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nonidol!park seonghwa x f!reader; slight kim hongjoong x reader

'tis a tale as old as time: the prince and his right-hand woman don't realize that the aches in their hearts are identical.

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17. prince x advisor, childhood friends 2 lovers, royalty au, angst, fluff, humor, very mild swearing, kissing, hurt/comfort, lots of mentions of marriage™, alcohol, kim hongjoong IS THEEEEE GRAND DUKE (yeah he deserves a warning), pining and yearning (the works - i listened to folklore and evermore on loop so glhf), no politics involved just straight-up feels (adding politics would've made this DOUBLE), hand kissing only actually!, no beta readers we die like men

▷ word count. 33.1k (ngl, this shit was supposed to be 6k max. 🫩)

a/n: this goes out to @sorryimananti-romantic who let me dump my live progress to her, and to @armysantiny who's post inspired this fic !! (indeed, it lived in my head for that long) also i had to constantly remind myself that this was a SEONGHWA fic and not a hongjoong one... take that as you will. enjoy !!

OVER YEARS OF HAVING BEEN raised within the grandiose halls of the royal palace and beside the reigning monarchs’ beloved son Prince Seonghwa, you had developed somewhat of a sixth sense.

Said sixth sense was currently screaming in the confines of your head. Something was terribly wrong. Though, you had a sneaking suspicion as to what exactly was 'wrong.’

You could already hear the footsteps thundering toward your study from down the corridor, the cadence so awfully like the prince's. Along with a sixth sense, your ears had grown attuned to every rhythm, rhyme, and reason his body and mind produced. You kept your eyes upon the documents splayed across your desk, but your attention was far from them now.

A brace for impact… ddu-ddu-ddu—

The doors slid across the wooden floor panels before colliding with their opposing walls. There was a resounding SLAM.

“Milady Yn! The greatest of travesties have reached mine ears!”

You had to lift your hand to press your smile of amusement into the back of your wrist. Mine ears? There was a snort being suppressed somewhere in your throat. He could be terribly dramatic.

Before you now stood the very prince in question, clad in a casual set of attire, yet his hair was swept back in such a way one might assume he was always prepared to receive a guest. His expression was contorted in something that could only be described as scandalized.

It was only in your midst that the prince revealed his true colors and, well, energy. To the public, Prince Seonghwa was well understood as someone reserved, intelligent, and soft-spoken. He was the spitting image of dignity—he was one of the faces of a reputable royal household. His beauty alone was one that could topple governments. In the comfort of your office walls, however, he was simply someone you had known for all of your life.

You couldn't get in a word edgewise before Seonghwa was whirling around to haul the sliding doors of your office shut with yet another, resounding SLAM.

“Your Royal Highness,” you drawled with a wince, absentmindedly reaching up to massage your ear. “Any damage will come out of your recreational budget and not mine, I hope you understand that.”

Seonghwa returned his focus to you, one hand propped on his hip. “Yes, yes—there are more important matters at hand!” he replied with a flippant wave of his other hand.

He strode over to your desk and collapsed into the chair across from you, one leg swinging over the other, hand draping over the back of his forehead. “My mother and father—”

“Only want the best for you,” you said calmly as you underlined a portion of the document you were reading, the nib of your quill scrawling out a note in the margin.

Seonghwa's eyes nearly bulged out of his head, mouth falling open like the petals of a flower. “Only wish to see me suffer,” he corrected, aghast, his hand falling from its position and into his lap. “I had a suspicion that you were privy to this.”

“Me?” you feigned offense with not much enthusiasm. Your focus was split between the obscene errors in this legal document and your friend, the prince. “However could you think so poorly of me, and that I would not argue for your sanity to the King and Queen?”

“My thoughts exactly!”

You glanced up from the page and fixed him with a pointed look. You noted the slight pout of his bottom lip, and you only sighed. “There was nothing I could say or do to dissuade them.”

Seonghwa shifted forward to the edge of his seat. “Nonsense. My mother and father adore you.”

“Not so much as to allow me say in your bachelor ball,” you quipped.

He gagged into his palm. “Why on Earth would you call it such?” he whined. “I stand corrected: you are far worse than them.”

This time, you were unable to suppress your laughter. The sound seemed to bring the slightest smile to your counterpart's face, however reluctant he was to express it.

It was unfortunate, but true, that Prince Seonghwa's days of evading courtship were reaching their curtain call. He was nearly twenty-three summers old already; as a royal, it was a marvel he lasted so long without his parents matching him with some princess from a faraway land. (You were a different case entirely. Twenty-one autumns under your belt, and still, no ring. Your father had your dowry prepared, but as he was a veteran secretary to the royal household, he was kept too busy most days to remember to pester you about it. Spinsterhood for a lifetime of peace and quiet? It was something you could certainly live with.)

The King and Queen, Seonghwa's parents and the monarchs of this great country of Aurelia, had notified you of their decision only yesterday morning during your weekly luncheon with them. As their son's personal advisor, you were expected to communicate with the royal heads effectively. It helped some that you were raised beside Seonghwa, and most days, viewed the King and Queen like an aunt and uncle.

“I won't say that I'm envious,” you began to say while placing your quill down. The tension on his face did not loosen. “But your mother and father made an excellent point.”

Seonghwa leaned back into his chair, arms folding over his chest as he exhaled roughly. “Do not tell me—you know I don't like talking about it.”

Your lips closed. The elephant that had walked into the room was the matter of royal succession and Seonghwa's official ascent to Crown Prince. In the ancient laws engraved into the very stones of Aurelia, it was said that no royal heir was to ascend to the throne without assurance that they could provide the kingdom with an heir of their own.

In less words: Seonghwa could not be crowned until he was married.

There were no other siblings to take on the burden, neither did his parents wish to pass the throne onto an extended family member. It all fell to Prince Seonghwa.

You slowly rose from your seat, and Seonghwa's gaze followed you as you rounded the desk to lean against the edge closest to him. With a hand on his shoulder, you said, “I will help you find the best partner to lead by your side, my friend.”

He peered up at you with a slight wobble in his eyes, but you were sure it was only a trick of the light. His head ducked suddenly into a nod, his hand lifting to cover yours in acknowledgment. Or perhaps, something more meaningful. “Thank you,” was all he said.

The collision of sword metal sang across the courtyard, verbal jabs and steel sparks flying as two lithe figures waltzed around one another in a skilled dance you'd witnessed thousands of times.

“Huzzah! And you say you—gah—haven’t sparred in weeks?” Duke Choi's eldest son, San, let loose a hearty chuckle as he met Seonghwa's strike.

The prince's mouth curled into a slight smile as his body twirled as smoothly as a nib swimming in ink. “Sparred with you,” he amended.

From the sidelines, perched upon a conveniently-placed bench, you called out airily, “He means he has committed every palace guard's sparring style to memory and grows bored.”

“Now you are putting words in my mouth, my lady,” Seonghwa scoffed, but his expression was full of mirth as he glanced over at you.

As much as you teased, you knew that Seonghwa practiced swordsmanship tirelessly. He rose even before dawn with the palace guards since he was young and never lost that work ethic. He was not only skilled with a blade, but also his wit and intellect. Though the prince did not make as many public appearances as his parents, the kingdom mostly knew him as a future ruler with a good head on his shoulders and very capable hands.

The thought made you smile slightly to yourself with pride spreading in your chest. He would make an excellent king one day.

“The sight of them sparring cannot make you this content, Lady Yn,” came a chuckle to your right.

Lord Choi Jongho, San's younger brother and the youngest of Duke Choi's clan, had his attention half on his brother and the prince, and the other half on you as he strolled over. Unlike his brother, he was not dressed in sparring gear, but in a less formal suit—perfectly appropriate for a casual visit to see one's friend who happened to be royalty. He was no frequent sparrer like his older brother, but you knew Jongho to be especially impressive in matters of finance.

Your smile widened as you stood to greet him. “Well, I'm far more content now that you've arrived, my lord. Finally, someone to converse with who isn't simultaneously worried about his head being lobbed off mid-conversation.”

“Flattery is your strong suit,” he laughed as he clasped his hand with yours in greeting. He gestured back to the bench. “Please, you need not give up your comfortable perch on my account.”

“Comfort is certainly a subjective quality,” you drawled, but returned to your place from before.

From the clanging swords, you heard San's jovial tone over the noise: “Jongho-yah! You've survived the lion's den then?”

“Oh, hardly!” the younger brother called back. “Verily, the old men in the Treasury continue to be stuck in their fossilized ways.”

You found yourself shaking your head, having had plenty of interaction with their like. You were a woman in a prominent position in the royal court with no marriage prospects, after all. It didn't matter that you were adept at your job or that your father was an important figure within their ranks; they could only see you as a woman who had failed her “primary duty.” That, and the fact that you were still considered “lower” nobility.

Seonghwa shoved San off with the horizontal length of his blade. “Unfortunately, that cannot be changed until I take the crown,” he huffed.

“Any day now,” Jongho mused.

Ah, you had nearly forgotten. You were so lost in this particular moment in time that Seonghwa's upcoming matchmaking, and eventual nuptials, had gotten away from you.

As if on cue, you caught the approaching skirts of a member of the royal maid staff. You nodded at her immediately, standing to meet her upon the edge of the sparring grounds. “Excuse me, it seems I must return to my responsibilities,” you said to Jongho with no less mirth. “Excellent seeing you again, Jongho.”

Jongho gave a shallow bow in reply. “You as well. We will have to meet for tea sometime soon.”

“Of course,” you agreed most ardently. “Do let your brother know that it was good to see him.”

“With not so much enthusiasm,” he teased.

Your twinkling laughter floated through the air, and then you were off.

This left Jongho to observe the pair sparring at the center of the courtyard. As it would have it, they yielded to one another only a couple moments after you departed. They approached the bench with labored breaths, skin glowing with fresh perspiration beneath the midmorning sun.

Seonghwa clasped San's hand in a sportsmanlike manner. “Good match,” he said, his voice of a raspy quality.

“Many thanks for not defeating me in front of the lady,” San joked as he swiped at a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face.

“Our prince wouldn't dare be so arrogant before Lady Yn,” Jongho joined in with the jest. His arms were folded lightly over his chest as he regarded the very royal in question with a knowing smirk.

Seonghwa reached for one of the metal canisters of water beneath the bench and shrugged with nonchalance. “I cannot help that she brings out the best in me.”

“Speaking of,” Jongho said, “Lady Yn extends her goodbyes to you, brother” —he turned to the prince— “and not you, unfortunately.”

Seonghwa's expression contorted into something of offended incredulity.

A choking sound erupted from his left where San was coughing up his water, simultaneously laughing like a hyena. He had to clap a hand onto Seonghwa's shoulder as his cheeks grew flushed. When he had gathered his wits about him, he coughed once into his elbow and said, “Worry not, my prince. You see her far more often than either of us do. A goodbye from her would be useless as it will never be a true one.”

“Well,” Jongho chimed in pointedly.

The two brothers made eye contact and San wagged his pointer finger as he took another generous gulp of his water. “Ah, that's right,” he continued. “So it is true that your hand is finally open to courtship then?”

Seonghwa capped his flask and reined in the tension squaring in his shoulders. “That would be correct.”

“And our beloved Lady Yn is the one orchestrating it all? How poetically tragic!”

His teeth gritted behind his lips. “My mother and father are the true conductors. She is merely carrying out their wishes,” he replied stiffly. Oh, how badly he wished to lament a little out loud, but it couldn't be out here in the open. He much preferred the privacy and comfort of your study. How tragic, indeed. “She is loyal to them, and I am content with that.”

The two Choi brothers claimed the places on either side of the prince as the three of them gathered their belongings and began to slowly make their way toward the courtyard doors.

San once again clasped one of Seonghwa's shoulders. “She knows you well, my friend,” he said to him warmly. “She will find an excellent match for you.”

That isn't… Seonghwa knew San's intention was to be a good, reassuring companion, but in this moment, the way his words mirrored yours only made the pit in his stomach grow larger.

“Lady Yn,” came a voice and a knock at the chamber door.

You and Seonghwa both turned your heads in that direction. When there weren't other responsibilities elsewhere to attend to, you could reliably be found in your study—suffice to say, so could Seonghwa. This morning, the prince was draped over the chaise lounge beneath the far window, soaking up the morning sunlight like a delicate tulip, as he enjoyed a novel from his personal collection. A pair of reading glasses sat perched atop the perfect slope of his nose.

“Come in,” you beckoned, already recognizing the voice of one of your assistants, Lila.

Ms. Lila appeared in the entryway, dropping into a curtsy immediately having known the prince was present. “Greetings to the shining star of Aurelia, and good morning, Lady Yn.”

Seonghwa didn't even bother to straighten up from his position. Your staff members had seen him in postures unbecoming of his station far too many times for him or them to be fazed. “Good morning, Lila; please rise. The formal greeting truly isn't necessary, especially in this setting.”

“It is expected,” both you and Lila intoned at the same time.

The prince's brows flew up. “Frightening,” he muttered.

You shot him a smirk, then turned to Lila. You espied an envelope clutched in her hands. “What do you have?”

“The list of eligible bachelorettes you required, Lady Yn,” she replied as she strode across the room to set the envelope upon your desk.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Seonghwa shoot up. That, at least, caused his posture to snap straight.

You took the envelope from her with a grateful nod. “Thank you for your quick work, Ms. Lila.”

“Would you like me to go over them with you?”

“No, I” —you paused, head turning to Seonghwa, and in turn, making Lila follow your gaze. Your eyes narrowed slightly. “You—out.”

The prince went slack-jawed and he pointed to himself as if it weren't obvious. “Did you just order me to leave?”

“I did.”

He stammered. “I—but I would like to stay—I will stay! I can be of help.”

You shook your head as you reached for the slim letter opener in your desk drawer. “This matter in particular is one that will not fall victim to your meddling, I'm afraid.”

“Meddling? I resent the accusation,” he huffed.

“Ms. Lila, would you be so kind as to escort the prince out of the office and to the kitchens to approve of the desserts for the opening banquet?”

Seonghwa opened his mouth to retort again, but froze. His expression shuttered in disbelief; how had he forgotten that appointment? “You devious woman,” he said, mostly teasing, as he began making his way toward the door.

Ms. Lila sent you an expression of pure amazement while she followed him out.

“And Lila?” you called to her.

She stopped, hand wrapped around the edge of the door. “Yes?”

“He is your prince, but you are sworn to secrecy,” you reminded her with a smile. You placed your index finger against your lips in a quiet gesture.

Lila grinned, mirroring you, and then she disappeared the same direction Seonghwa went.

With quiet returning to the solitude of your study, you brought the edge of the letter opener blade to the envelope lip. With a smooth, practiced motion, you sliced the flap open and tugged the parchment out.

About a fortnight ago, you had begun to dole out tasks to your staff members for the planning of Prince Seonghwa's matchmaking “events.” There were to be, as his parents requested of you, three formal balls, followed by individual meetings with any ladies who were of interest to the prince. While you busied yourself with other preparations, you had asked Lila to compile a comprehensive list of eligible bachelorettes from all across the eight kingdoms.

The list Lila delivered to you would be the one you would narrow further to determine who would receive formal invitations as possible partners to His Royal Highness. There would be other guests attending the balls, as well, including many of Seonghwa's friends amongst the nobility of Aurelia and any neighboring kingdoms’ royalty.

You entrusted only yourself with the “matchmaking,” however.

The remainder of the hour was spent as an initial glossing-over period. Part of Lila's task was to cross-reference eligible women with their political and economic affiliations, and whether a union with them would lead to stormy weather. They couldn't only be of appropriate social standing to be eligible, of course.

As you familiarized yourselves with the women on the list, you paused to glance at the clock at the top corner of your desk.

Would Seonghwa get along with any of these women? The probability was high—he was a very agreeable man, and never one to purposefully make any person feel out of place. He strived to maintain good relationships built on mutual trust and respect…

But personality-wise? Interest-wise?

“Royalty does not always have a choice,” you muttered to yourself as you leaned your cheek against your fist.

Yet here you were, doing the choosing for him. Perhaps, in some circumstances, one did have more power than a royal.

Upon rare occasions, yours, your father's, the monarchs’, and your princely charge's schedules would all align like a solar eclipse. This would typically result in a shared meal mostly devoid of any discussions related to work. Mostly.

You and Prince Seonghwa were two minutes late as it was because the latter was struggling to locate his best leather shoes. You had found them within thirty seconds of entering his closet, but that was neither here nor there.

“It isn't as if we are dining with foreign dignitaries,” you told him as the pair of you walked as swiftly down the corridor as possible without running. You both learned the hard way when you were young that Proper Ladies and Young Gentlemen Never Ran. “‘Tis only my father.”

“You say that as if your father is not an important man himself,” he snorted. “And frankly, I'm offended you don't believe that I might hold him in high enough regard to appear my best for him.”

You sighed. “It is like you're preening for a potential mate.”

A choked sound erupted from your side, and your head shot over to Seonghwa in mild concern. He had his palm pressed to his mouth, cheekbones and ears reddened with his face turned away from you.

“Excuse me,” he muttered while straightening and avoiding your eyes.

Your brows twisted together. “Are you alright, Your Royal Highness?”

He cleared his throat. “Quite.”

It didn't seem as if he wished to elaborate on the matter, and he continued onward while loosening the grip of his collar around his throat.

Time did indeed fly. Several weeks had passed since you had formal invitations drawn up and delivered across the continent to their respective recipients. Already, responses were sweeping in through the door faster than you could check them off the list. Nearly everyone whom you wrote to accepted the invitation—Aurelia was a rather significant figure in continent politics and economy; thus, declining the invitation for anything less than a death in the family would suggest something unsavory.

Suffice to say, you and the palace were entirely embedded into the storm that was Preparations.

It made this luncheon all the more miracle-like in nature, but your father was the best at maneuvering schedules.

At last, you and Seonghwa arrived upon the east wing terrace where your parents had already been seated and served with a round of tea.

“Ah, well if it isn't our very punctual children, Lord Ln,” the Queen teased as soon as she spotted the two late arrivals striding in through the door.

The guards and servants posted about the terrace lowered into bows at the entrance of your charge. You heard a murmured chorus of greetings to him (and to you, after the fact) while you scurried over to greet the monarchs and your father properly.

“My apologies, Mama,” Seonghwa said as he placed a kiss on her cheek. “My shoes eluded me and Yn was the only one who could locate them.”

“But of course,” she chuckled.

As Seonghwa greeted his father, you traded light cheek kisses with your own. “Good morning, Father,” you said. “You are looking well.”

Your father's eyes crinkled as he took a good, long glance at you. “You look as fresh as a daisy despite all of your responsibilities. You are not too stressed, I hope?”

“Not at all,” you said easily, eyes slipping casually over to the Aurelian monarchs as you did. “I am happy to be busy.”

“She is truly your daughter then, Seth,” chortled the King good naturedly.

Seonghwa gestured to one of the open seats left at the table, and pulled out the chair for you. Once you were comfortably seated, he pushed it in before settling into the last open seat. The round table upon the terrace was, at last, complete.

