Keijin ᕦ(ò_ó )ᕤ

it started with a ribbon.

“i snuck out to the market this morning,” she said, almost casually. “don’t tell minji or my parents.”

you blinked. tilted your head. “you? sneaking out?”

she shrugged, but the edge of a smile tugged at her lips. “i wore a cloak and kept my head down. it was like last time we went out together. wasn’t hard.”

you let out a soft laugh, leaning in like the secret might vanish if you spoke too loud. “since when does rule-following, crown-polishing, stubborn princess hanni break protocol?”

she raised an eyebrow. “maybe someone rubbed off on me.”

your grin widened, teasing. “oh no. i’ve corrupted you.”

“corrupted is a strong word,” she said, then held the ribbon out to you. “call it… influenced.”

you took it slowly, fingers brushing hers. “what is this?

it was nothing grand, nothing jeweled or sewn with the threads of royal looms. just a thin length of pale blue silk, curled like a wave in hanni’s hand.

“found it while i was strolling through the market,” she said, not meeting your eyes. “thought it looked like you.”

you blinked. your heart did something strange and soft in your chest. “like me?”

she shrugged. “quiet. kind of stubborn. pretty, i guess.”

you laughed, though your throat tightened around it. “that’s one way to describe a ribbon.”

“it’s a good ribbon,” she said, lips tugging into a smile. “strong. holds things together.”

you took it with careful fingers. the silk was warm from her touch.

“thank you,” you murmured.

and she just nodded. like it was nothing. like it didn’t mean anything at all.

but it did.

because she’d gone to the market just to wander. because she thought of you in the middle of it. because she'd come back with a gift, not out of duty or decorum—but simply because she wanted to.

and you—

you were still hiding everything.

the garden was quieter that afternoon, quieter than most. the sun hung low, dripping gold over the hedges, painting light across hanni’s cheeks as she leaned back against the bench and closed her eyes. the breeze stirred the leaves. the silence between you was soft. comfortable. familiar.

you should’ve said something then. confessed it all while the world was still gentle.

but instead, you just watched her.

you watched the way her brow furrowed slightly when the wind brushed her hair across her mouth. you watched the way her fingers curled against her skirt, restless. you watched the way she turned to you—eyes half-lidded, warm—and smiled.

not because she had to but because she wanted to.

and it ached.

you walked together later, through the older part of the castle. the halls less crowded, filled with old paintings and shadows that whispered of forgotten queens. hanni told you stories—half-remembered tales from her childhood, full of mischief and misplaced crowns. you laughed so much your stomach hurt. and she looked at you like it was her favourite sound.

“you’ve got a weird laugh,” she said, bumping her shoulder against yours.

“rude,” you said, grinning.

“i like it,” she added, voice low. “it’s real.”

you didn’t know what to say to that. so you didn’t. just let the silence settle again, warm and wide.

when evening came, she tugged you toward the old observatory. said she hadn’t been in years, but she wanted to see the stars. you sat beneath the domed ceiling, knees nearly touching, watching the first pinpricks of light scatter the sky.

“do you ever think,” she said, eyes fixed on the heavens, “that we’re all just… waiting to be seen?”

you turned to her. the stars lit her lashes like frost. “what do you mean?”

she shrugged, almost sheepish. “i don’t know. like—maybe everyone’s just walking around hoping someone will look at them and say, i see you. i know you.”

your breath caught.

because she didn’t know. she didn’t know how deeply you’d seen her. how much you knew. how much you still held behind your teeth, afraid of what it might shatter.

and yet—she looked at you with such open trust. such steady light.

you swallowed thickly. your hand brushed hers on the stone. she didn’t pull away.

“i think…” you said quietly, “you’ve always been worth seeing.”

hanni’s eyes were soft, and full, and so utterly unguarded it made you want to cry.

she smiled.

and it was then that you realised: she wasn’t falling for the idea of you.

she was falling for the girl who stayed. who listened. who laughed at her terrible jokes and looked at her like she hung constellations from the sky.

and that girl was you. and you were lying to her.

just not with your eyes. not with your hands.

but with the silence you kept choosing, over and over again.

when you returned to your chambers that night, the ribbon still clutched in your palm, you pressed it to your lips and closed your eyes.

how cruel, you thought, to be given something so gentle by the one person you might break.

how cruel, to be this loved—by someone who didn’t yet know.

and still, you stayed.

because love—whatever it was blooming between the cracks—had rooted itself too deep.

and you didn’t know how to leave.

not when she was finally starting to let you in. not when you didn’t want to go. 

not when she looked at you like that.

like you were someone worth trusting. 

someone worth keeping.

someone worth knowing.

you wanted to be. you just weren’t sure if you still could.

the moon spilled across your chamber floor in slivered silence.

your bed was warm but restless beneath you. the sheets tangled like regrets. the shadows clung to the corners of the room, thick and heavy and still.

you hadn’t spoken in hours. hadn’t moved much either. just sat there on the edge of the mattress, hands limp in your lap, as the night bled on around you.

because all day, you had smiled.

all day, you had stood beside her—princess hanni, radiant and sharp-edged, laughter easy in her throat—and you had smiled. through walks in the garden, through stolen glances in the hallways, through the way her hand brushed yours once and didn’t pull away.

and you had wanted to kiss her.

god, you would’ve married her that second, in the middle of the courtyard if she'd asked.

but beneath all that sweetness, something sour stirred.

because the only reason you got to love her now was because of a lie.

a quiet knock broke the stillness.

you didn’t turn.

“y/n?” minji’s voice drifted through the crack in the door—low, not unkind. “can i come in?”

you didn’t answer.

she took that as a yes, slipping inside without ceremony. her armour was half undone, her tunic wrinkled from patrol, but her gaze was sharp as ever.

