#kim seokjin | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

foxymoxynoona · 2 days

Text

To Kill A King (Chapter 15)

Banner and linebreaks by the talented @awrkives

Summary: What’s more charming than Prince Seokjin? Nothing, obviously. Except maybe the rotating palace guests who each smile and bow and charm in an attempt to hide their true motives. Fortunately Seokjin has a close circle of friends (well, servants) who watch his back and endure his humor and help him navigate the tumultuous seas of heartbreak, love, and an arranged marriage, not necessarily in that order. If only they had helped him keep a closer eye on his bride-to-be’s handmaiden, who arrives with her own agenda… or maybe it would have been better if he had noticed her less? One thing is certain as this royal drama of the heart plays out: there are many people competing to kill a king.

Main Pairing: Prince Seokjin x Female OC Genre: Historical Fantasy World, political conspiracy, romance Rating: 18+ Content Warnings & story tags: includes explicit sex (mxf, fxf), possibly graphic violence/injury later, love and sex triangles or uh quadrangles?, sort of e 2 l, sort of bodyguard trope, sort of arranged marriage, a lot of plotting murder (it’s literally in the title), maybe character death, grief, pining, angst, love, oral (f & m receiving), public sex, I don’t know everything yet as the story is long and still being written

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

NOTE: check out the Character & Setting Cheat Sheet for a refresher on who’s who

Nasimyu stopped beneath the towering archway built of dark-eyed yellow sunbursts woven together. It was magnificent. Actually as lovely as Seokjin had made it out to be –which he seemed to read from her face as her hand in his elbow forced him to stop too. He only glanced briefly up at the arch and then gave her a close-lipped smile that made his cheeks puff up. He looked ridiculous, like a child, not like her soon-to-be-husband of a future king.

She drew in a deep breath and looked away from him. She needed to stop letting her mind run away with annoyance over stupid stuff. Everything was going as planned and Seokjin, she was beginning to suspect, might not be the selfish villain her father had led her to believe, and now silver threads shot through the fabric of her future. Things were looking less bleak. Seokjin might look and behave ridiculously, but he was good in bed, and he was potentially willing to just let her do the ruling she wanted to, and the day was bright and hot and only a little humid, just the way she liked it. And everything was so yellow, golden, perfect.

Behind them, their guards stopped. The entourage of servants stopped. Mindeulle and Namjoon –whom Nasimiyu was icily tolerating for the day– stopped.

King Dong-gun did not. He stepped around them, striding through the arch as if it had been set up specifically to welcome the royals (perhaps it had), his beaming face turned up as he waved at the townspeople who cheered for him. They tossed petals down from upper stories of the buildings, a hailstorm of clumps of yellow petals that made her laugh. It was a romantic idea, at least.

Obviously they must put the folks who licked the boots of the monarchy at the front. Nasimiyu was shocked to see so many pretending to adore the sight of the king. A woman fanned herself when King Donggun bobbed his head in her direction. Two men guffawed and shared a grin after the king slapped them on the shoulders as he passed. Hands reached for him until his guard nudged him safely to the center of the road and they carried forward through the shower.

“They love him?” Nasimiyu murmured to herself, baffled. It was a pretense. Most people in the kingdom, she knew for a fact, despised him. King Donggun and his excesses, his complacency, his casual cruelty.

“They don’t see him often,” Seokjin said as he gently tugged her forward. “He rarely leaves the palace these days, unless it’s to hunt in the caves. Brings the fun to himself usually but for this he comes out. I suspect he’s rather… pickled.”

“Pickled?”

“Er, drunk,” he clarified.

“Right now?! It’s mid-morning!” There, that seemed more in-line with what she expected of the King.

No, this wasn’t the time nor place. She quickly adjusted her expression from scowl to instead a broad, open smile. People were watching her and Seokjin. This was, after all, their first public outing together.

It was very important she impress her people.

She waved and almost missed Seokjin’s explanation, “Well, it’s my mother’s birthday tomorrow.”

“Shouldn’t you smile and wave?” she whispered back. “People are seeing us together for the first time.”

“Oh right.” His face, thoughtful for a moment, shifted quickly into a broad grin. It was inspirational how quickly he dropped the obviously sad topic. She recalled vaguely the Sunflower Festival was something his mother had loved but forgotten it under the stress of this first outing. She’d had a special gown made for this, and woven sunflowers into a crown across her hair, and was appeased now to see she had not overestimated and overdressed.

Music murmured in the distance, louder as they traveled down the main street. Temporary stalls had sprung up, townfolk selling flowers and roasted nuts and sausages on a stick and glass pendants and leather satchels and anything else you could think of. Side streets showed similar, branching away from this main thoroughfare. And everywhere, sunflowers. Everywhere. They reached a square and the fountain in the center was absolutely buried, the water nothing but a pool of sunflowers rippling as small children grabbed at them.

Nasimiyu felt the eyes on her and loved it. She held her chin high and the prince close, sporting the soft smile of a benefactor, eager for everyone to see how compatible she was with the royal family. Seokjin certainly played his part, pointing out things to her as if she didn’t have eyes of her own to notice, but at least it gave the impression of a man eager to please his adored. She nodded encouragement –yes she saw the man playing the accordion (a little grating, shouldn’t he go down a side street?), yes the children in their frocks were adorable, yes the dog wearing a giant fabric sunflower around his face was so funny. Seokjin laughed, delighted at it and leaned forward, trying to coax the dog close. The owner was beside himself at this attention and practically melted at Seokjin’s feet while Seokjin laid his praise of the dog on so thick Nasimiyu thought the man would realize how fake he was. It had to be fake. No one was that enamored by a dog in a costume…

“Do you want a sausage?” Seokjin asked and at first Nasimiyu thought he meant the dog. But he rose quickly and touched her arm and his whole face glowed with joy. “Or roasted peanuts? Or do you like candy floss more?”

Nasimiyu realized with shock that Seokjin was offering to get her food from one of the roadside stands. Anything could be in that food! The meat could be undercooked or the peanuts could be infested with bugs, you wouldn’t even know. It wasn’t that they didn’t have street vendors in Marvono but she certainly wasn’t eating from them.

But he looked so hopeful about it she almost felt bad to crush his enthusiasm with, “I don’t think I do. Thank you.”

Behind him, Namjoon let out a sigh, “Ah the fried chicken is back, I can smell it. Where is it?”

“Is that the only reason you came?” Mindeulle tittered.

“If you’re going right to the candy floss, have someone take you– no, just wait, we’ll get that first and then go find the chicken,” Namjoon said.

Seokjin craned his neck before nodding, “It’s over there. I think it’s the same family as last year.”

“Do I get a beer first and let it get warm while I get chicken, or get chicken and then it’s cooled off by the time I get a beer?” Namjoon sighed.

Seokjin looked pensive and then dubious –playfully so, mouth twisted into a pucker, eyes narrowed– and then sighed with a smile of surrender, “If you have an idea just say it. Don’t play like a flirt around me.”

“I’ll get beers if you get the chicken.”

“Don’t you have people who can… fetch these things for you?” Nasimiyu pointed out, gaze sliding to their servants standing uselessly behind them. Her own maid might not be very knowledgeable here but surely that Jimin could figure it out.

“It’s good for the people to see us among them,” Seokjin countered. She didn’t think that had to mean waiting in line like a nobody. He gestured across the square where, to her utter disbelief, King Donggun stood in line for a mead barrel, hands resting on his belly, fingers twitching impatiently.

“Impossible,” Nasimiyu gasped, giving Seokjin her look of disbelief.

It was Mindeulle who giggled, “Isn’t it crazy to see the king standing in line? But it’s because of the Queen, isn’t it?”

“Yes, he loved my mother so much he was willing to stand in lines,” Seokjin laughed, then elaborated, “This whole festival was for my mother. She loved sunflowers and she missed being…” He searched for the word before suggesting, “Ordinary.”

“She was never ordinary. She was a noble from birth,” Namjoon countered. “From Rinsk.”

“Yes but she was raised very simply,” Seokjin said. “Riding horses, gardening, camping for fun. She had to make her own bed once a week –my grandmother insisted on it, that it was the foundation of being a good queen.”

“And did that get passed on to you?” Nasimiyu tried to tease.

Seokjin nodded, “Oh yes, I’m very good at making a bed. Clean sheets are one of the greatest feelings in the world. Don’t you think that?”

“Well… yes. I think so too,” she admitted. Couldn’t argue with that. At home servants would fan the bed so when she’d slip into it naked at the end of a long hot day, it felt like the coolest caress across every inch of her skin.

King Donggun let out a happy laugh that reached them across the square as he found himself at the front of the line for mead.

She pressed, “Does he really pretend to be a commoner for the day?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Seokjin laughed. “You see his clothing and his entourage. He’ll have patience for exactly three lines, I bet. It was more when he had my mother to stand in line with. They’d go around all day eating the food, drinking mead and beer, listening to music… I got to run wild for the day too. My brother and I were nearly street urchins for eight hours except for our pockets full of silvers. We ate ourselves sick.” He sighed at fond memories she did not poke at.

“You could be the kind of king who does this all the time,” Mindeulle pointed out and Seokjin gave her such a fond smile that Nasimiyu almost felt jealous of it.

“I suspect I’ll be too busy once I’m king… but who says I don’t lead a secret double life as a commoner already?”

Namjoon sighed dramatically and teased, “Do you really still spend all your time reading those picture-books? That’s who you mean, isn’t it?”

“Kalamouche?” Mindeulle asked. “They’re charming. I’m glad you still find moments of joy, Prince Seokjin. Nasimiyu will need to as well, though I don’t think it’s the food here for her. Why don’t you go get your chicken and beer, we’ll find something else to do.”

Nasimiyu hesitated. The whole point was to look besotted with Seokjin, to exude an air of calm and benevolence and wisdom as a future ruler. No one would think oh look at our future queen, we’re so relieved if she was just running around with Mindeulle.

But now Seokjin and Namjoon were making a gentleman’s agreement to divide and conquer –apparently Seokjin could tolerate Namjoon after all, once there was food involved– and in short order they and their entourage were gone, and Nasimiyu had only Mindeulle and her own entourage for company.

“It’s all right not to trust the food,” Mindeulle assured her. “Though some of it is very good. I usually let my brother be the tester before I try anything but let’s go that way and we can look at the flower statues. Maybe you’ll see a pastry that catches your eye.”

