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Chapter Text

Seokjin met his own gaze in the mirror, holding out his arms as his footman Jimin slid his silk coat up one arm and then the other.

“Your arm span is too wide, hyung,” Jimim snickered, ducking under and coming around in front of him, effectively blocking his critical stare down. Jin looked down at him, smirking. Jimin shook his head, “It doesn’t reach your eyes, hyung, you don’t have to pretend right now, you know. No one can see you yet.”

“You can’t see me?”

“I can see you,” Jungkook called helpfully from where he sprawled in Jin’s desk chair, tossing and catching a heavy glass paperweight with a whip of his arm.

“Don’t break that,” Jin immediately scolded, turning to wag his finger. “It’s a priceless family heirloom!”

“Stay still,” Jimin grumbled, ducking under again so he could do up the buttons.

Jungkook leveled a look at him and argued, “Priceless! It’s from that glass-blowing shop--”

“Worth more than your salary! The glass has the spirit of my ancestors fused inside!”

“I’m well-paid,” Jungkook said and tossed the paperweight onto the desk. It landed heavily but sounded like it did more damage to the fine mahogany than to the glass. 

“Turn,” Jimin ordered, nudging Seokjin back around to face the mirror. “Ah… I should have starched the ruffles more--”

“I thought they’re supposed to be floppy.”

“We don’t want the future queen to think you’re floppy ,” Jimin scoffed. “No, no, it’s all wrong, let’s take it off and put the other one on.”

“But isn’t that one cream? Jimin, you know what cream does to my complexion…” Seokjin teased. Jimin did not look amused. 

“You look perfectly fine in cream.”

“Perfectly fine! I don’t need to be fine , I need to be perfectly perfect!” Jin corrected. But he did strip the jacket off and untied the white shirt, tossing it onto a chair after he’d tugged it over his head. His hair was slow to settle after the disturbance, and he surveyed the soft style in the mirror. With his broad shoulders and trim waist disappearing into the silk black pants, he thought he looked pretty damn good. 

Jimin, meanwhile, was monologuing, “Of course you need to look perfect. You will, hyung. She’ll be dazzled --more dazzled than if you emptied the treasury onto the floor right in front of her.”

“I hope we have more in the treasury than can be dumped onto the floor like that,” Seokjin laughed. Still, he appreciated the support. It kept him docile as the new shirt was put on; the ruffles stood up nice and stiff , as required by Jimin. The blue silk of the jacket still contrasted nicely with the cream, which picked up more of the gold threads shot through the silk. Jimin buttoned his cuffs and he untwisted the lace spilling from them as Jimin grabbed a brush.

“Keep it light,” Seokjin told him, flopping down into the chair so Jimin could reach better. He pulled his own shoes on in the meantime, then tugged at the lace cuffs again.

“Don’t futz with that,” Jimin scolded. “Hobi will get after you.”

“I only futz when I’m nervous and why would I be nervous? I’m only meeting the woman who is to be my wife in six months. Perfectly ordinary day. Not a thing bothering me.”

Jimin grabbed his arm and frowned, “Maybe we should change to a shirt without frills--”

“Don’t take my frills,” Jin quickly begged. “I need this.”

Jimin rolled his eyes but pulled his hand away and asked, “Jewelry?”

“Wear the long earring,” Jungkook suggested. “It looks good.”

“He’ll fiddle with it.”

“I will not!”

“It will distract her from his ears going red,” Jungkook continued.

“What is he saying? Don’t say that! Why are you saying things at all, you’re a body guard, you’re supposed to just guard my body and not say anything like that around my future wife!”

Jungkook had moved to the window and glanced out it, arms crossed as he sighed, “You’re boring to guard, no one ever tries to hurt you.”

“Jungkook,” Jimin frowned.  

“Yah! I’m sorry you’re bored with your cushy job guarding the handsomest prince in the realm but--”

“Maybe today will be exciting. All these new people…” He drew closer and reached out to flick Seokjin’s earring once it was threaded through. The long gold and diamond chain swung as Jin batted him away.

“Ok, stand and let’s see you,” Jimin said, pushing Jungkook out of the way. Despite being taller and bulkier, the younger man let himself be moved so that Seokjin could stand. Both of them faded into the background as he stood before the mirror.

“Make up?” Jimin asked, knowing the answer. It was the style, certainly, but Seokjin had already decided to forego it for today. All of it. He wanted to meet his bride as himself. He wanted her to see from the start that while he was part of this whole thing, he would never be anything but honest and forthright and kind to her. He couldn’t be sure what she had heard about himself or his father, since she came from a principality across the wide Mebbe River, or what things might have been distorted about what sort of husband his father had been. He had been a good one, whatever other criticisms some might have about King Dong-gun. There certainly had been none of the late Queen So-yeon. She had been kind-hearted, outspoken, a bleeding heart, and very, very beautiful. The people had loved her. King Dong-gun had loved her. But no one had loved her as much as Seokjin had.

Damn, he really wished his mother was here for this today. On the day he was meeting his future wife, the woman he would spend his whole life with, who would someday be queen of the people his mother had dedicated her entire life to, short as it wound up being.

“Make up,” Seokjin said, a little subdued as he sat back in the chair.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, it’s the style,” he insisted. “I’m meeting my wife today. I need to look my best.”

“What about–”

“Enough.”

The word silenced Jimin and Jungkook both. Seokjin didn’t look at them. They couldn’t understand, even if they were friendly. Their life had limitations but nothing compared to his. After a time working for him, they would leave him and go on their way and meet their own wives and fall in love and live freely. The only people who would ever understand him were his father, uninterested in any sort of close, emotional conversation, and his wife. 

He needed this to go well.

***

“You’re doing that blinking thing,” Jungkook whispered as he slid past Seokjin to take his position flanking him a meter on the left.

Seokjin knew what he meant. He tried to concentrate and not do “that blinking thing” because his father loathed that about him. He’d been in constant trouble about it and once his mother wasn’t there to intervene, the punishments became so constant that he had developed a brief nervous stutter to go along with it and picked his lips bloody. The stutter was now banished, thanks to years with the father-son deportment and etiquette tutors who had “finally been able to shape him into something with a dash of grace,” as his father said. His lips were soft and smooth and perfectly pouted. 

But the blinking thing returned when he was tired or nervous or over-worked. Like now, when he was all three things. Why wouldn’t he be all three things? There had been much to do to prepare for the arrival of the Prince and Princess of Marvono and their allegedly beautiful daughter. His bride. Well, fiance. Bride to be. 

He was going to mess this up.

As if reading his mind, Hoseok bowed and drew close to fix his collar and encouraged quietly, “You look handsome and you’ll do great.”

“Of course I look handsome,” Seokjin quipped, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“You’ll have her dazzled from the first look. Just be your charming self like we practiced.”

“If I had to practice, it’s not really myself.”

A flicker of a stern look crossed Hoseok’s face before he smiled again brightly, then scurried away as King Dong-gun sauntered up the stairs. 

“Father,” Seokjin greeted, bowing.

Dong-gun grinned and patted him on the shoulder, “Are you shitting yourself?”

“Hoseok told me it’s bad form.”

Dong-gun laughed, “Yes. Don’t do that. The women don’t like it. Now that you finally have one, you’ll understand.” Yes. Yes, because Seokjin couldn’t have guessed that regardless of whether or not he’d been with a woman before (he had.) 

His father had cut it close, but then, a king waited on no one, everyone waited on a king. The trumpets from the courtyard gates echoed through the city over unfamiliar drums that had been going on for some time, the arrival announcement that the Marvono royal party brought with them lauding their presence from the moment they entered the furthest city gate. Seokjin felt the drums and trumpets like they were perched on his shoulder shouting into his ear, louder and louder. His hands shook so he tucked them into his pockets, but the pockets were a little high and he could see on Jimin’s face at the side of the dais that it looked awkward, so he put them behind him instead, the same way Jungkook was standing, because it looked powerful and strong. His shoulders were even broader than Jungkook’s. But women always loved Jungkook, what if his betrothed fell in love with his bodyguard?  That sounded like something straight out of a Kalamouche novel…

“The Prince and Princess of Marvono have arrived,” a herald announced at the furthest doors of the palace. “They are dismounting now.”

“Shall we go to the courtyard to meet them there?” Seokjin asked his father. Often they met guests there so they could walk in together. 

His father curled his lip and corrected, “No. This is a Prince who owes fealty to us and the daughter he brings to marry my son. They will come to us.”

That was exactly the reason Seokjin thought maybe they ought to fetch them. He wasn’t sure suddenly what the best first impression was to make. This was more formal, to be sure, but did he want that layer of formality with the woman who would be his wife? His father spoke like it was only on offer but actually the betrothal had been brokered years ago and was a done deal. They could back out now but it would be… bad. It would be a bad look for the royal family to cast aside a woman after they’d made her wait so long for marriage –Seokjin was nearing thirty now and the woman was only a few years younger, late for a Prince’s daughter to be wed. And to be cast aside, if she decided she didn’t like him after all… well, it would devastate his ego. Yes, there were many other options, but he’d already had one betrothal fail and to have it happen again from within Yeonhabi… probably his ego would never recover, no matter how many local women swooned and smiled when he walked by. Which they did, to be clear. He was a catch! 

He better understood now why his father had not been in a rush to get here. The drums had marked their slow passage through the entire capitol city to the palace on the summit, but they didn’t seem to be in any hurry from the courtyard either. Maybe they were waiting to be greeted there?

But before he could suggest it to his father a second time, the herald strode to the center of the floor and the massive doors opened at the far length of the hall and the light washed out the people marching in so that Seokjin couldn’t see anything, could only hear the click of heels and the rustle of skirts and tinkle of metal as the herald announce,

“Prince Hamisi and Princess Simisola of Marvono and their daughter, the Princess Nasimiyu.”

Seokjin watched the entourage as it approached. They were beautifully dressed, obviously here to show up and show out –clothing in the popular fashions but in bright gem tone colors that looked absolutely royal in the throne hall. He felt pale and flat in comparison, but even that didn’t prepare him for Nasimiyu, walking in between her parents as an equal.

“Her hair is big,” his father mused in a quiet voice that Seokjin hoped was quiet enough not to echo around the hall. It was true, one of several amazing qualities immediately observable.

Seokjin tried to neither stare nor blink and failed at both as he admitted, “She’s beautiful.” He’d seen a drawing of her once but had no way of knowing how accurate it was. The nation of Yeonhabi was vast and Marvono was far to the north and his father had never allowed him to leave Priva anyway. He wasn’t even supposed to leave the city, much less the kingdom. 

Nasimiyu was tall, her arms and legs long and willowy but not clumsy when she bowed, not curtsied. It made her look strong. Her movements were precise, graceful, and confident. Her right hand tinkled with the sounds of her gold bracelets when she ushered her skirt to the side so she wouldn’t trip. A gold and emerald crown nestled in the halo of her curls, trying its damndest but failing to draw Seokjin’s attention from the confident smile as the princess lifted her face.

Damnit, a confident woman. That was obvious. With the beauty and wealth and probably the brains to back up the confidence. Seokjin was immediately intimidated. It flustered him so badly, in fact, that he bowed as well. 

“Seokjin,” his father hissed and he quickly straightened. 

“Ha, but,” he said, loud enough to be heard, “Father, the Prince and Princesses are to be family with us. A deserving husband greets his wife as respectfully as if she is a queen. And Mother, Father…”

King Dong-gun was horrified, that much was clear. The Royal Prince bowing to a mere princess in this context was unheard of. He didn’t have to look over to feel the forced smile of the Jungs at this faux pas. Seokjin was too embarrassed to look over at the Prince and Princesses but knew his only hope of survival was to stick the landing.

    Suddenly Prince Hamisi laughed. His face lit up with a smile as he wagged his finger and argued, “You aren’t married yet! But the respect is welcome. I am a very stern father-in-law!” Nothing about his smile seemed stern, though, nor his body language as he opened his arms in a wide gesture. Both women beside him gave him a side eye. Seokjin felt like he read a closeness, an amusement, in just that quick interaction, but maybe he was reading too much. As an only child with a dead mom and a busy father, he tended to enviously read closeness in every family he saw. The suggestion he might marry into such a family made his nerves sharper.

King Dong-gun was talking, welcoming them to Priva, but Seokjin didn’t listen to it. He tried to study Nasimiyu without staring. He tried not to blink. He tried not to fidget. She was the kind of woman who made even a royal prince fidget. She looked perfectly calm and comfortable and not at all intimidated even though King Dong-gun and Seokjin were standing on the dais above them and it was the proper thing to do, to look a little impressed. Maybe she was an intimidating, mean kind of woman?

But her smile looked so nice and warm as King Dong-gun began to walk down the stairs and Seokjin hurried to keep up. 

The King and the Prince clasped hands and elbows now, grinning like old friends. Seokjin knew Prince Hamisi was his father’s favorite of the princes and that was why his daughter wound up being accepted for this betrothal. Not that everyone had daughters of the right age, but when King Dong-gun had begun looking for a bride for Seokjin, there had been enough interested parties to soothe Seokjin’s ego from that earlier slight, almost back to his old self. Seokjin had agreed to an arrangement at a time he didn’t feel his best but he was a man of his word so he’d see it through. Love could grow out of respect. Hoseok had told him that once and he believed it, even if Hoseok was single and probably didn’t know what he was talking about. 

Nasimiyu was going to make that very easy. She dazzled him as King Dong-gun continued,

“Please, let us show you to your suites so you can rest after your long journey. When you are ready, my son will be glad to show you around the palace grounds. You may wander wherever you like.”

“Anywhere?” Prince Hamisi clarified with a mischievous glint in his eye. 

King Dong-gun replied simply, “We have nothing to hide. As my son said, we will be family soon. Please, make yourself at home.”

“We shall. Thank you for the warm welcome.”

The Prince and his wife turned and Seokjin had a fleeting panic because they were walking away and he hadn’t said a word to Nasimiyu. This greeting had been so short. Yes, they had just traveled many days to get here and deserved to refresh themselves, but he’d wanted to make a dazzling introduction and wasn’t sure that he had. If Nasimiyu didn’t leave with a good first impression, he’d have to work extra hard to make up for lost ground later and what if he didn’t?

“Princess Nasimiyu,” he called just as she started to turn after her parents. She paused and glanced down at the hand he held out before slipping her fingers against his palm. “Before you rest, please accept my welcome. It is an honor to finally meet you. If you have need of anything while you are here, please let me know and I will personally see it is done.” It was kind, but this woman was going to be his wife . “I hope you will be very happy here,” he added.

She arched an eyebrow and suggested, “Maybe you can show me where here is after I wash the dust from my skin.” 

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry, I forgot to mop before you got here…” He meant it as a joke. She just raised her eyebrows. 

Oh no. She doesn’t think I’m funny.

“Nasimiyu,” her father called. 

“I looked forward to the tour of your palace,” she told him. He braced himself for the coolness, but instead she gave him another confusingly warm smile. But she’d said your , like it would never be hers . Or, well, ours . And someday it would be. Someday she’d be queen here. Queen of all Yeonhabi. He would be King!

A King who couldn’t tell from his future-queen’s face if she thought anything about him at all. 

He stood there as the throne room emptied, turning as Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok flocked to him. He wore a confident smile, and slowly lifted his arms wide like Prince Hamisi had done, and announced,

“I think it was pretty clear she liked me.”

“She did, Your Royal Highness,” Jimin agreed, bowing and nodding. “She did.”

“How could she help it, right? With a face like this and charm like mine?” He looked to Jungkook and Hoseok for confirmation. Jungkook gave a short nod, lips pursed and shoulders squared as he looked around the hall, making a show of checking for threats as the Marvono’s entourage began to roam, ushered around by the royal palace staff. They’d brought their own handmaids and butlers and some guards and who knew what else, it was really a lot considering they could provide anything they needed…

“It’s good to see you’re as confident as ever, but we should fix your makeup before you give the tour, your ears are redder than I’ve ever seen them,” Hoseok suggested, motioning to JImin to lead him away.

Yes, confident. He was confident. He knew these three, whom he considered as much of friends as a Prince could have, saw through it and were too kind to comment. Seokjin had been faking his father’s confidence since he was a little boy. He didn’t know any other way to be. 

He hoped it would be enough to convince Nasimiyu.

***

“The palace was built in 1425,” Seokjin said, gesturing across the garden back towards the main building, white stone against the bluest sky. “The white stone was brought here over many years from Rinsk, where King Chin-ae’s wife was born. He accepted the stone as her dowry. It was a joke at the time that he was paid rocks for his bride which he, uh, did not find very amusing…”

Nasimiyu quirked her eyebrow at the story, like she did for most of Seokjin’s jokes. It was beginning to fluster him. Apparently he was so sweaty that Jimin had approached and tried to offer a lie –that his father was looking for him– so he could break away and sit down. But he didn’t need a break, he needed to keep powering through until Nasimiyu and her parents felt welcome here, and he’d made a good first impression, and he could feel like he’d met her. They’d eaten lunch together and toured the palace grounds for almost two hours now and she’d barely said a word. She was judicious with her words, he could already see, because when she did make a comment, it was striking and intelligent and impressive. And when she didn’t make a word, she could convey a thought with just her face.

Seokjin’s plan was to double down on impressing her parents. They both seemed to enjoy the tour, even though Prince Hamisi had wanted to know why King Dong-gun wasn’t joining them. Seokjin’s quip that he was the betrothed had earned him a polite nod from the Princess.

“If I were to pay my daughter’s dowry with something from my kingdom, what would you ask?” Prince Hamisi asked. He had a friendly smile and walked with his arms folded across his belly in a casual way for a Prince, but Seokjin felt threatened. Which he shouldn’t because he was the royal prince. He glanced at Jungkook, one of four guards accompanying the party, but his own guard was just still busy sizing up the other guards like he was bored and dying for a fight. It had been such a long time since there had been an attempt on Seokjin’s life. Maybe Jungkook would get too bored and leave him…

He saw by Jimin’s raised eyebrows he’d been asked a question and quickly recalled himself. He put on a pensive look, staring up at the sky to consider carefully. 

“Medicine,” he finally said. “I understand you have some of the most advanced doctors in the world. A dowry of doctors and medicine would be far more valuable than gold,” Seokjin answered. His heart danced in his chest, proud of his answer both because it was true and because it made him look good, he could see that on all three of their faces.

“I expected you would say sand,” Nasimiyu admitted with a small nod of her head. 

Prince Hamisi meanwhile mused, “I shall talk to your father, see if he can change the terms of the agreement?”

“If he would, you would hear no complaints on my part, Sir. We have plenty of gold anyway…” Thinking of his father’s face if Prince Hamisi brought this plan to him almost made Seokjin laugh. King Dong-gun would never go for it, and would never agree they had plenty of gold, and would certainly not appreciate Seokjin discussing the terms of the betrothal without him. There were in fact other things wrapped up in the arrangement besides gold, but not doctors or medicine. More like trade agreements, tax adjustments, that kind of thing.

Worried now that this would all lead him into trouble with his father, he quickly dismissed the serious nature of his answer and added, “Sand would be welcome too. We could line our streets with it. It’s hard to walk in so I suspect we would all get very shapely legs and Priva could become known for it…”

“Do you think our legs shapely, Your Royal Highness?” Princess Simisola asked. Her daughter looked very, very much like her, which made it doubly intimidating.

Seokjin couldn’t see their legs under their long, finely-pleated gowns, and so answered, “I suspect you are all perfect in every regard as fits leaders of your station, but before you discount me, you must notice that I too have very strong, shapely legs. That’s because there are 2,183 steps in this palace.”

“Is that a fact for the palace tour as well?” Nasimyu asked.

“I counted them myself,” Seokjin bragged, before adding with a grin, “I can count very well, Princess.”

“What a relief,” she said, clever but smiling like she didn’t find him that amusing.

Damnit.

He decided to show them through the sea-side garden then, even though it was down about a hundred stairs. They said they were up for it. It was Seokjin’s favorite part of the palace, actually, and he hoped maybe Nasimiyu would love it too. 

At the bottom of the stairs into the garden, he turned to make sure she was all right on the stairs; her handmaiden walked beside her, their arms clasped, and now he realized he ought to have offered his arm as Prince Hamisi had done to Princess Simisola because it was a steep climb. He had just been thinking about whether to amp the jokes up or down. Many had advised him to roll them back until she got used to him, and that had even been his plan, but she was just… she was a lot more beautiful than he had anticipated! And the reality he was not going to be the most beautiful in his marriage was a difficult pill to– see?! He couldn’t even not make jokes in his own thoughts…

This garden cleared his head though. Midway down the major hill upon which the palace was built, it was not often visited, even though he thought it was by far the most beautiful garden on the palace grounds. His mother had designed it and spent a great deal of time in it herself, hands in the soil up to her elbows as she worked alongside the gardeners to keep it nice. The ocean glittered like a blanket of diamonds on the other side of the blue and red rooftops of the city below, the salty scent of it carried in on a breeze. Near the docks stunk but up here the ocean scent was crisp and nice and not overpowering.

“The scent of the sea is very strong,” Princess Nasimiyu mused, coming to a standstill beside him at the upper tier’s railing. 

Seokjin felt himself deflate. She didn’t like it here, that’s what he understood from their interactions so far. She didn’t like the ocean. She didn’t appreciate the flowers. She found his humor obnoxious. She thought the stairs and white stone were too much. She asked why the palace was so inefficiently built on the top of a mountain.

“What does your home smell like?” he asked to give himself time to think. 

She tilted her head at the question, like she hadn’t expected it. It was a rather odd question, except she had just commented on the smell of his!

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve never smelled anything different. It just smells like home… fresh linen and warmth and spicy food and aromatic meat.” A beat and then, “Yes?” 

He thought she’d meant him, but instead her handmaiden added, “It smells of cumin and red chili peppers and oranges and laundry soap.”

“Yes, the oranges are nice… I don’t believe you have citrus here.”

“We ship them in…” he admitted. “We are never short on the fruits we want.”

“But it doesn’t compare to–” She broke off and glanced at her handmaiden, then smiled, “It’s a good location for accessing everything you could want from any of the principalities.”

“Yes…”

“This garden is beautiful,” Princess Simisola called as she and the Prince strolled past. “Come look at these blossoms, Nasimiyu.”

Seokjin trailed them, answering their questions about any flowers they weren’t familiar with. He explained his mother’s connection to the garden, and how the sunset in the evening was perfect. He knew he sounded romantic, that was the point. Women loved romance! And flowers, and the sea, right?

He sent Jimin a glance; he followed along a bit behind Jungkook. Jimin just gave him an encouraging smile, not that sympathetic grimace as if things were going up in flames. Maybe to someone not in his head, it looked like he was doing better than he feared?

“These will be lovely in Nasimiyu’s hair for the wedding,” Princess Simisola said, pausing to point at a tree branching out over an ornately carved bench.

“Magnolias,” Seokjin said. He stepped around them and broke one of the blossoms off. He showed it to them, then raised his hands to tuck it into Nasimiyu’s hair.

She quickly pulled it from his hands and corrected, “I can do that myself.” The correction stung and he stared blankly at her, confused and embarrassed. Just as quickly, she smoothed it over, saying, “Thank you for the flower. I have to tuck it in just right…” 

“Of course,” he gave a slight bow. All right, fair enough, he shouldn’t assume he could touch a woman’s hair he’d just met… He saw Jimin sweating it out nearby and realized Hoseok had also materialized from somewhere. Jungkook , meanwhile, was waving away a bee that had left a bud to hum instead around his face. 

Nasimiyu let her hands drop away, the large flower nestled high in her curls. 

“Ah, yes, you make the flower look good,” he praised. “I’m afraid it will wilt quickly, it will throw a tantrum because magnolias are used to being the most beautiful flower but now it’s eclipsed by your face.”

Jungkook stopped waving at the bee and screwed his face up and tilted his head in confusion. Unappreciated! Seokjin laughed uncomfortably and gestured for everyone to move. Nasimiyu just looked at him, before bobbing her head.

“Thank you… I think…”

If she was less beautiful, I could give a better compliment , he sighed. He was good at flattery! Flattery was only hard if you were afraid of looking like a fool, and Seokjin wasn’t, or if you felt like praising someone else made yourself look weak, which he didn’t, or if you were afraid that drawing attention to someone else diminished your own attractiveness, which he wasn’t. 

But Nasimiyu was going to be his wife. He was going to shower her with a lifetime of compliments and someday look back on this first day and laugh about how flustered he’d been by her beauty. 

He hoped.

“Come,” he said, “I’ll show you the rest of the garden and then let you rest before dinner. I have to make sure you’ve worked up an appetite so you can fully enjoy our food. I know Marvono is best known for its beef and lamb dishes but our seafood is–”

“I’m allergic to lobster and shellfish,” Nasimiyu said. “I believe you were already told? I hope it’s not a problem…”

Seokjin stopped walking and looked at her with alarm.

“How allergic?”

“Pardon?”

“If you breathe near it or smell it–”

“I’d already be dead, everything smells like shellfish,” she admitted. “No, I just can’t eat it.”

“Ah, ok. That’s all right.” He glanced at JImin, who gave a small nod and ran off. Seokjin would go check in the kitchens too as soon as he deposited these guests back at their rooms, just to make absolute sure. That would need to be known. Very known. Lots of dishes around here had lobster or shellfish, seeing as lobster was his personal favorite…

He gave Nasimiyu a warm smile, “We will make sure you are absolutely safe here.”

She nodded as her parents moved on ahead, and came to Seokjin’s side, her voice lower as she said, “I also can’t kiss it.”

“Ah.” He didn’t need to see Jungkook drop his gaze and scratch his own ears, signaling to Seokjin how red his were becoming because now Nasimiyu meant– because she’d referenced– well, but it was important to know!

It was important to know that he needed to not kiss her after he’d eaten lobster or shellfish. 

“Uh, for… for how long?”

“How long will I be allergic for?”

“No, I mean, how long would someone be dangerous to you after eating those foods?”

Her eyes narrowed, eyebrow arched, “Why, are you planning something?”

“Planning to avoid accidentally causing– yes,” he laughed. Had she really asked that? She must understand what he was saying, for her to have said that in the first place! 

“I haven’t exactly tested it to find an exact time… Is this a problem for our marriage?”

No more lobster…

“Not at all,” he assured her. “I am glad you told me! Er, reminded me! I will make sure it becomes law around here!”

“But you can’t go telling everyone the easiest way to murder me,” she laughed. 

“No, right, of course… I will simply say you dislike those things and that you shouldn’t be fed them, it will be upon pain of death for the cooks!”

“That’s…”

“Prince Seokjin, what flower is this?” Princess Simisola called. Nasimiyu looked at him a moment longer, then nodded. He took that as leave to go answer her mother, but worried, as he explained the purple heart plant, that Nasimiyu might have thought he was serious about killing the cooks.

***

Sun set late at this time of year, so a warm glow still flooded through the floor-length windows of the gilded dining hall as dinner was officially served. Though on a normal day the royal family might choose to eat at-will in the palace’s cafeteria hall or be served privately in the royal dining room, the arrival of their very special guests (and very large traveling party) instead saw all seated together in the dining hall. 

King Dong-gun never ate here, so it was strange to watch him take his place in the center of the head table at the far end of the hall. Guards lined the windows behind him, battling the gauzy curtains that billowed in the sea breeze. It was a show; usually the windows were kept boarded up because King Dong-gun didn’t want to leave his back so exposed.

Seokjin glanced to his Princess Nasimiyu seated beside him, separated from her parents who sat on his father’s other side. They weren’t the only honored guests in attendance; at any given time there were plenty of lords and ladies who dined here, eager to partake of the fine palace kitchens at the low low cost of free. However the first night of their visit was cause for a grand showing, and so even King Dong-gun attended in full dinnerware splendor after his afternoon disappearance. Seokjin had changed outfits as well, into something more suitable for dinner but also because he’d managed to drag his wrist lace through sauce when he’d gone by the kitchens to make absolutely sure no one was about to kill his bride-to-be on her first night in the palace.

“There’s no lobster or shellfish,” he assured her the moment she lifted her spoon for the soup starter. “At the whole table.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“You are safe to eat, converse, and kiss anyone at this table,” he continued. “But I would avoid the other tables. Some rogue shellfish may have snuck into the stews being served at the further end of the hall and besides that you are… engaging but also engaged.”

She gave him a concerned look and assured him, “I am well aware of my betrothed status.”

“Of course you are,” he smiled. She did not smile. Damnit. “Ah, did the ring I sent get to you?” he asked the question he hadn’t thought of until later. “Was it not your style?”

“Oh.” For the first time she looked a little sheepish. “It was lovely, just a little too small for my finger.”

Seokjin felt a waver in his heart because that ring had been his mothers and Nasimiyu now made it sound like it had been lost or, even worse, thrown away.

“We have fine jewelers here who could resize it–”

“Yes… wait a moment.” She lifted her hand and the handmaiden with the nose for national scents came running to her shoulder. The young woman’s dark eyes only flickered to Seokjin before she ducked her head close to hear what Nasimiyu whispered to her. With a nod, she was gone again, flitting away like a little bird. “My maid will set it out for tomorrow, your jewelers can resize it.”

“Ah,” he sighed, clasping a hand to his chest. “You still have it. That’s good.”

“I do not take a gift from you lightly and I am not careless with my things.”

Seokjin grinned at her, “I shall shower you with gifts so often you may often misplace things and it will be months before you notice because you’ll be so blessed by my generosity!”

“That sounds… generous of you,” she said with a forced smile. “But I assure you, there’s no need. I am not overly concerned with gifts or jewels, I have plenty of my own.”

“Ah.” Seokjin kept his smile plastered on. Not that he trusted his own father’s advice on women much, considering as far as he knew, King Dong-gun had been with no one since his mother died, but he knew that gifts had been a constant from his father. His mother had wanted for nothing. “What things do you like? That’s something I ought to know! Is it… food? Flowers? Music?”

Nasmiiyu shifted uncomfortably as King Dong-gun laughed loudly beside Seokjin. Mostly he was trying to ignore his father, whose attention was primarily on Prince Hamisi and the servants bringing the food and drinks anyway. It was indeed rare for his father to dine in the dining hall or cafeteria with others, but when he did, he tended to be loud, nervous, and who knew what might turn his mood. 

“Don’t concern yourself, he usually dines privately,” Seokjin told her, trying to reassure her this would not be her daily ordeal while also not disparaging his father. “Do you prefer the dining hall or a private dinner?”

“The dining hall,” she told him with a hand delicately over her mouth as she swallowed her food. 

“Yes? Is this one all right? You can change anything about it to suit yourself once you’re the Princess here… and someday Queen!”

Something flitted across her face, he noticed it right away, before she said, “I am not overly concerned with titles, either.”

“That’s because you have one,” he smiled, trying to be clever and self-aware to impress her.

“I am not a title seeker,” she argued. “I agreed to this betrothal because I believe I can do good work here in the absence of a queen.”

Quickly Seokjin soothed, “Yes, it’s a large hole to fill but I’m sure you’ll be up to the task. I’m not very good at planning balls and I’m not very creative about entertaining guests. Visitors get tired of my garden tours and fishing trips.”

“It’s more than that– you enjoy fishing?” she asked halfway through her own remark. He belatedly realized his accidental implication, that the Queen did nothing but social things. The queen could do anything she wanted! She also oversaw education and participated in diplomacy and… and Nasimiyu could do anything she was passionate about! 

But she’d thrown him a line with the question about fishing, and he decided to side-step the whole misunderstanding and confirm,

“Oh yes. That’s what I do. Ah… do you like it?” He doubted it. He doubted it very much and was not surprised when she admitted,

“No.” Just as quickly she added, “Well I have never been.”

“Ah. Well, there’s time for it later if you enjoy it…”

“I enjoy riding,” she said. That was unfortunate, because they lived on a small mountain in the middle of a city by the sea. There really wasn’t good riding until you cleared the outer walls of the capitol which was already a long ride just to get there, unless you took the backway down the hill but that was dangerous and he wouldn’t suggest it to her. “I enjoy dancing and reading and painting.”

“Ah! Lots of good things to paint here,” he assured her, and motioned to his face. He knew he shouldn’t. He screamed at himself internally to stop joking because it wasn’t working with her but it was like his mind just decided to double down. “See anything that inspires you?”

“The sea is very beautiful,” she answered. He wished she was teasing him, but she looked sincere.

At least he could agree, “Yes, it’s very beautiful. You didn’t travel here by sea though, do you want to go on it? Don’t worry, I’ll take you–”

“Is there no music tonight?” King Dong-gun shouted. “Our guests have listened to my son talk all day, they would like some music!”

Immediately Prince Hamisi answered loudly, “We do not mind whatever entertainment His Majesty provide for us, whether it’s music or conversation.” 

But King Dong-gun didn’t need to ask again; within seconds the instrumentalists were set up on the dais at the far side of the hall. Seokjin already knew they had been asked not to play during dinner because the acoustics meant music overwhelmed everyone dining. He himself had been the one to ask, because he wanted to talk to his betrothed.

Apparently that was King Dong-gun’s point though, because a moment later, when beautiful but loud music crashed around the room, he leaned in and scolded in Seokjin’s ear, “Don’t talk her ear off! You’re a prince, act like it! Let her fucking eat!”

“I’m getting to know my future wife–”

“There’s time for that unless you chase her off with your jokes,” he scolded. “Is that what the Jungs guided you on? That’s not how you impress a princess. You are the future King! Act it!”

Seokjin did not think he was not acting like a future king, but he did know what his father meant. Be strong. Silent. Enigmatic. Leave some mystery. The exact opposite of Seokjin’s natural instinct. But since so far he didn’t seem to be doing well, maybe there was something to it… maybe that’s what Nasimiyu wanted…

Nasimiyu touched his arm. It gave him goosebumps just because he hadn’t expected it, even though he had a thick sleeve on so it wasn’t even skin contact. He turned to her as she leaned in close and gestured to the latest dish placed before her.

“What is this?”

“It’s skrei with braised squid and cannellini beans,” he told her, thrilled she had asked. If there was anything he could talk about with pride and knowledge, it was food! “Skrei is –maybe you aren’t familiar– it’s actually from Therepin to the south, they have icy waters full of great icy islands. They pack the fish in big carts of ice to import it –it’s a fine delicacy here.”

“And… squid.”

“Do you know what a squid is?” he asked gently.

“Yes, I know. I forgot people eat those…”

“Yes, it’s wonderful,” he grinned. And watched, waiting for her to take a bite. Yes, he picked up on the fact she was nervous about it, but she lifted her spoon under his gaze.

The dislike was obvious on her face, and if Seokjin was honest with himself, he felt a jolt of panic in that moment that this marriage was doomed. She didn’t like the food. She didn’t like the food! How was the future Queen of Priva supposed to love the kingdom if she didn’t like the food it produced? 

Ok. OK, he just had to make the best of it! He’d think about this later. 

For right now, he was relieved to let himself be dragged into conversation all up and down the table, even though it was awkward to call down over dishes. Not that he particularly wanted to speak with his father, who’d got going on politics –he wanted to hear Prince Hamisi’s take on each of the principalities as if they’d never talked about it before, which inevitably set someone else in the dining hall off because they had people from all over here. He knew it was a tactic his father did to put people at ease and also learn about their hot buttons and political leanings, though surely he knew those things about Prince Hamisi by now, as they’d met many times over the course of their reigns.

He thought Nasimiyu looked uncomfortable too, so in a romantic rush, he asked, “Do you want to dance?”

“RIght now?” she gave him a confused look. “There isn’t dancing.”

“It’s my palace, we can dance whenever, wherever we like, if that would amuse you more than politics. Honestly it would amuse me more too. You said you enjoy dancing.”

“I do but… not at the moment, thank you. I look forward to the ball you are planning.”

Further disappointment. Not that he particularly wanted to dance with her in the middle of dinner but he was willing to if it gave them each a reprieve to politics and food she didn’t like. But she’d rejected that too. Frankly, he was getting frustrated. He wasn’t sure if the frustration was because she seemed to be rejecting everything he offered or because she was so much more regal in doing so, leaving him looking like the juvenile fool. No wonder his father was disappointed in his showing so far. 

He dipped his spoon into the dessert tart and called for more wine.

***

“How am I going to be married to someone who doesn’t even like our food ?” Seokjin sighed, slumping back against the wall behind the counter he’d made his ass comfortable on. Jungkook leaned against the counter, eating from the plates laid out between them, new things to sample for worthiness on the palace rotating menu. Jimin stood back but had nothing to say as he devoured the kind of tarts only served to distinguished guests. Those who worked for Seokjin ate well.

“And she didn’t think I was funny or charming at all,” he added. “Right?” He motioned to Jimin and Jungkook. 

“Maybe she was just tired from her long trip–” Jimin began, but Jungkook shook his head, “Yeah, she didn’t think you were funny. But you were trying too hard.”

“Listen to my bodyguard talking to me like this!” Seokjin cried, gesticulating wildly, even though he had literally just asked for it. “How dare you say I’m not funny and charming? Of course I am!”

“ I think you are,” Jungkook corrected, unbothered by the shouting. “She didn’t.” They’d known each other for too long for some scolding and shouting. Jungkook’s father had died protecting Seokjin’s father long ago and the Queen had seen to his education and training; it had been his own decision to follow in the footsteps of his father and become a royal guard. He’d earned this role after conveniently saving Seokjin’s life in a situation Seokjin preferred not to talk about and while he wasn’t Seokjin’s only bodyguard, Jungkook was his favorite, and he knew it. Not that any of the guards were scared of Seokjin. When he got seriously angry, which was rare, it tended to confuse rather than frighten people.

He sighed, wishing for a moment he was taken more seriously, knowing he didn’t really do much to get taken seriously.

“Didn’t Hoseok tell you to be dignified and sincere?” Yoongi asked. At this time of night, he was the only one left in the kitchen, though a few servants on call dozed in the rooms right off it, ready in case anyone called for something in the night. Yoongi was often the last one to leave and the first one to arrive for the day of work, disappearing in the middle of the day to get the other half of his sleep. It was an odd sleep cycle that hadn’t earned him many friends –except a Prince. 

“I was dignified and sincere–”

“You joke to avoid sincerity,” Jungkook pointed out. 

“I was sincere with her!”

Jimin tried again, “She’s exhausted. She traveled so long to be here. That’s why she retired immediately after dinner–”

“No, she did that because she hates me,” Seokjin grumbled, and slumped back against the wall.

Beside him, Yoongi continued to knead the bread he’d leave rising overnight. The bakers had taken care of most of that already, but Yoongi had grumbled about no one making the King’s favorite raisin bread, so now he was doing that. There was always something he fixed before he left. Despite not being the head chef nor head of kitchen, Yoongi was the glue that kept the kitchen going, and Seokjin genuinely believed it would crumble without his culinary genius. He had attention for detail and if not for a bit of politics after the last cook was… done away with… Yoongi would now be in that place. But… politics.

“She doesn’t hate you–”

“You have to say that because you’re my valet.”

“I don’t have to say it,” Jungkook argued. “But I don’t think she hates you either. She just seemed tired to me.”

Yoongi shrugged, “I didn’t see her, I don’t know anything. But I would think it’s all more overwhelming for her than it is for you.”

“Sure, but–”

Yoongi threw a handful of flour down on the mat and spoke through the cloud of it wafting up, “You’re meeting your new bride. But she’s meeting her new husband, the Prince and future King. She’s seeing her new home far away from her family. Everything is different. If you were making jokes all day maybe she just wasn’t in the mood for it.”

“I wasn’t making jokes, I was just trying to be my charming, happy self. My father was stern enough for both of us.”

But Yoongi continued, “I suggested we have some of their home foods available for dinner but King Dong-gun said no.”

“We don’t have an expert in their food here,” Seokjin pointed out. “I don’t think serving her a less good food from home would be better.”

“You underestimate me. I’ve been to Marvono.”

“You studied there?” Seokjin teased. Yoongi gave him a narrow look. Seokjin knew exactly when Yoongi had been to Marvono, and if anyone else knew, he definitely wouldn’t still be allowed to work in the palace.

“I can try to make some of the food,” he offered. “Or I can see about finding a Marvonese cook.”

Seokjin thought about this, nodding, “Yes. Both. Do both. Why not? We have to try everything.”

“Your father’s advice may be worth trying too…” JImin suggested. As Seokjin opened his mouth to launch into a tirade that Jimin would side with King Dong-gun, Jimin quickly clarified, “Let her warm up to your humor! That’s all I mean. She doesn’t know you. She doesn’t know yet when you’re joking.”

“Maybe Marvonese people aren’t funny,” Jungkook shrugged. 

Yoongi mumbled, “ Privans aren’t funny…”

“I’m funny,” Seokjin scoffed. 