“I suppose so,” your father sighed, though you didn't miss the lightheartedness of it. There was no disappointment or stress there that you could detect, and that in itself allowed you to exhale. You were only following in his footsteps, after all.

“Yn, my darling,” said the Queen from across the table. “I've heard so many wonderful things about your progress concerning Seonghwa's social events. We are grateful for your hard work, and so is my son—”

“Mother,” Seonghwa chided weakly as he shifted slightly to allow a maid to fill his teacup.

A pointed look from the Queen had Seonghwa's mouth snapping shut. You nearly couldn't hold back a snort. “—Should you ever need extra assistance, my staff are at your beck and call,” she continued. “But I hope the general staff around the palace have assisted you to satisfactory levels already.”

“More than satisfactory, Your Majesty,” you said with an emphatic nod. “We are right on schedule. In fact, I will be accompanying the prince to another suit fitting this afternoon.”

“Marvelous!” the King chimed in with a clap of his hands.

Seonghwa leaned toward you slightly. “And you?” he asked quietly as his parents and your father branched off into a brief side conversation about their own dress fittings.

“Hm?”

“Your fittings—you did schedule your own fittings, did you not?”

Oh. For a moment, you weren't certain what to say. There was a large part of you who did not believe you would be attending these events as a guest; you were the primary point of contact for everything, which meant you would be working from start to finish and throughout. It would be unproductive of you to be fitted in brand new ball gowns if you weren't to participate.

Seonghwa's brows crossed as he seemed to read your mind directly from your expression. “Yn, I swear on Aurelia's good name, if you don't—”

“You have nothing to worry about,” you interjected. He need not know. “I have everything under control.”

“Seth, what are we to do about your daughter's hand?”

The question made both you and Seonghwa whip your heads toward your parents. It was one thing to discuss the prince's hand in marriage, but yours?

“Yes,” Seonghwa drawled, smirking, as he leaned his cheek against his hand, perfectly content with switching the conversation to another victim, “what are we to do, indeed.”

You chuckled nervously as all eyes turned to you. “You need not answer that question, Father.”

Your father set his silver fork down onto his plate with a small clink. He waved his hand in a vague gesture. “The matter of your marriage does seem to escape my mind often, my dear, and I am sorry for that,” he said to you. “You seem so satisfied with your work now—”

“I am very satisfied!” you cut in. “Perfectly fine, even. Marriage has escaped all priority—”

“Nonsense, Yn, you are a fine, young woman with many assets,” the Queen countered as she waved toward you. (She was undoubtedly attempting to be supportive, but you would have really preferred that everyone forgot that you could be married off at all.) “Any man would be lucky to have your hand in marriage.”

“Madam, truly, I am grateful for your praise, but…” Instinctively, your eyes went to Seonghwa for help, but found that he was only staring at you with this look in his eyes that you couldn't decipher just then. It seemed that perhaps he was lost in thought, or that you had a piece of dust or pollen on your face; you did not know why it stirred something in your chest.

The King circled the tines of his fork in the air as he pondered aloud: “The social events would be a wonderful opportunity to meet suitors. They would be traveling from all reaches of the continent. There will be dozens of them to choose from.”

“Yes!” the Queen practically squealed in excitement. “A fine idea, indeed. There will be no shortage of bachelors that will suit your fancy, my darling.”

“Ah, of course,” you trailed off awkwardly. You couldn't simply refuse the King and Queen here and now. They both appeared far too excited at the prospect of your marriage.

“Mother, Father,” said Seonghwa as he broke out of his daze, “Yn already has so much on her plate. Finding a husband would be the least of her worries.”

Thank you.

“Instead, I believe we should be ensuring she has every event night off, so she is able to fully attend the ball being hosted.”

What?

Pure betrayal made your eyes narrow at your friend as he avoided your glare and feigned innocence. Why you… he knew you far too well. How dare he prevent you from locking yourself away in your study for hours to avoid society! Not to mention, if the monarchs dismissed you from your responsibilities, you had to ensure you were outfitted with the proper attire to attend each event.

You did loathe your friend's quick thinking at times.

The Queen, as expected, nodded vigorously in agreement. “I thought that would be a given,” she gasped. “I am glad you brought this to our attention, love. It would be preposterous for Yn to work on a ball night.”

You smeared on your best smile, promising to get him back for this later. Or perhaps, this was already a debt being paid after you shooed him from your office when Lila delivered the list to you weeks ago. “Of course, Your Majesty. Thank you most kindly for your generosity.”

Nearly two hours hence, you sat in the parlor room of the prince's wing located on the north end of the palace. The room was covered in a variation of a blue that sparkled from every angle. From the walls swallowed in a deep sapphire, to the chandelier fixtures glittering with pale crystals, it was a glorious, life-sized jewel box—and it sheltered within its walls Aurelia's greatest treasure.

Prince Seonghwa was not currently in the same chamber as you were. It would be rather improper if you watched him be fitted into each suit; instead, he would be helped into each garment by the tailor and pinned up for hemming in the next-door chamber, then ferried out into your seating area for any lingering comments and opinions. You were, after all, his advisor in everything.

You had a positive opinion of most so far, but Seonghwa had some doubts about a few of them. Any he disliked were quickly dismissed, and you did not mourn too much.

“I hope you fancy pirates,” you heard him call through the crack in the door.

Your facial features scrunched up as your feather quill halted in your hand. “Pirates?” you parroted in mild disbelief. “Whatever could that mean?”

A laugh filtered through the room, and you couldn't quite decide if it was impish or sheepish. “You'll see…”

Those words did nothing to aid in your confusion or concern. There was no masquerade or costume ball planned, even outside of the social activities you were organizing. Pirates were something out of a storybook, something of a caricature! Certainly not fit for a prince's…

The thought dissipated from your mind as the prince stepped out into the parlor without warning.

“Ah.” So this was what he meant by pirates.

Standing before you was not your prince, but a man taken straight from a romance novel you'd seen Lila indulging in once or twice. Seonghwa was dressed in a luxurious, white tunic that seemed to be missing its buttons, leaving almost nothing of his chest to the imagination. A long navy blue coat was draped upon his shoulders, embroidered in intricate floral details from the collar down to the hem that swept his shins.

Your breath had left your lungs, but the heat did not shy from your face.

“It is certainly…” you began, truly not knowing how to continue.

Why did your heart seem to gallop? It was merely a little skin, and you had grown up observing his topless swordsmanship practices with the other topless guardsmen. Surely, you must have acquired a fever.

He opened his arms in a vague gesture, his face rather unreadable. (Perchance, it was you who did not want to look him in the eyes or his face.) “You seem flustered, my lady.”

“Oh, ‘tis nothing really,” you said, unconsciously fanning your neck. “It is only a little warm.”

“Shall I open a window?”

The tailor, who you'd forgotten was even in the room, hurried about to open up a window.

“No!” you exclaimed, shocking yourself. You coughed, amending calmly, “I am perfectly fine. This garment does not seem to fit any occasion the palace will be hosting, Your Royal Highness.”

The tailor appeared near the arm of your settee with a nervous smile. “Oh, but Lady Yn! Do you not think the young prince looks dashing? Dare I say, swashbuckling?”

You heard a small snort, and glanced up to find that Seonghwa had turned away and covered his mouth with a fist. You could still spot the corner of his upturned lip, however.

“It's rather roguish,” you stated while busying your hands by adjusting your skirts around you and avoiding eye contact.

“Roguish!”

“Like a rake,” you continued airily.

This time, it was Seonghwa's interjection: “A rake?” The lapels of his grand coat were swept back slightly so he could place his hands on his hips. The action only emphasized his trimmed waistline. (Dear heavens. Would the tailor mind opening the window at this moment?) He tilted his head at you. “Come now, my lady. It does not suit your fancy?”

You could have choked. “Whyever would it need to suit my fancy?”

“Haven't I always valued your opinion?” he asked innocently.

Certainly, you thought to yourself with a sardonic smile. And… “Certainly, Your Royal Highness,” you voiced aloud still. “And it is my very valued opinion that this is a costume better fit for another occasion. If you fancy it so much, I will not stop you from keeping it.”

Seonghwa considered you for a longer moment as you lowered your head and pretended to return to the document that laid in your lap.

For several heartbeats (because that damned organ continued to blast its way through your ribcage), you believed he would stare at you until you looked back. Then, with a loud sigh, he said, “Mr. Lee, the next garment, if you please.”

“Yes, of course! Right this way, sire—”

When you were certain that glorious coat had left the room in all of its fabric and gold trim, you finally exhaled the tension from your body. That entire interaction had you sitting on pins and needles. It was as if he desired to coax a reaction from you, as if he desired to pick apart the expression on your face and raise it against the foolish words coming out of your mouth.

You could not fathom it. What had at first been a comfortable session—something no less foreign to you than any other moment spent by that man's side—had suddenly become unfamiliar territory. Where had those thoughts intruded from? How ghastly for you to think of your closest companion in such a manner!

From the neighboring room, your friend called upon you once more. “Yn, I do say, Mr. Lee's wife makes lovely dresses for the ladies in court.”

A rather eager reply came first from Mr. Lee himself. “Oh yes!” he chimed in. “My wife is the foremost authority on the trends throughout the continent, Your Royal Highness. Should your lady companion require garments—”

“That would not be necessary,” you interrupted. “It is very much appreciated, but—”

“The lady is too humble, Mr. Lee, you must understand.”

All of a sudden, Seonghwa's head of dark hair poked out of his dressing chamber, leaving slivers of toned shoulders and arms out in plain view. He shot a pointed scowl at you that said everything he needed to say, then ducked back into the other room.

You sat dumbfounded. Were you to laugh or swoon?

“I will personally commission a set of one-of-a-kind dresses for Lady Yn,” Seonghwa finished.

You finally managed to dig out your voice from where it hid behind your rapidly-beating heart. “I have no time—”

“I will have a palace seamstress take your measurements and send them to the tailor,” he quipped back as if he had already thought of everything. “You need not worry about a thing, my lady.” You will not be getting out of this, he seemed to say.

When Prince Seonghwa set his sights upon something, he would do nothing else until he acquired it. Most of the time, you admired that pure ambition and determination within him; other moments, you wished to throttle him. It would be safe to assume this situation was the latter.

You said nothing else, stewing in your petty acceptance.

It did not occur to you until later that night—when your mind was still plagued by the striking image of that sliver of exposed, carved chest and shoulders—that he likely timed the pirate costume fitting to occur right before he commissioned your dresses.

What a scoundrel.

Thanks to the official, temporary dismissal of your services by the monarchs, you were not one of the panicking blurs of energy bolting about the palace on this fine morning. Instead, you were stationed beside your charge's desk in the grand study of the prince's wing.

Despite today being the designated arrival time for almost every invited party, there was still much on Prince Seonghwa's personal agenda besides greeting those very guests.

“My lady, if you'd please summarize the document rather than have me read it,” Seonghwa begged for the thousandth time within the hour. His dark strands of hair were clutched between his fingers, temples resting against the heels of his palms as he attempted to keep the lines of ink before him clear in his vision. “Any other day I would gladly settle in for several hours—you know I would! But my mind is simply out of these walls.”

You pressed your lips together thoughtfully, sympathetic to his plight. If the festivities for your official courtship began today, you supposed you wouldn't be able to think of anything else either. All of that nervous energy was balling up inside him akin to pressure within a tea kettle. “These documents can wait for another couple of days,” you finally said, slipping your hand beneath his elbows to slide the documents off the desk. “We've gone through anything urgent. That is all, I promise.”

A contented sigh loosened from his lips as he slumped back in his chair with a posture unbecoming of the heir to the throne.

But the sight made you grin nonetheless.

Seonghwa peaked one eye open at you, and he couldn't help but let his lips pull into a smile mirroring yours. “What has you so cheery?” he asked, still draped over the back of his chair. The delicate rays of morning sunshine streamed through the window behind him, dancing across the sculpted lines of his face.

You cleared your throat and glanced away, moving instead to tidy the documents to the side for another day. “I just remembered,” you said, “that the party from Halazine will be arriving today.”

There was a flicker across his face, one that was gone as swiftly as it came. Seonghwa closed his eyes again, his smile softening. “Ah,” he said with a deep breath in, “Prince Yeosang and his Princess, yes.”

“And the Count—”

“The Count,” Seonghwa drawled.

Your lips curled upward mischievously. “Do not act so unenthused, Your Royal Highness,” you teased. “I am delighted to see Wooyoung once again. It has been a long winter.”

He straightened in his chair with a sigh. “I'm certain he feels the same. Are you not more excited to see the princess, though? Last I heard, you were still exchanging private correspondence with her.”

Princess Selene and Prince Yeosang of the kingdom of Halazine celebrated their nuptials nearly a year ago. From your understanding and from the stories that everyone (including the prince and princess themselves) had told you, it was something pulled straight from a fairytale. Some people were fortunate to meet their soulmates in this lifetime, and Selene and Yeosang were two of them. When you and Seonghwa attended the wedding ceremony last year, you had grown quite close to Selene, and the two of you agreed to keep in touch through occasional letters. To finally be reunited with a woman who you considered a good friend was something that brought a smile to your face.

In fact, everyone from Halazine was a person you looked forward to meeting once again. Aurelia and Halazine were old friends.

“I am,” you confirmed, leaning your hip against the edge of the desk and gazing out of the window toward the gardens below. “I can hardly wait until the reception arrives.”

With all of this discussion about old friends, you had nearly forgotten what the true reason for everyone’s gathering was. While you were allowed some respite from your official duties when an event was underway, you could not forget that there was a very important list embedded within your brain—the very young women whom you were to introduce to your prince. This was your responsibility.

Your mood must have grown visibly solemn, because Seonghwa tilted his head as he considered you. “Mourning your desk already?” he asked with a soft chuckle, the jest meant to comfort you but also prompt anything you wished to say in confidence.

“Not yet,” you played along. You dashed away the mental list you stowed away for the time being. “I was only thinking I should like to go through the dresses you ordered right away to decide which to wear for the opening banquet.”

At this, Seonghwa straightened, eyes almost falling out of his head. “You haven’t decided?” he asked with a furrow between his brows. “That isn’t entirely like you, my lady. Were they not delivered in a timely manner?”

You shook your head. “No, they were,” you assured him with a wave of your hand. You did not want to admit that there was a part of you who was anxious to see the exact designs Seonghwa had decided upon. Furthermore, the opening banquet was not until tomorrow evening, officially, so there was still time to spare. “Time simply escaped me. There is nothing to worry about.”

“Then we shall go now and decide,” he declared while standing from his seat with a grin. “I, for one, am eager to see the fruit of Mrs. Lee’s labor.”

Your eyebrows lifted at his excitement. “I’m afraid I had plans to do it alone and later this evening when we do not have guests to greet.”

“You said ‘right away—’”

“Not literally speaking, of course,” you amended with an impish smile.

Seonghwa’s expression flattened into a deadpan one you had seen dozens of times before. “Devious,” he muttered, then reached over to flick the space between your brows.

“Oy!” you yelped, rubbing that place furiously through a wrinkle-nosed glare. “You should consider yourself fortunate that we do not have a chaperone!”

He shot you a smug, little smirk as he slipped past you to walk toward the door of his study. “Rich, considering we haven’t had a chaperone since sixteen. No one to tattle to, hm, Lady Yn?”

“‘Tattle,’” you grumbled under your breath, simultaneously wondering how one’s finger could possibly have so much recoil to make your forehead smart this much. As you followed after him toward the pair of doors that led out into the corridor, you continued to press your fingers to the victimized area of your face. “As if I was the tattle-tale out of the two of us.”

When you reached your friend and realized he had yet to move from his spot, open the door, or even say anything, you glanced over at him. To your surprise, his concerned gaze had fallen to your head—the very place he’d flicked in rebuke of your so-called deviousness.

“What—”

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he blurted. “It was only meant in jest, but if it left a mark, I—”

Ah. You lifted your hand from your forehead. “No, I am merely being generous with my melodrama,” you assured him. “See? There is no physical mark; there is only a mark on my wounded pride.”

He frowned. “If it bruises…”

You patted his chest lightly. “Then I shall forward the bill to your desk,” you teased. You assumed a more sincere tone and reiterated, “Truly, I am unharmed, my friend. You’ve flicked my forehead and I have flicked yours, mutually, hundreds of times. Perhaps you forget your strength occasionally, but ‘tis in good fun.”

You wondered why he had suddenly become so concerned.

After a beat had passed, he nodded, mostly to himself. Seonghwa sent you a small smile. “I apologize, I’m unsure what came over me,” he said with a chuckle. He reached for the door, not yet pulling it open and not yet looking away from you. “I would be beside myself if I did something to hurt you.”

The pulse in your neck slowed for a moment—or perhaps, it went by so quickly it skipped a beat—but the door was open now, and he was gesturing for you to exit before he did.

Where is your head? This is neither the time nor place to be mentally absent, you chided yourself as you passed through the doorway and into the corridor. Servants and guards occupied the hallway, most slowing to dip into bows and curtsies at the sight of the prince.

Of course Seonghwa would be beside himself if he hurt you; would you not feel the same if the roles were reversed?

You stole a glance at him as the two of you strode down the corridor side by side. He did not seem to notice, his own eyes far away in thought.

Years of being raised beside him to be his right-hand, his friend, and an anticipator of his needs; yet, you were still unable to read his mind some days. It would be best if you remembered your place and your responsibilities.

Yes, especially with the coming weeks, that would be best.

The glorious and clear tone of trumpet fanfare announced the arrival of the Halazinian reception. The afternoon sun painted the Aurelian landscape a dazzling shade of gold, an apt color to symbolize the formidable and fortuitous friendship between the Aurelian and Halazinian countries. Not to mention, a color that glittered when touching the pale-blond strands of Prince Yeosang's hair.

While the King and Queen were meant to greet every arriving party as they came, you and Seonghwa made special appearances for personal friends. Formal introductions and greetings between the prince and the other foreign receptions would occur during the opening banquet.

You watched with bated breath as Prince Yeosang helped his partner step down from the steps of the gold-plated carriage. Princess Selene's blue-colored hair, a shade of cobalt that complimented the dark shade of her irises, appeared from the opening as she ducked her head and clutched the hem of her skirts in her free hand.

“It is difficult not to shout,” you said to Seonghwa quietly, unable to hide the bright smile on your face.

He glanced over at you with a knowing look on his face. “Difficult is an understatement; decorum be damned, truly.”

You were inclined to agree despite all of the schooling and etiquette drilled into your head.

Both you and Seonghwa lifted your hands in eager waves as the Halazinian prince and princess made their way across the threshold of the reception hall with the giddy likeness of a pair of youth in the gardens.

Decorum be damned. The Aurelians and Halazinians met in the middle, and the first thing you did was wrap Selene in a tight embrace.

“It’s wonderful to finally see you again,” you said to her warmly.

Selene reciprocated your gesture in full as the princes greeted one another with just as much mirth and delight. “'Tis wonderful to see you again, as well!” She pulled back and clutched your hands in hers. “Aurelia is so lovely—I was telling Yeosang in the carriage ride over that we must return to see Aurelia in all four seasons.”

