over the surface has you moaning in want. 

“Please.” 

He smiles, the motion following swift. All at once his hands unbutton his pants, pushing the material down his thighs just enough for his cock to spring free. He groans at the feeling, thick length hitting his stomach. Pretty pre-cum dripping down the side.

Your eyes go wide. If you imagined him to be large before, seeing it now looked impossible. He is thick, long. Far too big to ever hope to fit inside of you. 

But the desperate groan in his voice, the hungry look in his eyes only has you spreading your legs. Wishing nothing more than for him to destroy you.

One hand wraps around the base as he moves closer, the other forcing the skirt of your dress as high as it will allow. He makes space for himself in between your thighs, slotting himself in. Ready to do what he has been waiting years for. 

Not yet.

He sees the hesitation in your eyes, the worry. So he leans down, planting a gentle, soothing kiss to your lips. One filled with years of time behind it. 

He knows he must be careful with you. Knows all of his patience will have been worth it when he is finally able to take your virginity. 

“Will it hurt?” You as quietly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. You find comfort in him. Find a sense of safety within his eyes. 

He nods in response, “Only for a little while, I promise.” He mumbles against your lips, placing a soft kiss against them once more. 

He slowly rubs the fat head between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Your hips buck slightly in response, and he can’t help but smirk. 

So sensitive. So ready for him. 

As much as he wants to be rough, he can’t. He can’t scare you away just yet. 

He looks into your eyes once more, “Ready?” He asks, giving you one final chance to back out. You only nod your head, pulling him close, hiding your face in his neck. 

His head catches on your opening with the final drag of his length through your lips. His hands practically shake in excitement, as he guides himself inside. Letting go only once the tip is buried within your walls. 

He feels your teeth sink into his coat, your body burning with the stretch of him. He only has the first inch inside, yet you think it is more than you could possibly take. 

A choked cry leaves your lips as he continues to slowly thrust inside. Your arms cling to him as tight as possible. Tears prick in the corner of your eyes as he fills you, forming your entire body just around him. Just around his cock. 

He pauses only once half of his cock is buried in your needy cunt. You feel his hand come up to caress your cheek, to bring you back down to reality from the pain you feel digging at your core. Trying to bring you some sense of comfort. 

You pull back from his shoulder to look him in the eyes, expecting to see them soft. Filled with concern. Though there is nothing of the sort there. 

Behind his bangs is only the look of pure insanity. 

Though he tries to be compassionate, he really does.

“Are you doing okay?” His voice is strangled, coming out in only desperate cracks. He shakes, wanting nothing more than to fuck himself inside. Fuck himself deeper and deeper, until your cunt is shaped for his cock alone.

But he holds restraint. Just enough.

The way he looks at you, the way he speaks has a wave of pleasure rushing through your  skin. Your walls clamp around him, tightening even more. 

He is falling apart before you, because of you. 

He has gone mad because of you.

The feeling only makes you want to urge him on. See just how far the prince can fall.

You nod your head, looking at him with all the affections in the world, “Don’t stop.” 

He groans at your words, mind losing itself as he snaps his hips forward, forcing his cock inside until his hips are firm against your own. Teeth digging into the fragile skin of your neck.

You cry out in pain, your walls squeezing around him in shock. Pain coursing through your entire system as you are filled to the brim. Walls stretched as wide as humanly possible. The head of cock so deep inside you swear you can feel it in your lungs. 

“Shit.” He groans, mouth falling open, “This pretty thing is wrapped around me so tight, lamb. So fucking tight I can’t think.” 

He slowly tries to move his hips, though you only shout in response. Your legs wrap around his back, doing their utmost to keep him in place.

“Hurts!” You whine, shaking your head quickly. 

Fucking hell. What is the point of a pussy as sweet as your own if he can’t use it properly?

His hand moves between your legs, growl of impatience slipping past his lips as his fingers find your clit. They work with urgency, with need. Rubbing tight circles into it, trying to get you to feel the same pleasure he does.

You whine, overstimulated. Shots fired in all directions leaving you messy and confused. 

With every circle, a mewl sounds from your throat. Slowly your legs behind him loosen, the pain from before mixing with pleasure to become something wonderful. Something that has you whimpering for him to not stop. 

“See?” He grunts, slowly slipping out of your heat until only the tip remains, “We were made for each other.” 

He forces his cock back inside, fucking you open just for him. Only ever for him. 

Your nails dig into his back, heels digging into the mattress as you moan for him. As your cunt becomes addicted to the feeling of him filling you so perfectly. Addicted to everything he has to offer.

He moves too fast, too hard for you to even hope to keep up with. Hips pistoning into you, forcing you to take everything he has to give and more. Forcing you to be the perfect little doll for him, give him all the pleasure he can want and more. White mixing with red around the base of his cock.

Your back arches off the mattress to try and get closer to him, to try and keep up with him in any hope of the sentiment. Hips trying their best to keep him as close and as deep as possible, knowing they crave one thing and one thing alone.

“Prince Kim!” You moan, yet he growls in response. A sharp slap to your thigh sounds throughout the room as his hips pause, fingers removing themselves from your clit. 

“That isn’t my name to you anymore.” His voice is low, menacing in your ear. One more poke of the bear and you will be punished. “Tae–Hyung.” 

He emphasises the words with a sharp thrust of his hips, one that brushes against the bundle inside of you. One that leaves you crying out for him. Clinging on to him. 

“Say it.” He grunts, animalistic and desperate. Yet you’re too lost in yourself to realise how debauched he’s become. Looking less and less like a man, more like a demon come to lay waste to your soul. 

That is close enough to the truth, anyway.

“Say it until it becomes the only word you know. Every question I ask, every time I fuck myself into this sweet little cunt. Your only reply should be my name.” He grabs your chin, forcing you to stare at him. 

Your fucked out little features as you bob your head in compliance.

“I-I” You swallow, trying to understand his words as he pounds away at your core, “I understand!” 

He smiles, almost proud of the work he has done today.

His hips only move impossibly faster, impossibly harder in a way that has that knot in your gut tightening once more. 

“We’ll start simple then. What is my name?” He asks, angling his hips to press against your sweet spot with ever slight movement. Breathe panting, his mind falling deeper and deeper into the thralls of your body. 

“P-Prin–” You stop yourself, a pinch coming down on your skin, “Taehyung!” 

He groans, almost coming undone as he hears your name fall from your  lips for the very first time. The pretty sound your voice makes with every letter. 

It could be the only thing he hears for the rest of his life.

“Who are you going to marry?” 

You whine, your head thrashing around slightly. He smiles. You must really enjoy the idea of that, huh?

“T-Taehyung!” You manage to stutter out again, feeling your release coming closer and closer as the seconds pass by. 

“Who is the man you have fallen for?” The answer to the question is easy, especially when he is fucking into you like you’re the only woman that matters. Nothing matters except for him. 

“Taehyung!” Your brain is too fuzzy to process anything else. Anything other than the way his cock fills you. Anything other than the one word he told you is your gospel. 

“Who is the boy that kissed you under the cherry tree?” You don’t even know anymore. 

Does any man exist beside Taehyung anyway? You doubt it.

“Taehyung!” He smiles into your neck. 

“Who was the boy that was going to have you killed? That saved your life?” His words don’t process through your ears, yet you know what you are meant to say anyway.

“Taehyung!” He groans, his hips stuttering, losing their pace ever so slightly. 

“Who do you belong to?” 

“Taehyung!” You whine, your thighs shaking. The coil so tight you think you may just die if it doesn’t come undone in this very moment. 

His breath is quiet, only a rough whisper in your ear, “Cum.” 

Just as your king commands, you fall apart around him. White dots in the corner of your eyes as you clamp down around him, your legs pulling him close. A cry of his name leaving your lungs as if it is the very air you breathe. 

You feel him paint the inside of your walls white, his hips stuttering– fucking himself as deep into you as he could possibly manage. If you had any sense left in your little head you would have told him to pull out, yet your brain is so high. Filled with pleasure that only Taehyung can provide. 

Waves of arousal crash around you as he slows his hips, ensuring that you ride out your orgasm to its fullest before pulling away. You wish he could stay buried inside of you, just like that. Yet you doubt that would be very wise. 

“Was that good for you, little lamb?” He asks, slowly helping you into a sit. You’re not sure how to properly answer– mouth feeling dry. Your head has not yet come crashing back down, though that is probably a good thing. 

Facing reality is too scary right now. Especially when Taehyung is so warm. So caring as he removes your dress. Slips your nightgown back over your soiled body. 

“Very…” You nod, unable to take your eyes off of him as he moves around the bed. Tucking himself back into his pants, removing his shirt and dress-coat. Placing them over the back of a chair. Neatly hanging the dress on a hook, taking care that it is not damaged in any way.

Your arms find themselves reaching out to him, trying to pull him closer to you. He smiles once he takes notice.

“Would you like me to stay the night?” It is clear he was already planning on it, but hearing the words make you smile oh-so bright. 

“Yes, please.” You nod quickly, eyes already feeling tired. You did not know how he had so much energy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Right now he is meant to be in your bed, arms around you. In fact, you become annoyed that he isn’t already. 

“Alright.” He smiles, slipping next to your form. Wrapping his arms around you, pulling you as close as possible.

You feel so safe. So warm with him. So protected that you can’t stop yourself from falling asleep.

“Goodnight my lamb.”

The Kim Empire. 

His home, his family, his livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

Yet, the only thoughts that seem to brandish his mind since the young age of 15 are about you. 

When you first stumbled in front of him, carrying a tray of tea. Spilling it all over his shoes. That quick curse that left your lips before looking up at him. The wide, doelike vision you had once recognition had set in. One the realisation of error set into your bones.

He will never forget the way his heart began to race in that very moment. The way he felt a cloth of sickness overcome his whole body at the mere sight of you. Looking so serendipitous below him.

At first he thought it was hate, how silly he had been back then. Ah, the way he sent you to be killed was just funny to him now. He is grateful he talked to his mother before your execution date. Spilling his soul to her, detailing how he could not seem to remove you from his brain.

Ah, he was lucky he managed to get the letter to the executioner in time. What a pity that would be if he couldn’t. Then he wouldn’t have been able to lay next to you now. Wouldn’t be able to play with your hair, caress you like he pleases. 

It is truly too bad that was not his only trial on the road towards you. It was really a pity he had to send Jungkook away. Taehyung quite liked the kid. He was fun to play with and wouldn’t shy away from his games. 

But he just had to try and seduce you. Poor thing. You really were too innocent at the time. More than eager to kiss him for no reason. To give him even a peace of your heart that was meant for Taehyung alone.

He remembers as clear as day, the rage he felt as he watched your soft lips press against another mans. How terribly he wanted to go out and strike Jungkook with a sword. Of course he didn’t though, that would have scared you away. He would have hated that.

He thanks god every day he was really your first kiss, even if you didn’t know it. 

Patiences was the hardest battle of all, and he will admit, he has faltered a few times over the years. Kisses stolen while you sleep, a few of your belongings robbed to keep him satiated. Mayhaps a few trips to your room in the night. 

But who could blame him? He was a man in love. There was nothing that could stop him when he was so hungry for you. 

Ah, and then of course his father. He wanted to separate your love as well. A maid could never possibly be suited to be queen, blah blah. He doesn’t care. And at least that fight allowed him to hug you for the first time. 

God. You felt so perfect in his arms, then and now. You have always been meant for this. Meant for him.

If his father plans to keep standing in the way, he will simply have to remove him from the equation. His bonds to the man are as thick as water. He cares more for you than he possibly could anyone else.

You’ve belonged to him since you were born, anyway. If a maid becomes pregnant while working for the castle, her child becomes property of the state. Of the crown. Of him. 

It only makes sense that you are meant to be with him until death. It is the path lined for you. Your fate since birth. 

He knows it as his delicate fingers trace over the small patches of blood dirtying the sheets. Evidence of the hours before, of your virginity robbed. Of your promises to him.

You are bound to him by blood after all.

© all rights reserved to ctrlhope 2019-2024 ; do not copy, plagiarise, or translate.

[peachesyeo]

Player 1117 0003 - change of route

word count - 2k pairings - gamecharacters!ateez ot8 x fem!reader (ft. txt) genre - fantasy au, dark romance au, obsessive/yandere elements.

chapter warnings - none

author's notes: i apologize for the late update, my assignments are storming towards me like a tornado and i have to focus on that first... i need comments and ideas before i lose interest in writing this story... i'm serious. and also, blog with NO INDICATION of AGE, or ANY POSTS, NO. you will NOT be added to any of the taglist. I will NOT be repeating myself. i apologize for sounding so nasty, but i'm tired of people NOT READING THE TAGLIST RULES. thank you.

thank you @sousydive for beta reading!

back to masterlist?

The royalties of Mist were leaving.

For the entire two weeks that they have been here, you refused to talk to, or even look at Kim Hongjoong. The Prince of Mist kept to his promise and kept a distance away from you, but even though he did, you could always feel his possessive gaze on you. 

“Goodbye, little Y/n.” The Queen of Mist says fondly, patting you on the head as Beomgyu, at the back, whines about not being her favourite anymore. Your parents had already bade them farewell prior to this. You said your goodbyes politely, sliding behind Yeonjun smoothly once you were done. 

You could feel Hongjoong staring at you.

You look up to the carriage. Hongjoong was indeed staring at you. As your gaze met each other’s, a smug smirk tugged at the corner of Hongjoong’s lips. His lips parted and closed, words soundlessly coming out from his mouth. You glared at him from behind Yeonjun, and he smirked again, disappearing from the carriage window. 

“Y/n, are you okay?” A warm hand was placed on your shoulder. Yeonjun looked at you in concern, and your anger dissipated. He must have felt the negativity radiating from you. You shook your head and gathered up a bright smile. “I'm fine, Brother.”

You're not. The Queen of Mist boarded the carriage, and you and your brothers stood at the gate, watching them leave. As the carriage disappeared into the distance, what Hongjoong said replayed in your mind.

“See you soon, my Star.”

You rushed to your room, dismissing all the maids and servants. You headed straight towards your desk, taking out a piece of parchment and a feathered quill. 

See you soon? You rolled your eyes. Hongjoong’s threat reminded you of something. You quickly scribbled down the names of the important characters and events of Utopia on the parchment, forming a complicated web upon the paper.

Utopia’s story starts like this: A normal girl Lee Jiwon from a common family had transmigrated into the game after a car accident. She then became the youngest daughter of a fallen noble family in the kingdom of Mist. She then attended the power discovering ceremony when she was thirteen years old, and discovered that she has the power of light and healing - a power only the saintness have. She was then taken to the Temple, where she met Jeong Yunho for the first time. He was the first love interest that the players of Utopia came across.

You drew a line from Yunho’s name to Jiwon, and then you linked both of them to the temple. While at the temple, she also met Kang Yeosang, son of the Southern Duke of Mist. The two met each other at the temple while Jiwon was tending to an injured animal she discovered in the bushes. Yeosang then slowly fell in love with her because of how gentle and kind she was, and so did Yunho. Yunho and Yeosang will then proceed to secretly vye for Jiwon’s affection, but she would be oblivious to it.

You drew a line from Yeosang to the Temple and back to Jiwon. 

After spending three years of studying in the Temple, Jiwon will enrol into the Magic Academy of Utopia, becoming a student. 

The Magic Academy is a prestigious school attended by royalties and the gifted with magic from all kingdoms. It is built on neutral land, and the closer kingdoms around it are Mist, Miroh and Klaxon It is protected by a mysterious force of power. 

In the Academy, Jiwon will then gain the attention of Hongjoong, the crown prince of Mist, because of her status. Hongjoong sent Seonghwa to approach the soon-to-be saintness on his behalf, and the attendant fell in love with her instead. Intrigued by this, Hongjoong decided to approach Jiwon himself.

You drew two more lines, linking Hongjoong, Seonghwa and Jiwon together. Your quill hovered above your name. 

You, the villainess Y/n, enters the plot here. You were invited to an event in Mist, and was soon enrolled into the academy. Choi San, the son of the war general of Mist, was picked as your guard. Through him you met Hongjoong’s younger brother, Jung Wooyoung. Through the event, you had fallen in love with Kim Hongjoong, and was jealous of Lee Jiwon. Wooyoung was the one who encouraged you to pick on Jiwon, roping in San to assist you, only to then expose you in front of everyone, resulting in your imprisonment. .

A war between Eternity and Mist began, and you watched your family die before you, before Hongjoong took your head off himself.

You shivered, goosebumps rising across your skin as you drew lines between Wooyoung, San and yourself, before linking your brothers to San.

Although you couldn’t remember what happened next, you knew that Beomgyu was the only person left alive, and was crowned the ruler of Eternity. You stared at his name, before giving out a sigh in frustration. 

Your gaze turned to the two more unlinked names: Song Mingi and Choi Jongho. 

Mingi is the childhood best friend of Yunho. He had become a love interest after Y/n’s death as he had enrolled in the academy after her event. Jongho, however, was the most mysterious character. 

You drew a line from Jongho’s name to another name: ‘Magic Tower’. 

The Magic Tower is almost the same as the Magic Academy. However, its learning environment was more harsh and dangerous. Students of the Magic Tower are free to battle and kill each other to take places.

Beomgyu attends the Magic Tower due to his powers. 

You bit your lower lip in frustration. You seemed to have found a key, but you have no idea which lock it belongs to. 

Carefully, you linked Beomgyu to the Magic Tower, and then to Jongho. 

Suddenly, a thought struck you. What if, instead of enrolling into the Magic Academy, you enrol into the Magic Tower?

Besides, you’ll enter the tower one year earlier than him, which means that you do not have to face him. You could just avoid him at the tower and stay with Beomgyu. Since most of the plot happens in the Magic Academy, you can avoid them by going to the Magic Tower. 

Right?

Seoul Hospital. 

Urgent footsteps echoed off the walls of the cold corridors of the hospital. Kang Taehyun ran as fast as his legs could carry him, apologising profusely to the people he bumped into along his way. His eyes flickered towards the signs in front of the wards, counting them. 

06…07…08!

Taehyun stopped abruptly, pushing the door of the hospital ward wide open. Inside, a blonde figure stood up at the sight of him, looking relieved. “Taehyun oppa…”

“How’s Y/n?” Taehyun rushed forwards to the unmoving girl lying on the hospital bed. “What did the doctor say?”

Hiyyih shook her head. She seemed tired, her lips dry and devoid of their usual rosy colour as she sat back down. “They say that they have no idea what happened to her… She just had a shock and slipped into a coma.” 

“So she’s okay?” Taehyun’s heart broke at the sight of his little sister on the hospital bed. Hiyyih didn’t answer that, but from her tired expression, Taehyun could only assume the best. “Where’s Kai?”

Hiyyih’s eyes glinted at the mention of her older brother. “He went to check with the doctor about Y/n. I’ve been taking care of her ever since I found her.”

“Thank you.” Taehyun said gratefully. Now that he’s looking directly at Hiyyih, he noticed that she looked terrible - there were bags under her eyes and her skin was paler than usual. She waved her hand, cracking a small smile. “Don’t, we have known each other for years now. Besides, Y/n’s my roommate.”

“Still, I’m glad you discovered her.” Taehyun insisted. 

The door opened. Kai stepped in, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Taehyun. “You’re here!” Kai exclaimed, somewhat looking like his younger sister. There were similar bags under his eyes, and Taehyun couldn’t help but feel even more moved. “Yeah, I rushed here as soon as the plane landed.”

“Since you’re here, oppa, I’ll go and take a rest first.” Hiyyih yawned, grabbing her sweater. Kai and Taehyun nodded, as the blonde girl left the ward. 

“The doctors say that Y/n’s coma was sudden with no reason.” Kai said, sitting down on the couch where his younger sister had previously rested. “There was no known cause, and Hiyyih said that Y/n doesn’t have any drinking or smoking habits. They sent her down for the CT scan and there was nothing wrong.”

“So she slipped into a coma without knowing why?” Taehyun carefully removed a strand of hair on his sister’s face. “I shouldn’t have flown to Japan…”

Kai paused. He made a face, one that he would wear when he is in a dilemma. Taehyun saw it, and he said, “Is there anything else I should know?”

Kai fiddled with his thumbs. “Well, I know it's an inappropriate time for me to say this, especially when Y/n is lying here, but the VR program for Utopia has a problem.” 

Taehyun and Kai have been best friends since young, having known each other when both of them were in diapers. Two years ago, Kai had developed an otome game - a present for his younger sister Hiyyih - and it became so popular that Kai began to gain profit from it. Taehyun was his first investor and the biggest shareholder of his little gaming company, and since then they have been working together. 

Recently, Kai had come up with the idea of inducing VR - Virtual Reality - to the game, where players of Utopia can have a more surreal gaming experience. Taehyun had flown to Japan to attend a techshow to know more about it, before he received the call about Y/n. 

“That’s not the only problem,” Kai added carefully, watching the frown deepen on Taehyun’s face. “This might sound crazy, but yesterday, when I was trying out the VR version, there was something… weird.”

“What do you mean, ‘weird’?” Taehyun repeated. Kai breathed in deeply. 

“You remember the beta version of the villainess route, the one we accidentally released but called back?” 

“Yes.” Taehyun remembered, vividly. Kai was spamming his phone with texts and panicking while the rest of his employees tried their best to salvage the situation. Luckily, only one user was able to update the game fully, and they have been trying to contact that player. “It’s about Player 1117, right? Have you found them?” 

“No.” Kai shook his head. “But, the thing is, while I was loading the game up to the beta version in the studio, there were some… really weird changes.”

Taehyun raised a brow. “What changes?”

“Remember Y/n, like, the villainess of the game?” 

Taehyun almost laughed at that. Yes, he remembered suggesting the name to Kai because he and Y/n had a little squabble, and Taehyun was feeling petty at that time. “Yeah, what about her?”

“She was originally supposed to attend the Magic Academy, right?” Kai questioned, taking out his own phone and tapping away. He then showed the screen to Taehyun. “I was just trying to load the game back, but I just kept failing. When I was going through the cutscene of Y/n’s backstory, it said that she had a big quarrel with her brother about attending the Magic Tower instead of the Magic Academy, so she ran away and left Eternity on her own.”

“How did that happen?” Taehyun grabbed Kai’s phone. On the screen, a picture of a dark haired girl disguised as a young male teenager sitting at an inn, listening to the conversations others were having. Taehyun had not remembered any of their artists showing a storyboard like that in any of their team meetings. 

“That’s not the only weird part.” Kai said, taking his phone back. “Remember the villainess was supposed to be powerless?” He paused, waiting for Taehyun to react. “Well, it is said that she developed an ability.”

“What is it?”

“She can turn into an animal at will. More precisely, she can turn into an owl.”

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©peachesyeo, 2024

i do not own the dividers nor pictures used in banner. all credit goes to their original owners.

owner of animated / 18+ banner ; owner of floral divider

[tangylemonade]

Family

Pt 2 of No One Else

Jeonghan x afab reader

18+ MINORS DNI (istg 🫵🏾 ಠ_ಠ if I catch you)

Word count: 11.4k

꧁ ☂︎(angst) & ⚠︎(smut) w/ a pinch of ☁︎(fluff) ꧂

🍋’s Queries: Did this fic make you think of a song when you were reading it?

WARNINGS: unprotected sex (don't forget the casing before you stuff your sausage), cursing, mentions/descriptions of abuse/violence, Mafia au, mentions/descriptions of injuries. Jeonghan smokes a bit, talks about having killed someone. Please let me know if I missed anything.

“A liability!” Said Jeonghan’s father, glaring at him as he spoke. “If you are willing to jeopardize a mission then it’s a liability.”

“Everything went well, Father. There was no other way than to kill her.” Jeonghan responded. Forcing himself to remain calm knowing that getting angry would be of no benefit.

He slammed his fist on the table and stood up from his chair, sending it rolling hard into the wall.

“A liability Jeonghan. You deal with it or I do.” He walked to the door.

“Don’t you dare.” Jeonghan said. His voice was serious and cold. It scared him when he heard it.

His father turned around sharply; his hand raised in an angry fist. “Is that a threat boy?”

Without so much as a flinch Jeonghan stared at his fathers angry eyes. Suddenly his father chuckled, clapping Jeonghan on the shoulder.

In his fathers old age he’d become slower and weaker. Jeonghan noticed how the old man's touch didn’t leave behind as much fear. Jeonghan held his place, glaring at his father and maintaining his icy stare.

“Do what you will, boy. But if you ever go against my orders again… you too will be considered a liability. And I never leave loose strings Jeonghan. You know that best of all.”

Jeonghan's father walked out of the room leaving Jeonghan all alone in the dimly lit lavish office to massage his aching shoulder.

His fathers' words echoed heavily in Jeonghan’s mind as he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

The woman his father claimed to love. The woman who carried his unborn child. It didn’t matter that what she did was to save her life, and the life of his son. She was a liability, so he dealt with it leaving their prematurely born baby crying and hungry until the maid took pity.

Jeonghan was raised by the head housemaid Kim, living in the servant quarters and only being allowed in the main house to attend lessons and training. He spent his adolescents clawing his way through insults and blows just to prove himself. It wasn't until he was older that he realized he would never be enough and trying so hard wasn't worth it, but by then the damage was done.

He had a bruised ego and a misplaced heart that struggled to tell the difference between right and wrong.

But in this very moment he was certain about one thing. No one was going to lay a finger on you, not even his father.

His clenched fist left cuts in his palms until the sharp pain sobered him. Without another moment wasted Jeonghan left that dreadful house, his heart only steadying once he was in his car driving towards…you.

☾

“Why do you think Boss sent us together?”

Jeonghan paced in boredom smoking his second cigarette as his slightly younger brother Jisoo worked on opening the newest shipments crate.

“He didn’t. I lied.” Jisoo smiled at him, charming as ever. “Why do you still call him boss? You’ve known he was your father for-like-ever.”

Jeonghan angrily stuffed his hands in his pockets. “He’s no father of mine… wait what do you mean you lied?”

Jeonghan kicked at his brother, but he dodged it without even looking and continued his work.

His brother stopped fiddling with the crate he was opening so he could shrug. “I just didn’t want to go alone.”

He then turned to Jeonghan so he could speak to him directly. “I don’t know why you insist on saying that.”

“What? Why wouldn’t I?" asked Jeonghan. He was starting to feel annoyed with his brother's lack of understanding. “You and I both know he only told me because DongYul is a failure.”

His brother’s expression turned serious as he placed his hands on Jeonghan's shoulders. “Don’t speak about DongYul like that. Besides, it does us no good turning against each other. And listen, Father made sure you got the same experiences as us, only now you understand why. Shit man you probably had it better.”

“How so?”

“At least you have Kim. Our mother didn’t even tell us before she left.”

“Well my mother is dead. My *father* killed her, remember?”

Jisoo shrugged.

Jeonghan looked down. Jeonghan wondered if Jisoo could see the glistening in his eyes as they began to sting. He shrugged off his brother's arm in hopes of shaking off the emotions as well.

“Hey, aren’t you glad that finding out about your lineage included the perks of two awesome brothers?” Jisoo said, changing the subject.

Jeonghan scoffed. “DongYul was a piece of shit, Jisoo.”

“He never got over the fact that your mom was the mistress that made our mom leave. He's actually really sensitive, you know?

“Oh Jisoo The Great Defender of The Sad and Sensitive.” Jeonghan said with a condescending bow.

Jeonghan’s experience with his older brother had been nothing short of cruel. If Jisoo hadn’t kept the peace Jeonghan and DongYul probably would’ve killed each other.

Jisoo rolled his eyes at his brother’s dramatics. “I know he wasn’t the kindest to you, but you have no idea what he’s been through.” Jisoo continued. “The things he’s had to do.”

But Jeonghan did know. He knew of the burdens that came with being the eldest son of Yoon DongHan. He was always nearby when Kim would tend to his brothers after training, missions, and… disciplines. He would hear their horror stories as they recounted in jest to distract from the pain, Dong-Yul drinking alcohol to numb it before he was even 15. He learned before anything else that their father tolerated little.

Mr. Yoon would decorate Jeonghan and his brother for even the slightest incompetence. He would always say “You either learn here or you learn out there, and the world is not as forgiving as I am.”

Their father was right. At least he would stop before they died.

DongYul being the eldest was hit with the brunt of responsibility. He was constantly busy with transactions and helping with the many businesses the Yoon family owned. DongHan only recently split the workload between his sons, not out of compassion but rather for efficiency.

But did it really excuse the way DongYul treated him? Did it matter that his brother was in far more pain than he would put Jeonghan through? And most of all… why did Jeonghan miss him?

•••

When Jeonghan opened the door to the cabin a fragrant aroma filled his nose. Looking around he discovered the source, a pot simmering on the stove.

He turned around to find you reclined on the living room couch, your chest rising and falling with each soft breathing you took.

Jeonghan sighed, his hands scrubbing his eyes as if that could rub some sense into his thoughts.

Taking another look, he picked up a blanket from nearby to drape over you. He hesitated as his eyes took you in up close. There you laid in only panties and one of his white tees that were practically see through. It was hot in the living room and the thin sheen of sweat on your visible skin made it seem as if you were glowing under the warm light.

Smiling, he discarded the blanket and went to turn on the fan.

The noise of the appliance was enough to startle you awake causing you to slide right off of the couch. But before you could hit the ground Jeonghan reached out, catching your body in his arms.

“Careful now.” Jeonghan's voice fell soft against the pounding of your heart in your ear drum.

“Sorry.” You mumbled as you fixed your (his) shirt and sat up straight. “When did you get here?”

You had been in Jeonghan's little secret cabin for a couple weeks now, so things naturally began to slip into a rhythm. Jeonghan would visit in the daytime a few times a week and never stayed the night so you couldn't help but wonder what he was doing here.

“Just now.” He said standing and heading upstairs.

Scurrying to the kitchen you turned off your stew and then walked upstairs after him.

“Are you staying long? I made dinner and it just finished so I'm about to eat.”

His room door was open, so you stepped in while you continued to speak. “Good thing you showed up or I might have burned the house down. I knew that book was too boring, but I wanted to give it a fair shot, you know? Next thing I knew I was…sleeping...” Your voice disappeared as your eyes laid on Joenghans naked form.

He stood there relaxed and unbothered by your intrusion only raising an eyebrow before continuing to undo the clasp of his watch.

You quickly turned around in shame. Before you could slip out of the room, he called your name, and you froze in place.

“Oh- the door was open- I'll just...” You started to walk out again when Jeonghan called out.

“Wait. Help me with this.”

Assuming he meant the watch he was just struggling with you answered quickly. “Of course.’

Trying your best to angle your eyes upwards you turned around and began walking towards him only to be stopped in your tracks once again.

His watch laid neatly on his bed and his hands were busy stroking the semi-hard on he was now sporting.

“If you’re gonna walk around like that you could at least have the decency to help me out.”

You looked down at your thin clothes and wanted to perish on the spot.

“I didn’t know you were gonna be here tonight. If you called, I would’ve put on more clothes.”

“Well then, my apologies.” Jeonghan said incredulously in that nonchalant way that you recently discovered made you see red.

“What do you think I-“

“Follow me.” He said firmly, cutting you off and walking towards his bathroom.

You stood there defiantly. What did he think this was? Did he really think you were just going to listen to him? You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. He is just so…so…. ugh. Does he really think you were just at his beck and call?

But weren't you?

This wasn't the first time something like this had happened. And it wasn’t the first time you’d helped him out.

Your voice of reason screamed at you as you walked into the bathroom.

The shower was already on, and you could hear a soft grunt coming from behind the curtain.

Your heart pounded through your body as you once again vacillated between your choices.

‘Fuck it.’

You quickly strip before carefully sliding the curtain over. His back was turned to you, his head under the shower as he slowly pumped into his fist. If he noticed, you entering the shower he made no show.

Standing closer to him one arm wrapped around him, resting on his stomach, while the other steadied the hand that he stroked himself with. He relinquished his cock to you, his tired body instantly leaning back into your embrace. His eyes shut contently as your soft hands enveloped him.

Pumping faster and faster you pleasured him until his hot seed coated your hand and the shower wall. Still leaning against he let both of your arms wrap around him, one hand resting on his heart and feeling the slowing rise and fall of his chest as the water splattered against your bodies.

“Are you okay?” You asked softly. You wanted to savor the moment, but his abnormal behavior was making you worried. Normally after he’d finish, he would simply clean up and leave. But today he didn't move, his heart still pounding.

Jeonghan didn’t respond. Instead, he turned around pressing you against the shower wall, his knee pressing into your swollen core before moving over to spread your legs.

His calloused fingers wrapped around your neck with gentle pressure, his lips hungry attaching to yours. The kiss was fiery and urgent, his teeth pulling your bottom lip and drawing blood that you tasted on his tongue as he slid it into your mouth. His free hand wandered your body squeezing and kneading your flesh with gusto. The wayward hand eventually found purchase on your hips, holding them in place as he unceremoniously pushed inside of you.

Your vision blurred as the pain stretched into pleasure, his size pushing deeper into your hot and wet cunt.

Jeonghan groaned into your neck in between sucking harsh bruises into the sensitive skin. Without giving you any more time to adjust he thrusted again, this time coaxing tears from your eyes and his name moaned from your swollen lips. His strokes were quick and angry, but you could feel the tension in his body begin to dissolve. With now slower movements you were able to match his pace with the rocking of your hips. It wasn't long before you were both falling apart, his arms holding you in place as your exhaustion took over.

After showering off and helping you to do the same, Jeonghan pulled you to his bed. You didn't let your bafflement stop you from laying with him and allowing him to rest on your bosom, his arms holding you close.

“Jeonghan…” You softly ran your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp the way you always did after at some point realizing it always relaxed him.

He softly shushed you, his voice thick with exhaustion. “This is nice.”

He was right. This was so nice it hurt. You knew it wouldn't last. A relationship without honesty is destined to fail.

Nevertheless, you selfishly savored the moment, holding him tighter as if it would keep him with you forever. But Jeonghan was gone when you woke up.

Getting up you brushed your teeth and examined your skin in the mirror. The bruises that were kissed into your skin last night and the previous nights now took the place of your old ones that were filled with the haunting memories of your capture. You briefly wondered if that had been his intention before shaking the thought away and getting dressed.

Downstairs there was a simple breakfast on the table for you of toast and eggs. You poured yourself some water, ignoring the food and going back to bed.

☾

Laying in his bed Jeonghan looked at your soft and warm bare body sleeping soundly beside him. His fingers gingerly traced your skin as he breathed in your heavenly scent. Although his heart knew you were safe besides him, his mind still tormented him with the images of you the night he found you. Paranoia forced him to watch over you even though he knew you were safe and sound.

He had killed Stella himself. It wasn’t the first life he’d taken. But it was the first he’d wanted to take. His first kill that was not an order.

When he saw her crouching over your bloodied body… the wicked smile on Stellas face when she saw Jeonghan was the last moment before... he snapped.

The memory of it all played through his mind time and again. He was supposed to bring her in, there were still assets to recover and accomplices only she knew the location of now gone forever.

But Jeonghan didn't hesitate until he was holding you in his arms again.

He did it for you. He did it for…Dongyul.

His eldest brother had been his biggest enemy growing up. But now…it all felt so insignificant.

DongYul who craved compassion his whole life was met with the harsh glares of his father and even harsher blows. Like a moth to flame Stella was intoxicating for him. Despite Jisoo's pleading words he would run to her, taking comfort in the lies she wrapped him in.

Only a few months ago he’d busted into Jeonghan's room, rage burning in his blown-out pupils. But Jeonghan didn't fear him anymore. He stood up looking his brother who no longer towered over him in the eyes.

“Get out.” Jeonghan said calmly and was met with rough hands on his collar.

DongYul reeked of alcohol and his tank top allowed Jeonghan a view of the needle marks that decorated his skin.

“DongYul! What is this!” Jeonghan grabbed his brother's arm, ignoring his brother's aggression. “What were you thinking?”

His concern for his brother surprised them both.

“Save it!” Dongyul growled. He shrugged Jeonghan’s hand from his arm before letting go of his collar.

“What do you even know? You just lay around while everything gets handed to you.’ His voice was bitter and angry.

He pushed Jeonghan hard and Jeonghan stumbled back, banging his head on the wall. Securing his footing, he prepared himself for a fight, but DongYul only sat on the bed, burying his face in his hands.

“You won Jeonghan… you can have it all…but I need her.” His brother's voice was slow and slurred now.

“What do you mean?” Jeonghan asked as you rubbed his now pounding head.

“Kim…Jisoo…S-Stella…” his brother mumbled as he continued to sink as if he weighed a ton.

“…DongYul” Jeonghan began as he walked towards his distressed family member. “I'll call Jisoo… we can help you whatever it is.”

His brother stood up suddenly on shaky legs. “It's too late. I screwed up big time.’

He’d never seen his brother who didn't even flinch while getting stitched up this…broken.

It petrified him.

“Sit here, I'll go get you some water and find Jisoo. Please…we can fix this.”

Jeonghan carefully sat his brother down. Taking his compliance as an agreement Jeonghan rushed to get their youngest brother and grabbed a bottle of water before hurrying back.

But Dongyul was gone.

Unable to look inside his casket, that night was the last time Jeonghan saw his older brother. A raid on what was meant to be a routine weapon exchange ended as a bloody massacre that killed almost ½ of father's men…including his eldest son.

On the night of his eldest son's funeral Mr. Yoon called Jeonghan into his office.

“It’s about time you start taking on more responsibilities as a member of this family. Not just trades, there is more important business for you to attend to.”

Jeonghan did even know why he was shocked; this was exactly like with father. But it still made bile rise in his throat.

“The soil hast even settled yet…’

“As my eldest son I expect you to know your place.’ He cut Jeonghan off without even looking up from the work at his desk. “Don’t become foolish like your brother. And don’t be a coward like your wench of a mother.” He said before waving his hand, ending the conversation and sending Jeonghan away.

“Don't speak about my mother like that!” Jeonghan said without control. Normally he wouldn’t speak back after being dismissed.

His fathers glare wasn't enough to make him back down.

“Do not overstep, boy. I suggest you learn your place before you end up learning it like her. I told you already, I clean up my own messes.”

He looked up at Jeonghan with dark eyes that shone like the devils in the dim light of his office.

Jeonghan used all of his strength to calmly walk away. He shut the door before racing to his bathroom and hurling in the toilet. Kim, who had heard of his meeting with his father from Jisoo, came to check on him.

“Oh dear.” She said when she found him leaning against the bathtub.

She left and returned with tea before sitting next to jeonghan on the bathroom floor where he layed, tears angrily falling from his eyes.

“Did you know?” He asked quietly.

“Know what darling?” Her soothing voice did nothing to calm the turmoil Jeonghan was feeling.

Jeonghan looked at her with tearful eyes. “Did you know that that monster killed my mother?”

Kim could only nod.

She wiped his tears as her own began to fall. “I watched it happen...”

Jeonghan sat up and looked at the woman who his heart now broke for.

Kim had raised him as her own after having a stillbirth only a week before his birth. To her it was meant to be. When the other maids all cowered in fear she stepped up taking the shivering baby in her arms and wrapping him tightly in her sweater. Her body that had been preparing to be a mother fell right into step as she fed and held him close while she worked.

Although that period in her life was hard to look back on, she still felt Jeonghan should know so she held his hand as she spoke.

“Your father would have done anything for your mother. He was crazy for her, but he wasn’t careful. It didn’t take long before one of his many enemies had her. She was young, pregnant, and… so scared. Then one day she was back. She said they got lazy, that she had escaped while they were distracted.’

Kim paused to swallow the lump in her throat.

“You don't have to tell me.” It disturbed Jeonghan to see her struggling.

Kim shook her head and continued.

“She used to always hang around smiling and chatting with the workers but she wouldn't leave her room. One night she called for me and the state she was in scared me half to death. She was all panicky and high on whatever they had given her while she was there. That night she broke down and told me that she gave them information in exchange for her freedom. She loved your father but she didn’t fear him…and that was her downfall. Then I found out that she wasn't the one who called for me. When she wouldn't talk to him, he knew she would talk to me. He killed them and then he…”

Kim couldn't continue, her sobs swallowing her words. Jeonghan could only hold her as heartbroken tears spilled from her eyes.

☾

Waking up you stretched out as you always did, this time your arm knocking into something. Opening your eyes you turned over quickly to find Jeonghan laying in your bed next to you. He stirred before opening his eyes.

“You’re still here?” You asked in surprise.

“Ouch.” Jeonghan chuckled and propped himself on his elbow, looking down at you with a smile.

“No no, I didn’t mean it like that.” You said, sitting up and turning towards him. “It’s just that you’re normally gone by morning.”

He nodded at you but his eyes seemed distant.

“What is it?” You asked scooting closer to him.

“It’s been over a month and yet no one has come asking about you.”

“Wasn't that the point?’ you snipped back, pulling your knees to your chest and burying your head in your arms.

You felt his arm on your shoulder causing warmth to spread through you but you shrugged his hand away. You were starting to feel aggravated with him.

“What are you getting at anyway Jeonghan?”

“Well…if I kept you here forever no one would even care.”

Your eyes welled with tears as you looked at him in horror.

“What the hell is wrong with you!”

Jeonghan instantly noticed the heartbreak in your voice.

“I didn't mean it like that i-”

You stood up now, grabbing the robe that hung beside your bed and covering yourself with it.

He pulled himself to the edge of the bed and grabbed your arm.

Your view of him began to blur and your breathing came quickly. His arms were around you fast, pulling you towards him and holding you tightly.

“I promised to keep you safe.” He whispered to you.

“…This…this isn't living, Jeonghan. I’m going crazy. Trapped here as you come and go. You hardly speak to me. When I wake up, you’re gone and then I'm left here feeling used and …all alone.”

He sat there quietly holding on to you.

Feeling dejected from his lack of response you started to free yourself from his grasp. “Never mind.”

“At 7 years old I’d gotten my first broken bone. Training, my father called it. Preparation. My leg still hurts when it rains.”

You stilled in his arms as you listened.

“He used to make us spar. The winner was whoever was still conscious. Loser was locked in the penalty box without food and water for a few days. He chose the number in pair with your level of failure.”

The way he spoke was so indifferent as if he was simply recounting tales of a grocery store run instead of years of abuse. Turning on his lap so that you were facing him you held his face in your hands.

“Then run away with me. We don't have to live like this.” Your face was inches from his as your lips hovered together. Holding your hand he stroked your knuckles. “We can leave this all behind and never look back.”

You felt Jeonghan’s lips smiling against your cheek where he kissed your hot tears away.

“Don’t be so naive.”

His words cut through you like daggers.

You pulled back, searching his soft eyes for answers that they never gave.

“I told you all of that so you can understand how I was molded. So you can understand that all reality with me in it will never be peaceful.”

“Jeonghan-“ your voice broke.

“Have you ever taken a life before?” He asked so quietly you nearly missed it.

“N-no.”

“You can never understand how silly you sound at this moment.”

Frowning at him you hit his chest. “Don't you patronize me.”

He grabbed your wrist so tightly it hurt a bit.

“Let me go Yoon Jeonghan.”

His gaze lost its softness as it pierced through you, but you didn’t back down.

“You wouldn’t last a day in my world.” He said, his voice bitter and harsh.

Pulling your wrist from his grip you fixed him with your own icy gaze.

You began to move again but this time his hand on your hips secured you against him.

You frowned at him. “I said let me go!”

“Stay.” He said softly. “I need you to stay.”

You felt the fight deflating from you, only exhaustion remained. “I’m suffocating, Jeonghan.”

He rubbed circles into your hips, his voice soft and low. “Without you it's all unbearable.”

How did he know just what to say to you? Your heart was racing and your skin felt clammy and hot.

No! You can’t live like this. This isn't living.