“Is it a competition?” Nasimiyu guessed as they wandered down a side street. Statues of dancing women and galloping horses and curly seashells lined one side of the road, all carefully constructed of beautiful blue and pink and white blooms. It felt oddly off-theme considering the sunflowers everywhere else but pretty all the same. Where did they even get these spring-looking blooms at this time of year?

“These come in from Therepin. The summers are cooler there so the blooms last longer, especially far to the south.”

“Not near the border,” Nasimiyu murmured, thinking of marching soldiers crushing the buds underfoot.

“They’re the most beautiful there, I hear. I’ve never been anywhere close of course. I’m sure these are very expensive to bring here but no expense is spared for the Sunflower Festival.”

“I can see that.”

“It’s romantic, isn’t it?” Mindeulle pressed. “I think for one day, the King tries to pretend that his queen is still here, maybe just down another side street…” They both stopped to look over their shoulders because Mindeulle had a wistfulness in her voice. The pause let Nasimiyu realize that her guard were doing such a marvelous job at keeping a perimeter around her that it let her forget just how bustling the streets were. No ghosts of queens, just hundreds of townfolk gawking at her as they passed around her bubble of space

“People sure do stare,” she pointed out. “I don’t have anything between my teeth, do I?”

She knew she didn’t, and Mindeulle only beamed at her, “I think they’re surprised at how beautiful you are.”

“You don’t need to flatter me,” Nasimiyu said, instinctively insulted by such a compliment from the lovely Mindeulle. Her long, shiny black hair caught the light, cascading around her shoulders and down her back, all dark ink instead of the warm hues hidden in Dulce’s long waves. Her heart-shaped face was without flaw or blemish save for one beauty spot beside her nose that managed to be the loveliest imperfection. Nasimiyu had no doubts about her own beauty, but felt suddenly self conscious if Mindeulle felt like Nasimiyu needed comforting.

Mindeulle actually covered her mouth and laughed, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you with a compliment! I only meant that you look especially goddess-like when you have sunflowers in your hair, their color against your skin and hair is just… breath-taking, that’s all I meant,” she rushed out. “You already look like a queen.”

“Without the prince by my side, no one knows who I am.”

“I think they know,” Mindeulle insisted, then nudged Nasimiyu up the street with a gasp of, “Oh, but you should try those. Will you?”

“Will I try what?”

Mindeulle cheeks dimpled on either side of her smile as she leaned around the line at a stall that smelled so strongly of sugar that Nasimiyu wrinkled her nose. She was not big on sweets, even when the sweets weren’t hawked on a street corner like spoons or boots or whatever it was people typically bought from street vendors. But Mindeulle practically vibrated in place as she dug coins out of the purse at her waist and purchased four skewers of candied fruit.

“Grapes or strawberries?” she asked as they stepped aside. Nasimiyu glanced over her shoulder at her guards who looked stoic and alert and maybe like she was stupid for coming here. Her maid watched with open curiosity, as Nasimiyu’s food preferences were well known among her staff. Mindeulle must know she didn’t prefer sweets, she thought she must have said so before, but had clearly forgotten in her own enthusiasm.

“I suppose… strawberries,” Nasimiyu chose, only to correct, “No, grapes.” Sometimes grapes were sour and that was a little better than the cloying sweetness. She could pretend like she was drinking sweet wine maybe. No, she didn’t even like sweet wine.

“Have one of each,” Mindeulle insisted, handing her two sticks, like she had planned this all along. She took hold of a candied grape between her teeth and slid it right off the stick. Nasimiyu’s eyebrows raised. Wasn’t Mindeulle usually so proper and careful? Surely Namjoon would have something to say about his little sister biting and sliding fruit just right there on the street.

By Mindeulle’s grin, Nasimiyu wondered if she had the same thought. There was something to her smile as she chewed, giggling,

“Listen, you can hear the sugar crack.” She opened her mouth and bit down. The sugar did audibly crack, and juice flooded Mindeulle’s mouth, and Nasimiyu couldn’t hide her shocked laughter.

“Mindeulle!”

“Don’t scold me like my mother,” she tittered. “Try it.”

Nasimiyu did, goaded into it by Mindeulle’s brazenness. She tried a strawberry first, trying to be a little less salacious as she bit the fruit off the thin stick. The sticky sweetness in her mouth made her lips pucker and her cheeks suck in.

“That’s… very sweet,” she admitted.

“Isn’t it wonderful?”

Why was she eating this? But Mindeulle’s enthusiasm convinced Nasimiyu to try a grape too and agree with Mindeulle they were really something remarkable.

Just as Nasimiyu was trying to figure out how to subtly chuck the fruit away, a familiar voice called, “Princess Nasimiyu!” Lidmila floated to her side, admitted there by the guards at a nod of Nasimiyu’s that was probably not necessary. “Oh, I love those.”

“Try them,” Nasimiyu quickly said and thrust them into Lidmila’s hands. A loud street band wandered past so she couldn’t hear whatever Lidmila or Mindeulle shouted next, but Lidmila quickly popped the remaining fruits into her mouth and Mindeulle didn’t even seem to notice. Nasimiyu needed something to wash her mouth free of that sugar –solved when another divine intervention sent Seokjin and Namjoon their way, each holding fried chicken on a stick and a mug of beer.

“Is all the food on sticks?” Nasimiyu asked, followed immediately by, “May I have a sip of your beer, Seokjin?”

“Yes, of course, I’m sorry I didn’t get you one. Do you… like beer?” he asked. She did not particularly, and after only a sip wondered if the fruit hadn’t been the better lingering taste. He chuckled as she handed it quickly back and instead held the skewer out. “Chicken?”

“No thank you, I’m quite full.”

“Oh let’s walk down that way and see if there’s a play on,” Mindeulle suggested.

Namjoon snickered and teased his sister, “A puppet show?”

“Or a comedy.”

“The comedies won’t start until later, it’s only puppet shows right now.”

“You don’t know that.”

“It’s not even noon yet.”

“There’s one way to settle this,” Seokjin suggested and forged ahead. Namjoon and Mindeulle followed, and Nasimiyu found herself shockingly left behind with Lidmila.

“Did he just forget me?” Nasimiyu gasped.

“No, he looked back for you!” Lidmila assured her. “He sees you’re with me. Probably he’s trying to keep Namjoon from bothering you.”

This placated Nasimiyu, who didn’t mind walking with Lidmila anyway.

“Do you want me to suggest something else to eat?” Lidmila asked. “I think you don’t like candied fruit much or beer.”

“I don’t but I don’t think I’m brave enough yet for anything else.”

The crowds spread out further as they returned to a main street, walking vaguely in the wake of the others. They passed a balcony with a woman singing opera, which surprised Nasimiyu; she hadn’t considered there was any opera to be had here. She asked Lidmila about what the theater was like, what was popular here, and Lidmila enthusiastically explained all the entertainment to be found here.

“We can attend any of it you like,” Lidmila assured her. “I wonder if it’s very different in Marvono?”

“We shall find out. Oh, Lidmila, before I forget and while I have you alone…”

Lidmila’s face turned up to her, very open and curious, almost fearfully so, as she pressed, “Yes? What is it?”

“I wonder if I might ask for a favor.”

“Of course you may.”

“I would like to see the letters that Namjoon allegedly sent to Çiğdem.”

“Oh.” Lidmila’s eyes widened.

“I’m familiar with Namjoon’s hand from letters he’s written to the King which were shown to me. I’m curious if a simple comparison might tell us whether it’s a match or not,” Nasimiyu explained.

Lidmila pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, adorably suspicious, and asked, “Did Mindeulle put you up to this?”

“I act on my own accord,” Nasimiyu assured her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you! Only I know Mindeulle has doubts which you didn’t share about the truth of his character, seeing as what happened with...” She didn’t need to say it. Your maid.

“Yes well I’m trying to understand what exactly did happen with my maid, and what Lord Namjoon Kim’s character is, seeing as he proves difficult for the Prince to shake.” They came into view of the stage and a seated audience of almost entirely children, and standing behind all the children were Seokjin, Namjoon, and Mindeulle, all three equally enraptured by the puppet show.

Lidmila only glanced at the puppets before admitting, “She may not wish to part with them. Çiğdem, I mean.”

“Will you try? For me?”

“Yes, I can at least try. Hopefully I can do better than try. I’ll see if I can get at least one,” Lidmila assured her.

“Thank you, it means a great deal to me to have your help.”

Lidmila positively glowed, her wispy brown curls framing her face so sweetly that it struck Nasimiyu what a blessing it was that Lidmila was so good-hearted. Such an innocent face would be hard to say no to. She could do wonders with it, if she were someone with a sharper mind or harder heart. But then she wouldn’t be gentle, bubbling Lidmila.

“It’s a story about King Donggun and Queen So-yeon,” Lidmila told her after a loud noise from the stage made them both glance over. “He loved her so much he made this whole festival for her.”

“So I hear. How tragic that she died.”

“I wonder what Prince Seokjin will do to show his love for you?”

“Whatever it is, I intend to be around much longer to enjoy it,” Nasimiyu said without thinking that it might sound crass.

Before she could correct herself, Lidmila agreed, “You will be. And don’t worry, I’ll make suggestions if it seems like the Prince needs some… proper good ideas.” Nasimiyu smiled at her appreciatively, she did seem quite adept at managing things. Her confidence that Nasimiyu would live a long time was also sweet, though arguably unfounded based on how long women seemed to last in the royal family –Zselyke notwithstanding. Which was, perhaps, curious and suspicious. She wondered what Dulce would think of that question–

If only she could ask Dulce, who could no doubt make sure she lived a long, safe life here, if she cared to. She trusted no one more with her safety. It was unfortunate Dulce could no longer be trusted with her confidence, or her intimacy, or… was it her heart? No, that would be pathetic.

She glanced back at her maid who was not Dulce, and her guards who were also not Dulce. A backdrop of sunflowers loomed behind them. Really, Dulce ought to have come to this, even if they were mad at each other right now. As beautiful as Mindeulle and Lidmila both looked around the blossoms, as beautiful as Nasimiyu looked with them in her hair, she was aware these were the flower for Dulce. Something about them…

“Nasimiyu,” Seokjin greeted, suddenly by her arm. “I found you a seat. Come watch the show.”

“The puppet show?”

“It’s got romance and tragedy, and the puppet for my father looks shockingly accurate. Come on,” he insisted, practically dragging her along.

