while reading my stories please keep in mind that english is not my first language. so if you find any error or mistake please kindly inform me so i could learn and fix them. thank you for reading.
synopsis Every kingdom begins with an oath; sealed in blood, ends in ashes. But no crown is carried only with honor and victory. Every victory leaves shadows behind, every victory comes at a heavy price. With the sudden death of his father, King Elias, Prince Anton finds himself both the heir to a throne and the bearer of a vengeance. Enemies lurk not only outside, but also within him. His kingdom the Empire of Milas is based on a deep history and full of deep secrets. Because sometimes, the fiercest battles are not fought with swords... but with a thirst for retribution.
genre historical fantasy, romance, angst, hurt-comfort, political drama, royalty
contains alcohol consumption, war scenes, ptsd signs, political manipulation, war themes, imprisonment, power struggles, murderous thoughts
Anton had always been strong-willed. As a child, he was infamously stubborn, once he set his mind on something, there was no prying him away. Anton remembered the summer afternoon when he was ten, standing in the training yard with a wooden sword too heavy for his arms. His palms were raw and blistered, his shoulders ached from the endless drills but when his tutor told him to stop Anton refused. He clenched his jaw and raised the sword again, the weight pulling his wrists downward with every swing.
“You’ll break yourself,” the man muttered, exasperated.
But Elias Darrington had been watching from the stone steps above. His father did not interfere, did not tell him to rest. Instead, the King’s voice carried across the yard, steady and commanding.
“Again, Anton.”
Anton’s breath came in ragged bursts but he obeyed. The sword wobbled, his stance faltered yet he did not quit. When at last the boy collapsed onto the dirt sweat stinging his eyes. Elias approached.
“Do you know why I let you push yourself?” his father asked, his shadow falling over Anton.
Anton shook his head weakly.
“Because a ruler who gives up at discomfort,” Elias said, “is a ruler who will surrender at the first true hardship."
"And a king cannot afford to bend.”
The words lodged deep inside him that day. Even now, years later, Anton could still feel the grit of dirt against his palms, the sword he was too small to wield, and the sharp pride in his father’s voice.
He had not bent then. He would not bend now.
Looking back, he realized that was exactly what his father had wanted. Discipline. Conviction. A ruler who would not bend. And Anton excelled at what was required of him; ruling, fighting, commanding men.
The council chamber felt stifling, even with the tall windows cracked open to let in the late-summer air. A dozen voices whispered, and the scent of candle wax and parchment clung to the stones.
Anton sat at the head of the long oak table, his hand drumming faintly against the armrest of his chair. Sohee, ever sharp, leaned forward, adjusting a roll of parchment.
“Your Majesty,” the chancellor began smoothly, “it is time we establish your court in full. These men and women will be the pillars of your reign. Their loyalty or their ambition will shape our future.”
Anton glanced down the table. One by one, faces turned to him, bowing their heads lightly as Sohee introduced them.
“Master Eden,” Sohee intoned first, gesturing toward the philosopher-general seated stiffly with hands folded on the table. “The Head of the Tower of Scholars and Royal Tutor, and a man whose counsel shaped both your father’s reign and your own upbringing.”
Anton met Eden’s steady gaze. The old man inclined his head, offering neither smile nor frown. For Anton, that was approval enough.
“Mister Shotaro,” Sohee continued, “Royal Advisor. A trusted companion since your youth.”
Anton’s lips curved faintly, the closest thing to warmth he’d shown all meeting. Shotaro returned it with an empathetic glance, more friend than official.
The military seats came next.
“General Sungchan,” Sohee said, his tone clipped. The young general, Anton’s cousin rose with military precision his smile charismatic but edged. “Lieutenant General Wonbin,” Sohee continued, “who fought by your side, Your Majesty in the campaigns at Arhant.” Wonbin stood briefly, steady as stone, loyalty plain in his posture.
“General Eunsok,” Sohee added, voice lowering. The older man didn’t rise, merely grunted acknowledgment. His scarred face was expressionless but Anton caught the hard glint in his eyes.
Beyond the soldiers sat others of influence.
“Chamberlain Osric Fenholt,” Sohee said. A plump, hawk-eyed man gave an elaborate bow. “Keeper of the palace, and a man who sees everything.” Anton thought he caught a smirk.
“Spymaster Lady Nerissa Vale.” A woman in silks of shadow inclined her head ever so slightly. Her eyes lingered on Anton longer than most.
“Lord Justice Jaehyun Holt,” Sohee said, gesturing to a tall, severe man in black robes, whose stern face looked as though it had never known a smile.
“Keeper of the Seals, Maelis Runhart,” Sohee continued, pointing to a meticulous scribe with ink-stained fingers.
“Advisor Lady Celina Moren,” he said at last, “beloved confidant of Queen Mother Era.” Anton’s eyes flicked to her.
But the list continued.
“Ambassador Theo Marquel.” A smooth-tongued man with a too-easy smile bowed extravagantly.
“Royal Historian, Ser Belwyn Ashmoor.” An elderly man muttered something about ancient treaties before Sohee coughed him quiet.
“Master of Ceremonies Vellor Kray.” A fussy man in embroidered velvet.
“Court Alchemist Liora Venn.” A pale woman whose eyes gleamed like quicksilver. Rumors clung to her more than perfumes ever could.
“And finally, Royal Mage Caelan Durell.”
The mage, cloaked in shadowed blue, bowed only slightly, his hand resting over the seal at his chest. His oath-bound power hummed faintly in the air, making the torches flicker.
Sohee’s voice lowered. “These are your pillars, Majesty."
Anton leaned back, eyes sweeping across the chamber, looking each face in silence. Soldiers, schemers, whisperers, and truth-seekers.
A court of wolves.
And he, they must call king.
The council chamber was heavy with incense and whispers, but to Anton it reeked of something sharper ambition. Every glance that flickered across the table was a measuring one, every word was important not for truth but for advantage. Wolves, all of them, dressed in velvet and lace.
So when the meeting, meant for appointing new members of the court, derailed into another dull discussion of the nation's “future”. Anton felt the pressure of tedium pressing against his skull. Politics he could tolerate, war he could thrive in but this?
“…and of course, Your Majesty,” one of the older chamberlain Osric Fenholt said, clearing his throat with self-importance, “the matter of succession must be secured. The Queen, your future wife, must be chosen with both diplomacy and legacy in mind...”
Anton’s jaw tightened. His eyes flicked toward him, then to the tall windows of the chamber, where the late afternoon sun streamed in, far more interesting than the endless talk of dynasties.
He is a warrior, a field marshal who had bled in battles his councilors could barely stomach to imagine. And now they sat here, speaking of marriage like they were bartering over land or livestock.
His father would have leaned forward, nodded gravely and chosen a bride that strengthened the empire. Elias Darrington had been a king through and through.
He exhaled slowly, masking his frustration with the faintest smile, one that fooled no one who truly knew him.
“Perhaps,” Anton said, voice deceptively calm, “the empire might survive a few months more without chaining me to some unfortunate woman.”
The room fell into uneasy silence.
Anton sat at the head of the council table, posture sharp, jaw set as though every syllable from the chancellors scraped against his patience.
“And moreover we have important things to discuss.” His voice cut across the chamber.
Silence fell.
“The Tower of Scholars,” Anton began, each word deliberate, “until further notice, it will close its gates.”
Gasps broke out among the courtiers. The sound echoed against the marble walls like a crack in ice.
Anton’s fingers drummed against the polished wood. His expression betrayed no hesitation. His eyes narrowed, sharp and unrelenting.
“No lectures. No access to the archives.”
A ripple of disbelief surged through the council. Master Eden, who had guided Anton’s hand in both sword and study since boyhood, leaned forward, his face heavy with disapproval. He did not speak, but his silence was louder than a thousand protests.
“The people will see this as tyranny, Your Majesty,” Theo Marquel smooth-talking ambassador who’s too charming for his own good, ventured his voice trembling with a dangerous mixture of fear and defiance.
Anton’s gaze snapped to him cold, precise, the kind of look that stripped a man to his bones.
“You dare to question me?”
The ambassador swallowed hard, but the damage was done. The court was watching. The air thickened with unease, nobles shifting in their seats, scholars exchanging nervous glances.
The Tower of Scholars, closed? The lifeblood of the empire’s intellect, its counsel, its memory? The young king had just handed his enemies the very weapon they needed, fear of his rule. And as the chamber erupted into hushed murmurs, one figure among the courtiers quietly clenched his fist beneath the table.
If Anton von Darrington was willing to silence the scholars, then perhaps it was time to silence the king.
Anton looked at them with a stoic expression, his gaze sweeping the chamber like a blade.
“If you have nothing of value to add,” his voice cut through the silence, low but commanding, “then today’s meeting is over.”
A hush followed, thick with unease. Some of the councilors shifted in their seats, others dropped their eyes to the polished table as if the grain of the wood held more importance than their king’s stare.
The chamber emptied slowly, leaving only the echo of boots on stone and the faint rustle of parchment being gathered. Anton remained seated at the head, his hand still poised on the armrest like a commander gripping his sword. His eyes stayed fixed on the door until the last advisor bowed and withdrew.
Sohee did not move. He lingered near the council table, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze steady. When the doors finally shut and silence settled, he inclined his head slightly.
“Your Majesty,” he began with calm restraint, “was it necessary to chastise them so openly?”
Anton’s jaw flexed, though his expression did not soften. “A king cannot afford hesitation, Sohee.”
Sohee stepped forward, measured in his pace, his tone respectful but firm. “With due respect, Sire… closing the Tower is no ordinary decree. Knowledge is not a weapon one may sheathe like a blade. The people may see this as harsh some may even call it tyranny.”
Anton’s gaze flickered toward him, colder than the marble pillars around them, yet shadowed with something unspoken.
Sohee lowered his head slightly, though his words carried quiet. “If there are traitors, Your Majesty, then let justice fall upon the guilty. But forgive me for saying so casting suspicion upon every scholar of Milas may wound the loyalty you wish to preserve.”
Anton’s fingers stilled on the armrest. For a long moment, neither man moved.
At last, Anton leaned forward, voice quieter, almost weary. “You think me reckless.”
Sohee held his gaze, respectful yet unwavering. “No, Sire. And that is what troubles me.”
Sohee's eyes sharpened. “They will call you tyrant.”
“Perhaps,” Anton admitted. “But if this is my will, then let them speak, and I will silence the worst of it.”
Sohee inclined his head. “As you command, Your Majesty.”
Anton leaned back, a faint, dangerous smile tugging at his lips. “Edges are where kings stand, Sohee. And where kingdoms are ruled.”
Master Eden gathered the senior scholars in the central hall. His usual calm carried a sharper edge. His voice carried across the marble chamber, calm but edged with finality.
“The Tower of Scholars will remain closed to the public until further notice,” he declared. Murmurs rippled through the assembly of robed figures, their ink-stained hands clutching scrolls and books as if the decree might snatch them away.
“Your projects will not cease,” Eden continued, his tone allowing no room for protest. “You will work as you always have, but what you produce will stay within these walls. No lectures. No public readings. No dissemination to the markets or courts. Knowledge will be safeguarded until the time is right.”
A silence followed. The Tower, a beacon of open inquiry for centuries, had never been shuttered in this way. To scholars, it was both sanctuary and stage. Now, it would become a vault.
At the edge of the hall, Isabella’s brows knit together, her fingers tightening around the spine of her notebook. She knew what this meant.
When the others finally dispersed in subdued whispers, she lingered.
“Why?” she asked softly to herself, though her voice carried an edge. “What knowledge is so dangerous it must be hidden from the very people it was meant to enlighten?”
The Tower of Scholars had never been this quiet.
Gone were the lively debates echoing through the marble corridors, the rhythmic scratching of quills and the chiming laughter of apprentices racing to lectures. Now, only the sound of turning pages and distant footsteps filled the air, a silence too precise to be peace.
From the upper gallery, Isabella looked down upon the central hall, where the morning light filtered through stained glass in fractured hues of gold and crimson. Dust floated in the beams like suspended time.
Every book she touched felt heavier now, as though the bindings themselves knew they were forbidden.
She closed her notebook slowly drawing a line across the unfinished page. The ink bled slightly forming a small black scar across her thoughts.
At the far end of the hall, Master Eden stood before the great doors conferring in low tones with two senior scholars. Their faces were grave and their voices low. Isabella couldn’t hear the words but she saw the fear. Fear, not of war, nor of gods, but of silence itself.
When he finally turned, he saw her watching.
“Miss Bradford,” he said, voice roughened with fatigue. “Walk with me.”
They crossed the hall together their footsteps echoing softly. Eden’s hands were clasped behind his back his posture as rigid as the pillars lining the corridor.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said at last.
Isabella hesitated. “Do you?”
“That this decree is unjust. That we are betraying our purpose.”
She met his gaze. “Are we not?”
He stopped beside a tall, arched window. Outside, the gardens stretched toward the horizon still, serene, deceptively beautiful. “Knowledge is a double-edged sword” he murmured. “And our king is bleeding on both sides of it.”
“Then he should not have drawn it.” she replied, unable to hold back the bitterness in her tone.
Eden turned his head slightly.
“You speak as one who has not seen the world beyond ink and parchment. You may disagree with his methods but do not underestimate what shapes them.”
Isabella’s voice lowered. “And how long must the rest of us carry his burden with him?”
Eden didn’t answer. He only placed a hand on her shoulder a quiet warning and walked away.
She stood alone for a while her reflection staring back at her in the glass. For the first time since arriving at the Tower she felt trapped within its walls not sheltered by them.
summary: Olivia meets Taesan, a charismatic man, at a casual gathering. Intrigued, she agrees to a date.
Taesan looked like he had stepped out of a 70s classic movie, the kind where the lead man carried an aura of effortless cool. His sleeked-back hair gleamed under the streetlights, a crisp T-shirt hugging his frame, paired with jeans that seemed tailored just for him. His car, a sleek and roaring machine, hummed in the driveway like it was part of him. He exuded an air of confidence that wasn’t cocky, and it was utterly mesmerizing.
"So, what if you give me a chance?" Taesan's voice cut through the soft hum of chatter and music at the friend gathering, his words laced with a playful confidence.
Olivia turned to face him, raising a brow in curiosity. "A chance for what?" she asked, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
"A date," he replied smoothly, his grin widening.
The boldness in his tone caught her off guard, but it didn’t deter her. Instead, it intrigued her. There was something undeniably magnetic about him, the easy charm, the way his presence seemed to draw attention without effort, the spark in his eyes that hinted at both mischief and depth.
She paused, pretending to mull it over, though her answer was already forming. "Hmm, and why should I say yes?" she teased, leaning slightly closer.
He shrugged casually, but the confidence in his smile never wavered. "Because I think you'd enjoy it."
For a moment, Olivia searched his expression, trying to piece together what made him so compelling. There was more to him than the polished charm, she could sense it, a mystery she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
Her smile softened, and she nodded. "Alright, you’ve got your chance."
Taesan's grin widened, his satisfaction clear. "You won’t regret it."
She couldn’t quite explain the pull she felt toward him, but it was undeniable. Whatever it was, she was ready to find out, even if it was just for one night. As she prepared for their date, Olivia took her time, wanting to feel her best. She carefully styled her hair so it fell just right, slipping into a miniskirt that made her feel bold and daring. She glanced at herself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric and giving herself a little pep talk.
When she walked out to meet him, Taesan's eyes lit up. “Wow,” he said with a grin, his gaze taking her in with open admiration. “You look... incredible.”
Olivia couldn’t help but smile, feeling a little flush rise to her cheeks. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” she teased, glancing pointedly at his car. “I see you brought your big toy.”
“Had to,” he replied smoothly, opening the passenger door for her. “Only the best for you.”
She laughed as she slid into the seat, the leather cool against her legs. “You’re a charmer, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” he said as he got in and started the car.
The engine roared as they pulled onto the road, the world outside blurring into streaks of light. The conversation between them flowed easily, punctuated with laughter and teasing.
“So,” Taesan began, his tone light but curious as he glanced at her briefly before returning his eyes to the road. The soft glow of city lights spilled through the windshield, casting fleeting shadows across his face. “So what's your first impression of me?”
Olivia tilted her head slightly, studying him for a moment. The question hung in the air, almost vulnerable beneath its casual delivery. Leaning back into the plush seat, she let a small, playful smile tug at her lips. “You seemed… intriguing,” she admitted, her voice carrying a teasing lilt. “A little too smooth, maybe, but I wanted to see if there was more to you than good looks.”
Taesan arched a brow, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Intriguing, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment. The ‘too smooth’ part, though… not so sure.”
She laughed softly, turning her attention to the passing scenery outside the window. The streets were alive with energy, neon signs flickered, and people bustled about under the soft glow of streetlights.
"You came across as someone who’s used to impressing people, maybe even without trying too hard. It can make a girl wonder what’s real and what’s just… routine.”
Taesan's grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, though his expression remained relaxed. “I’ll take that,” he said, his tone carrying a surprising honesty. “I guess I do have my moments. But if you’re here, doesn’t that mean I passed the first test?”
Olivia shifted in her seat to face him more directly, her gaze sharp yet playful. “It means you haven’t failed yet. Let’s see if you’re as interesting as you look when the conversation goes deeper.”
Her words landed like a challenge, but Taesan didn’t flinch. Instead, he let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and disarming. “Well, I don’t usually get graded on dates, but I’ll do my best.”
Her brow quirked in skepticism. “Oh, really? So, what’s your plan for tonight, then? Winging it?”
He glanced at her again, his eyes briefly catching hers before flicking back to the road. “Not exactly. I have a few ideas, but I figure you’ll keep me on my toes anyway.”
She smiled at that, a genuine smile this time.They arrived at a cozy restuarant tucked away in the city, its warm lights spilling out onto the street. Inside, the atmosphere was intimate but lively, with soft music playing in the background. Taesan held the door open for her, and they found a quiet corner to sit.
Over dinner, their banter deepened into more meaningful conversation. Olivia found herself surprised by how genuine he could be, how he talked about his love for music with such passion but also a tinge of vulnerability.
“It’s not just about the stage,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “It’s about the focus, the feeling of being completely present. Everything else fades away.”
“That sounds... intense,” Olivia said, stirring her drink. “But also kind of amazing.”
“It is,” he agreed, his gaze steady on her. “What about you? What makes everything else fade away for you?”
She paused, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t know,” she said honestly, her voice soft but contemplative. “I guess I’ve been so focused on getting everything ‘right’ in my life that I haven’t stopped to think about that.”
Taesan tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady yet gentle. “Maybe you’re thinking about it now,” he said, his tone teasing but not unkind.
Olivia blinked, his words settling in a way she hadn’t expected. She felt her cheeks flush under his unwavering attention, and she laughed softly to deflect the growing warmth. “Maybe I am,” she admitted, shrugging in an attempt to seem nonchalant.
“Well,” Taesan leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table between them. “I’d say that’s a good start. Thinking about it, I mean.”
She studied him for a moment, his boyish grin and easy demeanor contrasting with the depth in his eyes. “You make it sound so simple,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“It is,” he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You don’t have to figure it all out at once, you know. Sometimes, you just have to take a chance and see where it leads.”
Olivia felt a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “Of course you’re a risk-taker, aren’t you?”
Taesan chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. “You could say that.”
She laughed, the tension between them easing with his humor. “Fair point.”
“But,” he added, his voice softening slightly, “I’m also a believer in moments. And right now, this feels like one worth taking a risk on.”
His words hung in the air between them, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Olivia let herself stop overthinking. She met his gaze and nodded. “Maybe it is.”
The night stretched on, the conversation flowing effortlessly between them. As they left, the air had cooled, and Taesan draped his jacket over her shoulders without a word.