But were you okay with never seeing him again? Never feeling his warmth? Never tasting him?

Holding your face, Jeonghan roughly pulled you closer to him, placing a hot kiss on your lips. He was fiery and addicting. Your answer was clear.

“No.” You whispered, gently pulling away although it pained you. “I won’t be your pet, I can't.”

This time when you went to stand, he didn't hold on, his arms fell to his sides dejected.

Backing away from him slowly you turned around and began picking your clothes off the floor.

“Either you take me home or I find my own way.”

Jeonghan didn’t call out for you or plead. He only nodded before walking out. After a few minutes you heard his car start.

Nothing here was yours so you quickly dressed before leaving.

☾

“Get your ass up!” Jisoo yelled, kicking Jeonghan in his side. We have to go check the shipment today and Father is starting to notice that you haven’t been showing up to meetings.”

Jeonghan groaned and rolled over, pulling the blanket over his head. His brother hit him again and ripped the blanket away.

“I’m serious dude. And I still need to vet a new treasurer because the last one was skimming whom I had to handle last night BY MYSELF. I’m tired of covering for your ass.” He walked out screaming “I swear to you Jeonghan I will come back with a taser.” Before shutting the door behind him.

As much as Jeonghan wanted to punch his brother he knew he was right, so he begrudgingly got up and got ready. Walking into the kitchen he stopped short when he saw his father seated at the kitchen table.

“You still follow around Kim like a blind puppy.”

Jeonghan angrily pulled out a chair, sitting down across from his father.

“I live here, remember.” He grumbled as he poured himself a cup of tea. His appetite was gone at the sight of his father.

“Yes, well I expect you in the main house by the end of the week.”

“What! Why?” Jeaonghan was completely caught off guard.

“It’s time you stop lazing around and get to some real work.” With that his father stood and headed out the door showing that his word was final.

Jeonghan slammed his cup down, breaking off the handle and spilling tea on the side of the table.

“Oh my.” Kim said, suddenly in the kitchen and rushing to clean the spill. “And I really liked that set.”

Jeaonghans mood relaxed as he looked at Kim's somber expression.

He knew she had hundreds of teas sets all around this house, all which she called her favorite.

He gently held her hand and she leaned down into a hug.

A quiet sob shook her shoulders.

Jeonghan knew as well that his world would change completely once, he left. Even in Kim’s warm embrace he still felt the weight of his father's expectations on his already heavy soul.

☾

Trying to get back into the swing of life proved to be as difficult as you’d expected. Eventually you got the strength to go and collect your things from work. You realized that it wouldn't be appropriate to ignore any more of your bosses' calls, the final one saying that your things were going to be disposed of if you didn’t come for them, by the end of the week.

There was nothing important there, but you went and got it anyway. You tried to smile and ignore the concerned questions and glances of your ex-coworkers, but they still bothered you. If only they knew how right, they were to worry for you.

You spent the rest of the day outside just roaming around aimlessly. Your house felt so small and lonely. Once the sun had set you forced yourself to go back home.

Walking into your house you placed your box of your things on the counter instantly reaching for the bottle of wine you’d left there this morning. You felt around but when you still couldn’t find it you sighed and turned on the light.

Frozen in terror your brain rushed through all of its possible escape options as your eyes looked to the stranger that was sitting at your dining room table sipping your wine.

“You know I’ve never drank the cheap stuff before, but this really isn't half bad.”

He took another swig before flashing you a charming and all too familiar smile.

“Are you Jeonghan’s brother?” You asked, your hands reaching for your keys. You remembered Jeonghan mentioning his siblings, but you couldn't remember their names.

“Astute.” He said without a genuine smile. “But not smart if you think those keys will do anything other than piss me off.”

The man stood up and walked towards you, stopping before he got too close. “My name is Jisoo. I come in peace.” He showed you his empty hands before putting up two peace signs and waving them at you with a goofy smile.

“I’m here to offer you a job opportunity.”

........

"Okay."

"Seriously?" Jisoo asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.

It only took a moment after he had explained what it was that he was offering you before you agreed. you weren't entirely sure why it felt so easy to say yes but you didn't question it at al.

You knew that you were absolutely crazy to say yes to Jisoo. The new treasurer for one of the biggest gangs on this side of the country.

“It will require you to move.” Jisoo said, still a little surprised by how quickly you agreed.

“Sure. no problem.”

Jisoo only shrugged before scribbling his information on a napkin.

“Call me when you’re ready.”

With that he downed the last of the wine, gave you a wink, and walked out of the door leaving you drowning in your thoughts.

☾

You periodically dried your hands on your jeans while clutching onto your duffel bag.

All that you'd packed fit only in one duffle bag. Has your life really been that small?

“You’re a pretty one.” Jisoo said, looking at you instead of the road.

You returned his comment with a frown. “Pardon?”

“You know I didn't really get a good look at you before because your house was all dark and depressing but now, I can see why Jeonghan has been all screwed up.”

Jeonghan hadn’t even so much as tried to contact you since your last interaction. Hearing Jisoo's words made your heart constrict. Was Jeonghan feeling just as shitty as you were?

The Yoon house was more like that of a palace. Now parked, you tilted your head to see the top of the huge building through the car window.

“Beautiful isn’t it.” Jisoo said, stepping out of the car. “You’ll be working in the main house, but your room will be in the servants' quarters…which is this way.” He grabbed your bag from you and walked away leaving you no choice but to follow him.

“Don’t worry, it’s also very nice.”

He was right. Although the servant quarters were significantly smaller than the main house it was still beautiful and grand.

You followed him inside and he led you past the kitchen and into a spacious and elegantly furnished bedroom.

“You’re free to use anything in this house. This is your room. I’ll call you to the main house when you have business to attend. For now, just get settled and comfortable.”

You looked around the room taking in the beautiful layout when a familiar small frame peaked into the room with a warm smile.

“Oh, and this is the head maid-“

“Kim!” You said excitedly. You ran to her and gave her a hug, her arms wrapping around you warm and welcoming like soup for your tired soul.

Even though you only saw her a few times she already felt so familiar, causing a breath of relief to wash over your anxious mind.

“I see you've met already.” Jisoo said but was ignored as you and Kim caught up with each other. “Well since you’re in good hands I’m gonna head out ... .aaand I’m invisible.”

Jisoo shook his head and walked out of the room.

“Oh darling, it's lovely to have you here.” Kim said holding your hands. “Now I can have someone to talk to.”

“Aren’t there other house workers?”

“Oh, there are plenty. But none of them are like you” She winked at you with a smile that you couldn’t help returning. “These workers come and go so often I stopped bothering with anything more than pleasantries. But I have a feeling that you and I darling are going to be great friends.”

It felt nice to know there was someone around that you felt you could trust and rely on.

•••

By now you had been in and out of the house plenty of times as you get acquainted with their records and logbooks that you needed for work. And yet… you still had not run into Jeonghan. Was he avoiding you?

You rolled your eyes as you packed your things and headed back to the servants' quarters. What would you even say if you saw him?

It was late and you had been working all day trying to sort the mess of files Jisoo had dumped on you. The last guy really did a number on them and Jisoo wanted it fixed as quickly as possible. You wondered what happened to the last treasurer but ultimately decided to shake off the thought. ‘Best not to over think.’ You told yourself.

After a long hot shower, you still weren’t in the least bit sleepy. Insomnia was wrapping its cold fingers around you and it was starting to become more and more exhausting. With a sigh you put on your pajamas and made your way to the kitchen to brew yourself some tea.

You brought some files back with you to sort and review while you sat down and sipped on your tea. Preoccupied and completely engrossed in your work, you didn't notice the gentle sound of the door opening and shutting.

“Kim?” A voice softly whispers as a familiar frame creeped into the dim kitchen.

You’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Turning around quickly your eyes landed on the slender man that stood before you. Even after months apart your treacherous heart remembered the dance it did just for him.

“Y/n!” Jeonghan looked truly shocked, his eyes wide with confusion.

“What are you doing here?” You asked. “Jisoo said you live in the main house.”

“I was looking for- wait shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

You shrugged. “I live here. I’ve been working as your treasurer for a bit now. Didn’t Jisoo tell you?”

“No… he didn’t.” Jeonghan said a little distractedly. “You shouldn't read in such dim lighting.”

He went and turned on a light that was on the side of a cabinet, filling the room with a bright glow.

“So that’s where that was. I couldn't find it and just gave up.”

“You could've asked someone.”

“Everyone is sleeping.”

You both fell into an awkward silence as you looked everywhere but at each other.

“Uhm…Do you want some tea?” You asked. You smiled timidly and you saw his body relax a bit.

Jeonghan carefully pulled out and sat in the chair right next to you.

You got up, grabbed another cup and poured Jeonghan a cup of tea, placing it in front of him.

In the time it took you he was already flipping through your papers only taking a pause to taste the tea.

“This is good.” He said, taking another sip. “Where’d you buy it?”

“Thank you, I mixed it myself. Please don’t mess with my papers.” You quickly gathered up your papers from where he had moved them in front of him. “I’m trying to sort them and you’re making a mess.”

You reached for the papers in his hand, but he smiled and pulled them out of your reach.

“That’s really mature Jeong- '' as you reached for the paper you slipped and fell into him, his arm wrapping securely around you and holding you close.

With Jeonghan's close proximity all but your beating heart had abandoned you. In a stupor you allowed his warm lips to wrap around yours, tasting as sweet as you remembered them.

You pulled away with hot tears suddenly spilling from your eyes.

“Absolutely not Yoon Jeonghan.” you stood and backed away from him, his face blurring in your eyes.

“Y/N…”

The way his voice called your name was deadly for your health.

“I told you already. I’m not your plaything.”

He stood up now, reaching out for your hand but you swiftly pulled away as you took another step back.

“I hate feeling used. My whole life… never again.”

He walked closer and his darling scent filled your nose. Green tea and cigarettes… and liquor. You hadn’t taken notice before but… had he been drinking?

He reached out again but this time you stayed still, allowing his calloused hands to softly hold your face, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks and swiping away your tears.

In the next moment you were watching his back as he left you feeling confused and …tired. You cleaned up and went to bed falling asleep as soon as your head touched the pillow.

•••

“Jisoo you piece of shit.”

“Good morning to you too. I'm a little busy right now.”

He gestured to the moaning mound underneath his covers, no doubt his flavor of the week.

“The new treasurer. Jisoo what the fuck?!”

“Oh, so you’ve met her.”’ He placed his hand on the mound, stopping the movement as he looked up at Jeonghan’s angry face. “I thought I told her not to come over without telling me?”

“I ran into her last night when I went to check on Kim.”

“Good god, Father is right, you do follow her around like a puppy.”

“Don’t you ever quote that dick head to me again.” Jeonghan’s voice came low and serious.

“Okay okay calm down. What happened to you? You used to be so chill? Listen, you know Father hates distractions. Don’t give him a reason to think Kim or Y/N are, okay?”

Jeonghan felt true horror at what Jisoo was insinuating. He knew that his brother was right.

Jeonghan leaned against the wall feeling deflated and dizzy with anger.

“How did you find Y/N anyway?”

“Seriously?” Jisoo asked sarcastically. “Super sexy by the way.”

He followed the last sentence with a smirk that was met with Jeonghan’s furious glare.

“Oh relax. You’re no fun anymore.” Jisoo said dismissing Jeonghan’s attitude with the wave of his hand. “Listen Jeonghan, brother to brother, you need to get your shit together before Father does it for you. I can assure you he won't be as careful about it as you. Now get the fuck out of my room.”

Jeonghan left without another word, the moaning starting up again before he closed the door. He knew his brother was right, it was time to pull his head out of the sand.

☾

In a job like Jeonghan’s there was always something that needed to get done. The bigger you are the less people think you notice. Unfortunately for them you don’t grow from the lack of concern, there are eyes everywhere.

As Mr. Yoon got older his lifestyle allowed him more youth than his peers but alas age was catching up on him. That meant the Jeonghan and Jisoo's responsibilities were increasing 10-fold.

In a family like the Yoon's where they didn’t take the easy way out through human and drug trafficking business management was important. Jeonghan's job tonight was dealing with an overzealous CEO of one of their liquor companies who was brave enough to start a slush fund.

Thanks to their new and ever so clever treasurer a lot of those kinds of parasites were coming to the surface.

Jeonghan wished the man had just chosen the easy way but irrational and crazy was always the theme. Father always told them that if someone started a fight it didn't end until one of you was dead. Even though the ass hole had gotten a few good slices in, Jeonghan had been the victor.

Coming home tired and exhausted he just wanted to shower and… see you. Wracking his brain for an excuse to visit the servant quarters he pulled off his bloodied shirt and headed to his room. A light peaked through the cracks of a study room door and Jeonghan figured Jisoo was working late. As he walked closer to check in on his brother when a familiar laugh filled his ears.

Suddenly high alert he crept closer, his back to the wall as he listened in.

“No no, those don’t go over there Jisoo!” Your voice came like honey to his ears. “You’re not helping.” There was that laugh again cutting through Jeonghan more than the tussle earlier that night had.

“Whatever you say Madam. I’ll just sit here and watch you work your magic.” Jisoo’s voice was coated in honey as he laughed along with Y/N.

‘What’s even so funny?’ Jeonghan grumbled quietly to himself. He took a deep breath before opening the door and casually strolling into the room. He saw red when his eye landed on you sitting crossed legged on the table in a tank top and shorts as Jisoo leaned over your shoulder reading the paper in your hands.

Jisoo looked up first, a smile playing on his lips when he spoke. “Well, you look like shit.”

You looked up, your face crumbling with concern the moment your eyes met with Jeonghan’s battered body.

He had a bloody shirt in his hands and fresh cuts on his slim frame, the biggest of which was still bleeding through the bandage that was haphazardly wrapped around it.

“Thanks.” Jeonghan said sarcastically to his brother before throwing the shirt at him and sitting down on the chair near the wall. His hair fell into his face but the shadows draping around him couldn’t hide the bags under his sleepy eyes. Jisoo blocked the shirt, and it fell with a wet thud to the floor.

“Gross! This isn't all your blood, is it?” Jisoo wined, wiping his hands on his pants.

The urge to brush his silky hair aside and hold him to your chest was so all-consuming it made you feel nauseous.

“You could’ve helped me, you know.” Jeonghan continued to his brother, completely ignoring you.

“Serves you right after the shit I did for you.” Jisoo retorted, still wiping his hands in disgust before smiling smugly at Jeonghan. “Besides I knew you could handle it, and I had to keep my new friend company.”

He placed his hand on your shoulder, giving a squeeze and smiling down at you.

“Eww, don’t touch me with those hands!” You laughed and brushed Jisoo's hand away before quickly looking at Jeonghan and catching something flicker across his face that left as quickly as it came.

“Well.” Jeonghan said standing and walking to the door. “Don’t work too hard, I’m going to bed.”

The moment he shut the door behind him you hopped down from the table, giving a good stretch before you began stacking your papers.

“Well, I better go before it gets too late.” You said with a shy smile as you suddenly felt awkward.

“Booo, you guys are boring.” Jisoo leaned against the table, his eyes watching you as you gathered your things. “You know there’s no point ignoring him if you're waiting around for him anyway.”

“What?” You looked up at Jisoo's' bored expression.

“Sleep with me.”

You searched his face for something to tell you he was joking, rolling your eyes in frustration when you found nothing of the sort.

“Both of you are so…so…ugh” You gave up with an exasperated sigh as you finished picking up your things.

“I'm just saying…” Jisoo began with his hands up defensively. “If you don’t want to sleep with me you must still want to sleep with him. So why are you giving each other the cold shoulder?”

“Oh my- good night, Jisoo.” Waving goodbye, you left the room in a huff.

Jisoo was crazy just like his brother. Crazy and annoyingly right. But you didn’t need Jeonghan’s handsome and extremely slutty younger brother to tell you you still wanted Jeonghan.

After a quick shower and a cup of tea you found yourself tossing and turning in bed as you thought about that man who plagued your heart.

Was he okay? Those cuts looked pretty bad. And he was still bleeding. Did he need help?

You groaned in frustration holding your pillow over your head. What even was your life?

Jeonghans shower proved difficult with open wounds. Most of the blood on his body wasn’t his so he couldn't bear another moment longer with it on his skin. Struggling to wash his hair with his sore arms proved drying as completely impossible. Only having the energy to pull on pants he flopped on the floor and leaned his head back, his damp hair leaving a wet spot on his blanket.

Drifting off he figured he had imagined the gentle rapping on his door but when it came again, he got up and took a look.

“Y/N!” He said in disbelief. “How did you find my room?

“Jisoo told me.”

You didn’t wait for him to let you in, pushing past him you hurried through the door in fear of being spotted. You carefully placed the bag of things you brought for him against the wall. “I wanted to see if you needed help.”

He was quiet for a moment, carefully letting the situation flip around in his head before speaking.

“Well…my hair is still pretty wet…”

You nodded and headed straight for his bathroom finding the blow dryer abandoned on his sink counter.

Finding an outlet near his bed you sat down before gesturing for him to come.

He silently sat between your legs with his back leaning against his bed, his head resting on your stomach.

Your thigh was soft and warm against his arm as your fingers delicately combed through his hair as the warm air blew.

Feeling completely relaxed the moment passed too quickly for Jeonghan and he found himself wishing he never replaced his broken dryer that barely worked.

He felt disappointed as you stood but you only picked up the bag you brought with you and pulled out a first aid kit and a canteen.

Walking towards him you placed the canteen on his nightstand and sat down next to him on the floor.

“These don’t look like they need stitches, but I’ll ask Kim to check in the morning. For now, I’ll clean and bandage them, okay.”

All Jeonghan could do was nod as your soft fingers tenderly cared for him. You finished quickly and once again he found himself feeling ridiculous as he wished that he’d taken a few more cuts in the fight.

You sitting so close to him left him feeling incomprehensibly ravenous.

Your body felt a shift in the atmosphere, so you quickly stood up and scurried to the door. You feared your own treacherous desires in his presence.

“There is some porridge in there for you. I can’t promise it’s good, but it is still warm.” With that you grabbed your bag and slipped through the door shutting it silently behind you.

You came and left like a breeze leaving Jeonghan to wonder if maybe he’d imagined it all. But the still warm container of porridge on his nightstand and that sweet scent of you that lingered in the air told him that it had all been true.

Each bite made him more tired than the next, but he forced his eyes open as he finished the savory meal you prepared for him. Feeling peacefully warm he slipped under his covers and fell fast asleep.

You quietly cleaned up the kitchen, apologizing to the workers who were just getting in for the noise before going upstairs to your room and slipping into bed. Flashes of earlier flooded your thoughts but it wasn’t long before you were fast asleep.

☾

The ringing blare of the main house sirens alerted you awake. Quickly jumping from your bed, you ran from your room only to be swept in the crowd of staff that were rushing from the house. Once outside and still in a daze you stopped in your tracks and looked up in terror.

People crashed into you as you watched the huge dark gray bellow of smoke that rose from the main house. An entire wing was engulfed in bright orange flames. Someone knocked into you hard causing you to fall to the ground. The wet earth seeped through your thin nightwear as you watched staff rush to set up the hoses to the water lines. Finally snapping out of your stupor you pulled yourself up and rushed to help.

When the fire was gone, and the commotions died down the silence settled like the embers that lightly fizzled out in the damp grass. The news traveled fast amongst the staff in waves of shock and horror.

Mr. Yoon was dead.

While his sons were away on a mission someone had killed him and set his mansion wing ablaze. Carefully trekking through the rubble a few of his men retrieved his body.

The funeral was private with Yoon DongMin’s place of rest being somewhere only his sons knew.

Every day following the house was quiet and somber as the brothers worked tirelessly in search of the culprit.

Some nights they would walk through the door of the servant quarters with exhaustion slowed steps and blood splattered across their clothing. It wasn't sadness that fueled their restless hours, it was pride and principle.

“It doesn't make sense!” Jisoo yelled, kicking over the chair beside him.

You looked up from the files you were tirelessly pouring over every night to get their business affairs in order after their fathers passing.

Jeonghan ran his hands through his hair in equal frustration. He took another drag from his cigarette, but it didn't calm him.

“How could someone not only sneak into our high security house but also find Fathers room and catch him off guard enough to slit his throat!” Jisoo was pacing now as he spoke.

“Maybe it's someone he knew?” Jeonghan said pensively. “A prostitute? A set up?”

Jisoo shook his head. “He would never let his guard down like that. And also, how would they know the layout enough to shut off both our main and backup cameras.”

“An inside job?” you threw out into the conversation.

“We question everyone with that level of clearance…extensively.'' Jeonghan said, flexing his fingers to soothe the aching of his bruised knuckles.

“We've all got a shareholders meeting in the morning and you guys are beyond exhausted.” You said soothingly. “Let's all get some rest and regroup tomorrow.”

“You're right.” Jisoo mumbled, suddenly aware of his exhaustion.

The boys had been sleeping in the servants' quarters recently for safety measures so Jisoo tiredly trudged to his room and shut the door.

After you were done packing your things away you turned to Jeonghan who hadn't budged from his chair.

“Do you want me to put on some tea?” you whispered with a small smile.

When he didn't respond you got up and turned on the electric kettle. You pushed in your chair and sat down in the one beside him.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Without a response Jeonghan leaned over resting his weary head on your shoulder. You hesitated for a moment before gently running your finger through his hair. The kettle clicked off telling you water was boiled but you ignored it.

“Come with me.” You stood up pulling Jeonghan along with you to your room and shutting the door.

You stripped down to your underwear tossing the day's exhausted clothes in your hamper and then encouraged Jeonghan to do the same. He looked at you with curious amusement but still complied.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his small smile giving away his fatigue.

“Just trust me, okay? Let me take care of you. Please?”

Once he was done you pulled him into your bed, laying him down with the push of your hand against his chest.

You laid down next to him, resting your head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, giving a squeeze.

To Jeonghan, the feeling of your warm body flush with his had healing properties.

“I think I sort of get how you feel.” Your voice was soft and careful as you spoke. “When I found out my brother died it felt so weird. I hated him so much but…”

“He’s still family.” Jeonghan finished for you.

Jeonghan lifted his head and looked into your face framed by the cool moonlight.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

Moving on to his side he propped himself up, gazing down at you with what resembled the twinkle of a galaxy in his eyes. You smiled up at him, your cheeks bashful from his attention. Holding his face, you pulled him towards you until your desperate mouths met in a fever.

His body was hot and heavy on you as he leaned into your embrace, stealing more of your kisses.

Butterflies from his touch sprinkled across your sensitive skin, the velvet of his tongue intoxicatingly potent. Reaching under you he unclipped your bra, pulling it off, throwing it aside, before leaning down and kissing in between your soft mounds right above your heart.

You lost yourself in dizzy lust as his nimble fingers skillfully played with your swollen clit.

“W-wait.” You said, stopping his hand.

His lips vibrated against your nipples as he hummed to question you.

“Let me take care of you.”

You gently pushed at his chest until he laid back on the bed. Sitting up you straddled his hips and looked down at his amused face.

Jeonghan couldn't take his eyes off your alluring physique. The way your perked nipples still wet with his kisses glistened in the moonlight made it hard for him to form any amount of a coherent thought.

He couldn't resist squeezing your tensed thighs while you rubbed your pussy, wet and warm, up and down his painfully hard erection.

Sultry sounds fell from your pretty lips and made his cock twitch with need.

Just as Jeonghan was sure he couldn't take more of your teasing you lifted on your knees and rubbed his tip at your silky entrance. Completely entranced by your touch he fell apart just from watching the way you pulled your lips into your luscious mouth and crimped your eyebrows as your glistening core slowly swallowed him up.

Once you fit as much of him as you could, you stilled and blinked to halt the spinning of your lust hazed mind. The titillating feeling of your hot hungry walls squeezing around him caused his hips to lift into you in search of more.

Steadying yourself with your hands on his chest you worked your hips against him. His soft grunts poured lustrously in your ears filling you with pride as you continued your movements despite the increasing exhaustion of your hips. As the coil tightened in your core you steadied your breathing so you could last longer for him.

You felt Jeonghan's hands squeezing and guiding your hip, one hand slipping down to your clit and sending your mind into a static like fuzz. Your movements slowed but Jeonghan didn't mind taking the lead a bit by lifting his hips and meeting you halfway.

Missing your lips he reached up and pulled you to him, your sweaty skin rubbing together as the new position pushed him into you deliciously. The drink of his lips accompanied with his thrusts filled you with more ecstasy than your body could contain. The rush of your high overloaded your senses, shutting you down and leaving you feeling as if you were floating. You came back to the mumble of your name spilling from Jeonghan's lips as his hot seed filled you, mixing with your juices and slicking between your sticky spent bodies.

His heartbeat like a drum beneath you, his chest rocking you with every breath. Using your remaining strength, you lift yourself up and peppered Jeonghan with lazy kisses on his smiling lips. The fluttering of his feather-like eyelashes was hypnotizing as you watched him fall peacefully asleep.

Smiling to yourself you moved his sweaty hair from his face, holding a kiss in between his tensed brows until they softened.

“Sweet dreams my Hannie.” you whispered into his neck as you snuggled into him and shut your eyes for the night.

☾

You thanked past you for the alarm that woke you two up in time to get ready for the early morning meeting you had to attend. You shower first before waking him up. Instead of getting ready he laid still watching you with a smile as you scurried around and pulled on your clothes in a panic.

“You know it's okay if we're late.” Jeonghan spoke with a teasing lilt to his voice. He was thoroughly enjoying watching the way you wiggled your pants on.

You looked at him, smiling when you saw his signature mischievous head tilt that destroyed your every defense . You closed your eyes for a second to reset your weakening heart.

“I don't think being late is appropriate if you want to show respect and dignity.”

You sat down next to him on the bed to pull your socks on when he reached over and tickled you.

“Loosen up.” Jeonghan said laughing along with you. He sat up, pulling you closer and placing a kiss on your bare shoulder.

You took the chance to tickle him back, but his reflexes were quicker. Grabbing you he fell back on the bed, pulling you atop him.

You stopped his lips between your two fingers as they littered your breast with kisses. You felt him growing hard beneath you and lifted yourself back up with a teasing smirk.

“I'm going to make breakfast.”

Pulling away from his pleading grip you patted him playfully on the chest and stood up walking away with a sexy sway of your hips leaving him to figure out his own issue.

Jisoo raised his eyebrow at you when he heard the sound of the shower from your room's direction instead of Jeonghans. Without a word he poured his coffee, shaking his head and laughing at the blush that now colored your face.

After the meeting you went home first to finish up with the files in their father's office.

When lunchtime rolled around the brothers ate and then went for a little walk before they had to get back to the stuffy offices in their stuffy suits while stuffy people bored them to death.

“No wonder Father was so fucking miserable; this is depressingly painful.” Jeonghan said to his brother as he stretched and rubbed his eyes.

“Jeonghan. I think that old lady’s been following us.” Jisoo grabbed his brother's arm before he could turn around and look. “Let's just keep walking until we get somewhere more private and then we'll confront her.

Jeonghan nodded and they slightly picked up pace only taking small glances to check if the woman was still following them, which she was.

As the crowd thinned out, suspecting she wasn't alone, the brothers prepared themselves for a fight.

But when they turned around a middle aged woman stood there by herself.

She smiled and stepped closer. Instinctively Jeonghan stepped over to block his brother without taking his eyes off the woman's hands that were hidden in the sleeves of her jacket. Jeonghan reached for his gun and Jisoo quickly turned around to make sure no one was behind them.

“I came alone.” she said, her voice soft and low.

The women, although young looking, had long silver hair pulled elegantly into a bun. She wore a sweater dress with a collar that was low enough to reveal a ghastly scar across her neck. Jeonghan couldn't shake the familiar feeling she felt when he looked at her.

“Jeonghan….”

“How do you know my name?” Jeonghan demanded, now pulling out his gun and pointing it at the woman.

He knew never to underestimate an opponent so despite her small frame he was still on guard. She wouldn't get a chance to hurt him or his brother without a bullet through her head.

She put her hands up to show that they were empty.

“Please, I mean know harm. I just want to talk.’

When Jeonghan did not respond she inched closer.

Once she was a few feet away she smiled up at Jeonghan and spoke. “Jeonghan it's me. It's your mother.”

At that moment he saw it. The young face that smiled brightly in the picture he found in his father's draw when he was younger. The face that Kim had shown him when he had begged her to know more about his mother. Now small and thin her eyes still shone the same whimsical way.

Jeonghan could only lower his gun in quiet shock but Jisoo’s words spoke his mind. “No, that's impossible. You're dead.”

She shrugged casually. “Your father should've known best of all the importance of burying your own bodies.”

If it wasn't for his brother's support Jeonghan might have fallen over.

“It was you, wasn't it?” he asked quietly. “You killed him.”

Jisoo looked at his brother in confusion until all the pieces clicked together for him as well.

“That's how the killer knew where to find the cameras, and his room…” Jisoo thought aloud, his voice sounding almost impressed.

“He was so surprised when he saw me.” she bitterly chuckled as she recounted the night. “I'd never seen him look scared before…” she touched the scar on her neck before stepping closer again.

“So what exactly do you want?” Jeonghan asked, he was struggling to hold back the unidentifiable wall of emotions he was feeling.

“Nothing. I only wanted to free you of that monster, it was all I could do for you.”

She reached for Jeonghan's face, and he let her put a gentle hand on his cheek. Looking into his estranged mothers' eyes made tears well in Jeonghans.

“And to tell you that I love you so much.”

Jeonghan reached to wipe away the rivers that spilled from the woman’s shaking eyes, but she timidly backed away.

“Take care.” she whispered.

“Wait!” Jeonghan called out but the woman quickly turned and hurried away.

He started after her, but he felt his brother's hand on his shoulder. He turned to Jisoo to find his brother shaking his head.

Suddenly Jeonghan found himself laughing. Of all the emotions that whirled through him he wasn't sure why laughter was his outlet, but he didn’t fight it. At first Jisoo blinked at him, completely baffled but soon he was joining his brother.

“I think we've lost our minds.” Jisoo said, wiping tears from his eyes as their laughter finally subdued.

“Actually, I feel great.” Jeonghan said, draping his arm over his brother's shoulder and walking back to their car. “Let’s go home Jisoo.”

☾

Tiptoeing down the cold hall with your bare feet and your throw blanket wrapped securely around your barely dressed body you searched for your lover. Poking your head in each room as you passed it you finally rejoiced upon finding him in his study. His body languidly poured over the papers in front of him as he finished up the day's work.

You carefully creeped towards him in hopes to startle him in his focused state, but he looked up at you and smiled.

“You’re not exactly a ninja, love.”

He tilted his head in that adorable way that still owned your heart.

You spun his chair towards you and threw yourself in his lap.

“Come to bed.”

“I will, soon.”

Jeonghan took a deep inhale of your scent as your deliciously warm body straddled his lap. “You smell delicious.” he said playfully biting your shoulder, your giggle filling him with energy as you swatted him away.

“Did you talk to your mom today?”

“Umhm. She went back to Japan last night, so she called me when she landed.”

You could tell he still felt weird talking about her.

“Before I forget, open that draw.” Jeonghan said pointing to the right draw of his desk.

You smiled at him curiously before turning around on his lap and pulling out the draw. Your breath hitched the moment your eyes laid on the open jewelry box that was reviled to you.

“I figured I owed you something proper. These are all custom made just for you.”

Jeonghan reached around you and picked up the beautifully carved wooden box, bringing it closer to you.

Reaching inside you picked up a necklace with a delicate golden chain and a pendent that sparkled. You took the box from his hands and closed it before setting it on his desk and giving him the necklace.

Jeonghan placed a tender kiss on your neck before clasping the necklace around it. Holding your cheeks he gently turned your face to him and left a chaste kiss on your lips.

“Can I stay here while you finish up?” You said with round pleading eyes that he would never resist.

“You have to hold on, I need my hands free so I can work.

“I've got an idea!”

Jeonghan's eyebrow raised at you as you lifted the hem of his tee shirt, ducking under and crawling inside, resting your head on his chest.

The vibration of his laughter was soothing as he wrapped the cover around you, tucking the sides so it wouldn’t fall off.

“You are a very peculiar person.” He said while rubbing your back to still the shaking of your giggling.

His shirt was large and it secured you nicely against him, the warmth of his body and scent completely relaxing you.

“Hey! Don’t tickle me.” He said patting your butt in jest-full scolding.

“Then don't be so ticklish.” You said poking him once more.

“Either you stop, or I toss you out.”

You exaggeratedly gasped. “You wouldn't dare.”

“Try me.” He said, grabbing hold of your waist and lightly beginning to pull.

“Okay okay I won't tickle you.”

You had to wrap your arms tightly around him to stop from slipping as you laughed.

“What’s this?” You asked, your hands brushing against slightly raised skin down by his hip bone.

“Just a tattoo Jisoo wanted to get with me. You can see it later, stop moving.”

“How about you read aloud so you can stay awake, and I can go to sleep?” You request.

The soft hum of his voice vibrating through his chest was absolutely serene causing you to drift into a comfortable sleep.

When you woke up again you were in his bed still cuddling against him, his shirt gone and his arms like a cocoon around you. You struggled to slide from his embrace you as he mumbled protests against your shoulder and pulled you closer.

“Shhhh, I’m just going to pee.”

When you came back for the bathroom he was sprawled out in the bed, the covers no longer covering his torso.

Sitting down next to him you examined his new ink.

“Family….” You read in a whisper.

You delicately traced the thin loopy letters until Jeonghan stirred. Grabbing your hand, he smiled sleepily at you before pulling you against him.

“Jisoo wrote mine and I wrote his. To remind us of what’s important, of why we’re still doing this.”

He paused for a moment, thinking as he rubbed your back. You could feel the gentle thump of his heart… feel the peace in each beat.

“You, Jisoo, Kim… you guys are my family.”

WANT MORE OF MY WORK?

CLICK -> HERE

[taesancore]

Currently thinking about Leehan in the prince costume, do you have thoughts on medieval (?) Or like royal sex with Leehan as a prince and you Y/n (fem) being his servant??

- 🐹

✦ BEHIND THE CHAMBERS .ᐟ

kim donghyun x f!reader

MDNI‼️

✦.ᐟ warnings: unprotected sex (do not do this pLEASE), handjob, kind of soft!sex(?), bulge kink, breeding kink! reader has a little pregnancy kink (sort of), lmk if i missed any!!

the chattering of your fellow acquaintances and friends, the staff of the royal family grew closer as you quickly packed the prince’s favourite bath salts. some of the maids bowed back to you, while the rest eyed you perhaps out of envy. you were the only maid who was chosen to be prince kim’s personal servant by the prince himself two years ago and nobody including the royal family knew why.

oh but you knew. you knew very well.

you made your way through the silent hallways of the palace, the sounds of your footsteps being the only thing bouncing off the walls apart from the chirruping of the crickets. upon reaching the prince’s private chambers, you bowed to the guards who granted you access, as you entered the room.

prince donghyun was seated on the chair near the window of his room as usual, the moonlight making his pearly tone stand out among the dark lit room. he stood up upon your arrival as you bowed hastily, with an “apologies for being late, your highness”.

“it’s just us here, no need for the formalities you know” he said amusedly as you moved towards his bath.

“long day today too? you seem a little less excited to see me” you murmured while mixing the salts in the warm water, smiling as donghyun’s arms wrapped themselves across your shoulders from the back. the prince crouched down to your level, watching you mix the salts for his bath as he peppered kisses down your neck.

“i could never not be excited to see you dear” he hummed into your skin as you felt his arms tighten around you.

“join me?”

“you know i can’t donghyun, the others will get suspicious”.

“then i order for you to stay with me for the night. they can’t go against that can they?”

you sighed. donghyun was quite the stubborn one today. but you didn’t mind one bit as you averted your eyes, while the prince undressed himself and stepped into the bath.

“being shy now? it’s nothing you haven’t seen before” he laughed as you let your gaze fall upon his sculpted figure. slowly, you began untying the fabric of your dress too, cheeks heating up at the way his eyes raked across your body as the dress fell to the floor.

you lowered yourself next to the prince in the water, sighing at the warmth. however he had other plans as he pulled you onto his lap, making you giggle as he attacked your neck once again.

“shh…we don’t want them to hear you now do we?” he whispered in your ear as your head fell back on his shoulder. he continued to suck a spot near your collarbone, biting and licking it as you let out a soft moan.

shifting yourself on his lap, you were now facing him as he pulled you into a hot kiss, hands going underwater to grab your ass as your went to tangle themselves in his wet locks. you felt him harden against your thigh as you smiled into the kiss. his hands continued to massage your ass as you pulled away from the kiss.

“your highness, you must’ve had a long day. let me take care of you”.

donghyun smiled, unable to deny your request, especially when you asked him so sweetly.

your hand moved to grab his hard cock under the water, pumping it slowly as he groaned. you took in his pained expression as you picked up your pace, pumping it faster as his hips jerked into your hand. your other hand crept upwards his sculpted abs, nails raking across them as he shuddered. you could feel yourself growing wet at the lewd sounds of you jerking him off, along with his deep grunts. with each pump, his hands kept squeezing your ass harder, you were sure they’d leave marks.

“i’m—fuck” he swore with a moan as he came, streaks of white shooting upward from your hand and into the water. his chest rose and fell with each breath while you marvelled at his current state.

a light sheen of sweat coated his forehead, eyes still glazed over from his orgasm. he sent you a small smile as he brought both of your legs around his waist. your arms went around his neck as he got up from the bath, bringing you into another deep kiss as he moved towards the bed.

he wasted no time, going straight for your breasts the minute your back hit the mattress. “donghyun—ah” you squealed as he bit down on your sensitive nipple, hands travelling down south with desperation.

“already wet? tch tch desperate aren’t we?” he mused, teasing your folds with his fingers as his lips hovered above yours. “please…i’ve been waiting for so long” you whimpered, lifting your hips to meet his fingers.

he smirked, moving his hand away and replacing it with his dick, lining it near your entrance as his royal medallion dangled above you, the pendant falling right at your lips.

he slammed himself into you with a loud moan, muffling your sounds with a hand to your mouth as he pulsated inside you. droplets of sweat trailed down his chest, falling on your stomach as you placed your hands on his lean arms for support.

he pulled out and slammed back in, now moving feverishly as you let out moan after moan into his palm. his face scrunched up into an expression of pleasure, matted hair sticking to his forehead as he continued to thrust deep into you.

your eyes had rolled to the back of your head, body moving due to the sheer force of his thrusts. his hand held your hip firmly to keep you in place as you let out muffled cries.

“fuck—look at that” donghyun groaned, pressing on your lower tummy. you peered down to see a bulge moving, his bulge moving in your abdomen as he slowed his movements.

“gonna make you my princess hmm? fill you up with my kids” he rasped, resuming his movements with a hand still pressed on the bulge. you thought you couldn’t more turned on, yet here you were whining loudly against his sweaty palm at the thought of being filled up by him, having your belly swollen for nine months with carrying his royal blood.

donghyun’s thrusts turned shallow, low whimpers falling past his lips as his forehead came to rest on yours. his hand slipped down from your mouth, as you gasped at a particularly sharp thrust. the tight coil inside you snapped, as the waves of your orgasm washed over you.

your cunt spasmed around his cock, a loud curse left donghyun’s lips before he grabbed you by the neck, into a messy kiss. his cock twitched inside you before he came for the second time that night. he groaned into your mouth, as he painted your walls white with his hot cum.

both of your bodies were gleaming with sweat as he flopped down next to you on the king sized bed. the air was filled with the sounds of your heavy breaths as the two of you calmed down from the aftershocks. he ran a hand through his wet hair as he turned towards you, pulling you into his chest.

no words were exchanged between the two of you as usual that night. you woke up at the crack of dawn with limbs tangled in his and a strong arm wrapped around your waist. you left his chambers, looking as prim and proper as you did last night as you headed to the servant quarters for your daily duties.

but you knew, that by the end of the day, you’d return to his chambers and the events would repeat themselves, as usual of course.

a/n: i hope this was what you were expecting anon! sorry it took too long to post TT but whew prince leehan…😵‍💫😵‍💫

[softsan]

・⊹ 🎐 ˙ ̟!! NCT MASTERLIST

key: fluff 🤍 , angst 🖇️ , suggestive 🍶 , smut 🥛 , adult themes 🍚 , coming soon 📨 , in progress 🎧 , completed 📑 , requests 📁 .

✉️ ・ 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 ・ ᝰ

˚ ☁️ ⊹ alphabet boy. — lee taeyong 10k ; 🤍 , 🖇️ , 🥛 , 📨 , single dad au, ceo au synopsis - after a nasty breakup with your ex-boyfriend, you return back to the city you once called home. not quite ready to face your parent’s disapproval, you beg your brother jaehyun to keep the secret of your return and help you out by securing you a job. what you hadn’t foreseen to come was the all-consuming relationship that would form with your new boss taeyong… what more trouble could you possibly find yourself into? - read here.

˚ ☁️ ⊹ champagne problems. — lee taeyong 10k ; 🖇️ , 🥛 , 🍚 , 📨 , gangster au synopsis - the night was young, your parents were merry. this engagement would prove fruitful for you family, only furthering their fortunes. however, the infamous gangster taeyong has other plans. can you resist  taeyong’s deadly allure? or will you fall helplessly for the for the enemy you should avoid? - read here.

˚ ☁️ ⊹ twist of a pen. — lee taeyong 10k ; 🤍 , 🖇️ , 🍶 , 📨 , fantasy au synopsis - you were a novice scriptwriter who had just received your big break joining the writing team for the upcoming miniseries starring some of hollywood’s finest. taeyong was the heartthrob lead, cold and distant to everyone on set. one rainy evening, whilst writing, you accidentally fall asleep and find yourself transported to an alternative reality where you are the princess of the script you were writing, and taeyong is the villain that tries to kill you. - read here.

˚ ☁️ ⊹ noir. — kim doyoung 10k ; 🤍 , 🖇️ , 🥛 , 🍚 , 📨 , 1950′s setting, gangster au synopsis - you were a daunting figure, a true-born witch of the lunar coven. doyoung was a formidable foe, a gangster from the city east. both of you worked in societies’ shadows to expand your own personal objectives. however, it appears fate has entwined your paths together in more ways than one. What happens when you pair an impulsive witch with a ruthless gangster? chaos. - read here.

˚ ☁️ ⊹ you're undeniable, love. — kim doyoung 10k ; 🤍 , 🖇️ , 🍶 , 🍚 , 📨 , medieval setting, fantasy au synopsis - you had promised the elders to keep a low profile. to do what you must to sell yourself as an ordinary being. once disguised as a maid, your lady who was betrothed to the merciless prince doyoung flees before her wedding ceremony, leaving her father with the impossible choice of finding a replacement to pose as his daughter in order not to offend the warring states. his replacement, most unfortunately, is you. however, will you survive alongside the lies, deceit and a husband the world has branded as a monster?  - read here.

˚ ☁️ ⊹ mortem. — jung jaehyun 10k ; 🖇️ , 🥛 , 🍚, demon au synopsis - you were a struggling dropout who took a side job as a waitress at a maid café. not only were you financially supporting your high school sweetheart through law school, but you were also responsible for taking care of his elderly grandmother. despite your dedication to your boyfriend, he commits the ultimate betrayal, selling your soul to the underworld. desperate for your survival, you make an impossible choice…becoming a servant of a bloodthirsty demon, jaehyun. . - read here.

˚ ☁️ ⊹ be my valentine. — mark lee 3.2k ; 🤍 , 🖇️ , 📑 , 1980's setting, best friend au synopsis - you’ve had a crush on your neighbour mark since you were a kid. one fateful valentines day dance you decide to confess your love. unfortunately, things go horribly wrong as a slew of misunderstandings occur. - read here.

