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⣠Chile in a Photography âŁ

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ellievsbear
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@lovelyhan
GONE.
consider this as lovelyhan's last post for good.
it feels so childish to be set off by a single (1) ask but please never pull shit like that to any other writer on here :/ not only is it disrespectful but also inconsiderate. do the bold letters 'requests are closed' not make sense anymore? what's more is that, despite my last psa, i've received several asks asking where part 3 of starcrossed losers is without so much as a minimal commentary abt the fic itself and you know what? i'm probably just not going to continue writing it anymore bc of how demanding people can be.
to everyone who showed nothing but love for my writing, all of you who took the time out of your day to reblog, comment, and let me know how much you loved it, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. but i might have to prematurely leave this blog altogether because the resentment i've felt for the way people treat my writing on here outweighs my desire to deliver stories to those who actually cherish them. this is not on you, never on you, but i see no benefit to staying in a space where i haven't felt respected nor appreciated in a long while now.
i hate to leave something i loved so much with so much bitterness for it, but i think it's really the best path forward for me now.
ciao.
hi kai!! i know that your requests are closedâAND IT'S TOTALLY FINE I SWEAR, but you're the only person I trust and believe who'll give justice abt this đ so, I saw this somewhere in Instagram, and I thought it'll be better as a series or anything. mingyu and reader trying to k!Il (metaphorically) each other in university to be #1 and how mingyu dated the reader to distract her from school so he gets to be the smartest but instead he got distracted first. (YOU CAN TAKE YOUR TIME I SWEAR IT'S JUST THAT YOU'RE THE ONLY PERSON WHO'LL REALLY GIVE JUSTICE TO THIS PLOT) tnx hehe
girl im literally leaving caratblr lol
Hey Kae, I wanted to donate but it seems like PayPal doesnât let me transfer from my country of origin :( if you see any other donation links for international payments, let me know! Would love to support. Hope youâre staying safe and praying for everyone affected by the monsoon đ
hi, anon!!! thank you so much for the kindness on commissions for donations âčïž this means a lot not only to me. here are some other credible donation platforms that will support the over 400k+ filipinos affected by monsoon đ please let me know if they work, and if you have anything you want commissioned after donating. bless you <3
ANGAT PINAS, INC. or CARITAS MANILA, INC. via every.org:
angat pinas is providing hot meals to citizens & responders, conducting coordinated relief operations, and giving out diapers to babies & toddlers stuck in emergency evacuation centers; meanwhile, caritas manila is purchasing medicine kits, food packs, wash kits, and bedding materials for evacuated families.
also i think i'll just take the time to be candid here, but another reason why i fell out of love writing for caratblr is bc people can be so... non-interactive? readers will spam-like your stories without even a single reblog (the thing that tumblr posts thrive off of btw), and actual comments on the work are hard to come by as well. of course, you're not obligated to do any of these things, but just know that writers aren't obligated to keep pushing out content for free if they don't feel appreciated in the space they share their craft with either.
you liked the writer's work? reblog it. or even leave a reply. it doesn't even have to be a novela-length comment. knowing i'm not just screaming into a void in the tags already means the world to me.
it's sad that even 2 years later, we still need to have this conversation but: please appreciate your writers more.
i would like to thank you for serving me my favorite fanfic of all time (starcrossed losers obvi)
it's been a while since i left tumblr and my writings, unfortunately i deleted my account and lost all my works. as a writer too i guess you unconsciously build your standards as you read and write more, and safe to say that your fic saved me.
i lost my spark ever since i stopped writing, and i miss it a lot, and your stories help me write again, and to continue doing so because it serves and benefits me, you helped me realize that, and i am grateful for you.
i would spend sleepless nights to read that specific series and giggle like im 13 and reading wattpad again. you brought so much life to this fantasy that it just makes sense to me, and you embodied jeonghan perfectly.
i want you to know that i'll be here, however long it will take you to bring part 3 bc i know its worth it!! and because ik how hard it is to write, to have motivation and fighting all the writing blocks.
wishing u all the best <33 sad to see u plan on archiving on here when i just came back, but i respect that
love, đ
you people keep leaving all these love letters in my inbox on ANON how the heck am i supposed to know who i need to kiss on the mouth? i'm not going to lie, my heart hurt a little upon reading that you deleted ur acc with all ur writing in it bc... man, even if i'm not into svt anymore, i just can't throw away the children i raised (yes i call my fics my kids KADSJKJDG) but i'm so happy that you came back somehow!
i went through a really bad time with writing as well, so i empathize with you a hundred percent đ« it's an honor to be the one to help guide you back to doing what you loved once again. i hope you continue to nurture it as it is! don't push yourself into making content, write for you!
thank you so much for stopping by. this blog is slowly becoming an obituary of sorts and i haven't even left it yet đ
hello kai! may i ask why you won't write rpf anymore? aside from falling out of love from groups, is there another reason? it's okay if you're not comfortable to share!
i just don't want to, it's actually as simple as that
after the third part of starcrossed losers, are you going to post some extras (prince jeonghan) before archiving lovelyhan? đ„č im afraid im already attached to your works
nope, sorry! thinking of any more plot points to work with is already difficult all on its own lmao </3 and dw by "archive" i just mean i'm turning off notifs for this blog for good. it'll still stay up along with my writing. i think i have a rly prolific masterlist here so it should be enough to feed you for a few weeks til you grow tired of my nonsense SKJSKFJDJDH
do you have an intended date of release for part three of starcrossed lovers?
i don't even know when to schedule my next doctor's appointment đ©đ so nope, you're all just gonna wake up with a notif or somethting HAHDHFHSJSD
hi, i saw you mentioning archiving lovelyhan after your jeonghan writing, so i just wanted to take the opportunity to say this: your game over series is what got me into writing/reading for svt! i read it first on ao3 and absolutely devoured the whole thing. shortly after, i looked you up on tumblr and was delighted to find an extra part hehe. i then went on to start my own account, and i've met some great friends thanks to caratblr--but really, ultimately, thanks to you. i've read each of your work at least thrice (especially your shua pieces!) because i'm enthralled at your characterization, the sheer emotions in your work, and just. the gorgeous, human way you write smut.
you are the first svt writer i knew, and you will always be one of the all-time greats in my head. even if you archive this account, i hope you continue to write! you have real, amazing talent, and the world deserves to see your work.
thank you for being the most perfect introduction to svt. thank you for sharing your work with the world, for free, and for giving us all something to enjoy. mahal kita!!! <3
you say all this and not even introduce yourself đđ knowing i inspired someone to write is the greatest thing anyone could ever say to me đ„Č caratland gave me so many friends both here and on other platforms, and even if i'm no longer into svt, i still cherish every single one đ€
lovelyhan may be archived, but my stories will ofc still remain here for anyone to enjoy! i'll still be writing bc i don't think writing and being delusional will ever leave me đ but i have to leave writing for svt behind me now đ„č
thank you so much for sending this message :( i hope you'll always love writing, and when it inevitably starts feeling like something you're losing love for, just let it go because it WILL come back to you (speaking frm experience!!!) đ€đ€
are you going to continue the game over series? đ
if you want me to answer honestly, i probably won't đ„č i'm archiving lovelyhan after prince jeonghan, so đ
girl
i am FEINING for the last part of your jeonghan fic to come out. i canât read the first two parts until itâs finished because i choose peace, but the HYPE i have for your fic is unmatched. i hope youâre doing well, iâm doing finals rn and your fics are keeping me from crashing out
(this isnât meant to rush you at all btw, i just thought you should know how appreciated your fic and writing isđ)
ily... sorry for just getting to this now đ„č i don't think i can finish pt 3 anytime soon (too many responsibilities outside writing AHHDHSHA) but thank you for hyping for the series nonetheless!
KAI HI IM HERE AGAIN. sorry for not responding earlier, i have an exam tomorrow and i've been tryna lock in and study. but hru doing! how's your week been?
also i might have started easing myself back into writing again! it's a slow start but hopefully it'll get me back into the swing of things.(and hopefully it works)
sorry for just getting to this too đ i've been busy lately as well, so no worries!! I hope your exam went well, and HEEHEE it's nice to hear that you've been writing again!!! i do hope you'll catch a rhythm for it again đ©đ€
â starcrossed losers âą
at age fifteen, youâre betrothed to a prince named jeonghan. at age twenty-five, youâre set to marry him. so when your father gives you a chance to find love all on your own, you immediately take it. now if only jeonghan would stop fucking sabotaging every relationship youâre trying to get into.
â FEATURING;Â jeonghan x reader
â Â WORD COUNT;Â 21k words
â Â TAGS;Â princess!reader, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, magic & fantasy, betrayal (not frm jh), angst, minor character death, blood and violence, smut (MINORS DNI)
â Â NOTES; two years... it took me TWO YEARS to write this and post it AJAHDSFJSHFDGDF i am sorry? SO DEEPLY SORRY!?!?!? but that aside, this probably only starts to get more jeonghan-centric at the 10k word mark... OUGH..... i needed to do a lot of worldbuilding AHAHAHAHA BUT I PROMISEE it's for good reason!
this is part of the itâs complicated series.
PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE
â Â SMUT TAGS; vaginal fingering, making out in places where you shouldn't, semi-public sex (that's it for this part unfortunately...)
Your life changed forever on a Tuesday morning.
As a princess, your days were dictated by a perfectly curated schedule. Every hour accounted for, every moment neatly placed in a grid of expectations and duty. It should have felt restrictive for most girls your age. But not for you. You liked the structure. The routine gave your life shape and purpose. You didnât have to wonder what the day might hold or scramble to meet your obligations. All that was required of you was to show up, shoulders squared, chin high, and play your part in the ever-charming production of royal daughterhood.
Mondays and Wednesdays were for lessons with your private tutorâarithmetic, magical history, the foundations of politics and diplomacy. Tuesdays and Thursdays belonged to physical training. Fencing and archery were your common favorites. Fridays were reserved for etiquette, where you were taught about flawless posture, graceful curtsies, and a hundred ways to say no without ever using the word. Meanwhile, weekends were for socializing, when nobles from Ancarra and beyond paraded their heirs and fortunes before the court like trinkets at market.
On this particular Tuesday, Changkyunâs form was sloppyâleft shoulder too low, footwork too eagerâand you exploited it mercilessly, driving him back across the mat with a flurry of perfectly timed lunges. He faltered on his retreat, lost his balance, and went down with a sharp oof before the tip of your foil points just shy of his collarbone.
You didnât smirk, but it took effort.
Flat on his back, your fencing partner let out a groan and flung an arm over his eyes. âYouâve been spending too much time with Master Yesung. Heâs turned you into a menace.â
âIâve always been a menace,â you tell him, withdrawing your foil with a flick. âYouâre just slow today.â
From the far end of the training hall, a low, throaty rumble of approval rolled across the floor like distant thunder. You glanced over your shoulder to find Reya lounging on the polished stone, tail twitching like heâs amused with your victory. The massive white tiger regarded you with half-lidded pride, resting his chin on his paws like the king he thinks he is.
Changkyun gave Reya a wary glance. âHe still hates me.â
âHe hates everyone,â you replied fondly. âExcept me.â
You didnât say the rest: that Reya is more than a pet. That you hadnât tamed himâyou found him, half-starved and snared by a hunterâs trap in the snowfields. That when your magic surfaced and it turned out you werenât a fire-wielder, or a stormcaller like the other gifted scions of noble houses but simply a girl who could speak to animals: everyone acted like youâd been cursed with the art of babysitting.
That is not real magic, they said. It will never be useful in court.
So you honed your body instead.Â
Foil. Footwork. Form. You mastered it all, until no one dared question your worth out loud. And maybe Changkyun is the only person who ever looked at you without that shadow of disappointment on everyoneâs faces when they thought you wouldnât notice.
Your fingers brushed as you help him to his feet, and your heart liftsâ
âjust as Royal Advisor Siwon clears his throat.
The sound snapped through the air like a blade cracking on steel. You and Changkyun jump apart.
âYour Grace,â Siwon said, bowing deeply. His silver-rimmed spectacles gleam in the sunlight. âThe king requests your presence. Immediately.â
You blinked. âIâm in the middle of training.â
âIâm afraid this takes precedence, Princess,â he told you with the faintest edge of regret in his tone. Heâs always been considerate of your feelings. âThe matter is⊠personal.â
Your stomach twisted at that.
Moments later, you pulled off your gloves, tucking them under your arm beside your training foil. Reya got up from his corner with a huff as he padded silently toward you, his presence at your heel like a silent question.
âIâll return,â you told Changkyun, though youâre not sure you will.
The halls of the Castle of Ancarra were quiet at this hour, but never truly still.
Morning sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, spilling pools of color across the floor dancing faintly over the stone as if the palace itself breathed. The scent of blooming flowers drifted in through open archways from the garden courtyards beyond, clinging to the walls like perfume. Somewhere distant, you heard the faint hum of magic wards being tuned by the royal mages, that soft shimmering sound like glass being struck gently by wind.
You, on the other hand, smelled like sweat.
Each step echoed a little too loudly as you padded down the eastern corridor. Beside you, Siwon walked with his usual glacial calm, every inch the model of a court advisor. Reya prowled silently behind you, massive white paws silent against marble. His fur rippled like snowdrifts in motion, and his blue eyes tracked every passing flicker of movement with the lazy wariness of a predator who knew he had nothing to fear.
You squinted up at Siwon, who maintained his pace without so much as glancing at you. âYou know, if you donât tell me whatâs going on, Iâm going to assume Iâm dying.â
âI assure you, Your Grace,â he replied without inflection, âyou are not.â
âThen Iâm being exiled.â
âAlso incorrect.â
âThen what is it?â
He gave a patient sigh, the kind adults always gave when they thought you were being childish. (You were fifteen, not five, but that never seemed to matter.) âIt is not my place to say.â
You groaned. âThatâs what you always say.â
âBecause it is always true.â
âCan you at least tell me if Iâm going to like it?â
âSome might consider it an honor.â
â...Will you make me one of those snowman figures with your frost magic to shut me up?â
Siwon glanced at you, startled but amused. âI thought you already outgrew those, Princess.â
You huffed, and Reya let out a rumble behind youâhis version of agreement, no doubt. You didnât like the way this was heading. Siwonâs face gave nothing away, as usual, and thereâs no way to break through his defenses.
Rounding the corner near the west wing stairwell, you nearly collided with one of the younger palace maids, who let out a startled yelp and nearly dropped her stack of linens.
âOh! Princess!â she gasped, eyes wide as saucers. âYouâre still in your fencing kit?â
You look at her bizarrely. âYes? Itâs fencing day?â
Regardless, she looked horrified. âYour hair is allâyour tunicâoh dear, youâre soaked. I-Iâll have the other attendants prepare a bath immediately. Do you want rosewater or lavender? I can call for your blue silks, or maybeââ
âShe wonât have time for that,â Siwon interrupted mildly, stepping forward. âHer Highness is expected in the kingâs study at once.â
The maid faltered. âOh. I see. O-Of course.â
You offered a weak smile. âItâs fine. My fatherâs seen worse. Remember when Reya broke into the aviary and I spent half a council meeting covered in goose feathers? This canât be worse than that.â
Behind you, your tiger gave a low, pleased chuff. You could feel his smugness. The maid tried to laugh politely but gave up halfway through. She curtsied and retreated with all the urgency of someone fleeing a burning room.
You scratched behind Reyaâs ear absently as you continued walking with Siwon. âYouâd think theyâve never seen sweat before.â
âYou are a princess, Your Grace,â Siwon said. âThe ideal princess does not perspire. She glows.â
âIâll be sure to glow after Iâm dead.â
Siwon did not react.
Which, of course, was the worst reaction of all.
He reached the grand oak door at the end of the corridor and knocked twice with the back of his hand, the sound deep and final before opening the door.
âAfter you, Princess,â Siwon said, and you stepped across the threshold, sweat-streaked and bracing yourself for the sentence that would ruin the rest of your youth.
The scent of ink and parchment greeted you first.
Not the cloying perfume of court scrolls but something plainer. Vellum stacked in rows, ink dried in the well, candle wax crusted in yellow pools on the old wooden desk. A fire smoldered low in the hearth, casting long shadows over the high shelves. A half-eaten plate of bread and cheese sat untouched near the window, forgotten beside a ledger the size of a paving stone.
Your father sat behind the desk, hunched over a thick sheaf of correspondence, pen stilled in his hand.
The King of Ancarra was not a large man, not like the kings in your history books who towered over battlefields in gleaming armor. He was wiry, silver streaking his dark hair while the creases at the corners of his eyes deepened not by age but by long nights and hard decisions. He looked up when you entered, and the tiredness in his face softened.
âBug,â he said, smiling gently. âYouâre here.â
As Siwon left you two your own devices, you bowed because you were expected to. But when you straightened, you didnât hide the concern in your face. Not even that old, endearing nickname could dispel your unease.
âYou look awful.â
He barked a tired laugh and set the pen aside. âThank you, sweetling. Thatâs what every man longs to hear from his daughter.â
You stepped forward, Reya padding behind you with the faintest growl of warning. He never liked this room. Maybe it reminded him of confinement, or maybe he just hated the smell of parchment.
âYouâre still doing all the ledgers by hand,â you said, eyeing the mountain of work.
Your father didnât deny it. âWho else would?â His smile was wry. âThe ministers mean well, but theyâd outsource my soul if I let them. I trust my own hand better.â
You bit your lip. Heâd always been like thisâstubborn in his solitude, steadfast in his refusal to lean on others. Ever since your mother died, heâd carried everything himself. That day was etched into your life, even though you werenât old enough to remember it. You were told she passed giving birth to you. That her last words were your name. Your father never married again, never even considered it.
Part of you always wondered if that was loyalty, or guilt.
You moved to stand beside him, your sweat-streaked fencing gear looking very out of place in the quiet glow of his study. âYou could have waited for me to change.â
He gave a soft hum. âDidnât want to waste time. I know how long it takes for you to pick a ribbon for your hair.â
You gave him a playful glare.
And then, his expression changedâjust slightly. The weariness didnât fade, but something settled in beside it. A sort of gravity youâd seen only a handful of times in your life.
He gestured to the seat across from him. âSit. Thereâs something I need to tell you.â
The hairs at the back of your neck prickled, but you do as youâre told. Reya let out another disgruntled noise as he curled at your feet, frost blue eyes squared on your father. Shortly after sitting down, you folded your hands and straightened your spine like youâd been taught.
âIs something wrong?â you asked.
â...Youâve grown,â Your fatherâs fingers brushed across the parchment before him, as if searching for the words inside it instead of in his own mind. âFifteen now. Three years left until youâre given the Dawning Crown.â
That doesnât quite answer your question.
The Dawning Ceremony was a rite of passage for every member of Ancarran royalty. On your eighteenth birthday, the veil of childhood would be lifted. Youâd stand before the court in ceremonial robes, swear your oaths beneath the kingdomâs banner, and receive the Dawning Crownâa silver circlet that marked your right to advise the throne, to lead, to inherit.Â
But something told you that wasnât what the king summoned you for today.Â
âYes,â you said warily. âWhat of it?âÂ
Your father looked up at you then. His eyesâtired, kind, and quietly burdenedâsearched your face as if trying to memorize it before he said something you wouldnât forgive.
âIâve arranged a betrothal for you.âÂ
Silence dropped between you like a stone into water, and it rippled in your chest. You blinked, as if youâd misheard. âWhat?â
âA betrothal,â he repeated gently. âTo Prince Jeonghan of Seraphia. The engagement will be announced before the yearâs end. Youâll be married once you both come of age.â
Your throat went dry as you sat there stiffly, the rest of your body frozen while your brain scrambled to catch up. Outside, you could hear the distant flutter of birdsong through the windows, absurdly cheerful for the moment. Reya stirred at your feet, sensing your shock.
âButâŠâ You swallowed. âI thought I wouldâ I thought Iâd be able to choose.â
Your fatherâs face flickered with regret, but his voice was firm. âI did what I had to, bug. This alliance is necessary. Seraphiaâs port routes feed half our inland trade. And their King trusts Jeonghan to succeed him one day. Heâs⊠heâs a good boy.â
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Tried not to make a sound like a dying bird.
Jeonghan.
You remembered him only in flashes. A diplomatic visit when you were thirteen. A boy with moonlight hair and a smile made of silk and sunshine. All the noble daughters swooned while he bowed and kissed their hands like something out of a storybook.
But you saw it.
You saw the glint of amusement in his eyes when he flattered people just to watch them squirm. The flick of his wrist when heâd âaccidentallyâ stepped on your dress train. The way heâd offered you a honeyed tart, only for you to discover it was filled with chili paste. Your lips had burned for hours.
You scowled. âI wouldâve preferred his brother. Joshua at least has a soul.â
The kingâs sigh was long and worn, as though heâd rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in his head and never found a version where it didnât end with you furious.
âI know this isnât what you wanted,â he said quietly. âBut itâs whatâs best. For the kingdom.â
You could feel the pressure in your chest start to swellâtight and hot and helpless. You shoved back from your chair, the legs scraping loudly against the polished floor. Reyaâs ears flicked at the sound.
âSo thatâs it?â you demanded. âYou marry me off to another kingdom and hope I forget everything I wanted? What about Ancarra? Who do you expect to rule when youâre gone, if Iâm stuck in the next kingdom over with a husband I didnât choose?â
Your voice rang louder than you meant it to, but once it started, it wouldnât stop.
âFather, Iâve trained my whole life to help you. Iâm learning about the laws, the politics, the treaties. Iâve fought and studied and bent over backwards to prove Iâm not some fragile little girl just because my magic doesnât shoot lightning out of my hands!â you sniffled, barely breathing with how much your throat feels like itâs stuffed with cotton. âAnd now youâre saying itâs all just... for decoration?â
Your father closed his eyes.
For a moment, the silence returned. Not heavy like before, but much more somber.
âYou think I donât want you here?â he asked, and your heart cracked at the roughness in his voice. âYou think I havenât dreamed of the day Iâd see you on the throne beside me, crowned and proud, finally free to shape this kingdom with your own hands?â
The king stood behind his desk, and the gesture felt too slow for the weight of what he carried.
âYouâll still rule Ancarra in my place one day, bug,â he said, his voice low with weariness. âBut Iâve seen the parts of you that mirror the worst of me. The way you shoulder everything on your own. The way you keep others at a distance, offering only whatâs required and nothing more. I know that kind of loneliness. Iâve lived it. And I wouldnât wish it on you.â
He looked at you then, and the weight behind his gaze was heavier than any crown.
âIâm not trying to chain you to another kingdom. I just want you to have someone by your side. Someone who sees you not as a sovereign, or a symbol, but as a woman. As a queen who doesnât have to stand alone.â
You turned away, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the anger from spilling out again. Just minutes ago, youâd been silently fretting over your fatherâs terrible habit of grinding himself into the groundâand now he was saying you were the same. That youâd inherited his loneliness like it was part of your bloodline.
Reya brushed against your side, his fur warm and solid as a low huff vibrated in his chest. Youâre not alone, he said. Iâm still here.
But the comfort didnât dull the sting. It didnât make the room feel any less like a cage.
âPlease, bug,â he said softly, reaching across the desk to take your hands in his. His grip was warm, steady, and just a little too gentle. âI need you to trust me. Just for now.â
You looked at himâat the sleepless shadows beneath his eyes, the ink smudged into the creases of his fingers, the quiet burden he carried alone because he never let anyone close enough to share it. Your chest ached.
You nodded, once. âJust for now.â
Life went on, as it always did.
Your schedule remained unchangedâlessons, training, etiquette, more training. The castle walls stayed the same shade of honeyed stone, and the banners still rippled with the wind in Ancarran silver. No one treated you differently, but that was the worst part. The servants still curtsied, the guards still bowed, and Siwon still handed you your briefing scrolls with quiet efficiency. As if nothing had changed. As if your future hadnât just been carved into stone.
But when you walked through the halls, people looked at you a little longer. Nobles smiled a little too kindly. Maids paused mid-task to whisper behind their hands.
Reya sensed the shift, too. He stayed closer than usual, his great striped head brushing your elbow when you walked, his breath warm at your back when you slept. His presence grounded you, but not even he could quiet the nervous churn in your stomach as the ceremonial dinner approached.
The Seraphian royal family arrived two days after the harvest moon. Their procession was the usual fanfareâbanners and courtiers, guards in gilded armor, a fleet of pearl-dappled carriages led by plumed steeds. You watched it unfold from the balcony with arms crossed, ignoring the way your heart drummed harder when you spotted Jeonghan stepping out in gold-trimmed robes, his hair ink-black and tied back with a silken cord.Â
It used to be much lighter, didnât it? Though there were always rumors about the eldest Seraphian princeâthat he changed his hair as often as his wardrobe, either by spellcraft or cosmetics. You werenât sure which unnerved you more.Â
The ceremonial dinner was held that evening in the Grand Marbled Hall. Candles glittered in every chandelier. The finest cutlery had been polished to mirror-shine. You were seated at the right of your father; Jeonghan sat directly across from you, grinning like this was all terribly funny.
For the sake of appearances, you were perfect. Pleasant and regal as you should be. You smiled when prompted, clinked your glass when toasts were made, and managed not to stab anyone with your fork. But once dessert had been cleared and the nobles began drifting into smaller pockets of conversation, you stepped away from the main table.Â
And, of course, Jeonghan followed.
âYouâre brooding,â he said, appearing at your side like a shadow. âItâs a charming look on you, truly. Very mysterious, but also very tragic.â
âIâm resisting the urge to toss you into the fountain,â you said coolly, still upset over Reya being barred from the ceremonial dinner. Siwon claimed your tiger would terrify half the guests into fleeing back to their homelands, but honestly? Thatâs exactly where you want Jeonghan to be.Â
All of a sudden, Joshua materialized behind him with a sigh. âBrother, maybe you shouldnât antagonize your future wife during the first dinner.â
The older boy raised an innocent brow. âIâm simply trying to get to know her better. Itâs called bonding.â
âItâs called being a smug little shit,â you muttered, turning to Joshua. âRemind me again why they didnât marry you off instead?â
âBecause Iâm only thirteen, Princess,â Joshua said with a rueful smile. âAnd unlike Jeonghan, I canât talk my way out of anything. Or into it.â
Jeonghan pressed a hand to his chest. âYou wound me.â
This was what your interactions looked like for the next few years.Â
Time wore on in polished routines and reluctant familiarity. Your lessons deepened. You traded your fencing foil with a sword. Your council briefings grew longer. And through it all, the shape of your future loomed larger, carved into every careful glance from the court, every politely worded expectation.
Jeonghan visited often enough to fulfill duty, but never more than that. He was cordial in public, infuriating in private. He knew just how to smile at the other noble girls, how to offer a compliment sweet enough to make them blush. But never you.
You werenât sure when it started to bother you.
He didnât try to charm you. Didnât send letters. Didnât hover by your side during banquets or take your hand when music played. Instead, he teased you, irritated you, challenged you. When you dueled with the court trainers, heâd lean against a post with a smug grin and critique your footwork. When you won a mock debate in strategy lessons, heâd ask if you were aiming for tyrant or empress.
He wasnât cruel. Just⊠completely uninterested.
And so, you mirrored him. Distant, cool, and unimpressed.
It was easier that way. You told yourself it didnât matter, that you preferred it like thisâthat it was better if neither of you cared. That way, when the Dawning Ceremony finally arrived, and the court crowned you with silver and called you queen-to-be, you wouldnât look for him in the crowd. You wouldnât hope he was watching. Wouldnât wonder if he saw more than just a political pawn.
You were eighteen now. The veil of childhood had been lifted. The Dawning Crown gleamed in your reflection like a weight youâd only begun to feel.
The door creaked open behind you. Your stylists fell silent at onceâone still halfway through pinning the final clasp on your ceremonial mantle. When they turned and caught sight of who had entered, they dipped into low bows, murmuring deferentially before excusing themselves in a flurry of silks and whispered footsteps.
You met your fatherâs reflection in the mirror.
He looked tired. Always did, these days. The strain of kingship lived in the soft slump of his shoulders, in the silver threading through his dark hair. But tonight, he wore a quiet pride that almost softened it.
âI still remember when you used to run barefoot through the garden, covered in dirt and insisting youâd seen a dragon in the clouds,â he said, his voice low and fond. âAnd now look at you.â
You turned to face him fully. The ceremonial robes felt heavier under his gazeâwoven from Ancarran silver and river-blue silk, embroidered with threads that shimmered like starlight. The Dawning Crown had been nestled into your hair not ten minutes ago, and already it felt like a permanent weight.
âYouâve grown into a fine heir,â he went on. âThe court respects you. The people speak your name with hope. I have no doubt youâll rule even better than I did.â
The words landed gently, like feathers instead of stones, but you only offered a small nod. âIs that all, or did you come to deliver another surprise engagement?â
He huffed a laugh. âNot today.â
A shape lingered in the hall behind him. You turned toward the figure, and felt your spine straighten when he stepped inside. You recognized him immediately.Â
Lord Kwon Soonyoung of the River Quarter. Young for a noble, but sharp-tongued, quick-witted, and endlessly frustrating to the older lords who couldnât keep up. He spoke boldly during court sessions, often to your quiet amusement. Not because he was reckless, but because his suggestions made sense. Because they werenât rooted in pride or greed or tradition-for-traditionâs sake.
You could tolerate Soonyoung.
More importantly, Reya mirrored the same sentiment. Your beast stirred at your side but made no noise. His tail thumped once against the floor, and when Soonyoung reached out, Reya allowed him to touch his headâwithout biting or growling or snarling.
You blinked. âHe never lets anyone do that. Not even the king.â
Soonyoung smiled faintly. âI bring very expensive jerky to council meetings.â
Your father gave a dry cough that mightâve been a laugh. âI thought it was time you had an advisor of your own,â he said, shifting his weight. âSomeone who understands your vision. Who wonât cower, but wonât sabotage you either. Youâll still have access to the council, of course. But from now on, Lord Kwon will report directly to you.â
You glanced back at Soonyoung, one brow arching.
He inclined his head solemnly. âIf youâll have me.â
And despite the crown digging into your temples, despite the pressure mounting outside those palace doors, you found yourself almost relieved for once.