When they reached her door, Taesan leaned casually against the frame, his hands tucked into his pockets. His relaxed posture and the lazy warmth of his grin made the moment feel unhurried, like time had slowed just for them.
“So,” he said, his voice carrying a teasing edge, “do I get to see you again?”
Olivia tilted her head, pretending to deliberate, though her heart gave a small flip at his words. “Hmm,” she replied, mirroring his a playful smirk.
“Maybe… or maybe you could come in now. We could drink some wine, and I could show you my vinyl collection.”
His eyebrows shot up, his grin widening into something undeniably boyish.
“Now? Is this your way of impressing me with your taste in music?”
She laughed, shaking her head.
“More like testing whether you have taste at all.”
“Bold move,” he said, pushing off the doorframe and stepping closer, his eyes gleaming with interest.
“But I’m intrigued. What’s in this collection? Something dangerously cool? Or is it a pile of guilty pleasures you’re too proud to admit to?”
Olivia shrugged, her smile mischievous.
“That depends. Do you consider Fleetwood Mac dangerously cool or a guilty pleasure?”
“Fleetwood Mac?” he repeated, feigning offense. “You’re already in winning points.”
“Good,” she said, pausing to glance back at him. “Because we're going to need those points when I introduce you to my ‘80s power ballad phase.”
Taesan laughed, the sound rich and easy, as he followed her inside. “I’m ready to be impressed.”
The door clicked shut behind them.
Two glasses and a half-empty bottle of wine sat on the floor next to them, glinting in the soft, dim light of the room. Olivia was cross-legged, carefully flipping through her vinyl collection spread out in messy stacks, while Taesan lounged beside her, leaning on one elbow.
“ABBA?” he teased, holding up a record with an exaggerated expression of mock horror. “I expected The Beatles or Bowie, but this?”
She snatched the record from his hand, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Don’t you dare judge ABBA. They’re timeless.”
“Oh, I’m judging,” he said, leaning back with a smirk. “Does this mean ‘Dancing Queen’ is your go-to karaoke song?”
“I will have you know,” she said, her voice dripping with mock indignation, “that Voulez-Vous is a masterpiece, and if you don’t appreciate it, that’s entirely your loss.”
“Voulez-vous,” he mimicked with an overly dramatic French accent, his grin widening. “Okay, now you’re just showing off your impeccable taste.”
She rolled her eyes, setting the record down and pretending to look annoyed. “You know, I don’t have to sit here and let you disrespect my vinyls.”
Taesan chuckled, sitting up and closing the small distance between them. “Hey now,” he said, his voice dropping to something softer, more teasing, “don’t be mad. I’m just having fun.”
“Maybe I should just take my wine and enjoy these masterpieces by myself,” she quipped, reaching for her glass dramatically.
Before she could take it, he leaned in, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Or,” he said, his voice quieter now, “I could make it up to you.”
Her faux annoyance faltered, replaced by a surprised but curious smile. “Oh, really? How do you plan to do that?”
Without a word, he closed the little space between them, his movements deliberate yet hesitant, as though giving her a moment to pull away. His lips brushed against hers, light as a whisper at first, a question more than a statement. The kiss started soft and careful, a gentle exploration, but as she tilted her head and leaned into him, it deepened, drawing them both into an unspoken answer.
The teasing tension that had danced between them all evening dissolved, replaced by a rush of warmth that spread through her chest. Her hands instinctively found their way to his shoulders, steadying herself against the surge of emotions the kiss stirred within her.
She could taste the faint hint of red wine on his lips, its richness mingling with the heady closeness of him. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the quiet hum of the moment, the soft rhythm of their breathing.
When they finally parted, just enough to meet each other's gaze, his forehead rested lightly against hers. She exhaled a shaky breath, her lips still tingling from the memory of his.
Olivia blinked, her cheeks flushed as she murmured, “You’re still not off the hook for the ABBA comment.”
Taesan laughed, his forehead resting lightly against hers. “I’ll keep trying to make up for it,” he said with a wink, his voice full of quiet promise.
Olivia stood up and reached into the fridge for a fresh bottle of wine, the cool glass chilled her fingers, a welcome relief from the warmth that filled the apartment. She glanced over her shoulder as she took out the bottle, catching Taesan's gaze. He followed her and stood by the kitchen doorframe, leaning casually against it, his eyes following her every movement. There was a sense of ease in his posture, but the way he watched her made the space between them feel charged, almost electric.
She twisted the wine bottle in her hands, holding it with a light, teasing grip. “So, what’s it like getting paid for singing?” she asked, her voice light and playful, though a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. It was a little jab, an attempt to poke fun at his profession, but there was no malice behind it, just curiosity.
Taesan chuckled, the sound rich and easy. He uncrossed his arms and pushed himself off the doorframe, his movements smooth and deliberate. He took a few steps toward her, his eyes never leaving hers, and for a brief moment, Olivia felt the his parfume, the warmth in his gaze.
“It’s not just that, you know,” he said, his tone carrying a subtle pride. He stood just a little too close now, his voice low enough to make her heart beat a little faster. “It’s way more complex than that.”
Olivia raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in her expression. She placed the bottle on the counter and turned slightly toward him, leaning back as if considering his words. “Oh really?” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “So, what, do you think I could sing too?”
Taesan smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement. He leaned against the counter, his posture relaxed but his gaze never leaving her. “You can, sure. But you need stamina for this kind of thing.”
Her lips curled into a grin, her interest piqued. “Stamina?” she repeated, her eyebrow arching as she took a step closer, intrigued by his confidence. “I think I can handle that.”
Taesan’s smirk widened, and he straightened, closing the distance between them by a step. “Oh, baby,” he said, his voice dropping to a sultry, almost teasing pitch, “you’d be surprised.”
The words hung in the air between them, thick with tension. She poured the wine into their glasses, deliberately slow, trying to steady her pulse, but the words he’d said lingered in her mind, turning the moment into something charged with unspoken possibilities.
She handed him a glass, her eyes still locked on his. “I bet I would,” she replied softly, her voice a mixture of challenge and intrigue. “Maybe one day I’ll see just how ‘surprising’ your stamina is.”
Taesan’s grin softened, his gaze turning almost predatory, but still with that playfulness. He reached out, taking the glass from her hand, his fingers brushing against hers. “I’m sure you would,” he murmured, his voice so low it sent a shiver down her spine. “And when you do, I’ll be more than ready to show you.”
There was a brief silence as their eyes locked again. The air between them felt thick with the promise of something more, something yet to come, and neither of them seemed eager to break it. It was as if time itself had paused, giving them a fleeting moment to let the tension build, to savor the electricity between them.
Olivia looked up at him, her heart pounding in her chest, eyes narrowing with a mix of challenge and curiosity. His voice had been low, just a whisper, but it was enough to send a spark through her.
“What if I show you now?” Olivia asked, her tone thick with desire, his eyes darkening as he moved closer.
Taesan's lips parted, ready to respond, but before he could, she was on him, her lips crashing against his with a sudden intensity. The kiss was rough and urgent, the kind that stole breath and left no room for hesitation. It wasn’t soft or slow; it was a wild, immediate connection, as though he couldn’t wait another second.
He pressed her back against the counter, the edge of it digging into her lower back as his hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer. The heat between them intensified as she found herself trapped between the hard surface of the counter and his body, his presence consuming her. His kiss deepened, a fierce thing, but even in its intensity, it felt... right. There was no confusion, no games. Just raw, electric chemistry.
Her breath hitched as she felt the pressure of him against her, his chest rising and falling with each breath he took. She was acutely aware of every inch of him, the way he felt against her, how his lips moved against hers, demanding, almost as though he couldn’t get close enough. In this moment, all that mattered was the undeniable connection they shared. Olivia responded, her hands moving to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, needing more.
When they finally parted for air, their breaths mingled in the narrow space between them. Olivia’s heart raced, her chest rising and falling as she met his gaze. His eyes searched hers, as if looking for some kind of answer, some reassurance.
She smiled, soft but sure, her hands still resting against his neck. “I think… I’ve been waiting for this longer than I realized.”
“Yeah?” Taesan asked, his voice rough, teasing, but with an edge of sincerity. His hand lightly grazed her cheek, his thumb tracing the outline of her jaw.
Olivia swallowed, her lips still tingling from the kiss.
“Yeah,” she replied softly, her voice steady.
“Yeah,” he murmured, leaning in slightly, his lips brushing against her ear. “You drive me crazy.”
“You make it hard to think straight,” he said, a little breathless as she raised her eyes to meet his. He pulled her close and connected their lips.
The kiss deepened, slow and purposeful, as if neither of them wanted to break away from the connection they had just discovered. Taesan’s hands gently cupped her face, tilting her head as he pulled her, his lips moving against hers with a sense of urgency that matched the pounding of their hearts. Olivia responded just as eagerly, her hands threading through his hair, pulling him.
Before they knew it, they were stumbling back toward the couch, their lips never parting, their bodies pressing together in a heated, tangled embrace. Olivia’s legs found the cushions first, and Taesan followed, his body hovering above hers. Their eyes met, both of them a little breathless, smiles tugging at the corners of their mouths.
“You are so pretty,” Olivia whispered, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw.
Taesan’s grin was playful, but there was a depth to it, a quiet intensity that made her pulse quicken. “I think I’ve heard that before,” he said, his voice teasing.
Olivia chuckled softly, the sound light and filled with a warmth that matched the sparkle in her eyes. It was the kind of laugh that came from being completely in the moment, letting herself be swept away by the undeniable chemistry that crackled between them. She shifted slightly, her movements fluid and instinctive as her body moved beneath his, drawing him closer with gentle yet deliberate hands.
Her fingers grazed the back of his necklace, pulling him nearer. Taesan took the invitation without hesitation, his lips finding the curve of her neck. He placed soft, lingering kisses along her skin, each one unhurried and purposeful, as though savoring the way she reacted to him.
A shiver ran through her, the sensation cascading down her spine with every press of his lips. Her breath hitched, and she tilted her head slightly, granting him more access, her hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring herself to him.
“You’re not playing fair,” she murmured, her voice breathless but edged with teasing, though the way her eyes fluttered closed betrayed the effect he had on her.
Taesan chuckled against her neck, the sound sending a ripple of warmth through her. “Fair wasn’t exactly what I was going for,” he replied, his voice low and teasing, the words brushing against her skin like another kiss.
Olivia’s laughter softened, turning into a sigh as he continued, his touch igniting sparks that spread through her like wildfire. It was intoxicating, the closeness, the way he seemed to know exactly how to draw every reaction from her.
synopsis Every kingdom begins with an oath; sealed in blood, ends in ashes. But no crown is carried only with honor and victory. Every victory leaves shadows behind, every victory comes at a heavy price. With the sudden death of his father, King Elias, Prince Anton finds himself both the heir to a throne and the bearer of a vengeance. Enemies lurk not only outside, but also within him. His kingdom the Empire of Milas is based on a deep history and full of deep secrets. Because sometimes, the fiercest battles are not fought with swords... but with a thirst for retribution.
genre historical fantasy, romance, angst, hurt-comfort, political drama, royalty
contains alcohol consumption, war scenes, ptsd signs, political manipulation, war themes, imprisonment, power struggles, murderous thoughts
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When the door opened, the Lord Stewart Elric of the palace stepped forward and silently guided him to the path he was to walk. Anton didn’t flinch as he crossed the threshold into the grand chamber. The moment he entered, a hush fell over the room. Every figure standing within bowed their heads in solemn respect acknowledging not just the prince, but their new king.
The ceremonial hall was vast and cold, its silence broken only by the sound of Anton’s measured steps against the stone floor. The Ayata, the high spiritual leader of Milas, stood waiting at the foot of the throne.
When Anton reached it, he turned, his gaze steady, and sat.
The royal garments pressed heavily against his shoulders, but he didn’t let it show. And then, the Ayata began his speech.
The Ayata’s voice rose in the stillness, steady and clear, resonating through the hall like an ancient prayer.
“On this day, beneath the gaze of our ancestors and the silent judgment of the gods, we bear witness to the end of one reign and the beginning of another. The blood of kings runs through his veins. The fire of the Empire lives in his breath. Today, Prince Anton becomes the sovereign of Milas.”
He turned toward the gathered nobles and dignitaries, arms slightly raised.
“Let all present remember the legacy of King Elias; wise, bold, and unyielding in his love for this land. And let all bear witness as his son, Anton of House Darrington, takes his place not only upon this throne, but within the unbroken chain of rulers who shaped this empire.”
He faced Anton now, gaze steady.
“Rise, Your Majesty Anton. As King of Milas. The empire watches. As the gods listen.”
Two attendants approached with solemn precision. Together, they raised the crown and placed it upon his head. All Anton could register was its weight.
Then the chamber erupted, as the gathered voices rose in a single, echoing chant.
“Long live King Anton.”
He sat motionless, watching them with a steady, unreadable gaze. The thought of every lesson, every piece of counsel whispered into his ear since childhood came rushing to the surface, yet none of it made sense now. His mind was full, but empty all at once.
Then, his eyes found her. His mother stood among the crowd, as composed and graceful as ever. She did not smile, but there was a softness in her eyes.
He turned to his siblings, their faces lit by the glow of the high windows and the cold sheen of the marble floor. They watched him from the side of the hall, their expressions unreadable.
I wonder what they’re thinking, he thought.
About the crown. About him. He straightened slightly, the crown settling like a seal against his temples. Somewhere behind him, the banners of his house shifted with the breeze drifting through the high windows. The cold from the marble throne seeped through his skin, anchoring him in place. A palace attendant stepped forward, kneeling beside the throne, offering him a sealed scroll, his first official decree as king. Anton took it with calm hands, though he felt anything but calm. His signature was already written on another scroll. He looked at the wax seal. Instead, he turned to the hall, his voice clear.
“Today, I receive this crown not as a prize, but as a duty I will carry with everything I am. My father’s blood has not yet dried from the soil. His shadow is long. His wisdom, longer. I will not pretend to replace it. I will only promise this: I will stand as he did. Even when I must stand alone.”
He let the silence return. Anton descended the steps of the dais slowly, deliberately. The crown shimmered under the stained glass light. This was no longer a hall. This was now his court. And every eye in it belonged to him.
After the ceremony, Anton stood still as the two maids carefully removed the layers of heavy ceremonial attire. The fabric, rich and embroidered with the symbols of House Darrington, slid from his shoulders like the final act of a ritual. He said nothing, but his thoughts were loud plans forming, doubts creeping in only to be silenced by resolve.
Sohee stood a few steps behind, hands clasped behind his back, watching silently. He had served long enough to know when Anton was speaking to himself before speaking aloud.
When the maids bowed and left, Anton finally turned, his voice calm but clear.
“Sohee.”
“Your Majesty.”
Anton met his eyes, unwavering.
“Tomorrow, I will appoint the court members. I want everyone present.”
Sohee inclined his head. “It will be done.”
Anton turned back toward the mirror, adjusting the collar of his simpler, dark tunic. He tilted his head examining his expression.
“I want them to know,” he said after a pause, “who King Anton is.”
Sohee didn’t smile, but something flickered in his eyes, approval.
Anton smiled to himself.
"I should pay a visit to Eden."
Isabella wasn’t present when the crown touched Anton’s head.
While the grand hall filled with nobles and echoes of oaths, she sat cross-legged on a stool in the palace kitchens, her sleeves rolled up and a stack of parchment resting on her lap. The scent of baked bread and boiled herbs clung to the air, stubbornly trying to distract her from the delicate runes she was decoding with Linda, her closest friend and fellow apprentice.
Across the room, Pantry Mistress Maria moved with the commanding grace of a woman who’d seen five kings crowned and never missed a meal because of it. She stirred a large pot with one hand and pointed sharply with the other. “If any of those young lords think the coronation gives them the right to leave dishes behind again, I’ll personally enchant their silverware to bite back.”
Linda snorted, nearly smudging the ink on her notes. “And that’s why I love her.”
Isabella stifled a smile. Her eyes were aching from hours of squinting at faded script, her back stiff from hunching over the table. The rune in front of her was unfamiliar, possibly pre-Aurelian, or perhaps a dialect variant of the northern dialects lost after the war of succession. She made a note to ask Master Eden later.
“Is it strange,” she murmured, brushing a curl from her face, “that I feel guilty for not being there?”
Linda looked up. “At the coronation?”
Isabella nodded.
“We’re scholars, Isa,” Linda said with a shrug. “Not courtiers. Let the nobles bow and chant."
“You’re right,” Isabella nodded, offering Linda a small smile. But even as she agreed, her thoughts wandered, unbidden, to the king himself.
She had only seen him two or three times in passing, and never up close. But each time, his presence had left an impression. There was something distant about him, serious, almost cold. A quiet intensity in his eyes, as if his mind was always elsewhere, locked in thoughts no one could reach.
He wasn’t the sort of king children dreamed of or poets romanticized. He was a figure carved from stone and silence. And that, perhaps, was what made him so unnerving.
She couldn’t help but ask herself why is he always thinking? Why did he always seem so distant, so wrapped up in silence?
Then she mentally scolded herself.
Of course he’s thinking. He just lost his father. And now, probably sooner than anyone expected, he had been dragged into the crown, into decisions that could shape or break an empire.
What else would he be doing, smiling? Laughing? She sighed quietly and returned her gaze to the parchment in front of her.
Still… something about that silence lingered in her mind, unsettling and strangely magnetic.
“I should go and see Master Eden. I have to give him the papers.”
Isabella began gathering her notes, carefully stacking the parchment and rolling the most fragile pieces into a cloth tube. She gave a quick wave to both Linda and Pantry Mistress Maria before slipping out of the warm, bustling kitchen.
Master Eden’s study wasn’t far, just a climb up the eastern stairwell and a short walk along the upper corridor. The air grew quieter the higher she went, the sounds of pots and chatter fading behind her.
As she reached the corridor that overlooked the palace courtyard, she slowed.
The view stopped her.
Below, the city was glowing in hues of red and gold, the colors of the House of Darrington. Banners hung from stone walls and windowsills, fluttering in the breeze. Lanterns lined the main streets, their flames flickering like fireflies in the early evening light. Servants, guards, and even a few nobles moved about with an unfamiliar lightness, swept up in the joy of the new reign.
The coronation celebrations had truly begun.
Isabella rested a hand on the window frame, watching for a moment. Despite everything, the tiredness in her limbs, she couldn’t deny it.
It was remarkable.
A kingdom reborn in color and pageantry.
And yet, beneath it all, she couldn't shake a quiet thought:
What is the king doing right now while the world celebrates him?
She shook her head, chasing away the wandering thoughts, and continued down the corridor. The faint sounds of celebration faded behind her, replaced by the quieter, steadier hum of the scholar’s wing. When she finally reached Master Eden’s study, her steps slowed.
She stopped just before the heavy wooden door. Shouts echoed from within. Isabella froze, the papers in her arms held tightly against her chest. The voice was muffled by the thick door, but the tone was unmistakable, firm, sharp, almost angry.
Her brows knit together. It was rare to hear raised voices in the Tower of Scholars, and rarer still from Master Eden. She glanced around, uncertain if she should knock, wait, or quietly leave. Then, a second voice responded; lower, calmer, but no less intense.
Her breath caught. She recognized it.
The king.
Anton.
"Do you want to die? You’re not ready to wield it, Anton,” Master Eden said, his voice laced with warning.
“I don’t have the luxury of waiting,” came the king’s reply, low and resolute.
Isabella’s heart skipped. She clutched the stack of parchment tighter, afraid even her breath might give her away.
“Your father feared it for a reason,” Eden continued. “It tore your grandfather apart. If you cannot control it”
“I will,” Anton interrupted, steel in his tone. “This time, it will not consume a Darrington. It will serve one.”