“you looked off today,” she said. “been looking off all week.”

you shrugged.

she sighed. crossed the room and sat beside you on the bed, her weight making the mattress dip just slightly.

and then, the words tumbled out.

“minji,” you whispered. “i think i love her.”

minji blinked once. “you think?”

“no. i do.” you laughed, bitter and breathless. “i love her so much i can’t breathe sometimes. she smiles and it ruins me. she calls my name and it undoes me.”

“so what’s the problem?” minji asked, brow raised. “doesn’t sound like a tragedy to me.”

“it is,” you said, voice cracking. “don’t you see? she was never supposed to be someone i loved. she was supposed to be someone i convinced. someone i won over. that’s how it started. that’s the only reason i ever met her.”

minji was quiet.

you clenched your fists in your lap. “i wouldn’t trade any of it, not a single moment. but minji… none of it was real at first. not the way i followed her around. not the way i tried to make her smile. it wasn’t for her—it was for the plan. for the alliance. for the throne.”

you looked down at your hands.

“but now?” your voice fell softer, hollowed. “now i’d burn the whole plan just to hear her laugh again. i’d throw the throne in the river if it meant i could keep dancing with her in empty halls.”

minji’s gaze stayed steady. “so why haven’t you told her?”

you shook your head. “because how can i? how do you tell someone that every beautiful thing between you started because of something ugly? she trusted me. and i betrayed that before she even knew me.”

your throat burned.

“the part that breaks me isn’t that i love her,” you whispered. “it’s that i only got to love her because i was sent to deceive her. and no matter how much of it became real... that beginning still stains everything.”

minji let the silence settle before she spoke again.

“sounds like you’re mourning something that’s still alive.”

minji stayed quiet for a while. then she leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

“but you’re not wrong,” she said. “it did start ugly. it wasn’t fair to her.”

you nodded, barely.

“but it changed,” she went on. “you changed. and she’s not some fragile thing that’ll break just because the truth is sharp. she deserves to know—but more than that, you deserve to stop carrying this alone.”

“you don’t have to tell her tonight,” she continued. “don’t force it. but don’t pretend like it’s not eating you from the inside.”

your breath hitched.

“because it is,” she added. “and if you wait too long... it won’t be just the beginning that’s stained. it’ll be the whole thing.”

you stared at the floor. helpless. aching.

“do you think she’ll forgive me?”

minji was quiet for a beat, then shrugged gently.

“i don’t know,” minji said. “but i do know this—if you love her, really love her, you owe her the truth. even if it costs you everything.”

you looked away, heart heavy.

you didn’t answer.

your heart just kept echoing with the ache of it all—the way hanni had laughed today in the corridor, the way she had leaned her head on your shoulder last night, no fear, no suspicion. only trust.

you saw her even now, in your mind’s eye—far away, untouchable, like moonlight caught behind glass.

and no matter how tightly you held this love, you couldn’t outrun the shadow of how it all began.

minji stood. walked toward the door.

“get some sleep,” she said softly. “guilt makes terrible company.”

the door closed.

and in the quiet, you stayed—eyes wide, heart aching.

you began loving a girl who didn’t yet know that the first thread in your story was a lie.

and you wondered in the silence if she’d ever forgive you once she did.

the castle was quiet. too quiet.

hanni had been wandering—not with purpose, but because sleep never came easily anymore. not with all the noise in her head. steps soft against stone, fingers trailing absentmindedly along the cold walls. she didn’t know what hour it was, only that the moonlight spilled pale across the corridors and her thoughts wouldn’t still.

when she reached your door, she almost didn’t stop.

she noticed it was slightly open, just a sliver of golden candlelight against the hall’s hush. a flicker of minji’s voice floated through, low and level. hanni nearly turned away, not wanting to intrude. it wasn’t her place. whatever the two of you were discussing wasn’t meant for her ears.

but then—

"she was supposed to be someone i convinced. someone i won over. that’s how it started. that’s the only reason i ever met her.”

hanni froze.

your voice. unmistakable. strained and hoarse like it’d been dredged up from somewhere deep.

she blinked. once. twice.

maybe she misheard. maybe she was imagining things. maybe—

“none of it was real at first. not the way i followed her around. not the way i tried to make her smile. it wasn’t for her—it was for the plan. for the alliance. for the throne.”

the words landed sharp. like glass in her chest.

hanni stepped back. felt her fingers curl tight at her sides.

a draft passed down the corridor but she didn’t feel it. all she could feel was the sudden sick twist in her stomach, the prickling at the back of her neck.

she didn’t want to believe it. she tried not to.

but you hadn’t sounded cruel. you hadn’t sounded manipulative. you had sounded broken. ashamed.

and somehow, that only made it worse.

the truth wasn’t a knife thrown in hatred—it was a blade you had kept turned inward. but it was still a blade.

hanni backed away from the door, heart hammering. she should’ve walked. she should’ve left.

but then she heard minji’s voice, calm and cutting:

“so why haven’t you told her?”

silence followed. and then—your voice again, low, shaking:

“how do you tell someone that every beautiful thing between you started because of something ugly? she trusted me. and i betrayed that before she even knew me.”

hanni didn’t stay to hear more.

her footsteps were soundless down the corridor, though her pulse thundered louder than anything else.

she kept her chin up. didn’t let herself crumble. not here. not yet.

but inside—something gave way.

she didn’t cry. she didn’t rage.

she just walked.

through corridors that suddenly felt too wide. under candlelight that burned too cold. past tapestries and marble that felt nothing like home.

your voice still echoed in her skull.

for the alliance. for the throne.

none of it was real.

