ℱ𝓁ℴ𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝒮𝒽ℴ𝓅 𝒪𝓌𝓃ℯ𝓇 𝒮ℯ𝓊𝓃𝑔𝒸𝒽ℯℴ𝓁, who owns the tiniest, most charming shop on the street, where the front window is adorned with pots of flowers of all kinds in front of the store, and several lights hanging from the outside in town.

He loves his shop without a doubt and cares for it. He cares for it like it was his own child. His shop was quite popular among the people, not because of his dashing, handsome looks and his charming personality, but because they loved the aesthetic of it. They love the comfort it brings. How warm it felt inside. To the soft neutral color of the wall. To the table and chair that were placed by the window. Young and old, they all adore his shop.

Seungcheol takes care of his flower the same way he cares for others, with the same gentleness and patience that he was always taught. Often, he would grow his flowers whenever he had the time, of course, but on some days, he would always get them from local markets, flower farms, and flower auctions. Arranging was always his favorite part; it makes him happy that others ask him to make things for them, and he happily agrees.

Birthday

Graduation

All occasions

He does it all, and the customers love it.

ℱ𝓁ℴ𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝒮𝒽ℴ𝓅 𝒪𝓌𝓃ℯ𝓇 𝒮ℯ𝓊𝓃𝑔𝒸𝒽ℯℴ𝓁, who always closes his shop early every year to go see the cherry blossoms with his dear friend, Jeonghan, and take pictures. A tradition he never broke, not even once. He loves the soft breeze as the faint sweet scent carries through the air.

But what he loves most is admiring the pretty trees and watching them fall and drift off in the sky and cover the ground like pretty pink snow. It was his favorite thing since he was a kid, going with his family as he sat on his father’s shoulder. And he wants to capture it all as his camera snaps at every moment. Every tree. There were even several pictures of happy couples walking around, kids running around, and elderly people who were enjoying this moment with their grandkids. Just people enjoying this moment. And as Seungcheol continues to take pictures, his camera begins to pan to…

You

You. Standing there in front of the cherry blossom tree, with the prettiest smile on your face. And for a moment, Seungcheol lowers his camera to look at you. You were beautiful, well-poised, almost…eternal-like, as you stood there looking at the tree. Intrigued by it. And when a light breeze swept, petals drifted in the air, and he saw you reach out to catch one, and a tiny smile appeared on your lips as it landed softly in your palm.

Before he could even stop himself, Seungcheol raised his camera up to take a photo of you, and once he heard the shutter, he lowered his camera to look at the picture on the camera monitor, and there. A clear, beautiful picture of you. And a smile was brought on his face before he realized the moment he looked up, you were gone.

“Where did she go?” Seungcheol muttered.

ℱ𝓁ℴ𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝒮𝒽ℴ𝓅 𝒪𝓌𝓃ℯ𝓇 𝒮ℯ𝓊𝓃𝑔𝒸𝒽ℯℴ𝓁, who scanned around in the crowd hoping to look for you and his friend, Jeonghan, noticed as he asked, “What are you looking for?”

“She… She was right there,” Seungcheol spoke as he pointed at the tree.

“Who was right there?” Jeonghan asked.

“T-The girl. You didn’t see.”

Jeonghan looked at the empty spot Seungcheol was referring to, saying that he was probably imagining things and that he lost you within the crowd before walking off.

ℱ𝓁ℴ𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝒮𝒽ℴ𝓅 𝒪𝓌𝓃ℯ𝓇 𝒮ℯ𝓊𝓃𝑔𝒸𝒽ℯℴ𝓁, who resumed walking beside Jeonghan again with sad eyes, as he took one last glance at the tree. And after that day, he hasn’t seen you since, but somehow… You were on his mind every time and every moment of the day, as he looked at the photo on his camera.

You

The Mysterious Girl Who Disappeared

ℱ𝓁ℴ𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝒮𝒽ℴ𝓅 𝒪𝓌𝓃ℯ𝓇 𝒮ℯ𝓊𝓃𝑔𝒸𝒽ℯℴ𝓁 who hope that he sees you again, just once. Until… today

Jeonghan’s father was an important member of the monarchy’s close staff. He had direct access to the King, and was heavily involved in any decision made in his Court, whether political or personal. He had a reputation too, of being imposing and loud in his opinions, of being head strong until he eventually got his way.

Jeonghan, though, feels that he always took after his mother more.

She had nowhere near the same presence as his father, and held no official title other than being the Royal Advisor’s wife, but what she lacked in appearances, she more than made up for in reputation. Everyone knew her. Everyone. From the highest to lowest ranks in castle staff, to other noble families, to merchants that frequented the castle, and so her reach went far beyond the four walls. She was quieter, more perceptive. She could influence people without making it seem like she had any involvement with them. Like a silent puppeteer operating in the shadows.

It was less sinister than that. The truth is, everyone trusted her. And rightfully so.

Jeonghan thinks he works a little like that, despite holding the same title as his father. He knows everyone, like she did, which means that, like her, he knows what strings to pull at what times. He thinks it is her innate ability, inherited by him, that made it even slightly possible not only for the late King’s illegitimate son to take the Throne, but also for said son to marry his late half brother’s wife, and have a child mere two months later. And for no one to question it.

It took a lot of lies and careful manipulation of appearances on his part. The Church wasn’t particularly happy. But an heir is an heir. And it helped that their first born was a son. Jeonghan had no qualms about lying to the Church officials. He isn’t very religious anyway. It’s slightly slimey behavior, maybe even Machiavellian. But it worked, so all he does is pat himself on the back.

He often ruminates over the many happenings in the castle when he sits in his study late at night, something strong in his glass that he swirls round and round, watching the brown liquid catch the light from the fireplace. He should be asleep, but on hectic days, he needs the peace and quiet before he can retire for the night. The castle beyond his doors is silent, which he appreciates. He has too much on his shoulders on most days, so he craves peace during nighttime.

Heavy footsteps sound in the corridor outside, making Jeonghan’s eyes shift to the door. They draw closer, and the heavy oak door pushes open. A head of dark hair pops in.

“I had a feeling you would be awake.”

Jeonghan huffs and goes back to his drink. There’s shuffling, then the door shuts carefully. More footsteps. Seungcheol lowers himself on the armchair across from his friend with a heavy sigh.

“You should definitely be asleep though.” He counters, watching the King run a hand through his hair, leaving it messy and not in the pristine condition it is always in. In the dim light of the fire, he can see the tiny lines on the corners of Seungcheol’s eyes, something he noticed around his own too. They are getting older.

Seungcheol more so, maybe, since he spends any free moment of his time running around with his children.

Speaking of.

“Your son was here today, I think.” Jeonghan sets his own glass down so he can pour his friend a drink. Seungcheol frowns.

“In your study? Why do you say that?”

He hands over the glass, returning to his own. “Well, he decided to use that fancy quill set his uncle got him to scribble all over some very important documents. And no one else in this castle can match his doodling skills.”

Seungcheol groans and barks out a laugh, shaking his head. Prince Seungwoo already has a reputation of leaving no room in this massive castle unexplored. No one is surprised that he managed to find Jeonghan’s study and thought it was a treasure trove he could mess with.

“I don’t know who he takes after.” Seungcheol mumbles tiredly, but his voice is laced with affection. “Can’t be me, I’ve always followed rules to the maximum.”

Jeonghan scoffs at that. “You were sleeping with the Princess when you were a Knight.”

Seungcheol’s foot lashes out, kicking Jeonghan hard on the calf. The man groans and winces, leaning down to run a hand over the throbbing area. He gives Seungcheol a scowl. Both of them snort, letting out small laughs.

Jeonghan watches as his friend leans back a bit and closes his eyes, sighing deeply and relaxing into the armchair. His glass is almost empty, and he contemplates filling it again when Seungcheol speaks up.

“My life doesn’t feel real sometimes.”

Jeonghan smiles slightly, making up his mind and reaching for the drink. If the conversation is headed that way, he definitely needs more alcohol.

“I can understand that.”

“I liked her from the moment I swore an oath to her.” He continues. “I went to see her afterward in her chambers. She was upset about her circumstances. She looked so angry and pained. I was surprised because I imagined she would be just as pliant as any other woman married into this castle. But she wasn’t.”

Jeonghan doesn’t interrupt.

“From that very first day I knew I liked her as more than just her Knight. And it ate away at me. I felt so guilty, so unclean for thinking of her the way that I did. But….”

Seungcheol’s eyes pop open. When he smiles at Jeonghan, his cheeks indents with a dimple.

“But I never imagined that not even a decade later, she would be my wife, the mother of my two children.”

Jeonghan can’t help but smile back, chuckling a little. “Life can surprise you, can’t it?”

Seungcheol shrugs. “Life. And you. I owe a lot of it to you.”

Jeonghan waves the acknowledgement off, shaking his head. But he knows Seungcheol is right. Moments like these do stroke his ego, but he doesn’t think they are unwarranted. His accomplishments shouldn’t be diminished or dismissed. He did what he did. And he takes pride in that.

“We need to find you someone.” Seungcheol mumbles, throwing back the last of his drink. Jeonghan laughs.

“I’m not letting you meddle with my love life.”

Seungcheol gawks at him. “After all the meddling you did with mine?”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response, only finishing his own drink. Seungcheol just shakes his head and stands.

“Leaving already?”

He nods. “Sorry, but I miss my wife too much. You wouldn’t know about that, would you?”

Jeonghan makes a mock offended face. “Ouch. You’ve grown very harsh, Your Majesty.”

“Shut up.”

Jeonghan only laughs, settling back into his armchair. The door closes, footsteps fade, and all is quiet again. Briefly, Jeonghan contemplates getting some paperwork done if he’s going to be awake anyway, but his body has a pleasant buzz now. He feels warm and cozy. So he doesn’t want to get up. His leg still twinges a little bit, a reminder of everything he has been through.

Living through a war makes him appreciate the peace so much more.

But the fighting is over now, and he is on his way back.

His horse feels thrumming and alive under his thighs, the slide of strong muscle back and forth as it prattles on. He is towards the front of the formation, if they can still call it that. Everyone had relaxed slightly once they entered their own borders. Some men slowed, some sped up, impatient to get back. The caravans trudge on steadily behind him, and Seungcheol’s back screams. The day is still fresh, the afternoon sun still fairly high in the sky, and according to Seungcheol’s calculations, they would reach the castle before sundown. It would be best, since he doesn’t think Jeonghan can take another day of bumpy traveling. His mangled leg worries Seungcheol every day.

There are multiple reasons Seungcheol wants to keep going as fast as he possibly can. There are, of course, the injured, including his friend who nearly got his leg chopped off in the battle that ensured their key victory. Seokmin keeps saying Jeonghan is stable, and the leg is salvageable, but Seungcheol cannot remember the last time he saw so much blood come from just one person. Jeonghan is deathly pale as it is, and while Seungcheol likes teasing him about how sickly he looks even on his best days, he doesn’t like the idea of his friend getting worse.

Then, there’s the thought of you, waiting every day for his arrival back at the castle. Six months he has not seen you. Has not taken in the sight of your wide eyes, your pure, soft, unblemished skin, how heated your skin feels under his cold fingertips. Seungcheol thinks about it every night, near constant, hears your voice ring in his ears. He thinks he is starved, his heart withering until it feels dead and yellowed.

The closer Seungcheol gets to the capital, the more he sees how clean the streets are. Large banners hang along the sides, bearing war slogans, and as they progress, the crowd on either side gets thicker, the cheers getting louder. Seungcheol is tired, but he keeps a straight face. Many of the folks are crying, many wave their handkerchiefs at him. He feels his heart skip, his chest swell. This feels so foreign, but it brings a sense of closure he has not yet felt when it comes to the war.

To his right, he can see Joshua grinning ear to ear. He looks battered and tired, but his smile is brilliant and bright. Seungcheol wonders why he can’t muster his own, why he feels like he weighs so much, weight that comes not from his armor or the sword hanging on his waist, but something he can’t pinpoint.

When the castle towers enter his line of vision from afar, his heart leaps. He knows he shouldn’t push, but he cannot help it. He digs his heels into his horse slightly, urging a speed up. The men beside and behind him start matching his pace. Seungcheol wonders if they feel as desperate as him, but he discards the thought. He doubts it. His yearning transcends anything earthly in this moment.

He is sure the herald he sent ahead about his arrival has reached you, and castle preparations are in full swing. Things have been different since he was announced Heir Presumptive, a change he is still getting used to. He refuses to break some habits, like when his men asked him to ride in a carriage instead of leading the formation on his own stead. He declined, wanting eyes on his surroundings as they traveled. Unfortunately, war has left him jumpy and paranoid. He put Jeonghan in the carriage meant for himself, leg elevated, and instead climbed upon his horse, urging everyone forward. He also refused to return early without key members of his troop. These men had pledged allegiance to him in battle, and they had carried through. He would be damned if he left anyone behind. Besides, Mingyu reassured him that he had everything under control on the frontlines.

“You did everything you could in a war that wasn’t even yours to begin with.” The man had said as he bid farewell to Seungcheol’s platoon. “You need to return home and claim your rightful Throne.”

Seungcheol had huffed, still not accustomed to the idea. Mingyu only patted him hard on the shoulder.

“Hey,” he leaned close to talk in a low voice, “when you go back, you better make an honest woman out of my sister.”

Seungcheol blinked, mouth slightly ajar at the request. If Mingyu meant marrying you, then of course. Seungcheol wouldn’t want it any other way. He can do that now, as Jeonghan had extensively assured him. When he gave Mingyu a confused look, the man only gave back a sly smile.

“There’s a surprise waiting for you back home. Don’t worry about it.”

The words lingered in Seungcheol’s head throughout his journey, coming back time to time as he wondered what this surprise might be. He doesn’t think anything can be a bigger shock than him suddenly being a monarch of a large country, but at this point, he doesn’t put anything above the realm of possibility. So as the castle gates rise in his vision, his anticipation only grows.

Church bells sound as the troops draw near. Loud and booming, announcing their arrival. He can see the castle doors part. The cheers and cries grow louder. Seungcheol blinks against the dust in the air, and his eyes finally spot a familiar face past the gates. Standing tall, his spectacles hanging around his neck, Wonwoo smiles widely. He is like a sight for sore eyes, and Seungcheol feels relief loosen his stomach. It’s strange, seeing someone not covered in dirt and soot. But he is a welcome sight.

Seungcheol slows as he approaches the gates, wondering if he should dismount. He is still unfamiliar with how this works. He half wishes Jeonghan was by his shoulder to tell him what to do.

Right. Speaking of Jeonghan.

“Your Majesty,” Wonwoo greets. Seungcheol blinks as the man bows. He doesn’t speak, but he does not need to, because Wonwoo continues.

“In the name of this castle and all who dwell in it, I bid you welcome home. May your victory be long remembered, and your reign ever strengthened by it.”

Seungcheol’s throat tightens.

Wonwoo steps to the side and gestures at the party to move. Seungcheol follows his cue, trudging forward onto the cobblestone path that leads to the main hall. The large oak doors stand apart, the sprawling stairway leading up to it is crowded on both sides by castle clergy, noblemen and staff. Standing in the middle of the open doorway is a stationary figure, hands folded in front of a brilliant maroon dress.

Seungcheol breath hitches.

His horse stops a few feet before the first step. Wonwoo gestures, and Seungcheol dismounts. His hands are shaking on the reins, but he manages to keep his knees steady. His armor clinks.

Before Seungcheol can move forward, you are already descending the stairs. He spots Eunhee right behind you, lifting one side of the dress so you don’t trip. It’s grander than anything he has seen you wear, layers and layers of cloth despite how hot the weather is draped over your figure. Without thinking, he steps forward, ready to kneel to you as he always does. But before he can, you are mere feet away from him. He watches, jaw going slack as your knees lower, your waist bending as you bow.

He knows his first instinct. He wants to stop you immediately. You bowing before him is unacceptable, but he is hit with reality when all the noblemen and clergy follow right behind you. He is reminded, viscerally, that he is their new King. Your new King.

He doesn’t know how he feels about this.

When you rise, his throat knots, and he wants nothing more than to do the same, to show you his respect. When he looks at Wonwoo, he thinks the steward can read his mind. Very slightly, only so he can see, Wonwoo moves his head side to side.

He can’t kneel.

It’s a blur how Seungcheol is swept along with the procession to the Dining Hall. It is decked with bright gold and maroon drapings, celebratory banners and decoration meant for his arrival. He has just enough time to tell Wonwoo to send for help immediately for Jeonghan, and his heart eases a little when he looks back and sees Jeonghan’s carriage being led to the infirmary. He wishes he could stop all this and stay by his friend’s side instead. Or drop everything and go to you, but he can’t.

Being royalty is already annoying him. And that heavy weight on his chest hasn’t gone away.

The feast is grand. Seungcheol is pulled into conversation with castle clergy who he can already understand are buttering him up. The archbishop greets him jovially, and Seungcheol feels it is genuine, since he knows the man has always liked him and despised Seojoon. So he must be very happy. He reunites with familiar faces, uses any free time to ask Wonwoo about any injured he can think of, and if they are receiving care. You are seated too far from him for his liking, and briefly, Seungcheol recalls the days when he was still your Knight, which meant he was constantly by your side.

He misses you terribly.

The feast goes on for hours, with entertainment he cannot refuse. He knows the people are happy about the war ending. He doesn’t have the heart to stop them from celebrating. Eventually, he cannot take it anymore, and he turns to Wonwoo again, who stands by his shoulder.

“I’m tired and still covered in grime.” He mutters. “Any way I can be excused?”

Wonwoo laughs. “Excused? You are our King, Your Majesty. You leave any time you wish to.”

Seungcheol blinks. Right.

Wonwoo and some castle guards walk him into grand chambers he has never seen before. They mimic yours in layout and size, maybe even larger, but they feel cold and impersonal. At this point, he doesn’t care, dismissing staff and stripping so he can bathe. The hot water feels glorious on his tired muscles, but his bruises and cuts scream under it. He avoids wetting the bandage on his side, a still healing wound, but scrubs off any dirt on himself. He feels like he has lost pounds of weight by the time he is slipping on a simple tunic and trousers.

Wonwoo is waiting in an armchair in front of the fireplace when Seungcheol emerges from the bath. A chambermaid is serving steaming hot tea, and Seungcheol’s chest squeezes again.

“Where is Her Majesty? Still at the party?”

Wonwoo does not look surprised at the question. “She retired to her chambers before you did.”

Seungcheol frowns. “Who escorted her?”

Wonwoo chuckles a little. “Your Majesty, you do not have to worry about things like that anymore. You are not her knight. They are not your concern.”

Irritation plucks at him. He knows it’s not warranted. It’s not Wonwoo’s fault, but he wants to yell at the man. He grits his teeth hard until his jaw stings.

“I would rather have tea with her.” He instead bluntly states.

Wonwoo blinks and nods. “Of course. I will see to it that she arrives here shortly.”

“Don’t bother.” Seungcheol interrupts harshly. “I will go see her myself.”

Wonwoo stands, and the handmaid follows, a few paces behind him. “Your Majesty, you don’t need to go to her anymore. She will come to you-”

“No.” He can hear his anger in his own voice. He knows Wonwoo hears it too. “I will go. You can stay here. Or do whatever you want, I do not care.”

The steward looks like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing. Seungcheol ignores him, trudging right past the man to his chamber doors, tugging them open. He walks all the way across the castle to a path that feels like second nature to him. When he finally spots your door, he looks back at the two guards who have been scrambling to keep up with him since he left his chambers.

“You two, go.” He gestures. “You are done for the night.”

He can feel their hesitation, but they don’t dare refuse. Seungcheol gives the single guard at your door a pointed look. Something in his face must translate, because that man scrambles off as well, leaving him alone at your door.

For some reason, he can feel his nerves. Five months, twenty four days and twenty five nights.

The oak handles are a familiar weight under his hand. He pushes them open, and only when he steps inside does he realise he probably should have knocked. The thought is banished from his head when he spots you, sitting in your usual armchair. Eunhee sits next to a small table, preparing tea. You do not look up from the fireplace.

“You came.” You whisper. “I didn’t think you would.”

Your voice hits his ears, and Seungcheol feels like he has walked into a waterfall, hit by the falling waves, head underwater.

“I’m insulted that you believed I wouldn’t.” He manages to reply.