The kingdom held its breath as the sun dipped low behind the peaks of Ancarra, casting long shadows across the capital. From the grand plaza to the marble steps of the palace, thousands had gathered to watch you rise.
The Dawning Crown sat heavy atop your headâwoven silver and moonstones, forged centuries ago for this moment. You wore it like you wore the future: unshaking, though it pressed against your every thought.
You stepped forward beneath the carved arch of the Grand Marbled Hall, every bell in the capital chiming at once. Your people stood below. Nobles flanked the raised pavilion. The wind caught your cape and made you look more like a figure from myth than flesh and blood.
Jeonghan, of course, was in the very front of the crowd, cloaked in Seraphian white and gold. His black hair fell loose tonight, ribbon tied lazily at the nape of his neck, and his expression is half amused, half something else. He didnât look proud. He didnât even look solemn. That damn prince simply looked like he was waiting for something only he knew the shape of.
You tore your gaze from him as the High Chancellor stepped forward.
His voice carried through the twilight air: blessing your name, your bloodline, your title. You bowed your head at the proper moment.
When it was your turn to speak, you found your voice more easily than expected. You spoke not just as a daughter, but as a queen-in-waiting. You spoke of duty, and legacy, and of your peopleâof Ancarraâs strength. The crowd answered with a roar.
And just like that, it was over. The stars blinked to life overhead. The music would begin soon. So would the toasts, the dancing, and the procession of noble flatterers lining up to be seen. But firstâyou slipped from the velvet crush of the crowd and found Soonyoung waiting just off the ceremonial steps, where the torchlight flickered low and Reya prowled like a sentinel in the dark.
He stiffened when he saw your expression. âPrincess?â
You pulled him aside, away from the footmen and ladies-in-waiting, and met his eyes.
âYouâre my advisor now,â you said, voice low but steady.
He nodded.
âThen this is your first task,â you whispered. âIf you cannot stop my betrothal to Jeonghan⊠delay it. Months, yearsâI donât care. Just buy me time. As much as you can.â
Soonyoung blinked. âAnd if they ask questions?â
âThey wonât.â You stepped closer. âBecause youâll be clever. And because no oneânot the council, not the court, not even my fatherâcan know that it was me who told you.â
Your advisor hesitated only a moment longer.
Then he smiled, something sharp and wolfish. âConsider it done.â
Years passed like storms over open fieldsâloud, relentless, and gone before you could catch your breath.
Your title grew heavier with each passing season. Every month brought new scrolls to sign, new decisions to weigh, new nobles testing your patience and pretending not to. But by your side, always, was Soonyoung.
He proved himself more than just a quick wit and a clever tongue. He was tactful when you were tired, bold when you hesitated, and disarmingly good at navigating court politics without letting it twist him. Most importantly, he did as you asked: he stalled. And stalled. And stalled.
Soonyoung often cited economic instability. He sowed polite doubt about timing. He suggested further diplomatic exchanges. And every time the matter of the betrothal crept to the surface, he found a way to push it back under without leaving fingerprints. For that, you trusted him more than most.
Still, no amount of clever maneuvering could keep Jeonghan away.
The Seraphian prince was a constant thorn in your side. Not overtly cruel but sharp enough to get under your skin. He made biting comments over tea with the council. Danced merely once at galas, and always with just you, even if his smile never reached his eyes. He acted the perfect prince in public, all grace and golden formality, but in private he still found delight in teasing your temper and smirking when it frayed.
And you matched him, blow for blow. It was the only way you knew to survive it.
You tried everything else. You proposed policy changes that would jeopardize the alliance. You drafted appeals to dissolve the arrangement. You whispered to other members of court, trying to find a crack in the centuries-old yet unspoken agreement binding Ancarra and Seraphia. But the betrothal endured, untouched, like some ancient curse carved into stone.Â
You were set to marry each other once you both turned twenty-five, and not even Soonyoung could circumvent the inevitable for longer than he already had. Â
On the eve of your twenty-fourth name day, you couldnât bear it any longer.
You found your father in the observatory, where he often retreated these days, away from court noise and council bickering. He looked older nowâsofter around the eyes, silver threading his entire beardâbut still steady, still listening.
âIâve done everything you asked,â you told him, voice low but urgent. âIâve honored the engagement. Iâve strengthened our kingdom. Iâve waited. But pleaseâŠâ Your hands clenched at your sides. âPlease let me find love on my own. Not in a treaty. Not in an obligation.â
The king looked up at you, quiet for a long moment. And in that silence, your heart thudded so loudly you feared he could hear the break in it.
Your father didnât answer right away. He looked at you for a long time, like he was peering through the layers of duty you wore like armorâpast the queen-in-waiting, down to the little girl who used to trail behind him with ink on her sleeves and admiration in her eyes.
Then finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair, wearier than youâd ever seen him.
âIf you must,â he said softly. âThen choose. But do it wisely.â
And just like that, the floodgates opened.
Soonyoung, ever your loyal accomplice, was the first to act. But your fatherâs advisor, Siwon, was ten steps ahead. Between them a list was compiled: eligible bachelors from noble families across the continent. Men with good standing, decent lineage, tolerable personalities. A thick folder of names, portraits, court records, and correspondences appeared on your desk within the week.
âYou asked for love,â Soonyoung reminded you, lifting an eyebrow. âNot obscurity. We still have to make it look⊠proper somehow.â
You stared down at the endless sea of faces, all of them smiling too politely. The illusion of choice wrapped in silk and gold. It wasnât exactly what youâd hoped for, but it was somethingâa sliver of agency in a life that rarely allowed any.
Near the end of the list, a familiar face stopped you cold.
Im Changkyun.
The boy who used to spar with you in the training yard until both your arms gave out. The only one who never pulled his strikes. Who called you âlightfootâ just to get under your skin and laughed when you beat him anyway. Heâd left court years ago to pursue something abroad for a few yearsâyou hadnât heard from him since.
You held his portrait a moment longer than the others.
He looked older now, jaw sharper, eyes steadier. But something in his expression was the same: direct, unafraid. You set the image aside, just slightly, like a card at the top of a deck.
âConsidering him?â Soonyoung asked, not even trying to hide the curiosity.
You didnât answer. Not really. Just tapped the edge of the page and muttered, âHeâs not terrible.â
Several days later, you invited Changkyun to the castle.
The back gardens were quiet this time of dayâjust enough sunlight spilling through the high hedgerows to illuminate the walking path in pale gold. The magnolias were in bloom, their wide petals fluttering in the breeze like fallen silk. You waited near the old stone bench beneath the olive tree, Reya sprawled lazily in the grass at your feet like he didnât weigh as much as a small carriage.
Siwon and Soonyoung lingered at the archway entrance, trying and failing not to look like posted guards. Youâd already told them three times that Reya was protection enoughâand given the way the striped beast flicked his tail with bored menace, you were fairly confident no one would get within lunging range without permission.
Still, you appreciated their presence. Just as you appreciated the way the household staff had been strictly instructed, sworn to silence, and double-compensated for their discretion.
No one from Seraphia could know.Â
You heard footsteps before you saw himâlight, careful, and familiar. When Changkyun emerged from the vine-draped path, the first thing you noticed was how tall heâd gotten. His frame was broader, shoulders squared. His hair was longer now too, tied back against his nape.
But then he grinned, and you knew it was still him.
âWell,â he said, stepping into the clearing with a casual ease that made Reya lift his head. âSome things donât change.â
You quirked an eyebrow. âLike what?â
âYour taste in terrifying pets.â He nodded at your tiger. âStill looks like he wants to eat me.â
Reya snorted through his nose. You werenât entirely sure it wasnât a laugh. âHe does. But only a little.â
Changkyun bowed low, more mockery than formality, then straightened and met your eyes. âYour Highness.â
âDonât,â you said, voice softer than you expected. âNot here.â
His expression eased. âAlright, Lightfoot then.â
You nodded despite the jab, the name fitting better in his mouth than you remembered. And for a moment, standing there in the hush of a secret meeting surrounded by the scent of olive and magnolia, you felt like a girl again. A little reckless. A little hopeful.
âSo,â Changkyun said, glancing past you to where the advisors waited in careful silence. âAm I here for tea, or a political inquisition?â
You smirked. âThat depends on whether youâre still terrible at fencing.â
âOh no,â he groaned. âYouâre going to beat me again, arenât you?â
âIf youâre lucky,â you said, turning to lead the way deeper into the garden. âIf youâre not, Reya will.â
And Reya, as if understanding perfectly, bared his teeth in a lazy grin.
You walked side by side with Changkyun through the garden path, Reya ambling behind like a silent chaperone. The quiet between you wasnât uncomfortable, just tentative. It had been years, after all. Heâd grown into his frame the way trees settle into their rootsâsteady, grounded, and unpretentious.
You stopped at the far end of the gardens beneath a low-limbed willow, leaves swaying like curtains in the wind. When you turned to face him, the words tangled briefly on your tongue.
Changkyun tilted his head. âYouâre fidgeting.â
âIâm not.â
âYou are,â he said, grinning. âSame way you used to before you asked to borrow my practice foil. Or when you were about to do something reckless.â
You huffed, cheeks warming. âIâm not here to be reckless. Iâm being strategic.â
âSame thing, in your case.â
You gave him a look, then sighed. âFine. Iâll be frank with you.â
âThatâs new.â He raised an eyebrow in mock surprise.
You ignored him. âYouâre here because Iâm⊠looking.â
His expression shiftedâcurious, but not alarmed. âLooking? For what?â
âA husband,â you said quickly, like yanking a bandage off. âSomeone suitable enough that my council and court will approve. Someone who could make this kingdom feel less like a cage, andââ You stopped, biting the inside of your cheek. âSomeone I could maybe stand.â
Changkyun blinked, taken aback for a moment, then leaned in slightly. âBut⊠arenât you already betrothed?â
You stilled before carefully saying, âItâs complicated.â
He looked at you for a long moment. Not pressing, not even judging, but he did take a moment to read between the lines.
âRight,â he said finally, with a nod. âComplicated.â
You were grateful he didnât pry further.
Hmph, you thought. If Jeonghan were this thoughtful, I wouldnât have a problem with it.
You immediately wanted to punch yourself. What? No. No. Why in the worldâ? You shook the thought off like water from your hands. Ridiculous. Completely and utterlyâ
âIâm flattered,â Changkyun said gently, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. âReally. It means a lot that youâd even consider me.â His eyes dimmed just a little. âBut I canât.â
Your heart paused. âCanâtâŠ?â
He nodded, almost apologetically. âThereâs someone else. Weâve been together a while now. Sheâs not from a noble house, so it was never going to be public, but⊠weâre expecting a baby in the spring.â
It hit you like a brick wall of mortification. âOh, godsâChangkyun, I didnât know. Iâm sorry, I didnât mean to put you in aââ
âNo, no,â he said, holding up a hand. âI know you didnât. You never would have tried if you did. Iâm honored you thought of me, but Iâve already made my choice.â
You took a step back, mortified beyond belief. âI just tried to poach a taken man.â
âWith a pregnant partner,â he added with a teasing grin. âA bold move, even for you.â
âStop laughing,â you hissed, trying to suppress the heat crawling up your neck. âThis is a diplomatic disaster.â
And of course, when you turned to stalk back to the garden entrance, you saw themâSoonyoung and Siwon, standing just where you left them, whispering like schoolboys and failing horribly at hiding their laughter.
âYou both knew, didnât you?â you growled.
Siwon cleared his throat and looked up at the sky. Soonyoung offered a helpful shrug. âWe just wanted to see how long it would take for you to find out.â
âYouâre both fired.âÂ
âYouâve said that four times this month,â Soonyoung said cheerfully.
âAnd it gets less believable every time,â Siwon added.
Behind you, Changkyun laughed again. Reya huffed. You tried very hard not to fling yourself into the hedge and disappear.
You went back to the drawing board with a vengeance.
The wall of your study, once reserved for regional maps and grain forecasts, was now a collage of organized chaos. Pinned parchments fluttered in the breeze from the open windowâportraits, lineage charts, summaries of estates and personalities. It looked less like a matchmaking effort and more like a war room. Reya had taken to curling up just outside your door, wisely avoiding the flurry of thrown quills and muttered curses.
Siwon and Soonyoung stood to one side, arms crossed like generals surveying a battlefield. They were your most loyalâyet infuriatingly connivingâadvisors, offering unfiltered commentary with the energy of drunk gossip mongers.
âLord Hwan?â Siwon suggested, tapping one parchment with a silver quill.
âToo stiff,â you replied without a hitch. âHe talks like heâs trying to sell me on an insurance scheme every time he opens his mouth.â
âWhat about the Crown Viscountâs second son?â Soonyoung asked. âHandsome. Educated. Keeps birds.â
âHe also believes women shouldnât sit in council chambers. Next.â
After a while, the portraits dwindled down to just a few names that hadnât been immediately dismissed. Among them, a new face caught your eyeâa boyish nobleman from the southern coast. You remembered him. Soft-eyed but sharp-tongued. He has an earring glinting in his official portrait, a reputation for charity work, and biting courtroom wit.
âBoo Seungkwan,â Siwon said, noticing your gaze. âHeir to the wine barons of Chasan.â
âIsnât he the one who screamed at the High Treasurer for misappropriating village taxes last winter?â you asked, intrigued. â
Soonyoung grinned. âThe very one. Rumor has it the Treasurer nearly cried.â
You plucked Seungkwanâs page from the wall. âI like him.â
âHeâs a bit dramatic,â Siwon offered.
âHeâs principled,â you corrected, pinning the portrait near the top of the selection board. âAnd Iâve had enough of spineless men. Give me someone who isnât afraid to raise his voice when somethingâs wrong.â
âHe also sings,â Soonyoung added helpfully.
âEven better.â
You three stood there a moment, gazing up at the organized chaosâyour court of candidates, your silent rebellion. It could be the most brilliant plan in the world, or the one that precedes its impending doom, but youâre more than willing to take a gamble.
It didnât take long for you to make the journey to Chasan.
You traveled in an unmarked carriage with Soonyoung at your side, no royal banners or official escorts. Siwon had protestedâloudly, thoroughly, and with increasing despairâbut your father, ever the silent observer of your misery, gave his blessing with one condition: Keep a low profile.Â
Chasan was warm with early spring, the hills rolling green and gold beneath a sun that glinted off the distant sea. When your carriage pulled up to the modest but elegant estate of the Boo family, no one rushed to greet you. No horns. No footmen. Just a confused stable boy blinking at you like youâd ridden in on a cloud.
You glanced at Soonyoung, who raised an eyebrow.
âGuess no one told them the queen-to-be was dropping by.â
âI did write in the letter that Iâd come in person,â you muttered.
One of the household servants scurried out after some frantic internal shouting. âOur deepest apologies, Your Highness, Sir Boo is in the lower vineyards at the moment. We⊠we werenât expecting you so soon.â
âItâs fine,â you said, already stepping down from the carriage. âWeâll find him ourselves.â
Soonyoung caught up, eyes scanning the gentle sprawl of grapevines that stretched toward the southern slope. âMaybe youâll get to see what heâs like in the wild,â he joked.
You shot him a look.
The two of you wandered down narrow earthen paths between sun-dappled vines, boots crunching softly over tilled soil. A few workers paused to bow, but no one made a fuss. Chasan was humble in the way that made you ache a little. No gold plating, no marble archways. Just earth, sky, and the scent of crushed grape skins in the wind.
âThere,â Soonyoung whispered, grabbing your elbow and pulling you behind one of the taller vine trellises. You followed his gaze and stopped short.
Boo Seungkwan was farther down the row, partially shielded by the grapes, one hand still gloved in working leathers. He was laughing, light and warm, as he leaned close to the young servant boy in front of him.Â
And then, without hesitation, he kissed him.
Not a scandalous kiss. Not a stolen one either. But soft, sure, and heartbreakingly tender.
You stared, your heart thudding with a strange sort of⊠sorrow. Or maybe guilt. You hadnât meant to intrude. You hadnât expected this.
Soonyoung gently nudged your arm. âGuess weâll be checking him off the wall.â
You swallowed and turned away, careful not to make a sound as you whispered, âLetâs go. He deserves to enjoy this moment without a royal shadow looming over it.â
Neither of you spoke again until you were halfway back to the estate, the quiet breeze tugging gently at your cloak.
ââŠSiwon is never going to stop laughing about this,â Soonyoung said at last.
You sighed. âI know.â
That crushing defeat hit you harder than you thought.
You didnât speak to anyone for days. Not after Seungkwan. Not after Soonyoung tactfully burned the last of the correspondence in your fireplace while Siwon wordlessly updated the registry of Unviable Matches with a heavy sigh.
Maybe this was your fate. Maybe it had always been. Maybe you were foolish to think you could outrun the gods' ink when the story had already been carved in gold. Betrothed at fifteen. Crowned at eighteen. Wed to Jeonghan byâ
You didnât let yourself think the year aloud.
Your advisors, mercifully, didnât try to coax you out of your misery. No jokes. No teasing. No âweâll find anotherâ or âwhat about this one.â Just silence and quiet presence.
Siwon left your tea in the mornings and your scrolls at dusk. Soonyoung started keeping his sarcasm locked behind his teeth. Even Reya laid his massive head across your lap while you read, his usual restlessness tempered as if he, too, knew your storm was not one that could be barked away.
You went through the motions. Court duties. Decrees. Oversight reviews. But your spirit dragged its heels, worn and brittle. And after nearly a week of going nowhere, you couldnât take the stillness anymore.
So you left.
No guards or carriages. Only a cloak over your shoulders and Reya at your side, his striped form padding silently beside you as you stepped out into the humming heart of the capital.
The city had always been your balm. Cobblestone streets. Songbirds in the eaves. Familiar chatter from vendors and weavers calling out their wares. The people greeted you with warmth, not fanfare. They knew Reya by sight nowâknew his name, evenâand parted for him without fear. Children ran up to scratch his ears. Old women offered you candied dates or weathered blessings.
You wandered further through the market square, slowing as a tapestry caught your eye. It looks new, strung between two wooden postsâits threads shimmering silver in the sunlight. A dragon this time, coiled mid-roar and stitched with care and pride.
Before you could move on, a small hand tugged at the hem of your cloak. You looked down to find a boy, no older than ten, staring up at you with wide, serious eyes. In his hands, he held a delicate ring of daisies and chamomile.
âItâs a crown, Your Highness,â he said shyly, holding it out like a secret. âNot the fancy kind, but it feels nice to wear.â
You crouched to his height, gently taking the floral gift with both hands. âThen itâs perfect,â you whispered. âThank you.â
Thank the stars you hadnât worn your Dawning Crown. It wouldâve felt like mockery now. You slipped the flower ring over your head and straightened. The child beamed. Reya gave a gentle huff of approval, as if to say: See? You still matter to the people.
You exhaled slowly and looked over the rooftops where the palace glittered far above the city.
You werenât ready to give up yet.
After purchasing some trinkets to bring home to your father and your lousy advisors, your footsteps take you further beyond the market. The flower crown sat a little lopsided on your head, but you made no move to fix it as you settled onto the edge of the city squareâs old stone fountain.
Reya laid down beside you with a content grunt, his chin resting on his massive paws as his tail flicked idly across the cobblestones. A warm breeze blew, catching the scent of fresh bread and sun-warmed stone. Pigeons cooed and strutted about the square like they owned it.
One of them hopped closer, cocking its head.
âWell?â you asked it. âI donât have food but you get conversation. Fair trade?â
The pigeon blinked, unimpressed. Youâre not who usually feeds us. Whereâs that baker girl with a soft voice and flaky biscuits?
âHm. Sheâs got better treats and a softer voice,â you laugh. âYou birds have standards.â
Another pigeon joined the first, eyeing Reya suspiciously. Why do you always drag around that oversized tiger? He looks like he eats things like us for fun.
Reya rumbled low in his throat without lifting his head. Keep talking, feathers. I havenât had lunch.
The pigeons flapped backward in alarm, cooing indignantly.
Savage! Barbarian! You wouldnât dareâ
âIgnore him,â you said, stifling a smile. âHe likes pretending heâs scarier than he is.â
Reya huffed again, this time clearly offended.
One pigeon scoffed. He nearly ate one of us the last time you were here.
âAnd one of you tried to steal his jerky. Actions have consequences.â
You sat there for a few more minutes, chuckling quietly at the birds' gossipâhalf of it nonsense, half of it accurate enough to be alarmingâuntil you heard a voice behind you. Gentle and familiar in a distant, unexpected way.
âMay I join you, Your Highness?â
You turned your head, and nearly gasped.
Standing just beyond the sun-dappled edge of the fountain was a boy you hadnât seen in years. Noânot a boy anymore. He was taller now, broader at the shoulders, his dark hair falling just past his collar. Instead of court finery, he wore a pared-down version of Renxing armor: travel-worn, softened at the edges, the pauldrons stripped away and the gold embroidery dulled by dust and sunlight.
You blinked, almost laughing from the sheer surprise of it all. âMinghao! Stars, it is you.â
âItâs good to see you again, Princess.â He caught your hands when you reached outâsteady and familiar.Â
But before the moment could settle, Reya let out a low growl, rising onto all fours. His ears are pinned back, blue eyes locked on your old friend with unmistakable suspicion.
âOh, stop that,â you said, stepping in to soothe him with a hand on his head. âReya, Haoâs a friend. Not lunch.â
Somethingâs wrong, he growled, muscles coiled beneath your touch. He smells like fire and blood.
You hesitated, fingers buried in Reyaâs thick ruff as his growl faded to a low, vibrating hum. His tail didnât flick, his gaze didnât waver.
Fire and bloodâŠ
Minghao probably did smell like both, even if you couldnât catch the whiff. Maybe in the way old battlefields did. Burnt magic clung to his clothes like smoke. His hands bore the marks of sword work, knuckles darkened with bruises that hadn't fully healed. Still, he was a fire elemental. And the general of the Renxing army. What else was he supposed to smell like? Roses?
But hostile as he was, Reya had never reacted like this before.
You gave his ear a scratch, more for your comfort than his. âHeâs just being dramatic,â you said lightly. âDoesnât like surprises. Or anyone whoâs taller than me.â
Minghao smiled. âI could kneel, if that helps.â
âDonât tempt him.â
He chuckled, stepping closer with a graceful ease that didnât match the war-weathered armor. âDid he say anything interesting?â
âNo,â you lied smoothly, straightening up. âJust a lot of growling and wounded pride. Why? Worried heâs giving away secrets?â
âOnly curious,â he said, voice soft. âItâs not every day a celestial tiger growls at me like I kicked his favorite moonstone.â
âYou did once steal a peach tart from my plate. He never forgot.â
âI regret nothing.â
You looked him over, still stunned. The years had sculpted him into something sharp and striking. Thereâs a faint scar curving along his forearm, and the unmistakable presence of someone used to command. But his eyes⊠his eyes were exactly the same.
âI didnât even know Renxing was sending delegates.âÂ
âTechnically, soldiers,â Minghao amended. âMy father offered support in fortifying your kingdomâs defenses. He sent me and a small contingent to assist in training.â
âThatâs the official reason, isnât it?â you teased.
He chuckled. âYouâve grown sharper.â
âAnd you havenât changed at all,â you interject with a beaming smile. âDo you still carry that lopsided bow you used to train me with?â
Minghao grinned. âI retired it years ago. But I remember those lessons well. You nearly took out my eye once.â
âIt was one time,â you said, rolling your eyes. âAnd you moved too close to the target!â
Reya, however, didnât find this reunion nearly as delightful. He rose behind you, placing himself between Minghao and your side with a deliberate flick of his tail.
You gave him a dry look. âHe taught me archery, Reya. If he meant to hurt me, heâs had a ten-year head start.â
âI mustâve offended him in a past life.â Minghao chuckled, giving a short, respectful bow towards the tiger.Â
âHe just doesnât like being left out of things,â you said, motioning for Minghao to sit with you by the fountain again. Some of the pigeons scattered as Reya circled, settling beside you with an annoyed huff. You pretended not to notice the way he kept one sapphire eye trained squarely on your old friend.
âItâs strange,â you said, watching the breeze stir the trees across the square. âI feel like I shouldâve known you were coming. Or that I wouldâve felt it somehow. We used to be glued to the hip during all those summer visits.â
âWe were children,â Minghao replied gently. âBut I remember it, too. I was glad when my father chose me to come here. I hoped Iâd see you again.â
You flushed, just a little. âWell⊠you have. And Iâm glad. Really.â
âIâll be staying at the castle with the soldiers,â he told you. âWe begin drills in a few days. Until then, I thought Iâd take a walk through the city. See whatâs changed.â
You grinned, brushing a strand of hair from your face. âNot much. The pigeons are still rude.â
A few feet away, one of them let out a coarse squawk. Youâre the one talking to birds like a madwoman. Canât even find a husband.
You lobbed a pebble at it. âYou eat garbage.â
Minghao watched in silent amusement as you finished your not-so-private argument with the townâs most opinionated pigeons. When you finally noticed his expression, you offered a sheepish grin.
âI missed this,â he said, the corner of his mouth tugging up.
You raised a brow. âThe pigeons?â
âYou,â he said, laughing softly. âYouâve always had a⊠unique way of handling the world.â
âYou say that like itâs a flaw.â
âItâs not.â His gaze lingered, warm and thoughtful. âItâs justâvery you.â
Reya let out another displeased noise. But you were too caught up in the moment to notice the way his muscles stayed coiled beneath his striped coat, the faint bristle in his fur. He didnât like this reunion.
But you? You were just happy to see an old friend.
Back at the castle, preparations for your guest had moved quickly. One of the east-facing guest roomsâtypically reserved for visiting dignitariesâwas swept, polished, and perfumed with lavender water. Minghaoâs soldiers were escorted to the royal barracks, where Ancarrian efficiency met them with warm cloaks, strong cider, and a welcome that was formal but kind.
By morning, the dining hall was bathed in golden light, sunlight spilling through the tall arched windows. The table had been set with a surprisingly casual spread: flaky breads still warm from the oven, crisp autumn pears, spiced porridge, and thick cream served in polished stoneware.
You were already there, hunched slightly over a steaming cup of tea, still groggy but determined not to show it. Reya was helping himself to whatever lavish breakfast the castle chefs had laid out for him, utterly absorbed in his bowl. From the way his ears twitched with contentment, your tiger was clearly pleased. You only looked up from your own food when you caught the quiet rhythm of approaching boots.
âGood morning, Your Highness,â Minghao said, bowing first to your father, then offering you a softer nod. âPrincess.â
âYouâre early,â you replied, smiling into your cup but it drops the moment Reya starts baring his teeth at your friend again. âReya. Knock it off.âÂ
Your father chuckled. âHe tells me his men were stretching at dawn on the south field. Quite the commander.â
âDiscipline is second nature in Renxing,â Minghao said, lowering himself into the seat next to yours with smooth, princely ease. âThough Iâll admitâyour lands make it easier. Crisp air. Clear skies. Even my men look taller here.â
âFlatterer,â your father said, grinning. âCareful, or youâll find yourself a permanent guest.â
âThat would be no punishment,â Minghao said, his eyes catching yours for the briefest moment, light with mischief.
You bit back a laugh and nudged the basket of pastries toward him. âTry the honeyed ones. Theyâre dangerous enough to make you not want to leave.â
He did, and the way his face lit up made you grin. âYou werenât exaggerating.â
Across the room, Soonyoung and Siwon stood with the servants near the door, their posture still and unreadableâsave for the way Soonyoungâs brow lifted slightly when you leaned in, listening to something Minghao murmured beneath his breath.
You talked like it had been days, not years. He spoke of Renxingâs northern reachesâwild coasts and glass-shelled beetles that migrated through frozen rivers. Of teaching a recruit to read by bribing him with hawthorn sweets, only for the boy to repay him in river crabs. Your father listened with gentle amusement, but it was you who laughed the most
And then, without warning, the thought crept in like smoke curling under a door.
What if it were him?
The match with Jeonghan had been sealed long ago, your fate marked in ink and crown and ritual before you could even attend council meetings officially. But what if it hadnât? What if you hadnât spent your whole life dodging destiny like it was a creature waiting to pounce?
What if love was simple?
A shared pastry. A soft story. Warm hands over tea and morning sun.
You looked at Minghao againâhis easy smile, the grace in his posture, the power quiet and controlled beneath the silks and steel. And in that stolen, treacherous heartbeat, you let yourself wonder.
What if it had been him instead?
Before your thoughts could wander dangerously, however, your quiet meal was interrupted.
You noticed the change before you heard it. A flicker of movement by the door. A servant, breathless and wide-eyed, darted toward Soonyoung and Siwon. She was whispering something too fast for you to catch.Â
Minghao was still speaking beside you, animated as he described a night march through an ancient canyon in northern Renxing where their footsteps echoed like ghosts trapped in a glass cage. His voice was smooth and warm, and you wanted to listen, truly you didâbut your gaze kept slipping back to the door.
Soonyoungâs arms were folded now. Siwon murmured something in return to the servant, nodded once, then approached the table with the quiet stride of someone who only ever brought important news. The king glanced up at the shift in mood, and you followed his gaze as Siwon stopped just behind your chair and bent slightly at the waist.
âYour Highness,â he said softly, his eyes flicking toward you, âPrince Jeonghan of Seraphia has just arrived. Heâs asked to speak with the princess at her earliest convenience.â
There was a beat of stillness.
Minghaoâs story paused mid-sentence. He looked toward Siwon with faint curiosity, but said nothing. Your father gave only a slight nod, an order to let him join breakfast, and returned to his tea as if this were a perfectly ordinary disruption. But your hand, still resting near the plate of fruit, curled into a quiet fist.
Moments later, the doors opened with their usual hush, but somehow it felt louder this time. Jeonghan stepped in, haloed in sunlight through the high windows. He was still draped in Seraphian silks, still unfairly beautiful.Â
His hair was brown now, swept back with a soft curl falling over his brow in a way that seemed carefully unintentional. He moved with that same effortless poise you had grown up watching and (grudgingly) admiring.