hanni kept walking. because if she stopped, if she let herself feel it all at once, it might just shatter her completely.

and maybe, in some way, it already had.

the sun rose like it always did, but it brought no warmth.

you noticed at breakfast how hanni didn’t look up from her tea—how she left the table before the second course, murmuring something about a meeting that didn’t exist.

she passed you once in the corridor, eyes skimming over you like a stranger. and again in the garden, where she turned the other way before you could speak. no words. no glances. just a chilling absence where something soft used to live.

you replayed everything in your head—had you said something wrong? done something? was she hurt? was she angry? why wasn’t she talking to you?

you tried to tell yourself it was nothing. maybe she was tired. maybe she was busy. but excuses dried up quickly when silence dragged into night.

by the time the moon settled over the castle, you were pacing in your room. heart heavy. mind spinning.

you couldn’t take it anymore.

you walked the halls with quiet steps, the hem of your nightdress brushing the stone. minji had offered to stand guard outside your door that night, but you’d told her not to. now you were grateful for the solitude.

hanni’s room sat at the end of the east wing. the golden handle glinted in the dark, and for a moment, you hesitated. then you knocked.

no answer.

your knuckles tightened.

“hanni,” you called softly.

still silence.

something cracked in you. maybe it was fear. maybe it was love. either way, your hand twisted the knob and the door creaked open.

hanni sat at her writing desk, back to the door, bathed in moonlight. she turned sharply at the sound, startled—eyes wide, posture stiff.

“what are you doing?” she asked, voice clipped.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” you said, shutting the door behind you. “i’m not stupid.”

her jaw tensed. “you shouldn’t be here.”

“why have you been avoiding me? you won’t even talk to me.” 

“because there’s nothing to say.”

“then look me in the eye and tell me that.”

she stood. crossed her arms. “get out, y/n.”

“not until you talk to me.”

you walked closer, careful with your steps. her gaze burned, but her eyes looked tired. 

“please, hanni.”

you reached for her—carefully, gently—fingers curling around her wrist

“did i do something wrong?” you asked.

hanni flinched like you’d burned her.

something flickered behind her eyes. something sharp and pained.

and then—like a storm breaking—she yanked her wrist away.

“don’t touch me.”

you flinched. “hanni…”

“you want to know what you did wrong?” she spat, standing now—eyes glassy with unshed fury. “you lied to me.”

your breath caught. your world tilted.

“i heard you last night, you know,” she spat. “i heard every goddamn word.”

“hanni, please—”

“you were supposed to win me over?” her voice cracked, laced with venom. “was that the plan? get close to the stubborn princess, melt her heart, make her fall for you so your kingdom could gain a crown? you were sent here to win me over like some game. and you made me think it was real.”

you stood frozen, mouth open, eyes wide.

“you know what hurts the most?” she said, voice breaking. “i trusted you. i let you in. and the whole time, you were just… carrying out your orders.”

“it wasn’t like that,” you whispered.

“don’t lie to me again.”

you stepped forward, reaching for her wrist which she took back once more.

“it started like that, yes,” you admitted, voice breaking. “but it changed. i changed. i didn’t expect to care—I didn’t expect you.”

“don’t.” she stepped back, eyes burning. “don’t try to rewrite the beginning just because you didn’t expect to grow a conscience halfway through.”

you felt something inside you split.

“hanni, i never meant to hurt you—”

she scoffed. looked away. her hands curled into fists at her sides.

“you humiliated me.”

your heart shattered.

“i trusted you and you made me believe it was real, something safe. and all along, it was built on lies,” she said, her voice breaking in places she didn’t want it to. “and maybe it became real for you later—but i don’t care. because i didn’t have that choice. you stole that choice from me.”

you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

you had imagined this moment a thousand times—but in none of those versions had her eyes looked at you like this. like a stranger. like someone who had been burned.

“get out,” she said.

“hanni—”

“go back to your kingdom. go back to the people who sent you.”

you blinked. “what?”

“you heard me.” her voice was cold, but her hands were shaking. “your presence here is no longer welcome.”

you felt the words like a slap. you felt the tears well up before you could stop them.

“hanni, please…” you whispered.

“get out.”

your heart bled in your chest.

she didn’t look at you. not even when your voice cracked with another whispered “please.”

not even when the tears welled in your eyes.

she stood still. a fortress again. a girl walled off by hurt.

so you turned.

and you left.

the carriage ride back was silent. not even minji dared to speak. her face was unreadable, eyes locked on the road, shoulders stiff with tension. the journey felt longer than it was, like time stretched just to make room for your grief. and when the gates of your own castle loomed ahead, it didn’t feel like home.

you stepped down slowly. your parents stood waiting on the steps, their expressions carved in stone.

your father’s voice cut the air like a blade. “you disappoint me, princess y/n.”

you didn’t speak. didn’t move.

minji stood behind you, silent, her head bowed. not in shame—never shame—but in mourning. like she was grieving something, too.

you lifted your chin, barely, but your eyes stung. you carried no explanation. no excuse. only the ache of betrayal, and the weight of love that came far too late.

the doors opened. you stepped inside. and somewhere, in the castle behind you, the echo of hanni’s voice still rang in your ears—

“i trusted you.”

and you would carry the echo for a long, long time.

you woke before the sun most days now, but not because you wanted to. sleep had begun to feel like something borrowed—something you could never quite hold onto. and when it came, it was brief and cruel.

you moved through your mornings like a shadow. the maids still knocked. your attendants still waited. the gowns were still pressed. the breakfast still laid out. but none of it touched you anymore.

the halls of your childhood felt foreign now. colder than you remembered. the floors echoed too much, the windows let in too much light. it all felt wrong. the castle hadn’t changed, but you had.

you still did your duties. out of habit more than pride. you attended council meetings, answered letters, stood beside your mother at dull ceremonies. your smile was thin. your voice quiet. no one said anything, but they all noticed.