You turn your head then. When your eyes meet his, he feels a shock zip through his entire body, lighting it on fire.

“Eunhee.” He mumbles, not looking away from you. The maid stops her movements. “Go to your room. Soonyoung is anxious to see you.”

A small silence later, Eunhee merely nods and stands, slipping quietly past him. When he hears the door shut behind him, he finally moves.

He closes the distance between himself and where you sit, and immediately, like it calls for him, he drops to his knees before you. You gasp and sit up.

“Don’t do that!” Your voice is sharp. “You’re not-”

Your hands reach his shoulders to stop him. He abruptly catches them in his own. Your skin is deliciously soft against the rough callouses on his palms.

“Please.” He whispers. “Let me do this.”

You stare, and he stares back. Slowly, he bows his head, placing it gently on your left knee. You do not stop him. His hands stay holding yours, because he cannot bear to let go. The weight that plagued his shoulders lifts just slightly, and Seungcheol feels like his breath does not sting as much when he inhales.

“I’m supposed to be bowing to you.” You finally say. Your tone is amused. Seungcheol feels lighter by the second. He shakes his head just enough for you to feel it.

“Don’t do that ever again.” He mumbles, not lifting his head. “I almost killed myself.”

You laugh, the clear, pleasant sound floating into his head, scratching at it so good he can feel the wave of tears hit him. You detach your right hand from his, and seconds later, he feels the fingers card through his scalp. A shiver runs down his torso.

“It’s longer.” You comment. “No barbers on the frontlines?”

He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, finally looking up at you. You look stunning up close, your skin bright and supple under the light from the fireplace. You look divine, and Seungcheol takes the sight in with hungry eyes. It seems you are doing the same.

“How has war made you even more handsome?” You tease. He laughs again. The weight is lifting, lifting, lifting.

He lets you continue to card your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp every now and then. Your fingers trace his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. His eyes flutter, lips part when you press your thumb to them. He stays kneeling, arms draped over your lap, letting you touch any part of him you can reach.

For the first time in months, he feels peace.

“Talk to me.” You hum. “You’re thinking. I can see it.”

Gently, you tap the space between his eyebrows. Seungcheol sighs.

“I’ve missed you so much. Every second of every day.”

Your face, already so soft, seems to relax even more. “Me too. I thought about you constantly.”

“As did I.”

You hum. “So why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

Seungcheol chuckles at the petulant tone in your voice. He sits up on his knees just a bit, enough to lean up so his lips will brush yours. He smells your sweet perfume, exactly how he left it, and the familiarity makes him surge forward, finally pressing his lips to yours.

He thinks he is drinking from the fountain of youth when he kisses you. Every nerve in his body lights up. Every muscle in his limbs loosens. For the first time in weeks, it’s like he cannot feel every injury on his skin throb and twinge. He loses himself in this feeling, in how soft you are, nothing like the rough, hard conditions he has been accustomed to for so long. You taste the same, the flavor that makes him heady, the one he is addicted to. He kisses you harder, moves his lips with almost feverish intensity, one hand reaching up to cup the back of your head, tugging you down a bit more. You whine so sweetly, his head spins.

“We have to be careful.” You mumble into his mouth.

“I locked the doors.” He replies, eyes rolling as his tongue brushes yours.

“No, not like that.” When you pull away, he almost groans, biting it back and trying not to sound like he’s dying. He can’t help his frown though, and you laugh.

“Don’t pout, Seungcheol.” His name from your lips makes his heart skip. “I have news.”

He huffs and finally sits back again in front of your legs. He makes sure to scowl so you can see he would rather do less talking, but you only giggle. You shift forward a little, standing up slowly.

“Help me undress?”

That he can do. He scrambles to stand up, gently turning you around so your back is to him. You are draped in various clothes. He removes the piece draped over your shoulders, a large cloak that goes all the way to your feet. Then, he undoes the knot at the back of your neck, brushing the cloth off your shoulders. He eyes the bare skin hungrily as it comes into view. He can’t help but lean forward, pressing his lips to your shoulder. He can hear you sigh.

Once the first layer of dress falls, Seungcheol eyes your back in confusion.

“No corset?”

You shake your head. “Haven’t worn one in months.”

Before he can ask why, you turn around. Seungcheol’s eyes shoot down. His jaw goes slack.

Silence fills your chambers. Firewood crackles. Seungcheol feels lightheaded, like the ground was snatched from under his feet. He stares and stares, but he feels like the voice has been stolen right from him. He can’t speak. His mind runs, scrambles.

“Are you upset with me?” You finally say, and the trepidation in your voice makes his stupor break immediately.

“What?” His eyes almost bulge from his head. “Why- why would I be upset with you? You’re-”

You’re carrying my child.

He doesn’t say it, because the gravity of the statement is almost too much to bear. Unconsciously, he reaches forward, brushes his hand over the large swell of your stomach. The skin is taut under your chemise, but you don’t move away. You let him feel, even though Seungcheol is not entirely sure what he is feeling. He releases a shaky breath, and a wave of tears washes over him once again.

“I didn’t think it possible that I could love you more than I already did.” He whispers. “Clearly, from what I’m feeling right now, I was wrong.”

He can see the unshed tears in your own eyes, and he reaches up to wipe under them just as they fall, catching the little droplets on the tips of his thumbs.

“I didn’t want to tell you in a letter.” Your voice is shaky. “I didn’t want it to be intercepted. No one knows except Eunhee. There are rumors but with everything else happening, people don’t really care about this anymore.”

“And you?” He presses. “You’re okay?”

You laugh quietly. “The beginning was very uncomfortable. But I’m okay now.”

Seungcheol feels a twinge of regret. “I should’ve been here.”

You shake your head. “You were fighting for us.”

Us. Seungcheol feels overwhelmed as another wave of emotions washes over him. He can’t help himself anymore, leaning forward and kissing you hard. You make a small, surprised noise, but kiss him back, matching his intensity. He feels your hands grip his arms and shoulders, squeezing and rubbing, feeling him. Your tongue meets his and he groans.

“Can- can we still….?” He can’t help himself. You nod enthusiastically.

“Just have to be a little careful.”

He moans again, nodding. He grips and squeezes your hips, admiring how the skin gives under his touch. You’re even more supple than before, and he wants to feel you without any cloth. He’s impatient, he can’t wait anymore. He has been pent up for so long, left only with the memory of how your body feels against his, how amazing it feels to slide into you.

He’s careful as he guides you back to your bed, pulling apart the silk drapings around it and laying you carefully on the mattress. He tugs off the last piece of clothing on your body, and Seungcheol thinks he might come right there.

Never before did he think he would find you so sexy like this, round with his baby in you, all curves and plump flesh. You’ve always been soft, skin pampered and taken care of your whole life, but now you glow with it, filled up in all the right places. Your chest has swollen, your hips are wider, your stomach so beautifully round, all the changes that make you look so….. his head spins with all the vulgar thoughts in them. His mouth waters. He wonders immediately if you taste different now. He wants to know so badly.

He lowers himself between your legs, spreads them to the sides carefully. Your chest is heaving and falling already, and he can see, even in the dim light, that you’re dripping.

“My love.” He coos. “Have you missed me?”

He can’t see your face, but he hears your trembling whimper. Music to his ears. He leans forward, swipes his tongue through the mess between your lower lips. He hums as the taste floods his mouth.

He was right. It’s different. He loves it.

He eats you out like he’s starved. And he is. He has dreamed of this, your juices on his tongue, his nose, suffocating him deliciously. He keeps your legs open the best that he can with his shoulders, one hand holding your left thigh, the other reaching up to brush over your bump. You sigh and moan, and the sound only spurs him on. He sucks hard at your little nub, flicking his tongue back and forth. The more time that goes on, the more desperate he is to make you get to your high. He wants to feel it, wants to bury his tongue deep into your walls and feel them convulse around it. You grant him his wish. And his chest squeezes when he realises you might be just as pent up as he is when you reach your high abnormally quickly, crying out as it hits you full force.

He sucks, licks and laps at you through it, carefully holding your hips down so you don’t jerk and twitch too much. He loves it when you writhe under him, your body succumbing to how he’s making you feel, but he wants to be extra careful. He knows you like it hard, but he doesn’t know how much you can take now.

He cleans you up after your release, licking all over you until you're nice and shiny with his spit. His cock is twitching and leaking desperately, and as he surfaces, licking his lips, he feels like he can no longer delay it. If he doesn’t get inside you immediately, he’s going to explode.

You seem to be on the same page. You’re flushed, panting, covered in sweat in that sexy way that makes him lightheaded, but you’re already tugging on his shirt, urging him to take it off. He obliges, following with his pants right after. He hears you gasp and stiffen, and he realises that he forgot he is covered in injuries.

“Seungcheol, my god.” You sit up, eyeing his unclothed skin. The cut on his shoulder is finally closed and well on its way to healing, but it looks particularly horrible, and he is marred with bruises and cuts all over. Your eye catches the large bandage on his side, and your face crumples.

“It’s okay.” Seungcheol rushes to reply, moving closer to you. He runs a hand over your arm soothingly. “I’m fine. Most of these are old and already half healed.”

“Are- are you sure?” Your voice is thin and trembling. He immediately nods.

“I promise. Have I ever lied to you before?”

You let out a shaky breath and shake your head. You are still eyeing him with apprehension.

“My dear.” He whispers. It catches your attention. “I’m more than okay. Especially now, with you right here, right under me. Let me have you, darling. Please.”

Your eyes cloud. You sigh when he runs his lips over your neck. Slowly, Seungcheol coaxes you to lie back again, settling between your legs. He runs his hand reverently up your thighs to the apex. He prods between them, finding your opening, but you catch his wrist before he can slip a finger in.

“Don’t need it.” You mumble. Seungcheol blinks.

“It’s been too long, my love. It will hurt-”

“Wanna feel it.” You whisper. Seungcheol eyes you, mouth dropped open at the heat in your eyes, the hunger in them. He feels his brain slowly shut off, clouded by the thick fog of lust settling over it. He shuffles forward, grips the base of his cock so he can run the head right through the mess between your legs. You whine in that way he finds so pretty, and he dips the tip just inside before pulling out. Your face crumples.

“Seungcheol, please.” Your hands fist the sheets on either side of your head. “Wanted you for so long. I’ve been so- so empty. I wanna be filled. Please don’t tease-”

You gasp when he slides in, your words lost as he carves his way through your walls. Seungcheol’s moan cracks, hand slamming into the mattress to hold himself up. You’re so tight, tighter than he has ever felt you. Hell, you’re tighter than the first time he had you. Yet, you’re wetter than the ocean, and he glides through the resistance like you’re welcoming him in, your walls hungry, squeezing and pressing so deliciously it makes his cock throb. Seungcheol’s entire body shakes. He groans and cums.

It encompasses him like a freefall. He feels nearly weightless with it, like you’re sucking it out of him. He chases it, thrusting weakly, not even pulling out properly, to try and prolong it. His vision swims, but he doesn’t care. You’re crying and moaning, a sound that is distant to his ears.

“Did- did you just….?” You gasp.

“I’m not done.” He grits out, pulling out all the way and slamming inside. You shriek. His orgasm ebbs, but his cock is still throbbing, hard as ever. He sits up, grips your hips tightly, and finally, he fucks you like he knows you deserve.

You’re a vision under him, laid out glowing with sweat and twisting, squirming on the bed. Your breasts, so full and plump, bounce with every thrust, and Seungcheol can’t help but reach up, gripping one tightly and squeezing. His thumb brushes your nipple and you cry out.

“Sensitive.” You manage to gasp. Seungcheol’s cock twitches where it rams inside you.

“Yeah?” He groans, leaning forward as much as he can. It’s enough to reach your chest, and he pops a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.

“God.” You weep, hand reaching to wind into his hair and tug harshly. Seungcheol groans, suckles like he’s hungry for it, and his head spins when he thinks of how full your breasts must already be, waiting to feed his child. He thinks he has lost his mind, but he doesn’t really care. He pulls away enough to sink his teeth lightly into the meat of your breast. You whimper.

“You’re so sexy.” He groans. “The perfect woman. You’re radiant, my love. So good for me.”

The praise makes you moan, your back arching, and Seungcheol thinks he’s going to faint. He’s dizzy, he’s sweating, you look so delicious under him that he wishes he could lick over every inch of your body. Your cunt makes shameful noises, squelching as he slides through the cum he has already put inside you, aiding his movements. It drips from you, forms a white ring around your opening, coats his shaft. It’s so dirty, so filthy, but he loves it. This is like his wildest dreams and fantasies colliding all in one.

“Tell me how much you missed me.” He groans, leaning forward to plant his hands on either side of your head, eyeing your pretty, flushed face.

“M-missed you so much, Cheol.” The nickname makes his heart lurch. “Thought about this every night. Got- got so wet just thinking about it. Wanted to touch myself. But I couldn’t. Only you get to touch me down there.”

“Fuck.” This was a bad idea. You’re going to make him cum again, and he doesn’t want that yet. He wants to fuck you for hours and hours. All night, all day tomorrow, every single minute he missed while he was away.

“Putting a baby in you wasn’t enough?” He goads, voice rough as he thrusts. “You still wanted more? So greedy, my love. Can’t be satisfied unless you’re fucked every day, can you?”

Never in his wildest dreams did Seungcheol think he would ever speak to you this way. Maybe in his most depraved moments, hand wrapped around his cock, he has wondered about it, but he never thought he would ever let such words leave his lips. But he watches your eyes widen, filled with unshed tears, your lips part, and you squeeze around him so tightly he thinks he will suffocate. You nod feverishly, a sound leaving the very back of your throat, your nails clawing at the sheets.

“Need to be fucked every day.” You mumble.

Seungcheol groans. God, he loves this. Vocabulary that shouldn’t even be anywhere near a queen’s mouth, spewing from your lips like you crave his approval.

“I’ll give it to you.” He grits out. “Every day. Multiple times a day. As much as you need. You want my cock, I’m there.”

Your back arches abruptly, a cry releasing from your chest. You squeeze tight around him, and Seungcheol fucks you through your orgasm. You pulse and squeeze his cock like your walls are alive, and it takes everything in Seungcheol’s power to not dump another load of his seed inside you. He pushes through until your high ebbs, slowing to a stop before carefully pulling out.

“I’m not done with you.” He whispers into your cheek, turning you so you’re lying on your side, settling behind you so he can slide inside you again.

……………………………………

The days following Seungcheol’s return are wildly eventful.

The castle moves in two distinct tones. On the outside, it presents the state of grief and mourning, as everyone practices silence to show respect for the late King. It is important, both Jeonghan and Wonwoo emphasize this repeatedly, that you appear as muted as you possibly can. This proves particularly difficult for you since you are so deliriously happy about Seungcheol’s return. While you are trained in maintaining appearances, you realise there are some emotions that even you cannot tamp down.

Seungcheol finds the whole situation hilarious.

“I think it’s cute.” He comments as he watches Eunhee lace you up in a deep violet gown. You’ve been wearing exclusively dark colors since the period of mourning was announced, as the new Queen Dowager.

“Pray tell, how is any of this cute?” You mumble, already cranky even though the morning has just begun.

“You being so happy that no matter how hard you try, you can’t pretend otherwise.” He grins. You roll your eyes, but your face still heats. You can see Eunhee fighting a smile.

“You’re one to talk, Your Majesty.” You shoot back. “Soonyoung told me you and Jeonghan stayed up very late last night drinking the hours away.”

Seungcheol balks. “Soonyoung told you?”

“Well, he told Eunhee.”

Seungcheol’s eyes meet the handmaid’s. She has the decency to look sheepish.

“I can’t keep secrets for her, Your Majesty.” She explains. “She’s still upset with me that I didn’t immediately share your mother’s letter with her.”

You sniffle. “As I should be. Your loyalty should lie with me only, Eunhee.”

“My god.” Seungcheol sighs dramatically. “My soon-to-be wife is already testing me.”

Your cheeks flame again. You reach for the hairbrush Eunhee just used, chucking it in Seungcheol’s general direction. It misses him by a whole two feet. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Looks like we’ve found something you’re bad at.” He teases. You have nothing else to throw, so you just glare. But there’s no heat behind it. Eunhee is trying not to laugh.

Things have changed between you and Seungcheol since his return. Some barrier has broken, you don’t know what exactly, but he feels like a long lost companion that you finally got back. His change in status worried him initially, and he missed being your knight, but he realised quickly enough that being your husband meant he had access to parts of you he didn’t have previously. Like these harmless moments of teasing and bickering. War has sharpened you too, in the time that he was away. You’re quicker now, wittier, and you don’t take little things to heart as much as you used to. You’ve grown thicker skin, which Seungcheol has always rooted for, and it has made you “spicier”. That’s the word he uses, quite proudly in fact, and you feel a certain sense of accomplishment in it as well.

When Wonwoo shows up to go through the tasks for the day, he is not alone. Jeonghan is right behind him, and you are pleasantly surprised to see him in your chambers.

“Nice to see that you’re out and about.” You comment, eyeing the cane he leans heavily on as he makes his way to your sofa. “How is the leg doing?”

“Getting better every day.” Jeonghan replies jovially. He gives Seungcheol a pat on the shoulder, and Eunhee quickly rushes to prepare tea for everyone. Wonwoo, focused as always, launches into your schedule.

While the mourning period is in full swing, castle staff is busy preparing for the next big event, which is Seungcheol’s coronation. Jeonghan was adamant that it needed to be rushed along as quickly as possible. Until that crown is on Seungcheol’s head, the throne remains threatened. You wholeheartedly agree, since you know it would be easy for castle clergy to stage a coup, despite Church interference. Seungcheol has been busy meeting with the commonfolk, his schedule packed and everything designed to make sure his transition to the Throne is as seamless as possible. Jeonghan is dictating his time with an iron fist, so mornings and evenings are the only time you actually see him. You don’t mind. You’ve lived without him for so long that just knowing he is around is enough to set your mind at ease. And you know how important everything he is doing is.

The coronation looms ever nearer, and with that milestone fast approaching, Seungcheol had sat Wonwoo down, revealing to him his intentions, in that after his coronation, he wants to marry you.

To say Wonwoo was shocked was an understatement. He had taken a long moment of silence, just staring at the distance as he processed. You worried you had broken his brain, but soon enough he started planning, as he always does. As your personal steward, your best interests are his greatest priority. And he has made it clear that he is very much on board with you maintaining your status as a reigning queen.

“It is controversial, of course.” He had mumbled after he sat with the information for a whole day. “A previous Knight, your Knight to be exact, now taking you as his wife. People will talk. But you are no stranger to controversy. I’m sure things will settle soon enough. War has a way of making people more flexible to change. Plus, you have a good enough rapport now to pull this off, in my opinion.”

The compliment seems backhanded but you take it, just happy that Wonwoo is on board.

The upcoming coronation in this context becomes more political than you ever thought. Both Jeonghan and Wonwoo believe that your position during the ceremony will define how things will move forward between you and Seungcheol. So, on the day of, you are placed at the very front, surrounded by your staff, still in colors of mourning, but placed prominently enough that it plants a seed in people’s heads. It’s not a direct statement, but it’s almost like the first glimpse.

Seungcheol looks grand.

You saw his attire for the coronation beforehand. You even approved a lot of the changes, but seeing it on him, the fabric filled up by his stature, feels entirely different. He stands tall, broad shouldered and confident, an air around him that demands respect and screams authority. He is studded with all his accomplishments as a Knight, medals that gleam along with the pieces of armor he has also dawned. Arm guards and some chest plates. It’s more symbolic than anything. Jeonghan wants to establish Seungcheol’s transition very prominently from war hero to reigning king, as it solidifies his stance. Both you and Seungcheol trust him completely. And as Seungcheol walks down the cathedral towards the archbishop, the image truly is powerful. You feel a shiver run down your spine, eyeing the strong cut of his jaw, the straight lines of his profile as he walks up to the podium.

You cannot believe you are lucky enough to have him. All of him.

You watch Seungcheol lower his head, and the archbishop smear a small amount of holy oil on the crown of his head. Seungcheol’s sword hangs prominently at his waist, clinking just slightly as he kneels. The Royal Crown is placed on his head. And finally, he stands.

It’s done.