Nasimiyu decided she was probably going to develop a headache soon. Maybe. She kind of liked it here too, although maybe not watching a puppet show for children. Well, she supposed it was a good look though for her and Seokjin to watch an unobjectionable performance together. She perched on the bench he had claimed for her with Mindeulle and Lidmila on either side, and tried to look queenly with her chin high and shoulders, Seokjin stood behind her, hand pressed to her shoulder. Eventually he dropped his hand and she was glad.

“Do you like puppets?” Mindeulle leaned in and whispered.

“No,” Nasimiyu whispered back, and both girls giggled as if she, like the puppets on stage, was doing something remarkably romantic by being here. Instead she let her mind wander. How long were she and Dulce going to be angry with each other? Would Dulce have liked the candied fruit? Would she have slid the grape off with her teeth like Mindeulle had?

Namjoon’s chuckle reminded Nasimiyu he was there and she felt her heart harden again. It was good Dulce wasn’t enjoying the festival. Hopefully she was enjoying doing the laundry instead.

What few footsteps remained seemed to echo around the palace, a combination of clipped, angry steps by those annoyed not to be off at the Sunflower Festival and slow, heavy slides of those who did not feel intrinsically compelled to get their tasks done quickly.

Dulce tried to make no sound at all as she moved through the near-empty halls, a load of laundry perched in her arms and an oversized canvas bag looped over her shoulder with feathers and lightweight wooden rods poking out, and secretly a lantern. To any casual observer, it would hopefully look like a bag full of hat-making things –not that Dulce knew the first thing about making hats, but the bulky decorations were the best disguise she could envision for what would soon hopefully be several stolen paintings. She didn’t plan on being seen afterwards, but you still had to think through these things.

Already she’d had to reroute twice and was just about to make up her mind that she should take the long way out back and down the mountain to the external entrance hidden behind the ivy after all. It would waste time though, was the problem. She had a lot to do in a short amount of time. King Donggun had left the palace, which she understood to happen only for hunts, but his reason for leaving was to attend the Sunflower Fest in honor of his late wife whose birthday was tomorrow. She might not understand their relationship but she fully expected him to visit the Queen’s rooms in the near future, possibly even today, and she needed to be long finished by then.

The only obstacle was fucking Hoseok, that damn nosy tutor to the prince! Despite his loud enthusiasm about the festival for the past week, he sure seemed unbothered to be one of those left behind to tend to matters around the palace. He strode along as if it were any other day, delivering letters and notes around the palace, checking that the throne room was clean, and even apparently doing a headcount of the guards! The palace had both a castellan and butlers supposed to be doing those things, but no one seemed surprised to see Hoseok doing it instead. They just scurried to dust the corner he’d looked twice at or rushed to reassure that the new table linens were on the way and would be pressed and laid out before dinner. Perhaps he was the sort of work-dedicated person who cherished a well-run palace even more than a festival.

His diligence was going to cause a problem for Dulce though because she was not the sort of work-dedicated person one would expect to see passionately going about her tasks without Nasimiyu around. Everyone knew Nasimiyu was pissed at her. They’d all probably heard Mirta shrieking at her about the laundry she hadn’t done when she’d gone to sit on the seawall and enjoy the sunset instead. With the Prince.

The problem about Hoseok wasn’t only that he was busybodying around the palace, but also that repeatedly seeing her would embed her in his memory. When someone eventually discovered the Queen’s rooms were ransacked, Hoseok would run through the list of people he knew were in the palace and Dulce would top that list if he saw her so many times.

It led her to doing suspicious things like darting out of the hallway every time she heard footsteps in case they were his –and she hated doing suspicious things.

One more try she decided, and balanced her linens and the canvas bag and set off for the Queen’s wing with a determined step. Her whole body was on alert listening for anyone who might see even just a glimpse of her, listening for the obnoxious click of Hoseok’s books on the tile floor, hell even the skitter skitter of an escaped pet of the Prince’s.

But nothing came, and the guards in the wing were ambling down the hall and around the corner at just the right time so without even a heartbeat of hesitation Dulce opened the door and slid quickly inside.

For a moment she stood there with her back to it, waiting as she had last time to make sure no one had noticed after all. She was met with only silence. This time too she made a brisk survey of all the rooms, checking the wardrobe to make sure no one followed Taehyung’s tricks. How mortifying to have been caught that way. She was no smarter than the man who’d been killed in the inn and suddenly realizing the hypocrisy of her judgment at his lapse made her feel even stupider.

Well she wasn’t here to self-reflect, even though something about the preserved rooms made it feel like the time to do so. Now that she was sure she was alone, she set the linens and bag near the door hidden in the back of the closet and walked more thoughtfully through the rooms. Her plan was set –trash the rooms, take the painting and a few other things, make it look like a burglary– and yet when it came time to execute, she felt an unfamiliar hesitation.

Maybe it had to do with Seokjin’s mother staring down at her from the wall. She stared back up at her and noticed once again how much Seokjin looked like her. He had her cheeks, which was not something she’d ever considered a son inheriting from his mother before. He had her eyes too and her nose, her faceshape… did he actually have anything at all from King Donggun? Her hair was lighter, there was that. Maybe his eyebrows were more like his father… She tilted her head–

No, this wasn’t what she was here for. She needed to get the job done and go.

She reached for the painting and hesitated again.

Seokjin was going to be sad about her wrecking his mother’s room. There was no way around that. She hadn’t let herself think about that part of her agreement with Taehyung. King Donggun was treating Taehyung unfairly by not letting him have even a copy of the painting, but Seokjin hadn’t done anything to deserve the destruction of this shrine to his mother.

Would Taehyung tell Seokjin? Why hadn’t Taehyung gone to Seokjin with this request since they were so close? Why hadn’t Seokjin helped him? She regretted now not having asked Taehyung before why Seokjin wasn’t in on this. Plausible deniability with the king? She liked having the full picture but it was too late to ask for more now.

She wouldn’t destroy anything though, and anything she took could make its way back someday, either once Taehyung got a copy of his painting made or enough time passed that the one missing painting wouldn’t be suspicious.

Carefully she lifted the painting with Taehyung’s mother down, and two others beside it from the wall in the bedroom and carried them to the closet to wrap in linens and tuck into the canvas bag after setting the lantern to the side. They were so much bigger up close and just barely fit into the bag, she wouldn’t be able to take as many as she had planned. She took several off the walls in the painting parlor and set them down so it would look like she’d been planning to take them too and been interrupted.

Then she braced herself and pushed over the easels. The paints had long ago solidified but scattered across the floor with the brushes, one of the easels collapsed on itself while the others rested awkwardly, legs in the air. It looked silly. It wasn’t truly careless or destructive the way a thief would be as she cleaned out the place.

She tried to do better in the bedroom. She pulled the blankets off the bed as if she’d been digging for jewels and pulled the drawers out of the nightstands. It wouldn’t make sense for someone to steal paintings but not the jewels, so she swiped several pairs of earrings, a necklace, a bracelet and a tiara, avoiding the reflection of herself in the mirror. Her insides twisted as she slid the things into her bag. She had no way of knowing if any of these were sentimental, if Seokjin would be gutted for them to go missing. He liked pets and flowers and books, he seemed sentimental enough to be attached to specific jewelry.

Did she have to take everything of value? She paused and looked at the vanity and closet, stuffed with riches. A proper thief would take as much as they could carry, pearls and rubies streaming from their pockets and shoes and hat. A proper thief would certainly take the most valuable things, and jewelry was a better prize than paintings, more valuable, easier to fence. If she was truly trying to stage a burglary, she should do the same, drag away as much as she could, prioritize the small and easy to smuggle things. But she thought of Seokjin entering the room, looking around with horror at what had been done to his mother’s rooms, and felt like someone was physically holding her back.

The painting of the family, of Seokjin and the late prince Seok-ho as boys, caught her eye through the mirror’s reflection. She turned and looked, wondering if the family had been happy. It was a complicated question to answer. Happy? Or at least happier when they weren’t half of a whole? She didn’t know how much Seokjin came in here. Did he come in here and look at the painting and pretend?

She tugged the locket out from where it nestled deep in her bodice. The intricate floral pattern embossed on the front was nearly worn smooth by years brushed under her thumb. She opened it and tried to remember the portraits that had once hidden in the hollows. She would never have considered herself a sentimental person. She wasn’t. If she needed to shed the locket –and on several occasions she nearly had– she would. But looking up at the painting of young Prince Seokjin, she knew she had to leave that particular painting, even though part of her wanted it. For why? It wasn’t like she could put it anywhere. She already wasn’t sure where Taehyung was going to keep the big painting of his mother. It was over half her height, he couldn’t stow it in the bunkhouse where the yard boys slept!

Taking too long, she scolded herself and promptly swiped everything from the vanity onto the floor. Not every thief would destroy the room as she went but she wanted it to look like someone careless or thoughtless or even possibly hateful of the royal family. These things would divert suspicion from both her and Taehyung. She was none of those things, a truth that clinched in her belly as she flinched when the late queen’s combs and cheek powder and lip stain hit the floor. The ornate flowers popped off a particularly beautiful comb that Dulce regretted not taking for her own personal stash, if she was someone who could be so selfish and collect stolen things. The queen was wearing it in one of the paintings. It was beautiful and now it was broken and shame made Dulce sweaty.

Had she done enough damage to move on? She slipped into the queen’s closet and found herself stunned once again. The volume of clothing and jewelry here was overwhelming, even beyond Nasimiyu’s closet in Marvono. By comparison, Nasimiyu was practically impoverished with how few gowns she had here, fewer than two dozen until her new ones were made. Dulce had three sets of clothing to her name, not including the shift she slept in.

She took a couple pieces of jewelry –two rings and a bracelet– and slid them into her pocket, then simply tugged clothing from the hangers, again to look like she had meant to take things, or pilfered through for secret valuables. Even though she was leaving many valuables just sitting right in the open. Hopefully no one would find these things too odd but even if they did, at the very least it wouldn’t point to her.

Dulce surveyed her work. It didn’t seem like enough but she couldn’t bring herself to do more. There wasn’t anything personal for her in destroying this sanctuary, though she suspected Taehyung might have done significant damage. Or maybe not, since the Queen had been kind to him. But now these were the King’s rooms, not hers.

Hoisting the canvas bag was significantly more cumbersome now. Dulce, on the small side, had to clumsily shuffle along with it in front of her, the straps digging into her wrists so it wouldn’t drag on the ground, the lantern wedged in at the top. Wrangling the secret door open and closed behind her was a feat, though a sense of relief came over her once it was closed and she was alone in the pitch black. There, it was done, she hadn’t done too much harm, and she was out.