Minghao, ever-so gracious, stood as Jeonghan approached, offering a nod before shifting seats to the other side of the long table. It left the space beside you open intentionally.Â
Jeonghan slid into the empty chair like heâd belonged there all along. âGood morning,â he greeted, his voice dipped in velvet, his smile almost disarmingly warm. âI apologize for the surprise visit. I was in one of my moods and thoughtâwhy not go see my future wife?â
You gave him a withering look, but it faltered when he leaned in just slightly and added, âJoshua sends his regards. Heâs recently been engaged himself, you know.â
âOh?â the king said, lifting a brow. âCongratulations are in order.â
âYes,â Jeonghan said with a calm nod. âThe daughter of one of our royal mages. She isnât of noble blood, but sheâs well-versed in magic and negotiations. My brotherâs always had a soft spot for strategists.â
âSounds like he inherited that from someone,â Minghao said mildly.
You raised a brow. Jeonghan only smiled, utterly unbothered. âHardly. I prefer my companions predictable. Less likely to start a war over breakfast.â
A chuckle moved around the table.
Then Minghao tilted his head and said, almost idly, âAnd heâs not using magic, still?â
Jeonghan blinked. âPardon?â
âJoshua,â Minghao clarified with a small smile. âBoth of you, actually. Last I heard, neither of the Seraphian princes had taken up their birthright. The royal bloodline in Seraphia is known for its strength in enchantment, no? And yet you keep it buried, still?â
You stiffened a little. Not in shock, but because the question came from nowhere. Your spoon hovered above your tea. Magic was always a strange subject between nations. But the abstention of Seraphiaâs recent royalty was somewhat a hot topic among the surrounding kingdomsâAncarra included.Â
Minghao, for his part, was infamous across empires as a fire elemental prodigy. The youngest to command a regiment of war mages in Renxingâs history. His aura carried that same warmth now, flickering low like a hearth. Reya, beside your chair, shifted uneasily. His icy blue eyes fixed on the man across from him like a second set of judgment.
Jeonghanâs gaze didnât waver. âOur magic is not the crownâs priority. Seraphia thrives through diplomacy, not flames.â
Minghao leaned back, folding his hands. âA shame, really. I always wondered what it would look likeâroyal Seraphian magic unleashed.â
You didnât miss the slight tension in Jeonghanâs jaw.
And that, more than anything, gnawed at the back of your mind as Minghao took another sip of tea. You sat there in your seat with perfect posture and a polite smile, but the thought slipped into your skull like a splinter.
Youâve never seen Jeonghan use magic.
Never seen him spark even a flicker of it. Never caught a rumor, never heard a whisper. Not even from the palace gossip mill, which had happily speculated about the color of his undershirts once and still hadnât shut up about the time he laughed too hard at a coronation toast.
And you wouldâve asked. You shouldâve asked.
But that wouldâve required speaking to him longer than a required greeting, longer than the bare-minimum exchange you both had perfected over the yearsâsmiles for the court, ice behind closed doors. You found out about Joshuaâs affinity by accident, really. Heâd once stopped to admire a hedge maze in your gardens, and when he touched a dying stalk, it bloomed again beneath his hand. Simple and gentle, much like the boy himself.
But Jeonghan?
Nothing.
No elemental surge. No runic marks. No rumors of illusions, or voicecraft, or even basic wards. Either he had nothingâor he was hiding something so carefully, so deliberately, that no one had been able to name it.
And now Minghao was here, a walking blaze of power, and Jeonghan was smiling like none of it even mattered. You reached for your teacup, mostly to keep your hands busy.
You didnât like mysteries. Especially not when they sit beside you, pretending to be harmless.
The silence stretched just long enough to begin tasting uncomfortable. Minghaoâs smile didnât falter. Jeonghanâs posture remained infuriatingly elegant, but you could tellâif only because youâve spent years learning how to read himâthat heâs ready to change the subject.Â
Itâs your father who spared him the effort.
He cleared his throat and gently set his goblet down. âAnd how long will you be staying with us this time, Prince Jeonghan?â
You turned slightly toward the head of the table, grateful for the break in tension. Jeonghan flicked his eyes toward the king and answered smoothly, âJust a few days, Your Highness. I was passing through the border en-route from the east and thought it best to pay a visit.â
âAn unannounced visit,â Soonyoung muttered under his breath from his post by the door. Siwon nudged him with an elbow.
The king chuckled, brushing past the remark. âIt is always a pleasure, no matter how sudden.â Then he glanced toward you. âPerhaps you and my daughter might walk the gardens this afternoon? The roses have finally bloomed this year.â
You almost choked on your tea.
Jeonghan nodded with a faint, serene smile. âOf course. It would be an honor.â
Your spoon clinked against porcelain just a little too hard. Reya emitted a low growl from under the table, whether in protest of the plan or of Minghaoâs lingering presence, you canât tell.
Minghao, to his credit, simply sips his tea again. But his gaze flicks to you, then to Jeonghan, curious. Assessing.
And for the first time in a long while, you canât tell which prince unsettles you more.
You didnât get far from the dining hall before your hand shot out to catch Soonyoung by the sleeve, dragging him into the shadowed archway beside one of the tapestry alcoves. Siwon followed of his own accord, arms folded neatly behind his back, expression already knowing.
âIâm asking this plainly,â you whispered, eyes flicking back toward the corridor. âAre we absolutely certain Jeonghan doesnât know what weâve been up to?â
Soonyoung blinked. âAs in the matchmaking campaign?â
You stared at him.
âRight, yes, that,â he amended. âThen no. I mean yes. As in, he doesnât know. Iâm almost sure of it.â
âAlmost?â
Soonyoungâs smile twitched. âPrince Jeonghan is⊠difficult to read. Cheerful as he is, he doesnât quite let anyone be privy to his intentions.â
You pinched the bridge of your nose. âWhat if heâs just biding his time? Waiting until Iâm alone before springing some awful, âYouâve dishonored our familiesâ speech and demanding we set the wedding date?â
âPrincess,â Siwon said gently, âheâs had nearly a decade to pull such a stunt. And he hasnât. Donât start doubting the quiet now.â
You glanced up at him, voice lower. âBut what if Minghao's presence stirred something? What if he sensed it, somehowâthat Iâm searching for someone else?â
Siwon regarded you with the patience of a man who had outwaited a thousand royal tantrums and twice as many council disputes. âPrince Jeonghan is many things. But petty is not one of them. Heâd confront you if he had suspicions, not toy with them.â
âNot petty, huh?â you muttered, âIâm not so sure about thatâŠâ
Soonyoung scratched the back of his neck. âWe did keep the search quiet, Princess. Every servant sworn to secrecy, every meeting arranged through as discreetly as possible. If Prince Jeonghan knows, heâs clairvoyant. Or just very, very nosy.â
You sighed and pressed a hand to your forehead. âThis whole morning felt cursed. Reya was uneasy the whole time. Iâgods above, I liked being with Minghao again. Thatâs the worst of it. I liked it, and Jeonghan probably sensed that.â
âSo?â Soonyoung said, baffled. âYouâre allowed to entertain visiting nobility, especially if theyâre your friends. Prince Jeonghan doesnât own your breakfast companions.â
âBut heâs my betrothed!â
âIn title only.â
Your shoulders sagged, and you gripped the edge of the column beside you. âI felt like Iâd been playing a game I didnât know the rules of. And everyone else was holding cards Iâd never seen.â
Siwonâs gaze softened. âThat is the nature of court.â
A sigh escaped your lips. âIâm supposed to walk the gardens with him soon.â
âTry not to trip into the koi pond again,â the older advisor added.
âThat was once,â you scowled. âAnd it was raining.â
Soonyoung grinned. âStill your most graceful fall.â
You shook your head and pushed away from the column. âPray for me.â
âIâll light a candle,â Siwon said dryly.
âIâll start digging a moat,â Soonyoung chirped.
You waved them off and stepped back into the corridor, spine straightening with every step. Whatever awaited you in the garden, you would meet it with dignity.
The royal gardens stretched out before you, awash in morning light where sunlight filtered through the trees that swayed with the breeze. You walked slowly along the mosaic path, hands clasped loosely before you, Reya trotting a few steps ahead. He hadnât growled onceânot even when Jeonghan fell into step beside you like a ghost slipping from a dream.
âItâs been some time since we walked here,â Jeonghan said plainly.
You didnât meet his eyes. âHas it?â
âI suppose not that long,â he amended with a soft chuckle. âBut long enough to miss the scent of the roses. Your gardeners have always done them justice.â
You glanced toward the flower bed just aheadâwide as a banquet table and brimming with tangled stems of roses. Their leaves are a lush, lacquered green, buds curled tightly on the branches like secrets not yet told. A few bold blooms had already unfurledâdeep crimson, velvet-soft, catching the morning light like drops of spilled wine.
âTheyâre late in blooming this season,â you murmured.
âMaybe theyâre waiting for a sign,â he said. âSomething worth blooming for.â
You didnât respond. There was always something slippery about himâhow his compliments wore the face of riddles, how his tone was too gentle to grasp without suspicion. You didnât trust softness when it came from him. Not when youâd spent half your life bracing against it.
Still, he continued beside you, hands tucked behind his back in perfect princely grace. His eyes scanned the gardens, the trees, the rooftops just beyond the horizon.
âI heard your fatherâs invited Renxing to join our military councils,â he mused.
You stiffened, just slightly. âHe has. Their soldiers arrived yesterday.â
âAnd Minghao is their prince and general?â Jeonghan added lightly, almost amused.
That makes you pause. âYouâve met?â
âA long time ago,â he said. âI doubt heâd remember it, but he does seem aware enough of my existence to want to pick a fight with me .â
You huffed. âYou make it easy for anyone to want to pick a fight with you.â
Jeonghan didnât deny itâjust offered a knowing smile, the kind that curled at one corner of his mouth and made you want to both slap it off and stare a little longer. You walked in silence for a few steps. The wind stirred the trees again, rustling petals onto the stone path, and somewhere nearby, water trickled over the lip of a marble fountain.
Then he said, almost offhandedly, âHe likes to speak first. Draw lines before anyone else has a chance to set the terms.â
You glanced sideways at him. âYou mean Minghao?â
Jeonghan nodded. âHeâs clever. Knows exactly where to place a cut for the deepest bruise.â
âWell, heâs a general. Heâs trained for that.â
âHeâs also a prince,â your fiancĂ© pointed out, tone light but edged. âWhich makes it harder to tell when the bladeâs diplomatic.â
You didnât answer. Not because he was wrong, but because you were surprised he noticed. Still, Jeonghan wasnât looking at you. His gaze wandered, serene and distant, as if this was just another quiet stroll instead of a conversation tensed on the knife-edge of politics.
âFor what itâs worth,â he added after a moment, âIâve never liked men who think precision is the same as power.â
That caught your attention.
You studied him for a beat longer. His posture, as always, was deceptively relaxedâtoo smooth, too practiced. But something had shifted. Maybe it was the way he said it, or the fact that Reya brushed gently against his side as he passed, tail flicking once before moving on. Jeonghan looked down at the beast, a faint smile twitching at his lips.Â
âHeâs warming up to me.â
You scoffed. âHeâs tolerant, at best.â
He tilted his head with a lazy smile. âStill better than hostile.â
It was. You hated that you agreed.
Days drift by in a hush. You expect tension, expect something grand to stir. After all, two foreign princes now share your roof, both with their own legacies, their own shadows trailing behind them. And yet, the palace breathes as if nothing has changed. No great disruptions, no clashing tides.Â
The soldiers in the barracks adjust to the presence of Renxingâs warriors with the wary politeness of men trained to kill side by side, and the kitchen staff still sends up too many pastries at tea. Minghao spends most of his days in the training yards or reviewing your kingdomâs defenses with the captains. He is gracious when he joins you at court, always with a smooth word or charming smile. Reya still watches him like a hawk from afarâbut the tension has settled into a sort of cold awareness, like two great cats pacing the edge of each otherâs territory.
Jeonghan, on the other hand, has made it his personal mission to haunt your every quiet moment.
He never speaks of the conversation in the garden again, but you can feel it hanging in the air whenever he appears. You pass him in the corridor, and he gives you a smile. You leave the solarium early, and heâs somehow in the hall just outside, pretending to admire a tapestry. You ask the cooks to surprise you with something new for breakfast, and he comments idly at the table that youâve always liked tart things with honey.
Itâs maddening.
By Thursday, youâve had enough.
You marched down to the archery range before breakfast, bow in hand, and jaw set with razor-tight focus. You havenât had time for this in weeks, and it shows in the tension of your shoulders, the crackle in your spine. You notch your arrow, draw back your arm, exhaleâ
âGood morning, Your Grace!â
You startled a little too dramatically. The arrow sailed in a wide arc and landed somewhere in the hedges with an unceremonious thwack.
You spun around to find Jeonghan standing at the edge of the range, hands clasped like heâs arrived for a morning stroll. Beside him was Soonyoung, who gave you a guilty, wide-eyed look before mouthing Iâm sorry and quickly stepping out of the line of fire.
Your voice came low and clipped. âAre you following me?â
Jeonghan only lifted a brow. âWhy, of course not. I was merely enjoying the views that the Ancarran castle has to offer. As your future consort in alliance, I should know the corners of your kingdom, donât you think?â
Soonyoung took one careful step back, and from his perch under the nearby tree, Reya let out a snort that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Jeonghan didnât even bother making himself look like he didnât purposely startle you at all.Â
You sighed and retrieved another arrow. Next time, youâll aim for him.
You notched it, shoulders tight with barely restrained irritation. Behind you, Jeonghan and Soonyoung settled onto the bench near the range like they have every right to be there. Which, technically they do, but that didnât stop your fingers from twitching with the urge to send an arrow through the wood beside Jeonghanâs ear.
Another shotâcloser to the bullseye this time. Still not enough to stop your pulse from thrumming too fast.
âYouâre good,â Jeonghan said, his tone easy and observational, like heâs commenting on the weather. âShua and I werenât trained like this in Seraphia. As you know, our court prefers diplomacy and dance over daggers and bows.âÂ
You didnât turn, but you heard the amusement laced through his voice. Soonyoung gave a small, sympathetic shrug from beside him. âItâs true. I once saw him faint at the sight of blood.â
âExaggeration,â Jeonghan replied airily. âI merely swooned with elegance.â
You let out a slow exhale, notched another arrow, and fired. This one landed square in the center of the target. You heard a low whistle from your advisor andâmore infuriatinglyâa small, approving hum from Jeonghan.
âItâs rather convenient,â the prince mused, crossing one ankle over the other. âMy future queen being so fearsome with a bow. I daresay I wonât need to lift a finger. Youâll protect me, wonât you, Princess?â
The arrow youâd just pulled from the quiver snaps between your fingers.
âIf I protect you,â you said coolly, âitâs only because I donât trust anyone else to finish the job of ending your miserable existence cleanly.â
Soonyoung looked away, coughing suspiciously into his sleeve.
But Jeonghan? He beamed like you handed him a bouquet. âHow romantic,â he sighed, resting his chin on his hand as if admiring a painting. âYou do know how to make a consort feel cherished, after all.â
Your heart pounded, and itâs not from the archery.
The morning was clear the day Jeonghan left.
A soft breeze combed through the courtyard where his carriage waited, draped in the white-gold sigils of Seraphia. The horses pawed the cobblestones impatiently, as if mirroring the mood of the man they wait forârestless and infuriating to the very end.
You stood beside your father beneath the marble archway, cloaked in the formal grays of a diplomatic farewell. The kingâs voice was kind when he spoke to Jeonghan, and your fiancĂ© was all grace and bows and eloquent farewells. Even Minghao lingered beside you with an inscrutable smile, hands behind his back like a soldier at ease. Youâre aware of the others watching tooâSiwon and Soonyoung among the entourage, the guards, the servantsâall witnesses to this perfectly polite departure.
Itâs nearly done.
But then Jeonghan stepped forward to take your hand in his. He kissed it, gently and reverently, all according to protocol. And then he leaned in too close for comfort.
âI look forward,â the prince murmured into your ear, warm breath brushing your skin, âto the next time I get to ruin your aim.â
You jerked back before the blush could spread to your ears, willing your face into a mask of court-trained calm. Every lesson you endured under the glare of etiquette tutors saved you in that momentâyour shoulders straight, your smile pleasant, your tone as composed as a glacier.
âHave a safe journey, Prince Jeonghan,â you said, eyes narrowed in the most ladylike way possible. âDo try not to miss me.â
His smile could set cities alight.
âOh,â Jeonghan began, stepping back toward his carriage, âI intend to do exactly that.â
You resisted the violent urge to throw something at his head.
Heâs gone before you could reply, the carriage wheels rolling across the stones like the closing of a storybook chapter.Â
Only, you suspectedâno, you knewâheâll be back soon.
By the time Jeonghan vanished beyond the gates, you'd already gathered Siwon and Soonyoung in the war roomânot for military strategy, but something far more treacherous:Â
Court-approved matchmaking.
âWeâre at a consensus then,â you said, tapping your finger once against the map of Ancarra. âPrince Minghao is not a viable option. Even if I wanted toââ
âWhich you actually do,â Soonyoung cut in with a pointed look.Â
âEven if I did,â you repeated with force, âit would be a diplomatic nightmare. Calling off an engagement with Seraphia for the prince of Renxing? Weâd be lucky if we only lost trade ports and not entire border towns.â
Siwon chuckled. âIâm surprised youâre willing to pick the task up again, Princess. You looked⊠quite dejected after your trip to the Boo Estate.â
You had to pin Soonyoung down with a glare to keep your advisor from saying anything that will raise your blood pressure to dangerous levels. âFailure is part of the journey to true love. Hasnât anyone told you that, Siwon?âÂ
Your fatherâs advisor hummed, his spectacled gaze skimming the interior list of nobility youâd had scribes compile over the past few weeks. âSo the suitor needs to be from Ancarra. Someone who can cause enough gossip, enough scandal, enough public affection to make it plausible you fell wildly in love and couldnât help yourself.â
Soonyoung grinned. âWhich means we need a boy you could realistically kiss in public without gagging. Oh, and someone that wonât run when Reya so much as growls at them.â
You glared at him. âYouâre on thin ice.â
Your advisor raised his hands in defense. âWhat? Iâm just sayingâyou do tend to scowl at most men like theyâve insulted your bloodline. Same goes for your beast.â
Siwon, ever the calmer tactician, cleared his throat. âWeâll approach this with structure. Letâs narrow the list to eligible bachelors who meet the following criteria: loyal to the crown, reasonably attractive, tolerable by Reya, andâpreferablyâalready a little in love with you.â
You tapped your fingers again, faster this time. âIt doesnât need to be a real romance. Just enough of a performance to convince Seraphia the engagement fell apart because of me, not them. If Iâm the reckless one, Jeonghan saves face. Everyoneâs happy.â
Soonyoung leaned back, arms behind his head. âYou really think Prince Jeonghan cares about saving face?â
ââŠNo,â you admitted, remembering the smirk he wore as his carriage departed. âBut Seraphia might. And the court definitely will.â
âThen we manufacture a heartbreak,â Siwon said simply. âWe choose someone charismatic, familiar, close to the palaceâenough that no one questions why you spent time together. Youâll laugh too loud at the gardens. Leave flowers in his rooms. Maybe evenâgods forgive usâwrite a poem.â
Soonyoung winced. âThatâs low.â
âAll is fair in love and politics,â you muttered. âOr at least, in fabricated love.â
You glanced out the window, where the sun slipped behind the edge of the tower, casting long shadows across the floor. Jeonghan was gone, and your future hung on the next name you circled with ink and lied through your teeth about.
War you could prepare for. But this? This was treasonous theater. And it didnât help that the world kept sending you warning signs left and right.
It began with Lord Doyoung of the northern territoriesâa bookish type with a gentle voice and decent bone structure. You think, Yes, this one might do. But the very morning heâs due to arrive in the capital, his carriage overturned on a clear road with no other travelers. His horse? Spooked by a pigeon. A pigeon wearing what the guards swear was a tiny gold ribbon.
Suspicious.
Then thereâs Jaehyun, a second-born noble who helped manage his familyâs glasswork business. Intelligent, considerate, and crucially uninterested in politics. You traveled discreetly to a manor on the coast to meet him. However, the moment you arrived, he was gone. Apparently left the day before to pursue an urgent pilgrimage after receiving a mysterious letter from a "reputable Seraphian monastery" asking for his divine insight.
But the worst, the true collapse of your sanity, came when you tried to court a commoner. A sweet, curly-haired apprentice scribe from the capital. You met by accidentâhe dropped his stack of scrolls, Reya frightened the life out of him, and you ended up laughing like someone in a romance novel. You arranged to meet him again secretly by the statue of the winged lion after dusk.
And guess whoâs already there?
Jeonghan leaned against the base of the winged lion like it was a throne carved just for him. The dusk painted him in gold and shadow, and he looked utterly at homeâone ankle crossed over the other, arms folded loosely, a single wildflower tucked behind his ear like heâd stolen it from a love-sick dream.
âYouâre early,â he said lazily, as if heâd been waiting minutes rather than hours. âI almost thought you werenât coming.â
You stopped dead. âYouâre not him.â
âNo,â he agreed. âBut Iâm certainly better-looking.â
âYouââ You took a sharp breath, rage tightening behind your eyes. âWhere is he?â
Jeonghan tilted his head. âThe apprentice? I believe heâs having a lovely evening at home. His mother made delicious stew, and he felt itâd be rude to miss it. Or so the note said.â
You stared. âYou intercepted him?â
Your fiancĂ© smiled, all teeth and wicked charm. âTechnically? I intercepted the opportunity. You never said this was an exclusive audition.â
âYou are unbelievable.â
âAnd yet,â he said, stepping into the moonlight, that damn wildflower still tucked behind his ear, âyou keep trying to replace me with men who donât know the difference between a sword hilt and a dinner spoon. Truly, you wound me, Your Graceâ
You didnât realize your fists were clenched until your nails dug crescent moons into your palms.
âThis isnât about you,â you hissed.
Jeonghan stepped closer, voice maddeningly gentle. âIt always is.â
Your fists were clenched so tightly your arms shook, your breath short and ragged. The statue's winged shadow barely concealed you from the open square, where lanterns were being lit one by one, their warm glow spreading like a slow-burning fire.
And Jeonghan just stood there.
Mocking you with that unbearable calm, his eyes full of all the things you hadnât said in ten years. The flower behind his ear was ridiculous. His shirt collar was crooked. His entire existence was meant to push you to the edge of insanity.
âYouâre infuriating,â you snapped.
He smirked. âThen stop chasing ghosts andââ
You didnât let him finish.
Your hand fisted his lapel and pulled hard, slamming your mouth against his before your brain caught up with your body. It wasnât soft or sweet or measured, but raw, full of teeth and fury and years of words swallowed down in silence. Youâd meant to shove him, maybe slap him. But somehow, your lips found his instead.Â
And the worst partâthe truly damning partâwas how good it felt.
The warmth of his mouth. The way he froze for the barest second, then exhaled against you like heâd been holding his breath for a lifetime. And then he kissed you back.
Jeonghan didnât just return it. He answered it.
His hands slipped to your waist, slow but sure, like heâd dreamed of this and was finally awake. He kissed like he knew every inch of your stubbornness, every sharp edge, and loved the way you cut him open. One hand tangled in your hair, tilting your face, deepening the kissâand it became something molten, dangerous, entirely public.
Somewhere behind you, Reya snarled like a warning. You werenât alone. The statueâs shadow didnât hide the way Jeonghanâs hand curved around your hip, the flush in your cheeks, the hunger in the space between your mouths.
You tore away first, panting and wide-eyed as your heart thundered in your ribcage. Jeonghan looked at you all while swiping that tongue of his across his bottom lip.
âWas that part of the act?â he asked softly, lips still red, voice dangerously close to tender.
You didnât answer. You couldnât. Because if you spoke, you might admit it wasnât the kiss that terrified you.
It was how long youâd wanted it.
By unspoken agreement, neither of you addressed the kiss behind the statue. Not in words, anyway. But everything afterwards shifted.
Jeonghan began appearing in Ancarra with alarming regularityâalways with a perfectly valid excuse. Delivering letters from Seraphia. Attending diplomatic luncheons. Touring agricultural reforms that absolutely did not require a princeâs attention. And every time he stepped through the gates with that lazy smile, your blood pressure spiked.
He was still insufferable. Still poking at you like a child with a stick and a beehive.Â
âYou missed me,â heâd say, voice low in the hallway.
âI was hoping youâd gotten arrested,â youâd reply without looking at him.
âYou dreamed about me again.â
âReya dreamed about biting you. I just watched.â
But no amount of sarcasm could undo the heat that had settled between you like a splinter you couldnât dig out. And while your verbal battles raged on, your bodies fell into an entirely different rhythmâone of breathless tension and stolen moments.
A quick kiss when no one was looking. A lingering touch at your waist beneath the pretense of helping you onto a horse. A late-night visit to the library that ended with your back pressed against the cold wall of a forgotten corridor, his mouth hot against your throat.
You hated him.
You hated how good he was at knowing when to push you. You hated how you let him.
One day, Jeonghan found you in the west wing solariumâalone, for once, dressed in something plain for the heat. The moment he stepped through the arched doorway, you already knew he was going to do something reckless.
You tried to keep your tone sharp. âDonât even think about it.â
âI wasnât,â he said innocently, approaching anyway. âI was remembering how you kissed me first.â
âI kissed you to shut you up.â
âWell,â he murmured, stepping behind you, brushing your hair aside to press a kiss just below your ear, âit didnât work.â
You didnât stop him when his hand slid beneath the hem of your dress, fingers trailing up your thigh with infuriating patience. You shouldâve. You always told yourself you shouldâve. But instead, you exhaled through your teeth and leaned back into him, fists clenching the edge of the table as he teased his way higherâhis touch maddeningly sure, maddeningly soft.
And when his fingers finally slid inside you, you didnât even pretend to resist.
Because for all the years of distance, all the fire and anger and scarred memory between you, Jeonghan still knew exactly where to find the weak spot beneath your armor.
âYouâre shaking,â the prince murmured against the shell of your ear, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. âDidn't know you could be so delicate.â
âI will break your nose,â you hissed, breath catching as his fingers curled just right. âShut up and get it over with.â
He chuckled. âYou say that like Iâm doing this for me.â
âGods, I hate you.â
âYou donât sound very convincing.â
You bit down hard on your lip to stop the moan rising in your throat. His hand moved with a maddening rhythmâconfident and precise, like heâd learned you in secret. Maybe he had. Maybe Jeonghan had always known how to find the cracks in your walls, the fault lines in your resolve.
Your knees nearly buckled when he dragged his thumb over your aching clit. The spot that made your vision flicker, made your breath stutter.
He caught you before you fell.
âOh,â your fiancĂ© said with mock sympathy. âIs this where the princess begs?â
You turned your head, eyes glittering with fury and heat. âYouâre so lucky Iâm unarmed.â
âAm I?â He dipped his head to kiss the corner of your jaw. âBecause right now, I feel like the one being conquered.â
You made a soundâpart growl, part gaspâas the pleasure crested higher. You hated how easy it was for him to pull you under, hated how your body betrayed you, trembling at his touch even as your mouth spat venom.
But gods, it felt good.
It felt like revenge, like surrender, like twelve years of wanting something you swore youâd never let yourself need. He played your body like an instrument only he knew how to tuneâdrawing out every gasp, every tremor, until the fire in your gut finally, finally broke.
You clutched the table edge like a lifeline, moaning his name as each wave of your orgasm shuddered through you. You felt sticky and unclean, and Jeonghan thought it to be a good idea to smear the mess heâs made of your cunt across your inner thighs.
As if to mock you even further, he leaned in, lips brushing your cheek as he whispered, âYouâre going to think about this tonight. When youâre all alone.â
You whipped around and shoved himâhalf-heartedly, breathlessly.Â
âGet out before I feed you to Reya.â
Jeonghan grinned, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your knuckles like a knight, of all things. âIâll come back when you miss me.â
âI never do.â
He was already gone by the time you realized your legs still hadnât stopped trembling.
Thankfully, Jeonghan left before lunch. That meant you could change your ruined dress and have a meal in the peace and quiet you deserved after that daunting encounter in the solarium.
You sat between your father and Minghao in the smaller sunlit dining chamberâthe one reserved for informal meals and less scrutiny. Sunlight poured through the windows, glinting off the crystal decanters and catching in the honey glaze of the roast pheasant. The servants came and went like shadows. Minghao poured you some tea without asking, which you would have appreciated, if you werenât so wrapped up in your own mind.
âSo,â Minghao says casually, âhowâs the treason?â
You glanced sideways at him. âTreason?â
He smiled. âYouâve had that look on your face since you walked in. Like someone who just burned a letter and buried the ashes under a rose bush.â
Before you can answer, it began.
The birds.
You heard them before you saw themâthree magpies nestled like gossiping witches along the arched windowsill. One of them fluffed her feathers and gasped loud in your skull.
She was scandalous with a man just this morning!
Your eyes widened. No one else reacted. Of course they didnât. Only you could hear them.
Back in that room again, another cooed. Pressed up to him like a heat-starved mareâ
I told you, the third interrupted with a huff, sheâs betrothed to him. Itâs legal. The king said so. Even if she climbed that prince like a ladder, it would still be state-sanctioned.â
You nearly choked on your tea.
Your father paused mid-sentence. âSomething wrong, bug?â
You covered your mouth with your napkin, glaring furiously at the birds. One of them winked.
âJust⊠feeling a little hot,â you muttered.
Oblivious to your internal unraveling, thye king picks up his fork and says, âWe should start finalizing your name-day celebration soon. Twenty-five is a milestone.â
âI vote we skip it,â you said darkly, eyeing the window again. The birds have not left.
Minghao hummed. âYouâll have to get used to celebrations. Especially now that your wedding with Prince Jeonghan is not far behind.â
You hesitated just long enough for him to notice.Â
â...Unless itâs not happening?â the general asked jokingly.
You didnât know how to explain it. How every time Jeonghan visits, he kisses you like he wants to ruin you. How your body remembers the curve of his smile before your mind catches up. How you tell yourself itâs a temporary madnessâjust lust, just unfinished business, just war-born tensionâbut your hands keep betraying you anyway.