The finality of the moment is overwhelming. With all the noblemen, the clergy, important political families and many members of Seungcheol’s platoon present, Seungcheol takes oath. The air shifts with it, almost like it’s clearing, a new chapter beginning. You close your eyes briefly, keeping your face as neutral as possible, knowing eyes are on you. You fought for this, for Seungcheol’s position, with everything in you. Those closest to you, Wonwoo, Eunhee, saw your struggle. You feel that, for the first time in your life, you have asserted yourself as an integral part of history. You have changed the course of this whole nation, absolutely for the better. Your contributions are life altering, and your presence does not feel secondary anymore.

If only your mother could see you now.

The feast arranged afterwards is grand, but tinged with an air of sobriety. Of course, Seungcheol’s appointment post-war and in lieu of an old King dying in said war means that there can be no hearty celebration. It’s fine, since you know Seungcheol really doesn’t like over the top and gaudy festivities. The meal is rife with conversation but nothing inappropriate. Mingyu is there, a show of his allegiance, and he sits beside you for dinner. You had revealed your predicament to him just last night, and even now he is buzzing with the excitement of a nephew or niece, despite your many attempts to get him to settle. His energy is contagious, and you find your own excitement growing too.

As the feast wraps up, Seungcheol has meetings set with the Council, so he leaves. You are more than happy to retire to your chambers and put your feet up. You grow tired easily these days, and any energy you have left, you would like to reserve for when Seungcheol comes to see you after the sun goes down. You know he might be very late today, given how busy he is, so you let Eunhee change you out of your heavy dress, slipping into your night clothes and easing onto the bed, sighing in relief.

You don’t even remember when you knock out. You are roused from sleep by the feeling of hands lingering on your waist, traveling forward to run affectionately over your protruding stomach. You sigh at the warmth on your back, relaxing into Seungcheol’s arms.

“Missed you.” You mumble.

“I know.” He lays a soft kiss on your shoulder. “It’s very late, my love. Sleep.”

You make a noise of complaint and shift, turning towards him. “No. Missed you.”

When you kiss him, it’s clear what you want. You tug at his shoulders, trying to pull him ever closer. You can feel his lips twist up against yours, a light chuckle leaving his mouth.

“Now?” He asks, but he is already pushing your nightdress up to your hips. “You’re insatiable.”

You hum, not denying it. There’s no point to it. You need him, the image of him at his coronation still lingering in your head.

“It’s your fault.” You mumble into his lips. His fingers find your heat, and he groans at how wet you already are. “You looked so handsome with a crown on your head.”

That gets a loud laugh out of him as he positions you both so you are more comfortable. Some more shuffling and you finally feel him prod at your entrance.

“Were you really thinking dirty thoughts in a cathedral, darling?” He hums, pushing inside. You sigh in relief as he slowly fills you up. “Shameful behavior. What would our archbishop say?”

You don’t even bother answering, because he’s already moving, angled just perfectly the way you want him. Your brain empties out as it always does when he’s with you like this, nothing but pure pleasure simmering under your skin. You’re still half asleep, and that somehow makes everything feel more intense. Seungcheol caresses every part of you he can reach as he gives you exactly what you want.

“Can’t wait to marry you.” He rasps. “Finally, you’ll be mine.”

“‘M already yours.” You reply, back arching as your high builds.

“Mine for the world to see.” He corrects. “Everyone who will look at you will know you belong to me. And after you have my child-”

He groans, speeds up. You’re almost there.

“I’m just gonna put another one in you.”

You cry out as you cum, shaking through it, feeling your insides warm as Seungcheol paints your walls. His voice cracks, trembles. He sighs as you both come down. And finally, he pulls out.

He doesn’t let your body get cold for even a second, enveloping you in his arms and laying kisses to any patch of skin he can find. You bask in his embrace, satisfied, head heavy with the need to sleep. Everything fades into a pinpoint, a place where only you and Seungcheol exist. Through it all, that’s really the only thing that matters.

He is the only thing that matters.

He can hear the crunching of the soil and rocks behind him, footsteps getting closer and coming to a halt right next to him. He doesn’t take his eyes off the sky. He doesn’t know when it will be this clear again, because he is prepared to watch it fill with dust, fire and smoke.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He finally breaks the silence of the quiet morning.

Beside him, Jeonghan shifts. His armor is looser, so it clinks more precariously. Seungcheol makes a mental note to tighten it for him later. Jeonghan is not trained in combat, but he can hold his own very well as a defensive fighter. Seungcheol has all the faith in the world for him.

“And leave you alone for the final battle of our lives?” His friend scoffs.

Seungcheol’s mouth twitches. Finally, he turns his head to look at the man. Jeonghan watches the distant mountains just like him.

“It’s strange.” Seungcheol mumbles. “When I left the castle, I was sure I would make it back. I was confident, maybe even arrogant, in my own skill.”

Jeonghan sighs. The wind blows through his long hair, ruffling it. “This is not a question of your skill, though.”

Seungcheol nods. “I know. It’s poor decision making.”

His friend doesn't reply. Seungcheol watches the dark blue of the sky lighten some more. The stars are slowly disappearing.

“I wish I could see her just one more time.” He confesses in a whisper.

Jeonghan shifts from one foot to another.

“Seungcheol-ah.” He says in a casual, soft tone he has not used since the two men were teenagers. The familiarity of it squeezes Seungcheol’s heart. It makes his head turn. “I have something to tell you.”

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything, waiting for his friend to continue. Somehow, this feels important.

“I talked to some people a few years ago.” He begins. “Just before I became advisor to the Crown Prince. I had questions, and I wanted answers before I accepted the appointment.”

Seungcheol stays silent.

“One of those people was Kwon Eunhee’s mother, my mother’s handmaid.” Jeonghan states. “She had connections, you know? People trusted her, especially that older generation of women. She was often there at the parlor parties. They drank a lot, turned loose-lipped. She knew a lot of things. For example, she knew why your mother left the castle.”

Seungcheol scowls. “She fell ill. She could no longer serve the Queen.”

Jeonghan sighs, and finally, he meets his friend’s eyes.

“She wasn’t ill, Seungcheol-ah. She was pregnant. With you.”

Seungcheol barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “She was not. She met my father after she left the castle.”

Jeonghan sighs, nodding. “I know that’s what she told you.”

Something gnaws at Seungcheol’s chest, like a twinge of irritation. “You think her untruthful?”

“I place no blame on her, but rather her circumstances.” Jeonghan immediately replies. “She did what she had to do for her survival, and yours. The Queen would not have let her stay, no matter what. All I know is that she was pregnant when she left, and your father- your biological one….”

Seungcheol watches his friend, comprehension slowly dawning on him like ink dropped in cold water. Slowly spreading, near torturous in its pace. He shakes his head, trying to stop it in its tracks, but the black encompasses everything, and before he knows it, Jeonghan’s meaning is laid out in front of him. Clear language that he cannot deny.

“No.” He manages to choke out.

Jeonghan looks tired, and in the early morning light, the bags under his eyes are prominent. He turns to the sky with a bleary gaze, eyelids fluttering shut like a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

“There will be no solid proof until the Queen Dowager herself confirms it.” He mumbles. “Which I doubt she will. But I got my hands on something before I left the castle. I left it with Kwon Eunhee, to be delivered to Her Majesty should you not return from this war.”

“What did you leave?” Seungcheol cannot recognise his own voice. Hollow and far away, like it is coming not from his own throat.

“A letter. Addressed to the Late King. I found it in his chambers after his death. Thankfully, no one got their hands on it before me. Or I cannot imagine the consequences.” Jeonghan shrugs. “It is from your late mother.”

Seungcheol watches the sky, the earth, but his gaze is unseeing. His mind reels, spins, and he wonders if he has still not woken. He has heard stories of his mother’s time in the castle his entire childhood. Is it true that she left out such a huge piece of them? If this is a sick dream, he should be roused from his sleep shortly, and he can put all this behind him as some wild imagination of his exhausted mind.

“She doesn’t know.” He says, referring to you. Jeonghan shakes his head.

“She has suspicions.”

Seungcheol’s head snaps up, shocked. Jeonghan takes one look at his face and decides to elaborate.

“The Queen Dowager said something to her about it.” He states. “Convoluted and not direct, but the meaning was clear enough. It’s the entire reason I thought to leave the letter to her. I had no intention of revealing this information had I not seen how distressed the mere notion of it left her.”

Distressed. Seungcheol’s heart squeezes. Has his newfound parentage left a negative impression in your mind? Will you speak to him again, look at him the same? Will he ever get the chance to explain himself to you, insist that he did not know?

Jeonghan seems to read his mind. He smiles a little, and there is placation in it.

“She is aware that none of this is in your knowledge.” He clarifies the doubt newly blooming in Seungcheol’s brain. “I made sure of that.”

It does little to settle Seungcheol’s worries. Briefly, he marvels at the fact that his first priority is still you, even though it feels like his very identity has been pulled out from under his feet. He is not surprised however, because his entire life’s purpose revolves around you. He breathes for you, bleeds for you, fights for you. It does not matter if he is under your bed covers, or thousands of miles away, standing along the border he must attack in a few hours’ time. And it does not matter whose blood runs through his veins. Jeonghan watches him, an apologetic look on his face.

“I had to tell you.” He whispers. “I could not die with this.”

When Seungcheol takes a deep breath, it is shaky and chopped. He reaches out and places a heavy hand on his friend’s shoulder, the metal of his armor sturdy under the touch. Neither of them says anything, and Seungcheol decides he cannot think about this now. He is grateful to know, but he needs to focus. His life, his men’s, and his country’s future all hang in the balance. As the tents around them shuffle, whispers and sleep-laden voices rising, he just gives Jeonghan one final look. His friend smiles back.

It’s time.

………………………………….

When Eunhee shakes you awake, you are almost braced for bad news. Every night since the war began, you have slept with the fear of being woken up with sudden news from the border. Every muscle pulled taut in dreadful anticipation. Often, you cannot even manage to sleep, tossing and turning, uncomfortable, half because you are scared and paranoid, and half because of how heavy your hips feel now, lower back aching almost constantly these last few weeks.

“A royal messenger.” Your handmaid says. “He is waiting in your parlor.”

You are barely able to blink the sleep out of your eyes. Eunhee is scrambling to get your cloak on you. You know your stomach is now big enough to show a bit, so you wrap yourself carefully with the heavy velvet. Four months in, and your swelling figure means you have to be careful. Four months in, and you’re still contemplating on what to do to reveal your predicament.

It is not a concern at this very moment, though.

The royal messenger in question is covered head to toe in mud, and stands between two guards. He is wringing his hands, and his face is lined with exhaustion. You wonder fleetingly if he has slept at all in the last few days, or if he rode continuously to get to the castle. He bows deeply when you enter, Eunhee at your heels. You give the man a questioning look, imploring him to speak.

“Your Grace.” His voice is hoarse. It trembles. “I bear grievous tidings.”

You swallow tightly, dread shooting through you immediately. You steel your knees, willing them not to give out. Your mind is a mantra of Seungcheol’s name. You don’t dare speak it.

“His Majesty fell upon the field, fighting bravely against the enemy.”

Behind you, Eunhee gasps. The two guards stiffen, their faces betraying their shock. You feel bile rise to your throat, a familiar feeling as of recent, and you grip your cloak tightly. For a few seconds, no one makes a sound.

“I need to sit.” You choke out.

Quickly, Eunhee moves you towards a sofa in the center of the room. The royal messenger stands unsurely before you, silent. You have innumerable questions, but before you can ask any of them, you need to prepare.

“You.” You point to the guard closest to you. He straightens immediately. “Go awaken Lord Jeon.”

He nods and scampers out immediately. You gesture at the tired messenger, making him sit on the chair opposite to you. No one speaks for a good while. Silence hands heavy in the room. You let the news wash over you, and part of you feels disconnected from your own body.

Seojoon is dead.

You don’t know how to feel, truly. Despite everything, he was still your husband. Your standing within these four walls was connected explicitly to him. The implications of this on you, on this castle, on the entire monarchy, are heinous.

Soon enough, the heavy doors open again, and your steward walks in, face pinched in alarm and concern when he spots you and the man. His eyelids are heavy, swollen, and his clothes ruffled. You know he got here as hastily as he could.

“Wonwoo.” You mumble. “Record everything.”

He nods silently, placing his spectacles on the bridge of his nose as he shuffles to your writing desk in the corner of the room. Once he is seated, you turn back to the man bearing the news.

“Explain.” You grit. “Because the last letter I received from my brother, the King, explained that the tides were running in our favor.”

The messenger looks uncomfortable with the question, like he didn’t expect you to ask it. You are sure he didn’t, and that he was anticipating a lot of crying, tears, maybe even hysteria, and you being slowly escorted out of the room. But circumstances have changed. While not fighting, war has changed you too. You are the only person in this castle holding everyone and everything together. And now, with Seojoon’s death, there is no one of the Royal bloodline left. There is the possibility of your child being the continuation of said bloodline. But none of them know you are with child, and even then, your suspicion on the child being of Royal blood is flimsy. As far as everyone is aware, the Crown will fall unless you step up.

But you can’t. You are a foreign Queen, previously controversial. No matter how drastically your image has been rehabilitated, you are unsure commonfolk and castle nobility will accept you. Bloodlines are sacred, and you are not credible unless you are either of the bloodline, or you carry it.

Any step you take from here onward has to be very, very careful. When your eyes meet your steward’s from across the room, you know he understands this just as much as you do.

The messenger explains the surprise attack planned for one week ago, as ordered by the King. He talks of the consequences of it, the many casualties. You wait, fingers clenched, for Seungcheol’s name to come up. Or Jeonghan’s, any name you might recognise. Any indication that they are still alive. But confusion gnaws at you, and you try to make sense of the events that transpired, try to connect them with the letter you recently received from your brother up north. You are certain Seungcheol is not stupid enough to do something like this.

“I don’t understand.” You interrupt. The messenger immediately goes silent. “Why not wait for Mingyu? Or hold off until they had more resources? What was the reason to launch an attack like this?”

The messenger hesitates. You recognise the expression immediately as the one your staff use when they are holding their tongues out of respect. You don’t stand for it, since it often means they withhold valuable information or opinions.

“Out with it.” You snap. He flinches a little at your tone.

“There was opposition to His Majesty’s plan.” His voice trembles. “His generals and advisor were against it. The Garrison Commander disagreed with it vehemently as well.”

Your breath hitches. “And?”

The messenger sighs, and you notice just how weary he looks. You wonder how much bloodshed he witnessed with his own eyes. “His Majesty insisted.”

Something in his tone contains repressed bitterness. You know for a fact that Seojoon is hard headed and stupid enough to insist on a suicidal plan like this, and your heart goes out to every soldier made to carry it out who then lost their lives. You cannot imagine what the pain of the survivors can be. Once again, you curse Seojoon. He might have died, a fitting retribution for him, but in your eyes, he took many innocents with him as well. You doubt his people will ever forgive him, even in death.

You think carefully before speaking again. “Have we lost the border?”

That makes him lighten a little. “Thankfully, no. Sir Choi was able to secure the encampment shortly after. We are at a standstill, but His Majesty Kim’s army will be joining ours in a few days. I am not aware of the plan, but I can guess it will be their last big push.”

You feel relief wash over you like a bucket of cold water. Seungcheol is alive. He survived the horrific attack events, and was planning to retaliate after meeting up with Mingyu’s troops. If they succeed, he could be coming home soon.

Wonwoo helps draft a message for the man to carry into the castle courtyard to be delivered. You instruct him to do it with tact and leave out the gruesome details of the King’s fall. While you are sure word of mouth from the soldiers will soon spread, you are smart enough to know it cannot be part of the official statement. You will not take any negative blame for ruining Seojoon’s already bleak reputation. He will do that all on his own, even as a dead man.

You gather staff quickly afterward, the sleeping castle slowly waking when solemn church bells start sounding, slow and deliberate. Drapes around the castle are quickly replaced with black ones by maids and runners. Your own clothes, heavy black velvet, signal your mourning. Only you and Eunhee know that there is no real grief in your heart. But you are not as foolish as your late husband. You will not put on a disrespectful display as he did when his father passed. You are cleverer than that. You know how to play the role.

Thankfully, heavy black clothes means it is easier to hide your growing belly. Eunhee is particularly happy about this, as it makes her job infinitely easier. You forewent corsets a while ago, unable to bear them on your body any longer, and this new attire works in your favor.

Court is solemn, but brimmed with a feeling of distilled panic. Noblemen, all elders that were unable to fight in the war, as well as the many, many women, have one question in their mind only, you know this. The royal bloodline has perished. The Crown will fall, and there is no one left to bear it. You long to shout at the top of your lungs that the royal bloodline might not have ended after all, but you have no proof. You have nothing but the Queen Mother’s flimsy, cryptic jab. She refused to give you anything more. As you watch the unrest around you, the anxiety within the Church, you know what you must do.

You need confirmation.

You find the Queen Mother in her chambers that very night, not even a full day after hearing of your husband’s demise.

Her handmaids are shocked that you are here at this hour, with no prior notice and no request for an audience. But in every sense, you rank higher than your mother in law, so they cannot stop you even if they try. You find the woman in a cushioned, rocking chair in front of her fireplace, with a cup of tea that smells suspicious enough for you to conclude that it has alcohol inside.

“Queen Mother,” you greet. “I come with a request.”

She looks at you carefully, and for a long time. She does not offer for you to sit, but you take it regardless, seating yourself on the sofa to her left. You glance at the handmaids and dismiss them, telling them to wait outside with Eunhee. The woman continues to stare at you, her teaspoon swirling slowly in her cup, clinking when it hits the walls of it. It is the only sound in the room.

“You said I would bear an heir for this throne.” You cut straight to the point. “‘In any case’, you said. I need to know what you meant by that.”

She does not seem remotely surprised at your sharp tone, your lack of formality or manners. It’s almost like she expects it, like she would be more taken aback if you presented as meek and hesitant.

“So my ladies-in-waiting are right.” She hums. The teaspoon is still moving. Tight, tiny circles. “You are with child.”

You shrug. “They have no proof.”

She watches you again, and you can see her eyes shoot down to your stomach. Heavy drapings hide your figure. You know she is fishing for scraps. Scraps you will not give. You know better than that by now.

“His mother was my husband’s mistress.” She sniffles, eyes finally leaving yours and focusing on the fire dancing along the wall. You stiffen as she begins her story. “Young thing, she was. Dark hair. My husband liked that type.”

You try not to make a face at the implication.

“She found out about her child mere months after I found out about Seojoon.” The woman continues. Shockingly, you sense no grief in her voice. In the last year, it is true that she has made her disdain for her son clear, but you never expected her to be apathetic to the fact of his death. She was absent from Court too, but you are aware she is more of a recluse now.

“I would have sooner sliced a limb off than watched her birth my husband a child.” The Queen Mother’s tone hardens with indignation. “An illegitimate one at that, and so soon after Seojoon’s birth. So I gave her a choice. She leaves the castle, and I would guarantee a comfortable living for her for the rest of her measly life.”

You swallow tightly.

“But then came the news that she bore a son.” Your mother in law almost spits, her face twisting in a nasty expression. “And my husband wanted them brought back. Of course, I would never let that happen. So I compromised, because I have done that my whole life. He would be raised inside the castle, as a mere soldier, and he would serve the Crown, his true purpose. No one would take the glory, or the Throne, from my flesh and blood. I wouldn’t let him.”

“But he became a Knight.” You interject. “He gained power beyond just a soldier. You let that happen?”

She sets her cup down, not having taken a single sip.

“You think I had any say?” She whispers. You realise this is the first time you have ever heard her sound so frail, so resigned. The face, wrinkled with age, looks sadder and sadder the more you watch it. “There is only so far a woman’s power goes, even the one who bore an Heir. Especially if her own husband treats her like a fly he must swat away.”

You don’t say anything. You stare into the fire just as she does, watching the flames rise and fall, squirming and dancing over the wood. It crackles occasionally, volatile, alive. You sit for a long time. Your mother in law does not ask you to leave. You cannot remember the last time you spent more than a few minutes in her company, especially not alone.

“Tomorrow,” you finally break the silence, “you will attend Court. You will speak to the Church officials, especially the archbishop, and you will let them know that the royal bloodline still lives.”

The Queen Mother’s eyes flicker. She opens her mouth, but you don’t let her speak.

