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“They’re late.”

“Only by ten minutes,” Intak replied, keeping his voice even in an attempt to diffuse the tension already seeping out of the Crown Prince. 

He felt for his friend—he truly did—but he knew better than anyone the importance of upholding one's duty. “Maybe you should forget the past and start over… You will be wed soon, whether either of you like it or not.”

Taeyang dismissed Intak’s words as he mumbled something distinctly unprincely under his breath.

In the distance, the carriage finally appeared. Intak gestured towards it and Taeyang drew in a deep breath beside him, shoulders squaring beneath his embroidered coat. Intak fixed his own posture too, armor settling further against his frame, as they watched until the carriage stopped a few feet away from where they were standing at the entrance.

They waited in silence as a guard opened the door and offered a gloved hand to its occupants. The first young woman stepped out into the sunlight, eyes flitting around to take in the unfamiliar place, and Intak felt the breath leave his lungs. She moved with grace, shoulders pushed back and chin held high, her traveling cloak swaying lightly with her movements. 

“What’s wrong?” Tayang's voice broke him from his stupor, his eyes furrowing at the look on his friend's face.

Intak hesitated to speak the words aloud. “Respectfully… if I was going to marry her, I wouldn’t be complaining.”

Taeyang let out a low chuckle. “That’s not her. That’s her little sister.”

Just when the second woman descended—elegant and radiating a cool disdain—Tayang’s expression soured. “That’s her.”

Intak swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “O-oh.” But his eyes refused to leave the younger princess, even as her sister approached, his gaze stayed fixed on her.

The realization dawned on him as you neared—he remembered you now from years ago when your family visited the Choi court. You were a whirlwind of scraped knees and flying braids, always one step ahead of him as you chased each other through the vast fields. The memory of his youth brought an unexpected warmth to his chest.

“Are all your guards this starry-eyed?”

Taeyang’s head snapped towards Intak. “Hey.”

Heat flooded Intak’s cheeks at once. He straightened even further, jaw tight, willing the flush from the older princesses' words to die down.

Taeyang turned back to her as he spoke, “You’ll have to forgive Intak. He’s not used to being in the presence of such… striking… company.” 

Intak inwardly cringed at the jab. So much for turning over a new leaf. 

He watched as you drew in a breath at the bickering adults, your eyes sliding to the side to do a once-over on the guards standing at the perimeter. The gesture was subtle but familiar to Intak, and it tugged at his instincts. 

“But no less competent, I hope,” the older continued, "I need to know that I haven’t been gambled into a throne with no dependability.”

You choked back a laugh at the look on Prince Taeyang’s face, turning it into a strained smile. The sound nearly distracted Intak again, but the simmering temper from his friend beside him overpowered it. 

He stepped forward smoothly, his armour clinking as he sank into a respectful kneel. “I can assure you, Your Highness, you are in good hands with us. I will see to it myself that we do everything in our power to make our future Queen feel safe.”

A faint, almost fond smile curved at her lips. “Hm. I like him. May I request he be my guard?”

Intak rose, offering her a bright and genuine smile in return, before risking a subtle glance back at you. This time your eyes were already on him. The faintest quirk of your brow sent a jolt through his chest that rooted him to the cobblestone beneath his feet. 

Your gaze traveled over him slowly, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the polished plates of his armor, the sword at his hip. There was nothing shy about the appraisal. Heat ghosted the back of his neck at your assessment. He missed whatever was said next, the words blurring beneath the sudden awareness of your attention.

Only when the Princess’ voice cut through again— “Handsome guard?”—did his focus snap back. He had no idea what Taeyang and his betrothed were discussing, his mind still caught on the way your eyes had lingered on him.

The conversation between the couple grew heated, angry words slicing back and forth like clashing blades. Intak remained silent, every sense drawn to where you stood by your sister’s side.

Finally, the two royals reached a doomed truce: they would not speak to each other again until the formal engagement ceremony a week from now. 

Intak exhaled slowly, then gestured with a gloved hand towards the open castle doors.

“If you will follow me, Your Highnesses. Welcome to the Choi kingdom.” 

✦••┈•

Immediately after showing the princesses to their quarters, Intak sought out his friend.

He found Taeyang standing with his hands resting on the railing of a balcony located in a more secluded part of the castle. His posture hadn’t relaxed one bit since the introduction, jaw clenched even tighter than before.

Intak approached quietly to not startle him, the caution rendered pointless from the clink of his armour. “Are you alright?”

Taeyang let out a slow breath without turning. “There’s nothing I can do about it, so there’s no point in simmering on it.”

Intak opened his mouth to press further, the concern for his friend tightening his throat, but Taeyang spoke first.

“I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Anything,” Intak answered without hesitation. 

Taeyang finally faced him with a weary expression. “There’s been talk throughout the kingdom… There are many who disapprove of this alliance with the West. I trust you know about it?”

Intak nodded, his brows furrowing in concern. He’d heard about it in his meetings. 

“Well, I need you to watch over the younger princess,” Taeyang continued. “Keep her safe, stay close at all costs. If there are those bold enough to act against the union, they may see her as an easier target. I trust no one more than you.”

“Of course,” Intak agreed, the words coming easily even as his heart skipped unexpectedly at the thought of being around you for weeks to come. He kept his face composed. “You have my word.”

Taeyang’s shoulders eased slightly, the tension melting away as he reached out to clap Intak on the shoulder the same way he’d done a hundred times. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you standing by my side through all this mess.”

Intak laid his hand over his, gripping it once. “You’ll get through it. The wedding will be over before you know it, the alliance will hold… and who knows? Maybe you will grow fond of each other.” When Taeyang’s lips sunk into a devastating frown, Intak quickly remedied it. “You’re not alone in this, Taeyang. You never have been.”

The frown turned up into a faint, tired smile. For a moment the Crown Prince looked less like a man with the weight of a nation rested on him and more like the friend he remembered from countless hours of battling with toy swords. 

“Try to rest,” Intak added quietly. “I’ll keep watch over her—over both of them.”

With that, he stepped back, leaving Taeyang to the quiet of the balcony as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. 

As Intak paced the quiet corridors of the castle, he pondered over the important assignment—and the curious princess whose gaze lingered on him so shamelessly in the courtyard. 

✦••┈•

Intak didn’t waste time seeking you out the next day. You were in the courtyard, soaking in the warm sun as you strolled along the graveled path, mapping the area out in your head unbeknownst to him. 

You studied every nook and cranny, every ledge, every gate you could see. You made sure to be thorough as you surveyed the castle just like you’d learned in training, all while wearing the mask of a helpless princess to disguise the reality. 

You heard him before you saw him. He approached with the same polite kindness he showed the day before, stopping a respectful distance away as he bowed his head.

“Forgive my intrusion, Your Highness. I didn’t get to properly introduce myself yesterday. My name is Intak, one of the kingdom’s most trusted knights.” He took a breath, willing himself to maintain your piercing eye contact. “I have also come to inform you that I have been assigned to maintain proximity to you. Should you ever wish to leave the castle grounds, I will accompany you for your safety, as well.”

You tilted your head, a barely there smile gracing your lips. “Re-introduce.”

His eyebrows rose, eyes opening wide—the expression was so similar to the puppy you owned as a girl, you almost laughed. 

“Re-introduce. I remember you, you know. Would you like to walk with me?” He nodded and fell into step beside you, sucking in a deep breath to calm his nerves. 

The courtyard was quiet, save for the faint chirps of birds and the crunch beneath your shoes. After a few moments you let out a quiet chuckle to yourself and Intak turned to you, eyes drawn forward in confusion.

“Sorry, I just remembered how clumsy you were when we would play together as children—always tripping over your feet while I chased you. I’m surprised you managed to become a knight at all, especially one in the King’s guard.”

Intak chuckled and your stomach flipped unexpectedly at the sound—it must be the heat getting to you. Definitely the heat. 

“A lot has changed since we were children.’

You turned to study him now that he was closer. He looked almost the same, except his features were sharper and slimmer now. He’s matured into something undeniably handsome. “Yes,” you murmured. “You’re right.”

The two of you stopped walking. For a long, drawn out moment you simply stared at each other. His eyes fell to your lips for a quick second before he looked away and cleared his throat. 

You smiled, the playful energy you kept tucked away bubbling up. “Let’s see if you can keep up now.”

“What do you mean?”

You flashed him one last grin, then turned to break into a run, your skirt messily gathered in your hands. Behind you, you heard his startled sound of surprise, followed by the heavy beat of his armored boots against the gravel. Your carefree laugh spilled out, loud and genuine as you gasped for breath. 

You kept just ahead of him, weaving through the paths in the courtyard, until the skirt slipped from your grip and caught under your foot. The trip was intentional, but the fall was real enough. You tumbled forward with a startled cry, landing hard on the grass.

Intak was at your side in seconds, fear flashing across his face. “Are you hurt?”

You were already laughing though, breathless and sprawled on the ground looking no worse for wear. He blinked, then a tiny smile tugged at his lips. “Look who’s the clumsy one now.”

He offered his hand and helped you stand. When he noticed your shoe had slipped off in the fall, he knelt without hesitation, gentle fingers brushing your ankle as he guided the slipper back onto your foot. You lifted the hem of your dress a little higher than necessary to reveal the smooth skin of your calf, watching carefully for his reaction. 

His breath caught audibly, touch lingering longer than it needed to before he carefully lowered the fabric and rose.

“I hope incidents like this don’t keep occurring,” he said, trying to sound stern while he plucked a strand of grass from your hair. “You should be more careful.”

You brushed off the concern with a careless wave of your hand, but his expression hardened.

“Princess, I’m serious. Tensions are extremely high right now. There are people—bad people—who want to see you and your sister hurt.”

The switch from playful to serious was so sudden it made you dizzy. You looked up at him through your lashes, offering a shy smile. “But you’ll be there to protect me, right, Sir Intak?”

His eyes darkened and locked on yours, nodding slowly, fully intending to carry out the task successfully.

Intak walked you back to your chambers in silence and when you reached your door you paused, glancing at him.

“Is your room far?”

“Just around the corner.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You paused, letting the words settle between you. “Thank you, Intak.”

Before he could respond, you slipped inside and closed the door, leaving him to calm his racing heart.

✦••┈•

The next day you made your way to your sister’s chambers, having not seen her in a while, no doubt due to her locking herself away within the room—or as she liked to dramatically call it, her “shackles”. 

When you entered you found her lying sprawled across the grand bed, silk robes pooling around her frame, staring up at the glittering chandelier with distant, hollow eyes. She didn’t acknowledge you as you entered, clearly lost in thought (or boredom).

“You know,” you said lightly to diffuse the tension, “if you stare hard enough, it might fall and end your suffering.”

She only groaned in reply and threw an arm over her eyes. The frustrated sound tugged deep at your chest.

You crossed the room and sank onto the edge of the bed beside her, the mattress dipping under your weight. You reached out to gently thread your fingers through her hair, stroking it the way you had since you both were small. “Are you okay?”

She huffed out a sorrowful breath. “It’s just so unfair. I didn’t choose to be born into this. Why must I suffer the consequences?”

The words sat heavy on your heart, the ache of them spreading through you, a helpless sympathy. There was nothing you could say that would truly ease the burden of her betrothal, the cage of her crown. All you could offer was the smallest comfort. “It could be worse.”

She lifted her arm and looked at you, one eyebrow raised in weary challenge. “How?”

You gave her a small, teasing smile. “He could be ugly.”

She replied with a surprised scoff, though a faint blush dusted across her skin. She rolled onto her side, turning away from you while mumbling something about his “ugly personality” into the pillow. 

Even though she was older, destined to be queen one day, you couldn’t help but see the little girl who once ran to you with a scraped knee, tears streaming down her face as she sought your steady hands. Or the girl who had held you after all those grueling training sessions when you were just a child, whispering in your ear that you were so brave while you fought back tears from the bruises and exhaustion. 

You were conceived and brought into the world for one purpose, to act as a guard disguised as her younger sister and the second princess. It was genius, a perfect deceit—no one would ever suspect you. 

If it were for anyone else you were sure you would grow up to resent them, but she had always been incredibly easy to love. You found purpose in it, because loving her came naturally. Though you didn’t share the same blood, your bond ran deeper than it ever could. She was your sister in every way that mattered.

Your voice grew serious. “You’ll get through this.”

She turned back toward you, offering a sad, fragile smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Wanting to lighten the heavy mood, you changed the subject. “That knight, Intak… he was assigned to watch over me.”

She snorted, pushing herself up onto one elbow. “Him? Watch over you?” She gave you a knowing look. “Yeah, if he can stop giving you googly eyes first.”

You rolled your eyes though an unmistakable heat warmed your face at the memory of his lingering eye in the courtyard. He had seemed utterly taken with you. A secret thrill twisted in you, and you were already planning on how to use his infatuation to your advantage. 

“He actually seems capable, and the security in the castle seems strong. But you can never be too sure…”

Your sister's expression soured, the familiar frown creasing her brow whenever your true role slipped into conversation. She hated it—hated knowing you had committed your entire life to her safety, that you were willing to bleed, to kill, to die if necessary for her. She never asked for your sacrifice, just as she never asked for this cage she was born into.

But just as she had unfair obligations, you had yours. Your fate had been written long before you took your first breath.

She reached out and gripped your hand tightly, her voice firm but laced with fear. “If there is any danger, please… just let Intak deal with it. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

You smirked, squeezing her fingers back to reassure her. “I’m sure he doesn’t either.”

Because over the next few days, he maintained a steady watch from a distance, always there but never intrusive. You could feel his stare as you moved through the castle grounds and halls, continuing to map out the kingdom’s defenses. You did so all while wearing the mask of a delicate princess who simply enjoyed the sunlight on her face and the scent of blooming jasmine that the wind carried.

He observed everything. The way you offered soft smiles to the castle staff, the polite tilt of your head when nobles addressed you, the graceful way in which you strolled along the corridors. 

Unlike other high-profile visitors he had guarded before, whose every movement quickly bored him, you held his attention completely. Even when you did nothing more than pause beside the fountain to trail your fingers through the cool water, his eyes remained locked on you. 

He would not admit it aloud, but he relished the excuse to study your beauty.

Every once in a while your eyes would meet his. You would smile, small and knowing, or lift your hand in a subtle wave. Each time, you watched the faint flush rise in his cheeks, or the quick expansion of his chest as he sucked in a breath. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it. Especially so because he thought he was being discreet, but those wide eyes always gave him away. 

One afternoon you approached him directly and he straightened immediately.

“It must be tiring,” you said with feigned concern. “Standing around all day.” Your eyes grazed the gleaming plates of his armor then down to where his hand was resting on the hilt of his sword. “Is it heavy?”

He shook his head, a smile threatening to tug at his lips at your curiosity. “No. I'm used to the weight, Your Highness.”

Your eyes stayed focused on the weapon and you bit your lip. “I’ve never held a sword before. Could I… try?”

It was a lie, of course. But he didn’t know that.

Intak hesitated for a moment before unsheathing the blade and handing it to you. The weight was familiar, comforting even after not having held one since arriving to the kingdom.

You held it with a deliberately awkward grip and the contrast drew a faint, amused breath from him—the soft, pretty princess holding something so sharp and deadly. 

“Try swinging it.”

You did clumsily, the motion wild and off balance. The sword nearly twisted in your grasp as you looked at him with wide eyes. “Am I doing it wrong?”

A delighted laugh fully escaped him, the sound curling low in your belly as he approached you. He stepped behind your frame, his chest brushing your back and his hands settling over yours on the hilt. 

He adjusted your grip then gently guided your arms and shoulder into the proper stance. You could feel his breath ghosting across your neck and your cheek nearly brushed his jaw when you turned your head slightly to look back at him. 

Your heart began to hammer hard in your chest. Too close, you thought and as his scent flooded your senses, then, not close enough.

He cleared his throat and stepped away to put distance between you and gestured for you to try again.

You swung it better this time but still not anywhere close to good. When you struck a dramatic pose with the blade held high, a cute, fond smile spread across his face, lighting his eyes up. You rolled your own at him, cheeks warming under his watchful eye. “I guess it doesn’t suit me, huh?”

You approached him slowly, closing the gap until you stood directly in front of him. The tip of the sword hovered near the ground as you carefully slid it back into the sheath at his hip, the motion bringing you so close that your skirt brushed his leg. His stare felt heated now as you stood in silence for a moment, neither of you daring to speak. 

Finally, you offered him a cheeky little smile that revealed just a hint of the mischief you kept hidden beneath your helpless facade. 

Then you stepped back, bidding him farewell in a sweet voice before turning to walk away. He watched as your figure disappeared from view as he tried and failed to cool off his overheated skin.

✦••┈•

As hard as you tried convincing yourself your interest towards him was part of your duty, you found yourself being drawn to him more than anyone else. 

That evening you skipped your daily dinner with the Choi family entirely, the thought of having to sit through another stiff meal beside your sister and her unwilling fiance too much to bear. Instead, you made your way to the main dining hall where most of the courtiers took their meals.

The big room buzzed with conversation as your eyes searched the sea of people for one head in particular. 

You found him sat at the far end of the room, armor traded for a simple tunic that stretched across his broad shoulders. You moved through the crowd as heads turned to look at you in surprise, many of them nodding respectfully as you made your way to him.

When you slid into the seat directly across from him, his eyes darted up from his raised spoon, startled at your presence. He looked around the hall, confusion clear on his handsome face. It was highly uncommon for royalty to dine among the rest of the court, and the realization that you had chosen to sit with him left him reeling.

You laughed at his reaction, the sound light and teasing. “You look as though I’ve grown a second head.”

The corner of his mouth twitched as you slipped into easy conversation. You inquired about his years of training, he about your life growing up in your kingdom. But eventually the talk shifted toward the reason you were there in the first place.

Intak set his goblet down, expression thoughtful. “You two seem very different.”

You tilted your head curiously. “In what way?”

“She seems… incredibly stubborn, especially when it comes to her indifference to Taeyang. It makes things… difficult.”

“Indifference?” The words ignited a spark of annoyance in your chest. You leaned forward, voice low but passionate as you defended her. “She has every right to her feelings. This marriage was forced on her without a single regard for what she wants. You have no idea what it’s like to be a woman in her position—traded like a piece of fine china for the sake of an alliance, expected to smile through it all while your life is no longer your own.”

Intak blinked, not expecting the ferocity in your tone. Until now he had only seen the soft, modest side of you. The bite in your words seemed to catch him off guard, his mouth opening and closing without a sound as he wished he could take back his own. 

When he offered no reply, the disappointment hit you like a bucket of cold water. You knew, logically, that he only saw her behaviour through Taeyang’s frustrated perspective. Still, for some reason you expected more from him. More awareness, or understanding. 

You’d only known him for a short time, so why were you so disappointed? He was only your guard afterall, his opinion shouldn’t matter.

You pushed back your plate and stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “Goodnight, Sir Intak.”

You left without waiting for a response, mumbling a tired “Men…” under your breath as his regretful eyes followed you all the way out. 

You left without waiting for a response, his startled gaze following you all the way out the hall.

✦••┈•

You remained short with Intak in the days that followed, your loyalty to your sister a wall you refused to let be touched. Every time he crossed your path you offered only a nod or polite excuse to not engage with him, ignoring the way his gaze lingered with regret. You didn’t speak to him again until the night of the engagement ball.

The grand hall was littered with people wearing rich silks and the finest jewels. Laughter and conversation pressed in from every side, and you sighed for what felt like the hundredth time, the sound lost in the noise.

This was perhaps your least favorite part of your role—maintaining the appearance of a gentle princess while entitled lords and ladies treated you like a pretty ornament to be admired or acquired. Your eyes searched the sea of faces for your sister, heart twisting because you knew she was suffering far worse tonight than you. You longed to remain at her side through these hard hours, yet every step toward her was blocked by a diplomat, a noble, a lesser royal from a distant land. 

Each one pulled you into another tedious exchange until exhaustion settled heavy in your bones.

Somewhere in the haze you caught sight of Intak entering the hall. His eyes scanned the crowd until they found you, but you looked away before they could lock. He settled at the outskirts beside another guard as you lifted your shoulders and pushed them back further. You knew he was watching. You could feel his stare, yet you refused to meet it.

The man currently stealing your attention was a handsome prince from a smaller kingdom. His features were sharp and pleasing, but his entitlement spoiled any of the charm he may have possessed.

He stopped you with a flirtatious remark that had you fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Still, you played along just enough—smiling, nodding, letting him think his words were affecting you—until his hand grew bolder. He brushed it slowly down your bare arm, until it settled possessively at your waist. 

Your body tensed under the touch. You could handle it—you've handled worse, you told yourself. But when he began to speak of how fortunate you would be to enter a union with him and his insignificant country, your fingers curled into a tight fist at your side, seconds away from striking.

Just as your hand began to raise, Intak appeared at your side. You whipped your head toward him, the sharp glare meant for the prince softening the instant your eyes met his. The tension in your body released, but only slightly.

“Your sister has requested your presence, Your Highness,” he said calmly.

The prince rolled his eyes at the interruption, muttering complaints under his breath. You turned back to him with a sickly sweet smile. “It was a pleasure,” you lied, already stepping away to follow Intak through the crowd.

He didn’t lead you toward your sister, instead he guided you to a far, quieter corner of the hall. You furrowed your brows, glancing around. “Where is she?”

Intak stopped and turned to face you. “She wasn’t actually looking for you.” His jaw tightened, the irritation on his face more obvious now. “I could tell how uncomfortable you were. Especially with the way that prince was touching you. It posed a um... safety concern.”

The words hung delicately between you. You studied him for a long moment, noting the faint flush that climbed up his neck and the way his hands flexed at his sides. Jealousy, you realized, and the knowledge sent a delightful spark through your veins. “Well, aren’t you thorough.”

He gave a single nod, then lowered his eyes to the floor. “Also, I wanted to apologize. I was wrong to speak against your sister the other night. I spoke out of turn. I'm sorry.”

He extended his hand to you, palm up in offering as you placed yours atop his. His fingers were warm and calloused, enveloping yours completely. He bent his head and pressed a slow kiss to the back of your hand, lips brushing softly against your skin as he looked up at you through his lashes. 

The look sent a shiver down your spine, your stomach tightening into knots. 

“Well,” you breathed, voice quieter than you intended, “I suppose I can accept that.”

A tiny smile broke across his face, revealing the dimple poking through his cheek as his eyes lit up. He held your hand a moment longer than necessary before slowly lowering it, clearly reluctant to release you. The loss of contact left your palm strangely cold.

A man approached then, leaning in to whisper something urgent in Intak’s ear before slipping back into the crowd. Intak straightened and stepped back with a respectful nod. “Enjoy the rest of the evening, Your Highness.”

You swallowed against the unexpected disappointment rising in your throat. “Where are you going?”

“To patrol outside,” he answered, already turning toward the exit. 

You nodded, saying nothing more as you watched him leave. His sudden departure left you craving more, the conversation cut far too short for your liking. 

You shouldn't have cared, shouldn't have been disappointed. You were there for one purpose after all and he would only distract you from it. But the fast beat of your heart challenged the indifference in your mind and no matter how fiercely you tried to convince yourself that you remained unaffected by his presence, the lie refused to settle.

✦••┈•

Over the following days the castle bustled with preparations for the fast approaching wedding. You made yourself scarce in the chaos, helping where you were needed and occupying most of your time with drawing and wandering as you usually did.

Intak remained near to you, diligently making sure no harm came your way. One thing he had grown exceptionally skilled at in his job was reading people through observation alone. With you, however, the analysis became something personal as your character only drew him further in.

He watched as you paused beside an elderly gardener struggling with a heavy basket of roses. You took the burden from her without question, your laugh soft and genuine when she protested. 

Or when you joined in on a game of soccer with the court children, laughing wildly and carefree as they ran around you.

Each new observation made his affection for you sink deeper until it rooted into him and he struggled to pull free.

Interactions between you stayed minimal, though. He never spoke first, trained as he was to hold his tongue unless addressed; the habit kept him from overstepping after his earlier misstep about your sister. Yet the urge to begin a conversation rose in him constantly. 

He wanted to ask what occupied your thoughts when your gaze turned distant, to tell you how pretty your hair looked in the sunlight, to share how the castle felt less cold since your arrival. 

He swallowed every impulse, hoping instead that you might bridge the gap. You offered small comments—a quiet remark on the weather when you first greeted him in the morning or a brief thanks when he held a door open for you. Nothing more and nothing less.

Each time the disappointment consumed him.

But you too felt the pull of him. Never before had anyone drawn you that way. Back home you held secret relationships with ease. They were only ever brief, transactional encounters that fed your needs without giving too much of your heart. 

More than once you caught yourself wondering if Intak would agree to something similar, a hidden arrangement that would not interfere with either of your duties. 

Yet the thought of keeping it purely physical felt unsatisfactory, almost distasteful. It was a realization that you were not ready to come to terms with yet; you liked him more than you would allow yourself to admit. The knowledge only made you resist him more. 

✦••┈•

You felt suffocated. 

At home, even with the strenuous training that took up most of your time, you had still been allowed some freedom. You could roam the palace grounds without half the kingdom watching you. You could slip into town with only a cloak over your shoulders and weave through the markets. 

Here in the Choi kingdom, everything felt stricter and tense.

Most of all, there was Intak.

You knew he was assigned to you because of how good he was at his job and how serious he took it, but he was a little too serious. He himself told you he would remain in close proximity to you, but you didn't think it would be to this degree.

And then there was the staring. He looked at you for long stretches, with a focus too intent to be entirely professional.

You had wondered more than once if it was standard procedure for a knight to keep his eyes on a guest for minutes at a time, especially until they became dazed and unfocused, clear signs of daydreaming. 

You doubted it. That suspicion did nothing to help the restless feeling under your skin.

Your sister seemed no less trapped. Though you had started to notice the smallest change between her and Taeyang—a little less venom in their voices and a little more reluctant understanding—she still carried herself like a bird trapped in a cage. What you both needed was a breath of fresh air. 

And for once when you needed him, Intak was nowhere in sight, but you quickly found him walking from the training grounds. 

“Sir Intak,” you said, catching his attention.

He turned at your voice, surprised to see you seeking him out. “Your Highness.”

“My sister and I want to visit the town.”

For a moment he only stared hoping he’d misheard you.

“The town?” he repeated.

You nodded. “The market, perhaps. We've scarcely seen anything beyond the castle and its grounds.” You folded your hands before you, making sure to sweeten your voice just a tad more than usual. “If this is to be our new home, we should know the kingdom beyond court, shouldn’t we?”

His jaw tightened at the request. “Outside the castle walls are less secure. We're in a... politically sensitive time right now.”

“There are dangers inside them too,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He narrowed his eyes at the comment and you quickly added on, "What I mean by that is, we won't ever truly be one hundred percent safe."

He hesitated, then lowered his voice. “The threats surrounding this alliance are not small, Your Highness. There are too many unknowns... too many risks.”

But that was part of the reason you wanted to go. You wanted to know the severity of the situation. 

"We don’t intend to wander unattended. We only wish to explore a little, meet some of the people, visit the shops. Surely your kingdom would prefer if we thought of it as welcoming rather than confining.”

His mouth twitched faintly, though whether in amusement or frustration you couldn’t tell. “That is not fair.”

“No,” you agreed softly, “but neither is being trapped here twenty four-seven.”

You could see him weighing the options. Duty pulled one way; you, apparently, pulled another. 

He should have refused. You knew that as well as him. Yet when you lifted your eyes to his and let a hopeful smile grace your face, his resolve crumbled.

It was almost embarrassingly easy.

“Please,” you added, quieter this time.

Intak exhaled through his nose, defeated before he even answered. “If we go, you will remain close to me at all times.”

You bit back your satisfaction. “Of course.”

“And I'll need to bring three additional guards.”

“Very well.”

“And if I tell you we need to leave, you must follow my command.”

You smiled wider. “That won't be a problem, Sir Intak.”

The blush that dusted his cheeks left you feeling giddy and excited. By the next morning, the outing had been arranged.

Intak had recruited two other guards, both of whom wore stone-faced expressions that suggested he had impressed upon them the seriousness of their task several times over. The carriage prepared for you was modest by royal standards, though still finer than anything most people in town would own. 

The Choi crest had been kept small, likely in the hope of drawing less attention. Intak had also suggested that you both wear something simple.

When you reached the carriage with your sister at your side he looked almost disappointed, probably hoping you would have changed your mind.

“You’re ready,” he said, sounding more remorseful than what the situation called for—in your opinion anyway.

You tipped your head. “Should we really be that scared?"

He stepped toward the carriage and offered you his hand. “No, You Highness's. Just cautious."

You placed your fingers in his palm and let him help you into the carriage as he did the same for your sister. Soon after the carriage jolted as you began your journey into town. 

You silently watched through the window as the land opened gradually around you. You passed by vast fields, forests, and the occasional cottages with smoke curling from their chimneys. Farmers moved in the fields and children played near the roadside, pausing their games to stare at the passing carriage. One of them waved and you watched your sister wave back with a delighted smile.

Intak rode silently on a horse beside the carriage, and you took the opportunity to study him now that his eyes were focused on the road ahead and not on you. 

He was in his full armor suit for the first time since you met him. It was tailored to his body—accentuating all the lean muscle of his figure perfectly. His hand rested lightly at his sword, prepared for any danger that was to come.

There was an intensity to him that was entirely different from the slightly flustered guard you’d grown accustomed to in the castle walls, and it fascinated you. 

You tore your eyes away from him and to your sister when you felt the sharp sting of her pointed shoe connect with your ankle.

She was looking at you with an expression you knew all too well—one eyebrow slightly raised, a knowing tilt to her mouth. When she caught your eye, she wiggled her brows, gaze flicking toward the window where Intak rode just out of sight, then back to you.

You scowled at her, the heat rising in your cheeks despite your attempt to suppress it.

She merely smiled wider, the expression transforming into a playful, observant, and utterly unimpressed one at your attempts to hold your dignity. She leaned closer, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Admiring the scenery?"

"Be quiet," you muttered, though there was no real bite in it.

"He does look quite formidable in his armor," she continued, her eyes sparkling. "Very... impressive."

You shot her another warning look, but she only settled back against the cushions, her eyes turning thoughtful. "It's a good look on him," she added quietly to herself.

You didn't answer, turning your attention back to the window, though you kept your gaze fixed on the passing fields rather than the knight riding beside you. The warmth in your cheeks took its time fading, and you could feel your sister's amused silence and it took everything in you not to flee from the carriage at her smugness. 

Just as you were preparing a sarcastic retort the carriage jolted to a stop. Your sister braced a hand against the wall at the sudden halt and looked at you with question in her eyes. "We're there already?"

Your head turned to peer out the window and the sight of Intak already looking at you sent a chill down your spine. 

It was almost as if it were happening in slow motion. He drew a breath and shouted, voice jarring through the silence.

“Down!”

The first arrow cracked through the air right as he spoke. 

A wet choke sounded outside as the carriage lurched violently when one of the guards fell from his horse against it. Your sister gasped, thrown sideways into the wall just as another arrow cut through the carriage door mere inches from your shoulder.

The coachman hauled on the reins, but he wasn't quick enough, as he too was struck down. You caught your sister around the waist and dragged her with you to the floor just as a third arrow punctured straight through the wood to the other side.

Suddenly, shouts exploded from the trees.

“No foreign bride!”

“Drag them out!”

“End it here!”

Your stomach dropped just as the carriage door flew open and Intak was there with his sword drawn, blood streaking his jaw. 

“Stay inside,” he snapped. Your sister clutched your arm tightly in her grasp. 

“Do not get out,” he said, eyes locking on yours for one intense second. “Whatever happens, you stay in this carriage. Do you understand me?”

Another shout rang out behind him as you heard the sound of steel clashing. You nodded once and then he slammed the door shut. All you could do was listen to the destruction outside.

The carriage rocked as the horses stomped in their place. Men shouted, cursed, and screamed and through it all came the heavy, disturbing sound of a blade piercing flesh.

Your sister flinched beside you, covering her ears at the sound. You turned and pulled her lower, shielding her further with your body as the carriage shook again. “Stay down.”

Her fingers dug into your sleeve. “How many?”

You listened, assessing the footsteps in the mud. At least 4—no, more. One on the left. Two near the front. Two behind.

Outside, Intak shouted something you couldn’t make out. Another voice answered, instantly followed by a cry. The other guard—dead.

You closed your eyes tight to try and calm your racing heart and prepared yourself for what was to come. You heard the stomping of feet approaching the carriage and your sister went rigid beneath your hold. 

The door was violently jerked open as a man in rough shape appeared. His stench hit you first—sweat, ale, and blood—then his eyes lit with an ugly triumph when he saw your sister.

“There you are—”

Right as he lunged inside you kicked your foot out to knock him square in the chest, forcing him to the floor. 

Your sister yelped behind you as he cursed, grabbing for you instead, but you caught his wrist with both hands and twisted sharply downward. 

A sickening pop was heard as he shouted and you drove your elbow into his throat, shoving him back against the floor as you reached for the dagger at his side.

It came free and you could feel your sister's stare as you drove it into his heart without a second thought. You waited until the last breath left him in a hot grunt against your cheek before pulling the blade free.

You quickly turned back to your sister, not giving the man another thought.

“Stay inside,” you said, the words spilling out frantically, a mirror of Intak’s command. “Do not move unless I come back.”

You turned your back to her and stepped—the scene before you was chilling.

The coachman lay crumpled beneath the front wheel, unmoving. A few feet away the second guard was on his knees, trying weakly to hold in the blood pouring from a wound high in his chest while a rebel yanked his sword free. The third was nowhere in sight.

You could practically taste the iron in the air.

To your right, Intak was surrounded by three men at once. Your stomach dropped, feet glued to the floor, as you watched him side step one of them to slash his sword at another, the attack landing skillfully. But as he pivoted back to block a low strike, the third rebel brought his own sword down clean across his shoulder, tearing through the fabric and flesh.

You gasped loudly as your hand trembled around the blade you were holding only for Intak to quickly recover as he pushed the pain aside to drive his sword straight through his attackers ribs. The rebel choked, eyes wide with surprise, as he crumbled to the ground. 

Just as you stepped forward to aid him, you saw another man charge at you from your periphery.

You quickly bent down to pick up the sword from the fallen guard and turned to the newcomer who leered sharply at you. He wasn't fearful, only confused. He couldn't make sense of the scene before him—the pretty and delicate princess dressed in fine silk, stained with blood, all occupying the same shape. It didn't matter though because all he did was snarl and charge towards you. 

You adjusted your footing, readying yourself for the attack as he swung high and hard, the clumsy action full of anger and lacking any real skill. 

You caught his blade on yours, letting the force push you towards his side only to free it and cut across the back of his knee.

He dropped with a scream and you ended it before he could rise, hot blood spraying across your hands.

Behind you, your sister cried your name. Panic overtook you at once as you turned back toward the carriage, sword up and ready for the next challenge. 

Another rebel had reached the carriage. He was half inside already, one hand braced on the frame, the other reaching for where her foot was trying to shake him off. A red hot rage consumed you as you charged forward. 

He must have heard you coming because he twisted just in time to catch the first slash. Your swords clashed and you almost crumbled under his weight—he was stronger than the others.

You stumbled back as his sword met yours again and again. You were far from the carriage now which worked perfectly in your favor because the further you were from the carriage meant the further your sister was from being harmed.

On the opposite side of the carriage, Intak had finally rid himself of the opposing leeches. He sucked in a needed breath until he heard the sound of your sister's wailing screech. 

He quickly rounded the carriage, fear striking him at the sight of the opened door.  His eyes whipped around the interior frantically and when he saw only the elder princess huddled inside, his whole body tensed, blood running cold. His head snapped around so fast it looked almost painful. His gaze tore across the clearing, distraught and searching until they found you.

You saw him only in the edge of your vision as you fought off the burly man before you, a blur of metallic armor and blood, but the look on his face was clear as day. 

He was frozen in place as the fear transformed into shock, not because you were alive, but because of how you moved. Because what he saw in the road wielding a sword in hand was not some frightened princess striking wildly to survive, it was a soldier who wielded their sword with experience.

The rebel in front of you took advantage of the half second that you were distracted by Intak to shove hard, trying to force you down into the ground.

You let him think he had the upper hand as you sank to your knees, feigning defeat. When he raised his sword high in the air to slash it down onto you, you quickly slid your own into the opening of his chest. 

His body convulsed around the blade, blood spurting down onto you as you tore it free and he crumpled away. 

Another came from the left with a shout, rushing you fast enough that there was no time to reset properly. You pivoted on instinct, skirt tangling around your legs, and met him head-on. 

He slashed for your throat but you ducked under it, feeling the rush of air against your hair, then drove forward. Your free hand caught his wrist and you turned, locking it behind his back as you brought your sword to his neck. You ran it along the skin in a clean slice as he too became a victim of your ruthlessness.

You shoved him to the side as you heaved out a breath, the sword slipping from your limp fingers and hitting the dirt with a dull thunk.

You pushed back the strand of hair that stuck wetly to your mouth as you hung your head low. Your muscles ached as your shoulders slumped forward and you worked to regulate your breathing.

When you finally raised your head, your eyes met Intak, who was still staggered in his spot.

Your heart clenched at the sight of the blood on him, dark across his shoulder and a bruise that had already begun to bloom at his jaw, his chest rising hard beneath his armor. 

But to him the injury didn’t matter. The dead rebels didn’t matter. Not at that moment. Only you.

You could practically see all the emotion written across his face. Disbelief, fascination, confusion, whatever image he had built of you thus far withering away. 

You couldn't find it in yourself to care, instead rushing forward and passing him to climb back inside the carriage, dropping to your knees in front of your sister. 

Your hands flew to her face with worry.

“Are you hurt?”