And now the damn magpies were singing it to the skies.
She moaned his name! one of them cackles, beak open wide. She gripped his hair likeâ
âExcuse me,â you said sharply, standing up so fast your chair skitters back. âI need some air.â
Your father looked mildly concerned. Minghao raised an eyebrow.
âShould I send someone with you?â
âOnly if they can shoot birds,â you mutter, already turning toward the hall, cheeks blazing.
Behind you, you heard one final chirp:
Reckless princess. Sheâll marry that boy or die trying.
The weeks leading up to your twenty-fifth name-day blur into a storm of brocade, guest lists, and mental breakdowns.
What was once meant to be a modest royal banquet has spiraled into a full-blown spectacle at your fatherâs behest. The ballroom has been draped in gold silks and strung with imported glass lanterns, and couriers from neighboring kingdoms have arrived daily, bearing gilded gifts and stomach-turning compliments. Youâve had to write nearly a hundred invitations by handâbecause of course you did, since your father insisted that nothing but your own pen would do for a celebration of this scale.
Four gowns. Four. In one night. Each more elaborate than the last, all designed by different tailors to reflect âthe four faces of the princess.â (Whatever that means.)
And looming behind the lace and laughter and godforsaken gemstone embroidery is the other event everyone is whispering about: your wedding.
To Jeonghan.
You tried to keep a mental list of reasons to loathe him, just to stay anchored. Heâs insufferable. He flirts with everything that looks his way. He laughs when youâre mad. He kisses like he owns the air you breathe and gets away with everything because his face is tragically symmetrical.
And worst of all?
Youâve started to imagine what it would be like to marry him and not hate it.
The very thought sent you into a tailspin of self-loathing and denial. But no matter how many times you told yourself you didnât want this, something traitorous inside you fluttered every time he looked at you with those unreadable eyes and said your name like heâs always known it.
By the time your name-day arrived, youâre equal parts exhausted and vibrating with tension. The maids were still pinning the final layers of your first gownâa deep rose silk trimmed with silver threadâwhen someone knocked at your chamber doors.
âPrincess?â one of the guards called. âPrince Jeonghan and Prince Joshua request to see you.â
You nearly groaned aloud, but waved them in. âFine. But if they mess up a single pin, Iâm going to skewer them with it.â
The door opened, and the two Seraphian princes entered like they own the placeâJeonghan with his usual amused swagger, and Joshua with a more subdued grace you havenât seen in months.Â
You didnât rise from your seat as your maids were still halfway through adjusting the fall of your sleeves. but you did narrow your eyes when Jeonghan swept in with a smirk and a flourish. The new color of his hair wasnât lost on you eitherâdeep burgundy red. You still had no idea how he changed its color like the seasons.Â
âHappy birthday, Your Grace,â Joshua greeted warmly, offering a polite half-bow.
âThank you,â you replied, eyes softening. âItâs good to see you again. I thought youâd be too busy planning your own wedding.â
Joshuaâs smile flickered, but he was quick to recover. âAh. Well. Some things are in motion, others⊠less so.â
You raised a brow. âThat doesnât sound ominous at all.â
âItâs complicated,â he said, then adds with a small laugh, âBut Iâve learned from Jeonghan not to overshare.â
His brother leaned against the wall with a lazy smile. âIâm an excellent role model.â
You snorted. âYouâre a warning sign carved into a cliff face.â
Before either man could reply, a footman appears in the doorway, whispering something in Joshuaâs ear. The younger prince bowed again before excusing himself, promising to speak with you again before the night is over.
And then itâs just you and him.
Jeonghan eyed the gown youâre still being pinned into with a mock-solemn look. âDo I get to see all four today, or is this one the final form?â
âDonât act like you care,â you quipped, trying very hard not to shift under his gaze.
âOh, I care. Iâve always loved watching you suffer.â
âWonderful. Then youâll enjoy what happens next,â you told him coolly, gesturing for the maids to step back. âBecause if youâre going to keep staring at me like that, Iâm going to assume you came here to be mauled.â
As if on cue, Reya let out a rumble of noise from where he was being pampered by one of the braver palace maids. Ferocious as he was, he always did like getting his claws clipped, as well as wearing his favorite collar if the occasion permits.Â
Jeonghan closed the distance between you with infuriating calm, eyes never leaving yours as he flashed a wicked grin. âYou look beautiful when you threaten me.â
Your pulse did that annoying thing it always did when he looked at you like thatâlike you were something worth chasing, even when you were bristling with knives. You rolled your eyes so hard it nearly dislodged the Dawning Crown pinned into your hair.Â
âAnd you look like a scandal waiting to happen.â
His grin widened. âThatâs the nicest thing youâve ever said to me.â
Before you could come up with something scathing in return, Reya padded over, nails clicking softly on the polished floor, his gleaming coat freshly brushed, a ridiculous silk bow tied around his collar. He stopped beside Jeonghan and huffed, as if unimpressed with the theatrics.
Jeonghan crouched smoothly to scratch behind Reyaâs ears. âAh, my true supporter arrives. Donât worry, Iâll protect you from her wrath.â
Reya growled, just faintly.
You smirked. âHeâs siding with me, clearly.â
âIâm wounded,â Jeonghan said, rising with mock offense. âBetrayed by beauty and beast alike.â
Then he extended his arm to you. âShall we?â
You stared at it for a beat, suspicious. But Reya nudged your leg gently with his snout, and you sighed, slipping your hand into Jeonghanâs. âFine. But if either of you embarrass me tonight, Iâm feeding you to each other.â
âRomantic and resourceful,â Jeonghan said with a wink. âYouâll make an excellent queen.â
You didnât dignify that with a response. But as you walked down the corridor, Reya flanking your other side like a silent shadow, the three of you looked like a tableau of something unspoken and inevitable.
The ballroom was a gleaming vision of excess: golden drapes spilling from vaulted ceilings, glass lanterns casting slow-dancing light over a sea of jewel-toned silks and polished marble. An orchestra played on a raised dais, their melody light and sweet, but charged with the weight of spectacle.Â
You stood beneath the tallest chandelier, Reya sitting loyally at your side despite the sea of legs and perfumes swirling around him. The first toast had long since passed. Youâd curtsied, smiled, and performed your gracious-lady routine so many times your cheeks hurt. And then the master of ceremonies called your name.
A hush fell.
Your father approached with a dignity that made your throat tighten. He was dressed in deep blue, embroidered with your kingdomâs sigil, and he extended a gloved hand with gentle formality. You placed yours in it, and let him lead you into the center of the floor. The music swelled.
Your first dance had been rehearsed, of courseâweeks of steps and spins and graceful nods. But when he whispered, âYouâve grown into someone Iâm proud to call my heir,â you missed a beat. His voice was low, almost shy. âAnd I know⊠itâs time to let my little girl go.â
You blinked hard, eyes stinging. âFatherâŠâ
âI asked too much of you, bug. Pushing this match before you were ready.â He exhaled, voice heavy but warm. âBut Jeonghan⊠for all his faults, heâs steady in the ways that matter. If youâve come to accept him, then maybe I wasnât entirely wrong to hope.â
You didnât correct him. You couldnât. Not when he was looking at you like thatâlike someone trying to make peace with the things he had broken, and still dared to believe he hadnât ruined everything.
The dance ended in soft applause, and you embraced him tightly before slipping away into the crowd. You barely had time to exhale before another hand reached for yours.
Minghao.
He wore black trimmed with crimson thread, Renxingâs crest gleaming like bloodied gold on his shoulder. His touch was precise, his posture perfect, but his eyes held a steadiness that grounded you. Your heart warmed even further.Â
âIâve never liked these things,â he murmured as he led you into the dance. âThe court politics. The pageantry. Celebrations of this caliber are rare in Renxing.â
You gave him a dry smile. âAnd yet you came anyway.â
âI came because Iâm loyal to the alliance between our two kingdoms,â he said simply. âAnd to you.â
That steadinessâhis quiet presence, his unwavering calmâhad always comforted you. Minghao was the shield between Ancarra and the unknown. For months, his men had trained your countryâs footsoldiers and honed them into formidable warriors. You felt safe with him, the way one does with stone walls and drawn blades.
But then he added, almost as an afterthought, âItâs a beautiful kingdom. Shame what war does to beautiful things.â
You glanced at Minghao, frowning faintly. âWeâre not at war.â
âNo,â the general said, still smiling. âNot yet.â
The song ended, and he bowed with courtly precision. You blinked after him uneasily. But there was no time to dwellâanother partner was approaching.
Of course, it had to be him.
Jeonghan offered his hand with a dramatic flourish, his red hair far too striking to ignore. âMay I steal the final dance of the night?â
âOnly if you promise not to talk,â you muttered, taking it.
He did not promise. Of course not. He pulled you in with the confidence of a man who knew every beat of your rhythm, every angle of your resistance. His hand rested lightly on your waist, the other guiding you effortlessly into the waltzâs pattern.
âYou cried,â he said smugly.
âI did not.â
âYou almost cried.â
You glared up at him. âIf I did, it was because I had to dance with you.â
His grin softened, just slightly, something real shining through the mischief. âYouâre beautiful. Not just the dress. You. I thought you should hear that without a punchline attached.â
You blinked.
It unsettled you more than his teasing ever had.
The song slowed, spiraling toward its final note. For a moment, your fiancé held you still, one breath closer than necessary. The world spun in candlelight and cello strings around you, and you hated the way something in you leaned toward him instead of away.
âI wonât always be an enemy, you know,â he said quietly.
âI know,â you replied, just as quiet. âThatâs what makes you dangerous.â
After the dances, your stomach practically growled in protest.
Dinner was winding down into a soft haze of candlelight and velvet laughter. The tables glittered with the remains of a decadent feastâglazed meats, sugared fruits, wine-stained napkins folded like petals. Reya lay at your feet, gnawing contentedly on a thick strip of jerky, a gift from Soonyoung (via the royal kitchens, of course). Every so often, his tail thumped against the marble with a low rhythm, as if to remind the room that he was still on guard.
You barely had time to sit between greetings, pulled into conversations and compliments from all sides. There was Yeri, a childhood friend turned court mage, who gave you a vial of bottled starlight as a name-day gift. And Seulgi, the clever young ambassador from the coastal isles, who kept trying to guess which gown was your favorite. You laughed freely for the first time all night, warmed by the company, the flicker of candles, the slow-blooming sense that maybe everything might be all right.
Until it wasnât.
Near the center of the ballroom, Jeonghan stood facing Minghao. It looked almost casual, but only on the surface.
Then Jeonghan said, loudly enough for the conversation to die around you, âTell me something, General. How many times have you tried to kill your own father and emperor now? Was it three?â
Minghaoâs eyes narrowed. âThatâs a bold accusation to make in public, Seraphian.â
âAnd yet,â Jeonghan replied with unbearable calm, âyou havenât denied it.â
You stood up from your seat, heart jumping to your throat. Minghao stepped forward, his voice still even, but you could hear the warning beneath it. âI serve Renxing with my blood. My father knows this.â
âDoes he?â Jeonghan tilted his head. âOr did you send his last stand-in home in pieces, too? Or was that an âaccidentâ like the rest?â
A cold, electric silence followed.
âIâve seen the way you linger at the map of Ancarra when no oneâs looking,â Jeonghan added. âThe way your men move when no orders are given. Youâre not here to serve the alliance. Youâre here to watch it rot.â
Minghaoâs hand twitched. Just a flicker. Just enough to make Reya growl.
You shoved back your chair and moved, fast. âJeonghan, stopââ
Too late.
âI shouldâve cut your tongue out the moment I knew what you were,â Minghao hissed.
âAnd I shouldâve told her what you are days ago,â Jeonghan snarled, and without waiting for another word, he punched him. The impact rang through the ballroom like a crack of thunder.
Minghao didnât fall. Of course he didnât. But his head jerked back, his lip splitâand when he turned back, he looked every bit the general people feared. Cold and murderous. You stepped between them before another blow could land.
âEnough!â you said, chest heaving. âThis is a royal banquet. On my name-day. You will not spill blood here.â
Reya pressed his flank to yours, snarling low. Behind you, guards surged forwardâbut no one dared act before you gave permission. Jeonghan wiped his knuckles on a napkin. âYou should tell your father. Or donât. Doesnât matter. The truth always shows eventually.â
Minghao didnât speak. But his silence was louder than anything. And just like that, the celebration fractured. Not with a scream, not with bloodâbut with the breaking of something deeper.
Trust.
It was several hours past midnight when you heard three gentle but firm knocks on the door to your bedchambers.
Annoyed, you stared at the collection of unopened gifts stacked high on your vanity. From delicacies imported from neighboring kingdoms to the most expensive cosmetics in all of Ancarra, your guests had certainly spared no expense in trying to curry your favor. But not even their lavish presents could dispel the pure vexation that had made your blood boil the entire evening.
You didnât bother to answer the door. Instead, you swept yourself into the plush seat tucked beneath the dresser mirror. There was only one half wit currently residing in the castle brave enough to disturb you in the dead of night, and with how miserably tonightâs festivities had gone, you were in no mood to extend your hospitality to anyoneâleast of all Seraphiaâs exasperating, insufferable, schemingâ
âIsnât it a little too late to be testing out swatches, Your Grace?â
You tried to ignore him. The way his silken dress shirt dangled half untucked from his trousers. The self-satisfied look on his face when he noticed you fumbling with the cherry red rouge youâd been applying to your lips.
But try as you might, you couldnât ignore Jeonghan when he reached a hand in front of you, nimble fingers wiping off the excess color youâd accidentally tinted just a few millimeters past your lip line.
Not when his smoldering stare held yours captive in the image reflected in your gilded mirror. Not when you couldnât even find it in yourself to resist when he gently grabbed your chin and forced your gaze to marvel at the man himself.
âSulking again, Princess?â Jeonghan sneered, and you wanted to hate him for it, but you couldnât. âI saved you from a man charged with treason three times in a single decade. Why are you pouting at me like I took away the love of your life?â
âBecause youâve made it your lifeâs purpose to make mine miserable,â you snapped, lacing each word with venom. âMinghao isnât a traitor. If he was, he wouldnât become the general of the Renxing army. He wouldnât even be daring enough to live in our castle for months.â
He sighed, sounding almost sympatheticâbut youâd long seen past the ruse. âPoor little thing, still being played like a fool all because you abhor the idea of one day becoming my wife. Tell me, didnât you find it odd, how persistent he was in pursuing a woman whoâs already spoken for?â
âMinghao is not pursuing me, and I am not spoken for,â you hissed, trying not to crumble from the way his thumb dabbed lightly at your lower lip. âNot by you. Not by anyone. Father gave me a choiceââ
âYes, of course. Everyone knows the story of the Ancarran Princess chained to a troublesome foreigner. So troublesome that she had to beg on her knees just to get the king to reconsider,â Jeonghan cooed, his face inching closer to yours.
âBut as it turns out, all the other men youâre trying your damnedest to replace me with are even worse fiends than I.â
Your lungs burned as if theyâd been set aflame, and Jeonghan was merely fanning the fire. âYouâre despicable.â
âAnd you, Your Grace, are far too gullible,â he chuckled, each breath searing against your skin. âIâd say just give it up and surrender, but youâve been fighting me since we were children. Ending our relationship in such a boring way wouldnât make for a good story, now would it?â
You remembered something Soonyoung once told you in passing: how Jeonghan loved deeper than anyone expected. He loved his homeland. He loved his family. He loved his people. And with how tirelessly he kept pulling you back into this engagement, anyone would assume he loved you too.
But how were you supposed to believe that someone like him was capable of love when all he did was thrive off your misery?
âThis new rouge youâre testing,â he murmured, as if he hadnât just stomped on your last nerve. âItâs the kind that takes days to remove once it dries, isnât it?â
âIn what way does that concern you?â you gritted out.
The despicable prince simply hummed. âOh, nothing. Iâm just curious about its actual longevity.â
Your heart practically stuttered to a stop when he closed the distance between youâonly a hairâs breadth separating your mouth from his. You didnât know how it happened, but your fingers were suddenly coiled in the fabric of his shirt. Searching for purchase. For solid ground.
But you should have known better than to anchor yourself to someone as volatile as Jeonghan.
âIf someone were to ruin it in the next ten seconds,â he whispered, his voice all heat and danger, âwould you be even more furious than you are now? Or would it have the opposite effect? Would you finally melt into their arms? Would you let them tear all your defenses asunder?â
Your pulse roared in your ears, and suddenly, you couldnât remember how to breathe. His intense gaze pinned you in place no matter how badly you wanted to flee. The scent of expensive champagne lingered on his lips, and to your horror, you found yourself craving a taste.
But you couldnât. You couldnât want that. You couldnât want him.
This was the man who had made your life a waking nightmare for as long as you could remember. The man youâd be cursed to sit beside in the throne room if you didnât act soon.
You knew these facts perfectly well, and yetâŠ
A scream ripped through the corridor, sharp and blood-chilling.
Jeonghan snapped his head toward the door. The sound of shouts followed, heavy footsteps, the unmistakable ring of steel against steel.
âWhat was that?â you breathed, your voice brittle with disbelief.
Jeonghan was already on his feet, eyes narrowing as he reached for the dagger he always kept hidden inside his coat. âTrouble,â he said grimly. âExactly the kind I warned your father about.â
Another cry echoed down the hallâthis one closer.
Then the door burst open.
A castle guard staggered inside, crimson soaking the front of his uniform. His mouth opened, a desperate warning hanging on his tongue, but it was too late. A blade sliced across his back, and he fell with a gasp. Behind him came two men clad in obsidian armor trimmed in blood-red. Their faces were obscured by masks, but the crest etched into their chests was unmistakable.
Renxing.
You couldnât speak. Couldnât move. Couldnât breathe.
Jeonghan swore violently and grabbed your wrist. âWe have to go. Now.â
He yanked you into motion. Your bare feet slapped against the cold stone floor as he led you out the side passage and into the corridor beyond. Chaos bloomed all around you. Servants scattered, guards fell, and the dark-clad invaders moved with deadly precision through the castle.
âJeonghanâwhat is happening?â you gasped, stumbling to keep up with him as he veered toward the grand stairwell.Â
He didnât look back. âThe Renxing Empire. Minghao. Heâs making his move.â
âNo,â you said, heart lurching. âNo, he wouldnâtâheâs still here, heâs been living hereââ
âHeâs been watching you. Learning the gives in your defenses. Counting how long it takes for your soldiers to mobilize.â Jeonghanâs voice was hard as steel. âAnd now heâs using it all against you.â
Around the corner, a blur of motion caught your eye.
Reya came barreling through the hallâhis snow-white maw stained crimson. He pounced with his teeth bared, knocking one of the Renxing soldiers clean off his feet, and with a snarl, clamped his jaws around his neck.
You let out a cry. âReya!â
The tiger lifted his head, ears twitching, and bounded back to you, fur bristling, blue eyes alight with fury. Jeonghan cursed under his breath.
âI knew it,â he spat. âI knew that bastard wasnât here to play diplomat.â
He grabbed your hand, fingers firm and unyielding. âWe have to find the king. Now.â
The three of you sprinted through the castle, Reya leading the charge with a guttural roar. The corridors grew slick with blood. Familiar facesâservants, guards, noblesâlay scattered and motionless. The once-gleaming halls of your home were being razed from the inside out. When you finally reached the kingâs bedchambers, the massive oak doors were already ajar. The scent hit you firstâmetallic and thick. Then you saw him.
Your father lay slumped over the edge of his bed, blood soaking through his embroidered robes, pooling beneath his lifeless hand. And standing above him, eyes cool and unrepentant, was Minghao.
His sword dripped with red.
You stumbled backward in disbelief. âNoâŠâ
Jeonghan stepped in front of you, shielding you instinctively. âSo this was your grand plan, was it?â he growled, tone deadly. âCozy up to the Ancarran throne and strike the moment our backs are turned.â
Minghao didnât even flinch. âYou were never naĂŻve, Jeonghan. That was always your problem. But the princessâŠâ His gaze flicked to you, unreadable. âShe wanted so badly to believe in goodness. It made her easy to control.â
Your heart shattered. âWhy?â Your voice was barely a whisper. âWhy do this?â
âBecause peace is a lie,â Minghao said, voice cold and resolute. âAncarra has grown weak. Soft. You live behind silk curtains and delude yourselves with choices you were never truly free to make.â
He stepped forward, sword still glinting in the torchlight. âI came to study my enemy. And now Iâve buried your king. The only thing left to do⊠is take the rest.â
Jeonghan snarled and drew his blade. And behind him, Reya let out a thunderous roar, low and full of rage. You stood paralyzed between the past and the future, your kingdom falling apart in front of youâbetrayed by one youâd defended, protected by the one youâd hated. Your hands shook at your sides. Jeonghan wasnât a warrior, heâd said it himself. You were unarmed too, but even with your weapons, your down spiral into grief would make it impossible to wield.Â
A sudden blast of cold tore through the chamberâsharp as shattered glass, singing with elemental fury. The air cracked as a jagged beam of frost magic erupted from the doorway, striking toward Minghao with blistering speed.
He parried it without hesitation, raising his palm as searing fire spiraled out from his fingers. The two magics collided midair, frost and flame meeting in a violent, hissing explosion that shook the floor beneath your feet and bathed the room in blinding steam. You staggered back, stunnedânot by the impact, but by the magic itself.
You knew that spell. Youâd seen it only a handful of times, in hushed moments of practice behind closed doors. Only one person cast frost magic that way.
Siwon.
The kingâs most trusted advisor, robes singed at the edges, his eyes blazing not with panic but with purpose. He emerged from the ruined entrance, frost still crackling at his fingertips.
âThereâs no time,â Siwon said, voice hoarse but commanding. âYou have to go. The southern gates have already been breachedâSoonyoung and Prince Joshua are waiting with a carriage at the old postern tunnel.â
âNo,â you gasped, still frozen in place. âIâm not leaving him. I canâtââ
âPrincess,â Siwon cut in, harsher now. âThe king is gone.â
You shook your head, the burn in your throat rising with each breath. Your eyes remained fixed on your fatherâs bodyâhis crown toppled, his blood soaking the carpet your mother once chose. It felt impossible. It felt wrong to leave him here alone. But Reya had already made his decision. With a deep growl, your tiger stepped forward, nudging your side with his enormous head. His low whine was almost mournful as he lowered himself to the ground, offering you his back.
âReyaâŠâ you whispered.
He growled again, firmer this time, nudging you harder. And thenâmiraculouslyâhe allowed Jeonghan to climb on behind you, his tail lashing with urgency. Jeonghan didnât question it.
âLetâs go,â he said, gripping your waist as Reya tensed beneath you, muscles bunching like coiled springs.
âDonât let him take the throne,â you whispered to Siwon, your throat raw.
He gave a single nod, eyes heavy with something far more complicated than grief.
And then Reya bolted.
You clung to her as she raced down the blood-soaked halls of the royal wing, Jeonghanâs arms around you, the wind screaming in your ears. Behind you, the flames of Minghaoâs betrayal burned hotter than ever, and you knew this was only the beginning.
The wind had long since dulled into a low, steady whistle as Reya carried you through the winding woods beyond the outer citadel. The scent of smoke clung to your skin. The copper taste of blood still lingered at the back of your throat. But you felt none of it. Not until his paws hit the forest floor and slowed, the ground beneath him trembling slightly with the echo of distant explosions. The rendezvous point was just aheadâa small ridge overlooking the secret passage that led to the waiting carriage below.
Reya knelt again.
You slid off his back slowly, your knees buckling the moment they touched the ground. You didnât cry out. Didnât speak. Just curled your fingers in the dirt and stared at them like they didnât belong to you. Jeonghan dismounted after you, quiet for once. He took a step forward, maybe to say something, maybe to steady youâbut you turned away, shoulders trembling with the weight of everything youâd tried to keep inside.
The tears came then. Finally. Hot and merciless, carving tracks down your cheeks as a sob tore itself from your throat. âI should have known,â you whispered. âHe was here for months. And I didnât see it. I trusted him. I trustedââ
Your voice cracked, the image of your fatherâs lifeless body flashing in your mindâs eye again. âFather told me I had a choice. And I chose wrong.â
âYou didnât choose wrong.â Jeonghan knelt beside you, gently pulling your hands away from your face. His teasing smile was gone. All that remained in his eyes was something gentler. âYou chose to believe someone could be better than the world made him. Thatâs not a flaw, Your Grace. Thatâs who you are. Itâs why people love you.â
âBut the kingdom... M-My father, Siwonââ
You shook your head, overwhelmed with memories of Siwon making ice sculptures for you in secret, of your father lifting you into the air when you were small, telling you that Ancarra would someday be yours. That all the land the sun could touch was worth protecting.
âI was supposed to protect them,â you said, voice raw. âBut I couldnât.â
A rustle in the trees cut the air like a blade. Then another. And another. Jeonghan rose to his feet instantly, hand going to his waist where his blade was sheathed. You scrambled up behind him, Reya growling low in his throat as shadows stepped out from the dark.
Renxing soldiers.
Half a dozen at least, clad in black and red, their armor glinting beneath the moonlight.
âWell, well,â one sneered. âThe little princess, right where we want her.â
âYou think youâre getting out of this alive?â another added. âYou let your kingdom fall from within. You let us in. And now you want to run? After everything?â
Their words twisted in your gut like poison. You didnât speak. But beside you, Jeonghan went terrifyingly still. And thenâyou saw it. A glint in his eyes, sharp and inhuman. Something reptilian. Slitted pupils. A golden gleam, cold and ancient. It vanished a second later, but it made your breath hitch.
Before you could question it, Reya stepped forward, positioning himself between you and the soldiers. His tail lashed. His fur bristled. But most startling of allâ
Go.
Your eyes widened. Reya never spoke like thisârarely ever with such clarity. But his voice rang clearly in your head, steady and resolute. Iâll hold them off.
âNo,â you gasped aloud. âReya, noââ
He turned his massive head toward you briefly, his frost blue eyes impossibly calm.
Ancarra will never die as long as you live.
Then he charged.
âReya!!â you cried, arm outstretched, but Jeonghan grabbed you from behind.
âWe have to go,â he said firmlyâthough you knew he hadnât heard a word your tiger said. Somehow, he still understood.
You stumbled after him, barely able to breathe, heart threatening to break clean in halfâbut you ran. You ran, tears blurring your vision, Reyaâs roar behind you echoing in your bones as you and Jeonghan raced for the ridge where Soonyoung and Joshua were waiting.
You didnât look back.
Because looking back would break you beyond repair.
PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE
âą end notes: oh mein gott... after two years, i finally put this baby out of my system and into existence. HELLOOOOO lovely people of caratblr, i missed you all so terribly!!!!! this story has been camping in the back of my mind the entire time i was gone, and i'm so happy to finally get to share it with you! the entire thing is 40k ish in total, and i've been told tumblr gets EXXXTRA cranky if i even dare to dump everything in one go, so here we are, chopped into two parts :( i will probablee have the next part up next week just to keep you guys on your toes heh. i hope you liked reading this as much as i loved writing it. i miss jeonghan so terribly, and this fic got me to blow off that steam SIGHHH.
this is part of the itâs complicated series.
â starcrossed losers âą
one night was all it took for your world to unravel. you live now as a princess with no kingdom, a daughter without a family. but when jeonghan reminds you what it feels like to be selfish again, you're torn between reclaiming your birthright and surrendering to the comfort of his arms forever.
â FEATURING;Â jeonghan x reader
â Â WORD COUNT;Â 23.8k words
â Â TAGS;Â princess!reader, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, magic & fantasy, angst, grief/mourning, slow burn, yearning if you squint i guess, smut (MINORS DNI)
â Â NOTES; remember when i said this was going to have two parts only? yeah about that... :') the lore was just A Lot, so to speak LOL. it's nigh impossible to conclude in two chapters, so surprise! there will be part three hehe (this is real, no more additions i PROMISE). and just a heads up to those seeing this fic for the first time, this is PART 2!! not a lot will make sense if you don't read part 1 (as linked below hehe).
this is part of the itâs complicated series.
PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE
â Â SMUT TAGS; oral (f receiving), intercrural sex, drunk sex, they're both just yearning so much for each other your honor, jh still calls you 'your grace' in bed lol, explicit letters? they're freaky with their correspondences (think: medieval sexting), masturbation, fantasizing abt ur lover who's half a kingdom away
The portrait hall was colder than you remembered.
Your steps didnât echo much across the marble, muffled by the hush that clung to the air like dust. It smelled of polished stone, old candle wax, and something harder to name. You werenât supposed to be here, not alone and not this late, but no one stopped you anymore.
You walked the corridor slowly, trailing your fingers along the stone. Paintings lined both sidesâevery monarch who ruled before your father, frozen in oil and velvet, with stiff collars and colder eyes. You didnât know all their names, but they were not the ones you came here for.
The last portrait at the end of the hall is framed in gold. Lit by a dozen quiet candles, it hung just a little higher than the rest.
Your mother.
You tilted your head back to see her face. She looked taller in the painting than anyone ever describedâpoised, regal, with a kind of beauty that didnât invite affection so much as reverence. She looked like you. Or maybe you looked like her. Youâd heard it since you were old enough to understand wordsâhow you were her mirror. Her shadow. Her echo.
For a long time, you simply stared, hoping something might change. That if you stood still enough, the memory you never had might rise out of the quiet. That she might turn her head to smile and speak with you.Â
âYour Highness.â
You didnât turn right away
Siwon stepped closer, his shoes making no more noise than yours, and bowed low. Neither formal nor stiff, but familiarâthe same way he always did with you and your father.
âYou take after her more than you know,â he said softly.Â
You kept your eyes straight. âBut I never met her.â
âNo.â Siwon stood beside you as he folded his hands behind his back. âBut sheâs with you, all the same.â
You hesitated. âWhat was she like?â
The kingâs advisor was quiet for a long moment. When you looked up at him, he was watching the painting with something gentle in his faceâlike even now, after all these years, he was still trying to remember the sound of her voice.