“You say you had no power.” You continue. “And you were right. For a long time, you didn’t. But tomorrow, you can decide the fate of this Crown, and of this entire nation. There is no other evidence. Your word, in a situation like this, in a Court where everyone is desperate for leadership, holds more power than even the law.”

As you stand, the Queen Mother does not move a single muscle.

“You can do with this power what you will. But I would hope that for once in your life, you will make the correct decision.”

You leave her by the fireplace, her tea cup still full on the table next to her, still smelling strongly, but unconsumed.

……………………………….

It takes a long time for the dust to settle, but some still lingers in the air, like a permanent companion to the oxygen needed by Seungcheol’s lungs. He breathes it in with every inhale. A week ago, when the dust rose for the first time with their attack, it stung his throat when he sucked it in. But now, he thinks his body has grown accustomed to the gritty feeling of it.

Along with the dust, something else hangs in the air. Something tense and tight, like anticipation tinged with dread. The metallic smell of blood was heavy for days, but it is slowly fading. The muscles of every soldier in the field are just as tense as this feeling that lingers between them. Seungcheol knows everyone is on edge. But for once, he has no intention of calming them down. They do not need calm right now, they need to remain alert.

He tells Jeonghan as much, and his friend just sighs tiredly. He does not disagree, because he knows letting their guard down would mean weakness. Their enemies are camped a mere few kilometers away from them, settled there after the bloodshed they caused and after Seungcheol painstakingly secured their camps again. Seungcheol can see them over the horizon. Which means they can see him and his men. Another battle is imminent, and they need to hold out for as long as they can. Mingyu is still a few days out. They cannot afford more casualties.

Everyone is still reeling.

Seungcheol walks the line, watches his men scamper around the perimeter they have secured. His right side twinges with every step he takes, pain shooting up his torso. He ignores it, eyes trained carefully on every weapon, every position. The first shift of the night is ready to guard. He talks to a few of his lieutenants, ensures the guard change six hours later will be as smooth as possible.

“Everything is planned out, Commander.” One of them reassures him. “Please rest.”

But Seungcheol cannot rest, even if he tries. He hasn’t slept more than a few hours since the attack. The rest of the time he spends leaning over the map laid on the table in his tent, trying over and over again to spot any gap in his defenses he can correct.

There is none, Jeonghan says, but he can never be too careful.

When the pain of walking becomes too much, Seungcheol knows he must lie down. He does not want his men to see him flinch, and so he bids them luck for the upcoming night. He doesn’t exhale until he has pushed into his encampment. Only then, does he let the shaky breath rattle through his chest, face crumpling.

“Should I call the medic?” Jeonghan voices from where he is lying on his blanket. Seungcheol shakes his head, loosening the metal plates over his waist.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not.”

He just huffs and stumbles to his own sleeping bag. He doesn’t flop down on it, lowering himself carefully. The armor digs painfully into his skin. He doesn’t dare take it off. He can hear Jeonghan huff and shift, puttering out of the tent. He has no energy to protest. He just closes his eyes.

For the first time in many months of war, Seungcheol feels like his morale is not where it should be.

As much as he despised his late King and how dispensable that man was for this war, he knows what a monarch means in times like this. The King was less of a man and more of a symbol. His demise has done irreparable damage to the spirits of his troops. He knows what they are all thinking; what are we fighting for? Who are we laying our lives down for?

Some part of Seungcheol hopes that this doubt will be eased slightly when Mingyu arrives. While not their king, Mingyu is still of royal blood, and a good leader. The soldiers recognise him as someone to follow, and that might boost them a little. They need that desperately, because right now, there is nothing but fear and uncertainty. As it goes, Seungcheol knows he is the only reason any of them have not surrendered right now. They respect him too much.

Jeonghan returns with the medic in tow, a tall, battle hardened man who goes by the name of Seokmin. Unfortunately, Seungcheol has become intimately familiar with him, since his wound is one of the worse ones between the survivors.

“Hurts again?” Seokmin gives him a soft smile. Seungcheol only nods. His entire side is throbbing, and he can’t speak because he fears his voice will break.

“Let’s take a look.”

Jeonghan helps Seokmin take the plates of his armor off and lift his shirt. Despite his stature, Seokmin has soft hands, those of a medic, and he is careful as he peels away the bandage holding steadfastly to the long, slashing wound on Seungcheol’s side. Seungcheol tries to breathe deep as the air stings it. Seokmin’s face is blank, but Jeonghan’s grimace gives everything away.

“It’s not healing properly.” He mumbles.

Jeonghan scoffs. “Of course it’s not. He doesn’t tend to it at all. Doesn’t clean it. Doesn’t get it regularly bandaged.”

“We can’t waste resources.” Seungcheol mumbles, but there is no fight in his voice. He feels something wet hit the wound. Seokmin starts tidying the area.

“You’re not a martyr.” Jeonghan snaps. “You’re the only thing keeping these men standing.”

Seungcheol grits his teeth and doesn’t reply. The only sound in the tent is Seokmin working on his wound, and Jeonghan’s occasional huffs of frustration. Seungcheol cannot remember the last time his friend was so on edge. Jeonghan has always been level headed and calm, one step ahead of everyone around him. War can change even the most reliable of people.

Seungcheol is adamant he will not change. He promised you he would come back. He will be damned if he returns to you a different man.

When Seokmin leaves, Jeonghan extinguishes the lantern in their room. Seungcheol stares straight up, unseeing in the pitch darkness. The moon is high in the sky above, so a very dim light illuminates them both. Jeonghan has his back to him, but Seungcheol can tell his breaths are uneven. He isn’t asleep yet.

On sleepless nights like these, Seungcheol often wonders about you. He knows the news of the King’s demise has reached the castle by now. In fact, the messenger he sent might be on his way back with a response soon, a plan of action. He wonders what your reaction was, how you dealt with the news. He knows you enough to know that emotionally, it means nearly nothing to you, but the political implications of it must be intense. There is no ruling King right now. The Crown is in danger. What must you be doing? How must you be handling it? Desperately, he wishes he could split himself into two so he could be there with you, to help ease your burden. His only solace is that Wonwoo is there. A trusted friend, a great ally, and someone who holds you in high regard. He knows Wonwoo can help you deal with it, he’s whip-smart, and Seungcheol picked him as your steward for a reason.

He just hopes it’s not too much for you.

Seungcheol’s predictions for Wonwoo are accurate, as back in the castle, the Lord runs possibilities in his head like they are calculations. An algorithm in his mind, eyes unfocused, sitting before you rock still as he thinks. His first fully formed notion is that he is grateful that you told him this before it was announced to the Courts. The revelation of another possible heir is not something to be taken lightly. While the King having illegitimate children is not surprising, considering how many mistresses he had, said child being a well decorated Knight could cause great disruption among the castle clergy. So Wonwoo prefers being prepared.

His second thought is; things are about to become very unstable. He voices as much to you, watching as you sigh deeply and close your eyes for a brief second, like you are accepting his warning.

“I assume it will be.” You reply. “This is shocking information.”

Eunhee is serving tea, and Wonwoo gratefully accepts the cup. The warm liquid wets his parched throat, and he didn’t even realise he was so thirsty.

“I want to know possibilities.” You continue. “When the Queen Mother announces this to the Courts, I’m assuming there will be questions.”

Wonwoo nods, contemplating. “Her word is very heavy evidence. However, I fear we might need more.”

Something clinks loudly, and both your faces turn to where Eunhee is carefully placing a cup on the table beside your armchair. She clears her throat, and Wonwoo notices how tense she is. When she looks up, her eyes meet his directly. Immediately, something in Wonwoo’s mind scratches at him.

“What is it?” He addresses her.

You look confused, eyes flitting between your steward and your handmaid. Eunhee hesitates. Wonwoo watches closely as her hand reaches into her belt, tugging something out. A piece of folded paper, yellow and worn, wilting at the edges, held closed by a wax seal.

“This was given to me by Chief Councillor Yoon before he left for the battlefield.” Eunhee’s voice is uncertain, like she doesn’t know if she is doing the right thing. “He instructed me to reveal it only in the circumstances of Sir Choi’s death but…”

“Eunhee.” You sound shocked, looking at the woman with wide eyes. Eunhee bows deeply, leaning heavily on her knees.

“I’m deeply apologetic, Your Majesty.” She sounds sincere. “I gave him my word.”

You huff and nod, though you still look slightly miffed. You take the letter carefully from Eunhee’s hands and undo the seal. The paper crinkles as it opens.

Wonwoo watches patiently as you read over it, eyebrows furrowing initially before your face smooths with shock. Curiosity gnaws at him, but he holds his tongue. Finally, when you are done, you look up at him with a fire in your eyes that he hasn’t seen in a while. He blinks when you hold the letter out to him. He watches a small smile slowly stretch over your face.

“This is all we will need, Wonwoo.” Your voice is reinvigorated. “This is it.”

Wonwoo is quick to read the contents, the neat scrawl of the woman’s handwriting, the full story behind Sir Choi’s conception, and the agreement to bring him back to the castle when he is a young boy to train him as a royal guard. Something in Wonwoo’s veins lights up. He lets out a long sigh he didn’t even know he was holding, and nods approvingly.

“You are correct, Your Majesty.” He smiles. “This is it.”

He watches you exchange a giddy smile with Eunhee. Wonwoo straightens and clears his throat to get your attention again.

“While the Queen Mother’s word and this letter are certainly convincing,” he states, “your own standing is vital.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

Wonwoo sighs. “As flimsy as it may be, yours is the only authority in this castle right now. Sir Choi’s ascension to the Throne depends on every action you take in his absence.”

You nod resolutely. “Tell me what to do and I will do it.”

Wonwoo watches you closely, the determination in your face. He takes a deep breath, a thought forming in his head.

“Your Majesty,” he says delicately, “it is important that you know what Sir Choi receiving the Crown will mean for you.”

Wonwoo straightens and leans closer. “I know you two have a good rapport between you, but my job is to prepare you for everything, so I am telling you this. I am certain he will ensure your comfort as Queen Dowager under his reign. Likely he will have you settled in a castle off grounds, but with your own staff. You can live there with much ease…”

Wonwoo trails off as he watches a smile slowly spreading on your face, confused at your reaction. You reach forward, and he stiffens in shock when you pat his arm, as if reassuring him.

“Do not worry about that, Wonwoo.” You state. There is a little twinkle in your eye, and for the first time, Wonwoo isn’t sure he can guess what you are thinking.

…………………………………

The next few days are a critical whirlwind.

Wonwoo’s instructions are clear, and you trust his advice completely. Immediately after dawn, you are already dressed in dark colors of mourning, the appropriate attire for a widow, and on your way to the Church, requesting audience with the archbishop. That is the first step, according to your steward.

If there is any hope of legitimising Sir Choi, we need the backing of the Church.

After hearing your story and showing him the letter, with reassurances of the Queen Mother’s word in today’s upcoming Court, you get the archbishop’s promise of support. You know there are supporting factors on why he agreed. You are popular in the Church because of your respect for them, and you also know Seojoon metaphorically spat on their faces with the mistresses he flaunted so much. Seungcheol is not only a well respected Knight, but already a war hero. That, and the Church’s insistence on maintaining the Crown means that the archbishop is quick to persuade. Wonwoo’s spirits are high as you leave, just as the sun is rising above the castle walls.

“Now we have witness testimony, a written record, and backing from the Church.” He gives you a smile, his eyes shining behind his spectacles. “The Crown will absolutely be preserved. I cannot imagine any nobles or lords staging a coup after we have moved so quickly.”

You nod, feeling your chest tighten with excitement. You think of Seungcheol, about him finding out, and the thought immediately makes you gasp, tapping Wonwoo’s arm.

“The messenger has not left, has he?” You ask. Wonwoo frowns.

“Not yet, Your Majesty. He just got here two nights ago.”

You nod resolutely. “Draft a message for him, Wonwoo. A sealed envelope meant for Seungcheol’s hand only. And one for Jeonghan. The troops must know who their new King is.”

Wonwoo laughs, and you realise this is the first time you’ve heard that sound from him. He reflects how happy you feel on the inside. “Right away, my lady. As soon as the council recognises Sir Choi as Heir Presumptive, I will ensure that noble testimony is written and recorded. The messenger will set out immediately, as well as a few more on alternate routes. The word must get to him fast.”

You cannot tamp down your smile. It takes every bit of self control to move through the castle with a somber face.

…………………………………..

It is early dawn when the sound of restless murmurs rouses Seungcheol. He blinks a few times, watching a faded light filter through the thick cloth of his tent. He is careful as he sits up, mindful of his wound. Jeonghan is already awake, hair all over the place, watching the tent entrance with swollen eyes and a frown on his face.

“I will go check out what is going on.” He offers, voice still heavy with sleep. Seungcheol nods.

Jeonghan stumbles up to his feet, curses when his ankle gets caught in the blanket and shakes it off. Seungcheol sighs and smooths his hair. Outside, the voices are getting closer. Before he or Jeonghan can react, he hears tapping on the wooden post holding up his tent, a makeshift knock.

“Sir,” Joshua’s voice is tense. “May I enter? It’s urgent.”

Jeonghan gives Seungcheol a look. Seungcheol calls out an affirmative.

Joshua walks in, bowing respectfully. He holds the flap open, and another man pokes his head in. Seungcheol tenses. It’s his herald, the messenger he sent to the castle. The man immediately sinks to his knee, bowing deeply. Seungcheol frowns at the excessive show of respect.

“Messages from the council.” He says, holding up two envelopes. They are waxed shut, the Royal family’s crest embossed on it. Seungcheol holds his hand out, as does Jeonghan.

The wax crackles as Seungcheol breaks it with his dagger, pulling the parchment open. It is an official declaration, stamped ink on top, and very long. He begins reading from the start, and as he goes, slowly, he feels the life drain out of his fingertips.

“Lords above.” He hears Jeonghan whisper. But it is far away, because blood is roaring in Seungcheol’s ears. His eyes move frantically, passing over names, declarations, testimonies, he freezes as your own signature, your own declaration, among the many nobles, the clergy, the archbishop. There’s shuffling at his side.

“Joshua.” Jeonghan’s voice is hard. “Wait outside. Both of you.”

The men shuffle out. Immediately, Jeonghan kneels by Seungcheol’s side, a heavy hand on his shoulder. Finally, Seungcheol looks up.

Jeonghan looks as winded as he feels, and one look at his friend makes the raven-haired man let out an incredulous laugh.

“Her Majesty is really something, isn’t she?” He mumbles. “I cannot even begin to imagine how she managed this.”

Seungcheol lets out a long breath, shaking his head. It’s more of a stiff jerk than anything else. He cannot believe it, mind still reeling. He hasn’t even processed Jeonghan’s revelation yet, the fact that he is of royal blood, and now he hears from the Royal Council that he has been declared the successor to the Throne, the Heir Presumptive.

“Okay.” He looks up at Jeonghan’s voice, watching his friend’s face harden, determined. He can see the cogs in Jeonghan’s brain already turning.

“First of all, we need information.” He begins, seating himself crosslegged in front of Seungcheol. “We need to know how many nobles have sworn loyalty to you, whether the capital is secure, and if any rival emergents are laying claim on the Throne instead-”

Seungcheol holds his own letter out, much heftier than Jeonghan’s. He takes it and reads it over. Seungcheol stares into space.

A King. A King. His head rings with the title.

“Okay, this is good.” Jeonghan nods, more to himself than Seungcheol. This is him in his element, assessing situations, politics, royal standings. Seungcheol feels like he’s drowning, but he knows Jeonghan won’t let him suffocate.

“They want me to return immediately for the coronation.” He states, voice hollow.

Jeonghan nods. “That is standard. You need to secure authority and prevent the Crown from being usurped.”

Seungcheol huffs, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He doesn’t know what to feel, but one thing is for certain in his head.

“I cannot leave.” He states. “Not like this. If I ride now, I abandon the troops. And if the troops fall, there will be no kingdom left to rule.”

Jeonghan watches him quietly, contemplating. “You’re right. If you leave now, the soldiers will see it as abandonment.”

Silence stretches between the two men. Seungcheol watches the frown in between Jeonghan’s eyebrows, thinking. Finally, the man nods to himself.

“Okay,” he begins. “First, you need to write a reply to the council acknowledging the claim. Promise to them that you will return after securing the battlefield with the key victory. Mingyu will be here in a few days, and we can make our move. So likely, it won’t be delayed for too long.”

Seungcheol nods, feeling better as Jeonghan slowly solidifies a plan. His friend keeps talking.

“I will write back as well, asking the council to make declarations to the people.” He mumbles. “Of course, you not returning immediately comes with risks. Council can grow anxious. Some may even question your judgement. But that’s what your lovely lady is for.”

Jeonghan smiles as he says it, the first proper smile Seungcheol has seen from him in weeks. He can’t help it, he lets out a small laugh.

“How did she do it?” He muses out loud. Jeonghan shrugs.

“She’s smarter than any of us give her credit for, I suppose.”

That makes Seungcheol shake his head, feeling that familiar smile that the thought of you brings to his face.

“Never. I’ve always known she was clever.”

“Right.” Jeonghan nods. “I will never question her again. Or you.”

Seungcheol punches at his chest. Jeonghan laughs and slowly stands up.

“Alright then,” he brushes off his pants. “Ready to address your troops, Your Majesty?”

If Jeonghan didn’t immediately step away, Seungcheol would’ve punched him again. Instead, he just laughs, shaking his head.

“Remember, straight face.” Jeonghan warns. “You can’t celebrate this publicly.”

Seungcheol nods, carefully standing up. “Got it, Chief Councillor.”

Jeonghan snorts. “You better not demote me.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

…………………………..

Mingyu looks worn in a way Seungcheol has never seen him before, but his smile is wide. He embraces Seungcheol before Seungcheol can bow to him, a gesture he doesn’t expect, but it is over before he can react. He realises that of course, he now holds the same status as Mingyu, so there is no need for him to bow. Mingyu’s hand is heavy on Seungcheol’s shoulder, and his grin doesn’t fade for a single second.

“When I got my sister’s letter, I was over the moon.” The King says in lieu of greeting. “I hope my words mean something to you when I say, this is the best thing that has happened for your country in many, many years.”

Seungcheol feels his chest swell. For days, he has lived in uncertainty with the newfound information he received. While Jeonghan moved with confidence, like he has prepared for this his whole life, Seungcheol felt like a fish out of water. Mingyu’s words, the validation from a monarch, invigorates him in a way he never expected.

The troops merge, strategies set in place by Seungcheol and Jeonghan over the last few weeks finally taking shape. Mingyu is resolute and confident, and Seungcheol feels much more in his element as he explains the plan of attack he came up with to secure the key victory. Outside his encampment, he can hear commotion as everyone rallies one last time. He knows this is it, the final stand. What happens today will determine if both their nations will stand or if they will fall.

At dawn, everyone stands at attention, weapons held tightly to their sides, armor in place, knees steady, heads high. Seungcheol stands before them, toe to toe with Mingyu, Jeonghan two paces behind them. He eyes his second in command, Joshua, standing before the troops and facing Seungcheol and Mingyu. The Kings. It’s still difficult to digest.

When Joshua shifts, Seungcheol’s eyes find him immediately. Briefly, their stares meet. He watches as Joshua reaches up and pulls off his helmet. Slowly, he lowers himself to one knee, placing his helmet before him, lowered to the ground.

Seungcheol watches, shocked. Beside him, Mingyu does not move. There is more shifting among the formations, helmets pulled off, knees meeting the dirt, helmets placed before them. Seungcheol feels his heart pound as they all kneel. The feeling of numbness in his limbs, something that has persisted for days, finally starts ebbing away. He hears Mingyu hum.

“Field recognition.” He murmurs. “I’m impressed.”

Seungcheol knows, immediately, that this is their oath. They are swearing fealty to him in this battle, acknowledging him as their king. In every sense of the word, this is a makeshift coronation.

For the first time since he was a child, Seungcheol feels like he might shed tears.

A fire lights in his chest, invigorating and all encompassing. He knows what he must do. In this moment, his purpose is clear. He feels the support of hundreds, thousands, like living beings inside him, holding him up, egging him on. Your signature on the parchment of his declaration is seared into his brain. He will win this fight, for his men, and for you, because no one has believed in him the way you have.