˚ ☁️ ⊹ hold me tight. — lee donghyuk 10k ; 🤍 , 🖇️ , 🍶 , 📨 , soulmate au synopsis - . - read here.

˚ ☁️ ⊹ sugar cookie. — lee jeno 10k ; 🤍 , 🥛 , 📨 , slice of life, cafe au synopsis - life can be challenging. one of your daily challenges was trying to study in your brother’s cafe, in the presence of the cute barista boy, jeno. you knew you really should have gone elsewhere—you concentration fading by the second, but oh you couldn’t will yourself to leave, not after he flashed that smile of his in your direction. - read here.

˚ ☁️ ⊹ so called love. — na jaemin 10k ; 🤍 , 🖇️ , 🍶 , 📨 , soulmate au synopsis - . - read here.

✉️ ・ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ・ ᝰ

˚ 🌨️ ⊹ mafia au. — nct 10k+ ; 🤍 , 🖇️ , 🥛 , 🍚 , 🎧 , mafia au synopsis - dive into the dark, devious, devilish mafia universe. where one rejoices in deadly past times, and indulges in all sorts of sin. - read here.

˚ 🌨️ ⊹ werewolf au. — nct 10k+ ; 🤍 , 🖇️ , 🍶 , 🍚 , 🎧 , werewolf au synopsis - howl alongside the werewolf universe. come across the likes of moon beast, wolf bites, and other wicked and wild things. - read here.

˚ 🌨️ ⊹ hybrid au. — nct 127 10k+ ; 🤍 , 🖇️ , 🍚 , 🎧 , hybrid au synopsis - embrace the hybrid universe. overcome the greatest of differences and the hardest of challeges, for a reward most precious. - read here.

✉️ ・ 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐒 ・ ᝰ

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ taeyong. [5:43 am] [1:58 pm] [4:09 pm] [5:26 pm] [10:58 pm] [11:56 pm] 

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ taeil. [3:54 pm] [6:35 pm] [9:15 pm]

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ johnny. [7:43 am] [2:26 pm] [3:43 pm] [5:38 pm] [8:23 pm]

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ yuta. [7:45 am] [8:55 am] [4:45 pm] [5:47 pm] [6:45 pm] 

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ kun. [4:56 pm] [6:12 pm] [8:45 pm] [11:04 pm]

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ doyoung. [10:12 am] [3:14 am] [8:36 pm] [9:06 pm] 

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ ten. [12:31 am] [6:13 pm] 

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ jaehyun. [3:12 am] [4:51 am] [8:56 pm]

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ winwin. [5:48 am] [11:03 am] [1:39 pm]

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ jungwoo. [7:07 am] [7:43 am] [7:45 am] [5:28 pm] [7:21 pm] [11:58 pm]

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ mark. [8:12 am] [6:59 pm]

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ xiaojun. [6:02 am] [10:17 am] [4:43 pm] [5:34 pm]

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ hendery. [6:42 am] [8:54 am] [2:30 am] [6:08 am]

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ renjun. [12:03 am] [10:01 am] [3:25 pm] [6:02 pm] [11:54 pm]

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ jeno. [12:25 am] [10:12 am] [4:09 pm] [4:43 pm] [5:43 pm] [9:47 pm]

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ haechan. [11:15 am] [3:01 pm] [5:56 pm] [11:39 pm]

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ jaemin. [12:20 am] [1:06 am] [8:45 am] [11:03 am] [4:58 pm] [6:14 pm] [7:34 pm]

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ yangyang. [2:32 am] [7:45 am] [9:18 am] [2:58 pm] [10:56 pm] 

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ chenle.

˚ 🌩️ ⊹ jisung.

© softsan - all rights reserved. please do not repost on any social media sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

[wonilye]

kingmaker | p.sh

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CHAPTER V

As an assassin working for the Hwangs, you have proven your loyalty to your benefactors for more than a decade. But when Lady Hwang's plans for a rebellion land you in a bride selection for the Crown Prince, you find yourself at a loss. Unfamiliar with the ways of the gentry, your reliance on a previously unknown informant is your only source of hope. And yet, you learn very quickly that no one in high society can be trusted, including yourself. Because who else but you is there to assassinate the King?

WARNING: mentions of blood, killing and death in this chapter (no one dies here). please do check the masterlist for potential triggers/themes you feel uncomfortable with!

You rise early the next morning - if you ever slept at all, that is. Your slumber was anything but peaceful, your troubling thoughts keeping your eyes open long past the ungodly hours.

But how could you fall asleep, with an iron scent lingering in your nose, and the jagged cut in your hand still stinging? Park Sunghoon, your only ally. Simultaneously the one person who could destroy every single one of your plans up till now with only a word to the prince.

So it is today that you rise with dark circles deep enough to startle the maids that come in, only to find you already milling about your room (it’s a wonder they haven’t spotted that knife hidden behind the vanity mirror). You hadn’t even known there would be maids catering to you, but you suppose you should’ve seen it coming. No noble lady lives without being waited on hand and foot in high society, not unless they’re from a house falling into ruin.

All the same, it feels odd as their rough hands glide across your bare skin, gently rubbing away any sleepiness with warm water.. It’s strange to think that had you not shown potential with the sword, this would have been your life - serving as Lady Yeji’s lady-in-waiting, her most trusted servant in a different way.

You hope the maids don’t notice how your hands are even more calloused than their own.

They clothe you in the palace’s finery, every layer of fabric even silkier than the last. Today, it’s a drape-sleeved tiered gown, dyed in the colours of the Hwangs’ flag - a rich mauve. The soft, loose fabric conceals the ripple of muscle in your arms, neckline exposing your collarbones. And of course, a glass violet woven into your hair. It cuts a poised, demure figure, something unachievable by your own means. But the swathes of fabric carry an uncomfortable burn every time they slide over your skin. A reminder that you are an inferior replacement in royalty’s garb.

Pressing your palm to the hidden garter around your thigh, you feel the faint outline of an envelope. A message, left by your door at the break of dawn. You’ve read it, but you can’t help the inkling of suspicion in the back of your mind. Imprinted on the seal is a pattern of forget-me-nots, a mark of a specific family — that of Kim Minji’s.

To be honest, she’s a good companion to have, if trust is what you’re looking for. Based on your intel, Minji’s a fairly gentle, fresh soul, new to the social world. Debuting fairly young, the girl's innocence is more or less intact, preserved by a loving family who doted on their eldest daughter. Of all the candidates, she must be the most naive. She’ll be a prime target of the other girls, no doubt. She’d be the easiest to send home.

At least she’s not inexperienced enough to approach you directly. She’s arranged to meet shortly before breakfast. Two left turns and a right, as per the instructions in the letter, and you’re face to face with the girl herself, reclining in an empty sitting room. Despite her furrowed brows and tense gaze, she exudes an innocent beauty that’s truly worthy of being a part of the crown prince’s entourage. No doubt, she would be his choice if a future queen of an empire needed to be an angel on earth.

As she spots you, her eyes light up, and she pats the seat next to her. Trying not to trip over her billowing teal-coloured skirt, you muster up your most polite smile, gingerly lowering yourself beside her. “Lady Minji, a pleasure. I believe we have not formally met just yet.”

She chuckles, a soft sound that blends perfectly with the pale morning sunlight filtering in through the windows. She is a breath of fresh air, youth incarnate. “It is wonderful to meet you, Lady Hwang. You are kind, to agree to meet me despite not knowing my intentions. I imagine you feared the worst. We are truly in cutthroat times.” Her expression turns solemn as she fiddles with the fingertips of her silk gloves. You imagine she must be nervous, her family undoubtedly warning her of the competition’s aptitude for scheming. “I am fully aware it’s a gamble to throw my lot in with you, but there is a kindness in you I am inclined to trust. Will you tell me I have misplaced my faith?”

The confession startles you. Kindness? You? Either you’ve played your role a little too well, or Kim Minji is seeing only what she wishes to. But this works well in your favour. Kim Minji is likely to be a court favourite, provided the crown prince is looking for true love. And if that is the case, Prince Jay will look upon her and her associated with favour and trust, a good combination that will serve you well in your mission.

“Well,” you muse, playing as though you have the upper hand like you see Yeji do. “Every gamble has its risks. Whether or not I am a worthy risk to take is your choice.”

She swallows. “Companionship. Protection. That is what I seek from you. You’re stronger than I ever will be, in both mind and body. Accept my offer, and the Kims and Hwangs will provide each other with aid whenever necessary.”

She says it so bravely that you almost feel sorry that such a young girl is propositioning you. But all is fair in war. “Lady Kim, what I want isn’t your support. Something much, much simpler will suffice.”

“A-and what would that be?”

You smirk. “Information, my lady.”

Sunghoon thinks he’s going to faint.

He’s never been good at wrapping wounds, much less his own. With the amount of blood he lost wrangling with the bandages that girl gave him, it’s no wonder he’s a little lightheaded. Still, the night is young.

As if trying to mock him, the first light of dawn peeks through the curtains.

Sighing, he rises from his slumped position against the door, stumbling into Jay’s office with more grace than he’d expected of himself. With the flickering light of the candle illuminating the darkened room, Jay’s sleeping figure is cast in an odd glow. Beneath his head is a stack of paperwork and a quill dangling from his fingertips, each stained with dark ink. He’s worked hard today. A miracle, really, that he didn’t get indigestion from that sorry excuse of a meal. The king has never been a very good dinner guest.

Sunghoon shrugs his coat off, draping it across a chair in the corner. He’s guessing it’s about six in the morning, with the dimmest sunlight bleeding through the thick curtains. Jay really hasn't moved since Sunghoon left him where he was to find their new ally.

The memory of the quick spar sends an ache through every muscle. She (was that shadowy figure even a she?) was stronger than he’d anticipated, each calculated movement both efficient and lethal. After that, it was clear to see how someone like her survived for so long as an assassin despite her existence being common knowledge in the line of work.

The fact that he’s even managed to walk out alive from an encounter with an assassin with a hundred percent success rate is a mercy on her part.

With a sigh, Sunghoon squeezes his liege’s shoulder. “Get up already, your harem awaits.”

Jay groans as he rouses, puffy eyes blinking rapidly as he shoves Sunghoon off. “They’re not my harem.”

“Is that all you’re concerned with, your royal highness? Other than the fact that you’ve got hundreds more tasks to complete, not to mention the backlog from yesterday, and the day before, last week, last year-”

“Oh, be quiet,” Jay scoffs, not unkindly as he fixes his collar. “How long more do I have before I have to sit through another meal with the candidates?”

Sunghoon checks his pocket watch, the other hand reaching over to flatten Jay’s unruly hair.

“What’s with the bandages?”

“Fell in the bath. To answer your earlier question, you have approximately two hours and forty-nine minutes. Breakfast will be served in the second dining room today. Their Majesties will not be joining us today.”

“Thank heavens. Last night was a nightmare. All those girls, tense to the point it hurt to even look at them. Did you see how Lady Shin barely touched her plate?”

“Never mind that, I have news for you.” Sunghoon leans in, certain he looks crazed with glee in Jay’s eyes. “I met a very interesting someone tonight - well, more like they found me.”

“Who-”

“Take a guess.”

Their eyes meet, and Sunghoon knows his dear friend understands the moment a conspiratorial glint enters Jay’s eyes. “Impossible,” he breathes out, rummaging around his drawers. “That quick?”

“Have a little more faith in your beloved courtier, won’t you?”

“Then our plans…”

“Are falling right into place. The right hand of the Hwangs is now a player in the game,” Sunghoon finishes. “The Hwangs have thrown their lot. Their stance is clear to us now. Their rebellion has begun.”

Jay chews his lip, deep in thought. “No, I do believe their rebellion has been years in the making. Possibly since the Hwang children lost the previous Duke and Duchess Hwang. No doubt, they’ve harboured a grudge against Father for years now.” He swallows, and Sunghoon can see the gears in his head turning. “The Hwangs are to be feared. And now that we’ve made contact with their assassin, the stakes are infinitely higher.”

“Not that we haven’t anticipated it.”

“Indeed, not that we haven’t. Any guesses on their identity?”

It’s here that Sunghoon freezes. On one hand, it would be wise to tell Jay to wait for the second meeting, or start investigating immediately. But the sting of his palm settles in, as if that girl’s reminding him of the alliance he swore to. True, he might end up working against her. The likelihood is there, especially if her mission turns out to actually be killing the king to-be. So why is he so reluctant to promise Jay anything?

“Not sure. We’ll have to see.”

Jay’s disappointment is evident. “Right then, we’ll work with what we have. Continue to communicate with her, we’ll find out what the Hwangs are planning.”

Right. Sunghoon shakes his head, shelving away his traitorous thoughts. Any plans the Hwangs’ assassin has could never overshadow the ones he’d made with Jay. Plans that have been years in the making, built upon trust like no other. No one can possibly distract him, much less an assassin.

There’s a moment of silence that falls between the two. Sunghoon, with all his heart, wants - no, needs - their plans to work. It’s a matter of life and death for the prince, no matter how selfish the outcomes might be. Jay cannot die at the hands of the Hwangs.

Because maybe, just maybe, this is his only shot at atonement.

a/n — guess who…ahahahahhhaa pookies i’m a mess this is a super short chapter but don’t mistake it for filler! because it isn’t /srs (no really) but ok i am really really sorry this came so late, next chapter’s already in the works! show some love for the girlies named throughout the story, they’re much lovelier than i depict them lololol

taglist (open!)

@stariikis @viagumi @chenfleur

[wildelydawn]

FemKimChay ? 👀👀👀👀👀

Okay so turns out this is my dump document of every fem!KimChay idea I've ever wrote, so you're getting Royalty!AU/princess!Chay and servant!Kim snippets hehe. My bad v_v. Enjoy, and thanks for the ask Lori! 🖤

TW: sexual content

"You're stressed, Princess."

"I am. All these awful suitors. And stupid too. And useless." Chay turns. 

"Princess?"

Chay walks over to Kim, who refuses to look away. It excites her. Chay's sick of people looking away in submission to her Crown. But Kim? Kim's always looked at her in defiance. 

Or something else.

"Why have a ball when I can have your hand at any time I want," Chay whispers. "And your lovely, red mouth?"

Kim stands still, exactly how she's taught, though her cheeks heat. "Princess. We said it couldn't happen again. Not with your counsel looking for a suitor."

"To hell with my counsel. Hell with society. Don't you think of me? Don't you remember when you put me on the desk? Rucked up my skirt?" Chay pulls Kim in by her apron. "Why look elsewhere when you're the only one who sees me, puts up with me. And how you touch-” (finish)

Kim has her against the wall in seconds, kissing her, pulling up her skirts and tugging her trousers down.

—---- stufffff------

"Tell me what you need, Princess. Say it again."

Chay throws her head back. "You're lucky you're my favorite maid."

Kim stops her fingers. "You rule me outside of this room. But here? In your study? You are mine. All of you. So I want to hear you say it." Kim strokes her opening. "Say it."

"Fuck me with your fingers," Chay gasps. "Make me come on them. Make me come with your mouth too!"

Kim drops to her knees, as does Chay's dress and petticoat. Chay wails when the stockings rip away. Chay grabs onto Kim's hair and Kim hoists her leg up. 

"As you wish, Princess.”

-

Ask me about one of my WIPs!

[foxymoxynoona]

To Kill A King (Chapter 14)

Banner and linebreaks by the talented @awrkives

Summary: What’s more charming than Prince Seokjin? Nothing, obviously. Except maybe the rotating palace guests who each smile and bow and charm in an attempt to hide their true motives. Fortunately Seokjin has a close circle of friends (well, servants) who watch his back and endure his humor and help him navigate the tumultuous seas of heartbreak, love, and an arranged marriage, not necessarily in that order. If only they had helped him keep a closer eye on his bride-to-be’s handmaiden, who arrives with her own agenda… or maybe it would have been better if he had noticed her less? One thing is certain as this royal drama of the heart plays out: there are many people competing to kill a king.

Main Pairing: Prince Seokjin x Female OC Genre: Historical Fantasy World, political conspiracy, romance Rating: 18+ Content Warnings & story tags: includes explicit sex (mxf, fxf), possibly graphic violence/injury later, love and sex triangles or uh quadrangles?, sort of e 2 l, sort of bodyguard trope, sort of arranged marriage, a lot of plotting murder (it’s literally in the title), maybe character death, grief, pining, angst, love, oral (f & m receiving), public sex, I don’t know everything yet as the story is long and still being written

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NOTE: check out the Character & Setting Cheat Sheet for a refresher on who’s who

Old habits die hard. Though Dulce had shifted her purpose to finding some way to prove Nasimiyu and her father were planning to overthrow the Kim family –a thing she hadn’t the faintest idea how to accomplish– an opportunity presented itself in her quest for information that was simply too good to pass up. King Dong-gun quit the palace to go on another of those maniacal cave hunting expeditions, and took most of the palace with him, including Nasimiyu and that ice-cold uncle. 

It had almost been funny, that brief moment in which Nasimiyu debated whether to take Dulce. Dulce was back on laundry duty –surprise, surprise– but was carting clean clothes up to the princess’ room. Nasimiyu called for something she could wear on a hunt, then informed Dulce they were going to the caves in the morning, then looked at her in silence for a long moment… before deciding Eula would go. Eula had cried about it all night because she was scared of caves and guns.

Mirta had given Dulce a day’s worth of tasks which she utterly ignored. Was Mirta going to fire her? That would suit her just fine; the only thing keeping her from quitting was needing time to find whatever she could take to Prince Seokjin or King Dong-gun. 

As soon as Nasimiyu left for the hunting trip, Dulce ransacked her room. She put everything back so it wouldn’t be obvious, of course, but she dug through all the spaces she normally didn’t care about –the drawers in the writing desk, the false bottom of her jewelry box, the tiara box in the wardrobe that used to house a secret supply of snacks until Nasimiyu ate through them within days of arriving in Priva. 

Rooting through the wardrobe made Dulce wonder if Nasimiyu would rat her out about killing the spying man at some point. She could. A princess’ word against a maids would result in nothing other than the death penalty for the maid. Nasimiyu could toss in that Dulce had threatened her about it. It didn’t even have to be true, Nasimiyu could say whatever she wanted and have Dulce’s head off in a moment. Rather than frighten her, this power disparity pissed Dulce off.

She clearly and obviously ought to leave immediately, before that could happen. What was holding Nasimiyu back from doing so this very day? She was clearly angry about Namjoon still, and hadn’t said a word to Dulce since she’d walked in on her and Prince Seokjin fucking. Was she waiting and hoping for Dulce to come groveling to her? Or just biding her time until she could surprise Dulce with an accusation and death?

It didn’t make any sense, and Dulce hated not knowing. She was too close to this one; she wouldn’t be able to leap away before Nasimiyu’s dagger plunged in.

She had to be fast. Faster than this.

But there was nothing incriminating to be found anywhere in Nasimiyu’s room. The letters from her mother were dull and saccharine. There were no letters from her father. She didn’t keep a diary, not even a fake, so there was nothing to betray her as a fiance either, no pining for Namjoon inked onto pages in her hand. Dulce had taught her too well, it seemed.

Dulce paid a visit to the old room Nasimiyu had stayed in, but there likely hadn’t been anything notable there either before it was wiped clean. Same for the rooms Prince Hamisi and Princess Simisola had lived in. 

What was Dulce’s next step here? She felt hopelessly out of options. She could approach Prince Seokjin and just tell him… but why would he believe her against his own fiance? He wouldn’t. Dulce was just an out of favor maid. Well, she could tell him more than that if she was willing to sacrifice her own security…

But how did one prove they were an assassin hired to spy and assassinate you? She had no written orders. No secret society brand on her shoulder. No poisoned dagger bearing Prince Hamisi’s emblem or any of the other clues that led to the capture of the villains in the Kalamouche novels. The emblemed dagger in the most recent book she’d read had really done her in, it was nearly enough to make her laugh, it was such a stupid idea. What idiot gave an assassin a clear and obvious connection back to the purse-holder? Dulce had found herself wishing she could meet the author and give him a good thrashing and tell him to do better –nobles were absolute idiots but in a very different way than that. But it had then led to the mental play of Prince Seokjin meeting the author and probably being so exuberant and excited about it because he probably read these ideas and thought they were genius and it had ticked her off so much, this day dream, the fact that she was daydreaming about Prince Seokjin. 

What was this man doing to her?! Why?! She had met so many men in her life and this one was… was ignorant and naive and too trusting and… honestly, a clown. And thoughtful and considerate and inappropriately chivalrous and unfortunately almost funny and generous and from what she could see, honest. If he was not honest, he had fooled her. Otherwise, he might be one of the only honest people she had ever met in her life. Everything about him seemed so sincere. Was that true? He did not seem to consider himself when he put himself forward to help someone –a maid who didn’t need rescuing, a crying child, a servant who was secretly his brother and an inherent threat to his throne.

Fuck that guy, he was messing with her head. She had to figure something out and then get the fuck out of here. She’d do her best to find some way to open his eyes to the dangers around him, but she couldn’t die for him. She needed to be gone before Nasimiyu figured it out. Possibly the only thing staying Nasimiyu’s hand right now was that she’d never directly caused someone’s death before. Could that be it? Was there some conscience after all beneath that ridiculous flower crown Prince Seokjin had given Nasimiyu for dinner last night?

She circled the palace trying to look like she had somewhere to be without actually having an aim. Prince Hamisi was too smart to leave anything incriminating in the Kim palace. Nasimiyu never had anything to leave around. She could try interrogating Nasimiyu’s guards or maids for anything but it would raise suspicion on herself unless she killed them afterwards, likely not get her anything, and another death around Nasimiyu would probably send the palace into another frenzy.

How ironic. Dulce was possibly the greatest threat to Nasimiyu, wasn’t she? It occurred to her that striking Nasimiyu down and lying in wait for Prince Hamisi to come running back would be the quickest way to ensure they couldn’t harm Prince Seokjin.

But actually killing Nasimiyu… It made Dulce’s stomach turn. She didn’t need to go that far right now. Dulce was efficient and purposeful, but she wasn’t wasteful. Death was inevitable, but that didn’t mean Dulce was eager to dole it out, not to someone she had so recently been so close to. Honestly, did Nasimiyu deserve to die? She shouldn’t be queen but..

Dulce was compromised. She was too sentimental. The objective truth was that no one person was worth more than the lives of dozens or hundreds of others, but right now Nasimiyu wasn’t a threat to dozens or even hundreds of people. If she died today, there would be a new and probably worse princess betrothed to the prince tomorrow. Nasimiyu was selfish and stubborn but supposedly had good intentions, so in a world where her rule wasn’t a threat to Seokjin’s life, Dulce would have left her alone. 

“I have a packet for the King,” a deep voice said, traveling closer up the hallway.

Another voice scoffed, “And I told you, he is not in the palace today so you will have to wait or leave your missives with me.” Dulce recognized the voice of Han-gyeol Jung –that weasley old man constantly looking down his nose at young men and squinting like he could see through the dresses of young women. Allegedly he served as a ‘deportment’ tutor for Prince Seokjin but seemed to leave his more palatable son to do most of the actual refining work. 

“I’m in a hurry,” the man said, which struck Dulce as odd. If you had things to deliver to the king, wasn’t that the most important thing you could do? Unless you were just impatient, but he didn’t sound impatient, he sounded… nervous. “They must be delivered directly to the King.”

When Lord Jung or whatever the fuck his proper title was refused to go and physically retrieve the King from the caves, the man snapped that he would try again tomorrow but he wasn’t spending a night here and stomped off. Dulce watched the elder Jung subtly around the corner. He looked completely unbothered by the man’s insistence, as if this sort of urgent entitled demand to see the king was a common occurrence. She found it more curious that he would act as a kind of butler or intermediary for the King in his absence rather than the Castellan or literally anyone else. It seemed outside of his job scope. But what did she know? Besides, most of those people had gone on the hunt. 

He strode off to do another task. So the King must not be lying in wait expecting anything urgent, otherwise surely he would let his butler know to fetch him at once should a messenger arrive. Unless Han-gyeol Jung didn’t know anything either and had just unknowingly thwarted something actually very important

Dulce had nothing better to do though (what, maid chores?) and decided to follow the man with the message. He’d not gone far and anyway his steps were loud enough to easily find him, the idiot. She tailed him out of the palace and down into the city, right out the front doors. Nobody looked at him, and she supposed she struck the right balance of looking like a nobody maid that nobody bothered with her either. The man did keep looking anxious around himself but he clearly wasn’t worried about an innocent looking maid with her hair wrapped in a white kerchief the only time he might have seen her over his shoulder.

They moved further into the city. He seemed to know exactly where he was going, which made it easier to keep up with him because his movements were purposeful and obvious. They passed through a couple neighborhoods before he entered an unremarkable tavern, the Bear and Beer.

“Need a room?” the innkeeper asked as the man went straight to the counter.

“Yes, only the night. Middle of the row if you’ve got it,” he said, already dumping coin on the counter as though he knew the cost. They didn’t seem to know each other but he must have been here before; he didn’t wait for further instructions about how to reach “Room 4” before taking the key and heading up. Locking doors meant this was a nicer place, though Dulce could have guessed that from the quiet and decently clean downstairs. The innkeeper kept the keys on a loop that jangled at his hip, which would make it harder to get the spare for Room 4 that he surely kept.

“What about you, need a room?” he called, unfortunately spotting her right away.

Annoyed, she said she was hoping to meet someone and ordered a beer for while she waited. Since it was early in the day, she had her pick of tables where she could watch the few folks who came and went. No one looked suspicious, or even remarkably unsuspicious which could itself be suspicious. Those who came down looked like they’d had a late night to sleep off. Three went up during the time she watched –a maid with an armful of clean linens and a pair with a massive bag between them and the air of disappointment, whatever their business had been that morning.

This was stupid. She was wasting her time on what was likely one of a thousand people who tried to visit the king on any given day and were turned away, and for what reason, because she was bored and frustrated around the palace? She’d have as much luck finding something useful blindly wandering the streets.

She paid for her beer and headed for the door but felt the shuffle of movement close behind her. Turning, she caught only the back of a figure heading purposefully for the stairs as several other people moved around the room at once, getting up to refill mugs of beer or empty tables or step closer to the fire. All normal gestures, but Dulce felt as if the world had thawed quite suddenly, which struck her as odd. Not everyone seemed to be orchestrating something, but rather like something predictable had happened –the waitress had brought in a large tray of food– just as she had risen from the table and others had moved in synchrony too. Coincidence. 

But the two people who slipped quickly up the stairs as if they did not wish to be seen felt more intentional. Like people trained to take advantage of a predicted moment of distraction.

Dulce strode forward and bumped into the waitress, who promptly toppled the whole tray onto the table. The patrons leapt up and the waitress leapt back and the innkeeper came running around from the bar squawking about the mess, shoving the waitress out of the way in his rush to apologize –which was just enough physical distraction for Dulce to unhook the ring of keys from his belt. It wasn’t even a twist latch! The fool.

She disappeared up the stairs in the chaos, shedding her cloak and the kerchief in the process, wrapping them into a bundle to mute the jingling of the remaining keys once she’d pulled off the one with the 4 scratched into it.

She put on her best oops wrong room face and rushed through door four… to be met with an empty room. The man had either left or met his fate, but it was definitely his pack still sitting on the bed. She frowned at the stillness and pulled her blade from her pocket, the little shitty one Nasimiyu had given her since it was the closet on hand. If she reached for her boot, he might rush out of the wardrobe or something.

He wasn’t there when she checked though, nor under the bed. Convinced she was alone, she promptly upended his bag. She shoved aside some light clothing, a miniscule bag of money, no more than a handful of jerky and a cheap necklace, and instead focused on the small leatherbound journal –oddly expensive compared to everything else– and a short stack of sealed envelopes. Everything else she shoved back inside, hoping it would buy her some time before the man realized he’d been robbed –of what was probably just a complaint about his neighbor. Dulce realized she was being very rash right now.

A noise in the hallway made her freeze, then leap into the wardrobe mere seconds before the door swung open again. In walked the man she had followed, pulling at his waistband as if he’d just pulled his pants up. 

Well shit.

If he had any wits about him, he was going to check the wardrobe in a moment to make sure his room was secure and find her, and what was she going to do? If he was rotten folk, she could kill him and be on her way, but if he wasn’t, she’d rather knock him out.

He didn’t check the wardrobe yet. Instead he sat at the table and produced some cheese and a hunk of bread from his pocket. She held her breath, expecting he’d open his pack for the jerky and notice his precious papers were gone– but he didn’t.

Were people really such fools they didn’t check their rooms first?!

Dulce set the keys in the bottom of the wardrobe with her cloak, moving slowly and carefully so as not to produce even the faintest brushing sound. Then, by the light creeping in through the shoddy cabinetry, she eased open the seal on the first paper and did her best to read. The hand was scratchy and rushed, masculine she thought but couldn’t be sure –her own hand was masculine, she’d been told long ago, as if that mattered.

HD not in Sartia as directed – SD alone

HD crossed border near Ft Gaysa, could not follow, gone 3 days

HD headed north

Dulce’s brow knitted. How annoying to be simultaneously in code but not really. Per request sure sounded like this man had been sent somewhere, to trail this HD to Sartia–

Hamisi Dabo. Dulce was no font of knowledge on famous or infamous persons, but Prince Hamisi had been headed to Sartia with his wife, Simisola Dabo. People were stupid and often the most obvious answer was right.

Her heart leapt into her throat. Was this important? That Prince Hamisi had lied about going to Sartia? What was at Ft Gaysa? If that wasn’t notable, the fact he had crossed the border down there sure was; no one was allowed to cross the southern Therepin border, it would nullify the very precarious treaty after the Therepin Border Wars.

She shoved the note down the front of her dress, blood pounding in her ears as she carefully opened the next. It was in a different hand and dated separately, sealed differently, as if the letters had been sent by two different people completely which left her unsure how they had both wound up with this man.

Summary report on investigation into recent Therepin skirmishes. Full reports arriving separately

1: No witnesses survived. Entire village dead and burned. Civilian deaths: 76.

2: Reliable eyewitness reports invasion of village at dawn. Military arrived 22 minutes later. Military deaths: 1, Assailants: 14 reported - bodies burned could not verify, Citizens: 7. 

3: Eyewitness claims assailants came around from the north not south!!! Military arrived in 11 minutes. Military death: 1, Assailants: 13 - bodies burned could not verify, Citizens: 18.

4: Two witnesses survived by hiding under floorboards, have gone missing since interview. Claimed to have heard assailants speak of belonging to Sons of Sunset. Military deaths: 0, Assailants: 32 reported - 3 bodies produced, rest burned could not verify; Civilian deaths: 49 + assuming 2 witnesses

Dulce’s mind was racing. These reports were exactly what she was looking for! Proof that Hamisi was up to something. He shouldn’t be crossing the border, and if the Sons of Sunset were attacking towns and blaming another country, the king needed to know!

But maybe he already knew? She couldn’t tell from just these notes if the King was investigating Prince Hamisi on his own, or if he was just looking into the skirmishes, or what. She knew the royal family had a network of spies, though they tended to be clumsy and easy to identify. This man seemed excessively clumsy though to be carrying such precious documents only to leave them unattended in his room for even a moment. He must not know what he had.

Damn she wished she knew more about what was going on at the border for the notes to make more sense. Namjoon had ranted within earshot at some point but she wasn’t very political and had ignored him. Nonetheless, she would now make sure these landed in the King’s hand directly. 

The third didn’t have a seal. Just a dashed, unsigned note on a thin slip of paper.

Delso dead. I’m followed. Take this copy in case I’m done. Watch your back cmdr dsk on the move hunting for squeakers

Cmdr Dsk… Commander Dong-suk Kim? These things weren’t even in code! Any good spy knew the point of code! Though she considered that if the point was to get this information to the King, maybe code wasn’t useful. After all, she was not part of his spy network but understood at least some of the message that needed to make it to the king. It wasn’t actually in the King’s interest for these things to be secret, it was only in the interest of the messengers themselves but by the point someone was reading them, you were likely already dead–

A knock at the door to the room made her head jolt up as quickly as this messenger’s. He rose slowly from the table at another knock. He took a step forward and drew his blade at an even harder knock, nearly enough to take the door off its hinges.

The man started to run for the window, but the act of grabbing his pack from the bed was too slow –he ought to have grabbed and run first, the fool! And he paid dearly for it as the door crashed in, the lock shattering right out of the doorframe as one of the suspicious men she’d seen slide upstairs earlier launched himself through.

A thrown dagger caught the messenger in the back of the neck and he toppled forward, metal protruding through the front. Still his body dragged him forward but there was no fight for life possible and by the time the large man carelessly ripped the bag from his shoulder, he was still and limp.

“Is it the right room this time?” a second voice demanded. He elbowed the door back into place after a peek down the hallway. “You sure it’s him?”

“This is the guy.”

“--Is what you said about the other.”

Dulce waited, calculating. If they’d made short work of someone in another room without even her hearing, they were a trifle better at their jobs than this careless messenger. She could remain hidden and hope they left, but only an idiot wouldn’t check the fucking wardrobe.

Two to one… she’d faced worse odds. All three notes carefully down her bodice, she eased her favorite dagger from under her skirt, touched the one in her boot to make sure it was at hand, took a deep breath, then launched herself from the cabinet.

They’d upended the backpack and the bigger man’s wrist tangled in the straps, which slowed him down enough for Dulce’s blade to slash his upper arm. His other first swung around and would probably have knocked her out cold if she hadn’t ducked just as the smaller man’s blade sliced at her back. Fabric caught and tore thanks to a hook on the tip of his blade that would do even nastier things to skin if she let it, but also presented a weakness. She tried to catch her blade in it to yank it away but misjudged the angle once, twice, three times; their blades struck and slid against each other, the metal grating noise making her skin crawl. It was too much thinking and not enough movement to keep her out of reach of the second man who wasn’t that bothered after all by his cut arm: he plucked her around the waist and threw her against the wall like a rag doll.

“Quiet,” the small man hissed at him after the thud. Dulce groaned and rolled onto her stomach, wheezing. But she’d managed to save some of the breath in her lungs by curling as she flew, and took advantage of their assumption she’d be down. She dragged herself deceptively slowly forward and when the smaller man lifted a leather boot to kick her, she stabbed her smaller blade right down into the toe of his boot as hard as she could. Those fine leather boots of his parted like butter; the toes she stabbed through put up more resistance. He yowled.

“Quiet!” the bigger man mocked and lifted Dulce from the ground by the torn back of her dress, his other blade already slicing at her middle as if to gut her. She slashed at his wrist with the second knife. He tried to knock it away, opening himself up to a straight stab to the gut with the blade from her boot, and another and another. Her blade sank in several inches each time, blood rushing out as she pulled it out, but nowhere deep enough to hit anything vital.

“Fucking whore!” he bellowed and dropped her just as the other man stabbed forward. They weren’t well coordinated and managed to knock into each other while she ducked down and spun away. It only saved her a moment though before both were on her again, small blades biting anywhere they reached. The room’s space was too tight to really maneuver away and they shoved furniture, blundered into the walls, tripped over the body of the messenger, crashed against the bed. 

“Just grab her!” the smaller man shouted. Dulce instinctively leapt away from the larger man as his fist clipped the back of her head, but maybe intentionally so, it had been a distraction and the smaller man slashed at her throat, just missing. Dulce struck back but another blow to her back pushed her right into the man’s blade; she knocked it away from her belly but he brought a second around to stab at her back. She slammed her foot onto his thigh and jumped high so that his blade sliced the side of her leg instead, tangling in her ridiculous skirt and tearing fabric and skin both. She returned the favor against the man’s face, an attempt to kill him that sadly missed.

Dulce felt a meaty hand grab the front of her dress and turn her for what was undoubtedly a death blow. She turned faster than the larger man expected and wrapped around him, the strings of her bodice ripping and tangling around his hand as she slid onto his back, her blade dragging across his throat like a caress. It was butchery; she couldn’t risk her cut being too shallow again. He threw himself backwards to avoid the depth, crushing her against the dresser as his blood fountained out and his body began to thrash in in a fit of primal survival. It took all the muscles of her arm to tear that pipe. She managed to slide away from him, diving after the other man who seemed monentarily shocked that she’d managed to down his companion –but not shocked enough to meet the same fate. 

He leapt towards her as the other man still flailed, blade extended. Dulce tripped on the dead messenger and it saved her skin; neither she nor the smaller man expected her to drop just then. She rolled around him instead and stabbed at his thigh; the blade sank in but her fingers were locked too tight so when he leapt away it jerked her along too, exposing her side. Her skirt twisted around her leg and later she’d curse herself for wearing such a stupid thing. He took the opportunity, blade going right for her ribs. Her turn dragged it instead across the tops of her breasts, a shallow slice that stung like a bitch. the other side of her torn bodice caught the actual hook of his blade. She stabbed in the direction of his arm. 

He surprised her, shoving his hand down the front of her chemise. She thought he was stabbing and tried to twist away. 

Instead he pulled out the notes she’d tucked, dashed with her blood and sweat and crumbled beyond belief. He flashed her a grin and was out the window in a heartbeat, unbothered by the knife she threw at his back. Dulce tried to stumble after him, to follow him out, but her legs refused and she merely crawled forward. By the time she reached the, he was long gone and she was alone in the bloodied, broken room with two corpses, the larger one still blinking and gasping but beyond consciousness.

Dulce panted for breath and felt herself, searching for anything fatal. It had all happened so fast. Bruises and cuts she hadn’t noted in the moment competed for attention but adrenaline kept her from surrendering to any of it just yet. 

The notes were gone. 

Fuck!

That’s what they’d been looking for.

She didn’t have time to think about it right now. They’d been noisy; any moment someone was going to crash through the broken door and she couldn’t be here. She refused to take the fall for whatever she had stumbled into.

Fuck, the notes were gone. It killed her. They were exactly what she had needed! She didn’t want to leave empty handed but pounding steps in the hall told her she had seconds to act. She grabbed the messenger’s coat he had previously hung on the chair and yanked it on over her torn clothes and with her braid tucked down, pulled his hat on low, and rushed towards the door. 

“Hey! What’s going on in there!! Open up!” the inn keeper or someone matching his anger shouted ahead of themself, storming down the hall. Dulce weighed her options. She could rush out but didn’t know how many people were there. The other man had gone out the window, so there was a way. He might be waiting but it was her best change.

She grabbed her favorite blade and leapt onto the windowsill, eying the likeliest path he had taken. 

Shake all you want, but you’re moving on, she told her legs and took the leap. It was a tight scrabble. Her fingers ached for purchase. She shimmied along the narrow ledge until she reached the lower roof, then tore over it before anyone from the ground would hopefully notice her. The stables on the other side had enough boxes to leap down like a cat and off she raced as soon as her boots touched ground. Some globs of blood dotted the hay-strew ground; she’d got the man good at least once and wished now she’d at least had a good look at his face. She would never recognize him in a room and that pissed her off. He might recognize her.

She noticed  the gasps and curious, nervous glances as she sprinted down the street until she knew her legs really were about to buckle. Then she slid into an alley, turned the coat inside out, and did her best to piece herself back together. 

In doing so, she discovered she still had one paper: HD not in Sartia as directed – SD alone

Useless on its own.

Now what to fucking do. She was injured, unclear how badly. She knew she looked awful and would raise too many questions if she limped into the palace like that, but where else did she have to go? She didn’t even have the money for a room to wash her face in.

Taehyung or Yoongi? Which could she get to without being seen? Which did she trust to help and not question? What a loss that Nasimiyu couldn’t shield her now.

Neither, she didn’t trust anyone. Ever. People were only loyal as long as it served them. No oath in the world was sacred, even one of love, and they had sworn her nothing.

But she had no other options.

She took her bet and set off, already crafting her story.

“Come on,” Drin cajoled, jostling Seokjin’s arm in the hallway. “You can’t avoid the hunt.”

“I’m not avoiding anything,” Seokjin lied, lied as big and strong as the angry surf that had crashed against the sea wall all night. It called to him, that sea. Only slightly in a macabre way –and not because of the wedding planning, that was fine. He wasn’t avoiding wedding planning. Why would he be avoiding wedding planning? Nor was he avoiding his uncle, as Drin now gracefully hinted it:

“You’re either avoiding your uncle or the caves but either way, you’re fucked. Your father has sent for you. A tummyache ain’t a good reason to skip the hunt.”

“Actually I find it a very good reason,” Seokjin quipped. “Would he have me shit my horse?”

“You can’t blame a stomach to avoid uncomfortable things, little prince. Turn right around and suit up for the hunt. Wear a baby’s swaddle to hold the shit, if you need to.”

“Does no one take me seriously?”

“We know you’ve a history of avoiding–”

“I’m not avoiding anything, except maybe the kitchen.”

Because god save him if he ran into Dulce there. Not after Dulce had walked in on him… with Nasimiyu… A cold shudder ran through his body, followed by the flush of a fever of mortification. It would have been bad for anyone to walk in –didn’t anyone fucking knock?! But of all people, for it to be Dulce, it just…

He wanted to scream. To cry. To throw up. He’d done none of those things. He had quickly dressed and fled to his room and taken a hot bath to wash the sex off and considered drowning himself more than once. For all he knew, his dick had shriveled into his body and would never emerge. Certainly he was never going to have sex again. He was private about sex, thank you very much, so for an unwelcome guest to intrude–

And for it to be Dulce– on or around her birthday, of all times!

Seokjin was not easy to embarrass. But this had done it. And, with little practice in recovering from an embarrassment he rarely felt, he was, in fact, hiding from a maid. Utter shock had emboldened him to hastily scribble the note with the book and send Jimin to deliver it to wherever Dulce slept and now his interactions with her were done and he would never look her in the eye again. Which meant avoiding any of the places they might ever run into each other, including but not limited to: the kitchen where she went for food, the yard where she sometimes passed by, any of the hallways near Nasimiyu’s room, and possibly the queen’s garden where she seemed to appreciate the flowers. He wondered if Nasimiyu would be willing to come to his room from now on… assuming this hadn’t just rendered him impotent for life.

Honestly wandering into a bullet’s path in the caves seemed like not the worst way to go right now.

Because in truth Seokjin also knew he could not avoid Dulce forever, particularly if she remained Nasimiyu’s maid. 

He felt like he’d assaulted Dulce. His note wasn’t enough. He didn’t know what else to do. He’d never been in the wrong in this way towards a woman before! And she might be around any corner in this palace, ready to turn to look right through him with those dark eyes that looked so warm behind a mug of hot chocolate. The whole thing was ghastly. How his father had allegedly carried on orgies in the dining hall was beyond Seokjin. Would it have been less devastating if it was someone else? He decided not to answer that, even to himself.

“Is Nasimiyu really going?” Seokjin asked Jimin over his shoulder. “Who’s she taking with her?” The question probably said too much but Jimin was sworn to loyalty and wouldn’t rat him out, even if he figured out the question behind Seokjin’s question. Which he probably did, seeing as Seokjin had told him what happened and had him deliver the book.

“She is, Sir, and expects you are too. She’s not taking any of her maids.”

That was good enough for Seokjin. 

“Fine, I’ll go,” Seokjin said to Drin.

“What now, really?”

“I’ll go change.” 

“No, you’re off to hide. You’re dressed fine, just take your jacket off. A fight doesn’t always wait for the prince go get changed into clothes he doesn’t mind bloodying!” Drin barked, and clapped Seokjin on the shoulder. He seemed shockingly sober, likely a result of Uncle Dong-suk’s arrival. The two had served together when they were younger, as peers. But Dong-suk was royal and rose to commander and Drin shattered his arm and decided to train the prince instead of remain on the battlefield. Dong-suk was of the mindset you should die on the battlefield instead of “give in to disability,” which Seokjin thought was rich to say when you had no such injury. As if being the private arms tutor to the prince was a mark of weakness!