“Yes, you’re the only one,” Yoongi assured him with a wide smile revealing his sarcasm. It made Seokjin laugh and throw a fistful of flour at him. “Are you going to clean that up, Your Royal Highness?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Ah!” a voice called from the doorway –Hoseok. “I hoped to find you here… Are we discussing today?”

Seokjin groaned, “Nooooo, Mr. Jung…”

“Yes, me. Would you rather I send my father?”

“No.”

“I thought the tactic we agreed on was to keep the jokes at bay for a few days –we already had intel that she doesn’t have a great enjoyment of humor!”

“Who had intel?” Seokjin huffed. “I didn’t have any intel about her! If you had intel–”

“Your father had the information, which he told me while you were standing right beside me,” Hoseok said slowly.

Seokjin sighed, “Ah, I wasn’t listening to that… Anyway, it’s not my fault. This is who I am! You want me to be someone else–”

“No, we just want you to let the Princess get to know you, which she can’t do if you brick yourself up behind jokes,” Hoseok argued. “Be sincere and honest. Demonstrate your intelligence and your competency and your knowledge of–”

“I did do that,” Seokjin defended. “I showed her the whole palace, all of it. I tried to show her my mind. Everything I said was uninteresting…”

“You made a lot of jokes,” Jungkook mumbled. 

“What are you doing listening to my conversations?!”

“Listening for threats obviously.”

“Look why are you all blaming me for this? She didn’t leave me yet, it was only the first day. She was a little too tired to laugh with me but tomorrow will be fine,” he assured them, waving his hands to settle them down. “Don’t blame me, it was her fault. Go scold her.”

“Scold her for what?” Jimin took the bait.

“She was too beautiful. It was troubling. I’m supposed to be the beautiful one.”

“I think you need to go to sleep now,” Jimin laughed while Yoongi and Jungkook rolled their eyes.

Hoseok agreed, “You need to be well rested during this delicate time. I’ll walk you. Let’s talk on the way about plans for tomorrow.”

“I can make my own plans!”

“Let’s talk on the way about plans for tomorrow,” Hoseok simply repeated and motioned for him to slide down like he was still a child. And Hoseok was two years younger than him! Offensive! 

Yoongi interrupted his outrage, assuring him, “I’ll find a Marvonese chef. They have currant porridge for breakfast, I’ll have some ready in the morning.”

“Thank you, Yoongi. At least one of you deserves praise!”

“Yes yes,” Hoseok nodded, as if he’d predicted every word. Maybe he had. Maybe these four individuals –all of working class, all employed by his father, all by his side because they were literally paid to be– were best of all at predicting both the sincere and the protective. His favorite people were all hired help. Should he tell the Princess that? That his only friends were paid to be that? Surely that would impress her! Or that he had been so isolated from sincere interactions with women that he didn’t really know anything about how to engage with the opposite sex? For all he knew and suspected, every woman he’d ever had any social interaction with was just pretending to be charmed because he was the son of the king. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew that! So he had to rely on his deportment tutor and valet and favorite bodyguard and a mid-level cook to help him navigate these waters because his father’s guidance was so unhelpful as to make Seokjin think that actually King Dong-gun wanted him to throw the match and die alone, like he himself no doubt would at this point.

“Don’t worry,” Hoseok told him as Jimin ran ahead to make sure the room was ready for him. “Tomorrow is a new day and she’ll be dazzled.”

“Uh huh. Yes, why wouldn’t she be–”

“I mean that sincerely,” Hoseok insisted and gave Seokjin a stern look. “You need to believe it too.”

Seokjin gave him a big grin and agreed, “Yes, I believe it too. That’s the truth.”

But the truth was that Seokjin did not think anyone had ever sincerely liked him, and it did not seem likely Nasimiyu would be the first.

***

Nasimiyu glanced lazily over her shoulder as the door to her bedroom suite opened and then closed. She couldn’t see the door from behind the screen curved around the bathtub corner of the room but she recognized the footsteps –or lack thereof. Dulce was the quietest walker she had ever met, only partially explained by those light leather boots she wore. 

Sure enough, a moment later Dulce stepped around the screen, face hidden by a massive stack of towels. Her long dark braid swung around like a whip with her quick movements as she set the towels all on a wood shelf.

“Why so many towels?” Nasimiyu asked, eying the stack.

“Because no one stops a stranger if they look like they’re about to fuck up an important errand by, say, dropping a stack of towels on the dirty floor,” Dulce answered. 

“The floors are kind of dirty, aren’t they?”

Dulce arched her eyebrow and Nasimiyu sighed. She knew exactly where Dulce had come from and felt like she ought to mask her visit with the disguise of an incompetent servant. 

“Well? What did my father say?”

“I think you already know, my lady,” Dulce said with a belated little curtsy. Nasimiyu didn’t care about the curtsy, though her parents certainly did. If it was up to her, curtsying wouldn’t even be a thing, but then her parents weren’t quite as radical as she was. Besides, it would look suspicious if Dulce kept forgetting to show proper deference.

“I wasn’t!” Nasimiyu sighed and let her head fall back against the rim of the tub. The water was starting to lose its warmth; she’d been sitting in it for a long time. Avoiding the chill in the air from the sea. Avoiding any social engagements in this foreign place. Avoiding the lecture she knew was waiting from her parents. Instead she’d taken the coward’s route and sent her handmaiden instead, leaving Dulce to deal with the rumors should they arise from her handmaiden leaving the private suite of the Prince. Well if rumors of an affair started, they’d find out how to work with it. It wasn’t like Dulce needed a lengthy clean reputation here.

Dulce’s mouth twitched as she settled on a wooden stool beside the tub. The other maid had sat there earlier and scrubbed the dust and salt from Nasimiyu’s body and oiled her hair to protect it, because it was all in the air. Salt and dust everywhere. Nasimiyu couldn’t believe that out of all the regions of Yeonhalbi, the Kim royal family had chosen Priva as their royal kingdom. Granted, it was in the center latitude, but still far too remote from the second ring of principalities, of which Marvono was one of them. The port was valuable when dealing with other kingdoms, sure, but for ruling his own far-too-vast territory, King whatever-his-name-had-been made a poor choice. Destin to the east would have been a better location, but it was full of flats field and poor farmers, so none of the glitz and glamor of a port city.

Nasimiyu could not remember that king’s name. She knew all the Kim kings but she didn’t want to think about them right now. She knew the promise implicit in this betrothal, that her son would be the king either after Dong-gun or Seokjin, depending on who died first. That before that she might spend time as Queen or Queen-Regent. That her home principality would be blessed by this union into the royal family after they had married only Privans nobles or foreign princesses for generations. It was all supposed to be appealing. This was the betrothal of any princess’ dreams.

“I wasn’t unkind,” Nasimiyu said again. “I was just tired and… and franky, unprepared for Prince Seokjin to be quite so…”

“He’s very handsome,” Dulce teased.

“He’s an idiot. ”

“I think you make him nervous,” Dulce said. “His ears turn red a lot and he blinks strangely, and when he does that valet of his gets all fidgety.”

“I noticed. I also noticed his bodyguard doesn’t seem to mind him closely.”

Dulce disagreed with a small shake of her head, “No, I wouldn’t say that. His reflexes are remarkably fast. I think the bodyguard plays dumb but time will tell. He also seems to tease the Prince which seems… strange.”

“Maybe they’re all dumb and this will be easy.”

“This sort of thing is never easy, Princess.”

“I know, I don’t know why I said that,” she admitted. She closed her eyes, wishing for a little more warmth from the water. But she did know why: because she was tired . This place was strange and not like home and she did not feel like herself right now. 

As always, it was as if Dulce read her mind, “It’s only because you’re tired. You’ll sleep tonight and feel better for it tomorrow. There’s no rush –unless you provoke him into calling off the betrothal.”

“My parents are worried about it?”

“Oh, very,” she nodded. “Your father was railing about the egos of Kim rulers and that if King Dong-gun had seen how cold you were to his son–”

“The son didn’t seem prickly about it,” Nasimiyu argued. 

“I think he was too busy being flustered by your beauty.”

“Don’t laugh,” Nasimiyu glared, smiling herself, but Dulce only grinned. She’d never heard Dulce laugh before but supposed you didn’t laugh much in that line of work.

“I’m telling the truth. So far I don’t think your parents have anything to worry about. But if you continue to be too tired to humor and entertain Prince Seokjin… I don’t know. You know more about royal egos than I do.”

“You don’t need to lecture me. Do not forget your place.”

“I won’t, my lady. But it makes my job much harder.”

“And it makes my job impossible,” Nasimiyu pointed out. “I do need to actually marry him first.”

Dulce nodded and looked at the window, which Nasimiyu had closed to try and keep out that cold sea air. Apparently the guest rooms on this side of the palace were the best ones because of that view of the sea, but Nasimiyu didn’t want it. 

She closed her eyes again and let out a deep breath. She was throwing a tantrum like a child. It was beneath her. She was better than that and she would be better than that. Or she’d be no better than King Kim Dong-gun and his pompous, spoiled son, her future husband. More useful in death than in life.

“You’re right,” Nasimiyu admitted. “I’m just tired from the journey and from the work that lies ahead. I only need to sleep and I’ll be myself tomorrow.” Dulce didn’t say anything. “I’ll impress him quickly. The marriage will go through. It won’t be a problem.”

“You’re the one who sets the timeline,” Dulce shrugged.

“But we can’t do anything without the close intelligence from you. I want as brief a time as possible between my wedding and my widowhood. Don’t let us down, Dulce.”

“I won’t, your grace. You have no need to worry.”

Nasimiyu studied the young woman for a moment. They’d known each other for years by now –long enough for Dulce to know her mood by her mannerisms. Nasimiyu understood her pretty well too and yet, looking at her in her simple black dress with her simple braid and her simple leather boots, she had that familiar feeling that she didn’t actually know Dulce at all.

And yet ironically she trusted Dulce more than almost anyone in the world. She wouldn’t prefer anyone else by her side on this life-changing journey. 

“Do you like it here?” she found herself asking, as if the answer mattered at all.

Dulce stood, “Cities are all the same to me, my lady. Do you want me to help you dress for bed?”

“No, call the other girl,” Nasimiyu dismissed her. “You need to rest as well. We have important work to do so that I may become the queen Yeonhalbi deserves.”

“We do,” Dulce agreed and left her, a solemn, dark shadow. Nasimiyu watched Dulce’s reflection this time in the mirror as she slipped from the room. She felt far more embarrassed by Dulce’s nod at her misbehavior than she would have been by any of her father’s shouts or mother’s scolding. No wonder they had trusted Dulce to deliver the message and not come themselves to lecture her, though she supposed her mother was also shielding her from her father’s anger. He had so much riding on her right now. His expectations had always been high for her and now they were even higher. 

But she wouldn’t disappoint him. She’d do better tomorrow and Dulce would help her see it through. Too many lives depended on it. Nasimiyu had the opportunity to make the world a better place, to be right there at the head of it, and she would not fail just because she couldn’t manage the idiot prince for a few months. 

Chapter Text

Dulce had always been a morning person. Well, not as a small child, but her grandparents had forced the habit on her early and she’d soon learned to appreciate the early part of the day. Things were so different in cities, where there actually was a real divide between morning people and not-morning people. In the country, everyone had to be a morning person, unless you were a drunk. Dulce was not.

Nasimiyu would definitely sleep in today but Dulce was up before the sun. She shared a room with the three other women who waited on Nasimiyu in a servants' wing directly beneath the guest rooms of those they served. The other three had gotten a bit drunk last night, relieved to finally be in Priva and unlikely to be in a wagon or on a pack mule again anytime soon. 

She tidied her bed and things, sliding her bag beneath the cot. Desperately she wished she could have a bath but she’d be at Nasimiyu’s mercy on that front; servants bathed in rotations. Her rotation was low on the roster, no doubt thanks to Nasimiyu’s favor she had enjoyed on the journey down. While the other servants earned their saddle sores, Dulce had typically been requested as a companion in Nasimiyu’s carriage and had not cared when Dulce pointed out that her purpose was poorly served if Nasimiyu brought the ire of the other servants on her. It was hard to learn much if everyone hated and suspected you.

Still, she had always gone when called, and her mouth now twitched with amusement recalling how obnoxiously bored Nasimiyu had been for the duration of the journey. She was not someone born to sit idle for so long, no matter the privilege her title brought her. It was one of the things that had earned Dulce’s respect. She was otherwise hard-pressed to respect a royal, but the Marvono royals were different. She’d known that from her first meeting with Nasimiyu.

A memory to recall another time. Right now she had work to do. She laced her simple gray dress and braided her hair so it hung like a rope down her back and dropped her necklace down her bodice where the locket and chain could nestle between her breasts and the simple cotton chemise pressed to her skin by a simple breast band. The ladies and maids of Priva wore corsets but women in Marvono did not, especially servants. Dulce only wore the breast band because she was unfortunately rather endowed in the chest, a real hindrance when she needed to move, but she’d learned to deal with it. 

There were no exciting movements right now though. She assigned herself tasks so there would be purpose and a quick answer if someone asked what she was doing, and off she set after listening at Nasimiyu’s door to confirm she could hear the quiet grind of her snore. And the princess swore she didn’t snore.

Dulce saw the world differently than the people around her did. She’d learned this at an early age, when she noticed tracks and tears and subtle changes in the fabric of her life that others so easily overlooked. In time, she learned to predict the story behind these changes as well. The heel of her sister’s right boot was more worn because she’d been out dancing with the other young women again when she was supposed to be on the back porch studying by candlelight. The flour on the counter blew towards the edge of the table because Abuela opened the window while she baked, even though it was closed now because of the rain. It was Papa who had hidden the little bag of caramels from the children because it was on top of the bureau where Mama couldn’t reach but a corner of the bag was visible because he had to stretch, whereas Manu was taller than Papa now and could have hidden them completely. Besides, Manu hid his important things beneath his undergarments in his top drawer because he thought no one would peak there but Dulce knew Adela was the one who’d stolen his candies last time because she’d left a hair –it had to be hers because of the tight curl– and since she always refused to help with the wash, there was no way the hair had been brought in on the laundry. The dog tracks in the muddy yard leading to the chicken coop were too shallow to have been made by hefty Poda, so he was not the one to free or kill Old Rojo.

Now, much older and no longer focused on the mundane routines of her family, those same skills served her for more important matters. That’s what she was here for, after all. Her mission was clear and actually very straightforward: learn all the habits and weaknesses of King Dong-gun and Prince Seokjin, with an eye trained on opportunities for fatal accidents. 

Dulce knew more about the law of succession than she had ever wanted to know. That knowledge wasn’t necessary for her to do her job but Nasimiyu had explained it to her anyway: how once she married she would become third in line for the throne for as long as she remained married to Prince Seokjin, and that as long as both the King and Prince died in that order before she had a child, she would inherit the throne as Queen. If she had a child by Seokjin before she became Queen, she would only ever be Regent until the child came of age. If Prince Seokjin died before King Dong-gun and there was no baby yet, the line of succession would fall to King Dong-gun’s younger brother, an unapologetic militaristic asshole. Well-founded rumor had it he’d committed atrocious war crimes during the Therepin border skirmishes.

So things had to be done in a certain order. And before too long so that Nasimiyu wasn’t pregnant. And also because Nasimiyu didn’t want to be married to Prince Seokjin any longer than she had to be. 

But they also had to be done in a certain way, because of course when a King is killed, you look first to who benefits most by his death. It was true that the King’s death might not raise too many eyebrows because it was no secret, if you listened closely enough, that many were unhappy with the allegedly selfish, extravagant, heartless and unsympathetic ruler who refused to curb his younger brother’s sadistic tendencies. But the Prince also dying afterwards, landing Nasimiyu solely on the throne, would turn all suspicions to the ruling family of Marvono, if those deaths were done sloppy. Regicide was still a crime, and Marvonese grab for power would be an affront to the other principalities in Yeonhalbi. A good assasination done the right way could manage all of this. One death a tragic but clear accident. The other death a nicely done framing of someone else, just the right blend of obvious but not too obvious, like the framed had really tried but botched the cover.

It was probably not going to be Dulce’s job to do the actual assassinations, though she wasn’t so naive not to have considered that it might come down to her. It was first and foremost her job to create the map the royal family and their assassin would use to pull it off. If she didn’t want to be the one to do it, she needed to paint a pretty clear map. If she did want to be the one to deliver justice and free Nasimiyu and change the world… 

Dulce wiped the expression off her face. It wasn’t useful to think about why she was doing this right now. None of this was actually out of the ordinary for her, even if the target had shifted higher than she’d ever imagined. She was just a nobody from Paloma, and yet here she was now, walking through the halls of the palace in Priva with an empty tray so it would look like she’d been sent to fetch breakfast.

The thing about spying that led to so many failures was that people assumed they were invisible. Ye, every spy worth their ass knew the tricks of the trade to make yourself forgettable: wear clothing similar to those around you, look like you have an unimportant job to do, be neutrally attractive. Some tried more advanced techniques of making themselves memorable in a way that wasn’t the truth, so that later you would be remembered but not in a way that could be used to find you. 

Dulce took a middle approach. She wasn’t a stunning beauty but people noticed her sometimes. She thought disguising your appearance was for idiots. She thought trying to blend in when she didn’t look much like the people around this place would be a fool’s errand. So instead she took her old approach of just looking unimportant. Unsuspicious. Innocent. Someone might notice her wandering into the wrong area, but even a clever person would have to admit that the Princess’ idiot maid seemed to have a terrible sense of direction. Her big brown eyes and deep dimples worked well for her in seeming like a stupid little maid. 

Of course, lots of people were terrible at playing stupid. They tried too hard which made them seem more suspicious. Dulce, she was proud to say, had the ‘playing stupid’ down perfect. She credited it to a childhood spent getting her brothers and sisters in trouble for the things she’d actually done or hadn’t done when she was supposed to. Her own family didn’t even know what she was up to these days… 

She wouldn’t think about that right now. There wasn’t space for anything in her head but the job at hand. The biggest, most important job she’d ever done. Instead she pulled charm out from somewhere deep, emptied knowledge from her gaze, and stopped short in front of the guards stationed on either side of the door in front of her.

“Oh! What happened?” she gasped. “Why are there Privan guards outside of my Princess’ room!?”

“Eh?” one asked, face furrowing in confusion.

“This isn’t any Princess’ room,” the other guard scowled at her. “It’s the Prince’s.” Prince’s room, confirming what she had guessed based on the location and the guards.

“What?!” She stopped and turned a slow circle, as if only now realizing she was in the wrong place. “But… I’m sure I’m in the right place…”

The first guard still looked confused and insisted, “This hall looks nothing like any of the guest halls.” Unique floor plan, unsurprising.

“Privan decor is confusing, it all looks the same,” she insisted. “Where’s the right way for me to go? We’re in the rooms um… that look at the big ocean!”

“That way,” they both pointed, directly where she’d come from. She did not feel like she had charmed them, which meant the guards around the Prince were serious and not bothered by at least her mediocre appearance. 

She thanked them and walked quickly in that direction. If they were outside of the room, it probably meant Prince Seokjin was still inside, since she didn’t see any reason they would guard an empty room. That would be boring and extravagant, though not impossible. She would get lost again later in the day to see if guards were still in position, but knowing which was the Prince’s room was a convenient start to the day. 

She took a long way round a side hall she quickly realized was a servant’s passage due to a long completely stoned up wall; stepping back into a main half confirmed to her it should have windows out into a small garden and beyond that the sea. But it didn’t, which seemed both cruel to servants who might like a breath of fresh air when moving to and fro to serve the Prince, but also meant he likely had a private garden connected to his room. 

With that added to her mental map, it was easy to find King Dong-gun’s wing, though she couldn’t get close enough to determine where his bedroom was. Only one room had its doors open and visible from where she could pass by in the main passageways: a study, and King Dong-gun already sat inside, hunched over something on the desk where he wrote with a long feathered quill. Interesting for several reasons: first, it meant he either didn’t take breakfast, ate very early, or worked before he ate; second, it meant he was an early riser and tended to matters first thing in the morning; third, a ballpoint pen would have been much more efficient. His study had two guards outside but they didn’t chase her away or seem all that bothered, so people must come and go past his study frequently without causing alarm. 

She wouldn’t test it today. This was just initial. She wasn’t supposed to do anything rash, just observe. Nothing could happen until Nasimiyu and Prince Seokjin were married, and though Nasimiyu was going to try to bring the date of that forward to move things along, even that could only happen if it seemed natural. It couldn’t look like a bride rushing towards widowhood. Nasimiyu was going to really have to put on a better performance than she had yesterday. Nasimiyu was good at many things, but pretending to like something she didn’t wasn’t one of them. 

Servants were busier in the guest wings as the morning progressed. The casual cafeteria they’d seen on the tour wasn’t very busy in the morning compared to how busy the kitchens were; probably a combination of room dining and late sleepers. 

Dulce set her tray down in the kitchen after saying she was there to collect for Princess Nasimiyu. The focused response surprised her, as the lower staff called over higher staff and a more senior cook made a point of chasing down some special dishes. 

“Will she eat this porridge?” the man asked her, setting a steaming bowl of familiar looking and smelling food on the tray.

“Yes, but she prefers fruit and bread for breakfast. It’s fine for today though.”

“Hm. We have fruit, wait.”

That was added, and a big pot of boiling water, and a small chest of tea. Such pains taken to create a breakfast Nasimiyu would only pick at; she’d never been very interested in food first thing in the morning. 

Dulce turned with the tray and left the busy kitchen. People in the hallways veered around her. She found the challenge of balancing the heavy tray actually enjoyable, though it did decrease her ability to focus on anything else. Which meant when she rounded a corner, she nearly ran into someone.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” the man gasped, grabbing onto the edge of the tray to keep it from crashing. Some of the water spilled but that was it. Dulce caught her balance and gave him a terse frown. His crooked grin was clearly meant to be charming. He smelled like horse shit. “Ah… ok, you’re ok?”

“Are you a house servant or a stable hand?” The answer was already obvious from his trousers and simple shirt and high brown work boots

The question was the right one to make him sweat; he removed his hands from the tray and admitted, “Stable hand, pretend you didn’t see me… you’re the Princess’ maid, right? If you cut through that hall there and take the stairs, you’ll get back to your wing faster.”

“Oh.” She glanced at the hallway, which was narrow and she had not been down it yet. “Very well. Thank you.” She waited to see what he would do, but he just waved at her with both hands, or held them up like he was innocent, perhaps to show her he hadn’t stolen anything? So he knew it was suspicious and weird for a stablehand to be inside the royal palace nowhere near the stables. 

Dulce would need to keep an eye on him.

He strolled off in one direction and she took another, following the hallway he’d pointed out because she might as well learn right off the bat if he’d just lied to her to set a trap or something.

If there was a trap, Dulce didn’t see it, just well-worn stones in two lines down the narrow passage, generations of servants coming and going. Even more useful though, was that this pass had a window right by the stairwell and that window looked right down into the Prince’s private garden.

Dulce froze at the unexpected confirmation of her earlier assumption, because there was the prince, just sitting right there on a cushioned wicker sofa in the most outrageous purple and green pajamas she had ever seen in her life. His hair flopped everywhere and he had on glasses. He sat curled up against the arm rest with a book propped on his knees, the remains of his breakfast on the low table beside him. 

He was an earlier riser than Nasimiyu then, but not as industrious as his father. She wondered what he was reading but in only a moment he swiped at his face, clearly laughing. Unlikely to be an impressive book then.

She shouldn’t linger here any longer, but still scanned the garden quickly to see if he was alone. It was easy to spot the same bodyguard from yesterday sitting at a small table in the corner with the valet. Which was pretty weird, as far as servant behavior went. They were eating something too and didn’t seem concerned about the prince or worried about safety. So the prince felt very safe in his garden. Even though there were windows looking down on it from secret servants’ hallways.

A movement along the ground caught her attention, a ball rolling across the stone tiles. Who had kicked the ball though? She looked around but no one else was in the courtyard. Just as surprisingly, the ball suddenly stopped, then started rolling again, like there was something inside. Prince Seokjin glanced over at it but did not seem concerned. He picked something up from the plate and lifted it to his shoulder where a bundle Dulce had mistaken for a pillow scrambled around his neck and then grasped it with two little paws. A squirrel ! Although a weird looking one, with tufted ears and a brighter red fur color than any squirrel Dulce had ever seen.

The Prince had a pet squirrel? Even an odd looking squirrel though was so… mundane! And there must be something alive in the little ball, that seemed obvious now as it began to spin the direction it had come from. 

Dulce stepped away from the window and descended the stairs, suddenly worried she had lingered too long. She’d forgotten the cardinal rule: always assume someone else is watching you. The stablehand knew she had come down this hallway and probably knew about the window. The bodyguard or butler could have seen someone in the window, watching. She prepared to look giggly and shy about how handsome the Prince was if someone found her, but no one did. 

She knew the window was here. That was a useful start. She knew what the Prince’s garden looked like, that it was overgrown compared to how rich people usually kept their gardens, and very floral, with stone walkways and some furniture and a shaded area with a small table. She knew he read something funny in the morning and wore ridiculous garish pajamas and apparently kept small things as pets.

He was an eccentric. That was clear to her now. All his strange little jokes yesterday supported it. It made sense he was eccentric, the only living child of an incredibly wealthy, selfish, lofty king. He was either going to be eccentric or cruel, right? Or both. He could still be both. Feeding squirrels, slashing down orphans who blocked the path with their sad games. 

If you make a snap judgment, make damn sure you’re right . 

Well, there was no denying he was eccentric. Who kept rats as pets like that? Rats carried diseases and stole your food and bit you when you slept. Rats would literally eat people if you couldn’t get away. And a squirrel was just a tree rat and maybe what was in that ball was another kind of rat. Insanity.. 

Nasimiyu was going to hate it.

Dulce sighed, torn between giving Nasimiyu a heads up before she might be confronted with the Prince’s companions and not giving her any more reason to dislike him before it was necessary. Not that Nasimiyu needed to love the prince or anything, but she needed to appear very fond of him. Rats were going to be a tough sell…

As the stablehand had said, the hallway took her down to a second that then deposited her right in the proper guest wing. No guards stood at the doors here, but palace guards patrolled the corridor and stood down the hall within sight. Dulce motioned to one to open the door for her, impatiently waiting as he took his damn time drawing closer and pulling the tall wooden door open. She slipped inside with the tray and crossed the dark room, lit only by the faintest light coming around the closed curtains. 

Once the tray was down, she took it upon herself to open the curtains, though the windows were still closed to the sea. It was beautiful out there. Her room had no view like that, nor like the one behind her. Turning, she saw Nasimiyu stretched across the bed on top of the covers, unbothered by the morning light, entirely nude. Very much the opposite of the Prince’s garish pajamas; it came close to making Dulce smile, that comparison. 

Dulce moved quietly to the bed and hesitated. It was objectively true that Nasimiyu was one of the most beautiful women in the world, and Dulce could understand why that might have been disorienting for Prince Jin. The way people fluttered around him, maybe he was used to being the handsomest one in the room. How tragic for him.

Dulce touched Nasimiyu’s shoulder until the woman cracked an eye.

“It’s late.”

“Mmmmm, a little longer.”

“Everyone else is already awake. I brought you breakfast. They seem to be trying to make Marvonese food.”

Nasimiyu rolled onto her stomach and turned her face away, complaining, “Lay down too and let me sleep longer.”

“I need to do my exercises.”

“Do them here.”

“No, your other maids will be in soon to help you dress. Unless you want my help?”

Nasimiyu chuckled despite her refusal to sit up and admitted, “You’re terrible at that kind of thing. They’ll want to know why I keep you around.”

“It wouldn’t do us any good to raise suspicions,” Dulce agreed, standing. Answered as expected, which was fine. It was fascinating watching Nasimiyu prepare for the day, but it was true, Dulce was no real help for it, and since she’d need to stick close to the princess for most of her waking hours in these first few days, it made sense for her to take the break. 

“Your food is over there. I’ll tell the other girls you’re awake.”

“No, don’t,” Nasimiyu pleaded, but groaned because she knew Dulce would anyway. She had just pushed from the bed to dig out her own robe from the blankets crumbled at the foot of it as Dulce cracked open the door again to slip out. The silk robe clung to her tall, athletic figure like a kiss.

The other two handmaidens and the laundress they’d brought to tend to Nasimiyu’s clothing were finishing their own breakfasts in the staff dining room and moved at once when Dulce informed them that Nasimiyu was awake. Instead of finding it an annoyance to walk back and forth around the place, Dulce saw it as an opportunity to further cement the palace map in her mind and also warm up her muscles.

By the time she got back to her room, where she was now guaranteed to be alone for at least an hour, she closed the door and pushed her cot to the side and crouched down for morning push ups and crunches. Unlike Prince Jin’s bodyguard, she would never be caught unprepared.

***

Seokjin snickered as he turned to the next page of the latest Kalamouche graphic novel. He glanced over at Jungkook and Jimin, who were bored and restless with his lazy morning. They had wanted him to be up and about early –not just them, but Hobi and Master Jung because it was a good look for the Prince to be industrious. His father didn’t give a shit, just laughed don’t bother the boy, he’s never been industrious, no reason to start suddenly and fool his wife.  

The funniest part of that though was that Seokjin had always been an early riser. He sometimes was up and doing things so early that then he had taken a mid-morning nap by the time his father was up. Seokjin loved mornings. He didn’t want to have to do anything in them, but he liked going to bed at the same time every night and waking up early and spending those early precious hours watching the sunrise and reading books and savoring his breakfast in his pajamas. Why should he behave any differently just because Princess Nasimiyu was here? It didn’t even occur to him.

Besides, the Princess was still asleep too; he’d sent Jimin to make sure. 

Jungkook sulked in the corner of the garden; he usually wasn’t around for morning guarding duties because he was not an early riser but he’d traded shifts with one of the other guards so he could have the evening off. Seokjin assumed it was about a girl. 

Jimin and Jungkook could at least enjoy the nicer breakfast Seokjin had brought for them than what they’d eat if dining with the other servants. He preferred to be alone in his private garden mostly but never minded either of them. They let him read his novel in peace. Every few minutes, one of them would get up to unstick Kalamouche if he lodged his ball as he wandered around.

Yes, Kalamouche like the very graphic novel he poured over right now. He’d already read this one, obviously, but there were rumors a new one would debut soon and he liked to reread the whole series each time a new one launched. He was almost caught up once again with the tale of the dashing, daring, charming hamster hero. 

Well, by day Kalamouche was a noble, wealthy and well-connected but distant and bored. But in between his duties as the younger son of a large and powerful family, Kalamouche ran around fighting crime, wooing ladies, and righting wrongs. Because of this, he took a nap every morning, one of many things Seokjin greatly admired about this little fluffy hamster, so adorable in the drawings. Not to mention Kalamouche had a fantastic wit. He was funny and charming and honestly if Seokjin and Kalamouche were to have dinner together, the jokes would run like water and be appreciated equally in both directions. Seokjin loved a good joke, no matter how cheesy.

Yes, Seokjin found a fictional hamster in a graphic novel admirable. Aspirational. So enjoyable he’d adopted multiple hamsters over the years into his menagerie, though the current Kalamouche was the first to look like the hamster in the drawings enough to bear the moniker. He also had the strange habit of being up and about in the mornings, very unusual for a nocturnal creature! 

What would Nasimiyu think of his babies? It made him pause, which Lord Sciurus took to mean food. He’d settled down in the crook of Jin’s neck for a nap but immediately sat up and snuffled, so Seokjin grabbed a nut from the breakfast plate and held it up. His little nails tickled as he crawled around Seokjin’s neck to reach it, then perched on his shoulder, bushy tail tickling behind Seokjin’s ear. 

She had to love them. At least in time. As of now, Seokjin had three hamsters, four guinea pigs, a rabbit, two sugar gliders, and Lord Sciurus. His beloved pair of ferrets, the oldest of his pets, had recently passed, so in a way he was grateful for the life-changing distraction of Nasimiyu arriving right now. King Dong-gun didn’t understand at all why he would grieve two furballs. Seokjin had already lost a mother and a brother, so how could he have any grief left for a pet? He was not an animal-person, King Dong-gun. Seokjin had those ferrets for almost ten years though and the loss of them was still a sharp grief in his heart, nestled right there alongside the loss of his mother and his brother.

At least he had other babies to comfort him through the loss. Seokjin smiled down at her as Lettie hopped by, on a mission for something he couldn’t see. Probably circling back to the bowl of food he’d set by the table. She had a particular fondness for Jungkook, which Seokjin insisted was because Jungkook looked a bit like a rabbit, which had offended Jungkook, so now Seokjin and Jimin just agreed about it in private. He thought Yoongi looked like a sleepy cat a lot, and Hoseok looked quite like Lord Sciurus when he was angry. He wasn’t sure about Jimin yet. King Dong-gun looked like an angry bull most of the time, even when he was laughing.

Seokjin did not much agree with Jungkook’s take that he looked like a hamster, though he didn’t find it offensive. He had been known to puff his cheeks out like one when trying to make a small child laugh, or when he ate freely without worrying about how he looked. And obviously he loved Kalamouche, so actually that was rather flattering.

Thinking about people compared to animals couldn’t be helped; so many of the graphic novels he enjoyed did exactly that. It made him briefly pause and consider whether there was a reason for this; he’d never thought about it before. Maybe animals were easier and more fun to draw? Maybe they let you parody people without offending anyone too much? He had definitely raised his eyes a few times at the Hamster King in Kalamouche , but the elderly, secretly senile hamster didn’t seem to have much similarity to his father. King Dong-gun certainly didn’t spend all his time in a secret wing of the palace trying to navigate a maze he’d never been able to figure out. It was all the Hamster King did. It was pretty sad, actually.

In the latest novel, Kalamouche’s parents had informed him that even though he was the youngest, it was time he get married and bring forth hamster babies. Considering the timing of this novel launch had been right as news began to circle that Seokjin’s betrothed was finally coming to Priva to marry him, he’d found himself wondering if he could be some inspiration for Kalamouche. He didn’t think it likely Kalamouche was a direct parody of him, considering he was more than a noble, and he didn’t fight crime, and didn’t have nearly the same luck with women. More likely the author just drew on current events to capture the audience, and Prince Jin’s upcoming nuptials were definitely a hot topic around town.

Kalamouche wasn’t interested in his parents’ wishes. He claimed not to be interested in committing to any one woman, though Seokjin thought it was pretty obvious he still had his heart broken by a commoner he had rescued several books before. She’d married someone else, and was far below his rank anyway, though he’d seemed to consider abandoning everything for her at the time. It had been a heartbreaking book. He’d understood deeply what it felt like to have everything in the world to offer except whatever the mysterious thing was to actually win a lady’s heart. 

Thinking about it now was almost enough to derail his morning with thoughts of Nasimiyu. No. He didn’t want to think about the failure of yesterday yet. Today was a new day. He’d do better. She’d like him more. 

But right now was his time to just relax with his animals and Kalamouche , who never failed to make him laugh. He always had the perfect line in a time of crisis. Maybe that one mouse woman hadn’t married him but other ladies in the story found him charming and worthy, whether he was in disguise as a fishermouse or a priest or a bandit or whatever, even as the disdainful noble he’d been born into. Kalamouche had so many identities, Seokjin didn’t understand how he could keep them all straight. 

What about the true Kalamouche? There were these pages in between the action, when Kalamouche was sometimes alone, just laying under a raspberry bush in the forest, his head cushioned on a berry, in which Seokjin thought Kalamouche was actually himself . Not that all the other things weren’t also himself, but that that Kalamouche, alone and unbothered, was the truest center kernel of Kalamouche. He understood that too. Even though he tried to be so honestly himself in every day, his life still felt like a performance. Everything was a performance. Seokjin wasn’t sure he knew what the true kernel of himself was, unless it was this right now, reading his manga, snuggling with his fur babies.

Lettie came back and lifted onto her hind legs to sniff at him. When Seokjin sat up to pull her into his lap, Lord Sciurus leapt off, taking a turn around the garden to chase the piggies, who had clustered with fresh veggies under one of the little wooden awnings he’d bought for them, one of many houses and playgrounds and gazebos for them around the space. He might have very little power to do anything for the people beyond these walls right now, but dammit if his pets weren’t living their best lives!

“Are you ready to dress?” Jimin called, misunderstanding Seojin’s movement.

“I’m only halfway through my book.”

“You can’t hide in here all day.”

“Hiding? The sun is up! I’m outside! That’s not hiding!”

“Don’t you have arms training this morning?” Jungkook added.

Seokjin glared, “You don’t know that, you’re just hoping.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook grinned. “Want to spar?”

“Is that why you wanted to take this morning? I can’t spar with you. You’re the only one who hits me and you’ll give me a bruise on my face and it’ll look bad for the Princess,” Seokjin huffed. He lay back on the bench, scratching gently around the base of Lettie’s ears as she snuffled at his pajama top, scrounging for breakfast crumbs. 

“Ya, it will make you look tough!”

Jimin’s voice was low as he hissed, “You can’t hit his face! Or anything right now!”

“You know he doesn’t learn anything from the other nobles he spars with pulling their attacks.”

“Well you’re supposed to make sure he’s never in a position where he needs to be good at it.”

“I want to be good at it,” Seokjin sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “I look good with a sword.” That was true. And he was competent. He’d certainly trained hard. Seok-ho had been a natural and Seokjin never could have kept up with him but King Dong-gun had always made sure he understood what a laughingstock a prince who couldn’t properly hold a sword would be. 

Suddenly Jungkook changed the subject and answered the earlier question, “But no, I’m stuck on the morning shift because Eddie needed to go see his sick mother.”

A beat before Jimin and Seokjin both started, “That can’t be true–”

“Fine, I’m supposed to meet someone… you don’t know her and I’m not telling you.”

“Just don’t fall in love and leave me,” Seokjin grumbled. “Not yet! At least wait until I’ve impressed the Princess.”

“I’m not going to fall in love. Love is for princes and nobles.”

“Kalamouche would say–”

“Kalamouche is a rat in a comic book,” Jungkook scoffed.

Seokjin gave him a playful, teasing sigh, “If you want me to teach you to read, just say–”

“I need to spar with Your Highness this morning. I have a few things to help you learn with the blunt side of a sword. Like that I can read…” Jungkook gave him an equally teasing grin.

“Jungkook,” Jimin sighed.

“First problem, you don’t use a sword to read,” Seokjin corrected.

“Maybe he’ll be a fast learner and he won’t get very bruised.”

“Hoseok will have your head if you spar with him in public. It’s… improper.”

“What’s improper,” Seokjin called, “Is that you’re ignoring Mercedes trapped under your chair. Free her at once!” Jimin rolled his eyes but reached down to pull Mercedes’ ball out and turn it loose. The balls were one of the coolest things Seokjin felt like he owned, an invention out of Sartia. The perfectly rounded strips of alternating wood and glass gave hamsters security and visibility and they made such a cute little rumbling noise as they roamed about. Seokjin had been very happy with his patronage of the inventor, who’d also designed some of the playgrounds and Lord Sciurus’ multi platformed tree house.

Seokjin set Lettie back on the ground, who suddenly took off at a dash to leap over the piggies. Used to this behavior, Daffodil and Nutmeg let Lettie know what they thought of it before shuffling back against the wall with Petunia and Oregano. Now Lettie chased them out though and all four of them took off, racing along the paths, clearly enjoying the game despite their noisy squeaks. If Lettie stopped, one of them would turn around and jump at her and squeak until she started going again.

Seokjin ignored Jungkook’s and Jimin’s restlesness and returned to his book.

***

Nasimiyu looked at herself in the mirror but then briefly closed her eyes. This was her least favorite part of being a princess. No, not the dresses and jewelry, that part was fine even though she recognized it was hypocritical to enjoy those things while also fighting for the rights of the commoners and wanting to shrink the wealth disparity. Honestly, if bringing down the monarchy would do it, she would –but Dulce had once mused, in response to that idea, that a new power would just step up in its place, and also that a single power would always fail to address the needs of such a diverse kingdom of people, and Nasimiyu had seen the wisdom in that. Dulce was incredibly wise despite her upbringing and Nasimiyu was wise enough to know she herself led a relatively sheltered life and didn’t know everything about the people of Yeonhalbi. Not the way Dulce, who had traveled all over, did. Maybe Nasimiyu couldn’t fix the world entirely but she could make it better . That’s what Dulce helped her see: practical solutions. Otherwise she’d dream too big and it would be her literal downfall. How many revolutionaries before her had been swallowed by the flames they themselves had kindled? So Nasimiyu would not tear down the aristocracy. She would become queen and force change. Granted, there was one major aspect of it all that she and Dulce disagreed on, but for all her wisdom, it wasn’t like Dulce actually knew everything that was best. Nasimiyu had education and political training and her family with its network of connections to help her see what the best future looked like when she became queen.

