#moonlit throne

The first time he had seen her, the strong emotion that thundered through him had been of surprise.

Despite knowing that appearances were often deceiving, he had expected… a girl. A young, bright-eyed girl who had been pampered her whole life like jeonha’s former betrothed, Beom-su, had been. Instead, though she was still more youthful than he, there was a certain hardness in jungjeon-mama’s eyes. An edge that spoke of a clever mind and a stubborn resilience, tempered only by the social decorum she was a careful expert in. Hoseok had been instantly fascinated (in his professional capacity, he told himself). Hopelessly unable to keep the corner of his eye from wandering back to her whenever he stood guard in her vicinity in the months since her marriage to jeonha.

More than once, Hoseok had caught her mask slipping: an upward, amused quirk of her lips when jeonha scolded a particularly annoying minister, the quick flash of a lethal glare in her eyes when someone disrespected one of the people she considered her own. Hoseok couldn’t help the swell of his own pride at catching one of those moments, then keeping his lips sealed about them. Especially when she began to turn towards him (coincidentally, he was sure) to give her candid reaction before she molded herself into the regal ruler once more.

All of these thoughts, Hoseok very much kept to himself, even though he was one of few that had been entrusted with the truth of the platonic relationship between the king and the queen. He was the leader of the Guard. He was just being protective. Every time he brought her fruit was just part of his duties. Every time he went to the market personally to purchase what she sought. And she only continuously called for him because he was reliable.

Oh, but now, standing before her for the very first time in the warm lamplight of her sitting room, the collar of her chima slightly more ajar than it would ever be in public, Hoseok is discovering that perhaps all that interest was less appropriate than he convinced himself it was.

“Guard Jung,” Jungjeon-mama calls, and he is terrified that she can hear his heart speed up at her voice that sounds far too intimate in this space, “do you have the yakgwa I requested?”

“Good evening, jungjeon-mama.” Hoseok’s sleeves pull slight friction against the rest of his uniform. “I have it, yes.”

Seong-min pulls her sharp eyes up from her book, and gives him one of her trademark stares that often means she’s seeing more than she lets on. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“I…” He stands firm at the threshold of her chambers, his feet frozen to the ground, his pulse stuttering. His entire body is stiff in a way it’s never been before. Not when he’s spent most of his life honing his muscles to respond to him exactly he way he wants. But he shouldn’t go any further here. It wouldn’t be right.

More than anything, Hoseok is frustrated with himself. He’s a goddamn soldier. He should be able to spit out his thoughts. But the way she’s looking at him is making words jumble in his mind. “May I just leave them here?” He finally gets out after a beat of tenuous silence, like the coward he’s never known himself to be.

“No.” She offers no further explanation. Just taps a slender finger twice on the wooden desk right before her to indicate exactly where he should put the delivery of cookies. “Close the door behind you.”

The scrape of the door behind him feels like the sharpening of an executioner’s blade for what he is doing. But that was a direct order from his queen. With his left hand, Hoseok clenches the box so hard he has to remind himself to relax.

“I do not think I should be doing this,” Hoseok says, even as he steps further inside. Maybe that could absolve some of his guilt.

“And why is that?”

Hoseok swallows. The floor creaks under his foot. “Propriety, of course. An unmarried man should not be alone with a young woman, much less one of your stature, jungjeon-mama. Confucious’ teachings and decorum and…”

“What are you afraid will happen?”

The pure, easy amusement that beams from her face stuns him into silence. He’s never seen it so unabashed before. He’s never seen it aimed at him before. His heart lurches in a way it hasn’t done in years.

“Nothing, of course,” he mutters, trying to gather himself, but he is so close to her now, so close he can start to smell the faint sweetness of whatever fragrance she’s brushed across her skin today. He climbs one set of low stairs to the next platform. “I am only concerned with what the others will say. I do not wish for your reputation to be tarnished but the palace halls hum with gossip and—”

“Hoseok.”

She cuts him off, saying his given name so smoothly, it’s as if she’s called him that a hundred times before. Or maybe that’s only in his delirious mind. But there is no denying how she commands him to keep moving with her eyes alone, as if putting him under a spell as he approaches her, step by trembling step.

When Hoseok leans down to set the small wooden box upon the table, her hand is faster than he. Before he can make his escape, Seong-min grabs a fistful of his uniform, pulling him towards her with one firm tug. She leans her face into him, the distance between them eviscerated in a moment. He looks into her deep, beautiful eyes, seeing himself reflected there with a pang of desire shooting straight into his heart. She could kiss him, he realizes. He could kiss her.

“Let them talk.” Her voice is a half-whisper, brimming with conviction and desire as her breath brushes warm and sweet over his mouth. “I will still have what I want.”

And before he can shatter propriety into a million tiny splinters and give into what he suddenly wants more than anything in the entire world, Seong-min loosens her hand.

She straightens, adjusting the knot on her chima and patting away a speck of dust on the silk. As if she isn’t aware of the heat in his gaze, she opens the lid of the box as if she had only just finished reading her book. “Thank you for this, Guard Jung.”

“I, uh, ah, right. Right. Yes.” Hoseok backs away immediately, retreating away into the shadows as if that could hide the furious red heat creeping over his cheeks.

“I’ll call on you again, for more.” She bites into a cookie that leaves crumbs at the corner of her mouth. She smirks when he watches her slowly lick them away even as he is attempting to escape, fixated on the pink dart of her tongue. “Soon.”