Dulce was used to moving through the dark, but this dark was so total it made it hard to breathe. She should have lit the lamp before closing the door but her gut had said to hurry, that she was going to be late or caught. She dug the flint and steel from her pocket and made sure her back was to the paintings before she struck it. It took a few minutes of feeling around before she could send a spark in the right direction, and the whole time drawing steady, measured breaths to keep her mind from drifting away from her in this total void. She hadn’t known it was possible to drown in darkness.

The wick lit and her shoulders released.

As tempting as it was to leave the things right by the ivy door, she had to expect that the first thing the King would do was charge down the secret passageway to see if the thief had entered that way. Instead Taehyung had drawn her a map to get to a particular hidden spot in the caves where he would retrieve the paintings and from there supposedly take them to a secret and trustworthy painter who would make his copies. That was beyond Dulce’s job.

The map was difficult to follow in the dark with the lantern and the canvas bag and Taehyung’s unskilled linework. Several times she took wrong turns, felt it in her gut, and had to backtrack to make sure. The caves were a maze, and the first time she accidentally stepped into one of the massive caverns gave her a scare like nothing ever did before. It felt like a death sentence to be down here alone. Trapped. By and large helpless. Weighed down with stolen goods. The dark creeping close behind.

She paused to let her body acclimate to the rush of fear and gazed up at the fake starry sky for what comfort it could give. It was beautiful, like nothing she had ever seen, somehow so like and yet so alien to the actual night sky. Personally she thought Paloma’s broad open blanket of night was even more beautiful but maybe that was because it reminded her of freedom and eternity all the time she had slept beneath it and this here was oppression. To never be able to leave this, to always amble through the dark for generations, to not even know you were missing the sun…

Hell might look like this. Dulce followed none of the minor religions that had taken root in Yeonhalbi and yet she thought hell might look just like this.

At last she felt certain she’d found the spot. Instead of wondering how much time Taehyung had spent here to notice and even map this spot, she quickly unburdened herself of the paintings, after fishing the jewels out of the bottom of the bag and shoving them into her pockets. The tiara wouldn’t fit and she held it awkwardly in her hands, not sure what to do about it.

Noise behind her made her dive for shelter behind the stones hiding the paintings, tiara clutched to her chest, preventing her from dragging out the blade instinct told her too. Likely just an animal, but still she waited, crouched, breath steady and quiet.

Footsteps padded closer, paused, then shuffled closer again, then another pause. She glimpsed a blue directional light bouncing off the wall against the yellow glow of her lantern and realized it was a person. Shit. She had hoped not to cross paths with any of the gamekeepers down here; she didn’t know how many there were or what habits they kept, but Taehyung said there were only a few and not to worry about it.

Well she was worrying about it now as she listened to the crunch of slow, careful footsteps. Obviously footsteps now. Inspecting the light she had foolishly relied on. She’d been caught, shit!

She fished the dagger out from her thigh, annoyed still that she’d lost the one Nasimiyu gave her, usually easier to grab from her boot. Then she crouched, waiting, ready to pounce if the person did indeed discover her.

The figure stopped. She could only make out the rounded shadow moving closer to her abandoned lantern. Nothing else was left out there, she was sure of it –but then why did the figure pause so long beside the lantern and crouch down? Damnit, she should have extinguished and hidden the lantern as soon as she had light to see by. These were the sort of mistakes that got you killed.

“It’s dangerous being in the caves alone,” the man said, a weak and aged voice that evaporated in the heavy atmosphere as soon as the words were spoken. “To get out from here, put your right hand on the wall and take every turn you meet, never take your hand off. May the gods have mercy on your soul.”

With that he ambled away, his blue light rocking with his steps. Dulce remained tucked away until she was sure he was gone and only then slid out from the cramped space. Gingerly she picked up the lantern and looked around for any sign of who it was or any evidence of what he might have been looking at. Was it just the lantern? There was nothing else she could see. He was gone, her lamp left where she’d set it.

May the gods have mercy on your soul. Was it a threat? A warning? Sympathy? Did he know who she was or what she’d done, or was this how he handled anyone who wandered into the caves? It had sounded like Master Boutros, the game master she had met in these caves on the hunt so many weeks ago, but she couldn’t say for sure. Maybe everyone sounded like that when you made them live in an underground cave.

She took the tiara and tossed it as far into the cavern as she could. It disappeared quickly over the lip of the cliff she didn’t go anywhere near; she’d turned her back before that and let her right hand lead her out, just like he had said. She had no reason to believe it wasn’t a trap except her own gut at this point. She let some of the jewelry fall from her pockets on the way. Not to the ivy door though, to a different one she learned as she stepped through it, this one further down the mountain path than they had gone for the hunt. Just how turned around had she been in there?

Aware she had been gone a long time and that her thieving may already have been discovered, Dulce hurried back up the path to the palace, slowing when she neared the yard so she could make sure no one was in view before sliding through the gate. Her heavy pockets tugged with every step so she held them down and continued her steady gait through the yard, into the palace, through quiet halls until she reached Nasimiyu’s room. If anyone saw her at this point, she didn’t care; her scowl likely put them off.

She only grabbed a parasol from Nasimiyu’s wardrobe so she’d have a reason to make her way to the Sunflower Festival and meet up with Nasimiyu, –or rather with Taehyung, who was supposed to make sure he was visible to all and easy to find. From Nasimiyu’s window she tossed several of the jewels into the bushes far below, then set off again. On the way she took a detour through the hallway that ran near Prince Seokjin’s room and let one of his mother’s rings fall from the window into his courtyard. A bracelet joined it from another window. It wouldn’t make any sense why a thief would drop the jewelry there, but obviously Seokjin wouldn’t have taken it. Confusing was ok. Better than making a mistake while trying too obviously to throw people off your scent.

There were only a few things still in her pockets now and for a moment she contemplated hiding them in Mirta’s bed. But no, Dulce wasn’t someone who sought petty revenge on her own account. Instead she took a walk through the Queen’s garden to reach the front of the palace, and along the way pressed a ring and a bracelet into the dirt beneath a sweet statue of a little dancing girl.

The empty pockets should have left her feeling light as she set off for the Sunflower Fest, but she still felt weighed down. She’d tried to not take anything too sentimental looking but what did she know? No way was that tiara ever getting found. Once the things in Seokjin’s courtyard were found they’d probably scour the palace and find some of it but maybe not the things in the cave, which Master Boutros would probably find and thrift. Who would think to look under the statue in the garden?

Shit, what was wrong with her though? As if the royal family actually needed so many jewels, or specific jewels. How fortunate was it to own things at all? She’d barely made a dent in the queen’s rooms. There was so much there, if she hadn’t made a mess they might not have even noticed anything but the paintings were gone. If all of this was in service of Taehyung getting the painting of his mother, then so be it. The King and Prince could cry into their remaining riches.

The strong scent of wilting sunflowers had snuck up on her, the noise of the festive town kept back by her thoughts until she reached the main road and its bright yellow glow. She paused to stare up at an arch made completely of flowers reaching far over her head. Probably it had been beautiful hours ago but now the leaves were curling, the petals starting to tumble from the heavy, sagging stalks.

People crowded the main roads so densely it was difficult to move through, their feet trampling any flower that broke free from where they’d been tied to every surface, strung up rootless for the spectacle. So many of them it almost hurt to look at, second only in awe to actually walking through a field of living, growing sunflowers. Actually, pushing her way through people was not that different than stalks, trying not to trip on the children who darted past like energetic rabbits, avoiding the bumps and tugs of folks nudging past on their way to food or music or spectacles. A man juggled flaming torches, one of which landed too far and crushed a statue of flowers, impossible to tell what it had been, while the crowd shouted and laughed. Musicians tried to get a group to dance but there wasn’t space. A baby in her mother’s arms reached out a hand and poked delicately at the center of a flower, enraptured until a man jumped around it and shouted to scare the child, who promptly burst into tears while her mother scolded the man.

But Dulce couldn’t appreciate these little moments because it was too busy, too crowded, and she had somewhere to be. She wound her way through the maze of townsfolk, following the main roads as she suspected Nasimiyu would. She kept her eyes peeled for Nasimiyu’s tall dark head, or the uniformed guards, or a wave of people who might be circling around the King. Would Naimiyu and Prince Seokjin stay near his father or wander off on their own? Taehyung had promised to be near Nasimiyu and Nasimiyu would be…

Dulce had no idea. She’d never been to this sort of thing with Nasimiyu. She didn’t know what Nasimiyu would be drawn to. Nothing, was her guess.

So where would the Prince go? Food. But food was everywhere. Maybe music, which he seemed to like even though he claimed not to like dancing. But music was everywhere too. It seemed to usher forth from the flowers themselves, there was so much of it. Everything was so loud and bright and everyone was so happy and Dulce wondered if she had always been different or if life had made her different, to feel so incapable of joining this outpouring of community.

She moved away from the nearest knot of musicians. She wished she could find that cafe the Prince had shown her and hide in there but they were in the wrong part of town. Her stomach rumbled at the scent of delicious food but there wasn’t time. She needed to tell Taehyung the job was done so she could wash her hands of this and forget she’d been involved at all. Maybe she’d bum some coins off him and get something to eat.

A curtain of sunflowers swung across the walkway and somehow not been torn down yet. She walked through to see the fountain too overflowed with them, and children crowded around poking at them –except for a young woman who sat on the edge, and a man knelt before her, asking a question that made her shriek and throw her arms around him, and someone nearby grabbed a flower and ripped the petals off and made them rain down on the couples’ heads as they kissed.

Dulce couldn’t decide if the Festival was tragic or beautiful. Part of her envied the folks who could afford to bring whatever they wanted in the world right to their doorstep, and part of her despised the ruin of something when the flowers could have been left where they were instead of brought here to die, and part of her didn’t care at all. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered –flowers or jewels or tiaras or nice dresses. All these people who would enjoy the fair today and then back to lives of lonely drudgery tomorrow. The food they would eat and shit out, the beer they’d vomit up, whatever cheap goods they were scammed into buying. At best the children would remember the day as magical and then someday find themselves chasing an impossible joy before confronting the reality that it was only the glow of childhood that had made reality seem so lovely.

She didn’t regret that this was not something she could connect with, that’s just how it was.

On a whim she reached for the chain of her locket. The locket was the stupidest, most sentimental thing about her. She’d nearly tossed it many times to prove a point, only to keep it after all. It was a weakness, finding comfort in rubbing her thumb over the embossed face, she knew that. She would never risk her life over a piece of jewelry, and yet she still had it–

Had.