And the first thing she would stop doing were these stupid awful luncheons. 

“Nasi?” her mother called from the doorway. Nasimiyu turned and put on her best smile, but wasn’t surprised when Princess Simisola sighed. “You’ll have to do better than that.” 

“I just needed a moment.”

Princess Similsola grinned and pressed her hands to Nasimiyu’s face, “I know, my darling. Your honesty is a beautiful piece of you, but as a leader, you must learn to control your face. Not everything in life can be to your pleasure.”

This was such a grossly wrong statement for how Nasimiyu viewed herself that it was nearly impossible not to jerk out of her mother’s grasp. Instead she argued,

“It’s not about pleasing me, Mama. It’s that these ladies will be tripping over themselves to please me rather than letting me know a single intelligent thought they have bouncing around their own skulls.”

“Oh, you think they’ll want your favor?” Princess Simisola laughed. Nasimiyu hated when her mother took that patronizing tone, smiling and laughing like she had all the problems of the world solved. If her parents had solved all the problems of the world, she wouldn’t be in the position she was now, would she? They’d left it to her to save. She was the one who had to play this farce to such a personal degree and it would be her name and face and legacy that had to fix the mess while they got to enjoy the benefits of being parents of the Queen with none of the work.

It was almost enough to make her hate her mother in the moment, which wasn’t fair, because Princess Simisola was a good one. Nasimiyu was just stressed. She reminded herself of that and gave a forced smile, which her mother recognized and laughed at.

“Yes, they’ll crave your favor,” her mother agreed. “Today is when you begin your very own network. The ladies you meet today, and how they think of you, could make all of the difference in the future,” Princess Simisola reminded her. “The future is female. Make them believe it before they hear anyone utter the words so that they’ll be ready to repeat them from the heart when the day comes.”

“Yes, Mama,” Nasimiyu nodded, soothed. Her mother pressed her nose to her forehead in embrace, then stepped back and gestured for Nasimiyu to lead the way. 

Nasimiyu glanced to the side to make sure Dulce was one of the two maids following her. Dulce hadn’t wanted to come to this, but when Nasimiyu pointed out that it was almost important for her to understand the noble women in the palace, Dulce had been won over. Nasimiyu couldn’t imagine what would make her so reluctant anyway because as a maid all she had to do was stand at the edge of the room and bring Nasimiyu things if she called for them. Easy. Nasimiyu was the one who had to actually charm the women!

One unknown about this luncheon was who exactly had planned it. The Queen normally would, though in this case was not alive to do so. In the absence of a Queen, the King’s daughter or sister might take over, but he had neither of those. Perhaps that was why the luncheon had been planned for the day after their arrival –cruelly soon, as if intentionally to catch Nasimiyu while still tired and antisocial from her journey. 

As soon as she and her mother and their entourage walked through the door, a pack of women descended on them. Nasimiyu held her head high at the introductions by a woman who was younger than she expected and introduced herself as,

“His Majesty’s cousin, Lady Zselyke Kim.” She must be around Princess Simisola’s age but had a deceptively youthful energy to her mannerisms as she clutched Nasimiyu’s hand and assured her, “We shall be close friends. Let me introduce you. Of course you are most welcome here.”

It was disarming. Nasimiyu didn’t believe it for a second, but she smiled gracefully as she was led past nearly thirty women and fed their names and a brief explanation of who and what they were. Privan nobility, most of them, and mostly surnames Nasimiyu was familiar with. It struck her that despite her dismissal, her mother and Dulce were both correct: it was important for her to get to know these women, the wives and mothers and daughters behind the men who ran the country. The wives and mothers and daughters who might someday be interested in helping her run the country better without the men in the way.

“It is wonderful to meet you all,” Nasimiyu said once she’d made it through the line, careful to commit each name to memory. “I appreciate the welcome and I look forward to getting to know you all.”

“I’m so sorry that we’re so small in numbers right now. At this time of year we lose many to the more tranquil beaches of Sartia, but once word of your arrival spreads, they will flock here to greet you.”

“Yes, we have a very active society here, you will never want for fine company here,” Lady Hường Arzt assured her. 

“Is society very good in Marvono? I’ve never been,” Miss Lidmila Aukem asked, looking to her mother, Sukhdeep Aukem, who appeared to shake her head no .

Nasimiyu waited for her mother to answer first as the two of them sat together on a velvet chaise. The room had large fans with wide blades slowly turning overhead, not too different from home except they didn’t actually create any breeze, only drew in the salty, smelly, fishy air from the large open windows. Dulce stood next to one of them, she noticed, next to some of the other handmaids. It amused Nasimiyu that anyone would look at Dulce and think her an ordinary handmaiden, but she thought Dulce was probably right, that people saw what they expected to see. She knew Dulce intentionally tried to look doughty so as to appear unremarkable but she had too pretty a face to ever be truly forgettable. She didn’t like to be told so and didn’t believe you if you said it anyway.

“What did you and Prince Seokjin talk about at the dinner table last night?” asked Miss Çiğdem Quincy, followed by Lady Brigitte Van Aarle lightly slapping her hand and gasping, “You can’t ask her that?”

“What do you think of him?”

“He seems very charming,” Nasimiyu said diplomatically. “I’m afraid I have not yet spent much time in his company though. This is all a bit… overwhelming, to be honest.” She hadn’t decided until just that moment to play it that way, and regretted it only because it was what her mother suggested. Be confident, but a little vulnerable, a little needy. It would make obvious which women leaned in to assist, which women leaned back to study weakness, and which seemed just as lost. 

“You poor dear, it is!” the elderly Lady Anne Lapointe lamented. “Honestly, I can’t imagine. Priva must be so different than what you’re used to. So much more advanced, isn’t it?”

Princess Simisola quickly answered, “It is different, yes. We have much to learn about the charms of Priva.” Because they aren’t immediately obvious , Nasimiyu thought. 

“And of the Prince,” Nasimiyu added. “Is he really as dashing as he seems? I wasn’t expecting him to be so…” She waited to see how they would fill it in, her gaze leaping from face to face to watch the thought process, to see whether women were thinking positive or critical things.

“Handsome?” was the first blurted out response, followed by giggles. Nasimiyu’s eyes went wide with surprise. Even Lady Anne Lapointe giggled .

“Oh, Prince Seokjin, he’s so charming!”

“He’s very thoughtful. He’ll remember everything you ever tell him about yourself,” another insisted.

Miss Afua Trevis, daughter of a very stern-looking Pola Trevis, leaned in and assured her, “It’s not true what they say either about–”

“Afua!”

“About him breaking hearts!” Miss Afua Trevia cried to defend herself. “I only meant, it’s not true! Any lady would lose her head for him but I think his heart has been saved for you and you alone… it’s so romantic…”

“He must look very different from the men in Marvono. Is that true?” Lady Muirgen Butler asked, eyebrow arched. 

Nasimiyu clenched her teeth and insisted, “We have men who look very like the Prince in Marvono and men who look very different. We are not that distant from here, no more distant than Therepin or Rinsk or Sartia.” 

“It’s true. It’s true, what she says. Only we don’t get many Marvonese travelers here, not even as many as Paloman which is further!”

“Is it further? I’m not so sure…”

“It’s further,” Nasimiyu confirmed, smiling harder. Was education really so bad here among the nobles that they didn’t know basic geography? Did none of them travel except to the white sand beaches of Sartia?!

“Is it very different here? You must tell us what your home is like!”

“No, first we must help her understand what Priva is like,” Lady Sukhdeep Aukem argued. “She will live here now as our Princess and then our Queen. It’s very important she learn our ways so the people will love her.”

“Why would the people not love her? She will do well. It has been a long time since we had a woman in the palace.”

Lady Zselyke Kim looked highly offended by this and argued, “We get on as best we can.”

Nasimiyu didn’t think she could stomach explaining Marvono –which was a part of their own kingdom!-- to these women and so quickly begged, “Please tell me more about Priva, and anything you can about society here. I have so much to learn even just about my husband and to learn the city on top of it so I may rule well–”

“Assist with ruling well,” Lady Zselyke Kim corrected, with a raised eyebrow.

Princess Simisola began to speak but Nasimiyu quickly corrected her own mistake, “Yes, of course. I was not sure what I would find but it’s obvious King Dong-gun and Prince Seokjin are fine rulers and that if you’ve been running the palace for them, you’ve done a wonderful job. I just want to understand what women see around this place,” she smiled. “I want to know everything that concerns me so I may learn this beautiful city and my place in it quickly.”

“Yes, my daughter is eager to be as useful here as she was in our home,” Princess Simisola agreed with a nod. Nasimiyu breathed a sigh of relief; her mother thought she’d handled it well. Without knowledge of their future plans, a slip like that might mean nothing, just a foolish girl choosing her words improperly. But when a king dies and then a prince dies, a lady may remember the new princess who had mentioned her desire to rule. Especially a pushy cousin. Nasimiyu glanced at Lady Zselyke Kim and gave her a supplicating smile. No one had ever mentioned Lady Zselyke Kim to her, but she did realize now the woman had been in the background of their greetings yesterday, though not formally introduced. Was King Dong-gun bad at decorum like that? Sexist? Or did it mean Lady Zselyke Kim was not as important in this place as she wanted to convince Nasimiyu?

Misses Çiğdem Quincy and Afua Trevis seemed eager to gossip –good to know— and the latter leaned as close as her mother would let her to say, “Prince Seokjin is so good at so many things. Have you already seen him dance?”

“No, I’m not sure dancing is what he’s best at.”

“He sings very well but he’s shy about it.”

“You’ve heard him sing?” came a scandalized gasp from Miss Lidmila Aukem.

“Yes! Yes? It wasn’t indecent –”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t say that in front of–”

“It was at a dinner party! That’s all! I’m sorry you weren’t invited but–”

“I’m invited to every dinner party and I’ve never heard him sing.”

“He sings to himself all the time.”

“Oh well I don’t skulk about in his path.”

Nasimiyu was going cross-eyed. It became very clear that the tension here was that many wanted to talk very much about Prince Seokjin and their mamas very much wanted them to not. It seemed like a potentially useful thing, if she could carve out some tea times or walks with just some of the younger women. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising they all had stars in their eyes when they talked about him. He was decently handsome, if you didn’t mind the annoying humor and clumsy demeanor.

“What has been your impression so far?” Lady Anne Lapointe asked right over the titters of the younger women.

“The city seemed lively,” Nasimiyu offered, “But we haven’t seen much yet.”

Princess Simisola quickly added, “It’s a beautiful palace but my daughter is right. We are very much new here and have not formed an impression yet, except that we look forward to knowing this beautiful city more.”

“How long will you stay with us, Princess Simisola?”

“Perhaps not long,” her mother admitted. “We will visit some of the other princes further south since we have traveled all this way. But of course I will be here frequently, to help with wedding planning and to visit with my daughter and grandchildren afterwards.”

“Grandchildren,” Lady Miuren Bridger repeated. “You are optimistic, are you? Does your family make offspring so well? You only have the one.”

“That’s incorrect, we have three girls. Nasimiyu is our youngest,” Princess Simisola said. “Our elder two would not travel just yet as they have both recently had babies.”

“Ahhhhh.” This seemed allowable to those present. Nasimiyu found herself surprised it wasn’t known that she had elder sisters. Did these women not really know much about her at all? It seemed strange. She’d been engaged to Prince Seokjin for several years now. 

Maybe they hadn’t bothered learning about her because they didn’t think she’d get this far. She’d heard a rumor before that Prince Seokjin had at least one failed betrothal, possibly more. Of course such gossip would be closely guarded and squashed by the palace. Her father was not convinced it was true but also wasn’t sure King Dong-gun would be honest with him about it if he asked. It made Nasimiyu wonder if actually they really ought to find out whether he had been betrothed, and what exactly had made it fall through. That might be a clue to what sort of man Prince Seokjin really was. 

Not that it mattered, of course. In the end, things had to be the way they had to be. The Kim dynasty was not best for Yeonhalbi any longer. Maybe it never really had been, but people made reckless choices when they were desperate or desperately grateful.

“Do you have balls in Marvono?” Miss Çiğdem Quincy asked. “The balls here are wonderful.”

“There’s going to be one soon!”

“Yes, to welcome the Princesses,” Lady Brigitte Van Aarle scoffed, as if the girls were stupid to have forgotten this. “Honestly, you aren’t showing our best.”

“We were talking about what Prince Seokjin likes–”

“The Princess will be better versed in what the Prince likes than any of us,” Lady Hường Arzt interrupted. “We should learn what things the Princess likes to see how we may be useful to her.”

“Well there are thirty something odd of us so that’s a bit rich to expect from a luncheon!” Lady Zselyke Kim argued. “Don’t try so hard. Invite her to your homes. Princess Simisola and Princess Nasimiyu are with us now and we have plenty of time to get to know each other. Let’s talk to her about things going on around Priva which might amuse her, like the Sunflower Festival.”

“Oh, you grow sunflowers in Priva?” Nasimiyu asked with surprise.

“No, Princess, but we bring them in! Lady Kim is right, it’s such a beautiful time. A little treat for those of us who don’t abandon the city for the summer months.”

“I bet it’s not nearly as hot and humid here as it is in Marvono, isn’t that right?”

“I’ve heard Marvono is a dry heat.”

“Yes, it’s a dry heat,” Nasimiyu agreed, sensitive to what they meant by that. But it was true, it was much more pleasant than this humid, smelly place. The air was sharp but clean.

“We love sunflowers,” Princess Simisola offered to the conversation.

“Yes, lovely, they’re one of Prince Seokjin’s favorite flowers,” Lady Comfort Láska insisted. 

“Ah, the Prince does love his flowers!”

“He’s just like his mother in that way. The gardens were never more beautiful than when she was with us.”

“He’s done his best but it’s so much work and he only lets the gardeners do so much. He wants to stay true to her vision, of course.”

“He needs a partner,” Pola Trevis suggested. She gave Nasimiyu a pointed look. “Do you garden?”

Nasimiyu stopped the sandwich halfway to her mouth, the first bite she would have had at this small plate luncheon, and answered, “I love flowers. As for growing them, I look forward to all the things my husband can teach me.”

Titters around the room let her know this was an acceptable answer. They were traditional here, she thought. She worried what that meant for her plans. They might not accept her bold ideas. 

When at last the luncheon had dragged on long enough, Nasimiyu was ever so grateful to the ladies for dispersing and setting her free. She had to endure an onslaught of invitations to tea and supper but accepted the cards with grace and thanked everyone for their welcome and did everything as correctly as she possibly could. 

This was confirmed when she and Princess Simisola could finally collapse alone in their private parlor situated between their bedrooms. Nasimiyu flopped on the chaise lounge while Princess Simisola heaved a deep sigh and sat in an overstuffed chair.

“I did all right,” Nasimiyu announced.

Princess Simisola gave her a warm grin, “Yes, my darling, you did wonderful. We have many people to familiarize ourselves with. It will be a busy few months.”

“It takes a lot of energy. I should be focused on–”

“You have your maids to focus on other things,” her mother said pointedly. Dulce had not yet joined them in the sitting room, disappearing who knew where. That annoyed Nasimiyu, because she wanted to know what she thought, not listen as her mother began walking through the entire list of ladies they’d just met, sharing her observations of each. It felt like studying and Nasimiyu was tired enough as it was. Couldn’t they rehash the luncheon later?

Fortunately, several maids at once came in and the disruption saved her; the King was asking for tea with Princess Simisola and Prince Hamisi. Nasimiyu gave her mother a teasing grin, as it was obvious her mother would rather rest than go change into something suitable for tea with a king. But she rose, and tapped Nasimiyu’s forehead affectionately as she passed.

Nasimiyu demanded to be left alone with a wave of her hand, and slid her slippers off and stretched out. She must have dozed off for a time, under the rhythmic clicks of the ceiling fan. When she awoke, Dulce was in the room, opening the windows.

“No, don’t open them,” Nasimiyu frowned. “You’ll let the sea air in.”

“You need to acclimate to the sea air,” Dulce pointed out. Nasimiyu glared. Of course Dulce was right; no matter what, she’d be here in Priva for several years. Probably she would try to change the capital to Marvono eventually but a kingdom could only endure so much change at once, so it would take time. And no one would support a queen who grimaced at sea air in her own palace.

Nasimiyu sighed, “Fine, but not by opening the windows yet. Let’s go for a stroll on our own. Do you think you can shield me from having to talk to anyone?”

“You want to walk into the city?”

“No, around the gardens is fine. I’m sure you remember how to get us to them. I had to sit for so long, my legs are aching for a stretch. Let’s go.”

“Yes, all right.”

“What did you think about it all though? Boring, right? You see now why I was always escaping.”

Dulce tilted her head and just said, “You can learn a lot by what women in those rooms say or don’t say and how they say it. It was useful to observe. You were right about that.”

“What’s your take? Do you think they’d support me?”

“Some of them maybe,” Dulce said. “I don’t know politics like you do, Princess. I know it was a room full of women eager to please and eager to get a sense of you. That doesn’t mean anyone was honest. Time will tell.”

“You mean you’ll have to keep going to luncheons with me.”

“Wait, no–”

But now Nasimiyu laughed at Dulce’s grimace and laughed, “Yes, that’s what you’ve agreed! All right, let’s walk. Maybe we can swing by the weapon yard too so you can feel superior watching the little boys hack at each other with wooden swords.”

“You’re so considerate.”

“I am . Let’s go. If anyone looks like they want to talk to me, stab them.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Fine, but think of something.”

“Tell your guard–”

“No, I’m not taking a bodyguard for a stroll. I’m safer with you than with them anyway. Now stop dragging your feet and lead me back to the flowers. You don’t think these gardens are the only flowers grown in Priva, do you? Honestly, to have a festival for a flower you have to import !!”

“Is that something you want to change?” Dulce asked.

Nasimiyu appreciated the question and sighed, “It is, but I suspect I will need to focus on bigger things. I don’t know. My head hurts, let’s just walk.”

***

Seokjin’s chest and shoulders heaved with the effort of breathing; sweat ran down his neck, sticking the ends of his hair to his ears and forehead. Master Drin didn’t wait though; Seokjin had to leap backwards and parry Drin’s blade away from his hip. Granted the wooden training swords didn’t do much damage except for bruising and blistering. Occasionally they sparred with actual weapons and armor, because Prince Seokjin could technically be challenged to a duel at any time and while he had the privilege of always invoking a stand-in, it was still a matter of appearances. Once upon a time he had thought the stand-in rule was stupid; why should some other bloke get carved up because someone took issue with him? But as he grew, he realized that challenging a Prince to a duel was a sport for many noble lads looking to impress a girl or air a family grievance, and he grew well versed in rolling through a short roster of champions who could take care of matters for him, which was often faster than actually getting to the bottom of the accusation. Besides, Jungkook enjoyed the action; he and the other bodyguards had a running competition about who could end their duels the quickest.

But no real blades today, just wooden short swords for a while, and then as soon as Seokjin started to look tired, those were traded for the heavier wooden rapiers. Short swords were more in fashion now, and Seokjin often had one on his hip as ceremony called for, but rapiers weren’t gone and it would be foolish not to still know how to use or defend against one. Using the heavier sword after the first was just a cruel stamina-building exercise Master Drin delighted in.

“Tired?” Drin asked with a devilish grin. The answer was obviously yes , but Drin was the only one Seokjin wouldn’t sass because then he’d just drive him harder. 

“Never,” Seokjin lied, and feigned a step to the right only to leap to the left and try to press Drin on his right because it was too obvious of a move. He struck but was parried; instead of being repelled though he pushed forward, aiming high outside at Drin’s left shoulder. The cross-body attack wasn’t good; Seokjin knew that as soon as he did it. He had no choice but to retreat under Drin’s riposte, parrying it hard to the side so he could step back.

“You don’t think quickly enough,” Drin said. “You tried to surprise me and it didn’t work, so trying to surprise me again won’t work.”

“It might eventually,” Seokjin argued. 

“You’re too predictable. Make sure you don’t train with someone you’re going to fight. You need variety in your moves.”

“I have… variety,” Seokjin grumbled. He wanted to defend that he was just tired; they’d been at it for over an hour now. But he knew Drin wasn’t entirely wrong. He was excellent at defense; even Master Drin struggled to actually touch him when he focused. But on the attack, he had no mind for noticing the weak points in his opponent. He couldn’t figure out their style quickly enough to find a hole. He couldn’t plan his attack with alternatives out far and quickly enough to be of use. If his first attack worked, as if often did with anyone who wasn’t Master Drin or Jungkook, then he was golden, but if the first attack failed, he often floundered to catch his footing again. It was infuriating. And how was he supposed to get better if only Master Drin or Jungkook would actually spar with him to win? 

“Use nothing that you’ve used today,” Master Drin told him, walking a circle and then tipping his blade in the sand to signal focus. Seokjin got into a proper lowered stance even though his thighs were burning.

“I don’t remember what I’ve used today,” he mumbled, humor fading. He understood the command, even though there were only so many moves; Master Drin only meant he should not make it appear he was doing the same thing predictably over and over.

“Make yourself remember.”

Seokjin wanted to crack a joke and was just racking his brain for one as he lifted his blade, but a figure on the far side of the yard made him freeze. He was completely unprepared for Master Drin’s blade to whip forward and smack him on the waist.

“Your Highness!” Master Drin scolded.

“My apologies,” Seokjin quickly corrected, bowing, and blushing, because he did not know how long Princess Nasimiyu had been standing there, but it was obvious she watched him. 

Shit.

Seokjin almost pointed out to his training master that the Princess was there, but he worried his master would do the opposite of making him look good and instead try to use it to his advantage. Of course he wanted to look like an impressive swordsman in front of Princess Nasimiyu. He was impressive! Maybe he wasn’t a natural with a blade in his hand, but what he lacked in talent, he had made up for with nearly two decades of unending hard work, originally at the behest of his father but later because he thought that training would make him more graceful and tougher. And maybe because of that attempt on his life that had scared him so badly, but they didn’t talk about that anymore.

“Ah, now you are serious!” Master Drin mused. “I see it in your face!” Probably he was comfortable taunting Seokjin because he’d known him so long, and seen him breakdown from training –something Seokjin usually kept completely private–, and also because he was about the only person allowed to strike Seokjin so he took liberties with his protected place. He was much more formal when King Dong-gun was around but Seokjin didn’t mind the taunting.

Except right now. He had a Princess to impress.

“Yes, you are talking, you don’t want to go through with this?” Seokjin joked. “The pen is mightier than the sword, not the tongue.”

“In the bedroom–”

Seokjin knew the older man couldn’t help making the joke, and he paid the consequences for it as Seokjn dove in for the attack. It was parried, as he expected, but he parried the riposte and went inside low. The clank of wooden weapons created an enjoyable rhythm; Seokjin liked the sound of it, maybe another thing that drove him towards the yard. He was in a good groove of giving and blocking and returning. 

But then disaster. Seokjin’s long legs reached too far; he lunged past Master Drin and tried to catch him on the turn, but his stride was too long and it made him over balance. Not only did Master Drin easily knock him over and take the touch, but Seokjin actually fell right onto his ass. 

Right in front of the Princess.

He leapt to his feet as Princess Nasimiyu reached them; he quickly bowed, “Ah, welcome Princess. You’ve caught me during my weapons practice. Master Drin Donellson is a world-famous weapons master. Master Drin, this is Princess Nasimiyu of Marvono… my betrothed.” He’d stumbled over whether to call her my betrothed or my bride or my future wife. As soon as he said betrothed, he wished he’d said future wife. It sounded more romantic and personal. Betrothed sounded formal. An arrangement. It was an arrangement but he didn’t want his marriage to remain that way. 

Nasimiyu gave a small curtsy as Master Drin bowed politely low and greeted, “A pleasure to meet you, Princess. You are marrying a fine, hard-working swordsman. I know because I’ve trained him myself since he was a boy!”

“How admirable,” Nasimiyu smiled, and it was the closest to praise Seokjin had seen so far. Granted, he didn’t know if she meant his hard work or Master Drin’s.

He decided to assume the best and agreed, “Yes, I take my training very seriously.”

“You have no real combat experience, yes?” Nasimiyu asked. She still had that pleasant smile but Seokjin found himself confused by her question.

“There has been no recent campaign for me to participate in. The kingdom is at peace,” he pointed out. He decided not to mention his brother had died ending the last border skirmishes to guard Therepin and protect the wholeness of the kingdom. 

“Yes, he is well trained should the need arise, but hopefully peace will remain,” Master Drin agreed. Even though Seokjin knew he itched for actual combat sometimes. Sometimes he got drunk in the kitchens and groused about it and Seokjin made sure he got back to his room safe before King Dong-gun saw and fired him for such behavior.

“In the absence of war, at least I will always be by your side to keep you safe,” Seokjin assured Nasimiyu, tilting his head and smiling softly at her. 

Nasimiyu lowered her face and gave him a smile that was shockingly attractive and not at all gentle like her previous smiles had been.

“That’s kind of you, Your Highness, however I am well trained with a knife and know how to defend myself as well. I would never be comfortable relying only on someone else’s protection.”

“You’re trained in… defense?” Seokjin clarified. “Combat?”

“Yes. Is that troubling to you?” Her handmaid coughed and Nasimiyu glanced sharply at her before turning to Seokjin for his answer.

“No. No, it’s not… trouble. I’m just surprised. I didn’t not realize… don’t you have adequate guards in Marvono?”

“Yes, of course, but surely self reliance isn’t a bad thing? You yourself are trained, and why should a Prince ever need to defend himself or fight his own duels or even lead a charge?”

Seokjin blinked and swallowed at the phrasing. It felt like a reference to his brother but couldn’t be. It would be in poor taste to taunt him about a death and he would never expect that from a woman like Nasimiyu. 

He tried to answer her question, “Ah, well… you know, often a Prince does lead a military campaign… I could fight my duels and likely win them only– well those are a formality for bored nobles anyway. It’s just something a prince ought to know.”

“But not a princess?”

“I… suppose so… if that’s a thing you’re interested in! But Princess you don’t need to think you’ll ever be in danger here. You will always be safe with me and in my home.”

“That is reassuring to hear.”

“But… uh…” He looked at Master Drin. He looked at Jungkook sparring over to the side with some of the other trainees, after he’d enjoyed a couple rounds with Seokjin and then been chased off by Master Drin. “If it’s a hobby of yours… do you want to join me? We can spar sometime!” 

It was an odd suggestion. He knew that. He didn’t think any prince in the history of the Kim dynasty had offered to spar with their betrothed or wife. It wasn’t that women never took to arms but certainly not noble ones. Even admitting she was trained in it was a shock, and both increased his admiration for her and his fear of her because Nasimiyu just seemed more incredible and competent and capable with every discovery. Sparring with his betrothed would certainly raise eyebrows, but he felt like Nasimiyu was going to raise eyebrows here no matter what, and he’d rather support his wife in that way from the beginning. If she wanted to spar, all right! He just hoped she wasn’t better than him…

“I don’t think that would be wise,” Nasimiyu said, instantly leaving him feeling like an idiot to have suggested it.

“Ah, of course… my apologies, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable…”

“My defense is best served if no one knows what I’m capable of.”

“I just wished to show my support for any way you want to spend your time.”

“Thank you.”

For a moment they stood there and Seokjin wished desperately he could tell by her face what she thought of him. In the absence of any fondness yet, he assumed the worst. She did not seem at all impressed with his swordsmanship, nor interested in his flushed, sweaty appearance. Some women liked that! 

But not Nasimiyu.

Maybe instead he should wish for a hole in the ground to open up and swallow him?

The maid touched her arm and Nasimiyu sprang into motion again, asking, “I shall see you at dinner, Your Highness?”

“My time can be yours at any time,” he quickly offered. “Ah, well, I’ll wash first…”

“See you at dinner,” she smiled, that beautiful smile, and even though she’d basically just rejected him, it still warmed the hope in his heart. Yes, all right. They would sit next to each other at supper. A lifelong love like his parents had was not made in a single day, or even two. He would be glad of small steps.

Turning back to Master Drin, he sighed, “Ah, I don’t think she was very impressed.”

“She must be. You’ve become very good.”

“You don’t have to flatter me. I will continue to work hard. Thank you for your help,” Seokjin said, bowing to the older man.

“I was not flattering you. If you lose confidence, it will be a step backwards for you. Women say things to tease men, especially when they are impressed. Do not assume she looked poorly on you.”

Seokjin felt self-conscious now though and insisted, “Both you and Jungkook can beat me and I don’t believe anyone else fights properly with me.”

“Jungkook is naturally gifted at these things, that’s true, but hard work can defeat talent in the end,” Drin insisted. “I had no natural gift, only steely determination. Let that motivate you. Another round now, push a little more and then I’ll release you.”

I’m tired , Seokjin wanted to complain. But he wanted to impress Nasimiyu more. Maybe she was better than him. So he swallowed the complaint and got back into position, sword hand trembling with exhausted determination.

***

“He wasn’t very good, was he?” Nasimiyu asked later that night as Dulce helped her step out of the gown she’d worn to dinner. There were so many ties and secret catches to undo, plus the risk of tangling it in her bracelets or earrings or necklace. One catch would ruin the delicate fabric. It was incredibly fussy and also one of the silkiest things Dulce had ever touched in her life. The fabric pooled like water on the floor; Dulce lifted it to hang while Nasimiyu undid her own underthings. 

“At supper?”

“No, when we saw him sparring,” Nasimiyu clarified.

Dulce slid the fabric onto the wooden hanger as she answered, “He’s very well trained.” Dulce was slightly disappointed Nasimiyu hadn’t been able to tell that just by watching him. It might lead her to do something reckless if she misjudged an opponent.

“Yes? So?”

“I’ve heard of his training master. He had a very famous military career when he was younger. The exercises they were doing may have looked simple but it was actually quite advanced.”

“So… you think he’s good with a blade,” Nasimiyu said. She let the gauzy bra band fall away from her chest without a care, but her expression didn’t look pleased.

“You wish him to be bad?” Dulce didn’t understand why it mattered at all.

Nasimiyu shrugged, “He doesn’t seem like the type to be competent at anything. His brother was apparently the one skilled at combat.”

“Being good with a blade doesn’t mean you’re good at anything else.”

Dulce obviously hadn’t meant it any which way. But Nasimiyu got a knowing smile on her face as she sauntered over, nude except for her silky red panties. She caught Dulce by the chin and smiled down at her.

“You’re good at things besides a blade.”

Dulce didn’t have to see her other hand to sense the second it moved. She blocked it easily, hand closing around her knuckles, diverting the blade easily to the side.

Nasimiyu left out a laughing sigh, “But damn you’re good with a blade. Did you see it in the back of my panties?”

“You walked funny so it wouldn’t drop,” Dulce admitted.

“You notice everything.”

“I have to.”

Nasimiyu looked down at the small blade she kept hidden on her. Dulce had one just like it, actually, a gift Nasimiyu had bought for them, one of many tactics to win Dulce’s assistance with this mission. They were small but sharp, well-made steel but embellished with unnecessarily shiny gold and rubies in the handle. Dulce didn’t like the way the blade felt in her hand; she preferred her worn old familiar one. But she carried it anyway, of course. It was a gift from Nasimiyu. There were only two in the world. She didn’t want to appear ungrateful.

“Do you think he’s better with a blade than I am?” Nasimiyu asked, tapping Dulce’s chin to get her attention. There was a long beautiful body for Dulce’s gaze to trail up from blade in hand to Nasimiyu’s face but she was a woman of strong self restraint. “You can tell me.”

“Yes,” Dulce admitted. “You shouldn’t spar with him.”

“You said I’m good.”

“I said you’re good enough to get yourself killed by thinking you’re better than you are,” Dulce clarified, stepping away to get space. “Don’t pick fights, especially here.”

“I know…”

“It’s important you know that. I don’t think you should have even told him you know how to fight,” Dulce admitted. 

Nasimiyu’s eyes narrowed at the scolding; she took a step closer again, peering down at Dulce as she taunted, “Oh? You want to tell me how to behave too?”

“I want you to not get yourself killed just because you want to show off.”

“I’m not showing off.”

“You want him to be impressed by you too?”

“Who else is impressed by me?” Nasimiyu asked, arching her eyebrow. When Dulce didn’t answer, she asked, “Can you beat him?”

“Of course I could beat him.”

“And his bodyguard?”

“Two of his bodyguards are young and reckless and frustrated,” Dulce scoffed, “The other is bored.”

“But not you. You aren’t any of those things.” Nasimiyu was teasing her. Dulce took a step back again. She was not one of those stupid people who thought a step backwards was a surrender. Sometimes it was important to put space between yourself and a threat, even this kind of threat, the threat of a beautiful naked woman teasing you.

Besides, it gave her space to yank the dagger from the secret pocket at her waistband before Nasimiyu’s next attack reached her. The blades struck each other and slid like a pair of scissors. That usually surprised people, and Dulce tried to grab Nasimiyu’s wrist in the moment, but she’d taught the princess too well. Nasimiyu flicked her blade, freeing Dulce’s but trying to nick Dulce’s exposed wrist at the same time. Instead Dulce circled her hand around so that Nasimiyu had to chase her, and slashed with the other. Nasimiyu had to shift her attention to Dulce’s blade as it sliced towards her upper arm –though slowly, as Dulce often was when she wasn’t confident Nasimiyu would predict and block her. She’d cut her before and regretted it, and doubted “training scars” would be welcome while she was so closely watched here as the important betrothed.

Nasimiyu blocked the attack and grabbed Dulce’s other wrist –beautifully predicting what Dulce had been going to do next, but not quite fast enough. It had given Dulce time to lift her ankle and grab the blade from her shoe in one fluid motion. Focused instead on that, Nasimiyu lost track of the other hand, but at the last second blocked Dulce’s forearm with her own.

The back and forth was quick. None of the elaborate hacking and slashing the men had demonstrated in the yard earlier. This was close combat, close combat, hands hitting and blades clicking so quickly it looked choreographed. In a way, it was; this was barely sparring, more like running through exercises Dulce had trained her in. Nasimiyu could feel comfortable, like she’d figured out Dulce’s movements, like she could participate in the back and forth. Dulce could lead the princess’ skill development this way and that, proudly watch her improve, hope that she could defend herself if the moment was needed, but also know that her own fighting style remained unknown. 

“You’re rusty,” Nasimiyu teased as they shuffled back and forth. She giggled and wriggled her chest, “Distracted?”

“Distract me that way and you’ll lose a nipple.”

“You wouldn’t dare–” Nasimiyu let out a yip as Dulce pressed the blunt side of her blade against the soft flesh just beneath one dark round nipple. She held it there, watching as Nasimiyu’s nipple hardened in response to the cold metal blade, or maybe at the threat. 

She was proud of the way Nasimiyu tried to use the distraction to her advantage. While Dulce stared, Nasimiyu reached for the other wrist. But Dulce was never only looking at one thing, and flipped the other blade to tap Nasimiyu’s hand.

“You’re so fucking fast,” Nasimiyu complained, leaping back. Her arms and legs were longer than Dulce’s. Her own traditional instructor had taught her to use that to her advantage. But a long reach was a slow one; she still had to dart forward and try to get past Dulce’s defenses –impossible if Dulce was truly fighting, difficult while she played like this. The blade went in and Dulce simply ducked under her hand and pressed her two blades around behind Nasimiyu, pressing the points she would have stabbed to her ribs and lower back.

“I’ve got you too,” Nasimiyu said, breathing heavily right beside Dulce’s forehead, bare chest pressed to her clothed one. “Right where I want you.”

“Is that–”

She grabbed Dulce’s jaw with one hand and jerked it upwards for the kiss, already moaning onto Dulce’s tongue. Dulce flipped her blades so she wouldn’t accidentally cut Nasimiyu; it had happened before, and she had been less amused by the blood that dripped along Nasimiyu’s skin as they fucked. Nasimiyu had thought it was amusing. Nasimiyu was a one in a million kind of woman.

She must be remembering it too, because Dulce felt the smile in the kiss seconds before Nasimiyu’s blade slid between them and caught on the laces of her gown.

“Damn,” Nasimiyu huffed when it didn’t just slice through the laces and fall away.

“That doesn’t work.”

“It does if you’re wearing a nice gown.”

“I’m a maid now. Maids don’t wear nice gowns.”

“Yes, you’re a maid, so come be good to your lady. And take this damned dress off! It makes your tits look small.” Nasimiyu pushed her away just enough to grab hold of the laces and begin to wrench them apart. She tossed her blade onto the rug, foolish. Dulce put hers back in her pocket before helping her lady with her own laces. Once her fingers were on the job, Nasimiyu grabbed her face again instead and kissed her hard, hungry, as if making up for her exhaustion and disinterest last night. 

“Too many clothes,” Nasimiyu complained. “I want you to touch me.” The second Dulce’s clothes were on the ground, Nasimiyu grabbed her hands and pressed them to her chest, as if Dulce needed the encouragement. 

She did not. She squeezed and kissed until they reached the bed and crashed down together, a tangle of limbs and hair. Nasimiyu predictably grabbed her braid, but just to hold her in place as she crawled higher and settled her pussy over Dulce’s mouth. The panties were gone.  

“You didn’t win the spar,” Dulce pointed out. Resisting the urge to just give in and devour as she was being wordlessly commanded. 

“Close enough.”

“Not close enough,” Dulce said. Even though Nasimiyu was taller, it took very little effort to grab her thighs, drag her to Dulce’s chest, and then flip her. “Not close enough,” she said again, Nasimiyu now trapped beneath her , knees up, pretty pussy uneaten. Nasimiyu wrapped her arms around her neck and tried to flip her back, but Dulce was hard to move if she didn’t want to be moved. Now her mouth started to curl into a rare smile. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”

“Dulcie.”

“Simi.”

“You know how I feel when you call me that,” she murmured, her noble lady mouth stretching to reach Dulce’s for a kiss, which was given. Nasimiyu grabbed her wrist and Dulce thought to let her try and flip her that way, knowing it wouldn’t work. But instead Nasimiyu dragged her hand down, pressing Dulce’s fingers to her pussy and grinding against them. Warm, wet, coarse curls damp with need; Dulce found it even harder not to give in yet. She would have, maybe, if she didn’t know how much Nasimiyu enjoyed the fight. How much Nasimiyu enjoyed winning. How willing Nasimiyu was to play dirty.

“Dulce…”

“Yes?” Dulce asked, letting Nasimiyu use her hand but not helping.

“Have pity on me.”

“You don’t like pity.”

“You’re playing too hard to get,” Nasimiyu insisted. This was an unusual tactic for her and Dulce tilted her head, looking down into Nasimiyu’s pretty dark eyes. “I’m desperate right now.”

“It’s my problem?”

“It’s your fault,” Nasimiyu complained and craned her neck to kiss her again. Dulce could taste that the food was all wrong here; Nasimiyu’s tongue had lost some of its spice. At least she still smelled the same, that same warm perfume that smelled like sunshine and warm breezes and fresh laundry and oranges. Dulce sank into the kiss, letting her skin press against Nasimiyu’s, stroking her fingers lightly along said desperate cunt. “Be with me, Dulce.”

“I think you have someone new to help you with this now.”

“No,” Nasimiyu murmured, arms sliding around Dulce and pulling her harder against her. A hand slid impatiently down Dulce’s backside, fingers brushing her own warm, desperate space. She spread her knees, pressing Nasimiyu’s legs apart too, and pressed her own fingers deeper. “No,” Nasimiyu said again. “It’s only you here. It’s only you I want.”

That was the thing about Nasimiyu. It was dangerous if you forgot who she was, because who she was was a princess, a princess who knew exactly what to say to get what she wanted. A princess who would fight dirty to get what she wanted.  

Prince Seokjin didn’t stand a chance. Dulce had no doubt Nasimiyu would pull off the whole scheme and be queen and change the world. What she didn’t know was what her own future looked like, only what it didn’t look like.

But for right now, she was here, so when Nasimiyu tugged on her braid again, she kissed her way down this warm, soft, beautiful body and let her princess win.

Chapter Text

Seokjin yawned and stretched and blinked at the early morning light until a shrill pssssst reminded him where he was. He lowered his hands and pointed them at Hoseok like they were cocked pistols and winked, trying to look cool about the whole thing.

“Are you going to mount, Your Highness?” 

“What are you doing with your fingers?” Hoseok whispered harshly. 