Despite not being a clumsy person in general (at least compared to Eunuch Kim), Hoseok nearly falls over completely, so desperate to be alone to collect his poor mind and stop the pounding in his ears every bit as much as he wants to stay with her. “I-I will attend to your needs to the best of my abilities, jungjeon-mama.” He’s nearly at the exit. Sweet freedom from the chances of embarrassing himself further, though he will certainly replay this moment in his mind for days and weeks on end.

When Hoseok finally throws open the door and all but hurls himself out after a rapid bow, Seong-min only watches and laughs. When only the clean scent of him lingers, she touches her fingers gently to her bottom lip, where they almost met. “I’ll very much look forward to that, Guard Jung.”

Your Yoongi who only lets a small, sad smile flicker onto his lips before he is pulling you into his warm arms. He buries his face into the dip of your neck where your scent gathers, presses a tiny kiss beneath your jaw.

You feel the silk of his robes softly drag against your wrists. Feel his limbs tremble ever so slightly, even though he must be trying his utmost best to keep himself steady.

"I'm sorry," you whisper into his shoulder, wishing for yet another month that you had better news to give. More than blood staining your undergarments that you handwash until the red disappears into the water as if it had never existed in the first place, each scrub a fresh sting in your heart.

"Don't you dare."

Against you, Yoongi twitches, tenses. He breaks from you reluctantly, shifting until he's far enough away to look you in the eyes, hold you captive in his strong gaze.

"This is no fault of yours, janae," he says, tracing your cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Never."

This small act of affection makes the threat of tears known behind your eyes. Though you've grown hopelessly used to them in the past years, his kisses, his warmth, to have his kindness in the face of such failure is...

"Isn't it?" You pull away from him then, take a few steps away to your table where herbs and fine powders litter the tabletop, remnants of your day's work. "None of my brews have been effective."

"Yet," he says instantly, the word pressed out so intensely you almost believe him. "Effective yet."

"...It's just hard to watch her."

The beautiful queen. Well in the fifth month of being with child, her growing belly swells with love and happiness. She rubs oils you provide on her skin daily, willing to drink any bitter health tonic to ensure her babe's safety. As much as you love visiting her, chatting with her about all things related to the future heir of the country... You can feel your heart whimpering each time you see her. Ugly and jealous.

"We have time," Yoongi whispers, brushing a tendril of hair away from your forehead. "I promise."

"Okay." You exhale, letting him soothe your hurt. "And... I suppose being a while behind the queen will allow us to make good use of the clothing her child outgrows."

Yoongi raises a dark eyebrow at you. "Please. You think I would not personally order the most luxurious, newest clothing the country's top seamstresses can make for our precious baby?"

"Technically, her baby is yours too," you say with a small grin, even though you all know the truth.

He hums, amusement now playing on his lips. "Hoseok still has a difficult time keeping a neutral face when the advisors say the same. I had to order him to leave the chambers on more than one occasion already, lest he give everything away with that ever-changing expression of his."

"He can't help it. He's just so excited." You're grateful for this slight change of topic. "Do you think he'll tell Aera?"

"I don't know." Yoongi says that more often now, at least in your presence and Eunuch Kim's and sometimes even in front of the Queen. He's learned that kings don't need to know everything. That so many people within the palace are there to support him, even in his moments of falter. "I don't know if she is old enough to keep that secret. But eventually? Yes."

You place a hand on his chest and feel the thump of his heart beneath your fingertips. "And... will you... Will you tell their child when it is time?"

"Of course." His breath is warm with summer as it brushes over you, slightly bitter with the tea he uses to keep himself awake on advisor assembly days. "We are... one joined family now, as unconventional as it is. And if I have learned anything from my mother... every one of you deserve the truth. The queen, Hoseok, Aera, you..." His gentle fingers drift down to your stomach. "... and the little one that will join us eventually."

"Okay." You take his hand as you look into his eyes, read the absolute love, the sureity written there. You will trust in yourself as you do him, as you do the small pond rock that sits snugly in your right pocket, accompanying you through even the hardest hours. "Okay."

You follow the maid down long corridors, the dream from last night repeating over and over in your mind. You hadn’t been ready to accept Queen Jeonghui’s words then, too afraid of the consequences of wanting. But now. Now, the reality of living without him is too much to bear without putting voice to your truth at least once.

In front of the sitting room, the maid comes to a stop. “Jungjeon-mama is in here.” Another set of doors are eased apart.

The queen, beautiful and composed, sits on a bench before a low table, with another maid brushing her hair. She slides her cool eyes towards the noise.

You can see no surprise in her expression as she realizes who has come to her. What does that mean? You tense your muscles and walk in, until you are standing directly in front of her.

Perhaps the queen senses your determination, for she says to the maids, “Leave us.” Then, when you are alone, she gestures to a bench. “Uinyeo-nim. Take a seat.”

A direct order from the queen, but you shake your head. “No, thank you.” Afraid you’ll lose your nerve if you do.

“Hm.” The queen doesn’t mention it. Instead, she opens her jewelry box, casually lifting a pair of earrings as if you aren’t present. “So, what brings you here at this early hour to pay me a visit?”

You’ve gone over this conversation so many times in your head, again and again, but none of those careful, diplomatic words feel right in this moment.

For once, you want to cut right down to the core of it. Past the politics. Past the veiled subtleties that make up the royal court.

“Jeonha,” you start, your voice raspy but you continue. “Jeonha and I have an intimate relationship. Though he is the king and I a mere—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. No more of that word. “And I am an uinyeo, not a palace woman, we have been lovers. We are lovers.”