“Why are you so eager?” Seokjin demanded, already regretting it. “We aren’t fighting, we’re hunting.”

“Is it different?” Drin cryptically asked and strode ahead, trusting Seokjin to follow to the courtyard where the hunting party gathered. 

“Did you really think you could avoid the hunt?” Jungkook asked, sidling up to Seokjin’s elbow as the prince dragged his feet but followed his trainer. Seokjin gave him a look, because obviously yes, he did and would have, even if it meant lying to his father and uncle that he was shitting his brains out. But also no, he had known he couldn’t, because Nasimiyu was going and he couldn’t leave her to hunt alone. Why had she decided to go?! It was that bit of information from Jimin that had dragged Seokjin from his hiding place. 

She sat atop her horse with only two of her guards at hand. Taehyung wasn’t far off, a horse lead in each hand, though he looked confused. Seokjin assumed it was concern over whether Seokjin would show and went right to him, hairs on the back of his neck prickling as his father and uncle no doubt noted his late arrival.

“I’m to go with you,” Taehyung said quietly.

“You? Why, you’re a stable boy,” Seokjin scoffed for any who might hear.

“I don’t know, your uncle said so.”

Seokjin glanced over at the two elder Kim men now. Uncle Dong-suk didn’t hide that he was watching. 

“Do you think he–” Taehyung broke off and looked away, poorly hiding his nerves.

Seokjin slapped a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder and announced loudly, “Congratulations on winning the honor of joining us on the hunt! Every month we’ll take along someone new from the household staff so that you may all experience the wonder and prestige of spending a day skulking around in the dark, looking for things to kill that aren’t even good to eat. You’ll ride with me today, aren’t you lucky?”

“So lucky,” Taehyung murmured. “Here’s your horse…” He glanced at the path down to the hunting caves as if considering whether he ought to just set out for Paloma now. Seokjin thought he should. This did seem suspicious, for Dong-suk to take any notice of Taehyung. He had visited Priva a couple times since Seokjin brought Taehyung to live here and never even looked at the stablehand, but Seokjin had always assumed his uncle knew and didn’t give a shit, as he didn’t have a direct descendent in line for the throne anyway. Nothing changed for Dong-suk if it was Seokjin’s ass on the throne someday or Taehyung’s.

But this was a change. Either he hadn’t know before and now did, or he was trying to make a point that something had changed now, and Seokjin didn’t like it either way. 

“Lady,” he called to Nasimiyu as he mounted his horse, one last prayer of bailing. “Are you well today?”

Nasimiyu’s brow knit as she demanded, clearly offended, “I am, why do you ask?”

“Are you sure this is how you want to spend a day? We might do… anything else your heart desires. Literally anything.”

“Oh there are Lord Jothi and Lord Theo, should we ride with them again?” Nasimiyu asked. “I do hope you’re able to catch something this time.”

“I caught your heart last time, can’t imagine what greater prize there exists then–”

“Let’s ride!” Seokjin’s father called as if recognizing his son was still trying to weasel out of this. The two dozen mounts in the courtyard moved as one, Taehyung rushing to swing into his saddle and pulling into line next to Jungkook in Seokjin’s wake.

Conversation with Nasimiyu ran dry during the ride down. She didn’t seem much inclined to talk, giving him the suspicion he’d done something to anger her, but he couldn’t fix it because he didn’t know what. She hadn’t seemed angry at dinner last night. 

“You decided to hunt alone?” he asked as they waited for servants to bring them weapons. 

“I have my guards and you. Who else would I want?” Nasimiyu asked with what he thought might be feigned confusion.

“Last time you brought a couple of maids, didn’t you?”

“Yes and they all begged not to come again.” She said it so casually, Seokjin had no reason not to believe her. With any luck, Dulce was avoiding him the same way, and they would never cross paths again despite living in the same palace.

Yay?

Once in the grand entrance cave, Jungkook pulled his horse close to Seokjin and leaned as near he could to murmur, “It’s going to be impossible to keep an eye on Taehyung and you at the same time.”

Seokjin knew he was right. This was the easiest place in the world to kill someone. He’d always thought how stupid that man who’d tried to assassinate him had been, sending a pig to do it, when one could just do it from a ledge or around a corner and no one would ever catch you. It was a wonder more people weren’t killed here –though he had his suspicions that the dark rumors his great-grandfather had hunted men down here for sport might be very true. He suspected Grandfather had too, though the old bastard had died when Seokjin was young enough to not remember much about him except his ice-cold hands.

“Watch him closer,” Seokjin told Jungkook.

“Than–”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. That’s your order.”

“Ok…” Jungkook said as he leaned back in his saddle. He didn’t look pleased about this but he’d never disobeyed an order before.

“I mean it. Jimin will watch after me,” Seokjin said, turning to his right-hand man.

Jimin let out a guffaw and asked, “Did you just assign me bodyguard status? You must be joking, haha.” He hesitated to accept the gun handed to him by a staff of the hunt before taking it with a look of disgust.

Nasimiyu, having heard some bits of this, asked, “Is there a problem? Why is your butler being a bodyguard?”

“It’s just a joke,” Seokjin assured her. “Are we ready? Let’s get a head start.”

“Don’t we have to wait for your father to–”

“I’m the prince so I’ll do as I please,” he said, full of shallow bravado. “Besides, I don’t want to ride with Theo and Jothi again. They were flirting with you last time.”

Nasimiyu looked surprisingly thrilled as she argued, “No they weren’t… were they? I don’t think so…” 

“Eager to lead the charge, my son?” Dong-gun called, giving his horse a swift kick to catch up before Seokjin’s party made it through the first cave. Dong-suk pulled up beside his elder brother and Seokjin bit back his frustration.

Instead he teased, “Shall we make a competition of it, father?”

“I’d rather watch your technique and see the catch myself,” Dong-suk interjected, which was of course exactly the opposite of what Seokjin wanted. Did his uncle mean to shoot Taehyung himself?! He brought no guards, only the servant assigned to fetch his kills trotting along beside him, looking terrified by his assignment as if he too realized how disposable he was as a witness.

“Well you shall… certainly be in awe…” Seokjin stammered out as Drin too pulled forward.

“A full party, eh? Just like old times,” he beamed at Dong-suk. Dong-suk did not beam back. “He’s made good progress in arms since you were here last but his sharpshooting is second to none. Fantastic aim, that one’s got.”

Dong-gun clapped his hands and pulled his horse ahead, taking an uncontested lead that Seokjin had no choice at the moment but to follow –with every intention of carving Taehyung and Nasimiyu off to get “lost” down a side cave at the first chance.

Dong-gun and Dong-suk weren’t going to make it easy. They led them, practically boxed them in, down the central corridor, right past all the twisty windy smaller paths that would have made it easier to “take a wrong turn.” No one dared rush past them, so they were the first to enter the grand central cavern with its massive forest and craggy peak –not too dissimilar from the cavern he’d explored with Nasimiyu and Dulce and those bratty upstarts last time, so that an average person might think they were the same place. That was the danger with this place, it was a death trap if you didn’t have a good guide. 

Dong-gun and Dong-suk wasted no time along the way shooting anything that moved, no hesitation. Despite his uncle’s constant criticism of Priva and its excesses, he loved the hunt. It was about the only time he saw his uncle smile, just a tight-lipped slant when a deathcry followed the crack of his rifle. He scowled when Dong-gun would get one first, their array of servants running to and fro in the dark with low lanterns trying to find whatever they’d felled or take the long way round to chase what lay strewn against the far cliffs. 

“They’re going to shoot someone,” Nasimiyu gasped as a goat went stock still in the distance, illuminated by those shimmering blue lights overhead, then collapsed not too far off from a game master who raised his hands in a silent plea not to be shot next.

Seokjin’s father heard her and scoffed, “Never, Princess. You doubt our aim?” 

In one swift motion he’d turned his rifle towards Taehyung on his horse and fired, knocking Taehyung’s hat clean off. A pinch from taking Taehyung’s head with it, most likely.

Taehyung didn’t scream, just tightened his hold on his horse as it took a couple nervous steps.  

Seokjin screamed loud enough for both of them. He shouted, “Ah ya, what’s that!? You take aim at our staff guest? Are you confused, old man? Aim your gun that way!” His heart pounded in his chest, his fear urging him to take flight and trust Taehyung to follow and get away from this place. He’d brought his only living brother into a deathtrap, that’s what he’d just done. Was their own father the threat, not Dong-suk? Seokjin was shocked by what had just happened.

His father laughed and pointed out, “See? Horse or man, Privan stallions are made of stern stuff.”

Nasimiyu’s horror showed on her face and Seokjin was glad his father couldn’t see it, afraid it would only encourage him. 

“Onwards,” Seokjin gritted out and pulled his horse forward, nudging Taehyung to ride beside him, against the wall. 

Seokjin fucking hated it here.

It wasn’t long before Nasimiyu nudged her horse up beside him, forcing Taehyung to fall back, which was probably for the best anyway. 

“Shoot something,” she hissed at him.

“What?”

“We’re here to hunt, so hunt, or they’re going to be shooting at you next,” she whispered harshly. “The whole thing is a test, isn’t it? Your uncle is watching you so do something!”

Seokjin didn’t know how to explain a lifetime of misery and fear of his uncle to her. He didn’t think she’d be impressed anyway. What was he going to tell her, that anything more intelligent than a fish he found nauseating to kill? It wasn’t like they were killing to eat out of necessity down here. The game alway tasted like rocks. 

He was glad she realized there were politics going on but disappointed she wanted him to play into them, even though he recognized she was probably right. 

Drin was right that his aim was good; if he aimed true, he could fell something quickly, appease his father and uncle, impress his bride-to-be, and maybe protect Taehyung in case that had been meant as some kind of weird show of power. 

“Very well,” he murmured. “Yes, it’s about time I show off my marksmanship.” He took his time loading his gun as their horses dawdled after the others. He looked around for something inoffensive to murder, but the blue lights gave everything the same unearthly glow and made it hard to distinguish a mouse from a monkey in the trees. He looked at the ridge instead, and in doing so noted a something-or-other silhouetted against the stream trickling through the center of this stretch of cavern. 

“Perfect shot, I should think,” Dong-suk mused from ahead, his horse blocking the path for everyone. His gaze tore into Seokjin, digging in deep, finding him lacking as always.

Seokjin raised his gun and aimed. It didn’t matter what it was at this point, he didn’t have a way out without further ridicule. His brother’s life might be in danger. He had to pull the trigger.

He hesitated.

A crack erupted, bouncing around them, echoing in Seokjin’s ears. The black lump slipped from the tree branch. Seokjin wanted to do the same from his horse but remained frozen.

“Fantastic shot, my son!” Dong-gun cheered. “Go fetch it, whatever it was. An owl?”

“I hope not…” Seokjin joked vaguely, and resisted looking except out of his periphery at Taehyung shoving the smoking barrel of his gun out of view under the pretense he was looking down the barrel still trying to find something to shoot.

“That was a great shot, Your Highness,” he called over his shoulder to Seokjin.

“Marvelous,” Nasimiyu agreed. She gave him a smirk, leaving him unsure if she had been fooled or not.

“Hm,” his uncle said. Seokjin doubted he was fooled but either way, didn’t say anything.

It was a kestrel. Beautiful. Seokjin hadn’t even actually killed it and still looked away.

They rode on, into a smaller cave called The Aviary thanks to the hundreds of birds that roosted in the trees that grew up and the vines that dangled down and the clear space in between.

“Can’t miss in here,” Dong-gun called back. “Want a go, Princess? I think your rifle’s still cold.”

“Of course!” she called back. “I’ve just been watching to learn the layout of the caves.” Seokjin started to tell her she didn’t have to –he’d take the attention away– but Nasimiyu lifted her rifle and fired once– twice– nothing. She handed it to her servant to reload, hand waving for them to hurry. Seokjin didn’t think she’d aimed at anything and decided she must be firing wide.

Except her next shot connected. Seokjin didn’t see what it was as he had been watching her face, but the cheer went up, he heard the broken cry behind him, and he saw Nasimiyu’s face –shocked, horrified, for only a moment, and then triumphant. Had she had a change of heart or pulled on a mask?

The bird was brought to her, a beautiful yellow-feathered song bird that draped across her hands, a bright messy red spot on its stomach where her bullet had punctured and killed. She stared at it and then at Seokjin, like she wasn’t sure what to do with this.

“What is it?”

“We call them Sun Singers,” Seokjin told her. “They sing every morning when the sun rises but not down here. They can’t see the sun so they never sing.” Do you understand how fucking sad that is? He was afraid she wouldn’t get it. He felt an innate certainty Dulce would.

“My lady, do you wish to have it stuffed?” the servant asked her.

Her face flickered with emotions he couldn’t name as she asked, “Can it not be eaten?”

“No, they only sing, they aren’t good for eating.”

“Take it away,” she said, thrusting it back at the servant. Dong-gun and Dong-suk had both brought down geese and Taehyung a duck. Rifle cracks left and right made Seokjin flinch. And the niggling worry in his stomach that his uncle knew he’d faked the shot earlier. He felt his uncle’s eyes on him even when they weren’t, the man sitting proudly on his horse obnoxiously nearby, in between Drin and Taehyung. Shit, he didn’t want his uncle anywhere near Taehyung!

In a hurry to cause a commotion and separate them, Seokjin raised his rifle. He’d shoot a bird, a duck if he could manage it, and invite his uncle over to inspect the bird and feel his warm rifle for proof he’d shot it, and then growl at Jungkook and Jimin to bookend Taehyung and not leave his side until they got out of this place.

There, a bird perfectly arching into view. Seokjin aimed, calculated, and pulled the trigger.

No one would be able to say whether it was the shot that spooked the horse or not, except that Jungkook would swear the horse jumped before the shot and Seokjin believed him because Privan horses didn’t spook. It was too quick. He was certain there had been nothing even close to his line of firing at the moment he pulled the trigger and yet suddenly there was Drin, nearly taking a bullet through the head.

This time Seokjin didn’t scream, just dropped from his horse and ran over as Drin did the same, slapping at his head like a bee had stung him.

“Damn horse!” Drin shouted. 

Seokjin grabbed his arms but Drin shoved him away in his startle, leaving a bloody handprint on Seokjin’s arm.

I’ve killed him. I’ve fucking killed him.

“Your head’s still on,” Dong-suk called, his voice cutting through the chaos. Seokjin reached for Drin again but Dong-gun took hold of him first and shone a light to the back of Drin’s head where the bullet had grazed but not penetrated. A red line across his scalp wept blood.

“I… I’m sorry…” Seokjin stammered, stumbling backwards.

Suddenly Drin laughed and gestured at Dong-suk, “That’s right, old man. I told you he’s got a good aim, eh? Bends bullets in mid-flight. Could have blown my head off thanks to that damn horse startling!”

But it didn’t make sense. Seokjin was too horrified to figure out what would. All he knew was that he’d almost killed his arms master, one of his friends. He didn’t know how he would have dealt with that. He couldn’t comprehend it.

Drin planted a shaking hand on Seokjin’s shoulder and laughed, “Good one, Sir. Think I’ll head back and get my rock stitched up now, no more hunting competition from me today!”

“I’ll go back with you,” Seokjin insisted.

“Nah, don’t bother. Still need to get your duck for dinner like you vowed!”

A crack over their heads echoed, followed shortly by the thump of a carcass hitting the path not far off. Taehyung lowered his smoking gun.

“I saved you the trouble, Your Highness,” Taehyung said to Seokjin, his brow lowered and serious. “There’s a duck for you.”

Uncle Dong-suk slid from the horse himself to pick it up and mused, “Nice shot, boy.”

“Great. That’s the end of the day for me. Nasimiyu, will you accompany me back to the palace as well? You come too, my horse will only settle for you,” Seokjin rattled off, calling his people to him, prepared for his father and uncle to protest his rapid departure. But terror strengthened his blood to iron and he would have shouted down his own father to get out of there

He’d almost killed Drin.

By the time he was in his saddle, Dong-gun and Dong-suk were laughing at these “children with their brief stamina” and venturing further into the cave. 

“I’ll lead us out,” he said. “Drin, are you able to stay horsed?”

“It’s not that bloody bad, nothing a stiff drink won’t pull me through,” the man insisted, sounding more like himself as he fished a flask out of his saddlebag. He needed help getting back into his saddle after the servants finished tying the makeshift bandage around his head, but once there seemed stable enough. 

“Do you know the way out?” Nasimiyu asked. She’d been quiet for a while. Seokjin had forgotten all about her, to be honest. What would she make of this? But it almost seemed like she’d missed it all; she kept glancing at the game bag attached to her saddle. She reached out and pushed the golden feathers peeking out deeper into the sack.

“I do,” Seokjin said simply and pulled his horse ahead.

It wasn’t until they were safely in the sunny courtyard, Drin off to the hands of the palace doctors, that Jungkook came right to Seokjin’s side and said quietly, “The horse jumped before the gunshot.”

“I almost killed him,” Seokjin rushed out, grabbing Jungkook’s arm. He felt less steady now than he had in the cave.

“It wouldn’t have been your fault. I’m telling you, the horse jumped at nothing.”

“I don’t think it was nothing,” Taehyung argued. “But whatever he did, I couldn’t see it clearly.”

“Who?” Seokjin asked even though he already knew the answer.

“Your uncle. Had to be him, but I couldn’t see it…”

“There were other servants around and it was dark,” Jimin pointed out. “Could have been someone else.”

“Why would anyone else give Drin’s horse a kick? Everyone around here likes Drin,” Jungkook argued.

It was Taehyung who swallowed and suggested, “Maybe they didn’t mean to kick his horse. Maybe it was supposed to be mine.”

The suggestion made Seokjin feel even clammier than he already did. As bad as it would have been to kill his swordsmaster, to kill Taehyung would be worse. He wasn’t sure he could live with it. He didn’t even want to kill a duck.

Seokjin didn’t know what to do about any of this. He didn’t want Taehyung to go, but clearly he wasn’t safe right now. If Dong-suk wanted him dead, nowhere would be safe though.

“Jungkook, stay with Taehyung. I’m going to my room so I don’t need a guard. Taehyung you should… pack.”

Taehyung’s face shifted quickly into complaint, as if he hadn’t just faced his own death once or possibly twice. 

“But I can’t leave yet.”

“Or die? You have to go if I have to wrap you in a carpet and toss you on a ship myself.” He paused, watching Nasimiyu speaking to the servant near her own horse, gesturing with disdain at the game bag the servant kept trying to press on her. 

Taehyung stomped off without further comment but clearly pissed. As if Seokjin wanted him to go! He couldn’t put into words how much he wanted Taehyung to stay here. He’d never been good at expressing brotherly devotion of any sort, and Seok-ho was the brother he’d been with for most of his life, but Taehyung must know that Seokjin cared very much for him! They would always be brothers, even if they couldn’t be in the same city, at least for now. 

Nasimiyu was gone. Seokjin was glad. He didn’t feel like facing her right now either. He wished he could just disappear. Even his bedroom wasn’t far remote enough, but it’s the only place he had, and so he went.

Nasimiyu bit back her sigh when the summons from Lady Zselyke came. The summons. Obviously it wasn’t worded quite as such but the intention was clear, and for now she had to endure it because until she actually wed Seokjin, the two of them were in an odd inversion of their proper roles. Lady Zselyke was the only female member of the Kim family, and older, and clearly extending her hand in an attempt to be some sort of mentor.

Annoying.

Nasimiyu had begged off the last invitation(s), and planned to do so again, claiming exhaustion from the hunt that morning. A week wouldn’t have been enough time to recover from all that and it had only been a few hours.

But the invitation had included a warning that the party was at risk, and anyway what else was she going to do, pace her room and try to get that dead bird out of her mind? How stupid to be bothered by a dead bird. Not that she thought the bird was the worst part of it, but that was the ghost her mind chose to haunt her with in every still moment right now, rather than the almost two deaths she had witnessed, one at her own fiance’s hand and the other by her father-in-law’s atrocious bravado.

So she went. Lady Zselyke wanted to discuss some of the details of the wedding party –unavoidable. The wedding itself was being carefully managed by the planner, but the party afterwards was supposed to be planned by Nasimiyu as a first show of her critically important role… as the royal party planner.

Annoying.

Nasimiyu put herself into a dress that already had a tricky seam on the verge of ripping, intentionally, so she could do so after an acceptable period of time and excuse herself to have it fixed. That was something Dulce had taught her early on –Nasimiyu could recall it in vivid detail: shortly after they’d finished fucking, Dulce had gone to get her trousers and a heavy ball had fallen out of her pocket and emitted a horrible stench that drove them both coughing from the room. A literal stink bomb. Laughing, Dulce had explained one should always plan an exit, though it was regrettable, she had not intended to use it with Nasimiyu. At least not that day.

Always plan your exit.

Even from an romantic entanglement?, Nasimiyu had teased.

Always.

Nasimiyu frowned at the maid who stepped ahead to open the door of Lady Zselyke’s parlor. Babs. She had Babs, hated that name, hated how overly eager the woman was to do the things Nasimiyu wanted ahead of her even asking. She didn’t like maids who acted like she was a cruel or unfair mistress when she really tried not to be unreasonable. She tried to treat them kindly. For example, when they had all looked horrified about who she would take on the hunt with her since it wasn’t going to be Dulce, she’d decided to take none of them. Kindness! It wasn’t like she wanted to be there either, but she needed the respect of the king and that nightmare military brother of his. 

Anyway she had strongly believed Seokjin would beg off anyway and then she would decline the invitation without him… but he’d bloody gone! And shot nothing and nearly killed someone. What sort of man took credit for a stablehand’s shot? Not that she was going to point that out in the moment.

ANNOYING.

Nasimiyu sat across from Lady Zselyke in the elegant, tastefully decorated parlor. So much of the palace was ostentatious but these rooms were slightly less so.

“Did you decorate in here?” Nasimiyu asked when Lady Zselyke had said nothing, only watched with her hands folded, clearly waiting for something.

“I did.”

“Did you decorate the rest of the palace?”

Lady Zselyke’s lips gave a tight tremble before she answered, “Some… it’s largely set by the late Queen’s tastes and the King’s though, and the King requires me to uphold it.”

“That’s a shame. You have lovely taste,” Nasimiyu said. Then, realizing it would be easy to read an insult to her royal in-laws from what she’d said, she appended, “I just mean–”

“You don’t have to excuse flattery towards me. I appreciate a discerning eye. The Queen had other interests. The King has other talents.” She said it in such a coy way that Nasimiyu wanted to recoil from; it sounded sexual. As far as she knew, there was no sex between these cousins, but the gutcheck made her tread a bit more cautiously. She wondered what Dulce would make of that idea…

“Well soon it will be yours to redecorate the palace as you like,” Lady Zselyke mused, looking around her room as though trying to picture it with Nasimiyu’s style. “Will you make it look very different, do you think?”

“Do you mean like home? It would take a monumental effort to make this Privan palace look Marvonese.”

“You will have all the money and workers you could hope for at your disposal. You could make this palace look exactly like… there.” The word sounded loaded, like a single syllable conveyed all Lady Zselyke had to say about Marvonese style. In short, she didn’t like it.

Nasimiyu felt insulted and said archly, “It ought to reflect the convergence of mine and Seokjin’s styles, don’t you think? Where is it you spent your childhood, Lady Zselyke? I don’t think it was here, was it?”

“Sartia.”

“Is that what this style is? I’ve never been to Sartia.”

“I don’t think it would be to your liking, since you don’t like the sea.”

Nasimiyu found it interesting Zselyke knew that about her. She had certainly never admitted that to anyone except Dulce. It made her wonder if Dulce and Zselyke had gotten close. She certainly didn’t know everything Dulce had gotten up to. She couldn’t be trusted after all; maybe she was fucking the king’s cousin to get information, who even knew with that girl anymore?

“Sugar?” Lady Zselyke offered

“No, thank you. The tea here is already so sweet,” Nasimiyu quickly intervened, reaching for the tea cup Lady Zselyke had poured. 

“You don’t like sweet things?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“The world runs on sweet things,” Lady Zselyke said, which Nasimiyu didn’t even pretend to understand. Her face must have shown it, because Zselyke clarified, “Any party must have sweet things. The nobles here prefer them. If you mean not to have sweets…”

Nasimiyu’s nose crinkled before she decided, “Why don’t you just choose the sweets for the wedding party then. That’s what we’re here to talk about, right?”

“Yes, we need to, I’m afraid we’re woefully behind schedule, especially if you have any grand ambitions.”

“I really don’t.”

“You should.”

“I’ll be honest, Lady Zselyke, I love attending parties, but I do not love planning them,” Nasimiyu said because she might as well be upfront about it.

Lady Zselyke looked aghast and argued, “You must learn to love it then, because it will be the most important thing you do as queen.”

“I hope that’s not true.”

“The delicate balance of maintaining power by managing the nobles– do you think Seokjin will do that?!” Zselyke screeched at her.

“He’s… charming, isn’t it?” Nasimiyu tried. She had not expected this cousin to shout at her and it caught her off-guard.

“Charming my left foot!” In her anger, she yanked up the teapot and refilled Nasimiyu’s empty cup and seemed to have forgotten Nasimiyu didn’t like sugar because she spooned some right in as she continued to berate, “Do you mean to say you won’t learn these skills and plan to let the social structure of the palace just die? The nobles here expect a certain schedule of entertainment! When important guests arrive from other places, they must be tended to! They–”

“It’s not that I don’t recognize how important it is,” Nasimiyu assured her, lifting her cup. Her own mother had certainly never yelled like this and she didn’t know what to do about it. It ought to fill her with rage but she was genuinely just stupefied. “I just don’t…”

“Like it?!

“Well no, not the planning part. I don’t have any talent for it and you do. Do you like doing it?”

“It is one of the most sacred tasks I’ve had since coming to the palace after the late Queen passed. Her taste in decor may have been questionable but she threw marvelous parties and I knew I needed to carefully maintain that so that her death wouldn’t pitch the nobility and thus the country into absolute chaos.”

“Well if you like it and you’re good at it, why don’t you keep doing it?” 

Lady Zselyke’s brow knitted as she explained, “Because I will not be here.”

“Why not?” Nasimiyu set the tea cup down without sipping it, intending to ask for a new one without sugar.

“Because… because you will be queen and not want an older woman here interfering with your work…” Lady Zselyke had stopped yelling and suddenly looked uncertain. “You did not know I would be sent away?”

“Who would send you away? Not I.” Nasimiyu did her best to look sincere about it. Honestly she had no love for this stuffy older woman but it hadn’t occurred to her that Zselyke would be gone. She saw at once how dismal it would be to take on the things Zselyke already managed. Dreary enough that enduring her was likely worth it. Besides, she managed Dong-gun and Seokjin to a degree, and even Dong-suk. She knew a great deal. Maybe it was at least worth keeping her around until they were gone. Nasimiyu couldn’t see Zselyke supporting her as queen if the Kim men were dead, and she might not want that, but… she might. Zselyke might do it, if she didn’t think Nasimiyu had any hands in the deaths. Regardless of her personal feelings about Zselyke, she knew things, she seemed actually quite good at what she did. That could be useful.

Lady Zselyke was watching her with unmasked confusion now and clarified, “You would not make me leave? Queen Soon-hee did the moment she married Dong-gun.”

“Why?”

“Well, that… that’s not something I can know…” she instantly fumbled out, clearly hiding some truth or at least suspicion. “It’s tradition, though. A queen mother will be sent to retire in Sartia and I am almost like a queen mother.” As soon as she said it, she looked like she regretted it. 

Nasimiyu grinned. She felt like she had just found a very pretty knife.

“I think you are too,” she agreed. “In a good way. I can’t imagine running this palace without you, it never occurred to me I would need to. I don’t want to. I refuse.”

Zselyke’s light skin turned a fascinating shade of pink, like she’d sat in the sun too long.

“Oh! But…”

“Maybe if the King retires at some point to someplace nice like Sartia, you would want to go with him, but I expect he will remain on the throne for a long time even once Seokjin and I marry.”

“Yes, you won’t be queen but you’ll be the crown princess which is the same thing in the absence of a queen,” Zselyke countered. 

“I don’t think tradition should dictate what we do when it’s not… convenient. I don’t see why you should be sent away or robbed of the duties you enjoy just because I’m here.” She mindlessly picked up the teacup again. “I can easily see a world where you maintain your status here and oversee the things you care so much about and are recognized and appreciated for it, which frees me up to attend to the things I care about –like supporting Seokjin, for instance. Raising his children.” She suspected Zselyke would struggle to accept an ambitious political princess just yet.

“He does need a great deal of support,” Lady Zselyke said slowly. “The kingly duties don’t come naturally to him…”

Nasimiyu smiled and nodded, agreeing, “He can learn with a wife nudging him along, and King Dong-gun can rest easier seeing his son take his future role more seriously.”

“Two women have never run the palace together before,” Zselyke said. Her words seemed to be poking at Nasimiyu, trying to find a lie or a threat.

“Women in Marvono know how to work together and rely on each other. I very much want to rely on you, Lady Zselyke. I wouldn’t dream of replacing you. Your balls would be a crucial loss to Priva!”

“I…” Lady Zselyke blinked rapidly at her, heavily stained eyelashes leaving residue on the tops of her cheeks. Clearly none of this had occurred to her.

“Together we can keep the Kim line respectable and strong, don’t you think?” Nasimiyu suggested as her finishing move. She lifted her tea cup to take a dramatic sip.

“Oh dear!” Lady Zselyke gasped, lunging forward. “You don’t like sugar! I put sugar in there! Let me trade that for you.” She wrenched the cup out of Nasimiyu’s hand in the blink of an eye and set it hastily on another saucer. “I think eventually you will need to take over these things from me… but maybe not… and in the meantime you can learn from me. It doesn’t seem you’ve been trained in any of these types of things. Things must be done very differently in Marvono…” She sloshed a little tea out of the cup in her haste to pour Nasimiyu a new one.

The door flung open before Nasimiyu could respond and in strode Mindeulle. Nasimiyu did not miss the way Lady Zselyke’s face hardened, despite Mindeulle’s bright smile and polite curtsy.

“I’m so sorry to intrude, but I’ve been looking for the Princess. Might I have a word?”

“Why don’t you join us?” Lady Zselyke offered instead. “We need to discuss wedding plans and then you can have her.”

“It will only take me a moment.”

“It can wait, I’m sure. Have a seat.” There was an edge to Lady Zselyke’s words that got Mindeulle to promptly do so. “Sugar?”

“No thank you,” Mindeulle muttered as Lady Zselyke poured her a cup. Servants fluttered in at a snap of her finger to refill the pot, which was getting low. Flowers and leaves danced inside the glass pot, briefly mesmerizing Nasimiyu.

“We are discussing Nasimiyu’s elaborate wedding party and what will best capture the deep love she and Seokjin share.”

Do we? was on the tip of Nasimiyu’s tongue. She didn’t say it, but Mindeulle gave her an amused smile as if she had, which gave her a start.

“I’m sure it’s going to be beautiful,” Mindeulle said.

“The wedding of a century,” Zselyke agreed. Nasimiyu did not understand why Zselyke sounded so defensive about it, unless this was just her enthusiasm about remaining here as a royal party planner showing through. “Seokjin has told me to spare no expense, he wants the world to understand how deep his love and devotion to his bride are.”

“That’s lovely,” Mindeulle said.

“It is,” Zselyke agreed.

The fact they hated each other seemed very obvious to Nasimiyu and now it was her turn to smile. If they both remained in the palace with her after she married, that would be perfect. The two of them hating each other would make them eager to be her most trusted and relied upon, and she could trust they would never join forces to work against her.

It amused her to watch them politely bicker as more details of the party were discussed; Mindeulle seemed just as eager for it to be perfect and her own suggestions seemed to rile Lady Zselyke into even grander plans. Nasimiyu would have been happy to eat her olive and thyme biscuits and let them have at it and giggle through whatever resulting wedding party they planned but the door opened again and in came Lidmila.

“It’s a regular party isn’t it? I didn’t plan for this,” Lady Zselyke murmured as Lidmila curtsied and sat in the final chair at the table without being asked.

“I apologize for my unexpected arrival. My parents are here but I wanted to find the Princess for company instead. Is it all right if I join?”

“Yes yes of course. What business do your parents have here?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. Something with the tax collector or the city planner?”

“That seems like business for your father, not your mother,” Lady Zselyke said. 

“Sometimes my mother helps with those things, I think…”

Lady Zselyke shook her head at this and sighed, “It’s quite a business, being a wife.”

“Have you never regretted not marrying?” Mindeulle asked, a twinkle coming to her eye that hooked Nasimiyu’s attention.

“Heavens, no! Of course it’s a high calling to be a wife, however…” Lady Zselyke looked embarrassed by her answer and like she wasn’t sure how to respond. “I’m sure you will all make good little wives. My hands are quite full supporting the King.”

Honestly, did she hear herself? Probably Dulce could find out in an instant what the real relationship was there but Nasimiyu was not sure she wanted to know.

“But what will you do once Nasimiyu is queen?” Mindeulle asked. “You won’t be needed here anymore.”

“Actually I’ve asked Lady Zselyke to stay and support just the way she does now,” Nasimiyu quickly interjected. 

Lady Zselyke gave Mindeulle a smirk and agreed, “Of course I have accepted. Nasimiyu recognizes the value of this work and her own untrained skill for it so it will be an honor.” She dumped a spoonful of sugar in Mindeulle’s drink and poured more black for Nasimiyu. Lidmila had not yet touched the cup on her saucer, Nasimiyu’s discarded sugared tea from earlier, now gone cold.

“Oh, I don’t like sugar in my tea,” Mindeulle said. “May I have a different glass?”

“Dear, I forgot. Well it’s only a little bit of sugar,” Lady Zselyke dismissed. 

“I’m sure we can get a new tea cup,” Nasimiyu laughed. 

“I don’t mind sugar and I didn’t add any to mine. Why don’t we trade, Mindeulle? It’s a little cold though,” Lidmila suggested, passing hers across the table.

“Don’t be silly, that’s a perfect way to get sick.” Zselyke tutted and blocked the pass with her hand, nudging both cups back towards their original owners. Nasimiyu could not make sense of such crazy behavior but thought it was rather funny. Lidmila and Mindeulle seemed briefly mystified and set their cups back in their sauces.

“I’m not very thirsty. I’ll have a cookie instead,” Mindeulle decided. She nudged her tea setting closer to Lady Zselyke to make room for a plate, helping herself to several different pastries from the trays in the center.

“I’ve had enough tea and I can assure you I’m not ill,” Nasimiyu offered, pushing her cup closer to Mindeulle. “I’ve taken no sugar so you can have my cup.”

“Oh, there’s sugar in mine after all,” Lidmila realized, looking into her cup.

“Have you tasted it?” Lady Zselyke asked her, her voice rising so abruptly in pitch it startled them all. She pounded her chest and couch delicately into a napkin. “Did you like the tea? How much did you try?”

“I haven’t yet. Is it very special? Is it better to taste it without sugar then?” Lidmila considered.

Lady Zselyke nodded and reached for the cup, insisting, “Yes, you’ll like it better without. That’s the Princess’ old cup. We’ll get you a fresh cup.”

“I do like sugar and sweet things though, is it bitter? I don’t mind that it’s cold for a first taste so it won’t burn my tongue.”

“Try it without,” Lady Zselyke insisted, snatching the tea cup away from her. She went to set it on her own saucer but paused, hand hovering over hers and Mindeulle’s cups now right next to each other. 

Nasimiyu laughed, “It’s like a game. I’m not sure which is yours anymore, they’re all mixed up. It doesn’t matter though does it? I’m sure we’re all healthy here and close companions can share a tea cup.” She hoped it would encourage a sort of bond between the group to begin forming. Lady Zselyke was older but not old. It would be good to have some close companions who weren’t all younger than herself. She could learn to like Zselyke, probably.

“Oh nonsense, we don’t have to go so far as trading tea cups,” Zselyke immediately intervened. “We need another setting!” she called to the servants with a clap of her hands. “Take these three away,” she commanded. “And bring a fresh bowl of sugar, Miss Lidmila likes her tea sweet.”

Lidmila giggled and pointed to the full sugar bowl, insisting, “I don’t need more than that in my tea!”

“If you like sweet things, I think raw sugar will taste better than this refined stuff,” Lady Zselyke told her. “Minor details matter. A subtle change can have a great impact, it’s an important lesson for young ladies.”

“My brother says the same thing,” Mindeulle chirped.

Lady Zselyke looked down her nose at Mindeulle and insisted, “I don’t think we need to talk about your brother’s words to young ladies. There is more to discuss than men.”

Nasimiyu reached out to grab Mindeulle’s hand, fully expecting her to launch from the table. She did not, just stared at Zselyke so blankly that it felt menacing.

“Like Nasimiyu’s wedding! Oh, but that’s to a man…” Lidmila mused with a thoughtful frown. It was endearing. Nasimiyu found herself chuckling under her breath. Honestly she would have expected to find someone with Lidmila’s innocence obnoxious, but it was actually refreshing to be around someone so sincere and good-intentioned. Nasimiyu wasn’t used to those sorts of people. Lidmila might be one of the only truly good people she had ever met. Simple, but good.

Mindeulle must be on that list too, though the sharpness of her mind as she gradually revealed it made her seem less doe-eyed about the world. She too had that air of enthusiasm as she pressed Lady Zselyke on what else she was thinking of for Nasimiyu’s wedding, and if she intended to plan the honeymoon too. There was an edge to her Nasimiyu liked a lot.

“What do you mean by that? Of course I will, if you’d like me to, Nasimiyu darling.”

“You suggested Sartia before–”

“But you don’t like the sea, so… hm, I will think on it,” Zselyke said.

“You don’t like the sea?” Mindeulle and Lidmila both parroted.

“It’s all right. Maybe I should take Seokjin to Marvono instead…”

“Maybe you’d like Therepin more,” Mindeulle suggested. “It has the elegance and beauty and splendor of Sartia, but no seas.”

Zselyke looked repulsed and gasped, “Therepin is no place for a honeymoon!”

“Why, because you don’t like the government there? I’ve never honeymooned but I don’t think government is very involved…” Mindeulle tittered. Lidmila’s face opened up in surprised laughter and Zselyke seemed angry. “None of us have honeymooned, maybe we should ask someone else to plan it.”

“I am quite capable!” Zselyke scowled. “Less taunting me and more eating, girls, it’s important to keep our strength up until supper.”

“But our figures…” Lidmila pointed out.

Zselyke gave her a gentle smile and assured her, “You have nothing to worry about. And Therepin adheres to no such beauty standards, so Mindeulle’s prospects won’t be upset by some extra padding.”

“Not that I care about my weight, but why would I look for a husband in Therepin?” Mindeulle countered. 

Nasimiyu ate her cookies and felt like this was all rather a lot of fun, watching the back and forth. Dulce would hate this, but she found it amusing.

“I suppose your brother and parents will, regardless.”

“They take into account my wishes. They’ll let me choose the partner I want.”

“Will they?” Zselyke pressed and it seemed so pointed, Nasimiyu could tell she must know something and be taunting Mindeulle with it. She wanted to know too –not to taunt, but just to know. 

“What does that mean?” Nasimiyu intervened as Mindeulle looked troubled. “Do you have a personal tragedy, Mindeulle? You don’t need to say at the table but if you’d like to talk in private– if there’s anything I can do to aid you–”

Mindeulle pressed a hand to her flushed cheek and insisted, “No, Princess, there’s nothing. Lady Zselyke only speaks in riddles to make it sound like she knows more than she does.”

“Didn’t you come here to find a husband? To Priva, I mean?” Lidmila suggested, perhaps in an attempt to help. “There are so many men here who I’m sure would be honored by your attention.”

“I came with my brother,” Mindeulle said simply, even though Nasimiyu vaguely thought she’d heard Mindeulle mention before she wanted to marry here and remain. Hadn’t that been a hope she had for the ball? She couldn’t recall clearly now.

“Well you certainly aren’t going to find a husband spending all your time with your brother and Seokjin,” Lady Zselyke scoffed. “They are related and taken. I suspect your parents will call you home soon for a match.”

“Not if I don’t wish to marry,” Mindeulle countered. “You have never married, Lady Zselyke, and you spoke moments ago about it as a burden. Surely you had your reasons?”

Lady Zselyke filled their tea cups and said airly, “I did. There are many types of love which are worthy of a life’s devotion. Your devotion to the prince is admirable but inappropriate now that he will have a wife.”

“I–!” Mindeulle gasped. She looked quickly to Nasimiyu and insisted, “It’s not that, I promise. He is like a brother to me!”

“I know that,” Nasimiyu assured her. For all she knew, Mindeulle did have a crush on Seokjin, but it failed to trigger any jealousy in Nasimiyu. There didn’t seem to be anything adult about it if it was there, more like childish admiration. She hadn’t witnessed a single ambitious attempt, nor did Seokjin act any way towards her but brotherly. “I’m sure Lady Zselyke didn’t mean to be a gossip,” Nasimiyu admonished, arching her eyebrow at the older woman smirking to herself as she served Mindeulle more tea.

“Oh yes, I meant nothing by it, except that with men, you can never be too careful. You will have to curb your closeness with him so that it doesn’t cause… problems,” Zselyke scolded as she dumped a heaping spoonful of sugar thoughtlessly into Mindeulle’s tea. “I’m sorry I ruffled your feathers. Have some tea and settle down about it, have another pastry.”

“You’ve put sugar in it again,” Nasimiyu said, deftly reaching for Mindeulle’s tea cup and handing over her own. “Mine has none, we can trade.”

“You don’t like sweet things,” Mindeulle said. Nasimiyu found herself surprised each time the people around her knew things about her she had not explicitly told them. It made her feel very special and admired and flattered her into insisting,

“It’s not a hard rule. My lips are plenty puckered by now, some sweet on my tongue may be a relief.” 

“No, the tea is much better without that refined stuff–” Lady Zselyke said, rising from her seat and reaching for Nasimiyu’s cup.

Lidmila suddenly kicked the table hard and cried out, “Ah! My ankle got caught in my skirt and I’ve hit my shin…”

The flurry of commotion was all startling enough that Nasimiyu put her cup down, laughing, “Is there alcohol in the tea? Why is everyone so clumsy suddenly?”

“There is certainly nothing like that in the tea,” Zselyke sniffed. “But if you tire of it, I can bring coffee or wine or juice or–”

“Nothing else, thank you,” Nasimiyu dismissed.

“She’s right that the raw sugar is better though,” Lidmila said, still rubbing her leg beneath the table as she lifted her saucer and passed it over. “Let’s trade.”

“I really don’t mind.”

“You are going to be queen, Nasimiyu, you should let those around you take care of simple things,” Mindeulle insisted. So Nasimiyu was shamed into trading teacups with Lidmila, who looked adorably proud to have made the swap and settled herself with the apparently less-desirable white sugared tea. 

However before she could even have a sip, Lady Zselyke reached for a pastry but her dragging sleeve managed to upset the whole sugar bowl and Lidmila’s tea cup.

“Oh goodness,” Zselyke gasped. “I’ve made a mess of my own tea…” She gave Nasimiyu the kindest smile of their acquaintance so far and laughed, “Maybe the tea did get us all a little drunk! It’s only flowers in there… maybe it’s the talk of weddings going to our heads!”

The table was soaked now though, they’d all logged themselves with unsweetened tea, and the pastries were going stale. Nasimiyu thought everyone seemed relieved when she suggested tea come to a close for now, and promised to meet with Zselyke again the next day to resume their wedding chat, and suggested Lidmila take a turn with her in the garden, and Mindeulle too if she wished.