“They’re like hunting rifles only smaller,” Seokjin explained before realizing they wouldn’t have seen the secret intelligence that a kingdom to the north had developed such a thing. Pistols. The drawing looked interesting but apparently the recoil was so bad that you could tell who used them by their missing teeth. So not something exactly taking off right now; King Dong-gun had laughed himself out of his chair about the reports. Seokjin thought maybe they ought to pay more attention to those kinds of innovations, even if quality results were way off, but this was one of many areas in which he and his father differed. King Dong-gun invested his money into things he could see with his own eyes or ideas that came from his own head. Seokjin was fascinated by the dreams that other people dreamed, since he lacked any real dreams of his own. His life was a scheduled, walled-in reality, not a dream.

Seokjin turned his finger pistols on Taehyung and smiled and nodded, like this was all a part of his plan. He didn’t have to see it to feel Jimin’s sigh, but the valet stood dutifully to the side, waiting to mount his own lesser steed until his liege had. 

There were few things in life Seokjin hated rising early for more than a hunt and yet, here he was, because there Nasimiyu was, and her parents, and their entourage, and a bigger gathering behind them of the lords and ladies King Dong-gun had said could come this time. It was hard to predict how many people he’d feel like dealing with at any given time. Right now, the answer appeared to be not many.

Despite his social limits, Seokjin’s father was clearly thrilled at the morning ahead. He strode around the stableyard on his massive black steed, chin high and hand raised as he greeted each person in turn, wishing them a good hunt. His announcement earlier that whomever killed the white bear would win a special prize had not earned him the cheer he wanted so now he was demanding cheer one by one.

“It’s too early for a hunt,” Seokjin muttered to himself, clearly not the only person who thought so. He watched as Nasimiyu, in a fitted dark green coat and riding pants, climbed a box to mount her horse. The women in Priva thought pants were unfashionable on a woman and wouldn’t be caught dead in them, but he rather liked it. Practical. Safer for riding. Gave a delicious view of strong thighs and a round backside. He didn’t care what a man’s backside and thighs looked like. Might as well put the men in the dresses! Fashion had developed as wrong as the idea of an early-morning hunt.

Hoseok’s painful-sounding throat clearing tipped Seokjin off that he was staring. He surged into action, slipping his booted foot into the stirrup and flinging his leg over as he recalled the reason he’d looked at Princess Nasimiyu: she looked very sleepy. Her eyes were soft and unfocused. She went where her maid or her mother nudged her. She had the most natural, neutral quality to her expression he’d ever seen on her and the whole package was doing dangerously soft things in his chest because this was a very important thing he now knew about his future queen: she was not a morning person. He suspected her maids had dressed her and pushed her out the door. Maybe the bright silky scarf holding her hair back was because she’d overslept and there hadn’t been time to style it; he knew a thing or two about that. And now he also knew that she greeted the day naturally beautiful and someday he’d wake up looking at her. Someday he’d see her in the mornings even before her maids did. His stomach twisted itself into knots.

It looked like she was only bringing one maid on the hunt, the one with the long braid. One of many things he found interesting about Nasimiyu, and different from the other noble women who flocked around the palace: she seemed to prefer a small entourage. Often there was one maid and one guard and that was all. He could respect that about her, that she didn’t seem to want to make such a big deal of herself. He really admired that, actually. He was like that too, after all. Yes, he wanted to look his best, and she obviously did too, but to not have all this fanfare every time he rose from a chair would be so freeing. 

Maybe, too, she knew how safe she was within the palace walls. The idea she already felt comfortable enough to only take one guard with her when she wandered the halls warmed his heart. She was very safe here! He hoped she trusted that, or would trust it in time. Security in this palace was the best to be found in the kingdom. His father ran a remarkably tight palace. No weak links here. No threats to the future Queen.

King Dong-gun raised his fisted hand and shouted, “Are – we – ready – hunters??” A jovial laugh erupted from the gaping black hole of his mouth. Seokjin couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of his own after this tongue failed to trap it. The response was forced and lackluster from all those around. A pitiful showing next to the king’s enthusiasm.

But his father misunderstood and crowed, “My son is ready! I believe today shall be another victory for the Kim family, eh Prince Hamisi? We Kims always catch what we hunt.”

“Is that so?” Prince Hamisi grinned, leaning forward in his saddle. “I’m only slightly sorry to be the cause of you or your son’s disappointment today. Hopefully my daughter can comfort your son’s wounded ego later.”

Seokjin didn’t quite follow why both men laughed so hard about this. Was it because Nasimiyu’s coldness towards him was so obvious? Was it because Seokjin successfully made it look like his ego was puncture-proof? Were they dreaming and joking about their children having sex? Or was it because they were each so certain of their own ability to catch the white bear that they could taunt the other now? It didn’t matter, Seokjin’s ears were on fire and he couldn't look at Nasimiyu’s face.

“What do we hunt with?” Nasimiyu asked. He sat up straighter in hsi saddle, because she didn’t seem to have directed the question at anyone in particular, which meant he could dive for it.

“A rifle,” Seokjin answered, startling his horse with the quick command to draw closer to her. King Dong-gun and Prince Hamisi had begun to lead the procession from the far side of the stableyard, but he and Princess Nasimiyu were closer to the middle so not moving yet. 

“Oh.” She looked down in her lap like she expected a rifle to be nestled there.

“They’ll hand them to us once we’re in the hunting grounds,” Seokjin explained. “We keep weapons like a rifle tightly controlled. They aren’t allowed in the city.”

“Isn’t it inevitable? I’m sure they’re already there.”

Seokjin shrugged, “Maybe they are or maybe they aren’t. I’ve never seen any. We have tight security and er, final consequences for being caught even with the powder. Anytime any sort of group tries to rise up with shady business, we shut them down.” And kill everyone involved , he chose not to add.

“So if you don’t see it, it must not be happening?”

“A lot happens that nobody sees,” Seokjin admitted. It was a joke about where they were headed, but since she didn’t know that yet, he realized it didn’t make sense. He nudged his horse a little to the left so he wouldn’t bump into her before offering, “When we get there, I can show you how to use a rifle–”

“I know how to use one,” she interrupted, then bobbed her head and added, “I think…” He wasn’t sure if that was meant as an apology or a confession, but either way was endearing. Short temper? Defensive? He was slow to anger so maybe that could be a good balance between them. Or something. 

“Ah… let’s make sure,” Seokjin said, chuckling. “It’s not the kind of thing you want to be unsure about.”

“I mean, I’ve used one before I just don’t know which kind you have… And where exactly are we going?”

It was like he could see her waking up as they followed the procession down through the back gates of the palace landing, to the back side of the mountain that wasn’t visible from anywhere inside the city. A narrow, winding, twisty path here could lead you all the way to the bottom and you’d be out of the capital city of Priva; it was the most direct way out. For even faster transportation, you could take the cable car that would let you cut the twists and turns and just slide right down, though it was dangerous and a little nauseating and really just for emergencies or for quickly transporting supplies that was safer not to send through the crowded Privan streets. Seokjin had only been on the cable car once and it was every shade of terrifying you could dream of and then some. He still had nightmares about someone just cutting the cable and dropping him to his death. It could happen! Jungkook had told him exactly how it could happen! Jungkook was always a little too excited to point out catastrophic dangers, eager to impress without thinking about the horror and fear his words could cause. Sure, they both had active imaginations together but at least Seokjin knew when to shut his mouth!

Jungkook was, of course, entirely too chipper about the hunting trip. He was all smiles, big eyes sparkling as he rode beside Nasimiyu’s guard behind them, a stern, much larger man who had never said a word as far as Seokjin knew. Behind them, Jimin and Nasimiyu’s maid rode beside each other. Seokjin saw Jimin say something that earned a glance but no response from the maid. Damnit, he really needed to memorize the names of Nasimiyu’s staff but sometimes names flowed in one ear and out the other like water through a hollow gourd –the words of Mr. Jung, not his own. Often words flowed out of his mouth the same way –the words of Hoseok, not his own, followed by a teasing but friendly smile and a pat on the shoulder, and then Jungkook pretending to take Hoseok down, and Seokjin playfully scolding them both, feelings not at all hurt by this accurate assessment. Why should he stop the words? His jokes were great.

Like now as he joked, “Like Kalamaouche , we descend into the subterranean…”

Nasimiyu blinked almost owlishly at him and asked, “What did you say?”

“Kalamouche?”

“And… subterranean? I don’t understand anything you’re saying right now…” she admitted. He could see her lean away. That made the misses more embarrassing, that she physically recoiled from him when it happened.

“You’ll see… One of the most closely guarded secrets in Priva…” He was trying to be mysterious and wiggled his eyebrows but she just looked confused. “Oh, but what if your secret cave is better?”

“I beg your pardon?”

He sighed and shook his head, “I got ahead of myself with the grand reveal but of course yours is probably better, You have a much more elaborate cave network.”

“ What?”

Directly in front of them rode Lord Balor Jehoram and his son Prassani, and it was the former who let out a hearty laugh and tossed back, “Speaking about a ladies caves is a little uncouth in such a crowd, is it not?”

“Father…” his son warned, looking scandalized. He sent Seokjin a nervous glance. But now Seokjin heard his own words, now that Lord Jehoram had pointed them out. Oops.

“Oh! Ah, no, uh… I meant… literal caves… Marvono is full of them! Right?” He looked to Nasimiyu for confirmation. He felt like he might throw up.

“Oh. You, uh…” It was like a blanket passed across her face and her expression shifted entirely, her sharpened glare relaxing into one of relief, “Yes, we have an elaborate cave network in Marvono.”

“There’s only one cave here, and it’s the best cave in all of Yeonhalbi,” Seokjin said. He didn’t know if that was true but suddenly hoped it was, because he had hoped this could impress Nasimiyu and now realized it probably wouldn’t. Because her home was full of caves. Natural ones. Not this man-made monstrosity, this place of nightmares, this genuinely insane thing his father and grandfather had done and that nobles creamed themselves over getting invited into.

He grimaced at his own mental language. Jungkook, Yoongi, and Taehyung were rubbing off on him. No, not that way! But maybe this vow of total sexual abstinence he’d taken was starting to backfire… Jimin had told him it was a bad idea but frankly he was worried about his nerves getting in the way when he and Nasimiyu became intimate and the physician had suggested he stop taking matters into his own hands for a while. A little built-up frustration can be good for you! Seokjin’s life was full of frustrations but he’d never let himself suffer long in that department until now. Fuck, what if he was going to start letting those kinds of jokes or comments slip?! He better not! The mortification… he’d quite literally just sink to the floor and die. Nasimiyu seemed like the kind of woman who arched her eyebrow in judgment and that would be the end of Prince Seokjin. No more Kim dynasty.

“I suppose we’ll see about that,” Nasimiyu said, briefly making him panic that she had read his mind. But she hadn’t, just lifted her gaze curiously as the parade took a right at the fork in the path, curving around to heavy stone doors that had been unlocked and dragged open that morning. This was the only fork in the path, the only space wide enough to turn around and go back up, and also the only entrance to where they were going now. Seokjin could hear the noise of those doors grinding open every time there was a hunt, and it always filled him with a sense of dread, but even more so this morning…

But what could he do about it? Nothing except make the best of it. He wondered how long it would take before someone brought up that one time…

He paused briefly before going through the gate, torn between a terror of looking out at the long drop on the other side of that low railing and terror at the cold dark lifeless air that hovered in the entrance. His horse shied away, and Nasimiyu’s horse stopped too, as if in solidarity.

“Are you all right?” she asked, brows knitting in a beautiful curiosity.

Seokjin gave her a broad smile, “Yes, why wouldn’t I be? Just taking a moment to enjoy the crisp cave air. Are you all right?”

“So far…” she answered, and Seokjin laughed as his heart soared. A joke! She was joking with him! He didn’t know if it meant he was growing on her, or if she actually was afraid right now and that vulnerability had slipped out in the guise of a joke. He was beside himself either way. It was time for him to be brave. After all, he knew what lay ahead, and it was just a yawning black hole to her.

“Just wait, you’ve never seen anything like this, I bet,” he assured her. “And if you have, I’ll eat my hat.”

“You’re not wearing a hat.”

“But I own many. I’ll even let you choose which one I consume.” He nudged his horse into a walk and hers followed at her nudge. To put her at ease, he continued to describe his various hats to her to amuse and distract her as their horses stepped from the bright sunlight of outside into the bright lights of the cave.

“What in the world…”

Seokjin actually did, for once, feel a little pride as Nasimiyu and those with her stared up and around in awe. 

This entrance cavern was huge, plenty of space for forty people and their horses to pause so that servants could collect rifles from the armory hollowed out in one side of the massive cavern. Despite the yawning darkness seen from outside, inside and past that initial spooky passage, the cave was well lit.

“What is that?” Nasimiyu gasped –not, not Nasimiyu, her maid, who’d ridden up close. A moment later she blinked away from the organic lights overhead, temporarily blinded by the brightness. Nasimiyu watched her with obvious concern and curiosity and turned to Seokjin for an answer.

“Lumilyte,” he said.

“What’s lumilyte?”

“Discovery out of Therepin,” he said, chest puffing up. “You’re looking at all that exists in the world except for a small sample they still have there to study. There’s a scientist trying to see if he can reproduce it.”

“It’s incredible…” her maid said mused, still glancing up even though she was rubbing her eyes.

Nasimiyu lifted a hand as if she could touch it, asking, “It’s a rock? It just glows that bright forever?”

“Yes. It’s been here since my grandfather’s time.”

“It could light households all over Yeonhalbi for– for nothing, no wax, no oil, no wicks, no– it could completely change the lives of…”

Seokjin nodded, “Right! That’s what they’re trying to figure out in Therepin. Plants will even grow under it, though not as quickly as under the sun–”

“But why in Therepin?” Nasimiyu demanded. “You have an entire cave of it right here!”

Ah. Seokjin’s mouth twitched nervously because… well, yes. There was an entire cave of it right here. This cave of it –not to mention where it appeared through the remaining caves– could at least light all the homes in Priva, maybe even one or two more principalities, but not all of them. He didn’t really have a head for those types of calculations but… but yes, he had thought of the same thing, a question that had died on his lips when he’d asked his father, who had scoffed at the idea with the simple rebuttal it’s the only thing that can light our cave; are you saying there should be no hunting for nobles in Priva? How will we keep the nobles in line if we have no entertainment to offer them? And the hunting grounds create jobs…

It hadn’t been worth fighting over. What was Seokjin going to do, climb to the ceiling of the cave and steal the rocks and distribute them himself?

But now he had the uncomfortable situation of not being able to answer all of this. Maybe once Nasimiyu was his wife, he’d be more comfortable explaining to her the ways of the world, or saying things that might, to some, sound like a criticism of his father. The situation was complex and Seojin knew his limits. Nasimiyu would understand it in time too. Ruling was complicated. Seokjin was terrified of the day it would be his turn. 

“Yes, unfortunately this stone must stay in here,” he said simply. “Some of the other areas are lit by windows in the ceiling or great fires –be careful around the fires, there have been injuries before…” Now he looked more closely at her head scarf and worried. The truth was the hunting grounds weren’t exactly a safe place. Accidents happened all the time. Burns, animal attacks, mistaken shots. Probably not everything was accidental, truth be told. One particular cave was jokingly called ‘The Widow Maker.’ He knew Prince Hamisi had been eager for the hunt but now Seokjin wondered why Nasimiyu had come along for it.

She was asking him something else but he suddenly offered, “We don’t have to hunt if you would prefer not to. We could ride through the city instead? You said you like to ride.”

“I want to see the caves,” she said simply, and called to her maid, “Will you fetch us rifles?” He felt like he’d missed part of their conversation; she’d moved so quickly from awe to… determined? Focus? Annoyed with him? He felt like she was annoyed with him.

The handmaid looked surprised but she didn’t need to go anywhere to get anything; there were palace staff bringing around the rifles and ammo as the Master of the Hunt went round by groups and gave the instructions. Seokjin accepted the rifle and slung the ammo bag over his shoulders, fingers itching to help Nasimiyu as she did the same.

At least, to his great joy, she asked, “Will you teach me how to shoot?” At first Seokjin didn’t think the question was leveled at him, but she continued to stare at him as the armorers walked off to deliver weapons to others. At the last second, she called back, “For my maid?”

“Servants don’t hunt, they fetch,” an armorer told her.

“I want mine armed,” Nasimiyu argued. The maid looked mortified but stayed silent.

Embarrassed himself by anyone arguing with her, Seokjin quickly intervened, “Why do you act like we are short on servants to fetch things? Let her maid carry a rifle. Are you afraid you’ll be shot? Worry more about those nervous lordlings over there and bring someone else to fetch for the Princess and… and a servant for her servant as well, if she wants!”

The handmaid actually leaned out of her saddle, touching Nasimiyu’s arm. The whole exchange was odd –who would arm a lady’s maid?!-- but actually Seokjin was relieved. Nasimiyu was a noble! She was supposed to be a little odd! If she was odd, she’d be more likely to accept his own oddities, and she’d probably get along better with his father. A noble without oddities was much, much scarier because probably they were just too good at deeply hiding whatever was wrong with them. Something really terrible. At least among men. Maybe that wasn’t necessarily true about the ladies; many of them were just without much substance, but Nasimiyu was full of substance from what he could see, so there must be some oddities and eccentricities in there as well. Right? Please?

Nasimiyu only visibly relaxed once her maid and bodyguard were holding rifles. It made Seokjin suspect she was just nervous overall. He could understand that. It was soft if she was nervous, especially as the first pops of practice shots began to echo around the stone cavern. Nasimiyu’s whole body flinched; her bodyguard and maid sat up higher in their saddles and looked for the source of the sound, but the echo obfuscated it, and anyway, more shots started.

“It’s all right,” Seokjin assured them. “It’s just practice shots over there. It’s fine.”

At Seokjin’s nod, Jungkook slid down and leaned close with Nasimiyu’s guard to talk about the rifle, which he did not seem familiar with. Seokjin brushed away several hunting staff offering to help the Princess in favor of walking her through it himself. Hay barrels sat against a wall at the far end of the cave for practice shots, and soon the deafening echo of rifle shots bounced around.

“Oh this is awful,” Nasimiyu murmured, reaching behind her. Seokjin offered his arm, which surprised her despite reaching for it. 

“We have wax for your ear, if you’d like,” he offered. “But then you won’t hear things once we’re further in.” He had to lean close to feel certain she could hear him.

“Is what he said true? There are really animals loose down here and we run through all these caves searching for them?”

“You may walk or ride, whichever you prefer.”

“Deer and rabbits and even birds, all raised down in the dark, just waiting for…” She trailed off and looked to him with something like awe, despite her shoulders twitching every time a new shot rang out.

“Let me show you, you'll pick it up fast. Father will start the hunt soon so people can move out,” Seokjin assured her, moving her more quickly towards the hay stacks. Belatedly he looked back and gestured to her maid, “You need to learn too, right?” She looked startled to be addressed, but Seokjin thought it was pretty important that a woman potentially firing a weapon anywhere near Nasimiyu needed to know what she was doing.

The noise and punctuation of practice shots meant teaching Nasimiyu and her maid was not quite as romantic as he would have liked. He showed them how to load, how to aim, how to fire, both well-cautioned about the recoil and how to brace against it so they wouldn’t hurt themselves. There were already two bloody noses down the line, lordlings who would not be joining the hunt now.

As he leaned in to make sure Nasimiyu was holding properly,he added quietly, “You don’t need to shoot anything if you don’t like and if at any point you just want out of there, let me know and I’ll whisk you away.”

“You don’t seem to enjoy the hunt much, Your Highness.”

“I think it’s an acquired taste,” he suggested. “One which not everyone acquires.”

“Well I assure you I am just as capable of acquiring a taste for the hunt as any man.” She sounded so bold as she said it, chin lifted, eyes flashing. But every time another shot went off, she twitched, and her hands shook as Seokjin led her and her maid back to their horses. Proud , he thought. Strong. Brave. But soft too.  

Maybe this whole hunting trip was worth it if he could learn so much so quickly about Nasimiyu, and it felt like she was finally paying some attention to him! 

In all the chaos, Seokjin hadn’t realized that he’d managed to lose both Jimin and Jungkook, until Jimin came running up and said, “King Dong-gun is looking for you to start the hunt. Will you be riding or walking?”

“Riding,” he answered, glancing at Nasimiyu to see if she’d disagreed. She did not. He figured on horses they could take some of the side paths and get away quickly from the bulk of people. It would be quieter and safer, which he suspected she would appreciate. “We’ll begin, Princess. Can I mount you?” He bowed and held his hand out, trying to be as romantic and debonair as possible.

She gave him a stunned expression; behind him, he heard Jimin start to choke. Seokjin didn’t understand; was his offer really so unkind?

The maid took Nasimiyu’s rifle but the bodyguard was the one to step forward and help lift her onto her horse. He tossed the maid onto her horse too. During the commotion, Jimin leaned forward and repeated his own words.

Well. Well shit. 

Seokjin wanted to melt into the floor and die. Things had been almost going well? Except for the constant headache-inducing, heart-stopping echo of rifle shots hopefully fired with purpose into the hay. 

“Let’s start the hunt,” Seokjin said, probably inaudible but too mortified to say anything else. He ought to apologize, right? Assure her he simply misspoke? He did not want to –he had done his absolute best not to think of Nasimiyu sexually yet but– well but she did look like that and he couldn’t help where his mind wandered at night and– all right, so he did , and now he couldn’t stop thinking about what his own words had revealed… 

Better just to forge ahead and not think twice about it. About what he’d said. And about mounting her! Definitely it would do him no good to be thinking about sex right now when they needed to survive this hunt without getting themselves shot or mauled, all because King Dong-gun’s idea of a good time was… this . And apparently Nasimiyu’s father’s too. Something they had in common! Seokjin would make sure everyone in their party came out unscathed. Somehow.

Except Jungkook. He might shoot Jungkook, whose whole face was red except for the spot on his lip, white where he’d been biting to keep from laughing. His eyes danced with amusement. He looked like he was about to be sick from the effort of holding his laughter in.

“I’ll kill you,” Seokjin whispered to him. 

Which unfortunately wound up not being a whisper due to some inexplicable hush that washed around the area.

“Not truly,” Seokjin quickly corrected at Nasimiyu’s shocked look.

The laughter bubbled out of Jungkook, unprofessional but clearly not threatened. 

“Seokjin!” he heard his father shouting. Not happily. “Where is my son so we can begin?!”

Seokjin gave Nasimiyu a watery smile and said, “Welcome to the hunt, Princess. Don’t take it too seriously.”

He saw the question on Jimin’s face and ignored it, tugging his horse to the right so he could lead the way to his father. What the fuck does that mean? Don’t take it too seriously? Fuck if he knew… Would he ever manage to look serious and competent in front of the princess? No, probably, sadly, not.

***

The Privan hunt was the most ostentatious, elaborate, magical, selfish, gluttonous, ridiculous thing Nasimiyu had ever laid eyes on. 

She knew more than she let on about this to Seokjin. She never had fired a weapon herself but she’d seen them before, though certainly not in a mob in a massive but echoing cavern. Her father had told her about an underground hunt with magical lights, but never more than that and it had failed to arouse the actual experience in even her wildest imagination. And to watch the way the other lords and ladies sped off on horses down the large paths or on foot down the smaller paths once the firing of a pistol straight at the ceiling marked the beginning of the hunt–

It was disgusting. Nasimiyu struggled to keep her lip from curling and her brow from lowering in what would have been too obvious a judgment.

“Do you hunt in Marvono?” Lord Téo Ascanio asked. Nasimiyu glanced at him and quickly softened her look when Dulce sneezed, an obvious nudge from her maid that her face was revealing her annoyance at being addressed. When she and Dulce had agreed to follow Seokjin, she had hoped it would mean they were away from everyone. She thought Seokjin hoped that too, judging by his disappointment when three lords and two ladies had clomped after them, giggling that the betrotheds shouldn’t be alone just yet and also that maybe Seokjin had a lead on where the elusive white bear was hiding. The one the king would pay you a handsome reward in gold for. For killing him, this poor bear who was just trying to eke out a living in this vast underground cave network he’d been trapped in by men. To exist only as something to be hunted.

A fucking travesty.

“There is a hunt, yes,” she said. “With bows, not rifles… it’s annual, meant to curb invasive species and provide meat for those without.” 

“And you do it? Hunt? How are you with a bow?” Lord Jothi Harker pressed.

Nasimiyu didn’t know why these men were so interested in her when there were two perfectly good women in their party, one of whom was single. Curiosity? Or nosiness? She decided she wanted to sound strong and capable and confirmed,

“I do very well on the hunt, yes.”

“Bet your hunt isn’t anything like ours though,” Lady Cassia Clet insisted. She was in high spirits, having brought down a large goose in the previous watery cavern so tall that the fowl had taken to the air and disappeared through an unreachable passageway at the first echoes of gunshot. They weren’t quick enough in their escape though. Lady Clet and her husband Sarvesh both had geese to show for it.

“That is very true.”

Nasimiyu didn’t consider herself overly fond of animals, but she thought it required a hard heart to not see this as tragic. She could not, for the life of her, figure out what Seokjin thought about it, which had her curious. He kept contradicting himself. In all things, sure, but in this especially, where in one breath he would brag about the life-changing stones they hoarded for their pleasure and then reassure her that they did not have to partake in this at all with a shockingly apologetic look on his face. She had to be misunderstanding him, right? She longed for a moment alone with Dulce to ask her thoughts, but with so many wild idiots loose with weapons, her bodyguard stuck obnoxiously close to her. 

And honestly, that was a little comforting. This whole thing was so stupid and she found herself thinking well here’s the solution, you could assainate anyone in this cave and no one would ever know. Had King Dong-gun really made this so easy? Surely not… Just like surely no one would be surprised for the King to disappear into these caves and later be found dead.

“Wow.”

Nasimiyu turned at the gasp of awe from Dulce as they entered another massive cavern. None of this felt real. The entire capital city of Priva was built on these breathtaking caverns, so large it was easy to forget you were even underground except for the spiderweb of passages connecting them. Dulce’s eyes reflected the thing that impressed her, the glittering star-like dots of light against a dark sky that cast a bluish glow on the forest they looked down on from their high path. Outside was a crisp morning sun but in here felt like twilight. A craggy cliff on the far side looks like any other mountain aboveground. A buck with a massive set of antlers lifted his head majestically and looked at the intruders in his space. It was breathtaking.

Nasimiyu’s gasp seemed to echo in the wake of the crack of a rifle. For a moment the deer shuddered and froze, then it turned and ran a few steps before lurching to the side, where it tumbled right down the cliff into the forest below.

“Ah, damn, it wasn’t a clean shot,” Lord Ascanio said to Lord Harker, who’d taken the shot.

“It was! He went right now!”

“No, he took a few steps and stumbled.”

“Yes from the bullet through his heart.”

“No, he’s probably still alive down there.”

“After that fall? I doubt it.”

“You’d better go look,” Lord Clet suggested.

“Damn,” Lord Harker grumbled, looking at the thick forests and the steep climb down. “Don’t know what else might be down there…” He did not look inclined to follow Lord Clet’s advice.

Lady Clet gave him a pointed look and pressed, “Didn’t you think about that before you shot? Even if you’d dropped him up there, you’d still have to find a way to retrieve him.”

“What ever do I need to get him for? That’s the fetchers job,” he motioned to the mounted servants behind him. “Besides, you all witnessed the kill.”

“So you’re planning just to leave a dead or dying deer out there,” Nasimiyu found herself snapping. That was certainly not how they hunted in Marvono, where anything killed was used down to the bone, every organ and sinew and scrap of meat.

Lord Ascanio turned to one of the servants assisting them on the hunt and ordered, “Go fetch it.” The servant’s eyes grew very large as he looked to the other servants. Three of them in all, plus hers and Seokjin’s bodyguards and personal servants. Such a large mounted party and yet the deer hadn’t fled immediately when they entered this place. They didn’t fear people in here despite their whole existence built by the hunt. It made everything even more disgusting to her. She hoped there was something down there in those ominous trees that could take out a few people now and then, just to balance the scales.

She missed whatever Seokjin said, though after five days she was beginning to recognize the low hum of his voice muttering –he seemed to talk to himself a great deal without expecting anyone was listening. Dulce had told her he was sometimes narrating whatever he did and other times making “what appear to be jokes because he seems to laugh at them even though they don’t make any sense to me…”

This time his bodyguard appeared to have heard him though and suddenly slid from his horse and tossed the reigns to the big-eyed servant, 

“All right, I’ll head down, but you wait here with my horse.”

“You’re going to get it?” Miss Sotiria Tulia asked, mouth dropping with interest. The bodyguard gave her a rather charming smile and Nasimiyu thought Dulce’s initial impression was probably right that he was a flirt. He sure looked like one.

“Oh well if it’s all right for him to go down, I’ll go too–”

“Please stay on your horse, Lord Harker,” Seokjin interrupted, raising a hand. “Jungkook is familiar with these caves.”

“But it’s my kill. Your man there will find my dead deer, stab the corpse, and claim it was his.”

“Care to go with me?” Jungkook the bodyguard asked, pushing up his sleeves and eying the drop as if he was going to run and jump. “I can probably carry you both back up. Might take two trips.”

“You didn’t even want the body,” Nasimiyu pointed out. She didn’t know why she suddenly felt compelled to agree with the Prince that Lord Harker shouldn’t go but she did. “Besides, can’t you tell what the cause of death was?” She glanced at Dulce.

“Maybe not if the injuries are that close together,” Dulce admitted, earning scandalized looks from the other women –either about her knowledge of death or because she’d dared to speak when her superiors were debating.

“It’s not about the body or claiming a kill,” Prince Seokjin insisted. “It’s about not leaving a deer to die a slow and painful death if the shot wasn’t good.”

“The shot was good.”

“My man will confirm and you will remain horsed,” Seokjin said, and there was an edge of authority to his voice Nasimiyu had not heard from him in the six days she had been in Priva so far. It bookered no argument. It was shocking.

The group fell silent, long enough that for the first time the noise of the forest actually reached them –chirping birds and rustling leaves even though there was no wind and occasionally the snap of a twig. Without the inane chatter, it seemed suddenly very dense and wild down there. Nasimiyu looked down at the tops of the trees and again considered how very easy it would be for an accident to happen. She didn’t need Dulce to point that out. She could have figured it out for herself, and in under a week!

“Trouble?”

They all spun at the voice, not of their party. A shriveled, gnarled old man approached, a moving pile of furs and leather clothing.

“No, Master. A deer was shot and fell, so my man is going to make sure it’s done with.” 

Who was this man Seokjin referred to as Master? Nasimiyu glanced at Dulce and the others but read no answer in their expressions.

The old man nodded, “All right, I’ll show the way, come with me, young buck.” Jungkook looked amused by this and followed the old man. Just like that, Seokjin let his bodyguard walk off. He must feel pretty confident he was in no danger, and Nasimiyu could practically hear what Dulce would say about it in her mind: don’t assume he’s stupid, he may have security you don’t know. Maybe the valet is secretly a second bodyguard. People don’t hold onto a crown by being stupid. Nasimiyu didn’t know if that was true, based on what she’d seen so far but… well, she wasn’t wed yet, so it wasn’t like she could just push him off his horse over the cliff and be done with it anyway.

Nasimiyu felt like she did not understand what was happening as Seokjin insisted the others ride ahead but motioned for her to stay put. The others didn’t want to go, the ladies laughed that shouldn’t they stay to chaperone? , but Seokjin was adamant and Nasimiyu was stunned by his sudden and unexpected authority. Maybe the others were too and that was what convinced them to go.

Once it was only Prince Seokjin, his valet, Nasimiyu, Dulce, and her bodyguard left, Seokjin let out a sigh, “I’m very sorry about all of… that.”

“All of what?” she asked, not sure what he meant.

“The… well, you were upset, weren’t you? You don’t need to be –Jungkook will make sure the beast doesn’t suffer and–”

“I am no wilting flower, Your Majesty–”

“Seokjin,” he suggested, and she felt both annoyed and flustered by the soft way he looked at her. “Or Jin.” Oh dear, was he trying to have an intimate moment with her? In an ostentatious, absurd cavern of wasted resources and the distant rhythm of rifles firing? She shuddered to think what would happen if those sorts of weapons permeated Yeonhalbi. No, when. If there were so many here in the cave, they were definitely elsewhere too. Maybe Dulce could help her manufacture some accident where every single one of them got destroyed…

“I don’t believe in the waste of animals,” she continued. “But I know where our food comes from and I’m not above dirtying my hands when it’s necessary.” She paused, feeling her cheeks heat up. She shouldn’t get worked up in front of Seokjin. She shouldn’t appear too smart or too threatening or too aware of the world. 

“Jothi and Teo were too riled up, and the forest down there is… unsettling. They would have shot each other thinking one of them was a wild hog, I just know it, and then we’d have to deal with that… and it wasn’t a clean shot, so someone needed to go down, but I don’t think Jothri could finish it up close,” he rambled, watching her closely, as if testing whether what she said was true or not, that she was unbothered. “I thought they or this whole thing were upsetting you…”

“I’m all right,” she insisted. “I certainly know shooting from a distance is different than finishing something up close.” 

“Yes, exactly.” The unspoken addition: but your bodyguard is comfortable with either. And Nasimiyu thought smugly to herself so is my maid.

They settled into silence. Seokjin gazed out at the forest as his horse shifted, bored and calm.

“It was a beautiful deer,” Seokjin admitted after only a few minutes, like he couldn’t bear the silence after all. “I wouldn’t have shot it. But don’t worry, nothing shot in these caves goes to waste, even if the nobles don’t understand. The game masters make sure of it. They keep a tight ecosystem running down here. Even if Lord Harker had left it, Master Boutros or one of the others would have found it; they do a look through all the caves afterwards, make sure nothing is permanently damaged, see what needs to be done to restore the peace.”

“The peace,” Nasimiyu repeated. She didn’t flinch this time but glanced towards the hall the others had disappeared down as the echo of gunshot reached them It was ‘unsettling,’ to re-use Seokjin’s word. “When we hunt in Marvono, it restores balance. We hunt things like boar which overpopulate and can push out other species. We hunt wolves, if there are too many coming into the towns. We only hunt a limited number of deer and birds to make sure numbers remain stable without crowding. We restore the peace. But this breaks the peace, you said. You think that?” 

She shouldn’t have said that. She watched him closely, reckless but curious how he would respond to a rather thinly veiled political statement, a rather scathing remark –if he understood it– about this frivolous hunt. Was all of his talk since they’d come down here actually hinting at a royal prince dissatisfied with the world order? It had never occurred to her that Prince Seokjin might be rebellious in that way, but surely she couldn’t be the only young noble in the world one who realized they needed to use their privilege and power to make things better for more than themselves… and how much good could a prince accomplice if so motivated! How much good should this prince have already done if so motivated… The idea of Prince Seokjin as some secret force of good died as soon as the thought entered her mind before he even opened his mouth.

“Well the real peace down here was… nothing,” he said. “Nothing lived down here when my grandfather found these caverns –well except for these trees and some fish in one of the others. They didn’t even have eyes.”

“The trees?”

“No, the fish.”

“No, I mean that the trees were here? With no light?”

“These lights were here,” Seokjin said, pointing up to the faux-starry sky. “It always looks like this in here.”

“That’s… You’re telling me the truth?”

“I always will, Princess!” 

“But doesn’t that seem strange to you?”

“Yes,” he laughed. “Yes, it does.” 

“How did a King even find this place?” Dulce asked. Nasimiyu turned, having momentarily forgotten her handmaid was even there. She’d gotten wrapped up in trying to feel out Seokjin, apparently, and did not come away quite satisfied. He seemed in awe of his father and grandfather again. How disappointing.

“Huh,” Seokjin mused, lips pursed. “I never asked that… Does seem strange a king would wander this far into a dark, lifeless cave… Maybe my father knows but I’m not sure you’d get an answer from him.”

Dulce looked quickly away, but Nasimiyu smiled fondly at her. Dulce was curious, though she tried to hide it. Tried to act like she didn’t care about anything ever. Don’t ever let anyone know what you want , she’d told Nasimiyu. Nasimiyu had taken that advice to heart. At least she’d tried.

Seokjin’s smile grew as he continued, “Ah, it’s a really good question though! Maybe he was looking for someplace to be alone. This is a beautiful place to be alone, isn’t it?”

“It’s terrifying,” Nasimiyu corrected. “We’re underneath a city. You don’t know what’s in the forest down there.”

“Oh, that’s just Jungkook.”

“No, what I mean is–”

But Jungkook actually was on his way up, grunting and huffing his way up a narrow ramp carved into the cliff below them –it was invisible from the top but she saw it now as Jungkook dragged himself onto the path, a massive dead deer over his shoulders like a knapsack. It was grotesquely ridiculous.  

“I will get the sled and take it out for you,” the Game Master said, scurrying off fast and sort of hunched over. Had he looked that old before he came down here or the caverns aged him like that? What sort of life must it be to work down here? Did he ever leave? Nasimiyu found it heartbreaking; how many lives were ruined for this “game”?!

The deer’s, certainly.

“You carried that by yourself?” Nasimiyu gasped, stunned into it as Jungkook squatted and eased the deer off his shoulders with the help of Nasimiyu’s bodyguard.

Jungkook smiled, “Yes, Princess–”

“It’s not that big,” Seokjin quickly interrupted. 

“Two hundred pounds. Maybe a little more,” Jungkook said, turning that cocky grin to Seokjin. Oh yes, Dulce must be right, Jungkook was probably trouble with the ladies and maybe more. How did she notice things like that so damn quick?! But that was the smile of a man who had no social power, only charm to get his way.

“I can carry that–”

“Bloody dead deer?” Jungkook asked. Interrupted his prince without a second thought! And just as surprising –or maybe not at all surprising for Prince Seokjin– he didn’t seem to care either. 

“I’ve hauled you dead drunk…” Seokjin defended only to trail off, looking at his valet as if he was the actual authority here. Nasimiyu glanced at Dulce, to see if she was seeing this too, but Dulce was looking at the dead dear, its head resting at an odd angle.  

There was a shift in Jungkook’s voice as he suddenly dismissed, “I’m more belligerent, that’s true. The deer isn’t that impressive. Your shoulders are broad enough, we know you can carry it. Want me to cart it out or… I’m–”

“Was it already dead?” Dulce asked. Jungkook seemed surprised by the question. That quickly shifted to exactly the sort of smile Nasimiyu would expect a man like Jungkook to level at a pretty woman like Dulce –particularly a woman he thought nothing more than a soft, shy, quiet handmaiden.

“It was not but I ended its suffering fast,” Jungkook assured her. “You don’t need to worry about it, miss.”

How did she do it, keep that straight face? Nasimiyu herself didn’t know how much suffering Dulce had put an end to –namely by murdering the people causing the suffering. But she endured this patronizing from Prince Seokjin’s bodyguard and just closed her eyes and lowered her face like she was gentle and emotional and grateful to hear this. She suspected Dulce was mentally plotting Jungkook’s demise and it amused her. 

To hide her inappropriate smile, Nasimiyu asked Seokjin, “Is there really a white bear down here?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve never seen it. The Game Masters say yes but… would they tell me the truth?” He arched his eyebrow at the one now returning with a rolling cart. “My father says there is and so we hunt.”

“Even if it’s not true? An empty promise?”

“Even if there is no white bear, isn’t the search part of the fun? The possibility? All these wonderful experiences we get to have along the way?” He gestured to Jungkook and Nasimiyu’s bodyguard helping Master Boutros load the deer onto the cart. The back of Jungkook’s tunic was a sheet of shiny, slippery red. Seokjin’s valet held his jacket, which a moment later hid the carnage from sight. 

She still couldn’t believe Jungkook had piggy-backed that thing up the side of the cliff. He must be stronger than he looked for someone so thin and even a smidge shorter than the Prince himself. Were they only joking Seokjin could have carried the deer? Jungkook must have just said it to tease or flatter the Prince. Which was interesting, if the bodyguard felt so comfortable teasing his Royal Highness, but it was also curious if Seokjin was stronger than he looked, too. 

Dulce’s snort surprised her. She must have missed something, but she saw the way Dulce looked quickly out at the forest and lowered her brow, disengaging, probably so as not to reveal something a handmaid shouldn’t understand.

This place was giving Nasimiyu the creeps now though. It felt like the forest had suddenly gone silent, so she insisted,

“Let’s continue. I’d like to hunt something but… not a deer.”

“Oh? You would? I can lead you to the right place then.”

“A white bear.”

“You… you want to shoot a bear,” Seokjin clarified, obviously stunned.

“No, I just want to hunt for it. I’m just a wilty little girl who can’t handle a hunt. I could never shoot a bear unless it directly threatened me or those I love. Maybe not even then.”