It was gone.

“Nothing matters,” she quickly, defensively reminded herself. A woman’s scream interrupted her, timed in such a way she thought it was in her head. Still, she instinctively spun as people suddenly bolted, and in the cleared space not two yards away, she watched a man leave his knife in Seokjin’s chest.

It hadn’t occurred to Seokjin until just now what a terrible meeting place the fountain was. It was right there, right in the middle of everything, and everyone was watching him, every step he took. He’d noticed it the second they walked through the sunflower arch, him with his bride-to-be on his arm. He knew the people would be curious about their future queen, but he hadn’t expected them to stare at him so much. He was just the same ol’! Did they think he was undergoing a transformation now that he had a fiance and was only weeks away from being a husband?

August now. November 1st they would marry and the woman loosely holding his arm would become his wife for the rest of his life.

Seokjin turned his attention to thinking about what food he might like to eat today. The smells flooded his senses, leading him by the nose along the street. He wanted to see all his options and choose carefully; he also wanted to buy everything that appealed to him and eat until he had to be rolled home, like he hadn’t since he was a child.

It would not endear him to Nasimiyu, that was for sure. He didn’t think she’d eaten a single thing since they arrived, certainly none of the things he had offered. It almost left him glad that Namjoon was hungry and eager to trawl the food vendors, just so he wouldn’t do it alone. Not that he minded being alone, but sometimes it was fun to do something not alone, even if just to discuss whether that peppered fruit had been spicy or if the chicken skewers were too chewy or if the takoyaki had too strong a flavor. Not that he really cared whether Namjoon enjoyed the food or not but it was something. Dulce would have understood and appreciated the food, he was sure of it. He didn’t think she would agree with him on everything but it would have been fun to learn. He wished he knew her well enough to predict.

Was he just going to think things like that now and pretend like it was normal? Maybe. He didn’t feel in the mood to be scolded right now.

“Do you want to wander that way?” Nasimiyu asked. She didn’t want to sit still for any of the shows or eat any of the food and yet she seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself and he couldn’t figure out why. He couldn’t decide whether to take it at face value or accept it was faked and play along.

But Seokjin couldn’t wander that way because he needed to meet with “K.” She hadn’t given him a time, only told him to meet her by the clock tower, which loomed down over him now from the nearest corner of the square. He also didn’t know what “K” looked like, only that she was someone who had known his brother closely –close enough to know that Seok-ho had broken a vase when they were children for which Seokjin had been blamed. Not just any vase, but one their father’s mother had made with her own hands. The men in their family were nothing if not sentimental. Seok-ho had let him take the blame, and though he didn’t make a habit of that sort of thing it had always lingered with Seokjin, that early lesson that his blessed, beloved brother could be selfish too.

He glanced around, expecting someone to approach, but probably K realized the difficulty as well, that it would be impossible to get him alone for any sort of private conversation.

Nasimiyu still eyed him expectantly and he felt he had no choice to nod and follow. Lidmila and Mindeulle wound around them and though he reached for Nasimiyu’s hand, she didn’t seem to notice and strode ahead, confident he would follow. It was nice to see her forming such good friendships with the other women, even if it felt strange to see her so close with Mindeulle. He wouldn’t have expected that. But hey, great! Wonderful. Probably Nasimiyu would want Mindeulle to stay and Namjoon would use it as an excuse to stay and Seokjin would never be rid of him.

He watched her duck under a curtain of sunflowers to follow Nasimiyu and was struck by the realization that any special fondness he’d ever held for Mindeulle had settled so peacefully into brotherly affection that it was hard to recall if any actually had existed or if his father had only put that thought there. He wouldn’t have even called it a crush, but whatever it was, it was snuffed out entirely; at most maybe it had been a distant affection of childhood. Had Nasimiyu entering his life really taken over his senses so profoundly?

Music suddenly struck up behind him, making him startle and spin. Marks and Jungkook were close on either side and remained stoic but Jimin grinned and Seokjin pretended not to know why. There was something familiar about the band though, and it took him a moment and a few steps forward to recognize them. It was the band that had played for the wedding he and Dulce wandered through that day in the city, when he’d almost asked her to dance, he was sure of it. It amused him to think about what she would have done if he had. Her agreement at the ball had surprised him, so maybe she would have surprised him that day too, but he thought it more likely she would have stared at him with those wide dark eyes –the same color as the center of a sunflower. Or maybe it was more like her hair, with that hint of reddish glow.

No wonder it felt like she was everywhere today despite being nowhere. If she’d come to the festival at all, he sure hadn’t seen her. Nasimiyu had brought other attendants. He’d seen Yoongi drinking a beer earlier and Taehyung was lurking nearby, pretending not to be visible, but since Dulce wasn’t with either of them, he thought that meant she hadn’t come. Or she was avoiding him. Probably it was for the best either way.

“Why are you grinning like that?” Jimin asked, sidling up to him. “Is the scent of the flowers going to your head?” He reached up to fix Seokjin’s collar and the braided trim looping from his shoulders. Wouldn’t it be a lot more fun here if he hadn’t needed to dress up? But Hoseok and Jimin insisted, and Nasimiyu would have been disappointed if he’d stepped out with her for the first time in a vest with no jacket. Still, he was just waiting for someone to spill something on his white trousers.

“Hmm yes, it’s that,” Seokjin joked, wafting the air towards his nose only to playfully cough. “Yes, still smells like Priva under there.”

“Did you mean to let the Princess leave you behind?”

“Ah, no… oops,” Seokjin admitted.

Jimin circled him, as if checking that nothing else was amiss with his outfit or maybe enjoying the clear ring of space the bodyguards maintained for him.

“You seem distracted today. What’s got into your head?” Jimin pressed.

“What do you mean? It’s the Sunflower Festival! Which means there’s absolutely nothing going on up there,” Seokjin assured him. He couldn’t understand why Jimin eyed him so suspiciously, even leaned close to peer into his face.

“You didn’t sit up all night reading, did you?” Jimin guessed.

Seokjin laughed –guiltily, truth be told– and cried, “What do you scold me, is that your place? Where’s Hoseok or Master Jung, that’s their job, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know where he is so I’m taking it over today. Where do you want to go now? Chin up, shoulders back, look your best.”

“Don’t speak so familiarly to me in public,” Seokjin teased. “People will think I’m a lenient prince. Where’s my fiance? Take me to her now!”

To Seokjin’s confusion, Jimin paused for a moment and looked at him in a way that felt pointed, or curious, or suspicious. Something that wasn’t the normal way Jimin would look at him and it made Seokjin self conscious. He wiped at his face in case there was something there but felt nothing.

“Is that what you’re worried about? I don’t know, you don’t tell me what you’re thinking these days, so how can I serve you? All right, I will take you to your princess,” Jimin said, suddenly animated again. He turned towards the curtain through which Nasimiyu had passed now some time ago and Seokjin took a step after him.

“Excuse me, do you want your fortune read?”

The voice reached him across the space and general noise of the festival, cut right through as if his ear marked it familiar, though it wasn’t. Seokjin turned to see the woman who had approached to address him, though no closer than Marks would allow.

“Your fortune read, Your Royal Highness?” The woman looked vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite recall where he’d seen her before. Her long face was pretty, though her dress was simple, her dark blond hair pulled back in a low ponytail. She reached up to touch her face and then tugged at the neckline of her shirt, where a heavy ring hung on a string, her only adornment. A moment longer than he would have admitted it, he realized the ring was a signet ring –his brothers, most likely, and that this woman might be, must be “K.”

“You’re a fortune teller?” he asked, wondering if that was true. He worried now he might be falling prey to a scam, or maybe this woman believed in whatever warning she read from the cards he didn’t believe in– but how had she got his brother’s ring?

“I have my tent only here,” she said and motioned behind her. It was almost a tent. Barely one. A couple heavy dark curtains were tied up, creating a small private space right beside a bustling side street.

Seokjin could feel the distrust rolling off Marks as the bodyguard nudged her back and tried to move Seokjin along, but he simply stepped around the bodyguard and agreed, “Yes, let’s see what my palm has to say.”

“Wha–” Jimin began but Seokjin ignored him and reached for the tent. He could see Marks thought this was absurd but he had no right to tell Seokjin no, and only motioned for the woman to wait as he stepped into the tent first, clearly with intention to stay.

“I’ll get my fortune told alone,” Seokjin announced. “You can all wait outside.”

“But Your Highness–”

“But Ser–”

“Do you think she’s going to slip poison into my mouth from across the table?” Seokjin demanded, gesturing to her as she waited at the opening.

“It’s not safe for you to be out of sight and alone,” Marks insisted.

Seokjin knew he was wasting time and decided, “Fine, Jungkook can come in with me. I guess I’ll be less embarrassed for him to hear if I’ve got a rotten fortune.” Anyone could have seen Jimin was hurt by this exclusion, so Seokjin pointed out, “It’s too small and Jungkook’s the bodyguard. I’ll tell you anything juicy over snacks tonight.” He didn’t wait for an answer but slid through the opening of the sheets after Marks had stepped out and Jungkook in. The woman came in last and tugged the curtain closed, then sat on one of two stools in the cramped space. There was a small table, but no cards or anything, only a single candle that put off an outrageous amount of heat as it burned low.

By it Seokjin saw her glancing warily at Jungkook, so he started in a quiet voice, “Are you K? You may speak freely in front of him, he’s both a bodyguard and a trusted friend.”

“I… if you say so…”

Jungkook’s brow scrunched in confusion and he opened his mouth to ask something but Seokjin tapped his lips with his finger and Jungkook stayed his tongue.

“We won’t have much time without seeming suspicious,” Seokjin told her, sitting on the stool and leaning close. He was already beginning to sweat in the trapped heat. The drapes did an eerily good job of muting both light and sound from outside but for all he knew Marks and Jimin were listening close and while he trusted at least Jimin, it was clear the woman was nervous.

Suddenly it struck him where he’d seen her before and he asked, “How are your children?”

“Oh. You do remember me?”

“Yes, it was you with your sons. Is he all right, the one who was hurt?”

“Yes, he’s all right. They’re with my mother right now.”

“So you can work? You’re a… fortune teller?”

“I’m not actually. Is this really so convincing? It’s the only way I could think to get time to speak with you.”

Impressed, Seokjin studied her concerned expression and asked, “What is it you want to talk to me about? Is that why you came to court that day? And why do you have my brother’s ring? Who were you to my brother?”

“His wife,” she breathed out, the word so airy and impossible that Seokjin thought he must have misheard.