“I would love to, but I really only need to ask you a question and then return a letter to my parents,” Mindeulle said as the three women left Zselyke’s parlor. 

“That’s right, you said you needed to speak with me.”

“Yes… privately, if that’s all right? It’s about… some private business,” she murmured, glancing at Lidmila. “I hope you understand.”

“Of course. Why don’t I meet you in the garden, Princess? Have your servant bring a parasol though, it looks like it might rain.”

“Don’t you need one too then?”

“Oh… maybe I can share yours? I didn’t bring one…”

“I’m sure we can,” Nasimiyu said, or else she would bring another, or they could find someplace else to walk, it really wasn’t a big deal. Lidmila seemed content with this plan and flitted off, hopefully not to wander out into the rain before Nasimiyu arrived. She was sweet but perhaps not the brightest.

Mindeulle insisted on leading Nasimiyu into a room with a closed door before she admitted, “I’m sorry if I seem so cryptic, but I’m looking into this mystery with my brother and Çiğdem.”

Nasimiyu instantly cringed and suggested gently, “Does your brother know? He may not want you poking into his personal affairs…”

“So you think he did it then?” Mindeulle caught.

“I don’t know but…” Nasimiyu thought of Namjoon fucking Dulce at the masquerade ball. “I don’t know him well enough to say anything regarding his relationships with women but I think we can all move on.”

“We can’t move on. You saw how Lady Zselyke treated me at tea, and she’s not the only one.”

“You think it was because of that? I suppose that comment was rather… barbed.” 

“Lady Zselyke already dislikes me and Namjoon because of the trouble with the Prince’s former fiance… but he has you now, that can be behind us. But this… this wasn’t him either, I’m sure of it! And now the families here want even less to do with us because they think my brother has a habit of leading women on, which he most definitely does not! He’s been framed both times and I intend to figure out who’s doing it.”

“I think you should let it go,” Nasimiyu admitted.

“But we’re being ostracized.”

“Does he care about something like that?”

“No, but… but I do. If society here shuns me I’ll have to go back to Therepin. I want to stay here.”

“I’ll protect you and your reputation, it doesn’t need to be tied to your brother’s.”

“You don’t believe me and won’t help me,” Mindeulle frowned, taking a step away.

“I didn’t say that, I just think…”

“Çiğdem’s family are not kind people. They aren’t the sort of people I want as family enemies. They are going to make you choose and if I can’t prove my brother is innocent, you’ll have to choose them.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“There are politics here you don’t understand yet,” Mindeulle said. When Nasimiyu shifted unhappily, Mindeulle hurried to add, “Only because you are new here and you aren’t used to these families. They are sensitive and vengeful. The only reason they haven’t outright attacked us yet is because it means admitting Çiğdem was writing letters to a man, so they’re trying to figure out something else to pin on us.”

“I’m not interested in their petty accusations–”

“But if you anger them, they will interfere with your marriage,” Mindeulle insisted. “They’re powerful enough to do it.” Mindeulle paused and seemed to think about what she said, then shook her head to clear it. “I need to clear my brother’s name. Please let me at least try.”

Nasimiyu sighed and conceded only, “What help are you asking from me?”

“I need the letters from Çiğdem. So I can compare to my brother’s handwriting and language and prove they aren’t his.” Nasimiyu had to admit that was a good plan.

“What makes you think she still has them?”

Mindeulle looked stunned and nearly laughed, “Why wouldn’t she? Don’t you keep every letter anyone has ever written you?”

“No one has ever written me letters,” Nasimiyu admitted. “Is that strange?”

Mindeulle seemed to think it was very sad.

“Well… I believe she has them,” Mindeulle insisted. “I bet even though she’s angry, she still has them. She might give them to you if you ask.”

“I’m not that close with her.”

“Or if you ask Lidmila to ask for them, even better.”

“I don’t know…

“But Lidmila will do anything you say, she worships the ground you walk on.”

Nasimiyu had to admit that seemed true. So in the end, she agreed to try. 

And as Mindeulle predicted, when Nasimiyu brought the subject up of investigating things herself with Lidmila as they strolled through the warm summer rain under a shared parasol, Lidmila readily vowed to try, too –no, to succeed! It wouldn’t be easy but she would convince Çiğdem to let them see the letters under the guise of Nasimiyu wanting to understand Namjoon’s sins for herself. Lidmila admitted Çiğdem seemed to be having a hard time letting go of it all and probably would be eager to share.

All the moving of social chess pieces left Nasimiyu exhausted by the time Lidmila left with her parents and Nasimiyu could finally flee to solitude. She tossed the parasol to the ground and slipped off her damp shoes as soon as she was through the door. She’d take a bath to get that humid sea-city slime off her skin, she decided, and called for the maids to draw the bath.

As she moved around her room undressing, trying not to notice how quiet it seemed in here lately without Dulce emerging from the shadows to slide into the bed or bath with her, she began to notice things. Little things, small things that someone without her eye for detail might not: her gowns twisted in the wardrobe in a way she nor the maids would ever leave them; her shoes lined up too perfectly when she only ever lazily kicked them off; the papers on the wrong side of the desk from where Dulce had sat writing a coded message to send to Prince Hamisi (Nasimiyu sure hadn’t touched them since then), obvious because Dulce was left handed and scratched things out hunched over the right corner of the desk like someone who’d barely learned to hold a pen.

Had someone been here? 

She didn’t like that feeling. It didn’t just scare her, it angered her, this idea that someone had come into her room –somehow, despite the guards posted outside. She looked around herself, trying to determine what someone had been looking for, what they might have found, though there weren’t secret things to find. The letters from her mother were nothing but that, nothing notable in them. She didn’t think any of her jewelry was missing, at least none of her favorites. What else would they have taken?

“Did you girls clean in here today?” she asked as she shed her clothing for a bath. The two maids looked at each other, uncertain how to answer. “If someone did, they didn’t do a very good job. My gowns are tangled up in the wardrobe.”

“We’re sorry, Princess,” they quickly said. “We’ll fix it right away.”

Well, mystery solved then. Nasimiyu sank into the bath and washed it all away. 

The palace was stifling.

Seokjin had almost killed a man.

Taehyung had almost been killed too.

He had to get out of here. Hiding in his room with the comfort of his fur babies wasn’t enough, but Jungkook wasn’t on duty so Seokjin couldn’t pull off his disguised anonymous jaunt into the city. It would be too much for him right now anyway. He needed to be alone but not alone… he didn’t have a solution for that.

Muhtar followed him at a bothersome distance, not quite far enough, as he set out for the sea wall. The sun was setting, drawing some touristy crowds to admire the vibrant hues brushed across the cloudy sky, but for the most part the people of Priva did not find a regular sunset anything remarkable. They saw this every day. They had other things to do.

Seokjin, however, still found it remarkable. He hoped the day never came that he forgot about the miracle of a sunset, how the air itself became orange and red and that honey warmth seeped into your skin. He paused once a respectable distance from the palace to take it in.

And then saw her.

He should keep walking, he knew immediately. He had no reason to approach. She sat there, legs dangling recklessly over the edge, face cast towards the sun and a hood on so that he shouldn’t have even recognized her. He could not have explained how he did. And he’d been avoiding her for days now! Muhtar was with him; he didn’t trust any of his bodyguards to keep his secrets the way he trusted Jungkook, and sitting to enjoy the sunset with the maid of his fiance was one of those things that deserved to be a secret. The last time he’d seen her, he was fucking said fiance. The last time he’d spoken to her, she’d been furious. 

He should keep walking.

He fully intended to keep walking.

He eased himself down on the ledge beside her, careful not to lose his step and plummet to his death because that would just really be the icing on this shit-cake day.

She didn’t even glance at him, as if not surprised at all. Maybe she’d somehow sensed him standing behind him. She so rarely seemed surprised by anything.

She had looked surprised when she walked in on him and Nasimiyu.

“About what you saw…”

“I didn’t see anything,” she said, voice a low murmur weaving through the aggressive crash of waves against the rocks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

So it would be like that. Yes, that was for the best.

“I only see the sunset,” she told him.

“It’s a good one.”

They sat in silence for a while. Gradually Seokjin’s mortification settled into a dull hum in the back of his mind, beat away by the waves. That experience seemed fake. Nasimiyu seemed fake, his engagement seemed fake. Certainly less real than the hues streaking the wispy clouds dawdling over their heads.

“What’s your favorite color in the sunset?” he asked. She didn’t look at him, but he could see enough of her profile to watch her brow pinch. 

Why, why was he so desperate to reach out and smooth it down?! She was just some woman. It didn’t make sense. He barely knew her at all, as she had made crystal clear. Why was it so easy to think of a thousand things he wanted to say to her, and equally easy, for once in his life, to say none of them and simply sit there watching the sunset?

“Pink,” she finally said. He’d forgotten the question and gave her a confused look. “I don’t seem like the kind of woman who likes pink?”

“I like that it makes my hair look pink,” he told her. “I think I’d look really good with pink hair.”

“Your hair doesn’t look pink.”

“A little bit.”

“Not at all,” she insisted, so seriously as she looked at it that he couldn’t help the laughter. 

It died quickly as he noticed the bruise on her cheek, the bandage on the side of her neck.

“What happened to you?” he asked, quickly turning towards her, reaching only to hover because he had no right to touch her.

“Hm?”

“You’re injured!”

“Oh. Accident in the laundry room,” she said, lifting a hand to her cheek like she’d forgotten all about it. He thought he saw the shadow of another bruise on her jaw and resisted the urge to turn her face and confirm.

“What the hells happened in the laundry room?!”

“Everything is fine. How was the hunting trip?”

He didn’t answer, torn now between the dread of what had already happened and a desire to not be shaken off from her injuries. He wasn’t sure she was telling him the truth. He hadn’t heard of an accident in the laundry that had caused serious harm to a maid. If there were safety issues, they needed to be taken care of immediately! 

“What happened in the laundry room?” he tried again.

“How was the hunting trip?”

He narrowed his eyes. She stared a moment, then turned her gaze out at the sunset in a way that made clear she would not be answering his question. 

“You know,” he shrugged. “It was… unpleasant. It’s good you didn’t go along today.”

“Might have been better than the laundry room.”

“No.” He thought of Dulce witnessing what had happened. Or, worse, Dulce being involved with what had happened. He didn’t say anything more, uncomfortable with imagining it. A horrible thought came to him, of his uncle somehow figuring out that Dulce was… notable to him. She’d be in grave danger, he was sure of it. A princess had some protection from a sadistic uncle-in-law. A maid had none. He glanced back at Murtah, worried his own bodyguard might report this to his uncle. Could anyone be trusted? Murtah was older, kind, formal, serious. He looked up and down the seawall, always on alert. 

“I don’t think it’s safe for you to go hunting down there,” Dulce said, a rush of words he hadn’t expected. He raised his eyebrows at her unexpected concern. “It’s too easy for an accident to happen. It feels like it was designed for accidents.”

“Nowhere is safe from accidents. Apparently not even laundry rooms.”

“Your joke makes it clear you’ve never been in one,” she muttered.

He had to admit, “No. Are they dangerous?”

“Yes. But a hunting party in the caves is particularly dangerous for you, I think. You’re the crown prince. You’re never safe.”

“I have a bodyguard,” he said, jerking his head towards Murtah.

“He doesn’t look very good.”

“He is.”

“He’s not even listening to our conversation to know I insulted him.”

“He’s discreet,” Seokjin argued. “He’s like you, he’s not reactive.” Dulce scrutinized the bodyguard like a duel partner, then looked back out at the water. The wind tangled in loose strands of her long hair and danced it around her face. He wondered how wild it would look if she let the hood down and her braid out. It seemed to want to curl around her neck; a perfect ringlet had formed and he had that intrusive urge to reach out and tug it. The hood made her look particularly beautiful. 

Brooding. He’d meant she looked particularly brooding.

He felt so calm right now. It was strange, he’d come out here hoping to feel that way but not expecting too. The nervous energy that had kept him restless all day got washed out to sea with each tug of the tide below. It was almost embarrassing for Dulce to see him all calm. He had an image to uphold, after all. Funny, energetic, charming.

He was tired.

“Have you ever been fishing? What’s your favorite fish?” he asked, deciding to make an effort.

“Are you ever just silent– nevermind,” she said quickly. Then, “My apologies, sorry.” He wasn’t sure that she’d ever apologized for being blunt before and was surprised to see her cheeks darken with a flush.

“What?” he laughed. “Say what you were going to say. Am I ever just silent? Not really, even when I’m alone I talk to myself.” Her lips tightened. “What does that face mean?” he laughed. 

“It’s just my face.”

“No it’s not. Are you… blushing? About what?”

“I am not,” she snapped, scowling at him, and in any other lifetime he would have grabbed and kissed her right then. He couldn’t explain it. She was so put out with him.

You want to kiss her. You need to get and stay away from her. He knew that was true. He understood this clearly in a way he had danced around for days now. Weeks? He didn’t know how long but he knew he wanted to kiss the bruise on her cheek and the one on her jaw and her fingers and that this feeling of his would get her fired at best. He couldn’t think of the worst.

“You’re quiet when you fuck, that’s what I meant,” she suddenly said, tearing her gaze away from his and crossing her arms. “Maybe that’s the only time.”

“I thought you didn’t see anything,” he cried, now his turn to blush a bright red. Here he was contemplating the tragedy of this woman bringing out the romantic in him when nothing could ever come of it and then she had to wallop him in the face like that.

“I didn’t hear anything either, that’s my point.”

Now silence enveloped them again, a less happy one. Seokjin didn’t know what to say. The thought of having sex with Nasimiyu made him want to run away screaming. Not a great foundation for a marriage but one he was going to have to work through, just like he was going to have to keep distance from Dulce, and neither thing seemed possible right now. 

No, he could do it. He would. He was the crown prince, he did tons of things he didn’t want to simply because it was his duty.

He wanted more than a duty marriage with Nasimiyu.

He needed to squash these feelings about Dulce immediately.

“I didn’t mean to criticize,” she murmured, glancing nervously at him. Probably because he was staring. She had a very pretty profile. He bet she would hate it if someone pinched her chin but it was perfectly pinchable. “Nasimiyu speaks… highly of your time together.”

He grabbed for the lifeline she’d thrown him and laughed awkwardly loudly, “Oh, lovely. She speaks of it?”

“Brags, more like.”

He knew he should be flattered. A small part of him was. 

“Yes, well, good. What can I say? I have many talents and pleasing women is one of them.” Dear gods what was he saying?

“I don’t need to hear that. When I said you don’t know me, I didn’t mean we should get to know each other,” she said. 

He laughed, flat out laughed, “Dulce, why are you so mean?”

“I… sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah for me too but I’m still my pleasant charming self. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had. I almost watched my father kill another of my friends. It was the shittiest hunting trip you can imagine.”

“Did you shoot anything?”

“I almost killed another of my friends, does that count?”

“Taehyung?”

“No… what made you think of him?” She shrugged. “No, Master Drin, my arms masters. His horse reared and threw him in the path of bullet right as I aimed at some mysterious creature in the woods that didn’t deserve to be shot at in the first place. Sliced the back of his head open but he lives.” The words poured out, a tirade meant to make her laugh even though it wasn’t funny and he didn’t even mean it to be funny. His laugh cracked as he repeated, “I almost killed someone today.”

“People die.”

“Come now.”

“People die in hunting accidents all the time,” she said again. “That’s what I meant by you shouldn’t go.”

He grinned and nudged her arm without thinking about it, teasing, “Are you worried about me?” She stiffened and he immediately leaned away. Oops. 

She didn’t comment on the physical contact, just asked, “Have you never killed anything before?”

“I’ve shot ducks.”

“A dark stain on your soul.”

“I see their eyes every night before I sleep,” he joked. “I remember their names.”

“I don’t,” she said thoughtfully. 

“Killed a lot of ducks, have you?” 

“A few.” She said it so seriously, he couldn’t decide if she was joking or not. That made things she said even funnier, when he genuinely couldn’t tell. He had an inkling she did it on purpose. He wondered if Nasimiyu knew that about her.

“We’re still talking about ducks, aren’t we?” he teased.

“What would we be talking about?”

“Didn’t you grow up on a farm? I don’t think I have the guts for it.”

“I didn’t tell you that,” Dulce said sharply and Seokjin felt a ridiculous victory at very clearly having guessed something correctly about her. “I seem like a farm girl to you?”

“Is there anything besides farms in Paloma?” Her eyebrows raised and he snickered, “Oh no, did I just insult you?”

“You don’t know anything about Paloma.”

“No but I know you grew up on a farm.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Your reaction gave it away.”

“I don’t react,” she insisted and he felt laughter bubbling brighter in his chest. He had the playful childish urge to knock her over and wrestle now, to crow about his victory.

“You’re wrong. You have very big reactions, if you know what to look for.”

“I do not.”

“The more you deny it…”

Her face twisted in what seemed like a fake rage. She kept her mouth pressed tightly closed and stared at the sky now sliding to purples and blues. What she said earlier might seem right, that darker colors suited her style more, but he loved knowing now that she liked pink. 

“I hate farms,” she said, possibly the closest to a confirmation he would ever get. He didn’t think it was a joke. There was an air of sadness to her voice that seemed shockingly sincere. 

Or was he projecting it all? He realized that was possible. He might be sitting here feeling like their hearts were stitching together in a way that was going to hurt very much when he stood up, and she was sitting there thinking what a nuisance he was. It wasn’t like she said or did anything that hinted at feelings for him. She endured him. Humored him at best. She had no choice. The power imbalance was real and he’d be a fool not to remember that his company might be less welcome than Namjoon’s –which she may have loudly hinted at before.

He stared out at the water, debating. He should leave her alone. He knew that. Everything in him knew that. But he didn’t want to just yet… could she endure him for a few more minutes? That was the least guilt and horror he had felt all day. He had almost killed Drin.

“You didn’t kill him.”

“Wha?”

“You didn’t kill the man so you shouldn’t let it haunt you. Even if you had, accidents happen.” 

He stared at her, eyes wide, stumbling over the words, “How did you–”

“I won’t reveal my methods.”

He was struck dumb for a moment, astonished at her acuity. Could she read minds? Oh, he’d be so fucked if she could read his mind right now. The threat of her seeing what kind of man he actually was –the kind who developed affection and desire for their fiance’s maid– was  horror beyond belief.

Just to test it, he thought of some really crazy things. Six foot tall rabbits and a throne made of spaghetti and a giant fish leaping from the water to swallow them and carry them down to meet the king of the sea. She did not seem to read those thoughts.

“If you don’t want people to know what you’re thinking, don’t think so loud.”

“Don’t listen,” he countered. Which clearly brought her up short. She gave him what could only be characterized as a scandalized look, then stared out again at the sunset as if it was the most compelling thing she had ever seen.

He still felt like she was listening. Worse, he felt like he could talk to her. He felt like she could say anything and nothing would surprise him and she’d tell him her direct thoughts, he could count on it. Alone but not alone, that’s how he felt with her.

“I don’t even want to be the cause of someone’s death,” he admitted, verbalizing it this time.

“You’re going to be king. You’ll be the cause of many people’s deaths.” Yep, just like that.

He blew air out and looked down, for a moment allowing the intrusive thought of what it would feel like to just plummet down to the rocks and die. Then he’d never hurt anyone.

“I’ll be a different kind of king,” he tried to convince them both. “No wars, no hunting, no more hunger or… no poverty. I’ll take care of Destin and Paloma and… we’ll just all have good lives reading books and playing games and…”

At least she was kind enough not to tell him what a fucking idiot he was. She struck a nice balance of silence and directness. He appreciated that about her.

“And birthdays!” he said, suddenly recalling. “Is it your birthday soon?”

“What?”

“Is your birthday soon?”

“No, why?”

“Are you telling the truth?” he pressed, leaning closer and scrutinizing her closely. 

She batted him away, revealing bandages on her hand that was quickly tucked back under her cloak despite the warm evening. 

“My birthday is in the winter,” she said.

“An answer! Or close to one. Look how far we’ve come,” he teased.

“Why do you think my birthday is soon?”

“Nasimiyu asked Yoongi to make a Paloman dish and he thought your birthday was soon.”

Dulce considered this before admitting, “Maybe she thinks it is.”

“She doesn’t know?”

“Do you know the birthdays of your servants?”

“Yes,” he answered easily. “Murtah’s is in late August and then Jungkook’s is September first.”

Dulce didn’t seem to know what to say to this. He watched the pensive look on her face out of the corner of his eye, trying not to look like he was watching her. 

“Are your injuries bothering you?” he guessed.

“No.”

“Are you sure? You were hurt at the palace, it’s understandable you should see the palace doctor to make sure–”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you’re fine. You seem…” He couldn’t think of the word. Not that she was usually chatty but she seemed… “Weighed down.”

“So do you.”

“I think I’m my usual charming self.” When she didn’t respond, like she wasn’t buying it, he conceded, “I told you I almost killed my friend. I feel that on my handsome broad shoulders.”

She was silent for a while. He couldn’t tell if she was debating an answer or simply not going to give one. Which was fine. He would like for her to say but it was always unpredictable.

“I think you need to be extra careful,” she said. “You should be more concerned that your bodyguard went missing.”

Seokjin frowned and pressed, “What do you know about that?”

“You don’t think servants notice when one goes missing? You aren’t careful enough. People wish to harm you.”

“Well… yes. I’m the crown prince. That’s always been true and always will be true,” he admitted. “I’ve learned to live without worrying about it. If I die… well, I’ll be dead and won’t care about it anymore, will I?”

Her head snapped up, her face showing how absolutely incomprehensible she found his answer. It made him laugh again, he couldn’t help it. 

“Did you think I’d scream and cry and hide away? I don’t want to die but it happens to all of us eventually. My mother, my brother… it won’t change my fate to sit around worrying about it every day.” He couldn’t believe how brave he sounded about it, although the things he said were true. He tried not to think about death every day. He tried to live as best he could.

“You aren’t afraid to die but you’re afraid to kill?”

“Well see… yes. Yes, that’s about right.” He gave her a bright grin. “I don’t want to, but I can endure a lot. Of course I guess you don’t really endure death, at that point you stop enduring–”

“What is a lot to you?”

“I’m still alive, so I suppose I don’t know yet.” She was taking this so seriously and he felt bad about that. “You don’t need to worry about me. I was born into this life and I’ll die in it too someday. But not today. Some days closer than others but…” He shrugged. “Best I don’t go into the laundry room, I guess.”

She didn’t laugh at his joke and he realized it was a bad one. She’d been badly injured in one. He was inclined to march back to the palace and ask someone working in the laundry what the hells had happened, but based on the last time he intervened in Dulce’s well-being, he suspected she would not be pleased. Did he care? It depended how badly she was hurt… 

He sighed, not sure how to navigate anything. He wouldn’t intervene. She’d made clear she didn’t want him to. He was supposed to be putting more space between them now. He had promised to respect her wishes. Soon he was going to promise to love and devote his whole heart to Nasimiyu.

He wanted to say something but the longer the silence lasted, the less inclined he felt to. She didn’t demand anything of him, and he felt tired now by what he’d managed for her entertainment. Wrung out. This was a long day. He didn’t know what to do about his father shooting at Taehyung. Who was that a warning for? It would take a couple days to bundle Taehyung off to somewhere else since they were arguing about where that someplace else would be; was it better to spend those days in the palace or in an anonymous inn? Seokjin was debating having Taehyung just sleep in his room, gossip be damned.

“I have something for you,” she said eventually.

He immediately realized his gift must have felt like an obligation instead of an apology, especially since it wasn’t her birthday.

He waved his hand, “No, no, you don’t need to–”

“Not a gift. Someone gave me a letter to pass on to you.” She dug around and pulled it out of a bag across her body, looked at it a moment, then handed it over.

“What is this?” he asked. The front was blank, the envelope crinkled from passage. The red seal on the back immediately brought recognition and understanding –he’d recognize the imprint of his brother’s ring anywhere.

“A letter.”

“Yes I managed to figure that much out on my own,” he snickered. He had an idea who it was from, so instead he asked, “How did you get this?”

“Someone gave it to me while I was out walking here and begged me to put it in your hands,” she said. 

“A woman,” Seokjin guessed.

“Yes.”

“Do you know what it’s about?”

“I didn’t read it,” Dulce said. “She didn’t say.” She looked him right in the face as she said this, direct eye contact that made him want to believe her… and yet he had melted and reattached enough seals to notice the telltale sign of staining on the paper.

“Please keep the existence of this letter between us,” he said lowly, tucking it into the pocket on the inside of his vest so it couldn’t be stolen until he got a chance to read it. After which he would probably need to burn it, depending on what it said, and if he was right about the sender. After all this time, he figured she was dead, in which case this letter might be something different. Either way, it was probably something dangerous for Dulce to know.

“What letter?” she asked, holding her hands out to show they were empty. He believed she would keep the secret, anyway, whatever she could actually glean from the contents. “I thought about not giving it to you, in case it’s trouble,” she admitted.

“I’m glad you did. Not every prince is a damsel who needs protecting, you know.”

“I think you may be a particularly reckless one.”

“How many princes do you know? Nevermind, Prince Hamisi, that was too easy. Well, this prince would be happy to walk you back to the palace now.”

“I’m fine. I’ll stay here a bit longer.”

“Is it safe?”

“It’s no laundry room so…yes.”

He was loath to leave her, but at least guards roamed the sea wall and she was less likely to meet trouble here than anywhere else. 

Still, “Will you at least promise to stay out of the laundry room from now on?”

“It’s my job.”

“I can make it illegal for them to put you on laundry duty. I’m a prince. I don’t mind being an eccentric one.” She gave him a baleful look that felt like victory but she shook her head and he wasn’t going to push her. He didn’t want to undo what had felt like progress towards forgiveness.

“Thank you for your company,” he told her with a slight bow. He meant it. The events of the day still troubled him but he felt soothed, despite the fact she hadn’t actually had anything comforting to say –clearly she did not understand the magnitude of what it meant to take, or nearly take, a human life. He was glad of that though.

Murtah shortened the distance between them as they walked back towards the palace so that within a few minutes they were side by side.

“Your Highness.”

“Murtah.”

“This wasn’t wise.”

“I believe you are here to guard, not to advise,” Seokjin pointed out. “I was only watching the sunset.”

“With your fiance’s maid.”

“A coincidence,” Seokjin insisted, then quickly added, “But don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”

“It can’t.”

“No, it can’t,” Seokjin agreed with a sigh. He was projecting an attachment on a woman he barely knew. Was he just frightened by his impending promotion to husband and flailing about for diversion? 

Her bruises and bandages bothered him more than his own troubles, he couldn’t stop thinking of them.

The safest thing for them both was not to get close enough to notice them next time.

Maybe Taehyung wasn’t the only one he needed to find a safe, cushy place for, far from Priva. How much money would it take Dulce to go away and not tell Nasimiyu why?

Yes, that was the answer. Money. See? Seokjin was already thinking like a king.

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[dreamerwithoutadirection]

You Belong with Me

I am back after quite long literally. I wanted to continue Jin's part. So here it is! Though I am still stuck with next part of instalment, that's Jimin's part. It's just that he's too sweet for me to imagine him as a yandere :(

Warnings: Yandere! Not my best work, lol. xD

“How could you do this Jin?!” shouted Lord Kim as he walked back and forth in the chamber of their home. He expected such behaviour from his youngest but Jin, his prodigious child? Lord Kim felt furious, “You have left me embarrassed and ashamed to face society. How dare you try to make a filthy maid the lady of this house!!” 

Jin stood near the window looking at the vast expanse of the garden. “Then don’t. You are old now, just retire.” Jin replied without looking back. His nonchalance acted like fuel to fire for Lord Kim’s rage. 

“You..you insolent child!” Lord Kim marched towards Seokjin. 

Jin moved back effortlessly before Lord Kim could hit him. His eyes had lost all the calmness. “Don’t force me father. You know the result won’t be good if you try to go against me,” He smiled, as he bored into his father’s eyes, “I can get you removed any day from this precious little position you hold so dear. Don’t try your luck against me, it will be a losing battle.”

Jin gave one final look to his family, “All of you listen”, his shrewd eyes settled on their faces one by one, “I am going to marry her. None of you will or can stop me. Understood?” Lord Kim and his wife trembled under his gaze. They had created a monster. Jin did not move till they all nodded their heads. 

A smile spreaded on the devil’s angelic face. “That’s good! See, I knew you would be able to see it. Let’s begin the wedding preparations! I will go bring my queen.” In his twisted mind, any opposition to his desires was met with a chilling ferocity. A warning to anyone who dared stand between him and the object of his affection fixation.

   *-------*--------*

Choi could not believe it. Such humiliation, such affront on an influential Minister like him. A palpable tension hung in the air. “Where are all the servants?!” he screamed. 

Mr. Na came running on hearing the enraged voice of his Lord. “Lor-”

Enraged Choi yelled “Shut up! Bring that bitch to me. How dare she ruin my plans.” 

“Yes, my Lord.” Mr. Na had no choice. He felt bad for Binna. The poor girl’s life was hard enough with loans on her head and her brother was still young. Na took pity on her and got her the job with much difficulty a few months back. It seemed like black clouds followed her along. With much dejection, Mr. Na turned to bring Binna. 

   *-------*--------*

This was bad. The house was in a frenzy since the Kim’s left. Binna didn’t know what to do. She could feel her heart thumping against her chest. She had not anticipated the storm; her mere presence would stir within the household. Heck, she had not anticipated that her life would become upside down in a flash. Binna looked at Ms. Da Eun sitting forlorn. 

“Ms. you have have to believe me” Binna begged with tears, “I don’t even kno-..you have to believe Ms…” Binna whispered looking at Ms Da Eun, “please”

Da Eun’s eyes conveyed her hatred for Binna.

“People like you, don’t deserve kindness.” Da Eun sniffed, “I took you in, pitying you. Treated you like a friend. And look where it got me. Who will marry me now?!” Da Eun turned away from Binna. She couldn’t bear to look at her face. 

“Just go away. Leave” Da Eun resigned. 

“Aghassi, please just listen to me onc-”

“I said leave,” Da Eun pushed Binna in her rage. The vase near her broke, hurting Binna’s feet. 

“How hard is it to understand that I am not interested in listening to you? Go” 

*-------*--------*

Tears dropped from eyes as felt herself suck in air to breathe. Binna decided to leave. It was the best decision she could make for herself and Ms. Da Eun. Binna’s loyalty belonged to Miss Da Eun and Mr. Kim’s action had left a tumultuous turn of events in its wake. His gaze made her feel dirty. And his actions impure. With renewed resolve Binna began to pack her bags as fast as she could. She needed to leave now. If his promise was true, he would come and Binna knew she would be too helpless to take a stand against the Defense Minister’s son. Binna felt a shiver run down her spine as she recollected his maddening gaze. It was dark, possessive and sinister. She needed to run and she needed to do it now. 

Engrossed in her packing, she did not notice Mr. Na had entered her room. 

“Binna”

“Aaah” She shrieked with her heart jumping out of her chest. “Mr. Na! You scared me. What are you doing in my room this late?” Binna enquired. 

The solemn expression of Mr. Na’s face made her more weary. “Is it Mr. Kim, is he here” Her eyes conveying her fear.

Mr. Na shook his head and sighed. “Binna, why did you seduce him? Lord Choi is too angry.”

She could not believe it. He too thought of her in the wrong? Binna felt a pinch. “Mr. Na” She quavered, “you have to believe me. I did not, Mr. Na. I would never.” her voice rose.

“You were caught in the room alone with him..Binna. That too in an indecent position.” Mr Na snapped. “Now come with me, Mr. Choi has called you.”

*-------*--------*

To be continued

[wordstro]

[4] game of thrones-inspired au + prince hongjoong + "do you want to know the first thing my father taught me?"

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

a/n: 23k words omg.... violence, reader experiences misogyny but they are gender neutral, implied sexual tension/relationships/lead up to sexual situations but nothing explicit (aside from the yearning lmao), talk of people burning at the stake, gross imagery i.e. eating raw meat, brief reference to the grooming and assault of a child (not hongjoong or reader), cheating, toxic hongjoong, reader becomes progressively more manipulative, references to SA (not hongjoong or reader), implied physical abuse (not hongjoong or reader), yeosang/reader situationship, one sided mingi/reader, whew this one is a doozy of introspection, also thought about this quote a lot: "no one will know how much violence it took to become this gentle"

-

they say the kims are closer to god then they are to men. you were warned of this, and, some days, you'd believed it.

you believed it on some days. when king kim would send you and hongjoong raw meat from the kitchens with the explicit orders that that was all you were both to eat for a month. hongjoong had the meat sent back every time, but the stench of raw meat never left your nose. when you stood in the gallows of king's landing with the rest of the court and watched innocents burn at the stake, green fire rising and swirling into a column of smoke that disappeared into the glum sky of king's landing, pained screams still ringing in your ears and the stench of burnt flesh still lingering in your nose long after the executions. those days hongjoong would stand in front of you as if he meant to block your view of the scene, but you'd always see it and hear it. there was no way to avoid it when the king insisted the court should have full view of the executions.

with each passing public execution, the anguished screams and choked sobs of those in the audience melted away, until one day you stood in an audience that was only chilling silence, as if the world itself had gone numb.

worst of all, you could still smell everything. the stench of fire and ashes and burnt flesh.

the king faced no consequences for these acts of violence.

eventually the queen stopped taking visitors, even hongjoong, you'd noticed. the two of you continued to share his bedchambers, and you quickly grew accustomed to his extensive schedule. he stopped visiting his mother around a fortnight after you'd wedded him. only a a handful of maids were allowed to see her, which you knew because one of the maids reported to hongjoong of his mother's condition every morning. even though you slept in his too-big bed, and he had the servants lay out a separate bed near the balcony for himself, you grew accustomed to his habits.

you'd wondered once if he knew of yours. it was likely he did not.

king kim was so close to god, he did whatever he wished without consequence, and the thought of his reign of terror going unchecked left you more anxious than you wished to admit.

at least until one warm summer night, when the king called for you to help feed the dragons in the dragonpit. a task he deemed a rite of passage for the newest kim, though you both knew damn well you would not make it out of the dragonpit in one piece.

you were no kim in the dragon's eyes.

the king sat upon his cold iron throne and looked upon you with a treacherous glint in his eyes. it was a look that grew as time passed, as if he'd forgotten his content with hongjoong and your betrothal, and his mistrust for you and dorne had returned. the feeling of his eyes boring into you, knowing he could decide whatever you wished, made you angry. without hongjoong there to counteract the mad king's demands, you were vulnerable. you could not stand vulnerability. you could not stand that you understood why they said the kims were closer to god. not because of their dragons, but because they were above punishment. the king was allowed to dole out punishment as he wished, to whomever he wanted, and no one lifted a finger to deny him of his supposed gods-given rights.

the king's serpent grin as he bestowed his request upon you haunted your thoughts.

that night, barely a name-day after you were wedded to hongjoong, you'd found yourself eye-to-eye with a dragon you'd never seen before. a smaller one, with blue leather skin and sharp eyes. you thanked the gods, old and new, that this time the dragon did not seem in the mood to breathe fire. the kingsguard who had escorted you down to the dragonpit had long disappeared, and you'd stared at the beast as it reared its head and stalked towards you and the bloody slabs of meat you'd dropped long ago.

you were not as brave as you had been your first night you'd entered the dragonpit, and perhaps that was a testament of the years you'd spent in king's landing away from sunspear. the person who stepped off that ship and snuck into the dragonpit was long gone. your dornish curiosity, your bravery, it had all been snatched from you, and you now stood before this dragon with your heart lodged in your throat, frozen and terrified.

the dragon sniffed at the bloody meat between you both, and you knew the only reason you'd managed to move, despite the terror, was the thought that your family did not deserve to see your body returned to them in pieces.

so you'd ran. you ran from the dragon, king's orders be damned.

you ran to the to the door, your footsteps echoing through the dragonpit, an eerie sound that bounced off the walls, ringing in your ears as if even your footsteps were chasing after you. the dragon roared. the sound of it tearing at the meat, it's jaw snapping, following the roars.

your hands shook as you fiddled with the rusted steel door handle, and panic filled your stomach when the door remained firmly shut. the dragon roared once more. the sound was closer. you slammed your shoulder against the door. once. twice. thud, thud, thud.

it swung open with a clang. you stumbled into something - no, someone - sturdy and warm. hands settled on your shoulders, steadying you.

you'd blinked at him. his unruly silver hair, gritted teeth, and furrowed brows.

hongjoong was supposed to be in a strategy meeting at the other side of the red keep. the king knew as much, and you knew it too when you'd agreed to the king's demands.

he wasn't supposed to be here.

so, why was he here?

hongjoong frowned at you, his eyes narrowing into annoyance as he studied your face. for a long moment, you both merely stood at the threshold to the dragonpit. another roar from the dragon and you surged closer to hongjoong and further from the open door. hongjoong's grip on your shoulders tightened, his fingers curling around your elbow, even as he he yanked you away from the door and kicked it shut behind him.

the door slammed shut with a dull thud, drowning out the dragon’s roars, and only then did he let you go. your back hit the wall, and suddenly everything was too quiet. all you could hear was your ragged breathing and your own heart knocking against your ribs. the dragon and the dragonpit was gone, but as you pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, leaning against the wall, and tried to catch your breath, hongjoong's furious gaze burned hotter than the breath of a dragon. it was a fury you did not see from him anymore, though perhaps that was because you and hongjoong had barely spoken since your conversation during the bedding ceremony.

the silence over the dimly lit corridor settled between you both. he stepped closer, his vindictive eyes fixed on you as he snapped, "why the hell did you come here?"

you bristled at his tone, "your father ordered me to!"

hongjoong's eyes widened. was he truly surprised? after everything the mad king had done?

hongjoong stepped closer, arms crossed over his chest, gaze skeptical and tone accusatory, "and you did not think to ask me to join you before you came here?"

"you were occupied," you spat, rolling your eyes.

despite your tone, you slumped against the wall behind you, hand over your heart to calm it. hongjoong's scowl was a burning thing, his gaze digging into your skull. you pointedly ignored it in liege of catching your bearings.

eventually he spoke, tone scathing, "you are an idiot."

you scowled at hongjoong, ignoring the way his eyes narrowed at your expression. if anyone deserved his wrath, it was his father. not you.

"your father has always been mad, and i've looked past it same as the rest of you. however, i cannot ignore this. he demanded this of me knowing damn well you would be occupied. clearly he wishes upon my death," you'd bit out, hiding at an ache on your arm. perhaps the dragon did not breathe fire, but it had clawed at you, the same way the mad king had with his own claws.

there was a scratch along your arm, right above the burn from long ago. blood trickled down your forearm. you stared at it for a long moment, unable to recall how you'd gotten it. now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the sharp sting of the wound was at the forefront of your mind.

you turned your scowl on hongjoong, watching as his gaze flit to your wounded arm and remained fixed there. he did not, you noticed, deny your accusation. yours was a heavy, treasonous statement to make against the king of westeros. especially to his son. he should have denied it.

you frowned at his silence, "you are aware of this?"

it was a question you knew the answer to.

hongjoong stood with his arms crossed over his chest. he grit his teeth, "my father believes i wish to usurp him using your father's support."

"and why would he believe something as absurd as that?" you asked, warily.

hongjoong's dragged his hand through his silver-white hair, shrugging. his gaze left yours, fixing over your shoulder, over nothing. it wasn’t the most absurd idea, not in this mad court.

"he is the mad king, y/n.” he emphasized mad king as if that were explanation enough.

"so what? some of his mad thoughts are not always unfounded," you said, narrowing your eyes at hongjoong as you watched him fidget. you've come to learn that hongjoong did not fidget as others did. it was subtle. a moment's glance away, a tap of his fingers against his forearm. they were all subtle signs you'd picked up from sleeping in his chambers, and you were not sure if you liked this newfound ability of yours. it only made you wonder what habits hongjoong had noticed of yours.

hongjoong stood before you, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for you to keep speaking. how he knew you would was beyond you.

you crossed your arms over your chest when the silence stretched on too long, "so, do you wish to usurp him? is that what the mad king’s vendetta is about?”

"i am no kinslayer," hongjoong glowered.

you'd raised a skeptical brow in response, "only because kinslaying is socially irredeemable."

"must you always think the worst of me?"

you snorted, "am i incorrect in my assumption, then? that the king’s anger is unfounded?”

hongjoong then let out the smallest of laughs, a bubble of a thing that graced his annoyed features. he shook his head, but he did not answer you. instead, he said, "come. let us tend to your wound."

you drew your arm to your chest, narrowing your eyes at his attempt to dodge your questions.

hongjoong merely held his hand out, waiting.

you glared at him and the offending hand, "you did not answer me."

"because i do not want to."

"then i will take it to be true, usurper."

"you’ve made up your mind already. will it make a difference? if it were true or not?”

you'd blinked at his expression. he shook his outstretched palm at you, an impatient movement.

you both knew that even if hongjoong truly did wish to usurp the throne, you'd still be entangled in the king's plots. you would remain a target. and if it wasn't true? the king would still continue to plot against you both. he was mad, after all, even if some of his madness was not unfounded. he hated dorne, and you were of dorne. he hated his son, and you were his spouse.

“yes, your admission would.” you cradled your arm to your chest. you clarified, "make a difference, i mean."

"how?"

"you'd have told me the truth."

"do we do that now?"

you frowned, "i suppose not."

hongjoong smiled, and it was a soft thing. he shook his head, before he held his hand out once more.

after a moment, you placed your injured hand in his. he held it carefully, and you'd ignored the way your chest ached.

in the year or so that you'd been wedded to hongjoong, nothing had truly changed. little things had changed here and there. he bothered you less than he used to, and your septa no longer reprimanded you for the way you responded to him.

other than that, he continued on with his lessons and his meetings. you continued on with your sword and riding lessons, and attended events and meetings as duty called.

the only difference that mattered was you and hongjoong slept in the same room together. nightly routines meant you'd lay in his too-big bed until sleep came, and sometimes you'd stir awake in the middle night when hongjoong entered the chambers and readied himself for bed. some mornings, you woke at the same time as him, and you ignored him getting dressed as you stepped into the bathing room to dress yourself or draw yourself a bath, not bothering to call for the servants. hongjoong never left the room when he wished to get dressed, much to your annoyance. still, most mornings, you woke to his bed empty.

some days, during banquets or jousting matches, you'd have to arrive alongside hongjoong. he'd hold his arm out for you to hook your arm through his elbow and the servants would dress you both in matching colors. he'd cock his brow in amusement as you took his offered arm, but he maintained a polite distance otherwise as he led you to the tourney or banquet. you'd made it a point every jousting match to not once give him your flower wreath and bestow him your favor. at banquets you sat next to him and not once did you turn to speak to him.

at one of the jousting tourneys, hongjoong waited at the foot of the stands for your favor, his silver-white hair pushed back from his eyes as he held his jousting sword out in your direction, his armor glinting under the sunlight. you'd treaded right past him, placing it upon the sword of ser eunwoo of the riverlands instead. hongjoong's eyes had flashed, even as he let out a loud bellowing laugh that rang loud in your ears. his grin was a wide terror of a thing. to the people of the court, your behavior was all fun and games between newly weds. teasing, good fun. sometimes, there were whispers that it was something less kind, but no one truly dared speak ill of the heir at court. the mad king was one thing, but the mad king's son was an entirely different matter. you knew it angered hongjoong, however, when you undermined him so publicly, but you doubted he cared otherwise. his sword was always adorned by flower wreath after flower wreath, favor upon favor, from too many to count. you were a wreath among many others. what did your favor matter to him?

ser eunwoo, ser baekhyun, every knight you'd ever favored in hongjoong's stead, ended up sprawled across the ground with his helmet gone and his nose or arm or fingers or some other appendage broken or severely injured from the impact of hongjoong’s jousting sword. hongjoong always tugged at his horse's reins as he galloped back and forth after in celebration, the crowd cheering him on. once you’d dared meet his eyes through the crowd, and his dark eyes glinted as his grin widened.

when he'd defeated ser eunwoo, your favor had flown from ser eunwoo's broken jousting sword, and he'd scooped it up and placed it on his, waving his sword to and fro to the sound of crowd howling at his act. your heart raced against your ribs and your stomach turned. you'd watched as hongjoong galloped to where you stood in the stands, reining his horse in. he held his sword out to you, and the tourney grew silent in anticipation. your favor slipped from the tip of his sword and fell to the floor in front of you, past your limp hands. he grinned, all teeth and fire in his eyes, before he dismounted his horse and turned away, bowing to the crowd.