You frantically searched her body for any sign of injury—her throat, her shoulders, her arms, the place where the rebel had almost grabbed her. 

She stopped you, hands wrapping over yours. "You're asking if I'm hurt?! Look at you..."

Only then did you look down at your own body and the blood that stained your once blue dress red. Your knees gave out as you sank to the floor, finally being able to rest once you were sure she was okay. "It's not mine."

You turned your head to look outside the carriage at Intak who stood a few feet away in the aftermath of the ambush, sword still clutched tightly in his hand. 

He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. A million thoughts ran through his mind too quickly for him to form any coherent words.

You wiped your dirty hand against your torn skirt and swallowed down the thick lump in your throat before meeting his stare head on.

"I think I have some explaining to do."

✦••┈•

The ride back to the castle was silent, the tension too high for words to be spoken.

Intak had taken the driver’s place simply because there had been no one else left to do so.

Inside the carriage, your eyes were fixed outside the window, every jolt of the wheels sent a wave of sharp pain across your upper arm where you had been cut. You didn't even realize it was there, the adrenaline too strong in the moment. But now that the dust had settled it was a constant aching reminder of what had transpired. 

The road back to the castle was the same scenery wise, except now the sight of the vast fields, forests, and cottages mocked you. When you passed the children playing near the roadside again, your sister didn't wave, her face dark and grim. 

So much for fresh air.

She watched you with worry. She kept glancing from your face to your drenched dress and although you knew she meant well, her concern did nothing to appease your anxiety.

“You should lean back,” she said softly after a long while. “You’re pale.”

“I’m fine.”

She looked at you for another moment, then lowered her eyes to her hands in her lap. They trembled once before she stilled them.

The sights replayed over and over again in your head. You couldn't stop seeing it. The rebels that you had stripped of life, the coachman’s body beneath the wheel. The two knights in Choi colors hitting the dirt and never rising again.

That could have been your sister or you. It could have been Intak. The thought of him lying among the dead made you suddenly nauseous. You shut your eyes for a moment, but that only made it worse. The battle lived vivid behind your eyelids. 

When you opened your eyes again, you caught your sister still looking at you, her expression sadder and gentler now.

“You never told me it was that bad,” she murmured.

She didn't have to say more for you to know what she meant. The brutal training you had endured, years of being twisted and molded into the perfect weapon.

Even though it was necessary, even though you were bound by duty, that didn't mean you had to like it. That didn't mean that the killing didn't affect you, even if it was for a good cause. 

It weighed heavily on your conscience, especially since this was the first time she'd seen you kill. You were careful to keep this side of you hidden from her, but now there was no hiding.

Your jaw tightened. “There was no reason to.”

“There was every reason.”

You gave a humorless breath through your nose and turned back to the window. “It wouldn't have helped anything.”

When you finally reached the castle Intak rounded the carriage and offered his hand to assist you both down the steps. 

Up close, the damage to him was worse than you originally saw. Blood had dried along his throat and into the edge of his collar and a cut split his lower lip. Besides the obvious signs, you wouldn't have guessed anything happened. He had reverted back to the look of a disciplined knight, not even the smallest sign of any other emotion present on his face. It was odd seeing him so stoic when usually in your presence he was anything but.

When you entered the castle, Prince Taeyang was standing in conversation with a duke in the foyer. At the sound of your many footsteps his face turned and the bored expression he was wearing was replaced with shock. He quickly pushed past the duke and crossed the foyer with quick strides. 

He stopped just in front of your sister, his hands rising to reach for her, before stopping at the last second to let them fall back to his sides.

“What happened?”

Your sister was wearing a mask of indifference, clearly keen on not looking vulnerable in front of her betrothed. You cut in swiftly, eager to hurry and end the conversation so you could escape to your chambers. 

"Rebels, Your Highness."

His eyes shifted to you as he took in the ghastly sight of your appearance and before the panic on his face could spread you quickly interjected to reassure him. "Not mine. A close call, but gladly we had the best of the best to protect us." 

From the corner of your eye, you saw Intak blush and shuffle on his feet at the comment. It was almost laughable. Taeyang had no idea that in reality you were not only referencing him, but yourself. But to Intak, giving him sole credit didn't seem fair, even though you had no other choice.

You drowned out the rest of the conversation as you sensed a dull throb in your skull forming and before anyone could notice, you stepped back and slipped away from the group, one pair of eyes following your retreating figure. 

You reached your chambers and pushed the door open with a pained groan and quickly tugged your ruined dress down with shaking hands as it landed in a heap on the floor, breathing a sigh of relief when you were free from the dirty garment.

By the time the knock came, you had managed to only gather the tools needed to clean and patch your wound. 

“Who is it?" You called out. 

"Intak, Your Highness." 

You paused, debating on whether or not you were ready to confront him. It would have been easy to push him away and feign exhaustion—although you really were truly exhausted—but you figured he deserved an explanation. 

You cleared your throat and called for him to enter.

The door opened and closed and when you turned to look at him, he was a few steps in, his gaze locked on the ground. He only glanced up at you for a second before his eyes went wide as he took your figure in.

You were standing in nothing but a thin slip that left little to the imagination, one strap falling off your shoulder. 

He turned away quickly, the motion making you smile despite the day you had.

“My apologies,” he said, voice suddenly shaky. “I didn't realize...”

You looked down at yourself, then back to him. The years of training had eliminated any sense of modesty you had. 

“It’s fine,” you said. “It's not like I'm naked.”

That didn’t help him at all. If anything, the blush dusting his skin darkened further.

He kept his face angled away. “T-That’s not the point.”

Your smile turned into a smirk, amused at his flustered state. "You can look, Intak.”

At your permission, he glanced back and the first thing he saw was the full length of your cut.

The blush vanished as he crossed the room in three quick strides.

“You’re hurt.” His voice had changed entirely. Gone was the embarrassment, replaced by alarm.

“I said I was fine.”

“That doesn't look fine.”

“It’s pretty shallow.”

“It’s still bleeding.”

He was already reaching for the water bowl as he grabbed one of the clean cloths you'd gathered, hesitating when he stood close enough to touch you. “May I?”

CONTINUE PR ARCHIE

You said nothing as you held out your arm for him to take. His fingers closed around your elbow with extreme care, afraid to hurt you more than you already were, and guided you down onto the chair beside the table.

When the wet cloth touched the cut, you hissed in pain despite yourself.

His hand stilled, eyes lifting to your face. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine.”

“No,” he said quietly, patiently dabbing the blood away. “Apparently I am learning that you say that when things are very much not fine.”

All you could do was exhale a tired chuckle. 

You sat together in silence as Intak worked carefully, cleaning the wound inch by inch. Each time you flinched at the pain—trying hard to conceal it—his jaw would clench deeper as the influx of questions circulated uncontrollably in his brain.

Finally, he settled on uttering, “I told you not to leave the carriage.”

“If I hadn’t,” you said, “they would have reached my sister.”

His grip tightened almost imperceptibly on your arm.

“I know," the words came out defeated. “It's just... I looked back and the door was open… There was blood on the steps. She was inside alone.”

Only then did you understand the fear that overtook him in that moment. He’d thought you were killed.

Your throat tightened and he sighed once through his nose, still staring at the wound instead of you. “I was supposed to keep you safe.”

The guilt in his voice made you sit up straighter. 

“But you did.”

His eyes lifted, finally meeting yours, glassy and red. “I did not.”

“There were too many—"

“You shouldn’t have had to fight!”

“But I did and no one can change the past so there's no point in dwelling on it.”

The words sounded harsher than you intended and something akin to recognition flickered across his. He looked back down and reached for the small jar of salve from the table, unscrewing it with careful fingers. “Who taught you?”

You watched the side of his face for a long moment before answering.

“I had many teachers,” you said. “At our kingdom.”

He spread the salve along the cut, the sting making your fingers curl against the arm of the chair.

“Why?”

Why? The loaded question made you take a deep breath; you never had to explain the reason out loud. It had simply been something you lived through and it felt odd that this secret you swore to protect had unraveled, and for him of all people. 

“I've been trained since I was younger to be a soldier, a secret guard of sorts that no one would suspect. It was—is—my destiny you could say.” Your mouth twisted faintly. “The title made things easier. Easier to keep me at her side. Easier to move me with her without questions. And no one would suspect a pretty delicate princess of savagery.”

His eyes met yours when the brutal word left your lips, full of pain and sympathy. It was too intense to handle and you quickly looked away, casting your eyes out the nearby window.

“I learned how to let people think I was soft and aimless, a little foolish.” 

“So that was all an act,” he said quietly. “The wandering. The obliviousness. Clumsiness.”

A tired smile touched your mouth, but there was no humor in it. “Most of it.”

His gaze sharpened. “Most?”

“I do like wandering.”

The answer caused the smallest, briefest breath of laughter to escape him. He dipped his head and resumed spreading the salve, gentler now, the story causing a heavy weight to settle in his stomach.

He wanted to know more—who had chosen this for you, whether you had ever been given a choice, how harsh was the training to have you like this—but as the thoughts rose he pushed them away.

He knew pain when he saw it and he knew when not to press. So, instead of asking more, he instructed, “Lift your arm for me.”

You obeyed as he reached for the bandage strip and began winding it carefully around the length of the cut. His knuckles brushed the inside of your arm, each touch brief, each sending electricity warring through him.

“Princess,” he murmured, stopping when you shook your head. “Are you okay? Does it hurt too much?”

“No. That.”

He looked at you with questioning eyes, still not understanding.

“You don’t have to call me that.” 

“It is what you are,” he tried to reason but you only shook your head again.

“It isn't… not really.”

You glanced down at the bandage around your arm and at his hands still working with care, “I was made into one because it was useful. That’s not the same thing.”

He swallowed the thick lump in his throat, nodding more to himself than to you.

“If that is what you please,” His fingers smoothed the final fold of the bandage into place. 

He sat back against the table, observing the faint red that had already been absorbed by the bandage, and looked down at you with an expression so raw it made you feel unsteady.

“You were very brave today.”

“I was scared,” the admission fell from your lips, stunning you. You were prepared to act unaffected and emotionless, but the truth was coaxed out of you by his disarming and accepting stare.

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Which is what made you so brave.”

A flutter rose low and unwelcome beneath your ribs. A part of you felt relieved, like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. You weren't expecting how good it felt to finally share your burden with someone. Another thought quickly occupied your mind.

“The men,” you said quietly.

He followed your gaze, not understanding at first. “What men?”

“The knights.”

Whatever softness he had been harboring tightened into a grimace.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly said, voice shaking with guilt. “For them. For what happened. They died because of us.”

When you were met with nothing but silence you pressed, despite the nerves willing you to stop. “What were their names?”

That made him look back at you sharply.

“Knowing won’t change what happened,” he said.

“I know, I still want to remember them.”

He stared at you intently and you wished then that you could peek in his mind to know what he was thinking, his blank and unreadable expression left you feeling on edge. 

When he finally did, his voice came out rough.

“Chinhwa,” he said. “And Sujin.”

You repeated them softly, committing their names to memory. “Chinhwa. Sujin.”

His eyes reddened and he looked away to hide the downpour of tears.

“I've known them since we were boys,” he said. “We trained together, bled together. Complained about the grueling hours, stole from the kitchens, made promises about hopes of the future.”

He bit his lip hard to ebb the emotions down. 

“They were always first to volunteer for anything dangerous, and so eager to prove themselves,” he said. “I used to say they would die because of it.”

An overwhelming sense of grief filled the room.

You reached for his hand without thinking, his fingers stilling beneath yours.

“I’ll remember them,” you said, voice full of sincerity. “I promise.”

You were full of surprises—he wasn't sure how many more he could take. For you to ask their names, to carry them with you in your heart, and not just dismiss them as bodies but recognize them as valuable men who mattered—it shook him to his core. 

It spoke to your character, to a depth of you that he only had a brief glimpse of—he needed to know more. He needed to understand you and learn you and explore the deepest, truest parts of you. He craved it the way a man dying of thirst craved water and it terrified him.

His hand tightened around yours. He looked down at your joined fingers, then up at your face. You were looking at him with a small, soft smile that was both heartbroken for his pain yet somehow hopeful. It was a complicated expression, and it disarmed him completely.

His cheeks heated again, a betraying flush he could do nothing to stop. He felt exposed, but in a way that didn't make him want to retreat. He was stuck, held by your gaze and the unexpected gentleness of your touch.

Then you tugged him toward you.

It was the lightest pressure on his hand, a subtle pull, but even that felt too much for him to handle.

He pulled his hand back and cleared his throat, turning his face from yours. 

The space between you, which felt so intimate a moment before, was now detached.

“I should go,” he said, voice strained. He didn't look at you. He couldn't. If he looked at you now, he knew he wouldn't leave. “You need to rest. It's been such a long day…”

He was already stepping back, putting distance between where his heart was tethering to yours.

You looked at the fresh bandage on your arm, then back at him. Your body ached, your eyes burned, and your thoughts were running amok. Rest would not come to you that night, but you nodded anyway.

He moved toward the door and just as his fingers brushed the handle, you said, “I know you won’t, but I have to say it.”

He paused and waited for you to continue.

Through all the vulnerability you faced that night, you had to be sure of one hardened truth. 

“You can’t tell anyone about me. Not even Taeyang.”

“I won’t,” he said.

Your eyes pierced into his back. 

“Not Taeyang,” he said. “Not anyone. Your secret stays safe with me.”

You breathed out a relieved exhale as he dipped his head out of habit and slipped out the room.

✦••┈•

Intak made sure to keep his promise; he also kept his distance to your dismay.

He still appeared wherever you were, but his pointed gaze that had barely left you before was now fleeting. Something in him had changed after that night. You could practically see the guilt he still carried and after a while you began to resent it.

You could see it in the way he took extra care to double check the rooms you entered and in the way his jaw tightened if anyone came too close to you. You also caught him staring at the bandage on your arm more than once before quickly looking away when you caught him with burning cheeks. 

You tried to give him the time and space he so clearly needed. For four full days, you let him keep his distance. By the fifth day your patience had dwindled into irritation.

Maybe it was because he was the only person in this kingdom who knew who you really were and maybe it was because of that that the idea of letting him pull away from you felt intolerable.

So, by late afternoon on the sixth day, you went looking for him.

You found him in one of the smaller training rooms in the castle that you had discovered your first night there, training alone. You paused at the doorway as you watched him.

He was dressed in a loose tunic that clung to his body due to the sweat, damp at the chest and along the spine, the collar open enough to give you a peak at his chest. His sleeves had been hastily shoved up his forearms, his hair, usually neat, clung to his temples and dripped sweat onto the floor. 

It was your first time you really saw him without a lick of armor on, and the sight of his lean body had you pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. 

The steel sword in his hand moved in flashes as he swung it through the air at a test dummy, the metal catching the light from the window every so often. 

His muscles flexed, skin pulling taught from what you could see as he danced around the room. You leaned against the door and let yourself enjoy the view for a shamefully long time.

When he turned towards you, not in surprise, you knew he had sensed you were there some time ago.

“Were you planning to stand there all afternoon?" he asked.

You folded your arms. “Would that be alright?”

He lowered the sword, ignoring your comment completely. “You should not be wandering around these parts of the castle alone.”

“The two other guards you assigned to me were with me.”

“Still, I'm sure you have things to attend to?"

“Perhaps,” you agreed, letting your gaze slide deliberately over his neck at the open collar and sweat-slicked skin. “But this is far more interesting.”

His neck instantly turned a pretty shade of pink that made you smile. 

His mouth twitched once before he suppressed the smile. “Should I ask what you want?”

“You could.”

“Okay.... what do you want?”

You stepped into the room fully, a wickedly fun idea popping into your head. “I want to spar.”

His answer came so quickly it drew a howling laugh from your lips. 

“No.”

You stopped a few feet away from him, lips curling downward into a frown. “That wasn't very nice.”

“It wasn't meant to be.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You're refusing me?”

“Yes.”

“On what grounds?”

He looked pointedly at your arm. The bandage was gone now, the wound knit into a long scabbed line that still pulled when you moved too sharply.

“On the grounds that you were cut open five days ago.”

“It’s healed.”

“It's still healing.”

You moved closer, unbothered by his words. “I’m not made of glass, Intak.”

“You're not made of steel either.”

He looked down at you as continued your approach and when you were close enough, you glided a finger down his forearm. “Oh Intak... are you really going to deny a princess something she wants.”

You batted your eyelashes at him and he let out a short breath that might have been a laugh if he hadn't seemed so determined not to give you one. “Oh so now you're a princess?”

He's got you there. “What is it you're truly worried about? Is it my arm?”

“Yes—"

“Or are you worried I’ll beat you?”

That got his eyes back on yours properly for the first time in days, and the pretty brown irises were almost enough to satisfy you on their own.

“Princess,” when the name fell from his lips it sounded less like a title and more like an endearment that had your heart fluttering fast in your chest. You pushed the feeling aside as you tried harder to get under his skin.

“Ah,” you said. “So it is fear.”

He rolled his eyes to the side, his tongue poking annoyingly—but attractively—against his cheek. 

You quickly added, “Cowardice often disguises itself that way.”

“You believe that if I agree to this,” he said slowly, “you will somehow win.”

“I believe,” you said, stepping right in front of him now, “that you have been avoiding me for days, and I am tired of it.”

You didn't mean to say it quite so plainly. Or perhaps you had, and only regretted it after it was already too late to take back, not used to being this open and vulnerable about the feelings only he seemed to be able to break out of you.

For a moment he only watched you. You could practically see him trying to formulate a response suitable for the situation. 

At last he said, quieter, “I wasn’t avoiding you.”

You tilted your head at him in question, challenging him to explain exactly why his behavior had been so off when he looked away and followed up with a, “Not exactly.”

“Then spar with me."

“You're relentless.”

“You haven't seen anything yet.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound low and rough. “Oh, I’m sure.”

Still, he crossed to the weapon rack and you did a poor job at concealing your giddy smile.

He chose two blunter steel practice swords and turned with one in each hand. Even dulled, they were still sharp enough to cut. He held one out to you hilt-first.

“If your arm starts hurting, promise me you'll stop.”

“Promise.”

He couldn't help but reflect your smile.

You took the sword from him, enjoying the brief brush of his fingers against yours, and stepped back to test the weapon with a turn of your wrist. 

"Ready?"

You nodded and got into position, flicking your eyebrow up at him to dare him to come forward first. When he did nothing you lunged. 

He blocked your first strike easily but you continued charging forward with speed. The surprise in his eyes was immediate—he didn't underestimate you but he wasn't expecting this. 

When you slipped past his defense and your sword nearly tapped his ribs, he stared at you in disbelief. 

The smile that sprouted on his face was one of excitement as he realized he finally found a worthy opponent.

After that, the sparring changed. He stopped holding back as much and began analyzing and learning your movements. He was reading you well and although you wanted to hate him for it, it made you all the more eager.

The battle was even. You switched between offense and defense seamlessly until a sheen of sweat graced your hairline. 

“You should have told me,” he murmured, his voice breathless against the clash of blades, “that sparring with you would be this irritating.”

You laughed because despite his words, he was clearly enjoying himself. You were glad to see not even a trace of the guilt he had been carrying the last few days.

His next strike hit with enough force to make you stumble. You held eye contact through the strain and his eyes turned dark as he used the opening.

The movement was quick and agile—the side of his sword pressed against your stomach. You froze, unsure if it was because he'd won or if it was because of how close he was now, chest heaving, his free hand raising to rest on your shoulder. His eyes dropped quickly to your parted lips before returning upwards.

“I won,” he said quietly and almost disbelieving.

“You sound surprised.”

“I am,” The admission was stripped of any pride.

You looked down to the sword at your stomach, the pressure of it nothing in comparison to his touch, his breath that ghosted over you, his eyes that stared so deeply into yours. 

You closed the remaining inch between you to capture his lips in a surprising kiss.

He went rigid, every muscle in him locking with shock. Then slowly his mouth softened against yours and the sword went slack in his hand. 

You knocked it out of his grip with a turn of your wrist, and before he could blink, your own sword was up and pressed against his throat.

His lips parted wider when you pulled back just a fraction to see his stunned face.

"Actually I won..."

“That,” he whispered, voice dazed, “was not fair.”

“Are you saying I cheated?”

He swallowed carefully against the blade. “Yes.”

You held his eye and didn't move the sword. “Nothing is fair for women in our society. We have to use what we've got.”

A mix of emotions ran through his face. Understanding, admiration, want. 

Intak pressed forward until the blade dug into his skin to reach your lips again and when they did, he kissed you as the last of his restraint frayed. 

One of his hands cupped the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist as he drove you back a step from the force of his strength. 

The kiss was hot, hungry and captivating—the sword slipped from your hand and clattered to the floor. A low groan escaped his mouth and you smiled against it, pleased at how easily he was losing his composure.

When he felt the hard pressure of your hands at his chest, he let you push him back until he was pressed against the wall. He allowed you to control him, allowed you to take what you wanted from his mouth after discovering quickly that you were stronger than he’d first imagined. 

And it wasn't just with the sword, no, but like this, with your hands in his hair and your teeth at his lower lip, placing him exactly where you needed him. 

When you started kissing your way down his jaw, he lifted his hand to hold yours that was pressed against his chest, a mess of breathy sounds escaping him. 

Then, when your lips brushed the small red scratch at his throat caused by the earlier press of your sword, he whimpered.

It was ‏soft, involuntary, and worth every impatient day that had come before. You pressed your lips fully to it, tongue darting out to soothe the skin when his fingers dug into your waist.

“Please, princess...” he breathed.

“Please?” you asked against his skin. "Please what?"

He sighed another broken little sound, then, he was moving again, less willing now to be pinned in place. His hand slid from your waist and down to your thigh, hiking it up and around his hip to press deeper into you.

You felt him immediately, the press of his erection against your core, hard and needy. Your eyes fluttered shut at the heat, head tilting back as you bit your lip in pleasure. It had been a while since you were able to indulge in this kind of intimacy, and somehow it being Intak just made you even more responsive. 

He took the chance to kiss down your neck, his mouth warm and open against your skin. You ran your hand through his hair, tugging at it as he moaned against you, the sound amplifying the desire within you.

“Mmm, you feel so good, Intak,” you whispered against his ear, voice low and seductive.

He pressed himself further against you, hips bucking slightly at your tone, “Princess…” 

Just as you parted your lips to respond, the echo of footsteps approaching from the corridor sounded. 

Intak stiffened against you as he inhaled sharply. For a moment, neither of you moved, chests still heaving, bodies still locked in that intimate press. His eyes met yours, wide with lingering want and a flash of irritation at the intrusion as he pulled away first, reluctantly severing the connection though his hand lingered at your thigh. 

“Gods,” he muttered, voice wrecked.

You couldn't help but laugh.

He stepped back fully, helping to tug your skirt down as you smoothed his hair with both hands. He dragged a palm over his face, then reached blindly for the nearest sword as though standing armed might somehow make him look less kissed senseless.

By the time the figure appeared in the archway, the two of you were barely composed.

Shota paused when he saw you there.

He was younger than Intak by a few years and you recognized him vaguely from the countless times you'd seen him hovering around him. He blinked once in surprise to see you here then bowed.

“Your Highness.”

You nodded your head respectfully at him. 

Shota straightened and turned to Intak, oblivious to what had occurred just moments before entering the room. “Did you still want to spar before supper?”

Intak cleared his throat, voice coming out more gravely than expected. “Yes.”

Shota looked at him more closely as his eyebrows lifted. “Unless you already were,” he said, with innocence, “you look tired.”

You let out a small, helpless giggle before you could stop it and Intak shot you a look that only made it worse.

“No,” he said too quickly. “We wer—. I mean I—ahem. Y-yes, I want to.”

Shota nodded, not understanding in the slightest. “Good.”

You pressed your lips together, saving Intak from your smile only because he already looked one breath away from strangling the poor man.

“I have matters to attend to,” you said, far more composed than Intak.

Shota bowed again as Intak avoided your eye contact with red cheeks. 

As you walked slowly down the corridor you could hear the loud clashing as they sparred. Not long after, came Shota’s startled shout of triumph.

You stopped in place and smiled to yourself. By the sound of it, Intak spent the rest of the sparring session too distracted to be any good at all.

And Shota was no doubt delighted that he had finally managed to beat him.

✦••┈•

The next day Intak found you alone in the garden with charcoal stained fingers. You were sitting on the grass, legs curled beneath you, working in the sketchbook rested on your lap. 

You heard his footsteps approaching and looked up when he stopped a few paces from you with a smile. 

“So now that I know the truth, does that mean I shouldn't follow you around anymore?”

Well that's not what you were expecting him to say.

He looked more polished than how you'd left him the day before, the memory of his hands on you clouding your thoughts before you shook them away.

You shut the sketchbook halfway and tilted your head at him.

“I'm still in danger aren't I? Only you know I'm not really a princess, plus, we still need to maintain appearances,” you said. “Although… usually you watch from over there, no?”

You pointed to the far and respectable distance he usually kept and he followed the gesture, annoyance written plainly on his face..

He rolled his eyes and stayed in place, "After the last attack I think I should keep a closer proximity."

You bit back a smile as he grounded himself to the spot, hands clasped behind his back, posture straight, every inch the dutiful knight once more. 

Before he could catch you smiling you looked back down to the sketchbook, resuming your work. After a while he spoke again, voice full of amusement.

“It's funny.”

You glanced up. “What is?”

He nodded toward you and your relaxed posture. “How gentle you look.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why is that funny?”

“Because now I know just exactly how dangerous you can be.”

Once again he pulled a smile from you that you struggled to hide but it was too late. You could feel his eyes on you, warmer now, pleased with himself for drawing it out.

“I supposed,” you said, pretending to consider it seriously, “that it is a little funny.”

His shadow shifted slightly over you as he leaned forward. “What are you drawing?”

You angled the sketchbook away from his nosy eye. “None of your business.”

"Everything you do is my business."

You laughed softly under your breath and continued sketching, prolonging his curiosity simply because you enjoyed holding his attention.

“You're doing that on purpose,” he said.

“Doing what?”

“Making me wait.”

You looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “I wouldn't do that...”

“Yes you would...”

At last you sighed, as though you were doing him a great kindness, and turned the sketchbook toward him.

He couldn't believe his eyes when they first graced the page. He moved closer and crouched down to see it better—and his focused eye sent a nervous thrill through you.

There on the page was him.

It was his face when you first saw him at the castle entrance months ago. He had that "starry eyed" look your sister had made fun of but you still saw it so clearly in your mind.

You suddenly felt shy under his stare.

“It’s unfinished,” you said quickly. “Only half done, really."

His gaze flicked from the drawing to you and back again, still in disbelief.

“It’s amazing,” he said.

A fire hot heat rushed to your face.

“It’s all right,” you murmured, looking away. “It’s not—”

“It’s amazing,” he repeated, softer now, assuring you with those same starry eyes.

He's seen a lot of different sides of you. Oblivious and clumsy, bloody, fierce and defiant, then playful and challenging.

You, a blushing mess, was new to him. He decided then he liked it most.

You looked back down at the page to give your face somewhere to hide though he leaned in slightly to keep admiring it. 

“You really are very talented."

“I had a lot of practice.”

“Where did you learn?”

You brushed your thumb over a smudge near the edge of the paper, softening it into shadow. “I taught myself.”

When he said nothing, only waited, you found yourself opening up to him more.

“It was the only thing that was ever really mine,” You glanced at the sketchbook, deep in thought. “With training and everything... it was kind of the only way I could truly express myself... if that makes sense?”

When you looked up he was watching you with patient and gentle eyes. "That makes total sense.”

He looked from the page to you again, still not quite over the fact that you had drawn him at all. “You just keep surprising me.”

“I am a woman of many secrets.”

His eyes darkened a little with amusement. “Oh, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm, like what else?”

You closed the sketchbook and sat fully on your knees to lean closer to him as he stayed very still, not daring to move an inch. 

“Hmm... If you came to my bedchambers,” you said softly, “perhaps you could find out.”

Up until then neither of you had really acknowledged what transpired the day before, but now, it was all that was on your minds. You saw the surprise erupt on his face, followed by hesitation, before it settled on one emotion: thrill.

You nearly smiled at how eager he seemed.

“Sorry. I wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea. What I meant was... I think I need you to escort me back to my room.”

When his eyes dropped to the smirk at your lips and he swallowed, you knew you had him wrapped around your finger. 

He gave a small nod.

“Follow me." 

✦••┈•

Your hand swiped at the latch as you tugged Intak to the center of your room, not even checking to make sure you had locked it fully. 

Your hands were everywhere, in his hair, touching his body, frantically pulling him closer with a need so primal, you weren’t sure how you ever held back before.

Intak was a goner. He let himself be tugged deeper and deeper into the bounds of you, following your lead as you stumbled clumsily, the kiss breaking for only a second when you knocked against the edge of a table. He caught you effortlessly, wasting no time with pulling your lips back to his, the separation unbearable. 

Your fingers flew to the fastenings of his chest plate and he helped to undo them, his movements hurried and impatient. 

“Gods, these are so annoying!” You huffed out an irritated breath as you struggled to rid him of his armour.

“I’m sorry, very inconsiderate of me. If I had known you would be undressing me today, I would have worn my lighter set.” 

You rolled your eyes at the cheesy grin on his face and when the armour finally dropped to the floor with a thud, you smirked back at him. “You should wear that one only from now on.”

You hooked your finger into the front of his shirt to tug him with you to the bed, pushing him down so he was sitting, legs spread slightly, his hands braced against the comforter as he watched you in anticipation. 

When you sank to your knees before him, he stopped breathing completely. 

Your hands were at the ties of his trousers without a second thought, not an ounce of hesitation in your movement. He quickly caught your wrists before you could undo them completely, eyes wide and panicked. 

“Wait!”

You paused, brows scrunching as you took in his expression. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, b-but…”

You waited for him to continue but the words never came. His eyes flicked from your face, down to your hands, then back again. He looked torn and unsure of the situation he found himself in. 

You tilted your head. “Have you never had this done to you before?”

A flush spread quickly on his cheeks. “Yes, of course.”

“But?”

He exhaled roughly as the words tumbled out. “It’s just… different!”

“Different because… it’s me?”

He nodded once, looking way too stiff for what the moment called for.

You leaned closer, voice dropping to a purr. “What, because I’m such a proper princess?”

He let out a frustrated sound that made you giggle and you stifled the sound into your hand at his pouty expression. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

The giggles settled into a smile as your hands rested lightly on his thighs. Since the moment your knees touched the ground, his eyes hadn't left your face, and despite the position he was in above you, you held all the power. A rush of adrenaline surged through you as you leaned down to rest your chin on his knee, your words tantalizing and slow. 

“Trust me, I want to.”

His jaw tightened and from the corner of your eye, you saw his hands fisting the sheets.

“I enjoy doing it.”

The words were all it took for him to lose all inhibition. His lips fell open into a breathy moan that he tried to suppress with a bite of his lip, his head falling back for a moment. It was hard to miss the twitch in his pants, your face being so close afterall, and when his hips thrusted up just barely, your hands returned to the ties.

He didn’t stop you this time.

When they were fully loosened you tugged teasingly at the waistband, pressing a kiss to his knee as he shuddered, hips imploring you to rid him of them.

“P-please—don’t tease.”

Your thighs clamped together at the sounds of his desperation; you could practically feel yourself already soaked. 

You playfully bit into his knee in response. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands.”

“But I said please?”

It took everything in you not to ravage him right there. You tugged harder at his pants and he lifted his hips so you could slide them off and down his legs.

The sight of his erection standing tall and flushed all for you had you mewling. You shouldn't have been surprised that even his cock was pretty, but one quick look back at his face made the puzzle pieces click together.

You were planning to take it slow, to touch and tease him and maybe make him beg for it a little, but he was far too irresistible and you were far too impatient for that.

You leaned forward, slotting yourself between his parted thighs, and stuck your tongue out to meet his tip. A choked gasp escaped him followed by a string of curses he couldn't control. 

When you licked further down his shaft—one of his hands lifting from the bed to rest gently on your head—you wasted no time taking him in your mouth. 

You moved slowly, learning the shape of him, the weight, the taste of his salty skin. Each gasp and helpless groan encouraged your exploration as you alternated between twisting your tongue and suckling on his tip.

When he called out your name in a shaky cry, you picked up the pace, swallowing more of him until he was poking at the back of your throat. His hips stuttered as he tried to hold himself together, but the grip on your hair tightened when you squeezed your throat around him. 

You dug your nails into his thighs as you bobbed your head and resisted the urge to gag around him. You chanced a glance at his face to find his eyes rolled back, face flushed a deep red, mouth hung open to let out his trembling breaths. 

You snaked a hand up his chest to pull his attention back to you and his hand caught it, holding it tightly. You pulled off the tip to take a deep breath before sinking down all the way till your nose poked at his stomach. He cried out, fingers tugging at your hair.

“Wait! I-I can’t–”

You released him with a gasp, breathing in deeply as you looked up to meet his eyes. 

His chest heaved as he stared down at you, his face scrunched painfully as the euphoric sensation left him. “Why’d you stop!?”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and smiled. “You said wait.”

He shook his head, still breathless. “Not like that. I meant…”

Instead of finishing his sentence, he shook his head and pulled you up from the floor, onto the bed beside him. His lips met yours again in a feverish kiss, hands holding your waist as he tugged at the fabric of your dress. Your hands flew behind your back to undo the laces of the corset, tugging it off when it was finally loose enough. 

You scooted further back on the bed as he chased your affection. One of his hands landed on your ankle as he brushed his hand up your leg, pushing the skirt of your dress higher and higher. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, until the fabric was bunched at your hips. He tried to push it further up only to find that it had caught on something at your thigh. 

He paused, brows furrowing, as his fingers freed the dress to reveal a dagger sheathed in a slim leather holster strapped to your thigh.

His eyes widened as a small whimper fell from his mouth, raw and needy, as he looked from the weapon to your face, his expression a mixture of shock and arousal. 

You shrugged at his questioning gaze, a small smirk playing at your lips. “Always have to be prepared.”

He exhaled a shaky breath then smashed his lips back to yours in a messy, desperate kiss. He broke it only to move down, trailing his lips down your body to your thigh. His tongue and teeth grazed your skin as they found the holster, teeth tugging lightly at the leather. 

You smirked and watched the thrilling sight as he undid the clasp with his hands, tossing the object to the floor. 

He moved his kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and you tugged his face back up to yours with impatience. Your hands ran across his back, fingers pulling at the fabric of his tunic and he sat back on his knees to hastily pull it over his head.

The sight of him fully bare above you was breathtaking. A light sheen of sweat glistened on his chest and down the plane of his lean stomach. His cock stood hard and eager against his abdomen and his cheeks were flushed, hair disheveled, his eyes dark and hungry as they drank you in.

He looked down at his body and frowned. “Why am I the only one naked?”

You laughed as you quickly reached for the edge of your dress, hiking it up slowly while you watched his eager eyes take in every inch of skin you revealed to him. 

When you were finally bare, he took his time to trace every curve and dip of your body. The heat in his eyes sent a prickling chill over your skin. 

His gaze lingered a second too long on your stomach and the mess of scars that decorated your skin slipped your mind.

A flicker of self-consciousness shot through you as you looked past his shoulder, focusing on the canopy above him instead. 

When his large, warm hand smoothed over the skin, tracing the larger scars with a touch so light you barely felt it, you looked back at him.

He leaned down and kissed your lips before ghosting his own further down. They brushed your jaw, your throat, the valley between your breasts before he moved even lower to press gentle, open-mouthed kisses across your stomach, and over every scar he could reach.

“So beautiful…” he whispered against your skin, the words a reverent murmur. “Every part of you.”

Tears pricked at your eyes and the pressure in your throat grew as you tried to suppress the assault of emotions. You cupped his cheeks to pull him back to you. “You keep getting distracted.”

He nuzzled your neck, voice hushed and earnest. “Well, you’re distracting.”

You scoffed before pushing him back just enough to roll the both of you over so you were straddling his waist. His fingers dug into your thighs hard when he felt your dripping heat graze over him. You reached between your bodies to guide his cock to your entrance, his eyes never leaving yours as they fluttered helpless and desperate.

You held him there for a second, bracing a hand back on his leg so you could rub him through your folds, sights when his head poked at your clit

“Please—,” He groaned, the single word ragged with need.

You took your time sinking down onto him, wanting to feel every inch of him pressing inside you and against your walls.

His head fell back against the pillows with a choked cry, his hands gripping you hard enough to leave bruises once you took him in fully. You made a note to self to check the area later, smirking at the thought of his hands marking you up.

His hips were already jerking up before you could move. He felt incredible—stretching you, filling you, his length pressing against every sensitive inch of your walls as the white-hot pleasure hit.

You started matching his rhythm, shifting your hips back and forth to ride him as he screwed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw tight, pouring every ounce of his focus into not losing himself too soon.

You reached down to take his chin between your fingers tugging slightly to grab his attention.

“Look at me.”

His eyes flew open, hazy and glazed from the pleasure. He followed your command as his eyes landed back on yours before wandering down your body and over the alluring sway of your breasts as you rocked over him. His eyes began fluttering shut again as his stomach grew taut. 

“You f-feel… Gods, you feel…” He couldn’t finish, the words dissolving into a whine as you snapped your hips against his, taking him deeper. “C-cant, I can’t—”

He was desperate, needy, and completely at your mercy. His hands slid from your thighs to your hips, gripping you tighter as if that could somehow will the control back to his body, but it was useless.  He could barely form a thought, his mind lost in the sensation of your cunt squeezing him for all he had.

You could feel your climax building quicker with the sight of him coming apart beneath you.

“Just a little more,” you gasped, your hips faltering slightly when he twitched inside you. “Tell me you can take it.”