âThe queen was a quiet woman,â he said. âThe court often mistook that for softness, for weakness, but it was far from that. Iâd daresay, what she had was strength. She didnât have to raise her voice to be heard.â
You didnât answer, but you listened anyway.
âHer magic is⊠unique,â he said. âShe could speak to animals.â
Your brow furrowed. âPeople can do that?â
He smiled faintly. âNot most people. But your mother could.â
Your chest tightened. The thought felt too large for you, too wild and far away.
âDo you think I can speak to animals too?â you asked.
Siwon turned to you fully, studying your face in the candlelight. His expression was unreadable, but not unkind.
âI do not know,â he told you honestly. âWhat I do know is this, Your Highnessâyou will be great. Just as the queen was. In your own way.â
You nodded, slowly, but your eyes were already drifting back to the painting. Her eyes were the same color as yours. But hers knew more. As if they had already seen the road waiting for you.
A faint breeze stirred through the corridor. One of the candles flickered, its flame bowing low before righting itself again. The shadows on the queenâs painted cheek shifted just for a moment, as if sheâd breathed.
You stood very still.
Beyond the glass, an owl perched silently on a high branch, its feathers blending into the dark. You didnât see it, but it watched you with eyes the color of tarnished goldâpatient, ancient, and strange.
Siwon said nothing more. He only bowed once, and left you alone in the hush. You stayed a little longer to gaze up at your mother, memorizing the lines of a face you somehow already carried. Then, without a word, you turned and walked back down the hall.Â
Behind you, the owl did not blink. Its eyes held no judgment.Â
Only memory.
The road was longer than it shouldâve been.
Ancarra sat beside Seraphia on every map youâd ever seen, but tonight, it felt impossibly farâlike a dream slipping out of reach. Ahead, Soonyoung gripped the reins tight as the coach hurtled forward, the horses driving through the dark as if speed alone could outrun the ruin swallowing your homeland.
Minghaoâs scheme was an attack on all fronts. He didnât just seize the capital, he struck it like a blade to the heart, then sent his forces spilling outward into the neighboring cities before anyone could react. Fires erupted within hours. Screams echoed through the streets. Those who resisted were cut down without mercy, their bodies left where they fell as a message.
You hated that you were fleeing while your people suffered. The guilt clawed at your chest, louder than the thunder of hooves or the distant roar of collapsing stone. You shouldâve stayed. Fought. Died, maybe. Anything but this helpless retreat into the night.
The carriage jolted over uneven ground, wheels rattling as it sped through the dark. Inside, it was tense and still, save for the tremble in Joshuaâs clasped hands. He sat across from you, his usual calm replaced by something sharper. Youâd never seen him this shaken before, but how could he not be? He came to this kingdom to partake in your name-day celebration, and now you were all escaping from the ashes of the capitalâits streets overrun, its people scattered, its sky lit with fire.Â
Every now and then, Joshua looked like he might speak. A prayer, maybe. A scrap of comfort. He was good at those. But you didnât move. Didnât meet his gaze. Didnât say a word.
So he stayed silent too.
Each breath you took was shaky as the nightâs events replayed in your mind. From the argument that broke out between Jeonghan and Minghao, to leaving your father and Siwon and Reya behind. You wanted to scream, to cry, to tear the world apart until it made sense again. A pit had settled in your stomach, cold and unmoving, as if grief had anchored itself there before youâd even had time to mourn.Â
You hadnât even noticed Jeonghan shifting closer until you felt the warmth of his shoulder brushing yours. There were no clever remarks. No biting retorts. This silence was unlike him. Jeonghan had always met fear with wit, always masked discomfort with a smirk or a well-timed jab. Now, he just sat beside you like he understood. Like he knew that if he spoke, the weight you were carrying might shatter into something neither of you could hold.
You only realized you were shaking until Jeonghan shifted beside you, just enough that his voice could reach you without disturbing the hush in the carriage.
âBack in Seraphia,â he said quietly, âJoshua and I used to sit through hours of meetings. Couldnât speak. Couldnât even glance at each other without getting called out.â
Joshua stirred across from you, lifting his head just slightly at the mention.
âSo,â Jeonghan went on, âwe came up with a system.â
He reached down and tapped your knee once, light and deliberate over the fabric of your dress.
âOne tap means âokay.â Or âunderstood.ââ
Then he tapped twice.
âTwo means âIâm here.ââ
You blinked, the simplicity of it landing with more weight than it shouldâve. You turned to look at him, but Jeonghan wasnât watching youâhis eyes stayed focused somewhere just past the smoke-fogged window. He wasnât trying to fix anything. He was just⊠offering.
Across from you, Joshua gave a faint, weary smile. âHeâd overuse it,â he said softly, his voice hoarse but laced with familiarity. âEspecially when he wanted me to lie for him.â
Jeonghan didnât deny it. But he tapped your knee twice again.
Iâm here.
You didnât know where a trick like that would ever be useful again. But something about it made the carriage feel a little less cold. A little less like a coffin.
With a quaint sigh, you leaned into him just a bit, and finally let your eyes close as the carriage hurtled deeper into the night, toward a future that hadnât yet begunâand away from everything you could never return to.
You fled Ancarra at midnight. You arrived in Seraphia at midnight, too.
Weary didnât begin to describe itâthere was a bone-deep exhaustion no salve could soothe, no rest could touch. But still, you pressed on because you had to. Because turning back was no longer an option.
The royal gates opened in silence.
No guards shouted. No horns were blown. Only those within the highest circle had been told of your arrival. Soonyoung stayed close. He hadnât let go of your hand once since you left the carriage. Even now, as the royal halls unfolded before you, too lavish and too golden in the low candlelight, his grip was still tight, still trembling.
Jeonghan and Joshua led the way. Their home was pristine, but it was the tension in the air that choked you. Familiar, but no longer comforting.
Youâd been to this castle beforeâmore times than you could count. Youâd played in these halls. Danced in that ballroom. Once tripped down those stairs and cried into the queenâs lap until she bribed you with an entire tray of sweets. And still, youâd never felt smaller than you did tonight.
The Seraphian king and queen were already waiting when you were ushered into one of the drawing rooms. They looked exactly as you remembered them: regal, elegant, kind. But this time, the queen didnât reach for your cheek with a gentle tease. She reached for you like a mother.
âMy dear,â she whispered, folding you into her arms. âOh, my poor girl.â
That was all it took. Your knees nearly gave way, and you had to grip her robes to keep yourself upright. But you didnât cry just yet. You just clung to her like a lifeline.
Soonyoung bowed hastily, words pouring from his mouth before anyone else could speak. âYour Majesties, Iâplease forgive me. If Renxing learns youâve taken us in, theyâll see it as an act of war. We didnât mean to bring that to your doorstep. Weâll leave at first lightââ
âNonsense,â said the king, rising to his feet. âYou will do no such thing.â
The queen nodded. âYou are children. Brave, loyal childrenâbut still children. You should not have to live on the run. Not like this.â
Joshua stepped closer to your side, quiet but watchful. Jeonghan on the other hand, hadnât moved far eitherâlingering near the door, as though still expecting trouble to follow through the threshold. But the queen looked at him then.Â
âJeonghan. Take them to the west wing. Let her rest,â she said all while smoothing a hand across your hair. âTomorrow weâll speak with the court, but tonight⊠She's home.â
Home.
You didnât know if this place still qualified as that. But you let yourself be led away anyway, the promise of a bed and safety something you no longer had the strength to refuse.
Shortly after stepping into the west wing, Joshua handed you a change of clothes. The fabric was soft, finer than anything you remembered from Seraphiaâs storesâlavender-dyed linen, threaded with silver at the hems. Fit for royalty.Â
You barely registered it when he placed the bundle in your arms. Your eyes kept flickering to the stonework. The sconces. The tapestries. All things that reminded you of home.
Of a home that was no longer yours.
Jeonghan said nothing as he walked ahead, guiding you and Soonyoung down the hall. He knew these corridors like the back of his hand. You remembered once accusing him of being born with the entire palace floor plan stamped into his skull. Now you trailed behind him like a ghost, your hand still clasped around your advisorâs. When you reached the two doors at the end of the hall, the older prince opened both.Â
âThese rooms are yours for as long as you need them.â
Soonyoung started to step away, finally giving you a little space. But your grip tightened, your breath catching in your throat.
âNo,â you said quietly, urgently. âDonât.â
Your advisor blinked. â...Princess?â
You turned to Jeonghan. You hadnât called him by name once since fleeing the castle, but now, your voice cracked under the weight of formality. âMay I share a room with him? Just for tonight.â
It was strange. The way the words sounded in your mouth, like they belonged to someone else. But you couldnât bear the thought of sleeping alone. You were used to the velvet canopy of your bed. The tinkle of windchimes outside your window. Reya curled beside your feet, a silent guardian through the night. Tonight, you had nothing.Â
No father. No Reya. No home.
You were a princess without a kingdom. A daughter without a family. And Soonyoungâ
He was the last piece of Ancarra you had left.
âOf course.â
Your eyes met Jeonghanâs for only a moment. He didnât press. Didnât question. Didnât flinch at the unspoken wound in your gaze. He simply told you, âRest easy. Iâll be right next door if you need anything.â
And then he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.
Joshua quickly excused himself to his own bedchambers down the hall as well, bidding the two of you a good nightâs sleep. The concern lingered in the younger princeâs gaze, but like Jeonghan, he knew better than to press. You wouldnât know how to respond in your current state either.
So for tonight, you clung to what was left. To Soonyoungâs hand, and the sound of your own breath.
The council chamber was stifling. Heavy with incense, arguments, and the scent of fear. Seraphiaâs nobles lined the carved obsidian table, draped in silk and pride. The royal mages sat to the side, faces sharp with suspicion. You stood beneath their scrutiny like a shadow that did not belong.
ââŠand still, we do not know the full scope of the damage,â one mageâhigh-collared and agelessâwas saying. âNo formal declaration. No surviving messengers. Instead, weâre relying on the testimony of fugitives.â
You flinched at the word.
Soonyoung stepped forward immediately, jaw tight with barely restrained frustration. âHer Highness is not a fugitive. She is Ancarraâs rightful heir.â
âAnd Ancarra,â one noblewoman drawled, âmay very well be gone.â
Jeonghan, seated beside the Seraphian king, said nothing. But you felt his gaze flick toward you, subtle and reassuring. His fingers drummed once, then again, against the dark wood of the table. Two quick taps.
It came and went like a ripple in still water. But you caught the message, and with it, the ache in your chest lightened just slightly. Jeonghan couldnât speak now, not when the room brimmed with eyes trained on every twitch and breath. But he had found a way to reach you anyway.Â
Iâm here.
His father leaned forward.
âWe have no confirmation,â the king said. âThere have been no proclamations from Renxing. No movement at our borders either. Everything surrounding Ancarra has been⊠suspiciously quiet. We mustnât act hastily.â
âYou are asking us,â another noble spat, âto shelter the target of an imperial coup. The general of the Renxing army ransacked her castleâwhat happens when he turns his gaze here?â
âAnd what happens,â Soonyoung countered, âif we do nothing? If we let Renxing consume one kingdom after another while we pretend not to see?â
A harsh silence fell.
Someone muttered under their breath, âWe are not ready for war.â
âWe donât have to be,â Jeonghan said at last, voice calm but deadly precise. âNot yet, at least.â
All heads turned.
âThe princess and her advisor will remain under our protection,â he went on. âIf Renxing wanted to make a move, they would have done it already. Minghao isnât a foolâheâs waiting to see how the other kingdoms respond. How we respond.â
âAnd if our response is weakness,â someone murmured, âheâll strike.â
You didnât speak. You couldnât. Not with the sight of your fatherâs blood still fresh in your memory. Not with Reyaâs last words still echoing through you like the toll of a funeral bell. But you felt Jeonghanâs gaze on you again, a flicker of warmth in a room gone cold.
Two taps on the table.
Iâm here.
Time passed like molasses. Slow and suffocating.
In the weeks that followed, you learned what it meant to haunt a place while still being alive. You were a ghost in the Seraphian castleâseen but untouched, spoken of but rarely spoken to. After that council meeting, the king swore every noble and mage present to silence. A blood oath of secrecy. Your name, your survival, your very presence within Seraphiaâs marble halls became a state secret punishable by death.
You knew it was necessary. Still, it left a hollow sort of guilt in your chest. How many of them resented you for it? How many feared the noose for sheltering the broken thing Ancarra left behind?
You had nowhere else to go.
So you stayed. Hidden.
Some days, you didnât rise from bed. Others, you sat at the same window for hours, watching the sunlight shift across the floorboards without ever touching your face. Birds came sometimesâtiny, curious things you would have spoken to once without thinking. But now their songs only deepened the quiet inside you.
You didnât speak to them.
You didnât speak much at all.
Soonyoung tried, in his quiet and patient way. But even he couldnât always get through. He gave you space, and Jeonghan filled in the spaces you didnât know how to ask for. He never pushed. Never chided you for letting yourself drown in your grief.Â
Instead, he left things for you to have. A fresh cup of tea on your bedside table. A shawl when the castle halls turned bitter cold. A book he thought you might like, even if the pages remained untouched for weeks. Joshua would come by to spare you the exact same kindness every now and again, but it was different when it was Jeonghan.Â
You werenât used to this version of him. It even unsettled you at first. Youâd built your walls tall and sharp, braced for the inevitable moment heâd strike a nerve just for the fun of it. But it never came. Jeonghan did not demand anything from you. Not even conversation.
He simply remained.
Sometimes, you would catch him watching you from the doorway of whatever room youâd choose to linger in that day. Not like a hawk, but like a boy whoâd once laughed too loud and too often, now standing very still for fear of making you disappear. You werenât sure what to make of it, but you let him linger.Â
One morning, you actually made it to the dining hall.
You werenât even that hungry, but Soonyoung had pressed gently and Jeonghan had waited in the corridor without saying a word, just long enough for you to force yourself out of bed and into something clean. That was how most things happened lately. Not because you wanted them to. But because the people who hadnât left you yet⊠waited long enough.
You sat alone at a small table in the far end of the hall, poking at a bowl of warm barley stew. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the morning sun slanted through stained glass in ribbons of gold and violet. You barely noticed.
âPrincess?â
You looked up.
The woman that approached you was unfamiliar. Mid-thirties, maybe. Her pale robes were brushed with ink black sigils and constellations. Youâve studied Seraphia's geography before, so you vaguely recognized the embroidered crest on her clothes. She was a royal mage of Aragorn, one of the southern cities.
You blinked at her, unsure what to say. The woman didnât bow, but she placed her hand gently over her chest in a gesture of greeting.
âI hope Iâm not intruding, Your Highness. My name is Taeyeon,â she said softly. âI just wanted to see how you were doing.â
You stared for a second too long, then dropped your eyes back to your half-eaten bowl.Â
âIâm⊠still alive.â
The words escaped your lips with no real thought. You hadnât meant to say them aloud, but they were true. And in some small, exhausted part of you, it felt like that was enough. However, Taeyeon didnât smile at your answer, nor did she grimace. All she offered in response was the slightest nod of her head.Â
âItâs a relief that youâre very much alive,â she said. âBut, Princess, are you truly living?â
You couldnât answer.
Because that sentence cut straight through you like a drawn blade. Your spoon fell gently back into the bowl as your chest started to ache. Your breath hitched before you could stop it, and in that flicker of pain, you remembered:
Ancarra will never die as long as you live.
You had survived that night; you were surviving still, but you werenât living. Not in a way Reya would have believed in. Not in a way your father would have wanted for you.
Taeyeon didnât press you for an answer. She simply stood there, hands folded loosely in front of her, watching with the kind of stillness that made you feel like she saw more than she should. Not just your body seated at the table, but the frayed thing beneath it trying not to come apart.
After a moment, she spoke again.Â
âIn Aragorn, when we lose someone,â she said, âwe say: May your shadow return when your heart is ready to follow it.â
You lifted your head. Taeyeon gave a small smile before continuing.
âIt means thereâs no shame in not feeling whole,â she explained. âSometimes the part of us that knows how to live stays behind with the ones we lost. But that part can find its way back, when weâre ready to want it again.â
You couldnât respond, but you didnât turn from her, either.
Taeyeon inclined her head again. âForgive me for interrupting your morning, Princess. Iâll take my leave.â
And just like that, she turned and walked off, robes trailing soft behind her, the sigils on her sleeves catching light like starlight on ink.Â
That evening, the castle was quiet.Â
You sat by the window, letting the breeze pull through in slow, whispering drifts. Moonlight spilled across the floor in a soft silver veil. You hadnât lit a candle. The dark felt easier somehowâlike it knew how to hold the ache without asking you to explain.
Taeyeonâs words still echoed in your chest.
May your shadow return when your heart is ready to follow it.
You repeated it in your head like a spell, tracing it over the ache in your ribs, the hollow behind your sternum. And for the first time in weeks, you felt⊠lighter. As if some part of you was no longer curled in on itself.
A knock at the door broke the quiet.
Soonyoung stepped inside after your soft murmur of permission. His brows were drawn, a solemn expression fixed to his face as he closed the door behind him. He looked exhaustedâbut it wasnât just that. You recognized it now. Determination. The kind that didnât come without a cost.
ââŠThereâs something I need to tell you,â he said.
You looked at him. And your stomach twisted before he even began.
âIâve made the decision to return to Ancarra. Or beyond, if thatâs where the truth leads.â His voice was calm, but beneath it, his hands were clenched. âItâs been more than a month, and we still donât know what Minghao truly wants. Or if the Renxing emperor is even complicit in his actions. That silence is not mercyâitâs misdirection.â
â... So youâre leaving me?â Your body tensed, the words spilling from your mouth before you could stop them. âYouâre leaving me alone?â
Soonyounâs expression grew even more pained. âI must, Your Highness. Itâs the only way we can take back the kingdom.â
You stood too quickly. The chair screeched behind you.
âBut you donât even have magic, Soonyoung!â Your voice cracked like glass. âHow will you protect yourself? What ifâwhat ifââ
âHe wonât go alone, Your Grace.âÂ
The interruption came from the doorway.
Jeonghan leaned against the frame with his arms crossed. You didnât even notice him slipping into your bedchambers.Â
âSoonyoung asked for my counsel before he made this decision. Seraphia will assign him two of our finest knights. Theyâve been given clearance to act under our name, and they shall die before they let harm come to him.â
But none of that comforted you. None of it made the hollow, aching grief in your chest feel any less unbearable. Because it wasnât just about strategy or survival.
It was about losing the one constant you had left.
âI canâtâŠâ Your voice was hoarse as tears slipped past your lashes. âI canât lose you too.â
Soonyoung crossed the room in three strides, and this time, he didnât wait for permission. He held you as your breath shook, as your hands clutched at his sleeves, as all the agony youâd kept buried for weeks came tumbling loose from your chest.
âYou wonât lose me,â he murmured into your hair.Â
You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. âSwear it. Swear youâll come back to me alive. Swear you wonât even think about letting yourself get killed out there.â
Soonyoung raised a hand to his heart and bowed his head solemnly.Â
âI swear it. âOn Ancarra. On my life. I will return to you.â
At that moment, you believed him.
Because you had to.
The library was quiet this afternoon.
You sat tucked into your usual corner, nestled between shelves that reached toward the vaulted ceiling like ancient sentinels. A book rested open in your lapâone Jeonghan had brought you days agoâits pages worn at the edges, words curling like ivy down the margins. The scent of dust and cedar wrapped around you, warm and unintrusive.
You'd begun venturing beyond your chambers more often now. Not much. Not far. But it was something. The worst of the weight had lifted, even if grief still hung from your shoulders like a veil. You could breathe again, even if each breath was fragile.
But you still kept your distance.
The Seraphian nobles who roamed the castle in silks and polished boots looked at you like a stain on the tapestriesâan echo of a ruined kingdom. Their glances were sharp and slick with quiet disdain, and so youâd learned to disappear before they could speak your name.
Here in the library, though, no one expected anything of you.
You had just tucked your knees beneath you, settling deeper into the window seatâs cushions, when the door eased open with a soft creak.
Jeonghan stood in the doorway with a bundle of red roses in his hands.
You blinked. âWhat⊠is this?â
The prince stepped inside, the edge of his cloak brushing the floor like a velvet shadow. âWhat does it look like?â he said, one brow lifting. âAm I not allowed to bring flowers to my betrothed?â
You stared at him. Then at the roses. Then back again. ââŠDid you pick those from the palace gardens?â
âNot quite. Shua bought them for me from a florist in the city.â A crooked, boyish smile tugged at his lips. âSo maybe itâs a gift from him, too.â
You took them slowly, careful not to crush the velvet petals. The scent was unexpectedly sweetâdeep, almost honeyed. âTheyâre beautiful,â you murmured. Then, with a bitter little laugh, âBut⊠can I still be called your betrothed when my kingdom is in ruins?â
Jeonghan didnât even hesitate. He crossed the room without hesitation and sank into the seat beside you, close enough that your shoulders touched.
âIâm betrothed to you,â he said, brushing your cheek delicately with his knuckles. âNot your crown. Not your court. You.â
The roses trembled slightly in your grip. You looked down at them, then at his other hand resting between you. That warmth beneath your ribs stirred again. Like the first hint of spring in frozen ground.
You lowered your gaze, letting the silence settle between you.
The roses in your lap were the same deep red as the ones that always bloomed late in your garden back home. You hadnât thought about those roses in months. Maybe longer.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the stems.
Youâd spent over ten years loathing Jeonghan. Not because he was a stranger. but because he never missed a chance to get under your skin. Heâd tease you until your temper frayed, smirk when you snapped, and always walked away looking far too pleased with himself.
And by some twist of fate, the two of you fell into each other in ways that would have made his mother faint. You hadnât stopped being confused. Not when he kissed you back behind that statue of a winged-lion. And certainly not now, with red roses in your lap and his breath soft beside your cheek.
If only heâd been like this from the start, you thought. We wouldâve been married at eighteen.
But you didnât say it aloud. You didnât dare. Because what if this was just another version of him you didnât know how to keep?
ââŠThank you,â you said finally, voice barely above a whisper.
Jeonghan didnât look away when you voiced your gratitude. He just nodded once and then leaned back slightly, letting the weight of the moment stretch into something more familiar.Â
âYou know⊠since youâve been out and about lately, I was wondering.â
âWondering what?â
âIf youâd be interested in getting a bit of exercise.â His mouth twitched.Â
You blinked. âWhat kind of exercise?â
âThe kind that gets your blood moving. Not a walk in the gardens or a stroll in the city,â he added, as if reading your mind. âSomething a little more⊠hands-on.â
You arched a brow. âAre you offering to fight me?â
âPlease.â He huffed a laugh. âI like my bones unbroken.â
You snorted despite yourself.
âI was thinking,â he continued, âthe captain of the royal guard is in the capital for once. Heâs only around for a few days, and I figured⊠he might be a good sparring partner. If youâre interested.â
Your fingers tightened slightly around the roses in your lap. You hadnât picked up a sword inâgods, months now. Maybe longer. Before everything fell apart, youâd been too busy preparing for your name-day. For the wedding. For the future you were supposed to have. But now that future was uncertain, and you were tired of feeling like a ghost inside it.
You let out a slow breath. âAll right. Itâs about time I stretched my legs.â
âPerfect. Seungcheol gets cranky in the mornings, but itâll be worth your time,â he reassured.
Thatâs how you found yourself following Jeonghan to the castleâs training grounds. You were given a set of training clothes before you leftâthe fabric lighter than your usual garments, loose enough for movement, fitted enough not to snag.Â
The castleâs training grounds were nestled behind the east wing, flanked by low stone walls and a cluster of blooming trees that masked the sound of the city beyond. A rack of weapons stood at the far end, well-maintained and meticulously ordered. You could see chalk lines on the ground, which Jeonghan said were for marking the sparring space.
Everything here breathed discipline.
The captain of the royal guard was already at the center of the yard, shirt damp with sweat, muscles taut with the effort of repetition. He held a longsword in one hand, his other arm wrapped loosely behind his back, and swung with precise, unhurried controlâover and over, like a pendulum.Â
âSeungcheol does that a thousand times every day,â Jeonghan whispered. âExactly a thousand. He wonât stop until he hits the count.â
You watched the glint of the blade arc through the air again. âWhy?â
âHe says if his body forgets how to move, his men might not live long enough to remind him.â
At the sound of your footsteps, Seungcheol paused mid-swing. He didnât sheathe the swordâjust lowered it, slow and steady, turning to face you both. His expression was unreadable. Eyes sharp beneath dark brows, jaw set in a way that suggested he didnât approve of being interrupted.
âCaptain,â Jeonghan greeted, polite but casual. âHope weâre not intruding.â
Seungcheolâs gaze flicked between the two of you before sparing a shallow nod. âYour Highness.â
The prince gestured toward you. âWe were hoping youâd spare some time. She wants to spar.â
Seungcheolâs frown deepened. His eyes settled on you again, more pointed now. âPardon the bluntness, but Iâve heard from the staff youâve barely left your bedchambers these past few weeks. Youâve been⊠recovering.â His tone didnât mockâbut it didnât soften either. âYouâre in no condition to spar.â
You met his scrutiny with a calm smile.
âThen,â you said gently, âwould you please help build my strength back up?â
For a moment, the only sound was wind through the leaves, and the faint creak of leather as Seungcheolâs grip tightened on his sword.
He didnât answer right away. He studied you for a moment, like someone measuring the weight of a blade before deciding if it would bend or break. Then, wordlessly, he turned and walked toward the weapons rack.
Jeonghan leaned in, voice low beside your ear. âThatâs as close to a yes as youâll get from him.â
You followed the captain, pausing at the display of steel. Seungcheol gestured for you to take your pick, and you scanned the rack quietly until something caught your eye.Â
A light looking blade with a slender edge and a modest curveâcloser in length to a saber than a broadsword. It wasnât built for brute force. It was built for speed and control. For footwork and momentum. You tested the balance with a quick flick of your wrist, feeling it settle in your palm like it belonged there.
âIâll go easy,â Seungcheol said once you faced him across the chalk-marked sparring circle. His tone wasnât patronizing, just careful.
âDonât,â you replied simply. âI wonât learn anything that way.â
His eyes narrowed just slightly. Then he lifted his blade.
You moved before he did.
Not because you were faster, but because it was how you fought. Nimble and reactive. Fencing had been etched into your body since you were a child; every muscle remembered the rhythm of lunge and parry, advance and retreat. That grace had bled into your swordsmanship over the years, giving you a certain elegance that traditional soldiers often lacked. Where Seungcheolâs footwork was grounded and economical, yours was fluidâalmost like you were dancing. You ducked and pivoted, letting your momentum carry you in and out of reach.
Still, the difference in strength was undeniable.
Even with Seungcheol clearly restraining his strikes, each blow sent shockwaves through your arms, your shoulders, your core. You felt it everywhereâsinew, bone, the spaces between your ribs. It didnât help that your body was still readjusting to this level of activity. Your blade met his again, sparks flaring where metal scraped metal. You twisted your body, slipped past his side, and landed a touch against his arm. It wasnât a real wound, but a point nonetheless.
Seungcheol adjusted his stance, looking more serious.
Despite his earlier protests, it was clear he wasnât holding back where it counted. He saw you not as a princess, or Jeonghanâs betrothed, or a grieving shadowâbut as a fighter. And he responded accordingly.
It wasnât easy. But that was the point.
For the first time in weeks, you felt something more than the dull ache of loss. You felt fire in your muscles, purpose in the press of your feet against the dirt. Your pulse thundered in your earsânot with fear, but focus.
By the time the sparring session wound down, your limbs ached in the best possible wayâburning from use, not from injury. Seungcheol lowered his blade and gave you a curt nod, sweat darkening the collar of his tunic.Â
Jeonghan, ever dramatic, clapped twice as he stepped back into the ring. âI thought nothing could top your archery, but clearly, I was mistaken. If Iâd known you could dance like that with a blade, I mightâve started picking fights even sooner.â
You gave him a flat look, but the smile you tried to suppress betrayed you.
Nearby, the palace maids arrived with a tray of refreshments: cool water, fresh fruit, and honey-dusted pastries. Jeonghan plucked a slice of melon and collapsed dramatically onto the grass, gesturing for the two of you to join him.
Seungcheol accepted a waterskin and sat with a soldierâs ease, posture still straight. He glanced at you over the rim as he drank. âYou donât fight like most nobles, much less a princess. Who trained you?â
You wiped your brow with a cloth, accepting a small plate from one of the maids. âThe captain of the royal guard in Ancarra,â you replied, selecting a piece of apricot. âYesung. He was my master since I could walk straight. My father trusted him a lot.â
Seungcheol paused mid-chew.
âYou know him?â you asked, catching the subtle shift in his eyes.
âIâve heard of him,â he said eventually, voice neutral. âRespected name, even here in Seraphia.â
But there was something elseâsomething he didnât say. The tension around his jaw hinted at it. His gaze drifted off, distant, like he was weighing the risk of continuing.
You watched him carefully, but he said nothing more.
Instead, you exhaled and reached for your cup. âI regret not spending more time training,â you said softly. âWhen I got older, there were just⊠too many duties. My blade started collecting more dust than not.â
Seungcheol looked at you then. âYouâve still got the edge. Itâs not gone. Just dulled from disuse. You get it back by doing what you did today.â
Jeonghan leaned his head back on the grass and let out a satisfied sigh. âAnd by winning dramatically in front of handsome soldiers,â he added unhelpfully. âThat helps.â
You snorted into your drink. Seungcheol rolled his eyes.
The walk back to your bedchambers was quiet, the sun already dipping behind the spires of the palace, painting the corridors in molten gold and deepening shadows. The soreness in your shoulders had begun to settle into something warm and satisfying, and your thoughts floated somewhere between the scent of red roses and the weight of Seungcheolâs blade against yours.
Jeonghan walked beside you with an easy, unhurried gait, arms folded behind his back. For a while, he said nothing.