Isabella’s mind reeled. Her pulse pounded in her ears. What were they talking about? A chair scraped inside. She took a quick step back from the door, careful not to make a sound.
“Enough,” Master Eden said. “This stays between us.”
And then silence.
Then she heard footsteps. Panic rose in her throat. Isabella darted across the hallway and slipped behind a wide stone pillar just before the door creaked open. Her breathing was shallow, quick. King Anton stepped out.
He didn’t move right away. He stood there in the corridor, as if weighing something heavy on his soul. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows across his face, making him look scary.
“I’m sorry, Master,” he murmured. “But I will do this.”
Then he turned and walked away, his boots echoing against the stone floor. Isabella waited, frozen, until his footsteps faded completely. Only then did she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
She gulped and turned away, retracing her steps quietly. Her mind raced, trying to process what she had just overheard. She didn’t understand everything, but one thing was clear she shouldn’t have heard that.
As she reached the corridor, she slowed, then stopped abruptly.
There, standing just a few paces ahead, was someone she hadn’t expected to see.
His dark cloak hung loosely around his shoulders, and the faint glow of torchlight caught the sharp lines of his face; calm, yet unreadable. His eyes met hers steadily, holding a quiet intensity that made her heart skip.
For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Neither spoke. It was as if the air thickened, charged with unspoken questions and the weight of secrets just beyond reach.
Finally, Anton inclined his head slightly, a gesture that was neither a greeting nor a warning, but something in between.
Isabella swallowed, suddenly aware of how small and fragile she felt in that vast palace corridor, standing before the new king.
She bowed her head quickly, hoping her voice didn’t betray her unease. “Your Highness.”
Anton studied her, eyes sweeping from head to toe not unkind, but deliberate. As if trying to read something beneath the surface.
“It’s you again,” he said, his tone laced with a faint trace of amusement or suspicion, she couldn’t tell.
Isabella kept her gaze low, hands tight around the stack of papers she still carried. “I was just on my way to deliver these to Master Eden.”
“Were you?” His voice was calm, but there was a sharpness beneath it. “But his room is the other way around.”
Her fingers tightened around the papers. Of course he would notice.
“I got turned around,” she replied, forcing her voice to stay steady. “It’s my first time on this floor.”
Anton raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. Isabella’s breath caught. She took a step back, bowing again.
“It won’t happen again.”
Anton didn’t move. “What did you hear?”
She hesitated. Lying would be stupid. Telling the truth could be worse.
“Nothing I understood,” she said honestly. “Only that it didn’t sound like something I should have heard. I panicked.”
A long silence passed.
Then Anton gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Good.”
She looked up, surprised.
He took a step closer.
Isabella stood frozen, her spine stiffening as he closed the distance. The chill of the corridor seemed to melt under the heat of his presence. His eyes, sharp and unblinking, searched her face like a predator watching prey, not out of hunger, but caution. She could feel his breath near her ear, soft and deliberate.
“Deliver your papers, Miss Scholar,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “And be careful where you wander next time.”
The words lingered in the air. And then, just as quickly, he stepped back. His boots echoed against the stone as he disappeared into the corridor’s shadows, the silence he left behind louder than any footsteps.
Isabella let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her fingers were trembling slightly around the papers, ink smudging at the edges from the pressure of her grip.
This night is sparkling, don't you let it go
I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home
I'll spend forever wondering if you knew
I was enchanted to meet you
summary: Unlike her past relationships, where love was complicated and uncertain, being with Anton feels effortless and steady. In this quiet moment, Emma realizes that love isn’t about dramatic highs and lows, but about sharing simple, joyful moments.
wc: 1k
I once believed love would be (burning red)
But it's golden
Emma had always been a young woman marked by experience, her heart shaped by the past mistakes. She had been naive once, trusting those who didn’t deserve her trust, loving those who didn’t love her in return. She had given so much, only to find herself hurt and disappointed, wounded by those she believed in. It wasn’t that she was foolish, but rather that she had hoped that love, the way it was meant to be, would heal her, make things right. Instead, she had learned the hard way that love could burn, fierce and consuming, leaving only ashes behind, a void she had to rebuild herself from. She had made peace with the idea that love would always be like that: intense, overwhelming, but ultimately leaving her with nothing but the remains of what was once bright and beautiful.
But that was before she met Anton.
Everything changed when he entered her life. With Anton, love wasn’t destructive; it wasn’t a fire that would leave her with nothing but the smoke of memories to breathe in. No, with him, it felt more like the warmth of a late afternoon sun, a soft, steady warmth that surrounded her, filling her with a sense of peace she had never known. It was as though he had shifted the very way she viewed love, showing her that it didn’t have to be a wildfire to be real. Love could be kind. It could be gentle. It could be something constant, not a storm that ravaged her, but a calm that soothed her.
Emma found herself sitting on the couch, her fingers lightly tracing the lines of his back as Anton spoke. His voice filled the quiet room, light and playful. “I know I had a lot of them. But I didn’t have this one. So I bought it. Then I bought a new pair of shoes.” He was talking about his day small, seemingly insignificant details, but to him, they were full of excitement.
His passion for the things that brought him joy was infectious, and Emma couldn’t help but smile at the way his words danced with life. He spoke of his Lego set, the latest addition to his collection, and how he’d searched for that one missing piece for weeks. It wasn’t just the Legos themselves, though, that fascinated her, it was the way he talked about them. His childlike wonder, the sheer enthusiasm in his voice, made her see the world a little differently. She could hear the happiness in his every word, and it warmed her heart in ways she hadn’t expected.
Her mind wandered for a moment, and she couldn’t help but think about how different this was from everything she had known before. In the past, love had been something to fear. It had been a chaotic force that had hurt her, making her question whether she was worthy of something good. She had been afraid to let herself feel too deeply, to trust too easily, because she had always expected it to end in heartbreak. But here, with him, that fear was slipping away. She no longer had to worry about the flames of love consuming her; instead, she was wrapped in the warmth of his presence, grounded by his steadiness.
For the first time in her life, Emma felt a sense of peace. She didn’t have to keep running from the hurt. She didn’t have to keep putting up walls to protect herself, because with Anton, she felt safe. He didn’t demand anything from her. He didn’t ask her to be perfect or to hide her past. Instead, he just loved her, genuinely, without expectation. And in that love, she could breathe. She didn’t have to be scared of what might happen tomorrow, because right now, she was exactly where she needed to be.
It was the quiet moments, the small things they shared together, that meant the most. The way he could sit there, completely at ease in her arms, and talk about something so trivial with such excitement, while she held him close, soaking in the peace that radiated from him. She could tell him about her day, share her worries, and he would listen with that same unwavering attention, offering comfort not with words, but with the quiet strength of his presence.
In that moment, Emma knew she was ready. Ready to stop looking back at the mistakes and regrets of her past. Ready to leave behind the fear of love that had held her captive for so long. She was ready to focus on the good things in her life, the things that brought her joy, the things that made her feel whole. And right now, in Anton's arms, she had everything she needed. There was no need to look elsewhere, no need to chase after fleeting sparks or wait for the fire to burn her again. With him, everything felt right. Everything felt like it was meant to be.
As Anton continued to talk about his Lego set, completely unaware of the profound shift happening inside her, Emma couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t worried about the future. She wasn’t pushed down by the scars of her past. She was simply there, with him, and that was enough.
She realized, in that quiet, tender moment, that love didn’t have to burn her. It didn’t have to be a raging fire. With Anton, it was gentle and warm, like in the summer the sun that would stay with her long after it had set. She was ready to focus on the good things now, on the beauty of the love she had found with him.
As Anton's voice continued to fill the room with his excitement, Emma held him a little closer, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her chest. She closed her eyes, letting the quiet peace of the moment settle over her, knowing that she had found something truly worth holding onto.
summary: Lea joins Anton at his family’s home for winter break, where a walk through the snowy grounds leads to an unexpected adventure in the frozen pool.
wc: 1.6k
In the winter, in the icy outdoor pool
When you jumped in first, I went in too
Winter break at Anton's family home felt like stepping into a postcard. The house was enormous, perched at the edge of a snow-covered estate that stretched for acres. Every window framed a picturesque view of rolling white fields, with distant hills blending seamlessly into the pale winter sky. The trees, their branches heavy with frost, created an enchanting winter wonderland. Lea could almost believe they had been transported into one of those idyllic snow globe scenes.
From the moment she arrived, Lea had been in awe. It wasn’t just the grandeur of the house itself, with its towering ceilings and walls lined with family photos, but the warmth it exuded. There was an unmistakable sense of tradition and love woven into every corner, from the well-worn armchairs by the fireplace to the garlands of greenery draped along the staircase banisters.
Anton had invited her to spend a few days with his family, and though she had been nervous at first, the warm welcome from his parents quickly put her at ease. His mother, always bustling about with a kind word or a plate of freshly baked treats, and his father, whose quiet humor reminded her of Anton's, made her feel at home.
Inside, the house was cozy, filled with the scent of mulled wine simmering in the kitchen and the soft crackle of the fireplace. The atmosphere hummed with an understated joy that made Lea’s heart feel light. Outside, however, the world was a stark contrast: cold, crisp, and utterly breathtaking.
The chill nipped at their noses as they wandered through the sprawling garden, their boots crunching on the freshly fallen snow. Anton led the way, pointing out his favorite childhood spots, a small hill where he used to sled, the tiny gazebo where he’d once set up an impromptu picnic for his family, and even the pool where he claimed to have “perfected” his first diving at the age of 6. Lea listened with amusement, her laughter brightening the otherwise still air.
They came to a stop at the edge of the outdoor pool. It was massive, its shimmering water now almost frozen into a perfect sheet of glass. The ice reflected the grey winter sky, cracked by the occasional jagged white lines where the frost had spread unevenly.
“Can you imagine swimming in this weather?” she asked, wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck.
Anton turned to her, his signature mischievous grin already forming. “Why not?”
“What?” Her eyes widened. “Don’t even think about it, Anton.”
But before she could finish her sentence, he’d kicked off his boots, shrugged off his jacket, and stepped onto the ice. She watched in disbelief as he jogged toward the far end of the pool, where the ice thinned out into a dark, open patch of water.
“Anton, no!” she called, both horrified and amused.
“Anton, I swear, don’t you dare!” she called, half chasing after him, slipping a little on the icy path.
He turned back with a wink. “You said imagine. I’m just making it real.”
Before she could get another word out, he leapt, arms flung wide, body arcing through the air and crashed into the water with a thunderous splash. The silence of the winter morning shattered around them.
“Are you insane?” she shouted, half-laughing, half-scolding.
“Come on, Lea!” he called out, shaking the icy water from his hair. “It’s not that bad!”
“You’re joking,” she said, but her smile betrayed her.
Anton splashed water toward her playfully. “What’s the matter? Afraid of a little cold?”
Her competitive side flared. “Fine,” she huffed, taking off her coat and gloves. “But if I freeze to death, it’s on you!”
Before she could change her mind, she climbed onto the edge of the pool. The cold bit at her skin, and she shivered as she crouched down. With a deep breath, she launched herself into the water.
The cold was a shock to her system, stealing her breath as the icy water enveloped her. “Oh my God!” she squealed, flailing as she surfaced.
Anton was laughing, his cheeks red from the cold. “See? Not so bad!”
“Are you out of your mind? This is freezing!” she exclaimed, splashing him in retaliation.
Anton swam over to her, his grin wide and unstoppable. “Told you it’s fun!”
“You’re a lunatic,” she muttered, still shivering. But her laughter betrayed her as he splashed water toward her.
“Come here,” he said, closing the gap between them. His hands slid to her waist under the water, steadying her against him. Lea’s breath caught, not from the cold this time but from the warmth in his gaze.
Before she could say anything, he leaned in and kissed her. The icy water and biting air disappeared in that moment, leaving only the heat of his lips against hers. She smiled against his kiss, her arms looping around his neck.
When they broke apart, her nose brushed against his.
They stayed in the water only a few moments longer, laughing and splashing like children, before the chill became unbearable. Clambering out, their clothes clung to them, dripping as they ran toward the house. Anton grabbed her hand, leading the way as they bolted for the door, their laughter echoing through the frosty air.
Inside the house, the sudden warmth hit them like a wave, their icy clothes dripping puddles onto the polished wooden floor. Anton's mother appeared in the doorway, her eyes widening in shock.
“What on earth happened to you two?” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of concern and disbelief.
“We went for a swim,” Anton replied nonchalantly, a cheeky grin plastered on his face as he ran a hand through his dripping hair, spraying water everywhere like a mischievous puppy.
Lea shot him a look, her teeth chattering as she clutched her arms tightly around herself. “More like a frozen plunge,” she muttered, shivering.
“Lee Chanyoung” she said, her tone low and laced with disapproval. “What on earth were you thinking?”
Anton grinned sheepishly, ruffling his wet hair and shrugging. “It was just a bit of fun, Mum.”
Her expression darkened, and she pointed a firm finger at him. “Go change. Quickly. Before I lose my patience.”
Then her eyes softened as they shifted to Lea. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, her voice full of affection. “You must be freezing. Go change quickly too, dear. I’ll bring you some hot cocoa once you’re warm.”
Lea couldn’t help but smile, even as her teeth chattered. “Thank you, Mrs. Lee,” she said softly, pulling her damp blanket tighter around herself.
Anton snorted, earning a glare from his mother. “Why do I get scolded and she gets hot cocoa?” he muttered under his breath, but loud enough for both of them to hear.
His mother’s eyes narrowed further, her lips tightening in disapproval. “Because I know this is your doing, you should know better,” she snapped, swatting him lightly on the shoulder.
Lea, shivering despite the blanket she clutched around herself, tried not to laugh at Anton's sheepish expression. His mother’s sternness softened as she turned to her.
They reached their rooms and quickly changed into warm, dry clothes, the chill slowly fading from their bodies. Despite the cold and the scolding, Lea couldn’t help but think that this winter break was shaping up to be one of her most unforgettable yet.
Once they had changed into warm, dry clothes, they made their way back to the living room. The fire crackled invitingly in the hearth, casting a golden glow across the room, and the scent of cinnamon from a nearby candle filled the air.
Lea tugged at the sleeves of the oversized sweater she had borrowed, her cheeks still tinged pink and her skin slightly red from the lingering effects of the cold plunge. Anton glanced at her as they walked in and smirked.
“You look like you just came back from skiing,” he teased, gesturing toward her flushed cheeks and reddened hands.
“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious,” she replied dryly, though the corners of her lips twitched upward. “This is all your fault, by the way.”
“Oh, come on,” he said with a chuckle, flopping down onto the rug near the fire. “You’ll thank me later when you realize how unforgettable this day was.”
“Unforgettable because I almost froze to death,” she shot back, settling beside him near the fire.
His mother appeared moments later, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs of hot cocoa. “Here,” she said, handing one to Lea with a kind smile. “This will help warm you up.”
“Thank you,” Lea murmured, wrapping her hands around the mug and letting the heat seep into her fingers. She took a sip, savoring the creamy sweetness and the marshmallows floating on top.
Anton accepted his mug with a grin. “See, Mum? You didn’t even need to scold me. Hot cocoa fixes everything.”
His mother shot him a pointed look. “It doesn’t fix stupidity, Anton,” she said, though her tone was affectionate.
Lea couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head as she nestled deeper into her blanket. Her skin still felt warm from the fire’s heat, and the cold seemed like a distant memory now. She glanced at Lando, who was blowing on his cocoa to cool it, his carefree grin as unshakable as ever.
Lea gratefully took the blanket, pulling it tightly around her shoulders as Lando smirked. “Told you it wasn’t that bad,” he teased.
“Not bad?” she shot back, narrowing her eyes. “I think I’ve officially turned into an ice cube!”
“You’re a cute ice cube, though,” he quipped, earning a playful swat on his arm.
Lea wrapped her hands around her mug, letting the heat seep into her fingers. She took a tentative sip and sighed contentedly. “This is heaven,” she murmured, glancing at Anton.
He leaned back against the armrest, pulling his blanket tighter around himself as he watched her with a fond smile. “Again told you it’d be worth it.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling back. “You’re lucky I’m too cold to argue.”
The rest of the evening passed in a warm, contented haze. They stayed by the fire, their laughter and shared glances filling the room as the chill from their icy escapade melted away.
synopsis Every kingdom begins with an oath; sealed in blood, ends in ashes. But no crown is carried only with honor and victory. Every victory leaves shadows behind, every victory comes at a heavy price. With the sudden death of his father, King Elias, Prince Anton finds himself both the heir to a throne and the bearer of a vengeance. Enemies lurk not only outside, but also within him. His kingdom the Empire of Milas is based on a deep history and full of deep secrets. Because sometimes, the fiercest battles are not fought with swords... but with a thirst for retribution.
genre historical fantasy, romance, angst, hurt-comfort, political drama, royalty
contains alcohol consumption, war scenes, ptsd signs, political manipulation, war themes, imprisonment, power struggles, murderous thoughts
next chapter
"Mother?"
Anton called out as he stayed in the hallway outside her office. He hadn't seen her in days. He had barely paused for breath since his father's funeral, thrust into meetings, decisions, and the endless demands. But now, as he walked past her door, a sudden need tugged at him, a need to see her, to hear her voice.
Queen Ara was a slender and petite woman. Though she was delicate in appearance, with sharp features softened by age, there was an undeniable strength beneath the surface. She moved with the quiet grace of someone accustomed to both admiration and scrutiny, each step purposeful, each gesture laced with dignity and elegance. Her long, brown hair, now streaked with silver, framed a face that had once captivated the hearts of many at court.
Even now, as time etched its marks upon her, she remained a beautiful woman, but her beauty was not what defined her. Those who underestimated her based on her outward appearance quickly found themselves outmatched by her mind. Queen Ara had long mastered the art of court politics, navigating the labyrinth of power and intrigue with a wisdom that was often overlooked. She knew how to listen, how to read a room, and how to steer conversations in her favor without raising her voice.
Many saw her as the perfect empress consort, elegant, poised, and supportive, but few realized how deeply her intelligence ran. She had always been more than just a figurehead at her husband's side. In the shadows of her throne, Ara had quietly influenced the course of the empire, shaped policies and advising her late husband with a keen sense of strategy that rivaled any general's. She was the unseen hand guiding the empire's stability, always thinking two steps ahead, always prepared for the unpredictable tides of power.
And now, with the loss of her husband, she had to rely on that wisdom more than ever, not for herself, but for her son. For Anton. She had raised him to be strong, to face the world with both courage and compassion. But watching him step into his father's shoes so soon, she knew he would need every ounce of strength she had left to guide him through the coming storm.
"Anton?"
Her voice floated back to him, gentle and soothing like the soft hum of wind through the trees. It was a sound he had grown up with, one that always made the world feel safe. In that moment, he realized how much he had missed her, missed this part of his life.
A small smile tugged at his lips, a brief relief from the tension that had settled into his muscles over the past hour. Without hesitation, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was bathed in the fading light of late afternoon, casting long shadows across the floor. His mother stood beside her desk, organizing the mess of papers and letters that had accumulated in his absence. She looked tired, yet when she turned to face him, her eyes brightened.
"Anton,"
She repeated, this time with a warmth that wrapped around him like a blanket. Atay's breath caught in his throat. How long had it been since he had seen her smile? Truly seen it. He felt the sting of guilt at not visiting her sooner. He had been so consumed with his new role as king that he had nearly forgotten the part of him that was still her son.
"You look tired,"
She said softly, her voice tinged with concern as she stepped closer, her eyes searching his face.
"I've been... busy,"
Anton admitted, though the word felt hollow. Busy wasn't the right word for the storm that moments ago. But how could he explain.
She gave him a knowing look, the kind only a mother could give.