“G-gonna take—U-nngh…” His mouth went slack.

You smiled, cocky and satisfied at his relinquish. He was completely gone, reduced to spewing nonsense.

Shifting your weight, you reached back to brace yourself on his thighs to go from sinking over him to rolling your body in slow, deep circles. 

His head thrashed around the pillow as he felt himself swelling inside you. When his eyes dropped lazily back on you, they darted down to where your hand had slipped to your swollen clit. He ogled as you circled the nub slowly, then faster when you noticed him watching you, the dual sensation pushing you closer and closer until your body clenched above him. The breath was stolen from your lungs as you came undone above him.

You had half the sense to pull off him as you felt him twitch uncontrollably against your walls. He whined at the loss, a distraught, confused sound.

Your hand wrapped around his slick and throbbing length quick enough, stroking him firmly, milking him through his own climax. With a weak shout, he came, stripes of cum painting his stomach and chest in thick pulses. You didn’t stop working him, only slowing down when the last droplets dribbled down his cock.

His stomach began clenching as he arched off the bed, his hands flying to grip your wrists and shove them away as he gasped through the overstimulation. 

You leaned down, pressing a soft apologetic kiss to his swollen lips. “Sorry.”

You fetched his discarded tunic and used it to gently clean the mess from his stomach and chest. He lay boneless, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes, his breathing still frantic.

When you were done, you awkwardly sat beside him, unsure of how to continue when his arm came around you, pulling you down to lie beside him, tucking you firmly into his side. Your eyes widened, surprised by the display. 

You weren’t used to this part. Your previous encounters had always ended with you shooing the men away before they could expect anything more, or vulnerable, from you.

He could tell as you stayed stiff in his embrace, your body tense with the unfamiliarity of it.

But then his hand began to move, smoothing slowly up and down the skin of your back, his touch gentle, absent-minded, and incredibly tender. He didn’t speak, not even a word; he just held you, his fingers ghosting over your spine.

You slowly relaxed in his hold as the tension seeped out of your muscles, your head finding a comfortable spot in the hollow of his shoulder. He brought a hand down to caress your thigh before lifting and hooking it over his. His heart thrummed beneath your ear, a steady thump-thump that calmed you more than you ever wanted to admit. 

As your eyes began to flutter shut, you missed the way he was watching you, his expression one of pure captivation. His eyes also began to close, but he forced them open to flit over your face one last time to commit the sight to memory. Slowly they shut, and he drifted off alongside you. 

✦••┈•

You woke before him when the first rays of dawn poked through the curtains, and it only took a few seconds for the panic surrounding the situation to set in.

You first contemplated slipping out from under his arm to gather your clothes and escape the room before he stirred. But the thought of him waking to find you scrambling to dress while having to explain your retreat made you stay frozen in place. 

You huffed out a breath from your nose as you settled on remaining frozen in his arms so as to not disturb his sleep. Your one arm trapped beneath his hold started to tingle uncomfortably before going numb, your lip curling as you tried to focus on anything else. 

Eventually, you felt him beginning to stir, his heavy breathing relaxing slightly. His lips brushed a soft, sleepy kiss against your bare shoulder, and only then did you fully remember you were both still bare. His hands that had loosened in his sleep reaffirmed their grip around your waist, pulling you further into his chest. A hot blush crept up your neck when you felt his soft cock pressing against your hip.

The domesticity of it all made your head spin. The heat and fire, skin clashing against skin, was what you were familiar with—what you were good at. But this unfamiliar territory made your stomach flutter with nerves. 

When he finally opened his eyes, they met your wide-eyed ones already staring back at him. He couldn’t help the slow, drowsy grin that grew on his lips. He pressed his eyes shut for a second, then opened them again just to be sure he wasn't still dreaming.

Your eyes drifted to the irresistible dimple in his cheek—the one you’d wondered, since first seeing it weeks ago, what it might feel like to poke. But you held yourself back, your usually unshakable willpower barely intact.

His voice, when he spoke, was rough with sleep and deeper than you've ever heard it. “Have you been awake for a while?”

You nodded slowly and he replied with a groan while nuzzling his face against your shoulder. “You should have woken me up.”

The blush on your cheek deepened as you searched for a response, coming up empty handed. You stayed still, letting him fully wake himself up against you, until the pins-and-needles numbness in your arm grew too uncomfortable to bear.

“Intak.”

“Hmm?”

“Can you let me go… my arm is numb.”

He loosened his grip immediately, letting you roll onto your back to relieve the pressure. 

He propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at you with concern. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

You looked away from him, searching for an answer that wasn’t the pathetic truth, finding none. “Sorry,” you murmured more to the ceiling than him in a rare display of embarrassment. “I’m not really good at this part.”

“What part?” he asked, his voice gentle. “Cuddling?”

The heat travelled down your neck, burning so hot you were sure your entire face was the color of a ripe tomato. Intak, watching you, clearly could see it too. A laugh, too utterly delighted and annoying, escaped him and you rolled your eyes, mortified, shoving at his shoulder as you tried to climb out of the bed. That only made him laugh more, easily catching you around the waist and pulling your back against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair, his laughter subsiding into a fond chuckle. “I didn’t mean to laugh at you.” He pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, giving the skin a tiny, teasing nibble.

“So what, it was on accident then?” you grumbled, the pout evident in your voice.

His lips brushed your ear as he murmured, “I need to get you like this more often.”

The irritation—and secret delight—spurred you into action. You pressed your hips back into his, rolling them against his soft length until you could feel him start to grow harder and his laughter seized.

“Yeah,” you said smugly, a hint of victory in your tone. “You’re not laughing now, huh?”

You pushed him back and finally escaped the bed as he groaned. He watched the sway of your hips, utterly rapt, as you rounded the bed naked to the discarded pile of clothes, the early morning light gilding the flesh of your body.

He was too far in his daze to dodge the fabric that you threw his way, his soiled tunic that you used to wipe his cum the night before landing square on his head.

You laughed at his disgusted expression as he pulled it off. “You better get to your room,” you said, nodding toward the door. “Before anyone catches you walking the halls with that on.”

“B-but—” he started, his protest dying weekly on his lips as you disappeared into the bathroom.

Intak stared at the closed door for a long moment, hanging his head low before pushing the blankets aside to get dressed. When he looked down though he was confronted with the sight of his erection. He shook his head at himself, a wry, disbelieving smile on his lips as he shoved all thoughts of you—your blush, your laugh, the feel of you pressed against him—to the back of his mind. 

He dressed quickly, cringing as he tugged on the tunic, and slipped out of your room and into the empty hallway, making his escape to his own quarters before anyone could catch him.

Your nerves stayed with you the rest of the day. You wandered around the castle, took your morning walk, and even joined your sister for breakfast—that you barely ate—as she filled you in on the engrossing progress she’s made with Taeyang. 

You felt a sense of relief for her, pleased at her newfound joy in comparison to the cynicism she had arrived with. You weren't sure exactly where, how, or when the shift had occurred, but as long as she was happy, you were satisfied.

She asked for updates on the “situation”, which she coined it as, with Intak. You told her as much you could while omitting the more promiscuous details to save yourself from all the teasing. All she needed to know was that Intak knew of your secret, and he promised to keep it.

She raised a brow at you before humming under her breath to suppress the questions about the sudden glow on your skin, letting the topic go for now. She had enough on her plate, anyways, with the wedding only over a week and a half away.

By the time Intak got out of his morning meeting with the royal guard, he was more than ready to report for duty, needing to satiate the withdrawals he was already feeling from being away from you. 

He racked his mind for the places you most frequented, smiling to himself when he found you on the first attempt. It wasn't surprising of course, after nearly two months of observing you, but it still made him giddy nonetheless.

You were walking along the outskirts of the surrounding forest, hands tucked behind your back, a flower held between them. He approached you quietly until he was right behind you and he plucked the flower from your grasp, frowning when you only continued strolling forward.

“I was trying to scare you…” he called from behind your back, quickening his pace to catch up with you. 

“I think you should try harder.”

He scoffed and blocked your path so you were forced to stop. He was prepared to respond with a sarcastic comment until he saw you looking at him expectantly, a timid, almost shy grin splayed on your lips. He switched courses, raising the flower level with his eyesight to observe it.

“It’s a lily flower,” your voice reached his ears in an excited rush, a twinkle in your eye. “They don't bloom back home… It's a shame, really. They're my favorite flower.”

He watched in admiration as you spoke so softly about the piece of nature in his hand, and he made a mental note to me with the gardeners later.

He glanced around for a quick moment, seeing no one in sight, and took your hand in his. He gently placed the lily back in your palm, closing his around yours so you were holding it together. 

“Guess you’ll have to stay here forever then… for the lilies of course.”

You pressed your lips together to suppress your smile and bumped your shoulder against his in a playful shove that he willingly took as you continued on your path. 

“You should join me on my walk… I hear there are many dangers that lurk within the forest beside us.” 

It felt odd, at first. You were so accustomed to your own solitude that the constant presence of another person was a jarring addition to your life. Your stomach still fluttered with nerves in his presence, but now you welcomed the thrill, instead of wishing for it to wither away.

Yet, the part that was ingrained in you to never trust, expect, or rely on anyone manifested when you took him into your bed again.

It was the very vulnerability he drew from you that made you lash out. Your kisses turned to bites, your nails clawing down his back, leaving angry red streaks in their wake. When he tried to slow the pace, to murmur your name to draw you into any morsel of submission, you silenced him with a fierce, possessive roll of your hips, taking what you wanted with a roughness meant to distract from your true feelings.

Except after he gathered you into his welcoming arms again, you relaxed instantly. Your head found its home on his chest, and you knew that this was different. That he was different.

You had lived your whole life with a thick, heavy cloud of pain surrounding you, suffocating you until the lack of air became the norm. Now, with him, it felt like you had finally taken your first full breath of fresh air.

Everything became easier after that, including your conversations. The words, once guarded, began to flow. You found yourself opening up to him about realities you hadn’t even fully confronted yourself. The hollow ache of a lack of a proper childhood. The parents who had abandoned you long before you were even born. The fear you harbored in your heart but expertly hid—of failure and loss. 

He always listened so patiently. He answered your questions in turn, about the struggles of knighthood, about growing up within the Choi castle, about his brotherly friendship with Prince Taeyang. 

One night, you were lying awake far later than you should have been, the moon casting in just enough light through the window. Your fingers traced the faint, pale line of the scar on his cheek, a familiar path by now.

“Tell me its story,” you whispered, for what felt like the hundredth time.

He smiled, catching your wandering hand and kissing your fingertips. “It’s not an interesting story.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He held out, evading with soft kisses to your palm, your wrist, until you finally pulled away, folding your arms. “No kisses until you tell me.”

He sighed, a dramatic sound, but his eyes sparkled at the memory. “Fine. But you’ll be disappointed.” He settled back against the pillows, pulling you with him. 

He proceeded to recount the story of a fight with Taeyang over who was stronger in their youth. He had ended up on the ground with a bleeding scratch on his cheek caused by the gem on Taeyang's ring. 

A disbelieving snort escaped you, then another, until a full-bodied laugh rippled through you. The image of the stern Crown Prince and his impeccable head knight as brawling, vain teenagers was too amusing.

You didn't know it was possible for someone to make you laugh that much. You didn't know you could feel so alive and seen and understood in ways you never expected. 

You should have known it couldn’t last. You should have remembered that things were never supposed to be that good for you. You were always, in the end, destined for ruin. 

✦••┈•

Intak was on patrol in the royal quarters when it happened.

He barely heard the first thud, the sound so faint he thought he’d imagined it. He turned toward the corridor with pointed eyes, hand twitching at its resting place on his sword before shaking it off and continuing forward.

The second thud came a few paces later, followed by the unmistakable shatter of glass.

He rushed down the hall, eyes frantically searching for the guards on duty but they were nowhere in sight. He pressed his ear to each door as he passed, breathing a sigh of relief when he heard nothing from yours.

It was at the first princess’s door that he heard it—a choked gasp followed by the desperate sound of struggle.

He drew his sword and pushed the door open.

Everything happened in a blur. Your sister on the floor, a dark figure pinning her down. Then, the wet, sickening slice of a blade sinking into flesh.

Intak charged, ripping the attacker off her and hurling the body aside when a hand slashed towards him quick and wild.

He barely dodged it as he turned back to look at the first princess in alarm, his mouth falling open when he realized it was you. 

Panic overtook him. Why were you here? In the dark he could barely make out your face—he had no time to question you as your dagger came at him again.

“Hey—hey, Princess, it’s me!” His voice cried out. “It’s me, Intak!”

You couldn’t hear him though as you struck again, your breathing ragged, movements fueled by adrenaline. He caught your wrist on the next swing, then the other, pinning both arms against your sides as you thrashed in his hold.

“I-it’s me,” he repeated, pleading urgently for you to hear him. “Intak. Look at me, please!”

Your eyes finally focused on him as the dagger slipped from your fingers and clattered to the floor. All the strength left your legs as you slumped to the ground. 

Intak followed you down, knees hitting the stone as he caught you against his chest. His hands brushed the sweat-damp hair from your face as he searched your body for any sign of injury. “Are you okay? P-please talk to me—are you hurt!?”

When his eyes caught the faint red imprint of fingers on your neck, angry tears welled in them and all his thoughts came barreling out.

“Why are you here? You should have been in your own room—a-and where are the guards? They must have been bribed, I’ll find them, I’ll—” His voice rose, trembling. “I need to tell Taeyang—”

“Intak!”

He kept spiraling, emotions overtaken with fear and fury and the unbearable image of you bleeding out on the floor.

“Intak.”

The second time you said his name your voice cracked—hoarse, pained, and pleading. “Intak… I need you… please.”

His heart shattered at your weak voice and everything else fell away. He scooped you into his lap, arms wrapping around you in an armored embrace. “I’ve got you,” he whispered into your hair. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

He rocked you gently, lips brushing your cheek, repeating the reassurances until your shaking eased against his chest. Only when your breathing steadied did he murmur, “Let me take you to my room.”

He helped you stand, cupping your cheeks a final time to ask, “Are you okay to walk?” And kissing your forehead when you nodded. He took your hand in his to lead you there, opening the door to find two guards stationed outside. 

Their eyes widened at the sight of him emerging from the betrothed princess’s chambers, then widening further when they realized it was you, not her, disheveled and timid at his side.

Intak’s glare commanded their attention back to him. You had never seen him this angry. His jaw was clenched tight, eyes blazing with a fury so intense it intimidated even you.

“Where were you?” he demanded.

They stammered that they had only just arrived for their shift, that they were surprised to not find the previous guards at their post. Intak nodded, jerking his head toward the room. “There’s a body. Handle it quietly. If I hear a word of this from anyone, it will be your heads.”

They swallowed hard and bowed their heads while stepping aside.

When you reached Intak’s chambers he guided you to his bed, arranging the pillows behind you and pulling the blanket over your lap with careful hands. When he turned to leave, your fingers shot out and gripped his wrist.

“Where are you going?”

“To get the healer. Your throat—”

“It’s not necessary.” It clearly hurt a bit to talk but you maintained his eye regardless. “Really, Intak. I’m fine. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

You looked away so he wouldn’t see the tears welling in your eyes, struggling to say the one thing you wanted so desperately to.

He stepped closer, concern etched deeper on his face. “What’s wrong?”

With a deep breath you turned back, your eyes glassy with unshed tears as the words fell hesitantly from your lips. “I-I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

His eyes softened and he began to strip off his armor without another thought, climbing into bed beside you. The moment his arms came around you, you relaxed, relieved to be in the comfort and safety of his hold.

You basked in the silence until he broke it, needing answers. “Why were you in your sister’s room?”

You explained to him the system you built of switching rooms with her so it would be harder for an attacker to get to her. It just so happened that you had a bad feeling that day and you made the switch. The visiting royals filled every other spare chamber which left you with no other option than to take hers. He was busy the whole day with war guard meetings and knighting ceremonies, so you didn’t get the chance to tell him.

He didn’t have to say anything for you to feel the tension tightening his shoulders.

In turn you tried to lighten the mood. “My intuition served me again, at least.”

Intak pulled back just enough to look at you as the tears returned to his eyes. “Do you think this is funny? Because it isn’t. You could have died. I could have lost you.”

The fear in his voice clenched at your heart. You cupped his cheeks, thumbs brushing away the first tear that slipped free. “I’m sorry. But I’m truly fine, Intak.”

He shook his head, sniffling. “I have to tell Taeyang so that we can—”

“No.” You cut him off, the  panicked word flying out and startling him. “If you tell him, she’ll find out. She’ll worry. I can’t—”

“She should be worried,” he argued back. “You almost died for her. Again.”

Your brows raised at the bitter tone that laced his tongue. 

“Please, Intak. I don’t want to fight with you. Promise me you won’t tell anyone what happened.”

He shook his head, mouth falling open to argue but his resolve crumbled when he saw how exhausted you looked. With a shaky breath he nodded. “I won’t tell anyone.”

You leaned in and kissed him, soft and grateful, then settled back into the protective circle of his arms, letting his heartbeat lull you to sleep. 

It was the deceiving calm before the storm because late afternoon your door bursted open. Your sister barged in, her face a storm of fury and fear that you instantly paled at, and ice flooded your veins as an unspeakable betrayal consumed you.

Intak told her. Even after you opened up to him—after you wore your heart on your sleeve—he had broken the one promise you asked him to keep, and in turn Taeyang found out as well. It was the only time you had ever allowed yourself to be vulnerable, and it had been thrown back in your face.

You sat through her scolding rant without moving, hands folded so tightly in your lap that your nails nearly drew blood from your palms. 

It began in anger, her voice a high-pitched shrill as she demanded to know how you could have kept something like this from her, how you could have risked yourself in her place again. 

“You’re starting to sound like a broken record,” the words came out harsher than intended and when her eyes turned glassy, you regretted them instantly. 

You were just tired of the conversation, and it brought back bad memories of times you’d go weeks without talking due to the sensitive topic. You understood the concern but things were unfair sometimes—you didn't know why it was so difficult for them to understand that.

She turned away from you with a huff and you reached out to pull her into a hug with little resistance.

You whispered an apology as she gripped your shoulders tightly. When she calmed down, she began to express how grateful she was that you were alive, that you had protected her once more. You let her hold you tight as she reaffirmed how she couldn't lose you, not like that, not ever. You endured it all in silence, your body trying to fill the hollowness of betrayal with the force of her love. 

When she finally calmed, you dismissed yourself with a quiet excuse, voice still hoarse from the attack. You needed air. You needed to find him—to confront the man who had made you feel safe only to rip it away.

You found Intak in the training quarters, the same room where you shared your first kiss, the memory leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. 

When you entered you didn’t pause to admire him like last time, you stormed in like an onslaught of fire.

He sensed you immediately but pretended not to, his sword swiping against the training dummy half-heartedly. 

“Intak.”

Your voice sounded so hostile it made him falter mid-swing. He recovered quickly, continuing as if the sound had not shook him from his concentration. You marched forward and seized his wrist in a tight grip, ripping the sword from his hand and sending it clattering to the other side of the room.

“How could you?”

When he kept his eyes locked on the floor, you shoved hard at his chest, the impact forcing him back.

“What, cat’s got your tongue? How could you tell them?” Another shove, harder, though his body fought against it. “After you promised.”

"Princess—" 

“I’m not a princess."

"You know that's not what I meant…” he swallowed the thick lump in his throat before continuing, still refusing to meet your gaze. “I never promised.” 

You scoffed, the sound fusing into manic laughter.

“You had no right,” you hissed, voice rising. “No right to go behind my back. I trusted you.”

“Are you seriously mad that I was worried,” he replied, finally lifting his eyes. They were stormy and conflicted, but his voice remained steady. “Taeyang and your sister had a right to know. The attack was aimed at her—at the alliance. They needed to understand the danger.”

“The danger? I understand the danger. That’s why I was there! So there was no reason to worry, because it’s my job!”

“Your job?” He shouted, disbelief flashing across his face. “I don’t give a damn about your job! I care about you! You could have died.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance even as a fresh wave of pain struck you. “So what.”

Intak’s control snapped and the anger flowed through him at the blatant dismissal of the value of your life. He stepped closer to loom over you, chest heaving as he narrowed his eyes. You matched him, your body drawing nearer to his with every heated word until only inches separated you.

“Gods, I hate this! I hate how you treat your life like it’s disposable. Like you’re nothing but a shield for her. You throw yourself into danger without a thought for what it might do to the people who—” He broke off, swallowing hard, tightening his hand into fists to stop them from shaking. “You’re selfish. Making me fall in love with you, letting me see and know you and then acting like you mean nothing. Like your death would be acceptable. Like what we have is something you're so ready to just discard.”

The confession was almost enough to weaken your resolve. It rooted your feet to the floor as your eyes widened and lips parted in shock. But it still wasn't enough to make you concede.

“You knew what you were signing up for. This is who I am, my duty—”

His frustrated groan cut you off. He rolled his eyes and pressed a palm to his forehead to calm himself. “I don’t care about your duty. Not if it means losing you. I don't regret telling them because I’d rather you hate me and be alive than love me and be dead.”

He stood there waiting, eyes locked on yours expectantly, a small hopeful part of him still wishing you would listen and that your stubborn walls would crack enough to let him in. But in the back of his mind he already knew the fight was useless. 

Your chest rose and fell with heavy breaths and when your own eyes grew too glassy to properly see him, you turned on your heel and trudged out of the training quarters, leaving him with his broken heart on the floor.

The days that followed were difficult for Intak. He did his best to put on a brave face while working but beneath it all, the despair was potent, heart heavy as he replayed all his hidden and stolen moments with you. Though he truly had no reason to watch over you now, he still lingered discreetly while longing that you'd magically have a change of heart. It didn't seem likely, however, your seeming indifference slowly convincing him that the shared kisses, secrets, and desperate grips of each other's skin had meant nothing at all. 

The timing of the fight wasn't ideal as it only made it harder to offer the steadfast support your sister needed in the days leading up to the wedding. She was on edge, her usual poise fraying at the seams amid the whirlwind of preparations. But you were certain it had more to do with the stolen kiss you had accidentally witnessed between her and Taeyang that left her flustered and vulnerable in a way that mirrored your own hidden turmoil.

But thankfully the dreaded day had arrived, except it didn't seem so dreadful now because your sister looked happier than you had seen her in years. 

You watched as the flurry of maids descended on her, their hands touching her hair and face from every angle. There was a softness to her now, a peace that had not been there through all the past tense preparations. 

“You’re different,” you said bluntly. She tried to turn towards you but was scolded by the hair stylist, so you continued, "It seems to have happened overnight—Oh what does he want now?" 

You watched carefully as Taeyang entered to the dismay of the maids, your expression twisting in disgust as your sister excitedly met him at the door and you were forced to sit through their exchange. 

Your eyes widened to the size of saucers when you heard the nickname “Yangie” slip from her, his grin widening as he echoed it. The maids giggled and you couldn't help but cast them a judgmental look as you turned your head from the scene, nose curling with second hand embarrassment, though your heart fluttered seeing her so happy with the man she hated only a few short months ago. 

When she finally shut the door on him and leaned against it, head bowed with a dazed smile, she lifted her gaze only to be met with your knowing smirk. “Ah...I see.”

She looked away bashfully and you held back your snicker as you rose from your chair and requested for the maids to give you a moment alone with your sister. 

She blushed as they all exited the room, mentally preparing for the teasing that would come from Taeyang’s bold visit, but you only smiled at her and beckoned her back over to sit beside you on the bed. 

You leaned your heads against the headboard as you looked at each other. Memories of all the sleepovers you had shared washed over you. Now, she was getting married. It felt unreal; you didn't realize how much life could change in just a short time.

“You look beautiful,” you told her, voice soft. “I’m happy for you.”

The smile that she offered you was so serene it almost made you question whether or not she was under some magical spell. But it was clear the magic had been in their shared night together, so quickly, you added, “He must have been very good,” and her face flushed all over again as she buried it in her hands with a muffled laugh.

“Sorry, I had to say something,” you said, grinning despite the flush creeping up your own neck. “But I’ll leave it at that since it’s your wedding day.”

She peeked through her fingers, then eagerly began telling you of her new feelings for Taeyang and the future they could build together. Their rule would be different from his father’s, fairer and kinder to both kingdoms, and it gave her real hope for what lay ahead. 

You listened intently, but behind your comments and jokes, she could tell your eyes were dimmer than usual. Although you were good at hiding your feelings, she had always been able to read them, especially after years of peeling back your layers until she became an expert.

“And with that,” she said quietly, “I think it’s time for you to find your own path.”

Your brows furrowed as you listened intently. She thanked you for everything you had done and endured in her life just to protect her but with her as future queen, she would have plenty of people to help her.

"You deserved to be happy too," she paused, debating on voicing her next thought, but continuing anyway. “You’re not as subtle as you think, you know. Or maybe it’s just the effect he has on you.”

You pondered over her words as you got ready, contemplating them and the door of possibilities they opened. Maybe you could be with him, but doubt continued to war in your mind. Beyond the role of secret guard, you knew nothing else.

Now that your sister no longer needed you in that way, the absence of that purpose felt jarring and disorienting. The years of conditioning had forced you to believe that that was all life would ever offer, and that wanting more was a silly delusion. 

The very idea of reaching for something beyond your purpose felt terrifying, yet every time Intak resurfaced in your thoughts, the terror eased. The future became easier to imagine, his presence a bright light pulling you forward despite the scars of your old life.

During the wedding, Intak couldn’t tear his eyes from you beneath the ballroom’s soft candlelight. He watched as you gazed at your sister and her new husband with stars glittering in your eyes, your joy so pure it made his heart lurch. Later, as you danced with her—wild and unbothered by the guests around—a small, sad smile grew on his lips, as he tried to satiate the growing ache for you within him. 

Hours later, you slipped from the room in secret, and his feet carried him after you before his mind could convince himself it was a terrible idea.

He approached you slowly, hesitating on making his presence known when your voice rang out.

“I know you’re there.”

He paused for a long drawn out second before continuing forward. 

“This is the second time you've snuck up on me. You know for a knight, you’re awfully bad at it.”

Intak emerged beside you sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He sat beside you on a stone bench, and for a while you simply existed in each other’s company, the distant orchestra from the castle filling the silence. Your mind raced anxiously with different ways to break the ice or spark a conversation when Intak spoke first.

“I’m sorry for breaking your trust,"

You turned to face him fully as you waited patiently for him to continue. 

"I told them because I was terrified that something else would happen and I'd lose the woman I love. I respect you so much for everything you’ve been through, and I know it wasn't easy for you to open up to me."

"Intak..." you cut him off but he continued speaking despite the hesitation in your voice. 

"It wasn’t fair of me to dismiss your responsibilities like that—especially when I do the exact same thing for the crown. I-I’m a hypocrite. But you make me act in ways I’ve never acted before.” He sucked in a deep breath, pleading eyes finally meeting yours. “I know that... all you’ve ever known are broken limbs and bloody knuckles. Please, let me show you that there’s more to life than that.”

Your eyes filled with tears, the emotions consuming you all at once. Intak couldn't bear it any longer. He pulled you into him, arms trembling slightly as they wrapped around your back, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He held you tightly against him, savoring your touch and the feeling of just being beside you after only mere days apart. When you drew back, he cupped your cheeks in both hands, thumbs smoothing the tears away with a touch so gentle it made your breath hitch. You could see the hunger burning in his gaze, the way his lips parted, the subtle shake in his shoulders as he fought to hold back.

You nodded and he leaned in.

“Wait,” you whispered, fingers closing around his wrist. His eyes widened as he paused, a man on the edge of salvation. “I don’t know how to love properly.”

“I don’t care,” he murmured as he leaned closer.

You stopped him again, heart hammering. “And I won’t be an easy person to love.”

“I don’t care.”

He leaned in once more, but you pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palm. “And I know I'm stubborn and unpredictable and—"

“I don’t care.” Before you could say anything else, his lips pressed to yours. 

They met in a desperate collision, any sliver of restraint disappearing in an instant. His hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head with fingers that trembled against your scalp, while the other traced your jaw, then your neck, thumb brushing over the faint remnants of bruises in a touch so reverent it made your eyes sting again. You melted into it, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, trying to erase the space between you entirely.  He could taste the sweet wine you'd been sipping on earlier as his tongue glided against yours, the feeling intoxicating him more than the drink ever could. 

When he finally pulled back, forehead resting against yours, breaths mingling frantically, he whispered against your lips, “So you forgive me then?”

You pulled him back into another fierce kiss as every doubt you had carried dissolved against the urgent press of his mouth. He mumbled against your lips, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You laughed, the sound breaking free as you drew back just enough to meet his eyes, your hands sliding up to wrap around his neck. “I’m sorry too. I know you only did it because you care about me. It's just... this is the first time I’ve felt this way with anyone, so it hurt. But I understand why you did it.”

Intak smiled, the weight lifting off of his chest, and he rested his forehead against yours and nuzzled your noses together, the gesture so tender it made fresh tears prick at the corners of your eyes. He eased the hand from your back, and when you glanced down, you saw a lily cradled in his fingers, its white petals slightly flattened from the crush of your bodies. 

“Um… this is for you,” he said, more questioning than anything.

You laughed again, brighter this time, and accepted the flower, its sweet fragrance rising between you. He leaned in again, kissing your cheek, then peppering more across the flushed skin in quick, affectionate presses that had you giggling, embarrassment warming your face even as joy swelled within you. He groaned against your jaw. “The past few days without you were hell.”

His mouth found your neck, hot and open, trailing slow kisses that sent sparks racing down your spine. You tangled your hand in his hair, letting your eyes slip shut so you could simply indulge in the scrape of his teeth, the warmth of his breath, and the way his lips tasted your skin. 

“That seems a bit dramatic,” you whispered, though the words trembled.

He continued lower, his lips brushing over the lines of your collarbones. He nipped at them, teeth grazing just enough to draw a gasp from you before he soothed the spots with his tongue. “I wish you could see yourself from my eyes,” he breathed, the words passionate and raw against your skin. “Then you would know I'm being perfectly reasonable.”

His hands slid lower as his mouth reached the exposed curve of your cleavage. He buried his face there, licking and sucking at the sensitive skin with hunger until another gasp tore from your throat. 

Intak’s fingers tightened at your waist, tugging you flush against him as his lips trailed lower, brushing against the fabric of your dress. 

You hastily tugged him up to find a more private area, sure that if you hadn't, the night would have unfolded right there. He followed with his hand in yours, letting you lead him into your new beginning.

✦••┈•

You stood across from Intak in the training room as you stretched your limbs in preparation.

“Okay, best two out of three?” he asked, voice carrying that hopeful lilt.

You laughed as you gathered your hair and twisted it up off your neck. “That scared, huh?”

“No…”

You laughed at him again as he blushed, lips pursing in a pout that sent another ripple of joy through you. 

“Seriously! And I know your deadliest trick so you can’t even distract me this time.”

You shook your head at him with a soft smile. “No trick this time. Just skill.” You took your stance, knees bent, and smirked. “Ready?”

He nodded, mirroring you with the same fond intensity in his eyes. You both held still, breaths syncing, hearts aligned as you waited. Then, at the exact same time, you charged forward, your swords meeting with a clash.

The end :D If you enjoyed please leave a comment I will kiss you if you do

Series Masterlist a collaborative event by @jiuchip & @liliesonthego

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For the first time in his life, Heeseung wants to stay.

No. He wants you to stay.

But he doesn’t dare say anything. He doesn’t even know if he deserves to open his mouth. It’s like a knot of uneasiness has lodged itself in his throat, preventing him from moving even an inch of his muscle.

Not that he can even move, honestly. His entire body is on fire, his scent gland is pulsing in pain. But nothing, nothing can compare to the hollowness in his chest.

Nothing comes close to the gravity of the situation, slowly settling in his mind.

Heeseung can’t breathe.

Across from him, you’re leaning on your cheerleader friend for support. Someone he vaguely recognises as Riki’s cousin—Rei, if he’s not mistaken. She has rushed out of the crowd when people had stopped dancing to watch a literal romance suicide happening in the backyard.

“Oh my Goddess—you’re bleeding—Riki! Call the ambulance!”

“Let’s just drive her to the hospital,” Jake, a beta who belongs to the frat house, emerges from behind Riki, looking more sober than the other guests. “It’s faster.”

Among the chaos, of people murmuring in surprise, of your friend and his friend fussing over your condition, you stand there silently. If you were pale before, you’re looking even more ghostly now that if someone were to cut your cheek, there’d be no blood coming out.

He watches you, eyes never leaving your face, begging, pleading through his gaze for you to meet his eyes. But you never do. 

You keep your head low and let Rei and Jake usher you away, steps wobbly and unsteady.

Heeseung can’t breathe.

It feels like he’s underwater and his lungs have turned to bricks.

“—seung! Breathe!”

Heeseung snaps out of his thoughts and realises that his knees have finally given up. He’s on the ground, the tiles bruising his knees as Jay crouches beside him, shaking his shoulders. He realises, as his chest burns and moves rapidly, that he’s been hyperventilating.

Heeseung can’t breathe.

“Oh God—” he chokes, clawing at his burning throat. Sweat dots on his forehead, his face turning red with each passing second. Beside him, Jay is shouting at someone over his head, but the sound is muffled to his ears.

All he can hear is the echo of your voice.

‘I ended it.’

The pain cracks through his chest. The tears are unstoppable now.

‘There’s nothing between us anymore.’

Heeseung thinks he might die.

A violent sob racks through his chest, both of his palms touching the ground. He can faintly sense Riki’s presence around him, the younger trying to lift him up with the help of Jay, but Heeseung’s body is dead weight.

His wolf refuses to move.

This is all your fault, his alpha growls in his mind. 

You defied fate and now we lost her. This is your fault, Lee Heeseung.

Heeseung covers his face, feeling the wetness on his cheeks. His body shakes with every sob, showing no signs of stopping. On either side of him, Jay and Riki have given up on trying to help him stand. The two watch as their friend cries his heart out.

Out of sorrow. Out of grief.

Out of regret.

“I’m sorry,”  Heeseung sobs to no one, the words dripping with remorse.

He looks up, chasing the ghost of you with his guilty eyes—but you’re long since gone. The weight of the abandoned bond now sits heavy on his chest, pulsing in pitiful longing.

“I’m really sorry.”

The space swallows his words, the emptiness a permanent reminder of his too-late apology.

Hospitals aren’t exactly a place you look forward to visiting. 

But right now, you are willing to take anything to escape the eyes. You silently curse yourself for pulling that scene in a place where privacy is a luxury, but at least now you have escaped from it. 

From Heeseung.

Most importantly, from the consequences of your actions.

You bring your finger to your nape and graze the scent gland gently. The pain it has borne for the last two weeks has finally stopped. It brings great relief to you, really—not having to feel the slow death of being an unwanted mate. But freedom has its cost.

You’ve never felt so empty.

You don’t know how your omega did it, but the bond is severed. Traces of Heeseung’s pheromones are nowhere to be found. Gone are the warm, spicy cinnamon and the cool, salty sea air that used to linger around your sweet scent faintly.

You no longer smell like him. You no longer feel the need to see him. You no longer feel the agonising pain shooting up your spine every time he kisses someone who isn’t you.

Yet you feel empty.

You expected more pain. You expected longing. But your body feels quiet. Your omega, previously hysterical and loud, is dead silent inside. A protest to the Goddess or she’s just genuinely exhausted, you don’t know. You can’t put it past her if it’s both.

You sigh, dropping your hand on your lap as you stare at the blood stain on the sleeves of your cardigan. You pay no mind to the nurses and patients passing by in front of you. Jake and Rei left not too long ago, after you managed to convince them that you’ll be okay and that Yujin is on her way.

As if on cue, your nose picks up the smell of green tea among the sterile and sharp odour of the hallway. Yujin.

“Y/N!” 

Your friend greets you with a slightly breathless voice, clearly running her way into the hospital. She bends down and immediately makes a show of inspecting you, turning your body left and right frantically. When her eyes drop on the dried blood staining your sleeves, she nearly shrieks.

“Who the fuck must I kill?!”

“Shh! Keep your voice down!” You hush her, sending apologetic looks to the nearby people who have become alert of Yujin’s death threat. “And no, you’re not killing anybody.”

“Please tell me what happened before I lose my mind,” Yujin pleads, the worry on her face softening her features. You halt. 

Before you know it, your eyes have turned glassy. The weight of everything—the constant pain, the relief, the broken bond—you finally feel the full force of it. As if the gate has been completely destroyed, it’s so easy to cry now.

You let yourself get pulled into a hug, clutching at the fabric of Yujin’s shirt desperately.

Your bitter scent washes over her, smelling of heartbreak and guilt. You think of Heeseung; of how devastated he looked when you broke the bond, like he had lost something precious—which should be a lie, shouldn’t it? He never acknowledged the bond. He never admitted to it.

Then you think of yourself; of the way you used to carry the pieces of your heart everywhere, begging for him to see the bond that used to tie the two of you together. The bond that you treasured, the bond that bloomed hope in your heart, making you believe in a future together with someone who was supposed to love you. 

Something inside you breaks again.

You had lost something precious.

“I—I ended the bond with him,” you choke, the words struggling to get out. “It’s over. Yujin, it’s over.”

You feel Yujin freeze for a moment before she tightens the hug, feeling her lips touch your hairline.

“But why does it still hurt?” Your chest heaves with a new wave of tears, voice completely broken. “Why does it hurt so fucking much? I ended it, and—and he hurt me,” you hiccup, trying to arrange the string of your sentence properly.

“But I still want to hug him,” you whisper wetly, feeling your wolf stir inside you. “I still want to hold him and tell him I’m sorry for doing this to him.”