He would sooner bleed to death than let you down.

It is very easy to keep up appearances. Ever since the demise of the late King, and the subsequent takeover from your husband, everything became about optics very quickly. The reason for this shift was fairly obvious to anyone with eyes. War loomed near, and the new King’s behavior indicated much more nefarious reasons for the death of an old, beloved monarch. But no one dared question, no one dared protest. Because he is the sole heir, the only one of his bloodline left, and until you are to bear a child for this family, none can question his authority unless they want the Crown to fall.

And so his behavior is excused. Jeonghan, the Court’s Chief Councillor, struggles day in and day out to keep up appearances, both inside and outside the castle. In your opinion, there is no managing the unmanageable, but you must laud Jeonghan for his tireless efforts to do so. You know that your husband is a disdainful, disgusting man, with a brain still devoid of maturity and diplomatic manners. No one holds more contempt for him than yourself, but at the end of the day, you are his wife, the Queen Consort, and you must do what you can to compensate for his incompetence.

Your step-up, born mostly from necessity, ends up going very largely in your favor.

When you hold Court, it is in high spirits and with enthusiastic participation, despite the dread and gloom that comes with the threat of war. Something about your blood relation to His Majesty Kim Mingyu seems to solidify everyone’s allyship to his Kingdom, which you know your brother is endlessly thankful for, if his letters are anything to go by. Public opinion and support is crucial in times like this, and your presence, once an afterthought and a dismissed annoyance, now inspires. Church clergy love you for your respect of their authority, castle staff reveres you except the few who serve the King as his mistresses, and Noblewomen who once sneered at you for not bearing a child now seem a bit more warm to you. They still want an heir, since that is considered your primary duty, but in conditions where everything else seems bleak, you know everyone finds your strong command on your Court refreshing.

Lord Jeon is positively aglow by your favorable reputation.

“I have known of you long, Your Majesty.” He muses. “But never was I made aware of your intellectual prowess. Was Her Majesty trained in the arts of the Courts as a child?”

You giggle and shake your head. “Not formally. But my brother made sure I learned.”

This explanation worked two fold. Direct tutelage under a reigning King helped solidify your authority, and it also established Mingyu’s credibility among your subjects.

Another reason people are warming up to you now is the glaring absence of your mother in law’s constant barrage of veiled insults towards you. The Queen Dowager, your mother in law, has her own staff, of course, but she keeps herself far removed from castle happenings these days. Ever since the late King’s death, she has become somewhat of a recluse, a surprising change that you didn’t expect from a woman who famously cared only of her relationship with her husband enough to bear him a child, and no more. You are endlessly puzzled by her withdrawal, staying exclusively with her ladies-in-waiting and entertaining no other audience, not even her Court. Well beloved among the castle staff, this has caused a great rift between the ruling King and the previous Crown. It agitates your husband that his own mother is unsupportive of his authority, which pleases you to no end, but you know it also weighs like a heavy burden on Jeonghan.

“I know it will be difficult, but I come to you with this request.” He says to you one night when Seungcheol brings him to your chambers. You are shocked to see him there, but you know it must be important if he is breaking formality like this. “Please ask the Queen Mother to attend the King’s Court. Only the King’s Court, and no other obligation. Despite your strongest efforts, Your Majesty, approval among noblemen for the new King is not faring well.”

You huff and nod from where you sit in your armchair, even if you deeply resent the idea of asking anything of that woman. You will do it for Jeonghan, because he has always been nothing but kind to you, and you will do it because Seungcheol himself brought the man to your door. Your honor refuses to turn down his request.

When Jeonghan leaves, Seungcheol remains, as he always does these nights. You smile and place your tea cup down, eyes fluttering when he places his lips on the crown of your head from behind you where you sit, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“Incredible of Jeonghan to come and see me with this request.” You muse, watching the fireplace. Your Knight hums, and you feel his hands on your shoulders, kneading them softly. You sigh and relax.

“You are popular these days, my love.”

You smile, letting him work on the knots in your shoulder. Then, he says words you have come to despise.

“I must leave early today.”

You look up, watching his face upside down where he stands behind your chair. “Why so?”

“Meetings.” He looks apologetic. “Intelligence tells us that troops will be moving when the winter snow melts soon. We have to be prepared.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. Seungcheol’s workload has exponentially increased ever since war has become a real concern. Some nights, he stays for hours, some, not long at all.

“How long before they expect you?” You ask.

Seungcheol ponders. “Fifteen minutes?”

You turn in your chair, disengaging with his hands to look up at him with a half lidded gaze.

“Make the most of them then, Sir Choi.”

And he does, disrobing you in record time, pressing your front into the sheets of your bed and pushing into you from behind with just his slacks tugged down enough to set himself free. It is quick, messy and sizzling hot, his fingers tangled in your hair, your sounds muffled in the cloth you are lying on as he pounds you just the way he has learned you like the most, the pace that carries you to your end the fastest. He fills you up with his seed, warmth bathing your insides, and his lips feverishly running over your neck as he groans and curses, whispering into your ear how much he loves you. He doesn’t pull out until he’s sure your body is melting into the mattress, leaving you pliant and buzzing comfortably. He never compromises in cleaning you up afterwards and making sure you are cozy. Exactly fifteen minutes later, he leaves, your nude body tucked into bed, lips tingling from the force of his kisses, and his own jacket not even an inch out of place, but the taste of your still lingering in his mouth.

You’ve both become good at enjoying your rendezvous to the fullest.

When your steward comes to you the next morning to go over your agenda for the day, you interrupt him before he can begin and tell him about Jeonghan’s unexpected visit.

Wonwoo ponders and nods, scribbling something on the parchment.

“I will arrange for a meeting. Maybe over tea. I will let you know when I have something, Your Majesty.”

One thing about Wonwoo is that he is efficient, because that very evening, you are approved for an audience with the Queen Dowager and seated in her parlor while her handmaids serve you tea and cakes. Once your plate is made, and so is hers, she dismisses the handmaids, and they quietly scuttle out of the room.

“Why have you come?” She asks, twisting her wrist to swirl the tea in her cup. She stares intently at it instead of you. Her voice is muted, unlike the booming timbre she has always had in the many years she has ruled this castle. You hesitate and take a deep breath.

“I’ve come with a humble request, Queen Mother.” You begin.

“Oh?” She still does not look at you. “And what is it?”

Again, you pause. You don’t know how to phrase it without offending her sensibilities.

“Things have been much different since His Majesty’s most tragic passing.” You say. “Your Majesty has not graced us with her presence as often as we would have liked.”

To your shock, she laughs. A single, sharp sound that hits your ear more like a scoff than actual humor.

“You would not like it, I’m sure.”

You shake your head. “I certainly would.”

“Do not lie to me, girl.”

Girl. You grit your teeth. You do not like this form of dismissive address.

“Your son, then.” You concede. “His Majesty would like your presence to be more apparent.”

You watch her lips curl, an ugly sneer overtaking them. She swirls the cup quicker, the liquid dangerously close to the lip, almost spilling. Her eyes are still on it, but far away. She seems to pay no attention to what she is doing.

“My son.” She murmurs. “My son. He cares naught for my presence. My son. His father’s murderer.”

You gasp, shocked. “Your Majesty-”

“I have been a fool for many years.” She keeps going, stare distant. It is almost as if she doesn’t even care that you are there. “Dismissed and discarded because I hold no value. Overshadowed by harlots and concubines, unending women who did for my husband only that which I was supposed to.”

Your throat tightens. You watch, frozen still, as she spills feelings you have held in the deepest chambers of your heart your entire married life.

“Until Seojoon. Until his birth, I was nothing. After his birth, I was…..” Her hand pauses. The tea in her cup goes stationary. “I was mother to the Heir Apparent. I bore a son for the Crown, and so I had value. Endless value that none of his other women had. One of them bore him a daughter. Another one bore him a son. But I had a son first. And mine was legitimate. Unlike those second-hand scum.”

“Seojoon was perfect in my eyes, because he was mine. He came from me, from my blood and my womb, and not from the despicable four walls that I lived in. He was without fault. Pure. He could do no wrong because I bore him. The Heir to the Throne. His only legitimate child. The future of our Kingdom. A ruler. Smart. Handsome.”

Her face twists again. Hardens. “A conspirator. Liar. Killer.”

Her voice shakes. You don’t dare move an inch. Silence descends on you both, heavy and potent. You watch her closely as she takes in a shaky breath, her chest rising with it. Her skin is deeply wrinkled, and she looks like she has aged years in the span of mere months.

“Will you do the same thing?” She says, quieter this time. “Bear his child and believe it to be pure until the day he proves otherwise?”

Your teeth grit. “I will never bear his child.”

Her eyes finally turn to you, focusing for the first time since your arrival. She looks at you directly, something she has never done for such a long stretch of time. You do everything in your power to not flinch, to not blink.

“Right.” She whispers. “You will bear that Knight’s instead.”

Your blood runs cold. You stare, unmoving, at the woman as she finally sips her tea. She swallows and then sighs, dabbing her lips with a napkin.

“No matter. It will be an heir, in any case.”

Your lips part, caught between shock and confusion, your hands balled into fists. You struggle to string words together, to say something, anything, to question what she has just stated. But before you can, she reaches for the tiny bell on her table, shaking it. Thin, trilling sound fills the space, and seconds later, her handmaids step in.

“I’ve heard your request.” She says, finally. “You may leave.”

You don’t protest.

The walk back to your chambers is numb. You can barely remember the journey, nor do you pay much heed to Wonwoo as he rattles on about what you must do next. When you reach your door, Soonyoung pulls it open, and you raise a hand up to make your steward stop talking.

“I feel unwell.” You mumble. “I will be retiring for the day.”

He blinks, concern flitting over his features. “Shall I summon a doctor, Your Majesty?”

You shake your head. “I just wish to lay down. You’re dismissed, Wonwoo.”

He bows, nodding. He looks unconvinced, but takes you for your word. As he turns to leave, Soonyoung looks carefully at you.

“Shall I send for Sir Choi?” He asked in a low voice. You give him a grateful smile and shake your head again.

“I’m fine, Soonyoung. Thank you.” Your voice sounds hollow. You say nothing more, closing the door behind you after entering your room.

The silence is suffocating, but it is your only friend right now. In the quiet air, you recall the interaction that left you this way.

She knew.

You don’t know if, in hindsight, it was naïveté that convinced you of your secret being safe. Soonyoung and Eunhee know, but Seungcheol swore up and down Soonyoung would never tell, and you know for certain Eunhee is trustworthy. The circle of the knowing is iron clad. The Queen Mother finding out feels near impossible, yet she did.

Then again, there are the rumors. Everyone in the castle is famously aware of your disdain for your husband. You make no secret of it. The Queen Mother knows you will never lie with him, and if she knows, her ladies know, which means everyone knows. Loose-lipped, all of them. They do not care for keeping secrets. Rumors of you and Seungcheol have existed since the day he was declared your Champion. It just so happens that now, those rumors are true. That being said, the Queen Mother could just be operating on those old rumors. She has no proof that they are not rumors anymore.

You sit shakily on your armchair, trying to relax into it like you always do, but failing. Your corset digs painfully into your back, and this time, you feel it acutely. Her voice rings in your ear, and the second, more dreadful part of her address floats through your short term memory.

It will be an heir, in any case.

Your heartbeat speeds up, mind reeling with implications. She could not have meant what you thought she did. What did she mean by ‘in any case’? No child born of Seungcheol can be an heir. It can’t….

You stare into the fire, the flames that dance back and forth, and you remember a time far back when your Knight kneeled by your legs as you stared into the same fireplace, when your own heart was breaking at the seams because of the Queen Mother’s words. He told you then, of his own mother, a lady-in-waiting for the Queen, and how so many in the circle were the King’s mistresses. Could it be that Seungcheol’s own mother….?

No.

You do not dare entertain that idea. You do not dare. Because that would mean Seungcheol is-

Bile rises to your throat at an alarming speed. You barely make it to your basin before you heave, brown liquid spilling from your mouth and onto the ceramic. Your mind spins. You heave again, guts twisting. Tears fill your eyes.

Seungcheol could be your husband’s half brother.

You grip the edge of the basin tight and sink down, curling on yourself against the stone floor to take deep breaths. You can’t think like this. You can’t. This is a wild assumption. Shame fills your head at the very thought, but that look on your mother in law’s face haunts you, blank but sharp, like she knows something you don’t. Something sick curls in your chest again, and you fight to swallow it down.

You jump when hands meet your arms, head jerking up. You blink sharply, the world coming into focus again, sounds clearing.

“Your Majesty?”

Slanted, wide eyes meet yours, alarmed and hesitant. You sway a little as you stand, but Soonyoung’s hold on you is strong, and he keeps you in place.

“Are you okay?”

You are not, very clearly, but his question makes your face crumple. Thick tears spill down your cheeks. You sniffle.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Soonyoung. I don’t know why my life is like this.”

Soonyoung looks almost scared, like a fish out of water as he tries to think of what to say. You pay him no heed, your head still spinning and the sickness in your chest so acute that you want to vomit again. You cough and sway, unsteady where you lean against the basin again. Soonyoung’s grip on your arms tightens.

“Let’s start simple then, okay? Let’s go lie down first.”

You only nod blankly, letting the guard slowly guide you out of the bathroom and towards the bed. You lie down, despite the difficulty your attire gives you, and stare blankly at the far wall.

“I will send for a doctor, Your Majesty.” Soonyoung says. You immediately shake your head.

“No doctor. Only Eunhee.”

He hesitates. “You are terribly ill. Please allow me to call a healer.”

You refuse again. “I just need some strong tea. I’m just….. overwhelmed.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t argue anymore. He leaves the room, and you don’t move for fear of hurling again. You close your burning eyes, trying to undo some of the notions you have created in your head. You cannot think like this, because they are all baseless. You have no proof. One sentence out of the Queen Mother’s mouth is not confirmation. You are building immense assumptions and they are leaving you half mad.

Eunhee’s hands are cool on your skin, and it makes your eyes pop open when you feel them on your forehead. Her face is scrunched in concern as she looks you over. Behind her, Soonyoung stands a few paces away, wringing his hands nervously.

“Should I call a doctor?” He asks his wife. You make a face.

“I told you, Soonyoung. No doctor.”

He stiffens and bows his head in apology. “Forgive me, Your Majesty.”

Eunhee looks hesitant. She kneels by your bedside, her head level with you. “Should we send for Sir Choi?”

You ponder, going over your current mental state, and you realise you cannot face Seungcheol like this. He will want to know what caused it, what was said to you, and he is stubborn enough to pursue it until he can find out the exact reason, with the intention of eliminating anything that caused you distress. You can’t tell him this. Not yet, at least. So you shake your head, something that surprises both Eunhee and Soonyoung, but they accept your decision.

The rest of the night is subdued. Eunhee brews a calming cup of tea and squeezes a lemon into it. It settles the queasiness in your stomach, and she quickly helps you change into more comfortable clothes. You don’t speak much, lost in your head instead. When the embers in the fireplace finally start dying down, in the dead of the night, you conclude that you had certainly overreacted.

It was ludicrous to even insinuate that Seungcheol might be Royal blood. He is a Knight, a very popular one at that. If this was true, someone out there would have definitely said something. And so you vow to yourself to dismiss this idea completely. The coming morning will be fresh and new, and you can put this horrible night behind you.

The next morning comes, but not the way you imagined.

You are woken by Eunhee shaking you urgently. For a split second, you fear you have overslept, which is why your handmaid is waking you. But one look at the window tells you that the sky is still mostly dim, and Eunhee is here way ahead of time. One look at her face has you freezing, pale, near sickly, and overcome with panic.

“What is it?” You ask her, voice still hoarse with sleep as you sit up, trying to clear your heavy eyes. Your brain is barely awake.

“It is beginning.” She says. “Troops are readying themselves. A herald from your brother’s kingdom arrived an hour ago. The Guard is moving out.”

Your veins freeze. Breath traps itself in your throat. You push your sheets off, your bare feet hitting the stone floor. Eunhee looks disheveled, almost. She is panting, and you realise she ran all the way here. You look at your chamber doors. Slightly ajar. There is no movement outside, but you can hear shouts, neighs and hoofbeats through your windows. Sounds of clinking metal and leather boots hitting the ground accompany them. You look at Eunhee again.

“Soonyoung too?” You ask. She nods.

Your heart squeezes for the woman. You cannot imagine what it must be like for her to watch her husband leave for a war from which he may never return. Well, you can, and your intake of breath is sharp.

“Seungcheol?” Your voice trembles.

Eunhee looks pained. “He is about to leave too. He’s in the stables. Their journey will be long, so they must set off immediately.”

Your heart fills with unimaginable dread. You push off the bed, sliding your bare feet into slippers.

“Get my cloak, Eunhee.”

Your handmaid blinks, shocked. “Your Majesty, you cannot-”

“Did you say farewell to Soonyoung?” You ask sharply.

She hesitates, then nods.

“Would you be okay with me not getting that chance?”

Her face slumps, resigned. She does not say more, rushing to your wardrobe and pulling out a heavy, black cloak to cover your barely clad body. She gives you one more look, and quietly, you both slip out from your chambers.

It is barely sunrise, which means no castle staff, noblemen or maids linger. The stone hallways are empty, lit by torches on either side that guide your way. Eunhee seems to know exactly where she is going. She is quick footed and quiet, and you follow her lead. Many descending stairs take you down narrow corridors you have never walked before, and finally, Eunhee stops in front of a large, brown gate. On the other side, you can hear shouting. Through the narrow slits in the wooden slates, you can barely make out movement nearing levels of commotion. Eunhee looks around and paces back, pulling open a smaller door in the wall of the corridor.

“Your Majesty, my apologies, but you will have to wait here while I get to Sir Choi.” She says. “I cannot take you in there with me.”

You understand, nodding and stepping into what appears to be a broom closet. It is small and dusty, and you hike up your cloak slightly to prevent it from dirtying as Eunhee shuts the door behind you. It is pitch black inside, blinking makes no difference, and you muffle a cough as the stale air of the space stings your nose. You wait, your ears on high alert, your heart pounding.

When the large door made of wooden slabs creaks, voices fill the corridor outside. You stare, unwatching. Finally, your door is pulled open slightly. You blink at the onslaught of light. Eunhee’s face comes into focus. She steps aside.

Seungcheol is standing behind her, face pulled taut in alarm. He is clad head to toe in metal plates, encasing every part of his body for protection. His sword hangs by the side of his hip. Even beneath the heavy armor, you can see his posture stiffen when he sees you. You speak before he can.

“I had to see you.” You plead with your eyes, already gathering unshed tears between your lids. “I couldn’t let you leave like this.”

Seungcheol sighs heavily, walking closer to you. “Someone could see.”

You shake your head. “I don’t care.”

His eyes dart over your face, like he’s trying to memorise it. You can’t help but reach up, a shaky hand meeting his cheek. His eyelids flutter under your touch. You don’t heed the fact that Eunhee is standing right there, and so is Soonyoung, a few paces behind you and your Knight.

“Forgive me, my Queen.” Seungcheol whispers. “Leaving you like this might be my biggest sin.”

You shake your head, trying to give him a placating smile. “As long as you come back to me, I will forgive you.”

He takes one more step forward, a tiny shuffle that allows him to bow his head. His hair brushes over your face. Your breath hitches. You close the distance, lips landing on his in a searing kiss. His leather covered hands meet your waist under your heavy cloak, scrunching the material of your thin nightdress between his fingers. His touch feels like fire, and your face crumples so much that you weep into his mouth, breaking the kiss.

“My love…” Seungcheol breathes, his unoccupied hand finding your cheek, wiping the wet tracks. “Please, your tears pain me.”

“Promise me you will come back.” You plead. “You’re all I have.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows scrunch, his eyes are clouded with sorrow. He kisses your forehead, a harsh press of his lips that feels like he is trying to leave his heart there with you.

“Have I ever broken my oath to you before?” He whispers into your skin. “I have no intentions of starting now.”

You nod. He kisses you again, softer this time. Metal clinks behind him.

“Sir, we must go.” Soonyoung sounds hesitant but urgent.

Seungcheol breaks the kiss, looks you over once more. “Take care of yourself. For me.”