“lift your chin,” your father told you one morning. “you’re still a princess.”

you did as he asked, but it didn’t feel like your crown anymore.

you walked through the gardens alone now. the roses were blooming, but they looked hollow. even your horse, once the only place you ever felt free, no longer brought you peace. you couldn’t even remember the last time you laughed—truly laughed.

it wasn’t just heartbreak. it was something deeper. a slow erosion. a quiet unraveling. like a thread pulled loose beneath your skin.

you kept thinking—if things had been different. if you’d told her sooner. if you hadn’t lied at all.

but regret was a useless thing. it only gnawed, never healed.

your mother didn’t understand. not really. she cared more for alliances than affection.

“you were sent with a purpose,” she reminded you over dinner one evening. “a duty. one you’ve failed to fulfill.”

you said nothing. your fork scraped against the plate, but you didn’t eat.

your father only sighed. “we needed that alliance, y/n.”

we needed. not you needed. not we’re sorry. just the same tired disappointment echoing through every corridor you passed.

you stopped visiting the east wing. it used to be your favourite—full of books and old tapestries and sunlight—but now it felt too bright, too warm, like something that didn’t belong to you anymore.

minji stayed close. always within reach, but rarely speaking unless spoken to. she had seen you at your worst. heard your sobbing against your pillow the night you returned. she’d said everything she could. now, she just stood by. silent, steady, watching you fall apart in slow motion.

“you should eat more,” she said once, quietly.

you only nodded. but didn’t.

it was strange. how heartbreak could hollow you. not in one sharp moment, but through a thousand quiet ones. each breath a little heavier. each step a little slower.

you missed hanni in a way that wasn’t even romantic anymore. you missed her presence. her laughter. the way she challenged you. the way she made the world feel less unbearable.

now the world just felt... grey.

some days, you wondered what she was doing. if she still hated you. if she ever thought of you at all. and the wondering hurt almost as much as the knowing.

you sat in your chambers one evening, the fire burning low, your arms wrapped around your knees. your dress still rumpled from court. your eyes fixed on nothing.

you felt like a ghost. like the ghost of a girl who used to be bright and full of fight. the girl who rode horses too fast and said too much and smiled like she had the sun in her chest.

you didn’t know where she’d gone.

maybe she died in hanni’s room that night.

maybe she died when the door slammed shut.

you closed your eyes.

and in the darkness behind your lids, you saw her again—brown eyes blazing, voice trembling, saying your name like it meant something.

you used to believe you were strong. bold. brave enough to do anything.

now, you couldn’t even forgive yourself.

and the ache in your chest never left.

you carried it through the halls. wore it like a cloak. a reminder. a punishment. a weight.

you were a princess, still.

but you no longer felt like one.

you felt like nothing.

just a girl who broke something precious.

and didn’t know how to put it back together again.

it had been nearly a week.

seven long, dragging days since the fall. since the silence. since you stopped being you.

minji had watched it all—watched the way your shoulders curled inward like they were shielding a wound, watched how your steps slowed through the palace halls, no longer proud, no longer sure. even your defiance, once your shield, had dulled to silence. she knew grief could hollow someone out. but this—this was something different. like you were fading by choice. 

minji had never been one for crossing boundaries.

not as a knight. not as a friend. she knew the line between duty and interference like the edge of her blade—sharp, defined, unwavering.

but she couldn’t watch you disappear.

so she packed. no armour. no sword. no crest of her kingdom. just her name, and a reason.

the journey to hanni’s home was long, but minji rode like the wind itself. not because she was in a rush—because she knew hesitation would only invite regret. and regret was something they all already had too much of.

when she arrived, it was as expected. stiff glances, suspicion, whispered names as she passed through the gates. the guards exchanged looks when she gave her name.

“you’re from the western kingdom?” one of them asked, wary.

“i’m not here to cause trouble,” minji said, calm and even. “i came to speak with princess hanni.”

but the king and queen were less welcoming.

they met her in the high chamber, dressed in the cool calm of practiced royalty. the queen’s voice was gentle but unmoved. “you must understand, this is not an appropriate time.”

“you have no place here,” the king added, firm and unkind. “we have no interest in foreign knights stirring wounds that are still fresh.”

minji bowed once. “i understand,” she said. “but i thought she deserved the whole story.”

they dismissed her without ceremony.

she didn’t fight it. she just waited.

and later, as dusk settled against the walls of the palace like a long-held breath, in the quiet of a shaded corridor, hanni came.

she wore no crown, just a simple cloak draped across her shoulders. her face was unreadable. minji stood taller beneath her gaze.

“you’re bold,” she said, arms crossed. “coming here.”

“i had to,” minji replied.

they stood facing each other—two girls molded by duty and pride, separated by grief that didn’t belong to them, and yet clung to their skin all the same.

“you came here for her?” hanni asked.

“no,” minji said. “i came for you.”

they stood in silence. not unfriendly. not warm.

“i won’t stay long,” minji continued. “i know i’m not exactly welcome. but there are things you need to know.”

hanni didn’t stop her.

so minji spoke.

“you should know—none of this was her idea. your parents were the ones who struck a deal with hers. her kingdom would benefit from the alliance, but only if you agreed to the marriage. her father told her to make it happen.”

“and she did,” hanni spat, bitter. “she played her part.”

“you’re forgetting it wasn’t her idea,” minji said firmly. “she hated the idea but she was sent anyway.”

hanni looked away. the wall behind minji must’ve been fascinating.