“Pardon?”

“I am the wife of Seok-ho,” she said again, a little clearer.

“Um…”

“And those children you saw are his,” she added.

“That’s not possible,” Seokjin said as he racked his mind to see if it could be.

“I wish I had time to tell you everything, to tell you our entire love story,” she said. “It distressed him not to tell you but of course, I was secret. It wasn’t you he didn’t trust but everyone else.”

“How could he have a secret wife and children?” Seokjin argued. “It’s not possible.”

“We met here in the city. He used to visit the tavern I worked in–”

“My brother didn’t visit taverns.”

“He did,” she insisted. “In secret. I didn’t know who he was, he was always dressed as a commoner –handsome though. So very handsome.” Seokjin couldn’t say anything. It was impossible. It didn’t sound like his brother at all. “We fell in love. He bought us a house outside the city we met at sometimes, other times we stole time together in secret here. We married and I had our children and then… then he went on a military campaign he never returned from.”

Seokjin didn’t hide the confusion from his face. How else should he look when meeting a woman who insisted that his brother the royal prince had led a secret double life?!

She tugged the string over her head and handed him the ring.

“He gave me this and told me that if anything ever happened to him, I could contact you if I felt in trouble. He was certain you would understand and help his wife and children.”

“Yes of course I would but…” Seokjin looked at her, looked for any hint in her face she was crazy or lying. But she looked sincere, and the ring was real, and her story, as outlandish as it was… well, there was a flicker of belief among the doubt. He had always suspected his brother had a secret affair but he’d been thinking penpal, not commoner wife in the country. “But what did he think was going to happen? What did you think? He was going to have to marry as king.”

“I don’t know, to be honest. It’s not that I liked the secret life but a barmaid can’t become a queen and he was afraid for my safety if I was known. Your father never would have let him marry me. Sometimes he thought he would run away with me but he didn’t want to leave the crown to you.”

“Astonishing faith in me.”

“I meant– he said because you didn’t want it, and he wanted to protect you from the expectations and let you be free,” she corrected. “I didn’t explain it well. I don’t come from money or nobility or education or anything like that. But I loved your brother with everything I had, and he loved me back. I knew it every day, whether we were together or not. I would have lived my entire life his secret if I had to. We both knew something might have to change as the boys got older. My older one looks so much like him but he died before anyone could notice.”

Did he? Seokjin couldn’t remember at all, he hadn’t been paying attention except to the injured one. He certainly hadn’t been looking for traces of his brother.

“Why did you come to court if you wanted to stay hidden?”

“Your father knows about me,” she said. “And the boys. I don’t know how, but Seok-ho was certain and after that day in court, I’m positive as well. I think he even recognized me before I spoke. His whole face changed when he saw me and then my elder son. It wasn’t until my younger wandered up to the throne that he… well.”

“He’s sentimental about the chair that belonged to my mother.”

“I understand but you see, the reason I risked it, I had sent him a letter and I wasn’t sure he received it, or if he dismissed it. I think my life and that of my children is in danger.”

Seokjin didn’t dance around the truth and admitted, “If anyone knows about you, that’s probably true.” He paused, then added, “Technically your sons are in line ahead of me for the throne.”

“I don’t want that for them. That’s not why I sent you or your father notes,” she insisted. “The complete opposite. I just want to go far away and raise them in safety.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Money,” she said. “That’s the simple truth. Seok-ho meant to leave us with everything we would ever need, but the account he set up for me was suddenly empty one day and the bank wouldn’t tell me why. I wanted to know if your father emptied it. I can only think of a few people who would have the authority.”

“Who besides my father? We can’t just demand a bank account be turned over to us,” Seokjin argued. “And besides I don’t know why my father would do that.”

“I sent him a letter… I told you that. I’m sorry, I’m so nervous,” she admitted and only now did he realize her hands were trembling on the table. He reached forward and covered one with his own. Did he believe her or not? He didn’t want to. He wanted to remain suspicious. And yet he found himself believing her more with each word she spoke. If he accepted that he hadn’t known his brother very well at all –which was honestly, very true– then maybe this all sounded exactly like something his brother could and would pull off. It was why he would have made a good king. He knew what he wanted and made it happen. He couldn’t be swayed or coerced. He could do the impossible.

“I understand but you’re the safest you’ve ever been right now,” he found himself reassuring her. “Nothing gets past Jungkook.” The space was so cramped, it was more true than ever; Jungkook was practically resting on his back, hanging on to every word is disbelief, no doubt.

“Good. That’s good, that’s very good because I think you’re in danger too– sorry, I should say first, I don’t think Seok-ho’s death was an accident.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t, he was the king’s son in a war.”

“No, I mean– I mean I think he wasn’t killed in the battle, I think he was killed because of what he saw,” she said.

Seokjin was so heated by this point he thought he might faint but kept his hand on hers and asked, “What did he see?”

“I don’t know except that it had something to do with your uncle. He sent me a letter within a letter and asked me to make sure it was delivered to your father. The letter to me only said not to read it and that your uncle needed to be held accountable, that he had seen things he wasn’t meant to see, and that if anything happened to him, it would be even more important the letter reach your father.”

What was in the letter?! The need to know was going to drive Seokjin crazy but unlike Dulce, this woman seemed to not read other people’s letters.

“You really don’t know what was in the letter?”

“I wish. I wish I did. I should have read it… I did what he asked and brought it to the palace and put it right into the hands of… I don’t know his name but he’s always by the king. Dark hair, big nose, always dressed very nicely–”

“Could be anyone,” Seokjin muttered.

“Maybe Master Jung,” Jungkook murmured and Seokjin thought that could be true.

“If so it would have reached my father, that’s as close as you could have got.”

“I should have insisted on handing it to your father myself but… but I was so afraid of him, and I didn’t know how to get to him anyway, and I was very tired with child… so many excuses now!”

“You did the best you could. You did what my brother asked,” Seokjin tried to comfort her. She pulled her hands away to brush her hair back, though it was all still in place.

“I waited for another letter but none ever came. I had our second son. Hoya never saw him. I learned he’d died alongside everyone else in the city when it was announced.” She covered her face and drew a deep breath, shoulders shuddering.

“Everything all right in here?” Jimin asked, head suddenly poking through the flap.

“Ah, my fate is so tragic, it’s moving her to tears!” Seokjin called back. “Leave us be, it’s a rather good story.”

Jimin sighed and let the flap closed, but Seokjin heard him mutter to Marks, “It’s too hot in there, he’s going to faint and you’ll have to carry him home.”

“I’m sorry,” Seokjin said. “I… I wish I had something better to say.”

“Your uncle did something and Seokho wanted your father to know and he died for it. But what can I do about it? If I’m found out, he’ll kill me and our children too.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook thoughtlessly said and Seokjin tried to subtly elbow him. He needed to be less wrapped up in this tale and more alert to any danger.

She didn’t seem to have heard him anyway and continued, “Maybe your father wants us gone too, I don’t know. These are his grandchildren but– is it true, what you said? That they could have a claim on the throne?”

“Yes.”

“We don’t want that! But it makes it more dangerous for them, doesn’t it? If someone thinks that’s what we want?”

From me, Seokjin almost pointed out. He was the one whose claim was threatened by their existence and she had come right to him. And yet he would never have risked even a hair on one of their heads over the throne. His brother must have known that, too. Seokjin felt embarrassed with pride that his brother would put so much confidence in him. If only Seok-ho had ever seemed to think so highly of him while he lived, their relationship could have been so different…

“It does and you can’t help that,” Seokjin assured her. “I can give you all the money you need to disappear. That’s easy. I can give you enough for your journey and send notes ahead to wait for you and I won’t tell anyone in the world where you are –only I will know. If you need more help you can send me a letter.”

“That’s… thank you. It feels wrong to ask…”

“It’s not wrong,” Seokjin said. “We’re family. As for what my brother saw and my uncle… my father…” He sighed and gave a sharp shake of his head. “I don’t know what to do about that.”

“Do you believe me?”

“That my uncle is doing something nefarious and killed my brother to cover it up? I don’t doubt it at all. I wish I knew more. The best I can do is ask my father but I’ll have to figure out how to do it without making him suspicious I’ve met you… I’ll figure it out,” he assured her, sounding more confident than he felt.

If his brother had been murdered by his uncle, there was justice to demand. But Seokjin had never been very demanding, and didn’t know how to start now. How was he supposed to investigate, or convince his father there was anything to investigate? Did his father really know about Seok-ho’s secret wife? If so, was he protecting her or ignoring or, or did he not know after all? Sentimental about his grandchildren or ignorant? He’d adored Seok-ho, surely he wouldn’t let his murder go if he had suspicions. His father and uncle disagreed politically all the time, but his father didn’t replace him which said a lot. He didn’t think his father would be involved in the same business but… but what did he know? Nothing. Seokjin Kim knew nothing about anything.

He handed the ring back to her and said, “Go to Paloma. Go to the biggest town in Paloma. Here, I’ll give you all the money I have –Jungkook, give me all your money.”

“What? Hyung,” Jungkook complained, forgetting himself and being familiar.

“Oh, no, it’s–” the woman tried, but Seokjin insisted, “Money is one thing neither of us is short on. Take this. If you tell me where you’re staying, I’ll send Jungkook with more and then you should set out right away, as soon as you can hire transport.”

“Paloma?”

“The biggest town,” Seokjin said again, because he did not actually know which one that was.

“And you’ll find out what happened to Seok-ho?” she asked, naked hope in her eyes. “It feels wrong for his death to be swept away like that. He wanted to fix something and… and I don’t even know if my letter got to your father.”

“I’m sure it did and he just didn’t know what to do about it or whether it was really my brother, but I’ll lend my doubts to Seok-ho’s and find out the truth,” Seokjin assured her. Realizing he hadn’t asked, he did so now, “What’s your name?”

“Kanna,” the woman answered.

“And my nephews?” The words sounded fake. He had nephews? He felt hungry for family in that moment, for more than just his depressed, eccentric father and cruel uncle and Taehyung who seemed to taunt death constantly so that Seokjin was afraid to love him too much.

“Masao and Yori.”

He repeated the names and wished there was a way to meet them. There wasn’t that he could see, not that wouldn’t endanger them and their mother. Seok-ho had loved this woman. His dead brother had trusted Seokjin to take care of them after he was gone, and that touched Seokjin deeply.

“Why did you wait so long to contact me?” Seokjin asked.