Seokjin bowed his head, “Very well, Princess. On we go. Let’s see if we can find a bear for you.” 

I know exactly where the bear is , Nasimiyu thought.

**

They did not find a bear. Nasimiyu never fired her rifle once, nor her bodyguard or maid, despite Nasimiyu’s insistence they be armed. They also never got a moment as alone as they had in the forest cavern; instead they fell in shortly with more hunters, eventually Prince Hamisi and Seokjin’s father as well even though Seokjin had tried to stay clear of them. From that point, Seokjin had to work harder at not letting his disdain for the hunt show by actually pretending to hunt. The last thing he needed was a scene with his father in front of the Princess. 

So he fired a few times at things that weren’t there, laughed good-naturedly when his father made a few jokes about his aim, cracked jokes to calm the mood when some others made jokes about his aim and King Dong-gun became very serious and very frightening, and then finally rescued a turtle that had managed to wander right into the path as the trumpets sounded through the caverns, letting the hunters know the day was done and it was time to return aboveground for lunch.

He thought no one was paying much attention to him as he’d slid from his horse, scooped the small tortoise up, and carried it to the side of the path. He paused to consider whether it was better to leave the tortoise here or take it with him. He preferred soft fuzzy pets, but if this tortoise had wandered onto the path once, he’d likely do it again. Trampled, not even a glorious end. But what if he had a little tortoise family down here? What if he liked it down here? Could anyone like it down here? Maybe you could, if it was all you’d ever known. Should he do the kind thing and show the tortoise there was more to the world?

“Your Highness,” Jimin called, and Seokjin heard the warning in his voice. Don’t smuggle a tortoise out.  

All right, that sealed it. He didn’t know anything about tortoises, but he’d find someone who did. He tucked the tortoise into the satchel at his waist and headed towards his horse. Once mounted, he realized Nasimiyu’s handmaiden was watching him. 

Damn, had she seen him take the tortoise? Did she have an opinion about that? Would Nasimiyu have an opinion about it? At some point he was going to have to introduce Nasimiyu to his animals and he had not gotten a sense from this trip whether that would go well or not. He couldn’t tell whether she had a soft spot for animals or just found blood-thirsty competition a bore. Would she think his fur babies were cute or disgusting? At least he didn’t think she’d be afraid of them, the way other ladies might be. One of many reasons he had never taken a woman to his bedroom before…

To cover his tracks, he called loudly, “You there, did you enjoy the hunt?”

“Um…” The poor handmaid looked panicked. She turned her face away and nudged her horse to hide herself behind Nasimiyu. If she’d noticed the tortoise, maybe she’d forgotten in her panic. Or maybe she thought it was a nice thing! She’d been worried about the deer too. Poor thing. This must be even more overwhelming to a handmaiden not used to this kind of wealth and splendor. Nasimiyu seemed less naive about how ridiculous wealth could look. 

Well now he realized he’d better hurry up though so he could deposit the tortoise in his room until he found someone to help him with it. He was all too happy to fall into line behind his father and lead the way out of the caves, both wonderful and unsettling. The sunlight felt warm and safe but also a tad foreign, like he had already started to forget what wide open sky looked like.

“Just hang in for a little bit,” he murmured, patting the satchel.

He could feel Jimin’s dissatisfied glare and it made him smile the entire ride back.

***

“He took what ?” Nasimiyu asked, paired with an incredulous look.

“A turtle. Thing. A turtle kind of thing.”

“He killed nothing but he kidnapped a turtle.”

“I think he likes animals more than people,” Dulce mused. Her eyebrows raised suddenly as she admitted, “Oh… I didn’t tell you… there’s a rumor he keeps all kinds of small animals in his bedroom.”

Nasimiyu blinked at her. Her mouth dropped. There was a long pause before,

“What kind of small animals. Cats?”

“No one means ‘cats’ when they say ‘small animals,’” Dulce pointed out. “Maybe like rats or something.”

“He keeps rats in his bedroom!?” At Dulce’s shrug, Nasimiyu covered her face and groaned, “I need you to get in there and tell me exactly what he’s keeping in his bedroom. We have been here six days and if at some point I make my way into that bedroom and am presented with small creatures that I don’t expect, I will not be able to maintain my composure. I will stab someone and I will not miss, thanks to you!”

“Well… you could go see for yourself. You’d have an easier time getting in there than I would and if you got caught you could just pretend that–” Dulce began, but Nasimiyu grabbed her wrist and glared, “Do not finish that thought.”

“All right, fine. Don’t go into his bedroom until I’ve scouted it out. See if you can resist him that long.” Her mouth twitched with almost a smile as she lifted her glass. It earned a somewhat mean smile from Nasimiyu.

“While you’re at it, I think you need to fuck Jungkook.”

It was a true testament to Dulce’s composure that she simple finished her sip of juice and set it on the side table calmly before looking right into Nasimiyu’s face and asking with a steady voice, “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“You heard me,” Nasimiyu snickered now. “And you know I’m right. Fuck his valet while you’re at it too.”

“Hm.”

“You’re pretty and you know it’s the easiest way to get information from men.”

“That’s not always true,” Dulce mused. She tapped her chin. “I’ll think about it…”

“You’ll do it.”

“You don’t have the authority to command me to fuck someone.”

“It’s kind of fun,” Nasimiyu teased. “I like it. Anyway, don’t go through with it if you don’t want to and can help it… Certainly don’t come right to my bed afterwards… but I think Jungkook thought you were sweet. Use that.”

Dulce picked up her juice glass again and only said, “You do your job, Princess, and I’ll do mine.  Like you said, the easiest way to win a man over…”

“Oh, you’re telling me to fuck the Prince? Oh that’s rich,” Nasimiyu scowled at her now. “I must at some point and I don’t need you rushing me to it.”

“Then trust me that I know what I’m doing with your timeline here. There’s a proper order here. No reason to rush. You know that. It’s very important.”

“Fine.”

“Once I fuck them, I won’t get a second chance.”

“Oh, you’re not that bad–” Nasimiyu burst into laughter at Dulce’s glare. “Fine! Take your sweet time. But find out about the rats for me. That seems… high priority.”

Dulce nodded. But Nasimiyu felt like they’d just had a fight after an already-upsetting morning underground , and she wasn’t happy about it. It was just sex. Honestly, Dulce should be happy she got to fuck Jungkook and Jimin. Seokjin probably made jokes in bed. He probably giggled while he orgasmed. Nasimiyu was going to need a lot of alcohol or maybe some good drugs when the day came…

She discarded from her mind that moment when he had commanded the nobles in the cave. It had been a fluke, that was all. It was so unusual, it slid quickly from the record of the day. The prince acting like a prince was impossible. Even more unusual than glowing rocks on a ceiling. Instead Nasimiyu watched Dulce lift a slice of apple to her mouth and tried not to think about her maid fucking those men and tried not to let on how relieved she was Dulce had said no. It was just sex but… Dulce was right, better not risk it yet.

**

Dulce felt like they’d had a fight too. 

She didn’t know why Nasimiyu had told her to fuck Jungkook and Jimin if she was going to immediately get pissy about it. But what should she have expected? Nasimiyu was a princess, after all. She was used to getting her way. She was used to getting what she wanted. She was not used to sharing.

Men, women, it was all the same to Dulce, sex wasn’t particularly enjoyable in most cases, and she wasn’t good at flirting. She wasn’t one of those women who could just seduce their way into whatever they wanted, and she was tired of Nasimiyu always making jokes like that, jokes when Dulce’s clothes came off that all she needed to do to get what she wanted was strip. It wasn’t true, it wasn’t how Dulce worked, and it just felt offensive. She got the information she needed by being clever, observant, and occasionally stabbing someone. Flirting was not her strength and she thought her poor flirting skills probably made her less suspicious and how would Nasimiyu like it if Dulce said she only got her way by being pretty and rich? Dulce knew for a fact she didn’t like it.

Besides, Dulce didn’t want to flirt with anyone yet. She understood how to use that –it wasn’t like she never did– but unless you were playing the long con, it wasn’t something you should do if you were going to be in close proximity to your target for months or even years. The falling out could cause problems you didn’t plan for. If she was going to attempt to seduce Jungkook or Jimin or anyone for that matter, it needed to be because she had a specific short-term goal in mind. And Nasimiyu needed to not know she was doing it, in case she failed, because the shame would be unbearable. And because, Dulce realized, the Princess might be a brat about it. That made Dulce smile. 

She’d been grateful to have the afternoon to herself and spent it mostly just tucked away in one of the gardens, enjoying the sunlight and sea breeze after the whole weird experience of the caves that morning. But her breaks were rare and short-lived, and by the evening she was requested back at Nasimiyu’s side just in time to witness the dinnertime debacle.

“What is this?” Dulce could read on Nasimiyu’s lips as one course after another were brought out. Dulce would eat other things afterwards and hadn’t paid much attention to what the dinner staff were bringing out except that things smelled strange . She figured it was some fusion menu, especially after King Dong-gun had announced that a Marvonesian cook had been hired to bring the Prince and Princess’ cuisine into the Privan palace.

It was obvious from the faces that something was very wrong. At first no one wanted to say anything. Dulce stood against the wall with a few other servants who weren’t on food service but were required. Mostly guards. She watched as faces slid from concern to confusion to displeasure, before ultimately nervously turning towards the king.

It wasn’t long before King Dong-gun turned to Prince Hamisi and said, “Never when I have visited your home has the food tasted like this.”

“No,” Prince Hamisi agreed. “This is not my food.”

King Dong-gun nodded, wadded up his napkin, then stood and bellowed, “BRING ME THE COOK.” 

Anyone still holding silverware dropped it as servants fled the dining room like rats from a burning ship. Dulce glanced at Nasimiyu, but it was Seokjin’s stricken face that held her attention. 

A man was dragged out, not someone Dulce had ever seen around the palace before. He looked annoyed until suddenly standing before an angry king. King Dong-gun had towered there in front of his knocked-over chair the entire wait. No one else had moved a muscle either. Dulce watched this all with rapt attention, taking in which faces seemed stunned and which seemed nervous and which seemed like this was business as usual. 

King Dong-gun looked at the man closely for a moment, then opened his mouth to begin, “You are no cook–”

“My apologies, father,” Prince Seokjin said, springing from his chair. Maybe it was his father but he’d still interrupted a king and even Dulce felt an internal wince at the obvious transgression. Prince Seokjin blundered on, announcing, “I poorly vetted the new cook. His skill was not as strong as I believed and we did not give him a proper mentor.”

King Dong-gun stared at his son. Everyone held their breath. Dulce began to wonder if the King was actually going to lob the man’s head off right here in the dining hall. That seemed to be what everyone else thought.

“Who else vetted the cook?” King Dong-gun demanded. 

“Only myself. The cooks argued against it but… I found the man and I thought I knew best.”

Dulce felt Seokjin’s words twist her gut in a strange way. He… said that. He actually just said that, right in front of everyone. It didn’t make any sense. Either he did believe he knew best and would never admit to being wrong or he knew he didn’t already know best and so then why would he make himself look like an incompetent ass in front of everyone whose dinner had been ruined? Part of Dulce wondered if the food could actually even be that bad. 

It was odd. It was as odd as Nasimiyu had declared his behavior in the caverns, when he had “briefly actually seemed like a man” after the deer had been shot. Dulce understood what Nasimiyu meant then and saw it now too, though not quite enough to fully understand it yet. The prince could be more competent than he let on. Or he could just be more entitled than he let on. He might not care how others perceived him at all, especially since he was so eccentric. It wasn’t like Nasimiyu could call the marriage off because he was weird. He took strange actions at strange times and, frankly, Dulce was starting to find him kind of baffling. Baffling in an extra way. Something about him just wasn’t making sense even after six days and that was kind of… annoying.

Something wordless passed between father and son. When Seokjin sank back into his chair, blinking rapidly and not looking at anyone, Dulce thought this was not going well for Seokjin.

“Take this imposter to the dungeon for now and bring us something else to eat. Do not leave my guests hungry and waiting. Bring wine to wash this taste from our mouths. Every staff in the kitchen has shamed my house by allowing this meal to shit on my table. After we have been served, the staff will bow and apologize to our guests, especially the Prince and Princess whose delicious cuisine has been spat upon in this way!”

Prince Hamisi and Princess Simisola said nothing. They did not look happy, so maybe they felt the apology was justified. Dulce wanted to roll her eyes. How bad could it be? Bad food was still food, these people were just entitled. 

Dessert –which was apparently passable– was brought out to fill the time while new food was prepared. The stress of the servants was palpable. The secondhand embarrassment when the entire kitchen staff shuffled into the room to bow to the floor in apology was nauseating. And for the first meal since they’d arrived in Priva, Prince Seokjin didn’t speak another word to Nasimiyu the entire time.

Perhaps that was why Nasimiyu was starved for conversation afterwards, and dragged Dulce along to an evening sitting in one of the parlors with other ladies and her mother, and then only let her go long enough to eat her own supper while the other maids helped Nasimiyu bathe for the second time that day and prepare for bed.

Nasimiyu lounged on her sofa in only her robe and had just motioned Dulce closer with body language that said fuck but a look that said I want to hear everything you thought about tonight . It had been such a long day that Dulce was honestly still reeling. These were marathon days. On her own, she’d dart into and out of situations, not spend all day everyday working like this. But just as she drew closer, the bedroom door flew open and in marched Nasimiyu’s parents. 

Dulce sprang away from the couch and bowed to the Prince and Princess, grateful they had not come in a moment later. It was one thing to know and blackmail her with it, another to actually walk in on it. Briefly she wondered how Nasimiyu would react to understanding for herself how many secrets her own parents kept from her. She thought so highly of her own perception, and she loved her parents a great deal, and also made no secret to Dulce she thought them to be incredibly stupid much of the time. They were not stupid. In fact, they were rather cruelly smart.

“Leave the room,” Prince Hamisi told her now.

Nasimiyu frowned, “Why are you dismissing her in my room? Am I in trouble? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“It’s not that,” Princess Simisola said. “Dulce, go get something for us to eat from the kitchens. The debacle of dinner– well, we won’t dwell, but get us something to eat while we speak.”

Dulce turned on her heel and fled the room, grateful for an excuse to go and a job to do. She had no desire to be any more in the middle of the family’s affairs than she already was. 

She made her way straight for the kitchens, expecting them to be somber and quiet after the king had so publicly wrapped them all up in the blame for the meal.

Somber, yes. But quiet, not exactly. She paused just outside the door, hearing the familiar tone of Prince Seokjin’s voice inside. Was King Dong-gun there too? The last thing she wanted to do was walk into staff still being punished. From one family’s bullshit to another. Out of the frying pan, into the fire, so to speak.

But the answering voices didn’t sound in danger, just tired, and she didn’t sense King Dong-gun. She peeked around the door frame and confirmed first that King Dong-gun wasn’t there, and then that only a small handful of people were in the whole kitchen from what she could see, clustered around a far counter. She recognized the valet Jimin and Seokjin’s favorite bodyguard Jungkook, and a cook, and that charming man always hovering by Seokjin around the palace though she didn’t know his name. And the stablehand! The one she’d see in the hall! And only one cook. 

Torn between curiosity and a desire to not step into any more shit tonight, it was Princess Simisola’s command that tipped her into entering the kitchen despite her reservations.

She’d been spotted anyway; she wasn’t sure who pointed her out, but Prince Seokjin called, “Oh! Princess Nasimiyu’s handmaid!”

“Dulce,” Jimin said. She didn’t know if that was for Prince Seokjin’s benefit or the others’. It still startled her to hear her name said by someone in his party. She was connected to the Princess; of course they might learn her name and probably they had tried to look into her background too. They wouldn’t be able to find anything. 

“Loves deer,” Jungkook added. He sat casually on the counter and looked so boyish that it was hard to believe he was the same man who’d hauled a dead deer up a mountain on his back that morning. 

She definitely had the feeling now that she’d wandered into something she shouldn’t have. This wasn’t a cluster of unrelated people going about their business. She felt like she’d interrupted a sort of… party. They all seemed casual together which was extra strange since one of the people present was the actual royal prince, though it only seemed to confirm to her that it wasn’t only his bodyguard and his valet who seemed comfortable and casual with him. For a second it made it feel like everything had been a joke, that the man in front of her wasn’t the royal prince at all, just an imposter they’d subbed in, like the fake Marvonesian cook.

“What can we do for you?” that very prince asked now, letting go of a wooden spoon he’d been stirring a pot with, as if he was the kitchen staff here.

“My apologies for interrupting… the Princess sent me to fetch something to eat for her and her parents.”

“Ah… supper was…” The Prince turned away, shaking his head.

“It was well-intentioned,” Jimin insisted. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” the stablehand insisted. At Dulce’s glance, he gave her that same boxy grin and introduced himself, “Taehyung. ‘Horse-shit’ is fine too, if you want.”

“What? Horse-shit.”

“It’s an inside joke,” Taehyung dismissed Jungkook’s question. “Only she can call me that. She’s prettier than you.” Jungkook glared.

“It was that bad,” the only one of them who actually worked in the kitchen said. He shook his head sadly and leaned forward to look into the pot.

Dulce hesitated before she couldn’t help herself and asked, “Didn’t you have him cook a test meal first?” Might as well see if Prince Seokjin’s obvious leniency with servants extended to herself as well.

“That’s the way it should go, right?” the cook agreed, motioning to her like she’d settled a debate. He also gestured to the nameless one for bowls which were passed to him. “That’s the way it usually goes. Why we skipped procedure suddenly this time…” he trailed off.

“Didn’t the Prince…” Dulce began, then stopped herself. Dangling a little bit to see what they’d say.

Prince Seokjin cleared his throat, “Oh right, yes, I–”

“The Prince did nothing except protect those who made the call,” the nameless well-dressed one insisted. “Do you think the Prince hires household staff here?”

“That’s usually the Queen’s job,” Dulce answered, like it was a question on a school test. “But there isn’t a queen. Only Lady…” She remembered the name perfectly but pretended not to. It was unsettling to just be here with the Prince and she didn’t want to accidentally give anything away while she was still trying to decide whether he was smart or stupid. Chances were at least someone in this room besides herself was smart. Honestly, her money was on the valet or the tutor.

“Your Princess will have her work cut out for her,” the cook mumbled. Dulce didn’t understand the sharp look the Prince gave him, but it seemed a little more like what she’d expect from a prince. 

“We have a household manager who assists my cousin. The hiring of this cook was rushed in an attempt to find a Marveonesian cook. It was a well-intentioned idea and perhaps the one doing the testing got carried away and skipped the process to try and beat someone else–”

Dulce assumed he was vaguely referring to the cook, and the cook must have thought so too because he quickly spoke up, “I’ve got leads on several and I’m putting them to the test before I ever let them into this kitchen. Lucero was an idiot to think this was the way to beat me to it and now…”

“Will he be killed?” Dulce asked.

Immediately Jungkook smiled kindly at her, “Don’t worry about it…” Ah. He liked stupid, demure ladies. That was the conclusion she drew about him now. Probably women who could be impressed by his muscles and not worry too much about what he had going on in his skull. She knew exactly what was in the skulls of men and it was not as impressive as people made it sound. Speech and thoughts and dreams all came from nothing more than a mushy lump of oatmeal. Some mushier than others.

“My father can be firm and… but we aren’t heartless here,” Prince Seokjin assured her, just as fooled by the soft woman act. “No one was harmed, only our egos as your host. How bad is the damage? Ah… it’s mortifying…”

Dulce felt a little bad for him with that dejected look as he stirred the pot again even though it wasn’t even bubbling yet. He was always making jokes and laughing but there was some extra shadow to him right now. He seemed actually sad in a way she hadn’t seen before. Tired. Was it the dinner? Or was Nasimiyu’s lack of fondness breaking his little royal heart?

“They’re just hungry,” Dulce assured him. “They eat multiple meals a day. One isn’t likely to ruin everything.”

He looked up, a smile catching quickly as he seized on this argument. He dropped the spoon and took a step forward, as if suddenly recognizing what a trove of assistance Dulce could provide, if she was convinced to.

“And this morning? Did the Princess enjoy the hunt or…? I haven’t figured out yet how to tell when she’s happy…”

“You haven’t seen her truly happy yet,” Dulce answered without thinking. Well, thinking of other things. “She found some of the caves impressive.”

“But not the hunting. Me neither, you can tell her I said that. She likes riding but it’s a multi-day trip to actually go to any good riding,” he sighed, looking at Taehyung the stable hand who just nodded. As he held a tortoise to his chest and tried to tempt it into eating a lettuce leaf.

Misunderstanding her stare, he held the tortoise out and introduced, “This is my tortoise.”

“What’s his name?”

“Why don’t you name him for me?”

Her eyes narrowed. She thought he might be flirting with her. He certainly was smiling right for it. Well, maybe that could be useful down the line.

“Tuga,” she suggested without explaining it was short for Tortuga . It was unlikely any of them spoke Loman anyway. Paloma was always an afterthought when listing the principalities of Yeonhalbi, as the smallest, poorest, and most distant.

“Tuga the Tortoise, I like it!” 

“Tuga the Torta,” Prince Seokjin repeated, then laughed when the others did because he’d said it wrong. He repeated it several times anyway.

“You found his weakness. The Prince loves a good word joke,” that nice-dressed companion of his said. Jung, she recalled now. Family name; she didn’t know his first name yet. 

While all this had been going on, the cook had been busy with bowls and cups and pulling things out of cabinets. Dulce had only partially paid attention to him. Occasionally he’d tell the Prince to stir the pot, or Jimin would. But now he nudged them out of the way and rolled a cart towards her with a mountain of food.

“With our apologies for supper,” the cook said. “It was a…”

“Travesty,” Prince Seokjin suggested with a deep sigh.

“A fucking embarrassment,” the cook muttered.

“Language, there’s a lady,” Jungkook said, giving the cook a baffled look and gesturing at her. On either side of him, Taehyung the stablehand and Jimin the valet laughed. 

Prince Seokjin was quick to assure her, “They’re not laughing about you. Of course you deserve respect, even if you weren’t my betrothed’s favorite handmaid.” He raised his eyebrows as if warning all of them.

“Then what’s the joke?” she asked, feigning innocence. 

“The joke is his language is bad,” the Jung man assured her. 

“But I’d never speak like that in front of a lady like yourself,” Jungkook assured her. She found herself wondering if he actually would be very easy to seduce information out of or if he was too worldly and clever for it. A ladies’ man could go either way. 

“I’ll roll the cart for you,” Jimin suggested, suddenly darting forward.

“It’s all right.”

“I insist–”

“This is for you,” the cook added, handing her a plate directly. A plate on which sat a beautiful piece of the white and strawberry cake the nobles had for supper. Definitely not something given to the servants.

“Oh wait, she needs more cream,” Jungkook said, reaching to the side for a bowl. Dulce just stood there as he leaned forward, never sliding from the counter, and spooned an obscene amount of cream over the moist cake. “There you go.”

“Thank you so much.”

She turned away from his grin but wished she hadn’t, so she could see what had been done by whom to make him mutter ‘ow.’ She’d had to, not to laugh in his face. Was he stupid? Desperate? What a strange band of misfits this was with the Prince in the kitchen so late at night. This was really the Prince’s royal retinue? 

Instead she said to the cook sincerely, “Thank you…”

“Min Yoongi,” the cook answered. “Just find me anytime you need something for the Princess and I’ll make sure she’s only getting the best things here.”

“Ambitious,” Dulce recognized and Yoongi smiled broadly. Maybe she shouldn’t have admitted she could see that. But it made her feel better about the cake. It was a bribe. A cook who had not fucked up yet was trying to get in good with the maid of the woman who would soon make household decisions about things like, say, who ran the kitchen. She could appreciate naked, honest ambition.

Jimin’s reason for insisting on helping her was less immediately clear as they began to walk, because he didn’t pester her with questions. Instead she was left to ask,

“Does the Prince often spend time in the kitchen like that?”

“Oh. Well… yes. See… he cares a great deal about the things that go on in this palace and… also he likes food a lot. He likes to cook.” The halting way he spoke made it obvious he was trying to spin a web without having ever learned to weave well. She wasn’t sure how much of what he said she could trust simply because it sounded so honest.

“A prince who can cook?”

“He’s very particular. Um, very detail-oriented.”

“Yes, the Princess is like that too.” The things they were saying didn’t mean anything. They could be about anyone. Dulce took it to mean Jimin didn’t not trust her, but he also didn’t trust her yet. Until the Prince and Princess were close –and maybe not even then, depending on the marriage they had– their servants would remain in this hovering space, not sure whether they were working together to serve a couple or independently to protect the best interests of their masters. Masters. What a disgusting word. Employers? She doubted Jimin and Seokjin had the arrangement she and Nasimiyu did but… who ever really knew? 

“The Prince keeps you close,” she mused. “Are you his only valet?”

“He has some lower ranking ones but I’m his favorite,” Jimim bragged. “You’re the Princess’ favorite maid.”

“I’m the most competent.”

“Yeah, same.”

“What’s the other man’s name who was there? Jung?”

“Hoseok. He and his father were the Prince’s tutors and now are sort of… etiquette guides. They help with appearances for the King and Prince..”

“Ah.” They were silent for a few minutes, reaching the correct wing after taking the shortest path possible. “Well, my advice: the prince would impress the Princess well by dancing nicely at that ball coming up. She loves to dance. She’s very particular about dance.”

Jimin’s face lit up, though Dulce felt like there was a strained note behind it.

“Ah! Thank you for the suggestion. We will take it seriously,” Jimin bowed his head. “Do you need help taking this in or–”

“I’ll take it from here.”

“Your cake?”

“I can sneak it. The Princess treats me well, she won’t mind.”

Jimin nodded, “That’s good. The Prince treats us well too. We could have it worse, right?”

“Right.”

With another pleasant grin she wasn’t sure she believed, Jimin took his leave. Dulce knocked on the doors, waiting for the answer before motioning to the guards to open them for her, her own cake balanced on the bottom, under the obscene amounts of cream Jungkook had so generously spooned on.

**

“But why are you leaving even sooner than you said, that’s what I don’t understand,” Nasimiyu complained to her parents. They sat next to each other on the sofa, still as proper and poised as they would be in public. Even she never saw her parents really any more relaxed than this. She had always thought it strange but Dulce was rigid even in repose too, and it left Nasimiyu wondering once again if there was something strange about herself, that posing felt like such a performance even when she was born into this role.

“We’ll be back,” Prince Hamisi insisted. “But you need to ingrain yourself better, faster, and it’s not happening while we’re here. You still have Seokjin at arm’s length.”

“It’s only been six days.”

“Which means the time for love at first sight has passed. You have to let yourself be charmed,” her mother insisted. “But it’s not only that. We have other people to see and meet before the wedding. You did say you wanted to bring it ahead of the six months originally planned.”

“If I can without raising suspicions, yes.”

“Right now it will raise suspicions,” her mother said. “But I have faith in you, Nasi. I know you can manage this and I think you will do better with us out of the way.”

Nasimiyu sighed, “I spent all morning hunting with him. But it’s not just me… I can’t figure out what he likes yet either, he seems so eager to please.”

“Well put Dulce on it. She’s good at figuring out what people like and using it against them,” Princess Simisola suggested. Nasimiyu rolled her eyes. Her parents thought they understood everything, even her’s and Dulce’s relationship. Why did they think Dulce was here? Because playing a maid was so more much fun than freedom? For her . Dulce didn’t have power over her, even if Nasimiyu was fond of her. She trusted Dulce. Sure, yes, Dulce’s skill with her tongue was unrivaled but not actually enough to bring down the Princess of Marvono into doing anything stupid. They were careful. No one else knew and even if they did, it wasn’t unheard of for royalty to be fucking their staff. As long as Dulce was only known as a maid, no one would even bat an eye if that got out, except that people might think Nasimiyu preferred women and was a bad match for Seokjin. Which would be really funny but ultimately undermine her goals. 

Prince Hamisi actually rolled his eyes, “You women are– who cares what he likes? He likes Nasimiyu! That’s been obvious from the beginning. The boy’s tripping on his tongue every time Nasimiyu walks in the room. It requires absolutely no effort for you to win him over. He sells the story for you. You are the one who seems hesitant.”

“So it can seem even more real when he wins me over,” Nasimiyu insisted. “The love of a century.”

“You’re lying to me. Do not ruin this for our people, Nasi. This is about more than you and your appetites.”

“My what ?”

“You heard me. Pick a personality and seduce him with it and marry him. We’ll be here one more week and then you’ll have some time without us to assimilate into this palace. Focus. Do not rush. And bed the prince!”

“If you get pregnant, everyone will understand why you rush the wedding,” her mother nodded eagerly. “Romantic!”

“That’s not romantic.”

“Guaranteed royal bloodlines are very romantic.”

“King Dong-gun is the hardest one to convince. I can tell from the things he said on the hunt this morning… he’s not sure about you,” Prince Hamisi said. “He’s a joyful, loud, sometimes undignified man, but he loves his son and wants happiness for him. You must convince him that’s you or he will shred your betrothal agreement himself.”

“All right. I’ll do better. Trust me.”

At the knock on the door and Dulce’s voice announcing she had food, Nasimiyu’s parents called her in. Dulce came with an entire cart of food. She wheeled it over and then slipped a plate from the bottom away, carrying it out to the balcony. Her parents eyed Dulce as she went but didn’t call her back or tell her to leave. Prince Hamisi frowned after her. Nasimiyu knew he didn’t like Dulce but he tolerated her for this. She was the best, after all. The only time she’d ever been caught was… well, Nasimiyu’s fault. She’d make it up to Dulce someday. She would.

“Oh thank goodness, this is so much better than what they had at supper,” Princess Simisola sighed into her plate. 

“I’m shocked the King didn’t cut down that false cook right there.”

“He’s that kind of man?” Nasimiyu asked, though she’d heard the stories from her father before, enough to have expected it too.

“He’s all about a good time. Don’t ruin his good time, you know? I don’t blame him for being suspicious. The kitchen invited in a stranger? He could have poisoned us all. I think more than the false cook will loose his life for this.”

“At least he could have given us food poisoning with that terrible food!” Princess Simisola agreed.

“Once they’re sure they know what they need from him, he’ll be dead and so will anyone who hired him for this, I’m sure. Such is the way a royal palace runs.”

“Is ours run that way?” Nasimiyu asked curiously. She’d never heard of her father having someone executed for such a thing.

Prince Hamisi grinned, “No, because we only hire intelligent people who would never do something this stpid. You have to choke the weeds at the root level. Once they’re in your garden….”

Nasimiyu thought about this, then asked, “Isn’t a weed just a plant growing somewhere you don’t want it to be? What’s the difference between a weed and a flower?”

“Flowers are lovely to look at,” Princess Simisola pointed out. 

“What is this nonsense you’re talking about?” Prince Hamisi scowled between them both. “Come, dearheart, let’s take our food to our room. This was a long day. The King seems intent to host us into an early grave. You can’t insert yourself into routine here until we leave so routine can establish itself again. Every day it’s hunting and walking and drinking and parlor games. I’m tired!”

“Oh, all right but…” Nasimiyu didn’t know how to put it into words. She’d never been away from both her parents before. And while they’d told her from the beginning they wouldn’t stay long before going south to speak with others who were aligned to their secret cause, it was different to have an exact date they’d be leaving now. It made all of this feel even more real. Prince Seokjin wasn’t just some strange noble with an annoying propensity for jokes that didn’t even make sense. He was going to be her husband , for at least some period of time. Her parents were leaving her here because this was her future and she had to stop putting it off and really deal with that now. How fucking scary. 

It left her somber once they departed and she took cake out to join Dulce on the balcony. Her nose scrunched at the sticky air that had not yet cooled off with the night. Dulce sat with crossed legs on one of the chaise lounges, licking cream from her fingers.

“Steal that?” Nasimiyu teased.

“Kitchen boy gave it to me.”

“Oh, you’re making friends, huh?”

“You told me to,” Dulce grinned at her. “Prince Seokjin was in the kitchen too. Apparently he likes to cook.”

“He was cooking in the kitchen!? The same kitchen that makes all our food? So he really was the one who hired the bad cook?”

Dulce shrugged, “I don’t think so. They told me he was covering for the staff who did it.”

“Covering for someone who might have poisoned and killed us all?”

“Wouldn’t it be funny if he’s actually trying to kill his father too?” Dulce mused, tapping the spoon against her lips in thought. Actually this was suspiciously relaxed for Dulce. She was in a good mood and they hadn’t even fucked. That made Nasimiyu curious. “It could mean he’s trying to frame you or your parents though.”

“ Is he?”

“I don’t know… but it’s something I was thinking about so I’ll keep an eye on it.”

“You seem…”

“I seem what?”

“Strange,” Nasimiyu admitted.

“I found out what happened to the tortoise. I think the Prince gave it to the stable boy to keep. They let me name it.” Dulce said this was a straight face, but it made Nasimiyu laugh.

“What did you name it?”

“Tuga.”

“Tuga the torta– Tuga the tortoise.”

“You know, Prince Seokjin made that exact same slip.” Nasimiyu glared. “Even exaggerated the ‘s’ the second time that same lispy way.”

“I don’t have a lisp.”

“The bodyguard does, just a faint one.”

“My, you learned an awful lot suddenly. Were you drinking with them? Why are you so strange?”

“Honestly? This cake is just… the best thing I may have ever eaten in my life,” Dulce admitted, one corner of her mouth lifting into one of those rare, precious smiles. 

“I didn’t think it was that great.”

“You don’t like sweet things. You’re too used to them. No noble can ever truly appreciate sugar and cream.”

“I like salty things better.”

Dulce slid onto Nasimiyu’s lounge chair and, before the Princess could say anything, promptly upended her plate right over Nasimiyu’s chest. An obscene amount of milky cream spilled right down into her cleaves, across the tops of her breasts, all over the front of her dark maroon robe. She yelped at the sticky, wet feeling and looked at Dulce in absolute shock.

“I like both,” Dulce mused, sliding the shoulder straps down Nasimiyu’s shoulders. Nasimiyu sat up and maneuvered her arms out of the ruined fabric, cringing at the cream flowing down her body. “You’re so upset!” Dulce noticed. And smiled

“This feels disgusting!”

“Don’t worry, Princess. There won’t be a drop left in you when I’m done.”

“Is this punishment because I didn’t let you shoot anything on the hunt?”

“It’s my reward for not shooting anyone,” Dulce agreed and slid down her body to lap the cream gathering in the creases beneath them.

“Not a drop left on me, Dulcie…” Her voice was softer this time, eyelids drooping as she watched Dulce’s tongue drag across her skin, up and around her nipples, leaving goosebumps in her wake.

“Not a drop left in you, I promise.”

Chapter Text

He’d had that dream again last night. He almost told Jimin about it, but decided against it when the valet arrived to help him dress. It wasn’t that Jimin wouldn’t listen, of course he would, it was his job to listen. But there was something precious to Seokjin about the dream, and he liked to hold it close, even though it was the simplest dream a man could dream.

In it, the late afternoon sun slanted in through tall crops in a field or a meadow or something, he wasn’t an expert in plants. And he lay on a blanket on a sort of slope, maybe a hill, beneath a tree, head resting on his hands, elbows out, eyes closed, skin soaking up the golden warmth. In the distance he hears a woman calling for him –he’d always assumed it was his mother, because that made the most sense to him, but it was just an assumption. Someone sits beside him on the blanket, and he opens his eyes and there isn’t some visual explanation; he can’t actually see the person, just feel them. If he knows who it is sitting beside him, he can never remember when he wakes, but he always remembers the feeling that it’s someone he loves very much and is very happy to see, and they are just coming to sit with him. No work, no running off, no rush, no responsibility. Just peaceful sitting on a blanket in the late afternoon together.

That’s it. That was the dream. Simple, familiar, though not frequent. Seokjin always lingered in bed extra long on the mornings after that dream, trying to cling to that peace for a few more minutes. That warmth was not something he had ever experienced but he wanted it.

But Jimin came to chase him out of bed early because it was court day. 

“Damnit,” Seokjin sighed at the reminder.

King Dong-gun had not held court for a week following the arrival of the Marvono royal family, and what a glorious week that had been. Not because Nasimiyu had come around at all on Seokjin’s sense of humor, not because he had yet made any real strides to earn her sincere affection (though she had a very pretty fake smile! It was becoming familiar to him now), but simply because there were few things in the world Seokjin hated more than sitting court with his father. Seriously. Being a prince had all sorts of tedious, embarrassing, and morally questionable responsibilities, but sitting court was still Seokjin’s least favorite. When he was inevitably king some day, he’d change this. He wasn’t sure how yet, but this whole farce would have to go.

First of all, the spectacle of it was mortifying. King Dong-gun lumbered into the throne room at whatever hour he pleased, regardless of what had been told to the people traveling sometimes from principalities far away to beg for a hearing with him. He sat in his big, ostentatious chair which must make people think he was compensating for something. He had food and drink brought to him, as if he couldn’t possibly make it through without fainting, even though so many of the people coming were very poor themselves and would stare at the lavish snacks with naked hunger. After each plea, King Dong-gun ushered his ruling with a bored flip of his hand and a trumpet played an obnoxious medley over this person kneeling on the ground, reacting to often life-changing news they were so callously given –sometimes not life-changing for the better.

Second of all, some of the ugliest sides of people were dragged out onto display in these courts. Seokjin had more experience interacting with the general populace than anyone –certainly his father– knew about, but at the point you were begging a hearing with the king and all that it cost and all that was at risk with angering him, there was something you felt strongly about. Life or death about! 

So sometimes you had the richest of assholes here to complain because their rich asshole neighbor had a tree that kept dropping figs in their garden which were attracting hornets so they had poisoned the tree but lost the shade and now they wanted their neighbor to replace the tree they had poisoned. 

But other times you had people who came in with their sick and dying children to beg for the king to intervene with a landlord who took too much, or a region with no wells and the water was drying up, or a fire had burned their crops down and they needed assistance. These were the ones that made Seokjin sick to his stomach. If there was only the request for relief, King Dong-gun sent them off to talk to someone else because it wasn’t like he was going to dump food into their open hands. Am I holding a roast goat under my robe? he had once laughed. 

But if it was a complaint about a landlord of a regional governor, he asked what the court said. Had a judge already passed a ruling? The gods save them if they came straight to take up King Dong-gun’s time without trying the local courts first, but if they did do things the proper way, King Dong-gun had nothing comforting to say.

“The judge ruled your landlord had a right to raise your rent because you underproduced last year,” King Dong-gun summarized what a dirty, hungry, exhausted man had just told him.

“We underproduced because the land was too dry–”

“I don’t need the excuses anymore than your landlord does. Don’t you think if you are suffering from the drought, your landlord suffers tenfold, for each holding he has? It is your job to produce from the land and if you cannot afford to do so, you can surrender the place to someone else who can. If no one can, that is the landlord’s misery to deal with when he has no more tenants. He will reap his own troubles eventually.”

“But–”

“Do not interrupt me!” King Dong-gun snapped. Seokjin’s skin goose-pimpled. He looked around the room uncomfortably and spotted Nasimiyu sitting with her parents in the gallery to the right. What a dreadful thing for her to watch. It must be boring but also how embarrassing for her to see this. There was nothing impressive about this tedious, heartless, bureaucratic part of being King. 

“Your judge has already ruled it is your landlord’s right so why do you come to waste my time? Do you think the judges in my country are idiots?”

“N-No, Your Royal Highness,” the man said, bowing his head. “But I thought… I hoped… maybe you could see the bigger picture, that if the landlord–”

“You are wasting my time. I will not tell a landlord what he can charge. I will not tell a judge he is an idiot because some farmer said so. Leave.”

The man looked horrified, as they always did when the King did not give them the mercy they had hoped for. Seokjin felt uncomfortable in his gut. He knew better than to bring it up with his father though, or even to think about saying something right now. Besides, what would he say? He didn’t know anything about the economics of landlords and tenants, despite theoretically having a tutor explain the system to him. He didn’t know anything about the competency of district circuit judges. He didn’t know how to do any of this better or what the right way to do it was, he would have been driven purely by the discomfort of seeing someone hurting and heartbroken. Disappointed. Sentimental. His father had laughed at him many times about it and demanded he take note that a sentimental king was a dead one.

Seokjin hated the uncomfortable changeover between plaintiffs. The spectators would whisper about whatever King Dong-gun’s ruling had been as the person left –sometimes dragged out, even kicking and screaming, if they really hated the King’s ruling. The next person would come in, striding with a confidence, likely about to be shattered, or creeping with big eyes and clutching fingers, about to have their heartbroken. 