Yeosang's fond chuckle met your ears as he heard this and he leaned over to place a hand around Selene's waist. “Yes, and I wholeheartedly agreed,” he said. To you, he nodded with a wide grin. “It has been far too long, Lady Yn. You look exceptionally well.”

“Thank you, and so do you, Your Royal Highness,” you replied back in earnest.

“If you both are sincere about taking more frequent holidays here in Aurelia,” Seonghwa chimed in, “the royal summer house is always open to good friends.”

Selene and Yeosang both dipped their heads in thanks. The heads of the Halazinian party excused themselves to greet the sitting monarchs of Aurelia, leaving you and Seonghwa to gaze out the doors of the reception hall once more. There was one more member of the traveling party whom you were expecting, after all.

His carriage rolled in shortly after. The door eased open with the toe of his boot, and out emerged Count Wooyoung of Halazine. Except, rather than the onyx head of hair you were expecting, his hair was now dyed a deep crimson.

The young Count turned his head and a wide, wolfish grin spread over his face at the sight of you and Seonghwa. “Well, if it isn't our bachelor of the hour?” he laughed as he strode down the walkway toward you with his arms spread wide.

Seonghwa let out a fond, but exasperated sigh as he walked forth to clasp Wooyoung's hand in his, the two sharing a brotherly hug. “Never one to beat around the bush, are you, Wooyoung?”

“Never,” he confirmed with a snicker. His eyes flitted over to you, the smile on his face widening still. “Ah, and the most reliable woman in all of Aurelia” —he leaned over and delivered a pair of quick kisses to both of your cheeks before holding you by the shoulders— “radiant as always, Lady Yn.”

No matter how many times Count Wooyoung greeted you in such a way, you would never grow accustomed to it. You laughed nonetheless. “I would hope so,” you mused. “The red becomes you, Wooyoung.”

“I am so touched you noticed! I spent a fortune ensuring the process was done properly.”

Seonghwa sidled up beside you, arm grazing yours. “I do agree with the lady; it is striking but handsome.”

Wooyoung clapped his hands. “Yah, I adore you both. I—”

His sentence was cut off as his eyes went somewhere over your shoulder toward where Yeosang and Selene had gone. “That is my cue,” he said with a hiss, shaking his head. “But we will all dine together tonight, yes? An intimate affair? No pomp and circumstance?”

You nodded. “But of course. You will be sent for this evening, not to worry.”

“I will be awaiting your summons then,” he said before saluting you both goodbye and heading off in the direction of his sovereigns.

With Wooyoung making up the last of the Halazinian reception, and with there being no more expected arrivals for a few more hours, you and Seonghwa turned to exit the reception hall. While awaiting your next group of friends from Paradyne, you would find solace in your study for the time being.

“Well,” you said with a slight laugh as you and Seonghwa stole away into the quieter corridors within the palace proper, “what a jovial time already, and we've hardly begun.”

He hummed a sound in agreement. “Yes, quite. I do believe having such close companions by my side will make this experience far less daunting.”

“I am glad then.”

You and Seonghwa turned to each other at once with a shared smile. (There went that traitorous organ in your chest again.)

Seonghwa opened his mouth, but it looked as if he was hesitating. At last, he said, “I am glad you are here, as well.”

You could only smile. “Where else would I be?”

Later that evening, after the excitement of arriving foreign royalties settled into the serenity of the Aurelian spring night, you and Princess Selene sat together in the quiet of your private chambers. Only two hours ago had you been dining with the others: Prince Seonghwa, Prince Yeosang, Count Jung, along with the sons of Duke Choi, and nobility from Paradyne—Marquis Jeong Yunho and Count Song Mingi.

At one point or another, the merriment had to end—tomorrow was the official start to the social festivities, and you had yet to select your opening banquet dress.

“Prince Seonghwa has a stunningly good eye,” marveled Selene as she lounged upon the settee just behind you in the mirror's reflection.

Your handmaiden, Arin, helped you into a garment of sapphire blue tulle and gossamer that shimmered with microscopic crystal beads embedded within the fabric skirts. You posted your lips as you considered the gown in the mirror. “He's always had good taste,” you agreed, “though, is this not… too gaudy for the opening banquet?”

Selene's brows crossed. “Gaudy?” she parroted as she swept a lock of hair over her shoulder and shifted her posture. “How so? You look beautiful in it.”

“The opening banquet is one meal and dessert—it will be a rather intimate affair compared to the ball at the end of the week,” you explained. “Furthermore, I am not the focal point of the event, nor am I one of the ladies who are attempting to catch the prince's eye.”

Arin gently draped the accompanying swath of fabric over your shoulders that acted as a stole. “But my lady,” she chimed in as she took a step back to take in your appearance as a whole, “are you not there to look for a husband as well?”

“Arin, thank you for reminding our dearest Lady Yn,” Selene said with a teasing smile. “Yes, though you are not there for Prince Seonghwa, you are there for yourself, my friend. Look your best. If you outshine the other ladies, that is not any fault of yours.”

You absentmindedly rubbed the fabric of the skirt between your fingers. It seemed to slip between them as finely as a cascade of water. “It is rather nice.”

“Well, yes.”

Arin stepped over to the rack of clothing and began sifting through the options hanging there. “I did enjoy the look of the lavender-colored garment, madam.”

“The dark embroidered vest with the half-cape was gorgeous!” Selene added, her fingers snapping together at the thought.

“I do say that a half-cape and a less dramatic waistline could fit your needs for the opening ball, my lady,” Arin articulated before producing another garment from the array.

It was a dark plum-dyed cotton like the shade of a mashed blackberry, with the skirt a modest A-line silhouette; its top was a bustier outfitted with a pair of matching plum sleeves, the shoulders slightly elevated with an elegant puff. Arin paired it with the black velvet embroidered vest you had been fitted for earlier this evening, followed by one of the half-coats delivered to your chambers with the rest of the dresses. The onyx fabric complimented the plum of the dress and matched the black of the vest, and would pin to one shoulder with pure silver findings.

“I'd look as if I were off to battle,” you mused, one hand lifted up to cover the smile on your mouth. You could not hide your elation and admiration of Arin's quick thinking.

Selene inhaled sharply, the sound melting into a giggle. “Oh, but Yn, it's quite darling. It's scholarly still, humble—it’s regal, elegant, perfect.”

Arin beamed with pride. “You will be just as busy with suitors as the prince is,” she declared.

The corners of your smile waned, but not noticeably enough for either of your companions to catch. “Goodness, enough about suitors,” you chuckled. “If it were not for the prince, I would not be worried about searching for suitors. My father had forgotten about my being husbandless entirely!”

Whilst Arin helped you out of the dress you were in, you met Selene's curious eyes from the mirror's reflection.

“How so? I mean, how is the prince to blame?”

You sighed, the sound a familiar and fond exasperation for your closest friend. “We were dining with my father and his mother and father, and the Queen had mentioned something about my hand in marriage. And Seonghwa—the audacity! He had the audacity to remind her to dismiss me from my official duties conducting the social events, so that I may socialize.”

Selene snorted out a laugh that was promptly suppressed by a hand over her mouth, but you could still see the upturned curve of her eyes. “What poetic justice,” she mused.

“Whatever do you mean by that?” you queried and stepped out of the dress, then reached for your nightgown. Arin disappeared to prepare all of the pieces for tomorrow's event.

“My dear friend, you are orchestrating his courtship and matchmaking; so ultimately, he would take his revenge by ensuring you got your just deserts.”

The thought had occurred to you, and you were devastated to hear it from somebody else. Selene had practically confirmed it for you.

At the sight of your discontent, Selene draped her body over the settee once more, a soft smile on her face. “You may see this as some ill-conceived hand of fate, but it is rather charming that two close friends such as yourselves are entering society together. When I first met you both at the wedding, I did at once believe…” Her voice trailed off.

Your head raised to glance at her through the mirror again, your hands reaching behind your back to tie the ribbons of your nightgown. “Hm? Did you say something at the end, Selene?”

She blinked, and in that moment, her mannerism reminded you greatly of her lover. “Oh! No, no, no… it was a silly thought.”

“Come now—I’m always eager to hear a friend's first impression of me,” you said good naturedly. You stood straight after tugging the last knot into place, hands straightening any rumpled pieces of fabric.

“Well,” Selene drawled, absentmindedly drawing circles onto the settee with her finger, “I thought you and the prince were as Yeosang and I are to one another.”

Oh.

Your hands stilled for a fraction of a second. “I see,” you stammered, a laugh that sounded a little too convincing coloring the air. “Yes, a silly thought indeed.”

The evening of the opening banquet found you in the one place you shouldn’t have been. Your study was a vacuum of quiet as your eyes flew over the lines of ink scrawled over the page, the nib of your quill leading the dash. This morning, a bundle of amended legal documents had arrived that needed to be read-over, before being signed and sealed as soon as possible. These were not related to managing the social events, thus, no one could deny you this moment of lapsed self-control.

There came a knock on the door, and you barely lifted your head as you granted them entrance. “Your Royal Highness, if that is you, I dare say you will be late to your own party.”

You heard the sound of wood sliding across wood, then a voice that was certainly not the prince’s: “Daughter mine, you truly are.” Your father’s warm chuckle met your ears, and you looked up this time. There he stood in the entryway of your study, eyes upturned as he smiled at the state of you and this space. A pair of heads peered in through the door just behind him—Ms. Lila, and another one of your staff members, Mr. Theodore.

“Father, a welcomed surprise,” you said sheepishly, “I’m afraid you’ve caught me in a moment of weakness.”

He stepped inside, eyes roving over the titles lined in the bookshelves to his right. “Trust me, my dear, I understand completely. Do not worry though; the prince and the monarchs are well on their way to the evening’s affair, which is why I thought to determine the whereabouts of my own daughter.”

You scribbled your initials in the bottom corner of the document to indicate to your future self that you had proofread its contents, then returned your quill to its rightful stand. “There was no need to come looking for me; I would have been on my way posthaste,” you said, stepping around the desk.

Ms. Lila scurried into the room with a familiar length of fabric draped over her arm and you turned your body to make it easier for her to clip the half-cape over your shoulders.

“Thank you,” you murmured to her. “I suppose you and Theodore are responsible for my father knowing where to find me?”

“Yes, my lady, but he is here to escort you to dinner,” Ms. Lila replied brightly. “Theodore and I will be on our way to our staff’s meal once we have you on your way.”

A small laugh flew from your mouth, and you said, “Ah, I see I’ve been ambushed. No doubt that this is Prince Seonghwa’s doing.”

“Guilty,” Mr. Theodore chimed in from the doorway. He had a boyish smile on his face as he confirmed your suspicions.

You sighed. “Then we all ought to be on our way.”

Your father offered you his arm, and you linked yours with the crook of his. The four of you left the comforting walls of your office and into the dimly-lit corridor. By this time, the sun had already set, and nightfall painted the hallways of the palace a romantic shade of cobalt akin to Selene’s locks.

As similar as you and your father were, you both engaged in soft-spoken discussion about the documents you were only just going over. Ms. Lila and Mr. Theodore had departed from your walking party several hallways back, yet you hardly noticed while in active conversation. At some point, the doors to the banquet hall loomed in the foreground, and every so often, a stream of warm light would filter out into the corridor as each party was let in and announced.

Prince Seonghwa and his parents were to enter in from another set of doors once everyone was already seated.

You and your father joined the small queue that had formed of those waiting to go in. Your father murmured under his breath to you, “I imagine your charge has been properly educated on who his prospective matches are?”

You nodded. “Of course, Father,” you said, “he’s an excellent study, you know.” Sometime between the chaos of late-arriving legal packets and preparing for the festivities, you and Seonghwa found moments to learn and review the names and backgrounds of the shortlist of women who you’d invited for the express purpose of being possible matches for your prince. In the beginning, he’d been reluctant—as anyone would be when one’s hand was forced—but he eventually shifted his mindset and committed everything to memory.

There had never been any doubt in your mind that he wasn’t capable of memorizing all that you coached him on. You simply understood that this was not exactly his choice. You only hoped you had selected women who would match with him well, not just for politics’ sake, but on a personal level, as well. He deserved to find a genuine connection.

When it was yours and your father’s turn to make your entrance, the doors opened and you braced yourself for the swarm of bright lights and eyes. A smile curled onto your face like instinct, eyes too overwhelmed to recognize anyone at the moment.

“Presenting: the Royal Advisors Lord Ln and his daughter, Lady Yn!”

You and your father moved out of the entryway and straight into the crowd. “So much for an intimate affair,” your father muttered in jest to you as his shoulder was knocked from the left and you narrowly missed someone’s layers of skirts to the right.

A small chuckle loosened from your lips and, as your senses finally became attuned to all of the stimulus present, you were able to scan your immediate surroundings for familiar faces. “Intimate describes the room, not the crowd of people,” you mused. “There was no other way to describe such an event that lacked the pomp and circumstance of a formal ball, but still hosted nearly half the royalty on this continent.”

“Fair enough,” he chortled. His head perked up before he shrunk down. If he were a dog, his ears would have tucked in flat against his head. “Ah, and there is the Secretary of the Treasury whom I have been dodging for two weeks straight. Darling, let us make a sharp turn—”

You lifted your hand to your lips as you laughed. “Old habits die hard, don’t they?”

“Truly.” He steered the pair of you toward the right side of the room, furthest from the small quartet that provided soft music for the guests to listen to as arrivals continued on. “You did a lovely job, by the way.”

“Thank you. Though, I only did the initial ordering and plans,” you said, still on the prowl for where any of your companions were. “The rest were done by my staff and the other royal household staff members.”

He hummed in agreement. “I see—be that as it may, you had a large hand in all of this. Now, you can focus your energy toward socializing and perhaps, using the dowry your mother and I have had saved for you.”

If you were not in a public setting, you might have thrown your head back with a childish groan. “Father,” you replied with a slight deadpan, “finding a suitable husband should be the last thing on either of our minds. Can we not return to our earlier conversation about legal matters?”

Your father chuckled, patting your arm. “Do humor me, my dear—what would you like to see in a husband? I will try to be of service to you. I understand that you are busy, as am I, but you deserve to find a partner you fancy.”

“A partner I fancy?” you repeated in amusement. Well, if you were going to be pushed to do some searching, you were a little grateful that your father was not forcing some random, old man onto you. “Someone I tolerate… god forbid, love,” you mused cynically. You were quiet for a moment, then added, “Someone who makes me feel as in love as you and Mama.”

“Ah,” your father said lowly, a small, amorous smile flitting onto his face. His eyes were far away now, when you glanced over at him. Even after the decade and a half since your mother passed, there was no other in the world for your father. “Your mother and I… that was a serendipitous case, a bit of luck that our ships happened to pass and say hello.”

You ducked your head, lips curling upward at the memory of her. “Yes, well—if luck won’t serve me, then perhaps I can go by their traits. They would have to be someone who I can respect and who respects me in return; who understands my need to work, but knows how to call me home, so to speak.”

He nodded. “Hm, yes. He must be in good standing, as well, my dear, we cannot forget that. I would prefer if he was a gentleman from Aurelia.”

“I suppose I can understand that,” you replied.

You hadn’t ever given much thought to leaving Aurelia, as serving this country and its crown had been central to your entire life. Leaving this country would not only mean leaving your father to his lonesome, but also leaving the people you considered close enough to be family. An image of Prince Seonghwa flashed in your mind, and you realized that it would be too difficult to leave.

But, your inner thoughts interjected, what if it was a person you connected with unquestionably? You doubted any man was worth leaving all that you knew for, but suppose he courted you with the utmost passion and sincerity? Suppose he was a suitor so objectively perfect for you that even your conscience felt it would be foolish to refuse him?

A silly thought really, for, what man on Earth could possibly convince you of—

“Lord Ln and Lady Yn, please excuse my interruption.”

Both you and your father reacted similarly at the entrance of a newcomer, turning about to locate them. You were met by a man in a fully dark suit, embellished artfully with stones that glittered with every color of the rainbow. It was neither gaudy nor excessive, only tasteful, complimenting the brooch pinned to his lapel studded with large gems only out of one’s wildest dreams. His hair was a black that matched the shade of his attire, but his smile was as brilliant and beautiful as the gemstones upon him.

His eyes met yours first, and he bent at the waist in a short bow. “Grand Duke Kim Hongjoong of Guerisle,” he introduced himself.

The name lit a spark in your head with recognition while you and your father curtsied and bowed, respectively. This was the young Grand Duke? Guerisle was a small country recently liberated from Adrena, a larger kingdom whom Aurelia did not share amicable relations with. When the citizens of Guerisle only a few generations ago rose up in revolt against the Adrenian despot, Aurelia was one of the first nations to back the people of Guerisle. Not long ago, you heard tell that the Grand Duke who ruled Guerisle recently passed, and his only son and heir inherited the title and responsibilities.

(Never did you think that a man as handsome as this would appear when you invited the Grand Duke to the social festivities.)

Your father was the first to offer his hand to the Grand Duke, the two of them shaking each other’s hands in polite greeting. “A pleasure, Your Grace. Marvelous at last to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Hongjoong replied warmly, then turned to you.

You extended your hand out afterwards, fully expecting to shake his hand, as well—only to be met with the lightest kiss to the back of your gloved knuckles. To hide your surprise, you said to him, “I’ve heard many lovely things about Guerisle, Your Grace. Thank you for making the journey here. I do hope your accommodations were satisfactory.”

He nodded. “Your staff have been more than generous,” he assured you. “Aurelia is a beautiful place; I have long since dreamed of visiting your famed landscapes and landmarks. My mother and father used to tell me bedtime stories about the cherry blossoms that bloom in the spring.”

“Oh, is that so?” you remarked, thrilled at his words of praise for your home. “Yes, the cherry blossoms are a wonder to behold in person, but while they have yet to bloom, you must take a turn about the palace gardens while you are here. The marigolds and daffodils are simply unmeasurably stunning.”

“I will certainly make time to do so,” he promised, taking a step closer to avoid a group of people moving behind him. The lessening proximity made it easier to see the subtle details of his face, the way his mouth pulled into a charming, yet simultaneously cheeky smile. “Though, I might need someone familiar with the palace to escort me there. I nearly did not make it here, let alone the palace gardens,” he chuckled.

You heard an unsubtle cough from your side as your father patted your arm. “I believe I see Lord Chung over there, my dear. I shall take my leave now.” He nodded to the Grand Duke. “Have a wonderful stay in Aurelia, Your Grace.”

“Thank you,” Hongjoong replied graciously.

You didn’t need your father’s conspicuous nudge to know what the Grand Duke had suggested. You could read between the lines, and he need not announce his exit in such a dramatic fashion. “My father is something else,” you murmured with a small laugh, tucking a strand of hair out of your face sheepishly.

“He seems like a wise and sensible man,” your counterpart said, arms tucking behind his back as he followed your gaze as you watched your father disappear into the crowd. “He is the Aurelian King and Queen’s royal advisor, is he not?”