The queen’s eyebrows raise. But before she can speak, you plow on. It’s your turn now, damn it.

“If that makes you uncomfortable asking me for medical advice, I can arrange for one of my disciples to act in my place if you wish. If not, I assure you I will do my best to aid you in all matters, including conception and delivery. But I…” You scrunch your hand into a fist, forcing yourself to breathe, willing yourself stand up straight. “I’ll no longer pretend as if he and I have no relationship.”

The words are coming on their own, your voice building in shaky volume with each syllable. Everything you’ve wanted to say for so long, tumbling free. “I will not step aside. I won’t acquiesce and let him go. Not even to you, jungjeon-mama. Even if I’m not an official concubine and can never be one, I will stay by his side. I will stand. I will—I will demand my space in this palace, regardless of what you or any of this country’s people may think…!”

Instantly, a thick, pensive silence falls in the room.

It’s a silence that begs you to say more to break it, but the words die on your tongue. You can only wait. Wait for the explosion you’ve just lit to blow. But then—

Jungjeon-mama is laughing.

Laughing.

The sound rings out across the empty hall, filling the blankness with your confusion and her mirth. It takes her a full minute to calm, to distill the sound down to quiet chuckling. You are too frozen to ask what the hell that just was. Instead, you just watch as she, still smiling, sets the earrings down and drapes a hand over her lap.

“I wondered how long it would take you to tell me the truth. I’m impressed, uinyeo-nim.”

Your trimmed nails bite into your palm as your heart thuds louder in your ears.

“You… You already knew?”

“But of course! How could I not?” She presses fingertips to her flawlessly smooth cheek. “It was one of the first things I learned when I set foot on palace grounds. And even if one of the ladies had not told me, it would have been plain to see on jeonha’s face that he is absolutely enamored with you.”

Thoughts collide against each other in your mind. It takes all your strength to gather them, to pick out one coherent question. “Then why?” You ask. “Why did you come to me all those weeks ago as if you had no inkling of such things?!”

Jungjeon-mama shifts, her elaborate chima spilling over the bench. “I won’t ask for your forgiveness. You must understand I had to test you. To see the strength of your relationship for myself, so I could know whether or not it could ever be broken.”

Broken. Your heart pangs with the mere thought.

“You see,” she continues, “I have no interest in a man who cannot return my affections. Life is far too brief for such wastes of time.” She moves her hand to her arm as she leans forward towards you. “I want to live happily. I am already queen. It was a decision made for me by my parents, but one that will ensure my survival in this world. Having the king’s attention means very little to me after that.”

Wait.

You feel your eyes widen. If she has no interest—Could that mean? Could it be?

“How much of it was a lie?” You ask bluntly, already steeling yourself for whatever answer comes. But you now know the truth is far better than endless wondering in your own head.

The queen smiles as if she was expecting that question. “Jeonha and I have never been physically together. You will have to ask him for the details of our wedding night, but nothing of consequence happened. Of course, the people believe otherwise, because they must.”

“Never?” You repeat, numbly.

You could weep from relief. It washes over you, filling, mending every cut on your heart from these past, vicious months. You were prepared to accept anything she said. You understand the importance of conceiving an heir. But this… This truth is beyond anything you’ve ever dared to dream of. Yet, that was for good reason.

“What about an heir? Who will rule the throne if not your son?” You ask.

The queen is chuckling again, as if she finds your simple reasoning extremely amusing. “You may have seen the official lineage records, uinyeo-nim, but I have heard the stories. The older servants in the palace know the rumors from several generations back. Do you think our king the first to fall for someone he shouldn’t have?”

“I… I suppose not,” you reply. She’s right. There must have been others trapped by royal responsibility. Others who have let themselves be happy.

“By now, the royal bloodline has likely been muddied so many times that I’d be surprised if there were continuity at all between any three generations.” Now, you meet jungjeon-mama’s eyes. You find in them an unexpected warmth as she declares, “I certainly don’t plan on being alone for the rest of my life. And there are plenty of eligible men in this palace.”

She speaks with such authority that you can’t help but feel envious. It seems to come so inherently to her, while it has taken all of your courage to even be here. To speak. But still—You are here, standing your ground. You are fighting for yourself.

The queen pushes to her feet and begins to cross the floor to you, but you are no longer scared of such actions. “All I care about is being comfortable. And that my children will be taken care of,” she says. “A royal name will more than secure that, regardless of whether or not they are truly of jeonha’s blood.”

But that’s not enough. You have one last question. Perhaps the most crucial one of all. “And if I become pregnant?”

Yoongi’s story about his father’s former concubine and the assassins haunts your thoughts. You will not allow that to happen again.

“Then all the better.”

She stands right in front of you, her hands held regally in front of her as her silk sleeves drape down. “The court will not bother your children as long as I have my own. And if it comes to it, your sons will be eligible for the throne. Better any heir than none in desperate times.”

“But you. You will not hurt them?” You press, needing confirmation.

“Never.”

Elegantly, Seong-min reaches out her hand, beckoning you to do the same. Though you are bewildered, you offer yours before you can think better of it. She links your fingers together in an uncharacteristically delicate hold.

“Uinyeo-nim.” Her voice remains strong, but for the first time, you think it might be kind. “I want to be happy. And now I know what you have decided happiness is for you. It would all be easier if we cooperated.”

You nod, immediately, still incredulous at what the truth has brought. “I agree.”

She gives your hand a fond squeeze.