Did anyone ever leave happy? They did, they must, but Seokjin forgot the happy ones. Sometimes they didn’t deserve to be happy, that’s the truth of what he thought. 

“How much longer is this?” King Dong-gun asked the advisors seated to the left. Seokjin wanted to know too, though the irony was that no one could make King Dong-gun hold court. Even this question was probably more to simply vent his boredom and flex that he was the most powerful one here than to actually ask any sort of permission.

“The line goes into city,” was the answer. “As long as Your Majesty pleases.”

The weirdest thing of all was that despite his externalized boredom and frequent complaints, King Dong-gun actually enjoyed court. Seokjin thought he really did. He’d hold court for seven hours sometimes, not letting anyone leave to eat until he decided he’d had enough flexing his power for the day. Did he just like proving he was the top? Did he just like the simplicity of casting judgment on every question brought before him? Seokjin didn’t get it, he thought it was miserable.  

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand appealing to the King –it was that this was all a performance, just one the people who came didn’t know they were part of. Hence the crowds. It wasn’t only the poor and starving that nobles came to watch leave in tears, it was their own buffoon neighbors as well. King Dong-gun had received a standing ovation after his ruling on the fig tree neighbors. When occasionally he showed calculated mercy, it was only when he knew there was a particular woman in the gallery he was fond of, who would dramatically clap her hand to her heart –and she didn’t come often, so the moments of mercy were rare. He seemed to take as much delight in hearing the round of ‘oh yes good that was a good fair ruling’ from around the gallery as he did shocking those very same people, only to raise his hand and demand their adulations.

Seokjin did. Not. get it. He was King Dong-gun’s own son and still could not comprehend his father’s court holding. And he kept trying to, because he felt like there ought to be some reason for it all, some valuable lesson he needed to learn because someday this would be his job. But he couldn’t figure it out, and it just gave him a headache. Hoseok would psssst him and rub his own forehead to tell Seokjin he was scrunching his face in a way that would cause early wrinkles. 

So in an attempt to not look bored or apathetic or stupid or incapable to the Marvono royals, Seokjin instead tried to ignore what was going on and study Nasimiyu. She sat perfectly upright, a proper royal woman, attention trained on anything that happened, face neutral. If he had to guess –which he didn’t trust himself to do when it came to her– he would guess that she was either used to court or at least saw the value in it, and maybe even enjoyed it. Her face looked neutral but engaged in a way both similar to and very different from her handmaiden’s just behind her. That one watched the proceedings with a face so completely neutral that it looked unnatural, like she was concentrating hard on keeping her true feelings from showing. Seokjin thought that either she was disgusted with the whole thing or on the verge of falling asleep. Seokjin wished she would actually fall asleep, like fall forward and bump into Nasimiyu and disturb the whole thing. Then he could escape court and not listen to his father play a game judging people’s lives. Not that he’d do any better, he knew that. How was one person supposed to know how to quickly do what was right in each of these situations without knowing all the laws and the context and fully reviewing the situation with other witnesses and opinions?!

Suddenly a disturbance. It was not the handmaid fallen asleep though, rather it was an uncomfortable silence, the wail of a small child, and an unsettling feeling Seokjin got from his father. Even though he couldn’t see King Dong-gun’s face without twisting to look, he sensed his father’s humor had suddenly shifted. He had missed something important preceding it, but it only took Seokjin a moment to figure it out:

The woman standing in front of them had two boys with her, close in age, maybe like five or seven? It was all the same to Seokjin. But young enough to be a bit wild, and the smaller of the two had run forward and attempted to climb into the chair to King Dong-gun’s left, the throne left ceremoniously empty in honor of Seokjin’s late mother. 

At the point Seokjin began paying attention, the guards grabbed the little boy and threw him back at his mother, but he landed badly on the ground and hit his head on the tiled floor. Thankfully he was still alert, but blood ran down the side of his head, lots of blood, what looked to Seokjin like an alarming amount of blood. 

“Is this the queen’s legacy? Protecting her chair is worth injuring a small child?” went the murmurs. They might have been sympathetic to ripping the child off the chair, that seemed like something unnecessarily heartless that people of the court would support, but now there was a sobbing, profusely bleeding child in the middle of court. The mother and brother huddled around him, trying to calm him but no one moved to help. Seokjin glanced at his father, secretly wishing his father would suddenly rise from the throne and go to help the boy himself, that he would demonstrate being that kind of a man. 

King Dong-gun did actually look horrified, but also frozen, away from things. He was thinking of something else right now. He looked shocked. Seokjin hadn’t seen his father look like that in years, not since he stopped drinking his grief away in front of his own son, or anyone else for that matter. 

No one would move without the king’s permission and the king was in no place to give it and there was a screaming, crying, bleeding child and an upset mother and a frightened brother. 

Seokjin rose and waved his hand, as if reassuring someone that he was taking charge of the situation –though of course he had no idea what to do with a screaming, crying child. He felt the ripple of activity as he walked quickly down the steps and across the floor to crouch beside the child, whose mother was now trying to lift him except he was thrashing and crying so loudly, and also he was decently tall. 

“Let’s see, I think that red stuff is supposed to stay inside of you,” Seokjin said, as gently as he could. He didn’t have much experience around children so he tended to just talk to them like they were small, unreasonable people. “Are you badly– ah,” he broke off his own stupid question. The child was hurt enough he should see a doctor. “Let’s take you to see a doctor, yes?” The woman was remarkably pretty for a peasant woman, it looked like she had tried to dress nice for this, but now there was blood on her dress and tears on her face. 

The child let out a startled cry when Seokjin scooped him up, demonstrating much more reliable strength than the worried mother had. As he stood, Nasimiyu reached forward with a cloth to press to the boy’s head; her nearness startled Seokjin. She’d come forward to help as well?

A blossom of warmth bloomed from his chest towards her. He’d come forward because someone needed to and maybe he was in a unique position; if nothing else, his father wouldn’t do more than yell at him about it later, if he even cared. But having someone else suddenly there with him acted like a balm to Seokjin’s discomfort. He wasn’t used to that, to not feeling alone in whatever he did, at most tailed by Jimin and Jungkook. Maybe he was overreacting, literally all she did was press a cloth to the boy’s head and touch the mother’s arm but for a brief moment Seokjin felt companionship. With Princess Nasimiyu! With this woman impossible to read or impress.

“This way, someone has already gone to fetch a doctor–” a staff said, approaching and motioning for them to follow.

“Nonsense, we have a physician here in the palace already.”

“Yes, for noble–”

“For human beings. I mean the physician, not the veterinarian. Go fetch the people doctor at once,” Seokjin insisted as he tried to shift the child so he’d be able to hold the cloth while carrying him. It was difficult to do. Everyone was staring at him. His ears were on fire. “We’ll escort them to the side room and if we wait longer than I think it should take you to get the court physician…” He let the threat hang because he wasn’t really good at making threats and also because he was the Royal Prince, he didn’t really need to get specific. The staff scurried away to do as ordered unless someone scarier than Seokjin gave him a different order.

The only person higher than Seokjin in these things, really, was King Dong-gun, who suddenly rose from his chair. He still looked remarkably shocked by everything. He stared at the woman and in a rather unusual turn of events, the woman lifted her chin and stared back. It was confusing, and Seokjin would have liked to try and make sense of that except the child was still crying, murmurs were gaining volume around the court, and now the older brother was trying to climb Seokjin’s arm to reach his brother. 

In a show of humor to try and lighten the mood, Seokjin reached down to grab the other boy around the waist, as if he was going to hoist him up too, and asked, “Oh, you both need a lift? Are you attached at the hip, you two brothers? It’s good I have such broad shoulders!”

“Walk with me,” the mother said instead, grabbing the older boy’s hand. She now gave Seokjin a completely startled look, as if she hadn’t realized until exactly this moment who had come forth to lift her son. She fell silent but Nasimiyu began to move and so the woman followed and so did Seokjin. 

“Which side room?” Nasimiyu asked as they exited through the front doors, side stepping the line of people waiting. People stared but still, no one moved to help.

“What’s wrong with people?” Seokjin mumbled under his breath as he stepped around Nasimiyu and the mother to enter one of the many side rooms of the court where individuals might be debriefed –or held, if there was a problem. 

Inside, he settled the boy on the bench, the mother sliding down quickly to pull her son into her side and press the cloth tightly to his head because Seokjin had let it slip as they walked. 

“I’m very sorry for the overreaction,” Seokjin said, bowing slightly to the boy and his mother. “I’m afraid people around here get very jumpy about that chair and how people behave in court, no matter how old they are.”

“You’re saying the guard was right to throw my son?” the woman asked, completely misunderstanding.

“No, I was apologizing for the overreaction,” Seokjin said carefully. He studied the woman’s face now, still panicked and flushed with tears but oddly familiar, though he couldn’t quite place her. “Have I seen you before? I’m sorry, if so, I don’t remember your name…”

The woman looked quickly down at her children and assured him, “No, I don’t think so… I am not around royalty often… and after this… honestly, throwing a child…”

“I’ll follow up with the guards and make sure they handle things like this more gently in the future,” Seokjin promised –an empty promise. His father was adamant the chair be guarded as much as his own body, and probably didn’t see anything wrong with the guard being a little overly rough with a small child. It wasn’t like the guard had tried to harm him, he’d sort of slipped at the force of the guard’s handling… Not that Seokjin wanted to justify it! But he already knew that anything he said would be ignored at best, or enrage his father at worse.

Plus there was that strange matter of his father’s reaction to make sense of. Why had seeing the small boy hurt caused his father, the unshakeable King Dong-gun, to freeze up like that? 

“Empty words but hard hands,” the woman mumbled, stroking her son’s cheek. “I don’t know what I expected coming here…”

“Your complaint didn’t get heard. Is there something I can do for you while we wait for the physician? I could follow up on your issue–”

“It was only for the king and you are not him.”

“Yes,” Nasimiyu interjected. “But he is the Royal Prince. Perhaps you should remember who just carried your son and is standing here with you now, ensuring the best physician in the city tends to him?”

The woman said nothing. Seokjin said nothing, surprised by Nasimiyu’s defensiveness –she must be protective of titles and formality, which wasn’t surprising for a princess, though Seokjin had briefly hoped for the opposite when she came to assist with the child.

The woman refused to tell them her business and the physician arrived soon anyway. Seokjin gave firm instructions for the boy to be well cared for and the woman’s place in line preserved, but Jimin informed him from the doorway that King Dong-gun had ended court for the day.

A blessing to be done, for sure, but it meant Seokjin had no path to follow up with his father right now and test why he had reacted that way. Was he so upset seeing a child hurt? Was it only the shock of having a stranger briefly seated in his late wife’s throne?

“You’ll need to change,” Jimin whispered as Seokjin and Nasimiyu stepped from the room, leaving the physician to it. He looked down at the red stain running down his shoulder.

“It’s ghastly,” he murmured. “I expected his brains to be dashed out with that much blood.”

“Head injuries bleed a lot,” Nasimiyu’s handmaid offered, looking down at Nasimiyu’s hand, also bloody from pressing the bandage.

“Your jacket is ruined and no thanks for it,” Nasimiyu sighed. 

Seokjin couldn’t help the snort as he assured her, “I don’t care about the jacket. I have a dozen more just like it. But I’m afraid you’ll learn there’s never any thanks in any of it so you shouldn’t wait for it”

“You did a kind thing.”

“What’s a kind thing after you’ve done a wrong thing?”

“You didn’t hurt the child.”

“It happened in our court,” Seokjin argued, much as he appreciated the reassurance. All the blood left him a little shaky, now that it was done with, truth be told. He wouldn’t admit that to Nasimiyu, of course. “The king rules all, the court is the lap of the king. No matter how kind a thing we do, it is never enough because…” He broke off. The jitters were going to make him ramble and he didn’t much feel like it right now. It did sting to try and try and it never be enough. He shouldn’t complain about that to Nasimiyu but she would learn it soon enough herself, though it was interesting if she didn’t already know it.

“Doesn’t your father hold court?” Seokjin asked.

Nasimiyu shook her head, “No. I mean, yes, he hears complaints but not in full court like that. Semi-private.”

“Oh…” Hm. That sounded a little more interesting. Maybe that was a better way to do things… 

“Your jacket,” Jimin whispered.

“Yes, I’d better go wash up. Apologies that a long day in court ended unusually poorly. Alas, you will have many, many more opportunities to experience the whole day of it.”

“I look forward to it,” Nasimiyu told him and seemed serious.

Hm. Could a king just let his wife handle it?

No no, he mentally flicked his own forehead. A king who just ceded all the work to his wife was a walking target for assasination or invasion. Not that the queens didn’t often work just as hard or harder than the king, but the world still demanded a man in the role of overlord so… Seokjin’s ass would have to be on that throne someday.

What a nightmare.

But that day was not today. He followed Jimin to change his jacket and tried to look on the bright side that at least he was free from court for the rest of the day. 

***

“What do you think, the gold or the blue?” Nasimiyu asked, eyeing Dulce. She stood in the nude after bathing –a luxury in the afternoon, but she’d wanted to wash away all traces of the child’s blood that lingered on her palm. Obviously she wasn’t someone who’d faint at the sight of blood, but there was something horrifying about a child’s blood being spilled the way she’d seen. 

Dulce just shrugged and admitted, “You know I don’t know colors…”

“But you must have an opinion.”

“About colors? No…”

Nasimiyu sighed that Dulce wouldn’t even pretend to play along. She seemed sulky today, for as much as Nasimiyu could understand her behaviors –which wasn’t much at all. Probably she’d been bored out of her skull when Nasimiyu made her sit court with her, but she’d wanted Dulce to witness it, as someone who’d never been in that kind of place before. 

Actually Nasimiyu was a little sulky too. She was embarrassed that after the child had been hurt, Seokjin and Dulce had both moved before she had in a room full of people only staring. As soon as Dulce had stood, Nasimiyu had stepped past her and Dulce had wisely hung back, leaving Nasimiyu to handle things with Seokjin. What a pleasant surprise to learn that he’d step forward in a moment like that; she hadn’t expected it of him. Granted it was a low bar, he hadn’t really done anything, but no one else had done even that. It had softened Nasimiyu just enough to feel defensive when the distraught mother was so rude to Seokjin, as if he had been the one to hurt her child.

No, that was the guard who it did not sound like would face any punishment. Or you could blame King Dong-gun, who’d simply sat there, silently condoning it all. He’d disappeared and not been seen again all afternoon, probably weeping over the empty chair that had belonged to his late wife and was apparently more important to him than the cracked skull of a small child.

“You said the child was all right?” Nasimiyu asked, thinking about it again, though Dulce had reported back to her earlier. She’d managed to intercept the mother and her two sons before she’d left the palace, after her son’s head was stitched and bandaged.

Dulce nodded, absent-mindedly poking through Nasimiyu’s jewels, “Yes… but I do still have a strange feeling about it all. She wouldn’t tell me why she came to court, and I couldn’t find anyone who said her complaint was heard or addressed. The king had something going on as soon as that kid climbed into the chair.”

“It belonged to the late queen.”

“So I gathered,” Dulce said, voice slightly taut. Nasimiyu grinned. Dulce hated being talked down to or told obvious things almost as much as Nasimiyu did. And unfortunately, Nasimiyu knew she sounded that way a lot because she was so used to men talking down to her , that she had to sound that way to hold her own. She was a princess. Someday she’d be queen! She couldn’t leave room for doubt or questioning in her voice. It rankled Dulce, who had very little respect for her royal title, which Nasimiyu found mostly endearing.

“Men can be silly about things when their wives die,” Nasimiyu explained. “Maybe it’s the only endearing thing about him, that he loved her that much.”

Dulce shrugged, “I guess. I can’t relate but–”

“You wouldn’t spend your life fiercely guarding our bed if I suddenly died–”

“I’d avenge you and go on with my life.”

“Dulcie!” Nasimiyu laughed. She decided on the blue. Dulce still looked distracted though and Nasimiyu prodded, “Why, what are you thinking about? Not me dying and looking like that I hope–”

“No. I don’t know. Probably you’re right and he just overreacted because someone dared touch his throne…”

“But…” Nasimiyu nudged Dulce.

“I’m not in the business of spreading rumors. That’s more your game.”

Nasimiyu rolled her eyes, “Ok, I only two down two women that way and they deserved it–”

“Cleaner than a knife,” Dulce teased. “More brutal though, I think.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking! I’m not going to run off and whisper it to the scullery maids. You’re the only maid I’m whispering anything to.”

Dulce shrugged, “I’d have to investigate more but… I thought maybe the children are his.”

“His… whose? The king’s ?”

“She spent who knows how long waiting for a meeting with the king, didn’t leave her children out in the hall, didn’t stick around to demand an answer. She didn’t even hold her child’s hand to keep him by her side when they entered a hostile court… I don’t know.”

Nasimiyu thought about this for a moment. Dulce had a sharp eye, so it was worth not immediately discounting. But…

“You hate men,” Nasimiyu pointed out.

Dulce immediately looked scandalized, “I do not hate men!”

“You don’t think a faithful man exists.”

“I know faithful men exist,” Dulce insisted. “I just don’t think they’re common. And among the nobility?”  

“My father is. My mother would rip his guts from his belly if he touched another woman.”

“Was the queen like your mother?”

“I… don’t know,” Nasimiyu admitted. “I only ever heard of her spoken about like she was… soft and beautiful and kind. But regardless of what anyone thinks about the king, it’s generally agreed that he was madly in love with his wife.”

“Well then there’s nothing to it then.”

“No…” Nasimiyu trailed off. Dulce had left her jewels and now leaned bored against the wall. “No, if you think there’s something there, you should look into it more. Can you find out who the woman is?”

“I can, but it’ll mean going outside of the palace since she doesn’t live here.”

“Does she live in Priva?”

“I don’t know yet,” Dulce said, looking annoyed at Nasimiyu’s question. “I’ve been with you almost all day.”

“Oh. I just thought you worked faster than that.” She said it to annoy Dulce and it worked. Nasimiyu laughed at the flash in her eyes as she pushed off the wall. “All right, don’t be huffy. Look into it. I can start using the other girls more… but please don’t start rumors that he’s got secret love children until you know.”

“That’s what I said I didn’t want to do!”

Nasimiyu flashed a bright smile at her. Dulce’s frustration rolled off of her. She didn’t think it had anything to do with her anyway, and she didn’t take offense. She personally felt refreshed after the day in court. There were so many things fucked up about the current ways. It was going to be so easy to step in and make things better! None of this public performance as people were begging for their lives. None of this nonsense with nobles fighting over frivolous bullshit. Triaging requests so that more urgent ones were heard first would make a world of a difference compared to this first come first serve method –which only last anyway until someone with true wealth needed to jump the line. 

“Why do you look like that?” Dulce asked.

“Like what?”

“Like you just got good news… I could be totally off base about the children, and if it’s true, it doesn’t help if that comes out and people turn on him before you’re on the throne, right? If they’d even care.”

“I don’t think it would change a damn thing,” Nasimiyu admitted. “No king is getting overthrown because he has illegitimate children. That’s boring for a king… though it does pose a problem if they try to challenge me for the Throne,” she realized with alarm. “Oh shit. I should tell my parents–”

“Wait,” Dulce interrupted. “Wait until I know more.”

“Why?” Nasimiyu asked suspiciously.

“Because they might overreact. They might add noise and attention, sending someone else to investigate who will be clumsy about it, and suddenly the whole house of cards comes tumbling down. If I find anything more than my gut that points to it being a concern, I’ll tell you.”

“All right.”

“So then maybe while I chase that down, you can have someone else investigate his room–”

“A ha!” Nasimiyu gasped. “Did you come up with this just because you don’t want to sneak into his room?”

Dulce looked affronted and assured her, “I did not !”

“It’s just a measly little prince bedroom to sneak into. What’s the big deal?”

“It’s not that it’s a big deal, that’s the point. I’m an–” She broke off, rather than loudly announcing I’m an assassin! It made Nasimiyu laugh anyway. “It’s below my pay grade to go sneaking around in someone’s bedroom to find out tips so their betrothed can woo them.”

“Then I’ll lower your pay.”

Nasimiyu smiled at the scowl from Dulce. She had these long dark eyebrows that scowled so beautifully.

“I’m teasing, of course I won’t. In fact I will give you a gift if you bring me something useful from his room.”

“If I go tomorrow like we discussed, I might lose the woman.”

“Figure it out,” Nasimiyu shrugged. Ooh, she liked the way that sounded. She sounded like a queen. She grinned at herself in the mirror and lifted a band of jewels to nestle into her hair for supper. 

As if she could read her mind, Dulce mused, “Don’t you look like a queen? You really do thrive off of court, hm?”

“Well today was an example of everything being done wrong by this current dynasty.”

“But your rule will be different.”

“Exactly,” Nasimiyu nodded. “I won’t bore you with it all right now but I have so many ideas to make all of that,” she gestured, “into something that will actually help people.”

“Well. Good then.” Nasimiyu turned, curious why Dulce sounded so bored by it.

“What’s wrong with you tonight?”

“Nothing except I’m not looking forward to creeping around a man’s bedroom while you’re planning your wedding.”

Nasimiyu reached out to squeeze Dulce’s arm as she passed her and insisted, “Honestly, it’s just poking around a bedroom. Soon I’ll be getting poked in that bedroom, so you can at least help me–”

“That’s crude from you in a way that doesn’t sound like you.”

“Well you’re bothering me with this sulking, it’s throwing me off. I thought you– well, it doesn’t matter. You have things to do, so you’re free to go do them. I’ll have the other girls tend to me and see you tomorrow or whenever, yes?”

Dulce hesitated, eyeing her now. Nasimiyu realized it sounded very dismissive, very final. She hadn’t completely meant it that way but she also hadn’t not meant it that way. Was snooping in Seokjin’s room really that big of a deal? She didn’t understand why Dulce wanted to keep her suspicions about the woman a secret either, unless she just didn’t want the embarrassment of being wrong to Nasimiyu’s parents… that made sense, actually… 

“All right. I’ll come back when I’ve found something.”

Dulce turned to go without anything further and Nasimiyu felt a heaviness from the departure. Good, Dulce was doing what she’d said but no, not like that! Like it was just some command Nasimiyu had given and Dulce was off to do it and collect payment.

Dulce’s hand was on the door when Nasimiyu called after her, “Wait.”

“Yes?”

“Check in with me tomorrow, all right? Don’t just… disappear or anything.”

“All right.” 

Nasimiyu was glad to see her hesitate and look thoughtful about it now. Half the time she didn’t understand what ticked Dulce off or why, and sometimes that wall was really annoying to run into, but she felt like she’d opened a door through it just with that comment. Did Dulce think she was mad or something? Sending her away?

“Hey, it’s all right you didn’t already know the answers or anything,” Nasimiyu added to be benevolent and clear the air. “I know you’re doing a lot at once. I trust your gut.”

Dulce paused before admitting, “Some of us just don’t belong in court. I’ll let you know what I find.”

And like a fresh breeze in this smelly city, she was gone.

“What does she mean by that?” Nasimiyu grumbled. Doesn’t belong in court… is she really mad I made her sit there? I know it’s boring but I just wanted her to see… she talked about how out of touch nobility are, I thought she’d be more interested in the avenues that do exist, even if this one is particularly poorly run. 

“Work to do,” Nasimiyu grinned to herself. It was nice to see something straight forward, some easy way she could make a big impact someday. Everything was so big and nebulous and out of her control for the most part –she was having to rely on Dulce to help her figure out how to even find enough in common with her future husband to seem in love!-- but it helped to remember why she wanted to do this in the first place.

King Dong-gun was failing the people. She, Nasimiyu, would do better. She would be the best Queen Yeonhalbi had seen ever! 

Dulce was mad that Nasimiyu had enjoyed that disgusting show of wealth and power that the nobility called court. Dulce was mad that she and Nasimiyu would never see eye to eye on the root problem. King Dong-gun wasn’t the problem, kings were the problem. Was a queen going to be better? Dulce wasn’t so sure, not in a world where Nasimiyu hadn’t stood to go help a bleeding child until Dulce started to move.

Yes, she had noticed that. And most of all, Dulce was angry at herself for being so surprised, for forgetting this thing she already knew about Nasimiyu. The princess was far from a perfect person. She had a good heart and an independent spirit and she wanted the system to be better, she thought she could fix the system, but she was still an advocate of the system. She was aware of her privilege but didn’t see the whole of it. She still got offended when an upset mother with a bleeding child showed disrespect for a prince’s title. She saw two potentially royal bastard sons as a threat to her future power rather than a fucking tragedy. A betrayal, a lie, maybe even an abuse of power over a commoner. 

Dulce didn’t want to tell Nasimiyu’s parents and was angry at herself for even bringing up her suspicions because simply killing the boys off was the fastest and easiest solution to whatever problem may or may not exist. When Nasimiyu wanted to know what her hesitation was, Dulce was too afraid to learn whether Nasimiyu hadn’t thought about the fact her parents would just have the boys killed or actually didn’t see the problem with it. She must, right? She must see the problem with it.

But Nasimiyu had enjoyed court. Nasimiyu’s eyes sparkled when she looked at the throne. Dulce was learning a lot about Nasimiyu she had ignored the possibility of before they came to Priva.

And now this . This was a stupid errand, and Dulce was thinking all sorts of sharp, pointed, daggery thoughts at Nasimiyu right now. And daggers at herself because she kept doing this, she kept forgetting that Nasimiyu was so many of the things she hated most in the world. It’s just that Nasimiyu was so… Nasimiyu . And Dulce time and time again ignored that part in her gut that warned she is going to be the end of you and ignored all of the survival skills that had kept her above water this long in life and let herself get close with Nasimiyu.

And where had it led her? To the fucking capital of Yeonhalbi, on a fucking stupid ‘mission’ into the stupid fucking bedroom of a stupid fucking prince. Because Nasimiyu could do all sorts of things except pretend to fall in love with a man who to Dulce seemed perfectly inoffensive.

Prince Seokjin’s bedroom was not directly guarded unless he was inside, but guards patrolled the wing, so she’d have to time her entrance and exit just right. She’d taken another look at the window overlooking the courtyard but decided it was way too risky, same with finding a way up to the roof and climbing down. It was overkill. She wasn’t going to risk breaking her neck for this and if she got caught, she would throw Nasimiyu under the bus without hesitation. My mistress was shy and curious, she made me do it…

But doubtful she’d get caught, she never got caught unless someone sold her out, and rarely did she trust someone enough to let them be in the position where they could.

Annoyance about everything made her breath sharp as she waited around the corner for a while, listening to the pacing and rotation of the guards unless she could feel the pattern in their bored motions. Probably they thought their behavior was mindless, random, but people were generally predictable. It was almost shockingly easy to wait until the two guards with line of sight each conveniently turned away down a side hall and then, in that brief moment of invisibility, slip through the doors and quietly close them behind her. They weren’t left locked.

For a moment Dulce just pressed against the wall and looked around, eyes peeled for any sign of life. Just because Seokjin would be busy for a while now, tied up in a meeting to plan his wedding, didn’t mean no one else would come into the room –to clean, to collect things, maybe to feed the menagerie he had in here.

The Prince’s room was actually three rooms, four if you counted the massive washroom with a private toilet and round porcelain tub next to a window overlooking the sea. The bedroom was on the opposite side of that, with two large windowed doors opening to face the foot of the largest bed Dulce had ever seen in her life. The bedding was white, all white, white curtains dangling from the posts, white curtains around the windows billowing in the breeze, even very simple art mounted on the walls, white with some blue and green streaks and circles. This was the bedroom of a man who did not clean it himself, and did not need to worry about bringing in dirt anyway. Immaculate. Dulce couldn’t avoid the thought of stumbling into it at the end of one of her longest days, blood and dirt and alcohol smeared everywhere, maybe shit and piss too if it had been a particularly rough one. Not her own of course, god no, but people made messes at the end, that was the dirty truth people like Prince Seokjin certainly didn’t know.

She didn’t step fully into the bedroom yet; she’d come back, since it was furthest from the door.

The other two rooms, from her initial cursory glance, were a sitting room and a study, but the doors between them were left open, making it feel like one big space. The sitting room had a wall of caged animals. So many fucking cages, puzzled together so that some cages were tall and some were wide and some had multiple levels within the cage for whatever creature lived inside. There was a very large fish tank as well. 

The animals were surprisingly quiet, though, even when she went right up and peered into the cages. She couldn’t see anything in most of them; whatever it was seemed to be burrowed down and sleeping. A low, long cage with a little gate that opened to a ramp onto the floor had guinea pigs in it. They ate those in Paloma. Her shoulders lifted in a single laugh at how horrified Prince Seokjin would probably be to learn that. 

She already knew about the animals though, so she turned her attention to the rest of the rooms, memorizing the layout quickly, noting how everything had opened, unlocked doors connecting them. There were two doors –one from the sitting room and one from the hallway by the bedroom– that opened into the courtyard she’d observed from above. 

The study was the room with the most stuff if you didn’t count things that were for the animals. There was still a fake tree in there she thought belonged to one of the animals due to the fur all over it, but the room was dominated by a big desk and shelves upon shelves of books. Some impressively thick tomes announced histories and sciences and even mathematics on the spines, but a close inspection revealed dust on every top. Prince Seokjin did not touch these books ever. 

Also on the shelves though were lots of wooden toys –figurines, wooden puzzles, some crudely carved as if by a child. A whittling knife was on the desk, and for a brief moment Dulce had a flashback to a childhood watching her grandfather shape animals from blocks of wood to amuse her. She supposed it might be a nervous habit of the prince’s, a mindless fidget, since the whittling appeared to be done at the desk. She shuffled through the books and papers, trying to see everything and disturb nothing that might be noticed. There was nothing that really interested her though, for either Nasimiyu’s sake or anyone else’s. Lines of poetry he was copying, probably for penmanship; Nasimiyu did the same thing in her room at home. Books on small animals. Books of recipes, some with comments in the margine Dulce wondered might be his. 

The desk had drawers she rifled through, mostly broken pens, empty ink bottles, but the lower one had letters. She peeked quickly and realized they were from a woman, a Lady Delphine. 

“Ooooh,” she hummed, trying to scan quickly –but the writing was so frilly, it was difficult to read. Nasimiyu might want to know about these. She checked dates where she could see them but definitely she didn’t have time to read through all of them right now.

So she pocketed the letters, about five of them, and hoped they wouldn’t be missed from the whole stack. If they seemed important, she’d return them later, or trade them out for others so Nasimiyu could read more. 

In closing the drawer and straightening, she found herself looking directly at a painted portrait. Prince Seokjin was easy to identify, even though he was a child. He had an older brother in the painting as well, and both his parents. Dulce hadn’t known what the late Queen or the brother looked like, but found herself pausing to admire. The Queen was beautiful, at least in the painting, and Prince Seokjin seemed to favor her quite a bit. King Dong-gun looked handsome and strong and young though, so who knew what liberties the painter had taken.

Turning to the shelves on the other side, she immediately spotted the book the Prince had been reading in his garden, along with a whole row of others bearing the same mark on the spine. The shelves were all like that, series of these picture novels, all arranged perfectly in order, spines worn from obvious re-reading. No dust. And also tucked into the spaces above or around the books were more toys, carved wooden figurines but also small porcelain and glass figures, some jewel-encrusted, some made of fabric or felted wool. It was easy to draw the connection that these were toys connected to the stories Prince Seokjin clearly loved far more than the histories and encyclopedias on his other shelves.

Not that Dulce spent a great deal of time reading, but she couldn’t blame him for that preference. She picked up one of them, curious, but just as quickly put it back down. Someone who made sure their books were lined up by series would probably notice if she lost his page in what he was reading. Maybe he’d blame it on the animals or maybe he’d suspect someone had been here. She didn’t know how particular he might be. His dress always seemed so careful, so maybe he was very tightly wound like that.

Still, the fact that Prince Seokjin liked visual novels and collected toys seemed valuable to report to Nasimiyu. The Princess didn’t like visual novels as far as Dulce knew, but she could learn them to have something in common. That seemed easy enough. Dulce wasn’t some expert in making a man fall in love with her, but books were an easy interest to share, right? 

Noise in another room made her slide into a corner and freeze. She listened for footsteps or the door opening but instead the noise a second time confirmed it was the squirrel; she peered around the door to make sure. The fluffy thing was at the top of its cage and froze to look at her for a moment before going back to nibbling on something in its hands, unconcerned with her. 

The washroom had little of interest, except for a box of lambskin condoms. Dulce wasn’t surprised at all by that, but Nasimiyu had hinted that the Prince might be a virgin, which seemed to not be the case unless he just held onto these for optimism. Dulce filched one. The rest of his cabinet had some pills and ointments but only basic things she could easily recognize –pills for aches and pains, ointment for scrapes, that sort of thing. There were two pairs of glasses wedged onto a small shelf between candles and bottles of hair product and cologne, which she actually found interesting. Surely he didn’t have people helping him dress in here. Did he sometimes style his own hair? Fascinating for a prince! A door opened through to the bedroom but she went back to the hall and entered the bedroom from there.

Dulce left the washroom after her brief study, concerned now as time was getting away from her and she still had the bedroom. She’d left it for last because it seemed less interesting than the other two rooms and also the furthest away, just in case she was interrupted and needed to flee.

But as she stepped inside, she raelized she had underestimated the room. Against the far wall was an entire nook she had missed before, tucked behind what had looked like just another curtain. The nook was full of stuffed animals, piled up on a wide cushioned windowseat that was really more like a daybed in size. You could definitely nap there. 

“Shit…” she mumbled as she leaned down and it moved . The cushion was actually full of water, and the stuffed animals rose and fell at the ripples from her touch. “He’s insane…” she murmured, tempted to laugh about it. So what, he sat here on his waterbed reading nook in his piles of stuffed animals and flipped through those books tucked on the shelf above and watched the sun set? It sounded both lovely and incredibly odd. Eccentric rich boy , confirmed triplefold.

The stuffed animals were diverse in both species and quality. Some looked like no more than puffy white sheep crudely stitched, others looked remarkably realistic like bears and wolves, some seemed aged, probably with the Prince since childhood. 

She couldn't’ waste her time identifying stuffed animals. She would need to leave soon and there was more she had overlooked. A changing screen had hidden from her view the closet door, through which a room the size of her entire last apartment housed clothing and boots and jewelry and coats and even swords. She roamed through, touching the velvets and silks that begged for it. Everything was crisp and clean and neatly arranged for easy access, even the gloves and socks nestled into wide thin drawers. Honestly, his closet was even larger than Nasimiyu’s, which was really saying something.

Vain , she added to her internal reckoning of him, though she supposed it made sense that the royal prince would be vain and drowning in expensive clothing. Probably one pair of shoes from here could feed her for a month. The temptation to steal a couple necklaces and send them home to her family gnawed at her stomach but she resisted it. For now. 

Back outside the closet, she looked over the actual dressing space, previously hidden by the dressing screens. There were mirrors all around, a vanity like Nasimiyu’s, clothing racks, and an outfit already hung out, probably for dinner. An overstuffed, well-worn chair sat beside a second desk, which drew her attention more than the dressing items did.

A second desk? For a man who did not seem very interested in his studies anyway? This one had more items on top, including a few framed sketches of people –Dulce recognized the Queen again but no one else. Had the Prince drawn these? There weren’t any papers on the top, but digging through the drawers revealed another framed photo of a beautiful young woman, and so many small items and trinkets it was impossible to inspect them all. Necklaces, a small book of flower sketches, papers covered in tic-tac-toe games, small glass perfume bottles, several very heavy rings, a bracelet of pretty red beads, a small ratty stuffed rabbit, a book of poems with crumbling pages, and so on. And a wooden box of letters, cedar, and inside all of them neatly lined up. Dulce ran her fingers over the tops, enjoying the fan-like feeling, but it meant too she noticed that the paper changed around the middle.

The letters towards the bottom were each in a crisp white envelope, thick, expensive. When she pulled one up, on the front was written: Seokjin, Birth. Next came: Seokjin, Year One. And so on, all the way through 30. Carefully Dulce opened the very first one.

Dear Seokjin,

My darling boy, it has been two days since I held you in my arms for the first time but I have not had a moment to rest to write this letter until now. How could I spare my hand even for a moment when I could otherwise by stroking your soft hair and fat cheeks? Your fingers are perpetually curled around mine. You are perfect.

A letter written after Seokjin was born; Dulce didn’t even need to confirm, though did, that it was signed by the Queen.

She tucked the letter carefully away without reading further and checked the second.

Dear Seokjin,

I cannot believe it has been an entire year! It feels like only yesterday I held you for the first time–

Dulce was not interested in reading the love letters of a mother. She tucked those away and scrolled through to thirty, curious, because Prince Seokjin was not quite thirty, and the Queen had been dead for years.

Dear Seokjin,

My dearest son, this will be the last letter I write ahead for you though I hope there are many, many more years to come and they will be glorious for you. There are not enough prayers in the world to cover how much I long for your life to be one full of happiness and joy, whatever that means for Seokjin my son.

Dulce looked thoughtfully at the letters. So at some point the Queen had known she was going to die and written letters ahead. How awful. She wondered if Seokjin had read ahead after his mother died, or if she’d just opened a letter that had stayed safe in its envelope since the queen tucked it there. Was he the sort with the willpower to wait or the emotions to satisfy immediately? 

Quickly she put it back, not needing to read more. How awful. How sad. What a beautifully devoted mother, that was all she needed to learn from those.

The next letter after that had a different hand, and a different envelope, this one a duller white. On the front was written Eomma, Death.

Dulce hesitated respectfully but still cracked the envelope open and peered at the opening.

Dear Eomma,

You died yesterday. Writing it doesn’t make it feel any more real. I would never write it unless it was true because I’d be afraid of making it come true. But you died yesterday and soon there will be a funeral and the city is mourning. Everyone loved you. Everyone misses you. People are sending flowers from everywhere and I keep thinking how much you would enjoy the flowers. It doesn’t make sense and you’re the only one I want to talk to–

Dulce shoved the letter back into the envelope and thrust it back into the box. She held her breath to slow her heart back to a normal pace and flicked through just to confirm that each envelope had written on it Eomma, Year 1; Eomma, Year 2; and so on.

Dulce was used to death. It didn’t frighten her. She’d seen good deaths and terrible deaths, proud deaths and shameful deaths. She’d lost those who were dear to her; she’d been the cause of death many times; she’d stood by and watched it happen. She had her reasons for the lives she took, and her own moral code she could explain if anyone was willing to listen, even though she knew in the end it didn’t matter, that someone who killed was a killer. She made a simple solution to complex problems, and that wasn’t necessarily anything to be proud of, but Dulce had long ago stopped feeling any sort of guilt or conflict about the things she did in life. Everyone did things in life. These were her things.

But one thing that had fascinated her from her earliest days of working with death, was that whether you were a good or bad person didn’t really change whether people missed you or not. Some of the most terrible people she’d ever seen had wives or sons or daughters who loved them and grieved for them. Some of the best people she had ever met died alone, and had no one to even bother with a proper funeral. 

Dulce didn’t deal with the loved ones. She put an end to people and then disappeared, leaving someone else to deal with the aftermath. She pulled a thread and then was gone. She didn’t care to see that ugly after, the sobbing loved ones. That put too much humanity into it. An assassin didn’t bother with humanity. They saw a simple solution, usually to a problem that was bigger than one person, but maybe one person’s death was a solution for now. 

So letters from a grieving son to his dead mother were a fuck no as far as she was concerned. She didn’t even steal these, just quickly shut the box and hid it back in the drawers and stood up and tried to forget she’d even stumbled into that horrifically personal drawer. 

How interesting though that he kept these things here, but the letters that appeared to be from a potential lover in the other desk, with his studies and work. She thought he must have a reason, but couldn’t make sense of it… curious. She picked up the paperweight on his desk just because it looked like something nice to hold; it had been holding down a series of loose papers which revealed themselves to be puzzles. Each page had a few paragraphs of a story and then a puzzle to be solved. Dulce tilted her head and leaned against the desk; she’d never heard of this kind of thing before but it seemed interesting.

Facing out to the room though now alerted her to a presence. In the doorway of the room, just sitting right there, nose twitching, was a rabbit. A big gray fluffy rabbit. The surprise appearance was shocking enough, but the way it was just watching her was creepy. She was certain she hadn’t seen the rabbit so far in her search, and also certain she hadn’t accidentally opened any cages. She had an excellent skill for detecting motion but had not seen anything moving freely around the rooms.

Which made her freeze completely and listen for a voice or footsteps, anything to mean someone had entered the apartment without her realizing it.