You bobbed your head, returning your focus to him. “He is, and he has been for the past forty or so years.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows lifted. “He has an impressive work ethic. I suppose it must run in the family then, my lady, if you are the prince’s advisor.”

“You would also be correct,” you replied with a humble ducking of your head. “I am, unfortunately, quite married to my work, as some might say. If it were not for the crown dismissing me from my duties tonight, I would be locked away in my study.”

The Grand Duke laughed, and the sound seemed to spread a warmth in your chest. “That is something we have in common,” he said. “If it were not for my mother, I would not have left my office at all after my father passed away. I understand the urge to bury oneself in one’s work—is it not my purpose and passion?”

A moment lapsed when you could only consider the soft, yet unmistakable earnesty in his face. He had put your thoughts into words and spoke them aloud into the world. What witchcraft.

“I could not have said it better myself.”

You and the Grand Duke shared a smile.

“Please welcome the glorious sun, the iridescent moon, and the shining star of Aurelia!”

The moment broke apart as your attention whipped over in the direction of the incoming royalty. You watched as the King, Queen, and Prince Seonghwa stood at their personal entrance on the opposite side of the room, their hands lifted in matching, elegant waves. As customary, every person in the room dipped into a bow or curtsy to officially greet their hosts for the next month.

A grin split your face as Seonghwa managed to find you within the crowd, his smile curling up further into his cheeks at the sight of you.

As the reigning monarchs of Aurelia took their seats at the head table, the room began to move all at once to find their place.

“My lady, allow me to escort you to your seat,” said the Grand Duke as he offered you his elbow.

You placed your hand upon the crook of his elbow. “You are very kind, Your Grace.”

When you had been organizing the seating arrangements, you had, of course, refrained from exhibiting too much bias. Your father was seated with officials of his ranking, some friends and some foes; the bachelorettes placed amongst friendly nobility and their families—but you would be remiss if you didn’t put yourself with your own companions.

Though, as Kim Hongjoong escorted you to your empty seat, you couldn’t help but regret putting the young Grand Duke with anyone but yourself and your friends. It would be improper for you to perform a last minute switch, especially when you were now only a guest of the banquet, and not the primary point of contact.

Your friends lit up at the sight of you—then unsubtly reacted to your arm being connected to a man’s… who was not any of them, nor your princely charge.

You sent the table a pointed look as Hongjoong acknowledged the table before he pulled out your chair. “Thank you, Your Grace,” you murmured to him.

“I shall take my leave before I become the last person standing,” he joked. He greeted the members of your party with a nod and polite wave, then departed.

The governor of Guerisle was not even out of earshot before Wooyoung, from across the rectangular table, gasped, “Your Grace?”

You shot him a harder look, only to be met with his giddy grin. “He is the Grand Duke of Guerisle,” you whispered to them.

Count Song Mingi’s expression contorted in awe. “I have never met someone from Guerisle,” he said. “His jacket sparkles with the country’s pride and joy.” He was, of course, mentioning Guerisle’s primary export—gemstones. It was what they were most known for, and why Adrena put up such a fight in their attempt to keep Guerisle as one of their own.

“You mean to tell me,” San chimed in with a grin, motioning to you, “that your first go at socializing in however-long brought you a Grand Duke, my lady?”

“Have some faith in our Yn!” Selene exclaimed with a hand on your shoulder. “I had no doubt that only the best would automatically be drawn to her like a moth to a flame.”

Yeosang leaned forward to remark from the other side of his wife, “Well, is he a good man, Yn?”

You merely shrugged, a reaction that had the table groaning playfully. You could not help the smile you let slip onto your face. “It remains to be seen,” you said honestly. “We have only spoken this once and for only a few moments.” After all, this was only the opening banquet, and it was not as if he expressed his explicit interest in you. But you’d be a fool to believe that there wasn’t something there.

“I feel as if I hardly saw you all evening.”

Once more, you and Prince Seonghwa found yourselves in one another’s company within the walls of your study. Instead of the prince leisurely lounging upon the chaise lounge, he was seated in the armchair across from your desk with one leg crossed over the other, a pair of spectacles sitting low upon the bridge of his nose. He had taken his eyes off of the documents in his hands to look up at you as he spoke.

You lifted the nib of your quill to avoid the ink from bleeding upon the parchment. “I saw you upon the dais,” you remarked lightly. “But I understand your meaning—we did not speak at all unless in passing.” It was rather unfair, considering you were supposed to be the prince’s right-hand. A break from your official duties did not mean you should not have been able to speak with your best and closest friend.

“Yes,” he agreed with a sigh. A soft smile flitted onto his face. “I am not quite sure if I will survive another society event without you by my side. Every conversation seemed to have at least two layers of meaning.” There was a chuckle paired with his statement, but you could tell that it was half-hearted.

You pursed your lips sympathetically. “I will be your steady shadow at the next ball,” you promised. “Your mother and father, and my father, will understand if we tell them that I am assisting in making formal introductions—”

“Wait,” he cut in, uncrossing his legs to lean forward, “I did not mean to say you would have to dedicate your entire evening to me. The ball is yours as much as it is mine in search of suitable matches.”

A name in particular flickered into the forefront of your mind. You set your quill aside and laced your fingers over the desk. “Should you need me…”

“I will not hesitate to call upon you,” he reassured. “I do not need an advisor, my lady, I need my friend with me.”

Ah. Your posture softened, and there was this tender ache in your chest that you attributed to the implication that you were such a grounding figure for him. It was a mutual feeling, but you hoped that, even once he was married, he would not forget your lifetime of friendship. It would be difficult to remain this firm of a figure in his life when he was wed to another woman; the royal court certainly would not make exceptions for you of all people.

“Then your friend you shall have,” you declared, hoping the bittersweetness was not shining through. Was it selfish to wish to be by his side forever when you were the one configuring his match to someone else?

(How cruel.)

Seonghwa was quiet for a beat, then nodded, ducking his head to smile to himself and return to his documents.

The peace and quiet was delicately broken by a knock at the study doors. You and the prince both raised your head, your eyebrows twisting together curiously. None of your staff members should have had any information for you as they were busy with further preparations for the grand ball in two days’ time.

“Yes? Please, come in,” you beckoned and leaned your chin onto your fist.

The door slid open and the face of a guard peered in. “Ma'am, Your Royal Highness—one of the servants have brought something.”

Yours and your counterpart's posture straightened. “Well,” you said, “do let them in.”

The guardsman bowed his head and shifted out of sight, only to be replaced by a servant you had glimpsed a handful of times working mainly in the guest wing of the palace. The young man had a sterling silver tray clutched between his hands, upon which a small, violet-colored box sat. It was tied together with a ribbon bow.

He strode into the room, bowing deeply to the prince but approaching you at the desk. “This for you, my lady,” he said.

“For me?” You gently took the box and inspected its satiny surface. “From who?” Perhaps it was from Selene, or one of the foreign royals and nobility who wished to, god forbid, bribe you—

“It is from Grand Duke Kim of Guerisle, my lady.”

The organ in your chest gave a flutter. “Oh,” was all you could manage as you bit the inside of your cheek to stop from smiling. “I see. Thank you.”

The young man bowed as he departed, slipping out of the room as swiftly as he had appeared. The door was pulled closed after that, leaving the room swallowed in that seemingly unbreakable quiet.

Seonghwa immediately moved closer and his brows creased together. “The Grand Duke of Guerisle? You know one another?”

“Somewhat, we, ah, were acquainted last night,” you said lowly as you set the box on the table and gently pried the ribbon bow free. The loops pulled out of one another like the interlocking mechanisms of a puzzle.

You lifted the top off and peered inside, a breath stealing away from your lungs at the twinkle that gleamed in your eyes from within.

There was a small bauble seated upon a velvet cushion: five blood red stones arranged in the shape of flower petals, the middle studded with a gleaming yellow stone. It was not as large as the face of a coin, but anyone could see what it was.

When you carefully extracted the bauble from its nest, you realized that it was attached to a barrette clip.

“How… adorable,” came Seonghwa's voice as he stared at the item between your fingers. “It is a pretty thing.”

“Yes, it is,” you agreed, though uncertain of what to make of it. Curious indeed.

There was a note tucked between the velvet and the box's inner wall, and you plucked it up to read the loopy scrawl inked there:

Lady Yn, I do apologize for the suddenness of my actions. It seems that I was unable to speak with you again last night after we parted for supper. I wished to ask if you would be willing to show me your lovely palace garden? You were a delight to converse with. Should you be uninterested, I take no offense, but please keep the barrette as a token of my affection and gratitude for being a kind face for a homesick stranger. Yours, K.HJ

You leaned back in your chair and twirled the barrette between your fingers to watch the sunlight dance across the gemstones and refract in rainbows over your skin. It was a small, but beautiful thing.

“So he wishes to court you?” Seonghwa piped up quietly.

You sat up to replace the bauble back into the safety of its box, then slipped the note inside with it. “He,” you began, then paused. “I do not know. He has not made his intentions explicit, but it seems there must be some interest. He wishes to see the palace garden.”

Your friend nodded slowly. “And you?”

“What about me?”

His smile had gone crooked, an awkward yet somehow boyish thing that reminded you of being thirteen and sharing a governess. “What about you, silly? What do you think of him?”

“Oh, I…” You glanced off to the side. The Grand Duke was a handsome man—he had a kindly and mature disposition with no behaviors so far that made you wary. You couldn't deny the part of you that was flattered that he had taken an interest in you, if only for a moment. “I would like to get to know him better. He is—I think I could…”

You could not say the words out loud. Did they not say that if you spoke your wishes aloud, they would never come true?

But Seonghwa was your closest friend. He did not need words to understand the meaning you were trying to convey.

He swallowed, then nodded as he mustered up an encouraging smile. “Then you should take that turn about the garden with him,” he said. “The daffodils and marigolds have bloomed recently and they are more lovely than the sunset. It is the perfect place to—”

He didn't finish the sentence.

You only looked at one another.

You coughed to clear your throat and broke eye contact so you could place the lid back onto the box and tuck it away in your desk. “Yes, well,” you exhaled out, “then I will send him a reply posthaste.”

“Good,” Seonghwa replied, pressing his lips together.

You unconsciously mirrored that expression. “Good.”

There was nothing as refreshing as the wind whistling in one's ears, accompanied by the beating of horse's hooves against the ground and the smell of the outdoors flooding one's lungs. If there was anything that could soothe the errant voices in Prince Seonghwa's head, it was a ride through the acres of woods on the palace grounds.

From several paces behind him, he could hear the sounds of two other horses’ hooves thundering against the dirt pathway.

“How much farther?” called Yunho from the back of the party.

Seonghwa raised a hand and gestured forward. “Give me about a mile more and we will stop! There is a river where the horses can rest nearby!”

Over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of both San and Yunho nodding in agreement before he turned to face ahead once more. He patted his stallion's muscled neck with affection. “Just a mile longer, my friend,” he murmured.

The three men pressed their horses onward—harder, faster—until about another mile was crossed and every horse and their rider was panting for breath. As Seonghwa promised, they stopped to rest and allowed the horses to drink from the stream.

Seonghwa knelt down by the water's edge, while San and Yunho sat up against a nearby tree.

“Wah,” San said as he carded a hand through his hair and leaned his head against the bark. “I felt as if I were running from something just then.”

Yunho huffed out a laugh as he wiped the sweat streaming down the sides of his face. “Yes, that is an apt description of what I experienced,” he chimed in. “Seonghwa, what ghost do you run from, man? What haunts you so?”

Seonghwa flashed them a tired smile from the river bank, his sleeves rolled up his forearms as he rested back on his palms. “Nothing,” he replied, “I only had some tension to loosen.”

“Do social events stress you so much?” San queried with a playful tone.

“No, it is not the events themselves.” He shook his head and some of the strands hung damp in his face with sweat. He tilted his head back, skyward, and closed his eyes.

It was only yesterday that you received that token from the Grand Duke. You had replied to him as you said you would, and supposedly, you and Grand Duke Kim were in the palace garden now. It wasn't that Seonghwa couldn't fathom how you could be sought after so fast; he didn't doubt your magnetism and allure. You were a wonderful young lady and any man would be lucky to call you his partner.

He could not explain the tightening in his chest.

(Rather, he could, but the words could not leave his mouth with dignity. Not here, not when everyone around him expected him to marry a member of another royal family or an upper noble, including you. Was there a world in which all of this was simpler? If he wasn't born into his status, could he freely—)

“Are you alright?”

When Seonghwa opened his eyes, his companions were staring at him with mild concern. “Oh, uhm, yes.” He sat up and rolled the kinks out of his neck. “I was only resting my eyes for a moment.”

“Speaking of the events,” San piped up, hiking his knee upright and against his chest, “Seonghwa, did you hear that the Grand Duke of Guerisle is here in Aurelia?”

Was it possible to feel such dread over a person he had not yet even met? “I have.”

“Did Lady Yn tell you that—”

“He may court her?” Seonghwa interjected.

San and Yunho exchanged a glance. “So she has confided in you?” Yunho asked; it was a rather rhetorical question that could answer itself. “Did she say anything about him? She would not give us an inch at the banquet! We only saw him when he escorted her to her seat.”

Vaguely, Seonghwa recalled seeing a young man escorting you to your seat at the opening banquet from the head table. He'd caught a glimpse of raven-black hair and the glimmer of gemstones, but he had not recognized him. The prince was well aware now, however.

Seonghwa replied with as much nonchalance as he could muster, “She claims he has not explicitly stated that he will court her, but… we both agree that it seems he has some intention to do so.” He marinated on the little bit of information he harbored: that you and this Grand Duke were taking a turn about the palace garden at this moment.

You were promenading together in one of the most picturesque and romantic spaces in the palace. Good lord.

“And you…?” San's voice trailed off with a questioning lilt at the end.

“You are alright with this?” Yunho finished.

Seonghwa felt his shoulders tense. “Why would I not be alright with it?” he chuckled, lips pulling into an awkward smile. “It was I who encouraged her in the first place, and should this Grand Duke be the man she sees herself with in the future, then I” —he made a sweeping gesture with his arm— “have no qualms against it, nor can I do anything to stop her from being happy.”

“How noble,” San murmured with a touched pout.

Seonghwa rose to his feet and dusted his trousers of the grass and dirt. “‘Tis not noble,” he countered. “I am simply supporting my good friend in her endeavors. Wouldn't you do the same?”

San and Yunho followed Seonghwa's lead as they pulled themselves up to their feet and began to step over to where their horses had wandered. San gave a shrug. “I make no argument, my prince, it is only that—perhaps my disbelief stems from your past feelings for the lady.”

The prince stopped in his tracks and was suddenly cursing his past self for ever revealing such a thing, even as a lad. It was the one thing he chose not to disclose to you as his closest confidant. “I was young then,” he dismissed with a small laugh as he adjusted his horse's reins.

“Does that mean they've faded?” Yunho questioned. San had gone further down to draw his horse back to where they already gathered. Yunho led his own stallion toward Seonghwa. “It is alright to harbor those feelings still,” Yunho said with a good-natured smile, nothing teasing or grim in his expression. “What we should be concerned about is how that will affect the machinations of everything happening now and in the future.”

Seonghwa bit his lip. “You have nothing to be concerned about,” he said to his friend with a nod before pulling himself up atop his steed. “I will not ruin this opportunity for her.”

He just caught the way Yunho's brows wrinkled together in worry before Seonghwa was leading his horse down the bank of the river, in the direction of the palace.

Yunho and San were swift to catch up to him, and the three trotted their way together.

The topic of their deepest concerns was no longer the subject of their casual conversation. San mused about perhaps inviting some of the visiting royals and nobility for sparring matches, and Yunho joined in with a comment about how half of them looked as if they did not bother to learn how to hold a blade.

Seonghwa chimed in with his own opinions—in such close company, a prince could speak his mind freely about such matters. As someone who had been raised in the art of battle (for one day, he might find himself thrown into one), he could not fathom how some foreign royals did not teach their own how to fight.

“—Princess Teia expressed recently that she wished to learn how to wield a scabbard,” Yunho said. Teia was the princess of Paradyne who had been invited as one of Prince Seonghwa's prospective matches. Yunho and Mingi seemed to both be well-acquainted with the princess, but neither of them were inclined to bolster her in the eyes of the prince. They would not force their friend's hand.

San hummed. “Hm, is that so? Is she the daughter of your king who enjoyed the outdoors?”

“Yes, right on,” Yunho replied.

Seonghwa nodded. “It is never too late to learn,” he said. “I hope she gets the chance to be taught properly—”

“Is this not the palace gardens?”

Astride his horse, Seonghwa jolted so violently he nearly toppled off completely. He ignored the surprised reactions from his companions, and he lifted his eyes away from the surrounding forestry and to what lied just beyond the edge of the treeline.

Indeed, there was the very place he wished to avoid—the vast grounds of the palace gardens, strewn with carefully-arranged rows and groupings of flowers of every kind. Those that were more native to Aurelian lands grew in abundance outdoors, while more exotic plants were nurtured within the crystalline walls of the glass greenhouse in the distance.

Whatever conscious desire he had to keep his distance was clearly surmounted by his unconscious need to bear witness to your outing with the Grand Duke.

In his periphery, Yunho and San had come to be on either side of him.

San’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he squinted into the distance, his mouth pulled into a boyish grin at the prospect of seeing his old friend socialize with his own eyes. “This must be the hand of cosmic fate,” he reasoned with no less enthusiasm than a child on Winter Solstice. “Shall we say hello?”

“I, for one, am curious to finally meet this Grand Duke properly,” said Yunho. “What say you, Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa considered his friends’ words, and for a moment, his only thought was that he should not intrude. He stared at the small shape of you and Kim Hongjoong in the distance, your bodies strolling rather closely in one another’s orbits.

There was a pang in his chest; he should not intrude.

Approximately one hour ago, you arrived at the palace’s guest wing to meet your promenading partner for the afternoon. The earlier hours of the day had been spent with Selene and Arin debating what one wore to a non-explicit courtship promenade in one of the most romantic places within the palace. You were certain the Grand Duke was not aware that this was the palace garden’s reputation amongst its residents, but it nonetheless inspired much of the conversation that went into your decisions.

The doors to the Grand Duke’s chambers opened almost immediately after your presence was announced to him.

You willed your heart to settle down in its cage, a smile coming to your face as Hongjoong appeared. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

His eyes drew up and down your form, snagging on the glint of the flower barrette that was pinned into your hair. A smile bloomed as he stepped forward to bring your hand to his lips. “A good afternoon it is, my lady. Thank you for accompanying me,” he said warmly. He brought your hand down, but your linked fingers lingered there in the liminal space.

“Thank you for the invitation,” you replied in kind. “Shall we?”

Hongjoong offered you his arm, and the pair of you set off.

“Do you frequent the palace garden?” he asked as you walked, his eyes settling on you rather than the grandiosity of the halls around you. You wondered how he could possibly look at you rather than all of the architecture; even after living here your whole life, you could not seem to shake the awe in your heart.