“she followed the rules at first. did what she was told. but the game faded. and what stayed—the dinners, the laughter, you—that was never part of the plan.”

hanni’s expression didn’t change, but her fingers curled tighter at her sides.

“she started to forget the plan. not out of strategy. not out of fear. just… naturally. being around you made her softer, lighter.”

“stop,” hanni whispered. “don’t say that.”

“why?” minji asked. “because you’re angry? because you don’t want it to be real?”

“because it doesn’t matter!” hanni snapped, voice rising. “whatever she felt—whatever she thinks she felt—it started with a lie. everything we shared, every moment, it’s stained.”

minji didn’t argue. she let the truth settle like dust.

then, gently, she said, “i’m not asking you to forgive her. i’m not even asking you to speak to her. but you should know the whole picture before you decide to hate her.”

hanni laughed bitterly. “i don’t hate her.”

“no,” minji said. “you don’t.”

that stilled the room.

“she should’ve told you,” minji said, voice low. she shifted her weight.

hanni turned then. slowly. “then why didn’t she tell me?”

minji hesitated.

“because she’s a coward,” she said quietly. “and because she hated herself for even being in that position. you were the only part of it that ever felt real. and she didn’t want to ruin that.”

hanni’s expression faltered—just for a breath.

“but she didn’t lie to hurt you. she didn’t want anything from you but your time. she just didn’t know how to undo something that was already tangled.”

hanni stared past her, to the window, the light there pale and cold.

“she’s not the same girl who walked into your kingdom with a mission. i think you saw that too. or maybe you didn’t. but either way, you should hear the truth from someone who wasn’t trying to win you over.”

minji’s voice softened. “you don’t owe her forgiveness. i wouldn’t blame you if you never spoke to her again. i just thought it wasn’t fair—for you to carry only the half that hurt.”

hanni didn’t answer.

minji hummed softly, not expecting a word. just acknowledgement.

“and for what it’s worth, she was never more herself than when she was with you.”

minji turned to go, her steps quiet. but before she left entirely, she looked back.

“she doesn’t know i came,” she said. “she probably wouldn’t have wanted me to.”

and with that, minji was gone.

leaving hanni alone in the quiet corridor with too many thoughts and too many cracks in her armour.

it had been over a week since you returned to your kingdom, but time did not move the same here.

days dragged like heavy curtains drawn too early, and nights blurred together in a haze of dreams that always ended in her name. hanni. you whispered it sometimes into your pillow, like a secret too sacred to let die.

you did not sleep well. you did not speak much. you moved like a ghost down palace corridors—bowed to nobles, signed decrees, smiled when your mother demanded it—but all of it felt paper-thin. like you were performing the idea of yourself.

and no one said it, but you could feel the shift. the way your father looked through you now instead of at you. the way your mother barely nodded in your direction. their disappointment no longer came in sharp words. it came in silence. cold and cloying. suffocating.

minji was quieter, too.

still by your side, but no longer filling the space with knowing glances or quiet jests. she was there in body, but not in spirit, and you knew why—she had gone to hanni. you hadn’t asked, but you knew.

and still… she returned to you.

her silence was not punishment. it was mourning. she, too, was grieving the girl you had once been.

you sat now by your window, the late afternoon light slanting in pale and dusty, and for the first time in days, you allowed yourself to just sit and feel.

you didn’t cry. not really.

it was worse than crying. it was that deep, echoing kind of stillness that came when grief settled so firmly inside you that it no longer thrashed. it simply pulsed.

and underneath it, something strange was beginning to stir.

you weren’t sure when the grief started turning to anger—but it had. maybe it was when your father passed by you in the corridor without a glance. maybe it was the way your mother called you “princess” now, instead of your name. maybe it was the realisation that for all their planning, for all their obsession with merging kingdoms, neither of them ever asked what you wanted.

they sent you off to win another girl’s heart like it was a task to be completed. they never cared if it broke you. they just wanted the result.

and you had tried.

you had tried so hard to be everything they needed—charming, clever, obedient enough to bend but never break.

but now you were broken anyway.

so what was the point of playing their game?

you stood from the window, knees stiff from sitting too long. you wandered the halls of your own home, and yet every step felt like trespassing.

when did this place become so unfamiliar?

you paused outside the great hall and pressed your palm to the cool stone. your fingers curled slightly, like you were holding something invisible.

and it hit you, sudden and brutal:

you missed hanni. not just her laughter or her stubbornness or her quiet, thoughtful silences. you missed the version of yourself that existed around her.

there, you were bold. there, you were human. 

there, you were seen.

and now you were just… fading.

you inhaled deeply, once, and let the breath out slow.

“you need to stop this,” minji’s voice came from behind you, quiet but firm.

you turned. she stood there, arms crossed, eyes sharper than they’d been in days.

“stop what?” you asked.

“letting them drain you. letting their silence decide your worth. you made a mistake, yeah. a big one. but that doesn’t mean you don’t get to fight for yourself.”

you looked away. “what if there’s nothing left to fight for?”

“then make something new,” she said. “you’ve always had fire, y/n. don’t let them smother it.”

you blinked, chest tightening. “you’re the one who said i should’ve told her.”

“i did. and i’ve always believed in that,” minji said. “but that doesn’t mean you deserve to rot here because of it.”

you said nothing.

“you know what i see when i look at you now?” she asked. “someone who gave up. and that’s not the girl i swore to protect.”

that stung. because it was true.

you looked back at her. “i don’t know how to come back from this.”