Probably she only heard the door open because she was listening closely. In that way, the rabbit had done her a favor. The door did in fact open though into the sitting room, and quick footsteps clicked along the stone floor, muffled occasionally by rugs. 

Dulce set the paperweight down quickly and quietly. She had a matter of seconds to figure out an escape path as the steps came down the hall. She couldn’t predict where they were going, so it wouldn’t be safe to go into the bathroom. The reading nook was an option but the water cushion would cause movement and might attract attention. She hadn’t looked closely at the windows to see if it was a steep drop and berated herself but there wasn’t time now, and she was not willing to risk a blind leap.

In a fit of rage at her own stupidity, Dulce dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed. Like a child . There wasn’t even a bed curtain, so if the person bent down, they’d see her. Thank goodness at least the bed was huge, so she could roll to the middle and feel confident no shadow would give her away. If they did see her, she’d have a time of it trying to flee though.

Just in time, the steps entered the bedroom. Dulce studied the boots. They were nice, black, shiny, but not the prince’s. She waited in anticipation as the man strode into the closet, focused on slowing her breath to keep herself calm and in control. The valet? 

While he was in the closet, Dulce moved closer to the edge. Fuck, this was the stupidest way to potentially get caught. But she could better see now, so when the man came out of the closet, she recognized the tutor. Hoseok Jung. He had a pair of shoes in his hand and a long sash looped over his arm and a look of determination on his face as he perused the vanity for something else.

The mirror behind him caught Dulce’s attention –she confirmed he wouldn’t see her but– but shit, the rabbit! The rabbit was to the side of the bed, staring under the bed at her . Dulce sent some very rude thoughts in the rabbit’s direction because not only was that even creepier, but if Hoseok noticed the rabbit in the mirror, he was probably going to wonder why it was staring under the bed. 

Dulce was no stranger to rabbits, though not exactly a friend either. As a girl she’d fed the wild ones that lived behind her family’s house, only to be devastated when they’d get caught and killed for food. But this domesticated ball of fluff was nothing like those little wiry things, plus it was behaving in a creepy way. Still, Dulce rolled quickly towards the rabbit, reached an arm out, and scooped it under the bed with her.

Fortunately, the rabbit didn’t fight her off or scream or anything. She had expected it to, and then she’d kick it away and hopefully it would take off running and Hoseok would chase after it or just think it was behaving weird. But once the rabbit was under the bed with her, as Dulce held her breath that Hoseok hadn’t noticed or heard the soft swish of her movements, the rabbit hopped over her arm, pressed its face to her neck, and settled down.

That was not what she had expected to happen. 

But the rabbit was quiet, so Dulce remained still, and within a few minutes, Hoseok took his things and was gone. Dulce let out a silent sigh of relief and wriggled out from under the bed. It was all a clear sign that she needed to leave now; she doubted there was anything else worth finding in here and if so, Nasimiyu could find it her damn self. If the Prince had anything truly heinous hidden, she wasn’t going to find it without digging deep, and there was no telling how much time she had. 

She checked her bag to make sure the letters were still tucked there safely, and glanced around to ensure she hadn’t left anything behind or obviously askew. Getting out the door would be the riskiest part. She paused beside it, listening for any commotion in the hall, but the doors were too thick to hear through.

The damn rabbit had followed her. She looked down at it, just sitting there on the rug, twitching its nose at her.

Bring me something useful , Nasimiyu had said. She had the letters, but without really knowing the contents, it was possible they’d infuriate Nasimiyu. If Seokjin had a close and intimate lover before this, honestly Dulce thought that might be something Nasimiyu was better off not knowing. The Princess was not good at sharing, even with the past. Depending on the details, it might make her hate Seokjin even more than she already did. It might give her a reason to hate him rather than just detesting him simple for his existence. How stupid Nasimiyu had accused her of hating men! She might hate his title and what he stood for, but so far everything Dulce learned about the Prince made her think he as a person was just weird and ineffective.

Dulce was not an expert at seducing men but she had to make a decision in the moment and it occurred to her that hey, a returned runaway rabbit could be a great bonding moment, right?

So she scooped the rabbit up, tucked it into her bag, and then cracked the door just enough to listen for footsteps, breathing, the rustle of fabric.

When the coast was clear, she stepped out, closed the door, and was gone before the guards knew a thing. Which was not how security was supposed to work but apparently they felt very safe in this palace. That would be useful for Nasimiyu someday too.

She walked quickly through the palace without stopping until she reached Nasimiyu’s room and slipped inside. No one was back yet. She cracked open her bag to peek inside, half expecting the rabbit to just have suddenly died or something. Instead it poked its head up, nose twitching, and looked at her with those same inscrutable dark eyes.

“I hid under a bed and kidnapped a rabbit while snooping through a bedroom,” Dulce realized in full sum. “What the fuck am I becoming?”

The rabbit said nothing, just twitched its nose.

“For fucks sake…”

***

Seokjin wished his mother was here.

It was impossible not to think of that, to long for her presence, as he sat uncomfortably on a sittan and tried to participate in the planning of his wedding. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, far from it! Truth be told, he had daydreamed about this day far more than he was willing to admit to anyone, even Jimin, who stood by the door in case he was needed. He was needed, as a friend, but to reveal such a close friendship in front of the royal family of Marvono and his own father would be foolish.

Yes, King Dong-gun had even come. He sat in a high-backed upholstered chair, one elbow on the ornate armrest, making sure a glass of wine was never far from his mouth. Seokjin didn’t think his presence had anything to do with his son though, nor any real interest in the planning of his major life-changing day in his son’s life. Seokjin thought it had more to do with reclaiming some dignity after there had been whispers following his abrupt end of court yesterday, and an understanding he needed to seem as invested in this marriage as Prince Hamisi was.

Because of course Prince Hamisi was here, forgoing all food and drink as he leaned forward and argued for whatever Princess Namisiyu expressed an interest in. Seokjin didn’t know a father would ever be as passionate about his daughter’s wedding as Prince Hamisi was –even Princess Simisola didn’t seem to have as many opinions. Even cousin Zselyke seemed surprised by how staunchly Prince Hamisi would argue for whatever answer Nasimiyu gave to the event planner’s questions.

They’d started with location, and while Seokjin thought a beach wedding would be romantic, Nasimiyu insisted the palace was proper.

Then they had to decide public or private and while Seokjin wanted a private ceremony, Nasimiyu wanted public, with a ride through the city with attendants who would toss out gifts to the commoners. That sounded like a bit much to Seokjin but Nasimiyu thought it was important to have an “act of service” around the wedding and Prince Hamisi agreed it was important for the common folk of Priva to accept her as Seokjin’s wife.

“There hasn’t been a woman in the palace since the beloved late Queen and that is of course a very difficult seat to fill–”

“I’ve been here,” cousin Zselyke pointed out testily from her seat beside Seokjin. Her mouth was pursed into that tight round circle it always was when she was angry but trying to hold it together, like she was sucking something sour through a straw. 

“Yes but no one knows who you are,” King Dong-gun dismissed with a wave of his hand. “And no one knows who Princess Nasimiyu is. This will be her big introduction. If she wants to hurl candies at the commoners then so be it.”

“Something nicer than candy,” Nasimiyu corrected. “I’m not sure what yet. Perhaps Seokjin has an idea?”

It made him feel funny to hear her say his name still, but he scrambled, trying to participate. He only came up with,

“Maybe food?”

“Yes… maybe food will work…”

“People get hungry if they’re standing in line to see a parade for a long time.”

“I’m sure they do,” she said. He couldn’t tell if she actually liked his idea or not, but the event planner moved them along.

There would be the ceremony of course. Nasimiyu asked King Dong-gun to be the officiant and Seokjin’s father laughed until he was red in the face and insisted he didn’t want to do that.

“It’s a wedding,” he argued. “The attention is on you children, not the King.”

“But it would mean so much to me to have your blessing–”

“I’m allowing you to marry my son, that’s blessing enough.”

“What about Father--”

“No, it’s not his place,” Princess Simisola quickly corrected. It suddenly struck him that she would in fact become his mother-in-law when he wed Nasimiyu. He hadn’t spared much of a thought towards the woman so far, but now he looked at the way she reclined in the corner of the comfortable sofa, sipping tea, one elbow on the side, perfectly at ease, like she was used to watching her husband and daughter lean in and only occasionally weighed in herself. Was she the laid back variety? She had liked the gardens. Seokjin thought she might be nice. Would he ever have much of a relationship with her? Not that he expected she would become his replacement mother or anything but it might be nice to have a maternal woman in the palace– though she had no plans on staying, he recalled.

Zselyke was really as far from maternal as you could get and only about ten years older than him. Seokjin had only made the mistake of crying about his mother in front of her once, and Zselyke had seemed utterly confused why an adolescent boy would openly grieve his mother. She had asked if he wanted to throw a ball. No. No, he had not wanted to throw a ball.

And Zselyke was not a romantic, she didn’t have a romantic bone in her body; this was all formality to her. She had little to offer in this meeting that didn’t annoy her late father’s elder brother, King Dong-gun, when she’d suggest that the expense for this or that didn’t make sense, or that the reception should only have eight courses instead of twelve because people would get bored, and that they should keep the guestlist for the reception small to make it feel more elite.

“Nonsense, we should have as many people as we can fit,” Nasimiyu said, only to blink when Zselyke gasped and both of her parents started. Nonsense. She’d talked down to a woman still currently superior to her in title, and it amused Seokjin. 

“No one should be sensitive about titles in here, we’re about to be family,” he suggested. “If the wedding is supposed to introduce the people to Nasimiyu, we should make it as big as she likes. I only intend to marry once so I expect we can afford just the one wedding. We could be private with the ceremony.” He tried to sound casual about it, secretly hoping Nasimiyu would agree: private ceremony, and then she could have her big party. The bigger the party, the less likely anyone would pay much attention to him; he could ply them all with alcohol and disappear for a while, if Nasimiyu didn’t want to retire early. Then come back to fetch her for the wedding night… oh right, that…

Before he could finish celebrating his casual suggestion, Nasimiyu argued, “If we have a private ceremony, there are those who may claim it didn’t happen.”

“Why?” Seokjin asked, confused by the suggestion.

King Dong-gun looked indifferent and said, “If people wish to doubt your place in the family, they will find a reason to do so, the wedding ceremony doesn’t matter. A big lavish affair, is that what you children want?”

No , Seokjin felt the answer in his gut. He wanted a small, intimate ceremony on the beach followed by a local meal, maybe just Yoongi cooking for them – only them, a small ceremony with only the sort of casual dancing you could do on a sandy beach, with music, with a sunset providing the entertainment, with someone you trusted, someone you could relax with.

The image was so visceral that for a moment Seokjin felt like he’d been transported. Too much time fantasizing about this day, that was his problem right now. Even with an arranged marriage, he had imagined his intended being charmed by him, starry-eyed, relaxed in his arms as they privately agreed to love each other forever and be a partnership, a team, two halves of a whole in a way Seokjin had longed for his entire lonely life.

But those dreams didn’t fit Nasimiyu. She leaned in towards the table, as if she could eagerly grab the wedding and shape it into reality right now, she was so excited. That was endearing! Seokjin was relieved she was so excited, he hadn’t expected that . But the things she was excited about were so completely opposite the things he wanted, to the point he had to choose between two totally different paths. Obviously he would choose Nasimiyu’s wishes here; it was important to him that this day be one she enjoyed and recalled fondly for the rest of their long lives together. This should have been a cause for celebration!

Yet Seokjin couldn’t help but wonder, was it a good or a bad thing that their desires for the wedding were opposite? Did it mean they would balance each other out in life and prove a stable, peaceful couple once they learned how to work together? Or did it mean they were too different and their life would be a constant battle?

His mother would have known what to say, he was sure of it. She would be able to find just the right thread to tug to bring he and Nasimiyu together, even in planning this wedding. Nasimiyu would have loved his mother, he was sure of it, because how could anyone not? Everyone had loved her. The world had been better when she was there, maybe not perfect, but she’d been just the right balance for King Dong-gun. She’d lent heart to his father’s rule and Priva had been the better for it. Her rule had been firm but fair, sometimes driven by tough love, but love all the same.

“Seokjin?”

Hearing his name in Nasimiyu’s smooth voice pulled him back. She had asked him a question, judging by her expression.

Immediately he went into performance mode, gesturing with his hands as he explained, “I’m envisioning it all in my mind. Are there flowers? Or not flowers?”

“Yes to flowers, of course,” Nasimiyu said, and Seokjin felt his spirit lift. “Would you select them?” Nasimiyu continued.

Simisola immediately suggested, “We could work together–”

But Nasimiyu stunned Seokjin, insisting, “He knows flowers, Mama, I’m sure he can pick the right ones.”

“Yes I’ll take this task very seriously,” he insisted. “And… food?”

“There should be a fusion menu,” Hamisi insisted. “We will send for several of our cooks to work with yours in creating the menu. It will need to be better than anything we have seen so far.” Would Yoongi be grateful or annoyed if Seokjin insisted on him as the head chef for the event? It would be a major promotion but require working closely with others and potentially catering to the whims of both the Kims and the Marvonese royal family…

Seokjin watched the wedding grow bigger and bigger until he couldn’t even see himself and Nasimiyu at the center of it. It wasn’t an intimate private romantic ceremony, it was a public event, that was the summary of it. His wedding would be just another public event.

“What about a separate private ceremony first?” he suggested. “Just the…” He trailed off as everyone looked at him with varying degrees of confusion and dismissal. “Nevermind. Um… tour afterwards? A honeymoon?”

“You should come to Marvono!” Simisola insisted. “You should see the home of your bride.”

“Mama, we’ll want to go somewhere new.”

“Yes, we could go everywhere,” Seokjin suggested, seeing his chance. He’d always wanted to travel to the far borders of Yeonhalbi, and this would be the perfect opportunity. He and Nasimiyu could have the time to explore together and learn about each other and rely on each other together, away from all the noise and expectations of their roles. 

“That might take too long,” Nasimiyu suggested, but smiling. “And we’ll have many years to travel everywhere. For starters, what about Therepin?”

“It’s not very… romantic,” he said and didn’t appreciate the way all four older adults suddenly laughed. Laughed at him! Like he was a child! But it was true, Therepin was beautiful but also a place of religion and books and refined fun –from what he’d heard. He did want to go there, but not on his honeymoon! Plus there would be noise while they were there. He wanted to go somewhere they could blend in, really get a sense of the locals, maybe somewhere their faces wouldn’t be known…

But even as he thought these things, he looked at Nasimiyu and couldn’t see her in that setting. Did he really expect this beautiful, elegant woman to stay in a mountain village in Paloma and eat from a street cart and dress in locally made trousers? 

He was marrying a princess. He didn’t want to start their marriage fighting about where to honeymoon. She didn’t even like him yet, so envisioning all these romantic things was pointless anyway. He had to win her over first, and letting her have the wedding and honeymoon of her dreams was a good start.

So he nodded, “All right, I don’t know, maybe Therepin is romantic if our parents say so.”

“You have five months to change your mind,” King Dong-gun suggested. 

Seokjin’s blood ran cold. He looked at his father with horror that he would suggest such a thing, and just because they didn’t instantly agree on where to honeymoon?!

Cousin Zselyke quickly clarified, “About where to go for the honeymoon.”

“Yes, exactly.” King Dong-gun looked at their faces and laughed, “Did you think I meant about the marriage? There’s no reason for that. This is a good match and you children will obviously be very happy together. My son is very accommodating for everything the Princess wants, and the Princess will be happy to live the life afforded her by the crown.”

Seokjin saw Nasimiyu’s mouth level into a thin line and understood that had annoyed her, but he couldn’t quite figure out what or why yet. He didn’t know her sensitivities but he was learning her tastes, and they seemed expensive. That was fine with him! She was marrying the royal prince, so good for her, she would get the life she wanted!

“The timeline for this,” the event planner said, nudging the meeting back onto the path through the awkward silence. “November, yes? Or would you prefer December?”

“November,” Seokjin quickly said, then glanced at Nasimiyu to make sure she wasn’t about to insist on the winter month and he’d just put his foot in it.

She seemed surprised and asked, “Oh? Not December?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s just a little sooner than the six months form the day I arrived.”

“Oh. Well if you want to wait–”

“I don’t,” she insisted, looking sincere about it.

“I just thought the six months was more a suggestion… but my birthday is in early December and it would be nice to be married before then.”

“Oh. Yes, that makes sense, we should make sure the wedding does not overlap with your birthday celebration. And you’ll want to be back from the honeymoon before then, won’t you?”

So many questions and Seokjin was wearing down. How did he say whatever you think is best to Nasimiyu without it sounding like he was just going to take a tailing position towards her for the rest of their lives? Or, even worse, give the impression he didn’t care about any of this and expected her to just do it all herself?

“November 1st,” Zselyke jumped in to suggest. “You could travel to Therepin for the full month and be back just in time. I can manage the preparation for Seokjin’s birthday festivities on my own, like I do every year.”

Seokjin cringed at that as his father chuckled, “Yes, she’s eager for the prestige. She’d plan the wedding herself too if we let her!”

“These things are important! They show the world how important the merging of our families is. This is our opportunity to celebrate the bond of our children,” she insisted. “We don’t want a poor showing! We want Nasimiyu to be very happy here.”

Seokjin felt like something political was happening that he didn’t understand, with the way Zselyke smiled at Nasimiyu and Simisola. He didn't care to try and figure it out. He was just tired now. This meeting seemed to him to confirm that their marriage might be a good one, but it would never be the deep soul romance he longed for. That’s what this meant, right? It was a formality. Nasimiyu was coming to be the royal princess and someday queen and she seemed ready for the role, and he should theoretically step up his dedication to being a good king someday, but love… would there ever be love? What was love anyway? Was it awe and bewilderment at the beauty of your betrothed? Surely it wasn’t fear of saying the wrong thing and them leaving you in an instant.

“I have enough now to begin,” the event planner said, rising. “My team will begin. My only concern with the timeline will be if those we invite from other principalities will be willing to travel on short notice.”

“They will,” Seokjin’s father assured her with that steel in his voice. They will or else. 

“If they can’t arrange travel in four months, why are they even in power? What do they use their money for?” Prince Hamisi agreed. 

The event planner nodded, “Very well. I will begin the plans and lists. We will meet again soon.” It was a threat as much as a promise and then the event planner was gone like her skirts were on fire. Seokjin wondered if maybe the four months was not so ideal to her as it was to them. If it had been up to him, they could just have the small private ceremony he wanted next week! The sooner they were wed, the less likely Nasimiyu was to call the whole thing off. 

He was so tired. He wanted to be alone now, alone with his animals and his books and maybe a nice puzzle, straight forward, something he could focus on and solve in a single day and no one starved or died if he couldn’t figure it out. 

“You have my blessing to figure it out, let me know if you need anything from me besides money,” his father said, and clapped him on the shoulder, which was more physical affection than he normally got. Then he extended that hand to Hamisi, “Care for an afternoon drink?”

They were gone, Seokjin not invited. Simisola and Nasimiyu muttered something about a rest and meeting with a dressmaker and disappeared, leaving Seokjin to escort his cousin.

“Disappointed?” she asked as she slid her hand into his elbow. “You seemed to get nothing you wanted.”

Seokjin shrugged, “I get a wife. I don’t care about anything in particular, as long as she’s happy.” He nodded at Jimin and Edmund, who fell in step behind him.

“You’re a romantic at heart like your mother, I know,” Zselyke told him with a knowing smile. He always resented when she did that actually. She had barely been around when his mother was alive, had begged not to be stuck in court here with her even during her coming of age, but now she’d speak sonnets about his mother as if they’d been the best of friends. “Some love is upon sight, Seokjin, but some forms with time and work, but it’s not less strong. Five months is enough time to fall in love, or maybe it will take years, there's no race.”

Seokjin failed to bite back his sarcastic, “I’m so glad you’re here to guide me on love and matters of the heart. What was your own wedding like?”

She read the tone instantly and withdrew her hand, scoffing, “Your mother’s heart but you have your father’s sharp tongue. That won’t do you any favors with a woman. Go snuggle a rabbit or whatever it is you do when you’re in a mood like this.”

She was gone in a second, her own maid trailing after her. Seokjin felt half bad and half relieved. He let his shoulders sag and didn’t say anything to his retinue as he walked a little more quickly to his bedroom. He wouldn’t even need to tell them to get lost, they’d understand. Intense periods of socialization like that always led to him retreating into his bedroom –yes, to snuggle with a rabbit or to flop out on his water cushion and let the breeze and view carry him away, maybe into one of the stories he’d bring along. The rumors were getting louder, the new Kalamouche would be out soon, he was positive of it! That was something to look forward to. That felt both more attainable and more enjoyable dreams than this massive wedding Nasimiyu was leading him into.

They reached the bedroom and Edmund stayed outside.

“Do you want to change into something more comfortable?” Jimin asked him, voice gentle, like he was a bawling small child.

“I can do it. Have your break,” Seokjin insisted before stepping inside and shutting the door on everyone and everything.

A couple birds had alighted in one of the trees in the garden. He put seed out for them, to encourage it, though it did mean shit to clean up every week. He liked the chirping though. He stretched his arms, knocking the doorway overhead just for the satisfying deep thump as he passed from the living room and along to his bedroom. Jimin had already set out the things he’d wear for dinner; they looked elegant and charming and uncomfortable. Instead he found a soft pair of trousers and forewent a shirt at all and then went in search of his rabbit to snuggle.

“Lettie,” he called, surprised now she hadn’t come running right up to him. She usually did, since he left her cage door open most of the time. Now he freed Lord Sciurus and the piggies and checked that the others were sleeping. Lord Sciurus’ nails in his flesh made him flinch as the squirrel climbed right up, but he didn’t chase him off, just laughed and pulled his trousers back up where the little scrabbling hands had dragged the waistband down. “But stay still, don’t cut me up,” he warned the squirrel. Then, “Lettie!”

No little bunny came scurrying and now Seokjin started to worry. He checked under the couches and under his bed. He checked the lower drawers in case she had hoped into something and he’d shut her up without realizing it. He moved all the blankets and tore his bed apart in case she had somehow got in; he didn’t allow animals in the bed but it wouldn’t be the first time they defied him. He dragged things around in the closet, and then did a quick pass again. Still no Lettie.

“Lettuce Constance Temperance, come here now,” he called with his most authoritative voice. He froze and listened but all he could hear were the piggies squeaking.

In the garden. Suddenly he realized that the doors were open. He didn’t leave those open on purpose ever. He put bird seed out but if one of his furry friends got out there on their own, a predatory bird might come down and make off with them. Lettie was pretty solid and there’d be no arc for the swoop but… but it could happen, right?

“Lettie,” he squeaked, starting to panic as he ran around the patio, looking for any signs of her or of an untimely end met. He didn’t find any blood, any tufts of fur, but also no hiding rabbit.

He ran to the door from his room and threw it open, calling, “Edmund, get Jimin and…. And Jungkook and Hoseok or whoever is around… Lettie’s gone, I– I think a bird might have taken her or something? I don’t know. Get Jimin, please, fast. Or… Taehyung! In the stables– no, he won’t know what to do…” Would a game master be able to help him track her? Yes, that made the most sense. No one else knew anything about animals. 

He felt the blood rushing to his head as his heart went into overtime. If Lettie was gone, if she was lost, because he’d forgotten and left the stupid doors open… he’d never forgive himself. She was such a good girl! He had to find her. Even if a bird had flown away with her, he’d find the bird and then he’d…

He’d figure it out when he got there, that was what.

He went to throw a shirt and boots on so he could begin the search in earnest.

Chapter Text

"You should give it back to him tonight,” Dulce suggested.

“I’ll do it in the morning,” Nasimiyu said again. They sat beside each other on the sofa in Nasimiyu’s room, staring down at the rabbit in the hastily-built cage. At first they’d pulled out a dresser drawer but it had just hopped out. Then they’d tried piling furniture but it just slid through a corner that had looked too small for it to fit; it was a rather fat rabbit, but when Dulce had scooped it up again, she remembered it was just a lot of padding. Nothing like the scrawny, ratty rabbits that ran around her family’s farm. This was a cherished rabbit.

As if that wasn’t obvious by the whirlwind moving around the palace in pursuit of this kidnapped bun –Prince Seokjin was a poorly-restrained emotional mess right now. Dulce had been shocked by the obvious worry in his eyes, his face otherwise oddly slack, as he’d made the rounds knocking on doors, asking if anyone had seen his gray rabbit.

The Prince. Knocking on doors right alongside palace staff. Searching desperately for the rabbit currently twitching its nose and looking up at Dulce and Nasimiyu without a care in the world.

Lettuce was the rabbit’s name. Lettie , he called her multiple times in a breathy, nervous voice. The sort of thing a child named their pet –supposedly, though Dulce had not come from the sort of family that kept pets, only animals who served a purpose and could earn their keep. The Prince was a simpleton, Proof #67. But a doting simpleton. A simpleton sincerely worried about his lost bunny.

“What are you so worried about?” Nasimiyu asked with a flippant wave of her hand. She rose and went to ready herself for dinner.

“I’m not worried.”

“You keep looking at it like it’s a bloody corpse we have to dispose of.”

That earned an immediate eyeroll, “What do you know about that sort of thing?”

“Not a thing but you’re the girl who gets her hands dirty so I didn’t think you’d be so… soft about a missing rat.”

“If you call every animal a rat, people are going to think you’re stupid,” Dulce retorted. “I’m not soft about a missing anything, I just am not sure what you gain by torturing your fiance for a whole night.”

“You knew what I’d gain when you took the thing from his bedroom.”

It was impulsive , Dulce thought but didn’t admit. Really the letters from the fiance were what she’d thought might have value, but she hadn’t yet mentioned those or turned them over to Nasimiyu yet. She didn’t know why. She wasn’t surprised that every other detail she’d given had bored Nasimiyu. She’d been visibly bothered by the stuffed animal collection. 

“He’s weird, isn’t he?” she’d said. “This is the problem with royals. Inbreeding.”

“The Kim family does that?” Dulce asked. She didn’t really know or care. She also didn’t point out that if Nasimiyu really thought that, she didn’t seem too worried about her own child carrying on that blood.

“I’m sure they did at some point…” Nasimiyu answered vaguely. “You’ll have to help me dress for dinner so none of the other girls see that thing.”

Instead of hurrying to her side as she sorted through her dresses, Dulce sat down beside the deep metal bathtub. Lettie came right over and lifted up onto her back feet, nose twitching. Even her fur was silky and soft. Probably the Prince bathed her and brushed her. Probably she had better food than Dulce. What a pampered life to be the pet of a prince. 

“We have to feed her if we’re keeping her all night,” Dulce said, pulling her hand away. Lettie apparently had a spot she liked to be tickled right in the velvety crook of her neck.

“Fetch something from the kitchen then. Lettuce? Carrots? I don’t know.”

“You aren’t scared of it, are you?” Dulce asked, drawing closer at Nasimiyu’s beckoning to help her change dresses. 

“Scared. Of a bunny.”

“I notice you haven’t touched it.”

“I don’t need to touch it,” Nasimiyu countered. She tapped on Dulce’s chest. “That’s your job.”

“You’re going to have to touch it when you return it to him.” Dulce nudged Nasimiyu’s arm to get her to turn and began undoing the small concealed hooks down the back of her current dress. 

“I’ll put it in a box.”

“It might hop out and get hurt. What if you walk up to him with his precious rabbit and it falls to its death right in front of him?” Dulce pointed out. “He won’t be grateful to you then.”

“Put it in a bag.”

“It might suffocate.”

“You sure know a lot of ways to kill a rabbit. It’s almost like you’re an… assassin or something,” Nasimiyu teased. She looked down at Dulce, crouching to pull the dress down so Nasimiyu could step out of it, chemise and all. Pulling her dress down was like unveiling a perfect statue or the rarest, most beautiful dark marble. Nasimiyu knew it too; she quirked an eyebrow as she stepped out and elaborately gestured to the new dress with its much simpler undergarments. 

“You just twist its neck to kill a rabbit,” Dulce insisted. “They are remarkably easy to kill and it doesn’t take an assassin to know that, any farmchild can do it.”

“I see. Were you a little farm child, running around ringing rabbit necks?” She said it in a lilty way, enjoying the alliteration, as if it would foolishly trick Dulce into revealing anything about herself she didn’t wish to.

“No, I was a city child running with the rats,” Dulce corrected. “Which you already knew. And those will eat you in the dark if you lay still too long, so a rabbit hardly compares. You have to take them by their tails and dash them against the wall.”

“Dash!” Nasimiyu gasped, whirling on her. “Oh dear, Dulcie, you dash them? You sound like a lady! I think I’m rubbing off on you!” 

“Dash is… it’s just the word…” Dulce grumbled as Nasimiyu took hold of her arms and then slid her hands meaningfully down Dulce’s back, drawing her close. Playing with her food, so to speak. She leaned down to kiss Dulce –prompted by what, Dulce didn’t know. Then Nasimiyu pulled away, strutted over to the tub, and picked the rabbit up by the back of its neck.

Dulce knew Nasimiyu meant to look powerful and elegant and brave, naked and lifting the rabbit. But Lettie was heavier than you might expect of a rabbit, and just as quickly Nasimiyu’s eyes went wide as she quickly slid her other arm under the rabbit so as not to drop it. Confused by the sudden left, Lettie began to kick, probably trying to jump to safety. Unfortunately those usually harmless nails scraped Nasimiyu right across the tits.

The string of curses she muttered as she let the rabbit fall to the ground would be enough to draw the guard but Dulce was more worried about the rabbit escaping now that it was loose. It wouldn’t look good if the very animal the palace was tearing itself apart looking for came hopping innocently out of the Princess’ room. She dove forward to grab it up, toss it back into the tub, and threw a blanket over the top just as the door flew open and two guards charged in.

“GET OUT!” Nasimiyu yelled back at them. At seeing her nude, they instantly fled. “That damn thing!” Nasimiyu cried, whirling and gesturing at the tub. “We eat things like you in my home.”

“I think this kind is used for fur, not meat,” Dulce admitted. She didn’t know if that was true but she knew it would send Nasimiyu further into her fit. It did. 

“It scratched my–”

“Well you did dangle it by the throat,” Dulce pointed out.

“I did not! I picked it up like a kitten!”

“But it’s not a kitten, it’s a big fat rabbit and this is a straight shot to the Prince’s heart,” Dulce pointed out. “He’s going wild with worry over this thing.”

A knock at the door preceded it opening just slightly and two of the maids leaned in to ask if Nasimiyu was all right and needed help dressing. Nasimiyu snapped at them that she had all the help she needed and they quickly disappeared. A princess in a mood was no more to be questioned than a fearful rabbit held aloft.

“Just help me dress and feed the thing so it doesn’t die,” Nasimiyu snapped. “Let him worry for a night and he’ll be so grateful in the morning, he won’t even notice I don’t want to touch it.” As an afterthought, she added, “I love animals. Horses, cats, dogs, I adore them! Even monkeys! Why can’t he keep monkeys? They’re at least clever.”

Dulce just kept silent and helped her dress. 

She checked on the rabbit again before they left for supper. It was cold and dark under the blanket, so she threw a pillow in because while she might have ended a number of human lives she did not care to tally, they were scumbags whereas a rabbit was innocent; and she might not have much sentimentality about animals, because they were food, but it still felt a little cruel. 

The other maids would follow Nasimiyu to dinner, and anyway, Dulce didn’t want to be in the main hall. She had left out several parts in her retelling to Nasimiyu, including that Hoseok had entered the room. It wasn’t important since she was sure he hadn’t seen her, but she wanted to keep her distance a little longer, until she knew his proximity wouldn’t call up the nerves about it. Instead she went to the kitchen to see what she could filch for the rabbit, but she was too late for ingredients to still be out since the meal was already in progress, and she was too afraid to grab anything other than lettuce or carrots since she wasn’t totally sure what might kill it. What if the Prince’s pampered pet rabbit had a picky digestive track?

Instead she slunk around out back to the kitchen’s gardens, empty at this time of the evening, and moved quickly down the rows until she found a couple carrots to pull up and ripped a whole head of lettuce from the ground. She didn’t know how much a single spoiled rabbit would eat but figured it was better to assume more. The rabbits at home could strip a garden no problem. 

She made it back to the gate and stepped out–

Nearly running right into Prince Seokjin, his valet, his bodyguard and the tutork. Again. Obviously Dulce remembered their names but it felt weird to use them, even in her thoughts, because they weren’t actual acquaintances of hers. Besides, she had a personal habit of not referring to things she might have to kill by name.

Thoughts of this were minimal though because instead her mind was overridden with the sudden situation: the exact people she did not want to know she had stolen Prince Seokjin’s rabbit were now looking directly at her holding an armload of carrots and lettuce. 

To say it was suspicious was an understatement.

Four pairs of brown eyes stared at her, four shades, only one reddened with emotion.

The man was crying over his lost rat. Rabbit. 

“I’m laying traps,” she instantly explained. “Nice traps. Not… dangerous traps.”

“Traps?” the Prince repeated. His face was slack around the red eyes, like he wasn’t totally there right now.

“I thought– the Princess thought your missing rabbit might get hungry and come out if we left vegetables out.”

“That’s a good idea,” the bodyguard leaned forward. “Do you want me to toss vegetables around too?”

“I thought she might come here,” the Prince admitted. “She’s a very clever rabbit. She has a good nose for food…” He looked over the fence where there was definitely no rabbit getting through.

“The fences are very um, rabbit-proof,” the valet pointed out.

“Here, I’ll do that,” the bodyguard suggested, holding his hands out for the vegetables.

“The Princess wanted to lay this one herself,” Dulce insisted, taking a step backwards.

Seokjin shook his head, his hair flopping messily, “It will be the only one, we can’t waste the garden looking for my…”

“We’ll find her,” the valet assured him. “We’ll have a guard stay here in case she tries to get in.”

“She may be gone,” the Prince murmured. His eyes closed and opened slowly and then he gave Dulce a watery smile. “Tell the Princess thank you for her thoughtfulness. I care very much for animals. I have several as pets and it’s a disaster for something to happen to one of them… I’m very fond of animals.”

Dulce didn’t know what to say to this confession. A prince didn’t need to explain himself to a servant. He didn’t seem apologetic or embarrassed about his emotion, which was shocking to Dulce. This was the future ruler of Yeonhalbi and he didn’t mind the entire palace knowing he was skipping meals to look for a missing rodent? Were rabbits rodents? Well, Dulce didn’t know or care.

But it was hard not to look at the Prince’s obvious attempts at emotional stoicism, a thing which clearly did not come naturally to him, and not feel bad for him. It made her think of the younger Prince after his mother’s death as she’d seen through his letter. How much more distressed must he have been, and Lady Zselyke suggested he was simply in want of a ball? Nobles were idiots.

“Don’t lose hope, Your Majesty.”

“Your Royal Highness,” the tutor said. “‘Your Majesty’ is the king–”

The Prince held his hand up to interrupt and assured Dulce with a smaller but more sincere-looking smile, “Thank you for your optimism but it’s unlikely. You can assure the Princess I won’t disrupt the palace longer than this evening.”

“I… I don’t think she’s worried about the disruption,” Dulce answered. Truthfully, talking to the prince was making her as uncomfortable as last time and she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. It wasn’t that she cared he was the prince; she didn’t usually give a rat’s ass about someone’s title. It probably wasn’t because she knew his fate either; she preferred to spend little time with targets but she was pragmatic about the things that needed to be done and the people who needed to be done away with to make that happen. Was it because this was Nasimiyu’s future husband?

Well it didn’t matter. Dulce should be spending as little time as possible talking to him anyway because she was a servant. Even if he didn’t really talk to her or anyone else like they were servants. Certainly not his valet who was trying to convince him to let them lay out a few vegetables in corners around the palace. The Prince was dead set against letting food lay out to wilt and waste. Oddly pragmatic for someone in such obvious emotional distress and who would never know the scarcity of food anyway.

Dulce curtsied and took the opportunity to run away. No one called after her, because why would they?

She hurried through the palace back to Nasimiyu’s bedroom. Everyone was still at supper for many more courses –all of which she knew the Prince missed before Nasimiyu got back to tell her so. By then she’d handfed the carrots and lettuce to the rabbit, watching with amusement she would never admit the way the rabbit's little lips and teeth worked at the vegetables, the ways her whiskers twitched left and right. She had particularly soft fur at the base of her ears and did not like having her feet touched.

As soon as Nasimiyu walked in, Dulce jumped to her feet to distance herself from the rabbit but announced, “We must give the rabbit back tonight.”

“Oh, we must?” Nasimiyu arched an eyebrow at her and let her gauzy dinner-cape drape across the arm of the sofa. “I said tomorrow morning.”

“You don’t have a reason other than to torture the Prince longer.”

“To make him more appreciative when–”

“People have breaking points, Nasi,” Dulce interrupted her. “You don’t have to push people past them to get what you want.”

Now Nasimiyu’s face took on an unpleasant look, like Dulce’s words offended her, and admitted, “Are you suddenly so soft that you’re telling me it’s inhumanly cruel to keep a man’s rabbit for twenty-four hours instead of twelve? That’s not actually torture.”

“You underestimate how much he loves this rabbit.”

Nasimiyu crossed her arms and looked down at Dulce.

“Since when have you been such a bleeding heart about a man being sad?” she demanded. “Are you this worried about the ones you kill?”

Dulce didn’t like the reference. In the moment, it felt manipulative. She wasn’t sure which angered her more, Nasimiyu being so dense about this or Nasimiyu questioning her strength just because she didn’t see the point in this needless cruelty. Dulce did nothing in excess or without purpose.

“I’m good at what I do because I don’t act needlessly rash or cruel,” Dulce corrected. “I don’t taunt or play. I don’t monologue. I am precise and deliberate with the things I do. I kill clean.”

“That’s what you’re accusing me of?”

“You didn’t see him, Princess ,” Dulce said, giving Nasimiyu an out. “I understand your intentions. I brought you the damn thing, it was my idea. But I’m telling you, he’s there. Take the rabbit to him now, say it hopped out of a closet when we set the vegetables down. He knew we were trying that; I told him it was your idea.”

Nasimiyu hesitated. Dulce saw her waiver and felt a secret relief. Nasimiyu had a hard edge to her, the kind of streak Dulce had seen as cruelty in others, but Nasimiyu had always stayed on the proper side of the line. 

Still, it made Dulce nervous what power would do to that part of her. Had this been an early flicker? Or could Nasimiyu just not understand how a man would be so upset about it? Did she not believe Dulce?

Dulce never believed the best in people but she hoped to be at least fair. 

“Fine,” Nasimiyu said. “We’ll take it now. Put it in my arms so it won’t scratch my tit again.”

“You can just hold it like a cat.”

“I’m allergic,” Nasimiyu told her. Dulce hadn’t known that. She scooped the rabbit up and, on second thought, wrapped it in Nasimiyu’s cloak and gave it to her like a bundled up baby to hold. 

Then she trailed the Princess out into the hall, free to notice the surprising way faces lit up as Nasimiyu carried the rabbit through the palace. People either recognized the rabbit or assumed it to be the missing one. The relief was clear, though Dulce didn’t know whether that was in sympathy with the Prince or because the search could now be called off.

Prince Seokjin was coming in from the stable yard. Dulce hung back, watching the scene unfold as Nasimiyu stepped forward, slightly raising her arms.

“Seokjin!” she called. “Look what I found!”

“Wha wha what?!” he gasped with increasing pitch and volume. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as he lunged forward. “What’s this?!”

“It came crawling out of a closet when we sat the vegetables down,” Nasimiyu repeated. Hopped , Dulce thought.

Prince Seokjin lifted the bundle into his arms and quickly unwrapped the rabbit, holding her up before his face. 

His voice cracked as he scolded, “You bad girl! Why did you run away? Don’t I feed you well? You regret it now I think if you were hiding in a closet and so hungry you’d eat wilted lettuce off the floor! Don’t I give you all the best–” He broke off, blinking rapidly as he looked around at the crowded hall. 

“Princess Nasimiyu has rescued the bad rabbit!” he called down the hall, tucking the fluffy gray thing against his chest. She seemed completely unconcerned with anything but Dulce wasn’t sure a rabbit would look any different no matter what happened. She certainly wasn’t afraid the rabbit would rat her out and reveal she’d been kidnapped instead of running. 

Nasimiyu smiled and bobbed her head at the cheers for her that echoed down the hall. The corners of her mouth nudged downwards, a sign that she was trying to appear modest when in fact very smug.

Dulce picked up on small things like this, ways in which people’s bodies revealed their innermost thoughts. 

But what did it mean, the way the bodyguard smiled at her?