You replied, “When I was younger, certainly. As I’ve become more of a permanent fixture within the prince’s staff, I find that I do not have as much leisure time. ‘Tis not something I mind, however—I rather enjoy my work.”

He hummed, head nodding in acknowledgment. “‘Married to your work,’ so to speak,” he mused, recalling your words from the banquet.

“Precisely,” you said with a laugh. “And you, Your Grace? You mentioned in your note that you were homesick, so please indulge me in all of the wonders of your home. I would love to know.”

There was a light that illuminated his eyes, and if possible, Hongjoong’s face brightened even more. “Are you certain you wish to open Pandora’s Box, Lady Yn?” he asked in jest. “I’m afraid once you have me started on Guerisle, I will not stop.”

You patted his arm with your free hand, a reassurance. “I do not say things I do not mean.”

An electric smile was shared between the two of you, one that zipped through your extremities and to your beating lifeforce. The remainder of the journey to the palace garden was filled with Hongjoong’s riveting verbal illustrations of his homeland—of the majestic mountain ranges that cascaded over the southwestern corner of the country, filled to the brim with mines that glittered with every treasure known to man; to the emerald green acres that spanned the Grand Duchy, overlooking a lake the color of teal topaz in the summertime, that froze to a dreamy shade of opaline-blue in deep winter.

He told you of childhoods spent peering over his father’s shoulder in the quiet of his office space, as well as accompanying his mother on picnics spent reading beneath the shade of old willows. Each tale was more idyllic than the last, each telling you one more thing about the Grand Duke that had your walls tumbling down, one by one.

By the time you reached the palace garden, your cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Your Grace,” you piped up as a guard opened the doors out to the garden and your faces were painted in a wash of golden light, “you must be an artist with the way you have so vividly described your home. I am in absolute envy of this picture I have of Guerisle in my mind.”

Hongjoong sent you a grin, pleased. “In fact, I do dabble in Sketch when I have the free time.”

You scoffed playfully. “Intelligent, chivalric, and with the mind and hands of an artist—I cannot understand it!”

He let out a laugh that was free-spirited and full-chested; it was impossibly infectious. “You flatter me, my lady,” he replied humbly, head ducking. “Though, I do not do my homeland justice—you would have to come visit in person to truly understand its beauty.”

“Is that an invitation?” Your pulse ricocheted against the thin skin of your throat. Why did adrenaline seem to pound so violently through your veins at this moment?

“Is that interest?” he parried. “The halls of the Grand Duchy will always be open to you.”

It was your turn to duck your head in modesty. “I am honored to hear that.”

He chuckled, the two of you coming to a brief halt by the babbling streams of the central fountain. “How could it not be so when you wear our jewels so wonderfully?” His hand lifted up to gently graze the barrette in your hair, then trail down in a silken caress as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.

Oh, how your heart squeezed at this very moment. Your breath held still as your every thought raced about in an attempt to interpret, to anticipate what would come next, what he could possibly say next—because you could not come up with something of your own. Courtship was something so foreign to you that you could not fathom its unpredictability.

Hongjoong considered you warmly, hands holding both of yours with his own. “If I were to be candid, my lady, when I first laid my eyes upon you, I could not believe that no man in all of Aurelia had yet to place his ring upon your finger.”

You could have choked. “A bold statement, Your Grace,” you said with a small laugh as heat swarmed your face. “Perhaps fate had a different story in mind for me.”

“Yes,” he drawled thoughtfully. “Perhaps it did.”

Were you prepared to hear what his next words would be? You weren’t entirely sure. To be faced with something you never thought you would ever confront in your lifetime was something frightening, intimidating. One could not simply be prepared for the unknowable.

“My lady, if you would be so inclined, I would—”

“Well, if it isn’t my good friend, Lady Yn Ln!”

The sudden intervention of another, very familiar voice from across the garden was jarring enough to completely break you out from the intimate moment. Both you and the Grand Duke whirled in the direction of the incoming voices, and you felt your exasperation weigh down in your shoulders as you pinched the place between your eyes.

“I apologize in advance, Your Grace,” you murmured while the figures of San, Yunho, and your very own prince made their way toward you. “My friends are rather… curious creatures.”

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Do not apologize, dear heart. I failed to introduce myself to your companions at the banquet; I welcome the opportunity to amend that.”

You turned to him in disbelief and wonder—how could he think so—

“Hello Lady Yn,” chirped Marquis Jeong Yunho once the three had approached. His smile was far too innocent when you knew he was fully in favor of this act. “And you must be the man we have all wondered about.”

Hongjoong bowed shallowly as he clasped Yunho’s hand with his own. “Grand Duke Kim of Guerisle,” he said. “It is a pleasure.”

“Marquis Jeong of Paradyne,” replied Yunho, before shifting to allow San to introduce himself next.

You made eye contact with Prince Seonghwa from over San and Yunho’s heads, a question in your gaze. The prince smiled in a way that seemed to insinuate both helplessness and guilt, but he nodded backward in the direction they had come from. You counted the horses lingering upon the grass, their heads bowed as they munched on an afternoon snack. Amongst them was Seonghwa’s stallion, Achilles, the close companion to your own steed, Patroclus.

Seonghwa stepped forward at last. “Your Grace—I’ve heard many good things about you and Guerisle,” he said as he shook your counterpart’s hand.

Hongjoong’s bow dipped a little lower. “Greetings to the shining star of Aurelia. Thank you for thinking of Guerisle with your invitations.”

“Of course,” Seonghwa replied with a nod. “Though, that gratitude should be reserved for my la—advisor, Lady Yn.” His eyes flickered over to you briefly. “I apologize for the sudden intrusion. It seemed that on our ride this afternoon, we wandered a little farther from the stables than we intended.”

You sent a pointed look at Yunho and San, who both widened their eyes in indignant surprise, their own gazes turning pointed in the direction of the third member of their party.

“It is no trouble. The lovely Lady Yn was graciously showing me your palace garden.”

“Ah, yes. I was present when Lady Yn received your correspondence.” Seonghwa pursed his lips before letting a polite smile grace his features. He carded a hand through the loose tendrils of hair that had fallen out of their leather tie. “Allow me to also extend my congratulations on your ascendence to the title of Grand Duke, as well as my condolences. I understand that your father was a brilliant man.”

Hongjoong ducked his head in a nod. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness. He certainly was.”

You did not know what about this interaction had your pulse racing. It was perhaps the fact that your worlds were now properly colliding—the man you’d spent your entire life with was meeting the man who was possibly courting you. The epiphany came so suddenly that you struggled to swallow and to keep a straight face. Should Kim Hongjoong court you and successfully steal your heart (not that he wasn’t already succeeding at such a maneuver), it would mean your departure from Aurelia, your home.

Would you be able to part from your friends, your father, or, especially, your prince?

The latter hours of the evening were spent in the quiet confines of your study. There were no urgent matters to attend to; it was more so that your mind raced at such impossible speeds that sleep would be nigh impossible. You yawned as you lifted your third cup of tea to your lips, allowing the floral heat to soothe your mind and body.

A book laid sprawled before you upon the desk, the bindings splaying the pages flat so that you might read and drink simultaneously. No matter how much you tried, however, none of the inked words would filter into your head.

The remainder of this afternoon and evening had passed by rather pleasantly, despite the conflicts warring in your head. The Grand Duke had expressed his gratitude and his wish to see you more in the near future and distant future; Seonghwa, Yunho, and San had departed to return their horses back to the stable after conversing with you and Hongjoong for a couple moments more. It was beginning to feel like a tangled ball of string.

It had not even been a week since you met the Grand Duke, but you felt an undeniable pull toward him; yet, you were uncertain whether that thrill originated from your inexperience with courtship or a true gravity.

Your stomach twisted at the thought of leaving this place. Perhaps it was all you had known, but you loved it. You loved the work you did and the people you worked amongst.

The cowardly part of your interiority could not discern who you would even employ to replace yourself by Seonghwa’s side. Could you learn to trust someone else with aiding him? Did you not know him best?

“What selfish, arrogant notions,” you chided yourself aloud while setting the teacup upon its saucer and standing from the desk. There was no hope in reading tonight. Your futile attempts were beginning to feel laughable.

Just as you were tidying up the desk to take a brief stroll before bed, there was a feather-light knock at the study door. It was so soft, in fact, you thought you had imagined it.

But the door slid open a crack, and your brows shot up to your hairline at the sight of Prince Seonghwa, eyes wide and meek as he peered into the room.

“‘Tis late, Your Royal Highness,” you said with a small frown.

The door slid open wide enough for him to slip through and close behind him. He was dressed in casual, comfortable clothing—it looked as if he had just crawled out of bed. “Sleep evaded me, I’m afraid,” he admitted sheepishly. “You are one to talk. You’re working at this hour?” He inclined his chin toward the closed tome upon your desk and the empty teacup.

You pointed at the book. “This? It is only my miserable attempt at wearing out my mind,” you said. “It seems sleep eludes us both.”

He sent you a sympathetic smile as he braced his hands on the back of an armchair. “What eats at your mind, if you do not mind me asking?”

Ah. Your heart gave a jolt. How did one confide in a person who was one of the people their head could not let go of? “I suppose many things have occurred over the past few days,” you replied in a half-hearted attempt to answer his question while evading the whole truth. Verily, you did wish to tell him everything. “I am uncertain of some things.”

“Mmh,” he hummed absentmindedly and slipped into the chair across from you. “I apologize for intruding on your afternoon with the Grand Duke. Truly, it was not my intention to do so—”

You dismissed his concern with a soft smile. “It is alright, Hwa. I was surprised at first, but I am too fond of you and the others to care. Furthermore, His Grace wished to meet you all properly.”

“Yes, he seems an honorable gent.”

You nodded, pursing your lips together. “He is,” you murmured. Honorable enough to fully consider courtship? “Though, I admit that seeing Achilles and the other horses today made me a tad envious,” you mused.

Seonghwa shifted in his seat, hands settling in his lap. “Is that so? I am sure Patroclus misses you,” he said lowly with a chuckle. “It has been too long since you’ve seen the river, has it not?”

“It has,” you realized. “A horseback ride sounds rather nice at this moment. Did it ease your mind of something?” You only asked because the past several years, yours and Seonghwa’s schedules had become so busy that the only time either of you took a ride with Achilles and Patroclus was because you needed to release some kind of inner tension. A horseback ride with a couple of old friends might have implied a less heavy purpose, though.

He tucked his head toward his chest, a smile slipping onto his face. “Am I so easy to read, my lady?”

“Frankly…”

His head shot up then, an indignant sort of expression on his face now at your audacious utterance. The impish grin on your face told him enough, and he scoffed, unable to hide the incredulity. “Frankly,” he parroted, “I take offense to that.”

“You take offense to the fact that I have your tells embedded into my memory?” you teased. “Come now, old friend, what troubles you? It must be why sleep keeps its distance.”

At this gentle prompting, he sighed, leaning his chin onto his fist. “I suppose,” he drawled, “the ball tomorrow is partly to blame.”

You felt your features scrunch up in concern, your own chin settling atop your hands as they laid over the desk. “The ball?” you murmured quietly. “Is it too much pressure?”

“It seems silly to say it aloud,” he exhaled sharply, letting out a wry laugh. “For, if I cannot handle courting a potential partner, then how could I possibly handle ruling a country?”

“You cannot think in such a way,” you said, frowning. “The difference is that you were raised to rule a country. No person is raised to court, pursue, or romance another unless that is their primary purpose in life; and yet, you are already well-versed in treating a woman properly. You must also understand that we are all, metaphorically, upon the same ship. You are not alone in this endeavor, my prince.”

Seonghwa allowed your words to sink into his head for a few moments. Within the silence of your study, you hoped that your words could inspire within him some amount of comfort and confidence. He had led his life with the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders, but in order to attain everything he worked toward, he must find someone to rule it with him. There was no doubt in your mind that he was capable of ruling the country on his own; such a feat had been ingrained in him since either of you knew each other’s names. And though he had lived his life charming those around him, he had never been able to grow close to many of them.

“What will I do without you?” was what he uttered at last. There was a tenderness and a bittersweetness in his gaze all at once.

Your heart stuttered over itself. What would you do without him? “I do not appreciate how that sounds so close to a goodbye,” you murmured as a shard of anxiety pricked your fragile heart.

“I did not mean for it to sound as such,” he said. “I am simply” —he shook his head, along with that particular thought away— “it does not matter. I… how does one begin to dismantle expectations one has already etched into the marble tapestry of their mind?” The question came out of the wind, but the way he looked at you now, wide and earnest, made your chest tighten.

Though the prince was capable at answering his own questions, you cherished the fact that he could confide in you his most difficult queries and dispositions.

“As in,” you inquired, “the expectations set upon oneself or upon others?”

“I suppose the expectations thrust upon others—the picture we already have in our minds of who this—this person should be.” He made a vague gesture with his hands, unable to articulate what his true thoughts were; or rather, hesitating to disclose the exact contexts.

You frowned in thought. “Does this have to do with your future partner?”

His head bowed. “You have that correct,” he said quietly. “Does that make me terrible? That when I am prompted to think of my future wife, I conjure up a mental image of her, and she is” —he cut off his own words, seemingly at odds with himself. “Do not mistake my meaning; the young ladies who have gathered here have all been lovely, and they are intelligent, witty, and handsome. But my mind cannot help but think that they are not who I am looking for.”

Seonghwa exhaled. “I do not mean to be particular,” he continued, “I feel terrible that I am unable to give these women the attention and thought they deserve because my mind is somewhere else.”

You could not help but continue to believe there was something he refrained from telling you. Who could be this person he had shaped his entire mental image around? If you could help… But even that seemed to form a lump in your throat. (In truth, was the thought of forcing your closest friend to pick a partner what made your stomach twist; or was it also the fact that you would have to see him love someone else?)

You were unable to confess that you were both facing similar afflictions. You both had reinforced images in your head, and the current state of your lives were so overwhelmed with change that neither of you quite comprehended how to confront any of it. There was the possibility of leaving a life you had known forevermore—and for Seonghwa, it was the prospect of choosing one’s duty over one’s heart.

“My prince,” you said with a heavy heart, “I wish I could give you an answer. It would be so much easier if I could give you an answer.” You stood from your seat and rounded the desk, as you had done so many times before, to arrive at his side. You offered him the most reassuring smile you could muster, along with the palm of your hand.

His eyes looked between yours and your hand. He slowly drew his hand up to lay over yours, fingers enclosing around yours to give you a strong squeeze. “That is alright,” he told you. “Speaking the words aloud have already given me some solace.” Your presence alone soothes every torrent thought in my head.

You once again found yourself escorted by your father, but rather than the banquet hall, it was to the palace’s Andromeda ballroom. This evening was the first ball of the event series. There would be only one more after this one, held in a weeks’ time. You were unsure whether Seonghwa would make his choice by then, but you hoped the conversation you’d shared last night would bring a renewed energy to his spirit.

The gown you, Arin, and Selene had decided upon for this evening’s festivity was a rich forest green, layered with ruffled white skirts and accented with white silk and pearls. It was not ostentatious, but a tasteful garment that accentuated your natural beauty and made you feel beautiful.

“I wonder how His Grace and you have been faring,” your father mused aloud, playfully looking at anywhere but you when you threw a sidelong glance at him.

You let out a small, exasperated sigh. “If you wished to know, all you had to do was ask.”

“How fares you and the Grand Duke?”

A gloved hand was quick to cover your mouth before a properly unladylike snort escaped you. “My goodness; you are no better than the gossiping mothers of the aristocracy. Have you no tact, no propriety?” you bantered.

Your father laughed heartily. “Hardly,” he said, and it only made your urge to laugh greater. “So have you made progress, or have I missed several chapters and should expect a notice of engagement?”

Heat swarmed your face and you lightly swatted your father’s arm while rolling your eyes. “Incredible,” you muttered. “I’ll have you know that your dowry is still safe.”

“That does not reassure me completely,” he tsked. “Neither does that answer my question. He has called upon you, has he not?”

You met the questioning tilt of his eyebrow with a nod. “He has, and we have promenaded in the palace gardens.”

“Well, I do say that is quite the first outing. He is a good man, then?”

The warmth from that afternoon trickled across your skin and left your nerves aflame, a phantom sensation. A small smile wormed its way onto your lips and you squandered it into the side of your cheek. “I would say so.”

“You seem hesitant to say that, my dear,” he noted. “Remember that you do not have to settle with the first man who expresses interest in you, Yn. The Grand Duke is a perfectly marvelous option, but the last thing I, nor your mother, would ever hope for you is that you felt you needed to force a connection with another.”

Your father’s words set off a pang in your chest, and you glanced over at him. “You truly mean that?”

“Of course,” he said, patting your arm. “You are my only daughter. I’d be damned if I could not see my only child happy.”

There was something of a dam in your eyes threatening to burst. His sincere words drew your thoughts from last night to the forefront of your mind. You wondered, desperately, if your father might understand the plight you now found yourself in. Would he still rally for you to go after a man of your choosing or the life you have always had? (And, horribly, what if those two things were the same?)

You had stared at him in thought for so long, your father met your eyes and caught the wet gleam there. “What is it—”

“Announcing: the Royal Advisors Lord Ln and his daughter, Lady Yn!”

You and your father swept your current conversation to the side, but you felt his hand pat your arm once more as the pair of you stepped out into the ballroom upon the top of the staircase.

Across the Andromeda, you locked eyes with Seonghwa, who sat atop his throne beside his father and his mother. In a cruel strike of fate, his attire mirrored yours in the richness of the forest green your body was clad in. Something in your chest had begun to gallop like your Patroclus’s legs on a ride into the forest; you took it as a subtle sign of panic as you searched for any way to reassure yourself that others would not draw any conclusions.

When you realized that both Seonghwa’s mother and father, as well as one or two other members of the visiting nobility, also donned slightly different (but similar enough) shades of green, you allowed yourself to exhale.

You and your father descended the steps into the ballroom to join all of the other guests below. Contrary to the opening banquet, the monarchs had arrived first, while the rest of the guests arrived afterward. Those who were not considered a possible suitor to the prince or their family were asked to arrive before said suitors.

Amongst the fray, you found your friends lingering to one side of the ballroom by one of the windows overlooking the palace garden. You kissed your father on the cheek as he said his goodbye, leaving you to your friends to find acquaintances of his own.

You went first to Selene, who wrapped you in a big embrace, your skirts squishing against one another. “Oh! Your dress is even more darling in the ballroom lights,” your friend squealed in delight.

“And yours,” you gushed, pulling back to marvel at the opalescent blue that made up her gown. The glittery silk and delicately puffed sleeves made Selene a faerie out of the storybooks—and she was already a princess in every way that defined one. “I might have to keep you. Will Yeosang fight for your hand—”

On cue, Yeosang stepped forward with a chuckle. “I can, Lady Yn, and I will prove it if I must,” he mused, wrapping an arm around his lover's shoulders.