“I… I didn’t think you’d believe me. I didn’t want to risk our safety but it’s getting hard without the money, and I can’t sleep at night worrying that I failed Hoya. It’s just been weighing on my chest that he was murdered and I didn’t do anything.”

“There’s nothing else you can do,” Seokjin insisted. “Will you take on my uncle all by yourself? You’ve told me and now I’ll take care of it.”

“Maybe I’ve put you in danger by telling you, but maybe you’re already in danger. Your brother worried so much about you. He spoke about you all the time.”

“Flattering things, I’m sure,” Seokjin snorted.

“He said you were the most admirable and infuriating person he’d ever met,” she told him. “He said you were too good to be king, that only someone as selfish as him could handle it but that… that because he was selfish, he couldn’t give me up either… He spoke so unkindly of himself like that sometimes. He was so haunted by letting you take the blame for breaking that blue vase!” she laughed.

Seokjin found himself laughing too, “He told you about that.”

“He said if I told you about it, you would know I was telling you the truth because I’m the only one he ever admitted to that he broke the vase.”

Seokjin shook his head and sighed and blinked back the tears as he muttered, “Damn him.” His brother had loved him so much after all? Seokjin had known him so little after all. And now he was dead and they would never get to share their love stories or let their children run wild together at the Sunflower Fest or watch their wives… do whatever it was sisters-in-law did together, he didn’t actually know.

“Your Majesty,” Marks called from the flap and Seokjin understood he had lingered too long now.

He took Kanna’s hand to squeeze as they both stood and insisted, “I’ll send you the money later tonight and the bank notes will be waiting in Paloma. Promise me you’ll go quickly.”

“I will. I feel much better having told you, having met you. I’m sorry we couldn’t know each other more.”

There was nothing to do but agree with that, and then let Jungkook lead him out of the tent where Marks stood alert. Jimin had grown bored and wandered over to join Taehyung and flirt with some pretty girls, but they both came over as soon as Seokjin was clear of the tent. He felt like he’d sweat out a tenth of his body weight.

“You look…” Jimin trailed off and looked around for something to fan him with.

“You were getting your fortune read?” Taehyung asked. “I want mine read.”

“Not here you don’t. It didn’t exactly seem… legitimate,” Seokjin said quickly, as if he didn’t want Kanna to hear. “Good for a laugh but I’m not sure she actually knows what she’s talking about. I’m supposed to get stomped by a horse before the next full moon, so mind you keep those beasts away from me. Ah, there’s Nasimiyu,” he said as she strode back through the sunflower curtain with a determined look on her face, clearly looking for him.

“And Namjoon,” Jimin added as he made a beeline for them at the same time.

“Well I know which of those two I’d rather talk to,” Seokjin laughed. “Taehyung, go.” He used the moment of everyone shifting around to lean close to Jungkook and whisper, “Stay here for a moment and make sure no one bothers her.”

“You got it,” Jungkook said and took a step back as Nasimiyu reached him.

“Where were you? I thought you were right behind us,” she accused.

“I’m sorry, I got distracted. I’ll follow you anywhere now,” he promised. He did not point out she had left him behind some time ago. Had she only noticed?

“There was a little dancing monkey,” Mindeulle gushed, all giggles with Lidmila.

“Oh you saw the monkey?” Seokjin asked, before adding, “He’s here every year.”

“He was very polite,” Nasimiyu grinned. “Shook my hand.”

“You… like monkeys?”

“Yes, I like monkeys, if they’re clever or funny. Some of them are rather mischievous…”

Seokjin would never have expected this. It left him speechless, and unfortunately open to Namjoon successfully reaching them.

“Seokjin, your father is uh– I think he could use you right now,” Namjoon told him, leaning in but doing a poor job of lowering his voice.

Seokjin’s suspicion was immediate as he argued, “What could he possibly need me for? He doesn’t need me.”

“Just come on.” Namjoon beckoned. Seokjin knew exactly what his father would be up to today –running around like the most cheerful man on earth until he’d drunk enough for it to turn into longing for his dead wife, at which point he’d sink into despair and his guard would foist him away to the palace. No Seokjin needed. He felt no inclination to go now. He had a lot to think through. His was going to get indigestion.

But Nasimiyu followed Namjoon, which left Seokjin in the awkward position of having to follow as well. He did make one pitiful effort to distract her by pointing out a nearby shop with jewelry if she’d like him to buy her something nice instead of forging ahead to see whatever embarrassing thing his father might be doing. Not that Seokjin was embarrassed by his father in general, nor did he embarrass easily, but that was exactly it, that whatever his father was doing that Namjoon found so inappropriate Seokjin needed to rush to his side was in fact just the way his father was.

“He was right here…” Namjoon said, stopping short and looking around. They’d stopped beside a tavern that had set up tables and several beer kegs on the sidewalk to let the celebration spill over. Namjoon craned his neck looking around while Seokjin counted his blessings and turned to Nasimiyu to suggest they wander like she’d said. He had a lot of trying of things bouncing around his mind and it would be better to just walk dumbly beside her for a while until he could reconcile the fact that he had a sister-in-law and two nephews who he would never see again. That his brother had hidden this from him, but also known he could count on Seokjin when needed, without explanation.

“Oh there he is,” Nasimiyu said –or maybe it was actually Lidmila, but Seokjin wasn’t paying attention until Nasimiyu nudged his arm and Namjoon gestured for him to lead the way.

Confused, Seokjin pointed out, “He’s fine.” In fact his father the king seemed more than fine, one arm thrown out while he laughed around a deep mug of beer.

“He was on the verge of something just a minute ago,” Namjoon insisted.

“On the verge of what?” Nasimiyu pressed and Seokjin found himself fond with gratefulness that she was taking his side. Not that there were sides between him and Namjoon in this but kind of there were.

“He was waving his sword around and beer in the other, shouting about love and death,” Namjoon said. Seokjin was not sure he believed him. His father’s sword was safely tucked away in its scabbard, not even a hand on the pommel, and he seemed perfectly in control of his emotions.

Until he saw Seokjin and let out a shockingly cheerful shout, “Ah, my boy!” Maybe that was a little suspicious, for his father to be so openly cheered by the sight of him. “Let me tell you, my son could never hold his alcohol, but this boy can!” the king added to the folks nearest him around the kegs. Seokjin suppressed a sigh. Was he proud or backhanded? He shouldn’t be calling Seokjin this boy to the people he would rule someday.

“Let’s escort him home?” Nasimiyu suggested. “We can come back.”

Seokjin gave her a look. As if he could escort his father anywhere. What an absurd idea. King Donggun would go where he wanted, when he wanted.

“Seokjin, Namjoon, come drink with me,” he shouted. “Nasimiyu, will you drink? I will gather the ducklings just like your mother would have wanted. Mindeulle, who are you here with, my son and other ladies? Time you met someone…”

Mindeulle inhaled sharply enough that Seokjin did step forward, interrupting, “Father, what, you want a drink with me? I’ll drink you under the table, old man. Your men there will have to carry you home.”

“You brat, I’ve been drinking beer since before you were a tickle in my balls.”

“You should have stopped before you tickled, old man, I’ll unseat you,” Seokjin countered, and tried first to take the beer out of his father’s hand before simply accepting the one someone else handed him. He was trying to end this, not join the drink.

“What other ducklings have we got around here? Everyone’s mothers are dead, isn’t that a joke of the heavens? Why is that? It’s not right. Our worlds revolve around them even after death, but they would forget us. Little Lidmila, I see you hiding there, your mother is still alive,” he called. “And can drink with the best of them!”

Lidmila looked like she wanted to slip beneath a table and evaporate. She practically dove behind Nasimiyu.

“Stableboy, I see you. Have a drink on me!” the king called and Seokjin didn’t know if it was paternal, or taunting, or if he was so drunk he’d forgotten about his own progeny.

“Why do you want to drink with the children?” Seokjin asked. “Where are your own friends, father?”

“Damn them to hell, I don’t know. Sleeping late I should think, or hiding from me. What’s wrong with them on a day like this, eh? It’s beautiful, beautiful, your mother will love it,” he said.

Will.

“Yes, the flowers are beautiful,” Seokjin said and his father’s head lolled to the side and he grinned and sighed.

“They are. They are beautiful today. They’ll be gone by tomorrow. Their beauty never lasts.” He trailed off as he said it and for a moment Seokjin feared he was slipping into one of his stupors, which would make him nearly impossible to move home. Then he realized his father had forgotten himself and stared at Taehyung. Likely it wasn’t only the queen his father mourned today, but Seokjin wasn’t worried his father would let something like that slip. After all these years, King Donggun hadn’t drunkenly tattled on his own affair.

“They’d go running around together here, those girls,” King Donggun sighed. “Both of ‘em pretending to be commoners for the day. Sukdheep thought it was horrifying but she’d humor her, humor her anything. Are you as full of humor as your mother, Little Lidmila?”

“...Yes, sir?” Lidmila guessed, clearly not sure what to say.

“Where’s your mother today?” the king asked. “I was never as close to her… but I look around and everyone is gone but the two of us. Just me and the ducklings left. I’m the last one who should be left with all the baby birds. Two clumsy hands, I’ve got!” He waved the mug of beer and some sloshed over his hand and splashed onto Seokjin’s shoes and across the trousers of one of the king’s guards, who stepped back in surprise. “What’s wrong, afraid of a little beer, you coward?” King Donggun laughed and flung the rest of the beer directly onto the guard.

“Father, that’s rude even for you,” Seokjin scolded, trying not to sound shocked in case it just egged him on further. The guard stepped back, stoic but whole body stiff with obvious anger. Seokjin didn’t even know the man’s name, he must be on the newer side and maybe hadn’t understand what he was signing up for.

“Who do you think you are?” Donggun demanded, then suddenly softened as he looked at Seokjin and admitted, “You look so much like her, it makes me love and hate you.”

“Is that so?” Seokjin said. He’d meant to say something funny but his mind had betrayed him. He didn’t want to be near his father anymore, not today. His father was just drunk and vacillating between bitter and nostalgic. Seokjin and Nasimiyu didn’t need to be here to witness it. His father had taken care of himself for this long and didn’t need an loved-but-hated son tidying him up. Namjoon knew that by now, Seokjin didn’t see why he’d been fetched, unless Namjoon felt like Seokjin should be up for some emotional torment –not that this was much of anything. It barely registered. Hadn’t his father just said he loved him? That was nice.

“Her eyes were always laughing too but she was kinder about it,” Donggun said just as Seokjin began to turn, to lead Nasimiyu off to something more fun than this. The complaint made Seokjin hesitate –his father could be painfully, cleverly cruel when drunk, but his voice sounded almost hurt.