"Busy, yes. But don't forget to rest. You cannot too be careful with your health."
Her words were simple, but they hit deeper than any of the advice or orders he had received from his advisors. He felt a lump form in his throat and quickly swallowed it down. He wasn't here to speak of his struggles or to unload his burdens onto her. He was here because he needed her, and that need, for a moment, was more powerful than any royal duty.
"I missed you,"
He said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Her expression softened, and without a word, she pulled him into a gentle embrace. For the first time in what felt like forever, Anton allowed himself to lean into it, to simply be a son in his mother's arms.
"Come, sit down,"
His mother whispered, her voice a gentle command as she reached for his hand. She guided him to the couch by the window, where the afternoon light filtered in, casting a golden glow on the worn cushions. Anton felt her warmth through her touch, the simple act of holding his hand reminding him of when he was younger, when the world seemed smaller, and her presence alone could solve any problem.
They sat down together, and Anton gulped, the knot of emotions in his chest making it hard to breathe. He was a moderately tall man, having trained for battle and honed his body over years of discipline. His broad frame spoke of strength, though he had never been overly muscular, lean and powerful, as his father had always advised. Now, at twenty-two, he was meant to be the image of a king. And yet, sitting beside his mother, he felt small again, like a child who still longed for her comforting embrace.
It brought him an immense sense of peace, to be her son and nothing more, even if just for a moment. But he knew he couldn't stay in that place forever. He couldn't allow himself to become too dependent on her kindness, on the warmth of her presence. His role as king demanded more than that.
"Coronation day is in one week,"
Anton said softly, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, but beneath it, those words pressed down on him like a mountain. He stared at his hands, which now rested on his knees, and wondered how they would feel once the crown was placed upon his head.
His mother didn't respond immediately. She simply nodded, her gaze drifting toward the window as if the sunlight held the answers. She was still holding his hand, her thumb brushing over his knuckles in a slow, rhythmic motion.
"I know,"
She said at last, her voice a quiet echo of his own unease.
"I can see it in your eyes, Anton. The plans of what's to come."
Anton bit the inside of his cheek, fighting the urge to tell her everything, to confess his doubts, his fears, and his plans. But he held it all back, as he had been doing for years. The kingdom needed a strong king, for now.
"I'll be ready,"
He said, more to himself than to her. But even as the words left his lips, he felt her squeeze his hand gently, as if to remind him that he didn't have to carry it all alone.
"You are ready,"
She whispered, her voice filled with a conviction he wished he could share.
"More than you know. But no king rules alone, Anton."
For a moment, Anton couldn't speak. His heart swelled with emotion, and for the first time in days, the tension in his shoulders eased. He wasn't alone. Not completely. And in that realization, he found a sliver of strength.
"What do you mean?"
He asked hesitantly. His mother smiled.
"What I mean is, you need people you can trust."
Her voice softened, but her words hung between them. She turned to him, her gaze unwavering, as if trying to pierce through the layers he so carefully built around himself.
"I have people I trust,"
He replied, his tone firm, almost too firm, as if he were convincing himself as much as her.
She held his gaze for a moment longer, searching his face for any cracks in his confident exterior.
"Do you?"
She asked quietly, the question lingering in the air like a challenge.
His jaw tightened, but he forced a smile. "Yes," he said, more deliberate now. "I do."
The palace towered above the surrounding landscape, a sprawling stone fortress that had sheltered countless generations of kings and queens. Its halls echoed with the footsteps of courtiers, servants, and soldiers who busily prepared for the most significant event of the year.
On that Friday morning, the focus of the palace and all its people would narrow down to one singular moment.
The coronation of their new king.
Every detail had been meticulously planned. The banners of Milas, newly woven and vibrant, fluttered in the soft morning breeze from the high turrets. The grand halls gleamed with polished marble floors, and the walls, usually imposing in their austere beauty, were brightened by fresh garlands of flowers, intertwined with gold and silver thread. The royal crest hung in every corner, a reminder of the lineage that would soon be passed to Anton, the new king. Even the library, the safe sanctuary that had once been Isabella's escape, had been swept and arranged for the ceremony.
Isabella had worked tirelessly alongside the others all day, her duties never-ending, though she remained careful not to be seen as part of the bustling crowd. Still a student under the revered Master Eden, she balanced her own studies with the responsibility of teaching the children of nobles.
Though young and not yet fully initiated into the higher circles of royal scholars, her quiet intellect and unwavering diligence had earned her a place in the library’s inner workings. There, amid ancient tomes and whispered lessons, she guided young lords and ladies through history, philosophy, and the old tongues. Hers was a role both humble and vital, shaping the future while still discovering her own path.
When the opportunity arose, Isabella slipped away, as she avoided the ever-watchful guards patrolling the corridors. She moved quickly and silently through the lesser-used hallways of the castle, her steps instinctively carrying her to a forgotten part of the grounds, a place she had claimed three months ago. It was her secret, her refuge, and now, as the palace bustled with excitement, she needed it more than ever.
The stone passageways soon opened into a small, overgrown garden, hidden away from the main palace by high walls and neglected gates. Ivy crept along the crumbling stones, and wildflowers grew in patches where sunlight pierced the heavy canopy of trees. It was a place the world had forgotten, and that was why Umay loved it.
She sank down onto the cool, mossy ground, her back resting against the rough bark of an old oak tree. In her lap sat a small, wrapped bundle a muffin given to her by Maria, the head cook, who had always shown her kindness. The pastry, golden and still warm, sent its sweet scent drifting up toward her, and she couldn't help but smile as she unwrapped it. The simple pleasure of the treat was enough to ease the tension that had knotted her shoulders all day.
With the first bite, the rich flavor of honey and cinnamon danced on her tongue, and she closed her eyes, savoring the moment. Here, away from the pomp and ceremony, she could rest. No one expected anything from her here. She could breathe. She could think.
Her gaze drifted upwards to the sky, where the moon hung, a silver crescent against the deepening blue of the evening. Lately, she had taken to studying the moon's phases, finding in its rhythmic changes a sense of calm. It was strange how something so far away, so distant from the troubles of the foxhole, could feel so familiar. Tonight, the moon was in its waxing gibbous phase, glowing brightly as if keeping watch over the castle and all its inhabitants.
Then she remembered.
The day she had angered the prince, the heir to the throne.
The memory still burned in her mind, sharp and unforgiving. His cold voice, his gaze, the warning that had sent shivers down her spine. She had been so mortified that for days afterward, his beautiful presence haunted her dreams, slipping into her dreams like a shadow she couldn't escape. Sometimes, in those dreams, he was standing over her, his expression unreadable, and she would wake up drenched in sweat, heart pounding in her chest.
She had replayed that moment over and over, dissecting every word, every movement, wondering if she had deserved his anger. Had she been careless? Yes she had been.
But then, on deeper reflection, did it really matter?
In this castle, she was nothing. A nameless scholar among many. No one would have noticed if she had disappeared. If she had died.
Then the realization sat heavy in her chest.
She was, in the cruelest sense, lucky. Lucky that his temper hadn't been worse. Lucky that she still had a place here, even if it was an insignificant one.
For a moment, Isabella allowed herself to forget the coronation. She was just a girl sitting in a hidden garden, eating a muffin, watching the moon. The quiet solitude was a rare luxury, one she cherished. Yet even here, alone in her secret place. She was still thinking of him.
Prince Anton's coronation was not just a ceremony. It was the beginning of a new era. And with it came uncertainty. The kingdom had always been her home, but now it felt like it was changing in ways she could not fully grasp.
She wondered what kind of king Anton would be. Would he be like his father, who ruled with a firm hand but a gentle heart? Or would the loss of his father cast a shadow over his reign, leaving him vulnerable to the dangers of the crown?
Isabella had seen him earlier in the day, standing in the grand hall as the final preparations were made. His face was unreadable, a mixture of determination.
She let out a small sigh, leaning her head back against the tree and closing her eyes. The night was growing cooler, and the soft rustling of leaves filled the air. The moon, now high in the sky, cast a pale glow over the garden, illuminating the sleeping wildflowers and the twisted vines that clung to the old stone walls.
It was peaceful here, far removed from the noise and chaos of the palace.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
The voice, so unexpected in the stillness, startled Umay from her quiet thoughts. Her breath caught in her throat, and she quickly turned, searching for the source. There, leaning casually against the stone wall that bordered her hidden sanctuary, stood the new king.
His figure was relaxed, arms folded across his chest, his posture calm and unassuming. He wore no sign of his impending kingship, no royal attire, just a simple tunic and trousers that seemed at odds with the grandiosity of the palace.
"You are the library girl."
Isabella's heart pounded as she shot to her feet, the sudden rush of panic making her feel unsteady. She had been caught in a moment of solitude, and now she felt exposed, as if the small comfort of her hidden garden had been stripped away. She dropped into a deep bow, her eyes fixed on the ground.
"Your Majesty,"
She said, her voice a hurried whisper, her formality instinctive, as if it could shield her from her own fear.
"At ease,"
He uncrossed his arms, stepping away from the wall to stand closer, though still maintaining a respectful distance. Isabella straightened slowly, her heart still fluttering in her chest. She tried to compose herself, but the fear betrayed her nerves.
Her fingers twisted together as she cast a brief glance at Anton, quickly looking away again. He was watching her, his eyes dark, not kind, his face illuminated by the moonlight.
"I... I didn't realize anyone else knew about this place. I am so sorry."
Isabella murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She hadn't meant to speak, but the words slipped out before she could stop them. This corner of the palace grounds had been her secret for six months, her sanctuary from the world that seemed far too large, too overwhelming. The thought of it being shared, even with Prince, felt strangely unsettling.
Anton shrugged lightly.
"I used to come here when I was younger."
His gaze shifted toward the garden, where the wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze, their petals catching the soft glow of the moon.
"I haven't been here in years. Not until tonight."
Here, beneath the open sky, he seemed... different. Not quite the distant prince who had reprimanded her in the library.
Not yet the king.
For a moment, silence settled between them, broken only by the distant sounds of the palace preparations still lingering in the background. The calm of the garden, with its overgrown beauty and quiet isolation, seemed to fold around them like a protective cloak, shielding them from the burden of the world beyond the walls.
Isabella stood awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do. She hadn't expected to be in the presence of the soon-to-be king in such a setting again, much less in such a casual way. Every moment of her day had been spent in preparation for his coronation, working with Master Eden that every detail was perfect for the moment when he would ascend to the throne.
And now, here he was, standing before her like an ordinary man, speaking of childhood memories and forgotten hideaways.
He studied her as if she were an unexpected riddle, something out of place in the carefully structured world he had known his entire life. Then, his expression darkened, a shadow passing over his features like a passing storm.
The words cut through the night like a blade, and Isabella stiffened, her breath catching in her throat. She lowered her gaze instantly, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeves as though bracing herself against an invisible force.
Anton let the silence stretch between them, long enough to watch her unease grow, jaw clenched, the way she swallowed hard with anger and forcing herself to stay composed.
Finally, he spoke.
"It's late." His tone was final, dismissive. "You can take your leave."
She hesitated for a second, just a second, but then she turned, her steps swift and careful, as if she wanted nothing more than to melt into the night and disappear.
Anton remained still.
His eyes lingered on the empty space where she had been. He hadn't meant to follow her here tonight. He hadn't meant to find her again. And yet, he had.
His fingers twitched at his sides, restless.
Then, with a quiet exhale, he turned his attention back to the sky.
The moon loomed above him, its silver glow illuminating the wild garden, the tangled vines that had long since claimed the forgotten stones, the flowers that bloomed in defiance of neglect.
There was a time when this place had felt like his own. A secret corner of the palace where he could slip away from the expectations that clung to him like chains. But it had been years since he had sought refuge here.
He closed his eyes briefly, letting the cool night air brush against his face.
Tomorrow, everything would change. The crown would be placed upon his head, and with it, the full control of the Nardugan Empire would rest on his shoulders.
He would no longer be just Anton, but king Anton.
But for now, in this quiet moment under the moon's soft glow, he allowed himself to simply be.
synopsis Every kingdom begins with an oath; sealed in blood, ends in ashes. But no crown is carried only with honor and victory. Every victory leaves shadows behind, every victory comes at a heavy price. With the sudden death of his father, King Elias, Prince Anton finds himself both the heir to a throne and the bearer of a vengeance. Enemies lurk not only outside, but also within him. His kingdom the Empire of Milas is based on a deep history and full of deep secrets. Because sometimes, the fiercest battles are not fought with swords... but with a thirst for retribution.
genre historical fantasy, romance, angst, hurt-comfort, political drama, royalty
contains alcohol consumption, war scenes, ptsd signs, political manipulation, war themes, imprisonment, power struggles, murderous thoughts
next chapter
Anton was surrounded by papers, books, and maps. The white walls of the study, which normally soothed him, felt oppressive. His gaze drifted to the bookcase in the corner, then to the nearby table and chair. A modest armchair was empty across from him.
"You can put it off now, but it will happen eventually."
Eunseok's voice broke the silence. He stood across the table, his arms folded, his eyes fixed on Anton with the calm certainty of someone who had weathered many storms. The flicker of light danced in the reflection of her polished armor, a silent reminder of her dual role as diplomat and soldier.
Anton's hands rested on the worn surface of the oak table, his fingers tracing the deep grooves that covered it, like the plans now ingrained in his own soul.
He nodded slowly, but the movement felt empty, like an echo in the room. His mind was somewhere else; far from the room, far from the reality that Eunseok had so clearly laid out before him.
Eunseok was right, of course. He had always been right. He was the general who had guided the Empire through countless negotiations, calmed conflicts with a few carefully chosen words, and then, when words failed, fought for Milas with the precision of a seasoned warrior. Every decision Eunseok made was based on a reality that Anton had difficulty grasping.
Anton always thought he saw him as a little kid who didn't understand the world. Maybe because he was older than him or maybe because he was there when he was growing up.
"I know,"
Anton finally muttered, but his voice held no conviction, his thoughts running around on his head. Eunseok sighed quietly, a sigh of displeasure escaping the normally calm man.
"Timing has never been in anyone's favor, Your majesty."
His voice softened, but his gaze remained piercing.
"This isn't about convenience. This is about responsibility. You are the king now."
The words hung in the air, a mantle Anton had yet to truly accept.
"Am I?"
He raised his cold eyes to meet Eunseok's gaze, searching for something. But for Eunseok, there was no bending the truth, no telling comforting lies.
"The empire needs strength, not hesitation. You know that as well as I do,"
Eunseok continued.
"I've served your family long enough to know that waiting rarely brings solutions. You must act. Your father would want—"
"My father is not here!"
Anton's icy voice rose suddenly in the silence of the room. The words sounded raw and forbidden, and for a moment he hated himself for this outburst. He hated the despair that clung to him like a blanket.
"He is gone, Eunseok... and I am not him."
Eunseok was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. He could have argued, he could have pressed on more, but he didn't.
"I know you are not,"
He said quietly, his voice softening for the first time.
"But the crown isn't about being him. It's not about being you. You may not feel ready, but you don't have the luxury of waiting until you are."
Anton looked emotionless. He wanted to hold on to the illusion that he could wait a little longer. But deep down he knew Eunseok was right. He had always been right.
"I understand,"
He replied, his voice thick.
"But the funeral was just yesterday. With all due respect, I can't wear his crown now. You can send me off to war, and I will gladly go, but not the throne. Not now."
Eunseok's gaze shifted to the window. His expression was unreadable, alternating between sympathy and the cold reality of their situation.
"How many years have we spent together, Your Highness? How many lives have we lost?"
Eunseok's voice was steady, but there was an underlying urgency.
"You have always been the strongest one. We cannot afford to act on our emotions. The enemy is waiting for any sign of weakness. If we make a mistake, everything we fought for will be destroyed. This is not a choice. You must gather your troops and your advisors."
Anton's eyes wandered around the room uninterestingly. His mind was clouded, but not by a single event. He had plans. When he finally met Eunseok's gaze, his voice was blank full of determination.
"I'll wait one week,"
Eunseok studied him, the tension thick in the room.
"People deserve time to mourn."
Eunseok's eyebrows furrowed.
"Are you asking for others or for yourself?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and probing.
Anton's expression was downright as he answered,
"Does it matter?"
There was a long pause between them before Eunseok sighed deeply, his disappointment softened by the deep trust he felt.
"I trust you,"
He said, his voice softer now, almost resigned. With that, he turned and left the room, leaving Anton alone with the storm.
He put his hand to his head and pressed it against the dull throbbing pain that was constantly throbbing. The pain couldn't get any worse. He tried to relax, taking deep breaths and letting the air fill his lungs.
His eyes were icy, locked into one place, pursuing agony in the silence of the room, hoping for a moment of peace amidst the chaos that swirled around him.
Suddenly, a sharp, insistent knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in."
The door creaked open and one of his loyal Royal Advisor, Shotaro, entered. Anton remained still, still struggling with the discomfort clouding his mind.
"Speak, Shotaro,"
Anton breathed, his voice barely above a whisper heavy with fatigue. Homar stood at attention.
"Your Majesty, Master Eden awaits you in the training grounds."
Anton nodded, pushing back the blur of pain. Steeling himself against the ache, he opened his eyes.
"I understand. Let's go then."
As he rose from his seat, he felt the world tilt slightly, reminding him of his insubstantial state. He took another deep breath, letting the air steady him, but the tension in his shoulders refused to ease.
"Are you all right, Your Majesty?"
Shotaro asked with concern in his eyes.
Anton nodded with, but the gesture felt heavier than usual. He steadied himself and walked to the door.
They left the room and reached the training ground. The echoes of clashing swords and the shouts of warriors filled the air as they made their way towards it.
Master Eden was his combat tutor. He trained him when he was young. His father and his grandfather had respected him. He knew Master Eden before he knew who himself was.
Eden's lessons had always been about more than combat; they were about endurance, strategy, and the weight of leadership. He prepared and trained countless soldiers, commanders, elites and monsters.
And Anton could only trust so many people in this castle or use. And Eden was one of them.
Anton entered the familiar training grounds, and the soldiers bowed in deep respect when they saw him.
"Welcome, Your Majesty!" one of them called out.
Anton nodded. "At ease."
Master Eden approached with slow, cautious steps his weathered face unreadable under the harsh sun.
"Welcome, Your Majesty,"
He greeted, his voice carrying the time of years.
Anton nodded once more, his gaze distant.
"Lead the way, Master Eden."
"Of course, Your Majesty. This way,"
Eden gestured with his hand, and Anton followed.
They passed rows of soldiers engaged in rigorous training in swordplay, archery, and hand-to-hand combat. When Anton said he wanted to watch the drills, a seat was immediately prepared for him in a sheltered area where he could catch a breath from the rain.
Anton sat down, his eyes roaming over the soldiers, studying their movements with an air of detachment. After a moment of silence, he spoke, his voice ordinary but containing more.
"How are you, Eden?"
"As well as I can be, Your Majesty,"
Eden replied respectfully, his old eyes sharp and appraising.
His expression was neutral and revealing nothing of his inner thoughts.
"Is there anything troubling you?"
Eden did not answer immediately. He studied Anton for a moment longer, as if carefully evaluating his words.
"Nothing unpleasant, Your Majesty. It's just the burden of time. It shows itself in different ways."
But there was something in the old master's answer. His eyes continued to watch the soldiers, watching them work feverishly, their discipline a contrast to the restlessness within him.
"Are they prepared?"
Anton's gaze scanned the young soldiers before him. He watched closely their stance, their swordsmanship, and the brief hesitations in their movements. But what he focused on most were their eyes; he studied their determination, their fear, their readiness.
Eden stood beside him, observing Anton as much as he observed the soldiers. He murmured softly in approval.
"They are, Your Majesty. I have prepared them with great care, at your request. They will obey only your orders, no one else's. Even mine."