“then take one step,” she said. “just one.”

you nodded. once. barely.

but something shifted.

you weren’t better. you weren’t fixed. but you were no longer falling.

you went to your room that night and stared at your reflection in the mirror. for the first time in days, you didn’t look away.

hanni had never minded solitude.

in fact, she craved it. it was the only place she could hear herself think. but after minji’s visit, the quiet became something else entirely. no longer a comfort—it was a cage. one she locked herself in.

she didn’t tell anyone what the knight had said. didn’t mention the long conversation in the corridor, or how her hands had been shaking when it ended. she just… let it sit. the words, the questions, the cracks.

and gods, there were cracks now. running through every wall she’d built. ones she thought were solid.

she sat on her balcony most days, the breeze brushing loose strands of hair across her cheek, and let the ache stew. it wasn’t fury anymore. not the wild, seething kind that made her lash out that night and tell you to leave. no—this was the quiet kind. duller, deeper. it clung to her ribs.

she replayed the things minji said in her mind, like a scratched record that refused to stop.

“she got caught in it… not the game—the real parts.

you were the only part of it that ever felt real.”

and worse—

“she should’ve told you.”

hanni had never been one to trust easily. not with her thoughts. not with her heart. that part of her had always belonged to herself alone. not because she liked being cold, but because being vulnerable was dangerous. being vulnerable meant giving someone else the power to break you.

and you had broken her.

but… maybe it hadn’t been just you.

maybe it was everything. her parents, the deal, the expectations she'd pretended not to care about. she'd been raised to rule—not to feel. to be wise, strong, diplomatic. not to fall for someone with wild eyes and a sharper tongue than most blades.

yet she had.

not all at once. not like the stories said. but slowly, terrifyingly, like the tide creeping in unnoticed.

and that was the worst part—knowing it had been real. knowing she'd let you in. let herself want you.

because if it hadn’t been real, maybe she could’ve let it go.

she stared at the sky until her eyes burned.

one day bled into the next. meals went cold. she spoke less. not out of punishment, but because everything that once felt sure now felt like fog. and she didn’t know what to do with fog except walk through it.

but it was minji’s words that stayed the longest:

“she didn’t want anything from you but your time. she just didn’t know how to undo something that was already tangled.”

hanni had never thought about that part. how trapped you must’ve felt. how scared. how torn between duty and something far softer. something real.

she didn’t forgive you. not yet. maybe not ever.

but she understood something new now.

that love—if that’s what it had been—wasn’t a prize to be earned or a performance to perfect.

it was messy. brutal. unfinished.

and she hadn’t been brave enough to face that.

her eyes burned again—not from the sun this time, but from something deeper. she leaned forward on the railing and pressed her forehead to the cool stone.

“coward,” she whispered.

she had called you one in her silence.

but what was she, then?

someone who couldn’t even face her own hurt without running from it. someone who let you leave without asking for the truth, without even trying to hear it.

she had chosen pride. and it had left her alone.

hanni stood, slowly, like her limbs had been asleep for days.

she crossed the room, fingers trailing along her bookshelf, her dresser, the edge of her bed. all these things that once felt familiar.

now they only felt quiet.

she looked to her desk, and for the first time in a week, she sat down.

she didn’t write.

not yet.

instead, she closed her eyes, and let herself remember:

your laughter echoing in the corridor. the way you always sat sideways in chairs. the way you looked at her like she wasn’t a puzzle to solve, but a person to know.

and for the first time, hanni didn’t feel angry at the memory.

just… tired. and maybe, maybe, ready to stop pretending she hadn’t wanted it, too.

the night was gold-draped and hollow.

chandeliers glittered above the crowd like stars with nowhere to go. the ballroom stretched wide and radiant, a theater dressed in silk and song, but no one could ignore the tension stitched into every corner. beneath velvet gowns and powdered smiles, there was a quiet desperation.

the ball was your parents' final plea for alliance. a last-ditch performance, a fragile performance masked as celebration—one final thread to stitch together what had already unraveled. it was meant to look like unity. like peace. like a polished promise.

your parents called it diplomacy. you called it a lie with better lighting.

you were late.

not fashionably, not charmingly. deliberately.

you let the music swell and the crowd murmur with curiosity. let the minutes drag until eyes began to search the entrance. and then you stepped in—unmasked, unadorned, dressed simply in your royal blues. no tiara. no smile. just the truth, pressing heavy against your ribs.

the whispers came quick.

“that’s princess y/n…”

“she’s finally here…”

“i thought she wouldn’t show…”

you barely heard them. your eyes found her instantly.

hanni.

she stood near the front of the ballroom, framed by pillars and protocol, wearing silver that caught the light like steel. her crown was subtle, her shoulders proud. but her expression—oh, her expression—was unreadable. poised, distant. beautiful in a way that made your knees weaken.

and though everyone stared at you, you only looked at her.

the four rulers stood at the dais, faces stiff with expectation. your mother gave you a smile sharp enough to cut. your father gestured subtly for you to join them. the king, as in hanni’s father, barely acknowledged you. the queen offered a nod, nothing more.

your entrance had caused a stir. but not a surprise.

this was what they wanted. your presence. your submission.

“tonight,” your father began, lifting his goblet, “we celebrate the union of our kingdoms—not in title, but in spirit. in understanding. in unity.”

your mother took his hand, continuing the charade.

“despite recent… tensions, both sides have agreed on the strength of this alliance. we are proud to announce that princess y/n and princess hanni will lead us into this new chapter.”

applause. careful. rehearsed.

you didn’t move.

your mother leaned in toward you, her voice soft and cutting. 

“say something, dear. don’t ruin this.”

your throat felt dry. your chest ached.

“i can’t,” you said. clear. unwavering.

your father frowned. “can’t what?”