As you look at her so closely like this… How very similar to the former queen she is, you think. A comparison that is no longer a dagger through your heart, but a welcome embrace for what is to come. All that is to come, if your king will forgive you for being so utterly foolish for so long.

You want to see him. You need to see him, to tell him all you have uncovered. To share everything that has been lost these past few months.

“Jungjeon-mama… I must go,” you say.

She smiles widely as she releases your hand. “I know. Go. Quickly!”

You are panting when you reach the imposing doors of jeonha’s residence, your legs aching with how quickly you ran here but each second that passes without seeing him feels like a waste.

Jeonghun stands guard today, and he gives you a friendly smile as you approach. “Su-uinyeo-nim, good morning! Thank you again for your medicine.” Then he pauses, noticing your expression. “Ah… Uhh, are you alright?”

Hands on your knees, you nod as you suck in deep breaths. “I-Is jeonha… Is he inside…?”

“Yes, I believe he should be in the middle of his morning readings.”

“Thank you. Thank you.” Somewhat properly breathing now, you straighten. Push back the hair that has come undone from your bun. You must look like an absolute mess, but you don’t care.

To his credit, Jeonghun doesn’t give you the chance to ask for entry. He simply opens the door for you, his grin warm and encouraging.

“Thank you,” you say one last time before you hurry inside.

The residence is enormous, but you know the way as well as the paths of your own hall. None of the servants hurrying about stop you, as if they too believe you belong there as you speed through the corridors towards the study. Towards your heart.

When you open that final door with a shaking hand, you find Yoongi sitting behind his royal desk, papers scattered everywhere on the wide surface. He looks slightly better than when you saw him last night, but fatigue still has its claws in him, drawing wrinkles and shadows on his brow.

“Eunuch Kim,” He starts, without looking up. “I told y—”

“Jeonha.”

Yoongi’s eyes flash up with an almost inhuman speed. There is surprise, then a joy that takes over his entire face. A relief so undeniable that it almost overwhelms you to see it.

“You’re here,” he says, his voice dropping down to a whisper.

There is so much you want to say. You should first explain everything the queen has revealed. You should apologize for the cruel things you’ve said to him, telling him to be with her again and again. But the thing that spills out of your mouth is, “I’m a fool.”

He looks bewildered at this confession. It’s one of the few honest things you have said to him since your argument and it clearly confounds him.

“Jeonha, I have been a coward,” you say.

He seems like he is about to refute your words but just like with the queen, you won’t let him. You’ll say your share, even if your hands are clammy with nerves and sweat.

“All this time, I have waited. Sat there hoping for you to come to me. I’ve answered your summons. But I’ve… never had the courage to reach out for you in turn. Never asked for more because I always thought this had to end someday.” You’d been searching for ways to protect yourself, to pull away before he abandoned you without a thought to how that would hurt him in turn. Foolish.

You take a step towards him but no more. Wanting to be in his arms, but afraid you’ll lose your conviction if he touches you. “I should’ve told you my fears. I shouldn’t have tried to take every burden onto myself.”

He murmurs your name now, not to interrupt, but because he cannot stop the sound. His eyes are so tender, so full of affection and sorrow.

You exhale, letting your fears flow from you to leave only sincerity behind. “Jeonha, I know the truth. You’ve never taken another woman. But even if you had… Despite everything, you’ve thought of me. You’ve made me a priority. And I—I had thought myself powerless all this time.”

He pushes up from his seat. Slides out from behind his desk. You watch him descend from the platform until he stands on the same hard ground as you.

“Powerless, when you have all this power over me?” He asks, almost amused at the absurdity of the thought.

You nod. “I should’ve known that. Should’ve held my head up high no matter what the other palace women or former concubines said about me because… I have no reason to be ashamed in front of them, regardless of my class. Because I’m the one you chose. Out of all of them. Me.”

“And I will always choose you.” He is closer now. A few more steps and he’d be close enough to touch, but instead your hands stay knotted together before you, his at his sides. “But it was not my choosing that gave you strength. You are more accomplished in your own right than any of those women. You have improved the lives of everyone in this palace, whether they will admit it or not.”

Yoongi has the tiniest smile on his lips, but it carries sadness, fear. “I’ve never wanted to force you to stay. Or to pressure you into any decision,” he murmurs, and you know this to be true. It was true when he asked you to the Chuseok festival back when you were both so young, and it was true when you told him to leave all those months ago. “What my mother had to experience was far too cruel. I didn’t want—”

“Jeonha.” You make him pause with one hand on his arm. “I-I know it is impossible for me to officially be your concubine, but… I don’t care about titles. I will determine what worth my life has. And I choose to remain here in this palace as an uinyeo. As… your lover.”

“Is that truly what you want?” He asks, softly, his dark eyes searching your face as if he is still uncertain. “Even though being involved with me has only hurt you, again and again?”

“Don’t you see?” You exhale, moving your hands until you are pressing both palms against his chest. Through his silk, his heartbeat is quick, but so utterly steady. “You are not your father. You will learn from his mistakes, not repeat them. And there is nowhere else I want to go. Not when you are here.”

His hands are trembling when he brings them to your arms, holding you gently. Like this, you can see yourself reflected in his dark eyes. Eyes that are no longer unfathomable, but warm as they focus only on you.

Your voice is a whisper when you confess, “I want to have a family with you.” The secret lifts from your chest, blooming in that precious space between your bodies.

“I do too,” he says, “So much.”

He leans forward until your foreheads touch, his breath brushing against your nose. You inhale his scent, scrunching your fingers in his robes as if you could have him like this for a lifetime. But then, the corners of his lips turn down.