Anton's eyes narrowed, and he studied the soldiers even more, as if he were trying to see inside them, into their hearts.
But Eden's gaze remained on Anton. He had trained many armies for kings, Anton's father, and before him, his grandfather. This was nothing new to him. He had seen kings rise and fall, orders given, battles fought.
And yet there was something different about Anton.
For reasons he could not quite grasp, Eden felt a pull, a need, to protect the young king before him. It was strange for a man as practical, disciplined, unmoved by emotion as he was. He had long set aside his personal feelings about leadership and duty.
Kings were kings. Soldiers were soldiers. He was merely a tool to shape them.
And yet...
Eden's eyes found Anton. The young king's expression was cold and reserved. But behind that cold exterior, Eden saw the drain of many things. For a moment, he remembered the boy who had once looked up to his father's soldiers, eager to please his grandfather, uncertain of the path ahead.
Why should he feel protective of Anton? Why should he be more important than the other rulers he had served? Eden asked himself these questions silently, turning them over in his mind.
Was it because he had seen Anton grow from a child into this young man who bore the burden of a crown too heavy for his age? Or was it something deeper, a connection he felt to the legacy of his former king, for his old friend?
That boy had grown up, but the echoes and prophecies of his youth, the potential Eden had once seen in him, had never completely faded.
Perhaps that was why Eden felt this strange, unspoken loyalty, not just to the crown, but to the young man who wore it.
Anton continued to watch the soldiers, oblivious to his old master's inner turmoil.
"Good,"
He said at last, his voice steady.
"We will see if they can hold out when the time comes."
Eden bowed and pulled himself back to the present.
"They will, Your Majesty."
Eden remained silent.
After the training, Anton left the grounds and wandered aimlessly through the palace halls. He allowed himself to allow the solitude, the silence that came with walking alone. Shotaro and the other guards had been sent to check on Minho, leaving Anton free.
As Anton wandered toward the Royal Study Wing a soft melody drifted through the stone corridors, its gentle notes weaving through the quiet like a whispered secret. He paused, curious, and listened for a moment longer. The sound came from the library, a place usually shrouded in silence. Anton followed the tune with increasing curiosity, his steps silent as he approached the entrance.
When he pushed the door open, he was greeted by a chaotic yet strangely serene scene. Stacks of books were scattered on the tables, some shelves were bare, and the smell of fresh lavender filled the air, giving the old space a lively and clean feeling. Someone was cleaning the library. In the middle of all this, stood a girl wiping the dust off a worn book. Her long brown hair flowed down her back, and she wore the white scholar's uniform worn by palace scholars.
Her skin was fair, almost reminding Anton of snow. She had been humming softly before he entered, her voice delicate, in harmony with the serenity around her.
Anton paused, silently scolding himself.
The quiet creak of the door caught her attention. She turned, and for a fleeting moment, he saw her face light up with a bright smile as their eyes met. Time seemed to slow. The dust hanging in the air swirled like delicate butterflies, adding a touch of magic to the dimly lit library. But then, as quickly as the moment arrived, it shattered.
Her face tightened with embarrassment and fear. The materials in her hands were hastily placed on the table, her body stiffening as she bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty, how may I assist you?" she asked, her voice warm yet laced with caution.
Anton froze. He hadn't planned to come here. He wasn't even sure why he had.
Curiosity had pulled him in, and now, standing before this stranger, he found himself momentarily lost. His duties, his family, his grief, even the crushing reality of his father's death, faded into the background. It was reckless. Reckless to forget, even for a second. His hands clenched at his sides.
How foolish could he be?
His voice came out colder than he intended.
"I expected everyone in this castle to be mourning. But I suppose not."
The girl did not move, remaining in her bowed position.
Isabella forced herself to breathe. She had been working in this vast castle for only a short time. She never expected to encounter anyone in the library, let alone him. She had dreams once, things she longed for, things she wanted to achieve, but none of them mattered now. Not when she had angered a royal. And not just any royal. The future king.
How foolish could she be?
"Rise."
She obeyed, but she did not dare meet his gaze. She stood perfectly still, barely even breathing.
"What's your name?"
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I didn't mean to—"
"I asked for your name."
Hesitantly, she lifted her eyes to him. His brown locks were messy. His piercing gaze pinned her in place. A moment ago, she had avoided looking at him. Now, she had no choice.
"Isabella, Your Majesty."
Anton did not react. His expression remained unreadable as he stepped further into the library, his gaze sweeping across the shelves lined with his father's treasured books. Books his father would never read again. A sudden wave of anger clawed at his chest, but he buried it. His fingers trailed over the spines of the worn tomes before he turned back to her.
"This is a warning, Isabella."
His voice was quiet but sharp, laced with authority. She flinched, bowing her head even deeper.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
He said nothing more. With one final glance at the trembling girl, Anton turned and left.
synopsis Every kingdom begins with an oath; sealed in blood, ends in ashes. But no crown is carried only with honor and victory. Every victory leaves shadows behind, every victory comes at a heavy price. With the sudden death of his father, King Elias, Prince Anton finds himself both the heir to a throne and the bearer of a vengeance. Enemies lurk not only outside, but also within him. His kingdom the Empire of Milas is based on a deep history and full of deep secrets. Because sometimes, the fiercest battles are not fought with swords... but with a thirst for retribution.
genre historical fantasy, romance, angst, hurt-comfort, political drama, royalty
contains alcohol consumption, war scenes, ptsd signs, political manipulation, war themes, imprisonment, power struggles, murderous thoughts
next chapter
“Miss Isabella, do you believe in heroes?” Isabella looked at the small figure who was holding her skirt lightly and asking her the question. Twice a week, at Master Eden’s request she taught lessons to the children of aristocrats and nobles. This task was always a great pleasure for her because she loved children. She taught her lessons in this medium-sized library which assigned to her in the Tower of Scholars wing of the palace. Sitting across from her, Ronan was one of the children from those noble families. The clothes she wore were impeccably tailored and fitted. Isabella wondered if she had wanted to wear such clothes when she was Ronan’s age.
“Miss Isabel?” She smiled at the little figure still tugging at her skirt.
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.” She gathered her skirt and crouched down to the little girl’s height.
“Do you have a hero?” Isabella asked her. She had been eavesdropping on the topics the children had been discussing all day. That’s why she could guess the answer.
“Yes, I do.”
Isabella watched as Ronan held the hem of her skirt and swayed shyly from side to side.
“Who is it, then?” Isabella couldn’t help but smile as she asked her this question.
“Prince Anton.” Ronan answered her excitedly.
Isabella nodded as if to say she understood. This answer hadn’t surprised her.
“Prince Anton, you say.” She rested her fingers on her chin and pretended to think.
“Why Prince Anton?” Ronan’s eyes sparkled with excitement as if she’d been waiting all day for this question.
“Because Prince Anton is very brave. My dad said he saved and led many armies in battle. Plus, everyone loves him.”
She lifted her chin slightly and looked at her with confidence.
“I’m going to be as brave as Prince Anton someday, too.”
Her little chest rose and fell with excitement as she finished her sentence.
He had become the most talked-about figure in the Milas Empire due to the war. Prince Anton was especially important to children. Heroes were always flawless and brave because in children’s stories. To them, Prince Anton was flawless.
Isabella had witnessed conversations about prince in many places she had walked during the six months she spent at the palace. He was an authoritative figure but according to what was said he was not cruel. In fact, no one had ever witnessed him getting angry even once at the palace. He was a prince known for his always thinking several steps ahead and sharp intellect.
His portrait could be found in many corners of the palace. Isabella often found herself unable to stop standing before his portraits too. His hair which ranging in color from gold to brown fell in waves across his forehead. Yet it never looked disheveled. In every portrait she examined his hair lay perfectly in place with an elegance she could not explain. However his eyes were always depicted the same way in the deepest and darkest shade of brown. The painters had always rendered his gaze as serious and distant. Not once had they captured a softer expression in his eyes.
Isabel couldn’t help but wonder. Did the prince ever smile? The moment the thought crossed her mind, she snapped back to reality. What good could this curiosity possibly do her?
“Well,” Isabella gently touched Ronan’s shoulder.
“Do you think being a hero is just about being brave?”
Ronan paused for a moment. He furrowed his brow in thought. A serious expression appeared on his small face.
“I suppose so. The brave become heroes.”
Isabella tilted her head slightly to the side.
“I think heroes are people who are sometimes afraid but still do what’s right,” she said in a calm voice.
“Courage isn’t found where there’s no fear. It emerges where you can move forward despite your fear.”
Ronan looked at Isabella as if trying to understand those words. His small fingers slowly let go of the fabric of her skirt.
“Does Prince Anton get scared too?” she whispered.
Isabella’s gaze drifted for a moment to the library’s high windows. Sunlight stretched along the shelves which casting golden lines across the dusty spines of the old books.
“Probably,” she said finally. “But even though he’s afraid, he’s preventing his fears from overcoming him.”
Just then, the library’s heavy wooden door creaked open slightly. Emma, the attendant who entered, spoke with a bow.
“Miss Isabella, Master Eden wishes to see you.”
Isabella nodded. She turned to Ronan and smiled gently.
“We’ll continue our lesson tomorrow, young lady.”
Ronan nodded reluctantly but a pensive expression still lingered on his face.
Isabella left the library and followed the person who had called her. Master Eden’s office was on the fourth floor where the scholars resided. This floor was usually shrouded in an atmosphere of silence and solemnity. Master Eden was the High Scholar responsible for all research and education within the palace. He had been at the palace for years and had dedicated his life to it.
Isabella had taken an exam based on her work in history to gain entry into the Tower of Scholars. After the exam, it was Master Eden who had met privately with the five selected candidates. Meeting him was like speaking with the smartest person you could ever encounter. It was then that Isabella understood why he was called “Master.”She then began working at the palace. Her primary duties involved serving as an assistant to Eldrin Vaelor, the Master of Ancient Texts and Languages, and as a scholar of ancient chronicle translations. She examined the texts and subsequently presented them to Master Eden.
Isabella furrowed her brows in concern, suspecting there might be an issue with one of the texts. When they reached Master Eden’s office, she thanked Emma and knocked on the large wooden door. Upon hearing the signal of approval, she opened the door.
“Master Eden, you asked for me.”
“Isabella, come in.” Eden looked at her over his glasses.
Isabella stepped up to his desk, clasped her hands, and greeted Master Eden. She waited for him to finish what he was reading. Master Eden exhaled deeply, removed his glasses and turned to Isabella.
“The war is over.”
Isabella couldn’t help but smile at what she heard. Though she couldn’t understand why her heart was racing, she was happy for everyone.
“But we’ve lost King Elias.” Eden squeezed the bridge of his nose in distress.
Isabella didn’t know what to say. She knew that Master Eden and King Elias had been close friends. Losing a close friend and the person he had served for years must have been difficult for Master Eden. Isabella tried to recall the time she lost her father, but she had been very young back then. For that reason, she didn’t know what a father figure meant. Because she had been raised by her mother and grandmother. But growing up without a father was hard.
She couldn’t help but feel sorry for King Elias’s family as well. His wife, his children...
“May the heavens be with King Elias, sir.”
Master Eden nodded in agreement.
“As much as I grieve for my friend I must keep my sorrow to myself. Prince Anton must be returning by now. He said they would return to the kingdom soon in the letter he wrote to me. The coronation ceremony will take place when the prince returns,.”
Master Eden turned around.
“The other council members have begun preparations for their councils. We must also begin preparations for our own council.”
He stroked his white beard and fell into deep thought.
“This morning, we had a meeting with Master Marcellon, Master Seraphiel, and Master Thamior. However, as you know, Eldrin has not yet fully recovered. Therefore, I will oversee the preparations for the Ancient Texts and Language council. I want you to handle the Scholars’ Library. I’ve ordered the staff to have the dust removed. But you know better than I do, Miss Isabella, just how valuable these books are. For that reason, you are responsible for their placement. You may choose whoever you wish to assist you.”
Isabella’s eyes widened as if they might pop out of her head at Master Eden’s words.
“But Master Eden, I’m still a novice in this palace. Wouldn’t it be better if someone with more experience handled this?”
Master Eden couldn’t help but smile. Even though Isabella had just started at the palace, he had known her since her days at the Academy of Research and Linguistics. She had graduated at the top of her class and had begun her duties as a Royal Ancient Chronicler for that very reason. She possessed a genius-level talent for deciphering and understanding languages, but working alongside those more experienced than her, and having only six months of experience here, made her feel less confident it seemed.
“Think of this as a test, Miss Isabella. The reason I didn’t assign this task to Caldros or Elowen is that they’ve already performed it before, and I’ve already given them their own assignments. You will handle this task. I hope you’ll do a good job.”
Isabella accepted the assignment with a forced smile and a nod.
“Your Majesty?” A hesitant voice rose from the empire’s border.
Due to the wind and rain, Prince Anton’s brown curls were disheveled. With eyes as sharp as ice, he surveyed the landscape stretching out below him. He looked at his army. Everyone in this army respected him. They had to. From this moment on, he would have to remind himself of that fact.
While his soldiers prepared camp on the meadow, he watched their preparations from the edge of the cliff. His eyes drifted to the dark sky. The daylight had long since retreated from the dark, rain-soaked forest, and his ears listened to the sounds of nature. As the giant trees bore witness to his pitiful plight, their branches fluttered as if clapping in approval.
“I haven’t been to this forest in a long time Sohee.”
He spoke to the knight standing beside him. Sohee was a trustworthy knight. Even when he was a mischievous child, he had cleaned up after him. He was the first person to support him when he set out on his first official mission. Now, in the most challenging phase of his life, he was by his side once again.
“Thank the heavens. It hasn’t changed much, Your Majesty.”
His eyes drifted from the edge of the cliff back to the landscape below. The terrain was surrounded by hills, and there was fresh water nearby. This had put a smile on the soldiers’ faces despite the losses. The victory in battle had lifted everyone’s spirits. They were closer to home now.
War. Yes, the war was finally over.
“Any news from Sungchan?”
“My lord, Sungchan and Wonbin have split into three groups and are searching the area. If they notice anything unusual, they will report it, Your Majesty.”
Anton didn’t react. Sohee ducked and moved away. They were at the border of the kingdom. For that reason, it was wise for them to be cautious. But the war was over. Why was he moving forward with such war-time caution? Anton wondered how much he could relax. He didn’t know the answer. Where should he start? Should he keep the night watch the same? Now that the war was over, he didn’t need to worry about supplies.
After the soldiers finished their inspections, he turned his horse around and set off toward the camp. His numb and cold hands held the reins lightly. He took a deep breath and continued. Before experiencing such a horrific war, he had taken pride in his achievements. Up until this point, he had been the honorable heir to absolute authority, just as he had been told. He couldn’t lie; he was a proud man. He had always taken pride in his successes. Yet it must be said that his dreams could not have been more brutally shattered. He was no longer the innocent man he had been when the war began, nor the same child.
It had been a very long war.
But it had finally come to an end. Milas had emerged victorious from this war, just as his father had wanted. But at what cost had this victory been won? That would never be spoken of.
When he stopped, the soldiers stopped too. They had reached the campsite.
Anton dismounted and stroked the horse’s soiled coat with his fingers. The rain hadn’t washed away the grime clinging to them. Perhaps he’d foolishly hoped the rain would wash away the dirt and blood. As if the rain could somehow set him free. Erase what he’d done. He handed the horse over to his soldier and turned away.
As he crossed the field, the camp was bustling. The soldiers around him were busy preparing for the night. As he moved forward, the soldiers respectfully made way for him. As a child, he had envied the way his father’s soldiers looked at him with respect. Because he didn’t believe he could earn that deep respect for himself. But deep down, he longed for it. He deeply desired to be accepted and respected. Now he had earned that respect. So why wasn’t he happy?
He stopped to discuss the current situation with a few high-ranking soldiers. Some were moving with determination. Others had bowed their heads. Anton knew they were silently struggling with the weariness of war. Anton had always been aware of this reality. Every time his armor felt cold and damp against his skin, and with every step he took, he remembered the pain he had to endure. His head ached so much that his neck felt numb. He had so much work to do. Yet he was so young. He was only twenty-two. But he couldn’t remember how many soldiers he had buried in his short life. He tried to push his emotions aside. He maintained his composure.
When he reached his tent, he went inside and set his sword aside. His attendants had lit candles that cast shadows much larger than himself, and these shadows stretched across the tent like giants. Strangely, this soothed him. For the first time in a long while, death was absent. He sat down on his medium-sized bed and began slowly removing his armor. As each piece slid off his battered body, every movement caused his wounds to scream in pain.
“Your Majesty.”
A hoarse voice interrupted Anton’s thoughts. He stopped moving.
“Yes?” he replied, his voice deep with pain.
“May I come in?” Wonbin asked.
His gaze hardened.
“Come in.”
He continued to remove the final heavy layers of his armor. He piled each piece beside him. Wonbinn entered and stood by the doorway. When Anton finished, he raised his head and met his gaze with a calm expression.
“I’m listening.”
Wonbin took a deep breath as the flickering candlelight cast shadows across his face. As a lieutenant in the Imperial Army, Wonbin was one of the most respected figures in the military. He was young, yet possessed a military acumen far beyond his years. Anton had always known this, but above all, Wonbin was his friend. Even if he was the kind of friend a heir might have. He was his friend, after all. That was what he had wanted, and that was how it had turned out.
“Are you okay?”
Wonbin finally spoke. Anton took a slow breath.
“I’m fine.”
Wonbin’s eyes narrowed and his expression hardened.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care whether you believe me or not.”
His fists were clenched at his sides, but Anton paid no attention. His eyes remained fixed on him.
“You know what you need to do.”
Wonbin’s voice was tense.
“What am I supposed to do?”
Anton asked mockingly. Was he angry? No. On the contrary, he was amused. Everything reminded him of a comedy. Had he finally lost his mind?
“What you want isn’t a solution. This is exactly what you shouldn’t do.” Wonbin’s patience had finally snapped.
Anton’s lips curled into a devilish smile. His voice dropped dangerously low.
“Are you giving orders in front of your king? If I want, I’ll have your head cut off and fed to the dogs.”
Wonbin clenched his jaw and studied his friend. He thought there was nothing human left in his friend’s eyes. There was nothing left of him now. Had he reached a point of no return? Anton used to be a very smart child. He had been spoiled by his family; whatever he wanted was done for him. In return, his mature behavior, achievements, and development had created hope for the future. As a result of all this, Anton had turned into this kind of person, a person who believed that everything he believed in had to be right at all times.
“I know you better than anyone else, you don’t want this.”
Anton’s anger flared even more. Rage rose in his chest.
“I know what I want.”
Wonbin’s lips curled into a mocking smile and his eyes scanned the fresh wounds covering Anton’s body.
“Are you sure? Look at yourself. Who will you fight? With which army? Have you thought about your siblings? What would they say? What would your mother say?”
Anton’s gaze could cut through steel.
“My siblings and my mother can take Milas.”
Wonbin shook his head, and the disappointment on his face was quite evident.
“You know that revenge will only bring more war.”
He clenched his fists and felt his nails digging into his palms.
“Do you think I’m afraid of war, Wonbin? I am a soldier. I am a commander!”
“No matter how strong you claim to be, you’re still human. A fragile, weak human. Look at yourself. How much longer can you hold on?”
Anton didn’t hesitate. He turned away and sat down on his bed. He didn’t respond for a moment.
“I’m going to rest. Leave me alone.” Anton spoke without turning to face him.
Wonbin bowed his head. He knew he couldn’t reach him right now.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Then he stepped out of the tent. Anton tried to steady his breathing. He shouldn’t have mentioned his plans to Wonbin. Now he was paying the price. He decided that he didn’t want anyone by his side who wouldn’t obey his orders.