“i can’t accept this alliance,” you said louder. “not like this.”

the air turned colder.

your mother’s smile vanished. hanni’s father bristled. and somewhere in the crowd, someone gasped. but you didn’t waver.

you looked out—not at the crowd—but at her. always her.

“there’s something everyone should know,” you said. “about this alliance. about how it started.”

murmurs bloomed like wildfire. your mother’s smile cracked like porcelain as she reached for your arm.

“y/n,” she hissed. “don’t you dare—”

but you didn’t stop. you stepped away.

your voice rose—not loud, but clear. like a heart finally breaking open.

“you want to talk about unity? about trust?” you said, facing the crowd now. “then let’s tell the truth.”

a ripple passed through the ballroom.

“this alliance began with a lie,” you said. “a plan made by our parents. by both kingdoms. without hanni’s knowledge. without her voice. they struck a deal that if she were to willingly agree to a marriage, both sides would prosper. and so, i was sent. to convince her. to charm her. to win her.”

gasps. your mother took a step forward, but you raised your hand.

“please. just let me finish.”

a ripple moved through the room like thunder beneath glass.

“it was never her fault,” you added. “she didn’t know. none of this was her idea. she was just… living her life. and i was told to twist mine around hers.”

you exhaled, trembling.

“but then, something changed. i changed.”

your voice dropped. it was no longer a speech. it was a confession.

you turned again, this time only to hanni. the rest of the room faded.

“at first, i followed orders. i smiled when i was told. laughed when i was expected to. everything i did, every moment i shared with you—it started as something ugly. but then…”

your voice cracked.

“…then it wasn’t.”

hanni blinked, barely breathing.

“i stopped seeing her as a mission. i stopped thinking about thrones and treaties. and i started living—really living. because she made me feel like someone worth being.”

you felt your chest tremble.

“i didn’t mean to fall into that kind of truth. i didn’t plan to find peace in stolen moments. but i did. and when it started to feel real… i panicked. i should’ve told you. but i didn’t know how.”

her face was unreadable. but her hands were clenched.

“you have every right to be angry,” you said, voice softer now. “every right to walk away. but i needed you to hear this from me, not from a lie, not from a rumor. from me. the real me.”

your hands shook, but you let them be seen.

“i know you don’t believe in love,” you said, softer now. “but i came anyway because i do. and i should’ve told you sooner. i should’ve come to you—not as a princess, not as a promise, but as myself.”

you let the silence return.

no one spoke. your parents looked furious. hanni’s father whispered something to her mother. the guests were motionless, unsure if they were witnessing bravery or madness.

just as your lips parted to speak again, a hand caught your wrist—firm, but not unkind.

you turned, breath snagged in your throat. hanni.

“w-what are you—” the words barely made it out, shaky and startled.

she didn’t answer right away. her eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the whole room seemed to collapse around the space between you. there was fire in her gaze—yes, a flicker of anger, maybe disbelief. but beneath it all… something gentler. something breaking.

“i’m saving you from a scandal,” she said at last, dryly, like it was a joke she wasn’t sure she meant.

“but i wasn’t finished—”

“they don’t need the rest,” she murmured.

and then, without waiting for another word, she tugged. first gentle. then sure.

you stumbled slightly as she pulled you past your parents, past their frozen rage and whispered commands.

gasps trailed after you like echoes in a cathedral. eyes followed every step. someone called your name, but it sounded so far away now.

the ballroom doors opened like the mouth of some great, waiting truth—and the night air swallowed you whole.

outside, the hush was thick and holy. the corridor was lit by the quiet flicker of torchlight, the stone walls washed in amber and shadow. here, away from eyes and expectation, it felt like breathing again.

she hadn’t let go.

her fingers still circled your wrist, as if afraid you might disappear. your pulse raced beneath her touch.

when she finally turned to you, the unreadable mask she always wore had softened—not fallen, but cracked, enough for light to leak through.

“we need to talk,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “but not in there. not with them staring. not with all that noise.”

and this time, she didn’t turn away. she didn’t shut down or shut you out.

she stayed.

right there. in front of you. solid and still and real.

“do you want to get out of here?” she asked softly, almost afraid of what you might say. 

you nodded. your voice had left you. your eyes burned, glassy with everything you couldn’t yet name.

but your heart had already answered. and this time, she heard it.

the corridors blurred as you ran.

stone walls and golden sconces passed in a rush of breathless laughter and hurried footsteps. the silk of your formal wear fluttered around your ankles, a strange echo of the ballroom you’d just escaped. hanni’s hand gripped yours tight—like if she let go, everything would fall apart again.

you didn’t speak. there wasn’t time, and somehow words would’ve only ruined the quiet joy of it. just the two of you, running not from duty, but toward something freer. lighter. unknown.

her fingers were warm in yours. her smile was crooked and rare and real.

the castle stretched before you like a maze, but your feet knew the way. you darted through the familiar halls of your childhood, halls that had never truly felt like yours until now. torchlight kissed the stone, and the scent of wax and cool air followed you with every turn.

you were almost at the front gate—almost free—when a figure appeared before you.

minji.

she stood still in the shadowed corridor, arms crossed, chin high, every inch the knight she had trained herself to be.

you stopped in your tracks. your breath caught. hanni’s fingers tensed in yours.

minji’s gaze fell on your intertwined hands.

for a long, breathless beat, her expression didn’t change.

then—finally—her shoulders dropped. a long sigh left her lips, quiet and fond. and her mouth pulled, just barely, into a small smile. tired. knowing.

“i thought i might find you here,” she said, voice even. “heard the ballroom got exciting.”

you blinked. “how did you—”

“you two aren’t exactly subtle,” she deadpanned, though her tone held no heat. “and word travels fast when royalty makes a scene.”

hanni raised an eyebrow. “are you here to stop us?”

minji shrugged. “no. i’m here because i figured you’d need these.”

she held out a small bundle—plain clothes, worn but clean. nothing like the silks and jewels you wore now. just soft linen and wool. freedom stitched into seams.