Yujin remains quiet, rubbing a hand at your back in an attempt to comfort you. 

“It’s okay, Y/N. You did the right thing.”

She holds you and never lets go. She holds you the way that you wish you could’ve done to Heeseung; in the way that you wish he could’ve done to you.

That night, you let yourself surrender to the grief of something that you almost had. The grief of the tale of true mates that you used to hold close to your heart, longing for the wreckage of potential love that is damaged beyond repair.

You grieve for the love you could’ve shared, the life you could’ve had if only the world was on your side.

You grieve for Heeseung.

For the past of the warm embrace that he once gave you and for the pain he inflicted on you.

Heeseung never knew how hard it was to find you outside of the court and practice room until now.

He realises, with a regret that has become all-too-familiar now, that he knows almost nothing about you. Other than the fact that you can bake, that you’re friends with almost everyone on the cheerleader squad—he doesn’t know much about you.

And it kills him.

It takes him two days of losing sleep, of dragging his legs to classes, of forcing the pain in his chest down, before he finally catches a glimpse of you.

It’s completely accidental. He’s on his way to a group discussion, walking past the cafeteria when a breeze of air passes by him, carrying the soft scent of your pheromones.

Light, blooming daisies and sticky, sweet honey.

Heeseung halts in his steps, his alpha already whining in longing. 

Across the hall, at one of the tables, you sit with your friends. A pair of chopsticks presses against your lips as you listen to your friend animatedly talking about her clumsy professor—something that’s only possible for Heeseung to hear had it not been for his dominant trait.

Heeseung doesn’t know what to expect once he sees you.

A small part of him foolishly hopes that you’d look back to him just as quickly, the way you used to do whenever he steps into the same room as you before.

Another part of him wishes that when he senses your scent, the usual undertone of his own scent would still linger underneath.

But you do nothing of those, completely oblivious to his presence, to his scent—like the mere his walking into the same space as you’re in doesn’t affect you anymore. And your scent is completely bare from any traces of his pheromones, the daisies and honey are completely and only you.

Right, Heeseung swallows thickly. Of course you can’t feel him.

The bond is no longer there.

You cut it a couple of days ago.

The wound is still fresh, pulsing in his scent gland like a reminder of his sin. His heart squeezes painfully, but Heeseung only presses his lips. Not a sound comes out of his mouth. Not even a breath.

He lets the pain course through his body, enduring it for as long as he can. He deserves this, he quietly thinks.

He deserves watching you from afar, feeling the one-sided bond punish every fibre of his being.

He deserves this; sensing your scent whenever you’re near, but no longer having the privilege to hold your eyes and share the same feeling only true mates understand.

Deserves the silence. Deserves you not looking up. Deserves being nothing to you.

There’s a gaping hole in his heart when he realises that nothing is tying him to you anymore. There’s no safety net of the Goddess of the Moon’s fated mates tale. There’s no longer the string that connects the two of you—no reason he can find to be anything to you.

A stronger, more desperate part of him forces him to take the leap. To just take over and charge. His feet shift forward slightly, the dominant alpha in him wanting to just grab you and tell you how sorry he is. He’d beg on his knees if he must, so long as you’d at least spare a glance his way, even if it meant you would look down on him forever.

But you look happier.

His eyes trace the curve of your lips as you laugh at something your friend says. The selfish part of him stubbornly stays to steal the moment, letting his undeserving ears hear your voice like a secret.

You look happier.

Heeseung takes a step back, angling his body to leave. He looks at you one last time, hoping to catch your gaze at least once. Just something—anything to soothe his anxious wolf, even when he doesn’t deserve it.

But you never look back. And something inside him cracks. 

He can feel it—the incoming suffocation building up in his chest, like a storm waiting to happen. Before his scent could turn bitter, Heeseung forces himself to leave, eyes frantically searching for exit.

Heeseung is slowly breaking apart, and he does nothing to stop it.

“You’re so—” Jay stops himself, then sighs loudly. “I’ve called you stupid way too many times that I’m actually starting to feel bad now. Why did you skip your group discussion? Jungwon won’t stop asking me for you.”

Heeseung doesn’t react. After catching sight of you at the cafeteria, he’s rushed back to his house, deliberately skipping the group discussion with an apology over a text. The hyperventilation—an occurrence that is frequent now—comes back, and Heeseung doesn’t intend for you to see him unravel like that.

Not out of pride or shame. God, no, there’s nothing left of him to care about those. Heeseung just doesn’t want you to feel bad seeing him like that. Because you shouldn’t feel bad for cutting off the bond.

After all, he did hurt you to the point of death.

Jay studies his friend, watching as Heeseung sits in his producer chair and stares blankly at the monitor. He was just about to go for a gym session with Riki, but decided to stay at home after Heeseung burst through the door, gasping for air with a red face. And it broke his heart.

Calling out Heeseung for his ignorance is one thing that he’s not sorry for, but seeing him in this condition? It kills him. He just wants everyone to stop hurting each other. But first of all, he knows he has to start with Heeseung.

“Hee,” he calls, but Heeseung barely moves. Jay presses his lips. “Hee—”

“I saw her.”

Jay pauses, holding back his tongue when he hears his voice. He waits patiently, giving Heeseung the space he needs. 

But Heeseung doesn’t say another word for a few extended seconds, just sitting there like he was talking to himself. If it weren’t for the small movement of his chest, Jay would’ve panicked and thought that he’d lost his friend. 

It is quiet until his voice, smaller and quieter, echoes inside the room again.

“She always looks prettier than the last time I see her.”

There’s a heavy silence between them. Jay takes the chance to look around the room. 

It’s Heeseung’s producer room, the room Jay let him take to do whatever he wanted with it. The lighting inside this room is moody, dim purple and blue LED lights alternating every minute. 

The glow washes over everything in slow pulses—across the mixing console, the twin monitors, the mess he never bothered to clean. Cables snake along the floor like they’ve settled there for good, curling around the legs of the desk. A track sits paused on the screen, its waveform frozen mid-breath, like it, too, is waiting for something to break.

Jay slowly exhales, his chest tightening as his gaze drifts from a closed notebook to the abandoned headphones hanging at the edge of the console. This room feels less alive—not like what he last remembers of it.

It used to pulse with passion. Whenever he walked in, Heeseung was always up to something. The bass would play like a behind the scene, his sweet voice would sometimes blend with the strum of his newly-bought acoustic. There’d be balls of crumpled papers rolling on the floor, rejected lyrics that he’d still pick up and look back before he went to sleep.

But now, the room is too clean. Ever since he carried Heeseung on his back from Jake’s frat house a few days ago, this producer room has been nothing more than a haunted house.

And at the center of it, is his dying friend.

“Hee,” Jay starts, breaking the silence. He gives his words a lot of thoughts, carefully curated to make it clear that he cares. “Heeseung, you must do something. Or you’ll die, and I won’t let you die.”

Jay grabs his shoulder and turns him around, the chair spinning to face him. Heeseung’s face is void of any colour, sunken eyes looking like faded embers. His lips are dry and chapped, his skin dull and grey. Inevitably, something sharp twists in his chest at seeing his best friend in this state.

“God,” Jay breathes out, trying to hide the tremble in his voice. He’s so fucking scared. “You’re dying, Heeseung, and I—”

Jay hangs his head low, closing his eyes as he tries his best to compose himself. Heeseung needs me, he whispers in his head, Heeseung needs me.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Jay takes a deep breath and lifts his gaze. Heeseung is looking away, blank face staring lifelessly at the wall like a portrait of emptiness and grief. His grip on his shoulder tightens.

“I talked to my parents,” Jay tries again, “there is a way to fix this. Two, actually.” 

The moment stretches without any reaction from Heeseung. Jay takes it as a sign to continue.

“We can save this if you…if you can win her back and make her omega want to patch the bond back up.”

The tiniest flicker of something crosses Heeseung’s eyes. His jaw twitches almost imperceptibly. 

“Or,”  Jay licks his lips, preparing himself. “You can cut the bond from your side, too,” he finishes. 

Heeseung turns his head to look at him, wide eyes watering with unshed tears.

“Cut it clean once and for all, Heeseung.”

His lips part, but nothing comes out. Despite his passive façade, Heeseung’s mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and regret.

Fix the bond and face you, which he doesn’t think he deserves.

Or cut it off and lose you for good.

For the first time in his life, Heeseung doesn’t know which option is worse.

The nightclub is still as noisy as he remembers it. Blinding lights that hurt his eyes, loud bass that pierces his ears. People are dancing with their company, seeking friction and heat between slicked bodies.

Heeseung used to be in the center of it all, basking in the attention of perfectly-manicured nails on his chest and the alluring scents enveloping him. A perfect distraction from a rejected demo. A relief for his frustration over a losing game.

The escape he always chose to run from facing negative emotions. 

But tonight, he stands motionless in a corner, lips pulled in a tight line. 

There’s an old pull coming from the crowd. After all, having people worship your body does feel addictive at one point—and Heeseung is no exception to that. He’s used to showcasing his dominance whether it was on the court or in a bedroom, a drug he kept feeding his alpha to the point of no return. He’s used to command and dominate, a trait that helps him as a captain and as a pleaser.

Like facing a withdrawal, his hands twitch by his sides, itching to inch forward.

You are feeling bad now, a voice whispers in his head. Go on. There are plenty of omegas that can make you feel better.

Heeseung forces his gaze down. No, he counters.

No more of that life.

Heeseung is dominant in every aspect of his existence—from biological traits down to his own personality and mindset. But when his mind drifts back to the thoughts of you, he finds himself crumbling in submission.

It hurts his pride. God, it hurts so much.

But the ache doesn’t compare to the look on your pale face when you break the bond you shared with him, like cutting an infected part of a root that’d destroy your field of daisies.

Nothing hurts more than being the reason you had to resort to such a critical decision, that might cost you your own life.

The urge finally quiets down after a few seconds of redirecting his thoughts to the more pressing matters at hand. Heeseung smooths down his clothes in an attempt to calm himself.

He’s wearing one of his baggy graphic T-shirts, black and bigger than his frame. A picture of The Strokes, stretched and scratched from use clings to the fabric. Beside him, Jay stands tall in his usual button-up, always looking out of place in the nightclub thanks to his distinguished gentleman image.

On the other side of him, is a cute menace.

“Okay!” Sunoo claps his hand, adjusting the collar of his yellow sweater. “This is a bad idea, but since you’re a masochist, let’s do what we’re here for!”

The sass in his speech doesn’t go unnoticed by both alphas. Jay lets out a big sigh, already massaging his temple, while Heeseung only gives him a side-eye, hardly offended by his words. 

He’s right, of course. Sunoo’s never wrong.

The brown-haired boy, feigning ignorance to the stares he’s receiving, continues. “Since you want to cut the bond clean—”

Jay interrupts sharply. “Try to cut it clean.”

“Right,” Sunoo gives a small smile. “Since we want to try cutting it off clean,” he makes a show of slicing the air with his hand, “let’s find you an omega and see if you can kiss her or him without throwing up.”

Heeseung lets the bass swallow his voice, already hating the idea inside his head. Which is ironic, because just a few days ago, he was adamant on trying to convince himself that he didn’t have a mate.

Oh, well. Just look at him now.

Jay seems to share the same sentiment as him. “This can either turn worse or better. Are you sure you’re doing this?” Jay looks back from Heeseung to Sunoo. “Can’t we find other ways?”

Sunoo taps his chin, looking serious for the first time that night. 

“I don’t think we can. The one breaking the bond should be his wolf,” he starts, pointing to Heeseung’s chest. “And since he’s been giving Heeseung a silent treatment, we have no idea where he stands now. This is the only way to trigger a reaction.”

Heeseung thinks he’s had enough of being talked about like a case study. “What do you mean? We don’t know where he stands now?”

Sunoo pats his shoulder, understanding his confusion. “Yeap. We don’t know whether your wolf is okay with cutting the bond with Y/N and finding another mate, or if he still wants Y/N and wants to fix the bond with her.”

Heeseung blinks, confused. “But she’s already cut—”

“It’s one-sided, Heeseungie hyung. Your wolf didn’t agree with the breakup,” Sunoo then lowers his voice, now talking softly when he notices the gloomy look on his face. “That’s why we either cut it or fix it,” the alpha fidgets with the sleeves of his sweater, already feeling emotional. 

“Or you could die, hyung. That’s the reality of true mates.”

He’s right. Heeseung knows, despite being a little devil that he is, Sunoo will never lie about something as serious as this. Especially when it involves life and death.

But Heeseung hasn’t been on good terms with his wolf. They’ve been clashing since the night that he met you, always debating whether you were his fated mate or not. And each time, it was Heeseung who never listened. It was Heeseung who refused to give in, in denial to the possibility of a mate and…love.

Even tonight.

“Let’s just cut it off,” he grunts, his voice grim and clipped. Sunoo and Jay whirl around and look at him like he’s just lost one eye.

“I just told you, we can’t just—”

“He’s not responding, and he never will,” Heeseung exhales through his nose, frustration spilling into his scent. “My wolf—”

“That’s because you never wanted to listen to him, Hee.” Jay finally speaks up, cutting the conversation short. Heeseung pauses, his voice dying in his throat.

From his left, Jay’s citrusy pheromones—bergamot and lime with a soft undertone of amber and metal—swirls into his senses with an air of authority. Heeseung recognises this. It’s the accent that Jay uses when he wants someone to relax and listen to him. 

The dark-haired alpha plays with his whiskey, watching the liquid swirl and the ice spin as he speaks. 

“Or to me. To us.”

He lets the words linger, as if begging Heeseung to finally understand. Jay meets his eyes, looking into him with desperation. There is a flicker of something there; something that makes the wall inside him rattle.

“Please. Just tonight. Please try for us. For you,” his voice is lower, shaky, “I don’t want to lose you, Hee. Please.”

“I just don’t want to hurt her anymore.” Heeseung hesitates. “What if I touch another omega and I hurt her again?”

“You won’t,” Sunoo convinces. He nudges Heeseung’s shoulder with his. “For now, she won’t feel anything because the tie is broken. It won’t be easy, but saving yourself means saving her too.”

A heavy silence falls upon them, filled with unspoken tension and pleading eyes. Jay and Sunoo share a look, each of them on the edges of their nerves waiting for Heeseung’s answer.

At last, Heeseung finally relents. A small sigh escapes his lips and he takes a step forward.

“Okay. Let’s give this a shot.”

It isn’t hard to find someone to kiss. It was never hard for Heeseung. He manages to mask his gloomy scent that could shoo people away from him and gets into his flirty mode. His smile, though a little strained on the edges, still looks pretty as ever.

Soon enough, he already has an omega in his arms, tucked away in a dimmed corner near the bar. Sunoo and Jay keep a safe distance from him, not too close to intrude but not too far out of his sight.

“You’re so tall,” the omega purrs, gliding her pretty nail up his arm. Heeseung barely responds. “Tall and so handsome.”

His heart is telling him how out-of-place the touch feels. The familiar feeling comes back. The same feeling he ignored for two weeks in fear of confronting his own destiny. The same feeling he buried for the sake of proving to no one but himself that he’d do fine without you; without the sacred bond that connected you both.

He wants to flee. He wants to push her away and scratch at the spot where she’s touched him. Where her skin meets his skin, Heeseung feels the strongest urge to recoil. The same nausea returns, clouded by her scent that doesn’t sit well in his nose. 

But his rational mind reminds him of the intention behind this.

“Yeah?” He tries, struggling to look her in the eyes. He tightens his grip on her waist and hesitates before pulling her slightly closer. “I’ll need to bend down to kiss you, then.”

The girl lets out an airy giggle. She circles her arms around his neck and pulls him down, peering at him through her lashes seductively. “Mhm, bent down enough?”

Heeseung freezes. It’s going to happen. Heeseung fights the urge to turn his face away, but Sunoo’s words serve as a reminder that stops him from doing so. 

Saving yourself means saving her, too.

Shakily, he exhales, closing the gap between their lips as slowly as he can. His heart is angry behind his ribs, his pulse rushing loudly in his ears. Heeseung braces himself until the pout of her lips brushes against his.

The kiss starts gently, mainly initiated by her. Heeseung tries to follow, tries to lead, but the feeling of her mouth on his feels so wrong. It doesn’t feel right. It’s like fitting a triangle puzzle with round pieces.

He opens his mouth, trying to deepen his kiss when something inside him stirs.

No. His wolf finally speaks. It’s no longer distant and muffled.

Like a wolf being reborn from the first death, this time, his voice is sharp and clear. 

Not her.

Heeseung closes his eyes, feeling a bile rising behind his throat. But instead of darkness, what he sees instead is an image of you. Your soft features, your silky hair, and your pretty, pretty eyes that he can only see in his memory. 

The eyes that used to look at him with sparkles of hope, waiting for him to notice the magnetic force of a bond that you shared with him. The same grateful eyes that looked at him under the moonlight, when the convenience store was empty except for the two of you.

His stomach turns sharply he might actually be sick.

Oh Goddess, what has he done to you? Why did he do you so wrong? Why did he think so highly of himself that he thought he was above love and fate?

A drop of tears slips down his cheek.

Before he knows it, Heeseung is already crying into the kiss. Hot, fresh tears seeps into the lock of their mouths, making the kiss taste like salt and grief; just like how his scent smells right now.

I want Y/N. His wolf echoes again, firmer than he’s ever been. We want Y/N.

At last, after weeks of battling himself, Heeseung finally listens to his wolf.

He breaks the kiss with a breath, pushing her gently by the shoulders and putting a distance between them. Head dipping low, Heeseung lets himself cry, watching the tears drop from the tip of his nose to the sticky floor. The omega is left confused, but she doesn’t say a word.

If anything, Heeseung looks so pitiful that she forgets about feeling upset.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he hiccups, bringing his hands to his face. He doesn’t realise how hard he’s shaking until she places her hand on his shoulders. “I’m so sorry, I can’t do this—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” the girl convinces, pursing her lips into a straight line. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Heeseung doesn’t answer. Drops of grief and regret keep pouring out like a broken faucet, staining his cheeks wet. The sound that leaves him isn’t even a sob; it’s something raw, broken, pulled straight out of his chest.

“My heart belongs to her.”

Heeseung feels his wolf paw at him, finally winning the prolonged war of love and pride. A war whose price may be greater than the sin he’s committed. 

His scent gland is pulsing even harder, as if reminding him of the bond still barely alive. 

With a shaky exhale, like he’s at last allowed himself to be free, Heeseung tries to let it out.

“I think…” his voice breaks, softer now, like he’s afraid of the truth even as he says it. 

“I think I finally accepted that my heart has always belonged to her.”

For the first time, Heeseung doesn’t try to deny it. His wolf purrs, almost crying from relief. 

“And she doesn’t want it anymore.”

It is very early in the morning. Rays of orange glow cracks through the horizon, bleeding light into the ground. Somewhere in the distance, the moon is slowly getting swallowed by the sky and soon enough, the sun is proudly ascending.

It’s a Saturday, which means, there’s no classes scheduled today. But Heeseung finds himself stepping foot on the campus ground. Faintly, from where he’s standing at the car park, he can hear whistles coming from the field. His wolf, who’s done giving him the silent treatment, nudges him to hurry. 

Right. He’s here, abandoning his usual sleep-in on the weekend to find you. It’s the only place he knows where you’d be and he might’ve just bribed Jake to tell him when his football friendly match is going to be.

Taking a deep breath, Heeseung finally moves his legs. His ribs rattle with how fast his heart is beating. He purposely chooses to come fifteen minutes before the match ends—he’s not exactly here to see Jake play (sorry dude). He doesn’t know what to do with himself if he has to wait around for hours just to talk to you. He might go crazy.

Well. That is, if you want to talk to him.

“Don’t discourage me now, you dog,” he mutters under his breath, berating his alpha. 

The field is not that far from where he parked his (Jay’s) car. A few paces more and he’s going to see the vast green-grassed space where a bunch of alphas are running around chasing a ball using their legs.

But to his surprise, the field and the bleachers are almost empty.

“Fuck,” Heeseung curses under his breath and checks his watch. He still has three minutes left before the game ends—if what Jake told him was true. Did they end it earlier than planned? He could’ve sworn he heard whistles just now!

You spent too much time on your pep talk, his wolf rolls his eyes.

Heeseung doesn’t waste time. He whirls around and forces his brain to think quicker. His legs move faster, turning corner after a corner in search of you. 

Where would the cheerleaders go after a game? To the locker room? No, that’s for the athletes. To the car park? That’s possible, but he didn’t cross paths with anyone on the way here. To the practice room? He rounds a corner. Okay, that actually—

A subtle wave of daisies and honey washes over him almost instantly. Heeseung immediately stops, his breath catching in his throat. 

Standing in front of the vending machine, just a few feet away from him, is you. You’re wearing your usual costume—sleeveless top that cuts right at your waist and pleated skirt that ends just above your mid-thigh. But today, the theme seems to be pink. You have your hair up in an updo, a blue ribbon—the official representative colour of the college—is tied neatly around the silky strands of your hair.

There’s only a glimpse of your side profile visible to him, but it’s enough to quiet the prideful alpha in him. He’s not even sure if he’s said it enough, but every time his eyes land on you, you just get prettier. 

For a second, Heeseung thinks he doesn’t mind dying at that moment.

You don’t look up to him instantly, or sensing his presence by his pheromones—another reminder of the broken bond that you used to share. Heeseung gulps down the hurt, clenching his sweaty palms into fists.

A clang of a can dropping in the vending machine booms through the hallway. You bend down to take it.

Call her name. His wolf urges. Idiot, just call her name!

Heeseung gathers his breath.

“Y/N?” Your name leaves his name like a sacred prayer, tender and delicate, like a whisper only the Goddess can hear. You freeze in your spot, finger brushing the can only a fraction.

The silence stretches for a few seconds. In waiting, Heeseung holds back his breath, afraid that another sound from him will scare you away.

But you only straighten up, abandoning your can of drink and turn to him. The edges of your eyes harden at the sight of him. 

You hold his gaze, lips unmoving before you finally say his name.

“Heeseung.”

It’s flat. It’s polite. It’s cold. It’s nothing like the night when you ran into his arms. It’s not warm like the way you called his name before falling asleep on his shoulders, back when your wolf trusted him with your life.

Back when the bond was still there. Back when his name was still written in the stars beside yours.

Heeseung thinks this is worse than death.

“Can I…” he pauses, already fearing your rejection mid-sentence. 

Saving yourself means saving her, too.

He pushes through.

“Can I talk to you?”

The words finally leave his lips, and Heeseung doesn’t move. It’s as if he was intruding; like he was poking your safe bubble and he wasn’t allowed to move without your permission. 

Your eyes assess him, like you’re deciding if he was a threat. Then, with a firm tone he never heard from you, you reply. “I have practice.”

“I won’t take long,” he rushes out, the words tripping over each other. “Please—just for a moment. Please.”

Please.

The one word you’d never expect coming from a dominant alpha like him. Someone who seems prideful in everything he does, who commands attention wherever he goes with his voice alone.

So he does have the courage to talk to you. He does know what he did was wrong on so many levels—and yet.

Yet it took you almost dying for him to learn. 

Yet it took you bleeding on the floor for him to realise.

For once, you really thought you could be the bigger person. You really believed that your heart, as soft as it always has been, would fold and melt the moment his honeyed-voice greets your senses again.

But you were wrong.

Your resentment still lingers, caging your chest in a protective embrace, not daring to lose its heartbeat for the second time.

“No.”

You take a step back, and this time, you make sure it is a line being drawn.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”  

Your verdict echoes like a gavel tapping against a sound block. It’s straightforward. It’s clear. But to Heeseung, it’s a punishment too small to what he did to you.

He tries his best to school his expression, swallowing the lump in his throat with force. He then nods, weakly, then a bit too fast.

His wolf cries, not willing for him to back down so easily. His human part, on the other hand, is split into two. 

Old Heeseung is ready to isolate and never reach out again. Same old habits that used to bring him comfort and distractions. 

This is why you don’t do commitments. Just forget about this.

Another Heeseung, a new side that feels awkward but is still slowly growing, is trying to rationalise your decision and understand your boundaries.

Give her time, Heeseung. The wound is still so fresh.

“Okay.” He finally breathes out, the heavy word weirdly sending relief to his system. “Okay. I understand.”

You don’t move for a moment, just staring at him blankly like he might change his mind, before you nod. You honestly don’t know what to expect, but this is a pleasant surprise. You don’t think you can handle a pushy alpha now—especially the same alpha who had pushed you too far.

You leave without another word, feeling his eyes boring into the back of your head as you round the corner. Once out of his sight, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding,, gripping the wall for support. 

Your heart pounds like a war drum, threatening to break out of your chest. Seeing his face after actively avoiding him seems to be harder than you’d thought. You didn’t know he’d come looking for you on the weekends like this.

The Heeseung you remember always leaves first.

You put a hand over your chest, trying to calm your frantic heart, and realise one thing with a sinking feeling.

Your quiet omega is still silent, lips sealed shut. Not even a word was heard from her since that tragic night.

You sigh. Heeseung’s got a really long way to go.

On the other side of the wall, Heeseung trails after your steps with his gaze—longing, hopeful, and sorrowful.

He’ll wait. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed yet, but he’ll wait.

Heeseung heaves out a long sigh, his throat feeling dry. The vending machine suddenly looks interesting to him. Rows of canned drinks lined up the interior but Heeseung already has his mind set on his go-to Zero Coke.

The can drops with a loud clang. Heeseung reaches down, ready to feel the coldness of the red-canned drink, only to pause when he sees green instead.

Grape juice.

Oh, right. You forgot your drink.

He takes both cans, but his attention on his Zero Coke is long gone. He inspects your drink instead, eyes lingering on the brand like it’s something precious, his fingers wet from condensation.

So you like grape juice.

Heeseung finally learns something about you today.

But waiting is easier said than done. 

Anxiety lives under his skin, prickling in his system like thorns in flesh. Every time he closes his eyes, the memory of you bleeding in the frat house haunts him back. He’d wake up gasping, lungs burning like he just survived a drowning.

Your silence has turned his longingness into a desperation so deep you practically could smell it on him. Heeseung can’t be with himself, not when he’s been spending every hour fighting every instinct to scream your name and throw up.

And that’s exactly how Heeseung finds himself lingering around the business building not long after the last time spoke to you.

He doesn’t know your schedule, he doesn’t know what classes you’re in, or the circle of friends you have other than the cheerleaders. He only knows where you live because he sent you home the night you fell asleep on his shoulders—but he doesn’t think going to your house is appropriate. It’s too private and he doesn’t want to stain your safe abode with his presence. 

Which is why he decided to wait at the campus, at the building he’s not familiar with.

Heeseung never hated himself more than he does now.

Fuck. How ignorant had he been towards the person who was supposed to be his mate?

Is it too late to learn about you now? Is it too late to knock on your door and hold his heart in his hand like a beggar right now?

So Heeseung spends hours waiting for you without even knowing if you’d come to campus today. He messaged Sunoo for help, but it has slipped from his mind just how busy a med student can be. Sunoo’s probably losing his mind over human anatomy again. The text remains delivered until the night falls.

Black sky takes over the horizon, only lending lights from the moon and the stars as a mercy. Heeseung’s feet are numb from walking around and standing for too long. He looks around the emptying hallways, not sure where exactly he is other than the fact that he’s at the business compound—a path where most students use to get to their classes.

He glances at his watch. It’s almost 8 pm. Most classes have already ended, and the last session would have ended half an hour ago. 

You’re probably not here anymore.

Heeseung bites back a groan, licking his dry lips as he turns around to leave. Meeting you at the court is not possible until a few weeks more for a friendly match with that eastern university team again. He can’t possibly wait until then—so he’ll come back tomorrow.

Heeseung knows that he’s a walking contradiction. He vows to respect your decision, to let things go with time. To step back when he’s asked to, to wait around until the tide dies.

However, wasn’t this the way he lost you?

For being too passive. For being too cowardly. For running away.

Heeseung really wants to give you time, but at the same time, he doesn’t know if your ‘no’ yesterday is still applicable today. He should at least try today, right? Or should he wait more?

Fuck. With self-hatred thicker than before, Heeseung curses himself for not knowing. For not understanding. He’s only well-versed about omegas when it comes to sex, but other than that, he doesn’t fucking know. His carelessness and ignorance are biting him hard in the ass right now.

Though, the desperation persists.

He just needs one thing: closure.

Not for himself, but rather for you.

You deserve to know only the truth.

But it’s getting late, and the thin layers he’s wearing aren’t doing a good job to protect him from the chill. Now, he hopes you’re already home, safe and tucked in warmly in your room.

He will try again tomorrow.

Just as he’s about to leave, as if the Moon Goddess finally hears his prayers, Heeseung catches the sound of your voice drifting down the hallway. 

You’re here.

God, you’re actually here.

Before he can overthink it, Heeseung is already on his feet, following the trail of daisies and honey using his sharp senses. And he sees you—just rounding the corner, talking to your classmates while heading towards the exit.

He can no longer hold back the instinct to call your name.

“Y/N.”

You freeze in your spot, recognising his voice in a heartbeat. You hate that you do.

He’s already on his way, closing the distance between the two of you with a look of desperation that seems foreign when he wears it. Beside you, your classmates are already whispering, equally surprised as you are.

“Is that Lee Heeseung?”

“Isn’t the music faculty so far from here?”

You pretend you don’t hear anything and frown instead.

“What are you doing here?”

“Can we talk?” Heeseung blurts out the moment he’s close enough. There’s still an elephant distance between you and him, but he doesn’t dare step closer. 

Can he even be near you? Is he allowed to? 

When there’s no answer from you, he tries again. “Please, can I please talk to you?”

“Just go home, Heeseung.” You mutter, already walking away. You send an apologetic look to your classmates and start to leave, but Heeseung is already hot on your tail.

“Y/N,” he croaks out, the tremble in his voice almost going unnoticed. “I just need ten minutes. No—give me five minutes, please.” 

No response from you. You don’t even know where you’re going anymore, taking a turn after a turn to lose him. 

How did he know where you were? Did he find out your schedule from someone else? What is he doing here? How long has he been waiting for you?

It doesn’t seem like he has another reason to be here. So did he wait around for you?

You bite your lip, not entirely prepared for the inevitable confrontation to happen so fast.

But you underestimate how desperate Heeseung is because he keeps following you like a lost puppy, long legs slowing down slightly so as to not crowd you from behind. Being this close to him allows your nose to pick up on his sense—eye-watering cinnamon spiking with anxiousness with an undertone of a brewing sea storm. 

Heeseung can’t stand the silence any longer.

“I was wrong.” Fuck. If you won’t even look at him, that’s fine. But he needs you to know how sorry he is. “I know what I did was terrible and I—”

“Terrible?” You finally come to a stop and whirl around, your scent brimming with anger. “Terrible? I almost died, Heeseung!”

Heeseung catches himself before he crashes into you. He stares at you, wide-eyed, as you crane your neck to look up at him. The unwanted memory comes flashing back—of blood and tears and regret he’d never move past. 

Your eyes glisten with angry tears, fists trembling by your sides.

“What you did was almost criminal.”

Heeseung flinches. He doesn’t expect the word to land so heavy in his chest, so sharply in his gut. His hand flexes by his side, urging him to cradle your soft, soft face in his hold and pour out every single apology he’s been carrying but he stops himself.

“I know, and I’m not asking you to forgive me,” Heeseung murmurs, suddenly unable to meet your eyes. “I just want you to allow me to fix the bond.”

You let out a laugh. A hollow, humourless laugh. The emptiness doesn’t even echo in the air.

“So now the bond is real to you?” You spit out, venom leaking into your voice. “Wasn’t it all just in my head, Heeseung? Wasn’t it all just my heat messing with me.”

Heeseung is hit with a pang of shame, not expecting you to throw his words back at him. He cowers and lets the full impact of his hurtful choice of words consume him to the bone.

You put a fist over your heaving chest, your tongue getting loose now that the inevitable has come. 

“I thought I was losing my mind,” your voice trembles slightly, treading along something dangerously close to a breakdown. “I thought something was wrong with me. I was sick for weeks and none of the doctors could cure me! And the whole time it was just…”

You swallow, blinking back tears furiously.

“The whole time it was just you choosing someone else over me.”

It’s like sand has filled up his mouth. Every answer tastes wrong and bitter on his tongue. He doesn’t even know what to say to that for how true it is.

How was he supposed to atone for a sin that nearly killed his mate?

“I know,” is the only thing he can whisper. Shame spreads across his chest like a disease. “I know. I—I did that. I’m sorry for not choosing you, Y/N.”

There it is. The truth, bare as it is, lies there like a final verdict. It feels almost tangible for how suffocating it is. It feels almost too cruel for how much it hurts you. It feels almost alive for how hard it is pulsing in your ears.

The dam finally breaks. “How long have you known that we—” your voice catches, silent tears gliding down your cheeks. “That we were fated mates?”

Guilt gnaws at his chest. “Two weeks before the tournament,” he quietly answers, already feeling small.

So since the beginning of your streak of pain. 

You feel sick to your stomach.

“How many of them?”

“What?”

“How many omegas did you fuck to convince yourself that I wasn’t your mate?”

Defensiveness flares up in his chest. “I didn’t fuck them. I couldn’t. I tried—”

“But you still stayed there, trying to prove to everyone in this world that that’s what you wanted and not me!” Your voice booms, no longer holding back on the pain.

Silence rings so loud afterwards, it stretches and stretches until the tension is left in a tight thread waiting to snap.

You stand there, shoulders shaking from sobbing quietly. Long, silky hair cascades around your face as you look down, biting back any sound. 

And every hitch of your voice rips his heart apart.

His wolf, wounded as he is, thrashes inside. Shivering daisies and acrid honey droops around him, eliciting another whine from his alpha. Heeseung braves another step forward, hesitation edging on his heels.

“I messed up. I hurt you all because I tried to prove to myself that I didn’t need you.”

His hands twitch, hovering mindlessly on his sides. 

Heeseung has promised himself that he’d only say the truth from now on. Harsh as it is, bitter as it is—it’s the only thing you deserve to hear. He couldn’t conjure any more lies to protect himself.

God. Even his lies are killing him now.

“I never slept with them. I couldn’t touch them without feeling like I was about to throw up,” he goes on, voice softening around the edges. “I couldn’t even walk into a room without hoping that it’d be you.”

You shake your head. “But you still did.”

He nods weakly. “That doesn’t erase the fact that I did. I  chose to run away because I couldn’t handle the fact that our fate is bigger than what I was willing to hold.”

Our fate.

Heeseung inhales shakily.

“I forced myself to enjoy the touch because I was so fucking busy proving the Goddess wrong.”

A sob escapes your lips.

Why does our fate have to be so tragic, Heeseung?

“I was dying, Heeseung,” you whisper wetly. “Your actions were killing me.”

Heeseung bites his tongue. “I know. I was wrong.”

A minute passes without any words. The hallway is only filled with the soft sobs and sniffles coming from your lips. Heeseung stands, wretched and torn. One leg is urging him to go to you and hold you. Another leg is forcing him to stay because he doesn’t think he deserves to touch you.

What he knows, for sure, is that this image of you crying in front of him will haunt him in his sleep.

After a moment, you finally speak, your voice hoarse.

“I don’t think we can ever come back from this.”

Heeseung’s throat closes up, a sudden stab lodging its pointy end into his chest. No, his wolf cries out. Please, no.

He lifts his hand, longing to touch you, but then decides to drop it. “Y/N. Please—”

“I don’t even know how we can fix this,” you sniffle, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand. “My omega has been silent since the day she cut the bond.”

In response, his wolf whines, trying to get a reaction. But you feel nothing.

Not a stir. Not even a shift. Your omega is deadly unresponsive. If it’s not for your beating heart, you’d think that you’d been dead since that night.

“I don’t know if she still wants this or not. This—bond. You.”

“But do you?” Heeseung can hear his voice cracking, and he thinks his heart is facing the same fate too. He’s sure of it. 

“Do you still want this?”

You are silent for a moment and it’s the longest second Heeseung has ever gone through.

“I—I don’t know,” you quietly mutter. “You hurt me more than anyone ever did, Heeseung.”

Heeseung would have preferred you shout at him than this. He’d rather have the heat of your hatred than this.

This cold winter of your uncertainty. This soft, subtle turndown, like you’re already resigned to the fate of not having him in your life anymore.

Heeseung’s knees hit the ground with a thud before you can stop him. 

It’s not weak, or pathetic. It’s utter devotion, surrendering his heart stripped bare from pride and lies to you. It’s complete submission, one that his dominant side has always found it hard to do but done it so easily when it comes to you.

Heeseung doesn’t do worship, but you’re the only altar he will ever kneel to.

His head hangs low, burgundy hair falling over his eyes as his shoulders shake once.

“I know,” he mutters, sounding wrecked.

Heeseung has his hands fisted on his lap, as though it’s his only source of strength, shaking from the overwhelming desperation brimming in his scent.

“I was a coward.”

You gasp, not expecting such action. “Heeseung, get up—“

“Not until you hear me out,” he pleads.

He lifts his head. Heeseung’s wide, bambi eyes look up at you, veiled with a thick layer of tears. 

“I fought the bond because I was afraid. I was so fucking scared. I was always the one to leave first, to run and detach fast, but you, Y/N…”

His fingers twitch, fighting the urge to reach out.

“You made me want to stay.”

Your breath catches.

“I’m scared because giving in would mean finally belonging to someone.”

His eyes find yours again, looking soft and destroyed all over. Your heart traitorously skips a beat.

“But right now, I’d give up everything to belong to you.”

His vulnerability, raw and edged with hopelessness, tugs at your wounded heartstrings. You instinctively step back from the sheer weight of it.