You nod, trying your best not to sob. You don’t want to worry him as he leaves. You take a deep breath, your limbs screaming when he pulls away. He quickly pulls up the cloak to cover you again, gives you a final smile. You watch him hungrily, taking him in. The prominent ridge of his thick eyebrows, the sharp slope of his nose, plump and pink lips, the jut of his jaw, perfect and unblemished pale skin. His hair, glorious locks of dark brown flowing past his face. When he turns, you don’t blink, not wanting to miss a single sight of him. The wooden door is pushed open. The two men slip through it, and it shuts heavily behind them.

Your strength breaks.

Eunhee barely has time to grip your shoulders as you slump, pulling the material of the cloak up to your mouth to muffle your sob into it. She pulls your body to hers so she can keep you upright. And she lets you cry. You feel so much in that moment. Grief, dread, confusion, so much pain.

Another feeling, panic, quickly joins all of these when a voice sounds behind you.

“Well, I’m not exactly surprised to find you here.”

You would recognise it anywhere. The sly tilt, soft and slightly jovial. Eunhee gasps and turns, pulling you with her. Jeonghan is standing a few feet behind both of you, weighed down by an open, brown cloak, hands in the pockets of his slacks. Between your sobs, you had not heard him come up so close, which is your fault. He looks almost amused. His eyes flit to Eunhee for a brief second, landing back on you. Your tear stained face, the circles under your eyes. He sighs and gestures before turning around to walk away. When neither of you move to follow, he speaks.

“Come on. Unless you would enjoy being caught.”

Eunhee spurs you forward, and you will your feet to muster up some strength. You shuffle a few paces behind Jeonghan. He is near silent, like a ghost, and even his clothes don’t make any noise as he walks. He leads you both up a rogue flight of stairs. Minutes later, he opens a door to what looks like a sitting room, shelves lining walls, floors draped with cozy rugs and sprawling sofas and armchairs. There is no fireplace, so the room is chilly, but your body is already very heated, so you don’t mind. You settle onto one end of a sofa, leaning against the arm support. Eunhee looks panicked, and Jeonghan seems to notice.

“Will you arrange for some tea, please? Two cups. Strong for Her Majesty.”

Eunhee nods, looking relieved to leave, and she quickly scampers out, leaving you alone with the man.

Jeonghan shrugs off his cloak, leaving him in a simple shirt and slacks. He drapes the cloak over the armchair across from you and settles on it, crossing one leg over the other. Then, he just watches you silently. You shift under his stare, eyeing the rich, maroon carpet.

“You have nothing to say to me, Chief Councillor?” Your voice is hoarse.

Jeonghan hums, tilting his head like he’s contemplating. “Maybe just to warn you that it was extremely reckless to say goodbye like that.”

You sigh. “No one saw us.”

“I did.”

“And will you do anything about it?” Your eyes shift up to meet his. He raises an eyebrow and chuckles.

“I haven’t done anything so far. Why would I start now?”

You lean back on the sofa, closing your eyes. You feel exhausted.

“How long have you known?”

Jeonghan’s foot sways a little, like he’s moving it to a tune in his head. “Long.”

You stare up at the ceiling. “It seems like everybody knows.”

He shrugs. “Suspicions only.”

“The Queen Mother said something about it.”

He waves a hand, as if in dismissal. “She loves gossip.”

“She said something else too.” You eye the man, trying to gauge his reaction. As always, his face is smooth as porcelain. He gives nothing away. “About Seungcheol.”

“Oh?” Jeonghan picks his nails.

“About his parentage.” You tack on.

His eyes flit up again then, and this time, they stay on you. “What are you implying, Your Majesty?”

You shrug. “I imply nothing. I merely ask if you know.”

“What am I supposed to have known?”

You huff, feeling irritation gnaw at you. “Must you always answer my question with a question?”

That makes him laugh, and it breaks the heavy, suffocating air a little. It lessens some of the weight on your chest, and you remember why you enjoy Jeonghan’s company so much.

“I am an advisor, my lady.” He says. “I deal with opinions and circumstances.”

“You are smarter than any man in this castle.” You goad. “You know more than anyone else. You knew about me and Sir Choi.”

“You two are not subtle.” He quips.

“The Knights who fought for my favor,” you continue on, “both were handpicked by the late King, on your advice.”

Jeonghan watches. There is intensity in his stare.

“Why did you recommend Sir Choi for the job, Chief Councillor?”

He shakes his head. “Whatever assumption you have in your head, Your Majesty, please banish it. Seungcheol’s parentage had nothing to do with it. I recommended him because he was the best man for the job. And because he was my friend.”

“So what do you know about his parentage?” You press.

The door opens and Eunhee shuffles in with a tray. You don’t break from Jeonghan’s stare for one second, don’t even flinch, as she serves both you and him.

“Thank you, Eunhee.” You mumble. “You may leave. You must be tired. Go rest.”

She blinks, hesitating.

“It’s fine.” You reassure her. “Jeonghan will escort me back to my chambers, won’t you?”

The corner of Jeonghan’s lip ticks up, amused at the fact that you addressed him by his first name in front of your handmaid. You don’t know why you do it. A show of authority? To get a reaction out of him? He doesn’t give you any.

“Of course.”

Eunhee nods in finality. She bows to both of you, and finally leaves.

You sip your tea in silence. Neither of you speaks, and you begin to realise that you are bone-tired. You were ill the night before, and you had a short, fitful sleep. Then, you were woken in a panic. The last twelve hours have been too intense for you. You do not know what to do with yourself. It also is clear to you that Jeonghan has no intention of giving you a straight answer. Once your cup is finished, you place it gently on the table next to the sofa.

“Jeonghan,” You whisper. “Please take me back.”

Jeonghan nods, placing his own cup down and standing up. He pulls his cloak on again and offers you his arm. You take it gratefully, and leave the room.

The sun is barely visible through the castle windows. The sky is still mostly dark, and the heavy beats of horses hitting the ground are distant. The troops are moving out, it seems. You try not to think about it.

“I’m tired.” You confess in a quiet voice. Jeonghan nods.

“Rest well. And banish all worry from your head, my lady. I promise you, when you need to know anything, I will tell you myself.”

That makes you turn your head. You look up at Jeonghan’s profile. He feels your eyes on him, looking back with a sheepish smile.

“To be honest, I have my doubts too.” He confesses.

Your heart pounds. When you reach your door, you let go of Jeonghan’s arm and turn to face him. “Is there any way to verify?”

He looks like he is contemplating. “Maybe.”

You watch him expectantly, but he doesn’t elaborate, so you continue. “Will you?”

Jeonghan tilts his head in that way he does when he’s thinking. “The question is, Your Majesty, do you really want to know?”

You frown. “Of course I do.”

“What will that accomplish?” He continues. “What will it do except anger Seungcheol about his mother and the late King?”

You pause, staring at the Councillor. He sighs and shrugs, reaching around you to open the heavy oak door of your chambers.

“Think about it, that’s all I ask.” He says finally, and you enter your room, closing the door quietly behind you.

………………………………

Kwon Eunhee has worked in the castle for as long as she has been alive.

Her earliest memory comes from an age she cannot even pinpoint, but she remembers the place very clearly. It was the Queen Dowager’s parlor, a place so grand that she can’t help but recall it even today. It was her first brush with royalty, the young woman who had just been wed to the newly crowned King. Eunhee remembers her mother gripping her hand tightly as she stood near the wall, having accompanied the noblewoman she served there. Her mother had been a handmaid as well, as these things ran in generations. Eunhee knew that was her future too, and that day had been the first taste of the life she would live going forward.

Her mother’s mistress was attending the Queen’s court that day, and had requested she be there to serve tea later. Eunhee was little, but old enough now to help somewhat, like an apprentice. So far, she hadn’t done any work, limited only to small lessons her mother taught her. How to serve tea, how to peel fruit with minimal waste, where to sit and where to stand when ordered.

“Everyone prefers it differently.” She would always say. “My mistress, for example, likes to eat apples with their skin still on. But I have heard that Her Majesty despises the skin.”

Eunhee just listens and watches, passively learning at even a young age. As a handmaid, she knows the significance of making yourself small. She must not draw attention, and any task she does has to be so smooth and discrete that no one even realises she is there. She is meant to be invisible. That’s the gist of it. For years, she learned this skill, honed it until she was one of the best in the castle.

Eunhee always assumed she would be assigned to another noblewoman when she was of age and ready to work full time like her mother. She never expected, in a million years, for her mistress to be the newly wedded Princess. Even her own mother had been shocked at the appointment, but dared not question Her Majesty the Queen. Eunhee had been nervous, because she still remembered her first brush with royalty in the Queen’s parlor all those years ago. The giggling, cackling ladies-in-waiting who could not stop pouring wine into their glasses, overindulging in grapes and alcohol until they were concerningly red in the face. Their gossip was salacious, entirely unwarranted and mean spirited. Eunhee had walked away, as a young girl, with the impression that the closer you were to royal status, the more artificial your soul became.

You were different, though.

From day one, Eunhee knew you had been wronged. Hoodwinked into accepting conditions you had never been warned of, thrown to the wolves without warning. She had seen the genuine heartbreak in your eyes as you came to terms with it, and Eunhee’s own distaste for the Queen only grew. It was an intense feeling, and despite being trained all her life to tamp herself down as much as possible, Eunhee couldn’t help the venom that curled in her heart when watching her young mistress fall apart.

“Never you mind, Eunhee.” Soonyoung would always say when she complained at night, going over the events of the day, trying to lighten her load by confessing to her husband. “Royals are all like this, and their business is none of ours. The more you get involved, the worse it will end for you. So just keep your head down.”

But Eunhee couldn’t, not when she went to wake you up every morning, only to see dried tear tracks on your cheeks. Not when she had to excessively powder the bags under your eyes to try and hide how tired you were. And especially not when she was summoned by the Queen, asking for personal details on if you have bedded your husband yet.

It boiled her blood.

In Eunhee’s eyes, your affair with your Knight is not wrong in any way. Eunhee has known Sir Choi since they were both children, though she was far removed from him. His mother was a lady-in-waiting until she left the castle on the Queen’s orders, sending her son to the Royal Guard when he was merely seven years old, in order to train. Before he was Sir Choi, he was merely Choi Seungcheol, the fierce young boy who fought like his life depended on it. Eunhee watched him grow up, and grew up with him, the same as her mother’s mistress’ son, Yoon Jeonghan, who is now Chief Councillor to the King. Growing up in the castle meant that Eunhee had known all of them for years, and so she can vouch for Sir Choi’s integrity completely.

When Soonyoung told her of what he heard inside your chambers, Eunhee was thrilled, and in the best way. No one deserves love more than you, and no one is a better option for that than the boy she had seen grow into a wonderful man.

She can feel your pain when the troops leave, because she feels that pain herself. She had been prepared for Soonyoung’s departure for a while now, mentally steeling herself as much as possible, and she knows you have been doing the same, but you fall apart worse than she does, and try as she might, Eunhee cannot pick up the pieces.

The morning after their troops march out, His Majesty the King follows with a grand procession. It’s unsuited for a situation as grim and dire as a war, but he has never possessed any sort of tact, so Eunhee is not surprised. You stand at the castle gates, dressed impeccably in the attire Eunhee had picked out for you, breathtakingly beautiful as always. But Eunhee can see the glaze over your eyes. She can see how distant your stare is, unfocused. Your mind is elsewhere entirely, she knows, least interested in watching your husband depart for the battleground in his mighty carriage. It is easy to read the atmosphere. The noblemen stand around with an air of disinterest that rivals yours, except theirs is much more apathetic. The Queen Dowager had not even bothered to show for the farewell. Eunhee suspects that no one cares for their King’s departure, not really.

She cannot remember the last time a monarch was so deeply hated.

Preparing to leave with His Majesty is Chief Councillor Yoon, who looks strangely out of place in his armor. He is not a fighter, but war calls for this attire, and so he dons it. Eunhee swallows tightly as she remembers the night before.

He had found her in the kitchens after escorting you back to your room. She had been surprised when he stopped across the large, wooden table from her, watching her closely for a few seconds before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small sheet of paper. It was slightly yellow and wilted along the edges, held shut by an untouched, maroon wax seal. He set it gently on the table, in the center, and stepped back.

“Give this to her if Seungcheol dies during battle.”

The sentence had knocked all air out of her chest. Blunt, cold, and leaving no room for question. In her shock, she had only shakily nodded, watching him turn to leave the kitchens. She eyed the paper, how worn it was, how old it looked, as she carefully picked it up. The paper was waxy and delicate, and she half worried it might disintegrate in her hands.

She feels the weight of it burn her side where she has tucked it against the belt under the dress as she watches the Chief Councillor step into a carriage from over your shoulder. She longs to know what is written in it, but she has been trained all her life in the art of restraint. It is not her place to look, and she was trusted by one of the most important people in this castle with it. She will not break her word.

In all her years of experience, Eunhee has never gone through a war.

In some ways, nothing changes. She wakes up at the same time every morning. Her empty bed doesn’t bother her, since even before leaving, Soonyoung was always on duty at the time she woke up anyway. She makes her way to your chambers, wakes you and dresses you. She brews your tea, peels your fruit. Lord Jeon enters your chambers when the sun is higher in the sky, announcing events for the day. You leave, and Eunhee busies herself in cleaning and laundering.

There’s differences, of course. You being the most glaring one of all.

You worry yourself to the point of frequent sickness. It becomes harder and harder to wake you up in the morning, and you whine petulantly, almost like a child, at the notion of getting up. You are foggy and unfocused when Lord Jeon talks. You barely eat any of the fruit you would usually devour, instead just asking for stronger and stronger tea every morning.

The only time you are present is during Court. That’s where you come alive, and Eunhee suspects it’s because you know the pressure to keep morale high is upon your shoulders only. The Queen Dowager has not been involved since the late King’s death, and her son had left weeks ago. You are the only Royal holding up the staff and the church, and it’s a responsibility you take very seriously. It lifts Eunhee’s spirits as well, watching them all gravitate more and more towards you, placing more weight on your words and your decisions. Any news from the frontlines comes straight to you, and you deal with it wonderfully. You censor what needs censoring, twist what needs twisting in order to keep spirits up and hope intact. Lord Jeon is impressed, and it makes him more enthusiastic. Every message with your sign off that reaches the commonfolk is met now with hope and support.

It’s a welcome change.

But you are slipping, Eunhee can see, when the chamber doors shut in the evening and you are left alone with her. You weep every day when there are no personal letters from Seungcheol, or any indication of his wellbeing. Eunhee has heard from Soonyoung once only, and that was a few weeks ago, but you have not heard a word from Seungcheol at all, and she knows it is only making your anxiety worse.

But there’s something else, and Eunhee is starting to realise that the changes within you have maybe more to them than originally thought.

She knows she is not an expert, but the signs are there. The unexplainable fatigue, the nausea, and constantly sour mood. The only one who can confirm it is the older women in the castle or a court physician. But she wouldn’t dare breathe a word about this to anyone. Because if her suspicions are correct, the news could be disastrous….

The letter weighs heavily against her side, like a hidden dagger ready to cut. She wonders if you deserve to know the contents now, if you are really carrying Seungcheol’s blood within you. Must she wait for the horrible possibility of the Knight dying? Why was Jeonghan insistent on the letter being opened only in such a dire circumstance? What difference will be made on the information inside by the Knight’s life or his death?

Three months into the war, Eunhee receives her first ever letter from her husband. She is overjoyed when she reads his familiar, untidy scrawl. She doesn’t even mind how much of a struggle it is to decipher some of the words. It only endears her, sets her heart at ease. Tucked inside the letter is another one, folded smaller and tighter, and the scrawl on it reads as a much neater, loopier handwriting.

“This is the only way I could get a letter to Her Majesty without anyone knowing”

Eunhee rushes to you with the letter tucked under the collar of her dress. She watches your face light up when she tells you about it, your hands shaking as you unfold it. You read over each word hungrily, your cheeks flushing pinker towards the end, tears gathering in your eyes. Your lower lip wobbles. But this time, your crying is not filled with distress, but rather, relief. Eunhee knows then, that she must do something about her suspicions. Somehow, she must confirm them. If you are truly with child, with Seungcheol’s child, then you must be made aware of it.

She finds a midwife and describes all your symptoms as her own. The midwife is thrilled to congratulate her, and so Eunhee knows for certain.

……………………………

‘The nights here are long and cold, but every second my heart beats with the hope of returning to the warmth of your arms.’

Seungcheol’s grip on the quill tightens when he hears the fluttering of the thick canvas cloth of his tent. He snatches the parchment as he turns, trying to discreetly stuff it into his sleeve. He relaxes when Jeonghan’s lithe frame catches his eye. He huffs and smooths the parchment out, turning back to it.

“Writing to Her Majesty?”

He doesn’t answer, turning the letter over so Jeonghan won’t see what he has written. His friend chuckles and flops down on the bag Seungcheol has been sleeping on for many months now. He winces at how stiff it is, pursing his lips.

“How’s the shoulder?” He asks.

Seungcheol shrugs, but even that movement causes his left side to twinge slightly in pain. The wound has healed as much as it possibly can with the available medical care. It has left an ugly scar running diagonally over his collarbone and left shoulder, but it does not hinder his movements, and that is all that matters.

“It’s fine. Why are you here, Jeonghan?” Seungcheol mumbles. It is a surprise, since Jeonghan is supposed to be present in an encampment some ten kilometers back, the same one that the King resides in. He’s not assigned to the frontlines, because he’s not a fighter. He is to stay with the King and the war generals and solidify plans, communicating any changes with Seungcheol’s brigade as needed.

“I wanted to speak with you.”

Seungcheol places his quill down carefully. It is the only one he has, so he can’t afford to lose it. He gives his friend his full attention.

“Yesterday, His Majesty suggested a widespread attack on the eastern front.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widen. “What?”

“He won’t say it, but I can tell he has grown weary of being here. He wants to wrap it up-”

“That’s a bad idea, Jeonghan.” Seungcheol’s voice hardens. “We aren’t ready for that. We don’t have the manpower, or the weapons.”

“I know that-”

“Then get it through his head too.” He snaps. “He has already made foolish decisions. I’m not letting any more of my men die.”

Jeonghan sighs, not bothered by the borderline disrespect in Seungcheol’s tone. It has been months of back and forth between the King and his fiercest Garrison Commander. Seungcheol is fed up with his reckless antics and inability to take advice. Every day, his frustration builds, because the King refuses to coordinate with Mingyu, still personally affronted by what happened long ago at Mingyu’s coronation.

“His petulance will cost us this war.” He mumbles, jaw clenched. “I will not let a man who has never so much as received a paper cut dictate how I command the lives of my men who bleed on enemy swords every day.”

Jeonghan watches him, half weary. “He wants to see you.”

That makes Seungcheol scowl. “Why?”

“Because you keep disobeying his direct orders, and he is furious.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “That’s why you’re here.”

Jeonghan nods.

Seungcheol is tired, but more importantly, he is irritated and angry. He understands hierarchy and respect for the Crown. Hell, he has preserved its integrity his whole life. But war is a special circumstance, and when soldiers’ lives are on the line, he cannot justify making reckless decisions on personal whims. As he barks instructions at Joshua, his second in command, and prepares to depart his post to see the King, he is already sure that he will cross the line of disrespect if the King tries to impose his selfish orders. He’s not sure he cares.

“If you continue on this trajectory, you will get dishonorably discharged the second we get back.” Jeonghan jokes. It only makes Seungcheol scoff.

“He can’t get rid of me.”

Jeonghan only smirks, because he knows it’s true. If this war has done one thing, it has cemented the fact that Choi Seungcheol is indispensable. He is their only chance at victory, and that word has gone back to the mainland as well. Unbeknownst to those at the borders, Jeonghan’s intel has shared clearly that Seungcheol will emerge from this war as a studded hero and nothing less. His already massive popularity has only risen in the months he has kept their forces solidified on the border.

In circumstances like this, even a monarch can be rendered powerless.

The King’s encampment is repulsive to Seungcheol. Grand in a way that is inappropriate for the battlefront, and he wonders how much of their limited resources go into maintaining it every day, resources that should be used to benefit their troops. Seungcheol’s armor clinks as he moves. He has loosened it slightly, but not taken it off entirely. Months of being at war has left him on edge and paranoid.

