𓈀 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐔𝐓𝐘
𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗄𝖾𝗉𝗍
𓂋 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ⠀ ♥︎ 𝗋𝗈𝗒𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖻𝗂𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 ✶ 𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑧𝑖𝑛𝑒 𓈒
“Are you out of your mind, Sunghoon?”
Sunghoon doesn’t answer, his knuckles turning white as he tightens the grip on his leather reins, ignoring the sharp bite of his mother’s voice that’s currently echoeing through the silence of the private drawing room.
“A commoner,” Queen Chaewon repeats, the word rolling off her tongue like something rotten, a distasteful aftertaste she can’t quite swallow down. She paces the length of the marble floor. “Months, Sunghoon. Months under our very noses. The laundry girl?”
“She isn't just a laundry girl,” Sunghoon says, his voice gravelly. His heart does a pathetic little flip in his chest just thinking of you—the way your fingers always smell of lavender soap, the way you’d steal quiet moments behind the east wing glasshouses just to press your forehead against his collarbone and breathe him in.
“Silence,” King Jaehyun barks from the mahogany desk, his posture rigid, eyes sharp hearing the audacity of his son. “You stand there looking like a disgraced boy when you are meant to inherit a kingdom. You’ve dragged the crown through the mud for a fleeting piece of distraction.”
Sunghoon’s eyes flicker toward the corner of the room where two royal guards stand, their hands resting ominously on the pommels of their swords. He knows how this story goes. He isn't stupid. He’d read the histories, knew the lengths the crown went to preserve its bloodline, yet he’d still allowed himself the foolish luxury of falling.
He had convinced himself they could hide forever. That the dim lantern light in the abandoned armory was enough. That your soft, breathless giggles against his neck were louder than the whispers of the palace court.
God, he was so fucking naive.
“You have two choices, my son,” King Jaehyun says, leaning forward, resting his ring-adorned hands on the wood. The air in the room instantly grows suffocating settling into Sunghoon’s lungs. “And I suggest you think very carefully about the weight of your blood.”
Sunghoon swallows hard, his dry throat burning. “Name them.”
“First,” his father starts, voice completely void of warmth, “you renounce your title. You strip off the crest, step down from the throne, and leave these gates as a nobody. We strip you of everything. And the moment you step outside those gates together, the guards will hunt you both down and cut your throats in the ditch where you belong.”
Sunghoon’s blood turns to absolute ice. His breath hitches, a cold sweat breaking out at the back of his neck. “That’s not a choice.”
“Then listen to the second,” Queen Chaewon steps in, her tone almost sickeningly gentle. “You keep your crown. You take the throne, you marry the Lady of House Kang as arranged, and you fulfill your duty to this kingdom.”
“And her?” Sunghoon asks, his voice cracking, the composure he’d spent twenty years building fracturing into dust. “What happens to her?”
King Jaehyun draws a silver sword from its sheath on the desk. He walks over and places the heavy hilt directly into Sunghoon’s trembling hands.
“You kill her yourself.”
The room goes dead silent.
Sunghoon stares down at the silver blade, his reflection warped in the polished steel. His head spins. Kill you? The girl who used to mend his torn shirts in secret? The girl who had held his face in her small hands just last night, whispering that she didn't care about the consequences, that she only cared about him?
“If you choose the kingdom,” his father presses, step by step closing in, “you prove your loyalty by eliminating the weakness yourself. Right here. In front of us. To ensure no soft heart remains to ruin this dynasty.”
“No,” Sunghoon whispers, shaking his head, a sickening tremor running down his spine. “No, please—just banish her. Send her away, send her to the southern coast, she’ll never come back, I swear it—”
“Choose, Sunghoon,” the King snaps, his patience snapping. “Either the guards drag her in here and end you both, or you take the sword, do what a King must do, and save your own skin.”
Save your own skin.