“Yes, you all look dashing in your gowns,” Wooyoung scoffed as he joined the conversation, “but what about me?” He made a wide gesture with his arms as he showed off the fur-lined coat donning his shoulders and the silky smooth black that draped over his chest like a waterfall.

“You as well, my little peacock,” you teased. “As stunning as the palace garden herself.”

He sniffed, fluffing the collar of his coat. “I will accept that compliment.”

“Lady Yn, where is your man?” Jongho piped up with an arch of his brow.

You coughed. “I do not have a man, Lord Jongho. Let us not get ahead of ourselves.”

Mingi leaned over Yunho's shoulder as he nudged up the thin rim of his glasses. “I do believe he” —he pointed somewhere behind you— “would have something to say about that.”

The entire group, damningly, turned all at once in the direction Mingi had gestured to. Sure enough, you found the Grand Duke near the center of the ballroom speaking with someone else. From this viewpoint, his conversation partner looked to be one of the members of the Royal Treasury (did those men never stop working?).

He must have felt the mighty force of nine pairs of eyes on him, because he briefly lifted his gaze to meet yours.

A spark of recognition, a smile, then a nod. Five seconds to escape, he seemed to promise.

“He is rather adept at diplomacy,” commented San with a grin. “I fear I must take a page from his book if I am to meet my father's expectations.”

“Not even the tallest mountain on the continent could meet our father's expectations,” Jongho muttered, not bothering to hide the roll of his eyes.

Yeosang clapped the young lord on the shoulder. “Ah, but you cannot say that when you have become such a brilliant financier yourself, Jongho-yah.”

“The very man who charms his way into our treasurers’ good graces,” you added on with a wave of your finger. “You may loathe to see them, but the feeling is not mutual.”

Jongho jammed his tongue into his cheek. “I do need a drink.”

This prompted a round of good-natured laughter around the group. Jongho could not help but join in, sparing a smile and a shake of his head for his counterparts.

“Ah, it seems that everyone has arrived,” commented Yeosang as he turned toward the entrance you came from earlier. There was a lingering trail of beautiful young women dressed in an incredible variety of silks, jewels, and brocade being walked down the stairs by their parents or family members. How the time had flown since you arrived; you supposed much time elapsed between when you and your father arrived and when you trekked all the way across the ballroom to meet your friends.

The music that lingered about in the air slowly transitioned from a fluid sort of melody, to something more of a staccato nature, far more upbeat and familiar. You could already feel your feet move in the proper steps to this song—did not every young aristocrat learn this dance in their schooling? Between this and the waltz, you could not decide which was more widely known.

“Here comes your Grand Duke now, Lady Yn!” Selene giggled to you as she turned your attention toward the direction you last saw Hongjoong. He must have been caught in that conversation with no certain way out, because he was only now shaking hands with his counterpart.

“—and our Prince Seonghwa makes his way over to us,” San said with his eyebrows crossing. “Should he not be in search of a young lady to ask to dance?”

Indeed, the other direction was ruled by the sight of Prince Seonghwa, who had descended from the dais and strode through the crowd and across the room toward your group. But by the way he only seemed to have his gaze pinned to you, there was a distinct pang of realization in your chest. He intended to ask you for the first dance. The first dance and the last dance were the two most important events of the evening; whoever Seonghwa chose to ask to dance could very much suggest a possible interest. In some cases, they were even measures of potential engagements.

Please ask someone else, you chanted in your head as he neared. Please turn to Princess Teia, Lady Chaewon, Lady Avarine, Princess Yura… And then there was the Grand Duke, who was presently taking broad strides through the crowd, dodging fawning gazes and eager noblemen who wished to converse. If they arrived at the same time—

“Well, Lady Yn.” The sound of Wooyoung’s voice beside you tugged you out of your mental space. There was a wolfish smirk on his face as he bowed slightly and offered his hand to you. “May I have the pleasure of this first dance?”

Surprise ricocheted down each precipice of your body, and in that moment of slight shock, you put your gloved hand in his. “Yes, you may.”

His grin widened. “Excellent,” he cheered and dutifully led you out to the dance floor.

When you glanced back at Selene and the others, you could only shrug your shoulders at their utterly baffled expressions. You nor they could quite predict Count Jung Wooyoung, and perhaps that very unpredictability would be what saved you in this moment. (Frankly, choosing between Seonghwa and Hongjoong would have been choosing between duty and heart… or was it one’s heart over one’s duty…?) Nonetheless, Wooyoung swept you past the equally-confounded Grand Duke Kim and Prince Seonghwa.

When the pair of you arrived at the center of the dance floor with other quickly-arriving couples, you confronted your friend with a confused, but amused expression. “Do I dare ask what this is about?”

“I have no inkling as to what you are referring to,” he scoffed, even as his grin did not fade. “I only thought that I taught you how to dance this folk dance so long ago; it was only fair that we would be dance partners once more.”

The memory sparked something in you and scattered over your skin like the wash of a golden sun. Nostalgia was often a blanket over one’s shoulders. “That is—fair,” you agreed.

“And” —he bowed as you curtsied, the melody to the beginning steps on the horizon— “it looked as if you were a breath away from fainting, my lady.”

Your expression shuttered—what? Despite this, your muscles were well-attuned to the syncopations of this song, and you did not have to consciously think about each step. You and Wooyoung slipped into the movements as easily as it was for one to breathe air.

At your silence, Wooyoung said, “You do not have to look so shocked. I have always suspected.”

You sent him a look as you connected your palms together and circled one another. “Suspected what?” you inquired.

“That there is something between you and the prince.”

One of your heels caught onto a stray thread from one of the layers of your skirts, and before you could trip, fall, or twist an ankle, Wooyoung’s grip on your arm steadied you. The action was so seamless, it was almost as if it was a part of the dance itself, but you were, of course, wise to your partner’s adeptness at dance.

His brow arched upward in a silent question.

“I’m alright,” you assured him as you regained your footing. “You—there is nothing—”

“You do not have to keep up appearances to me of all people,” he chuckled. The tempo of the song accelerated slightly, and Wooyoung kept time with such ease; not even a drop of sweat appeared upon his brow, but the delight on his face was infectious.

It had been far too long since you last danced this song, but now that you had found the groove of it, you kept in-time with your partner and the melody.

“We do not have to talk now” —the words were slipped in between a movement that had the two of you coming in close to one another, palms pressed flat against the other— “I only wished to assure you that you have my ear and my support.”

As you pulled back from one another, you imagined the look on your face flashed with a million different emotions. Something moved, something watery, something tender, something relieved. Wooyoung’s smile this time was not one of giddy glee or impish mischief, but a soft warmth; it was that of an old friend reminding you what old friends were for.

The remainder of the song was spent, not talking, but laughing. Both yours and Wooyoung’s expressions mirrored one another as you took your turns about the room, heels clicking against the other’s, giggles lighting up the ballroom. By the time the song came to an end, your pulse was pounding against your throat and in your chest, and your breathing had become ragged. Yet, you had never felt so alive, at least in awhile.

Wooyoung, the dutiful dance partner, bowed to you in thanks before guiding you off the dance floor.

When you and he returned to the place your group had gathered earlier, you discovered that half of them were missing, having likely gone to find dance partners when you and Wooyoung stole away together. The only members of the party remaining were the prince and princess of Halazine, Count Song Mingi, and your Grand Duke Kim. You did not quite know what to think upon the revelation that Seonghwa had gone in search of another dance partner; you should have been glad.

“That was certainly an entertaining thing to watch,” Mingi laughed as Wooyoung gave a dramatic bow to motion toward you, as if he was a conductor gesturing to his orchestra.

“Completely unexpected, as well,” you chimed in and sent your dance partner a playful glance.

Wooyoung wiped a lone bead of sweat from the side of his face. “I thought you enjoyed surprises, my lady?”

Hongjoong, you noticed at that moment, held matching flutes of shimmery, gold liquid. By the by, everyone here had a glass of the bubbly liquid; they had been passed out during the first dance for the guests to enjoy. “You are as exquisite on the dance floor as you are standing before me, Lady Yn,” he said to you as he handed you one of the glasses. When he had freed up one of his hands, he took yours to kiss once more.

“Ah, you flatter me, Your Grace,” you replied with a sheepish grin. “Verily, I am much too out of practice.”

“Nonsense,” Wooyoung exclaimed while raising his own glass of alcohol. You suspected that was thanks to Mingi. “The movements came to you as soon as the melody hit your ears—’twas only the fluff of your skirts in the way.” He sent you a cheeky sort of wink before tipping the flute of champagne back down his throat.

“If you are so out of practice, then I must be a complete novice,” Hongjoong mused.

You narrowed your eyes at him with a great amount of incredulity. “I say, Your Grace, I did not take you as one to brownose. You need not stroke my ego.”

He shrugged, and the way he smiled reminded you of the impishness of your very own friend Wooyoung. “It was not my intention to brownose, as you say. But if you do not believe me, then I suppose we are obligated to settle this on the dance floor.” He reached back to set his glass down upon the window sill behind him, then extended his hand out to you.

“I think you’ve been had, Lady Yn,” Selene marveled under her breath, a smile shared between herself and her husband.

There was no doubt about that. Warmth seared through your neck and cheeks, and you accepted his hand and defeat as your flute was transferred upon the sill beside his. The second dance of the evening winded up from the live orchestra in the far corner of the room, and Hongjoong led you out onto the dance floor. The rhythm of your heartbeat was much different from the way it had been when it was Wooyoung before you.

As the violins crooned their opening notes, your hand clasped with Hongjoong’s and the dance began. Hongjoong drew you through each movement, around the perimeter of the dance floor, with the grace and fluidity of a swan gliding through water. You wondered—as you stared into the velvety dark of his eyes—if the lake his family home overlooked had swans; and if so, they must have influenced the very mechanics with which his body moved.

No inch of the dance floor was untouched by your skirts or his shoes. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips, the weight of his eyes on you like the mass of a gemstone; all the while, your blood rushed in your ears to the three-fourths time of the waltz resonating throughout the ballroom.

“I think,” you murmured to him with a smile flitting onto your lips, “I’ve caught you in a lie, Your Grace.”

He chuckled, the sound so gentle it could have been a caress. “And so you have. I will take any punishment you see fit, dear heart.”

Your pulse gave a leap and you feared it was visibly evident upon your face, because he only smiled afterward, teeth biting his lower lip, pleased.

Too soon, the song was brought to a gradual end and you found your hands growing cold from the lack of the Grand Duke’s warmth. You curtsied to him, his bow dipping low in reply, before his hand found yours again and escorted you off the dance floor.

Out of the corner of your eye, you espied a blur of emerald green, reminiscent of the fabric of your own skirts and bodice. You turned your head out of instinct—a feeling pricked at the back of your head, urging you to do so (or perhaps it was a gravity)—and watched the back of Prince Seonghwa’s jacket as he bowed to a lady across from him. Her frame was wrapped in the most delicate shade of lilac silk and gossamer you had ever laid your eyes upon. Recognition struck you like a bolt of lightning: he had found a partner in Princess Teia of Paradyne.

“They make a handsome couple, do they not?” The comment, not directed at you, had you spinning to locate its source nonetheless. An official from the royal court was conversing with a noblewoman you did not know, and they seemed to both be enraptured by the sight of the Prince of Aurelia and the Princess of Paradyne next to one another.

You are being entirely irrational, your inner voice chided. Here you were with a handsome, charming, and altogether wonderful man, and you were obsessing over how others viewed your friend with a potential match. Had you not been the one to bring this upon him? Did they not make a beautiful couple?

A small weight on the back of your hand had you moving your focus to the man whose arm you held. There was a microscopic crease between his brows, but his countenance was thoughtful. “Are you alright? We did not turn too quickly, did we?”

You loosened a breathy laugh from your lips and assured him, “No, nothing of the sort. I was only lost in th—”

“Lady Yn.” His voice had come out of the very shadows of your mind, as if the very thought of him plucked his physical being and materialized him right by you.

Standing before the prince of Aurelia, you and Hongjoong greeted him appropriately. “Greetings to the shining star of Aurelia,” you murmured together.

Seonghwa’s eyes darted between the two of you, his gaze wholly unreadable to you for the moment. There was a break in the tension when the corner of his lips lifted into a soft-cornered smile as he focused his attention upon you. “I apologize, Your Grace, I’m afraid I must steal my friend from you. I have spent entirely too long this evening without her banter in my ear.”

A graceful way to say: You told me I could call upon you. I am only making good on your promise.

“Of course, Your Royal Highness, I understand.” Hongjoong turned to you and placed a kiss upon your hand, his fingers lingering for a heartbeat longer. “No one is quite immune to the lady’s magnetism.”

You could only duck your head in humility, gloves hands clasping together in front of you as you thanked him for the dance. He replied with a hope for more in the near future before he excused himself from the two of you in search of other company.

Your friend's lips pulled into a wider smile, and you heard his exhale fall. “Two dances and I am fully prepared to retire,” he joked while offering you his arm.

“Please, you enjoy dancing as much as the next person,” you quipped back, taking the crook of his elbow. “You managed to fill your dance card, Hwa. Did you not enjoy yourself?”

“I believe I see the ambassador from Wonderland over there. Shall we say hello?”

The clear avoidance of your question made your posture straighten, and you casted your friend a sidelong glance out of pure confusion. He did not meet your gaze, only steering you both in the direction of the man he had mentioned spotting. You convinced yourself that he was simply eager to speak with the diplomat, but that wasn't quite right—he hardly knew the ambassador from Wonderland.

You slid comfortably into your role as advisor to the prince. During the short intermission between dances, you stayed by Seonghwa's side as you travelled from diplomats to nobles to other country leaders and officials. It had become a rather impromptu tour around the ballroom, by which Seonghwa strategically maneuvered you in every direction that avoided any party that was considered a suitor.

This was not lost on you; you did not want to point out the obvious when the prince seemed so fixated upon strengthening his political and social ties, so to speak. (In every way besides the one that mattered at this very moment.)

By the time the dances were to be resumed, you could have sworn you met the entirety of the continent. Could you manage another dance?

“My prince,” you said with no suppression of the exhaustion in your voice, “I am deathly afraid that I will lose my feet before the night is over. Would you do me the greatest kindness and allow me to sit?”

Seonghwa guffawed and beamed at you. “And you claim I'm the dramatic one?” he tsked, shaking his head, but still did you the service of leading you toward the nearest window sill to perch upon. “Do you need me to carry you, as well?”

Sheer horror made your eyes go wide as the moon, heat catapulting up to your face. “Absolutely not!” you sputtered. “Do you wish to make a scene?”

“No, but it was worth it to see your reaction,” he snickered to himself. “Though, would it not provide material to swoon over? For the ladies in the room, I mean to say.”

Your stomach twisted, but you forced your expression into a deadpan. “They are more likely to swoon from the scandal than from attraction.”

His chuckle met your ears as he helped you to sit down on the edge of the window sill. It was one located near the corner of the ballroom, someplace more quiet than the bustling center. Lords and ladies alike milled about in their attempt to secure their next dance partner, but most seemed to hesitate while the prince continued to linger about.

You could not help but notice this and you were quick to wave him off. “Go, Your Royal Highness. You must ask a young lady to dance with you,” you said to him with fervent pats against his side.

“What if I wished to dance with you?”

“You cannot.” The words came out more terse than you intended for them to be, and you hurried to amend your statement. “I have already sat down; it would be a waste of having walked all the way over here.”

Seonghwa bit his lip, glancing from you to the rest of the ballroom behind him. “I will find another woman to dance with so long as you promise me one later.”

There was a fire in his eyes that would not take no for an answer. (And the way your heart sped did not help much to dissuade you.) “One dance,” you promised.

He nodded, content for the time being, and then—in a movement too sudden for you to fully comprehend—he knelt down before you and kissed your hand. You could hardly understand what transpired and he was gone, the sight of his back clear in your vision as he set off to do what was expected of him.

A promise for one dance could not be honored. As the night continued to ferment, Seonghwa was continuously drawn into dances with other prospective suitors; you were eventually swallowed back into the fray of dancing by your friends (first Yunho, then Jongho, and finally, another dance with Hongjoong). By the time the last dance had arrived, you were certain Seonghwa would call upon your promise—until his mother insisted on having a dance with her son, and who could possibly deny the mother of Aurelia such a thing?

After bidding your friends goodnight, you and the prince wandered down the darkened corridors of the palace toward your office. There was no work to be done, but neither of you felt ready to sleep, and the study was equidistant between yours and his chambers.

You slid the door open and granted yourself entry, already halfway out of your heeled shoes and digging your bare feet into the soft rug in the seating area. “Hmm,” you groaned softly under your breath to match the thick silence in this corner of the palace, “my feet might just have survived.”

The door closed softly, shutting with a quiet thud. “Etiquette should make room for sore feet,” Seonghwa said as he settled upon the settee by the window. “Barefoot waltzing.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest and you slumped into your chair with an unladylike slouch. Neither of you made a move for any of the lights and lanterns in the room, allowing the pearlescent moonlight to provide a subtle visibility. “Barefoot waltzing?” you repeated. “Could you imagine? ‘His Majesty the King's first decree is for the occasional allowance of barefoot waltzing?’”

Seonghwa's laughter joined your own, the sound akin more to the sounds of a pair of adolescents snickering beneath the covers than a pair of grown adults.

Your merriment sobered slightly as your gaze turned out of the window beside you and into the night beyond. There had been a multitude of things that occurred this evening, and they were all slowly, but surely coming back to you.

The gravity of your position suddenly weighed down upon your chest and you deigned to sit up straight.

You cleared your throat. “So,” you piped up, injecting some enthusiasm into your voice, “were there any ladies in particular who have your favor? If I recall, you danced with Princess Teia at least twice.” In the dark, it was easier to pretend your throat didn't constrict at those words.

His visage could not look at you—half his features swathed in moonlight and the other dipped in the charcoal ink of shadow. “Must we speak of that so soon?” he asked, his voice barely audible, accompanied by a laugh that sounded more like a sharp exhale.

“Forgive me; I was curious,” you said and pressed your lips together, fiddling with the ruffled layers of your skirt. “I'd hoped more open dialogue about it between us might make it more palatable.”

A long beat passed. Your heart lodged itself in your throat and you bit the inside of your cheek as hard as you should have bit your tongue.

“Is that not the problem?” he voiced at last. You could feel the weight of his stare even with only half his face visible to you. “That this entire circumstance must be made palatable? I am more likely to end up alone than to choose a woman I do not love and make the both of us miserable.”

He was right—of course, he was right. After all, therein lied your own predicament. You had done this at the behest of your monarchs despite knowing your dear friend would find at least some of this disconcerting.

“I am sorry for putting you through this,” you found yourself saying, your head hanging as you stared at the wooden floorboards. “I believed that the possibility of you finding someone to love would have been—”

Seonghwa's head snapped up. “Love?”

The pure heat in his tone had you daring to raise your eyes and meet his gaze in the emblazoned dark.

“Tell me,” he asked, “do you love the Grand Duke?”

You blinked. “No, of course not, but we have only just met. Does love not take more time to emerge between two people?”