None of his alertness can be reflected in the man on the makeshift throne, and not in his many generals surrounding a large table map of their borders. They are all relaxed in a way Seungcheol has not seen in months, almost as if war has never happened. It’s a sharp contrast that almost stuns him. The men are old, near withered, but some of them Seungcheol recognises as his predecessors, decorated soldiers whose input he respects. He understands the need for them, and he holds their orders in the highest regard. It’s just that he does not trust a boy who has not stepped foot out of his sheltered castle walls unless it is to be serenaded by his people.

Every day, he is disdainful that you are married to this man. But no matter. You are his in every way that counts.

Seojoon sits on his Throne, looking particularly disinterested as Seungcheol greets him and bows. He has barely lifted his knee off the ground before the man is speaking.

“The fact that I had to call you all the way here just to straighten you out is irritating.” His voice is grating. “But you are here now. And I want to know what gives you the right to refuse any of my explicit orders.”

Seungcheol takes a deep breath before answering, already put off by the tone. “Attacking the eastern border right now would be catastrophic for our men. We are in no position to land a successful strike.”

The King rolls his eyes with an ugly curl of his lip. “This is getting on my nerves.”

Seungcheol bites the inside of his cheek and says nothing. His eyes meet Jeonghan’s, who stands to the side, but the man only makes a weary face. There’s no reasoning with the King. He killed his own father for the Throne, everyone in this room knows that. Expecting loyalty and consideration from him is folly.

“May I interject, Your Majesty.” One of the men in the room pipes up, drawing attention. Seungcheol recognises him as one of the senior members of the war committee. “If His Majesty King Mingyu’s troops were to rendezvous with us along the north, we might be able to launch a full scale attack that can be effective.”

Seungcheol frowns, contemplating. It’s true. While still not entirely wise, it is the current best option they have-

“How long will that take?” Seojoon asks.

The man hesitates. “Two weeks, at minimum.”

The King scowls again. “That is too long. We attack tomorrow at dawn.”

Seungcheol’s head snaps towards the man, jaw dropped. Jeonghan looks just as alarmed, and unrest spreads in the room as whispers. Seungcheol rises to his feet.

“Your Majesty-”

“I won’t hear any of your nonsense, Seungcheol.” He snaps. “It has been over four months. If I had known if would take this long-”

Seungcheol wants to interject again, to yell at the man that war takes years, and four months is nothing in comparison. But Seojoon is already standing and walking to the table, using his fist to rap on the wood as a judge would in finality.

Seungcheol walks to the table as well, standing next to the King. He glares at him, but for the first time, Seungcheol glares right back. He stands a few inches taller than the man, and it makes him feel a small sense of power.

“If we attack now, we will lose any ground we hold. They will retaliate, and I don’t have enough men to ensure anyone’s safety when that happens. Including yours.”

It’s almost like the whole room collectively holds their breath, watching the two men stare each other down. Seojoon’s eyes darken in indignation, the exact same color as Seungcheol’s.

“You will do as I say.” He spits out. “And you will not question me.”

Movement behind the King makes Seungcheol’s eyes shift. Jeonghan, standing farther off, shakes his head perceptibly, as if telling Seungcheol to stay quiet. So he stiffens his jaw and nods, even if every fibre of his being wants to do otherwise.

As he leaves the large encampment, his blood boils. He thinks of the incomplete letter under his blanket, and he knows any feeling he has poured into it might be in vain. He won’t be able to send it to you. He doesn’t even know if he will be alive at this time tomorrow.

Sometimes, the egos of the rulers result in tragic consequences, and Seungcheol is unsure if there is anything he can do to prevent them.

You sit in front of your fireplace, watching the flames dance in it. It’s very early. Eunhee isn’t here. Yet you are awake, still in your night clothes, imagining how the cathedral might look like right now in the bleak winter morning under the gray, cloudy sky.

It is the day of your husband’s coronation.

Seungcheol told you last night about how rushed preparations have been, and how muted the ceremony will be. Black cloth draped over the cathedral doors, noblemen in furs of muted colors, hushed whispers as everyone mourns. The Prince, dressed in a cloak hastily fitted to him, the archbishop, who will conduct the ceremony in quick, sharp sentences. Nothing grand, nothing ceremonial, out of respect for their late King and his untimely demise.

You can imagine it all in your head. That is all you can do, since you will not be there physically.

You have always known you are a controversial figure within the walls of this castle, and you have never minded this fact. You do not care. Your controversy was your weapon to protect yourself from endless hurt. So it came to you as no surprise when Seungcheol told you that you would either be placed far back in the cathedral, or you would not be physically present for the ceremony at all. You had then said you would like to be left out. Rather that than sitting away from everyone like discarded jewelry. So here you are, in your chambers, awaiting Eunhee.

Over the last week, seamstresses have worked tirelessly to prepare your new attire. Grander, deeper colors, heavier cloth, what would fit a Queen Consort. You would not be officially crowned, since circumstances are so dire, but the statement is clear. You are now the ruling Queen, while your mother in law remains so only in name, no longer reigning. She has done nothing but weep and mourn her husband’s death, a true spectacle considering she never cared for him. But she did care for her place as the reigning Queen, and you know that is driving her grief more than the King’s death.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath.

The castle is restless, on edge. It has been since the King’s death. Suspicions are high, towards the court councillors and towards the Prince, now King. For a man with no health concerns suddenly being afflicted by humors of the brain and meeting with Death is a pill difficult to swallow, and that leaves everyone questioning. No one dared speak it in open air though, since war is imminent and no matter what, a new King is needed. All mouths remain shut, but eyes shift. They gleam with mistrust.

Seungcheol still suspects your husband, almost explicitly so. He stays by your side as much as Royal duty and war preparation allows him. When he is not there, someone else always is. Someone he trusts. Often, it is Soonyoung, Eunhee’s husband, who stays outside your door on Seungcheol’s strict instructions. But others from the Royal Guard are there when Soonyoung can’t be. You are never left alone.

In an unprecedented move, Jeonghan advises you to dismiss your ladies-in-waiting, as a security measure. Everyone knows there is a certain level of distrust between you and them, and it has been there since the beginning. It would be very easy to weave them into a conspiracy against you since they have no loyalty to you.

“Losing the Queen Consort at a time like this could be disastrous.” He had said when he came to see you in your study. Seungcheol sat next to you, tense and uneasy with the conversation.

“While you are not yet with child, you are a symbol for the people that they will get an heir. We cannot lose that symbol. It’s all about optics.”

You wanted to quip back that you will never carry the heir for this Throne, but you kept your mouth shut.

“Nothing will happen to Her Majesty.” Seungcheol’s tone had been hard and unquestionable. “She’s under my protection. No one will lay a hand on her.”

Your heart had skipped a beat at his words. Jeonghan just smirked in a way that unnerved you.

Seungcheol has been tense and worried since the morning of the late King’s death. The possibility of war has become near certain, which puts him in a very intensive role as a garrison commander. The threat to your well being has added on top, leaving him with too much on his plate. Your words of placation don’t do much, even when he says he is fine. His shoulders carry his stress, tense and bunched, and a thin line lives permanently between his eyebrows, his lips pulled taut and face unmoving. You miss the softness of him, but you have not said as much. You do not want to burden him with any more than he already has.

Court that morning, after the coronation, is an important event for you. It is not just Eunhee, but another handmaid as well who helps dress you. The fabric is satin, the monarchy colors of deep maroon and gold, and you have to breathe deeper than you normally would. While you have always dressed to the nines, it will be even more grand now, reflecting your position as Queen Consort. You watch yourself in the mirror, heart beating fast. It hits you, for a brief second, that you have not come to terms with anything either. It has all been so sudden, so explosive. You are now reigning Queen. A controversial, foreign Queen, yes, but a Queen nonetheless.

Last night, before the Prince’s coronation, you had been introduced to Jeon Wonwoo, your new steward. He was a tall man with a stiff posture and raven black hair. He bowed to you deeply, dressed in court attire. Round spectacles set in a metal frame hung with a silver chain around his neck.

“Your Majesty.” His voice was a low, soft baritone. You nodded and gave a small smile.

“Lord Jeon is one of the Court’s most trusted.” Seungcheol had explained. “He will be taking care of your schedules, your personal affects, your finances and your appointments. He will handle anything you might need.”

This is what threw you off. Because before Wonwoo, all of this was handled by Seungcheol.

You had not said anything, just nodding as you willed your throat to not tighten. You understand that Seungcheol is overburdened, but he has been dedicated exclusively to you for the entire time you have lived in this castle. The thought of him not being around as much kills you. Especially after you’ve crossed boundaries with him, felt the heat of his touch. His lips.

You banish the thoughts from your head, blinking hard. Eunhee is still flitting around, making sure everything is perfect. Finally, when she steps back and bows, you take a deep breath.

Eunhee lets Wonwoo in five minutes later. He bows deeply. His spectacles are perched on the bridge of his nose. He peers at the parchment in his hands, informing you of the Coronation ending, and Court proceedings for the day. You bite the inside of your cheek and resist the urge to ask him where Seungcheol is. You wanted him here.

Your steward walks three paces behind you as you make your way to Court. Castle workers and staff bow deeply as you pass, the now reigning Queen. Your position in Court, your seat, is different now too. As you make your way to it, you feel like something is shifting in the air. Something is changing. Like one chapter closing and another beginning. This is the start of something new.

Yet you don’t feel invigorated.

Court is eventful, and you try to keep up with as much of it as possible. There is still a level of tension in the air, and your husband, now King, behaves in a way that raises eyebrows. There is not enough mourning in his words, not enough respect, and you can see the way his widowed mother’s jaw tightens, the way her eyes glisten. You have no love in your heart for her, but today, you feel it. The child she birthed, the only thing that gave her purpose, is crass to her and her former Crown. You cannot imagine how that must feel.

You vow to yourself to never let your only purpose be to bear an heir. You vow to yourself that you will care for more than just that.

You spot Seungcheol in Court along with other Knights. He is dressed in his ceremonials, maroon jacket and many golden medals embellishing his chest. You don’t look too long, turning away when something twinges in your heart. That same feeling from this morning. The dread of him pulling away. This does feel like a new chapter, but you didn’t want the old one to end so soon. Before it even properly began.

Breakfast is sordid, and you half-heartedly participate. No one but the King is unsuitably jovial. Jeonghan looks particularly tired, and you have to fight back the humorous yet horrific thought of what he has to put up with in recent weeks. As Chief Councillor, things cannot be easy, especially when he is advising someone who refuses to take any of it. You do not wish such a tedious task on anyone.

Wonwoo guides you through church obligations, staff changes and castle responsibilities for the rest of the day. The Queen Consort does, of course, hold her own Court. Surprisingly, you enjoy it. After being so helpless and discarded for so long, even something as obligatory and largely unimportant as a Queen’s Court is like a gift for you. It is little power, but it is coming to you after an entire life of having none, so you cherish it.

Part of the reason is that Seungcheol is there, as your Knight.

You do not interact with him directly, engaged with your clerks, noblewomen and church officials. But having him in your vicinity calms you. You keep your eyes off him, since any deviance would immediately be noticed in a setting like this. You keep things short and simple, not a fan of dawdling and dragging. Your steward seems to approve, nodding once it is over and you look at him expectantly.

“You did splendidly, Your Majesty.” He praises you. “To-the-point, but not crude. You hold authority. I am sure Court attendees were most surprised. You will have their respect in no time.”

You glow at the praise. Maybe this can be your purpose. Maybe something you do will actually hold weight.

Towards the time of sundown, you are left weary. It has been a busy day, and so you finally retire to your chambers. Wonwoo takes his leave, and you sink into your armchair, basking in the heat of the fireplace, just as you had started this day out, except this time, you are in heavy robes rather than your night dress.

You sit there for what feels like hours, but is likely only a few minutes. You think over everything that has happened, and how different things will be moving forward. Today was a taste of the rest of your life, you believe. And while part of you is happy at how things went, one thing is not to your liking, and you want to change that.

You rise from your seat and walk to the door, pulling it open.

Soonyoung is outside with another guard whose name you do not know. They both bow deeply to you.

“Soonyoung,” you speak, “can you please find Sir Choi for me? Tell him it is urgent.”

Soonyoung blinks and nods enthusiastically. “Of course, Your Majesty. Right away.”

He gestures to the other guard, who immediately sets off.

“When he arrives, send him in.” You continue. “No one else in or out. Tell Eunhee I will see her in the morning.”

Soonyoung seems surprised but bows regardless. You close the door and glide towards the fireplace again. You don’t sit, instead standing before it, letting it warm your cold fingertips. You count fifteen minutes before you hear a knock on your door. It slides open.

“Your Majesty.”

Your eyes flutter at the sound of his voice, like you’ve yearned for it. You close them briefly before turning around to look.

Seungcheol is dressed still in Court attire, padded jacket, slacks and leather shoes. His hair is parted down the middle, brushed off his forehead in dark curtains. A look of concern dawns on his handsome face. He looks around briefly, like he’s assessing the surroundings to find if something is wrong.

“You summoned me.” He closes the door behind him. “Is everything okay?”

You nod and smile, but it is bittersweet and barely there. “I pulled you from duty, didn’t I? I shouldn’t have. But I could no longer take it.”

That familiar dread comes back, encroaching on your heart as he watches you.

“I miss you terribly.”

You see the exact moment his face softens, the stoney expression melting into something more regretful. You watch him hesitate before he slowly reaches back, twisting his wrist. You hear a soft click as the door locks. Your heart skips.

Seungcheol moves closer to where you stand, joining you in front of the fireplace. You almost stiffen when his hands find your waist, but the relief is immediate. You sigh into him, his forehead meeting yours. His familiar scent floods your nose.

“I’m deeply sorry, Your Majesty.” He mumbles. “I’ve neglected my most sacred oath to you. That is my mistake to bear.”

You feel his hair brush over your forehead. When you peer up at him, his eyes are soft and sure, like wet earth. You purse your lips, feeling particularly petulant after being near him but not having his attention the whole day.

“I doubt you feel any regret.” You quip. “Handing me off to Lord Jeon like I mean nothing.”

You are goading him, you know this, and he falls for it every time. He blinks and pouts in that way you love so much, and his hands on your waist tighten. He pulls your body closer. Your breath stutters.

“That is nonsense, Your Majesty.” His nose brushes yours. “My first priority is always you.”

The air charges. You feel his breath hit your lips. You feel like your nerves are on fire, and you cannot wait anymore. You push forward to press your mouths together.

He is quick to kiss you back, one hand finding the back of your head so he can tilt your face just slightly. It allows him to kiss you deeper, more desperately, and you feel once again his yearning for this moment. You curse at yourself for doubting him for even one second, that he would deliberately be staying away from you for any reason. How dare you be uncertain about the one person that has never once failed you? Especially when he runs his tongue so reverently over your bottom lip, when he sucks lightly at the plush of it, when he finally invades your mouth, tastes you wholly and truly, your torso arching into him as he supports your weight. You whine into him and you feel, more than hear, his breath hitch. You want to scold yourself.

“I was a fool.” Your voice muffles into his mouth, but he hears you regardless. “I was afraid you wouldn’t want to be around me. I was afraid you would not be my Knight anymore.”

He freezes. His lips leave yours. His eyes, wide with shock and, to your dismay, hurt.

“Your Highness.” He resorts to your old title in his incredulity. His voice shakes. “I would never.”

You open your mouth to assure him. To tell him that you know, that you were merely paranoid and insecure. But he doesn’t wait. He sinks to both knees, leaving you speechless as you watch him. His hands never leave you, sliding to your hips, encasing them. His forehead meets your stomach. Your heart pounds painfully against your ribs.

“By my faith, my sword and my honor, I live to serve your person for as long as I draw breath.”

Your hands shake as they meet his shoulders. Broad, strong, and always steadfast. Reliable. Your fingers wander to his neck, up to his ears, his hair. Soft, silky tresses move through the gaps in your digits. He looks up slowly, letting your hands card through his dark locks. His eyelids flutter when you trace his cheekbones with your thumbs.

“Please, never doubt me.” He whispers. “I’m yours only. I will live and die for you. I will bleed for you.”

The heat from the hearth is not nearly equal to how his words set your soul on fire. Your lips part, your eyes gloss, and you say the words that you never, ever imagined yourself saying out loud, but fantasized about too often in the depths of the dark night.

“Seungcheol.” You look down at your Knight, on his knees before you. “Bed me.”

His eyes flicker, he leans forward and places a kiss over the satin of your dress, right over your navel. You feel your face burn.

“Are you sure, Your Majesty?” He whispers into the cloth. “That is a line neither of us can redraw.”

You have never felt more sure of any decision you have made in your life. You nod.

“I have never wanted anyone.” You confess. “Not even my own husband. Even on my wedding night, I was nothing but nervous and anxious. The first time I felt desire-”

You peer down at him. He watches you.

“-was when I watched you across the castle courtyard.”

Recognition passes over his features. Slowly, he stands, eyes never leaving yours. It seems like the dam has been broken on your scandalous thoughts, because you keep speaking.

“When you kissed me in the carriage, I wished for you to have me right there.” You can see his ears turn pink. His lips part. Your own face is hot beyond bearing. His grip on your sides tightens. “I have been starved for your touch only. Every night, I dream of having you in my bed with me. Seungcheol, you said you want me too. So please, take me.”

He does not answer. Not verbally, at least. When his lips meet yours again, the kiss is fiery in a way that ignites every vessel in your limbs. His hands leave your body only for his arms to wind around your completely, pulling you tightly against his. The metal pieces on his uniform dig into you, but you do not care as he kisses your breath away.

“My Queen.” Your breath stutters at how deep his voice is. “It would be my greatest honor.”

The ground drops from underneath your feet when strong arms wind around your torso and legs, lifting you up. You circle your arms around Seungcheol’s neck and nuzzle into his cheek, laying a small kiss on it when your affection for him overwhelms you. His skin is hot beneath your lips, near feverish, but you don’t let up. Your surroundings swim, and finally, you are being laid carefully down on your mattress, the silk sheets cool under your heated figure.

For a second, no one speaks. Seungcheol’s eyes travel over your face before dipping. A sheepish look flits across his face.

“Your garments are…. endlessly complicated.”

You can’t help but giggle, some of your nerves breaking at his words. You feel more comfortable when you sit up and slide over the edge of the bed to stand again. You turn your back to him, arm twisting back to point to the lace ups of your bodice.

“Here.”

You feel his hands tug and pull, the cloth loosening enough to slide apart, revealing the corset underneath. You feel his breath on the back of your neck, and your face flushes once more. Your mind has barely caught up to the desire coursing through your body, but it hits you for a brief second. You are about to unclothe in front of a man, by his hands. Your heart races.

You feel Seungcheol’s fingers on your bare shoulders as he pushes the satin off them, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. A little more tugging, and the skirt around your hips comes loose, the full drapes plopping on the ground. You feel your body stiffen.

Instead of undoing your corset next, you feel prickling at your scalp as Seungcheol pulls out the many hair pins holding your tresses up. One by one, they make small clicking sounds as he places them on the wooden table by your bedside. You feel the relief of loosened hair again. It brushes your shoulders, your back. You feel the corners of your lips twitch.

“I would almost assume you’ve done this before.” You comment. You feel his breath on your shoulder again as he laughs.

“Never.” He replies. “I was sworn to celibacy when I was brought up to the castle.”

That surprises you. While the thought of Seungcheol being with any woman makes your chest squeeze with disgust, you never expected him to be uninterested in them. He is a man, after all, a very attractive one at that, and you’ve heard many a woman in this very castle who has entertained the idea of him in her head.

“But I have watched you.” He pulls you out of your thoughts. “I’ve watched the way this fabric clings to you, the way your pins keep your hair from moving even an inch. Every part of you, I have gazed upon with scandalous intentions. I hope you can forgive me.”

That gets to you. It makes your breath hitch. Faintly, you feel his touch, a finger tracing down the line of your spine, just over the crisp material of your corset. A tug, and you feel the first ring loosen.

“What do you think about?” You urge him on. You want to know more.

Another tug. You can draw a deeper breath.

“This.” Seungcheol whispers. “Your skin. I always imagined it to be so soft. Unblemished. Untouched.” His hand runs over the tender lines that the corset has left on you. You shiver visibly.