“But I have to tell you… this might be the one thing I cannot give.”

You raise your head. “What? Why?”

“My father… had difficulty conceiving an heir. It is why I have no siblings when a royal family would typically have many. When I asked my father’s physician after his death… The doctor told me he suspected a hereditary condition.” Yoongi eases back, covering your hands with his own. “One that would pass onto me. And make it unlikely that I will father children.”

You shake your head. “Jeonha, unlikely does not mean impossible. You are alive, are you not?” His heartbeat pounds steadily under your grasp. “If we never try, there is never the possibility we might succeed.”

Yoongi gives a surprised bark of laughter, the sound waterlogged with emotion thick in his throat. “My mother. She used to say that.”

“I know. And it’s only now that I understand exactly what she meant.”

Leaning down, Yoongi presses his lips to yours. The first kiss you have shared in months, and it isn’t until his softness is tangible against you that you realize how much you have missed him. How all your reasoning and logic could never compare to the simple touch of the man you love. You let your lips part, wanting more as you feel him smile into your kiss.

No more words. You don’t need them to know how he treasures you. Not when it is evident in the way he cups your cheek with a warm hand, the pad of his thumb brushing your skin. The way he bumps the tip of his nose into you because he needs to be closer.

When you finally pull apart, his lips a little wet, yours still needy, you’re both smiling like it’s your first time. And in a sense, it is. The first time in this new era of your lives. One that promises to last as long as you are both willing to fight for it.

“Eunuch Kim!” Yoongi suddenly yells towards the door. As you stare at him, puzzled, the door slides open. When the man in question appears, looking harried, Yoongi commands: “Cancel the afternoon meeting.”

“But jeonha—”

“Cancel it. And leave us alone.”

Eunuch Kim’s eyes flicker from you to his king, then back to you. His sigh of surrender is far too exaggerated to be anything but ‘finally’ in disguise. “As you wish, jeonha. Su-uinyeo-nim.” He bows as he shuffles out of the room, nearly bumping into the door frame with how he refuses to raise his head again.

“The man is absolutely delighted,” Yoongi mutters when you are alone again, his voice as sarcastic as it is fond.

“I know exactly how he feels,” you say, grinning as you pull your king, your love in for another kiss.

a/n: didn’t i tell you to trust me? 🌸

He has agreed to very preliminary negotiations for a trade treaty with the same foreigners who had brutally slaughtered his countrymen all those months ago.

No part of him wants to engage with those bastards, but he has little choice. They only continue to press for more, their greed unparalleled as they send message after message. Worse still, watchtowers established on Joseon shores think they have seen American warships drifting past close to land, after night has fallen. Yoongi understands the action as the silent threats they are. And he has no time to deal with such petty things, when neighbouring Japan continues to intimidate.

Thus, this new acquiescence is a gamble. Negotiations can take years. In that time, another world power, a bigger one, could take care of his problem for him. Or at least distract them from Joseon. And then his people, his beloved country, would be safe. For now, this first agreement removes any immediate danger. And lets him finally see you again.

Yoongi shakes his head free of politics’ demands. No more of such things. He wants what has been denied him for too long. Softly, he calls your name.

A heartbeat. Two. Before the third, the door opens.

Backlit by a quiet orange glow, you are… impossibly beautiful. Your hair is half-undone, strands flying around to frame your face. There is a darkness beneath your eyes, and he knows you must have been working for far too long already. Still, Yoongi has never known desire like this. The want to take you into his arms, to feel your warm breath against his skin, to kiss you until the entire world falls away—

Instead, he exhales your name again, the sound brimming with affection. “You’re here.”

“Where else would I be?” You turn. Walk back in.

Though it stings, he knows he deserves that cold tone. He had wanted to come back immediately after that night in November, but he’d wanted to respect your wish that he leave. More than that, he’d been afraid. Terrified that you would turn him away for good if he had, so he drowned himself in work. But what would he have said? Calling Seong-min mama had been a slip of the tongue, but it is the truth. Even if he apologized now, it would change little of their circumstances. And he is too aware that words without action are meaningless. Familiar guilt pinches his chest as he steps forward.

At least you’ve let him come inside. Even if you’ve never once attempted to see him during the past weeks, though all his guards have long been ordered to allow you entry no matter the circumstances.

“Have you received the things I’ve sent for you with Eunuch Kim?” He asks, referencing the boxes full of treats and expensive medicinal ingredients and books. He sent them every time he thought of you—which is to say, you had been flooded with gifts. They are a poor substitute for his presence, but time could not be spared, lest he risk another attack. Or a revolt within the advisors, if he did not keep up appearances with the new queen.

“I have. Thank you, jeonha.”

You are still not looking at him. Yoongi pushes down the ache in his heart as he moves further inside, avoiding the bench he sat at last time. Instead, he takes one of the wooden chairs beside the one you favor when you work.

How many hours have you both spent here at this table, him contemplating reports while you persistently experimented beside him? It was so easy to ask for your opinions then. You always offered a perspective that aided him in one way or another, even if it was just to calm him down with the sound of your voice. In turn, he was happy to do any menial tasks required of your special ingredients, and he was there to taste your every attempt at creating desserts (even the failed ones). But those days are long past. His damned responsibilities have made sure of that.

Now you sit next to him endlessly fiddling with your pressing stone, rearranging it on the table alongside freshly-washed brushes. It’s one of your nervous habits, and he hates that he’s the one making you so. “Hey,” he murmurs, and reaches out what is meant to be a comforting hand towards you.