"you could have killed him," you'd admonished afterwards, when you both left together in hongjoong's carriage.

you'd reminded him of that fact every time he did such a thing.

every time, hongjoong shrugged in response and said, "if you worry for their lives, why do you give them your favor?"

you'd frowned and hongjoong had laughed.

the next tournament, you kept your favor in your lap, defiant as you met hongjoong's gaze. he won the match and dumped all the favors he'd received in front of your feet, and his grin was not as wild as it once had been. the audience hooted with glee. hongjoong turned away from you.

"quite a lover's quarrel, huh?" yeosang asked with a grin and a congratulatory pat to hongjoong's back before he opened the carriage door, after that particular tourney incident.

hongjoong narrowed his eyes at yeosang, and you were shocked he did not strangle yeosang where he stood. it was a testament, you thought, to their bond, and it always made your chest tight to see evidence of such a thing when you had nothing. the carriage ride home was a long and silent.

some days, you'd believed the kims were closer to god than to the rest of you, but on days like this you knew they were the same as any other person. human and angry and begrudging as the rest of you. it made you laugh, a bubbling giggle escaping your lips, and hongjoong glanced sideways at you before he huffed and fixed his gaze out the carriage window.

~.~.~.~.~

a year prior, the sun beat down over your heads as you stood at port. the smell of rotting fish invaded your senses and you could almost taste it on your tongue alongside the sea salt carried with the ocean breeze. the heat of the sun trickled down your spine. you did not know when king's landing's sun became hotter than dorne's, but you thought it fitting that you'd notice it now, as you stood on the docks and watched your father's knights ready his ship.

dorne's flag - orange with a yellow spear piercing a red sun - fluttered high in the sky. it beckoned to you, and you wanted so badly to join your family. you wanted so badly to return to dorne, to touch the sands of sunspear and take meals alongside your brothers. you wanted so badly to find forgiveness for your father, to kneel at your mother's feet and eat the fruits she'd cut for you while she massaged hot oil into your hair. you dreamt of those evenings, her fingers gentle on your scalp while she hummed an ancient melody she said her mother had taught her. you'd asked her to teach you once, and she hummed and said she would when her duties allowed her rest. she'd never gotten around to it. you wanted so badly to learn it now.

you wanted your family. you wanted dorne. you wanted to leave.

your chest ached with the want.

that day, mingi stood at your side, instead of hongjoong. the king, queen, and hongjoong had already said their farewells to your family in the throne room. you hadn't been there. you'd woken to an empty bed, and an anxious thrum deep in your bones. you'd wrapped a cloak over your sleep clothes and stumbled to the chamber doors. at the threshold to hongjoong's chambers, you found mingi and two other kingsguard you did not recognize standing guard outside hongjoong's chambers.

they all stood with their heads held high, eyes boring straight ahead. not once did any of them look your way. not even mingi. in just one night, so much had changed. all because of a few vows.

you had not realized the true impact of wedding hongjoong until that moment.

you cleared your throat, and you asked, "where is the prince?"

surely, he'd have been left alone the night after his wedding as you had been. you thought of the conversation that transpired between you, but you took care to pack away the conversation, the whole night. you did not care to linger on it. now, especially, was not the time to dwell on such trivial matters.

one of the other kingsguard spoke loudly, his voice grating on your frazzled nerves. he did not look at you. neither of them did. was that how you would be treated now? as someone so respected, they saw right through you?

"the prince has gone to see the king's guests off in the throne room, my liege. the king has ordered that they all depart immediately.”

you'd blinked at that. why hadn't you been told that your family would be departing so soon? why were they leaving so soon?

you knew why, but you still could not fathom that it was happening.

you'd clutched the door, voice rough even to your own ears, "when?"

no one said anything.

"when did they leave?" your voice rose, and only then did they look at you. really look at you. you did not recognize any of them. mingi, however, met your gaze with sympathy. pity almost, and you held your breath in anticipation. you expected him to say they'd already left. that you'd slept through their departure, and this time you hadn't had a chance to say your goodbyes.

but then he said, "they're being escorted to the port. they are to leave when the sun is highest in the sky."

"i want to see them."

"my liege -"

"i demand to see them off," you scowled at mingi, "were you ordered to keep me here?"

mingi shook his head. “not me.”

the other kingsguard threw him a look.

you'd tied your cloak securely around yourself and stepped out into the hall, "then i am going."

a day ago, the kingsguard would have ignored your demands completely. even mingi, because despite your companionship with him, he answered to the crown first.

this time, however, they'd exchanged nervous looks, shifting from foot-to-foot, before mingi stepped forward and said, "i will escort them to port.”

the other kingsguard frowned, "what if the prince...?"

mingi shrugged, "i will take full responsibility if the prince wishes to punish us."

so mingi had brought you to port with an urgency you appreciated. throughout the walk there, mingi remained silent. steadfast. as if he was a stranger and you were meeting him all over again. perhaps, that was what happened when one becomes the heir's spouse.

now, he stood by your side. your mother had already stroked your cheek and insisted you stay warm. her voice was a soft, choked thing, and you'd pulled her into another hug. she'd pulled away first, and you felt a part of your heart walking away with her.

your father pressed a hand to your mother's shoulder as she pressed a hand to her mouth and stepped back, giving him room. he searched your gaze for a long, long time. an inkling of rage settled in your stomach as he said, "i am proud of you."

you did not want the burden of his pride. you only wanted to go home. you dipped your head, murmured, "thank you, father."

your father pushed your hair from your face, and he smiled sadly at what he saw in your expression. perhaps he could see the anger and longing in your eyes. then he joined your mother with another piece of your heart. they walked aboard the ship hand in hand, and waited.

you watched them, until you were tugged sideways, into a warm embrace. you let out a gasp of surprise, before you clung to him. the ache in your chest grew, and your fingers curled around the back of his shirt. you looked up at wooyoung's face as he leaned back just a bit and reached up to cup either side of your face in his warm, calloused hands. he said, kindly, too kindly, "take care of yourself, alright?"

"you, too." you said, swallowing the lump in your throat, "please."

wooyoung's fingers tightened against your face before he pulled away. he glanced sideways, throwing mingi a small, amused smile, before he turned away completely and boarded the ship, joining your parents.

yunho stood before you then, and he embraced you for a long, long moment, rocking you back and forth. when he stepped back to take a better look at you, he peered down at you as if he were committing you to memory. as if he would not see you again.

he would not, you both knew, but you did not wish to dwell on the thought right then. the yearning ache in your chest only grew. you knew that this was it.

this was it.

yunho held your hands between his, squeezing tightly, and he said, "write me, please."

"i will, but it will be shallow..."

you trailed off when yunho shook his head, his eyes fixed on yours, full of a burning fire you hadn't expected. such a look was unfamiliar on the yunho you knew. he was determined as he said, with a meaningful squeeze of your hands, "there are other ways to send letters. besides you are no longer a ward. you are the heir's spouse. do you understand what that means, y/n? you have access to channels you’ve never had before.”

the thought never occurred to you. you'd blinked, nodding slowly.

your thoughts reeled at the possibilities. he was right. you held a modicum of power, no matter how limited. you said, slowly, “i will write you often, then."

"yes. write me of everything. i wish to know of even the most mundane of details." yunho’s smile was contagious, and you could not help the small laugh as you nodded.

the gaze beneath his smile held an edge you needed time to acclimate to. time you did not have with yunho or wooyoung. time you wanted so badly to have.

yunho ruffled your hair, and he retreated. he joined your family against the rails. the crew raised the anchors, and shouted at each other as they set sail. you watched with bated breath as wooyoung leaned over the rails and grinned, waving at you with both hands. he wiped at his face as he did so, and you felt tears spring to your eyes at the thought of wooyoung crying. you were the cause of it. yunho merely leaned against the rails beside wooyoung and watched. your mother sobbed. the sound curled over the ocean breeze and lodged itself in what was left of your heart. your father crossed his arms over his broad chest. you waved back until your arm ached. until their boat was a tiny dot on the horizon. until your aching heart felt as if it'd been torn away from your chest, swept across the ocean. you wanted so badly to stand beside them once more. just one more time.

but you were still standing in king's landing.

the silence then was a deafening thing. the sea still crashed against the port, and the port was still a busy, bustling thing, but the silence engulfing you was worse than the ache in your chest. saying goodbye a second time was infinitely worse than saying it once. wind gusted around you, and you heard the distant roars of a dragon - you could see a dragon weaving in and out of the clouds above the sea. you could not tell whose dragon it was. hongjoong's was an onyx black, large and thin with claws longer than your head. you'd see it from afar in the dragonpit a few times. despite the spectacle above you, despite the bustling around you, your head felt empty, muffled.

you knew your heart had crept aboard the ship, and left you behind too. the part of your heart that always held onto dorne and wished to go home was finally going home, and you were left behind to rot.

"something sweet and a listening ear always helps after something like this, you know," mingi's deep voice startled you from your thoughts. he'd been so quiet, you'd forgotten of his presence.

you looked over at mingi, and his neck remained craned as he peered up at the dragon weaving through the clouds. he must have felt your gaze on him, because he turned to look at you, and that wide grin of his graced his serious features. his eyes did not light up the same way his face had, and you could not fault him for it.

“oh?” you asked, "what do you suggest?"

mingi turned away from the sky and the sea, turning fully to face you. he explained, "the kitchen cook makes such decadent desserts with the leftover dough. he fries it and rolls it in sugar."

your chest still ached, and you felt like too many parts of you had gone missing, but mingi's sweet smile staved off the ache just a bit. his expression held a hint of excitement you had not seen in too long. not since before mingi joined the kingsguard, really, so you found yourself grinning along with his excitement as best as you could.

you nodded, "you've convinced me."

mingi grinned, "you'll love it."

~.~.~.~.~

when you were a small child, yunho, wooyoung, and you were often left to your own devices to entertain yourselves as you saw fit. your parents had assigned the three of you your own caretakers, but they'd grown resigned to the fact that neither of you liked to be watched during all hours of the day. the three of you ran off too often, quickly making it a game. your caretakers eventually gave up. as long as you were together, your parents and your caretakers did not mind.

often times, you spent your days in the orchards and mango groves climbing trees or picking mangoes or practicing swordplay on the beach or chasing each other through the narrow streets of sunspear or lounging about under the sun in one of the hidden courtyards.

that day, long ago, you and yunho were practicing your swordfighting with wooden swords you'd swiped from the training vaults, while wooyoung used his wooden sword to crouch in the sand to the side and draw silly renditions of the two of you, a pile of seashells towered by his feet. he always made your head too big and yunho's limbs much longer than the rest of him.

you'd knocked yunho over once again, grinning as he remained sprawled in the sand.

"you're quite terrible at this," you'd teased. wooyoung was the one with sword talent. you and yunho competed often for who was worse. today, it seemed yunho was winning.

yunho merely remained sprawled out on the sand, scowling at you when you poked at his sprawled form with the end of your sword. he did not give you a response, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.

"hey," wooyoung looked up from his drawing, his expression almost pensive. his brows were furrowed together and he wrapped his arms around his knees, the wooden sword dangling from his fingers. from your angle, woo looked tiny. he asked, his voice drifting on the breeze between the three of you, "what do you want to be when you grow up?"

you'd frowned, confused by wooyoung's sudden sincerity. he'd been quite serious all day, really, and he hadn't explained why, merely choosing to remain quieter than usual. you and yunho exchanged a look. you'd both wondered aloud what was weighing him, but you neither of you had wanted to ask him. sometimes, questions set wooyoung off worse when he fell into one of his quiet moods.

yunho shrugged, his gaze fixed on the sky, "i'm going to be the prince of dorne. and you're going to be my army's combat general. y/n is going to be my diplomat."

wooyoung grimaced, straightening his back as his eyes narrowed. there was a storm brewing beneath his expression that you did not understand at the time. he said, "i am not asking what father and mother decided we'd be. what do you want, yunho?"

yunho blinked, craning his neck to examine wooyoung. whatever he saw softened the furrow of his brow. he said, "i do not know, brother. i've never considered doing anything else."

"don't you think you should?" wooyoung sighed.

you'd frowned at wooyoung then, your voice quiet, "what is this about?"

wooyoung looked up you for a long moment, before he shrugged, and he said, "of course yunho doesn't know. for a boy with access to all the lessons in the world, you're quite shit at using your own brain aren’t you?"

there was a teasing lilt to wooyoung's voice, under all the other emotions.

yunho rolled his eyes, but you could see a hint of hurt cross his features. then yunho chucked his wooden sword in wooyoung's direction. you giggled at how far off the throw was. wooyoung put a hand over his heart, offended.

you spoke then, if only to offset the hurt you'd seen in yunho's eyes for just a moment. you loved wooyoung, but he tended to say things that were quite mean, even if he only meant it in jest. "leave yunho alone, woo. why wonder and dream of other possibilities when your future is already set in stone?"

yunho's smile was small, though his nod was vigorous as he threw wooyoung a smug look. wooyoung stuck his tongue out at yunho.

"well what about you, y/n? what do you want to be when you grow up?"

he'd raised a brow, ignoring you completely.

"kind," you said with a shrug, humoring him. you'd thought about it often anyway. you said, "like the cooks when they're tired but they still make us extra desserts, and the ladies by the well, and like the stable boy that takes care of the horses at the east end."

wooyoung blinked at you, and that stormy look returned.

"you are already kind," yunho muttered, pushing himself up to a seated position. he rolled his eyes, though the act was good-natured, "just admit you don't know either."

"so woo can also declare me an idiot?"

"at least with you, he's not wrong."

you'd kicked yunho’s foot, and he giggled in response.

wooyoung's voice was soft as he pursed his lips. his words, however, were sly as he pointed his wooden sword at you, "i knew you’d taken a liking to the stable boy."

"i did not!" you tossed your stick at wooyoung, and unlike yunho, you did not miss. wooyoung shrieked when it hit his arm with a light thwack. he sprawled out on the dirt, clutching his arm as if you'd stabbed him with a real sword.

you'd rolled your eyes, calling over his whining, "and what about you?"

he paused in his rolling in the sand, pouting as he said, "i'm not certain i want to grow up. father is always traveling to the other kingdoms for his meetings, and mother never looks happy anymore."

"it's politics," yunho said. "the kingdom comes first."

"even if it costs you your happiness?" wooyoung waved a hand around them, "even if we won't be able to spend hours at the beach?"

"is that what makes you happy?" you asked, softly, smiling a bit at the thought. "spending time with us?"

"don't make it sappy, y/n." wooyoung snapped, though he would not meet your gaze and his smile was visible even from where you stood. "i only wonder what doing something you do not love does to a person. father is distant, and mother drinks so much i heard the kitchen servants mention that it was concerning. what if you cannot be kind, y/n? what if we all become terrible? what if we forget what we love?"

you'd blinked at his sincere words. wooyoung was always profound. he appeared thoughtless and loud and reckless, but you knew he spent too much time thinking when he was alone, and he cared more than he'd ever let on. where yunho was loud with his love, despite being reserved and held back with everything else, wooyoung was the opposite. quiet with his love, but exaggerated in his teasing, and rowdy, and always so there. always thinking of you all, it seemed.

"oh," yunho's voice was a quiet thing, "you think if we don't know what we want to be when we grow up, then we'll become something we never imagined? that we will become something we hate? is that it?"

yunho stared at the sky, as if he was speaking to the gods.

wooyoung pursed his lips, his eyes fixed on yunho’s profile. he hung in yunho’s words as if he would have the answers. yunho always knew the answers, how to logically soothe the most anxious of thoughts.

but yunho did not say a word, he only stared at the sky.

wooyoung drew his knees closer to his chest.

"well, why are those the only options? why do we become terrible just because we don't have a dream or goal? why do we need one? there are plenty of people who don't have dreams or goals, woo, and they turned out all right." you spoke up, your voice ringing in the silence.

"those people aren't meant to inherit kingdoms and armies though," wooyoung muttered, frowning.

"my point still stands," you said, nudging yunho's foot with your foot, "right, yun?"

yunho craned his neck in your direction, to wooyoung, and he said, "yes, exactly."

wooyoung rubbed the back of his neck, but he seemed to relax at yunho's confirmation. he never took your word for anything. you found yourself rolling your eyes as wooyoung asked yunho, "really?"

yunho nodded vigorously, and woo smiled, and you said, "see. really."

~.~.~.~.~

it was outside the kitchens, after your family had sailed away, sat on a bench the servants often used to take their meals while you brushed toasted sugar from your finger tips, when mingi finally broke the silence, "i was eight years old when i was sent to king's landing."

that brought you pause.

mingi fiddled with one of the sweets in front of him, his armor clinking softly.

you held your breath as you waited for him to continue. mingi did not divulge information about himself often, and you knew this was a rare occurrence. all that could be heard from your spot in the dark corner outside the kitchens was the distant sound of servants and cooks scrambling in the kitchen. the pitter-patter of hurried footsteps echoed off the stone walls. the smell of roasting meat carried through the air. a bout of laughter here. a scolding there. the clatter of dishware. the world was anything but silent even as you two sat with in silence. you watched mingi scratch idly at the wooden tabletop.

mingi did not say more.

after a long minute, you broke the silence with a tentative voice, "you were brought here? then are you...were you a ward, too?"

you found yourself enraptured by the image of mingi as a ward. sometimes wards were not hostages, not always. sometimes, there were other reasons for lords, ladies, and lieges to place their children in wardships. sometimes, there was a genuine want to build a mutual relationship of trust and love between houses and the ward maintained their freedoms. from the way hongjoong - the red keep really - seemed to adore mingi, you figured that must have been the case. it angered you to know that the red keep was capable of kindness, that a ward could be beloved and treated more than a hostage. you did not want to fault mingi for that.

it made sense. mingi was bastard born, thus carrying the name flowers long before adopting the name and sigil of house song.

in dorne, bastards were treated as equals. in westeros, bastards were punished for simply being born. bastards were treated like scum too often, and you found the practice a despicable thing. even legalized, bastards faced scorn. you peered at mingi in concern, waiting.

"no," mingi let out a small chuckle, shaking his head, "i was no ward. my father...lord song brought me with him to live in king's landing while he worked in the small council. no one considered me their ward. not the king nor lord song. i was merely a motherless bastard lucky to be accepted in the prince’s inner circle."

"oh," you'd blinked at the information, unsure how to respond or what to ask.

"she passed from the pox a few months before lord song found me and we set off to king's landing," mingi divulged, seeming to take pity on your confusion. he said, "i had nowhere else to go, really. even then, the king did not legitimize me for a long, long time."

mingi's expression was distant. you watched as he shook his head, a smile gracing his lips. he said, "i understand how it feels to be left behind, y/n. to miss a home that no longer feels like home. before i was legitimized, lord song left me behind in the red keep. he could not take me back to highgarden. lady song did not take kindly to my existence.”

"what about after you were legitimized?"

"lady song did not change her mind surrounding my existence. i believe being legitimized bothered her more," mingi said with a nonchalant shrug as he leaned back and picked at his nails. everything about him was nonchalant. despite his words. despite never having a home in the lands from which he was born.

that thought made your heart ache, the same way it had when you'd watched your family leave. soon you would live in king's landing longer than you had in dorne. soon you would not have a home in the lands in which you were born, either. sure, your brothers were still there. your parents. but if your brothers have changed so much, then what of your home? what of sunspear? how would you reconcile that as well? you could not blame mingi for his nonchalance. it was easier to remain indifferent then let the worries consume you.

“i never understood the shame westeros has surrounding bastards," you said instead, shaking your head of your thoughts as you frowned at mingi, "it is no fault of yours that your father broke his vows to his wife. a babe should not be shamed for such a thing."

mingi blinked at you, his dark eyes flickering in surprise over your face. his fingers curled around each other briefly, before he shrugged once more. a perfect picture of unbothered. he said, "i've heard dorne treats their bastards well. your judgement is biased.”

"being born is not a crime,” you'd scoffed. “westeros could learn a thing or two from dorne."

mingi smiled, and this time it was genuine. sweet, almost.

you frowned at him as realization dawned on you, "then, lord song left you here alone? every time he returned to highgarden?”

lord song, to this day, visited his home, highgarden in the reach, almost once a month. he made it known to anyone who would listen that he loved and missed his wife dearly. perhaps he did, or perhaps he was overcompensating for his past adultery. either way, it meant he always left king's landing on his own. you recalled how mingi often mentioned that lord song had left for highgarden, how he'd shrugged and he appeared so nonchalant. you'd always assumed mingi chose to stay back, but now that you knew that was never truly the case, your heart tugged for him. yeosang used to spend more time with mingi when his father left. you remembered that much from your childhood. you remembered hongjoong would throw his arm over mingi's shoulders and drag him down to his height. they were always more affectionate with mingi, but you'd never realized why. your frown deepened at the thought of mingi alone somewhere in the red keep, so often. it was an image that was difficult to reconcile with.

"he did," mingi shook his head at your expression, waving his hands in a placating manner, “but i wasn’t completely alone. i had hongjoong and yeosang. san and jongho too whenever they visited. eventually, you were here, too.”

his mention of you was surprising. you'd never thought he cared much for your company. you'd spent too often arguing with hongjoong or scoffing at yeosang. you never thought much of the times hongjoong or yeosang would say something terrible and the two of you would lock gazes over their shoulders, grimaces matching. he'd sometimes shake his head, attempting to deter you, and you would roll your eyes before you spoke up anyway. of course, he sat with you in the library and listened to you read often, and he voluntarily paired off with you during lessons more often than not. he even used to throw yeosang looks when his teasing became too cutting, too pointed, but you'd always believed that was merely what mingi did. you never thought he'd learned to see you as anything but a ward, a hostage of the king's that was lumped together with him and his companions for propriety’s sake. when san courted you, you believed mingi only saw you as an extension of san, and now as an extension to hongjoong. you did not think he saw you as a person, let alone a comforting presence of any sort due to your circumstances.

as you looked at him, and the softness in his eyes, and the small smile on his lips, you detected care. at least a hint of it. it made your thoughts reel.

that had always been your dilemma at king's landing. no one cared much about you as a person. they only ever cared for you due to your status or who you were bound to. even san, though he seemed to care enough to provide you comfort, had other intentions. you wondered, briefly, if mingi would dare devote himself to you. could you ask him for favors? would he carry out your orders? were you thinking ahead of yourself?

you blinked away your, frankly, treacherous thoughts as you murmured into the silence, “it must have been lonely though.”

“it was,” mingi murmured, “as you are well aware of, i’m sure."

you'd frowned.

"i know i am a kingsguard with vows that may not serve you, but," mingi gave you a small, genuine smile, "i am also your friend, y/n."

"is that not a contradiction?" you'd asked then, "to be my friend, to care for me as such, is an insult to the king."

mingi blinked, a slow thing, and he said, "you are married to the king's son."

"a son he does not care much for," you muttered. it was a push, you knew, especially to say such a thing to a member of the kingsguard and to a long-time friend of hongjoong's, but you wanted to know how far you could push him. how deep did the care in his eyes run?

could you make it deeper?

the thought made your stomach churn, the way it did when hongjoong spoke to you the night of your wedding. it was a mixture of fear, and a morbid curiosity, an interest, that you were not sure what to do with.

you focused on mingi. he bit his lip, his gaze slipping past your shoulder for a moment, before he looked at you once more. he said, "the king cannot hurt hongjoong. he cannot hurt you."

"how do you know that?"

"i don't," mingi's brows furrowed into a pained expression, "but i know that i will not stand by and let it happen."

you'd blinked, "are you admitting that you'd turn your cloak?"

"i've turned my cheek too many times, y/n, to too many atrocities," mingi sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, his armor clinking softly. "i do not think i could live with myself if i allowed hongjoong and you to get hurt. if i must become a turncloak, then so be it.”

it was always hongjoong in the end.

but you can use that, a voice at the back of your head whispered.

it sounded like hongjoong, and it left a bad taste in your mouth, but you knew the voice was right. you'd pushed mingi, and he let you, and as long as you allowed him to frame his care in a way that appeared as if he was protecting hongjoong, too, then perhaps his devotion could mean something more to you. perhaps, this was what yunho meant. you were the heir's spouse. you had power. sure, it was tied to hongjoong, but did hongjoong have to know how you wielded it? he whispered that he'd teach you, but perhaps you could teach yourself.

"i appreciate your honesty, mingi," you'd sighed. "i know it's difficult to admit such a thing."

mingi dipped his head, his sweet smile making your heart curl in around itself. he said, "you'd asked for honesty once before, y/n, and i do not wish to dismiss your request. i understand hongjoong can be a handful, but you should remember that he listens to yeosang and me. i'm sure you can handle yourself, but if you ever...if you..." mingi cut himself off as he stiffened, shaking his head, "i apologize, i realize i may be speaking out of turn."

you'd shook your head, endeared by his stutter. you did not think yeosang could be helpful, not in the way you thought mingi could be, but you still said, "don't apologize. admittedly, i do need...help with hongjoong sometimes."

mingi's eyes flashed with an emotion you could not place. he only nodded.

you said, "if i need anything, i will ask for you."

he dipped his head in acknowledgement, even as he stood. he held out a hand to take, his armor clinking softly with his movements. you took his hand, allowing him to help you.

"thanks," you said, after a moment of walking silently side-by-side through the halls, "for this. for talking to me."

mingi smiled, and it was a genuine thing, and you almost felt terrible for thinking of using his kindness for your own means.

almost.

~.~.~.~.~

the mad king still held tourneys as if the red keep is not wrought with the stench of burnt bodies, and the courts do not whisper of the king's sure demise. the queen no longer makes public or private appearances.l, except with a select few. mingi often appears haggard when he steps into the library or settles into his assigned post outside hongjoong's chambers. you'd questioned him often, and all mingi would say was that he'd had a long shift guarding the king or queen.

"sweet thing," yeosang grinned, dragging his fingers through his tousled, long blond hair as one of the servants adjusted his jousting armor over his shoulders. kang crimson and gold glinted off his armor as he leaned close and tilted his head, "did you enjoy the matches?"

you could not say that you did.

it had gone as all public appearances for you had, you with your elbow hooked through hongjoong's as you two were announced, the cheering, and you and hongjoong donning his kim black and red, the dragon sigil blaring. the mad king would not attend. he never did. his paranoia was an all-consuming thing. it left hongjoong and you to entertain his father's guests. you watched that evening as hongjoong had roared, waving his jousting sword, as he gathered flower wreath favors from too many to count. as usual, he'd stopped in front of where you sat last, and he presented the tip of his sword.

that night, you'd refused him as you always did, and the whispers were louder than ever. at first, the court believed it playful banter, but it has been too long since you'd been wedded, almost two name days of yours since the event really, and now the amusement had morphed into something more sinister. the king lacking favor made the disdain hongjoong, and ultimately you, received worse.

that night something ferocious flashed in hongjoong's gaze, but he'd only grinned and bowed his head.

that night he lost.

you saw it, in the way he was distracted as his gaze flit across the stands, past you. you'd followed his gaze. you did not wish to care, but your gaze followed his without a second thought.

you saw a man, around your age, around hongjoong and mingi and yeosang and san's age, with hair black as a raven and skin as smooth as the calmest of seas, and his clothes were muted. everything about him was muted, yet he held your attention. you understood why hongjoong fumbled with his sword. why he faltered just at the sight of this man. the man was beautiful. the moon, personified.

he was everything you were not.

hongjoong's second match ended with the opponent he lost to lying flat on his back and heaving for air he could not and did not have, blood sputtering down his lips and half of his face smashed in. he would be dead in minutes, you knew, and the thought only made you tired.

when the tourney finished, you stood waiting for hongjoong, and yeosang appeared in front of you, his sweaty brow glistening under the setting sun, his eyes twinkling as he eyed you in curiosity.

you ignored his question, your gaze sweeping over the other participants, until you found the man who had made hongjoong falter smiling quite sweetly as he spoke with san. you'd blinked. in the stands, the man was the epitome of stoicity, of ice, of the coldness of the moon, but here his smile was a pretty thing. it warmed your heart, the way the afternoon sun would warm your skin when you laid in it. he was everything but cold then.

"park seonghwa," yeosang's low voice settled over you.

you tore your gaze from seonghwa and san, from the way hongjoong sauntered up to san and pat him on the shoulder, turning to the man - park seonghwa - with a wide, toothy grin and unwavering eyes. "what?"

"that is park seonghwa. i am surprised san found a way to convince seonghwa to join us for the tourney," yeosang grinned, but his eyes were fixed on you. "ever since seonghwa left the eyrie, he's kept himself locked away in the north. something about awaiting the north's treacherous winters at winterfell.”

you'd heard the venom laced in yeosang's tone as he spoke. it was not well-hidden, or perhaps you have gotten quite good at picking up on the changes in yeosang after so many years in his vicinity.

you knew of house park, known for their honor and their generosity. the winters up north were long and treacherous, and you did not fault him for remaining in winterfell to help his kingdom last through it. division would bring ruin to any kingdom, but especially to one living under such harsh conditions.

still you focused on the mention of san and the venom in yeosang's expression. you frowned at yeosang, searching his expression for a moment. when he met your inquiring gaze, his smile grew sly. you'd frowned as you said, "why would san have any sway over park seonghwa?"

yeosang let out a small laugh. he said, "seonghwa was fostered in the vale when he was eight years old. jongho and san spent many years there under house lim’s care as well. in fact, jongho and san have quite a long history with seonghwa. rumor has it jongho is smitten with him, though i would not dare repeat such slander."

"oh," you were surprised, and yeosang latched onto to it. you could see it in the way the corner of his mouth tipped upwards and his eyes glinted under the setting sun. you shook your head, "right. why is he here then?"

yeosang pursed his lips. his grin slipped into a steely expression, "i have no idea. diplomacy, perhaps?"

you did not believe him. kang yeosang knew everything. his father was not the only resourceful kang.

you'd rolled your eyes, and yeosang only grinned, shrugging. the conversation ended when hongjoong entered, his jousting armor and helmet gone, his long white-blonde hair tied back into a neat knot. he was spotless, his rings glinting in the setting sun as he held his arms out in greeting, smile all teeth. his eyes fell on you first, lingering briefly before his gaze slid to his friends. he did not look at you again.

that night, hongjoong placed a warm hand at the middle of your back, and he waved mingi over. his gaze never met yours, but his thumb settled into a small pattern along the middle of your back. even through your robes, his hand was warm. you had a bit of ale in you. that was why you did not stiffen the way you should have. at least that was how you planned to explain away the feeling the next morning.

you only stiffened when hongjoong called for mingi a second time, pulling him from a conversation with yeosang. mingi sauntered over, entirely too sober, and hongjoong grinned, his hand flat on your back, unmoving, "ser mingi, take y/n to our chambers so they may rest."

you'd blinked at the demand. the dismissal.

mingi only bowed.

you glanced yeosang's way, and he waved to you, a toothy grin gracing his features, his cheeks pink from his ale. he raised his mug to you in mock salute. you'd looked away.

your gaze slid to san then. it often did, whenever he stayed at the red keep. and he would always react the same. san only ever returned your glances with blank, unreadable eyes. like he was a stranger, as you asked. you met seonghwa's gaze over their shoulders. over hongjoong's shoulder.

seonghwa hovered, separate from the rest of the group, where he merely observed the scene in front of him. something about him brought irritation to the pit of your stomach. he was fostered, yeosang had said, and you knew that in an ideal world, without the mad king's twisted intentions, that would have been your fate instead of the glorified hostage you had been delegated to.

fosterage and wardship were two sides of the same coin. however, where you were a hostage, never meant to return to sunspear no matter if you fell to your knees and begged for it, seonghwa could. fostered children were free to travel between both kingdoms as they pleased once they turned of age. a fostering was what you believed you’d been walking into at four-and-ten.

perhaps the bubbling tension in the pit of your stomach was something of a rage. or perhaps, when hongjoong glanced back over at seonghwa, and you caught a twinkle in his eyes and a familiar darkness, a familiar want, you knew the tension at the pit of your stomach was something else, something close to concern, close to understanding that hongjoong wanted creatures of the sun and the stars, and that his greed knew no bounds. he had a creature of the sun, and now he wanted a creature of the moon. he wanted, and he took, no matter the consequences, and he was not above ruining those very same creatures for it.

you met seonghwa's dark eyes once more, and he did not smile. he truly reminded you of the moon when it sat highest in the night sky. bright, silent, and so bitingly cold.

"go on," hongjoong said, pushing you in mingi's direction, his fingertips brushing down your back, a featherlight touch.

hongjoong did not have to say it for you to understand. celebrations were in order, and you were not invited. you were dismissed.

how dare he dismiss you? a voice that sounded eerily like hongjoong whispered at the back of your head. you did not entertain that voice, as you would not entertain hongjoong.

you'd only nodded, catching a flash of disappointment flit through hongjoong's expression. the ale brought a vindictive thought to you head. a vindictive, as he should be, as you'd taken your leave.

that night, in the empty hall leading to your chambers, something you could only describe as a beast reared its ugly head from the pits of your being. you'd come to a halt and you stared at mingi's retreating back. you called after him, your quiet voice echoing off the high walls, "can i ask a favor of you, mingi?"

your voice sounded emptier, different. you often looked in the mirror and wondered if you'd been reborn a new person when you'd wedded hongjoong. a tiny voice at the back of your head would always respond, not when you wedded hongjoong. when they left.

mingi's boots stopped thumping. his tall figure seemed to slump under your words, as if he could feel the weight of them. perhaps he could. perhaps your words were heavier than you gave them credit for. his armor no longer clinked.

he'd merely turned, and looked to you. his arms hung at his side, and his eyes bore into your skull.

"have you heard of 'the dornish man'?" you asked.

"do you mean the tavern at west end?"

you'd nodded.

"why?" mingi gave no warnings that the tavern sat nestled between brothels and seedy inns, nor that hongjoong would have his head if you two were caught beyond the walls of the red keep without his knowledge. he only wanted to know your reasons, the question hanging over you two. it clawed against stone walls. it rang high and true. over and over and over. it rang in your ears. it burrowed in your skin.

you should tell him the truth, but you could not. you would not. you thought of the bloodied man hongjoong had maimed during the tourney. all the others before that knight. the thoughtful kindness in seonghwa's eyes as he spoke to san, when he met your gaze as you were dismissed. the anxious bubble at the pit of your stomach as you looked on. as hongjoong's smile stretched across his face when he met seonghwa’s eyes. you thought of your brother holding you, his voice as firm as his touch, you are the spouse's heir.

so, instead you said: "i miss my home."

you looked up at him, softened your brows, and when you met mingi's gaze, he faltered. he faltered as you knew he would, and perhaps you were evil for the way you made your voice tremble and your brows furrow, but you would not allow yourself to falter. not tonight.

mingi's jaw clenched as he looked away. his armor clinked as he dragged a hand through his messy dark hair.

"i only need you to cover me. you do not need to join me," you said.

the silence after you spoke was tense. you did not move.

finally mingi said, "letting you go to the west end alone would only worry me more."

you'd blinked at him. you expected he would not give in, that he would not allow you to push him even just that bit. you certainly did not expect such an admission. all you could say was, "oh."

mingi sighed as he dragged a hand through his dark hair, "two hours. that is all we have."

you nodded, grinning, and mingi's lips twitched up into a small smile of his own.

~.~.~.~.~

the streets of king's landing was not as thrilling as you remembered it with hongjoong. you slipped through the crowds and sidestepped merchants, pickpockets, and drunks alike, following mingi so closely your nose brushed against his back whenever he came to a sudden stop - he removed his outer armor and stashed it in the closet hongjoong had the servants clear for you, donning a simple brown cloak. mingi looked younger without his kingsguard armor and cloak. your heart constricted at the thought. still, you found yourself moving forward.

you could have told him to turn around at any moment. that was what stayed with you most on that journey. you had plenty of time to turn back, to not drag a well-meaning mingi into your plans, to remain a shadow in the red keep for the rest of your days while hongjoong did whatever he wished.

but you did not, and you would not have, and as mingi looked back at you over his shoulder, his dark eyes always vigilant, there was a glint of knowing lingering there as his gaze met yours. he'd raised a brow, and you'd smiled, and mingi merely nodded to himself. you recognized the brothels and the alley as you drew closer, and when mingi opened the door to the tavern, you stepped up the creaking stairs with your heart lodged in your throat and your fingers curled around the fabric of your cloak, limbs filled with nervous energy.

you both stood at the threshold to the tavern, and not an eye strayed your way when you entered. the tavern was filled with the harsh stench of cigar smoke, a hint of grilled meat, and the usual staleness of old mead, and though your heart was lodged in your throat, you knew right then that you'd stepped into this new role and there was no backing out. not now.

mingi took a seat at one of the tables, and you gestured to the bar. he waved you on, but his eyes remained on your back. you leaned against the bar, and the barkeep was a familiar face. the owner hongjoong had pointed out earlier. his skin was like yours - no longer kissed by the sun as it once was, but still different from the rest of king’s landing’s patrons, still so obviously dornish - and his hair was like yunho's. his smile was a sweet, playful thing, like wooyoung. your heart leapt against your ribs.

he truly looked as dornish as they came, bright traditional robes and all.

the thought only pressed you closer to the bar, your fingers curling around the edge of the wooden table.

since the wedding, you'd returned to writing shallow letters to your brothers and parents through lord kang and his council. sometimes, you'd lie awake in hongjoong's too big bed and wonder if you'd died the morning your family boarded that ship and crossed the sea to sunspear without you.

half of your heart, half of your soul, half of your wit, half of your patience, half of you, it had had all gone with them, you knew, tucked under wooyoung's waving arm and yunho's melancholic smile. you laid on your side too often, watching hongjoong sit beside melting candlelight as he perused through documents, his back always to you, and you started to wonder who you'd become because of it. before the wedding, you would have never thought to push mingi's boundaries just because you saw a hint of care in his eyes. you would have never left the red keep in the dead of night. nearly two name days later - you were no longer sure of the exact day, if you were honest - you were doing everything you would never have done prior to this.

the barkeep met your gaze, and his eyes widened in what you hoped was recognition. he dipped his head in greeting as he made his way over to you, throwing a rag over his shoulder. he leaned forward and said, "welcome to the dornish man. how may i help you?”

his eyes bore into yours, his smile crooked. you swallowed your nerves and lifted your chin, meeting his gaze straight on with a resolve you had not mustered in quite some time. it filled you like a fire, like the fires from hongjoong's dragon or the greenfire that the mad king used to burn so many at the stake. you said, "what would you recommend?"

you tilted your head as you watched the man contemplate you. a small smile crept upon the man's lips as he seemed to decide something right then.

"hmm," his eyes twinkled, "may i recommend our sunspear special? it is a mango dish rumored to be the prince of dorne's heir's most coveted dish. he requests for it every evening, i've heard."

your sweetest summers were spent with yunho and wooyoung climbing mango trees. each of you would pick the reddest of mangoes, and you'd sit with your knees knocking against each other as you peeled them with yunho's blunt silver dagger, your fingers sticky with the sweet juices, the soft fruit melting on your tongue. the juices would often run down the corners of your mouth and you'd wipe it with the back of your hand and wooyoung would call you disgusting and you'd wipe your hands on him in response. yunho would laugh his belly-ache of a laugh.

every summer you'd ruin your clothes with ripened mangoes and blackened dirt. the three of you knew your mother would scold you for it later, but in the summer your mother stayed in her chambers or the gardens and all that remained in those moments was the sweltering heat and the sweet taste of mango on your tongue. it was always one of your favorite times of the year. wooyoung used to bounce on his toes as he rushed you and yunho to the mango groves. yunho often indulged wooyoung in his insistent shouts to race there. you'd watched them run on ahead, and you'd waved off the call from your mother to return before sunset as you walked after them.

the summer before you left for king's landing, when you were three-and-ten, you and yunho sat beneath the shade of one of the tallest mango trees, the soft sweet aroma of ripened mangoes filling the air. the two of you watched wooyoung climb along the branches of one of the trees, tugging himself up onto the tallest branch before he nestled between the trunk and its branch, his neck craned as he stared at the blue sky. the crimson color of the mango in his hands glinted brightly under the summer sun. one could mistake it for a jewel. yunho's voice drew your attention from wooyoung, his voice soft as the summer breeze. he asked, "do you think we will ever grow too old for this?"

"for what?" you'd blinked at yunho's melancholic tone, "picking mangoes?"

"no," yunho shook his head, gesturing vaguely around him, "for all of this, y/n."

a crease formed between his brows. you'd always hated the way worry contorted yunho's features into something unrecognizable. it never looked right on him, no matter how often you've seen such a look on him since he started his heir studies with father.

yunho sighed, "for each other."

you'd frowned, "we'll never be too old for each other, idiot."

you expected yunho to reprimand you or toss a mango pit at you. instead he only slumped further against the tree trunk behind him, his brows contorting into something dreadful.

"i am destined to be the heir, and woo will lead our armies, and you will..." he'd trailed off, frowning once more. his eyes welled with tears, and your eyes widened at the sight. wooyoung showed sadness, even you did, but yunho? not since he learned of his future calling. you watched as he blinked away his emotions, as he straightened, his back rigid. as he took the form of the pillar he believed he needed to be. it was a habit he'd picked up over the years, that wooyoung was beginning to pick up too. perhaps you were, as well.

"i'll be here, too," you scooted closer, bumping your shoulder against his, "i know my talents do not lie with pretty words or complicated strategies or with the sword like you and woo, but i'll find something useful to do so i can help you be a good prince to dorne. i have time to figure that out, and so do you. i understand you worry, but you do not have to, yun."

you bumped his shoulder harder this time, and he pouted at you, rubbing his shoulder. he did not say anything. he only stared down at his lap.

at the time, you had not understood what he'd known, and for years you did not. but you'd laid awake too often replaying and picking apart every memory you've ever had to not have realized that yunho knew you were going to be sent away. the guilt in his eyes was as clear as day now that you remembered, years later, and you hated your father for placing such a burden on him.

at the time, yunho always worried, and both you and woo teased him relentlessly for it. but you knew that sometimes it affected him more than he ever let on. sometimes, you sat with him and let him worry until his expression morphed into the face of creature you never recognized. you knew that was because he always came back. as you did. as woo would.

so, at the time, you'd reached for his hand and threaded your fingers through his worried fists, ignoring the picked skin of his fingernails, and you said, "most importantly, i'll be here every harvest season to climb the mango trees with you both. you're both awful at climbing anyway."

you'd gestured with your chin in wooyoung's direction, and you grinned as you watched wooyoung struggle to climb down the tree, mangoes spilling from the sling he'd looped around his neck, his curses echoing through the grove. you turned, nudging yunho, waiting for a giggle. it did not come. you remembered faltering at the sight of yunho blinking rapidly at the sight, his chin trembling the slightest bit. you only squeezed his hand.

he closed his eyes, and took a shuddering breath. he returned to the yunho you knew as he wiped at his cheeks with his free hand, and when he met your gaze again, he was all kind eyes, the sun shining off his dark brown, his smile amused.

he said, "perhaps climbing mango trees is your only true calling, y/n."

you'd scowled at him, and he threw back his head and laughed, and wooyoung plopped onto the ground in front of you both, covered in dirt, leaves caught in your hair, mangoes tumbling from his arms, ignoring your admonishments that he was bruising the fruits, and that day returned to the soft, hazy summer afternoon you often basked in.

you were three-and-ten when you'd spent your last summer picking mangoes with your brothers, despite your promise.

the memory made you stare at the barkeep, your heart pounding against your ribs. your voice was small to your ears as you asked, "a mango dish is the heir's favorite?"

the man dipped his head, "so i’ve heard. our mangoes are sweet as well. they are in season after all."

and in that moment, you allowed the hope in your chest to thrive. you allowed yourself to nod. to feel a sliver of hope for just a little while. it’s been years since you had.

the barkeep placed the dish in front of you, and the faint scent of mangoes reminded of you hazy summer afternoons and an unkept promise.

the barkeep said, "would you like me to place any special orders to dorne? it appears you, like me, miss our home quite a bit."