“Y/N, please. If your omega never forgives me,” he chokes out, feeling the distance like a slap in the face. He bites back the instinct to take your hand, but he doesn’t dare touch you.

Not until you allow him to.

“If she never forgives me, I’ll spend the rest of my life earning forgiveness from you.”

A teardrop spills from his lash line, staining his cheeks wet. 

You give a helpless shake of your head, your resolve slowly crumbling. 

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“Then I’ll show you. I’ll show you that I mean this.”

His knees scrape against the floor as he inches closer. Tears stream down his face in relentless waves, the lower part of his lips trembling greatly.

“I’m not asking you to take me back. I just need permission from you,” he begs, almost sobbing into his speech.

“Please let me try. I want to become the man that deserves you, Y/N.”

Your lips part, a ghost of a shaky breath escaping your lips.

You’re not used to this kind of devotion. 

Not from those alphas who wanted you because they thought having the shy girl who barely talks to men was trophy-worthy. Not from those men who see you as nothing more than their kink fantasies. Not from those guys who thought you were boring and not exciting.

But tonight, as moonlight leaks through the glass of the windows and spills across the floor as if the Moon Goddess has decreed this to happen herself—Heeseung sits there, bruising knees digging into the marble tiles, and begs you to give him a chance.

You’re not used to this kind of devotion, yet you let a small part of your heart, a traitor that it is—flutters from the impact of his words.

You take another step backward, as if being physically away from him would help recover your resolve.

“I…” you can’t find your voice, not when he’s looking at you with regret spilling from his round eyes. Not when he’s gazing up at you like he was a sinner and you were his only saviour.

“I don’t understand, Heeseung,” is the only thing you can whisper, deciding to be truthful. “You were so—so hellbent on trying to deny the bond. You even went to Narin after I confronted you,” you lick your lips, gut twisting sharply at the mention of your captain. You still haven’t spoken to her until this day.

“Why now? Why…change your mind? I already made it easier for you—I cut the bond!” 

Heeseung flinches. The reality slaps him in the face again, presenting him with the consequences of his actions on the table. 

He knew it won’t be easy, but God—hearing the hurt in your voice pains him more than the ache in his knees.

Heeseung almost crawls forward.

“I’m a coward, Y/N,” he breathes out. “Losing you made me realise that I was never trying to escape the bond.”

His head dips lower, shaking it slowly to himself.

“I was trying to escape what the bond demanded of me.”

Heeseung lifts his gaze, raising his hands, gesturing to you like a priceless painting. There’s a sad smile on his face.

“Settling down, staying, being devoted only to you…those are the only things you deserve. Nothing less.”

His voice is somehow louder than the racing pulse in your ears. You know what’s coming, yet you’re still not prepared for the sting of the truth.

“I am everything less than that,” he finishes. He closes his eyes, not willing to see the look you might wear on your face.

There’s a long pause. The world is quiet outside, not even a sound of cars passing by can be heard. Heeseung doesn’t know how late it already is, or how long he’s been on his knees, but he doesn’t care. 

Hurting his knees is the kindest punishment you can ever give him.

You, on the other hand, are beyond devastated. Truly, you don’t think Heeseung could ever hurt you more than he already did. But his confession—fuck.

Heeseung wasn’t ready to step up and become the love that you deserve and it’s killing you that he chose to run instead of try.

It’s killing you that you weren’t an option until fate decided to twist everything around.

With resentment and resignation, you finally decide. 

“The bond is no longer there. You can just forget about this, Heeseung.”

Heeseung thinks being shot to death would hurt less than this.

You, however, are already shutting him out.

“If you need closure, just know that one day I will forgive you. It’s not now, not next week, and probably not in months.” Or years. “But I will.”

There’s a strange ache blooming in your chest. One that comes as a price of letting something precious go.

“I hope that’ll help ease your mind.”

God, the bond was precious to you. Heeseung was precious to you.

How did it come to this?

Across from you, Heeseung is crumbling down.

“No, please—” he chokes, scrambling for some air. He can’t breathe.

“Please, Y/N. Give me a chance to be forgiven.”

“You don’t have to try so hard, Heeseung. The bond is gone.”

“I don’t care about the bond!” He hits his chest with a fist, the pain becoming unbearable. “I hurt you, Y/N. With or without the bond, nothing can change the fact that I hurt you and I can’t live with myself knowing that I hurt someone innocent.”

Heeseung can feel the sting of his nails digging into his palm. Anytime now and he’ll be drawing blood from how hard he’s fisting it.

The tears are welling up in your eyes again but you hold your ground. 

“Please, I beg you, and I beg you hard, Y/N.”

Heeseung clasps his hands, the pink of his nails turning white from how hard he’s doing it.

“I beg you—please let me try to fix this. Please let me earn your forgiveness. Please, Y/N.”

Your heart breaks at the determination in his voice. 

“It won’t be easy.”

“However long it takes,” he pushes, searching your eyes with his glistening ones, his voice raw with urgency.

“I won’t wait for you.”

His eyes burn with more hot tears. 

He’s lost you for good, hasn’t he?

“You don’t have to,” he quietly whispers. “I just need your permission to try.”

You swallow down the urge to scream. His promise sounds bigger than his whole existence, yet your heart foolishly roots for him.

“You can try. But I can’t promise you anything.”

You don’t wait for his reply. Quickly, as if your heels were on fire, you turn around and leave him. 

Alone, still kneeling. Traces of his regret are still wet on his cheeks. 

You hear him sniffle, but you don’t look back.

Heeseung sits alone in the darkness of his producer room.

The space resembles a shipwreck. If Jay didn’t see any crumpled papers the last time he was here, he’d be surprised to see the growing pile of them now. 

Heeseung has tried to write something. Or anything that could get this remorse out of his system. He wants to translate his grief into something that is at least listenable. Not whatever mess he is inside.

But nothing really comes out. 

The bullpoint of his pen ends up writing your name instead. In round letters, in cursive. In shaky hands, and in tears. 

Y/N.

I’m sorry, Y/N…please forgive me.

A word of your name turns into long written words of regret and silent confession. Letters that he will crumple and throw, then pick it up to read back and add more. 

There is a dull ache in his knees, turning purple from the time he spent on the floor for you. He lets the bruise pulse, making no attempts to ice it or stop it. It’s a reminder to him. 

A reminder of the ticket of mercy you barely granted him.

A reminder of the bond still hanging limply by his finger.

It’s not even a pain if he put it beside the suffering you went through because of him.

You’re a coward.

His wolf suddenly speaks, adding salt to the wound. 

Heeseung closes his eyes shut.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, not appreciating being reprimanded when he’s already a wreck. But his wolf, justifyingly so, seems to hold a grudge against him because he doesn’t stop.

I lost my mate because of you. You ran away from her.

“Yes, I did. I know that,” he grunts. He already resents himself for it, why is he wolf making it harder for him as if they weren’t two halves of one soul?

Knowing isn’t enough. Remember the night you made her bleed.

The memory, as if summoned, crawls its way back into his mind. As if he was brought back to that fateful night, Heeseung can feel his gut twisting sharply inside.

Remember the night she trembled and cut the bond because you went too far.

“Stop,” Heeseung whisper-shouts. 

It feels like the room is shrinking and the walls are closing in on him because the air can’t seem to reach his lungs. Heeseung cowers, covering his ears with both hands. The sting of hot tears starts to burn at the corners of his eyes.

Your face, pale and ghostly, haunts the edges of his thoughts. He still recalls how hard you shook from shock. He still recalls the tremble in your legs as you hold onto the door for dear life.

He really went too far.

And if proving his point, his wolf taunts more.

Remember the omegas you touched while she was dying when I kept telling you to stop.

The pen drops and clatters on the floor. Heeseung stands and sways, his vision blurry from unshed tears.

He remembers it.

The nights he spent trying to bury any attachment towards you and the bond. The nights he spent pleasing other omegas despite not enjoying it at all. The nights he spent ignoring the ache in his chest, the voice of his wolf—as if running away would ever be enough to excuse him from his fate.

While all the time, you had been suffering alone.

Nausea creeps up the back of his throat.

“No, please stop—”

His wolf snarls, pent-up anger and frustration finally spilling out.

She could be in someone else’s arms now. Someone gentler. Someone braver than you.

The nausea punches  through his chest.

Heeseung scrambles for the door, yanking it open and stumbles out of his producer room to the bathroom. He barely makes it before his stomach churns violently and doubles over.

He throws up his long-forgotten lunch because he missed his dinner, the bile unforgiving to the spasms in his gut.  Heeseung knees over the toilet until his stomach empties and grief starts to taste metallic on his tongue.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and slumps onto the floor. It’s a ringing silence in his ears before a sob escapes his lips.

Then another.

Before he knows it, it has turned into a full-on wailing. The tears are finally giving up, now streaming endlessly down his cheeks like tiny rivers. 

Heeseung lets himself remember the faces of the omegas he touched. A betrayal of the bond he’ll never forgive himself for.

Heeseung lets himself remember the person you are—someone who deserves protection and affection. Someone who can be literally with anyone; any deserving alpha who knows how to treat you right.

Anyone in this world. Anyone from his campus. Anyone from his team. Anyone from his house.

Heeseung is fast to turn around and vomits again. The image of Jay being the perfect alpha for you makes his chest caves and breaks.

Fuck. Fuck, no. Please—no.

He always made fun of Riki when the younger complained about their too-good alpha friend. He never really understood why Riki is still on edge whenever Jay is around his girlfriend, despite knowing that him agreeing to help with his girlfriend’s heat was purely out of kindness.

But now he knows. Now he fucking knows.

Jay is just too good to be true. Jay never touches omegas carelessly. Jay lowers his voice when he speaks to them. Jay likes taking care of people like they’re his own.

Jay also cares about you. He knows that. The punch he almost threw at Heeseung that night was proof enough.

And in a peak of complete crumbling from his desperation to be forgiven, from his humility to admit to his mistakes—a fast-growing insecurity is piling up in his chest.

Heeseung can’t breathe. 

He’s suffocating again.

A sudden thought flashes through his head. His frantic mind, desperate for some relief, entertains the thought without thinking further.

Just cut the bond too. End this suffering and cut the bond.

Heeseung raises his finger to his scent gland, still thudding violently from the rush of his emotions running in his veins. 

Could he really cut the bond?

Don’t you dare.

“But it’s too painful…” he cries.

She’s my mate! If you end it now, I will tear you apart myself. You will fucking die, Heeseung.

Heeseung folds in on himself, crouching lower on the floor. His whole body shakes from the force of his tears.

“Why her?” he whispers helplessly.

“Why someone so precious? Why her?”

His wolf doesn’t answer. Heeseung is left sobbing to himself, already resigned to his fate and the silence from his alpha.

Because he knows, only the Goddess of the Moon has the answer to that.

Only she knows why he was sent something holy when he’s too ruined to hold it.

You never would have expected to get hurt from the one thing you wanted the most.

Love.

The tale of true mates.

Maybe that’s the reason why most people dislike it. Maybe all this time, it wasn’t because of envy or ridicule. Maybe all this time, people had already realised how destructive it could be before you did.

Something intangible that can only be felt has the power to destroy you through someone else’s actions and decisions? It’s no wonder, really. 

You were just too blind and too delusional for even dreaming of it in the first place.

Life hasn’t been easy since the breaking of the bond. 

You went on autopilot for the first week, just trying to save yourself from a bad attendance record and getting kicked out of the cheerleader squad. The latter proved to be harder to overcome since the source of your pain and the current centre of your universe—Heeseung—was always there on the court, glancing at you at every chance he got.

It’s almost laughable, the way he’s trying to catch your gaze now when he used to avoid it so much.

You dated people a couple of times before, but the breakups were never this bad. They hurt, of course, but this bond seemed to amplify every emotion you felt for Heeseung and yourself. Again, one of the reasons you believe why most people started hating it.

The whole time, you only had yourself. Sometimes Yujin would come into your room to cuddle you and let you cry into her shoulders. She’d stay as long as a med student could—watching movies together, painting your nails, crying with you.

All the time when you thought you craved love, you sometimes forgot that love doesn’t always mean romantic relationships. Sometimes it comes in the form of Yujin waking up before her alarm to make you your favourite pancakes.

Sometimes love comes in the form of Rei, despite the two of you having only gotten closer recently, checking up on you every meal time to make sure you eat well.

Sometimes love comes through a phone call with your parents, asking about your day and showing you the small garden they’re growing in the backyard.

And slowly, eventually, you realise that love also means choosing yourself over the bond. 

Choosing yourself means stop clinging onto the bond. Choosing yourself means not waiting on Heeseung to get his acts right or for the right apology. Choosing yourself means you stop letting the bond and Heeseung dictate how you go about your life from now on.

Heeseung can try all he wants, and you might or might not see his efforts—but you won’t wait for him.

You’re done waiting.

Strangely, it doesn’t feel bitter. The thought of finally letting go of the bond sounds more freeing. Like the air is finally settling in your lungs after weeks of drowning.

You find your way back to the pieces of you since the bond broke. For the first time since you cut the thread, your world revolves around something other than pain.

Life comes back in fragments. In trying out pilates with Yujin and laughing when the instructor turns her back to you because Yujin just sucks at stretching.

In late-night convenience store runs with Rei to eat extra spicy noodles that’ll upset your stomach the next morning.

In falling back to your old study habits and excelling a difficult pop quiz.

In helping the squad choreograph for the upcoming routines—because alphas just run hot and can’t seem to stop challenging each other in sports.

You laugh freely now. You don’t have to spend the night worrying about a thread tugging at your ribs.

You don’t have to overthink about…Heeseung. Not anymore.

For a moment, he becomes a maybe. For a few days when you successfully avoid him, he becomes an ‘if only’. A background noise. A consequence.

A wound becoming scarred.

Nothing more.

Or so you tell yourself.

There’s been barely anything from Heeseung since he fell to his knees for you a few days ago. For a while, you think maybe you scared him too much—frightened him with the possibility that you may never come back, until he decided to let silence become his apology.

But apparently, you just don’t notice him trying.

Heeseung, you realise, moves in quiet devotion.

It starts with a can of your favourite grape juice sitting beside your tote bag every time you come back from the restroom. You assume it’s Rei being sweet as always—the omega has taken a great liking to you since the day you first spoke.

You don’t notice how consistent its appearance is with Heeseung’s promise.

You overlook the fact that it starts showing up the very next day after your painful conversation. 

“But how did he know?” you whisper to yourself, staring down the can like it’s a threat now. 

You turn it in your palm, feeling the coldness seep into your fingers. Then, faintly, you smell him.

His pheromones. Cinnamon and sea salt clings to the can like an afterthought. Like Heeseung didn’t mean to leave his traces but the scent lingers anyway.

It’s been quite a while since you smelled it. Ever since you cut the tie, you no longer can sense his pheromones from afar. It only happens when you’re in close proximity to him, which is very rare to happen now.

Now, as his scent drifts to your senses, you find yourself actually missing it. Missing the warmth and safety it used to offer. Missing the familiarity of it.

Your heart aches.

No matter how forward you’ve moved in your healing progress, there’ll always be a big why living in the back of your mind.

You really could’ve had it  all.

But you don’t let it get to you. In all honesty, it is a sweet gesture and a nice start, yes, but it’s not enough. Even your baby cousin knows that you’re crazy about grape juice. Heeseung didn’t exactly make a groundbreaking discovery with this one.

The thought still counts, though.

It slips from your mind faster than you’d like to admit. Apart from the upcoming great friendly match between your basketball team and their sworn rival the eastern university, you have a business case study pitching competition set in two weeks.

Meetings become more frequent, time spent at the library becomes longer. You wish they would pick another place to do the discussion because the library is literally an air conditioner reincarnate—always too cold for your body. 

The chill autumn air only worsens the cold. Winter is coming and you can’t help but keep adding more layers to your clothes each time you walk out of the apartment to visit the library.

Except today, there is someone already waiting by the library door. A face that you recognise with a single glance. Features that you memorise by heart, stopping you in your tracks before you reach the door.

Heeseung.

His body is adorned with a brown trench coat that reaches his calves, outlining his proportions and tall figure perfectly. He has one hand resting in one of the pockets, while another is holding a pink paper bag.

Burgundy hair curtains his forehead, a complement to his already-handsome features. But the look on his face is forlorn, distant eyes staring into space, looking lost in his own thoughts.

You try not to pay him any mind and start walking again.

As if he was wired to only sense your presence, Heeseung snaps out of his trance and whips his head to you. His eyes soften, lips parting slightly. You avert your eyes.

“Y/N.”

This time, you pretend you just notice him and give him a nod. “Heeseung,” you reply, already moving away to get inside. But Heeseung is fast to stop you.

“Wait! I–I have something for you.”

Heeseung holds out the paper bag to you, his own ears turning the same shade. You blink up at him before trying to peer inside, not yet accepting it.

“What is this?”

“Something to keep you warm,” he breathes out, like he can’t believe you’re actually talking to him. “It’s getting chiller. Please accept it.”

For a second, you just study his face. His round eyes look at you like he’s appreciating and memorising your face all at once. There is something about his expression that looks like he’s hopeful that you’d accept the paper bag, but at the same time, already expecting you to reject it.

After a few seconds of no signs of you accepting his gifts, Heeseung slowly lowers his extended arm. His face falls, but he quickly schools it into a neutral expression.

“It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to,” he licks his lips with a swipe of his tongue, already foreseeing the rejection.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask and instantly regret your tone. It’s unintentionally clipped, very unlike you. 

But Heeseung isn’t fazed. If anything, he looks shyer now.

“I don’t want you to catch a cold,” he mumbles, averting his eyes. The pink in his ears has turned bright red—from the cold or from his own shyness, you’re not sure.

One thing you know is that you’re not used to this side of the dominant alpha.

The side that he showed you once before he dipped. That night when he held a heat pack in your hand, insisting on keeping you warm. For a split second, you wonder if it was instinct or if he really meant it, already knowing the answer to it.

It was probably the former.

A gush of chill air passes by and you shiver. Right, you’re still standing outside of the library with two layers of sweater and are still trembling. 

Finally, you take the paper bag from him. Heeseung startles, not expecting the sudden gesture and definitely not expecting the graze of a touch of your finger brushing his. It makes him shudder, like your touch is bigger than the cold autumn air.

“Thank you,” you give him a tight-lipped smile, watching as his expression brightens up. Without waiting for his reply, you’re already heading to the door, ready to leave the alpha behind.

Before the door closes, you hear a whisper of his voice, carried by the bone-chilling air.

“Good luck with your competition, Y/N.”

You wonder how he knew about it, but the moment you sit at the table right in front of Jungwon—one of your teammates—you finally remember that they’re somehow friends. 

The alpha gives you a dimpled smile. “Hey, Y/N. You’re early.”

“You too.” You pause, weighing the words in your head. “Jungwon, do you know Heeseung?”

Jungwon doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he eyes the pink paper bag now placed on the table, then nods to himself.

“Yes. Please don’t get mad at me, though. I’m kind of rooting for him.” He peeks into the paper bag and whistles. “Wow, hyung really doesn’t play.”

You snatch the paper bag and put it on the chair beside you. You’ve peeked inside, and is it a surprise to say that you were surprised?

A bunch of heat packs. A pair of blue mittens. A pack of tissue. A minty inhaler. And the one that contributes the most weight—a can of grape juice, already unchilled. 

It’s that night all over again. The paracetamol that you downed because you did get a headache after a whole night of crying. The wet tissues that you used to wipe your tear-stained face. The heat pack that kept you warm the whole time you sat outside of the convenience store. 

Everything Heeseung picked out has always been too…thoughtful.

While waiting for the rest of your group members to arrive, with Jungwon already typing on his laptop and talking about something you’re too distracted to hear—you’re swamped with your own conflicting emotions again.

Heeseung has always had the capability to care for people. To care for you. He was gentle with you that night. And fuck, you still hate what he did to you—but even the day he called you delusional, he was very soft with the way he talked to you.

The cruelest part is that Heeseung was never incapable of tenderness.

He had simply been too afraid to offer it where it mattered most. 

He told you he wasn’t ready to step up to be the man that you deserved, but that sounds like a flimsy excuse now.

What was he so afraid of?

You really don’t want to make it easy for him, and you’re already ahead of the bond and the concept of love. You’ve already learned your lesson. You still remember the pain.

But, dear Goddess, sometimes you really wish that he was brave enough.

The rest of your group members arrive shortly after, each wearing thick layers like you do. As Jungwon begins the discussion that will continue on until late evening, you reach inside the paper bag and grab one of the heat packs.

Silently, you thank Heeseung in your head.

Just as you have expected, the discussion wraps up when night has already fallen. You stretch in your seat, taking your own sweet time as your group members tidy up.

Jungwon is the last one to leave, carrying his backpack on his wide shoulders. He looks at you finally standing up with a cheeky smile on his face.

“See you tomorrow for the consultation, Y/N. I would’ve offered to walk you home but I don’t wanna ruin the chance for a certain alpha.”

Your brows furrow, not really catching the meaning behind his teasing smile.

“What do you mean?”

“Just make sure to use the front door,” Jungwon is already walking away, giving you a dismissive wave of his hand. “Night!” 

You stare at his retreating figure and then something clicks in your mind. Like an instinct, your heart starts racing fast.

Did he mean Heeseung?

Your hands quickly gather your stuff and toss them into your tote bag. The paper bag from Heeseung hangs tightly in your grip as you near the entrance of the library.

True to your speculation, Heeseung is already waiting outside.  He has ditched his trench coat, now wearing his jersey that shows off his arms. The number ‘1’ and ‘HEESEUNG’ on the back of his jersey stares at you, unmistakingly him.

You quickly move past him as if you didn’t see him. Almost less than a second after, his footsteps are already echoing from behind you.

“Y/N, wait!”

Heeseung is barely panting in front of you, blocking your way home. You sport a blank expression despite the skips your heart is making.

“What are you doing here?”

“I,” Heeseung catches his breath, and you can’t help but notice the goosebumps in his skin. You almost frown. 

What the hell was he thinking, wearing that sleeveless jersey in this weather? The trench coat must be inside his duffle bag, because you don’t see it hanging in his arms.

But the thought remains in your mind. And will probably stay there forever.

You almost miss it when he continues.

“I want to walk you home. No.” Heeseung gathers his voice, now sounding softer, asking for permission.

 “Can I walk you home?”

Your answer is quick. “No.”

You can almost feel the pause in his breath. Heeseung blinks once, regaining his composure after a few seconds.

“...Okay,” he nods, eyes slightly distant like he’s not even sure if he means it. “Okay. But can you let me call you an Uber?”

You shake your head, standing your ground.

“My dorm is not far from here.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“I want to walk.”

Silence passes by, along with the air that’s borderline freezing. You don’t know if alphas just naturally run hot, because you’re close to turning into ice despite the layers, but Heeseung doesn’t even flinch. 

He finally takes a step back, slightly dipping his head as he nods.

“Okay,” he says again, more like convincing himself. But then he meets your eyes, and the wistful glint of his gaze doesn't go unnoticed by you. Something tugs at your heart.

“At least let Jungwon know when you’re home. Please?” he pleads. “You don’t have to text me. I’ll just—hear from him.”

You purse your lips, giving the alpha a once-over before finally giving in.

“Fine. I will.”

The corner of his lips quirks up but Heeseung covers it quickly. He steps aside, clearing the path for you to go home. You don’t waste time and begin walking, feeling his eyes boring into your skull.

“Please be safe, Y/N.”

You never reply.

The next day, the alpha is not waiting by the door. Jungwon stands in his place instead, the paper bag now has been upgraded to a reusable lunch bag with flower motifs on it.

“Your alpha has a producer meeting today.”

You’re quick to deny.” He’s not my alpha.”

Jungwon ignores you like you’re a wall and opens the lunch bag for you to see.

“Two thermos there. One is chicken porridge, another is hot tea. Not sure if you’re a coffee-person or not, so Heeseung hyung wanted to be safe.” Jungwon speaks like he’s rehearsed it, and to be honest, he kind of did (Heeseung forced him, but you don’t have to know that).

You’re stunned. “What?”

“Don’t worry, it’s grape tea. I don’t know where he got it from, though,” Jungwon shrugs then continues his duty as Heeseung’s greatest accomplice. “More heat packs. I didn’t see you use the mittens yesterday so I told him maybe you didn’t like blue…? So he prepared the red pair for you.”

“Wait, Jungwon—”

“And lastly, a lunch bag with daisies prints, for his most precious daisy in this world.” Jungwon beams wide, dimples curving deep and shoves the lunch bag into your bag.

“How’s his performance?”

“You’re insufferable,” you scoff and snatch the lunch bag from his grasp. You quickly go inside, ignoring the warmth in your cheeks betraying your indifference.

Your mind, another traitor, is filled with the thoughts of Heeseung.

Is this him trying? 

You’re not sure how to feel about it, but your heart surely knows her shits—fluttering like you’re a virgin being courted.

Which, technically, in every way possible—you are.

You try to ignore it. During break, you remember to control your expression as you eat the porridge, aware of Jungwon’s hawking eyes gauging at your reaction.

Heeseung is sure smart to pick him as his wingman. That alpha is a persistent menace.

But no. You’re not going to fold easily. 

Your omega is still silent, and the damage has been too severe. For all you know, Heeseung might be just performing remorse. Only time can tell if he was really sincere and serious or not.

After all, consistency is a great telltale of devotion.

However, as if the world was suddenly eager to prove you wrong, Heeseung keeps showing up. 

He comes again at night, this time fully covered up and looking dashing in his white button up and loosened tie. You guess he just came back from the meeting, judging from the formality of the attire. But you can’t help but let your eyes linger longer on his face, suddenly too conscious of his height.

Okay, what the fuck. He’s always been handsome. There’s nothing surprising about it. 

“Can I walk you home?” 

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when his voice, low and soft, reaches your ears. You shake your head.

“No.” 

“I’ll keep my distance,” he says quickly. “You won’t even notice I’m there. Please?”

You keep your walls steady. “Why are you doing this?”

The question hangs in the air. Heeseung’s gaze softens, but there’s a cloud of doubt swirling behind his eyes now. For the first time, you see the alpha shivers in the cold.

“You gave me a chance,” he says, voice clear and crisp. Like it’s a conviction. Like it’s something he’s deliberately chosen.

“I want to try until you can forgive me. And I know it’ll never be enough. I know I’ll be too selfish to hope…” 

Heeseung swipes a tongue across his lips. He gives you a nervous glance, but seeing how attentive you look despite your indifference, Heeseung almost breaks down.

You’re still kind even in your resentment.

“But I still hope that one day you can accept me as your alpha.”

You hum, trying to sound unimpressed despite the loud thumping of your heart. The bitterness still leaks when you speak.

“You were my alpha.”

Heeseung shakes his head and gives you a humourless smile. 

“No, I wasn’t,” his voice is strained, like he’s holding a storm of emotions with his palm.

“The Goddess might’ve assigned me to be your alpha. But I failed my duties. You were just forced to deal with what fate had chosen for you.”

The moonlight shining on him highlights the tired lines at the edges of his eyes. For the past few weeks, you have no idea how Heeseung was doing. And you know no one can hold it over your head for not caring.

But something in him feels altered. Not gentler—Heeseung had always been gentle in ways he never admitted. 

He seems more humbled. Like the weight of pride is finally bowing his head down, his gaze always sanded down by grief. Every word now sounds chosen, as if he has learned the cost of speaking carelessly.

Heeseung holds your eyes, sincerity spilling over the edges.

“But now I want you to choose me. Not out of obligation, or because fate said so. I want to be chosen because you know I’m the right alpha for you.”

Isn’t it unfair?

You want the resentment to turn into fiery hatred, but your traitorous heart still melts at his devotion. How can you hate him when he makes you sound like you were the centre of his universe?

Still, you hold your ground.

“You know I won’t wait for you. What if I choose another deserving alpha?”

Heeseung’s face goes white. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows, but he still nods.

“I will break,” he admits, the most honest he’s ever been. “But I’ll still pray that he shows you the love I failed to give when I had the chance.”

The sheer weight of his speech almost renders you breathless. Remorse, as if it’s been a lifelong companion, drips heavy in his voice. For a short moment, you can’t hold his gaze—it looks so intense and longing, you don’t know if you can hold this newfound devotion. It’s too deep and full of regret.

It’s after a minute of silence that you finally find your voice.

“You can walk me home from behind.”

You turn around first before he can see the change in your face. Your stupid human heart, as if awakening from the slumber from weeks ago when things were still all butterflies and stolen glances—seems to recognise the alpha now trailing after you ten paces away and fluttering around shamelessly..

The moon shines exceptionally bright tonight, as if the Goddess herself is watching her war-torn lovers patching up the bridge once broken by pride and fear.

“Are you still angry?”

Once you’re home and stripped and showered, you stare at the dark ceiling of your bedroom. The moonlight cracks through the small space you leave open, decorating your bed with stripes of pale blue.

You put a palm over your heart, trying to feel your wolf.

“Are you still mad at him?”

Silence. There’s no response from your omega. You wait for a few breaths before sighing.

“You’ve always been the hard headed one out of the two of us,” you comment, suddenly missing the other half of your soul that’s been so long quiet.

“But it’s good that you are,” you slowly whisper. 

“Because if you’re as soft as I am, then Heeseung would be forgiven already.”

This time, there’s no resistance as the memory of the burgundy-haired alpha comes back—not that he ever left, anyway.

“I’m still mad at him, too.”

You remember the time Heeseung actively avoided your gaze. You used to wonder why, but knowing the answer also didn’t help ease the pain. Knowing that he avoided you because of the bond never makes the pain feel less hurtful.

But the way he searches your eyes now, holding your gaze with a tenderness you’ve never seen before…it softens the pain.

Where he used to run from you, he’s now seeking you every chance he gets. After practice, after meetings, after classes. In sleeveless jersey, in suit and tie, in his usual baggy graphic T-shirts.

Heeseung used to be nowhere to be found, but he’s everywhere now.

The reality of his efforts to try patching up the bond suddenly feels too scary. Because if he’s changed for good, if he’s really putting his all to win back your heart—are you confident that you still can move past everything?

The sufferings you endured. The omegas he slept with. The sleepless spent chanting his name in pain. The night when everything fell apart.

Can you really let them go? 

“I don’t know,” you whisper to no one, a knot of uneasiness tightening in your chest.

“I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

Heeseung seems to find you easily nowadays.

At first, you doubt the people around you. Everyone is suddenly related to him in some ways somehow. There must be an insider that tells him your whereabouts.

Whether it’s Jungwon or Yujin, you don’t know. You hope it’s not Yujin, though. You know she despises what Heeseung did to you, but the beta is also quietly rooting for him. She hid it well, too.

But her cover was blown one night when you were having a movie night in your bed. She was so close and she was typing something on her phone. You accidentally looked, but honest to Goddess your heart almost dropped when you saw Heeseung’s name.

“Why are you texting with Heeseung?” You forced your face into the screen, deliberately ignoring the sudden seeds of jealousy in your chest. 

Yujin scrambled to sit up, but it was too late. You had already seen them all.

Lee Heeseung

did she arrive home safely?

You

Yeap!

Safely tucked in bed!

“Yujin, you traitor!”

“Ow! Ow!” Yujin ducked the pillow you threw at her, but she wasn’t fast enough to avoid your punches. “Girl, hear me out first!”

“Why are you helping him?” you heaved out, glaring daggers at her. Yujin rubbed her arms, jutting out an apologetic pout.

“I’m so sorry…he just wants to know if you get home safe, Y/N. I don’t see anything wrong or invasive about that.”

Your heart stuttered. Did he really do that? But you feigned an angry look.

“So you just agreed to be his accomplice? You’re no different from Jungwon.”

“I mean, I lowkey ship you guys. But he has to grovel first, and I hope he’s been doing it right.”

You rolled your eyes and settled back under the covers. “How long has it been?”

“Don’t get mad at me please.”

“Yujin.”

“He’s been asking me if you reach home safely for more than two weeks now.”

Your breath hitched. 

That’s…since before he started appearing at the library.

And today, as you see Heeseung lingering around the business compound, donning a thin brown cardigan that highlights his body snugly, you’re contemplating whether to assault Jungwon or Yujin through the phone after this.

But there’s no time to think, as Heeseung—curse his dominant trait, really—easily senses your scent and catches your eyes. He gives you a small smile and walks up to you. The grip you have on the strap of your tote bag has turned knuckle-white.

“Y/N.”

“Hey.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

You swallow, trying not to fold. “Yeah, just now. You?”

Heeseung nods.”I have too.” Then he extends a hand towards your tote bag.

“Let me hold your bag and walk you home.”

You hesitate for a moment before giving in.

Fuck, you curse the universe.

Why is he so consistent?

Heeseung knows he’s not being slick when he suddenly makes a detour to the convenience store under the pretense of feeling hungry.

But you follow him anyway, gullible enough to believe that he has more space for more food. Which, actually, you’re not completely wrong. Heeseung loves food. But he’s not exactly here to eat.

He’s here to steal more time to be with you.

The fluorescent lamp hums overhead, the convenience store smells like cooked noodles and microwaved pastries. Under this light, you look shorter than him, reaching not taller than his chin. 

Heeseung holds back the urge to reach out and caress your head. He can’t ruin things now that you finally let him walk you home side by side. That’s progress. A couple of weeks ago, you didn't even let him follow. 

He really can’t afford to ruin it.

Heeseung trails after you to aisle number two where rows of snacks and chips line up the shelves. There’s something almost domestic about watching you hum as you skim through the options.

It feels more intimate than kneeling at your feet ever did.

“What do you usually get?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

You hold up a bag of snacks, a small grin unknowingly splits across your face.

“This one,” you shake the plastic with eyes shining bright. Heeseung thinks he’s lost his breath. “These seaweed tempeh chips.”

Heeseung stares at you like you just handed him a sacred relic, eyes dripping with silent, genuine surprise.

“These are your favourite?”

You blink and tilt your head, not sure how to make sense of his stunned reaction. “Yeah…?”

A small smile breaks on his mouth. Heeseung looks down at the bag of chips, feeling his chest tightens just from that simple information.

She likes grape juice. She likes tempeh chips.

God, I’m learning about her.

His silent meltdown goes unnoticed by you. You walk further and stop by the drinks fridge, already reaching for your favourite grape juice.

This time, Heeseung couldn’t stop the chuckle that leaves his lips. “You really love drinking that, don’t you?”

“I sure do,” you glance up at him. “Since kindergarten, by the way. It’s just so good and cheap. What about you?”

Heeseung’s heart nearly stops.

“I’m sorry?”

“What’s your favourite drink, Heeseung?”

Heeseung forces himself to reply when you’re already looking at him suspiciously.

“Zero Coke.”

“Ah,” you nod, then reach up to where a line of Zero Coke is put on display. You pluck the second can in the line and hand it to him.

“Hygiene tips: always take the second or the third can,” you casually say and tap on the can. “Because everybody touches the first one.”

Then you turn around, drifting toward the candy aisle, blissfully unaware of his turmoil. 

Leaving Heeseung stunned, standing like a statue of racing heart and quiet breakdown as he holds the can close to his chest.

Later that night, after sending you home safely, Heeseung enters his shared apartment wordlessly. He can hear the F1 sportscaster from the living room—Jay must haven’t gone to bed yet.

“Hey, Hee,” his friend greets, sprawled on the couch with a can of beer in one hand. But his focus on the television stops once he notices Heeseung’s red-rimmed eyes.

“Fuck. Heeseung!” Jay rushes to him and holds him just before his knees finally give up. 

The anchor of sorrow and grief that has been weighing heavier since the convenience store run is finally pulling him down. Heeseung drops to the floor, already feeling the tears wetting his cheeks.

“Hee, what’s wrong?” Jay asks, trying to keep the worry in his voice. “Did something happen? Tell me!”

Heeseung shakes his head, curling up into Jay’s hold and sobs even harder.

“Jay-ah,” Heeseung chokes, unable to hold back his sobs.

“Her favourite chips are seaweed tempeh.”

Jay is rendered speechless by the unexpected revelation. 

“...What?”

“Seaweed tempeh,” he sobs, voice cracking. “Seaweed tempeh chips, grape juice, gummy bears. She bakes when she’s stressed. She hates mornings but wakes up early. She has hygiene tips for canned drinks.”

His voice splinters, like a branch breaking down from the tree.

Jay blinks. “You’re sobbing over…basic information?”

“That I should’ve known.”

Heeseung clutches Jay’s shirt, the sadness now palpable.

“Simple things about her that I never made any effort to know because I was so fucking busy being an asshole.”

In that moment, it finally clicks in Jay’s mind. It was never about snacks.

“I was her mate and I didn’t know.”

It’s about regret.

Jay’s expression softens instantly, understanding settling in his features.  He sits on the floor with him, letting Heeseung cry into his shoulders, shaking like a dead leaf. The distressed accent of his spicy and salty pheromones is drenching the air, but Jay fights the urge to scowl. Alphas don’t exactly respond well to another alpha’s distressed pheromones.

Beside him, Heeseung is still sobbing like a child experiencing a trip of his foot for the first time.

“Somebody else could’ve been in my place,” he cries softly. “She could’ve been asking another alpha, ‘What’s your favourite drink?’ and I almost made it not me.”

Heeseung cries for what it’s worth. For the regret and grief of the what-ifs that could’ve happened if only he didn’t mess up. For the gratitude that you’re finally letting him the access to the information only privy to those who are close enough with you.

For the unexpected relief when you asked him back.

“So you’re crying because she let you know her,” Jay concludes once Heeseung has calmed down enough to talk properly.

They’re still sitting on the floor. The F1 show that Jay was watching prior to his sudden breakdown is now playing like background noise.

Heeseung nods weakly. “Yeah.”

“What did it feel like?”

Heeseung gives him a wistful smile.