But the moment his fingers brush your shoulder, you flinch. You jerk your body from him, hands slamming on the wooden table as you have to re-balance yourself on your seat.

Yoongi drops his hand. His arm swings limply at his side. To his shock, there is an immediate stinging behind his eyes, a threat he tries to hurriedly blink away as looks away, wrestling with the realization that a few months have been enough time to make you so unrecognizable to him. A few months might have been able to undo all that has been carefully built between you for more than a decade.

How can he fix it?

What can he possibly afford to give up to keep you with him?

You exhale, the sound extended in this silence. When you finally turn to him, it’s with an expression that is uncharacteristically blank, and firm.

“Do you really have time to waste with me right now, jeonha?”

Though his lips twitch, he forces a smile on his face. “Yes, for once. I have the rest of the night for myself. We can use it however you like. We could read. We could paint. You could teach me about flowers again, like you used to.” He wants you to take a break as much as he needs one himself. As much as he admires your ability to put yourself aside, he knows firsthand how much of a toll that takes.

But your expression never changes, as if you hadn’t heard him at all. You used to delight at the prospect of time together, since it has always been a precious commodity. He wants to see you smile. Instead, you say, “You should spend your time with jungjeon-mama.”

His brow draws in, wrinkles. “Why the hell would I do that?” Confusion sharpens his tone. He doesn’t want to hear about her again. Not when there is so much between you two that deserves the attention. Not when he has been dreaming of you for weeks upon weeks, to say nothing of how much you occupy his waking thoughts; something he has become so used to, it is like an inherent part of him.

“It has been hard for you to conceive an heir.”

You are saying words, yes, but he can’t comprehend them. As if you’re speaking underwater, or with a mouth full of jeon. “What?”

“We need an heir for the country. For the kingdom.”

He clamps his mouth shut. Not trusting what instinctively wants to come out in anger. Why has your mind gone to these strange places? Especially when he has been so careful to keep them away from you, for fear of hurting you.

“Conception can take a long time. And as jungjeon-mama gets older, it will be increasingly difficult.”

“I—”

You cut him off. “So isn’t it best to take every opportunity to lay with the queen?”

These words don’t sound like yours. That lifeless tone you speak them with doesn’t feel like yours either, but your expression reveals nothing. Only some weird calmness that disturbs him, makes frustration simmer hot under his skin.

“Why are you saying this?” He finally asks, enunciating each syllable in an effort to keep himself restrained. “Tell me the truth.”

“I don’t know what you mean, jeonha.” You pick up the stone, set it down again. “I’m not lying to you.”

“God. Fuck.” Yoongi rakes a rough hand through his hair, the topknot coming half-undone with the shake. Anger bites at his thoughts, the fire stoked by how much of a stranger you look to him right now.

His fist lands on the table. “Why do you always do this?!” His voice finally comes out a shout.

Though it’s not what he intended, it works. Your icy expression finally shatters at his explosion of sound. For a moment, your eyes are wide, mouth agape. Then, you deal your own dose of surprise when you retort, “B-Because it’s what you should do! You are king!”

As if he doesn’t know that. As if he hasn’t known that this whole time. But he doesn’t want to hear about duties. The only thing he cares about is: “Why are you the one to speak for the queen when you are the one in the worst position? Why don’t you fight for yourself?”

He doesn’t want to yell, direct this annoyance at you, but he can’t stop it. How can you stand there and say those things to him, as if you don’t know exactly how he has dedicated himself to you his whole life? Trampling all over his feelings like this. As if he doesn’t know you’re also devastating your own heart in the process.

“Fuck what I should do. What do you want?” Yoongi is starkly aware his control is slipping, but he’s so tired of losing you. “Please. Whatever you want, I will try to give it to you. You know you have always been able to ask me for anything.” And yet, you don’t. You never do, always thinking about him before yourself. Putting the entire world before your happiness. As much as he respects, loves, that part of you, it cuts him the deepest.

“What do you want?” He repeats, desperate for the answer.

“I—I don’t—”

You shake your head, tongue tripping over syllables.

“I don’t know. I can’t. I simply—I cannot think,” you mumble in a rush as you turn away into yourself. Your arm wraps around your stomach, squeezing your sides as if you could huddle away altogether.

He forces his mouth to shut. Clamps his teeth down on his cheek to make himself obey his mind.

These things had to be said, though he knows he could have delivered them much better than he has. Your face is a mixture of emotions, shifting between hurt and confusion and stress. Fuck. Fuck. He clenches his muscles, counting long, deep breaths in his head until the worst of the heat cools. He doesn’t want to leave, but he will if you ask it of him. He deserves it, even though he does not regret his words for a second.

It feels like a slow hour passes instead of a handful of minutes before you whisper, quietly, “you can stay.”

“What?” Yoongi whips his head up, hope dousing him like torrential rain. “Truly?”

You nod, once. “Just… Just for tonight. Since you have come all this way. I have work to do still and… you can help cut these leaves into slivers.” You slide a bowl full of plant cuttings towards him. “Thinly!” You instruct, seamlessly slipping into that strict, su-uinyeo tone he finds so endearingly charming.

“Understood.”

Pulling back his sleeves, he picks up the small knife.

The room soon fills with the sound of scraping, of your murmurs beneath your breath as you recite your knowledge of medicinal properties. You cast glances at him every once in a while, surely to make sure he is properly carrying out your order. But occasionally, your eyes meet. And though you might look quickly away every time, he notices the soft, fond smile that falls into place when you lose yourself in your work.