“Painfully touching.” A voice broke the silence. Sungchan emerged from the darkness where Wonbin had gone. Sungchan had returned. Anton’s cousin. Sungchan greeted him with a face flushed from the cold.
“I was almost going to cry.” Wiping the fake tears from his eyes, he sat down in a chair. Anton looked at him as if to ask, “Why are you here?” Sungchan had been famous since childhood for evading royal protocols. He preferred to alter the tasks given by the sword-master to suit himself rather than follow them as instructed. He hated rules. But he was a skilled assassin. Anton knew this.
“I came to report to Your Majesty. I didn’t realize you were busy.”
Sungchan leaned back and rested his legs on the table. Anton, accustomed to his antics. He rolled his eyes, rubbed his face with his hands, and then met his cousin’s gaze.
“Speak.” His voice was flat.
Sungchan stretched his legs further and settled into a comfortable position.
“I’ve received some news. The Council is restless. The whispers are growing louder. Some believe you’re not fit to lead, while others still think your uncle should lead because you’re too young.”
Anton laughed derisively.
“They’ve always thought that. Let them whisper.”
Sungchan tilted his head to the side and watched him.
“Well, what will you do if the whispers turn into a rebellion?”
Anton quietly set his glass down on the table.
“Then I’ll remind them who they’re dealing with.”
A smile flickered across his cousin’s lips. He stood up and walked toward the exit, but hesitated before leaving.
“Be careful, Anton. The Council might not be the only threat.”
He vanished into the darkness without saying another word. He left Anton alone with his thoughts once more. The curtain at the entrance of the tent swayed slightly before settling back into stillness. The sound of Sungchan’s footsteps faded into the camp’s din. Anton remained motionless for a few seconds. The flickering light of the candles danced across the tent’s walls which stretching and shrinking the shadows. The shadows sometimes merged and sometimes parted. Anton found himself watching them involuntarily. The shadows reminded him of soldiers on the battlefield. One moment they were there, the next they were gone.
The Council was restless.
This did not surprise him. Perhaps it should have, but it did not. He slowly stood up. He took a few steps in the center of the tent. The rug beneath his feet was damp. The earthy scent brought by the rain had seeped inside. He looked at his sword. It was resting on the edge of the table. Its metal surface reflected the candlelight. He moved his hand toward the hilt but did not touch it.
“Whispers,” he muttered to himself.
Whispers were more dangerous than battles. On the battlefield, you saw your enemy and killed them. Whispers, however, grew within the walls. They hid behind friendly faces. He raised his head and looked at the tent’s ceiling.
How did his father handle this situation?
The moment that question formed in his mind, his jaw tightened.
His father.
King Elias.
He had said he would return in triumph. That he would speak before the army in the throne room with that heavy yet proud voice of his. He shut his eyes tightly.
No.
He pushed the thought from his mind. He walked over to the table and looked at the maps laid out on it. His fingers traced the border lines. Milas’s borders were vast. But defending them was far harder than conquering them. Sungchan’s words echoed in his mind.
The Council might not be the only threat.
Anton’s gaze darkened. What they had faced in the last war was not just an army. Those strange signs he had seen in the forest, the burned symbols, the abandoned camps. Something had felt wrong. But he hadn’t pursued it then. Victory was more important. Victory was always more important. He clenched his fists. Perhaps he had made a mistake. The moment that thought crossed his mind, he slammed his fist on the table in anger. The maps shifted slightly. The candle flame flickered.
“I don’t make mistakes,” he said through clenched teeth.
His voice echoed inside the tent. His words didn’t sound entirely convincing but even to his own ears. He exhaled slowly. His hands were trembling. He opened and closed his fingers. The tremors of battle still lingered beneath his skin. That hollow feeling left by adrenaline. It was always the hardest part. When the battle ended, silence began and silence was always more ruthless. The distant chatter of soldiers drifted in from the entrance of the tent. A few were laughing. Someone could be heard singing. The voices of people who were tired but had survived. Anton listened to those sounds. Once, those sounds had filled him with pride. Now they only weighed him down. He slowly sat down on his bed. He cradled his head in his hands. As his fingers ran through his hair he felt the damp strands.
“A king,” he whispered.
He didn’t finish the sentence. What should a king be?
A leader?
A warrior?
An executioner?
He raised his head. He felt a decision taking shape within him. It wasn’t fully formed yet. But it was growing. Just then, the voice of a sentry outside the tent was heard.
“Your Majesty, there is news from the border patrols.”
Anton sat up. The weariness on his face vanished in a matter of seconds. In its place settled a cold, disciplined expression. Like a mask.
“Enter.”
The curtain parted. A young messenger which covered in mud entered. He knelt and bowed his head.
“Speak.”
The soldier swallowed hard.
“An abandoned camp has been found along the northern forest line, Your Majesty.”
Anton’s eyes narrowed.
“The enemy?”
“Our soldiers thought so and there are flags at the camp.”
The air inside the tent grew heavy. Anton slowly stood up.
The messenger handed him the parchment. Anton took it. He had seen this symbol before. On the darkest night of the war. On a stone soaked in blood. He slowly folded the parchment. The expression on his face was completely frozen.
“Have the army ready by early morning.”
“The soldiers are resting, Your Majesty; the journey-”
“Do as I say.”
His voice was as cold as ice. The messenger immediately bowed his head.
“As you command.”
After the soldier left, Anton looked at the parchment again and spoke in a much quieter voice.
“This war is not over...”
The candlelight flickered. Shadows grew on the walls of the tent.
synopsis Every kingdom begins with an oath; sealed in blood, ends in ashes. But no crown is carried only with honor and victory. Every victory leaves shadows behind, every victory comes at a heavy price. With the sudden death of his father, King Elias, Prince Anton finds himself both the heir to a throne and the bearer of a vengeance. Enemies lurk not only outside, but also within him. His kingdom the Empire of Milas is based on a deep history and full of deep secrets. Because sometimes, the fiercest battles are not fought with swords... but with a thirst for retribution.
genre historical fantasy, romance, angst, hurt-comfort, political drama, royalty
contains alcohol consumption, war scenes, ptsd signs, political manipulation, war themes, imprisonment, power struggles, murderous thoughts
next chapter
History remembers victories.
But it rarely tells of the price paid for them. When kings ascend the throne, the people see them as symbols of power and might. Yet every crown is woven not of gold, but of sacrifice, fear, and secrets. Some secrets, however, are so ancient they could bring down not just a dynasty, but an entire empire.
The roots of the Milas Empire have risen in the shadow of forgotten legends and forbidden magic. Hidden deep within the royal bloodline lies a power spoken of only in whispers during times of war. Giant creatures from ancient times, bearing the wrath of nature. Whoever can summon them becomes invincible on the battlefield. Yet this power has never been a gift.
The might of this power feeds on the life of the one who wields it. This magic has brought many rulers of the royal bloodline to victory throughout history, only to drag them to their graves afterward. Legends say that one of this power’s final victims was a king who sacrificed his life to save his own dynasty. From that day on, the magic vanished from history. Or so it was believed.
When King Anton returns victorious from the battlefield, the people will greet him as a hero. But for Anton, the war is not yet over. Loss, grief, and a thirst for vengeance will drive him toward the empire’s darkest secrets. Though he knows the price of power, he is determined to awaken the curse of the past once more. Yet every curse has a key.
The only person capable of unraveling the forgotten records of royal history is a sage unafraid to pursue the truth: Isabella. She is a scholar who lives for knowledge and the one whose path fate will cross with the king’s. As Anton approaches her, his purpose is clear: to uncover the secrets of the forbidden power. To rewrite his own destiny. To protect his empire or to change it forever.
But fate rarely takes human plans into account. When the truth comes to light, the lines between betrayal and love, duty and conscience, and power and sacrifice will begin to blur. For once certain secrets are learned, it is no longer possible to remain ignorant of them.
And some loves bring their own downfall the moment they are born.
[bnd members x original characters will be mentioned as the story progress]
synopsis For Leehan, college was supposed to be a time of quiet routine; attending lectures, drinking too much iced coffee, and staying out of unnecessary drama. But life had other plans, or rather, his best friend Taesan, had other plans. One day, he was just another freshman; the next, he was the guy everyone wanted to know. From meeting the ever-dramatic theater seniors, Jaehyun and Sanghyuk. Along came Woonhak, an overly enthusiastic Engineering major with too much energy and too many wild ideas, and Sungho, a sharp-tongued English major with a love for dramatic storytelling. Yet, in college where rumors spread faster than wildfire, and friendships are built on chaotic adventures, staying hidden, finding friendships, growing up and finding true love might just be the hardest challenge of all.
genre college au, fluff, angst, campus crush, friendships, coming of an age
contains college au, alcohol consumption, cliches, parties, part-time jobs, being a student in your 20s
Leehan stood in front of the mirror, buttoning up his shirt with an absent-minded precision. From the futon behind him, Taesan groaned in a way that suggested he'd just been woken from a thousand years of sleep.
"Why did I think signing up for an 8AM class was a good idea?" Taesan muttered, buried under a mess of blankets.
Leehan shot him a sideways glance while adjusting his hair. "Because you signed up for it five minutes before the system closed, remember?"
Taesan groaned louder. "Don't remind me."
Leehan slipped on his sneakers, grabbed his bag from the back of the door, and glanced at Taesan. "You coming or not?"
Taesan cracked open one eye. "Do I have time for a five-minute nap before we leave?"
"You've been napping for seven hours. Get up."
Taesan sighed dramatically, rolling off the futon with all the grace of someone who's about to be late for a very important meeting. "Next semester, I'm transferring to night classes."
Leehan chuckled, pushing open the window a little. The crisp morning air flowed in, cold and sharp, accompanied by the distant sound of bicycles whizzing by and a song blasting from a balcony two floors above.
"Hey," Taesan said suddenly, his voice quiet with a kind of unexpected sincerity, "Is it weird that I kinda like it here already?"
Leehan paused, scanning their cluttered, yet strangely cozy space. "No, not weird."
The apartment was small, tucked above a quiet stationery shop, but it felt like a haven of mismatched mugs, late-night instant ramen, and unspoken rules about who was supposed to take out the trash (which, as of now, no one was following). The floors creaked with every step, the heater whined when it kicked on, and the kitchen faucet dripped on its own mysterious schedule.
Mornings were always a chaotic race to get to class Leehan brushing his teeth while Taesan stumbled around, whining about missing socks or grumbling about lectures that started too early. Afternoons were filled with back-to-back classes, running between buildings, eating whatever sandwich could be shoved into a backpack. And when evening rolled around, they'd drag themselves to Café Veranda, aprons half-slung, caffeine already buzzing in their veins.
This particular Wednesday, the air felt like it was holding its breath, as if autumn was waiting for something. The trees had finally burst into flames of gold and red, and the café smelled like cinnamon syrup and roasted coffee beans when they stepped inside.
Leehan yawned into his sleeve. "I swear the lectures are getting shorter."
"They're not," Taesan said dryly, dropping his bag by the breakroom door. "You're just falling asleep with your eyes open."
Before Leehan could retort, they froze.
Woonhak was behind the counter, gripping a milk pitcher with the intensity of a man holding onto the last thread of sanity. His usual bright expression was gone, replaced by something far more serious, almost dazed.
The younger boy blinked rapidly, as if he'd been snapped out of a trance. "Oh. Hey, guys. You won't believe what happened."
"Try us," Leehan said, hanging up his jacket.
"I met someone."
Leehan raised an eyebrow. "Of course you did. You work at a café and go to class. It's practically your job description."
"No, I met someone," Woonhak repeated, his voice almost reverent. "She's in my strength of materials class. I think she might be... I mean I think I like her."
Taesan snorted. "You like her until you find out she's into your roommate."
Woonhak exhaled, almost like he was releasing some secret too heavy to carry. He set the milk pitcher down with exaggerated care. "I'm in love."
Leehan blinked. "It's 5 p.m., Woonhak."
Woonhak was utterly ignoring him, his eyes glowing with something dangerous and all-consuming. "She has this laugh that sounds like windchimes in spring. Her hands are always covered in ink. And she said 'hi' yesterday."
Leehan arched an eyebrow. "How poetic."
"She's perfect," Woonhak said, his gaze faraway, as if he was seeing her face in the steam rising from the espresso machine. "But I don't know how to talk to her. Every time I try, I forget what words are."
"Oh, this is amazing," Taesan said, clapping his hands together. "Step aside, boys. It's time for Operation Heartbreak."
"I think you mean Operation Love," Leehan said dryly from his corner.
"Let's discuss this tonight with the boys."
That night, the group gathered at Leehan and Taesan's apartment. Jaehyun walked in, looking disheveled in a hoodie, hair tousled as though he'd been wrestling with the wind. Riwoo followed him, camera bag slung over one shoulder, eyes half-curious, half-bored.
"What's going on?" Jaehyun asked, plopping into a chair like he was royalty.
"We're planning a romantic intervention." Taesan said.
Riwoo sighed, setting his camera bag down. "Please tell me this isn't another one of your schemes."
"Too late," Leehan said, already scrubbing a cup like it had personally wronged him. "You walked right into it."
"Woonhak's in love," Sungho supplied, glancing up.
"It's tragic. Like Shakespeare story, but with more student loan debt."
"Don’t talk to us in your weird literature gibberish," Jaehyun complained, pointing a finger at Sungho. "I told you what happens in class should stay in class."
"Please. Without me, your cultural knowledge would still be six feet under."
"Thanks for the support," Woonhak muttered, his face turning dark.
Riwoo raised an eyebrow. "With who?"
"She's in my engineering class," Woonhak said quietly, almost reverently.
"She's so pretty. And funny. Like… a total social butterfly. Honestly, she's perfect."
"And she said 'hi','" Leehan added, deadpan. "It was a big moment."
"It is," Taesan nodded seriously. "That's step one in the ancient language of love."
"Step two is ruining everything in public," Sungho added. "Which is where we're headed, apparently."
"I have a plan," Taesan said, hopping behind the counter with dramatic flair. "Step one: Observation. We need intel. Where she sits, who she talks to, or I don't know maybe brand of pens she uses, everything."
"She uses Muji," Woonhak said immediately, his tone serious.
A moment of silence followed.
And they ignored him and continued.
"I hate how confident you are," Riwoo muttered, half-eating a muffin.
"Step two," Taesan continued, undeterred. "Presence. Woonhak, you need to exist within five meters of her and not combust. We're gonna train that muscle."
"I'm not a muscle," Woonhak said, his voice high.
"You're all muscle," Jaehyun said, patting his back like a prized racehorse. "Anxious, flailing muscle. Let's practice."
"I'll be the girl," Jaehyun volunteered, pulling his hoodie over his head like it was a wig.
"Hey, Woonhak," he said in a high-pitched voice. "Can I borrow your calculator? I like your... graphing skills."
"Please stop," Leehan said, rubbing his temples.
"No, this is gold," Taesan whispered, watching with stars in his eyes.
"I think I'm going to pass out," Woonhak murmured.
"You're doing great," Jaehyun said, still in character. "Now tell me about Kirchhoff's Law, big boy."
"Stop," Leehan repeated, louder now, scrubbing Taesan's cup like it might disintegrate under the pressure.
"You two are insane," Riwoo said, throwing a pillow at them.
"We're helping a junior in crisis," Taesan said proudly. "This is our duty."
"And that's still better than Jaehyun's entire high school dating history," Sungho said without missing a beat.
"Hey, I was very popular in high school," Jaehyun protested.
"With the teacher who ran detention," Sungho added, flatly.
"Step three," Taesan went on, unfazed, "The accidental encounter. We'll choreograph the perfect moment. Library? Cafeteria? Maybe outside the engineering building."
"That sounds so creepy when you say it out loud," Riwoo muttered.
"No," Taesan said, unbothered. "It's called strategic proximity. Write that down."
Jaehyun leaned toward Riwoo. "How long until this turns into a K-drama?"
"It already is one," Riwoo replied. "We're in the mid-season chaos arc."
Woonhak buried his face in his hands. "I don't even know her that well. Maybe I'm just... infatuated."
Sungho sighed, going to make tea. "Infatuation is love's younger, dumber cousin. Embrace it. He means well."
"She has a boyfriend," Woonhak suddenly dropped, his voice heavy with defeat.
Everyone froze.
Even the milk frother hissed in disbelief.
Jaehyun squinted. "Wait, are you serious?"
Woonhak shrugged, utterly deflated. "I think. She mentioned someone named Minjae once."
Taesan dramatically tore the page from his notebook and threw it into the air. "Operation Windchime is officially on hold."
"No, it's not," Jaehyun said. "It's just upgraded to Operation Stealth Mode."
"Everything we do is morally questionable," Riwoo muttered, pulling out his phone. "You work in a café that charges eight bucks for oat milk."
Sungho sighed again, long and deep. "I really should've transferred schools."
From the couch, Woonhak beamed. "You guys are the best hyungs ever."
"Don't make it weird," Jaehyun muttered.
"You're all going to scare her away before he even says hello," Sungho groaned, preparing his tea. "How is this worse than the time Jaehyun tried to flirt with the girl who was collecting recycling?"
"She smiled at me!" Jaehyun defended.
"With both teeth," Riwoo said.
"And then you tripped over the bin," Sungho added, flat-faced. "It was like slapstick from the 1950s."
Woonhak slumped forward on the sofa with a groan. "Maybe I should just focus on my assignments..."
"No way," Taesan said firmly. "We don't give up on love here."
"So overpriced," Riwoo echoed, pulling out his phone.
"Alright, if we're doing this, I'll need a code name for her."
"Call her Windchime," Leehan said flatly, finishing the last dish.
Sungho nearly choked on his tea.
"Perfect," Riwoo typed it down. "Target: Windchime."
And so, Operation Windchime began. Whether it would lead to a love story or a series of unfortunate events was still to be seen. But the next Wednesday morning, with the sun spilling through the trees and students filling the courtyard, Woonhak sat nervously, glancing every few seconds at the entrance, hoping for a sign or maybe just a moment where everything could finally fall into place.
"Okay," Taesan said from behind a bush, not even joking.
"She usually walks through here around 10:15."
Leehan blinked at him. "Are you hiding in shrubbery?"
"Strategic proximity," Taesan whispered, peeking through the leaves like a nature documentary host.
"We need to monitor the encounter from all angles."
Jaehyun lounged nearby on a bench, earbuds in, hoodie up, pretending to be casual. Riwoo had taken position on the second-floor balcony of the adjacent building, camera in hand, not to film, of course, but to "study body language," he claimed. Sungho, meanwhile, sat cross-legged under a tree with a book of poetry and the expression of someone enduring great spiritual suffering.
Woonhak gulped. "What do I even say if she comes by?"
"You say hi," Leehan said flatly, arms crossed.
"That's it? Just hi?"
"Yes. And maybe don't mention her hands or windchimes."
Woonhak looked mildly offended. "Those are good metaphors."
"No," Sungho said without looking up, "they're symptoms of your impending meltdown."
At exactly 10:16, she appeared.
Yejin, tall, smart, perpetually ink-stained from her sketching notes and doodles on math handouts, walked across the courtyard with two friends. Her laugh rang out, and Woonhak sat up straighter like he'd been electrified.
"There she is," Taesan whispered. "It's go time. Hawk is in motion. Repeat, hawk is in-"
"Taesan," Leehan warned, "if you keep talking in code, I will actually leave."
Woonhak stood up.
His legs didn't feel like legs. They felt like chopsticks made of old wood. He forced one foot in front of the other, holding his coffee cup like it might shield him from public embarrassment.
"Hey," he said, voice cracking halfway through the word.
Yejin turned. Her friends kept walking, but she paused, adjusting her bag strap.