“thought you might want to sneak out,” she added.

hanni stared at her. “you’re unnervingly prepared.”

“well,” minji said, glancing at you with a sheepish tilt to her lips, “i’ve spent years watching this one get into trouble. figured it was only fair to help you out of it for once.”

your heart swelled.

you reached for the clothes, brushing minji’s fingers as you did. “thank you.”

she nodded. then, with a mischievous glint that cracked through her usual stoicism, she said, “there’s a festival down in the village tonight. music, food, dancing. people seem in a good mood these days.”

you blinked. “a festival?”

minji nodded. “down in the village. fireworks. music. the usual.”

your heart stuttered. you remembered the last one. the glow of lanterns above the square. laughter caught in the folds of the night. that fleeting moment—before things grew heavy, before truth and duty clawed everything apart.

hanni looked at you then, something unreadable in her gaze.

“we’ve done this before,” she murmured.

you nodded. “i remember.”

and this time, there was no pretending. no secret plan. no arrangement hiding between your steps.

just two girls with too much history and nowhere else to go.

minji’s smile was faint, but it reached her eyes. “thought you might want to remember what it felt like,” she said, voice low. “before all the mess.”

your throat tightened.

“thank you,” you whispered.

she nodded once, then turned away. “don’t do anything stupid,” she added over her shoulder.

and with that, you were running again.

but this time—this time it wasn’t about escaping.

it was about reclaiming. retracing joy where it once bloomed. learning how to laugh again. how to breathe beside each other without the weight of kingdoms pressing into your backs.

the festival waited.

and maybe, just maybe, so did something like healing.

the village festival bloomed like a secret the world had been keeping just for you.

lanterns swung from beams and windows, strung up like fireflies caught mid-flight. the scent of roasted chestnuts and sweet cider drifted through the summer air, and laughter burst like music between vendor stalls. children darted past with ribbons in their hair, and elders clapped along to the tune of a worn fiddle singing at the heart of the square.

you and hanni slipped through the circle of dancers, your hands brushing, never quite letting go. there were no eyes here that watched you with expectation. no parents waiting to scold, no court whispering behind fans. just people. just strangers. just freedom.

“they’re awful at waltzing,” hanni whispered with a small smile as a couple nearby stumbled into a spin.

you grinned. “then we’ll fit right in.”

she smiled. it was small, but it cracked something open in your chest. because it wasn’t guarded. it wasn’t hesitant. it was hers—soft and real and offered freely.

and then, without needing to ask, you held your hand out.

hanni hesitated only a moment before taking it.

bare feet on cobblestones, hands joined, hearts still bruised. you began to dance. not like the palace balls, not like rehearsed steps under chandeliers. this was clumsy. full of spins that didn’t land and laughter that came too easily. hanni’s cloak twirled around her as you pulled her close, and your skirts caught the wind like sails.

no one stared. no one cared. and for the first time, you didn’t either.

this time, when she looked at you, she didn’t look away.

there had been three dances between you now.

but this—this was no performance. this was not for kings or queens. this was not dressed in duty or weighed down by politics. it was barefoot on cobblestones and candlelight catching in her lashes. it was freedom.

you turned slowly in her arms, her palms resting on your waist now, your breath catching in your throat as her forehead leaned just slightly against yours.

“you know,” she said softly, “i was always afraid of this.”

“of dancing?” you teased, voice too shaky to be steady.

“of feeling.” her eyes searched yours. “of giving anything real. and then you showed up and ruined everything.”

you looked at her, eyes stinging. “i ruined everything.”

hanni shook her head. “you were forced to play a role. but the person i fell for wasn’t a role.”

your breath caught.

“you fell for me?”

she bit her bottom lip, nodding just slightly. “and i hated myself for it. after everything… i didn’t want to admit it.”

you felt her sigh against your skin. not annoyed. not exhausted. but releasing something she’d been holding too long.

“i thought if i let myself care,” she said, “i’d lose. i thought love would make me small. weak.”

“does it?” you asked.

her nose brushed yours.

“no,” she said. “it makes me brave.”

you closed your eyes. your hands trembled where they held her.

hanni closed her eyes at that, breathing you in.

“you’re infuriating,” she whispered.

“i know.”

“you’re stubborn.”

“guilty.”

she opened her eyes again.

“but you’re honest now.”

you nodded, lips trembling.

“and i believe you,” she said, barely a breath.

the music swelled around you—fiddles and clapping, bells and bare feet on stone—but it all faded when hanni leaned forward and pressed her forehead to yours.

“i should’ve told you the truth sooner,” you whispered. “about the plan. about why i came. about what they told me to do. but once i knew you, once i saw you… i didn’t know how to speak without losing you.”

she nodded. “and now?”

“now i’d rather lose everything else than lose you.”

hanni’s breath hitched. the music spun around you, but she held you still. anchored.

“when i first danced with you,” she murmured, “i felt like i was floating. like for the first time in my life, i was allowed to want something for myself. i was terrified of that.”

you swallowed hard. “and now?”

“now,” she said, brushing your cheek with the back of her hand, “i want to float again. with you.”

your arms wound tighter around each other. the lantern light shimmered in her eyes. 

the village still danced. the music still played. the world, somehow, kept turning.

but for the first time, it turned in your favor.

no more secrets. no more thrones between you.

just two girls in love, wrapped in torchlight and tambourines, in the middle of a song that no longer felt borrowed.

you weren’t pretending anymore.

you were hers.