Then, casually, âYou two got along fast.â
âHm? Who?â
He glanced at you. âYou and Seungcheol.â
You laughed. âYou set that match up, remember?â
âI did,â he said simply. âStill. You didnât hold back.â
âNeither did he.â
You stopped at the entrance to your chambers and turned to him with a no-good smile. âWaitâare you jealous?â
The prince scoffed. âI didnât say that.â
âYou didnât have to.â You stepped forward, narrowing the gap between you, your voice dropping into something deliberately teasing. âPrince Jeonghan of Seraphia, green with envy because someone dared to match me blow for blow.â
âIâm not envious of Seungcheol.â
âOh? Then why the face?â
âI do not envy his swordsmanship,â he clarified slowly. âBut I donât particularly enjoy watching someone else touch whatâs mine.â
You opened your mouth to remind him that one: you do not belong to anyone; and two: sparring with Seungcheol was his idea, but Jeonghan moved before you could get the words out.
The prince pushed you gently but firmly against the nearest wall, the cool stone kissing your spine through the thin fabric of your tunic. Your eyes widened instinctively, darting down the hallway for any unfortunate witness. But no one was there.Â
âJeonghanââ
His face was too close. You could see the mischievous glint in his eyes now edged with something darker, something you werenât used to from him. His palm rested just beside your head, the other curling lightly around your hip.
âI may not be a fighter,â he whispered, âbut you know very well how good I am as a lover.â
Your breath caught in your throat.
And just like that, Jeonghan stepped back, smirking faintly as if nothing had happened at all. âIâll let you have your bath,â he said lightly, already walking away with a brief wave. âEnjoy the rest of your day, Princess.â
Your heart hammered in your chest as he disappeared around the corner, carrying the heat of the moment with him.
To Her Highness, the Princess of Ancarra,
I hope this letter finds you in a place of quiet strength. It has been a few weeks since we last spoke, but your presence has lingered with me. I write to you not only to offer my continued condolences, but also to speak plainly of something I withheld during our first meeting.
You see, I sought you out not only because of political curiosityâbut because I had heard whispers of your beast magic. There are few in this realm who bear such a gift. Beast magic, as I know it, is more than just communication or communion with the animals you encounter. And in the right hands, it can move worlds.
Forgive my boldness in bringing this to you now. I know you may still be in mourning. I know healing rarely follows a straight path. But if your heart is readyâif your spirit stirs with the thought of reclaiming that part of yourselfâI wish to offer something more than words.
There is a mage here in Aragorn. Older than most, and not fond of titles, but a veteran in every sense. She has mentored magi of all kinds, but has always been drawn to those with wild souls, whose power doesnât stem from structure, but from instinct. I believe she would take you as a student, if you so wish. You will have space, safety, and the freedom to shape your magic on your own terms.Â
Should you agree, sign the edge of this letter in ink. I have enchanted the parchment to alert me of that choice, and I will come to you shortly, wherever you may be. But please only do that when youâre certain that you wish to leave the capital. My method of travel takes quite a toll on me, and I must prepare accordingly. I ask for no immediate answer. Only that you consider what your power might become, and what peace you might find in knowing it better.Â
May your shadow return when your heart is ready to follow it.
With respect and warmth,
Kim Taeyeon Royal Mage of Aragorn
You had already read the letter by the time the light slanted low across the windows, gilding the old stone floors in gold and ash. It lay open on your lap, creased in the middle where your fingers had pressed too tightlyâhalf from surprise, half from the rush of hope you hadnât meant to feel.
When it first arrived, you thought of Soonyoung. Your heart had leapt, sharp and high into your throat. But no, Soonyoung wouldnât send letters. He wouldnât risk a paper trail, not when enemies watched every corridor and whisper.Â
Still, the disappointment lingered. And yet... Taeyeonâs letter had been a surprise.Â
Sheâd written with care, but she hadnât danced around her purpose. You read the letter twice. Then a third time. The ink smudged faintly where your thumb had lingered too long.
Now, hours later, you sat in the small borrowed study near Jeonghanâs wing, the one with the wisteria vine crawling halfway across the outer windowsill. The Seraphian castle was beautiful, but it wasn't home. You missed the way the light fell in Ancarraâs hallways. You missed Soonyoungâs presence like a missing sleeve in winterâa functional, familiar part of you.
Youâve been training your swordsmanship again even when Seungcheol had already departed for his next mission. But gods knew that adjusting had been slow for you. On top of the fact that you were practically inconsolable for the first few weeks, the guards didnât know how to speak to you, the maids were too kind, and the Renxing forces remained ghastly quiet. Taeyeonâs letter didnât fix any of those things. But it gave you something you hadnât had in a long time: direction.
A quiet knock stirred the air. You tucked the letter under a book, as if it were a secret.
The door creaked open to reveal Jeonghan, relaxed as ever in a loose cream shirt and embroidered vest. Behind him trailed Joshua, who offered you a polite smile, hands folded behind his back.
âFancy going out for a drink?â Jeonghan asked, like he was inviting you to a garden stroll and not suggesting a public outing for a supposedly hidden political exile.
You stared at him. âA drink?â
âMhm. In the city.â
âYou mean the city city? Where people... live?â
Jeonghan tilted his head. âWell, yes. Unless youâve found a secret tavern in the catacombs.â
You glanced from him to Joshua, as if the latter might somehow provide clarityâbut Joshua only gave you a sheepish little shrug, like heâd already tried and failed to talk Jeonghan out of this idea.
âJeonghan,â you said slowly, âyour father threatened the entire royal council to keep my presence here quiet. And now you want to parade me around in broad daylight?â
He snorted. âFirst of all, itâs past dusk. Second, Iâm not parading anyone. Third,â he clapped a hand on Joshuaâs shoulder, âthis one sneaks around all the time and hasnât been caught once. If anyone can get you in and out without raising suspicion, itâs him.â
Joshua rolled his eyes but didnât argue. âWeâre going to The Bitter Swan. Myâuh, my lover works there. Sheâs a bartender. Best in the kingdom.â
That actually made you pause.
Joshua had been engaged some time agoâbefore Ancarra fell, before the world started collapsing beneath your feet. You didnât know the full story, only that it hadnât ended well. But now, he looked... different. Not visibly changed, but lighter in a way you hadnât seen before.
âYouâre seeing someone?â you asked, more surprised than you meant to sound.
He scratched the back of his neck. âYes. For a while now.â
You nodded, something soft brushing against your chest. It was relief, you realized. You were glad for him.
You glanced at the hidden letter, then back at the two boys. âFine,â you said, rising reluctantly from your seat. âBut if I get recognized and we end up sparking an international incident, Iâm blaming both of you.â
Jeonghan grinned, wholly unrepentant. âNoted.â
The Bitter Swan was tucked between two shuttered bakeries and lit by a pair of storm glass lanterns swinging above the doorway. The place was alive with soundâlaughter, the shuffle of boots on worn floorboards, the clink of glassâand warm in a way that most Seraphian halls, no matter how finely gilded, never quite managed.
You kept your hood up until you were past the threshold, nerves twisting sharp beneath your ribs. But no one gave you a second look. No one whispered. No guards came bursting through the door with drawn blades.
Joshua led the way, weaving easily through the crowd with Jeonghan at his heels. You followed, careful not to draw attention. Then you saw herâbehind the bar, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair tied back with a leather cord. Her smile cracked open the moment she spotted Joshua.
âWell?â she called. âDid you bring me anything worth my time or just more of your sweet talk?â
Joshua grinned and flicked his fingers, conjuring a small daisy out of thin air. It hovered for a moment, pale and delicate, before he caught it and stepped behind the bar to tuck it behind her ear.
His lover groaned. âEvery time. Itâs always a daisy.â
âAnd you always keep it,â he said, smug.
You tried not to stare. Not at her, or at the way Joshuaâs magic came so easily now. You hadnât realized how long it had been since you saw him do that. Since he let himself do that.
Then he turned to you. âThis is Yoona,â he said, gesturing proudly. âYoona, this isââ
âYes, yes, I know.â She rolled her eyes and wiped her hands on a cloth. âYou already told me. Donât say it out loud or youâll blow her cover.â
That startled a laugh out of you. âYou told her?â
âI trust her,â Joshua reassured. âBesides, she would have figured it out before I even said anything. Might as well cut to the chase.â
Yoona winked. âYour cloak screams âIâm totally not a royal in disguise.â Kind of reminds me of someone who used to do the same thing around these parts.â
You blinked. Then laughed again when Joshuaâs ears flushed red.Â
Jeonghan slid onto the barstool beside you like he belonged there. âCould I get an Oak Walker for myself and the lady? Shua said heâll be our designated chaperone for the evening.â
You blinked. âYou just decided Iâd like it?â
Jeonghan shrugged, a faint glint of mischief in his eyes. âEveryone likes an Oak Walker.â
The night unfolded slower than you'd expected.
At first, you stayed stiff, elbows tucked, back straight, eyes flicking toward the door every time it creaked. You scanned faces, counted exits. Even as Yoona poured drinks with practiced ease and Joshua lingered at her side like a puppy off-leash, you couldnât quite unclench your shoulders. You kept your hood up for the first half hour.
But then Yoona started talking.
She shared funny little anecdotes from her years working the bar. About a traveling bard who sang so terribly he cleared the room, or the night a drunk warlock accidentally enchanted every pint glass to sprout legs and sprint off the counter. Her storytelling was effortless, the kind that made even strangers lean in. Somewhere between the second and third tale, you realized you'd relaxed. Your hand had drifted away from your hip. You werenât glancing at the door anymore.
The Oak Walker helped, too.
It was deceptively smoothâsweet with oak and vanilla, warm with something spicedâbut it hit harder than it had any right to. You told yourself you were sipping, pacing yourself, being careful. Then your empty glass would surprise you again and again.
Yoona snorted every time you ordered another. âYouâre going to end up horizontal if you keep that up,â she warned, sliding yet another refill your way.
You stuck your tongue out at her.
At some pointâwhen exactly, you werenât sureâJeonghan had moved closer. He was sitting right beside you now, his thigh brushing yours every so often as you shifted. His posture was lazy, but there was a sharpness to his eyes that suggested heâd been tracking your slow descent into tipsiness for some time.
âYouâre swaying,â he murmured near your ear.
âIâm not,â you argued before promptly hiccuping.
âGods, youâre such a lightweight.â
You glared at him. Or tried to. âShut up or Iâll stab you with a sword next time I get my hands on one.â
Jeonghan barked a laugh. âDrunken threats. Very classy.â
But his arm, which had come to rest around the back of your chair somewhere between the second and third drink, stayed where it was. Steady, warm, and protective. You didnât even notice when you let yourself lean into the space he made for you. Just a little.
The three of you left Bitter Swan not long after your fifthâsixth?âOak Walker.
To be fair, it wasnât your idea. You were perfectly content demanding another glass while challenging a very large, very confused sailor to an arm-wrestling match you absolutely would have lost. But Joshua caught Jeonghanâs eye across the bar, and that was all it took.
âTime to go,â Jeonghan said, patting your shoulder lightly. You squawked in protest but didnât resist too hard when they flanked youâJoshua at your right, Jeonghan at your leftâas if you were some rare treasure they had to smuggle back to the castle.
The streets outside were quieter than you expected. Somewhere in the distance, bells were ringing curfew, and the fog had begun to settle low over the cobblestones.
You, however, were a menace.
âIâm not drunk,â you declared at one point, even as your boot missed the edge of a step and Joshua had to steady you with a hand to your elbow.
âOf course not,â Jeonghan said. âYouâve just decided stairs are beneath you.â
âThey are. Stairs are a scam. A royal scam. Heh, royal. Thatâs funny.â You paused, frowning. âWait, no. That was supposed to be a joke. Go back.â
âIâm afraid we canât rewind time, Princess,â Joshua said patiently.
By the time they got you to the carriage, you had insisted on giving a passionate speech to a very disinterested cat, tried to compliment a streetlamp, and proclaimed your full, undying allegiance to the Bitter Swan and all its patrons.
Inside the carriage, nestled between velvet seats, the city slowly falling away behind you, you finally slumped back with a long sigh.
âThis was nice. I never got to go out like this back home,â you mumbled, head tipping toward Jeonghanâs shoulder. âI also like when youâre like this. All... not princely.â
He made a quiet sound in his throat, something between a scoff and a laugh. âIâm not sure if I should be flattered or offended.â
âNo, you donât get it,â you said, voice softer nowâslurred at the edges, but anchored by something true. âYou walk around like nothing touches you. You flirt like itâs a game, like none of it matters. But itâs like⊠no one actually knows you. Not even me, and Iâve been engaged to you for ten years.â
A breathy laugh slipped from your lips before fading into a quiet, almost wistful smile.
âBut when itâs just you like this... it makes me feel like I can breathe.â
Jeonghan stilled beside you.
Joshuaâs brow furrowed across the seat. He looked at his brother, then back at you. You didnât seem to notice. Your head lolled back against the cushion, eyes fluttering shut.
âEven if youâre a smug bastard,â you added faintly. âDonât get ideas.â
The silence stretched, thick with something unspoken. Joshua turned, meeting Jeonghanâs stunned gaze with one of his own. Neither of them said anything.
But the look they shared said enough.
Back at the castle, the journey to your room was a blur of hushed giggles, missteps, and Jeonghan hissing at you to keep your hood up while Joshua kept watch for wandering guards.
By the time the three of you reached your door, you were hanging heavily off Jeonghanâs arm, still swaying from the Oak Walkers. Joshua muttered something about returning to the pub to keep Yoona company until closing before slipping away into the shadows like heâd done it a thousand times before.
Inside your chambers, Jeonghan helped you sit at the edge of your bed. âYouâre going to regret all six of those drinks in the morning,â he said mildly, crouching to unlace your boots.
âMm, but they tasted like joy,â you mumbled, tugging at the laces of your bodice.
Jeonghan helped with the ties carefully, without looking where he didnât need to. He passed you your nightgown and turned his back while you changed, though that didnât stop you.
âYouâre very noble all of a sudden,â you said, grinning lazily. âTrying not to peek?â
âIâm showing you the courtesy of basic decency.â
âYou didnât care about basic decency when weââ you hiccuped, then giggled, ââwhen we kissed behind that statue of a winged lion. You still remember, donât you?â
He paused, his back still turned, jaw tightening faintly.
Once you were dressed, Jeonghan turned to tuck the covers around you. âGet some sleep,â he said quietly, smoothing the blanket near your shoulder.
But before he could pull away, your arms slipped around his waist from behind.
âAre you really going to go,â you murmured against his back, âjust like that?â
He sighed, long and steady. âYouâre drunk, Your Grace. It wouldnât be proper.â
You tilted your head, voice featherlight and slurred with sleep and something else. âIt wasnât proper either,â you said, âwhen you touched me like that in the solarium. Whatâs your point?â
He stilled.
Then slowlyâalmost reluctantlyâhe turned to face you. His hands found your shoulders, firm but not rough. His expression had lost all pretense of ease. For once, Jeonghan didnât smile.
âYou donât know what youâre saying,â he said firmly.
But he didnât move away.
You could feel his heartbeat beneath your fingers when you reached out to touch his chest. His pulse rabitted beneath his sternum, like this moment held more weight than the two of you were willing to admit. Jeonghan didnât move. He could only grip your shoulders like you might shatter if he didnât. Or maybe the one heâs keeping from unraveling is himself.Â
You watched him through half-lidded eyes, your breath warm against the hollow of his throat. âYou havenât kissed me in so long,â you said softly. âWhy is that, Jeonghan?â
His jaw tensed. âYouâre mourning. It isn't the right time.â
You tilted your head, defiant despite the haze in your mind. âWhen is it ever the right time with you?â
âPrincessââ
âYou always hold back,â you murmured, stepping closer, your voice a thread pulled tight. His grip on your arms tightened just enough to betray the shift in him. âYou flirt. You tease. But you never let yourself go too far. As though anything beyond stolen trysts is suddenly too dangerous for you. Tell meââ your eyes searched his, âis that why you havenât married me yet? After all this time?â
Jeonghan was right. You didnât know what you were saying at all.Â
If you were sober, these words wouldâve stayed buried behind the iron seal of your mouth. You hated the thought of being bound to Jeonghan. It was why youâd begged Soonyoung to delay the wedding for as long as he could.
So why were you spouting all this nonsense now?
âThatâs not true,â Jeonghan said hoarsely.
You leaned in, lips brushing the corner of his mouthânot quite a kiss, but enough to burn like one. And with a quiet, tantalizing whisper, âThen prove it.â
That did it.
His restraint, so carefully held, snapped in an instant. His hands slid to the sides of your face, cradling it like something precious right before his mouth crashed against yours. There was nothing tentative in itâno diplomacy, no distance. Just months of longing, of near misses, of moments swallowed by duty and danger, unraveling all at once.
When you gasped against his lips, his hand curled around the back of your neck, and you thought, dizzy and triumphant:Â
Finally.
You reached for the buttons of his shirt, fumbling. The fabric shifted under your clumsy fingers, but coordination was beyond you nowâyour limbs soft, your blood warm and slow with drink and heat. Jeonghan caught your hands gently.Â
âBe patient,â he murmured, brushing a kiss to your knuckles.Then he moved slowly, guiding you back against the pillows. You shivered as his hands slid down your sides, a reverent touch that made your breath hitch.
You could only arch into him as he settled between your thighs, drunk not just on the Oak Walkers but on the ache of him, on months of silence breaking like a tide. And when his mouth found your skin, your name a prayer between his teeth, you thought:
Let them find out. Let the whole castle burn. Just not this. Donât take this away from me.
His lips traced fire along the inside of your thigh, and you bit down on a moanâmore out of disbelief than modesty. Jeonghan, with all his control and quiet arrogance, was unraveling before you, piece by piece.
âSay something,â he murmured. âTell me this isnât just the alcohol acting out for you.â
You blinked down at him, flushed and breathless. âItâs not. And you know it.â
âIf I keep going, I wonât be able to pretend nothingâs changed tomorrow.â
Jeonghan met your eyes, and without thinking, you reached for himâhands threading through his deep red hair.Â
âThen donât pretend.â
Once the words left your lips, he surged upward to kiss you again. It was deep and consuming, like a dam finally giving way. You clung to him, pulling him closer, and the weight of him, the feel of his breath tangled with yours, made your head spin more than the whiskey ever could.
You felt the tremor in him, not from fear, but from feeling. From how deeply this meant something.
âI shouldâve said something,â he murmured into the curve of your neck, voice wrecked. âBack in Ancarra. Before everything fell apart.â
âYou still can,â you whispered, tilting his face to yours. âWeâre not gone yet. Iâm still here.â
Maybe that was the most dangerous truth of allâthat despite the kingdoms collapsing, despite Renxingâs siege and the shadows gathering at every border, this moment felt more real than any prophecy, any throne. Just skin and breath and the way Jeonghan looked at you like you were the only thing tethering him to this world.
He pressed his forehead to yours. âYou donât know what you do to me.â
You smiled faintly, heart thudding. âI think Iâm starting to.â
Then he kissed you againâfierce and open and hungry for all the time youâd lost. And this time, you didnât hold back either.
Not when his hands tangled with yours above your head, not when his mouth trailed lower, slower, lingering in places that made you gasp his name like a prayer.Â
When his mouth finally touched where you wanted him most, it was with unbearable tenderness. A gasp escaped you, sharp and involuntary, your hips twitching toward him. He moaned softly at the sound, as if the taste of your pleasure was more intoxicating than wine.
Jeonghan didnât rush. He mapped out your cunt with his mouth, tongue tracing patterns that made your legs shake. His lips sealed around the most sensitive parts of you like he wanted to unravel every breath, every thought, until only he remained.
And you let him.
Your back arched as a wave crested inside you, and still he didnât stopâdrawing moans from you like music. His hands anchored your hips, firm but never demanding.Â
It wasnât control. It was devotion.
When release finally came, it tore through you like a storm, and Jeonghan held you through it, never looking awayâhis gaze dark, intense, and awestruck. You reached down breathlessly, pulling him up to you. His lips were wet, his cheeks flushed. You kissed him without hesitation, tasting yourself on his tongue.
Jeonghanâs breath was still heavy as he hovered above you, eyes searching your face like he was memorizing every inch. His hand cradled your cheek, thumb brushing over your lip.Â
âTell me what you want,â he murmured.Â
You tilted your hips toward him, guiding him between your thighs. His breath caught as he realized, as your legs pressed around him, skin on skin, warm and slick and aching.
âThis,â you whispered, voice trembling. âI want you like this.â
For a moment, something flared behind his eyes. Hunger, need, maybe even love. But then he huffed a soft laugh and shook his head.Â
âNot when youâre drunk, Your Grace.â
You blinked up at him, still breathless, heat pulsing in every part of you as disappointment started to simmer just beneath the lust. âButââ
âI can give you something else,â he said, and leaned down to kiss your cheekâgentle yet maddening. âSomething that can make you feel good regardless.â
Confusion started to seep into your face, but Jeonghan answered by grabbing both of your thighs as he let both of your legs dangle across one shoulder. The angle was odd, but something told you he wanted your thighs pressed closely together.Â
You were about to let out a quiet protest until he undid his trousers, hauling his cock from the confines of his clothes with a sigh.Â
His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like the weight of your mutual desire was too much. Then, tentatively, he slid his length between your thighs, fitting perfectly into the space where your heat welcomed him, even without the final joining.
The friction was maddening.
He rocked forward, slow and careful at first, your slickness easing every motion. The head of his cock dragged against the seam of your sex with every thrust, the pressure hitting just right, over and over. You squeezed your thighs tighter, gasping his name as he groanedâlow and hoarse, like the effort of holding back was burning him from the inside.
âGods, you feelââ He cut himself off with a sharp exhale, hips stuttering against you. âIâm not going to last if you keep looking at me like that.â
âThen donât,â you breathed. âDonât hold anything back.â
And he didnât.
His rhythm grew faster, desperate. The sounds he made were nothing like the prince the world saw. This was Jeonghan stripped bare, undone by the feel of you, by the friction, by the intimacy of it all. Your hands gripped his back, your bodies flush, breath tangled between moans and whispers of each otherâs names.
His thick head caught on your clit with each pass. Part of you just knew Jeonghan deliberately did that to spur your pleasure just as much as his own. And as he continued to piston his hips, you found yourself growing dangerously close to the edge once again.
âJ-Jeonghan,â you whimpered, tears streaking your vision. âI⊠Iââ
The words were lost as your orgasm crested like a tidal wave, washing over your entire body until the water pulled you under. You shook beneath him as ecstasy rushed through your veins, but Jeonghan remained steadfast in fucking himself between your thighs, letting you ride it out.
When he came, it was with a trembling cry whispered into the air, spilling between your thighs as his body shuddered against yours. You held him through it, stroking his arm, grounding him all while he collapsed into you.
You stared at the ceiling, the soft hush of dawn just beginning to graze the edges of the sky. There was no clock here, no crown, no war bleeding at the borders of your memory. Only the warmth of his body, the scent of him lingering on your skin, and the echo of your name on his breath.
And for a moment, you wanted to stay like this.
You wanted to forget Ancarra. Forget Minghaoâs blade slicing through everything youâd ever built. Forget the looming war and the kingdom you were supposed to save. You wanted to let the world burn and bury yourself in this fleeting mercy.
You shifted slightly, curling closer to Jeonghan.
Maybe just a little longer.
The capital of Ancarra was a corpse wearing its own crown.
Soonyoung kept his head low beneath the hood of a merchantâs cloak, blending into the flow of hushed voices and weary footsteps. Smoke still clung to the skyline, the charred bones of once-proud towers jutting upward like broken fingers. The flags bearing the royal crest were torn down, replaced with strange foreign emblemsâRenxingâs deep red and black, fluttering like bloodstained silk in the wind.
Where once there had been music, laughter, street hawkers and flower-sellers, now there was silence. Watchful, suffocating silence. Soldiers patrolled every alley, every market. People avoided eye contact. The bakeries had stopped baking. The temples stood shuttered.
The king was dead.Â
The princess had vanished.Â
And Minghao had claimed a throne he never earned.
Soonyoung moved quickly through the ghost of the city he once knew, slipping through side streets and old guard passages, the kind of hidden routes only a fixture of the palace could recall. Heâd asked his knightly chaperonesâthe ones Prince Jeonghan loanedâto stay back for this one. Theyâd refused at first, but Soonyoung always had a gift for convincing others to his whims.
He reached the outer walls of the castle, scaled the crumbling servant stairwell, and ducked behind fallen scaffolding before finding a familiar breach behind the armoryâone that led straight into the lower corridors.
Inside, the air was damp with mildew and blood. Tapestries had been ripped down, and the scent of iron lingered in the halls. He heard boots echo overhead and paused, listening. Then, with careful precision, he descended into the dungeons.
Thatâs when the strangeness began.
Locked behind rusted bars werenât just criminals or dissentersâbut beasts. Hunched and hostile things with glowing eyes and matted fur. Creatures with scales, tusks, or too many limbs, some caged and chained, others muzzled or sedated. All trembling in the cold. All watching. It made no sense.
And then came a low growl.
Soonyoung turned just in time to dodge a lunging wolfâwild-eyed, massive, its teeth bared. It wouldâve ripped his throat out if not for the blast of cold that knocked the beast backward. Ice exploded against the wall, sending a dusting of frost across the floor.
âEasy,â came a low voice from behind another cell. âYouâll spook the rest of them.â
Soonyoung turned, breath caught. âSiwon?â
The older man looked tired but alive, dark hair damp with sweat, his hands bound but his magic clearly not entirely suppressed. âNice disguise,â he muttered. âYou always did look better in rags.â
âYouâre alive.â Soonyoung rushed forward, already brimming with questions. âWhat happened? Why are there beasts in the dungeon? What the hell is Minghao planning?â
But Siwon raised a hand, glancing toward the stairwell. âQuiet. Theyâre keeping me alive for nowâto broadcast Minghaoâs âgenerous new ruleâ when the time comes. And for when the princess resurfaces. Iâm leverage.â
âLeverage and locked up with beasts?â Soonyoung hissed.
Siwon nodded grimly. âTheyâve been experimenting. Testing something. I donât know what it is yet, butââ His eyes flicked to a cage where another animal that looked too much like Reya lay unnaturally still. âI think it has to do with cursed magic.â
Soonyoung paled. âCursed magic? But thatâsââ
He didnât finish. Footsteps echoed down the corridor accompanied by shouting. Torchlight flickered around the corner as Soonyoung felt his stomach drop.
âGo,â Siwon said, voice urgent. âYou canât be caught.â
Soonyoung hesitated, hand curling into a fist. âIâll come back. Iâll get you out.â
Siwon gave him a thin smile. âJust bring her back in one piece. Thatâll be enough. Oh, and Soonyoung?â
âWhat?â
â...Tell the princess it was Yesung who did it,â he said with bated breath, âThe one who betrayed us. The one who sold the kingdom off to Renxing.âÂ
The information struck Soonyoung like lightning in the middle of summer. Yesung? The captain of the royal guard? But as much as he wanted to probe Siwon for more details, time was running out.
With one last glance at the wolf pacing behind the bars, Soonyoung turned and vanished into the shadows.
Morning hadnât come yet. The world outside was still cloaked in that hushed, pre-dawn blue, the kind that made you wonder if time had stopped altogether. Your head pounded and your body ached in places you didnât expect, even though Jeonghan was careful. Even though you didnât go all the way.
He was still asleep beside you, one arm draped lazily across the bed, red hair spilling over his cheek like spilled ink. His face looked softer in sleep. Open, vulnerable. You found yourself staring too long.
You didnât hate yourself. Not like you thought you would. Instead, you felt something worse. The slow, terrifying crawl of something tender. Something like the beginning of love.
Because for a moment, you forgot everything that mattered. Jeonghan let you forget what it meant to survive, and helped you remember what it felt like to simply exist.
But now, in the quiet, it hit you like cold water: staying here made you complacent. Safe. Soft. You were a princess without a kingdom. A daughter without a family. And every second you spent here pretending otherwise was another second lost.
Your gaze drifted to the window. The letter still sat on the table beside it, right where you left it. You rose without a sound, careful not to disturb him, and took up the quill and ink.
Taeyeon warned you that her method of travel required preparation, that you should only sign when you were sure. You expected it would take a day or twoâmaybe more. So you thought youâd have time. Time to think, time to say goodbye. Time to figure out how to look Jeonghan in the eye and explain why you couldnât stay. You thought you could sign it now and still have a moment to breathe.
But the moment your name met the parchment, the magic activated with a pulse of light.
The letter glowed gold, the ink lifting from the page like threads spun from starlight. Then it curled in on itself, folding and folding until it collapsed inward and blossomed into a glowing portalâright there, in your room. You stumbled back in disbelief, heart hammering, the rush of air from the magic tousling your hair.
And then, from the other side of the portal, Taeyeon stepped through.
There was no fanfare, no sound but the hum of power quieting in the air around her. The royal mage surveyed the room calmlyâeyes briefly catching on the prince still fast asleep in your bed, shirtless and obliviousâbefore settling on you with a look somewhere between curiosity and disapproval.
âYou were going to leave without saying anything?â
You hesitated. You planned to write him a letter. Maybe to wake him with a kiss, or not at all. You hadnât decided. But none of that mattered now, not with Taeyeon already standing there, the magic still warm and thrumming behind her like a living thing.
You glanced at Jeonghan, at the peace on his face you almost convinced yourself you deserved to see one last time.Â
Then you nodded.
âItâll be easier that way,â you murmured. âItâs not like I have anything to bring with me anyway.â
Taeyeon didnât argue. She only lifted her hand toward you.
You took it.
And with one final glance at the life you nearly let yourself want, you stepped into the portal. The air folded around you like silk and silence.
The letter vanished. The portal closed. The room was empty.
And all you left behind was the shape of your absence.
You stepped out onto the balcony and caught your first real glimpse of Aragorn.
The southern city stretched far beyond what you expectedâsunlit and sprawling, built into cliffs and winding hills, with a hundred mismatched rooftops like shattered pieces of stained glass. It didnât have the symmetry of the capital, or the soft elegance of Seraphia. It was a riot of color and sound even from a distance. Banners flapped. Smoke curled from chimneys. Somewhere below, someone shouted, and laughter followed like a wave.
It was chaos. But it felt alive.