"do you deliver letters?" it was bold, but you were never one to beat around the bush.

the barkeep outright grins. he said, "woo said you had no patience for pretty words and riddles. i did not know your patience would run thin so quickly."

you'd blinked. "you know -"

"my name is yeonjun, your grace," the barkeep murmured, "and i only serve dorne. your letters will remain sealed among our shipment requests. lucky for us, the lords, lieges, and ladies of king's landing have taken a liking to dornish cuisine. i've made quite a number of shipments since i've opened."

you'd grinned, you could not help it. you knew you could not trust yeonjun yet, and you already knew you would need to confirm your brothers were receiving your letters before you truly let yourself believe in this opportunity. you knew you were not in the clear quite yet, but yeonjun's grin was an infectious thing. you'd grinned and grinned, and for the first time since you were a child alone in westeros, you had a channel of communication with your brothers that remained only yours.

~.~.~.~.~

"do you feel better?" mingi's voice was quiet in your empty chambers. he'd donned his armor in your chambers. the clinking of his armor as he tightened the plates had been the only sound between you both. you hadn't said a word since you left the tavern, since mingi picked at the mango dish with a small frown gracing his features, since he brought you back to the red keep.

you peered up at mingi. he towered over you, as he always did, his hair a mess of black, yet his brown eyes were unbearably tender. the guilt inside you reared its head once more, but you shoved it away. mingi knew you were asking him for favors that could get him in trouble. you were not holding a sword to his neck and demanding such things from him. you doubted you'd win in a sword fight anyway. you were not forcing him to help you, so you did not need to feel guilt.

you'd nodded. mingi's smile was the gentlest thing you'd seen in a while here in king's landing. it was the sea lapping against port, the way the horses in the stable would neigh softly as they tucked their heads against the stableboy's palm, and the way hongjoong rubbed his thumb along the crown of his dragon and the soft rumble that followed would remind you of a cat’s purr. mingi’s smile held all the little moments of gentleness you've witnessed here. it curled around your heart.

it was suffocating.

he placed a warm hand on your shoulder and he said, "i'm glad i could be of help, your grace."

you shouldn't encourage such gentility. yet, you knew you needed to solidify this moment. you needed this gentle mingi on your side. you needed his care for you to fuel him. so you pressed your hand over his. he stilled.

you said, "you always are of great help to me, mingi."

he blinked at you, before he turned away. his fingers curled into a fist, even as he bowed deeply before you, even as he hurried from your chambers. he left, and you refused to let your heart feel heavy.

but, you do not sleep.

~.~.~.~.~

that same night, hongjoong returned smelling of honeyed mead and sour ale, of sweat and smoke. of fire, really.

he stumbled through the room. you watched as he tore his shirt and tossed it into the darkness. he did this often when he returned after he believed you'd gone to bed. you'd always wondered why he did not light a lantern and stumbled in the dark.

he turned suddenly, as if he could feel your gaze on him, and when you met his gaze in the dark, you could only make out shadows.

he stood frozen, so you said, "just light a candle. it helps neither of us listening to you bumble about like an idiot."

there was a beat of silence. you could not make out his expression.

then he laughed. it's a soft thing that bounced off the high ceilings. you heard the strike of a match moments later.

the light of the candle on his desk was dim, and it took a moment for your eyes to readjust to the new lighting. the candlelight lit up his features. his eyes drooped, a heady drunken look to him that reminded you of the night of your wedding. you watched him stumble, until he reached for the ties of his pants. he paused, and your eyes flicked up to his, heat flooding your face when he grinned. he continued and you scowled, flipping over, only for his chuckle to echo in your chambers.

perhaps it was the remnants of the ale from the tourney, or the remnants of the adrenaline of sneaking out of the red keep and finding a channel of communication that was finally fully yours, or purely the inability to sleep, but you found yourself speaking quietly as you stared at the stone wall opposite you. "you had no right to dismiss me the way you did tonight.”

"hmm," hongjoong hummed, and it was closer now. you did not turn around, your fingers curling around the pillow at your head. "then why did you not stay?"

you frowned, shooting up to a sitting position. you turned to glare at him, and he remained where he had been earlier, though now he was fully dressed in his sleeping robes. "you wish for me to undermine you?"

he shrugged, as he stepped closer to the bed, twisting at the rings on his fingers, "undermine me? not quite. try to undermine me? perhaps."

"you're a right idiot," you'd shook your head, ignoring the way he stepped closer, the way he took a seat at the foot of the bed. "i am being serious, hongjoong."

"i am the picture of serious," hongjoong said, his words slurring the slightest bit.

"clearly," you'd sighed, said, "go to bed, hongjoong. you're drunk."

it was all too reminiscent of that night. despite that night being so long ago, it lived in your head, clear as day. you'd rolled your eyes at the way he raised his brows. you laid back down, turning your back to him. perhaps, that is a testament to how accustomed you've become to hongjoong's presence. you could turn your back on him without feeling like prey. you were unsure when that had started.

another moment passed before hongjoong's low voice drifted through your chambers, "if you did not wish to be dismissed, all you had to do was say something. if you do not like something, tell me."

you'd flipped back over, your fingers curled around your pillow as you looked down at hongjoong, who remained seated near your feet. "why?"

"you're my spouse, whether we like it or not," hongjoong muttered.

"'we'?" your voice sounded muffled to your own ears, "and here i thought it was just me who disliked this arrangement."

hongjoong tilted his head at you, his brows raised, questioning, waiting. oftentimes you wondered how he knew that you had more to say before you'd even said it.

you said, "i saw you falter during your match. you'd never been so distracted before."

hongjoong loved to say he would not be like his father, but you'd heard the rumors of his father's adultery. it went so far that the queen had to dismiss members of her own court, one of whom was rumored to be yeosang's mother. you watched as he scooted up the bed, as he reached out and pressed his fingertips to the burn scar on your arm, as he said, "i see the way you look at san, y/n. is it not the same?"

"is it?" you asked, frowning. san was hope to you, he was opportunities and a life lost. was park seonghwa the same to hongjoong? why did it concern you if he was?

hongjoong drew warm circles around your burn scar, each stroke softer than the last.

"be careful, y/n," he murmured, "you're beginning to sound rather jealous."

your stomach turned as he chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest.

"i do not care for your indiscretions," you scoffed. "i care that you dismissed me for another when our arrangement is meant to benefit us both.”

you did not want to revel in his statement. you did not want to admit to it. you did not want to delve into the thoughts that came after that green monster at the pit of your stomach, the wondering at hongjoong's greed, nor the moment of worry you felt for park seonghwa, despite everything. all hongjoong would ever know of was that you did not care. he would believe you did not care, and so would you. until the end of your days.

"are we supposed to benefit each other now?" hongjoong raised a brow.

"we could," you said, your eyes fixed on his. "we do not need to be friends, but -"

"we can be allies," hongjoong finished with a small, amused smile. you remembered the other night, when you'd had a conversation like this. he wanted you to beg that night. you'd refused, and you would refuse again. you would refuse until the day death came knocking at your door.

you'd nodded, "something like that."

"will you beg for it, then?"

you'd laughed, knowing he'd have the insolence to ask such a thing once more, but you found there was no venom bubbling at the pit of your stomach this time. perhaps it was his tone, the jest in it ringing between you both. you said, "not even if you held a knife to my throat."

"oh, wouldn't that be quite a lovely sight?" hongjoong murmured, and you were quite aware of the fingers on your skin, the proximity, the way your own fingers tightened around your pillow. the rough pad of hongjoong's thumb circled up to the crease of your elbow, "where do we go from here, then, y/n?"

you shrugged. where do you go from here? he was an unstoppable force, and you were an immoveable object. you would not be the one to concede. you refused.

but perhaps you could wield his power if he believed you on his side, then you could find other channels of communication you could call yours. you could have more than just yeonjun and his tavern. you could have more than just mingi to do your bidding.

"i need trust," you admitted, with a shuddering breath. it was never something you thought you'd tell him. not hongjoong. maybe it was easier to admit such a thing in the darkness, under melting candlelight, without the sun bearing witness to your admissions. "i need to be able to trust you."

can i ever trust him? you thought, and the answer was so wholly there. no, you could not. no, you were of dorne, and he was of king's landing, and he would not allow you to step foot in dorne again, let alone sunspear. you could not trust him. but, you slept with your back to him too many nights to count already. and you looked to him first when his father called you both to the courtyards for his executions. he was yours to benefit from. you could not trust him, and you would not, but you did not fear him as you once had. perhaps, that was a step in the right direction.

his finger stilled against the smooth skin of your burn scar, and he said, "do you want to know the first thing my father taught me?"

you'd blinked at the sudden question, watching hongjoong. he stared at your scar for a long moment, his fingers still. you shook your head.

"the word dracarys," hongjoong said, "it is from the old language. it is a command to our dragons to breathe fire. to burn everything. when i was a very small boy, my father called me to the pit. i never went there often, since there were so little dragons left and my father and his maesters wished to keep the dragons isolated. father insisted there was a matter he wished for me to resolve. at the time, i was excited that i was needed by my father. when i arrived there was a servant girl in the pit, no older than two-and-ten. just a few years older than me. she was pregnant, that much i could tell."

you watched as hongjoong's hand fell from your scar. his gaze was hardened as it met yours. he said, "the council was there that night as well. my father and his small council had her stand in the middle of the pit. she was dragged in the way you were, still in her sleep robes. i recognized her. even a small boy is privy to the red keep's rumors, y/n. my father bedded too many to count, and oftentimes it went ignored. this girl would not have been ignored. so, my father told me to say the word he taught me, and… and i did."

your nails dug into your palms as you laid there, your gaze fixed on hongjoong. "why are you telling me this?"

"isn't that where trust starts? from stories of the moments that made us who we are?"

"yes," you said, "i think it should."

hongjoong paused. you did not speak further. he expected a story from you. he expected something. perhaps even sympathy. you would not concede. you could only wonder for the poor servant girl, wonder if hongjoong would in fact burn a little girl alive without his father’s directions. you wondered often who he'd broken over the years, and as you laid in his bed you wondered if he would burden you with all he has ruined one day, in the name of trust.

finally, hongjoong nodded as he pushed himself off the bed. he reached over, and brushed hair from your forehead. his fingers lingered. you did not push his touch away. you only watched him as he did so. his dark, tired eyes flickered over yours as he murmured, voice sweet as honey, but laced with an edge that always lived in hongjoong no matter what, "we'll take it slow, then."

you watched as he blew out the candle and made his way to his bed.

~.~.~.~.~

the letter yeonjun returned to you was unsealed, untampered, and real. you knew this because of yunho's response, a simple perhaps climbing mango trees is not your only talent, little sibling, and his unbroken wax seal. it was him. it was untouched, and it was him, and you could not contain your excitement.

mingi had handed you the letter in the library, and after you'd brushed your fingers along the seal - the symbol of your house, a sun with a spear through it - and read yunho's words, fingers tracing over his inked writing, you'd tossed your arms around mingi, drawing him into a tight embrace.

mingi had stiffened in surprise, though he'd steadied you by the waist, his armor cold under your touch.

you caught yourself too late, stepping away with hurried apologies, embarrassed. mingi shook his head, his cheeks reddening, "it is all right, your grace."

it became a routine of sorts, to write your letters, and have mingi escort you to yeonjun's tavern. sometimes, he'd take the letters on his own. you would press a hand to his arm, or the top of his hand, and you'd thank him. mingi would hide his blush when you did. you'd feel awful for it, but the letters were enough to quell that guilt. you'd do it over and over again, despite the guilt.

yeonjun introduced you to the owner of the brothel across the street, a slight, beautiful woman with an air of regality to her that many speculated the origins of. she went by the name irene. you called the doe-eyed children she sent all about king's landing as her eyes and ears her little birds. she smiled at the phrase, but she smiled wider at the gold you promised her in payment. a contract, you’d both called it.

mingi did not trust her. you trusted her less than you trusted hongjoong, yet mingi seemed to think otherwise. still, despite his clear disapproval, mingi said nothing to you. he gave you irene's correspondence without question, and he gave her the gold you'd written off hongjoong's maester's ledger without batting an eye. mingi would ruin everything he had for you, that much you could tell.

but you did not stop on your new path.

instead, you stopped sleeping through the night.

~.~.~.~.~

the mountain that rides. lord kang's mad dog. most call him the mountain.

lady irene's words remained with you long after you'd read them, long after you'd tossed the letter into the library fireplace and watched it turn to blackened ash.

you’d gone about your day mulling over her words. now, you stood under the shade of a peculiarly bent tree with yellow blooms as bright as the gold of house kang's banners. the queen loved her flowers and trees, and this one in particular grew well even as executions took place beneath her blooms more often than not.

today, the tree oversaw outdoor festivities. the mad king was quite generous with his death sentences, but he was even more generous with his calls for celebration. spring was in full bloom, flowers sprouting throughout the kingdom, and that demanded for a spring festival.

you contemplated only for a moment, before you asked, "who is the mountain?"

perhaps, you should have learned to make your words prettier. you certainly partook in the kinds of games that required pretty words these days, yet you could care less when it came to having a sweet or sharp tongue.

yeosang stiffened beside you. you took a sip of wine from your cup as you watched him unclench his jaw, the taste sickly sweet on your tongue.

you both watched on as lord kang clapped a hand over hongjoong's shoulder, tilting his head, his smile matching yeosang’s as he spoke to hongjoong. hongjoong's stiff smile did not budge. the mad king was not here, as always, but his maester had gave quite a moving speech in his place, of westeros's greatest king and the dragons riding free, thriving, before food and drinks were announced shortly after. the mad king's presence would not be missed once the wine started flowing anyway. you took note when you'd entered that mingi, and a few of the other kingsguard, were not in attendance. you wondered often what the king did instead of attending his celebrations. you wondered often of the queen's fate. you had not seen her since your wedding. you had never had the chance to bond with her, but you worried for her. it was the same worry you felt in your chest when you first saw hongjoong lay eyes on park seonghwa. when hongjoong told you of the little girl he'd burned to ashes for his father.

"hmm," yeosang hummed after he caught his bearings, "dare i ask how you know of him?"

"you could dare," you said, tearing your eyes from hongjoong to meet yeosang's gaze. "clearly you know of him."

yeosang's gaze narrowed, but his smile was amused as always. "the mountain is father's new addition to the kingsguard."

his words were biting, but they matched what irene had informed you. at least she could be trusted, for now.

"i figured as much," you said, downing your cup of wine.

"you'd do well to stay away from him," yeosang's voice was low, but it brought you pause. you looked over your shoulder at him, watching his concerned gaze flicker over your face. kang yeosang and concerned did not quite match.

you raised a brow at him, amused, "now why is that?"

"do you think they call him 'the mountain' for fun?" yeosang sneered.

you rolled your eyes at yeosang's disparaging tone. he did not grin. in fact, the twinkle in his eyes was undetectable. he shook his head at you.

he said, "i do not know how you came upon such information, but, for your sake, for all our sakes, i pray you've guaranteed that thread cannot be traced back to you."

his warning left a bad taste on your tongue, exacerbated by the lingering taste of wine. you muttered, "i do not leave loose threads. i am not an idiot."

"i like to think you are not," yeosang said, "but it would do you well for you if the small council continued to believe that you were."

you'd frowned at him. even after establishing contact with yeonjun, you'd continued sending letters to your family through lord kang, if only to not raise suspicion. you assumed they’d continue underestimating your involvement, but yeosang's words implied that something had changed.

"do they have reason to believe i am, in fact, not an idiot?"

yeosang plucked a cup of wine from a passing servant, and placed it in your limp hands. his gaze flickered ahead, and you followed it. to lord kang. to the man dressed in kingsguard armor and a kingsguard cloak.

he towered over everyone, a beast of a man that had all the mad king's guests giving the man a wide berth. hongjoong was the only one who looked the man in the eye, his shoulders back and his chin held high, despite how far back hongjoong had to tilt his head to look up at the newly appointed knight. the knight's predatory expression, his unwavering eyes, and the way he only responded to lord kang’s instructions, left a chill beneath your bones, an acute sense of fear curling right down your spine. you knew right then that this man was the mountain - an apt name for a man like that - and that you did not want to be alone with him, ever.

“oh, sweet thing,” yeosang's hand brushed your elbow, drawing your attention to him. yeosang shook his head, his words ominous, "not yet.”

~.~.~.~.~

king's landing sustained itself off gold and whispers. secrets were not safe at court, and nothing ever went unseen. you should have known such a thing the moment lady irene introduced you to her little birds, some of whom were kitchen boys and errand girls and stablehands you'd seen too often in the red keep. she had eyes and ears in every nook and cranny. what was stopping the other lords, ladies, and lieges from doing the same?

you'd known the whispers well since you were four-and-ten. the people of king's landing did not view dorne kindly. even now, at something-and-twenty, they were a constant nuisance, trailing after you with terrible whispers wherever you went.

the rumors were particularly terrible after the king started preparations for your wedding to hongjoong. you and san had hardly kept your courting a secret, and you weren't the only one blindsided by the sudden arrangement to hongjoong. the whispers were harsh.

you'd tuned them out, mostly, but they still existed.

your refusal to give hongjoong your favor during tourneys was seen in good fun at first, but the whispers turned accusing very quickly. you were a sly fox, you'd heard from one of the ladies. prince hongjoong was kind enough, he was prince kim hongjoong, of course, so what was wrong with you to deny him?

you were seen downing too many cups of wine at king kim's spring festival. you were too familiar with the kingsguard, lord kang’s son.

the servants saw you leaving the library late in the evenings. you laughed too hard at one of the kingsguard's quips, lord song’s bastard son. you never laughed around prince hongjoong, the whispered accused.

prince hongjoong kissed the hand of lady jihyo of hightower at the tourney. surely, you were not working hard enough to keep his attention from others. what was wrong with you?

prince hongjoong left the celebrations too late. no one who loves his spouse would spend so long drinking ale so early in marriage. surely, you had said something to keep him away. you were not enough, you'd done something wrong, you were a fox, conniving, ungrateful, a who-

hongjoong raised a glass.

"a toast," he said, "to my father. may he remain healthy and strong. may he rule for many, many years to come. long live the dragons, long live king kim."

it would have amused you to no end, to attend the nameday celebration for a king who wasn’t even there, if the whispers were not so loud today, and the mood was not so damp.

the response to hongjoong's toast was half-hearted at best.

the king had certainly celebrated his nameday well; he'd beheaded half his upper ranked army officers the day before and hung their heads from the gates of king's landing. he’d done it based off suspicion of mutiny and a the beginnings of rebellion. king's landing had been quiet since then, eerily so. even the commonfolk could sense the tension.

the court bard waved his hand in response, and the sound of a fiddle filled the room, a jaunty tune that seemed to liven up the crowd better than the food and drink had. some took to the dance floor, prompting others to join.

you watched from your seat at the royal table above the festivities as members of the court shuffled to the dance floor, as wine flowed freely, and bouts of laughter echoed off the high ceilings. this was not the liveliest of dances you’ve attended, but it was enough for now.

some time after too many cups of wine, and a small brawl that had broken out on the floor - ser yuta and ser johnny had separated them before it could escalate into anything further - after the bard crooned as he swayed with his fiddle, the harpist strumming an angelic melody, after some ladies, lieges, and lords began shuffling out from the room and back to their beds, your septa beckoned to you.

you were too drunk, too, and you found that it was becoming a common occurrence for you. you slept better when you drank too much.

mingi helped you down the steps, and you'd grinned at him as he bowed exaggeratedly. you clutched his fingers.

the whispers were always whispers. though they were loud, they were never said to your face.

until that night.

"whore." the word was spat in your direction.

you'd known of that word since you were very little, and when news spread that you would not wed san, but rather hongjoong whore was thrown around more than your name. the hastiness of the arrangement was what made the court gossip.

you used to ignore it. you used to worry for how san would feel. or worse, how your mother would react if it ever reached her ears. your brothers. your father. you used to swallow your rage and let the whispers slip off your skin, pretending your skin was armor and you were left untouched.

mingi's hand went to the hilt of his sword, and his deep voice held an undercurrent of fury as he said, "how dare you speak to their grace in such a manner?"

but, by the gods, your skin was no armor, and you were everything but untouched. you were drowning in your rage and the whispers.

and the rage? the rage inside of you was a churning fire that clawed it's way out of you from the pit of your stomach. it burned right through you.

lord lim was an older man, a distant cousin to the kangs, and his family had deep roots in the royal army. one of the ten ranking officers who had been beheaded and put on display at the gates had been his nephew. his house fostered seonghwa, and hosted san and jongho when they were young boys. you knew this because you'd seen the note regarding family relations and condolences on hongjoong's desk.

the festivities continued all around you. drunk laughter, dancing, shouting, the bard cooing, drumbeats loud, rhythmic, the crooning of the harp and the fiddle. it all rang in your ears. the festivities continued, but your head was pounding.

lord lim laughed. his eyes were full of mirth. "my nephew is dead because the king believed he was plotting against the crown. the only person in this damned court who would plot against the king is you."

lord lim jabbed a finger in your direction. you should have left. you should have excused his treasonous words for grief-stricken rage fueled by drink, and excused yourself. you should have.

but you turned to him, and you said, "nothing you say is going to bring back your nephew. he is dead, and that is no fault of mine."

lord lim advanced on you, then, and fury and grief contorted his features into something ugly and monstrous. you felt the urge to laugh. his expression matched the feeling at the pit of your stomach. his displaced anger made you want to scream.

when he stepped towards you, mingi stepped between you both, his elbow braced as mingi shoved lord lim back. lord lim did not budge, his eyes fixed on you.

he hissed, "with the amount of times you’ve been passed around the red keep, you are no better than a common whore. you should have been the one hanging from the gates."

you opened your mouth, the rage at your stomach curling into your chest. you wanted to scream. wanted to take his displaced, irrational anger and toss it back at him. burn him alive with it. tear his mouth from his face with your bare hands. but you knew that his words only reiterated what the court whispered behind your back. you did not know what the public, the commonfolk, thought of you, but you knew the other nobles did not think highly of you. you did not know it was to that extent, and you never thought they'd say it out loud, but perhaps there was a first for everything.

only then did you realize how quiet it had gotten.

only then did you feel a hand on your back, heavy and warm, and a voice sharp as the edge of a sword.

“what did you say?”

lord lim spat, “you heard me.”

hongjoong shook his head, "guards, bring lord lim to the courtyard."

his words rang high and loud.

you turned, and hongjoong's gaze met yours. it was hard, angry, and full of fire. it was the same rage in your stomach, the same rage in lord lim's expression, but there was no grief there. he was merely cold fury.

lord lim protested as mingi grabbed lord lim's arms and yanked them behind his back, the other kingsguard drawing their swords. his shouts rang throughout the quiet room.

hongjoong turned to you, and he said, "do you wish to retire to your chambers, or do you wish to join me?"

you should have gone to bed.

your gaze followed mingi as he dragged a shouting, squirming lord lim behind him, the kingsguard following behind him.

you said, "i will join you."

despite the cold fury, a small smile tugged at the corner of hongjoong's lips.

the queen's yellow flowers were at their brightest, even under the moonlight.

hongjoong called for his dragon, and after a long moment, the wind picked up all around you. you looked up and his black dragon circled the courtyard as it prepared to land, it’s wings flapping. mingi tied lord lim to the very same blackened post his father tied so many others to before he used his green fire or his own dragon to execute them.

despite how quiet it was, the guests that were left lingered at the threshold to the courtyard. no one said a word, watching on in dread and anticipation. the distance made you feel strange. watched. revered. powerful. perhaps, simply feared.

hongjoong's dragon landed before you both, your robes whipping all around you. hongjoong's hair fluttered, his eyes glittering under the moonlight as he stared up at his dragon. up close, his dragon's black scales shone beneath moonlight, it's large, watchful eyes unblinking. the ground shook as it landed, and the crowd by the entrance to the courtyard stumbled back further into the fortress. further from you.

hongjoong stroked his dragon’s head, and it hummed in response.

hongjoong stalked closer then, to lord lim tied to the post, waving away his guards. lord lim looked small, kneeling in the middle of the courtyard the way he did. hongjoong said, "your words are treason of the highest order, lord lim."

"you cannot do this. you are not the king. you have no right!”

"but i am a kim, and i have a dragon.” hongjoong's voice, though low, shook with anger. "it's a shame you could not hold your tongue around my spouse, lord kim. now we shall decide whether you lose a limb or your life."

he looked over his shoulder at you, and he raised a brow at you.

you should have called him off. lord lim's voice broke with his cry.

yet, the rage in your stomach turned to something that resembled glee, and you kept your mouth shut. you did not shake your head, and that was permission enough.

hongjoong's dark eyes flickered over your face, his eyes softening for just a moment. then he turned back to lord lim, and he grinned, "it appears you will be reunited with your dear nephew after all.”

lord lim screamed and screamed.

his screams were cut off by a low, “dracarys."

his dragon's fire was so hot, you stumbled away, heat rolling off it in waves. the screams were loud. the loudest sounds in king's landing since the mad king executed those officers.

they rang and rang, like the crooning of the bard or the twangs of the harp and fiddle. they filled the air, much like the festivities had, but this time you did not have a headache.

your gaze flicked to hongjoong, even as he turned to you, his grin glorious, his silver hair fluttering in the breeze. his dragon left as quickly as it came, and hongjoong laughed as he watched it go.

the smell of burning flesh lingered in the air. the crowd was quiet, so so quiet.

your stomach flipped as hongjoong gestured back to the hall and said, "come now. there is more drink and food to be had."

you were not as disgusted by hongjoong as you thought you'd be.

as you should be.

and that realization would remain with you for the rest of your life.

~.~.~.~.~

"hongjoong?"

your voice drifted between you both in your dim chambers. you'd returned to your chambers shortly after the bard began to sing again. the crowd had already trickled away, and mingi had disappeared. when you stepped through the crowd of nobles, they parted like the sea, the fear in their eyes feeding the fire that always burned at the pit of your stomach. they parted for you as if they could sense the fire in you, and they were afraid they'd burn at the smallest of touches.

your stomach turned at the thought.

you'd hurried to your chambers, then, the kingsguard meant to escort you hurrying to keep up, and readied yourself for bed, scrubbing your skin to rid yourself of the scent of dragonfire and burnt flesh until your skin stung.

you laid in your bed, ceiling too far away, and the linens felt rough against your scrubbed skin.

hongjoong entered the chambers shortly after, and you listened to him quietly ready himself for bed, as if did not wish to wake you. he sat down at his desk and lit a candle. the warm glow of the candle filled the otherwise dark room. his back was to you, the candlelight casting a long shadow over your side of the chambers.

this was often the routine with you two. neither of you could sleep, you noticed, and hongjoong spent many nights bent over his desk, his back turned to you. you'd imagined piercing a knife through his turned back too many times. you wondered if he ever worried you would do such a thing. you spent many sleepless nights watching him work. neither of you ever said a thing. perhaps, it was an unspoken rule between you both. you knew for certain he could tell you were watching him. his back was never relaxed.

that night, you broke the silence with his name.

hongjoong froze, the sound of his pen scratching stilling. then it returned, as if the moment never happened. his voice was low, "i did not do it for you."

you'd blinked at the declaration, surprised. hongjoong continued to work, even as he spoke. his voice held a soft edge, a seething tone you knew was rage. you knew rage well, you've come to learn. "you are a kim through our vows. disrespecting you is treason."

"you did not have to kill him."

"my father would have killed him within a fortnight," hongjoong muttered. then he turned in his seat, his loose sleep shirt slipping as he turned, exposing skin and the sharp dip of his collarbone. he gripped the back of his wooden chair, the candlelight casting dark shadows and an orange glow over his features, hiding his expression. "did you want me to spare him?"

you laid on your side as you contemplated his question. his gaze flickered down your form as he waited for your response. lord kim’s words brought you fury.

so, you shook your head in response.

the corner of his lips tipped upwards at your admission, his fingers gripping the back of his chair. strands of silver hair fell into hongjoong's eyes, and he used his other hand to push it back as he said, voice barely a whisper, "good."

you tucked your hands underneath your pillow, if only to have something to do under his intense, almost knowing gaze. you should have been disgusted by the intimacy in this moment, but you found yourself enraptured by the softness in his voice, your eyes flickering over his turned figure. you found yourself voluntarily speaking to him. the anger you always felt for him was a muted thing. worst of all, you were left wondering why the guilt wasn't much much worse.

it should have been.

yet, your mouth was loose.

"i am terrified of spiders. the ones in dorne were bigger than my hands," you said, your voice barely louder than a whisper, "and wooyoung or yunho always killed them for me. when i was very little, i used to cry when they killed them. i never wanted them to die, even though i feared them."

hongjoong's feathery whisper caressed you like a finger against your cheek, "when did you stop crying when they killed those spiders?"

"i don't know."

a pause.

"will you cry tonight?"

it was such a simple question, but the tone he held, sincere and almost reverent, made your heart skip a beat.

you stared at hongjoong, a lump growing in your throat.

he broke away from your gaze first, his eyes flickering to his lap. when he met your gaze once more, he said, so quietly, so gently, you wondered if this was the same man you'd known since you were four-and-ten. he said, "you can, you know. if you'd like. i will not tease you for it."

it was strange to hear such kindness from kim hongjoong, but this was not the first time. perhaps between all his horrid decisions he was capable of being kind.

for a moment, you wondered if you could be vulnerable in such a way with him. if you could shed tears in front of him.

you shook your head quickly, cheeks hot, "i won't."

the thought of crying in front of him embarrassed you, more than anything.

he'd given you a brisk nod.

the silence grew awkward then, charged with an emotion you could not quite place. so you said, "good night, then."

you turned your back to him, staring at the wall instead.

hongjoong said, "good night, y/n."

he did not blow out his candle, his shadow dancing against the wall.

you did not sleep.

~.~.~.~.~

father is very sick, yunho wrote to you. i am scared worried, y/n.

~.~.~.~.~

you watched the letter wither in the fireplace, the edges of parchment curling before it turned to blackened ash.

you turned away, then, when the door to the library opened and the library's maester stepped through. he was not as old as most maesters, maester robes thrown haphazardly over his shoulders. he was not highly ranked, not like the grand maester who was elected by the conclave to serve the iron throne and the red keep and sat on the small council, but he watched over the grand library. judging from all the different metals adorning the chain around his neck, he was well-versed in many areas of study. the lead and black iron chains were what interested you months ago. they indicated the study of poison and black iron. maesters were not supposed to hold political allegiances, as servants to the realm.

yet, here maester haechan stood, with his sunkissed skin and perpetual wary expression.

you spent too much time in the library. you were bound to walk into something of substance. in fact, the other night you'd walked in on maester haechan in a uncompromising position with one of the king’s servants. in the past, you would have left immediately, but that night you'd cleared your throat. you'd made yourself known. the two men jumped off each other, not once meeting your eyes.

it took months to wear maester haechan down. you flipped through books, maester haechan glancing sideways at you when he thought you were not looking, and mentioned the moment offhandedly. you held your knowledge over him, knowing he would snap and come to you one day. you left a comment here of didn't all maesters take an oath of celibacy? and another there of how would the citadel react if they heard of such a transgression? and finally a pointed what about the grand maester? what would he think? before maester haechan slammed a book down in front of you, the chains around his neck rattling, and he asked, "what do you want from me?"

you'd merely shrugged. you made him stew in his anxiety.

tonight, he finally stood before you, and you asked, "what do you know of essence of nightshade?"

"it is meant to calm one's frayed nerves so they may sleep," maester haechan raised a brow, "but a high dosage can be fatal. and undetectable."

you hummed. you'd thought so, but the confirmation eased you.

"it seems you were already aware of that," his voice was quiet.

"i read about it and wanted confirmation. i have trouble sleeping at night and i've been told it is helpful," you said, with a shrug.

he eyed you skeptically, eyes too knowing, "is it only for you?"

no. you thought of hongjoong. you thought of how easily he'd burned a man alive, as he was taught when he was a boy. you thought of the way you'd felt drawn to the action, of the sheer amount of violence he was willing to display to protect your name. your father would not start a war for you, yet hongjoong would kill a man? the thought made your heart curl, and that was precisely why you needed this. thoughts like that needed to be cut off easily. put into a deep, dreamless, fatal sleep. you did not need to think of hongjoong in such a way. whether that was you who ended up that way, or hongjoong, it did not matter.

you needed this.

"of course, it is," you said.

the maester did not believe you, but he still nodded.

"and you do not wish for me to mention this elsewhere, i assume?"

"i should hope so. unless you want the red keep and the citadel to know you are an oathbreaker, maester haechan."

haechan poorly suppressed his grimace, "your request will be easy enough, your grace."

“and if i have future requests?”

haechan sighed, “i will do as you bid.”

~.~.~.~.~

mingi stood at your shoulder, while you knelt in front of a little girl in ragged scraps of clothing, her sunken eyes piercing as she covered her mouth and brought her lips to your ears.

"choi jongho has held three meetings in lady irene's brothels thus far. several nobles have been in attendance. the lims, the lees, the yuns."

"does lady irene know what for?"

the little girl shook her head.

you could not understand what for. you knew choi jongho was an honorable man, if san were to be believed, though rumor had it the man loved his drink more than he should have. however, even the most honorable ended up in brothels. it was an unspoken norm among nobles. you could not understand why jongho would host other nobles in a brothel. surely, there was more to it.

you'd nodded as you fished out a couple gold coins from your pockets and tucked it into her limp hands, "thank you, little bird."

the little girl only nodded before she stepped into the crowded street and disappeared.

you'd stood, readjusting your hood, and you said, "do you want something to eat?"

mingi shook his head. his eyes were still on the little girl, a distant look.

"then let us head back," you said, "hongjoong should be back soon."

your beloved spends quite a lot of time in my brothels, irene had told you once. you thought about that often, when you'd lay sleepless in your bed, and hongjoong would stumble in to your chambers drunk or smelling of smoke. he whispered stories of his childhood. amusing stories of his mother, mischief yeosang, hongjoong, mingi, jongho, and san had gotten up to, inconsequential things. sometimes, you shared stories too. of climbing mango trees. of hidden courtyards to bask in sunlight. it only ever happened in the dead of night, awash in darkness. when irene told you of her discovery, the ugly beast at the pit of your being reared it’s head once more.

you'd walked in silence, even as mingi gestured for you to lead the way up the winding secret passages you both frequented often.

right before you'd exited the passage mingi called your name.

you'd paused, and he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. his eyes were conflicted as he said, "you should end this."

"end what?" you'd taken your hand off the exit, and you both stood facing each other behind the tapestries. the corridors were narrow enough, but as mingi ascended the final step and towered over you, his armor clinking softly, you realized just how cramped the hidden corridor was.

"end all of this," mingi gestured around him, gestured at you, your clothes, behind him. "i speak to you not as a knight, or as your subordinate, but as your friend. this will all end in ruin, y/n. this is a dangerous game you are playing."

you'd frowned, "i am playing no games."

you were, but mingi did not need to know that. yeonjun, maester haechan, and lady irene could know you were, but for an inexplicable reason, you could not bear for mingi to find out that you were using him in any way. that you left lingering touches on purpose. that you looked up at him until he blushed for another reason. that you were playing a game, and he was one of the pieces you kept close.

mingi blinked at you, his brows furrowing.

you stepped closer to him. he watched your movement like you were opposite him in battle, and he was assessing your next move.

"i miss my family. ever since i came to king's landing, lord kang has opened all my letters. they cannot speak to me candidly in fear of saying something the king or small council will fault me for, mingi," you sighed. "i'm only doing this with yeonjun and the brothel so that i can keep in touch with my family, and keep myself safe. you have to understand that."

"but it is dangerous," mingi muttered, shoulders slumping. "what will become of you if you are found out?"

"i won't be found out," you said, tone adamant. you reached up then, and placed a hand on mingi's cheek. his eyes shot up to meet yours as you said, voice low, "and if i am caught, they will not blame you. i will not allow it."

he frowned. he relaxed into your touch, and your heart clenched as if he had reached into your chest and wrapped his fingers around it. he trusted you so much, despite everything. he had no reason not to. at least a reason that he knew of.

"i worried you'd say as much," he shook his head, "i cannot live with myself if you take all the blame."

you'd laughed, "it appears we've arrived at an impasse then."

a small smile tugged at mingi's lips, "it appears so."

"then we'll have to make sure that neither of us has to take the blame. we have to be extra cautious." you pat his warm cheek once before stepping back.

mingi broke eye contact, looking away as he dragged a hand through his hair. he bit back his growing smile, eyes serious, "more than that."

you agreed, "more than that."

mingi softened as he nodded, and the vice-like grip around your heart tightened once more.

~.~.~.~.~

"my favorite color is yellow," hongjoong said. he sat cross-legged on his chair, his arms folded over the top, his chin resting there. his billowy sleep shirt was thin, the candlelight illuminating the shape of him through the shirt. with his back to his table and his candle, his face was full of shadows, unreadable.

"like the flowers on your mother's tree in the courtyard?" you asked, in response. you lay on your side once more, your knees drawn close to your chest.

hongjoong was silent for a long moment.

you said, "you do not have to talk about her."

his mother was a sore subject. you hadn't heard from her since your wedding, but hongjoong stopped hearing from her shortly after. you often wondered what had become of her. you wondered if your fate would mirror hers one day.

"your mother reminded me of her," hongjoong said. “especially the way you two interacted.”

"do you resent your mother as well, then?" you'd never admitted that aloud.

hongjoong laughed, but it held no amusement. "sometimes, i do. other times, i only pity her. she deals most with my father, after all."

it was quiet once more, before you asked, "would you kill him?"

a pause.

"i don't know," hongjoong sighed, though there was a sharp edge to his voice, "if you were in my place, would you kill your father?"

"yes," you said, without hesitation. you thought of the mad king, with his sharp, long nails and the horrible things he's said to you and the way he looked at you as if you were scum beneath his feet. you grit your teeth, "i would kill him."

"so easily?"

"he'd deserve it."

you could barely see his expression under the shadows, but the way he tilted his head as he looked at you, the glint of a grin on his face, it brought chills down your spine. it was...fascinating.

"oh, how i wish you were in my place then," hongjoong murmured.

the conversation died away after that.

~.~.~.~.~

16,784. that is where our army's numbers currently stand, wooyoung wrote. it is our army, but most importantly it is yours, y/n. if you ever require it.

~.~.~.~.~

"where is he?"

you sat alone in the dining hall. at least you were alone until yeosang and mingi joined you, their armors clinking and their cloaks fluttering behind them. the king and queen always took dinners in their chambers. hongjoong would often join you for dinner, and surprisingly your conversations had become quite light, aside from a few pointed jabs from you both. neither of you could shake the habit, it seemed.

tonight, you had been alone.

until your escorts joined you.

yeosang gave you a lopsided grin as he brought his wine cup in mock salute, "is our company not enough, your grace?"

mingi frowned at yeosang's tone.

the chois were in the red keep - just to visit, they said, though you knew of the brothel visits - and so was park seonghwa. you'd heard the servants discuss sending dinner to the choi's guest chambers, as they wished to rest after a long afternoon of hunting with hongjoong. you heard nothing regarding park seonghwa.

you stared at your own wine cup for a long moment. the servants had left the hall after they'd served the food. finally, you lifted your gaze to mingi and yeosang, and you said, "he's with seonghwa isn't he?"

you meant to sound nonchalant, but your voice was too small, even to your own ears. since when did you care about such things?

yeosang leaned back in his chair, wine cup still in his hand, and he said, "does it matter?"

mingi's frown deepened.

you'd glared at yeosang, "hongjoong's dalliances ruin my reputation. that matters."

"at the end of the day, you are still the heir's spouse, and he returns to your bed," yeosang said, with a shrug. "nothing else matters."

you rolled your eyes, venom dripping from your tone, "you think so?"

"i know so," yeosang snapped back, his eyes narrowing. "if you make a problem of it, then you will become the problem. do you not understand that?"

"what the hell does that mean?"

"do you think the queen disappeared because she wanted to?"

mingi shook his head, "yeosang, stop."

"no," you glared at mingi, "yeosang, continue."

mingi pressed his mouth into a thin line.

yeosang looked genuinely sorry when he glanced mingi's way.

you pressed your hand to his elbow, his armor cold to your touch, "what are you implying, ser yeosang?"

yeosang glanced down at your touch, and though he could not feel your touch, he still shook your hand from his elbow. he downed his drink, his expression stony. his cold features turned colder as the moments slipped by. there was no kang amusement, no mischief, and it brought a chill down your spine.

worst of all, it worried you.

mingi cleared his throat, and you turned to him. his usually expressive brown eyes held a vacancy in them that made the perpetual guilt-ridden grip mingi had over your heart grow in side.

mingi said, "though the kingsguard acts as the queen's guards, y/n, we do not answer to the queen. we do not...owe the king's spouse anything. we answer to no one but the king," mingi turned his gaze to the ceiling briefly, as if he were lamenting the gods. you did not know mingi's beliefs surrounding the gods, nor how devout he may or may not be, but the sight of him take a deep, harrowing breath burrowed beneath your skin. it was a sight meant to haunt you. mingi certainly appeared haunted, his eyes returning to you, his hands curled into fists on the table. "we've heard many things over the years stationed outside her door. the king is...he is our priority. she made a problem out of the king's adultery, and the king dealt with her as he saw fit. now she remains in her chambers for a reason. if you've seen her...heard how she...if you knew...she's..."

mingi stuttered over his words, his jaw clenched, and his eyes glossed with tears. you'd never seen him cry. not once. it was not something you thought he was capable of, logical, kind, and watchful mingi, with walls as high as yours. if he was a terrible person, perhaps you would not feel so much guilt for the way you pushed his boundaries.

you hoped the mad king would not hurt the queen. perhaps it was wishful thinking, to think the man who would have married you off to a dead babe to spite your father had limitations. but you were wrong. the king had no limits, no one to stop them, not even the kingsguard. whatever the king had done to the queen, that left her bedridden, that seemed to leave devastation in mingi and yeosang even now, whatever it was should have terrified you. mingi's pain and your subsequent terror should have been the final reason to end your indiscretions.

to learn to resign yourself to your fate. to become the person you knew choi san and your brothers and your parents would pity. the person the seven kingdoms would one day sing pitiful songs of. the little bird trapped in their cage, left to a tragic fate, left to dissolve into the shadows, ruined, ruined, ruined.

the person you were before you'd wedded hongjoong would have ended everything. they would have stopped fighting for the sake of survival.

however, you could not help but imagine hongjoong ascending the throne one day, and continuing his father's legacy. you could very well face the same fate as the queen. no one would protect you if you did.

but that was not new. you'd known this since the moment you stepped foot on the shores of king's landing at four-and-ten. the part of you that dreamt of being rescued, of knights like the many you'd bestowed favors upon at tourneys, of your parents or your brothers, was merely the dreams of a child. you knew damn well no one in king's landing would protect you.

so why should you stop fighting? why should you stop? because of a little bit of guilt? because of a fate like the queen's?

besides the person you were before you wedded hongjoong was dead and gone when your family left a second time.

you would never step foot in sunspear again. you'd live in king's landing longer than you ever did in dorne. what did you have to lose anymore?

still, you said, "do you think hongjoong is capable of the same?"

mingi shook his head quickly. yeosang did not say anything.