"Oh-hi," she said with a small smile.
Woonhak blinked. She had noticed him. This was already leagues beyond his usual progress. He took a breath.
"I, uh, noticed you dropped your pen last class," he said, digging into his hoodie pocket and pulling out a sleek black pen.
Her eyes widened. "Oh my God, I thought I lost that. Thank you!"
He handed it over, his fingers brushing hers just slightly. She tucked her hair behind her ear, clearly pleased.
"I like your jacket," she added, and just like that, she was gone walking off with her friends again.
Silence.
Woonhak stood there, blinking into the morning light. Then he went to his friends.
"I think she complimented me?" he whispered.
"Mission accomplished!" Jaehyun whooped from the bench, scaring a pigeon.
"You absolute legend!" Taesan said.
Leehan looked grudgingly impressed. "Not bad."
Even Sungho gave a slow, sarcastic clap. "Congratulations. You've exchanged two full sentences with a real human female."
Woonhak sank onto the bench, stunned. "She smiled at me. She liked my jacket. She touched my hand."
Jaehyun grinned. "Bro, you're basically married now."
"Don't scare him," Leehan muttered.
Taesan threw an arm around Woonhak's shoulder. "This is just the beginning. Now we enter Phase Two."
"No more phases," Leehan said.
"I'll allow one more," Sungho said. "As long as it doesn't involve hiding in shrubbery again."
They spent the rest of their day shuffling between classes. Taesan nodding off during a media studies lecture, Leehan scribbling notes he'd probably rewrite later, and Woonhak, still floating somewhere between reality and a world where Yejin might one day look at him like he wasn't just background noise in a crowded lecture hall.
By the time the final lecture ended, their feet hurt, their backpacks felt heavier than they should, and all of them were ready for that strange kind of peace that came from their part-time haven.
"I feel changed," he declared, apron slung over one shoulder like a cape. "Do I look changed?"
"You look like you haven't blinked since morning," Leehan said, sipping his americano behind the counter. "Is that caffeine or delusion?"
"Let him live," Taesan said while making an ice americano. "The man faced the battlefield of love and came back victorious."
Sungho, polishing glasses by the sink, raised an eyebrow. "He returned from a battlefield with a compliment on his jacket and the brush of fingers."
"Which is more than you got from the poetry club mixer," Taesan shot back.
"I wasn't trying to flirt," Sungho replied coolly. "I was analyzing."
"Maybe that's why you're still single."
"I choose loneliness," Sungho said.
"Keep telling yourself that."
Jaehyun and Riwoo arrived after their lectures, and looking entirely unbothered by time.
They set up his laptop on the table which Sungho was already sitting, with a cup of matcha and a book that looked denser than any of their required reading. He glanced up as they sat.
"You survived," he said dryly, flipping a page. "That's more than I expected."
Taesan dropped the cup behind the counter and sighed dramatically. "Barely. Our boy here nearly confessed his soul after third period."
"I didn't confess anything," Woonhak muttered, tugging his apron over his head.
They worked in easy rhythm, no longer thinking about it, Woonhak nearly forgetting the order halfway through making a mocha when Yejin's laugh replayed in his head like a song stuck on loop.
The café filled slowly; students with laptops, couples sharing desserts.
"I'm just saying," Jaehyun said, stealing a cookie from the display, "She laughed, you've got a shot. Girls don't laugh for no reason."
"Maybe she was laughing at me," Woonhak replied, a little too seriously.
"Then make her laugh again," Riwoo called from the table without looking up. "Humor is just survival with flair."
Outside, the sky deepened into a dusky lavender, stars starting to blink awake. Then like fate had pressed enter on a plot twist the door chimed again.
And she walked in.
Yejin.
She looked around, slightly hesitant, until her eyes landed on Woonhak. She smiled. "Oh! You really do work here."
Woonhak froze. "Uh."
Leehan sighed and reached over the counter to gently push Woonhak toward her. "Go," he whispered. "Before your brain turns to static."
Taesan abandoned his tray mid-delivery and ducked behind the pastry case like a spy. Jaehyun elbowed Riwoo.
"I was in the area," Yejin said. "And I remembered you mentioned a café job, so I thought I'd stop by. Also..." She held up a pen his pen. The sleek black one. "I think this one's yours."
Woonhak took it like it was sacred. "Thank you."
A pause.
"Can I get a cappuccino?" she asked, voice soft.
Woonhak blinked. "With...with foam?"
"...Yes?"
"I mean yes! Yes, absolutely. Foam. All the foam you want."
She laughed.
And the sound was just like he remembered, like windchimes in spring.
He turned to the espresso machine, hands slightly shaking. "Guys... how do you make foam again?"
From behind the counter, a dozen fingers pointed and gestured like traffic conductors. Leehan walked over to casually elbow him aside and began preparing the drink, while Woonhak stood there, dazed but smiling.
"She came here," he whispered.
"She came for you," Taesan whispered back dramatically.
Taesan crossed his arms. "If she writes her number on a napkin next, I'm leaving."
But Yejin didn't write anything, at least not yet. She took her cappuccino with a soft thank-you and a smile just for Woonhak.
"I'll see you in class," she said.
And with that, she was gone.
But this time, Woonhak didn't sit down and swoon.
He just grinned wide, lopsided, and utterly lovesick.
[bnd members x original characters will be mentioned as the story progress]
synopsis For Leehan, college was supposed to be a time of quiet routine; attending lectures, drinking too much iced coffee, and staying out of unnecessary drama. But life had other plans, or rather, his best friend Taesan, had other plans. One day, he was just another freshman; the next, he was the guy everyone wanted to know. From meeting the ever-dramatic theater seniors, Jaehyun and Sanghyuk. Along came Woonhak, an overly enthusiastic Engineering major with too much energy and too many wild ideas, and Sungho, a sharp-tongued English major with a love for dramatic storytelling. Yet, in college where rumors spread faster than wildfire, and friendships are built on chaotic adventures, staying hidden, finding friendships, growing up and finding true love might just be the hardest challenge of all.
genre college au, fluff, angst, campus crush, friendships, coming of an age
contains college au, alcohol consumption, cliches, parties, part-time jobs, being a student in your 20s
Leehan exhaled as he set down the last heavy box beside the apartment door. The hallway carried a familiar scent of instant noodles, coffee, and something fried comforting in the way only a university complex could be, where half the residents ran on vending machines and deadlines. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the strain of three flights of stairs in every muscle, but there was a quiet satisfaction in the ache.
A new space. A new beginning.
He pulled out his phone, thumb brushing across the screen. Still no message from Taesan. With a small sigh, he tucked it back into the pocket of his hoodie. Just as he bent to grab another box, a rush of footsteps pounded down the hall.
"Yah, Leehan!" came the familiar, exasperated voice.
Leehan looked up to see Taesan, chest heaving and clearly regretting his life choices, leaning dramatically against the wall like he'd just finished a marathon.
"You seriously made me climb all these stairs? I should start charging you for my friendship."
Leehan smirked.
"You wouldn't make much."
Taesan scoffed and shoved his shoulder playfully before tossing a plastic bag onto the nearest box.
"Here. Consider this our moving-in gift."
Leehan peeked inside: cans of iced coffee, a packet of spicy ramen, and a crinkled bag of chips.
"Wow," he said dryly. "Truly thoughtful."
"I know, right?" Taesan beamed. "I was going to get us something fancier, but then I remembered we're broke."
Leehan chuckled and set the bag on the kitchen counter. The apartment around them was still bare and box filled, but even with chipped paint and buzzing light fixtures, it had potential. Taesan turned in a slow circle, taking in the scuffed walls and tiny balcony.
"But this place... I dunno. It's kinda nice. Quiet, at least. I'll give you that."
"Quiet?" Leehan raised an eyebrow as music thumped faintly through the wall and a burst of laughter echoed from somewhere above them.
"You've clearly never lived in a building full of twenty-year-olds trying to survive midterms."
"Touché."
Taesan yawned, rubbing his eyes.
"You should've seen the place Jaehyun hyung almost moved into. The landlord was like straight out of a horror movie, and the room was smaller than my suitcase."
Leehan bent to lift another box, settling it beside the couch.
"So, what's the plan now?"
Taesan shrugged.
"I mean, now that we've escaped our old place..."
"I need to catch up on some work first."
Taesan gave him a long look before chuckling.
"Yeah, yeah. You say that now, but I give you two weeks."
Leehan's lips curled slightly. "No promises."
The truth was, he knew what Taesan meant. He was used to the glances, the attention. He'd never gone out of his way to invite it, but his features had always drawn eyes a sharp jawline, dark, tousled hair that refused to stay down, and a quiet calmness that made him seem more distant than he really was. It followed him, even when he tried to disappear. Especially then. But this time, he wasn't here to be seen.
The doorbell rang, sudden and unexpected. Leehan blinked. He hadn't ordered anything. He gave Taesan a questioning look, but his friend was already heading toward the door, grumbling. When it swung open, a wave of bright energy poured into the apartment in the form of a girl with messy, shoulder-length hair, round glasses, and a smile so genuine it made the hallway seem a little warmer.
"Hi! I'm Jiwon," she said, breathless but cheerful.
"I live next door. Just wanted to welcome you guys to the building!"
She held out a tiny potted plant, succulent, ceramic pot, a little tag that said 'hello!' in doodled letters. Taesan blinked.
"Oh. Uh... thanks?"
He took the plant like it might explode. Leehan, standing just a little behind, studied her silently. Her brown eyes met his, and her smile faltered just slightly, her fingers brushing her glasses in a nervous habit.
"You're... really kind," Leehan said, his voice low, careful.
"Ah, it's nothing!"
Jiwon said quickly, eyes flicking to the cluttered room behind them.
"I know moving's hard, and I figured something green would help! If you need anything; sugar, tape, someone to complain to about laundry machines, I'm next door!"
She waved and stepped back, nearly tripping over the doormat, and with a flustered little bow, disappeared down the hall. The door clicked shut behind her. Taesan turned the plant in his hands like it held a secret.
"Well. That was... something."
Leehan didn't answer. He leaned against the wall. After a pause, Taesan stretched and grabbed his phone.
"Anyway, I've gotta run. My shift starts in an hour. Don't get too comfortable with all these overly friendly neighbors."
"I'll try not to," Leehan murmured.
As Taesan left, the apartment settled into a familiar quiet. Leehan dropped onto the couch, the leather creaking under him. The sky outside was soft and pink, evening creeping in.
He stared out the window.
The first time Leehan found himself at the center of campus controversy, it was all because of Taesan. It happened during their freshman year just a few weeks after they'd met. The campus was still painted with the brightness of early autumn, the leaves only beginning to shift into amber and rust. Life had just started to settle into rhythm: lectures, dorm life, the quiet comfort of routines. Leehan had been more than content spending his time tucked away in the corners of the library, surrounded by books and silence. But Taesan was the kind of person who refused to let quiet souls stay quiet for long.
"Come on, it'll be fun!" Taesan had said, grinning as he practically yanked Leehan out of his dorm room.
"I'm playing basketball with some of the dorm guys. You have to join. You need to make friends, man."
"I have friends," Leehan muttered, only half protesting as he was dragged down the hallway.
"You have me," Taesan shot back with a wink. "Which is great, but a little sad."
Leehan had never been one to resist Taesan's enthusiasm for long. There was something about him, his endless energy, the way he made even ordinary things seem exciting, that drew people in. Leehan didn't particularly like crowds, or sports, or the idea of being watched, but a part of him small, rebellious wondered if maybe stepping out of his comfort zone for once wouldn't be such a bad thing.
That part of him was wrong.
The campus basketball court was a far cry from the quiet sanctuary he loved. It buzzed with laughter, shouted calls, and the rhythmic bounce of balls hitting the pavement. Sunlight streamed through the trees, casting golden shadows across the court where students, mostly upperclassmen, moved with the kind of easy confidence that only came with time. By the time they arrived, the game was already in full swing.
"Let's go!" Taesan waved to the players, already jogging toward them. "We've got one more!"
Leehan hesitated on the sidelines, heart thudding in his chest. He didn't want to do this. Not in front of strangers. Not when he hadn't even warmed up. But then someone tossed him a basketball, casual, effortless and he caught it on instinct.
"Just pass to me if you panic," Taesan said, smirking. "And don't worry about making a fool of yourself. No one's watching that closely."
But someone was watching. Leehan glanced across the court and spotted a tall, broad-shouldered guy with messy hair and a magnetic grin, someone who seemed to radiate energy without even trying. That was Jaehyun. He hadn't noticed Leehan yet, but he would soon enough. The ball was back in play. Without thinking, Leehan moved. He weaved around a defender, planted his feet, and took the shot.
It soared clean through the air and dropped into the basket with a flawless swish.
For a moment, everything stopped.
Taesan's jaw dropped.
"Bro... what the hell was that?"
Leehan stood. He hadn't played that in years, but somehow it was still there, the rhythm, the control, the memory locked into muscle. He didn't like how many eyes were suddenly on him.
"Yo!" Jaehyun's voice cut through the quiet. He jogged over, wide-eyed and smiling like he'd just discovered a hidden gem.
"That shot was clean. I mean, textbook clean. Where've you been hiding?"
Leehan tried to play it off with a shrug.
"I used to play a little. In high school."
"A little?" Jaehyun echoed, incredulous.
"Nah, man. That shot says otherwise. What position did you play? Point guard? Shooting guard?"
Before Leehan could answer, Taesan threw an arm around his shoulders, grinning like a proud parent.
"Wouldn't you like to know? Our Leehan here is full of surprises."
Jaehyun laughed. He gave Leehan a friendly nudge.
"You should come by practice sometime. We're always looking for fresh talent."
"I'll think about it," Leehan said quickly, already feeling overwhelmed.
"Don't take too long," Jaehyun called over his shoulder as he jogged back onto the court. "You've got something."
Taesan watched him go, then turned back to Leehan with a devilish grin.
"Well. That escalated quickly."
Leehan gave him a sharp look. "This is your fault."
"Guilty," Taesan said, raising both hands.
"All I wanted was to help you make a few friends. I didn't know I was unleashing a silent prodigy."
Leehan groaned. The whispers started before they even made it back to their building. People stared. Some smiled. By the time he entered his dorm room, his phone was already buzzing with notifications. Mentions, tags, someone had even posted a clip of his shot. He stared at the screen in disbelief. Taesan flopped onto his bed, phone in hand. Then he burst out laughing.
"Dude. We're famous."
Leehan looked up. "What?"
Taesan turned his screen around. The university's most notorious gossip page had already posted.
"Who's the mysterious freshman that stole the court today? Captain Jaehyun seems impressed... and honestly, so are we. Is he hiding more than just basketball skills? Sources say he's single 👀"
Leehan buried his face in his hands. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Oh, I'm not," Taesan said, cackling. "Look at the comments. Bro. You're a campus legend now."
Leehan grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. Taesan dodged, still laughing.
The next morning, Leehan walked through campus feeling like a ghost in his own life. People stared. Some smiled shyly. A few waved. Even in his math class, he caught people whispering when he walked in. He sank into his seat, pulled out his notes, and tried to pretend everything was normal.
It wasn't. Not when Jaehyun and Sanghyuk showed up at his lunch table.
"There he is!" Jaehyun said, plopping down beside him. "The rookie sensation."
"Please don't call me that," Leehan muttered.
"And he is humble too," Sanghyuk added, dramatically clasping his hands. "A true gem."
Leehan raised an eyebrow. "Do you two always do this?"
"All the time," Sanghyuk replied cheerfully.
"Get used to it," Jaehyun said, grinning.
"You're not flying under the radar anymore, rookie."
And just like that, Leehan knew whatever quiet, anonymous life he had hoped for on campus... was over.
The second time Leehan's life went off track, it was once again, without a shadow of a doubt, because of Taesan.
By the time the second semester began, the chaos surrounding the basketball incident had finally started to fade. The buzz on campus gossip pages died down, replaced by newer drama someone had slipped on bubble tea outside the cafeteria, and a rumored idol trainee had transferred to the fashion department.
For the first time in months, Leehan felt like he could walk to class without heads turning or whispers following him down the corridor. It was peaceful. Normal.
He should've known that peace never lasted long where Taesan was involved.
It was a chilly Thursday evening when it began. The sun was setting behind the library tower, bathing the campus in gold as students shuffled toward their dorms or dinner plans. Leehan and Taesan were walking side by side down the path lined with cherry blossom trees, the petals just beginning to bud.
Out of nowhere, Taesan slung an arm around Leehan's shoulders, the weight heavy and ominous.
"Leehan," Taesan said, voice far too cheerful. "My ride-or-die. My loyal brother. My-"
"No," Leehan replied flatly.
Taesan blinked. "I didn't even say anything yet."
"You didn't have to. You only get like this when you're about to do something stupid. Or when you've already done something stupid and want me to clean it up."
"That's harsh," Taesan said, feigning a wounded expression. "This is different. This is art."
Leehan stopped walking. "Art?"
Taesan nodded solemnly. "Theater, to be exact."
Leehan's brows slowly drew together.
"Sanghyuk hyung is directing a student play for the upcoming campus showcase. Super emotional, super meaningful, very... expressive. His actor dropped out last minute because of some family emergency, and now he's in crisis mode."
"Okay," Leehan said warily.
"So naturally," Taesan continued, "I told him I knew someone who could help."
Leehan narrowed his eyes. "You didn't."
"I did."
"Taesan."
"He needed someone reliable! Someone who could bring quiet intensity to the role. Someone who doesn't talk much but says everything with just a look. Someone mysterious. And I was like 'I know the perfect guy.'"
Leehan groaned, rubbing his temples. "Taesan, I'm not an actor. I don't even like being in group presentations."
"But that's why you're perfect! You don't even need to say anything! It's a small role like, you're a forest spirit or something. You just must stand there and look majestic."
Leehan stared at him. "You want me to play a tree."
"No, no," Taesan said quickly. "Not a tree. A mystical guardian of the woods. It's symbolic."
"That's just a poetic way of saying 'tree.'"
"You'll be amazing! You're already quiet and broody. You barely talk. The audience will love it."
"Taesan. No."
But Taesan was already pulling out his phone. "Too late. They already printed the posters."
"What?"
"They might've also teased your name in the official social media post. People are excited."
Leehan stopped walking again, his expression unreadable.
"Leehan?" Taesan asked cautiously.
Leehan let out a breath, slow and controlled. "You're unbelievable."
"I take that as a compliment," Taesan said with a grin.
"I'm not doing it."
"Please, bro," Taesan clasped his hands together, suddenly very pathetic. "I already told Sanghyuk you'd do it. If you back out, I'll look terrible. And you owe me!"
"For what?" Leehan narrowed his eyes.
"For..." Taesan paused, then mumbled, "Okay, maybe you don't owe me, technically, but this is about expanding your horizons."
Leehan groaned. "This smells like a trap."
"It's not a trap," Taesan lied. "It's exposure! To art!"
Leehan gave him a long, tired look. "Why would they want me? I'm a Computer Science major. I don't even know how to emote."
"Well, here's the thing," Taesan said, rubbing the back of his neck. "The theater department needs money for their new practice studio. Problem is, no one's buying tickets. But, um... people do want to see you."
"What do you mean, 'want to see me'?"
"Okay, so," Taesan laughed nervously, "after the whole basketball incident, your name sort of... became a buzzword. So Sanghyuk figured, why not ride the wave and use your name to draw a crowd?"
Leehan stared at him. "You used my name. To sell tickets. For a play I'm not even in."
"Look, when you say it like that, it sounds bad."
"It is bad."
"But the good news is, it worked! The tickets sold out in two days!"
There was a long pause. Leehan closed his eyes, mentally counting to ten. Then twenty. Then fifty.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"I do."
"You really don't."