“Disbelief. Because I can’t believe it feels so easy to just…have this affection for someone over knowing what their favourite drinks are.”

Heeseung looks into the distance, lost in thoughts and memory.

“I never feel this way for anybody. It’s scary, because now I want to know more.”

He stares into the space in front of him, absentmindedly playing with the hem of his cardigan.

“I want to know how she likes her eggs. I want to know which detergent she likes to use. What side of the bed she sleeps on,” Heeseung whispers, voice trembling. “I want to know everything about her and it’s so scary, Jay.”

There’s a pause before he looks down, sounding more broken than he has been tonight.

“It’s so scary because I realised it wasn’t the bond that terrified me.”

Heeseung remembers how happy he felt when you still rub your nose every time you get shy. How excited he felt when you cover your mouth as you laugh—little things he used to know about you that still makes you you.

“It wasn’t.”

Knowing someone has never felt this easy and freeing.

“It was how badly I could love her.”

The confession doesn’t land hard. It settles slowly, like a missing puzzle finally finding its place. His wolf stirs inside, yipping happily at the declaration.

Jay takes a moment to process everything before he sighs. He reaches out a hand and pats Heeseung on his shoulder.

“There, there. You’re making progress, Hee. You’re starting to see her more than the bond you guys shared.”

As if summoned, his scent gland pulses sharply. Heeseung yelps, clutching his nape with a quick hand. His scent spikes dangerously, spicy cinnamon burning the atmosphere.

“Hee!”

“It hurts,” Heeseung chokes, the pain quickly spreading to other parts of his body. “Fuck, Jay—”

Drip.

Both alphas instantly freeze. 

On the carpet where they sit, is a drop of blood, staining the cream-coloured material with crimson red.

Jay slowly looks up, heart beating fast, chanting ‘No, no, no. Please, not you, Heeseung. Please,’ in his mind.

To his horror, the blood came from Heeseung’s nose.

Jay can feel his gut sinking to the floor.

“Hee,” he grabs his shoulders, eyes trained on the trail of blood dripping down his philtrum and his chin. “Hee, listen to me and answer me, okay? Please don’t panic.” 

Inside, Jay is already panicking.

Heeseung tries not to, but his body feels scalding hot. The pain comes in waves, not once stopping even if he were to rip his heart open.

“Heeseung, answer me. Did you tell Y/N about the two options or not?”

Jay’s voice is muffled to his ears, but through his hazy mind and blurry vision, Heeseung can still make out the words.

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Why?” Jay whispers, breathless and shaken.

“I didn’t want to pressure her into thinking she has to choose me to save me.”

Heeseung’s unfocused eyes find him, desperate and so pitiful that his heart clenches painfully. Jay drops his head on his best friend’s shoulders, fear consuming his being.

“You idiot,” Jay sobs, the dam breaking almost instantly. “She might’ve chosen you anyway.”

Heeseung feels lightheaded. Jay’s voice is like a distant dream—something he’s not sure if he hears or not. Dark spots start appearing on the edges of his vision, almost turning black no matter how hard he blinks.

“Jay-ah…”

The last thing Heeseung remembers before he loses consciousness is Jay screaming his name, voice cracking and hoarse.

It’s finally the day of the competition.

Yet you haven’t heard from Heeseung for days.

You try not to make it obvious, nor to show how much you care. Not when Jungwon wouldn’t say anything either.

The younger alpha has been replacing Heeseung instead, walking you home while chatting about anything but the elephant in the room.  

Or, in your case, the wolf in your universe.

There’s a lump of disappointment lodging in your chest whenever you think about it. You think that Heeseung has finally given up on trying to make up. You think that you’ve been too indifferent and unintentionally have pushed him away further than the two of you have ever been.

You don’t know why the thought makes you feel bitter.

“Our pitching is next,” Jungwon whispers next to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You watch the group before you begin their pitching presentation.

In the first stage, the pitching was done in separate rooms to make it less time-consuming. But your group has advanced to the final stage, and now you have to convince five professionals from the business industry why your business idea is better than three other groups in front of hundreds of audience.

The image makes your blazer suddenly feel too tight around your ribs. You shift, trying not to think about the eyes watching every movement of the participants sitting on the far end of the stage.

Where the hell did this many people come from, anyway? You never see this crowd in lecture halls!

“Y/N. You’re nervous.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“Well, you don’t really smell like you’re relaxed right now.”

You purse your lips. Jungwon is right, of course, except you actually feel like your nerves are on the edge of bursting.

You’re not exactly good with stage fright. Especially in front of all these people whose names sound way too dramatic, like they don’t belong to the normal citizens like you. Their eyes are too penetrative, like they’re already figuring out every single doubt and nerves in your body, ready to tackle with impossible-to-answer questions.

You move in your seat again, trying to find comfort. But the seat is too hard for your tailbone. Beside you, Jungwon leans closer, speaking over the speaker blasting by your ears.

“Are you going to Jake hyung’s after party tonight?”

“His after party?” your eyebrows shoot up. Then you remember the invitation and something inside you sinks.

“Oh. Right. It’s his birthday today, right?”

And Heeseung must be there, you think bitterly, unaware of the withering daisies now wafting from your neck. They’re close friends, after all.

You don’t understand why, or you maybe actually do, but the lump in your chest only gets bigger. Really, you shouldn’t expect much by a man. They’ll always prioritise their homeboys over you in every way, your brain adds to the fuel.

Jungwon chuckles when he sees your frown, showing off his perfect dimples that could disarm any opponent. 

Something clicks in your mind. Yeap. That’s right. You just need to force Jungwon to smile in front of the judges and surely—

“Relax, Heeseung hyung’s daisy. Look to your right.”

You don’t know why. Maybe it’s because of his name finally being mentioned by the younger alpha, or the flutter in your chest at being called his daisy—but your head whips so fast in that direction, heart ramming behind your ribs.

Seated at the front row, standing out too much due to his handsome features and not-so-subtle hair colour, is Lee Heeseung. From where you sit, you can’t really make out his expression. 

But the alpha is already staring at you, burgundy hair swept back neatly to expose his forehead. A small curve of his lips quirks up like he’s been expecting you to notice him.

You sit dumbly as he gives you a tiny wave, not sure what to do now that the alpha is actually here. 

Here. To watch your group presentation and not there: To celebrate Jake’s birthday at his party.

For the first time in weeks, you feel your omega stirs and you almost choke.

“It’s our turn!” 

You inhale sharply, snapping your eyes back to the centre of the stage. The previous group is already receiving applause and walking towards the other end of the stage to join the audience. 

Okay. It’s actually your turn.

You feel sick to your stomach. You almost miss it when Jungwon nudges at you to stand, smoothing down his own blazer as he shoots you a dimpled smile. On the way to the centre of the stage, your mind is nothing more than a whirlwind of overthinking.

Trailing after Jungwon in your heels is nerve-wracking because what if you trip?

Bowing down to greet the judges and audience is scary because what if you lose your balance?

Staring back at the audience is distressing because what if they silently judge your makeup?

But all thoughts fly out the window when you meet eyes with Heeseung again.

As if the noise in your head suddenly vanishes, you can feel your frantic mind quieting down and your breathing, previously quite erratic, steadies without so much effort. 

And it only happens when Heeseung holds your gaze, trusting and comforting all at the same time.

It’s like the stage was a tidal wave and Heeseung was the shore that keeps you safe.

Your omega stirs again.

Before you know it, Jungwon is already passing the mic to you. You take in a shaky breath, sweaty palms almost slippery, and imagine that every cell in your brain is filing up your speech in a neat line.

Despite your worries, everything goes well.

Your presentation goes on without a hitch and it ends exactly the way your best-scenario imagination does. You even manage to answer one out of five questions from the panel, and you can’t help the pride swelling in your chest when your group is announced as the first runner-up of the competition.

It’s a national-level competition, so being in the top three is already satisfactory for you and your group members, who were lowballing to only bring home participation certificates.

“First runner up is good enough! Congrats!” you squeal, almost hugging Jungwon in your excitement. The alpha dodges you as if you were a bullet, eyes darting to somewhere behind your head.

“Hey. You dodged my hug,” you huff.

“I have no intention to challenge a dominant alpha,” Jungwon gives you a teasing smile and wiggles his eyebrows. You raise yours, and before you can ask what he means by that, Jungwon is already raising his hand and waving at someone.  

“Heeseung hyung! Your daisy is here!”

Your daisy. Heeseung hyung’s daisy. 

His daisy.

Crimson red blooms across your cheeks, and your heart decides to skip a few beats you think it’s going to fall to the floor from how fast it's pounding.

Jungwon is fast to grab your shoulders and turn you around, like a proud parent introducing their child to their conglomerate friends. Your protest dies in your throat once your eyes settle on Heeseung’s approaching figure.

He’s donning a white dress shirt with slightly rolled-up sleeves, exposing his smooth forearms and athin silver bracelet. A dark gray vest, tailored and buttoned neatly hugs his frame snugly, showing off his narrow waist. There’s a big bouquet of pink roses held close to his chest, handled delicately like it’s something sacred.

His eyes, round and soft around the edges, are already trained on you. A wide smile curves up his lips, charming and disarming you’re sure the omegas around you are stealing glances.

Inside, your omega stirs again.

“Hi, Y/N.” He holds out the bouquet to you, his smiling turning shy. “For you.”

You take it slowly, admiring the beautiful petals. There are tiny daisies filling up the spaces between the roses and you feel something tug at your heartstring.

 “Thank you, Heeseung. How’ve you been?”

Closer, only now do you notice the lack of colour in his face. His cheeks are losing its radiant flush, and his lips are void of its usual pinkish hue. There’s a slight delay before he responds and his smile comes slower than usual.

Up close, something feels off. Not obvious enough to name, but it’s enough to make your chest tighten.

As if noticing your stare, Heeseung tries to cover his face. He raises his hand and pretends to cough.

“I was quite sick,” he says after a moment, trying to sound casual. He gives you a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry that I didn’t show up without any updates.”

“It’s okay,” you softly say. You don’t know if it’s truly okay, though, because now your heart thinks that there’s something wrong. 

Is he hiding something from you?

“I came to see you,” he says, like it’s the only place he’s ever meant to be. “I didn’t want to miss it. Congratulations, Y/N.”

He really came for you. Not for Jungwon or anyone. Not to Jake or anyone. But for you.

You can faintly hear your omega murmuring something, but your racing heart is louder than any noise in your head.

You’re about to reply when Jungwon inserts himself into the conversation, announcing his presence like a royal entering a ball.

“Thank you, hyung! I know we were great.” Jungwon says way too loudly, forcing Heeseung to shake hands with him. You let out a laugh while Heeseung only rolls his eyes.

“You too, Jungwon.”

“Anyway, why don’t we take a picture?” Jungwon, ever the trusted wingman, wiggles an eyebrow at Heeseung, hoping that you won’t notice. You actually do, but for some reason, you don’t say anything against it.

Heeseung studies your face. “Can I take a picture with you, Y/N?”

You hesitate for a second, heat sweeping across your cheeks before you nod. “Sure.”

Jungwon instantly pushes you in Heeseung’s direction. The dominant alpha, not expecting his accomplice to take such a bold move, catches you by the elbows instinctively. His fast reflexes are proving to be useful in the situation.

“Okay, look at the camera. Y/N, don’t be so stiff!”

Jungwon, that menace. One of these days you’re gonna beat his ass for sure.

“Heeseung hyung, is that a GDP gap? Get closer!”

“I’m sorry about him,” Heeseung whispers into your ears and chuckles breathily. Something kicks in your heart. “He’s a bit annoying, right?”

You just cannot hold your tongue. “He is, and I had to stick around with him when you weren’t around,” you catch yourself saying and silently curse yourself. Beside you, Heeseung stills for a second.

Why are you already whining to him? Fuck these stupid feelings, man. You’re still mad at him!

But Heeseung doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, his grin only gets wider. He leans down further, hot breath brushing against the shell of your ears.

“I’ll keep trying,” he murmurs, edged with his usual determination. “Even if you don’t let me.”

You try not to notice that Jungwon has been silently snapping the candid moments. You also try to ignore the way your heart beats like a war drum. You try not to think too much about the manly pheromones coming from Heeseung—the cinnamon and sea salt that are awakening old memories, and the way his taller shoulder brushes yours.

“On three!” Jungwon interrupts, a boyish smirk on his face. You quickly clear your throat and smile at the camera.

“Two!”

Heeseung’s left shoulder bumps into you softly from behind, angling his body to face you. His hand hovers a safe distance from the back of your waist, not touching you even by accident like he’s afraid even that would be too much.

“One!”

As the flash goes off and you hold the bouquet dearly to your chest, you quietly wonder when it stopped hurting so much.

okay dang tumblr said this post has reached its limits wtf im gna kms!!! anyway posting a part 3 real soon!!!

divider from: @cursed-carmine

“I do not need a babysitter, brother.”

Jiung narrows his sharp eyes at you and you can tell he’s nearing his wits end. But regardless, he pulls on a smile that you suppose is to assure you. It only grates your nerves further.

“It’s not a babysitter,” he states calmly. “He’s just like any guard.”

“But you’re assigning him to keep an eye on me all day long. That’s simply too much!”

“Sister,” he starts, pausing for a breath. He leans forward in his chair, smoothing the space between his brows with a knuckle. “We are having a lot of visitors for the wedding. It is in everyone’s best interest that we have someone watching you at all times. You’re young, you never know what—”

“Here we go again,” you snap, throwing your arms up in frustration as you start to circle the room to expel some of your irate energy. “What about Jongseob then? He’s younger than I, is he also getting a babysitter?”

Jiung’s eye twitches. “It’s not a babysitter,” he repeats. “And that’s different.”

“Why?” You stop, placing your hands on your hips and glaring at him. “Because I’m a woman?”

Jiung hesitates for a moment before his expression sets back into a stern one. He stands from his seat. “Yes,” he says and before you can argue, he barrels on. “Which means you are more at risk of danger.”

You falter at that, feeling your metaphoric claws retract at the undeniable truth.

Jiung rounds his desk and makes his way over to you but you stand your ground, petulantly turning your head away from him.

“This is for your safety,” he tells you firmly, though it's gentler from his earlier tone. “It will put my worries at ease, and Taeyang’s, to know you’re being taken care of while we become busy with everything for the next few months.”

You cast your eyes down. Jiung never intends to demean you, you know that. But the thought of being watched and hovered around for the next two months puts a sour, uncomfortable taste in your mouth.

But you suppose you could put up with it for Jiung and Taeyang’s ease of mind—well, Jiung’s at the least. You’re not very close to Taeyang to care much what goes on with him.

“Alright,” you finally concede and the visible relief that washes over Jiung’s whole being is enough to make your defeat worth it. “I suppose it won’t be horrible.”

“That’s right,” your brother beams. “Hey, you might even make a new friend. He’s not much older than you. You remember Shota, right?” You tense at the mention of his name, dread threading through every nerve of your body as Jiung carries on like he hadn’t just thrown your mental stability off-kilter. “Akiro’s son, Jongseob’s friend.”

Shota? The demonic little gremlin that your younger brother kept around for some reason? The one who terrorized you throughout childhood?

Your eyes snap up to Jiung with an ice so cold that he visibly flinches back. 

“What?” He asks. “Why do you look like that?”

“Shota?” You ask slowly, voice drenched in a seething rage. You take a step forward. Jiung scrambles back. “Don’t tell me that demon is going to be my guard.”

Jiung visibly swallows, taking another step back when you step closer. “Okay,” he says. “I won’t tell you.”

You bring your fist down on his arm sharply and he yelps, cradling his bicep. 

He stares at you with wide eyes that quickly turn angry. “What is wrong with you?!”

You point a finger at his face. “I am not putting up with that cretin again. Reassign me. Now.”

He grits his teeth, placing his palm atop your head that he uses to push you easily out of his space. “That’s not in my power. Unless you want to speak with Taeyang.”

Your face falls. You’d rather chew nails than suffer an emotionally stunted conversation with Taeyang. 

Jiung scoffs. “That’s what I thought.” When his eyes fall over your shoulder and his expression shifts quickly to his sunny smile, your stomach pools with trepidation. “Shota! We were just talking about you.”

You refuse to turn around. Maybe then he’ll go away and none of this will be real.

His voice sounds deeper than you last remember when he speaks.

“It’s an honour to be of help to your family, Your Highness.” 

You’d been avoiding him all that you could after suffering through one too many of his “jokes”. Even though he hasn’t been around much for the past few years, only a handful of times that your brother would invite him to the castle, you made sure to stay far away.

And now all of that effort has turned pointless in mere unfortunate moments.

Jiung’s eyes shift back to you, his brow raised expectantly.

You simply glare at him, never mind that you come off as a pettish child. You are.

“You will have to forgive my sister,” Jiung says, still looking at you with a forced smile. “She seems to be in a mood.”

You raise your fist to punch him again but Jiung grabs your wrist and forces you around. 

You nearly stumble right off your feet.

Shota stands there at the doors with his arms folded behind his back, a pleasant smile on his lips. You know your memory of him is a little foggy but you don’t recall him like this. Tall and broad in the shoulders, more of a man than the gangly kid that you had to deal with.

But his smile—that disarming, sweetly deceptive smile of his—is exactly the same, and you feel your defenses rise from just one look at it.

“It is a pleasure to be in your presence once more, Your Highness,” he says easily, lowering in a bow with a hand over his heart.

When he rises again, you turn to Jiung with pleading eyes.

Jiung only returns it with a scolding one. “He’s perfectly pleasant. Don’t be a brat, and play nice.” He shoulders you forward and you stumble a few steps towards your new guard, huffing under your breath.

You suppose you don’t have much of a choice. So you look at Shota and give him a polite but stiff nod. 

When it becomes clear you won’t say anything to him, Jiung sighs behind you.

“One more thing before you go,” Jiung says while you eye Shota with sharp, revolted eyes. Shota seems unphased by it. “You are to help with preparations for the wedding. I’ve told the Head Housekeeper to call upon you should they need any help or any input since you have mother’s eye for art.”

You turn to him again, narrowing your eyes. “You didn’t bother to consult me first?”

He raises both his brows. “What, do you have more pressing matters to tend to?”

You scowl at him because you can't dispute it. It’s not that you don’t care to have responsibility, you prefer to sway to your own breeze. But you suppose this wouldn’t be awful. The idea of arranging the first wedding in your family is an enticing one.

“Alright,” you concede. “I suppose that won’t be horrible. I approve.”

Jiung stares at you for a moment. “Thank you for your permission,” he says instead of ‘like you had a choice’ like his eyes do. “You’re dismissed,” he adds hastily, eager to get you away out of his space and dismiss his headache with you. 

You turn around with a satisfied smile which melts away when you’re reminded of Shota, who stands there patiently.

“Ugh,” you mutter under your breath, marching right past him. Against your wishful hoping, his footsteps trail after you a few steps behind.

You ignore him as you make your way to your bedchambers. That is your sure fire way to escape him.

“It has been a while since we’ve spoken, hasn’t it?” He chimes in after an awkward moment. 

You remain silent as you turn into the hallway leading to your room. You celebrate at the quiet that follows after, hoping he would get the hint. But he starts up again just as you reach your doors.

“I apologize if I’ve done anything to wrong you, Your Hi—”

“Wrong me?” You stop, whipping around to face him, and he skids to a halt, round eyes wide in shock at your sudden outburst. “You and my brother practically tortured me!”

He opens his mouth to speak but you shove your finger in his face to shut him right up.

“I know you wouldn’t risk your job now by reverting to your childish ways,” you start as you step into his space, your expression twisted with ire. “But that doesn’t mean we are acquaintances in any means. Do not take your friendship with my brother to mean that we can also be friends. We’re not. Understood?”

He visibly swallows, eyes shifting from your finger to your face. And you think your intimidation worked for a split second, but then his eyes twinkle like they always did just before he did something to piss you off when you were kids.

He straightens his body, his hand shooting up to an emphatic salute as he grins at you. 

“Understood, Your Highness,” he chirps, looking all too happy to be scolded by you.

Your face sours further and his only grows brighter.

You scoff, turning to your room. “Whatever,” you grumble as you shove your way through your doors, letting them shut on Shota’s still saluting figure.

You hope by some miracle that he will station himself far enough away so that you can slip out without him noticing.

But then you hear his boots clack before stilling right outside your door, and you sigh to yourself, dropping onto your bed. You pray the months will pass quickly.

𓆩⟡𓆪

You know it's a ridiculous attempt, but you’re already climbing across the walls from your window to Jongseob’s and you can’t worry about anything except not falling to your death.

You cling on to the protruding overhangs as you walk along the limestone ridges of the outer walls, inching closer and closer to Jongseob’s room which thankfully isn’t too far from your own. You just pray that he’s in his room to allow you in.

You peer below, immediately regretting it when your stomach lurches at the long drop. There are bushes below you which you pray to the gods will cushion the fall. If you fall. 

Which you won’t, you keep telling yourself. You just hope none of the gardeners will look up.

When you reach the window, finally, you jump onto the outer windowsill and start pounding on the glass. The curtains are drawn, so you can’t see in to see if Jongseob is in there.

You batter at the glass for what seems to be minutes before the curtains finally rip open and Jongseob stands there on the other side, wide-eyed and completely disheveled.

“Sister?” You hear his shocked yell through the thick glass.

You glare at him and pound on the window again. “Hurry up and open it!”

He bristles, scrambling to swing the windows open and you quickly stumble in, breathing in relief while your heart still pounds away in your chest.

“What in the heavens are you doing?!” Jongseob asks as you rise to your feet, dusting your dress off.

“Escaping,” you answer simply. You take one look at him, at his messy hair, messy clothes, and flushed skin, and ask, “What in the heavens were you doing?”

He blinks dumbly before the red on his cheeks fire up in realization and he starts to hastily smooth himself down. “I was napping.”

You raise your brow, unconvinced, but this isn’t your concern at the moment.

“What exactly are you escaping from?” Jongseob asks to divert, avoiding your eye. Then realization dawns on him and his eyes snap back to yours in exasperation. “Don’t tell me this is because of Shota.”

You cross your arms, looking away with a ‘hmph’.

For the entirety of your past week, Shota has been stuck to your side like a pestering bug. It doesn’t matter if you try to shake him or slip away, he always finds his way back to you like a bloodhound.

And it is absolutely maddening. He doesn’t speak, not since you’d scolded him on the first day, but his presence is enough to still get under your skin. 

And with it being around you all the time, you desperately need a break. Could you be blamed for wanting an escape?

“You are so immature,” Jongseob sighs, rubbing his head.

You scowl at him. “I’m immature? You remember all those jokes you pulled on me with him?”

“That was years ago,” he deadpans. “We were kids.”

You huff indignantly. “You know I hold a grudge.”

“That you do,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “Now can you please leave?”

Your nose scrunches in distaste. “I was going to but now that you’re being so annoying, maybe I’ll hang around here for a while,” you state before you start to march your way over to his bed.

“NO!” 

You jump when Jongseob practically throws himself in front of you, intercepting your path and pushing you back. 

There’s a quiet thump that you hear somewhere behind him.

You stare at him, wide-eyed, and he stares back at you just as shocked and more than a little panicked.

Your eyes narrow in suspicion as you cross your arms. “What was that sound? You’re being weird.”

“And you’re invading my personal space,” he fires right back before he starts pushing you towards the door. “Go find somewhere else to hide. Find Keeho!”

You groan, batting his hands away as you finally surrender. “Fine! But if Shota comes asking, you didn’t see me. Got it?”

He stares at you like he’s gathering an argument but you cut in before he can muster it.

“And I’ll forget why you’re acting so suspicious.”

Frustrated, Jongseob throws his head back. “Okay, fine. Now leave!”

To get the upper hand, you thwack him on the forehead before turning to the door and leaving him clutching his head in pain.

You should’ve known better than to think you were in the clear. Because when you push open Jongseob’s doors, there stands Shota on the other side with his arms behind his back and expectant like he was waiting for you.

“Seriously?!” You cry and he just blinks at you. “What are you?!”

He tilts his head. “Your guard.”

You hear a stifled laugh behind you but you’re too caught up reeling in your defeat to reprimand your gremlin brother.

Huffing, you shove past Shota. “Unbelievable,” you grumble, marching down the halls. 

Maybe it’s time that you give up and accept your fate. If even climbing the walls to escape won’t work, you’re not sure anything will.

You were hoping you could complete your duties, which commence today with the help of the West Princess betrothed to your brother, without Shota getting in the way but it seems that was just wishful hoping too.

“If I may—”

“You may not,” you cut him off, and he obediently complies.

At least there’s that. He hasn’t gone out of his way to provoke you like before. But the anxieties still remain that he might drop bugs in your hair or put dye in your soap.

It keeps you on edge as you prepare with the staff for the Princess’s arrival the next day.

𓆩⟡𓆪

The ball has turned out just the way you had wanted, if Shota had to guess by the bright grin on your face. He watches as you flurry around the vast area, greeting guests and being the social butterfly he never could be, from where he stands at the sidelines with the other guards.

He couldn’t do much to enjoy the festivities besides stand there and watch over, but at least he got to watch over you.

You might despise him. But it’s something that Shota has had years to get used to. And he doesn’t much care as long as he gets to be in your vicinity. He’ll enjoy your company from the sidelines and repent for his childish displays of affections by doing that from a distance.

A voice on Shota’s left breaks his focus from you.

“You too, huh?”

He peels his gaze from you, a difficult task, to see Sir Intak stationed with him.

Confusion etches his mind, until he catches the way Intak is watching the sister of the betrothed Princess—the one assigned to him for her stay—with a gaze so honeyed that it would be nearly impossible to miss.

Shota giggles at the realization, turning back to the crowd to seek you out again. It’s easy to find you; it’s like he’s tuned just for you. 

“It seems that way,” he admits sheepishly. There’s an understanding that passes between the pause before he continues. “At least mine has been in the works for years.”

Sir Intak scoffs, though it’s lighthearted. “Mine was love at first sight.”

“As was mine.”

Shota’s heart nearly gives out when your eyes catch his for a moment, as if you’d heard the confession from all the way over there, as you scoured the crowds.

In that moment, he thinks he understands what it means for it to feel like time has slowed.

Even from this distance, he could map out the delicate features of your face—the very one he’s been dreaming of since he was a kid.

But it doesn’t last for long. You’re quickly whisked away by another princess from a distant land but Shota’s mind stays locked still on the lingering weight of your gaze on his.

It keeps him company as the engagement ball nears its end. Even as his restless body protests the idea of it, he wishes it wouldn’t end so soon—if only so he could keep watching you for a moment more.

𓆩⟡𓆪

Assisting the Princess is quite the task, you find out, because she would rather spend it trying to poke at your brother rather than be productive. 

Which leaves you to hold the ground while she marches up to his office to pester him. You consider following her up just to watch for the sake of entertainment but you end up finding the tasks enjoyable. The Princess clearly doesn’t, not that you blame her considering the situation she’s in (you don’t imagine anyone would be delighted to be marrying your brother). 

So to make things a little less overbearing for her, you take it upon yourself to be in charge of general aesthetics and condensing the amount of choices to the palette you have in mind, keeping the garnet of your kingdom and the emerald of hers, so she doesn’t have too much to parse through. 

Shota, thankfully, stays out of your way. So much so that you nearly forget about him. He becomes nothing more than your shadow.

Except when things start to get tedious, and you start hitting walls and getting overwhelmed—that's when he starts to step in.

Too many things in your hand? He’ll swipe them right out from you and carry them instead.

You couldn’t see past the tower of curtain fabrics in your arms, the ones you’d offered to help transfer from the parlour to the ballroom.

You’d waved off Shota’s offer for help earlier, biting that you could handle it on your own. But you didn’t realize velvet could be so heavy. Or that the walk would be so long.

You also didn’t realize you had started swaying, or that you started straying from your path, because a hand, gentle and warm, pressed against your waist to gently move you back on track.

You flinched at the touch, stopping in your tracks and whipping around to face Shota. 

Shota stopped as well, bowing before you. “My apologies, Your Highness. You were about to hit a wall.”

Your cheeks flushed at that and you quickly turned to hurry back on your path. “It’s fine,” you muttered quickly, trying to ignore the tingling heat that remained at your side. 

But before you could get far, he caught up to you and swiftly took the fabrics into his arms. 

“Hey!” You exclaimed, but your arms breathed in relief when the weight was lifted off of you. 

He only gave you one of his sweet smiles before nodding at you to move along. “I am at your disposal, Princess.”

You start misplacing things and thinking you’ve lost your head? No worries, he has a sharp eye and is apparently watching your every move.

You could swear you’d left out the napkin you wanted to present to the Princess right there in the centre of the table but it seemed that in your rush, you buried it under the others. 

You kept flitting through the piles, searching desperately for the one that caught your eye.

“Oh, you idiot, why didn’t you put it to the side?” You scolded yourself in pure exasperation as you sifted through what must be hundreds of samples.

Shota’s voice chiming from behind you didn’t even vex you past the annoyance you held with yourself at the moment. 

“Are you looking for this one?”

You almost ignored him, but when the words finally processed, you turned in a hurry.

There, in his large hand, was the delicate red linen with gold and green embossing around the perimeter that you’d been eyeing since the start.

“Yes!” You cried in relief, taking the napkin from him with both of yours like you were accepting treasure.

“You left it under your teacup,” he told you, and your face immediately fell with embarrassment. 

You really are as scatter-brained as Keeho likes to call you. 

Shota giggled, a soft, pleasant sound that took you by surprise, as he looked at the napkin then back up at you. “It’s pretty.”

It became very apparent over the past few weeks that Shota had in fact matured and isn’t the same boy looking for any opportunity to approach you with a snake or to hurl rocks at your balcony.

He not only charmed everyone he came across with his musical laugh and soft voice and sweet smile, but he was starting to become something of an asset. Someone you were relieved to have beside you throughout your tasks.

The feeling grows more apparent during the flower arranging session. Something must have shifted between your brother and the Princess, because he’d entered the room and declared he would be joining the session to the surprise of, well, everyone.

“Did he have a stroke?” You mutter under your breath quietly enough so Taeyang wouldn’t hear from where he’s only a few feet away. Shota giggles at your side.

The Princess actually voices her shock aloud, “Did you have a stroke in the few days that I haven’t seen you?” It nearly sends you into a fit of laughter at your parallel thoughts.

It dies away when Taeyang shoves the bush daisies that were in Princess’s arms into yours instead, nearly catching you in the face, and you wind up to yell at him but Shota quickly relieves you of the bouquet and hands it to a nearby maid.

You huff instead and fall to the sidelines, watching as the ever stoic Prince Taeyang starts to fuss over flowers.

It’s ridiculous enough to have you pursing your lips to hold back your comments and laughs. Glancing to your right, Shota is doing the same, eyes twinkling with amusement as he watches the scene unfold. 

“I don’t think that’s my brother,” you find yourself saying, wincing when Taeyang places a peony crown atop his head that the Princess immediately snatches away, chiding him for being ridiculous.

Shota snickers. “Whoever it is, I think the Princess likes him better.”

You scrunch your nose. “I wouldn’t know why. There’s petals stuck to his hair.”

“That’s part of the charm,” Shota adds and you scoff, bringing your hand up to hide your smile.

The cleanup is a headache, especially considering Keeho and Intak had joined in creating the mess. There’s petals lodged in every corner of the room.

You’re collecting the flowers and petals that had gotten mangled and left on the floor, tossing them in the basket in your hand, when Shota chimes in.

“Why are you cleaning?” He asks, despite the fact that he’d also picked up a basket to gather the mess.

You pause, looking over with raised brows. “Why are you?”

“Because you are.”

A simple answer. Honest enough to leave you feeling a little endeared.

You turn back to your basket, sifting through some of the trampled roses you collected and picking out a pretty pink one that looks like it somewhat survived the massacre.

You consider whether to answer him for a few moments before shrugging. “I don’t mind busy work. It helps ease my mind. Plus… it’s not entirely for non-selfish reasons,” you admit. “I need the petals for a painting.”

Confusion etches his face as he stands straight, turning to you. “Painting?”

A little off put by the casual conversation, you nod stiffly. “Yes. I paint in my free time.”

“Oh,” he says, eyes lighting up. “I didn’t know you did art.”

You raise your brow at him, perching the basket at your hip. “Because you were too busy pulling on my hair and teasing me.”

His cheeks turn a rosy pink, a pretty colour against his pale skin. You glance down at the pink rose in your hand, noticing the similarity in shade.

“I apologize for the way I behaved, Your Highness,” he tells you sheepishly, bowing his head. “I simply didn’t know what to do with myself around you.”

While the apology doesn’t fully absolve him, you suppose it’s a good start. But the admission confuses you. 

You place the rose back in the basket, tilting your head. “What do you mean?”

The blush only seems to deepen. You glance down at your basket to see if there’s one in that shade, mourning subconsciously when there isn’t. 

“Can I see?” He asks, and you’re too caught up in your petal search to realize the diversion.

“See what?”

“Your art.”

You can’t really find a reason to say no. And the way he looks at you so earnestly, you can’t say that you want to deny him. 

So you turn, basket against your hip, as you start towards the upper floor. He follows along with a kick to his step.

But when you step into your bedchambers, you hear his footsteps skid to a stop.

You look over your shoulder to see him standing at your doorway with his basket still in hand, staring down at the divide between the hall and your room.

“What is it?” You ask, stopping in your tracks.

He lifts his head and blinks at you. “It would be improper of me to go inside.”

You roll your eyes, just a little fondly, as you continue to the corner of your room where you have your supplies stationed.

“You’re assigned to oversee me around the clock,” you state as you place your basket on your table cluttered with sheets and pastels. “What difference does it make? Just come inside.”

When he still hesitates, you turn to him with your arms crossed.

“That’s an order,” you state, and he immediately complies, hopping through the barrier with an impish smile on his face.

You purse your lips to smother the smile that threatens to rise at his unusual antics. He may have matured, but he’s still just the same at his core.

You glance down at the basket he holds. “You brought it with you?”

He walks over, offering the basket to you, though his eyes are fixed over your shoulder and on the walls behind you.

“I figured you’d need more material…” He trails off.

“Oh,” you say, a little taken aback but you accept the basket. And you’re all the more grateful for it when in it, you see a pale red tulip that would go perfectly for the vision you started cultivating in your head.

You’re brought out of your head when Shota breathes a quiet, “These are beautiful.”

You lift your gaze to see him utterly starstruck, his glimmering eyes taking in the myriad of reds and pinks on the canvases perched on your shelves.

You flush, unused to the attention to your craft. It was always just a quick nice work or that’s adorable or how sweet that you try so hard.

You swallow away the emotion that threatens to rise in your chest, chiding yourself for being too emotional as you place his basket beside yours.

“Thank you,” you say stiffly, unused to having to respond to such an earnest display.

His attention turns to the canvas you have perched on the easel facing into your craft corner, a landscape you started weeks ago but haven’t been able to continue for some reason.

But even that unfinished greenery seems to enchant him.

“It’s not finished,” you say quickly, feeling the need to defend yourself. “I had an idea for it but, I don’t know, I suppose I lost the inspiration.”

He blinks and looks at you over his shoulder. “You could have fooled me.”

You scrunched your nose. “How? I haven’t added any flowers yet.”

He laughs softly, bowing his head in apology before turning back to the finished paintings along your wall. “I see you favour flowers.”

The defensive urge in you rises again but you’re quick to smother it down. It’s not judgment, simply an observation. “I’m not much good at anything else,” you admit sheepishly, wringing your hands at your front. “My mother really liked flowers… I suppose I wanted my creations to be like hers.”

He turns to you again, his gaze soft, and you quickly look away. You don’t think you can handle pity. “What did she think about yours?”

“I never showed her,” you admit solemnly. “I was too afraid she wouldn’t like them.”

The quiet that follows is deafening. You wish you hadn’t said anything at all. 

Sensing your discomfort, Shota pivots.

“Could you paint me something?”

You blink at the sudden question, lifting your gaze to his. “Huh?”

He bristles, cheeks flushing as he quickly drops to a deep bow. “My apologies, Your Highness. I shouldn’t ask such a thing from you, that was improper of me.”

You scramble to diffuse, having to reach over and nudge his shoulder to get him to rise again.

“That’s alright!” You say quickly, laughing awkwardly when his wide eyes lift up to you. “I can paint something for you.”

He straightens in a flash, beaming at you. “Really?!”

You can’t help it. You laugh, quick to hide it behind your hand. “Yes, it’s fine,” you tell him, and the tension leaves his body. “It might just be the inspiration I need to pick up a brush again.”

You miss the weight of them beneath your hand. The lull in your recent days has wiped you clean of any motivation. 

But the familiar prickles of artistic urge tingle under your skin when your eyes shift to the baskets on your desk, to the rose and the tulip sat at the tops.

𓆩⟡𓆪

You make an unlikely friend in Shota in the weeks to come. He’s the one you consult whenever you notice a shift between your brother and the Princess’s relationship, the one who agrees with you that there’s too many secret looks and disguised remarks for this to be a less than amicable union. 

He’s also the one you find yourself complaining to rather than Keeho, who’s become more mopey than usual.

Needless to say, you don’t dread having him follow you around anymore. You almost mourn when he bids you goodnight before he switches with the nightguard, but at least you spend those hours asleep so you’re not really missing out on him much.

You welcome his presence now. You even invite it during your afternoon tea, making an extra cup for him to enjoy with you out on the terrace. And during your evening strolls, you invite him to walk beside you instead of behind you.

He seamlessly becomes part of your routine. 

Until one morning when you open your doors to be met with Jiho, your nightguard, instead of Shota.

Your face falls. “Why are you still here?”

Jiho’s greeting smile falters. “I was informed that I would be accompanying you this morning and afternoon, Your Highness.”