Youâd bathed and changed in Taeyeonâs estate, which wasnât so much a home as a half-forgotten villa carved into the side of a ridge, overtaken by vines and mountain wind. It had a well-worn warmth, like someone had lived here a long time and only kept what they needed.
Taeyeon joined you on the balcony, pulling her hair into a loose twist. Out of her usual robe dotted with magic sigils, she didnât look like a royal mage. She looked like someoneâs older sister. Someone who could disappear into a crowd.
âSouthern cities like Aragorn are free,â she said, following your gaze. âToo far from the capital for the crown to keep a firm grip. Thatâs why I brought you here.â
You blinked. âAnd the king?â
âDoesnât know.â She smiled faintly. âNor does the queen.â
Your chest tightened. The guilt sat bitter on your tongue, but before you could speak, she added, âThereâs another reason.â
You glanced at her, and she said, quietly, âRefugees from Ancarra have been trickling into the southern cities. Mostly women and children. Soldiers who deserted. Farmers who fled. Those far enough from your capital to not be held hostage by that tyrant general.â
The words knocked the wind out of you.
âWhatâwhy didnât you tell me?â
âIâm telling you now,â she said calmly. âBut youâre not ready to see them. Not yet.â
You tried to object, to insistâbut your voice caught, and she looked at you like she could see every fracture in your heart.
âI know itâs been a while, and youâve been waiting on news from Ancarra as much as the rest of us. But even I can tell youâre still bleeding, Princess,â she said. âThereâs a time for reunions. And a time to gather yourself. Letâs start with food.â
Taeyeon led you down into the city, into the belly of Aragorn, where stone staircases spiraled through sloped streets, and balconies overflowed with drying laundry and flowerpots. She took you to a tavern built into the bones of what mightâve once been a watchtower.Â
It was cramped, loud, and the air was thick with spice and woodsmoke. You couldnât imagine someone like her here. But Taeyeon walked in like sheâd been coming for years.
âLady Taeyeon!â a woman called from behind the counter.
Another man shouted, âSheâs brought a friend! Should we be nervous?â
The royal mage raised a hand in greeting, utterly unfazed.
You watched in quiet disbelief as the room seemed to fold around her presence, not with reverence, but with the easy familiarity reserved for someone who belonged. No one bowed to her or whispered about her greatness. They greeted her like someone who knew the names of their children and the best time to buy peaches at the market.Â
It was strange to see someone like Taeyeon received not as a myth, but as a neighbor.
She didnât hesitate. She ordered for you both without ceremonyââYou need to try the stuffed flatbread,â she saidâand waved off your hand when you reached for coin. With practiced ease, she slipped through the crowd and guided you to a table tucked beneath a cracked window, where the breeze carried in the mingled scents of rosemary and dust.
As you settled into the corner seat, your plate still steaming between your hands, a flutter of movement caught your eye. A small brown birdâscruffy, no larger than your palmâlanded neatly on the cracked windowsill beside you. It tilted its head, eyes trained on the food, and let out a sharp chirp. You smiled, at first thinking nothing of it. But then the bird spoke.
That smells like heaven. Is that stuffed with cheese? Iâd kill for cheese.
The voice was bright and insistent in your mind, clear as thought but not your own. For a moment, you frozeâyour fingers tightening around your fork. It had been so long since you let yourself listen. Youâd shut that part of yourself away the moment you left Reya behind, too afraid that hearing the voices of animals would remind you of everything you abandoned.
But here, now, something in you had gone quiet enough to let it in again. No pressure. No grief. Just the sound of the wind, the hum of the tavern, and a hungry bird with far too much personality.
Without thinking, you broke off a corner of your flatbread and offered it up. The bird hopped forward with greedy joy, clutching the crust in its beak before flying off again, wings catching the light like a wink. When you turned back to the table, Taeyeon was watching you with an amused look.
âYou havenât been listening lately,â she said.
It wasnât a question.
You looked down at your plate. âNo.â
âWhy?â
You didnât answer right away. âBecause if I heard them, Iâd remember Reya. And if I remembered him, Iâd start mourning. And mourning takes time I didnât want to lose.â
Taeyeon nodded, slow and knowing. She leaned back in her chair, arms folded loosely across her chest. âInstinct magic like yours is a funny thing. It doesnât demand permissionâit just lies in wait until youâre ready to use it again.â
You paused, fork halfway to your mouth, the word catching like a splinter in your thoughts.
âInstinct magic?â you echoed. âIs that what I have?â
Taeyeon didnât answer immediately. She was watching the bird again, which had settled on a rooftop across the street, fluffing its feathers against the wind. When she finally spoke, her voice was quietânot lecturing, not grand, just a simple truth shared over brunch.
âMagic like mineâyou study it, shape it, discipline it until it bends to your will. Itâs rigid and mathematical. A spell goes here, a sigil there. If you mess up the sequence, things fall apart.â
She looked at you then.
âBut yours⊠yours doesnât wait for a spell. It listens. It lives in your body, in your breath. Itâs older than theory; wilder, and much closer to the roots of things.â
You frowned slightly. âBut I canât control it.â
âNo,â she agreed. âYou donât control it. You coexist with it. Thatâs why it scares people, or why they donât think itâs real magic. And probably why you stopped trusting it.â
You turned her words over, trying to fit them into the corners of yourself that had long gone quiet. Youâd never thought of your gift as anything so dignified, it was just something you had. Like a birthmark. Something no one else quite understood, even when they pretended to.
But instinct magicâthat felt like a name you hadnât known you needed.
After brunch, Taeyeon turned to you with that same unreadable calm. âDo you want to meet Hanya now? The veteran mage I mentioned in my correspondence?â
You didnât have anything better to do. And something in youâmaybe curiosity, maybe restlessnessâsaid the sooner, the better. You nodded.
Taeyeon gave a short hum. âThen we better bring her a gift first.â
She led you into a narrower, more tangled part of the city, where the buildings leaned in on each other like gossiping friends and flowering vines crept along every fence. A painted sign above a crooked door read Vines & Embers.
âThe shopâs run by a plant elemental named Hyejin,â Taeyeon explained as she pushed open the door, âand her husband Chanâheâs a fire elemental. Bit of an odd couple, but they make it work. Somehow.â
A little bell jingled overhead, and a young man with tousled hair and a permanently sunburned grin looked up from the doorway.
âLady Taeyeon?â he greeted, eyes lighting up. âWhat can we do for you today?â
Behind him, a woman waved lazily from the counter, where she was pruning something that looked like a rose crossed with a starfish.
âJust the usual for old Hanya,â Taeyeon called back.
Hyejin gave a knowing nod and disappeared into the back room.
Chan lingered near the door, folding his arms as he looked between the two of you. âAnd this must beâŠ?â
Taeyeon didnât miss a beat. âMy niece from the coast. Sheâs visiting for a while. Poor thing needed some fresh air after the capital.â
You blinked once, then remembered to smile. âNice to meet you.â
âAhhh, makes sense,â Chan said, beaming. âYouâve got her eyebrows. And the general look of someone who's been breathing too much palace air.â He winked.
You didnât know what that meant, exactly, but you let it slide.
As Hyejin worked in the back, Chan kept the conversation going, bouncing from gossip about the midday heatwave to which blossoms had opened early this year. Eventually, the topic veered toward the refugees.
âSome of the Ancarra folks came through here last week,â he said. âQuiet lot. Tired eyes. They don't ask for muchâjust space to rest. Hyejin's been growing nightshade and balm to help with the headaches. Too many of 'em wake up screaming.â
You kept your face as still as stone.Â
Taeyeon didn't look at you, but you felt her shift ever so slightlyâher sleeve brushing yours in what could have been an accident. Or not.
Just then, Hyejin emerged with a bundle wrapped in waxed paper and tied with gold thread. It smelled of lavender, iron, and something like starlight or ozone. A few pale blue feathers, still shimmering faintly, had been tucked beneath the twine.
âSheâll know what it means,â Hyejin said simply.
âOf course she will,â Taeyeon replied, reaching for the package. âThanks, Hyejin. And tell your husband to stop setting fire to the begonias.â
Chan coughed. âI swear they like it. Itâs character-building.â
You followed Taeyeon out of the shop with the bundle in hand, still wondering what kind of person received a gift like thisâand what exactly you were walking into next.
Taeyeon brought you to the edge of the mountains the same way she fetched you from the capitalâthrough a shimmering cut in space. You stepped through the tear in the air and landed on solid ground, but she stumbled slightly as the portal winked shut behind her.
âYou okay?â you asked, catching the way her hand gripped her hip a second too long.
She straightened, gave a breathless laugh. âIâm fine. Spatial magic has its price. It would be too powerful otherwise.â
You frowned. âWhat kind of price?â
Taeyeon shrugged. âCall it the law of equivalent exchange. Power doesn't come from nowhere. I burn a little bit of myself every time I open a gate like that.â She glanced back toward the now-empty air. âDoesnât mean itâs not worth it.â
You didnât press further. Because ahead of you, nestled into the foothills, was a crooked little house stitched from stone, ivy, and old wood, half-sunken into the slope like it had grown from the mountain itself. A windchime of bones clicked gently from the awning. Chickens wandered the yard, unpenned. A goat napped on the porch. A monkey dozed in the rafters.
You could hear them all. Thoughts like quiet murmurs in the back of your headâcurious, distracted, and alive. It had been so long since you let yourself listen to animals, yet here, among the clamor, you felt your magic stir like an old song.
Taeyeon stepped onto the porch and knocked once, sharply. No answer.
She knocked again.
A rustle, then a grumble. âGo away! Iâm not buying anything and Iâve got enough potions to last through winter.â
Taeyeon didnât flinch. âItâs me. I brought someone who wants to study under you.â
For a while, there was only silence. But then came the groan of old hinges. The door creaked open to reveal an elderly woman with tangled gray hair and a face carved deep with lines. She squinted at Taeyeon first.
âI told you, Iâm too old to be anyoneâs damn teacher.â
You stepped forward quickly, holding out the bouquet from Hyejinâs shop. âThese are for you, maâam,â you offered.
Hanya didnât even look at the flowers. Her gaze landed on youâand stopped. Her face went still. For a second, it was like she didnât see you at all, but something beyond you.Â
Then she slammed the door shut.
âTeacher,â Taeyeon said flatly, rubbing her temple, âthatâs not very polite.â
âGet that girl away from here.â
âShe came all the way from the capital.â
âI donât care if she came from the moon. Iâm not touching that cursed magic. You hear me?â A pause. Then quieter, like a huff of disappointment: âYou shouldâve known better.â
You stared at the door, still holding the flowers. âWhat does she mean?â you whispered. âCursed magic? I just talk to animals. Thatâs all I can do.â
Behind the wood, Hanya hissed, âThatâs not all you can do at all. And if you donât know it yet, you will. And when that happens, youâll wish youâd never come knocking.â
Taeyeon only sighed, her shoulders rising and falling with quiet resignation. âLeave the gift,â she murmured. âThereâs no getting through to her today.â
You hesitated, glancing again at the shut door. But you obeyed, setting the bundle of paper and twine neatly by the threshold. The goats watched you with interest. The monkey stretched out a lazy limb and scratched its side. You stepped back down onto the grass and asked, âWhat even is it? The gift, I mean.â
âSheâll feed her beasts with it,â Taeyeon said.
You blinked. âBeasts?â
Taeyeon nodded, gesturing toward the scattered creatures dotting the property. âHanya practices beast magic. Like you, she can understand and talk to animals.â Her eyes lifted toward the awning, where the monkey now dangled by its tail. âThese ones? Theyâre naturally drawn to her. But sometimes, more dangerous ones come too. Wild wolves. Mountain cats. Iâve even seen a wyvern once.â
You stared. âAnd she just⊠lets them near her?â
âThey come and go. She doesnât cage them. She tames them.â Taeyeon smiled faintly. âThey all love those flowers we brought. Itâs called cindersong. Has a scent only beasts can smell, something sweet and strange and grounding. Hyejin grows them by hand. That bundle will be gone by nightfall.â
You looked again at the door, now just a closed shadow in the stone. âIf our magic isnât so different⊠whyâd Hanya refuse to teach me?â
Taeyeon was quiet for a long time.
Then she glanced once more at the shut door and said, âLetâs head home. Weâll talk more there.â
Back at the estate, the portal spit you out into stillness. The sun was lower now, and so was Taeyeonâs energy. You noticed the tremble in her fingers as she straightened her robes, the slight wobble in her step.Â
But before you could offer help, a maid appearedâsomeone you hadnât seen this morning, with cropped hair and quiet hands. She moved without a word, as if sheâd known what was needed long before you arrived.
A steaming towel was pressed into Taeyeonâs palms. A small vial uncorked beneath her nose. A flask of something bitter and glowing, passed from hand to hand as she gulped it down. By the time you reached the study, Taeyeon looked a little less hollowed-out, though her eyes were still rimmed with strain.
You both sat. She didnât waste time.
âShe was from Ancarra too, you know,â the royal mage said quietly. âHanya.â
Your breath caught. âShe was?â
Taeyeon nodded. âShe never talks about it. I didnât even know for years. I only knew her as the former royal mage here, in Aragorn. She was the one who taught me everything I know.â She exhaled slowly. âBut beast magic... thatâs an old kind of magic, almost ancient. It was hers long before she came here to Seraphia.â
âShe said Iâll regret coming to her,â you murmured.
Taeyeonâs eyes softened. âShe doesnât mean that. But thereâs a theoryâjust a whisper, reallyâthat instinct magic, beast magic, whatever you want to call it, was born in Ancarra. That it came from there and nowhere else. But no one remembers how. Or why.â
You tilted your head. âNo one?â
âI tried looking,â she said. âI went to Ancarra once. Searched your libraries. Your temples. Nothing. No records. Not even mentions. Itâs like the world agreed to forget it.â
Your chest tightened. âSo now they call it... cursed?â
Taeyeonâs lips pressed into a line. âThatâs the word people use. Cursed. Dangerous. Unnatural.â She shook her head. âBut I donât know why. Teacher never explained.â
The silence came like a tide. You let it wash over you.
Then, softly: âBut she recognized you. Your blood. That voice inside you. It frightened her. Maybe you reminded her of who she used to be. Or what she ran from.â
You looked at your hands. They didnât feel cursed. But they didnât feel innocent either.
Before you could form a proper response, there was a knock at the study door. Taeyeon raised her head. âCome in,â she called, and the quiet maid from earlier slipped in with barely a sound. She didnât speak. Just walked up to you, placed an envelope in your handsânot Taeyeonâsâand bowed before disappearing again.
You stared at the envelope, then at Taeyeon, who was already laughing under her breath. âMinjeong,â she explained. âA woman of few words. But I promise she knows everything before the rest of us do.â
You barely registered the words. Your gaze had dropped to the wax seal now pressing cold against your thumb. The crest of Seraphian royalty gleamed there in deep red, too familiar to mistake.
Your heart sank. âOh.â
Taeyeonâs smile faded into a sigh. âThat boyâs fast. I thought we had at least a week.â
You blinked. âWhat?â
She didnât elaborate. So you cracked the seal and opened the letter.
Jeonghanâs handwriting was sharp as everâelegant and scathing in equal measure.
Dear Princess,
Congratulations on your daring escape. Truly, I admire the stealth. Slipping away in the morning without so much as a goodbye kiss? Bold of you. One might say... cowardly, but letâs be generous.
Iâm writing this from my private study, where Iâve spent the last several hours wondering if you were kidnapped, murdered, or simply decided I was a regrettable phase of your mid-royal crisis. I even considered the possibility that you ran off with Choi Seungcheol, but he just came back to the castle again, equally clueless of your whereabouts.Â
In case you're wondering how I tracked you down: say hello to Dandelion. Heâs the highly trained storm petrel currently biting your finger, unless someone else suffered that fate and handed this to you instead. He can locate anyone in the world by scent. (Yes, even yours, and yes, you smell like roses and rain, itâs weird.)
Now. If you do not respondâpromptlyâand assure me that you have not been carted off by Minghaoâs forces or worse, eloped with a royal mage named Kim Taeyeon, I will stop at nothing to find you.
I am, after all, a very concerned fiancé.
Yours unwillingly, Jeonghan
By the time you reached the bottom, Taeyeon was sipping her tea again, trying to hide a smirk behind the cup.Â
âStorm petrel?â she asked mildly.
You stared at the paper. âHe named it Dandelion.â
Taeyeon hummed. âAffection is such a strange language.â
Later that evening, you decided to dignify the whining prince with a correspondence of your own, lest he level his own kingdom the same way Minghao did to yours.Â
You lit the candle with a flick of your fingers and settled at the desk in the bedchamber Taeyeon lent you. The flame wavered with the breeze drifting in from the open window, casting long shadows over the parchment. Dandelion the storm petrel hadnât left yet. He perched like a judgmental gargoyle on the bedpost, fluffing his feathers with great, self-important fuss.
âIâm not writing a novel,â you muttered.
Iâve been waiting, he chirped back, more sullen than stern. The eldest prince said Iâd be plucked and roasted if I returned without your reply.
âDramatic as always,â you sighed, but the guilt twisted in your stomach anyway. You pulled the blank sheet toward you and smoothed it flat. The ink smelled sharp, like iron and smoke.
And then, under the dim, flickering light, you began.
Jeonghan,
Thank you for your concern. Truly, the mental image of you pacing around your study, catastrophizing my disappearance, is something Iâll cherish.Â
Iâm safe. Not kidnapped. Not murdered. Not swept away by a charming stranger (though Taeyeon did try to buy me stuffed flatbread, which Iâm beginning to suspect was a bribe). No need to summon the cavalry.
You may relax your Very Concerned FiancĂ© act. I didnât vanish to hurt you. I left because I needed clarityâon my magic, on myself, on what all of this means now that Ancarra isnât mine to call home. I didnât say goodbye because I knew youâd try to stop me, and I didnât want to leave angry. I wanted to leave clean.
But you found me anyway. Of course you did.
Iâll write again soon. Donât storm the continent in the meantime.
Not yours, Go Die
P.S. You are the regrettable phase of my post-royal crisis. Get your timeline straight.
P.P.S. Dandelion lives in constant fear of becoming your next lunch. Heâs feathered, not marinated. Be nicer to animals, Your Highness.
You tucked the letter into the envelope with a final sigh, sealing it with the wax Taeyeon had left on the writing desk. Dandelion, still perched on the bedpost like a little sentinel, fluttered down as you approached.
âHere,â you said, offering him the letter. âTo Jeonghan. Straight to the capital.â
The storm petrel took it delicately in his beak, clamping down with practiced care. But when you eyed him skeptically, wondering how on earth a creature his size could cross a continent with a letter in his mouth, he made a raspy scoffing sound that sounded an awful lot like offense.
âRight. Sorry for doubting you,â you muttered, raising your hands.
He tilted his head. Youâre not so bad, he seemed to say. Tell that fiancĂ© of yours to feed me something better than dried sardines next time.
With that, Dandelion turned, wings unfurling in one smooth movement. He took off toward the open window, a flash of white feathers disappearing into the night sky. You watched him vanish into the starlight, feeling oddly... lighter.
Still alone in the room, you crawled back into bed, the mattress soft but unfamiliar. You lay in the dark, arm tucked beneath your head, and tried to make sense of the day. The bizarre flower shop. Hanyaâs slammed door. Taeyeonâs reluctant honesty. You still had no leads on improving your magic, not when your supposed mentor treated you like a plague, so maybe youâd go back to the one thing you could rely onâyour body. Training. Swordwork. Something solid. Something that didnât vanish the second you thought you understood it.
Just as your thoughts began to settle into that decision, the sound of flapping wings returned. You sat up, expecting to see Dandelion again. Maybe he forgot something.
But it wasnât him.
An owl now perched on your windowâs edge, dark-feathered and still as a shadow. Its eyes gleamed gold in the candlelight. It didnât blink. It didnât move. And yet, it didnât feel ominous. Quite the opposite. You couldnât explain itâbut something about its presence was⊠calming.
You barely noticed the way your eyelids started to droop. A deep, sudden fatigue swept over you like mist.
When you finally fell asleep, it was under the owlâs silent, unblinking gaze.
It had been a few days since you arrived in Aragorn, and the stillness was starting to press in around the edges. Jeonghan hadnât written backânot a word, not even a featherâand though you tried not to let it bother you, his silence echoed louder than you expected.
Taeyeon was doing what she could. She promised sheâd talk to Hanya again, try a gentler approach in-between her duties as a royal mage. But even magic couldnât untangle years of someone elseâs pain overnight.
And you⊠youâd been trying too. You'd crept through the market in borrowed clothes and a pulled-down hood, heart racing, hoping to slip by unnoticed. The refugee quarter wasnât far. You made it to the edge more than onceâclose enough to hear voices in your own dialect, smell the cooking you remembered from your palace kitchensâbut each time, something in you buckled. You turned back. Not yet. Not today.
So instead, you trained.
Taeyeon had told you that Chan trained under a warrior named Jongkook, and now here you wereâbruised, panting, and flat on your back in the dirt.
"You're dead again," Chan said sheepishly, hovering over you with a hand outstretched. "Sorry about the fire."
You blinked up at him, still trying to catch your breath. The edge of your tunic was charred, the singed fabric curling at the hem like dead petals. Heâd almost set your entire sleeve ablaze during a block that got a little too passionate. Again.
"I noticed," you muttered, grasping his hand and letting him haul you to your feet.
Jongkook only watched from the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, unreadable behind his weather-worn face. âHow many times do I have to tell youâyouâre relying on your feet like theyâre swords.â
âForce of habit,â you said through clenched teeth.
âNo habit survives the battlefield if it gets you killed.â
You didnât argue. You couldnât. Not when you knew he was right. You'd been trained in precise swordplay, elegant footwork, and quick reflexesâall the hallmarks of a princess pretending to be a warrior. But Jongkook wouldnât let you touch a blade, not until you learned to fight with your body alone.
No weapon. No titles. No shortcuts.
Only fists, breath, and bruises.
Back in Ancarra, the very idea of you brawling wouldâve caused a scandal. Fencing was already a rebellion in silk; hand-to-hand combat wouldâve been cause for exile. And yet, here you were, sweating like a farmhand and aching in places you didnât know existed.
Jongkook finally grunted and motioned for the two of you to follow. âEnough for today. Come eat.â
You didnât expect lunch to be anything more than a few dried rations or stew on a stone fire, but Jongkook surprised you. His home was humble, tucked into a cluster of pine trees, but the smell of simmering broth and grilled meat hit you before the door even opened.
"You cook?" you asked, incredulous, as he set down bowls with a practiced hand.
âI fight. I eat. I survive.â His voice had no hint of egoâjust fact. âSame as youâll do.â
Chan handed you a bowl and gave you a crooked smile. âI canât feel my shoulders.â
You lifted your own bowl, still wincing as you sat. âI canât feel my dignity.â
Chan snorted. Jongkook said nothing, but you swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. You mightâve been losing the fights, but something told you that you were starting to win something else.
You returned to Taeyeonâs estate just before sundown, dust and sweat clinging to your limbs after another brutal round of training. The moment you stepped past the threshold, Minjeong was already thereâsilent as ever, like she moved on ghostsâ feet.
âMy Lady wonât be back until morning,â she said.
You blinked. âSorryâwhat?â
It was the first time youâd heard Minjeong speak. Her voice was soft but steady, like a stream running beneath snow. She tilted her head at your reaction, not bothering to answer.
âAny requests for dinner?â she asked next, as if nothing strange had just occurred.
You shook your head. âAnything will do.â
Minjeong nodded once and disappeared into the house, leaving you standing there with the peculiar weight of her words hanging in the air. Taeyeon wouldnât be home tonight. That⊠felt strange. Sheâd been a constant since your arrivalâa reliable north. The house felt too large without her.
You marched up to your bedchambers, peeling off your outer tunic, planning to draw a bath after grabbing a change of clothes. Taeyeon had filled the wardrobe with outfits tailored for your sizeâsoft cottons and loose robes you wouldnât have been allowed to wear in Ancarra. She really had thought of everything. You were in her debt more than you could say.
But before you could open the drawers, you noticed the flick of movement by the windowsill.
A storm petrel.
Not Dandelion. This one was sleeker, darker, its feathers almost blue in the candlelight. It perched stiffly, an envelope clenched between its beak.
âAre you alright?â you asked gently, stepping closer.
No answer, just a quiet ruffle of wings. You took the letter from its beak and the bird lingered like some feathered guardian by the window. Even if it didnât bother talking to you, you could tell that this one was waiting for you to write up a response as soon as you could, too.Â
You turned the letter over, and your heart stuttered when you saw the same dignified wax seal as before. You broke it with one finger.
Princess,
So you can write. I was starting to worry the storm petrel union had gone on strike. You know, I thought Iâd be angry when your letter finally arrived. But I read it three times instead. I think I hate how well you know me.
Dandelion is alive, thank you very much. Traumatized, perhaps, but alive. Heâs been flapping around like a nervous maid since his return. The cook offered to pluck him for stew and I havenât had the heart to correct her yet. I might. Depends on my mood.
As for youâdonât vanish again. Not without telling me first. Itâs very hard to be a dramatic, wounded fiancĂ© without an audience. Also, if you think you can just slip away from me after that very passionate night we shared, you are sorely mistaken. My spine still hurts, by the way. Iâm convinced you were trying to kill me.
I miss you. Thatâs the part I wasnât going to write, but here we are.
Iâm glad youâre safe. Even if youâre halfway across the continent dodging affection and soul-searching.
Your eternal headache, Jeonghan
You didnât realize you were grinning until the nameless storm petrel let out a low coo from his perchâwatching you with the bored impatience of someone who had five more deliveries to make and a schedule to keep.
So you picked up your pen and got to it.
Jeonghan,
Three times? Thatâs almost romantic. I would accuse you of sentimentality, but we both know your ego would never survive the scandal.
Iâm glad Dandelion survived his brush with death and domestic labor. He deserves better than you, frankly. If you let him become soup, Iâll never speak to you again.Â
As for that very passionate nightâI wasnât trying to kill you. If I were, you wouldnât have walked again, let alone written me such a smug letter. But Iâll take the compliment. Iâve been told I leave an impression.
Donât worry. I wonât vanish again. Not without warning. Not unless I have to. (There it is, my honesty for the week.) I didnât expect your letter to hit as hard as it did. You miss meâand I believe you. Thatâs the part I wasnât going to write. But here we are.
Iâve been training these days, sparring with my fists instead of a sword. I lose a lot, but I think thatâs the point. Youâd laugh if you saw how bruised I am right now. My fellow mentee said it builds character. I told him I liked mine just fine before.
I miss you too.
Donât let them make a martyr out of you while Iâm gone.
Still not yours, Ancarraâs rightful heir
You didnât sleep well.
The letter from Jeonghan sat folded beneath your pillow, like a charm you pretend didnât matter. You read it again before the sun rose, and again while pulling on your boots.Â
Every morning since arriving in Aragorn, you told yourself tomorrow. Tomorrow, you would go to the quarter Taeyeon had quietly given to the displaced people of Ancarra. Tomorrow, you would face the ones youâd left behind. But âtomorrowâ kept slipping further out of reach, buried under bruises, training drills, and the uneasy ache of being both too much and never enough for the person you used to be.
Taeyeon had done more for them than you could have asked before you even set foot in the city. The district she gave them had once been a lively hub of artists and potters, abandoned years ago after a flood rerouted the river. Now it stood reclaimedâtent cloth strung across old balconies, makeshift hearths glowing behind broken windows, and gardens sprouting defiantly between the cracks of sunbaked stone.Â
The people of Aragorn had helped them, quietly and without fanfareâsharing food, teaching them how to barter, offering stories instead of suspicion. Their reception of your people was so much warmer than how the royal council welcomed you and Soonyoung the day you arrived, and you received that knowledge with quiet relief.
You didnât know what you expected to feel, walking into that space. Guilt was a given. Shame too. But the nausea that coiled in your gutâthat was new. You kept your hood up and your hands hidden, as if either could disguise the lineage stamped across your face.
Hyejin spotted you first.
She stood beneath the faded awning of an old workshop, sleeves rolled high and violet-stained hands doling out jars of nightshade balm. Her presence was a calm one, even surrounded by the sick and weary. You watched her laugh gently with an elder as she re-wrapped the womanâs wrist, murmuring something too soft to hear.
Then her eyes flicked up.
âOh!â she called, brightening. âYouâre Lady Taeyeonâs niece, right? What are you doing all the way out here?â
You froze. Right. That was the description Taeyeon gave to themâher niece, a woman just visiting from the capital. Nothing more. It was safer that way.
You opened your mouth, but then someone else called out to you.
ââŠPrincess?â
You turned.
A middle-aged woman stood at the edge of the path, a basket of foraged roots slipping from her arms. Her eyes widened as if she were seeing a ghost. You didnât know her. Not by name, not by face. She was one of thousands youâd failed to protect. But the way she looked at you made your throat tight. It wasnât just recognition, it was faith. And that was harder to bear.
Now she fell to her knees.
âPrincess,â she choked, tears welling fast. âItâs really you. Thank the gods, youâre alive. Weâwe thought you were gone. We thought theyââ
Her voice broke, and you dropped beside her, grasping her hands before she could press her forehead to the dirt.
âPlease,â you whispered. âDonât. You donât have toââ
But more eyes had turned. More voices picked up. Murmurs of your title wove through the narrow street like wind in dry leaves. And the nausea returned when you dared to look at Hyejin.
She stood very still, a jar of balm still cradled in one hand. Her gaze swept from the kneeling woman to you, her expression unreadable. You braced for a question. A quiet who are you, really? But it never came.
Instead, Hyejin held your gaze for a moment longer, then offered a small, knowing smile. With a slight dip of her head, she turned and slipped away into the crowd, leaving you exactly what she had given the others: space.
You stayed kneeling beside the woman longer than you meant to, your hands still wrapped around hers. She was trembling, her tears falling silently now, one after the other.
Then the others began to gather.
They didnât crowd, not exactly. But one by one, they drew closerâshuffling feet and hesitant steps, eyes wide with something like reverence. One man offered you a stool. A girl no older than ten held out a cup of watered tea with both hands. Someone murmured something about fanning you, someone else about soup.