Leehan opened one eye and gave him a death glare.
Leehan was genuinely impressed by the audacity. He should've thrown Taesan off a balcony when he had the chance.
But if he had learned anything from their friendship, it was this: if he was going down, he was taking Taesan with him.
A week later, they were deep into rehearsals inside the old university auditorium. Stage lights flickered overhead, illuminating dust in the air. Students moved like shadows across the stage, tuning instruments, adjusting props, running lines with exaggerated passion.
Sanghyuk stood center stage with a clipboard, wearing a thick scarf and an expression of pure theatrical suffering. "Where is the pain? Where is the stillness?"
Leehan sat quietly on the edge of the stage, arms crossed, watching.
Taesan was lounging nearby, snacking on choco pies like none of this concerned him.
"Hyung," Leehan called out. "I think I found someone better for that role."
Sanghyuk turned dramatically. "What?"
Leehan pointed toward Taesan. "Him."
Taesan choked. "Me?"
"You've seen how loud he is just existing," Leehan continued. "He's expressive. Charismatic. Makes a scene everywhere he goes."
Sanghyuk's eyes sparkled. "He does have presence..."
"Wait, wait, no," Taesan stood, waving his arms. "I'm not an actor!"
"You'll be great," Leehan said, a hint of a smirk forming.
"You lie all the time," Leehan said. "Just do that, but in costume."
"I'm going to strangle you," Taesan muttered under his breath.
But it was too late. Sanghyuk had stars in his eyes. "You'll be perfect. You'll play the wandering poet with a broken heart. It's symbolic. Tragic. Romantic."
"I-what-no-"
"You'll be paired with Leehan's character," Sanghyuk went on, energized. "The silent spirit who watches over you but never speaks. It's a perfect contrast. Stillness and chaos."
Taesan shot Leehan a betrayed look.
Leehan calmly opened a can of coffee.
Opening night came faster than anyone expected. The theater was packed students, professors, curious spectators. The house lights dimmed, and soft music filled the air.
Backstage, Taesan stood in full costume, draped in flowing fabric with charcoal smudged under his eyes. "Do I really have to cry during Scene Four?"
"You wrote the monologue yourself," Sanghyuk reminded him.
Taesan turned to Leehan. "I hate you."
Leehan, dressed in a flowing green costume adorned with leaves and a faint shimmer, didn't respond. He stood still, arms gently lifted like branches, face serene.
"You're not even nervous, are you?"
Leehan blinked slowly. "I'm playing a tree."
Taesan groaned.
The curtain rose.
On stage, Taesan stumbled through his lines, alternating between heartfelt poetry and awkward near-falls over his cape. The audience chuckled. Then gasped. Then sighed.
Leehan stood in the center of the stage, unmoving, lit by a green spotlight. The fog machine puffed mist around him as Taesan knelt before him in the climactic scene, wailing about lost love and eternal silence.
He accidentally sneezed mid-monologue.
The audience erupted in laughter.
Still, when the final bow came, the applause was thunderous.
Leehan, still in character, bowed slowly, calmly.
Taesan tripped over his scarf on the way down.
The next morning, campus gossip exploded.
"Leehan's Theatrical Debut: Who Knew Trees Could Be So Moving?"
"Poetic Genius or Forest Fiasco? The Duality of Taesan."
"Fan Edit of Leehan as the Spirit Guardian Hits 20k Views in One Night!"
There were memes. Fanart. A sticker pack of Leehan's expressionless tree face. Taesan locked himself in their dorm room and refused to come out for three hours.
When he finally emerged, face puffy from fake tears and real embarrassment, he glared at Leehan.
"I'm never trusting you again."
Leehan handed him a cup of warm cocoa. "You're the star."
"I hate you."
"Campus icon."
"I'm going to trip you in the cafeteria."
Leehan smirked. "You'd wish."
As the second semester rolled in with its usual blur of assignments and midterm dread, Leehan found himself facing a more personal crisis his aging laptop. It had begun wheezing like an old man with every startup and overheating if he so much as dared open two tabs at once. If he wanted to survive university life (and possibly play a game or two), he needed a new PC. The only problem? Money.
That's how he ended up behind the counter at Café Veranda a small, cozy coffee shop tucked away between a florist and a stationary store near campus. The place had charm: exposed brick walls, hanging plants, low lighting, and jazz music playing softly in the background. Most importantly, it was quiet. The kind of quiet that made working bearable. Free coffee, flexible shifts, and most importantly, a rare kind of peace. At least, that was the case until Sungho and Woonhak entered the picture.
"You're that Leehan, right?" Woonhak had blurted out on their first shift together, eyes wide with recognition. "The basketball guy?"
Leehan froze mid-wipe on a table. "I was hoping people would forget about that."
"No way, dude," Woonhak grinned, practically vibrating with excitement.
Sungho, who'd been casually restocking the sugar packets, chuckled. "Ignore him. He gets this excited over everything. I hope you like it here. We're not always this dramatic."
Despite the rocky intro, Leehan found himself settling into the job surprisingly well. Sungho, an upperclassman majoring in English literature, had a dry wit and calm energy that balanced the café's vibes. He could quote obscure poets and roast bad customers with the same elegance. Meanwhile, Woonhak a first-year engineering student with a perpetual sugar rush, brought boundless energy and a constant stream of chatter, making even the slowest days entertaining.
For a while, things were good.
But it didn't take long for the quiet charm of Café Veranda to be shattered.
Word got out.
Once students realized Leehan was working there the same Leehan from the basketball court, the theater stage, and the university gossip forums the café began to swell with curious visitors. Some pretended to study while sneaking glances. Others were more brazen, walking in with their phones half-raised, hoping to capture a candid moment of the campus enigma brewing coffee.
At first, Leehan tried to stay invisible. He kept his head down and told himself that the whispering and giggling would fade with time.
It didn't.
"Excuse me," a girl said one afternoon, stepping up to the counter with the kind of nervous energy that screamed freshman crush. "Can I get an iced latte? And, um... are you really the guy from the basketball videos?"
Leehan didn't even flinch. He finished wiping down the milk frother, set the towel aside, and looked up with the kind of practiced indifference that only someone constantly under the spotlight could pull off.
"Yes," he said simply. "Iced latte. Coming right up."
The girl's face flushed an adorable shade of pink.
"Oh! I didn't mean to be weird, I just, um... it's cool. You play well. And the theater thing? I saw you. You were incredible."
Leehan blinked once. He wasn't used to people talking about his acting.
"...Thanks."
She smiled awkwardly and scurried off to wait at the corner of the pick-up bar, pulling out her phone but clearly too flustered to focus on anything. Leehan turned back to the espresso machine, catching Sungho's amused gaze from where he was restocking pastries.
"She's going to write a whole journal entry about this later," Sungho murmured with a smirk.
"And probably title it The Day I Met Leehan," added Woonhak, who had appeared at his side with two mugs balanced in one hand and zero shame in his voice. "You should give autographs. Like, right on the cup sleeves. Charge extra."
"I'm going to throw you into the dish pit," Leehan replied dryly.
From the other end of the counter, Woonhak let out a dramatic gasp. "You should just embrace it already! Leehan's Special Blend, we could sell it for double!"
Leehan turned, deadpan. "Do you want me to quit?"
"You wouldn't dare," Woonhak shot back cheerfully. "You like us too much."
But they weren't wrong.
At one point, someone even asked for a selfie. Leehan declined politely, then retreated to the back room under the excuse of checking the syrup inventory. He stared at the neat rows of caramel, hazelnut, and vanilla bottles, willing the world to calm down. When he returned, Sungho handed him a cappuccino with a perfectly swirled leaf pattern in the foam.
"Here," he said, handing it over without explanation.
Leehan blinked. "I didn't order this."
"It's for you. Take a break. You look like you're one customer away from quitting."
Leehan accepted the cup with a reluctant grunt of appreciation and sank into the wooden bench by the counter. Outside, students milled about under the budding cherry blossoms, chatting, laughing, alive in that springtime glow. Inside, Café Veranda hummed with the soft clatter of cups and the low chatter of customers all tinged with the occasional whispered, "That's him."
He sipped the cappuccino and sighed.
Until Woonhak elbowed him sharply in the ribs.
"Uh, Leehan Hyung?" he whispered, voice rising in amusement. "You might wanna look at this."
Leehan turned and instantly regretted it.
There, sauntering into Café Veranda like it was his personal runway, was Taesan.
"Oh no," Leehan muttered, eyes narrowing.
Taesan approached the counter with his signature grin confident, unbothered, dramatic as ever. "So, when were you planning to tell me you worked here?"
Leehan crossed his arms. "Never."
Taesan waved off the answer like a mosquito. "Rude. Anyway," he turned to Woonhak. "You're the manager, right?"
"Uh, no?" Woonhak blinked. "I just work here."
"Close enough. You guys hiring?"
"No," Leehan said flatly.
But Woonhak, grinning like a child given a new toy, nodded. "Actually, yeah. We're short one during evening rush."
"Woonhak," Leehan hissed. "Don't you dare."
"What? He asked."
Taesan clapped his hands. "Perfect! When do I start?"
Sungho raised an eyebrow. "You? In a café? I give it one shift before you set something on fire."
"Please, I have excellent coordination," Taesan scoffed.
Leehan snorted. "You tripped over your own bag last week."
Unbothered, Taesan turned back to Woonhak. "So, boss, what's the schedule?"
Woonhak shrugged. "Like tomorrow, sound good? But we should discuss with the boss. And you probably need practice."
"Absolutely. How hard can it be to make coffee?"
And of course, less than ten minutes into the practice, the espresso machine let out a screech that made half the customers flinch.
"Taesan, no!"
A hiss of steam exploded from the nozzle. Taesan stumbled back, eyes wide, narrowly avoiding a tray of ceramic cups.
Sungho didn't even flinch. "I warned you," he said calmly.
Woonhak hurried over, laughing nervously. "Hey, hey, it's okay! You'll get it! Everyone messes up their first espresso shot."
"I didn't!" Leehan shouted from the sink.
"Because you're a robot," Woonhak shot back.
"Why is it so complicated?!" Taesan groaned, flustered. "It's just press and push, right?"
Sungho gave him a look so deadpan it could kill a man. "This isn't a vending machine. Watch."
With graceful efficiency, he redid the espresso, grinding, tamping, steaming, each movement fluid and precise. Taesan watched in silence, then blinked.
"Wait... since when are you this good?"
"Since I don't try to freestyle every task I'm given."
Woonhak chimed in brightly. "He's kind of a legend around here. Customers literally come just to watch him pour milk."
Sungho groaned. "Don't encourage him."
Leehan glanced toward the ceiling. "I should've taken that library job."
Sungho chuckled. "Too late now."
And just like that, Café Veranda was no longer just a cozy hideaway.
Maybe he was one customer away from quitting.
But then Woonhak tripped over a stool and dropped a tray of spoons with a dramatic crash, and Sungho didn't even look up from his poetry book as he deadpanned, "Graceful as ever."
Taesan, who had just finished struggling with the milk steamer for the third time that day, snorted.
So we all go back to yours and you sit and talk to me on the floor
There's no need to show me 'round baby, I feel like I've been here before
[taesan x fem!Minseo]
synopsis Minseo has always studied, stayed out of trouble, and kept her head down. Her world revolved around books, loyal friends, and the occasional guilty pleasure binge on TikTok dramas. She’s the kind of girl who color-codes her notes and believes kindness always wins. Taesan is the exact opposite. Cold-eyed, sharp-tongued, and with a reputation that echoes through every hallway on campus, Taesan doesn’t care what people think. When a brutal campus brawl involving Taesan and his tight-knit group of friends makes the rounds. Their worlds collide in the most unexpected way. As tension brews under the surface, she finds herself drawn to the quiet chaos behind his distant eyes and he, to the steady light in hers. Minseo must decide if stepping into his world is worth risking the safety of her own. Because falling for someone like Taesan doesn’t come with warnings and some hearts were never meant to play it safe.
genre college au, fluff, angst, campus crush, she fell first he fell harder, bad boy antics ⠀
contains college au, alcohol consumption, mutual pining, smut, cliches
While walking, all Minseo could think about was her last exam, the one she was probably going to fail because she hadn’t lifted a finger to study the night before. In her defense, she had better things to do than review Classical Literature. Like getting completely hooked on a show she found on TikTok, which kept her up all night. Not only did it end terribly, the female main character died, but also Minseo cried about it for hours. Now she was on her way to the exam, with dark circles under her eyes to match. She shook her head, trying to focus.
She showed her ID to the security guard, since the machines that normally scanned student IDs at this campus gate had broken down three months ago. Lucky for her, this was the entrance closest to her apartment. Once inside the campus, her legs automatically led her toward the library, where her friends were waiting so they could cram one last time before the exam.
The campus was covered in brown leaves. Fall had arrived, and Minseo was almost done with her midterms. The whole process had been so exhausting that she barely made it to the end. But today was the last one, at least for a while.
She entered the large library building. It was one of her favorite places on campus; spacious, quiet, and filled with nearly every book she could ever need.
She pulled out her phone and tapped on Yuna’s name in her messaging app.
where r u?
second floor, on your right
ok ok iwbt
Minseo headed to the elevator on the right and pressed the button. When it arrived, she stepped in and hit the button for the second floor. It took about a minute to get there, and when the doors opened, she stepped out and turned right.
There, she spotted Yuna and a few of their classmates gathered at a table. She smiled and waved, and they waved back.
"Finally, girl! I almost thought you got lost or something," Yuna said, getting up to hug her while half-complaining.
Yuna was sweet like that. Minseo had known her for over two years now. She could easily say Yuna was her best friend, and her roommate, too. Since Yuna worked at a café, she’d left the apartment early in the morning for her shift and came straight to the library afterward.
Minseo smiled at Yuna’s complaining face.
“I’m here, I’m here. Sorry I’m late.”
She glanced at her other friends; Soojin, Hana, and Jieun, all of whom were buried in their notes. They gave her tired nods of acknowledgment as she approached. Hana pointed to the empty chair beside her, and Yuna sat on Minseo’s other side.
As soon as Minseo sat down, Hana pulled her into a dramatic hug and fake-cried on her shoulder.
“I should’ve listened to you, Minmin. I’m screwed, fucked, and completely burned. I won’t survive a damn thing today.”
Minseo patted her head and looked at the others with equally hopeless eyes.
“Don’t worry, babe. We’re all taking this class again anyway,” Soojin muttered, her voice drained. A mountain of papers lay in front of her.
Minseo reached into her bag and pulled out a neat stack of notes.
“I did some revisions and made summaries too. Maybe these will help.”
Minseo never liked last-minute cramming. Thanks to her mom, she’d built a habit of studying an hour a day after classes. It wasn’t much, but it added up, and her grades had always been solid. She rarely needed to panic before exams, and her friends knew that. They needed her now, and she was happy to help.
“My precious guardian angel,” Jieun sighed dramatically. A few students nearby glanced at them in annoyance. Jieun bowed slightly and whispered, “Sorry…”
There were still four hours left until the exam. After an hour of studying, they decided to take a break, Jieun needed a smoke, and Yuna was desperate for coffee.
They stepped outside and found a bench in front of the library.
“You won’t believe what happened today at the Coffee Hall,” Yuna said excitedly as she sat down.
“It’s still a stupid name for a café,” Jieun called out, standing a few feet away with her cigarette.
“I agree,” Soojin said, munching on a bar of chocolate. “They could’ve called it literally anything funnier, and they didn’t.”
“Shut up, both of you, I have important gossip to share,” Yuna scolded.
“Okay, say it,” Jieun replied, stubbing out her cigarette before coming over to sit beside Soojin.
Now Soojin, Jieun, and Yuna were sitting on the bench, while Minseo and Hana stood in front of them.
“There was a fight,” Yuna began, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
That got everyone’s attention.
“A fight?” Hana repeated, eyebrows raised. “Like… shouting or actual fists?”
“Oh, actual fists,” Yuna said dramatically. “And hair-pulling. And a coffee spill. It was chaos.”
Minseo gasped. “Wait, who was fighting?”
Yuna leaned in like she was about to reveal a dark secret. “You know the tall girl with red hair who always studies near the window? And that guy from Engineering with the glasses, the one who wears the same hoodie every day?”
“Yeah…” Soojin said slowly. “The ‘never makes eye contact’ guy?”
“Exactly. They broke up right in the middle of the morning rush. She threw her vanilla latte at him, hot, not iced, and yelled, ‘You’re emotionally constipated, Kevin!’”
“Kevin?” Jieun repeated, cracking up. “Of course his name is Kevin.”
“And then,” Yuna continued, barely holding in her laughter, “he just stood there, soaked, holding a croissant, and said, ‘I’m not emotionally constipated. I’m just not available during Mercury retrograde.’”
Silence. And then, everyone burst out laughing.
“That’s the dumbest excuse I’ve ever heard!” Hana wheezed.
“It gets worse!” Yuna raised a finger. “She lunged at him, like, actual claws-out and the Anton had to pull her off while another girl filmed the whole thing. It's probably on Twitter by now.”
“I’m looking it up,” Soojin said, already scrolling.
Jieun leaned back against the bench, still giggling. “Honestly, I’m almost glad I’m about to fail my exam.”
“Not yet,” Yuna teased.
“Shut up,” Jieun grinned. “If I ever throw a latte at someone, you better catch it on camera.”
“Deal,” Yuna said. “But only if you scream something iconic.”
“There was another fight last night,” Soojin said quietly, eyes flicking toward the library doors as if someone might overhear.
Yuna sat up straighter. “Another one?”
Minseo blinked. “Who this time?”
Soojin hesitated, then leaned in. “You know Jaehyun the guy from STEM and his friends”
Minseo shook her head unknowingly. She didn’t know these people but she still listened.
“His friends?” Hana asked.
“Leehan, Jaehyun, Riwoo, Woonhak, and Sungho,” Soojin confirmed.
Jieun’s eyes widened. “I don’t know them though. I only know Sungho from my Social Responsibility Project. He was nice. Anyway what even happened?”
“I don’t know,” Soojin admitted. “Jaehyun didn’t say. Just that it was serious.”
Minseo glanced between them, tension creeping in. “Are they okay?”
Soojin nodded slowly. “Yeah. Mostly. Leehan has a cut on his face. Sungho’s hand was all bandaged up. And Jaehyun he just looked... off. Like he’d been somewhere else all night.”
“Wait, how do you even know all this?” Jieun asked, narrowing her eyes.
Soojin looked down, suddenly a little self-conscious. “Jaehyun told me. We talked last night.”
“Wait—” Hana leaned in. “Are you two...?”
Soojin gave the tiniest smile. “Yeah. Kind of. Since midterms started.”
Yuna squealed and slapped her arm. “You didn’t tell us?!”
“I was nervous” Soojin hissed. “And keep it down! And don’t tell anyone about the fight, okay? Seriously. Jaehyun asked me not to say anything.”
“Then why are you telling us?” Jieun asked.
“Because I didn’t know what to do with this information” Soojin said.
Minseo nodded. “We won’t say anything.”
After the gossip session, the girls finally dragged themselves off the bench and headed back into the library. They settled into their seats again. Minseo passed her notes around while Yuna re-read the highlighted lines she barely remembered underlining. Hana was speed-reading like her life depended on it, and Jieun kept muttering dates and names like a possessed historian. Soojin sat a little quieter than before, chewing her pen cap and stealing glances at her phone, probably wondering if Jaehyun was okay.
The next two hours passed in absolute silence. Only the occasional sigh, the flipping of pages, and the quiet tapping of someone’s pencil filled the space between them.
And then, like a funeral procession, they walked together toward the exam hall.
The room was cold. They found their seats.
Minseo sat down, took a deep breath, and placed her pen on the desk.