It’s enough for him.

More than enough.

Being near you, talking with you, spending his life with you… These are selfish wishes for one in his position, but ones that bloom in his heart anyway. Each one a beautiful flower more resistant to the change of seasons than anything in the entire world.

Later that night, alone in your bed, you find yourself sleepless. Blankly, you stare at the darkness above your head, thinking. You think of rocks skimming a secret pond’s surface. You think of the hope you have held onto for most of your life, and the wishes you have made for things to work themselves out. These furtive wishes you’ve made to fate instead of taking actual action.

Why don’t you fight for yourself?, he’d asked.

Yes—Why don’t you?

When you finally drift into sleep asleep, you dream of a time long, long past. A pot of tea, an old pavilion, and another question asked in a kind voice that you’d all but forgotten until now.

Would you really have let him go?

a/n: so... how would you answer these questions?

also a truly massive thank you to the ever lovely @idkijustlovebts​ for beta-reading this chapter for me. she, insightful reader that she is, helped give me some much needed perspective of my own and took so much time to assist me 🥺 y’all, Amy is the best!! 

“Jungjeon-mama.” You bow as she walks past, settling herself on the wooden chair reserved for patients. “If you had summoned me, I would have gladly come to you. You would not have to come all this way.” And leave me with no time to steel myself.

“Oh, it’s no bother. Walking improves my health. Besides, here is only a short distance from jeonha’s chambers.”

You swallow her implications, still unable to read a thing from her calm, composed expression. “…Of course.” You force your legs to move again, urging yourself to sit across from the regal woman. Right now, you must cast aside yourself and focus on being a doctor, a healer first. No matter what. “How may I help you, jungjeon-mama?”

The queen sniffs, bundling her layers of clothes together. “It has been a few months since the wedding now. Obviously, jeonha and I have been seeing each other regularly, as much as his schedule allows. Yet,” she pauses, silk dragging against silk as she moves her hand over her stomach, “I am still not with child.”

Oh.

“I-I see.” You bury your hands into your chima sleeves, hoping the fabric can hide the trembling.

Jungjeon-mama leans forward, her shapely eyes never straying from yours. “I hope you can help me with this, su-uinyeo-nim. After all, you know it is of absolute importance that I give birth to an heir. And I know you have expertise with such things.”

“Yes… Yes, of course. An heir would unite the country further.” You fight the urge to stand up and find something to occupy your fingers as they twitch against your elbows. “Have you been feeling ill at all in the past weeks?” You ask, feeling a bit sick yourself right now as your stomach churns.

She shakes her head. “I’ve been in fine health. Otherwise, I would have come to you earlier, no?”

It’s true. You’ve not seen her since your last check-up, a week after the wedding. You’d liked it that way.

“Of course. Then... have you been sleeping at a decent hour? Have you been eating your meals?” When she gives two definitive, succinct nods, you continue, “When did you last have proof of your cycle?”

“It started this morning. Late, so I had hoped it would not come at all.” She frowns, and that look catches you by surprise. It might be the first sign of vulnerability you’ve ever seen on her. Her eyebrows pull inwards, her lips pressed thin. She seems truly disappointed, an expression that pulls at your empathy even though you are so keenly aware that she is the last person you should be friendly with. It’s dangerous for you to get so involved, and yet.

The look shifts into thoughtfulness soon enough. “I’ve noticed that jeonha has been tired recently,” she says. “Could that affect things?”

Right.

You’d confirmed his fatigue for yourself in the few brief times you’ve seen him since that November night you threw him out of your chambers. While all those exchanges were in the company of many others, you only needed a single glance to know that he was exhausted beneath his facade of strength. As you delivered reports of ongoing health issues within the palace dwellers, you could see how he moved slower, how his reactions to new information were almost sluggish when compared to his usual spirit.

You wish you could help him.

Now you can only help his wife.

“Lack of sleep, stress, and fatigue can certainly be factors,” you say.

The queen raises her hand to her face, feigning modesty but keeping her fingers just low enough to reveal her smirk. “Hmm. I suppose I’ll just have to help him relax then.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly parched. “Anyway… A-All I can recommend is that you place fruits, flowers, and jewels in your room before going to bed at night. If you dream of these things, it may be a good omen of impending pregnancy.”

“Alright. It’s an easy enough task for my serving ladies to arrange.”

Getting to your feet, you reach for your cabinet full of dried ingredients. “You can also try to drink tea made from these herbs.” You turn your back to the queen so your hands are free to hesitate as much as they want, as you gather and weigh out a few portions.

Truthfully, you don’t want to give them to her at all, to help more than you already are but—teas like these are often spoken of among women. If you didn’t offer them to her at all, she’d likely consider it strange.

“Here you are, jungjeon-mama. There is enough for a week, if you take it every other day.” You hand her the tiny parcel with both hands.

The queen accepts it smoothly. “Perfect,” she says, as some part of you finds relief.

If she had known the truth of your relationship with Yoongi… She wouldn’t have taken the herbs. You would fully expect her to be suspicious of whether you slipped something poisonous into the mix. Perhaps you are safe. Or perhaps, the worrisome part of you thinks, she has already decided privately to accept, but not consume anything you could give. Politics like this make your head spin.

“I shall take my leave now.” She gets up from the seat, smiling as she hovers a few inches above you. “I appreciate your advice, su-uinyeo-nim. Let us hope for success.”