Your words only seemed to spur him to launch out of his seat and pace the carpet before your desk. In the dim moonlight, you could only watch him card his hands through his hair, face tilted upward as he stared at nothing, everything, and only you, all at once.

He came to an abrupt stop, then turned to face you. “If my claim to the throne was dependent on your departure from this court, would you leave or would you stay?”

You felt yourself react physically to such a question—heart violently palpitating, hands gripping the edge of your desk. But to you, there was only one correct answer. You rose to your feet, eyes narrowed in confusion and concern, but fearless in the face of this hypothetical fate nonetheless. “I would leave,” you answered.

“Why?” Seonghwa exhaled out, incredulous. His forehead creased as if he were physically hurt by this answer.

“You were raised to be king, Seonghwa,” you said firmly. A scoff fell from your lips to mask the emotion threatening to keel over. “If I” —you stabbed the points of your fingers against your sternum— “was the sole obstacle in the way of your claim to a crown that is your right, then I would leave in a heartbeat.”

His arm fell to his side. “And if my rule was doomed should you leave?” he asked then, voice infinitely smaller and quieter than before.

Your expression contorted in emotions one could not articulate with words. How could he think so little of himself? “My prince,” you said in a raspy tone, “this country is doomed should you not take the throne after your mother and father. There are others, far better, who will come after me—”

“There are no others,” he countered. “There cannot be another who occupies this desk.”

Frustration mounted inside your chest and you could feel the heat flood your skin. “Why?” you asked him this time. “Even so, you act as if we cannot exist as we are now. There is no reason we could not continue as we are, prince and advisor. There is no possible reason for you to even consider not taking the crown.”

Why did he postulate such a possibility? The breath in your chest froze over at the mere thought of departing, even after he chose another.

“Are you hearing me? There cannot be another by my side. I do not love any of the women in that ballroom.”

Your face twisted in spite and rage and every shard of discordant hurt in your stomach. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything!” he exclaimed and his voice trembled. “It has to do with everything, because I am in love with you!”

You reeled. If you had not been clutching the edge of your desk, your knees would have buckled at the grace of gravity. The blood rushed from your face despite the organ in your chest beating more violently than it ever had before.

Seonghwa took a single step backward, as if he could not believe he had said it aloud; but you were no stranger to the acceptance that donned his face, nor that look of determination. “You once told me people are not raised to court, pursue, or romance,” he murmured, and though he was far more quiet than before, every word rang just as loudly as the others, “but I was raised with you. I was raised alongside you. I have walked miles by your side, breathed a million breaths in your presence. Your voice is the first I hear in the morning and the last I hear in the evening. My lady, I am already governed by your entire existence.”

Slowly, he stepped around the desk, one foot in front of the other, the cadence aligning with the very rhythm your heart produced as blood rushed through your ears.

He walked until he stood before you, both halves of his moonlit and shadow-drawn face visible to you now. There was silver lining his earnest gaze, his hands reaching out to take yours—was it he who was shaking or you?

“So no, I cannot be King if it is not you who sits at this desk, nor you who is by my side,” he continued. “Forgive me for my selfishness—the Grand Duke, he is—he is a good match, a spectacular one even, but I—”

His voice broke, hands anchored to yours.

You could not fathom it. You could not fathom any of it. The very mass in your heart that had his name branded upon it seared at the very notion that he loved you as you did; but you understood your place in this hierarchy.

You knew well that the yearnings of the heart could only be such. Coveting a prince when you were but the lowly nobility standing you were? They would not make an exception.

Thus, you did the only thing you could do to protect the both of you. You gently pushed his hands away.

“I could not,” you said quietly, “live with myself if you one day regretted your actions. I could not live with myself if I stood in the way of your success.”

You could not bear to look him in the eyes, to confront the visual of his facade crumbling before you. Nor could you face the fact that it was all your doing. How could you? the voice inside your head screeched. How could you break his heart when he only wanted yours in return?

In the darkness and dead quiet of your study, you and your prince stood before one another, mere breaths away, and yet, thousands of miles apart; for one had his heart laid bare, and the other pretended she could not hear hers.

Three days had passed since the prince bore his affections for you, and it had been three days since you last had a full-length conversation with him. It was unheard-of as prince and advisor, but to the outside world, your relationship had done nothing but take a slight lean toward professionalism. Essentially, everything remained as it was: you stood by his side, his advisor and nothing more.

Everyone else in between, at least those who knew you personally, were more than privy to the fact that a storm lingered overhead.

The sun rose a bloody, burning star through the filter of your gauzy curtains. There were roses delivered to your chamber doors this morning: I dreamt of you all night. Please have pity on this poor fool by accepting his invitation to see the capital city this afternoon with him. Yours, Hongjoong.

For a moment, you thought the name on the card would be different, but even that treacherous notion was enough to suffocate you with guilt. You sat upon an armchair in your receiving parlor, wrapped in a dressing gown with the card in one hand and a quill in the other. When sleep evaded you last night—as it had the night before—you had instead buried yourself in matters that needed being dealt with.

“You have a perfectly good man who wishes to court you,” you muttered to yourself, the disgust you had against your own self loud over the other voices. After breaking Seonghwa's heart, you could not bring yourself to focus completely on the Grand Duke either. It was not fair to either party; how long would you allow yourself to continue this charade?

Every outing you had with Hongjoong since the ball would have been more than enough to seal your courtship officially, yet you could not bring yourself to cross that line. It was as if you were playing a part, and you were being disingenuous to him—for how could one give their heart to more than one person without one receiving more than the other? Every opportunity you had to prove that you could separate yourself from Seonghwa was a complete and utter failure.

There came a soft knock upon the door to your seating room, and they let themselves in.

“My lady?” Arin's soft inquiry met your ears. “It is time to get dressed for your breakfast with Princess Selene, Count Wooyoung, and Lord Jongho.”

“Ah, is it that time already?”

In a daze, you allowed Arin to pull you through the motions of getting dressed and having your hair styled. For the most part, you attempted to keep up appearances and engage in conversation with your handmaid, but Arin had been with you for so long, it was useless to pretend.

She sent you off with an encouraging smile. “You will have a good day today, my lady. I just know it.”

You could not help but mirror her expression from a statement so filled with good intention. “Thank you,” you said. “You will have a good day, as well, Arin. I will see you later this afternoon.”

You made your way through the palace to a parlor room that overlooked the glass conservatory at the palace garden. As the prince's schedule was embedded into your head, you knew he would be spending the entire day with an assortment of friends, acquaintances, and dignitaries. They were more casual social networking events, so to speak.

Through the framed windows that peered into the parlor room, you could already spot the figures of Princess Selene and Lord Jongho being served their tea for the morning.

“Well, good morning, my lovely friend,” greeted Selene with a smile that had remained soft since you told her everything that transpired that night. “Did you sleep?”

Jongho stood upon the entrance of a lady, pulling out your chair and pushing you in once you'd been seated. “Thank you,” you said to him. “Would it be terrible if I said no?”

“Again?” the two of them responded at once, concern and incredulity arguing their expressions.

“It is the guilt,” you said with a self-deprecating laugh, leaning your head against your hand. “Would you not be eaten alive by it?” A servant had come to pour you a cup of tea, and you brought the lip of it to your mouth and took a heart sip of the scalding-hot liquid. As you set down the cup, your stomach stirred at the sight of their continued piteous gazes. “Where is Wooyoung, by the way? Will he still be joining us?”

Right on cue, the doors to the parlor room opened once more, this time to grant entrance to the man in question. The redhead wore a relaxed poet shirt, the material billowing and loose over his chest and there was a luminescent glow to his skin from the light layer of sweat.

He beamed at the sight of you all. “Apologies for my delay,” he chirped, “and for my attire. I came straight from croquet with Lord Ln and Her Majesty.”

“The Queen?”

“My father?”

The three of you expressed your disbelief simultaneously, which only served to spur the Count on. He settled into the remaining chair at the table, leaning back with a content sigh. “Yes and yes,” he said. “We are all rather terrible at it, but 'tis for the spirit and the fresh morning air. So what did I miss?”

Princess Selene took a sip of her tea. “Yn did not sleep again last night. We must talk her through her guilt or she will never sleep again, I'm afraid.”

“Yah,” you groaned, “I will get over it eventually. We do not need an intervention.”

Wooyoung straightened in his seat, his expression morphing into something more somber. “That is something a person who needs an intervention would say,” he quipped. “Come now, Yn, do you really believe you will 'get over it,’ as you say?”

The distinct epiphany that you were in a corner coupled with your lack of sleep made your defenses crumble too easily. “No,” you confessed, “but what else am I to do?” You made a vague gesture with your hands, helpless. “He is expected to marry a woman of higher social stature than I, and he must do it in order to have his crown. I was never a part of the equation.”

“Until you were,” Jongho interjected pointedly. “It seems you were always a part of his equation.”

Yes, that was what it seemed to be. You always knew a day would come when Seonghwa would be married, and you would likely still be at his side as his dutiful advisor. However, these past weeks have revealed to you that it was never as simple as things staying the way they were.

“If I am being forthright,” you said, “I did not think I was even allowed to love him.”

Selene reached over to squeeze your hand. “Oh, Yn.”

Wooyoung frowned slightly, a crease forming between his brows. “My heart hurts,” he sighed. “Why must it always be a battle between duty and one's heart? And what of the Grand Duke of Guerisle, Hongjoong? Have you decided if you will attempt to put your feelings aside?”

“He sent roses to my door and asked to see the city with me today,” you told them. “He is a good man, and I do not wish to string him along further in the name of my complicated feelings. Continuing this charade will be—it is unjust to him. I have made peace with my actions and where my heart lies. Besides” —you reached for your teacup once more— “I never truly believed I was capable of leaving Aurelia.”

“You will not even try for a while longer?” Selene asked.

“In the state I am in currently?” You shook your head with a wry smile. “His time is better spent on a lady with far less baggage.”

“Baggage is not the way I would put it,” Wooyoung pondered aloud. “It is not a burden to love another. 'Tis unfortunate, but he cannot fault you for falling in love with a man you have spent your entire life beside.”

Jongho chimed in, “If he does find fault with it, then good riddance.”

All four of you raised your teacups in agreement.

It was hours later, deep in the trenches of a warm and golden Aurelian afternoon, that you found yourself upon the arm of Kim Hongjoong. The carriage ride from the palace to the capital's bustling inner-city was light despite the weight that perpetually occupied your sternum.

“Forgive me for not thanking you sooner for the roses,” you said to him as the two of you strolled arm in arm down the cobblestone street. Your eyes had snagged on a cart selling beautiful blooms, and they had reminded you distinctly of the ones that he had delivered to your door. “They were lovely.”

He smiled, glancing at you. “They were nothing in comparison to you, dear heart.”

“Ah,” was all you could manage, a small laugh bubbling out from your lips.

It was not often that you were able to visit the city proper. Now and then, you accompanied Seonghwa to the city for official royal business, or you travelled with friends or your staff members for other errands and casual trips. You raised your head up to soak in the sights of the lively place: the children playing in the streets, shopkeepers hollering catchy slogans to lure customers through their doors, families going about their daily activities. Though you found solace in the quiet and privacy of the palace walls, there was much less social pressure when you were here. They were not cogs in a machine, but members of a community.

You felt the weight of your partner's stare, and you turned your head to meet him. “I'm sorry, I feel that I am not much for company today.”

“No, quite the contrary,” he said. “You seemed… wistful. At peace. What makes you believe you are not good company?”

Your initial plan was to wait until the conclusion of the outing to bear your truth to him. You did not wish to spoil the afternoon and his first impression of the capital city with your news. However, when you looked him in the eye now, you could not find it in your heart to brush the matter aside any longer.

With lips pressing together, you mustered up your courage. “I cannot allow you to court me any further, Your Grace. I realize that this is rather abrupt” —you noted the miniscule shift in his expression, the change that was not obvious to the passer-by, but was obvious to you— “but I feel that I have let myself lead you along this path for far too long.”

The pair of you stopped at the end of the pathway, the crossroads between two main streets that ferried oncoming carriages and carts along its bodies. He bit his lip, glancing away for a moment before returning to you. “It would be dishonest of me if I said I was not disappointed,” he said with the corners of his lips pulling into a slight smile, “but it would also be dishonest of me to say that I was not expecting it.”

“You…” You blinked, eyebrows furrowing at his words.

He chuckled, but the sound was not mocking or derisive; it was sheepish, really, something that felt like the warm caress of the sun’s rays. “I do not believe that you entertained my advances for purely malicious reasons. It seemed that since the evening of the ball, something had changed, and I could not piece together what. I did not say anything for the sole reason that I’d hoped to continue to see you.”

There was a burst of heat crowding at the back of your neck and ears. Were you supposed to be embarrassed that he had seen right through you? Or should you put more emphasis on the churning in your stomach from the guilt? Your mouth pulled down into a frown as the emotions swelled through you.

Hongjoong’s expression softened in ways you didn’t think were possible. “Oh, dear heart, you need not worry,” he said, raising his hand to thumb at your cheekbone. “You do not have to feel guilt or pity for me, nor must you justify your heart to me; however, if it was my actions that led to your decision, then I pray you disclose them to me at once so I might rectify my mistakes.”

“No, ‘tis not your actions,” you nearly exclaimed. It was always a pleasant disbelief you felt when you were around this man. “The fault is mine alone. I” —you stopped yourself short. That wasn’t the complete truth, but in this context, it would have to be. You exhaled, curling your hands over his elbow. “There were many factors that went into my decision: I cannot stomach leaving Aurelia and my father just yet, I continue to harbor strong loyalties to my work here, and I…”

You did not finish your sentence, but he nodded once and patted your arm as if he understood. “If you ever find yourself with an unbearable longing for something different, know that the doors of the Grand Duchy will always be open to you, my lady.”

In another life, perhaps it would not have to result to an unbearable longing for something different in order for you to ever visit the Grand Duchy of Guerisle. In another life, perhaps you did not yearn for a man who might never be yours; and you would instead take the hand of a man who you wanted as equally as he wanted you, and you were completely free to do so.

“I do not deserve your affections,” you said quietly to him.

“‘Tis not a matter of whether you deserve them or not,” he replied. “I gave them freely.” Hongjoong glanced at the road, then motioned for the two of you to cross to the next block. “Come—let us not dwindle on such somber topics any further. I am in a beautiful city with an even more beautiful woman. I’d be damned if I did not take advantage.”

Nothing could be more painful than a consequence you had seen approaching from a mile away.

“Lady Yn, I am most grateful that you offered to walk me to the sparring courtyard.”

You kept your expression cordial, polite—unreadable. Whenever you looked at the young woman walking beside you—Princess Teia of Paradyne—you could only see the grace and elegance required of a princess. Her features were sharp and defined, but it only served to undercut the softness of her eyes. She was reserved, not so much shy; she was raised under traditions more conservative than Aurelia’s, but it did not restrain her independence. She understood her purpose here, and it was to find the most appropriate man to marry. Some days, you did not envy royalty.

“It is my pleasure, Your Royal Highness,” you replied, your words sincere despite the lump in your throat. It had certainly come as a surprise to you when the princess approached you at yesterday’s afternoon tea to inquire about seeing the prince. Apparently, the princess was interested in learning to wield a blade. It was not customary or common for women to spar in Paradyne, so she thought to do so while she was here. “Prince Seonghwa is quite adept with the blade and he was eager to demonstrate for you.”

Of course, you had asked Seonghwa first. If not Seonghwa, it would have been Marquis Yunho and Count Mingi instead, but she came to you specifically, and that could only mean she had him in mind. (And when you had asked the prince, he only stared at you for a moment without saying anything, then agreed.)

When you and Princess Teia emerged out into the sunny Aurelian morning, you were met with the distant sounds of metal clashing. At this hour, it was not uncommon to find some of the men training or participating in a few friendly rounds of faux conflict. A healthy bout of competition was a hearty way to begin one’s day.

The sight you beheld as the two of you rounded the corner was familiar. Today, the group that had gathered consisted mainly of your companions who were paired off and clashing swords, or off to the side observing and engaging in idle chatter. The latter were the first to notice the appearance of two ladies, and they greeted you both in kind.

“Greetings to Paradyne's lily,” said Yunho as he bowed to you both. “And good morning, Lady Yn. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

In your periphery, Seonghwa was still paired with one of the lieutenants of the palace guard; it seemed he hadn't noticed yours and Teia's arrival.

“Good morning, gents,” you replied, gripping the strap of the satchel that hung off your shoulder. “Princess Teia is here to learn a few tricks of the blade.”

Wooyoung appeared from around Yunho's towering shoulders, slinging his arms around the Marquis's frame with a canteen of water in his hand. “Well, I'll say, what a noble pursuit. Every man, woman, or person should learn to fight. Don't you agree, Lady Yn?”

You arched a brow at your friend's foxish grin. “I’m sure the dirt you ate when we were young would agree most heartily, Count Jung.”

Yeosang's holler of delight could be heard as he made his way over, his face split with a grin from what he was hearing. “Lady Yn could certainly be mean if she wished to be when we were young, hm, Wooyoungie?” he chuckled at his friend's expense, bending at a waist into a bow to the princess. “Your Royal Highness—Lady Yn.”

“Good morning,” the princess greeted back with a perfect genuflection. She turned to you with a curious gleam in her eyes. “You know how to fight, as well, Lady Yn?”

The memory of a seven-year-old version of yourself nearly tripping on dust with every kick you attempted made you laugh. “Saying I know how to is generous,” you admitted. “I have acquired one or two specific skills, but they were purely for survival.”

“She means to say that she's mastered one or two skills,” chimed in another voice. The addition of this voice to the discussion had your spine snapping straight. Prince Seonghwa had crossed the courtyard between the moment you noted his whereabouts to the moment you became lost in time. His match completed, and his skin was dampened with a thin layer of sweat, dark hair raked backward from that same perspiration. “'Acquired’ is putting it lightly.”

You glanced between him, the group, and the princess as you recovered from the way your pulse bucked like a spooked horse. “Ah, you flatter me, Your Royal Highness.”

“It is not flattery, my lady, but the truth.” He kept his eyes on you, his expression an unreadable sort of slate, one that made you struggle to swallow.

“Being raised among boys was difficult for a budding, young lady, I imagine,” Yeosang piped up with a sheepish smile toward you. “Yn was only doing what she needed to survive, as she said.”

“Understandably,” Princess Teia replied good naturedly. “I am eager to get started.” To your prince, she lowered into a brief curtsy, which was met in kind by Seonghwa's bow. “Thank you for agreeing to introduce me to swordplay, Your Royal Highness. You are so gracious with your time and knowledge. Lady Yn speaks very highly of your talents.”

His gaze flitted back to you. “Then Lady Yn flatters me,” he said with a humble nod.

“I will leave you both to it,” you excused yourself, unsubtly shooing the remainder of your friends who continued to linger from the prior conversation.