Three more tugs sets the corset loose. Your torso relaxes, and you reach up to pull it away. It falls on top of the mess of skirts surrounding your feet. Soft hands run over your waist, just over the last, thin garment that separates you from him. You take in a shaky inhale when his lips press small kisses on your shoulder, his hands exploring. You can feel the heat of his body on your back. Your heart still hammering, you gather the courage to turn around.

Seungcheol’s eyes are soft, like glowing embers, as they run over your body. You distract yourself by reaching up, tugging slightly on the lapels of his jacket. He understands, undoing the gold buttons and tugging the heavy jacket off, revealing a plain, black top underneath. Even without all the glamor of gold adorning him, he looks just as handsome, all smooth lines and beautiful, pale skin.

Arms wind around your waist, and Seungcheol lifts you from between the mess of satin cloth surrounding your feet and ankles, plopping you on the bed instead. You hold tightly to him, making his own body follow yours as your back meets the mattress. You can’t stop staring, barely blinking, because you don’t want to miss a single moment of this. There is no anxiety, no nerves, only heated anticipation and adoration.

But Seungcheol’s touch is heavier, more longing than adoration. There’s reverence in it as he kisses you again, his legs framing your hips, one elbow digging into the bed beside your face while his other hand runs down your body to reach the hem of your chemise, brushing the outside of your thigh. Something intense burns in his touch, in his lips as they press near harshly against yours, like he has a point to prove.

“My Queen.” He rasps again. You barely hold back a whimper. “This is more to me than just bedding you. This…. this is worship.”

His lips leave your mouth, trailing down your chin. His tongue peeks out, runs in a wet line down the column of your throat as your head leans back. Your heart pounds so loudly you can hear it. His hand dips under the hem of your slip, pushes it up to brush over your bare hip. It traces the line of your bottoms, the last piece of cloth between him and where you need him the most.

He speaks with every press of his lips into your neck, every dig of his teeth into your skin.

“Your honor is my cause.” He whispers. He licks over your carotid as it jumps wildly. “Your safety is my vigil.”

His hand dips into the waistband of your bottoms. It traces over your hipbone, moves to the center, until you feel his palm run just over your mound. “Your word is my law.”

You realise, even through the thick fog slowly settling over your head, that these are not random words. It is his oath of fealty, the one that he took while on one knee before you when he became your Knight.

“Not for glory, nor reward, nor land do I swear this, but because my heart knows no truer allegiance than to you.”

You moan. A shaky, thin sound that fills the air, muffled only by the heavy curtains surrounding your four poster bed, keeping you and Seungcheol hidden from the rest of the world. The sound seems to egg him on. His fingertips dig just lightly into the soft give of your stomach. His lips lay a final kiss under your ear before trailing back to your waiting mouth. When his eyes meet yours again, they are devoid of irises, dilated with his arousal, pitch black pools that you would willingly fall into.

You will never question his loyalty ever again.

“May I unclothe you?” He asks, breath hitting your lips. You give him a half-smile.

“That’s what you have been doing already.”

When he smiles, you see minute crinkles on the corners of his eyes. You’ve never seen them this close, and you fight the urge to pluck at them with your mouth.

“This will leave you bear, Your Majesty.” He sighs. “I fear myself not worthy of that sight.”

You shake your head, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. It’s silky soft as always, and you watch his eyelids flutter when your nails scratch his scalp.

“No one is worthy except you.”

When your chemise is pulled up, off your body and discarded to the side, you feel your skin burn. Seungcheol’s mouth parts, his eyes are hungry in a way you have never seen before. He lets out a small noise, his first of the night, a low groan from within the depths of his chest.

“I’m not worthy.” He repeats. “But I am weak.”

He leans down, his lips brushing over your collarbone. Your breath hitches. They travel down, between the valley of your breasts, tracing your sternum. They deviate to the side, sliding over the swell of your chest to reach your nipple. You gasp when his tongue runs over the hardened nub. He pauses for a split second, then encloses his lips around it.

He explores your body slowly, sucking, nipping, licking, kissing. He pays attention to every skin cell, every hair follicle, and anything that escapes his mouth is captured by his quick fingers. His forefinger and thumb pinches and rolls your unoccupied nipple between them until it is perked and tingly. He sucks so hard you are afraid he will somehow draw milk, against all logic. He moans into them like they are quenching his thirst, and the ticklish, electric sensation in your lower stomach intensifies. When you squirm and your legs twitch, you are horrified to realise that something wet is building up between your legs.

But you can’t stop it. You don’t want to. If he stops now, you might cry.

He keeps going until you’re so sensitive it almost hurts. When he pulls away, finally, he blows air on them. And you cry out.

“Sshh.” He reaches up to press his forehead to yours. “You make such pretty sounds, but being too loud will have consequences.”

You shake your head. “It’s only Soonyoung outside.”

Seungcheol hums. “And what? You want him to know?”

You flush at the thought. Seungcheol’s eyes widen just a little. A thick eyebrow ticks up.

“Oh?” His voice is smooth like butter. You clench subconsciously. More wetness dampens your core. He reaches down again, tracing his tongue over the shell of your ear.

“Does Her Majesty want the guard to hear her getting worshipped?” His breath hits your ear and sends shivers down your spine. You arch into him, feeling your bare, sensitive nipples brush his clothed chest. “Do you think he deserves to hear the beautiful sounds you make when I touch intimate parts of you?”

You can barely get your words out, your head spinning. You can feel Seungcheol’s palm splay over your stomach, traveling down at a torturously slow pace.

“You are the only one who gets to touch.” You whimper. “Maybe he should know that.”

A chuckle. A deep, throaty sound that shoots like lightening to the area between your legs. Seungcheol bypasses your core and instead runs his hand down your thigh to grip your knee. Finally, he tugs at it, pulling it apart.

Cold air hits the heated area. Seungcheol shifts, maneuvering himself so that he settles between your now open legs. You flush at the thought of being open to him like this, but lust eggs you on. You watch as he stares, and nearly moan when his tongue runs over his bottom lip, eyeing your nude body hungrily.

“May I taste you?” He asks.

Your eyes widen. You feel yourself stiffen slightly.

“Down…. down there?”

It looks like a struggle for him to tear his eyes away so he can look at you. He nods. You hesitate. You’re unsure of why he would want to do that. It seems he reads your mind.

“Your nectar, your essence, just a taste of it will sustain me, Your Majesty.” He rasps. His voice is pleading. Your throat tightens at the desperation in his tone. “I beg of you. And I promise, I will bring you to heights of pleasure you’ve never known before. Will you trust me?”

That’s not even a question. There is no one within these four walls, and even beyond them, that you trust more than him. So you nod, because on the question of trust, you will never doubt Seungcheol.

He positively perks up at your granted permission. When he slides down your body, your heartbeat picks up again. You try to breathe deeply so you don’t tense up as he carefully and gently pulls your thighs apart. It feels…. dirty….. but something about it thrills you too. The thought of his mouth on your most private parts is scandalous, but something in your loins burns at the notion. When you feel his breath on your lower lips, you jump.

Seungcheol chuckles. “Relax.”

You try to take a deep breath, but your Knight chooses that moment to kiss your folds. He starts soft and slow, just running his lips over them, pressing small kisses and nips on them. Then, you feel something hot and wet, his tongue, poke through the slit, small licks that make your lips part as you gasp. You stare at the delicate maroon cloth above you that is draped over the frame of your four poster bed, eyes nearly rolling when he finally licks a thick stripe from your twitching entrance to the apex of your lips. You whine.

“Good?” His breath hits your wet core again. You nod, unable to speak.

“Don’t stop. Please.”

His hold on your thighs tightens. He pushes them apart more, leaving you open before him, and dives in again, lapping over you hungrily. His lips close around your sensitive bundle of nerves and suck. You almost scream, clamping your mouth shut with your hands before you can. Despite the thrill of everything, you don’t really want anyone to hear you. Your eyes water, your features pinching as waves of pleasure roll up from your cunt and through your body. Every one of your reactions spurs Seungcheol on even more. He licks and sucks like his life depends on it, like he’s hungry for your taste. Maybe he is, because he groans into the sopping wet mess. His tongue runs down until it pokes at your hole. You tense at the feeling, and then the wet appendage slides in, poking in and out until your opening is loose enough for him to lick your insides too. His nose nudges your clit, and your whine is muffled into your hands.

Every time his hair brushes your inner thighs, every time you feel his hands pull your legs open and keep them there, or when his broad shoulders brush the back of your legs, you flush, overwhelmed at the thought of him devouring you like this. The knot in your core feels like it is snowballing, getting bigger and bigger, tighter, until one of your hands leaves your mouth so you can claw at Seungcheol’s shirt and shoulder. You kick, try to squirm away as the pleasure becomes near blinding, but his hold on you only tightens. He holds you down, sucks at your nub over and over until you can’t warn him anymore.

You wail, muffled by the back of your hand as the dam breaks. Tears escape the corners of your eyes and slide down the sides of your face. Your back arches off the bed, your entire body tightening and releasing as it overwhelms you like a tidal wave washing over your writhing body. His lips don’t slow, his tongue never rests, and he keeps going until you whine, exhausted, and push him again, less forcefully this time, since your limbs feel like liquid. This time, he finally pulls away, sitting up and lowering your shaking legs carefully to the bed.

He is a vision.

His face is flushed entirely pink, but particularly dark on the apples of his cheeks. Despite the cold air, sweat has built up on his temples because of the sweltering heat between your thighs. His lips are swollen and dark, covered with shiny, clear liquid. It swaths over his jaw and neck too, drenching him, but he seems unbothered by it. His tongue pokes out to run over his lips, lapping up whatever he can find on his face. Your own feels like it’s on fire.

“Good?” He asks again.

You don’t even know what to say. You just nod jerkily, trying to catch your breath. Seungcheol chuckles.

“I dream of this, you know?” He says, sliding up your trembling body. “When other men speak of the women they bed, I wonder about you. How you would taste on my tongue. I wake up from those dreams overwhelmed and aroused, always.”

He settles between your legs again, pressing his forehead to yours. “No dream can compare to reality.”

When he kisses you, you taste yourself on him. Not exactly sweet, but not sour either, and you wonder if he is exaggerating. But his actions and his words say otherwise, and you believe him completely. You feel his hands massage your inner thighs, digging pleasantly into the aching muscle. They slide up to the junction of where your legs meet your hips, one hand finding your twitching core again.

“We can stop if you want.” He offers. “It might be too much for you.”

You shake your head. “Want you, Seungcheol.”

He moans, nods, and his fingers trace your slit to prod at your entrance. You’re drenched, half with your own release and half from his spit, so he circles the opening with the pad of his middle finger before slowly breaching it. Your jaw goes slack.

He watches every reaction carefully, making sure you are in no pain as his finger slides in and out, in and out. Just one, but he’s still so careful. He slides it to the base of his knuckles, pauses for a split second, and then curls it up. You gasp.

This sensation is entirely different than the one before. While that felt unimaginably good, this hits deeper, like it is making you feel good from the inside out. Subconsciously, your legs spread even more, like you want to pull him in further. You pant, eyelids fluttering, hips undulating. Seungcheol’s keen eyes follow every movement.

“More?”

You nod vigorously, making his lips tick up a little. He slides another finger in, joining the first one in pumping carefully in and out. His fingers are thick, and now you feel the stretch on your gummy walls. He takes it slow, letting you adjust. You moan quietly when his thumb finds your clit, rubbing little circles on it to make the stretch feel better. Slowly, the slight twinge of pain disappears, replaced by pleasure even more amplified than before.

Seungcheol’s other arm, that he is using to prop himself up by your side, shifts a little. His hand finds your hair, splayed around your head like a dark halo, and caresses tenderly through the strands. His fingers, buried deep in your cunt, curl and prod, until you yelp at the spot they hit, and then he rubs exclusively over it until you’re whimpering and crying, one hand gripping his wrist like a vice while the other fists his shirt.

He adds a third finger. You have no time to warn him before your back arches, your eyes roll, and another high assaults your every sense. It is even more intense than the first one, and you nearly weep. He uses his own weight to keep your body from jerking too much, and he whispers gentle praises in your ear as you ride the waves. When it wanes, you’re left breathless and shaky, nearly disoriented.

“Beautiful.” He breathes. “You’re a sight no one deserves to lay eyes on.”

When his fingers pull out, they make a squelching sound that leaves you flushed. But you’re caught even more off guard when Seungcheol immediately plops them into his mouth, licking them clean of all your juices. He groans in approval, licking over any that runs down the back of his hand. You swallow tightly as you watch him. Heat stirs in you at how handsome he looks. Slightly disheveled, but endlessly dreamy like this. You want to see all of him.

“Take your clothes off.” You manage to get out.

Seungcheol has spoken a lot about thinking of you, but he is unaware that you’ve thought extensively of him too. When he tugs his shirt off, you’re reminded of the times you’ve seen his cheeks glow bright in the sun, imagining how his bare shoulders would look under that same light, just as pale as the rest of him. When he undoes his slacks and tugs them off, your mouth drops, and you remember imagining this too, in the very depths of the night, shameful, taboo thoughts of what he looks like completely naked. You knew he would be glorious nude, his broad build visible even through his clothes, but you never imagined this, never anticipated that he would be so big below the belt. Long and curved, thicker than you could have ever conjured in your inexperienced mind. It is flushed dark, leaking at the tip and running in a clear liquid down the mushroom head. When he wraps a hand around it and tugs, you hear his breath tremble in relief.

You don’t think before reaching down, your fingertips brushing his hand, sliding under it so you can replicate his movements. He groans, shakes his head.

“You don’t have to-” He chokes, and his back almost curls in on himself when you squeeze him slightly. You bite your lip as you watch him, how his face crumples and his moans rise an octave. Something runs through you like a thrill, a form of power, in your ability to reduce him to this.

Your mouth waters. You wonder if you can taste him like he tasted you.

Before you can ask, he shuffles forward again, tugging your legs up to settle closer to your core. Anticipation curls in your stomach at the thought of being filled with something so thick and girthy, dread mixed with excitement. Your hand is still moving, almost on its own accord, when he finally takes over, squeezing at the base a little before he runs it up your sensitive slit. You twitch.

He looks up at you in question one last time. You nod.

The first breach has you sharply inhaling, gritting your teeth as his head pops inside. Seungcheol’s jaw ticks.

“Relax.” He whispers, thumb circling your clit. You breathe out, trying to soften your core, and he slides in a bit more. He does it little by little, playing with your body to take your mind off it, until you feel the last inch sink into you. His hips meet yours, skin flush together. Finally, he moans wantonly.

“Lords above.” He chokes. “You’re…. fuck.”

You almost gasp. Seungcheol has never sworn before you. Never. His lack of inhibition now makes you whimper, your hands clenching in the silk sheets under you. His hips twitch, then he pulls out, almost to the very tip, sinking in slowly again. He watches it with barely disguised awe, doing it again and again, watching your hole expand with every slide of him to the base. Your eyes roll, revelling in the sensation of being filled like this, his shaft pressing into every part of your spongy walls as it drags in and out.

Minutes pass, and he slowly picks up the pace. You gasp and moan, back arching. You hear the plop noise his skin makes when it comes in contact with yours, the stretch and give of your pussy as he fucks into you faster and faster. The bed curtains swish as the bed moves under the force of him. You can see his muscles shift and flex with every movement, and the sight of him, combined with every movement, makes you whimper and cry.

“Seungcheol.” Your voice trembles.

“You feel so good.” He gasps, beats you to the punch. “How long I have wanted this, my Queen. How terribly I have wished to feel you wrapped around me like this.”

Your jaw goes slack when he hits the same spot with his cock that his fingers found not too long ago. You clench hard. His voice cracks.

“Dreamed of this for so long.” He babbles. “You’re tighter than anything. I can’t believe- can’t imagine-”

When his hands give out, you feel his weight on your chest, his arms sliding under your body to hug you tightly to his own. A pleasant feeling, bare skin against bare skin, and his heart pounds so hard you can perceive it through your own chest.

“-I’ve been the only one to feel this.” His pace turns frantic. “No one else. Just me.”

You nod, even though his face is buried in your neck and he can’t see you. “Only you.”

He moans into your sweaty skin, laps at it with his tongue. He ruts into you like he’s desperate for it.

“Only me. I get to have your body like this. Your pretty cunt, all mine. My Queen, can I fuck you like this every day? I can’t go without it, not after knowing. I must have you. I must have you-”

When you come, it is with a sob that you muffle in his bare shoulder, your teeth digging harshly into his skin. His pace stutters and he curses again, words you have never heard before but can tell are not meant for public speech, as well as more praises for how well you take him, how you’ve molded your pussy to his shape, how your body will recognise him now, how much he loves you….

He floods your insides with white hot liquid, and you bask in the feeling of it. His flesh trembles under your splayed palms. He ruts into you, slower, less intense now, just as needy, as he slowly comes down. The thick, strained cords of muscle in his back gradually relax under your touch as your fingertips dance over him. Your breaths slow, regulating as the seconds tick by.

All is silent. He presses soft kisses to your neck. Finally, his arms loosen and slide out from under you, separating your bodies enough for him to look into your eyes. His are soft and pliant, warm, sleepy. When he smiles, it is lazy and slow, softer than you’ve ever seen on him. You giggle, body feeling pleasantly heavy.

When he pulls out and stands, you feel strangely empty, turning on your side as your sore muscles relax. You blink as you watch him turn to grab the sheets on your bed to cover your naked body.

“You have a tattoo.” You state.

Seungcheol smiles a bit sheepishly, nodding. “It is unusual, I’m aware. I got it a long time ago, during a trip to a foreign land when I was younger.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, standing. Your eyes linger on the dark tree etched just below the back of his neck. It looks sturdy, and it shifts when he moves.

“Drink and bad decisions.” He mumbles. “I am just grateful it can be hidden easily.”

Your fingers itch to trace it with your hands. “I like it.”

He turns to you quizzically. “You do?”

You merely nod and smile. His eyes twinkle.

Seungcheol putters around the room as you curl into the sheets and watch him. He pours a glass of water, downing it and pouring one for you as well, which he gently coaxes down your parched throat. You watch him gather your discarded dress and splay it over your armchair. You wave your hand at it in dismissal.

“Eunhee will take care of it in the morning.” You mumble.

He finds your night dress fairly easily, and helps you slip into it. Every movement with him feels natural, even though the act of him handling your clothes and dressing you is deeply intimate. Nothing can compare to what you two just did while tangled up in each other’s limbs, so this all seems trivial. You pout a little when you watch him tug his clothes on, and he only chuckles at the sight.

“I can’t be here in the morning, Your Majesty.” He explains, seating himself on the edge of the mattress to run an affectionate hand over your hair. “I’m almost certain Soonyoung heard everything, but we can trust him completely. However, I’m not sure things will fare well for us when your steward shows up tomorrow and finds me here.”

You make a face and huff a little. Seungcheol lays a soft kiss on your cheek and stands up. Searching for his boots.

“Tomorrow night, then?” You ask instead, remembering the slew of words and sentences he threw out during your tryst about getting to do this every day. The thought of it already excites you, and the way he smiles, the cute indent in his cheek amplified, it seems he feels the same.

“Tomorrow night.” He promises.

When he’s ready to leave, he leans over you and kisses you one last time, deep and intense, his hands splaying over your waist and sides, gripping any part of you he can find. You tug at his hair, tongue gliding wetly over his as he groans into your mouth, muffling your own whimpers. When he pulls away, you feel dizzy.

“Tell Eunhee to do something about your neck.” He rasps, and you feel his thumb run over the skin at the junction of your shoulder, inches above your collarbone.

When your handmaid shows up the next morning, you are sheepish. She says nothing except to give you a tiny smile, powdering you more than she usually would, in an effort to hide the dark blotch your Knight left marring your skin. When you question her lack of reaction, she just shrugs, but something clever twinkles in her eye.

“Soonyoung might have mentioned something when he got home this morning.” She quips. You can’t help but feel giddy and mildly embarrassed.

“You won’t tell?”

You know she won’t. She is your most trusted apart from Seungcheol. Her face softens as she laces you up, and you see her shake her head over your shoulder in the mirror that you stand in front of.

“You deserve to feel happy.” She replies, simply. You don’t have time to say anything more when there’s a knock on your door and Sir Jeon walks in with the agenda for the day in his hand.