How the hell can you reply to that? Torn between keeping up appearances and the sharp, acute pain her words bring to your heart. You end up saying nothing at all.

At the door, she turns for one last glance at you. “Oh, and allow me to thank you on jeonha’s behalf for working so hard for our soldiers. I hear the rash symptoms have greatly improved. You’ve done so much.”

Hiding your face with a bow, you pray your voice won’t break as you murmur, “…Anything for our people.”

Recently, there’s been a disease spreading through the soldiers. It’s some sort of itchiness that is as persistent as it is pervasive. None of the doctors have been able to find a solution, but they are still reluctant to work with you since you are an inferior woman. You scatter new herbs across the sturdy wooden table, preparing for another long session of experiments. You’ll prove them wrong, even if you have to sacrifice sleep to do it.

All this to distract from the truth that you haven’t seen the man you love in nearly three weeks.

Just like you expected, despite his promises, despite your hopes, things changed. Something shifted, that day of the wedding ceremony. Or was it more like something locked into place? Yoongi became a married man even while the ghost of you lingers around him. And he hasn’t summoned you in so long, nor have you dared to even attempt to seek him out.

These days, no matter if you are within palace grounds or out in town, you can hardly go a few hours in the presence of others without hearing about the new jungjeon-mama. She has visited her people twice already, surveying her citizens with a retinue of guards. Her popularity continues to soar on powerful wings, judging from the awestruck whispers that travel far across the land. She has accomplished exactly what the advisors intended. The townspeople are distracted even as the king must deal with yet another treaty from America.

You wonder how long it will take for there to be an heir.

Shut up, you tell your mind as you force your fingers to begin working. At least medicine is something you have control over.

You end up so absorbed in calculations and properties, you don’t even notice someone has entered the room until a deep voice calls your name. You look up into dark eyes and long hair that seems to glow despite the lack of a moon tonight.

“J-Jeonha!” You sink into a deep bow without thinking, even though he insisted you dispense of this particular formality some months ago. Your heart aches with happiness, with want.

The king, achingly beautiful as always, stands on the opposite end of the table. “Are you busy?”

“No, no.” You give the mixture you’re heating a last stir, knowing it must cook for some more time. “Not as you are, I am sure.”

He inhales deep at that, shaking his head. “Like you would not believe. There is new pressure coming from Japan, and the Americans have still refused to relent. I don’t know if they will retaliate like they did at Ganghwa. I refuse to let that happen again.” He lets you lead him to a nearby bench, sitting down as his eyes continue to cloud with heat and irritation. “At least some of the advisors are now more reasonable.”

“…Because of the wedding.”

His hands press into the seat. “Yes.”

Part of you immediately wants to change the topic that you brought up yourself, but the other part knows it must be had. That you have to be able to discuss these things, even if it makes your limbs seize up. “The advisors must be afraid to be too rude when she is present.”

He pauses, as if considering his words before he says, “they are used to my mother shutting them up, I suppose.” Then silence comes in once more to fill, to suffocate the space between you as you process what he has just confirmed—she, as queen, is allowed to participate in the daily meetings. And she is aiding him in a way you cannot.

God. It’s almost comical how stilted your voices are, your words so formal it’s as if you’ve gone back years. Like neither of you want to acknowledge how odd it is to be this close to him and not have him touch you. He is usually, at the very least, brushing your hand with his fingers. Or pulling you into him to mingle your warmths together. But now, nothing. Promises shattered before your very eyes.

You bite your lip. “I’m glad she has been helpful then.”

“Yes, well.” He deliberately cuts himself off, clearing his throat. “Damn it. I am not here to talk about her.”

But your control is slipping. You know you’re ruining this precious time you have together but you have been so damn upset, so pitifully lonely that the startling jealousy writhing through you becomes too hard to resist. “No? She is your wife after all.”

You get what you wanted. Yoongi’s anger riles quick, flashing hot through his hardened eyes, but it doesn’t satisfy you like you thought it would. It only cuts you more, a fresh, scalding burn on your heart when he scowls, grits his teeth and says, “No, mama is—”

Mama.

Whatever he says next, you don’t register. The inhale you instinctively take is so sharp it steals every other breath from your lungs. These few weeks have been enough for him to pick up the habit of calling her as such, even in your presence. The word detached from the full title implies with no uncertainty that she is his family. She is his.

You pitch forward, elbows pressed to your knees, burying your face into chilly palms. The first sob betrays you, rattling violently through your body even as you try to choke the rest of the onslaught back. This is the first time you’ve cried since learning of the official engagement. Everything that’s built upon you since then, every bit of pain you’ve swallowed and shoved down and tried to forget slams into your body like a closed-fist blow. It’s all you can do to breathe through the wet hurt.

There’s a clattering, a shift in weight as he must leap to his feet. “Shit. Shit, I… Fuck. I did not mean…” His panic is palpable but you can’t handle it, can’t handle anything that might leave you hoping and wanting and pathetic.

“Please… Please l-leave,” you gasp, knowing how long you have waited for this, waited for him but like a small animal, you are all wild fear, needing to lick your wounds in solitude. You are so terrified of what more he might say, or what he might do. He already holds all the power over you. You want a pittance of it back. “Leave.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you like this,” he mumbles. You hear the wood creak as he steps away. “I never wanted this.”

But I’ve always wanted you is the only thing that lingers through your tears before the door thuds shut.

a/n: drabble forty. wow. thank you for being here. thank you for trusting me with these two. it means more than i could ever express and we are so close to the end now! i hope you’ll all stick around to see what happens ♡