“Wha? I’m unkind? What can–” you possibly mean by that Seokjin had begun to say, turning back after all to demand his answer, just as a man slid into the space left by the guard who’d turned to dab the beer off his suit. Just as this man raised the knife.

It wasn’t that he thought about whether to act or not. Honestly, it was stupid of him, wasn’t it? How embarrassing, that despite nearly twenty-five years of training, Seokjin’s instinct was not to disarm or even attack the man. He did in fact grab the man’s wrist as he dove between his father and the assailant, but failed to shove the weapon safely away. Instead he noticed how surprised the man looked as the blade sank into Seokjin’s chest, sliding in his left side with little resistance until the blade scraped against bone. Seokjin didn’t know a blade could skewer a body that gently. He had never dreamed how obvious the scrape of blade against his bone would be.

Things happened very quickly but they felt slow to Seokjin. Someone screamed. Multiple people screamed. Someone knocked the assailant away and Seokjin looked down at the knife protruding from his body when there wasn’t supposed to be something sticking out of him like that. Someone grabbed his shoulders and spun him around and his father shouted at him,

“Are you stupid?!”

“I think so,” Seokjin mumbled as more people grabbed his arms, he wasn’t even sure who, but it felt like he was falling. Nasimiyu looked worried, that was nice. Where had Dulce come from? Had she always been here? He was falling –no, he was being eased back onto something. Someone reached for the blade, or their hand was close, and he shouted because everything in his body told him that something wasn’t supposed to be there and it burned but it would be worse if it wasn’t there anymore. He didn’t want anyone touching it. He didn’t want anyone touching him either but Jungkook’s face was over his and he could hear Jimin’s voice shouting for people to get back. At least he thought that’s what the urgency meant.

Seokjin shouted as it felt like he was thrown into the air but he was only lifted. The board was hard beneath him and didn’t let his body curl in around the pain the way he wanted to. Without meaning to he reached for the blade, maybe it needed to come out after all, but a hand grabbed his arm and pressed it down to his side.

“Don’t let him take it out.” He recognized Dulce’s voice, or maybe she’d said that before, everything was all out of order right now. It was Nasimiyu’s hand holding his arm down. Jimin held the other arm down. He didn’t like being held down like that and complained but no one seemed to care, or maybe he wasn’t quite saying words. It didn’t hurt the way he’d expected it to but it was impossible to breathe or move. Maybe that had more to do without everyone moving so quickly around him than the injury. It was just a small knife. Wasn’t it not a big deal? It went in so easily, it could come out so easily too.

“Hey, hey,” he called to any of them that would listen. It didn’t feel right to be lying on his back on a plank as Jungkook and Marks carried him. “Don’t you know I have an image to uphold? I’m not dead, let me walk!” Everyone was being way too serious and it scared him. Was it worse than he thought?

“Stay still,” Jimin scolded.

“At least carry me on your shoulders like a king, let me sit up.”

“Just be quiet right now, hyung,” Jungkook said. “You’ll be ok. You’ll be fine. Just let us get you all to safety. You won’t die.”

“Yah, why don’t you sound sure?” Seokjin laughed, then winced. He didn’t want the people around him to panic but damn. Something was wrong. It was suddenly so cold, and wasn’t that someone thought right before they died? What if the blade had gone right into his heart and he was bleeding out…

“Ok fine run faster, I’m tired from doing heroics,” he said, wincing as the board jostled.

“What?” Nasimiyu asked, then, “What did he say? He’s so quiet…” He appreciated that she sounded worried. She did, didn’t she? That was good, for his future wife to be worried about him when he got stabbed in the chest. But where was she? She wasn’t holding his arm anymore, Taehyung was, and Nasimiyu was gone, and Dulce was staring down into his face –no, it was sunflowers overhead as the board was loaded into the back of a wagon. So many people were shouting still and Seokjin only just realized it because it hadn’t stopped so he’d tuned it out.

He cried out as the wagon jolted into action, and beside him Jimin rubbed his hair and soothed, “It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. You can’t die yet so you won’t, everything will be fine.”

“I’m not going to die,” Seokjin agreed. “This doesn’t seem like a good day for dying. I just need to lay down for a while.”

“You’re already laying down. Seokjin? Seokjin?”

Nasimiyu couldn’t bear to be next to Seokjin in the wagon –not that his guards wanted her there anyway. His manservant Jimin practically bodied her away as the wagon began to roll, but when King Donggun called for a horse, she echoed his demand, and so the two rode in the dust of the wagon with half their guards mounted around them, half running alongside to shout people away from the path. It was panic and chaos, between the people who didn’t know what was happening except it was something terrible, Lidmila and Mindeulle who both fluttered around like trapped moths as she left them behind, even in her own heart that couldn’t believe what she had just seen and didn’t know what it meant. Seokjin couldn’t die yet. This wasn’t her doing. Neither of them were supposed to die until she was securely married, so who had done this?! He must be in so much pain.

She reached the palace yard and let the horses be taken control of and didn’t spare a second thought about it. They were slowly lowering Seokjin from the wagon to carry inside but he wasn’t making any noise and she didn’t know what that meant. If he’d been stabbed in the heart, he would already be dead. She couldn’t tell. Even though she saw the knife slide into him again each time she closed her eyes, she wasn’t sure where it hit, and she found herself too afraid to draw close. Instead she looked around, trying to figure out who did this, and whether she was in danger too. She took steps towards Seokjin, then back towards the yard to look for Dulce, then towards the palace because Dulce would tell her to get somewhere safe, right? That’s what she should do. Where was safe when she didn’t know who had just attacked the King and Seokjin, or why, or if she was next?

“Go to your room,” a voice commanded, as clear to her ear as if it had been whispered there. She looked back as Dulce appeared on a horse behind Mindeulle, Lidmila and her mother on others, Namjoon as well. Apparently more houses could be found after all, and in a way Nasimiyu felt like the true guard had just rolled in. They were in the palace and these people would keep her safe.

Dulce slid from behind Mindeulle –what a place for Nasimiyu’s maid to ride! She wondered how that had come about but was too frazzled to ask. Instead she waited for Dulce to approach, and urge again,

“Go to your room with your guards in with you until we know what happened. Unless you already know?”

“I don’t know,” Nasimiyu insisted. “This wasn’t…”

“So go,” Dulce said again. They both watched as Lidmila’s mother went racing into the palace, where Seokjin and the King had already gone. Dulce looked like she planned to run after them.

Nasimiyu grabbed her arm, “Come with me too. Please.”

“I’ll come with you,” Lidmila said, leaping from her horse to Nasimiyu’s side in no more than three steps. Mindeulle and Namjoon were arguing in hushed whispers several yards away as the stablehands ran around shouting about whose fucking horses were these? As if that mattered right now.

“Yes, both of you,” Dulce agreed. “Go. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

“No, come with us,” Nasimiyu argued. “What if there’s someone…”

“There’s no one–” Dulce began but was cut off by a woman’s shriek from within the palace. It was not the direction the others had gone. Nasimiyu’s instinct was to jump back onto the horse and ride far away but Dulce dashed without hesitation in the direction of the scream. Mindeulle and Namjoon ran after Dulce, and Nasimiyu’s feet carried her after them without meaning to. Lidmila grabbed her arm to hold her back but Nasimiyu felt tethered to Dulce and Mindeulle and Namjoon; she took Lidmila’s hand and pulled her along, too. Nowhere was safe but these people she was following were probably the ones who could protect them best. Everything Dulce had taught her about self defense had left her mind.

It wasn’t clear who had shrieked, but the why would never be forgotten. Seokjin’s bodyguard –the young one, not Jungkook but the other young one whose name Nasimiyu didn’t know– hung by the neck from the balcony, his bloody body swaying at the end of a velvet sash. A piece of paper was pinned to his chest though no one could read it from below.

“Don’t cut him down!” Dulce shouted at the servants rushing around the balcony. “Pull him up gently.”

“She’s right! Don’t disturb anything that could be on his clothes!” Namjoon yelled. “Don’t do anything until I’m there!” To those close, he muttered, “For all we know they’re fucking in on it. Nobody can be trusted right now– All of you get to Nasimiyu’s room and stay there with the guards– Dulce, you go with them.”

“I need to–”

“You need to get your mistress and these ladies to safety,” Namjoon ordered. “I’ll deal with this. Go!”

“I’ll help,” Mindeulle offered her brother.

“No I can’t keep arguing with you, all of you go and hole up until we know who’s doing this.” He gave Mindeulle a rough shove towards Nasimiyu and set off at a run for the stairs, shouting again at the servants not to do anything until he was there.

Dulce looked furious, conflicted, but not afraid and Nasimiyu wanted to wrap around her. In the chaos, of course Dulce would be calm and sure of what to do. Nothing would get past Dulce. If Nasimiyu hadn’t sent Dulce away, maybe Dulce would have even stopped the blade before it got to Seokjin. Nasimiyu was sure of it.

“Dulce,” she called, reaching for her, accidentally bumping Lidmila, who had her hands over her eyes.

“Go to your room. I’ll be there after I see what’s happening with the prince.”

“But Namjoon said–”

“He doesn’t give me orders and neither do you. All three of you go now, I’ll be there soon, you know my knock.”

That order given, Dulce took off. If Mindeulle and Lidmila were shocked by this behavior between the two of them, they said nothing, just looked to Nasimiyu for the first step forward. Nasimiyu tried to pull herself together despite the sick feeling of helplessness.

“All right, both of you with me. Guards, follow close. We’ll set up a safe space in my room for now.” Her voice sounded shockingly stable as she led the way, fists balled to hide the shaking of her hands. This was no time to fall apart. Just because someone was hunting the royals and their guards for sport, didn’t mean she was next. She wasn’t part of this royal family. Yet.

Why the fuck wasn’t Dulce with her?

The palace was in chaos but they cut through it, not slowing their steps until all three women and several extra of Nasimiyu’s trusted guards and a couple of her maids were inside her room.

“Brace the door,” she ordered. “No matter what, don’t let those doors open until I say.”

“What do we do? My mother is out there!” Lidmila cried.

“I think she went to be with the King and Seokjin so she’ll be surrounded by guards. For now we… wait,” Nasimiyu said, looking around at those sheltering with her.

“For what?” the maid Bab whispered to Eula.

“Until I say so,” Nasimiyu said, loftily. Unwilling to say the real answer: For Dulce.

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

16 notes · View notes