“By who?”

“By Prince Jiung, Your Highness.”

You push past him and immediately make for Jiung’s office, Jiho’s scrambled footsteps falling in step behind you.

“Jiung!” You cry as you barge in through his doors.

Jiung, huddled over his mountain of paperwork, sighs before lifting his head to you and plastering on a smile. 

“Yes, love?”

You cross your arms. “Where is my guard?”

He blinks, glancing past you. “Right behind you.”

You click your tongue, feeling far too offended than you should at the notion of anyone other than Shota being referred to as your guard. “Not that one.”

“Oh,” he says, tilting his head. “You mean your favourite one?”

“Yes—” You bite your tongue immediately, realizing your grave mistake when Jiung’s lips stretch into a wolfish grin.

“I see you’ve warmed up to Shota,” he starts, all too satisfied at your mortified face as he leans back in his chair. “Who was it throwing a tantrum over him again?”

You simply glare at him before turning your head with an indignant huff. “Just tell me what happened.”

“He’s taken the day to train,” he chuckles. “He said he felt antsy. Too stagnant.”

“Oh.” You suppose that makes sense. A person of his station should keep on top of his physical being, and workouts in his quarters can only take him so far. “I see.”

He raises a knowing brow at you. “Hm. Anything else?”

You’re about to dismiss yourself but falter when your eyes catch onto Jiung’s state; pale and with shadows darker than usual under his eyes.

A frown settles on your lips, that familiar ache in your chest rekindling whenever you see him fall worse for wear like clockwork. “Are you okay?”

His smile softens, but it looks forced. “Don’t worry,” he insists. “I’ve been with our healer regularly. She’s been helping me.”

You nearly miss the flush on his cheeks past your worries. “Make sure your sessions with her are actually productive,” you chide, then quickly add, “Health wise.”

The glare he sets you with leaves you unphased. Anyone with two eyes and a brain would notice his crush on your family healer, but you just hope that that’s incentive enough for him to actually check up for his health and not just for his eyes.

Jiung dismisses you with a wave of his hand.

“The crown would be a mess without you,” you remind him before you leave, a subtle plea for him to actually look after himself. 

You turn back towards Jiho, who flinches under the sudden weight of your gaze.

“Take me to the training grounds.”

𓆩⟡𓆪

You shouldn’t have come here. Every alarm in your head tells you to turn around and run—but your body has other plans. 

There Shota is—sparring with another guard on tucked away grounds of the courtyard, moving with the wind like his bones don’t exist—shirtless.

He’s muscled in a way that you thought only existed in books. Not overbearing, but corded in a way that’s elegant on his lean body. The slopes of his defined abdomen keep drawing your gaze, but your focus remains on his veiny forearm as it shifts with every swing of his wooden sword. The sight of his hand, large and strong around the hilt, leaves you feeling suddenly parched.

The warm air feels hotter than it should, the breeze doing nothing to help it. And your body burns with an unfamiliar heat that leaves you feeling skittish and aching for something, you don’t know what.

You’re not sure how long you stand there for, or how long the spar even lasts. But next thing you know, the other guard is on his back and Shota stands above him with his sword pointed at the guard, chiseled chest heaving. 

You feel dizzy when you catch notice of the trickles of sweat gliding down his glistening body.

“Princess?”

You’re snapped out of your daze, eyes blinking up at Shota’s face that’s now turned to you. His sword is clutched limply at his side.

Your face burns in the fear of getting caught staring but he seems lost on it, round eyes wide in confusion.

“What are you doing here?”

It takes a magnitude of effort to keep your eyes on his face and not his enticing… everything. You didn’t know that under all his layers, he was carrying this, when his face is the complete opposite—sweet and doe-eyed and innocent looking. How are you supposed to look at him the same way ever again?

You’re spurred into motion when he approaches you—rather, the canteen of water placed on the bench beside you. You watch as he picks it up with long fingers, watch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swigs the water back greedily.

Realizing you’re taking a little too long to speak, you force the words out of your dry mouth. “I was just wondering why you abandoned me without warning.”

He blinks over the lip of his bottle, lowering it before wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “Abandon you?” He asks. “That was not my intention, I apologize if—”

Noticing the actual distress that overtakes his expression, you quickly cut in with a shake of your head. “No, no, I’m not actually upset. But you could have warned me.”

He drops into a deep bow. “I apologize, Your Grace.” When he lifts, he gives you a nervous smile, shuffling on his feet. “I hope I haven’t offended you.”

You sigh, your eyes dropping momentarily before shifting quickly up when even just that slight glance sends your head spinning.

“You could have just brought me here instead of dropping me on someone else like I’m cargo,” you point out, crossing your arms. You’re not sure why this is so important to you, but you feel as though the point should be made.

He answers you honestly like he always does. “I didn’t think this would be something you’re interested in.”

He wouldn’t be wrong. But…

You glance down, your eyes lingering for a short moment before finding his wondering eyes again. “I might be.”

The smile that blooms on his lips is as warm as ever, but you think you see that familiar glint of mischief somewhere in his eye. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

𓆩⟡𓆪

You realize that even just a half day with another guard leaves you feeling more off kilter than it should. You miss Shota, you realize as you trudge through another noon full of tasks. It’s not the same without having your supportive hand and listening ear by your side. Jiho just doesn’t know how to keep up with you. 

You make that known when Shota returns by your side for your evening walk.

He’s ecstatic when he hears your woes, smiling to his eyes with the tips of his ears tinged pink.

“I’m happy to know you’re happier with me around,” he says and you’re quick to shut that down, your own cheeks turning pink.

“Okay, I didn’t say that,” you state defensively. You brush your hand along the flower bushes at your side as you stroll the familiar path. “I just said I prefer you to the other one.”

He turns to you, his smile tilted teasingly. “Is that not the same thing?”

Something about the mischief in his smile and the confidence in his eye sends your heart fluttering. You quickly look away, keeping your eye fixed along the cobblestone as you try to wave away the image that comes rushing to your brain of his body, glistening under the sun like a tantalizing dream.

“Believe what you want,” you grumble in defeat and he laughs.

Silence comes then, comfortable and familiar as it always is with him.

“Why now?” You find yourself asking after a warm moment. When he tilts his head in question, you continue. “Joining the Guard, I mean.”

“Ah.” He looks up in thought, folding his arms behind him as his eyes move this way and that to gather his words. “I’ve been training with my father since I was young. I knew I wanted to follow in his footsteps. I would have joined earlier but after his injury I had to stay with him and help him get back on his feet.”

You nod in understanding. Shota is former Knight Akiro’s only family. Akiro’s wife had died during childhood, which meant Shota was left to his care, which meant Shota was always around in the castle as a helping hand while Akiro worked.

Akiro’s injury protecting your Father in an ambush during a journey from the South rendered him unable to continue his duties. Which meant moving back into the common town, albeit the nicer side, after healing under the royal watch.

Shota must have had to bear the responsibility of helping his father for the past four years.

“What does he do now?” You ask. You’re not sure why you care, but seeing the fond look on Shota’s face as he talks about his father is one you’re not in a hurry to get rid of.

“Weaponsmith,” he answers, giving you a smile. “We opened up a repair shop. It’s doing pretty well now. So when the announcement for recruitment came, my father asked me to join.” He looks forward again, his smile dimming. “I didn’t want to leave him. But this has been my calling since I was young, so…”

“You must miss him,” you say, and the shy smile that lifts on his lips warms you inside. “But I’m happy you joined.”

He lifts his gaze to you, soft and searching against your own with an honesty that feels a little intimidating. When he stops walking, you do too, but you don’t once stray from his gaze.

“Me too,” he whispers.

The space between you is short but somehow it feels like nothing. The dying sun sets his hair alight like a halo, the pale white lit a gentle golden by the rays. 

You get lost in how soft the tresses look as they sway with the wind into his eyes.

The colour reminds you of something; it’s right on the tip of your tongue.

It comes to you just as Shota speaks, gentle like the wind.

“Princess—”

“Moonbeam!”

Just like that, the moment breaks. He blinks out of his daze, confusion filtering in. “What?”

“Moonbeam,” you repeat, then take off behind him.

You hear his footsteps follow after you as you rush to the bush of moonbeams planted alongside a section of the pathway you’d just passed.

You crouch down to hastily pluck one of the buds before rising and turning back to Shota, nearly crashing into him in your excitement.

Before he can question you, you lift the flower beside his hair and smile, satisfied when the pale yellow of the flower matches the shade of his pale hair almost perfectly.

The familiar prickle under the skin of your palm reawakens as you grin up at his starstruck eyes. “Moonbeam.”

𓆩⟡𓆪

You realize your growing affections for Shota when you’re in the middle of painting. 

The epiphany hits you so hard and so strong that you drop the brush, smearing the pale yellow paint against what was supposed to be clear waters.

You stare at the blemish as the wooden brush clatters to the ground, the terrifying thought that you may have feelings for your guard hanging heavily over your head.

No, you scold yourself as you start frantically tidying away your supplies. 

He is your guard. Your worker. Stations beneath you. You cannot grow feelings for him. It simply isn’t allowed and if either Taeyang or, heavens forbid, your father found out about this, they would have his head.

Whatever it is, it cannot be more than a simple crush—just some fleeting feelings for a boy your age that’s not terrible to look at and has the basic manners to tend to you.

That is no base for feelings. Certainly for nothing more than a meager crush.

But once the realization sinks in, it doesn’t leave you.

It carries with you into the next day, and you cannot explain to yourself, or to Shota, why you’re being distant.

But he seems to get the hint to leave you to yourself when his fourth question of the day goes unanswered. Though when he falls silent, devoid of his tinkling giggle or his soft voice or his subtly snide remarks about pompous nobles, you feel an ache grow alongside your weakening heart.

You hate every second that you leave him wondering what went wrong. You hate every second that leaves you feeling guilty for causing the pout on his lips and the melancholy in his eyes.

You’re hurting him. And you’re hurting yourself.

But it’s a necessary pain if it means it’ll drive away your misplaced feelings. You’re just not sure if it’s effective.

And the next week that you spend like this is simply torturous.

𓆩⟡𓆪

The assignment comes from Taeyang—through Jiung—to retrieve something from a trusted jeweller in town. A necklace he had commissioned for the West Princess, apparently, and it was not to be trusted in the hands of anyone else.

“Make sure it doesn’t leave your sight,” Jiung tells you as he fastens your cloak around your neck. You were dressed in simple garments so as to not draw attention to yourself. “And do not leave Shota’s eyesight, understand?”

You grow quiet at that, brows furrowing as you fix your eyes at the crest on your brother’s jacket. “Can’t Jiho come with me?”

He pauses, then places his hands on his hips and bends down to meet your eye. “What is with this hot and cold routine with you?”

You bristle, glaring at him. “It is not—”

“Did something happen?” He cuts in, gaze growing concerned. “Did he do something to you?”

Your eyes snap open wide and you quickly shake your head, waving your hands frantically. “No! No, brother, nothing like that.”

He raises his brow but when you give him an insistent look, he sighs. “Alright.” He straightens to his full height again. “Then what is it?”

You open your mouth to answer but nothing comes out. What are you supposed to say?

Defeated, you groan. “Nothing,” you mumble. “Nothing at all. I’m just in one of my moods.”

His curiosity quickly turned into a frown. “I told you not to call it that,” he states. “You’re a growing woman, it’s alright if you—”

Immediately, your face burns at the implications as your hands lift in instinct to press over your ears. “Please stop talking!” You cry, and Jiung bursts into laughter at your fluster. 

“Alright, enough with the melodramatics,” he chuckles, nudging you towards the carriage, which was mundane just like your dress for the very same reasons. You give under his push, trudging closer to where Shota waits for you by the opening. “Keep an eye on her,” Jiung tells him. “She’s slippery.”

Shota glances at you then gives Jiung an awkward smile. “I know.” Then he bows and draws open the curtain for you.

Jiung gives you one last squeeze on your elbow before stepping back and leaving you at the hands of the very person you’ve been trying to distance yourself from. “Be safe.”

The carriage ride to town stretched longer than it really was in the silence. Besides Shota sitting across from you, there were two other guards pressed to your sides.

Shota would keep glancing at your sides, clearly unhappy about something, before asking you if you were alright. You would answer him with a simple nod which would be enough until his next question of if you’re thirsty, or hungry, or uncomfortable. He really did feel more like a babysitter now than a guard.

And as much as you wanted to find it annoying, it only did more to weaken your heart.

𓆩⟡𓆪

Receiving the necklace was the easy part. You were more than shocked to find that the sketch sent to the jeweller was made by none other than Taeyang himself, that the vision for such an intricate piece was his own. You had to bite your tongue from mentioning the revelation to Shota, who was waiting by your side as you inspected the jewels before you could accept it.

It was only after stepping outside of the jeweller and walking towards the carriage that was stationed away from the crowds did you come across trouble.

Like a hound calibrated for danger, Shota unsheathes his sword. “Stay alert,” he commands, pushing you gently behind his arm. The other two guards immediately follow suit, forming a protective triangle around you. 

The hairs at your neck stand at the rising sense of prickling dread and you clutch the small jewel case close to your stomach, hidden under your cloak. 

The area you’re in is dead quiet. Isolated. You don’t hear a sound; there’s no signs of life but the trees and the birds. But still you feel the eyes on you.

Shota’s hand presses against your waist, firm and possessive.

“Shota,” you whisper shakily under your breath. 

His grip tightens. “I’ve got you,” he whispers back.

It happens all at once. Figures, cloaked in black clothing, emerge from trees and swords go swinging around you.

It’s all a blur to you. There’s a handful of those cloaked figures that come from all sides. Your guards take one each, Shota takes on two. And the other—

Your yell gets muffled by the burly arm that wraps around your mouth and neck, hauling you back. But you fight with the arm not clutching the case, swinging your elbow back and up into the attackers jugular.

It was sharp and quick enough to disarm the attacker for a weak moment, long enough that one of your guards could get the jump on him, his previous victim left bloody on the ground.

But your relief is short-lived.

“Princess, behind you!”

You turn to see a knife swinging, too late to do anything about it.

But there's a flash of silver and white, and the terrifying moment of clarity that follows right after makes you realize that Shota has taken your place.

His body drops into you and you’re barely prepared to catch him, the weight of him bringing you down to the ground. Before you can process anything more, a sword swipes the head of the attacker clean off and its dismembered body drops to reveal your other guard, pale as a ghost as he stares down at your and Shota’s crumpled bodies.

You watch as the guard’s gaze travels down Shota’s frame, stopping somewhere at his torso before he turns even paler.

“He’s bleeding,” he breathes, sheathing his sword and dropping down.

Shota’s head rolls onto your shoulder, his body feeling heavier on you by the second. Once the moments that had just transpired sinks into you, your own body lurches with panic.

You look down at Shota’s head against your shoulder to see his eyes blinking heavily up at the skies. “Shota?” You grasp his cheek with a shaky hand as the guard undoes Shota’s layers to reach the wound at his stomach.

“Princess,” he strains, forcing his watery eyes open to turn and peer up at you. There’s a single cut on his brow, but beyond that and his ghostly skin, he looks untouched. If only. “Are you okay?”

“Am I…” A surge of fury surges through you but it quashes down when the other guard rushes over with the medkit, handing it to the guard that scrambles to close the weeping wound.

“The carriage is damaged and the driver is nowhere to be found,” says the guard, looking less panicked than you feel but you can see it carefully concealed behind his stoic eyes. “We can’t risk taking Shota back on horseback. Princess, there’s an inn a few streets down. Take disguise and stay there, we will come back for you and for him in the morning.”

“Leave them here?” The guard tending to Shota asks in disbelief but he keeps his focus on closing the wound. “You can’t be serious!”

“We don’t have any other choice,” the other spits. “We need to stay in a pair in case there’s another ambush, otherwise we’ll never make it back to the castle.”

“We’ll be okay,” you intercept, despite the way your voice shakes. Their gazes lift to you, one relieved and one hesitant. “We can stay low. I’ll make sure he’s stable through the night.”

Though he’s still reluctant, the guard nods his assent. “Okay,” he says, then ties off the bandage around Shota’s waist. “Make sure he stays awake until you’re safe. Get him as much water as you can.”

You nod, and the guard rids Shota of his leather armour and his bloodied shirt, swapping it for the clean shirt off his own back. It’s dark so even if blood seeps through the bandages, it won’t be enough to draw attention. They take his sword and leave him with a dagger sheathed under the waistband of his trousers, and once he looks like a commoner just as you do, they bring him up to his feet.

With shaky limbs, you slip the jewel case into the waistband of your corset and rise to your feet.

Shota winces when you take the weight of him to your side, his arm winding around your shoulders as a pained whimper leaves his lips.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, holding him close to your side. “You can stay up for a little, can’t you?”

He takes a breath before nodding, though his movements are sluggish.

“I can,” he affirms. He looks up at the other guards and gives them a weak nod. “Hurry on. Stay safe.”

One of the guards goes to the carriage to retrieve the stash of food and supply left to bring back to you. When he sees your hesitance, he assures you they’ll stock up before they leave before strapping the satchel to you.

With a final bow, the guards take off and you and Shota are left to your own.

“Come on,” you breathe, pulling him firmly to your side as you trudge onwards.

Acting normal is easier than you think—at least, you hope your efforts are fruitful. The sun had started to fade so you feel a little safer cloaked under the darkening skies.

You pray to the heavens that neither of you look suspicious enough to set the innkeeper off. You’ve been told of this town’s displeasure for the royals so anything amiss could mean your demise. Luckily Shota is a master at schooling his face and hiding his pain. 

Shota has become heavier against you to the point where you’re pulling him along more than he’s walking, but you trudge through your sore muscles on sheer adrenaline. For a lean man, he’s hefty.

The innkeeper brightens when you and Shota push through the doors of the humble inn your guard had advised you towards. 

“Hi there!” She chirps from her desk.

“Hi,” you chime back with a pleasant smile that goes panicked for a split second when Shota sways in your hold. His arm tightens over your shoulder to straighten himself, his free hand clutching onto your arm around him as you make your way to her desk. “We’d like a room please.”

The woman, perhaps a decade older than you, gives you both a teasing smile. “He looks like a clingy one. Ah, young love,” she sighs dreamily, and before you can correct her, she turns to the line of keys behind her. “One bed, coming right up!”

Shota’s arm tenses around you and he seems to blink his bleary mind awake at that, standing to his full height.

You burn in mortification of what the woman’s words imply, but you suppose it’s good that she thinks you’re just a couple passing by.

The innkeeper turns back around to you and pauses, her smile fading just a bit. “Say, you look quite familiar, young lady. Have you stayed with us before?”

Familiar panic surges through you again but you force your smile. “Uh… no. No, I haven’t.”

“I know!” She gasps, eyes going round with realization. “You look so much like the young princess! The one from all those paintings they have around town.”

Your own eyes widen and flit quickly towards Shota to meet his side-glance with your own. “Oh,” you say, then let out a laugh that you know sounds far too awkward to be genuine. “I get that a lot, actually.”

The woman narrows her eyes at you for a horrifying moment before she bursts into another of her sunny smiles, waving her hand. “Ignore me, you kids probably just want to get to bed. Come along, dears,” she beckons as she takes down the hall. You hobble to keep up with her. “Are you just passing through?”

“Yes,” you pipe up, cutting Shota off before he could speak. He blinks down at you. “We thought we would take a trip… to… get away from the kids, you know?”

Shota stumbles over his next step but you’re quick to catch him before he can take you both tumbling down. You shoot him a sharp look that he just looks at with wide eyes.

“Oh!” The woman laughs. “Don’t I know? I keep telling the husband, let’s get away for a few days, reset our minds and come back! I love the kids, I really do, but gods do we need a break.” The woman stops at door twenty-five and fiddles with the key to unlock it. You wish she would go faster. “Good on you two. You’re a handsome couple, stay here for as long as you need and I’ll even swipe off a few bucks for ya.” She pushes open the door and turns to you to throw you a wink, pushing the keys to your hand. “Now I’m sure you two want your privacy so I’ll get out of your hair.” Then she’s sauntering back down the hall, waving over her shoulder. “Holler if you need me!”

You stand there for a moment, reeling from the barrage that was that woman. 

But Shota’s pained grunt snaps you back to the present and you’re quick to bring him in, locking the door behind you.

When you set Shota down on the bed, he practically melts against the sheets, the tension and exhaustion seeping out of him at once.

You drop the satchel, immediately reaching for his shirt to ruck it up and see his bandages drenched in blood.

He’s already watching you when you look up at him. “May I?” You ask him and he nods without delay.

You spring into action, prying open the stained bandages to reveal the wound, about three inches wide below his belly button. Your vision swims at the sight of spewing blood but you push past your nausea to press fresh gauze against the wound to soak up the blood.

“I can stitch it,” he offers, voice strained, but you quickly shoot him down. 

“It’s alright,” you say, picking out the needle and thread from the satchel. You prepare it with shaky hands before dousing it with the alcohol stashed among the supplies.

You can still feel his gaze on you as you get to work, but you draw all your focus on the task at hand. It’s not the cleanest, given that this is maybe your second time (the first was merely practice on a dummy), but it’s enough to hold him over until morning.

It’s hard not to give it all up at his little whines of pain as you work but you know without at least this, he won’t make it far.

Your mind still reels from the attack, but your barrage of thoughts stays at bay as you work. Though as soon as the fresh bandage is wrapped and he seems more at ease, they come at you full force.

It’s your fault, comes to you as you help him out of the sodden shirt.

He got hurt because of you, comes to you as tidy up, wrapping the bloody gauze with the shirt before shoving it in the satchel.

He took the hit for you, comes to you as you climb beside him onto the bed with the canteen of water and the food left in the satchel, some bread and some fruit.

You push those thoughts back as you help him lay against the pillow, lifted slightly to allow him to drink.

“Here.” You slide your hand under his head, the soft tresses of his hair damp against your palm, as you bring the canteen to his lips. His hand comes around yours to tilt the canteen further up as he drinks. You let him empty it out before placing it at the bedside table. 

It’s quiet as he nibbles away on the bread while you peel open an orange absentmindedly, preoccupied by those thoughts that keep prodding at your weakened mind.

“I didn’t realize we had kids.”

You blink out of your daze, looking up to meet his eyes peering up at you, a tired slant lifting his lips. 

You let out a soft breath, holding a slice of orange to him. “Two of them,” you say weakly.

Instead of taking it in his hand like you’d expected, he takes the slice right in his mouth, warm lips brushing against the tips of your fingers. His cheek puffs as he chews around his words. “What are their names?”

You watch him, the slow movements and the heavy eyelids that he fights to keep open as he watches you with those big brown eyes.

“Tulip and Rose,” you murmur without thought.

The corner of his lips twitch up. “Not Moonbeam?”

You feed him another slice, biting back a smile. “Saving that for our third.”

He laughs, soft and airy, and it's enough to ease away all your worries. The joy on his face takes you by surprise, considering the circumstances.

“You’re talking to me again,” he says, and amidst all of this, you’d forgotten that you were avoiding him.

You can’t anymore. Not after what happened.

The last dregs of your mirth slip away as you look down at the mangled orange in your hands. 

“You saved my life, Shota,” you whisper. Your vision blurs as the declaration lingers in the air.

His hand enters your view, wrapping over both of yours in your lap. “Please don’t be sad,” he begs. “I have to protect my Princess.”

You feel yourself crumble, the tears slipping down your cheeks unrestrained. His own expression falls, drowning in sadness at seeing you in a state like this.

“At the risk of your own?” You whisper. “That’s not fair to you.”

His breaths are starting to even out and you can tell consciousness is starting to feel evade him. But he fights until his very last nerve to breathe the words, “I would have done it even if I wasn’t your guard.”

Your sob falls on deaf ears as he finally slips under. You place your hand on his chest, just to feel the evidence that he’s okay beating against your palm.

And you fall asleep like that, by his side with his heart under your hand and the realization that yours is truly, and utterly, gone.

𓆩⟡𓆪

When Shota doesn’t wake up the next morning, your stomach twists itself in knots with panic. You had woken up right where you’d dozed off with your hand over his heart. There was a beat, slow and faint, but still there.

Your prayers were answered when the guards had returned with a small army to take you and Shota back, nevermind the commotion that it started amongst the townsfolk. The only focus was to get you and your guard back in one piece. 

The carriage ride was grueling. Shota laid unconscious with his head in your lap as the other guard kept his body from jostling through the ride. The medic that came with did his best to keep Shota stable until he could be seen by the royal healer.

All you could do for those painful few hours was watch his sleeping face, peaceful as though there was nothing amiss and your heart wasn’t in the throes of anxiety.

When you arrive at the castle, they immediately take Shota from you. Having him practically ripped away from you felt like having your own heart ripped away and you wanted to go after, but Jiung is there, grasping you by the shoulders and keeping you planted where you are.

“Sister!” His eyes are wide in panic, the shadows under them more prominent than ever. His chest rises and falls too quickly. “You’re… Are you—”

You don’t let him finish. You crumble in his arms, burying yourself into him as you sob. Your guilt, your grief, the weight on your chest—you let it all out on him. 

“Shota,” is the only word that leaves through your lips in a wrangled sob.

Jiung’s body slumps against you as he holds you tight, tucking you under his chin. “It’s alright,” he consoles gently, carding a hand through your hair. “He’s in good hands now. He’ll be okay.”

You desperately want to believe it. Because if he doesn’t wake up, you don’t know what you’d do with yourself. 

Jiung pulls you in closer, and you’re reminded of the small case tucked into your waistband as it digs into you under the pressure.

You pull away from Jiung, prying the case out of its place and holding it out to him. “The jewels.”

Jiung stares at the case in confusion before seeming to remember what it is he’d sent you out for in the first place. He takes it from you and hands it to a maid nearby without turning his focus from you. 

“Come,” he says, taking you by the arm. “Let’s get you cleaned.”

You dig your feet into the ground when he tries to pull you inside, turning to you with a puzzled look when you don’t comply. 

“I want to see Shota,” you state firmly.

Jiung looks like he’s about to deny you but when he sees that determined flare in your eye, he knows it's a lost cause.

So he sighs and gives you way.

𓆩⟡𓆪

They don’t let you inside as they operate on him, and the last thing you want to do is disrupt, so you wait outside the doors, practically quivering with anticipation.

Jongseob is here too, looking almost as nervous as you are as he paces along the hall.

Jiung’s arm around you as he waits beside you is not the usual comfort that it normally is for you.

“This kind of thing happens,” he tries to tell you, but you’re having none of it. “It’s not your fault, love, he just did what he had to do.”

You don’t respond to him. You can’t because if you try, you’ll let things slip that you shouldn’t. So you keep to yourself, and you wait for the one person you can say those things to.

It feels like hours later until something finally happens.

The healer steps out, wiping her bloody hands with a rag. “He’ll be okay,” she announces, and it relieves that crushing weight in your chest almost immediately. “He’s asleep for now but we’ll keep him here while he recovers.”

Jongseob steps forward to speak but you make it before he does. 

“Can we see him?” You ask, and the healer gives you a gentle smile. 

“Of course.”

Jiung lets you and Jongseob take the room, opting to wait outside with the healer.

You’re not sure if you regret not waiting until he’s awake, because the sight of Shota laying on the cot, pale and unmoving, unnerves you more than you expect it to despite knowing that he’s okay.

You and your brother simply stand there for a few moments, watching the shallow breaths that Shota takes. 

“How did it happen?” Jongseob asks quietly, like he’s too afraid to invoke the story.

You answer anyway. “He took a blade for me.”

Nothing more needs to be said. A quiet understanding passes.

Jongseob lifts his eyes to you, watching your solemn expression, and you internally thank him for not bringing it up. It would make it too real. And you're not sure you can face the truth just yet.

“I’ll give you some space,” he tells you and you couldn’t be more grateful for your brother’s emotional capacity. “Send someone for me when he’s awake.”

You’re left alone then, and even though you’d cried for him already, it doesn’t feel like enough.

It must be hours that you spend at his bedside, watching the healer come by every so often to tend to him (but mainly watching him) before you allow yourself to clean up when you realize he won’t be rising soon. 

Besides that, you don’t leave his side. You stay with him through the night, Jiho stationed outside the door to keep watch.

Sleep evades you. All you can do is sit there with his limp hand in yours and stare at the way his hair catches the moonrays from the window.

It must be after five past midnight, when you finally start to drift off with your lids too heavy to keep open, that you feel Shota’s hand twitch in yours.

Your foggy mind immediately clears as you straighten in your chair, staring at his hand laying loosely in yours. 

You start to think that you’d imagined it, until you see his finger tremble with slight movement. 

Then you hear it; his breaths picking up, quicker and uneven, before a groan, soft and quiet, leaves his lips.

You lift from the chair, leaning over him to watch as his face shifts. You bring your hand to his cheek, pressing gently against the smooth skin, and his eyes finally flutter open.

“Shota?”

You watch as he slowly blinks into focus. Once his vision seems to clear, a weak smile blooms on his lips.

“Princess?”

His voice sounds rough. Jagged and dry and like it might hurt to speak. But at this moment, it sounds beautiful.

“What are you doing here?” He has the nerve to ask.

Your emotions all come rushing back to you at once. 

“You didn’t wake up this morning,” you accuse, trying to stay stern though your voice wavers as tears start to brim your eyes.

His brows furrow, frown pulling his lips down. “I’m sorry…?” 

You can’t help the laugh that passes you, endeared and relieved, as your head drops gently against his.

A teardrop falls from your eye onto his cheek and his gaze only grows more worried.

He doesn’t understand how even melancholy looks so beautiful on you.

His trembling hand reaches up and brushes away the water that gathers at your lashline. “Why are you crying?”

“I thought I lost you,” you whisper, turning your face to seek out the warmth in his palm.

His hand presses into your cheek, turning you to face him again. “Your Highness,” he says, waiting for your eyes to meet his before he goes on. “I’ve told you. It’s my duty to protect—”

“I don’t want to lose you!”

He stops, watching you with wide eyes as you pull away from him and drop your gaze to his chest, face twisted with fear and a desperation he’s not sure he’s ever seen from you. A desperation for him.

“I don’t want to lose you, Shota,” you repeat, and he feels his heartbeat rise, like it’s coming alive again from your words alone.

He wants desperately for you to mean what he wants you to mean. But he knows it's a far cry, a foolish dream of a foolish man in love with someone that can never be his.

“Princess,” he tries again, unable to hold back the fear that trembles his own voice. Even if he can’t have you, he needs you to know you have him. “I won’t go anywhere,” he vows. “I won’t leave your side for as long as you’ll have me.”

“What if that’s not enough?” You ask him, and his heart stutters with hope again.

It needs to be killed before it can make a permanent home in his chest. “What do you mean?” He asks with bated breath.

He watches your eyes turn glassy again. He wants to reach over and catch the tears before they can fall, but he doesn’t. He simply waits, like he’s been waiting for you for all these years.

“I want you, Shota,” you whisper and Shota knows then that the wait was worth it. “I know I shouldn’t… But I want you.”

Maybe his hope isn’t misplaced like he’s led himself to believe. 

He reaches up to brush his knuckles against your rosy cheek, catching the tears as they fall. “I have been yours since the day I first saw you, Princess.”

The kiss is soft, dulcet like this night and reverent in a way that leaves him wanting to pray for more. But like this—with you in his arms, the warmth of your body over his, and the softness of your hair threaded between his fingers—Shota thinks he could die in that moment a happier man than any.

𓆩⟡𓆪

“So. You and my sister.”

Shota pauses with his mouth hung open, fork lifted halfway as his eyes flit up to Jongseob who stands above his bed with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

When he doesn’t say anything, Jongseob raises a brow. In response, Shota shoves the spoonful of food in his mouth and quickly averts his eyes.

Jongseob scoffs, dropping down to sit at the foot of the bed. 

“You know you don’t have to hide it from me,” Jongseob says. “I’ve been watching you pine after her since we were kids.”

Shota flushes, swallowing down his food. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Jongseob gives him an offended look that Shota just smiles sheepishly at.

“Sorry. The Princess is adamant that no one finds out.”

Jongseob makes a face. “You still call her that? You don’t call her by her name?”

“She hasn’t given me permission yet.”

“Dear gods,” Jongseob sighs, rolling his eyes to the heavens. “I’m pretty sure she’s waiting for you to use it first.”

“But that would be improper.”

“What about any of this is proper to you?”

Shota goes quiet before he scarfs down another spoon of rice. “Point taken,” he muffles around his mouthful to which Jongseob scrunches his nose. 

“She hasn’t taught you manners yet?” He asks then bats away the foot that Shota sends his way. 

“I’m not a dog.”

“Dog is basically in your job description. You’re at her beck and call and you follow her around like an emotionally attached puppy.”

“Oh? Like you and your little baker?”

It’s Jongseob’s turn to freeze up. He even turns a little pale and Shota smiles, self satisfied as he places his emptied tray on his bedside table. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jongseob says quickly, trying to recover as he clears his throat and straightens his back.

“Sorry to say but you’re not exactly subtle with your lovey eyes,” he giggles.

“They’re not lovey eyes,” Jongseob snaps, a little too harshly than he’s used to from him, and Shota realizes he may have stepped on something he shouldn’t have.

But he can’t help his curiosity. “What is it then?”

The pause before his response gives him enough of an answer. “It’s nothing at all.”

Shota can almost feel the ache in Jongseob's eyes, the familiar weight he’s used to seeing in his friend’s gaze ever since they were kids.

“Seobie—”

“You’re still here?”

Both their gazes shift over to you as you barge in through the door unannounced. Shota immediately lights up at the sight of you, adorned in your blue dress and colour-stained apron with your sketchpad and pastels gathered in your arms.

Jongseob scoffs, rising to his feet. “As if you don’t hog him for practically every hour of the day.”

“Don’t you have a maid to play with?”

Jongseob rears back like he’s about to start yelling, but he cuts himself off with a deep sigh. “Whatever,” he grumbles, marching past you for the door. “Have fun.”

“Jongseob,” Shota calls before he can leave.

Jongseob pauses in his tracks to look back, and Shota doesn’t have to say much at all for Jongseob to understand.

He gives a nod and a tiny smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know,” he says, before he turns and shuts the door behind him, leaving Shota in the silence with you.

“...Did I say something I shouldn’t have?” You ask, eyes on the door where Jongseob just was.

“Maybe,” he hums, but everything else that isn’t you fades from his mind as soon as your gaze meets his.

You give him that shy, awkward smile of yours—a new and wonderful discovery—as you move to take your designated space at the foot of his bed.

It’s been a recurring sight for the past five days; you across from him with your book and pastels and graphites, sometimes tea, drenched in the dying sunlight from the window by his med-room bed.

It was a routine that eased his antsy limbs. He was bursting at the seams with unused energy, advised to keep movement minimal for two weeks, but whenever you were in the picture, you instilled him with a calm he wasn’t used to feeling.

“I have the rest of the day clear,” you tell him as you flip your book open to your unfinished sketch from yesterday.

“You have it clear or you cleared it?” He teases, leaning back against the headboard.

You scoff, though your smile gives him an answer, as you lift your pencil. “Don’t even get me started. There’s three weeks left until the wedding and it looks like Taeyang is finally attempting to court her. After all this time and drama!”

Shota laughs. “That sounds about as expected.”

There’s a quiet lull as he simply watches you work, just the rhythmic sounds of graphite on parchment filling the air. He smiles fondly when he catches a peek of your tongue caught between your lips, a habit of concentration of yours that he’s written into his heart.

“How’s the painting going?” He asks after a stretch of silence.

You pause, looking up at him. “Oh, I’d been meaning to ask you. What’s your favourite colour?”

Shota doesn’t have a favourite colour.

But his eyes catch onto the royal blue of your dress, the way it makes you glow, and he smiles, leaning forward. “Blue,” he answers. He lifts his hand, brushing his fingers against the low collar of your dress. He lets his touch linger, the pad of his finger ghosting over a sliver of your exposed skin as he catches your gaze, hazy as it falls to his lips. “This one,” he whispers.

The silence that follows is charged and heavy. But it doesn’t last long before your lips meet his with a needy grunt, your hands fisting into the collars of his shirt.

This is his favourite part of the routine. When you push aside everything on your lap to move over and make home in his, though careful so as not to hurt him.

But it’s different today. Your movements are hastier as you clamber on to straddle him but Shota welcomes you just as enthusiastically, the dull throb of his wound shoved to the back of his mind in favour of the feeling of your body pressed against his.

The kiss is hungry, a clash of teeth and tongue, a tangle of heavy breaths and needy moans. Your hands feel like they’re all over him, his own planted firmly on your hips to keep himself from traipsing into dangerous territories. 

“Shota,” you breathe into his lips and Shota nearly moans at just the sound of his name like that on your tongue.

He hums in response, and you bury your hand in his hair, slowing the kiss. 

He makes a questioning noise but he gets his answer when you take his hand in yours, sliding it up your body to place it on your chest.

Shota nearly loses his mind, when at the same time, you roll your hips down against the growing hardness straining under his cotton trousers. 

He groans, tossing his head back at the pleasure that sears through his body, hot and wanting. His hand kneads your breast, pulling a sweet moan of your own from your lips.

“Princess,” he breathes when your lips meet his neck, a clumsy but insistent declaration. Things have never gone this far before. 

You lift your head, lips latching onto the lobe of his ear. “I want you,” you whisper, grinding down against him once more, and Shota nearly forgets that they’re still in the med-room, a semi-public space.

And he would give in, damn it all, if it weren’t for the sharp footsteps approaching the room.

You must hear them too, because you immediately lift your head and stare at him wide eyed before your senses kick in and you both pry yourselves away from each other.

Shota winces at the sudden movement but he settles back as you reclaim your sketchpad at the other end of the bed just in time as Prince Jiung pokes in through the door.