While the others dispersed, Wooyoung clung to your side. “You mean to tell me you arranged that?” he asked incredulously, flicking his fingers in the direction of the prince and princess. When you could only nod, he sent you a scowl. “My lady, why would you—”

“What other choice did I have?” you interjected. You both stopped at a bench located on the sidelines in a convenient swatch of shade. “The princess asked me personally yesterday. I could not refuse her nor fail to ask Seonghwa with integrity.”

His brows twisted. “He agreed then?”

You lifted your hands in a helpless gesture that told him all he needed to know.

“Bollocks,” he grumbled. “You both give me a ghastly migraine.”

With that matter, in your opinion, settled, you lowered yourself onto the bench. From your satchel, you withdrew a novel you had brought along and intended to finish while you were here. While Wooyoung wandered off in search of Yunho's canteen of water to “borrow” from, you found your gaze wandering up to the pair now across the courtyard from you.

Princess Teia was now equipped with a weapon—a wooden practice sword, something dull but with an appropriate heft to imitate the swing of a metal blade. The prince walked her through what looked to be a simple set, one that all squires first learned and mastered when they joined the guard's ranks. You continued to watch as Teia picked up some movements, and missed others—and when the latter happened, Seonghwa would step closer and adjust her position himself—

“You need not be here to watch, you know.”

You tore your gaze away from the pairing and instead, rifled for the last page you had read of this book. “Of course, I do.”

Wooyoung claimed the space beside you as he guzzled down half the new canteen of water in his hands. It did not look like Yunho's. “What are you? A masochist?” he jested. But when your laughter, snort, or eye roll did not come, he lowered the canteen and considered you properly. “Good god, you are.”

“I am not,” you insisted. “I assured the Paradynian monarchs that I would watch over their daughter! She is still in need of a chaperone—I do understand how that sounds.”

His expression was a kind of pity that made you sick to your stomach. “So you understand that this is self-inflicted torture?”

“It is my duty.”

“It is not necessary.”

The two of you refused to break eye contact. You narrowed your eyes at him, and he at you. Of course, you knew what all of this sounded like, what all of it looked like. How poetically tragic that this was what you intended to happen, but never what you wished to happen. Any hopes for that were dashed the moment you pushed his hands away that night.

You were the first to break away. You no longer had the stomach for the look on your friend's face. The reflection of your own sadness there was too real to confront. “Is this not what I deserve? Is this not what I asked for?”

“You deserve happiness,” he countered. “Why do you insist on punishing yourself?”

Deep in the tangled web of your heartstrings, you knew why. It was not something you had the courage to admit aloud. Was this not what choosing duty over heart entailed? “Don't you see?” you asked your friend, your voice loud enough to ensure only his ear would hear it. “This is the only way I might stay by his side. It is not a matter of punishment; it is a matter of compromise.”

If possible, Wooyoung's sad expression only deepened. You could not blame him nor expect him to understand.

By the morning of the second ball, you were both mentally and emotionally drained. With your courtship having ended, you did not see the need in neglecting your duties as a member of the royal staff by attending this evening's event. You had posted an official note to the Queen yesterday to request that she allow you to at least remain in-office for the festivities.

Rather than send you a reply with her answer, she instead invited you to have tea with her. Oh, how dread resonated through one's bones as the distant, thunderous roll of storm clouds.

You arrived upon the terrace nervous, punctual. Could your note be considered insubordination? Certainly within some kingdoms of this continent, but you convinced yourself (somewhat) that your relationship with the Queen had enough depth that she wouldn't immediately dismiss you from your station.

The Queen, never one to be late for a function no matter the size, was already seated upon one of the cushioned benches in the shade. The table was set with a large array of bite-sized sandwiches, hors d’oeuvres, and tea cakes; as well as a set of tea, the tea cups filled with steaming hot amber liquid. She glanced up at the sound of your presence. “Good morning, Yn,” she said, gesturing to the seat adjacent to her. One of the servants lingering nearby scurried to pull out the seat.

“Good day, Your Majesty,” you greeted her with a dip of your head out of respect. “Thank you for replying on such short notice.”

“Well, the matter seemed rather urgent,” she mused, gesturing with the closed form of the cotton and lace fan in her hand. “What is this you were writing about being unexcused from your work? I hear that you have rejected the Grand Duke of Guerisle’s advances. It came as quite a shock to me because you both made such a handsome couple.”

You pursed your lips, lacing your fingers together in our lap. Her questions came as no surprise to you; she was, after all, one of the main advocates for your success in courtship. “It was… not a decision I took lightly, Your Majesty. The Grand Duke and I got along very well, but I found that I could not part with my life here. While I would not mind visiting Guerisle, I do not believe I am prepared to make a complete move.”

“Ah,” she exhaled, eyes glancing away in thought. “I see. Is it because of your father that leaving is difficult?”

“Partly,” you answered. “I have quite a few matters anchoring me to Aurelia, including my position at the palace—not that any of these things are burdensome. I treasure them very much.”

The Queen nodded, her face pensive but understanding. “Then you do not wish to try once more? There are still a plethora of eligible men attending tonight’s function, many of whom are from some region of Aurelia.”

Your lips shut. The other, more prominent reason was one you were uncertain of disclosing to her. Even now, as you peered at the Queen’s slim and sculpted features, they mirrored her son’s indisputably. You could only envision him dancing with any other woman in the room except for you, and while that was a fate you brought upon yourself, it was one that you could avoid seeing. “I find that courtship itself is rather draining,” you admitted to her sheepishly. “And it has only made me more aware of another matter that has made searching for another hand in marriage difficult.”

“What is that, my dear?” she prompted you further.

You lifted your hands to nurse the cup of tea poured for you while you worked up the courage. “There is… it is a matter of my heart, so to speak. ‘Tis not a physical ailment, though, some moments it feels as such.” The corners of your mouth pulled into a halfhearted smile as you stared at the plate of tea cakes before you. “I must confess that it is the primary reason I needed to end my courtship with the Grand Duke. You see, it would not be fair to either of us if I continued our courtship while I was in this state.”

A crease appeared between the Queen’s brows, and as she leaned back slightly, a knowingness filled her features and the crease smoothed out into something softer. “You are in love.”

Four words were spoken out into the spring morning air as nothing more than a breath, but it weighed as much as the world on one’s shoulders.

A helplessness took over your body, and you felt the telltale pricks of emotion behind your eyes. “In so many words, yes,” you whispered. “And I cannot act upon my affections, for the subject of them cannot have me.”

“It is… a shameful pairing?”

“For him, it would be.” You saw her mouth begin to open, perhaps in argument against your statement and in your defense, but you elaborated, “In the aspect that my social stature does not equate to that which is acceptable for him to seek.”

There was a deep dread that lingered in the pits of your stomach, one that buoyed to the surface with every step the Queen took closer to the truth. When—because it was not a matter of ‘if’ she would—she discovered that you coveted her son, would her fondness for you be strong enough to keep your livelihood? She had been partial to you for your entire life because your family had served the royal household for generations, and you were raised with her son. What did she see you as?

A long beat of silence passed, filled with only the nearby trills of birds and a mild breeze wafting past. The Queen set her fan down on the table beside her place setting. “You love him, then?” she asked.

You lifted your gaze to hers and nodded. “Terribly.”

“Then you should pursue him,” she said. A retort sat on the tip of your tongue, but she raised her hand to stop you. “I understand that it is a matter of social status that keeps you apart, but those social rules are not laws. There are exceptions.” She sighed, “Verily, I had not even thought of the possibility that you and my” —she stopped short of saying the word, her eyes subtly taking in the servants posted around the terrace. Even a queen was aware of how fast word of mouth traveled. “I am not against the prospect of you pursuing your love, my dear.”

You could not believe your ears. There was a bubble of emotion expanding within the walls of your chest. The frustration, the anxiety, the exhaustion… if only you had brought up this matter sooner, could it have saved you so much strife? A tear dribbled out of the corner of your eye and rolled down your cheek, your palm closing over your mouth to save yourself some dignity.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she murmured, a frown etched into her face as she shifted closer and warmed her palm on your upper back. She pulled the cloth napkin from your place setting and gently dabbed it at the wetness on your cheeks. “Have you not spent your entire life serving others? Do you not believe you deserve this pursuit of your own?”

You shook your head, choking down the sob that threatened to spill out. “It’s just—I am just so tired. And I—” I’ve ruined our friendship, I’ve broken his heart, and I miss him so terribly.

She hushed you, petting the back of your hair. “I know, my dear. I know.”

The remainder of your time with the Queen was spent calming yourself down by enjoying one another’s presences and dining upon the snacks laid out for you. The conversation you had did not develop how you imagined it would, but then again, you were uncertain of its direction in the first place. By the time the Queen was needed elsewhere, you were more assured of your feelings. She had validated them and encouraged you, which was more than you could ever ask for from the mother of Aurelia.

You strode down the palace corridors in search of the prince. You recalled, vaguely, that he would be having lunch around this time in the day—earlier than usual in order to have the time in the afternoon to prepare for the ball. What in the world were you supposed to say when you saw him? You needed to apologize, you needed to tell him your feelings, did you not?

The familiar doors of the prince’s wing loomed ahead, and just in time, you spotted an errand-runner emerging from within. You rifled through your mental files for a name to the face. “Excuse me! Henry, is it?”

The boy glanced up, surprise taking over his face. “My lady,” he said, dropping into a bow, “we were not expecting you. I will let the staff within know—”

“So the prince is inside taking his lunch?” you asked him, motioning to the door.

He shook his head. “His Royal Highness has decided to luncheon in the north courtyard, I’m afraid. Were you not informed of this change?”

“You have informed me of it now,” you said, already beginning to take steps backward. “‘Tis no matter, Henry. Thank you.”

He bowed once more as you departed with long and swift strides down the corridor—walking but not running. As you pumped your legs to go faster, it shoved a bout of adrenaline through your veins. It made your fingers jittery, your heart gallop; perhaps you did have the courage to tell him everything. You would apologize for your foolishness and set things right.

The north courtyard was not far from the prince’s wing, and you could see the guards posted by the doors at the end of the hallway. You shook your hands out to your side, then clasped them before your body in a neat manner as you approached. However, as you passed by the large windows framing the north courtyard to your right, you could not help but glance out of them.

Your footsteps faltered.

Prince Seonghwa was indeed dining in the courtyard, but he was not alone. Seated with him at the table were the princess of Paradyne and her parents, Paradyne’s very monarchs. The size of the table was rather small, making for an intimate affair. In all respects, it could be considered a formal meeting of the couple’s parents and an integral step in the courtship process. You did not dare breathe, let alone allow your emotions to show upon your face. (Did they not make a lovely pair?)

It was as if a cold pale of water was dumped over your body. Ah, how foolish of you.

“Ma’am?” called one of the guards. “Lady Yn, would you like me to announce your arrival?”

You flinched, your foot taking a step backward. “No,” you said, swallowing. “I—I was ensuring that—that the prince was faring well during his meal. An announcement will not be necessary as I shall be taking my leave.”

The guard who had spoken to you bent into a shallow genuflection, and you turned on your heel to retreat. The heart in your chest continued to pound mercilessly against your bones, and you forced your head to stare straight down the corridor, and not the massive windows that gave one such a magnificent view of the courtyard.

You could walk away again. You were the one to push his hands away in the first place, all in the name of protecting him and yourself. If Seonghwa was truly taking steps toward proper courtship with Princess Teia, then you would not intrude. This was who he was always meant to be with, was it not? No amount of delusions and sudden epiphanies could change that. You would not make this more complicated, despite every fiber of your being screaming to turn back around.

The solitude of your study was one thing that remained constant throughout the turmoil. You returned to her comforting embrace that same afternoon and stayed there well into the evening. The majority of your staff members were busy managing the ball tonight, so you were left to your own devices for the most part; you took your one meal in the office, you napped, you read, you worked. The time slipped away, sand in an hourglass. It was all in the name of blocking out the sound of blood rushing through your ears, the emotion boiling up inside you and wanting to scream.

You did not know what time it was when you heard the beating of drums from outside, down the hall—no, that was not drums, but footsteps.

You straightened in your chair, a tingling sensation pestering you at the back of your mind. Someone was coming and they were not about to make a quiet entrance.

As you predicted, one of the doors to the office was slammed open, the wood skating across the floorboards to slam against the opposing wall. You jolted out of your skin, heart hammering in your chest, and instinct almost had you opening your mouth to admonish the only person in the world who would ever do something such as this.

“Unbelieveable,” was his first word to you today. Prince Seonghwa stood in the doorway—not for long, though, as he moved to shut the door behind him. His body was fitted in a sharp three-piece suit, the vest embroidered in gold silk thread that matched the length of silk draped across his chest and over his back like a cape. His facial features were contorted in an emotion you could not name.

“You are supposed to be at the ball, Your Royal Highness,” you said as calmly as you were capable.

“So are you,” he fired back. “You are defying direct orders from the monar—”

“I defy no one’s orders,” you bit out. You inhaled quietly and did not set down your quill. “The Queen excused me from tonight’s event. Now if you would excuse me, I have work to catch up on.”

For a moment, he only stood there staring at you. Then, he walked forward until he was directly across from you at the desk, his shadow falling over your form. “Forgive me, my lady, but I cannot leave. Why did you refuse courtship with the Grand Duke?”

You felt your breath stutter. “Excuse me?”

“The Grand Duke,” he repeated, firmer this time. “Our friends have told me you’ve turned him away, and he is leaving for Guerisle in the morning.” When you failed to answer, his voice grew quiet and his expression darkened. “Did he do something to dishonor you? What has he done—”

“‘Twas not any of his doings that drove me toward my actions,” you interrupted before his mind could string the innocent Duke up into a horrid villain. “But with all due respect, I do not believe my motivations are any of your concern, Your Royal Highness.”

A muscle twitched in his face and he seemed to flinch. “I think they are,” he countered. “I was under the impression that you would continue your courtship with the Grand Duke and eventually leave your post here.”

You made a face. “I never expressed any intentions of that sort.”

“It seemed that way when you accepted his invitations at least once everyday since last week’s ball.”

Had he been… counting? “That is neither here nor there,” you responded, dashing away the thought. “The Grand Duke and I have dealt with matters privately, and we’ve reached a mutual understanding. Now, you are better served returning to the ball, and not spending your time here, squabbling with me.”

Seonghwa placed his palms on the surface of the desk, planting himself in place. “How can I stand to be at that ball when you are not there in the room?”

Your mouth slammed shut.

He breathed out of his nose, a hand carding through his hair. A week ago, the two of you had been in a position not-so-different to the one you currently found yourselves in. “I came to find you, because I knew where you might be. I despise the pomp and circumstance, despise the expectations—I despise searching the crowd for” —his words came to an abrupt halt, and he exhaled again. “What must I do to convince you to leave this office and come with me?”

You swallowed. The whole reason you locked yourself within the safety of these four walls was so that you would not have a meltdown at the sight of him. If he despised pomp and circumstance and expectations, then you despised the very way your heart beat in your chest for the man across the desk from you. “Nothing,” you said. “There is nothing you can do.”

“I will have the Grand Duke removed if it is the awkwardness you fear.”

You shook your head vigorously, paired with a wave of your hand. “No, he is not the reason! What could I possibly say for you to believe me and leave me be?”

He cocked his head to the side. “You can tell me the truth.”

Anything but that. “What further truth do you seek?” you scoffed. “I have none to tell.”

“Then it must be me,” said Seonghwa. Something resolved in his eyes, like steel glinting within his irises. “You cannot stand the sight of me after what I said to you.”

The organ in your chest plummeted straight into the pits of your stomach. “What?”

“Is it not the truth? You need not spare my feelings,” he remarked with a wry laugh. “I can understand if that were the case—it makes the most sense to me, since you came to the north courtyard earlier today and did not bother to announce yourself.”

The blood seeped from your face this time. He had seen you.

He pressed his lips together with a shake of his head. “I saw you leaving through the window, and when I asked the guardsman, he only said you wished to see how I was faring during my meal. You did not come ask me yourself; I can only imagine that it is because you deplore the sight of me.”

“Stop this.” You slammed your hands on the desk and stood from your chair. He met your eyes directly, but the challenge within them was accompanied by something else lurking there. “How could you say such a thing?”

“How could I not when we can barely hold a conversation unless it concludes in yelling or you walking away?” he cried, gesturing with his hand to this very conversation. “I have devastated our friendship and your respect for me, and I am trying desperately to do what you have told me to do, but I cannot stomach the thought of courting another.

“So please,” he implored, “tell me the truth, and that it is my fault, so that I may attempt to move on.”

How could you tell him the truth and a lie at the same time? “What you are asking me to do is impossible,” you said, shaking your head as the emotion crept in. You could not stand here and allow him to shoulder all of this blame.

“It is not—”

“Yes, it is,” you insisted. “I was the one who pushed you away. I was the one who encouraged you to seek other matches. And I am the goddam fool who cannot bear to face her own handiwork.” You pressed the palms of your hands to your face, inhaling deeply to keep the well of emotions at bay, before lowering them. “It is not you who I deplore the sight of; it is the consequences of my own actions.”

You raised your eyes, already drowning in unshed tears, to meet his. “I refused courtship with the Grand Duke and refused to attend the ball for the same reason, and it is because I am so horribly in love with you; and I can do nothing except to wish that I was born into a position who was allowed to love you.”

The silence in the room was deafening. You lowered yourself back into your chair, head in your hands, as you breathed through each tremble of your body.

You did not even hear him move around the desk until he was kneeling beside you, gently prying your hands away from your face.

“Please don't cry, my love,” he murmured as he thumbed away an errant tear running down your cheek.

His touch made more tears fall. “You must think me a terrible person,” you managed to say.

Seonghwa frowned up at you, a crease forming between his brows. “No, I cannot fault you for your reasoning. I only wished we could have found a solution together.”

“I did not think it would hurt either of us so much.”

“I know.” He held your hands with his own and peered up into your eyes. “I love you.”

Your hands squeezed his hard. “I love you,” you rasped back.

A smile bloomed upon his face at the sound of your reciprocation. It was a beautiful sight to behold—the sunshine piercing through a blanket of clouds after a long storm. It had been far too long since you last saw him smile. “Promise me you'll never make me seek another woman's hand ever again, in marriage or in dancing.”

You nodded, laughing slightly. “As long as you stay here with me for a while. I do not like this study as much as when I am here with you.”

He placed a kiss to the backs of your knuckles, then settled his head upon your lap. You smiled down at the sight of him, then exhaled slowly.

The remainder of the night, the prince never reappeared at the ball. In the quiet of his advisor's study, Prince Seonghwa and you found solace in each other's arms.

a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if u enjoyed!! there is a hongjoong epilogue and 2nd timeline ending that i will be gatekeeping for just me and yumi if u do not tell me u like this >:P

permanent tags: @jaehunnyy @seomisaho @gaonashi @thecarnivaloflies @mars101 @sanbangchan @http-gyu @luumiinaa @starlightkwan @empire-x @kpopjackie @shakalakaboomboo @vernonburger @kangyeosanq @fluorescentloves @distvrbia @an-annyeoing-recs @ffenjoyerdazme @newworldwritings @heuningsgirl @ihynjae @eighteez-net

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