You tried to stand, to wave it all off, but the attention followed like a tide. Hands reached to steady you, voices overlapped.
"Let her sit, she must be exhausted."
"Princess, do you need anything? Say the wordâ"
âNo,â you said, gently but firmly. âThereâs no need for that.â
They quieted.
You looked around at the facesâlined with fatigue, hollowed by worry, but still somehow soft. Still kind. âIâm no different from any of you,â you said. âTitles donât matter now. Iâm just another child of Ancarra who had to run.â
A few exchanged glances, unsure. Still, the space around you loosened. Their fussing eased, retreating into murmured apologies and lowered gazes. You hated the way the word princess seemed to build a wall no matter how gently you tried to tear it down.
You accepted the tea from the little girl with a nod of thanks and turned to the group.
âHas there been any word?â you asked, voice quiet. âFrom home?â
The silence that fell was louder than words.
A few exchanged glances before a younger man finally spoke. He had a bandage along his forearm and eyes that looked far older than his face.
âThereâs been nothing since we crossed the border. No letters, no couriers. Not even smuggled word from the traders. Itâs like the land itself closed up behind us..â
He paused, voice growing rougher. âBut before that... we saw enough.â
Another woman nodded, arms wrapped tightly around herself. âThe new king⊠Heâs changed everything. The patrols. The laws. People vanish, sometimes whole families if they so much as defy him. The soldiers say itâs for peace and orderâbut they act more like hunters than guards.â
Your heart ached with every word. For the longest time you could only assume that Minghao would seize the throne the moment heâd killed your father, but hearing from the citizensâ mouths that heâs been bastardizing the place you called home⊠You couldnât even begin to fathom how to feel about it.Â
All of a sudden, someone else muttered, âAnd the animals...â
You turned toward the speaker, a boy barely in his teens.
âThey're not right,â he said. âThings from the mountains and the marshes showing up in the city. Creatures weâve only heard in stories. I saw oneâtwice the size of a horse, with eyes like glass. The guards didnât even flinch. They walked it like it was trained. And when they ordered it to kill my parentsâŠâÂ
Your hands tightened around the cup.
âMinghao has been gathering beasts all across the kingdom, Your Highness,â said an elderly man, leaning on a carved cane. âMy daughter told me that his armies brought them into the capital in droves. Those that he wasnât interested in experimenting on were given as pets to his high-ranking soldiersâŠâ
Experimenting? For what?Â
Minghao had always been a steady, gentle presence in your life. Despite the harshness of his upbringing as a Renxing royal, he never let it harden him, at least not with you. He was the one who first placed a bow in your hands, one of the few who stood beside you when others scoffed at the idea of a princess learning to fight. He never saw you as less for wanting more. And for a long time, you remembered what it felt like to trust him.
So why did this sound like something heâd planned for a very long time?
Your peopleâs eyes clung to you, heavy with hope that hadnât been asked for, but had somehow taken root the moment they recognized your face. It wrapped around you like ivy, quiet and persistent, tightening with every breath.
You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.
âYouâre the rightful heir,â the woman in front of you whispered with hope. âWe donât ask for miracles. Just⊠tell us you havenât given up. Tell us weâre not waiting for nothing.â
A few others murmured in agreement.
You met her eyes. Then the eyes of the boy whoâd lost his parents. The man with the bandaged arm. The old man with the cane. Each one etched with wounds and wear, and yetâeach one daring to hope again.
And in your chest, something twisted.
I donât know what to do.
The thought tried to rise, thick and shameful. You didnât know how to reclaim a kingdom, or face someone you once trusted with your own life. You didnât know what it meant to be queen, or even if you wanted to be.
But you remembered your fatherâhow even in the face of every problem the throne had to face, he never once let the people see the storm in his heart. His spine had been a spine for all of Ancarra. When grief nearly drowned you, his voice was still the one you searched for in the dark.Â
You rose slowly to your feet, pressing the tea back into the girlâs hands with a soft smile. The circle around you widened just slightly, respectful and watchful.
âI know itâs been hard,â you said, your voice calm, steadyâmore than you felt. âFor all of us. Weâve lost so much. But weâre here, weâre still alive. That means something.â
A few people nodded faintly. Others just watched, unmoving, like they were afraid this moment would vanish if they blinked.
You turned to look at them one by one, drawing strength from their presence even as their weight settled deeper on your shoulders. âWe may not be in Ancarra anymore, but Ancarra still livesâin us. In our choices. In what we fight for. That hasnât changed. That wonât change.â
You breathed in slowly, deeply, like your father used to before addressing a court that expected miracles. You remembered how he never flinched when the weight of the country bore down. How he didnât always have the answers, but he never let them see his doubt.
He was gone.
Now it was your turn.
âWe donât know whatâs coming next. But I promise youââ You paused, squaring your shoulders. âWhatever it is, weâll meet it. Together.â
A long silence followed. Then someone whispered, "For Ancarra."
Another voice echoed it. Then another. Until the street hummed with the quiet beginnings of belief. You didnât let yourself cry, though you wanted to. Because you were not just some girl lost in a country that wasnât her own.Â
You were Ancarraâs future.Â
The sun had begun to dip when you returned to Taeyeonâs estate. The cobbled path was golden in the light, and the silence of the grounds wrapped around you like balm. You half-expected to find the courtyard empty again, but as you stepped through the arched gate, a familiar voice called out:
âYouâre just in time for tea.â
You blinked, surprised.
Taeyeon sat on the front porch, a delicate porcelain cup in one hand, the other resting loosely across her lap. She looked far too serene for someone who had been managing half the cityâs magical logistics. Her dark hair was pinned back today, but loose strands shimmered around her face in the late light. A second cup sat beside her, already steaming.
âI thought you were still out,â you said, walking closer.Â
Taeyeon smiled apologetically and gestured to the seat beside her. âI had to tend to some administrative tedium. The mageâs guild gets skittish every time I miss a meetingâafraid Iâve gone off to start a war, probably. But now Iâm back. And far more free to help you with the Hanya issue.â
You sank onto the cushion beside her with a sigh and reached for the tea. âMinjeongâs cooking was plenty company,â you said truthfully, a little grin tugging at your mouth. âSeriously. Iâve never had noodles like that.â
âShe takes it as a personal offense if anyone walks away hungry,â Taeyeon said fondly.
For a few beats, the quiet settled in. Then you set your cup down and turned toward her, more serious now. âAbout HanyaâŠâ
Taeyeon arched her brow.
âI wanted to tell you⊠you donât have to scheme on my behalf.â You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. âI want to speak to her myself.â
âOh?â She tilted her head, lips twitching. âWhat spurred this on?â
âI met with some of the Ancarrian refugees today,â you said quietly. âTheyâre still holding on. Somehow. And they looked at me like Iâm still someone worth believing in.â
Her smile deepened, warm and proud. âYou are someone worth believing in.â
You looked away, the words settling somewhere too close to the bone.
âOkay,â Taeyeon said. âIâll take you to Hanya at first light. But for todayârest. You still have bruises from your sparring sessions at Jongkookâs. Iâm afraid Prince Jeonghan will have me maimed alive if he finds out I permitted those blemishes on you.â
You snorted, the tension easing from your shoulders. âHe would not.â
âSpeaking of that prince,â she added, âhe sent another letter for you. The birdâs already waiting by the window of your room.â
You blinked. âAlready?â
Taeyeon laughed cheekily. âI think heâs working through separation anxiety in written form.â
You thanked Taeyeon quietly and slipped back into the house, the scent of roasted nuts trailing from the kitchen. As you passed, Minjeong barely looked up from her chopping, but she gave a small nod, and the faintest smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. You returned it before heading upstairs.
Your room was bathed in amber light. The shutters had been opened just enough to let the sun filter through, casting golden stripes across the floor. Perched on the windowsill was a familiar birdâindignant, and unmistakably sulky.
âDandelion,â you breathed.
He stared at you like heâs been waiting for hours.
Took you long enough.
You raised an eyebrow. âYouâre in a mood.â
You would be too if someone plucked you out of the royal aviary at an ungodly hour reeking of alcohol. Dandelion fluffed his feathers with great offense. Is that guy really your type? Heâs a little insane, you know.
âHeâs plenty insane,â you corrected, not bothering to answer his question as you reached for the letter heâd placed on your nightstand. âJeonghan woke you up just for this? Couldnât even wait until morning?â
With no bribe, too! Not even the crust of a honey biscuit. Ungrateful bastard.
You stifled a smile, already recognizing Jeonghanâs dramatic scrawl on the parchment. But as your eyes parsed through the words heâd written, a scowl slowly rooted itself on your face.
Princess,
Do you know what the problem is with Oak Walker? It makes a man honest.
I was going to write something refined. Polished. The sort of letter your new mage friends would be proud of. But then I started thinking about the way you looked the last night we were togetherâmoonlight on your collarbone, moaning like the pretty thing you areâand suddenly, grammar didnât feel that important anymore.
Do you ever think about it? The way you ruined me?
I havenât slept a full night since. My bedâs cold. My back still aches. My staff wonât meet my eyes. They think Iâm possessed. And maybe I am because every time I close my eyes, I see you beneath me, skin flushed, breasts bouncing, my cock nestled between those supple thighs of yours.
You should come home. I promise to let you pin me to a wall as revenge for the last time I did that to you. Or the floor. Or the damn balconyâIâm not picky.
Yours in body and soul, Â Jeonghan
P.S. If you burn this, I will know. I will feel it.
You stared at the letter.
The words were very much still there.
Your ears burned. Your soul burned.
ââŠHe did not justââ
Your voice strangled itself in disbelief as your gaze flitted wildly across the page, trying to make sense of the absolute audacity bleeding from every line. And oh, there it was againâmy cock nestled between those supple thighs of yoursâandâ
You slapped the parchment face down on your desk like it had personally wronged you.
From the desk, Dandelion ruffled his feathers. You alright? Did he insult your ancestors or something?
You made another strangled noise and slapped the letter facedown, as if that would undo the image now seared into your brain. Gods, you could see it all againâJeonghanâs mouth on your skin, the way his voice had gone hoarse whispering your name, the heat of his body against yours, theâ
You groaned and pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes. âHeâs actually insane.â
You keep saying that, Dandelion said dryly, and yet youâre redder than a boiled beet.
âIâm notâ! Shut up.â
Just say the word and Iâll drop something in his bathwater. Maybe something that turns his voice high-pitched for a few hours.
You gave him a look. âYouâre supposed to be neutral.â
Iâm not that neutral. A pause. So. Am I taking a response back? Or should I just cough dramatically near his ear for a full day and let him know itâs from you?
You groaned againâbut this time, you reached for a fresh sheet of parchment. âHeâs not getting the last word.â
Dandelion chirped happily. Thatâs the spirit.
Jeonghan,
Have you completely lost your mind?
Actually, donât answer that. I already know the answer. No sane person sends that kind of letter via bird in the middle of the night, without so much as a crumb of food for the courier. Dandelion is offended. I am mortified beyond belief.Â
Do you even remember what you wrote? Youâd better hope not, because if you ever say any of that out loud to my face, Iâll make good on the âpinning you to the wallâ part, but not the way you meant.
Gods, Jeonghan. I came to Aragorn to figure out who I am outside of what the world made me. To breathe for a moment. To think clearly. And then you go and send that? You really are the most ridiculous man Iâve ever met.
But since Iâm concerned that my lack of a direct response to your⊠debauchery might result in further punishment for Dandelion, then yes. I think about that night more often than Iâd like to admit. However, unlike you, I donât write important correspondences while under the influence of Yoonaâs evil Oak Walker, so thatâs all youâre getting out of me.Â
Sincerely, Dandelionâs only friend
P.S. Your staff thinks youâre possessed because you are. I should know. Iâve spent more than enough time in your orbit to recognize the symptoms.
P.P.S. Get some sleep. I mean it.
You folded the letter with great precision, like you were packing away something volatile. Sealed it with the little copper signet Taeyeon had given you, stamped with Aragornâs flame. Then you turned to Dandelion, who was very visibly preening like he hadnât just been dragged into a royal sex scandal against his will.
âHere,â you said, handing over the rolled parchment. âStraight to the prince. No stops. No flirting with the bluebirds on the southern cliffs.â
I have done no such thing!Â
You shook your head, trying not to laugh. âJust go. And if he tries to read this out loud to anyone, claw his face off.â
Dandelion took off in a sweep of dark wings and indignant muttering, leaving you alone once more in your sun-dappled chambers.
For a moment, you simply stood there, the silence hugging your shoulders. Then you sank into the bed, curling onto your side as your eyes drifted toward Jeonghanâs most recent letter. Youâd tossed carelessly on your quilt like it wasnât responsible for the blush creeping up your neck.
You reached for it.Â
(You shouldnât have. You absolutely shouldnât have.
But you did.)
Your gaze traced the lines again, the scrawl that grew progressively less elegant the filthier it got. You could almost hear his voice in itâdrawling, drunk, and smug. And unfortunately for you, your treacherous memory filled in the rest.
The curve of moonlight over his skin. The way your names had blurred on each otherâs tongues. The pressure of his mouth between your thighs, and your fingers tangled in his red hair as you gasped forâ
You groaned into a pillow, mortified.
What was wrong with you?
Why did your body remember every second with such vivid, burning clarity? You pressed your legs together and tried not to think about the fact that you were embarrassingly warm all over. Youâd literally just met with the remnants of your people this morning, and now youâre fantasizing about an uncouth prince?
Heâd ruined you, and he wasnât even in the damn room.
You buried your face deeper into the pillow, as if suffocating yourself could somehow drown out the memory. It didnât. If anything, the darkness behind your eyelids made it worse. You could still feel Jeonghan bracing himself above you with that maddening smile before stealing the breath from your lungs. You reached blindly for his letter again, the parchment crackling beneath your fingers. Read the lines a third time. Maybe a fourth. Your thighs shifted.
âStop,â you groaned at yourself.
But the memory was a wildfire now, licking across your skinâhis mouth, his hands, the weight of him, the way he'd said your name like it was holy. And gods help you, your hand started moving before you could talk yourself out of it.
You bit your lip as your fingers brushed over the waistband of your trousers, breath catching in your throat.Â
But your body didnât seem to careâbecause your mind was already there. Back in his arms. Back in that room lit by moonlight and madness, where the air had smelled like sandalwood and wine and something distinctly him.Â
Tell me what you want.
You slipped your hand lower, hips shifting as heat pulsed through you.
âI hate you,â you whispered.
Your fingers moved slower, firmer, guided by the rhythm of memory. His hands on your thighs. His mouth at your neck. You moaned softly, biting down on the edge of the pillow as your heart raced. The ache built steadilyâhot, urgent, and overwhelming. His name fell from your lips again, this time as a whimper.
That night you hadnât gone all the way. But what if you did? What if Jeonghan had sunk his cock into your needy heat? You just knew heâd fuck you until you saw stars; knew heâd whisper how good your tight cunt felt around him. And then youâd take everything he gave, let him mark you, make you hisâ
And when the wave crested, when it shattered through you like a tremor beneath the skin, you clung to the sheets like they were him.
You lay there for a while, panting, flushed, half-glaring at the ceiling.
Jeonghan. That infuriating man.Â
Even half a world away, he still had you wrapped around his goddamn finger.
The morning sun hadnât yet burned off the dew clinging to the leaves when you and Taeyeon stepped through the shimmering veil of her portal, landing on the mossy path outside Hanyaâs crooked little house.
You still couldnât meet Taeyeonâs eyes.
Not after last night.
Every time your thoughts wandered, they wanderedâand your cheeks burned hot all over again. If Taeyeon noticed anything strange about your stiff posture or the too-casual way youâd greeted her this morning, she didnât mention it. She just handed you a piece of toast, opened a portal, and strolled through it like nothing was out of the ordinary.
Which, thankfully, gave you room to pretend nothing was.
The animals were already stirring around Hanyaâs porch. You saw the same monkey from last time perched on the railing, along with a sleepy fox curled beside the doorstep. As you approached, the fox cracked open one eye and regarded you lazily.
Most give up after the first rejection, it said.
âIâm not like most,â you murmured back, steeling your resolve as you lifted your hand to knock.
The door creaked open as Hanya filled the doorway like a shadow, her sharp gray eyes already narrowed in irritation. Her lips curled into something resembling a snarl.
âI thought I made myself clear last time,â she said. âI donât want your cursed magic anywhere near me.â
You met her gaze head-on, spine straight. âBut donât you carry the same cursed magic too?â
There was a pause. Barely half a breath. But you saw itâthe way her shoulders tensed, the way her eyes widened slightly, just for a second. Behind you, Taeyeon gave a quiet, knowing laugh. Hanyaâs glare returned full force, but something about it had changed. She muttered something under her breathâprobably a curseâand turned with a huff.
Honestly, this was a bit of a surprise. You didnât think that was all you had to say to change her mind.
âWell,â she grumbled, stomping inside. âDonât just stand there.â
You exchanged a glance with Taeyeon, your chest still tight with nerves. But you followed, stepping into the home of the one mage who might finally understand what had always made your magic feel wrong.
Hanya stepped back with a grunt and a reluctant flick of her wrist, gesturing for you and Taeyeon inside. âDonât touch anything,â she muttered. âEspecially if it hisses.â
The moment you crossed the threshold, the air changed.
The interior of the house felt less like a home and more like the heart of a living, breathing wildwood. The scent of moss, singed herbs, and fur lingered in the air. Wooden shelves lined the walls, cluttered with bundles of dried grasses, enchanted bones, claws from creatures you couldnât name, and glowing vials that pulsed with slow, otherworldly light.Â
A spiral of thick roots twisted up through the center of the room, acting as a natural column. Hanging from it were dozens of charms: teeth strung on thread, bits of crystal, and bells that rang with no breeze. A fat marmalade-colored cat blinked at you from the top of a high shelf. The fox from outside slinked past your ankles like mist, its nine tails fanned with interest.
Hanya poured steaming water over crushed bark and a cindersong bloom in a chipped stone teapot. The scent was bitter, like burned honey and pine. She set it on the hearth without ceremony, then turned to you.
âIf you want me to teach you, girl,â she said, âyou need to know where you come from. What you carry.â
Taeyeon gave you an encouraging nod, stepping aside as if to say: this part is yours.
Hanya motioned for you to sit. âThere are two kinds of beast mages left in Ancarraâthose who speak, and those who become. You think youâre the first kind. But you need to understand both.â
You sat down, back straight, heart pounding.
âIn the beginning,â Hanya said, settling across from you, âbeasts ruled those lands. Not animals, but spirits. The First Beasts. Embodiments of instinct and truth. They were united by a trifecta: the Owl of Wisdom, the Tiger of Loyalty, and the Serpent of Vengeance. Humans were nothing but prey. Until some brave soul knelt before the trifecta and listened instead of running away from them.â
âA covenant was made between the First Beasts and the Ancarrans of old, and two kinds of magic were born,â she continued, âThe Tongue of Beastsâthis is yours; the path of the Speakers, of empathy and true listening. The other is the Shape of Beasts, which belongs to Shapeshifters. Borrowed form. Physical memory. The two were meant to exist in balance.â
âBut something happened,â you murmured, voice hushed.
Hanya nodded, dark eyes unreadable. âA warlord rose and called himself the Beast King. He thought speaking was weakâwhy whisper when you can devour? He took the forms of the spirits without their permission, without their wisdom. Killed them. Absorbed them. And in doing so, shattered the pact.â
The fire popped behind her, sending sparks up the hearth.Â
You thought about Hanyaâs words long and hard. The two kinds of beast magic, the story of the Beast King usurping the First Beasts⊠Was this what Minghao was planning? The reason why he was bringing those creatures to the capital of Ancarra?
âYour mother was a Speaker, too,â Hanya said. âShe may not have worn the title openly, but she carried the gift. So did her mother before her. The Royal Bloodline wasnât just made to rule humansâit was made to speak to what came before humans. The First Beasts. Your voice can stir them from slumber.â
You swallowed, a lump forming in your throat. âWhy⊠why didnât anyone tell me? About the truth behind our magic? All I was told was that Mother could speak to animals, tooâŠâ
âBecause the world calls it cursed now,â she said, voice cool. âBecause after the Shapeshifter betrayal, they lumped all beast magic together as dangerous. Dirty and forbidden. And so the stories died. The line was broken. And you, little Speakerââ her gaze flicked over you with something between scorn and pityââwere left to figure it out alone.â
A kind of aching clarity poured in. You had spent your entire life speaking to animals in whispers, never knowing why the birds sang back, or why Reyaâs voice rang louder in your heart than most peopleâs ever did. Youâd been told it was a blessing, then a curse, then something to be hidden. Now, finally, it had a nameâa legacy. You werenât broken. You werenât a mistake.Â
You were part of something ancient.
âI want to learn,â you said, quietly. âI need to.â
Hanya gave a slow, grudging nod, already rising to her feet with a determined look on her face.
âThen letâs see if your blood remembers what the crown forgot.â
The castle halls were quieter than usual when Joshua went looking for his brother. Morning light filtered through the tall stained-glass windows, casting blue and gold patterns on the stone floor. When he asked after Jeonghan, the maids exchanged uneasy glances.
âHis Highness left at dawn,â one whispered. âDidnât say where.â
Joshua sighed. Of course he didnât. Jeonghan hadnât been himself since you disappeared. He told everyone you were safeâthat youâd gone somewhere to train, and that your letters proved you were aliveâbut even Joshua could see the cracks beneath that assurance. His brother doubted it. Every second of every day.
So he followed instinct, rather than logic. Out past the castle gates, through the eastern woods that had long since been declared off-limits to servants and guests. There was a place there that no one else knew about; a clearing only he and Jeonghan used to sneak away to when they were younger.
And there, in the center of that clearing, was a black dragon.
It lay curled in a bed of flattened wildgrass, wings folded tight to its back, smoke curling from its nostrils. Massive and ancient, yet somehow familiar in posture. A creature no longer supposed to exist. Joshua froze, breath caught in his throat. Then his boot crunched softly against a patch of dried leaves.
The dragon cracked open one enormous eye, golden and slitted. It narrowed slightly at the sight of him, but did not move. Joshua swallowed and smiled, trying not to be overwhelmed by awe.Â
âYou know,â he said, voice casual, âyouâre a lot more talkative when youâre human.â
A puff of smoke answered him. Clearly irritated.
Joshua tilted his head. âCome on, brother. I know itâs you. Talk to me in a form I can actually understand.â
There was a pause.
Then, with a low rumble that shook the leaves, the dragon began to shift. Bones and scales folded inwards; wings collapsed; the long tail vanished in smoke. What remained, standing amid the dissipating steam, was a manânaked, barefoot, breathing a little too hard. His hair was black again, same as the dragonâs scales.
Joshua stared at him. âReally?â
âYou came looking for me. You get what you get.â
The younger prince tossed him his cloak. âI swear to the gods, Iâm the only thing standing between you and a dozen traumatized gardeners.â
Jeonghan caught it, but didnât laugh. He sat down in the grass, folding the cloak loosely around him, gaze lost in the distant treetops.
Joshua sat beside him, knees drawn up. âYou didnât even tell me you could do that. Back then you only transformed into⊠simpler things. A dog. A squirrel. But a dragon?â
âItâs not exactly something I advertise.â
âNo,â Joshua said quietly, âbut itâs something you should have told me.â
Jeonghan didnât answer. The wind stirred the grass. Smoke still lingered faintly in the air, curling around them like memory. Joshua leaned closer to feel for his temperature with the back of his hand, the fussy brother that he was.
âYouâre burning up from the inside,â he frowned. âThat form⊠You shouldnât hold it for too long.â
âI know.â
âThen why use it?â
Jeonghan looked down at his hands, still trembling. âBecause when Iâm a dragon,â he said, voice soft and raw, âI donât have to feel how much I miss her.â
Joshua blinked, taken aback. Not by the words themselves, but by how easily theyâd fallen from his brotherâs mouth. Jeonghan wasnât one for confession. He wore his emotions like armor: controlled, polished, impossible to pierce. But here, now, stripped of everythingâtitle, pride, even clothesâhe looked like a boy again.Â
A boy mourning something that hadnât died, just disappeared. And Joshua, who had always been his quiet shadow, his tether to the world, suddenly felt the full weight of that love. Not just longing, but devotion. The kind Jeonghan had never been able to unlearn, no matter how much time passed or how far you had gone.
Jeonghan let out a shaky breath. âAnd gods help me, Shua⊠The longer sheâs gone, the harder it is to believe sheâs coming back.â
Joshua didnât answer him.
He had always known his brother loved you. That part had never been a mystery. It was in the way Jeonghan lingered at the edge of your worldânever gentle, never far. Even as children, he needled and provoked, the way some boys do when affection is too sharp to name. He kept you close by keeping you off balance. He orbited you like gravityânot because he was soft, but because he didnât know how to let go.
And heâd known about the shame, too. About the curse.
His shapeshifting magic had always been a secret, one locked behind palace doors, spoken of only in whispers within their family. Their parents never acknowledged it directly, but Joshua had seen the signs. The fear in Jeonghanâs eyes after a transformation gone wrong. The burn marks on his skin that no one ever treated aloud. The way he would disappear for days whenever the magic overwhelmed him. Their motherâs cold silences. Their fatherâs refusal to meet his gaze.
So noânone of this was new to Joshua.
But what he hadnât understood, not until now, was how tightly Jeonghanâs self-hatred was knotted around the fact that he loved you.
Being betrothed to the girl he adored shouldâve been a blessing. But it became a terror. And so he did what he did best: pushed, provoked, made himself unbearable. He gave you every reason to hate him. Because if you loved a cursed thing, maybe the curse would claim you, too. And Jeonghanâfool that he wasâwould rather be unloved than be the reason you were ruined.
Joshua reached over, not saying a word, and rested a hand on his brotherâs shoulder. In the quiet, the trees swayed. Somewhere far off, a hawk cried.
And the two princes sat alone in the clearingâone still smoking from old magic, the other quietly holding him togetherâas the last vestiges of dragonfire cooled to ash.
PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE
âą end notes: i'm having SUCHHH a ride writing this, you guys have no idea lmfao!!! and if you noticed, joshua's mc from his fic in the series finally has a name too + chan and hyejin appearance, who else cheered? i was supposed to have this up next week, but today's a holiday for me, so i got around to editing and finally cleaning up this part :3c i really really tried to make two parts work but... :( however, like in my jeongcheol x reader fic, inflection point, all the best things come in threes! that said, thank you oh-so much for the overwhelming reception on the first part T T i was gone for more than a year, so i didn't expect people to like my stuff after all this time UEUEUEUE see you in the finale!!!!
this is part of the itâs complicated series.
heyy! i just wanted to come on here and say how much i love your writing style!! after absolutely inhaling your svt fics since i started stanning them almost 2 yrs ago, imagine my surprise when i found out that one of my fav genshin authors on ao3 since 2022 was ALSO writing so many of the svt fics i had bookmarked?? (but genuinely idk how i didnt notice lmao) by the way, right now im 100% enamored by your jeonghan royalty au tysm for gracing your godly hands on to lowly mortal readers like me đđŒđđŒđđŒ
HELLO???? it's so nice when i find ppl with the same fandoms and interests as me đ„č hi!!!!! pls sit down for tea <3 i lead what they call a double life /j and i'm only telling this to you and everyone who bothers reading this ask but i'm actually going to archive lovelyhan after i finish the royalty au đ writing rpf just isn't for me anymore, but i'm leaving with one last banger for my beloved before i go so i guess that's a fair trade (i've been gone for a long time anyway, so i doubt there'll be any missers AHDHFHDJS)
imagining jeonghan as your roommate and you're just friends. REALLY you're just friends.
friends who started going out on dates as a joke because you were both bored. friends who always call each other every night when one of you is out of town because you missed the sound of their voice. friends who sleep in each other's beds until you don't know what it feels like to be alone anymore.
jeonghan's just your friend â really, he is! so even if your heart aches with lovesickness every time he flashes you a lazy smile, you take it in stride. because jeonghan is a nice friend. a wonderful friend. you wouldn't trade what you have with him for anything else.
even for the paper thin chance that he might just be as lovesick as you are.
someone asks, "are you guys dating?" one day when you're all hanging out with a bigger circle and before you can deny the allegations, jeonghan intercepts with a calm and confident, "yes."
you think about it the entire drive home because... you're just friends, right? friends who go on dates but aren't dating. friends who love each other but aren't in love.
oh wait. that only makes one of you.
"what do you mean we're dating?" you dare to ask jeonghan once he pulls over at a red light â a frown contorting your features. "we're just friends, aren't we?"
jeonghan hums as his fingers drum across the steering wheel. "hn? we've been on at least twelve platonic dates. that counts as dating, right?"
"...when does it become not platonic then?"
he doesn't answer right away, slanted eyes glued to the traffic lights counting down until they glow green again. you don't make it a habit to figure out what goes on in jeonghan's head. you've never once won that game and you've always been a sore loser.
but right after he steps on the gas pedal to zoom past the empty streets again, jeonghan â your roommate, your confidant, your friend â smiles at you with tenderness in his eyes that's familiar and foreign both at the same time.
"how about date number thirteen?" he asks before making a sharp right that's definitely not en-route to your shared apartment. "the carnival by the pier closes at three a.m. and i know that parlor game stuffies are the key to your heart."
you stare at him for a beat longer â wondering if there's a catch. a punchline to some joke you're not quite getting.
but you've been friends with jeonghan for so long that you're well-aware that the only way you can figure him out is to not figure him out at all.
"okay," you respond coolly, trying to keep your heart from bursting when you place your hand on top of jeonghan's from where he firmly grips the gear shift. "you better make up for not buying me one of those ikea sharks."
jeonghan snorts. "hey! blÄhaj is out of our budget!"
jeonghan's a good friend. the best friend you could ask for, really. but the morning after he takes you to the midnight carnival, you're glad to know he's an even better boyfriend.
back then, i frequently said that i couldn't write jeonghan in a way that i wanted to, that everything i put out for him felt subpar. but looking at this now, maybe i was too harsh on myself before lol