“Hi,” Jiung chirps and Shota hastily pulls his pillow over his lap, waving back with a strained smile.

You don’t lift your head from your book as you grumble out, “What do you want?”

Jiung’s eyes scour the room, lingering towards the back end before he asks, “Is the healer here?”

You lift your head then and stare at your brother with a look so intensely judgmental that Jiung bristles and straightens with a cough. 

“Seems not. I just had a question about…” He trails off weakly before he just turns and walks right out.

As soon as the door shuts, Shota lets out the breath he’s been holding. But the steady thrum of heat in his veins lingers, roaring back to life when he looks at you again.

But you don’t meet his eye, fiddling with the pencil in your hand, gaze afar in thought.

“Princess?” He asks and your eyes snap up to his, blinking rapidly. “Are you alright?”

You let out a slow breath before smiling at him, though it isn’t one of those musical ones that he loves. “I’m okay.” He doesn’t believe you.

He feels the lie weigh on his chest. But he reminds himself that it's not his place to pry. 

“Actually, I should be going,” you say, gathering your things, and he feels the weight sink further.

He just watches as you rise up and make way for the door.

“Princess,” he calls out. You pause at the door, turning to him. “I’ll be returning to my duties in a few days.”

Relief comes to him instantly when the smile that lifts on your lips is one of genuine joy. “Good. I look forward to having you by my side again.”

Those words are enough to lull him to a peaceful sleep that night, and forgone are his worries. For now.

𓆩⟡𓆪

You couldn’t feel more relieved to have Shota by your side again. Though it brings a set of new challenges. No longer do you have the med-room to shield your stolen kisses and unbound words. You’re only left with lingering gazes and subtle touches to get you through your day. 

Even if you find a hidden corner to tuck yourself away in for a few heated moments, passersby leave you scrambling to right yourself before you’re caught. The castle is much too crowded now for you to remain hidden without four walls.

But it still feels exhilarating; living in a secret. As scared as the thought of getting caught makes you, you love the way it makes the blood rush to your head. It makes everything feel like… more.

“Shota,” you moan, burying your face into his neck. 

His fingers dig harder into your hips as he pushes you further into the marble pillar, his own breathy grunts echoing through the empty hallway.

The bundles of twine that you were supposed to bring down to the ballroom lay abandoned at your feet on the floor of the nook that you’d dragged Shota into. It’s not your fault he decided to wear half of his hair tied up with stray pieces framing his face tantalizingly. He looked too good for you to not do anything about it.

You gasp sharply when he presses his leg harder between your own, his thigh pressing insistently against your clothed core. 

“Quiet,” he hisses into your ear, though the guiding hands he has on your hips urge you to rock faster against him. “You’re going to get us caught.”

You dig your hand into his hair, fingers gripping the soft locks tight as you sink your teeth into the fabric of his shirt to muffle your moans. All while he chases his own pleasure by rolling his hardness against your hip.

“Unless,” he breathes, pausing to chuckle as one hand climbs up your body to knead harshly at your chest. He traces the tip of his tongue against the shell of your ear, whispering the words right into you, “You want to get caught.”

The words, along with the sharp push of his leg against you, leave a spike of hot pleasure crashing through your body. You cut your needy whine right off before it can alert the entire wing of your scandalous escapade.

He simply laughs, digging his thumb right into your nipple, the pressure overbearing even through the layers of your clothes.

“That’s it isn’t it? This is what gets you off,” he coos. 

His voice is so sweet, so soft and melodious that it might sound like he was reciting poetry if not for his filthy words. The silver tongue on him was a revelation you weren’t expecting, but one that makes you lose your mind.

“You want everyone to see what a whore their darling Princess turns for me?”

Before the moan can leave your lips, he takes a fistfull of your hair and pulls you back to devour it with his mouth.

You’re right there on the precipice, just about to take the leap as he rocks you to the edge—

“Where is she? She said she would be bringing them down.”

—Until it all comes crashing down. 

The heat of Shota’s body tears away from you all at once and you would crumble to the ground if not for the wall behind you.

You quickly right yourself, gasping for air to soothe your body as you pick up the bundles of twine. You glance over to Shota, who looks completely unmarred if not for the blush high on his cheeks, the bitten look on his lips, and the simmering lust behind his gaze—the only evidence that you’ve made him undone just as he has you.

He smiles at you as the footsteps of the maids draw closer. It’s not over yet.

𓆩⟡𓆪

Except that it was. 

That’s how it always goes and now it’s been over a week of being left dangling off the precipice. 

It was the same song and dance—sneaking off in the middle of your tasks for a quick second of pleasure that goes incomplete.

And Shota’s had just about enough. He knows you’re as pent up as he is. And even if this whole arrangement between you was just a mere chase for thrill and excitement for you, he’d happily comply, even if it isn’t sustainable for his heart.

He’ll have you any way he can get you before you realize you don’t truly feel for him, that you were just caught up in the adrenaline of him saving your life, and move on without him.

He’s well prepared for that. He’s okay with just being your temporary fixation, even though the weight lies heavier with each day that passes that he doesn’t tell you that he loves you and wants more.

He can’t go messing up what he already has.

These thoughts carry with him as Shota turns into the hallway leading to your room to take over for the night guard.

Until Jiung intercepts him. 

“Shota,” Jiung says, catching sight of him across the hall where his office leads from. “Can I see you for a moment?"

Shota thinks he’s done for. 

Did he get caught? Did you finally have enough of him and want to have him reassigned? Or did he mess up all on his own somehow?

It turns out to be none of that.

“I got to thinking after your heroic display for my sister,” Jiung says as he settles in his chair, Shota watching him from where he stands across his desk. “We could use more men like you in the War Guard.”

Shota blinks. The War Guard?

That’s an elite status reserved for the best and strongest soldiers in the country.

“Are—” Shota clears his throat when his voice cracks. He stands straighter, confusion etching his face. “What are you implying, Your Highness?”

Jiung smiles at his fluster, leaning back. “I want to offer you a starting position there. You’re incredibly capable. And having known the kind of man your father is, I see him in you. Honestly, I was going to offer it to you eventually anyway but I thought I’d give you an advance.”

Shota finds himself grinning, overjoyed at the opportunity.

“You’d start training after the wedding when you’re relieved of dealing with my sister. How does that sound?”

But it all falls away when he’s reminded of you.

Of course it sounded too good to be true. Joining the War Guard means training for a few years out in the outskirts of the country for a specialized program. That means leaving you.

But he reminds himself that he would have been reassigned from you after the wedding regardless. That this would be an opportunity for him to actually do something with himself rather than mope around from heartbreak because you were done with him.

This is the logical choice, right?

“Shota?” Jiung urges, brows furrowed.

Shota realizes his emotions must show on his face, so he shoulders the weight on his chest and puts on his best smile. 

“It would be an honour, Your Highness.”

𓆩⟡𓆪

When you open your doors to Jiho that morning, you know something’s wrong.

It can’t be training, because now Shota takes you along with him where you can sit in the courtyard and enjoy the scenery (the gardens and the cut marble of a man you have as your lover).

So you pull Jiho in tow with you to visit the guard quarters, but Shota isn’t there. Neither is he at any of your planned schedules that day. No one seems to know where he is and you can’t find Jiung either to ask him. And Jongseob is useless as always.

So you spend your day positively miffed, putting Jiho to work while you spend your time huffing over the smallest things and worrying about where Shota could possibly be. 

It makes you more upset than you realized. It doesn’t help that you woke up with a craving for him you cannot subdue on your own.

But beyond that, you miss him. You feel wrong without him at your side. It’s everything you felt that first day he’d abandoned you, powered up to a hundred. You feel angry.

The aggression shows through the strokes of your paint, a faint pink over lush greens. 

Your painting for him is slowly coming together. It’s nearly done, actually, but right now you don’t feel like putting love into it.

So you drop your brush and your palette, not even bothering to clean them off as you pry your apron off.

A sharp knocking on your window makes you pause. You look over at your drawn curtains, frowning.

When the knocking persists, you take the candelabrum from your table and wield it over your head as you cautiously step closer.

You hold it up, ready to strike as you rip open your curtains only to be met with the sight of Shota perched on the windowsill, out of his usual armour and in a simple shirt and trousers.

Relief washes over you first, then the same giddiness you feel whenever you see him, and then comes the simmering anger from being abandoned yet again.

You open the lock to your window and let him slide it open to climb his way through. The arm holding the candelabrum drops to your side as you watch him straighten himself up after shutting the window behind him.

“Where the hell were you?” You snap, and Shota lifts his eyes, wide and a little guilty.

“I took the day off,” he tells you meekly. “Did Prince Jiung not tell you?”

Your hand tightens around the candelabrum, gaze dropping to it to avoid holding his. Was he already getting sick of you?

“No, he didn’t,” you mumble, a bitter taste rising on your tongue.

He steps forward, tilting your chin up with his finger. There’s a soft smile on his lips. “Were you missing me, Princess?”

“Yes,” you admit quietly, and the mirth in his eye dwindles. “Did you… need a break from me?”

His eyes widen, looking utterly scandalized at the insinuation. “No! No, it's not like that,” he insists, taking your elbows in his hands. But there’s a hesitance in his voice as he continues. “I just had some things to do.”

”I get that,” you say quietly, your gaze lowering again. “But I wish you’d told me before I spent the whole day worrying about you.”

The soft brush of his hand slides up to your cheek, tilting your gaze up to his again. He has that reverent look in his eyes whenever he has you in his vicinity, the one that makes you weak to him.

“You really must have missed me,” he tries to tease, but it falls too gently.

“I don’t like it without you. Promise me you won’t leave me like that again.”

His eyes flash with something you can’t discern and his expression falls for just a moment. But it goes too quickly for you to dissect before he smiles at you again, bright like the moon behind him. He takes the candelabrum from your hand to place it back on the table.

“You have me now,” he tells you and the zip of electricity that his low voice sends through you makes you forget whatever it is you were asking for.

The craving you’d buried away in your body reawakens and you remember all at once just how pent up you’ve been for the past week of sneaking around.

But you finally have him alone. In the walls of your own room.

“I thought it was improper for you to be in here,” you murmur, taking a step back when he steps forward.

The smile on his lips is deceptively sweet. “I can think of a lot more improper things I’d like to do right now, Princess.”

You gasp softly when the back of your knees hit the edge of your bed. The heat of his body pushes into your space, not quite touching, but it hovers over you like an enticing wall of heat.

Your voice doesn’t allow for more than a whisper. “Like what?”

His eyes trace down the length of your body, taking in your curves like he was committing them to memory. 

“It might be easier if I just showed you.”

Before you can even take a breath, he grabs you by the waist and turns you around, pushing down your shoulder to bend you over the edge of your bed. His hand is firm against your back as he glides his heavy palm down the length of your spine and rests it on the dip of your lower back.

“Forgive me, Princess,” he says, pulling a moan out of your throat when you feel his hardening arousal pressing flush over your clothed cunt. “But I’ve grown impatient.”

Each delicious grind of his hips against yours makes your eyes rolling back at the pleasure that sears through you, your fingers clawing into the sheets. 

His hand brushes aside your hair to hastily tug down the zipper of your dress. You’re grateful you hadn’t bothered with a corset today when he traces his fingers down the bare skin of your spine, sending tendrils of electricity through your body that only add to your growing heat. 

“Shota,” you whine as his other hand finds its way up the skirt of your dress, trailing up the back of your thigh. You gasp when he grabs at the flesh of your ass, kneading it harshly, the pressure going right to your cunt. 

He lets out a breath, his thumb inching dangerously close to your heat. “Yes, Princess?” You can tell by the shake of his voice and his hand that he’s exercising the last of his restraint, the skirt still covering you. 

But you need it all. You push back, rocking your ass against his hardened erection and chasing that pressure once more. It gets a guttural groan out of him as he presses forward to chase the feeling. 

“Need you,” you whimper, and it seems to break his resolve. 

You hear a thud behind you but you’re too distracted to turn around because he pushes your skirt over your hips, exposing you fully. You gasp at the cold air that brushes against your bare cunt, then cry out when you suddenly feel his mouth against you, devouring your essence with his tongue. 

There’s no lead in, no easing you into it. No, he laps at you like a starved man, tracing every curve of you with his tongue as his fingers dig into and hold down your trembling thighs. 

You cry out his name when his lips latch around your throbbing clit and sucks, the pressure driving you towards an orgasm quicker than you’re prepared for. 

But he teases you on that edge, dragging his tongue back up to your drooling lips to circle and tongue at your entrance and draw you away from that high. 

The soft whimpers and harsh breaths that pull out of you soak into your sheets. He sounds just as affected as you, his own grunts and soft moans adding zips of pleasure against your sensitive skin, like he’s getting off on this just as much as you are. 

It makes you feel manic with need. 

“Sh-Shota,” you gasp as you feel that heat in your lower belly tighten. He only hums in response before latching onto your clit once again and flicking the tip of his tongue against it, pushing you right over the precipice like you’d been desperately wanting for the past few weeks. 

You come with another cry of his name, fluttering around nothing, and he laps up your release as it comes, licking you through your high until you’re left trembling and whimpering. 

He only pulls back when your sounds teeter towards pain. But you don’t get much time to recover before you’re flipped onto your back and the dress gets ripped off of your body. 

He towers over you, hungry eyes wide as they rove over your bare body. 

You flush under the intensity of his gaze, turning to curl in on yourself but he grabs your hips and holds you down. 

“Don’t,” he snaps, breaths coming out heavy. “I want to see you.” The next words come out breathy and with such worship that you burn. “You’re beautiful down to every crevice, aren’t you?” 

“Shota,” you whisper, feeling just a little more than dizzy. His wide eyes snap up to yours. “I-I’ve never…”

Understanding dawns on his face and the smile that grows on his lips is softer than he’d just sounded. “I know, Princess. I’ll be—“

“My name.”

He blinks, tilting his head in a manner that’s far too cute for the context. “Hm?”

“My name,” you repeat with a frown. “Use my name.”

His smile widens, a delighted giggle falling through it. And then he says your name, so softly and so reverently that you think you fall for him all over again. 

Then his eyes darken all at once as he stands to his full height. 

You’re reminded of your situation when you’re met with the intimidating ridge of his arousal prodding against his slacks. 

You watch, entranced, as his long fingers start to undo his shirt button by button. “Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to do this to you?” He asks you, like it's a simple question. 

You swallow, your eyes stuck to each sliver of hardened muscle that gets exposed with each button that comes undone. 

“No,” you answer quietly, the breath getting stuck at your throat when he rids himself of the shirt, his pale skin glowing against the moonlight. 

He lifts onto the bed on his knees. You scramble back but he only closes in until you hit the headboard, trapped between it and the daunting shadow of him. 

“Years,” he answers, pressing a palm over himself to relieve some of the pressure. He lets out a soft, breathy groan as he presses down on it but his eyes remain steadfast on you.

Your mouth practically waters at the sight of him. “That’s not very proper of you,” you try to bite, but it comes out weak.

He laughs, dry and amused. “You’ll have to forgive me then.”

Then he takes your knees and pushes them open, lowering himself on his stomach between your parted legs and you feel yourself burn at the thought of his mouth on you again. 

His eyes land on your glistening cunt where you feel yourself already dripping once more under all his attention. “I’ll repent later,” he murmurs, then reaches forward and lets his fingers brush against you. 

You gasp, skin still sensitive and recovering from your previous orgasm, legs moving to close but he grabs your thigh with his other hand and spreads you apart again. 

His eyes snap up to you, dark and heated as he tells you, “Stay still. I need to open you up.”

He doesn’t let you linger on what that might mean before you feel his fingertips tease at your entrance, gathering the slick that's started to pool there. 

Your mouth falls open, a deep moan lifting from the depths of your lungs when one of his fingers starts to press in, sheathing itself slowly to the hilt. 

It makes you feel impossibly full, even though it’s just one finger, against your unbreached walls. You clench down around him as the stings of pain start to quickly dwindle away into a sharp pressure that’s almost pleasurable. 

“That’s it, darling,” he coos softly, eyes locked onto the way you flutter around his finger. “You’ve gotta take more, don’t you?”

Your fingers clench into the sheets as he slowly pulls that finger out then pushes it all the way back in in a slow drag that has your thigh twitching under his hold. 

You whimper as he soothes his thumb against your skin in slow, consoling circles. If just one of his fingers feels this overwhelming, you think there’s no way you’ll be able to take him. 

He starts to fuck it in and out of you at a slow and steady paces, watching as your slick gathers at the base of his knuckle every time he pushes all the way in. 

When your discomforted whines give way to soft moans, he quickens the pace. And just like that, with soft praises and careful touches, he works all the way up to three fingers. 

He has you trembling by then, moaning and creaming around his knuckles as he pistons three fingers into your needy, sopping cunt. 

“Gonna come for me again, my love?” He asks you, sounding almost as ruined as you, as he crooks his fingers inside of you and drives them in even harder. 

You cry out, body arching off the bed as you tense all over, pulsating rapidly around his digits. 

“That’s right,” he says with a manic laugh, all too pleased with how quickly he’s tearing you apart. “Come for me. Do it again.”

And you do, with a sweet wail of his name, as his still moving fingers fuck you through it. 

He watches, entranced, just how much you gush around him. He only slows down when you shake like a leaf, bucking away from his touch. Hesitantly, he pulls his fingers out, staring at the coat of you glistening over his skin. 

His neglected cock pulses at the sight of you all liquid and already fucked out under him, breathing for relief from the raging heat. 

It’s too bad he has other plans. But he lets you recover for a moment. 

He swipes his fingers through your twitching cunt, gathering your slick before he slides that hand into his slacks and grabs ahold of himself, groaning softly at the pressure. 

He glides the moisture along his cock before he uses it to stroke himself to relieve some of the unbearable pressure. 

When he looks up at you, you’re already watching him with inquisitive eyes. 

He chuckles at the cute pout on your lips. “See what you do to me?” He asks, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “You drive me mad.”

“Shota,” your thin voice calls, and his dick twitches in his hand. 

“Yes, love?”

When you part your legs further for him and tell him in that soft, quiet voice that you, “Need him,” he nearly cums on the spot. 

But he quickly grabs himself at the base and takes a deep breath to ease himself down. No, he can’t lose so easily. He needs to take you, to give you what you want—no, need.

So he rises to his knees and rids himself of his final layers, exposing himself in full to you. He preens at your wide, prying eyes and the gasp that you give at the sight of him. 

He wraps his hand around himself once more, giving himself a few slow tugs as he shuffles to settle between your parted legs. 

“Ready for me?” He asks you and your eyes snap up to his, almost fearful. “Don’t worry, you can take me.”

He swallows your little whimper with a deep kiss, lowering his body to press against yours. The closeness seems to settle you, your arms wrapping around his shoulders to pull him in. 

He practically melts against your warmth, humming in content as your tongue licks its way into his mouth. He kneads gently at the flesh of your waist, kissing you languidly, thoroughly for a moment of blissful connection. 

He could live like this forever. In your arms, in your warmth, kissing you like there’s nowhere to be. 

But the reminder that this is borrowed time rears its ugly head and he pulls back, looking down at you. He wishes he could paint it—your flushed cheeks, the ruined look in your eye, the glisten of your lips. And he hasn’t even fucked you yet. 

He brings a hand to your cheek, his thumb gliding against the plush of your lower lip. 

“Ready?” He asks quietly. 

You don’t think you’ll be ready until it’s done. So with a steadying breath, you nod, bracing yourself for the pressure. 

But it doesn’t come just yet. He presses another soft, lingering kiss to your lips before he reaches down and guides himself through your slick folds. 

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling, your hands clutching onto his hard shoulders when his tip catches against your entrance. 

When he presses his forehead to yours with a silent question in his eye, you respond by wrapping your legs against his waist. 

The first push, the first inch feels like it blows your whole world apart. 

Your eyes squeeze shut at the searing pain, nails digging into his skin as a ragged groan slips from your parted mouth. His fingers weren’t nearly enough to prepare you for his girth.

“Shh.” He presses a soothing kiss to your heated cheek. “You can take it, love. Just breathe for me.”

You do. Slow and deep, and as he settles his full length into you, it feels like he’s carving out a permanent space for himself inside your body. 

And despite the pain, despite the overwhelming pressure, you welcome it. 

He settles with a groan and keeps still, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. “You’re so tight,” he mutters through a strained grunt. 

“Shota,” you sniffle, feeling your eyes prickle with tears. 

“I know, love, I’m sorry,” he breathes into your ear, kissing the shell of it. He cards one hand through your hair before cradling it against him. “It’ll feel better soon. Promise.”

Slowly, it does. Your body eases around him, welcoming him instead of rejecting, and the pain eases into an overwhelming pressure, a deep ache that itches to be settled. 

When you feel that ache deep in your gut start to pulse with want, when the walls of your cunt start to flutter with need, you slowly rock your hips up. 

Shota lets out a stuttered grunt, his hand finding your hip, the other staying pressed to your hair. 

He presses a kiss to your temple, then moves. 

The pain flares back at the first thrust, but it slowly eases away as he starts to gently fuck you. In and out, a lax rhythm that has your bodies rocking together in sweltering heat and breathless moans. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulder, body trembling under him as you take what he gives. 

“There you go,” he whispers, slow as he starts to pick up the pace. “Told you, didn’t I? You—fuck—you’re taking me so well.”

You whimper at his words, unable to speak. But your body talks for you, your cunt fluttering around him with each mind numbingly deep thrust, your hand digging into his hair and gripping down hard. 

He gets the hint. And he starts to fuck you in earnest now, a steady pace that has his hips snapping against yours and thrashing your body up with each firm thrust. 

“Knew you’d be so good,” he breathes, words slurred like he’s not really sure what he’s saying, lost in the throes of his own pleasure in the heat of your warm walls. “Knew you take me so—so well. So good for me…”

Your tears start to fall, whether from his words, whether from the pleasure, you don’t care. 

Because you feel that band in your gut pull tighter for the third time tonight and you need nothing more than for him to fuck it broken. 

“Shota,” you sob, clenching tightly around him. His hips stutter as he groans, hands flying down to your hips. “More.”

That’s all it takes for him to lose his composure. 

He pushes your hips down to the bed, lifting his upper body to look down at your wanting body, then starts to fuck you into your mattress, hard and uncaring for the loud moans that it pulls from your lips, for the way the bed knocks dangerously against the walls. 

All he can focus on is fucking you to tatters with single minded focus, chasing his own pleasure in the wet heat. But he focuses on you first. He can tell you’re close from the way you thrash under him and sob his name, watery gaze distant and needy. 

So he reaches between your bodies to thumb at your clit. It takes only a few quick circles to make you pulse and come over his cock with his name on your lips, again. 

It brings him down and he spills deep inside you, frantically fucking both of you through your highs. 

Even when he’s milked himself dry and worn himself to the bone, laying limp against your body, he keeps himself buried inside of you, because gods know he needs to savour every bit of you while he still can.

𓆩⟡𓆪

The days that come pass by like a rapidly ticking clock. Every moment with you feels like another one he’s stolen, that doesn’t belong to him. It starts feeling like he’s taken more than the universe would allow for.

But Shota hides his anxieties well enough to keep you happy for however long he can. Making you laugh, easing your daily burdens, giving you pleasure—it’s enough to make him feel like he’s stealing for a just cause. And that's fine, he’d steal the damn skies to keep you content if he had to.

He just hates that he can’t keep his own happiness. But he knew since he was a young boy that his love for you would go unfulfilled. He should be grateful he even gets this much.

The wedding is in a few days. And with how busy things are, he doesn’t get much time to sneak away with you.

He can feel that familiar craving for you prickling at his fingertips, the need to hold you despite having been in your bed just last night.

Maybe it's the knowledge that there’s not much time left that has his need for you grow tenfold. Or maybe it's just you.

He switches station with Jiho, who scurries off with a quick nod, and takes his place in front of your door. Like clockwork, at the dawn of the same hour, you open your doors with a sunny smile. Today’s one seems brighter than usual. 

“Shota!” You exclaim, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him in.

He stumbles in, caught completely off guard by your sudden pull but he straightens himself before he can tumble down. He turns around just as you shut the doors behind him, eyes wide.

“Princess?” He glances at the door as you make your way across your room. He never enters through the door, save for that first time, and he’s never here in the morning. “Someone could have seen.”

“Nonsense,” you dismiss, making your way to the corner of your room where your art is stationed. “Now will you come over here?”

He watches you for a moment—your fidgety demeanour, the manic glint in your eye, and the shadows under them.

A teasing smile crawls onto his lips as he slowly approaches. “Did you not get sleep last night? I didn’t keep you up that late.” He pauses. “This time.”

The flush on your cheeks is immediate. He preens internally at getting the prickly princess to lose her composure so quickly.

“No, it’s not that,” you say hastily, swatting him with the paint stained rag in your hand when he closes in. “I was working on your painting.”

His eyes widen, an eager anticipation waking under his skin. “Really? It’s done?”

“Yes,” you say sheepishly, turning to the tarp covered canvas. “I haven’t been able to find much time and I definitely wouldn’t have had the time for it for the next few days, so I stayed up last night. I was considering just waiting until after the wedding but…” You trail off with a shy smile. “I got too excited thinking about it last night.”

Your hand fidgets with the end of the tarp and he realizes with a wave of fondness that you’re nervous.

Shota grins, unable to stop the joy at being on the receiving end of so much effort. “I’m sure whatever it is, it’s beautiful. Everything you do is.”

You scrunch your nose, trying and failing to smother your smile. “Don’t speak so quickly.” You turn to the painting, taking a breath like you’re bracing yourself, before you pull the tarp off.

It’s a blue night over a lake, the moon full and bright at the centre made of actual moonbeam petals. The lake looks nearly alive, shimmering under the moon like it’s made of twinkling waves in real time. The land surrounding the lake is littered with flowers made of petals. Tulip and rose, he thinks. He recalls the first day he’d come into your room, the day you’d both hauled up baskets of mangled flowers and loose petals.

“It’s called Moonbeam,” you tell him with a smile in your voice. “This might sound silly but you remind me of the moon.”

It’s the greatest thing he’s ever heard.

His hand raises instinctively to touch, but he stops himself and looks at you. “May I?”

You grin, giving him a short shrug. “It’s yours. Do as you please.”

The words should make him ecstatic. Instead, they fill him with dread. Because now, when he looks back at the painting, it feels more like a parting gift. A present wrapped neatly to conclude your time together, a thank you for the past few months of excitement and pleasure. But how can that be if you don’t know he’s leaving?

You said it yourself, you were planning on finishing it after the wedding and giving it to him then. Like you assumed he would just… be there. Was he supposed to? Did you want him to?

“Shota?” Your voice calls gently. Your hand reaches up to brush away the wetness at his cheek. He hadn’t realized that he started crying. “Are you okay? I mean, I know I did well, but I didn’t think it was that—”

“I’m leaving,” he says, because he can’t keep it in anymore. He keeps his eyes on deep blue waters, unable to meet yours. “After the wedding. I’m leaving.”

You’re not sure you’re hearing him right. Or maybe you don’t want to have heard him right. 

“Leaving,” you repeat, breathing around the heavy thudding that grows in your chest. “What do you mean you’re leaving? Like on a trip?”

He lowers his head, teary eyes guilt-ridden as he swipes away the water at his cheek. “Your brother offered me a position in the War Guard. I accepted. It will take me across the country for a few years.”

You take a step back, the weight in your chest feeling more suffocating by the second. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His eyes snap up to you, riddled with confusion. “Wha—”

“You can still visit, right?” You ask, clenching your fists tight when they start to tremble at your sides. The way he’s speaking of this sounds too permanent for your liking. But surely he can’t mean that he’s leaving for good. Why would he? Has he actually become sick of you?

“Visit?” He asks quietly. “You want me to visit?”

“Yes,” you snap and he flinches. “Why the hell wouldn’t I?”

You’re not angry, but your panic is manifesting as anger, and you don’t know how to stop it. You hate that you’re causing that twisted expression on his face, but you also hate where this conversation seems to be going, and you don’t know how to stop it. You feel helpless.

“I thought…” He starts, then stops. You can’t make out the emotions in his face; they’re too conflicting. “I’m only your guard for the wedding. Did you think I would stay?”

Your stomach feels like a pit. Your body feels like it wants to collide in on itself, trembling all over. “Was I wrong to think that you would?”

He looks down. “I don’t see why you’d want me to.”

The answer comes easier than you think. And only after you say it do you realize the truth you’ve been harbouring. 

“Because I love you.”

But it only seems to hurt him. “No. You don’t.”

Anger rushes louder in your veins. “What the hell?” You seethe and he flinches again, taking a step back. “Who are you to tell me what I feel?”

His gaze snaps up to you, fueled with a fire you’re not used to from him. “You don’t love me,” he insists, taking a step forward. You hold your ground. “You love what I did for you. You might think that you love me, Princess.” As quick as it came, his fight leaves him. His shoulders slump, eyes growing solemn once more as he whispers, “But you don’t.”

The silence feels tangible, too bright with the sun spilling through your windows, and it makes you feel misplaced. It makes this whole conversation feel misplaced. 

But you know that your feelings aren’t.

“I don’t love you, is it?” You ask, and he lowers his head again. “Do you love me?”

He lets out a wry laugh. “I have since we were kids.” It sounds strained. Painful, almost, to admit it.

“That’s all I need, then.”

Determined, you turn away and start to your door. It takes a moment, but then you hear him scrambling after you as you march your way out of your room and towards the offices.

“Princess?” Shota asks behind you, panicked more than confused. “What do you mean?”

You ignore him as you speed up, leaving his “Where are you going?” unanswered as you make your way to Taeyang’s office.

“Brother!” You call as soon as you barge into his office, Shota scrambling in after you. 

Taeyang lifts his head from where he had it cradled in his hands. He looks worse for wear. With how busy you and the West Princess had become, you hadn’t had the time to dissect his relationship with her so you really don’t know what stage of denial he’s in now. Nor do you really care at the moment, but it doesn’t seem good.

Taeyang furrows his brows, letting out an irritated breath. “Do you women not understand the etiquette of closed doors?”

“You’re in love, aren’t you?” You barrel on, and that takes Taeyang aback, his eyes snapping wide.

“What nonsense are you—”

“With your fiancée,” you elaborate.

He scowls at you and you wither just a little, realizing you might not be going in the right direction. 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business—”

“But you do understand what it is to be in love, yes?”

“Princess,” you hear Shota’s voice whisper behind you, small and scared, but you ignore it.

“What’s your point?” Taeyang asks sharply, and you start to lose a bit of your bite. But you stumble on regardless.

“I am in love.”

The admission feels foreign on your tongue but also like it belongs right there. You hear Shota’s sharp exhale behind you, but the room stays otherwise silent for a stretched moment.

“...Congratulations,” Taeyang says after a moment, his brows furrowing. “Um.” He clears his throat. “Would you like a gift?”

You blink. “Are you not concerned who it is?”

“Should I be?”

You take a step aside to reveal Shota to him, not that he was hidden behind your smaller stature, but the point still stands.

Taeyang’s brows shoot up behind his hair, alarmed at the revelation. “Your guard?”

“I know father won’t approve–”

“You’re damn right he wouldn’t!”

“—but that won’t change anything!” Your breaths feel stuck in your throat as you scramble to make your plea. “Look, brother, I know you don’t like me very much and—”

“Woah, hold on a second—” He’s rising from his chair but you can’t see much past the blur of your tears and the fog of your panic.

“—I know we don’t see eye to eye, and I know you don’t approve of this, but I just need you to hear me out just once—”

You’re cut off when two arms engulf you and hold you to a warm chest. 

You freeze. You can’t remember the last time Taeyang held you, if he ever has.

Your emotion bears too much for you to contain. So you let it out into his chest in quiet, defeated sobs and he holds you tighter.

His voice is soft as he speaks into your hair. “Now what gave you that silly idea?”

You crumble, arms finally winding around his waist and clinging on. 

“I don’t know,” you sniffle, feeling completely off centre. “I know I can be difficult.”

He laughs wryly, breaths bristling your hair. “That runs in the family,” he states lightly before pulling back to take your face in his hands. 

You don’t meet his eye, too ashamed at your outburst.

“I’m sorry I gave you that idea,” he says, thumbing away the tear-tracks on your cheeks. “I know I haven’t been very present in your life, or the others’ at that, but I plan on changing that.”

“…The Princess really got to you,” you mutter without thought, then brace for his reprimand when you realize what you’ve said.

But it doesn’t come. He smiles instead. “I suppose she has.”

“So you are in love.”

“That I am,” he says sheepishly. You’ve never seen your brother this shy. But it doesn’t last long. He clears his throat, glancing past your shoulder. “I have no qualms with a union of you and a respected Knight, though it’ll take some time for him to achieve that.” Your brows furrow when he looks back at you. “Until then, not a word of this romance gets out. And when father passes, I’ll see to it that you marry him.”

The weight in your chest feels like it lifts off all at once, your eyes widening once Taeyang’s words settle in your mind. “Really?!”

“Given that he would also like to marry you,” Taeyang adds, glancing past your shoulder again. “He looks scared.”

You whip around to face Shota who immediately lowers his head, hiding.

“Shota?” You call and he barely lifts his head to address you.

Before you can get another word in, the doors open to a rather uneasy looking Intak. “Tae…” He trails off when he notices the audience and quickly falls into a bow. “Princess,” he greets before glancing over at Taeyang. “I need to speak with Taeyang.”

“That’s fine,” Taeyang says, then pushes you towards Shota with a hand on your back. “Take this elsewhere.”

You don’t waste time. You take Shota’s wrist and pull him along with you, only letting go when others pass by. You take him to one of the crevices of the halls that you would often find yourself tucked away with him under vastly different circumstances.

“Shota.” You press him against the wall that you usually find yourself pushed against. “Please tell me that you—”

He kisses you. And you’re too weak to talk first, so you kiss him back, your arms winding around his neck as his find home around your waist.

“I’ll stay,” he mumbles into the kiss, desperate and breathless. “I won’t leave your side. I’m sorry.”

You pull from the kiss, cradling his face between your hands. “No.” Your breaths mingle with his as you push your forehead against his nose. “I know you want to join the War Guard. And you should, it’s your calling. Besides, you heard my brother,” you add, lips lifting into a smile when you see the twinkle in his eyes livening again. “You can marry me once you’re a Knight.”

He grins at you, the bright and twinkling one that’s made its home in your heart. “I can go?”

You nod against him, tilting your head up to tuck your nose against his. “As long as you come back to me.”

𓆩⟡𓆪

“So, you and your guard,” Jiung says from where he’s standing beside you. “What was it that you called him? Demon? Cretin? Well what do you call him now?” He elbows your arm. “Darling? Love? My d—Ow!”

He rubs his forehead, pain etched on his face, as you cross your arms and turn back to watch Shota and Jongseob bid their goodbye’s. The carriage waits for him at a more secluded area of the castle, private enough so you can bid your goodbyes without any prying eyes.

“You’re all better now which means I get to hurt you more,” you warn him. “You know nothing.”

Jiung huffs, pushing his hands back in his pocket. “I know that Taeyang wouldn’t make something up like this just for his amusement.”

“You don’t know that, he’s a changed man now. Didn’t you see him smiling?”

He snorts. “Our Queen-to-be is a witch.”

“Or a saint.”

The conversation lulls as you watch Shota bring Jongseob into a tight embrace.

“You’ll be okay not having him attached to your hip around the clock? For two years?”

You take a breath to soothe away the pang in your heart at the reminder. You’re not happy about sending him away for so long. But if it means he can come back as the man you can marry, it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. 

Besides, the way Shota’s eyes sparkle whenever the word Knight comes up was enough reason for you to agree anyway. He’s wanted nothing more than to follow in his father’s footsteps. Besides you, of course.

“I’ll be okay,” you concur. “Jiho will do until then.”

You watch Jongseob finally step away, wiping his eyes quickly. You refrain from making a comment about him being emotional as you quickly move past him to get to Shota.

Shota’s eyes are stuck to Jongseob’s retreating figure when you reach him, gaze more melancholy than you expect.

“Don’t tell me you’ll miss him more than me,” you say, taking his hands in yours, and he blinks his gaze to you.

He smiles, pulling you in to wrap his arms around your waist instead. “If I said I would?”

“Then I’ll leave you for Jiho.”

Immediately, Shota’s face blanks and he moves to pull away from you. “Don’t joke about that.”

Laughing, you pull him right back into your arms. “Don’t be so jealous. My heart is set on you, moonbeam.”

He blushes down to his neck and grins, dropping his head onto your shoulder. You hold him like that for a moment, memorizing the weight and the heat of him against you like this, even though you’d spent all last night doing just that—it didn’t feel like enough though.

“You’ll visit when you can, won’t you?” You ask him quietly, swallowing down the emotion that threatens to rise.

His fingers dig into your waist, pulling you flush against him as he brushes his lips against your collarbone. “Any chance I get.” He lifts his head to smile down at you. “Until then I have Moonbeam to remind me of you.”

You scrunch your nose, a light heat rising to your cheeks. “You talk about it like it's a pet. It’s a painting.”

He giggles and the sound alone melts away all your woes. “I love it like it's my own.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you chide, but it falls weak with the fond grin on your lips.

When Shota presses his forehead to yours, you take the chance to commit the image of him so close to you to your memory—the slope of his nose, the scar on his brow, the slant of his lips as he smiles at you, and the warmth in his gaze as he looks at you, wide and twinkling like they always are.

You want to capture the stars and hang them in his eyes. You want to keep them for yourself and watch them whenever you want.

“You’ll come back for me, right?” You ask him in fear that you won’t get to.

“I came back for you once already, right?” 

He smiles, and you think you can see the stars already. 

“I’ll come back for you again.”

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