The realization hits Sunghoon. He thinks of the execution block. He thinks of your frail body being dragged into the dirt, slaughtered like livestock while he dies beside you, leaving nothing behind but an erased legacy and two shallow graves. He thinks of the raw terror in your eyes if he let the guards butcher you both.
He closes his eyes, his breathing coming in shallow gasps.
He is a coward. Deep down, underneath the royal velvet and the sharp jawline, he is a terrifyingly selfish coward. He wants to live. He wants the power. He cannot—will not—die in a muddy ditch for a love that was doomed from the start.
“Bring her in,” Sunghoon chokes out.
The words leave his mouth like poison, burning his throat on the way out. Queen Chaewon offers an approving nod. The heavy oak doors creak open.
When you are shoved into the room by two guard captains, your knees hit the hard stone floor. Your hair is disheveled, your apron torn at the strap, but the second your eyes land on Sunghoon, the panic in your expression melts into heartbreaking relief.
“Sunghoon,” you breathe out, your voice trembling, reaching a hand out toward him. “Sunghoon, what’s happening? They—they grabbed me from the lower quarters—”
Sunghoon can’t look you in the eye. He physically can’t. His stomach churns, bile rising to his throat as he raises the silver sword, the weight of it suddenly feeling too much.
You freeze. Your eyes track the movement of the blade, then move up to his pale face.
“Sunghoon?” you whisper, the realization dawning on you so slowly, so painfully, that it shatters what little is left of his soul. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry,” he rasps, his voice barely audible over the roaring in his ears.
“No—no, Sunghoon, look at me,” you sob, scrambling backward on your hands, but the guards step in, roughly grabbing your shoulders and forcing you to your knees, holding you pinned in place. “Sunghoon, please! It’s me! It’s Y/N!”
Tears blur Sunghoon’s vision, but he forces his grip on the hilt to remain steady. His parents stand behind him like silent vipers, watching, testing, measuring his worth by the blood he’s about to spill.
He steps forward. One step. Two.
“I loved you,” he whispers. “I really did.”
“Then don't do this!” you scream, desperate, hot tears streaming down your flushed cheeks, soaking into the collar of your dress. “Please, Sunghoon, don't leave me like this—don't—”
He doesn't let you finish.
With a sharp, agonizing intake of breath, Sunghoon closes his heart, leaning into the instinct of a prince trained to conquer, and drives the steel straight through your chest.
The sound of metal tearing through fabric and flesh echoes in the high-ceilinged room.
Your breath hitches in a wet gasp. Your eyes go wide, locked onto his, hands instinctively flying up to clutch at the blade embedded in your chest. Blood—warm, and crimson—gushes out, staining his white silk shirt, splattering across his knuckles, his face, his lips.
Sunghoon’s knees almost give out, but he holds the sword firm, watching the light slowly drain from your eyes. You lean into the blade, getting as close to him as possible, coughing up a drop of crimson that lands directly on his cheek.
“You... coward,” you choke out, a final whisper before your hands slip off the steel, dragging down his arms, leaving bloody smears in their wake.
Your head drops forward. Your body goes completely limp against the guards' grip.
Silence settles over the drawing room. Sunghoon pulls the sword back with a brutal slide, and your body slumps sideways onto the cold marble floor, pooling in red. His hands are shaking so violently he nearly drops the weapon. He stands there, drenched in your blood, smelling the iron, smelling the faint faint hint of lavender soap lingering underneath it all.
King Jaehyun steps up beside him, placing an approving hand on Sunghoon’s blood-soaked shoulder.
“Well done, my son,” the King says quietly, no remorse in his tone. “You are truly fit to rule.”
Sunghoon doesn't speak. He can’t. He just stares down at your lifeless form, at the small hand resting palm-up on the stone floor, forever waiting for him to hold it again.
He got his kingdom. He got his throne.
And all it cost was the only piece of humanity he had left.
isa notes: you didn't see this. i was just checking if i was shadowbanned or something 😔🤚also who am i if im not writing angst for sunghoon??