"he is your friend," you frowned, frustration clawing it's way up your throat, under your skin, burrowing itself into ever nook and crevice like a disease, like the anger that always lived inside of you. "if you saw violence taking hold in him, you should have done everything in your power to keep it away. you sit here and warn me of possibilities when stopping such violence is your responsibility. not mine."

not mine, not mine, not mine. it echoed in your head, like the court's whispers. you did not mean to admit that the whispers that blamed you for hongjoong's misgivings bothered you. but you shook with your anger, and yeosang and mingi watched on as if you were a funeral pyre burning before their eyes.

"he is not violent." mingi murmured, voice breathy, "he does not want to be like his father."

you crossed your arms over your chest, looking from mingi to yeosang, "do you really believe that?"

"i want to believe it," yeosang sighed, his voice wistful, "hongjoong isn't a bad person. he's caring, and he remembers the littlest things. he sends medicine when he hears his friends are under the weather. he knows my favorite flower, and he wraps my name-day gifts with them. he sends san and jongho their favorite sweets when their mother's death day comes around. he cleared a space in the garden to commemorate mingi's mother, since lady song refuses to do so in the eyrie. he is...he cares, and he is so gentle, y/n, sweet even, when he is not angry." yeosang dragged a hand through his blond hair, closing his eyes, and perhaps this was the first time you'd seen him so candid with you. no kang amusement, no honeyed words. he speaks as yeosang. only yeosang. "but the mad king lives in his nature, and he knows it. he ruins things because of it, and i'm afraid it will set him on the exact path he despises."

you did not think yeosang thought highly of hongjoong. not truly. neither did you think hongjoong cared much for san, especially after san courted you. but perhaps, they truly were brothers, more than you'd ever accounted for. you'd known it ran deep, and longer than even your time at court. it ran through their fathers, if the chosen members of the small council was anything to go by, but you hadn't truly wanted to believe it. that a family existed in the red keep, found not made, while you were still so alone.

you should have fell in line that night and allowed the gods to determine your fate. the strength of their bonds, of how well they knew hongjoong, seeped into every word, and you should have taken it at face value. you should have stopped.

but you've become quite terrible at doing as you should.

"do you think he would," you hesitated, fingers curled in your lap, "...hurt me?"

mingi closed his eyes, turning to the gods once more.

yeosang twirled his cup in his fingers, the wine sloshing in his cup. he said, "hasn't he already?"

it was a quiet sort of acknowledgement you had not expected from kang yeosang, of all people.

hongjoong hadn't hurt you physically, but he'd taken from you for his own gain. he turned you into the type of person that pushed song mingi's boundaries just to see how far he would go for you, short of becoming a turncloak and betraying his king and vows. hongjoong turned you into this, and it was everything you did not want to be.

once upon a time, you dreamt of being kind. now, you were anything but.

to have that acknowledged brought a certain relief, but it also angered you. he knew of your pain, and he merely watched.

"you're right, ser yeosang," you said, swallowing the lump in your throat as you avoided eye contact with both yeosang and mingi. "it doesn't matter."

~.~.~.~.~

that night, hongjoong returned to your chambers smelling of amber and sweat and smoke. he shrugged his shirt off, his shoulder and chest blotched with reddish marks. even in the candlelight, you could see it. he did not say a word as he drew his bath and disappeared.

you'd turned away, but you could not sleep. it was not the guilt this time, but rather a heaviness in your chest. you ignored that heaviness, focusing instead on the part of you that wished to survive. if hongjoong found someone else to fixate upon, then your misgivings would not be so easily forgiven. the possibility was very real. you'd frowned at the wall as those thoughts ran rampant.

you startled when hongjoong's voice echoed through the chambers, "why don't you ever sleep?"

it was a simple enough question, but it made your heart beat faster. your palms were clammy. you were wracked with guilt. it was not a new feeling, but it continued to eat at your insides. you knew it would eat at you until there was nothing left.

you turned to face him. "why don't you?"

hongjoong's sharp features grew sharper in the shadows. when he rose, he loomed over you, his shadow creeping up over the wall and into the high ceiling. he truly looked the part of a god, the kinds of gods people feared.

you spoke before you took the time to think. you said, "is it because of the guilt?"

this was you you spoke of, but hongjoong's shoulders stiffened, and his looming shadow sunk back into him. vulnerability should not have suited hongjoong, and it truly did not. but you liked vulnerability on him. it bought you control you did not expect.

you clutched the sheets beneath you as you continued, "does it eat at you with every waking breath? do the faces of every person you'd burned or ruined or broke haunt you to this day, hongjoong?"

hongjoong stood so still, clenched fists at his side. your heart lodged in your throat, along with the lump growing there.

it was a strange thing, to understand the emotional turmoil kim hongjoong felt, despite everything. your words sawed its way into your gut the same way it did to him. it was ironic, truly, that the words you used to hurt him hurt you too.

you whispered, "or is it shame?"

"shut up," hongjoong growled.

you should have.

"oh," your laugh was humorless, "it is shame. do you finally feel a sense of shame when you look my way? when you return to our chambers still smelling like another?"

he stalked towards you then, one step, then two, then three, four, five, until he stood above you at the edge of the bed. his voice rang through your chambers, loud and sharp, "i said shut up."

"beg and i'll consider it," you mocked, anger curling at the pit of your stomach at his tone.

he grit his teeth, his dark eyes fixed on you.

you wondered if hongjoong would kill you where you sat. you waited, then, watching his every movement. the twitch of his brow. the curl of his fingers. the deepening of his scowl. that darkening in his eyes. time stopped, and you merely watched as he came back to life.

instead, he sunk to his knees, the bed dipping with the weight of him. he looked like he carried the weight of the world upon his shoulders, and he would sooner let it cripple him then let it slide off his shoulders. he looked the personification of the anger and shame and guilt that always lived inside of you.

he lifted his head to meet your gaze, his shadowed eyes heavy with emotions you could not place. guilt, desire, shame, amusement, contradictory emotions. he mirrored your insides, you knew, and that was a terrifying thought. to admit that you were truly just like him was one thing, but to see it spread out for you like this? to find such a sight fascinating? by the gods, surely you were terrible for this.

"jealousy does not suit you one bit," his voice was rough, low.

"i am not jealous," you bristled. you were not, you should not be, you could not be. you were pushing him so you could survive. so he wouldn’t wander too far. there was nothing else.

"oh, y/n, are we still lying to each other?"

you'd deflated at his brow raise, though your grip beneath you, on the sheets, was still so tight. his eyes fell to your hands, before they returned to your face. he waited patiently.

you could tell him the truth, or you could aim to burrow your words deep under his skin and hope it lived there for eternity.

"yes," you said, "you will never have me as i am. you will never know me, no matter how many sleepless nights we spend sharing stories. you will never know what is the truth and what is a lie."

"i know when you're lying, y/n," hongjoong's voice was not unkind. it held an ancient exhaustion. "whether you like it or not, i know you."

"how could you possibly know me? you don't care for me. you never did," your voice trembled, despite your spite.

hongjoong laughed, then, and it was softer now.

his dark eyes carried the weight of the world as it settled on you, and your breath caught in your throat.

"i know that you always take sugar in your tea." hongjoong said, "i know that you always forget your heavy cloak because you do not wish to acknowledge the winters. your favorite color is green. an emerald green like the jewel. you are terrified of spiders, still. i know that you hate cucumbers. that your favorite flower is dragon's breath, and that is the only reason why you visit the godswood. you do not believe in the gods, new or old.”

your breath remained caught in your throat, and your fingers found purchase around your knees.

hongjoong reached out then, his bare fingers hovering above your cheek. he met your gaze, and you did not think about it when you nodded in permission. his caress was a light thing, barely there, but his fingers trembled. he pressed his palm to the underside of your jaw, cupping your cheek. you let out a breath as he dragged his fingertips along your skin, a breath you did not realize you were holding.

"i know that you adore the three legged mare the stablehands keep hidden during inspections. that you’ve been drinking more so you can sleep," he said, with the smallest of laughs, "and i know that you are afraid of me."

you shook your head, then, and you managed to say, "not always."

"that is not enough," hongjoong murmured, his silver hair falling into his eyes. his dark eyes fell along your face, from your gaze to your lips and back.

you should have pushed him away.

instead, you said, "i am not afraid. not now."

he leaned closer then, his silver hair brushing along your temples, his touch on your cheek warm. "and now?"

your heart knocked against your ribs. you shook your head, "no."

then he leaned even closer, his forehead resting against yours. he was so close, you could count his eyelashes. his silver hair tickled your skin. his touch burned, like fire. like the sun.

your heart stopped, and the silence in the room was deafening. you were afraid any sudden movement, any loud noise, would bring you both back to reality, that it would shatter whatever this was, as tentative and fragile as it felt. your gaze flickered from his dark eyes to his pink lips, and watched his jaw clench.

he breathed, "now?"

you shook your head.

"words, y/n," he murmured, his thumb tracing circles along your jaw, "i need words."

"beg for it, then," you mocked his words, matching his tone. a grin stretched across his face. all teeth and glinting, despite his hooded dark eyes.

one of his hands dragged down your skin, drawing circles and letters and words you would never be privy to along the skin of your neck, and you shuddered under his touch. he said, with an air of the kind of gentle care that left you breathless, "please." his other thumb brushed to the corner of your mouth, pressing into the soft skin as he repeated, gentle and desperate and wanting in a way that made your thoughts run blank, "y/n, please."

you turned your head, pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of his thumb. his eyes tracked your movements. you knew because you held his gaze in yours.

you said, "i am not afraid of you, hongjoong. not anymore."

a lie.

his lips twitched upwards.

he knew when you lied.

he asked, "and if i were to kiss you? would you be afraid then?"

terribly so, you thought, and not because he was the son of the mad king, or because he was volatile. no, what you feared the most was the way you hung onto his movements with bated breath and your heart beat too fast at his touches. you feared you liked this - him - more than you should have. more than you could handle.

you only feared yourself, when you shook your head and said, "no."

when he pressed his lips to yours, you were caught by surprise not by the kiss, but by his gentleness. you kissed him back. he tasted of the remnants of sweet mulberry wine. he smelled of the soap and bath oils you both shared. you pressed up into him, deepening the embrace, and he cradled the back of your head as he maneuvered you into the bedsheets, and your fingers found purchase in his silver-blond hair. he gasped against your lips, and you could feel the grin there. his lips were soft and kind and everything you longed for since you stepped foot in the red keep. of kindness, of softness, of being held as if you were the most precious creature to exist. it made you breathless.

he broke away first, and you gasped for air, even as one of his hands pressed under your jaw. your own hands remained tangled in his hair. he tucked away loose strands of hair as he hovered above you, as he peered down at you. his gaze was intense, as if he was memorizing the sight of you like this, as if he was admiring you. the rough pad of his thumb dragged along your cheek.

he said, "i've wanted to do that since i laid eyes on you."

you'd blinked at his admission, your grip in his hair tightening. his thumb dragged down your cheek, down the length of your neck, down, down, down. he stopped just short of the hem of your shirt.

"keep going," you allowed, untangling one of your hands from his hair just to push it back from his face. just to cup his cheeks in your hands. "just...do not hurt me."

"i won't. i swear it," he promised, and the sincerity of it made something inside you wither. he dipped down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, and it left a fire in your heart. he said, with a grin and dark eyes, "if anything, you will be the death of me."

[colormepurplex2]

Masks & Merlot | Masks

↳ModernLegacyHeir!Kim Seokjin x Servant!Reader ⤜ Long-time pining/drunk love confessions ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 6,715 ⚠️ Crass language, hurt feelings, talk of death of a parent, talk of parent with terminal cancer, servitude mentality, heavily skewed power dynamics/objectification of women, parental abuse/physical abuse, heavy drinking, bad feelings, oral f. receiving, fingering, drunken advances, emotional gut-punching

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to series masterlist

‘Put on a brave face’ is something you’ve been told for as long as you can remember. The thing is, though, you don’t like having to put on a mask for the benefit of someone else. What other people think of you is the least of your worries. Still, it’s expected of you.

You might think you’re a faceless shadow, but you’re also keenly aware you’re made to dress the way you are for a reason. To be looked—leered—at. The short pencil skirt and tight white button-down paired with red kitten heels are impractical for a maid. Yet, here you are, stretching up onto the toes of your not-for-a-maid heels, trying to dust the top shelf of a bookcase and hoping your skirt doesn’t rise too much to show off the bottoms of your asscheeks.

“I do not care what the Robinsons are doing. We have to do more. Whatever the cost, whatever strings you have to pull, you do it! I will not let them ruin this merger for us, and that is final. Do you understand me?”

The phone slamming home into its cradle startles you, causing you to bump your knees into one of the lower shelves. “Ah,” you mutter under your breath, rubbing at a particularly painful spot. You’ll be lucky if it doesn’t bruise.

“I didn’t mean to startle you like that.” You can’t help jumping again. The voice is so close you catch a whiff of the whiskey he nursed before making that phone call. A thick, blunt finger slides along your neck, sweeping away the ends of the ruby-colored ribbon you’re using to tie your hair back. “I like the color. It suits you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kim,” you mumble, fighting the urge to hunch your shoulders around your ears just to get his wandering digit away. He fingers a bit of your hair, twirling it around before giving it a jarring tug.

“Such a polite girl.” His words have your stomach churning as you slip on your mask of subservience. “A sweet—”

“Father.” The word echoes through the room, laced with acid.

Mr. Kim chuckles, giving your hair one final tug before the unwelcome warmth of his body leaves your back. “Seokjin, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“You’re the one that called for me.” As Seokjin moves into the room, you catch his eye. For a moment, you see pity staring back at you…and something else, but it’s gone before you can decipher it.

“Ah, right, so I did. I want to discuss something with you.” Mr. Kim gestures to the plush, black leather chairs in front of his desk. “Sit,” he says, the word more a command than an offering of courtesy. He folds his own wiry frame into the rolling chair behind the desk and leans back, looking relaxed, but you know he’s no less ready to strike like a snake if provoked.

“What do you want?” The impatience in Seokjin’s voice is surprising. He isn’t usually so severe when addressing his father. You silently urge him to stand down, not to earn himself a malicious bite.

Mr. Kim laces his fingers together over his stomach, watching his son with unreadable eyes. You dart furtive glances over your shoulder, hoping one of them will dismiss you from the room so you don’t have to witness what is sure to come, as you absently brush a cloth over the same shelf you’ve been cleaning for the last few minutes.

“Girl,” Mr. Kim snaps his fingers.

“Yes, Mr. Kim?” You spin around, hands automatically going behind your back, and your eyes cast down to the floor. The mask of obedience, one you’ve perfected over the years.

“Get out.”

Quickly gathering your basket of cleaning supplies, heartbeat in your throat, you force yourself not to look back as you exit the room as fast as possible. As the door to the office swings shut, you hear the distinctive crack of an open palm against flesh.

The sound makes you weak in the knees, your mask slipping slightly. But you hurry along, willing yourself to continue down the hall and not rush back into the room in a defensive panic. Seokjin getting smacked around by his father is the least disturbing thing that goes on behind closed doors here at the Kim estate. And you’ve learned the mask of a martyr is one you can never wear.

🎭🎭🎭

Seokjin

The pain radiating along his jaw is nothing compared to the feeling now screaming through his chest.

“I am to what?” he asks, daring to incur his father's wrath again, simply so he can be sure he heard him correctly.

Mr. Kim leans back in his chair, smugly rubbing his reddened palm. “You will be marrying the Volkov girl. The engagement will be announced at our annual fundraising ball next month.”

“Yana? But she’s only seventeen.”

“Eighteen as of last night.”

Seokjin frowns. “I don’t want to marry her. I don’t even know her.”

His father laughs, throwing his head back and echoing his amusement to the ceiling. “Oh, my dear boy, you say that as if it matters. I only met your mother once before we wed. You will have plenty of time to get to know her after you bed her and solidify our connections with the Volkovs.”

“A business deal. That’s what this is about?” Seokjin always knew this was most likely to be his future. Though, the closer he got to thirty, the more likely it seemed his father wouldn’t push an arranged marriage on him. If he were in private, he might laugh at his own naivety. Being thirty and expected to marry someone twelve years younger gives him an icky feeling. Though, he knows if he expresses that, his father will just laugh again and tell him to man up.

Mr. Kim swivels in his chair, reaching for the bottle of rye at the other end of his desk. “You will come to learn that everything in life is about making a deal and what you can do to get ahead. As my only remaining son, you are expected to take over for me one day. This isn’t a life for having a soft belly, son. You’d do well to remember that.” He pours a generous amount of the caramel-colored liquor into a crystal glass. “Now, get out before I find someone else to name as my successor.”

It’s on the tip of Seokjin’s tongue to tell his father he doesn’t care to be his successor and wishes he could run away from this life as Seokjoong did. He’s never envied his brother, not until now. They don’t talk, or rather they are not allowed to talk. He’s unsure where his brother is or if he’s even still alive.

The day Seokjoong turned eighteen, he packed his bags, and left in a flurry of harsh words and angry tears. He was effectively cut out of Seokjin’s life. At fifteen, Seokjin didn’t have much choice in the matter. At first, he hated Seokjoong for leaving, but now…now, Seokjin just wishes he would have taken him with him.

His movements are stiff as he rises from the chair. “Good day, Father,” he mutters, offering the slightest bow before turning on his heel and swiftly exiting the office. As soon as he’s in the hall, he drops his face in his hands and muffles a growl of frustration.

“Are you okay?” your sweet voice pulls him out of his pending spiral.

Slowly dropping his hands, he uses the movement to cover his perusal of you, giving you a quick once over, looking for anything his father might have left behind. “I don’t know why you still work here.”

“Oh.” Your lips pull down in a frown, and he knows his harsh words have stung.

Waving a hand in the air, he says, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean I wish you’d get away from here…away from him. You deserve better than this life.”

Your lips press into a firm line, your eyes narrowing at him. “I won’t have this conversation with you again.”

He’s all too aware of why you’ve remained here as a maid—your parents; sickly mother and deceased father. Your mother was dragged into the Kim household as a maid to pay off a debt owed to Seokjin’s father after your father was murdered during a deal gone wrong. They were partners once, his father and yours. But something happened, and that all changed in a matter of days. Your father died, leaving your mother pregnant and with nowhere else to go. In an act of desperation, she signed a contract with the Kims to pay back her late husband's debt but also for protection and a place for her unborn child–you. It’s all you’ve known, and as long as your mother still resides here, even if from a sick bed, you refuse to leave for fear of retaliation from Seokjin’s dad.

You almost made it out right before she got sick. Seokjin had squirreled away enough of his monthly stipend to see you off to an excellent college and a quaint apartment, with enough money left to keep you afloat until you could manage it yourself. He’s always had a soft spot for you. You were practically his only friend growing up. That was until he turned fifteen, and Seokjoong left. His father thought he needed to start acting more like a man and less like a teenage boy.

The account Seokjin set up for you was a gift for your eighteenth birthday. That was over a decade ago now. The entirety of the account shriveled up to help cover your mother's medical costs.

“You’re so stubborn.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I could fire you, you know?” The words are out of his mouth before he can think better of it. His conversation with his father has his temper blaring, and he’s taking it out on you.

You tuck your lips between your teeth and nod. “My apologies, Mr. Kim. If you’ll excuse me, your mother will need me in the drawing room by now.” You move to step by him, pausing to glare up at him. “You should ice that,” you utter through your clenched teeth, eyes dropping to the side of his jaw.

“Wait,” he says, grabbing your elbow to halt your departure. “I’m sorry. I’m upset, and I’m taking it out on you.” You just stare at him, waiting for him to release your arm. “Can we talk later?” He doesn’t have to tell you where to meet him or when. If you decide to forgive him for his harsh words, you’ll find him…like you always do.

The subtlest jerk of your chin is all he gets from you before you pull your elbow from his grip and disappear down the stairs. Just as you hit the bottom of the steps, the door to his father’s office opens. He steps out, crossing the landing space and resting his palms on the banister. Seokjin watches his father watch you. The way he knows you can feel his father’s eyes burning into your backside makes him want to chew rocks. Instead, he turns and continues down the hall toward the library, where he’ll wait for the rest of the day to see if you show up.

🎭🎭🎭

“A little to the left. Yes, right there. That’s it. Perfect!”

Your arms ache from extending them over your head for so long trying to help Royce, the groundskeeper for the Kim estate, hang up the newly potted plants that Mrs. Kim selected for the front porch—the exterior decor of the Kim estate changes with the seasons if not with the holidays.

“How many more are there?” you mumble in question to Royce.

He glances back at Mrs. Kim, perched on a plush patio chair, fanning herself with a large pink hand fan. She sips delicately at a chilled glass of lemonade before gesturing to the next column on the porch. “The yellow ones here, I think, Royce.”

“A dozen more,” he whispers in response to you. “Yes, ma’am, I think that will look lovely,” he raises his voice, giving Mrs. Kim a bright smile. You like Royce well enough. He’s always been kind to you and your mother. However, Royce has the help of his grandson, Levi, whom you despise. It should be Levi helping Royce right now, sweating on the front porch, instead of you. But, when you asked after him, Royce just grumbled something under his breath and shrugged his shoulders. You’re just the maid, but you know better than complaining or pointing out that maintenance work isn’t part of your job.

By the time you’re done helping Royce, your arms feel like jello, and all you want is a shower. “Thank you for your help today, kid.” You nod to Royce and watch as he strides toward the golf cart he uses to get around the estate grounds.

You contemplate calling after him and asking for a ride to the workhouse on the backside of the property, but remembering there’s something you need to do before you can go home for the day has you turning to head back inside. Mrs. Kim and her assistant Yuri wave away your question of whether or not they need anything before you excuse yourself.

The library is upstairs, at the end of the east wing. It’s a room hardly anyone ventures into, with the exception of you and Seokjin. It was his sanctuary growing up, where he escaped to when things got ugly between his parents. He used to leave you presents in the fiction section, knowing that was your favorite but also that you must clean in here even if it’s not used, so you’d always find the things he’s left for you. It eventually became a place you both used to escape when you needed a moment away from the outside world—where you could laugh together, like two friends not from wildly different worlds.

That’s where you find him, tucked into the far back corner of the library where the small collection of fiction books resides. It’s a secluded spot, one you have to intentionally seek out in order to see. It’s not scholarly for a library to hold fanciful tales of intrigue, mystery, or romance. At least, according to Mr. Kim, it’s not. But, ever the one to indulge his wife, he conceded the small section per her request; you’re sure if he had known she intended it for his sons, he would have squashed that request in a fit of masculine rage. After all, tales of princes and heroes offer nothing of how the real world expects—no, needs—a man to behave.

“You didn’t ice it,” you comment, leaning against the curved wall along the back of the section. If you lean a little to the right, you can see the door to the library still shut as you left it. No one has ever caught you or Seokjin in here, but that doesn’t mean you’re not always paranoid. It’s bound to happen one day. The last thing you need is to be turned out for suspicion of being inappropriate with the son of your employer. Your reputation would be ruined, while Seokjin would probably earn a pat on the back from his dad and a glower from his mother.

Seokjin jerks upright from his position on the floor, the second Twilight book thumping closed at his feet. “Fucking hell. You scared the shit out of me.”

“I always skip that one.” You nod at the book on the floor, ignoring his outburst of surprise. “Jacob is way too much of an entitled alphahole.”

“Alphahole?” he questions. He leans down and snatches up the book, shoving it back into its place in the bookcase.

“Alpha, asshole. Alphahole. It’s a thing.” You shrug. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

A myriad of emotions flicker over Seokjin’s face. You watch him open his mouth, intent on saying something, but his brow slowly pinches, and his lips slide shut. Whatever comes out of his mouth, you know it won’t be what he originally wanted to say. “How’s your mom doing?”

You frown, knowing this is the question he uses when he’s deflecting. “You’d know if you ever came by anymore.”

Now it’s his turn to frown. “You know it’s not that easy. If Father knew I was coming by your place, he’d make my life a living hell.”

He has a point. The last time his father caught wind of him frequenting the small workhouse on the backside of the property, Seokjin was sent away to an all-boys boarding school in Europe for a year as punishment. From what little Seokjin told you about the school, it was more like a prison where he was forced to scrub the floors with a toothbrush and launder clothes. It was something about how if he wanted to cavort with the help, he could live like them for a while.

“Seems like he’s already doing that,” you murmur, hesitantly reaching out and brushing along the darkening skin of his jaw. Seokjin winces, tilting his face away from your inspection.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

You chew the inside of your cheek, trying to decide whether or not to play nice right now. “She’s surviving,” you finally say. “No different. The doctor says the treatment is working, but I’ve not seen any improvement. He says I’m being impatient.”

“When is her next appointment?”

“In two months. It’ll be another evaluation to see if the cancer is spreading.” Even the word is bitter on your tongue. You hate talking about it.

As if sensing your souring mood, Seokjin gestures to the small pile of pillows in the corner. “Want to read to me?”

And just like that, you feel lighter. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

You settle down on the pillows, back against the wall, and ankles crossed out before you. Just like old times, Seokjin lays down on his side, his head resting on your lap and a hand on your knee. He used to have nightmares when he was a child; the only thing that would soothe him was you reading to him. You would sneak out of the workhouse, and he’d let you in the backdoor. Together, you’d creep up the stairs and into the library where you’d read to him, just like this, until the sun shone through the windows.

It’s a form of comfort for both of you. Just a bubble of serenity, filled with imagination and powerful characters that always defeat the darkness they face. Though, as you grab one of the thick novels off the shelf nearest to you and flip open the front cover, you can’t help but look down at him, letting the worst mask of them all fall in place—the mask of the best friend, the companion in all ways but the one you truly want. He can’t be yours. He will never be yours. So, taking a fortifying breath, you put on a brave face and begin to read.

🎭🎭🎭

It’s been weeks, and you never did find out what Seokjin wanted to talk to you about that day. It’s not like it really matters, though. He’s been different ever since, stiff and distanced. You tried approaching him a few times but only received a glare or a grumble about how you should be doing your job instead of wasting time with idle chit-chat. That’s probably what hurts the most, his digs at you as if he hasn’t been the one to instigate said chit-chat in the past.

He’s turned into someone you barely recognize. Not only are his words not typical, but the permanent scowl tugging at his lips and the dark circles around his eyes are out of character, too. At first, you thought it was a mask he was putting on, a show for his father. But as the weeks dragged on and he continued to treat you like a stranger, it seemed less like a farce and more like a new reality you needed to try to accept.

It’s not like you’re not used to adapting to sudden changes. The death of your father and the sickness choking your mother were sudden tidal waves you had to navigate to keep your head above water. Though, the difference was you had Seokjin acting as a life preserver during those instances. Now, you’re just floundering on your own, waiting to be sucked down into the salty oblivion.

“Are you riding over with me or going on your own?” Royce’s voice jerks you out of your moment of internal fugue.

“I’ll drive myself. Thanks, Royce. See you there.” The last thing you want is to be reliant on someone else as a way home later this evening after the charity gala is over. Usually, you don’t attend these things. But, it was requested by Mrs. Kim that you are there tonight to oversee the kitchen staff.

You take the golf cart Royce typically drives around the estate to the workhouse. It’s a nice place, all things considered—two bedrooms, two baths, with a large kitchen and living room. The master bedroom—that your mother insisted you move into after your father passed—has a balcony overlooking the garden out back.

Skipper, one of the estate’s cats kept for keeping the mice out of the stables, sits on the porch as you hurry up the stairs. You give him a soft pat before heading inside.

“Is that you, hun?” your mother’s crackly voice calls from her bedroom located off the living room. Another perk, she said, of you moving into the master bedroom was her taking the smaller downstairs room so it would be easier for her to get around when she’s feeling particularly under the weather—which is most of the time now.

You toe off your heels by the door. “Yeah, I just came back to change before going to the gala.”

The sound of her breathing machine whirring grows louder as you cut across the living room to peek into her room. She’s sitting in a rocking chair, angled so she can see out the floor-to-ceiling window that looks out into the garden. “You should wear my pearls tonight. They will look so pretty on you.” She gestures with a hand that trembles so much it makes your stomach hurt to look at. You hate seeing her like this, slowly being eaten alive by a dark disease.

“The ones daddy got you?” you try to hide the emotion in your voice, but you can tell it doesn’t work by the sad smile she gives you.

“They’re in the jewelry box. Top drawer in the chifforobe. Grab them and try them on.” The silvery pearls are nestled on a bed of velvet—a single strand, just long enough to sit above your collarbone and a pair of studded earrings. “Come closer. Come, come, let me see.”

You kneel before her, your hands gently on her quilt-covered knees. A silk scarf is wrapped around her head, the long ends dangling over her shoulder. A light hand lands on your shoulder, her cold fingers sliding over the side of your neck and along the strand of pearls. “I can’t possibly wear these tonight, momma. They’re far too precious for the charity gala.”

“Nonsense. Nothing is too precious for my girl. They’re right where they need to be. You could wear them while waiting tables at a dinky diner, and I would still think they were right where they belong. You keep them. Wear them tonight, catch the eye of some nice gentleman, and get the hell out of this place.” Her words, teasing at first, turn serious in the end. Her eyes bore into yours. “I mean it. You need to get out while you still can. Don’t worry about me, you have a whole life ahead of you, and I’m just holding you back.”

“Don’t talk like that,” you admonish softly. “I’ll wear them tonight, but I’ll be coming back here just the same, and I’m not leaving. I won’t leave you.” You push up from the floor and finger the pearls around your neck. “I won’t,” you repeat before brushing by her and heading up to your room to get ready.

🎭🎭🎭

Seokjin

“I need another drink.”

That’s met with a derisive snort. “Haven’t you had enough already? The party hasn’t even begun, and your words are slurring,” Namjoon comments, his eyes flicking between Seokjin and the two empty bottles of wine discarded on the table between them.

Swirling the remnants of the wine in his glass, Seokjin leans forward and rests an elbow on a knee. “No amount of wine will be enough with what I face tonight.”

“Oh, fuck you. At least Yana is pretty.” Namjoon rubs his thumb along the diamond-encrusted band sitting snugly on his left hand. “Janika is a nightmare and looks like she took a hoof to the face as a child.”

Seokjin glares at Namjoon. “Yana is a child.”

“She’s eighteen.” He shrugs. “That’s old enough.” He watches as Seokjin tips back the remaining wine in his glass, swallowing it in one gulp. “Keep your head, Seokjin. You know your father will be displeased if you’re five sheets to the wind before he even makes the announcement.”

Straightening in his seat, Seokjin grumbles and sets the glass on the table. He glances at the remaining unopened bottles of wine. “I hate that you’re right. I guess these can wait until after he ruins my life.”

“What’s the big deal, man? It’s just a marriage. It’s not like you can’t still stick your dick elsewhere.” Namjoon takes a small sip from his own glass of wine, the only one he’s had so far. “You’re acting like your dad is cutting off your manhood or something.”

Seokjin sighs. “I just don’t want to do it. Shouldn’t that be good enough? I don’t care about being the heir or continuing the family legacy. I just want to—you know what, never mind. You’re right. It doesn’t matter.” He pushes up from his chair, shaking his head as he leaves Namjoon behind in the parlor. He’s tried being friends with Namjoon and the other guys from prominent families he’s supposed to be rubbing elbows with, but they’re far more into the lifestyle than he is. So far, all he’s managed is maintaining cordial niceties when required.

There’s only one person he’s ever considered a true friend…and he’s been avoiding you for weeks—some friend he is. He’s tried to tell himself it’s for the better, that he must distance himself from you for obvious reasons. But it’s been torture. He allowed himself to indulge one last time when he asked you to read to him, like old times. He knows it can’t continue, not after tonight. So it’s better this way. It’ll hurt less in the end.

He heads down the hall, toward where the converted kitchen is. The building is old, a historical site that all the affluent families use when they want to put on a good face for the general public. It’s owned in part by his and the Jung’s families. They use it more often, holding speaking events nearly every month. Hoseok, the heir to the Jung fortune, is much like Namjoon in that Seokjin tolerates him when he has to but, beyond that, would rather not. They’re spoiled, entitled, and a bit on the twisted side.

The kitchens are bustling with activity, hundreds of workers in white and black livery working like a well-oiled machine. There is one bright pop of color among the monochrome. His eyes hone in on it instantly. You’re flitting about, the rich carmine color of your dress standing out like a beacon calling to him. He slips through the crowd, avoiding hefted trays of hors d’oeuvres and frosted glasses of champagne.

“Marta, be sure the sommeliers have a few bottles of the ‘00 Château Lafite Rothschild Bordeaux ready for the head table.”

“I love when you speak French, even if it’s just to name a wine.” The words are out of his mouth before he can swallow them back down.

You whip around, clutching a clipboard to your chest. “Seokjin! What are you doing in the kitchen? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the gala?” He feels the way your eyes rake over him, taking in his fitted white Armani suit and the red rose pinned to the front lapel. “You’re already ready. But missing your masquerade mask.” You clear your throat when he just stares at you, a smile tugging up the corner of his mouth. He taps the front of his jacket over the internal breast pocket where his mask sits. “My other question still stands, what are you doing in the kitchens?”

He doesn’t answer you immediately. Instead, he lets himself drink you in. Much like the bottles of red wine he downed earlier, you make him feel brazen and lightheaded. Your curves are accentuated by the fit of your dress, hugging all the right places. He can see your heartbeat thumping away in your neck, drawing his attention to the string of tiny pearls around your neck. Jealousy flares inside of him, wondering who gave you such a gift.

“Where did you get the pearls?” he asks instead of offering you an answer to your question. “I haven’t seen you wear them before.”

Your eyes go soft, and he watches your lips dip down. “They’re moms,” you whisper, bringing a hand up to touch them.

The jealousy turns to acrid bile in his stomach. Seokjin drops his eyes, suddenly contrite. “They look beautiful on you.” Another slip-up of words, but as his eyes slowly slide up to your face, he’s relieved to see a smile warming on your face.

“Thank you, Seokjin.” You begin to turn away from him, intending to get back to your responsibilities, but he’s not sure how much longer he can stand the gap that is growing between you. It’s his fault. He knows that. Maybe that’s what pushes him to capture your elbow, pulling you up short. The library wasn’t enough. He needs just one more moment. He promises himself this will be the last.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Your eyes dart around, watching as others around you start to take notice of who is among them. Seokjin can hear them whispering, alarmed that he’s here. “Sure,” you stammer, gesturing urgently to a door in the back. “Go. Marta, I’ll be right back.” The older woman gives you a polite nod and Seokjin a tight-lipped glance.

The door leads to a small storage room filled with cabinets and shelves covered in cleaning supplies. You slip in behind him, shutting the door softly. He turns, letting his eyes slowly drift up your form. “Hi,” he says when his eyes finally reach yours.

“Hi?” you parrot. “Look, I’m sorry, Seokjin, but I don’t have time for idle pleasantries. I have a lot of work to do before the gala begins.” Your hand grips the doorknob as you turn to leave.

“Wait, stop.”

He watches as your shoulders rise and fall with a sigh before you turn back, hand still on the knob, to meet his eyes over your shoulder. “What is it?”

“I—uh,” he fumbles with his words, the wine sucking away at his ability to think clearly. “There’s something I want, er, that I need to say to you.”

Turning fully around, you cross your arms over the clipboard you’re still carrying. “Okay? What do you need to say?”

“Well, it’s not really say,” he takes a hesitant step toward you. You try to step back to maintain the distance, but your back meets the door instead. “It’s more do.”

“Do?” you whisper as he steps even closer. “Seokjin, I don’t—“

It’s a stupid move. He knows that. But it happens. He cuts off your words with his lips, firmly pressing against yours. Your mouth is stiff, rigid against his no matter how much he tries to ply your lips with soft nips or teasing flicks of his tongue. He presses against you, molding his body to yours. He can feel you trembling, your breathing growing erratic. The moment you unfreeze and melt against him, he lets out a throaty moan.

You give in, opening your mouth to welcome the exploration of his tongue. He can taste mint on your lips. It wars with the thick cherry and currant flavor from the wine lingering in his mouth. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he murmurs against your lips, stopping only to catch his breath before drawing you back in with languid strokes of his tongue.

“Seokjin,” you breathe as his lips move to trail down your throat. “You have to stop. You’re drunk.”

“No,” he states. He drops to his knees in front of you and presses his face into your middle. “Don’t make me stop. Please. I want you. I need you.”

The desperation in his voice makes his own ears hurt. He must be so goddamn pitiful groveling on his knees to you. He just can’t help it. He’ll blame the wine later, surely. His hands tug at the hem of your dress where it rests above your knees. He goes slow, giving you plenty of time to stop him as he pushes the tips of his fingers under the fabric.

His eyes drift up, looking at you through the valley of your breasts. Your eyes are squeezed shut, bottom lip caught between your teeth. “Jin,” you whisper. It’s neither encouragement nor a plea to stop.

This is his last chance to show you how he feels about you. After tonight, he’ll belong to someone else. He’ll make sure you get out. He’ll pull all the strings at his disposal to ensure you and your mom get away. But, right now—right now, he needs this. He needs to be selfish before his whole world gets ripped away and he finds himself tethered irrevocably to a leash his father holds. At least, that is what he tells himself as he rucks your dress up around your hips.

You’re wearing sexy, lacy panties. They’re sheer enough that he can see the cleft of your pussy, a sight that will be forever branded into his mind. “I’ll stop if you want me to,” he offers, panting so heavily that he knows you can feel his warm breath against your skin.

“Y-you—don’t…don’t stop,” you whimper as he brushes his nose across your lace-covered mound.

Letting out a ragged breath, he presses his face against you and inhales deeply. “You drive me crazy. You always have.” Seokjin pokes out his tongue, lapping along the already damp front of your panties. He works his fingers around the band, yanking them down and helping you step out of them. “Fuck,” he curses, eyes landing on you now fully exposed to him. He absently tucks your panties into the pocket of his slacks.

The first brush of his tongue on your naked flesh has you coming up onto your toes. Seokjin moves with you, bracing his hands on your hips to hold you in place. He chuckles when the clipboard clatters to the floor beside him, freeing your hands to fist into his hair. “Jin.” That’s definitely a murmur of encouragement.

Your hands tug at his hair, eliciting shocks of pain across his scalp that he uses for further encouragement. The flavor of your arousal fills his mouth as he greedily sucks and laps at you. Every flick of his tongue against your clit makes breathy little moans puff past your lips.

Seokjin grips one of your calves, encouraging you to lift your leg and rest it over his shoulder. The movement opens you even further, allowing his tongue to dip lower. Like a man starved, he devours you and swallows down everything that drips onto his tongue. “Such a good girl,” the words are more of a vibration against your core, making you shudder above him.

Deep satisfaction settles in his chest as he rumbles with a moan of his own. His cock is straining so hard against the fly of his pants that it hurts. He can’t remember ever feeling like this. All he wants to do is slide home into your body, claim you for himself. But this will have to be enough.

“I’m going to cum,” you mewl as you writh, pinned between his ravenous mouth and the door. Seokjin wants to feel you fall apart for him—because of him. Releasing the grip on one of your hips, he works two fingers beneath his chin, slipping them inside of you.

He can feel your body poised on the edge, ready to shatter for him. Crooking his fingers up, he draws a hearty moan from you that bleeds into an open-mouthed silent cry as he sends you careening over the edge with his tongue rolling against your clit.

It’s over too soon, your body slumping against the door. You release your grip on his hair and drop your leg from his shoulder. “That was,” he pauses, sucking in a few unsteady breaths, “amazing.”

The look you give him as he stands has butterflies filling the pit of his stomach. Your fingers tremble when you reach out to cup his jaw, your thumb rubbing along his bottom lip. “I don’t even know what to say,” you finally whisper. Your eyes are large, full of life and wonder. It’s like a dagger to the heart knowing he’ll probably never see this look from you again–that he’ll be the one to forcibly remove it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt sooner,” he admits.

Your laugh is light and airy as you begin to fix your clothes. He sees you glance at his pocket, where your panties were stuffed earlier. But you don’t ask for them back, just shimmy your dress back over your hips and smooth over it with your palms. “You didn’t exactly say anything.”

Seokjin purses his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, really. I-I mean, obvi-obviously,” your words stutter out with mild embarrassment. It’s cute. Seokjin likes you like this. He tucks away the image of how flushed you are, the way your hands twist together as you look up at him through your lashes. “I liked it.”

Time to twist the dagger now sliding into his belly. “I’m not sorry for that.” The look of confusion on your face is the first twist of the knife. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

“What? But you just said—“

“It’s the wine. I’m sorry. I need to go.” It’s painful, slipping on that mask of indifference, the final twist of the blade.

Your chin warbles, nearly bringing Seokjin to his knees. “Right,” you say smoothly, donning your own cold mask. “You should head to the ballroom, things will be beginning shortly. I’m sure your parents will be looking for you.” Your words are as much a dismissal as you’ll warrant without outright telling him to fuck off. He knows the last few weeks haven’t earned him any favors with you. And what he just did is the last nail in his coffin. He lets his eyes linger on you a moment longer, watching as you square your shoulders and snatch the clipboard off the floor.

He gives you one last look, hoping you’ll meet his gaze and see through his lies. But, when you continue to ignore him and intentionally stare at the clipboard, he exits the storage room and then the kitchen. He doesn’t look back as he approaches the double doors that lead into the ballroom. Pulling out the folded red mask from the inside of his coat pocket, he slides the band over the back of his head. He swallows thickly, staring at the gilded handles of the doors a moment before grabbing one, twisting, and pushing through to walk forward like a man being prodded along a plank, a raging, bellowing sea churning just below, waiting for him to plunge into its icy darkness.

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to series masterlist

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[fake-married-my-dead-fiance]

The way Jang Uk and Mu-deok switch the names they call each other in the first season to get different answers is pretty brilliant:

[Jang Uk: Mu-deok. How do I look? Does it suit me? Mu-deok: I am not sure. What would I know?] (It's not in the translation, but he calls himself "young master" in this scene. I've learned that term)

Mu-deok is a stupid servant after all, so he asks her as his master instead:

[Jang Uk: Master how does your pupil look? Mu-deok: This uniform did not seem too bad on Seo Yul and Park Dang-gu, but it looks impeccable on my pupil.]

It's such an interesting dynamic they have, both having to keep switching rolls. And Mu-deok almost messes up right after this and calls him "Jang Uk" in front of Maid Kim.

[fictional-orphan-smackdown]

Round 2, match 6!

All propaganda and what each competitor is from under the cut

Kim Kitsuragi (Disco Elysium)

He's Kim. Surely someone else has submitted him. They can go wild.

Shannon and Kanon (originally, only Shannon was submitted for, so she gets the propaganda. Sorry, Kanon) (Umineko No Naku Koro Ni)

Like Kanon, Shannon is a servant for the Ushiromiya family who owns their orphanage. She was selected to work as a maid at the age of 6, and has been working at the mansion since then. While she also thinks of herself as furniture, and lets herself get bullied and pushed around because of it, she's good friends with the heiress Jessica and her cousins. When spending time with them she's happy and cheerful, even teasing Jessica about her crush on Kanon.