Nasimiyu kept the curtains of the carriage open for the drive to the Aukem house despite the grumblings of the bodyguards. Not even Dulce would be able to protect her from a sudden arrow shot through and yet she wasn’t too worried about it. No one had any reason to harm her yet. Maybe the people were already watching eagerly to see if she’d be a savior from the erratic opulence of King Dong-gun. 

It was a short ride though, hardly enough to judge a city by. Within fifteen minutes the carriage pulled through an elaborate blue gate and around a circle to a floral paradise decorating the facade of a tall, perfectly white mansion. So white Nasimiyu thought for sure they must actually wash the house; wouldn’t the salt and dirt from the city stain the walls?

“...so flattered you’d take the time to visit us first,” Lady Sukhdeep tittered, leading Nasimiyu and her mother and their entourage through the elaborate entrance way and into a side sitting room. Her taste in decor was impeccable, everything smooth, polished dark woods and burgundies and deep blues. It was easy to forget you were next to the sea in such a warm, elegant home. 

I want the palace to look like this , Nasimiyu thought, and didn’t have to pretend to make careful study as they were offered and agreed to a tour of the home. She wouldn’t be able to copy it directly but she could find inspiration –and no doubt gain approval from the Aukem’s if she made no secret of the connection.

“You have beautiful taste,” Nasimiyu praised once they’d been shown an appropriate number of common rooms: parlors, studies, a formal dining room, a morning room, and a sunroom with low wooden shades not too dissimilar to what you might see in Marvono.

“Thank you, Princess.”

Miss Lidmila practically vibrated at the praise, probably because Miss Çiğdem Quincy and Miss Afua Trevis were present for the visit as well and her family had just been praised before them. At least Nasimiyu hoped a word from her could carry so much meaning already. 

“We shall sit for tea–”

“Mama, can’t I show the Princess the garden?” Miss Lidmila asked, hands clasped. She glanced at Nasimiyu and then her mother before appending, “I mean, the–”

“Tea,” her mother said shortly and the matter was dropped. Nasimiyu assumed Miss Lidmila meant her and wanted time with just the younger girls as well, even though age-wise Nasimiyu was a good six, maybe even eight years older. She suspected the girls, if out, had not been out for long.

So once tea had been properly had in the back parlor, and conversation exhausted around whether Nasimiyu’s parents couldn’t delay their trip a bit longer to be present for the ball, and whether they would be back by the Sunflower Festival, and whether they knew this or that family who might be arriving in the capitol soon, Nasimiyu returned to the suggestion.

No one has anything of substance to talk about, Nasimiyu thought to herself before demonstrating true grace by suggesting, “I would love for the young ladies to show me around the garden, as they suggested, if they wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh!” was the only response, with three sets of bright, eager eyes sparkling with excitement. Nasimiyu felt quite treasured as they bundled around her and along the passageways, out through the proper back entrance, and into yet another garden.

Nasimiyu loved flowers in general, though wasn’t overly concerned with the specifics of gardening or arranging. Flowers that smelled good were an asset. Flowers that looked pretty in one’s hair or adding beautiful pops of color to green were lovely. It’s just that Nasimiyu had no particular knowledge or care for knowledge, and rather felt like if you’d seen one Privan garden, you’d seen them all.

She could at least recognize that the Aukem’s gardens were not quite as big as the palace’s, but otherwise just as colorful and beautiful.

“Mama always wanted her gardens to be as good as the queen’s,” Lidmila explained. “But she liked more exotic flowers so the colors are all different. They were good friends. They would send each other the best flowers from their gardens every week. Well I don’t remember it, I was only a small child when the Queen died but… but I remember her just a small bit!”

Nasimiyu gave a polite nod of her head, “It’s very sad for the Prince to grow without his Mama. It’s fortunate he at least had Lady Zselyke, isn’t it?”

“Do you really think so?” Çiğdem asked. At the nudge from Afua, she corrected, “I mean that she’s… well, I don’t know what I mean.” She lowered her eyes and looked away, embarrassed.

“Lady Zselyke will be her cousin,” Afua whispered to Çiğdem, badly hidden.

To cover the awkwardness, Nasimiyu turned the questions to them: whether they were out in society (they were), whether they had suitors (they didn’t, though Çiğdem bragged she had a penpal in Therepin whose name she refused to divulge), and whether they were in a hurry to find a husband or preferred to enjoy life instead.

That made all three of them laugh, only Lidmila looking slightly scandalized as she demanded, “Can’t you enjoy life with a husband? If you’ve got a good one, I mean.”

“She wants a husband badly but her Mum keeps saying no to anyone who looks at her,” Çiğdem shared, earning a gasp and a pinch on her arm. “Why are you shy about it, it’s true! Maybe Princess Nasimiyu can help your mother see reason?”

“She’s not unreasonable,” Lidmila quickly insisted, as if her mother would hear her out here. Nasimiyu wasn’t sure where or what their mothers were doing, but she doubted it was eaves-dropping. “She just wants what is best for me.”

“Well no one will ever compare to Prince Seokjin,” Afua said. She’d just accidentally stepped on something leaning into the path that Nasimiyu hoped wasn’t important but she thought it might be, the color was such an outrageous blue. It took her a moment longer to register the words, mostly because she saw Dulce’s eyebrow arch and then heard the gasp from Lidmila and Çiğdem.

Lidmila suddenly looked like she might cry as she insisted, “My mother didn’t really try to set me up with Prince Seokjin, not really! Afua just means my mother thinks so highly of him!”

“OH! But didn’t she– no! Of course not,” Afua said. 

“She didn’t!”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Nasimiyu assured them. Honestly, she wanted to laugh. Were they worried she’d be threatened by a nineteen-year-old? She wasn’t. Nor was she surprised if Lady Aukem had tried to rope him into a marriage with her daughter; surely any mother in Priva had done the same. 

“So you want a husband… I’m sure you’ll meet someone wonderful. Once I’m married, I’m sure many of my friends will visit here, and I hope to increase relations with other principalities,” Nasimiyu suggested. “Have you been anywhere besides Priva?”

Afua seemed to want to talk about travel, but Çiğdem and Lidmila were still stuck on men and marriage.

“I’m sure we’ll meet travelers at the masquerade ball,” Lidmila insisted. “I can’t believe the palace has waited so long since your arrival but I supposed they wanted to give nobles a chance to come back from their summer holidays and greet you. But honestly, to wait so long that your parents will miss the ball!”

Çiğdem quickly suggested, “Not that we would criticize Lady Zselyke’s timing or– if maybe you had requested the space to rest first or….?”

“I didn’t, but I don’t mind the delay,” Nasimiyu admitted. “I know it’s the custom here but it would have been overwhelming before I knew anyone. We don’t do many balls in Marvono, at least not the same way they do here. My parents won’t be sorry to miss out.”

“Oh. Do you… not like balls very much?” Afua asked. All three younger girls looked at her with eager eyes.

“Yes, I think a ball is a perfectly fine outlet,” Nasimiyu lied. Well, truthfully she was torn. On the one hand, they were boring but necessary politicking events if her parents and other important people were there, and she had to behave. On the other hand, she loved to dance and not behave if there was no one there to report on her. She expected the upcoming masquerade to be a bit of a waste because obviously she would have to behave herself. As her mother had warned her many times, from the moment she stepped foot into Priva, she would need to act like the queen she wanted to be. And in most ways she knew what that was.

But when it came to whether or in what way the queen liked to let loose… well… she wasn’t ready to decide that yet, so she would just have to behave at first. 

The girls were excitedly talking about the ball again and Nasimiyu felt an ache in her chest. Their worlds seemed so small to her. Upon pressing a little further, she did learn that Afua was not yet much interested in marriage, and even a slip that Çiğdem wasn’t sure her parents would approve of her Therepin penpal but she wasn’t sure yet she wanted to get their approval anyway. “It’s fun to flirt!” she admitted with a giggle. Afua and Lidmila were clearly aghast she had admitted this to Nasimiyu, but it made her like the girl more. There was a spark there, she thought. And maybe sparks in the others two, if she could fan them. They were young now, but Nasimiyu got the feeling young women were perpetually underestimated, and that by winning them over early, she could have an ear to the kingdom’s happenings and a hand in the future household leaders. 

Because obviously, once she was queen, the law that households could technically only be led by men except in very specific circumstances would have to go. Lidmila should wed if she wanted, ideally someone Nasimiyu would also think was a good husband to ensure the Aukem household settled nicely into her corner; but Çiğdem and Afua should stay single if they wanted, or marry women too, if they liked. While such marriages were legal, they were rare because of the property issue. 

So even though no worlds had been changed, and she’d learned that the young girl’s heads were mostly filled with the same uninspired thing most girls that age were dreaming of (Nasimiyu had not! And Dulce either), she still felt like it was a good visit.

If only for the look on Dulce’s face when, as they sat on benches in the shade discussing Marvonese people, Afua asked, “But are all your servants Marvonesian?”

“Most of them, yes. Why?”

“Even your…” she dropped her voice, “That one maid you have so often?” Immediately Nasimiyu looked at Dulce who stood off to the side, probably at the edge of hearing.

“No, she’s not Marvonese.”

“She never smiles like your other maids,” Çiğdem noted. “It’s so strange to see a servant who never smiles–”

“What need does a servant have to smile?” Lady Sukhdeep asked, coming up behind them with Princess Simisola. “Honestly, this is what you girls are talking to the Princess about? You have an afternoon with her and– my apologies, Princess.”

Nasimiyu lifted her hand, “No, they’ve been wonderful company. And it’s a useful observation. I would never want a servant to force a smile for my sake, but if a servant never smiles, it’s worth looking into why not, and how we might better ensure their lives are not so miserable.” She tried not to smile at Dulce but maintain a serious look. “I will follow up and make sure my maid is happy with her position.”

“Surely it’s not that serious!” Lidmila gasped. “I can’t imagine a handmaiden of yours wouldn’t be aware of how fortunate she is.”

“It’s the job of those in power to make sure of it, isn’t it?” She stood, feeling very wise, and very pleased because obviously Dulce was not going to be thrilled that the young ladies had taken note of her at all, much less to comment on her lack of smile. 

They returned through the house to depart, the three girls trailing after Nasimiyu like ducklings. It was endearing and while she knew she couldn’t succeed in all things with only the support of three young women, it still felt encouraging. It was nice to be admired and feel like she could impart much wisdom on them, that she could make their lives better, and in turn reap the rewards of their friendship. They weren’t the only three young noble ladies in the city but certainly three of the best connected.

She slid into the carriage with her mother after ample goodbyes, and didn’t bother to object when Princess Simisola drew the curtains.

“Honestly, commenting on the smile of your maid?” her mother asked as soon as they began to move. “Dulce needs to draw less attention to herself. No one should be noticing her at all, much less whether she smiles enough. Tell her to smile like a normal simpleton or…” She didn’t finish the threat, probably unable to think of something.

Nasimiyu smiled, already looking forward to teasing Dulce into a worse mood about it. I murder people. Why would I smile? I’m not that much of a sick fuck. Nasimiyu could practically read her mind. As if someone who did what needed to be done couldn’t find joy in life! Of course, there was the complication that when Dulce did smile, it drew all the sunlight directly to her. Nasimiyu had lost her head the first time she’d seen Dulce smile. She’d been convinced she was a noble hiding in commoners clothing. Dulce had been a total hothead about the accusation.

Of course, Nasimiyu could understand. She wanted to stab too anytime someone –usually a man– told her to smile. A good Marvonese person wouldn’t think to do it; the women weren’t expected to smile unless they damn well felt like it, but there had always been guests in the palace…

Another fashion she could change in Priva, perhaps. Give everyone good cause to smile, but make no demands of it.

Allow women to stab as needed.

And figure out how to gradually ease the young women into the passion of politics rather than husbands so they could help shape the world as it ought to be instead of simply sucking the cock of some disinterested man!

Seokjin had barely recovered from Lettie’s horrifying adventure before he suffered another emotional blow. Slightly less devastating in the short term, but with the potential for much longer ramifications.

There was no warning or even any announcement. Not even a warning from his own staff! Certainly he’d have a word with Edmund later for letting anyone past him through the door to the recreation room where Hoseok and his father were working with Seokjin on dances for the ball. 

Seokjin was a good dancer. A good dancer! So many young women in Priva had told him so, blushing or giggling as he bowed with their fingers cupped over his. Maybe, if he had made mistakes or felt clumsy about his movements, he’d kiss their fingers, and they were charmed into forgetting any errors in his step. Was it possible they lied to hsi face simply because he was the prince? Well… yes. But he did all right! 

“There’s just so damn much to remember!” he grumbled as Hoseok stopped him again because his feet had gone to the right places but his hands had not.

“You just elbowed your partner in the face,” Hoseok explained, as if Seokjin didn’t know that, because he’d just elbowed Hoseok right in the throat.

“Well a lady is shorter than you,” Seokjin defended. Realizing instantly his mistake –that in fact Princess Nasimiyu was just about Hoseok’s exact height– he hurried to add, “Or, even at your height, will have such a beautiful face my elbows will be pushed away into their–

“Give it up,” Hoseok laughed, shaking his head. “Just learn the moves the right way and you won’t have to be so fast with your jokes.”

“I don’t have to be fast or slow. My jokes land just the way I want them to, when I want them–”

“You can’t monologue your way out of it. It’s a quadrille, your arm should never even be above your waist.”

“You seem winded, perhaps we should take a break,” Seokjin suggested with naked hope. 

Hoseok’s father, previously bored and letting his son lead, now reclaimed control and barked, “No, from the beginning again. Jimin, you will be my partner. Prince, you will dance with Hoseok, with Jimin, and the other couples will be air you must remain still and attentive through. Dance is about waiting, never rushing.”

“The Quadrille is a relic of my ten-greats grandfather,” Seokjin tried. “It has no place in modern Yeonhalbi–”

Tutor Jung cleared his throat and Seokjin fell silent out of old habit, when he used to be far more afraid of the tutor than he was now. He had permission for corporal punishment, something he hadn’t employed in at least ten years, but old fears died hard; Seokjin’s behind was far too delicate for the switch.

“From the beginning, Mr. Martin,” Tutor Jung called, clapping his hands for the violinist to begin again. Beleaguered Seokjin got into place.

He was doing all right by his estimations, bouncing in the right places, kicking delicately as directed, when applause from behind him interrupted the whole thing. He had been concentrating too intensely to hear the door open apparently, but the new arrival hadn’t even waited for the dance to end before interrupting.

“You’re getting better, cuz.”

Seokjin let his face go slack in a rapid debate about how he wanted to present himself for this unexpected interaction. He’d had no time to plan. He wasn’t supposed to be here and yet the voice was unmistakable.

“Namjoon,” Seokjin cried, all smiles as he turned. He could tell by Jimin’s cringe it sounded utterly fake. Still he pushed forward, throwing his arms wide and striding forward to take the upper hand.

It didn’t work; Namjoon wrapped his arms over Seokjin’s, leaving the Prince’s around his waist. Namjoon gave him a rough pat on the back, then quickly stepped back. 

“Jin-hyung!” Namjoon returned with a wide smile. “Soon to be a married man!”

“As long as you don’t get involved,” Seokjin smiled, the jab of it so thinly veiled as to actually be very direct.

For a moment Namjoon froze as if stunned, then stammered, “Ah well you know I didn’t have anything to do– ah, you are– your jokes are getting sharper. You’ll be a real politician soon!”

“I was born one,” Seokjin smiled.

“So was I,” Namjoon smiled.

A beat and then they laughed and Seokjin clapped him on the shoulder the same way Namjoon was doing to him. He wondered if it was obvious to Namjoon he was simply parroting the uncouth behaviors of his distant cousin. King Dong-gun would lay an egg if he saw Kim Namjoon greeting him this way. But then Namjoon had an uncanny ability to deploy exactly the level of decorum required for the moment, or lack thereof if that would serve him more. 

They may have both been born to politics, into distant branches of the same Kim line, but while Seokjin had been beaten into politics by unchanging, unavoidable winds, Namjoon had leaned into the galeforce and it had made him sleek.

So fucking sleek.

“You’re so sleek,” Seokjin praised, only his mind aware he was thinking of it as a curse. Or maybe it was obvious…  “Woah, your arms! Have you been working the fields? You’re getting so big! Will your jacket no longer fit soon?”

“I only wore the jacket to honor you and your father; the robes we wear in Therepin don’t restrict like these traditional garments do,” Namjoon said, raising his arms, probably flexing. Seokjin didn’t feel like getting into a competition there; even though he was deceptively strong for his lean build, Namjoon –his opposite in so many ways– carried more bulk. 

“Why are you here?” Seokjin asked. “The wedding isn’t for a few more months and I’m not sure if you’re invited yet.” He said it with a smile, a joke except also the truth. Except he wouldn’t have a choice. Namjoon might be far removed from the royal line, but his mother had married nobility and his paternal uncle sat on the council that ruled Therepin along –or, honestly, in place of– the royal family there. They seemed more like a quaint figure-head at this point. It was an issue Seokjin’s father had been avoiding dealing with until he had to. 

Which meant someday it would probably just be Seokjin’s problem. He looked forward to solving that no more than he looked forward to the time he would now be forced to spend with Namjoon or whoever else he might have dragged from that tedious, repressed, overthinking, pontificating, patronizing, cold and unfeeling principality known as–

“Seokjinnie-oppa,” came a second voice, a hundred years more welcome than her brother’s. Mindeulle practically floated forward, hands lifted like she was giving a blessing or like she expected Seokjin to scoop her up beneath the armpits and spin her around like he had when they were children. Of course he wouldn’t now; she was six years younger, but that put her well into young adulthood now. 

“You’re too old to call me that,” he told her, then changed his mind when he saw Namjoon’s annoyance and encouraged, “But don’t let that stop you, as long as my fiance doesn’t have an issue with it.”

“Your fiance,” Mindeulle repeated with the sweetest smile. “Soon to be your wife. It’s so romantic… I’ve heard she’s impossibly beautiful.”

“Ah… she is,” Seokjin admitted, unwilling to be modest about it.

“That’s good, it wouldn’t do you any good to be married to a goblin. What if your children took after their ugly mother?”

“Mindeulle,” Namjoon sighed heavily.

Seokjin laughed and agreed, “Yes, I do prefer beautiful things to ugly ones. Why have you come as well all this way? I thought you were at the sea and your brother was reading a book or something?”

“I was studying the Ancient Tomes of–”

But Namjoon was cut off cruelly by his own sister who agreed, “He was, but Mama made him leave it so we could come support you. She said that the months leading up to a royal wedding are full of balls and festivals and celebration and that I simply can’t miss it! Maybe I’ll find my husband here as well; help me find a beautiful one, yes, Oppa?”

“Your Mama didn’t send you to find your own husband,” Seokjin immediately sniffed out the lie. “Your parents are here too?”

“No, she did! We’re here on our own! She said she trusts my two oppas with a first pass.”

“She let you travel alone? Ah, the pass is–”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle with our guards,” Namjoon interrupted. “Though definitely it would be better if the palace would do something to secure its own main roads.”

“I look forward to reading your council’s proposal on it,” Seokjin retorted.

“Do you? I don’t think you’ve read the last…. Any proposal ever?”

“It becomes difficult to differentiate between actual problems and pontificating,” Seokjin said, only to realize his slip. He didn’t want to use words like that with Namjoon; stoop to his level, so to speak. Too many syllables for the carefree image he wanted to maintain. He saw the amusement on Namjoon’s face.

But fortunately Mindeulle interrupted once again, “Oppa, you must take me to meet your princess at once.”

“Did you just arrive? Don’t you want to rest?”

“Not for a moment until I’ve met your beloved. She can see me as I am; I don’t hope to compete with her beauty anyway.”

It was a level of humility that would have seemed insincere in anyone else, because Mindeulle Kim was a beauty no matter what angle you looked at her from. Her reference to Nasimiyu as his ‘beloved’ meant Mindeulle either was a romantic idiot or had made the decision to sweetly support his romance until it became the stuff of fairytales. Mindeulle was sweet but he didn’t think she was stupid, just optimistic.

“Seokjin is busy at the moment,” Namjoon said, waving his hands. “We can find her on our own, or meet her on the way to dinner.”

But Seokjin would be damned if Namjoon met Nasimiyu without him present and making the introductions. If he could manage it, Namjoon would never spend a minute alone with her, at least not until he’d figured out how to win her heart. 

Damnit, why did Namjoon appear so suddenly? Why had he come? Just to let his sister attend balls that weren’t even planned yet? Seokjin might break this engagement with his own fumbling, he didn’t need Namjoon’s help!

“Don’t be absurd, I’m happy to make the introduction,” Seokjin insisted. “My lesson was just finishing.” A silver lining to Namjoon’s interruption! He could see Master Jung and Hoseok weren’t happy about the interruption but they couldn’t actually hold Seokjin here against his will. 

He offered Mindeulle his arm, mostly just to bother Namjoon who he suspected would be suspicious of any men near his sister, now in prime age for marraige. It annoyed him that Namjoon didn’t actually seem annoyed at all, just told Seokjin about the trip –as if he’d asked– as they went to a sitting room and Seokjin sent an invitation to Nasimiyu to join them. 

Unfortunately, Nasimiyu was not instantly available. It meant time he had to kill with Namjoon, more details about the trip and the latest tome he’d been reading, and some questions from Mindeulle about the ball Seokjin didn’t actually know much about. Zselyke would have to answer her. Zselyke who disliked Namjoon almost as much as Seokjin did.

In the interim, Edmund was replaced with Jungkook, which was definitely better but meant Seokjin didn’t get to tell him off yet. It would have to wait until later. At least Jungkook realized the situation he was walking into with that transparent widening of his eyes. Great fighter but he would have been a terrible spy with his utter inability to carry a lie or hide his reaction. 

Hours later (maybe it was less; Jimin would insist it was less), Nasimiyu came gliding through the door with a breathlessness that looked like she’d been running. Seokjin wasn’t sure why; it wasn’t exactly a royal summons! She looked flustered in a way Seokjin hadn’t seen her before and he felt instantly terrible.

“I’m so sorry if I alarmed you with the request to join us,” Seokjin said, leaping to his feet and going to her side. “My message said not to rush!” He was not sure that was true; had he written that in the note?

“I didn’t want to leave you waiting,” she said, brushing a waterfall of braids over her shoulder. Two of her maids stepped to the side, faces lowered, as if trying to give the idea it was their fault she was late, never her own. 

“There’s no emergency. Only new arrivals requested to meet you and I thought I’d introduce you since they tend to be very…” He glanced their way, eyes narrowed. “Present.”

“Present,” Mindeulle repeated with a giggle.

“Rather a bit annoying,” Seokjin admitted. “Underfoot quite a bit.”

“I resent that,” Mindeulle said, just as Namjoon rose and bowed, greeting, “What an honor to meet you, Princess Nasimiyu.”

“I’m getting to that,” Seokjin waved at him. “Nasimiyu, may I present Lord Namjoon Kim, son of Baroness Landa, nephew of Councilman Gregor Kim; and Miss Mindeulle Kim, all the same.”

“We are very distant cousins,” Namjoon explained.

“So distant it’s almost a speck.”

“Not that distant,” Mindeulle laughed. 

Nasimiyu looked between the two like she thought she was missing something, then looked to Seokjin for an answer. That look of dependency did something in his chest. It made him feel once again superior here; as superior as his title at least supported.

“To the two of you, my betrothed, Princess Nasimiyu of Marvono, of the Dabo family.”

Mindeulle and Namjoon both bowed again. Nasimiyu, looking as refined as ever, seemed to have caught her breath and gave them both a gracious smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet even distant cousins of Seokjin’s. Have you only arrived or are you here for long?”

“We’re here for as long as you’ll tolerate us,” Mindeulle told her with all of Namjoon’s charm but none of his whatever . “Or until my Mama calls me back home.”

“Or until my business is concluded with your fiance and father-in-law,” Namjoon added. Seokjin blinked at the casual reference to the king. Disrespectful! “It would be an honor to meet your parents as well, Princess. I’ve read much about the royal family of Marvono. The Dabos have quite a legacy, though your rule is much different than that of King Dong-gun’s. We in Therepin were surprised that your parents agreed to the engagement.”

Seokjin’s eyes narrowed because he couldn’t tell if that was offensive or not, but he was distracted by the way Nasimiyu’s head tilted.

“Oh? Why is that?” 

“Do you hope to bring many of your customs to Priva?”

“You wish to talk policy?” Nasimiyu asked. “My parent’s policy?”

“Or your own.”

“My husband and I will mutually decide the policy of our reign, won’t we?”

Seokjin looked back and forth between them. No. No no no. None of this. It wasn’t good enough for Namjoon not to be alone with Nasimiyu, maybe it was better if they didn’t speak at all. Could he demand that? No, it would make him look like a jealous child.

“That’s right we will, and if you’re trying to rope my betrothed into reading your overly-long missives, I won’t allow it. As her husband, I will protect her from all forms of danger, including those intended to bore her into a slumber of a hundred years.”

“They aren’t that bad,” Namjoon assured Nasimiyu. And she smiled. And Seokjin felt his nerves increase. No no no, she wasn’t supposed to find Namjoon amusing! 

He needed a new tactic.

He couldn’t think of a new tactic.

Mindeulle suggested, “We’ve only just arrived so we ought to rest, but I was so eager to meet you. I hope I can steal more of your time soon.”

“Yes, I’d be interested to hear more about Marvono,” Namjoon agreed.

“Oh, maybe we can teach you how to play a game that’s very popular in Therepin,” Mindeulle suggested. “Do you like games?”

“I do,” Nasimiyu admitted, looking genuinely interested. “What sort of game?”

“Prince Seokjin is very good at it, perhaps we can play in teams. But if you turn out to be very good, we’ll have to trade because my brother is terrible so it won’t be fair if you’re both wonderful,” Mindeulle said, charming, easy smile in place.

Bless her. Nasimiyu nodded pleasantly about this idea, and Seokjin felt his own spirits rise. He was very good at candlepin bowling! He was good at most games. And, sadly for the very clever Namjoon Kim, he really was not. So sad for him! 

Tomorrow they would play. For now, Mindeulle would settle in, and Nasimiyu would go to finish whatever it was Seokjin had interrupted. It meant a lot to him she had come. He said that to her, as she left.

“I’m sorry I sent for you so suddenly. You don’t have to answer immediately if you’re occupied.”

“Don’t I?” she asked, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

“No. It’s only a… a request.”

“I will keep that in mind, thank you, Seokjin,” she said with a little curtsy. “I will come when it feels convenient to me.”

“Yes… all right…” Yah, why had she phrased it that way?! 

Flustered, he let her leave, her maids trailing after her. 

Then,

“Hey Jungkooka,” Seokjin said, beckoning him close. Jungkook came to him, shoulder to shoulder. “If he tries to interfere with my marriage, you have my permission to kill him.”

“Really?” Jungkook gasped, eyes going wide with excitement. 

“Really.” Seokjin ignored Jimin’s sigh and tilted head, his own version of really, Seokjin?

“What counts as interfering?” Jimin argued. “If he wins at bowling–”

“He won’t win at bowling,” Seokjin scoffed. “Just keep your eyes peeled.”

“You got it,” Jungkook said with an eager smile. Briefly Seokjin wondered if Jungkook actually would kill at his command like that. He was joking. Kind of. Mostly.

Well, they’d see.

The comings and goings of nobles didn’t matter much to Dulce. She didn’t care who Namjoon Kim, son of a Baron, was, though it amused her to wonder if all people with the surname Kim were in fact related even distantly to the royal Kim line. If so, that lineage was… prolific. 

She didn’t really care about his little sister who seemed to smile and curtsy with the same empty-headed softness as the other young ladies Nasimiyu had tea with.

She didn’t care –though it was admittedly amusing– that Nasimiyu and Seokjin both wound up being rather competitive about candlepin bowling. They soundly beat Namjoon and his sister, before turning the competition towards each other. Seokjin beat Nasimiyu, who sulked just a little too sincerely despite it being her first time playing. Dulce respected Seokjin not just letting her win, even with all his party clearly motioning for him to throw the game. In fact it was better that he hadn’t; Nasimiyu hated to lose, but she hated to be let win more. It was possibly the first time Dulce could see that Nasimiyu respected Seokjin for something –even if she was unhappy not to also win.

Perhaps Dulce was less amused when it was the first thing Nasimiyu said when Dulce surfaced for air that night, expecting to find Nasimiyu soft-eyed and grateful. 

“How much practice do you think I need to definitely beat him next time?” Nasimiyu asked. “I’m going to ask for a set I can practice in here with…”

The arrival of these two nobles weren’t in any other way remarkable, Dulce didn’t think so, though it was obvious that at least the Prince hated Namjoon and the other nobles tended to steer clear of them both. Not quite pure noble blood , Nasimiyu explained to her. And they’re from Therepin. It’s an… odd place. Dulce knew that. Nasimiyu hadn’t ever been but she had, so she didn’t quite like the condescending explanation. 

Certainly their arrival wasn’t any reason for Prince Hamisi and Princess Simisola to delay their departure; at least they must think not, because they barely spoke with the pair and made no gesture of delaying even by an hour when their agreed-upon departure came a few days later.

Their lack of apparent concern meant Dulce –and Nasimiyu, judging by the look on her face– was not expecting the Prince and Princess to come to Nasimiyu’s room early that morning, let themselves in, and dedicate their private farewell to the warning:

“Do not let this Namjoon Kim seduce you.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Nasimiyu asked, as if highly offended. Dulce wondered if that meant more than she had noticed the interest Nasimiyu paid when he spoke of things. She had not asked Nasimiyu about it yet, expecting to have her head bitten off. She wasn’t doing anything so blatant. She could just be acting polite… if you didn’t know her as well as Dulce did…

“He’s a distant Kim branch,” Prince Hamisi explained. “No way to the Throne through his blood, not on its own. But those Therepin folk are odd and they seek to rule in odd ways. Your influence and beauty combined with his wisdom and a whiff of Kim blood…”

“Why not my wisdom?” Nasimiyu demanded, lifting her nose.

“Heed my warning, daughter. The Prince should have no rival for your affections. Do not play any such game.”

Nasimiyu scowled, “I’m not playing any game like that, just because I want to know more about the way they do things there.”

“The way they do things there is why their borders keep needing to be protected by this very kingdom. It cost King Dong-gun his first son and heir.”

“Yes, I know… Besides, he’s not that charming. And I think he thinks he’s smarter than I am,” Nasimiyu informed her parents, as if this were all the security they needed that there was no risk she would be seduced by this new character. Which, in most circumstances, would be a fair point. But Nasimiyu had not eviscerated him yet. 

Interesting.

There were other things her parents had to say to her in private. Dulce waited outside the door at their request. A little nervously, to be honest, waiting for whatever trash threat Prince Hamisi would whisper to her as they left.

Instead he said nothing, just breezed past her. But Princess Simisola leaned close and murmured,

“He is exactly the type of man my daughter will underestimate. Perhaps he is a harmless flirt, but no one is ever here in the palace without motivation. Trust no one, Dulce.”

“I don’t intend to,” Dulce assured her. 

No more words of warning were given. Dulce eyed Namjoon and his sister with skepticism as the palace largely turned out to see the Prince and Princess off on their journey. When they returned, it would be a short time left until the wedding. Nasimiyu had promised to look happy as a fairy tale with the Prince by then. 

And Dulce had promised to trust no one. 

She watched as Namjoon turned a little too quickly as the Prince and Princess disappeared from the courtyard. 

And tripped over the dog that had been nosing at his leg. 

And knocked a rather heavy flowerpot off a pedestal. 

And barely caught it before it fell to shatter.

And set it back and looked around, relieved no one had seen.

But Dulce had seen. 

What did it all mean?

Fuck if she knew. 

Chapter Text

Seokjin had taken Nasimiyu on a horseback ride. He knew she was eager to ride –she lamented it frequently– but also that sadly there was not good riding to be had. He knew too his own desperation to get her out of the palace for a while because Namjoon had recommended a book to her and she agreed she wanted to read it and he was just not going to stand by as Namjoon ruined another engagement for him.

Was it fair to blame Namjoon for the time before?

Yes, well, he thought so. 

So he took Nasimiyu on a ride through the most appealing part of the city. He knew before he even looked at her face that it wasn’t the galloping she wanted to do, but it was all he had and he hoped she could recognize it was better than nothing. Things were clean here, there was a beautiful view of the sea from atop the wall in parts of the ride, and they even could stay mounted through the central park where usually horses weren’t allowed.

How frustrating to know it wasn’t enough. He could read it between the words when Nasimiyu thanked him on the ride back, noting what a pleasant city Priva was. He could see it on her face, hear it in her tone, she was disappointed.

“There’s good riding outside of the city,” he told her as they neared the stableyard on their return. “After the wedding, maybe we can take a trip there –you can get there in about a day of riding, two if you really want to see the valleys. I can show you.”

“Yes, it’s a good idea,” she agreed. Her easy agreement nearly shocked him off his horse. “I’d like to see it.” She would? And she’d be willing for him to take her there? After what he considered a boring failure of a morning, he couldn’t believe she’d sound so amenable.

Was Nasimiyu coming around on him?

But the joy of that possibility was cut short as they neared the stableyard and Seokjin heard the shouts. His father’s raised voice had an impressive quality to it, far reaching while still articulate. It meant everyone halfway near could hear exactly what he was saying.

“You ignore the rules! You overstep your position! Who do you think you are?”

Each barked sentence was punctuated with the thud of a strike.

“Out of the way!” Seokjin shouted at the staff annoyingly in his way as he tried to nudge his horse more quickly through the yard. It wouldn’t do any good to trample anyone, but the scene taking place on the other side of the grain storage building was clearly distracting everyone from the importance of getting out of the way of six royal riders entering the yard. Some looked shifty, some dazed, but all were slow to even notice his shout.

“What’s happening?” Nasimiyu asked.

“Stay here,” Seokjin ordered, not pausing long enough to see if she would obey. He slid from his horse, tossing the reins over Sorrel’s neck, and strode forward at a faster clip, arms out to part anyone in his way. He didn’t even touch anyone as servants dove out of his path so as not to interfere. He wanted to believe he cut an intimidating figure but likely everyone was just jumpy when one of their own was being so egregiously disciplined.

Seokjin didn’t even stop to judge the swings of his father or the words he shouted, just slid himself directly into Taehyung’s hunched body, twisting him away with an arm firm around his shoulders. 

He hadn’t counted on it, but King Dong-gun’s studded riding crop shifted to the side at the last second so that the next blow didn’t fall on Seokjin’s shoulder the way it might have. 

“Leave, Seokjin.”

“I think you’ve made your point, Father.”

“This doesn’t concern you.”

“Does it concern the entire yard?” he countered. Probably Seokjin looked more confident right now than he felt. Putting himself in between the two came easy, instinctual, but facing off against his own father did not. King Dong-gun was never brutal with Seokjin, but even a paternal strike in front of others was mortifying and would leave Seokjin fidgety for days. Not to mention the threats, the taunts, the shutting him out of things for disobeying. Confronting just how weak he was when it came to his father was a punishment in itself any time he pushed back on him, so he saved it for very important moments. Like this one.

King Dong-gun’s rage at being interrupted and scolded like that by his own son boiled over anyway. Seokjin was shocked. The riding crop whipped through the air and a second later Seokjin felt a thud on his arm, but his jacket was too thick and protected him from any actual pain. 

“You think you are King already! You and him both! He struts around here like he’s the prince, is that what you want?” King Dong-gun’s crop lashed out again but Taehyung was the one to catch it in his hand before it hit its mark –which would have been Seokjin’s face. 

Shocked by such words thrown so carelessly out in the open, Seokjin leaned close and warned in a low, serious voice, “Father, find yourself.”

King Dong-gun froze. Seokjin’s words were like a spell as the king went completely rigid, his hand dropping from the riding crop. His eyes closed and when they opened again, there was a completely different look behind them. Softer. Present. He looked between the two of them with confusion and Seokjin’s heart ached for him in that moment in spite of what he’d just interrupted.

“Go rest,” Seokjin suggested. “I’ll manage things here.”

“I…” King Dong-gun looked around the yard, at the servants who were intentionally not looking their way; at Nasimiyu who very intentionally was; at Jimin with his hand on Jungkook’s chest to hold him back from interfering with a scene Seokjin had specifically ordered him never to interfere with. And finally at Taehyung, mostly hidden behind Seokjin, King Dong-gun’s riding crop dangling from his bleeding hand.

Without another word, King Dong-gun left the yard, his stride conveying ‘get the fuck out of my way’ even more than his title. His two guards ran after him; Seokjin could feel the tension rolling off them, probably as they’d tried to figure out how to get their King out of a problematic situation without overstepping their position. 

Seokjin turned to Taehyung but his gaze traveled first to Nasimiyu. She had an eyebrow raised, like she was both surprised and not surprised by what she had just seen: King Dong-gun beating a servant. 

And what was Seokjin supposed to say to that? ‘He doesn’t usually do this,’ which she probably wouldn’t believe. ‘This is a special circumstance ,’ which she probably wouldn’t believe. 

“Uh…” Seokjin looked between the two of them.

Taehyung was still holding his stomach and sort of hunched over, but he patted Seokjin on the shoulder with his bloody, crop-holding hand, “Go on, I’m fine.”

“I’ll get the physician–”

“No–”

“Just wait a moment,” Seokjin said, and left him to go to Nasimiyu.

She didn’t say anything when he reached her, leaving him to scramble for words as he tried to explain, “That’s an unusual and specific occurrence–”

“Do you mean your father doesn’t often beat the servants?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Seokjin assured her. “It’s not the house we run here, this was a particular–”

“What did you say to him that made him freeze up like that? Perhaps I should know in case he ever tries to harm me or one of my–”

“He never will,” Seokjin said, interrupting her this time to keep her from thinking a moment longer on that. “I swear it. There were special circumstances here…” What could he say, that made it all right? It didn’t. He couldn’t say more. “I’m sorry you saw this but you don’t need to worry about it. Sometimes my father’s grief overwhelms him but I assure you an outburst like this is unusual.”

“His… grief.”

Nasimiyu glanced at her maid, as she often did, as if the maid would supply her the next thing to say. The maid who’d helped find the rabbit… curses, Seokjin felt like an ass not to remember her name. Pretty braid maid , that’s what she was in his head. Jimin, Jungkook, Hoesok and himself referred to her usually as ‘Nasimiyu’s favorite,’ since that much was obvious. That and that Nasimiyu’s other maids absolutely hated her. He knew her name, he just couldn’t remember it right now when he was flustered!

But he knew he sounded calm as he said, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make sure the boy is tended to, but he is not badly injured, just shocked by such an unusual occurrence.”

“Yes, it must be frightening to be on the receiving end. He saved you from meeting the same fate, it looked like to me.”

He didn’t know what to say. He honestly didn’t even know what he was so afraid of in this moment because obviously Nasimiyu was probably going to see more of these moments when his father was so overcome with grief and regret and heartbreak that it bubbled over into violence. Probably she was even going to notice that it most often focused on specific individuals. 

“In time you will understand more about the burdens and grief my father carries. I can promise you it will never be directed at you or any of your staff. Now if you’ll excuse me, please rest, and um, thank you for joining me on the ride.” His hands floundered a moment as he shuffled, briefly overwhelmed with his own next steps. He was feeding her bullshit; what he’d just said meant absolutely nothing. She would come away from this confused. 

He would tell her more in time. Once he felt like they understood each other and were committed and connected –at least by their legal marriage but hopefully before that or at least he prayed not long after– he dreamed of unburdening his heart to her. All the stress, all the secrets, all the grief, he could pour it out into her lap and she’d just stroke his hair and embrace him and navigate it all with him. His insides were all jumbled right now from the adrenaline of this moment but she could soothe him–

The desperation of his own brief moment of want froze him, not too differently than his father had shown a moment before. He looked at Nasimiyu’s face and tried to fit her into that image of comfort. He tried. She would be so beautiful looking down at his head in her lap. She had long, delicate fingers that would card beautifully through his hair. Her strength was obvious, he was learning that more each week; if anyone could bear the weight of the crown, and help him endure his, he was believing more by the day that could be her.

The image with Nasimiyu was a still frame though. A painting, beautiful, staged. He couldn’t see the connection yet, the soft cushion between them that would let him feel like he could unburden. He might never, he understood. Nothing about her so far seemed as if she wanted a husband like that, someone with the emotions and struggles and weaknesses Seokjin saw in himself. She seemed to want someone strong, brave, masculine, firm. Men like that didn’t cry about dead mothers and lost brothers and difficult fathers and the weight of a privileged birth with their heads in their wife’s lap. 

He dashed the worries about it right now. Just because he couldn’t see it yet didn’t mean he and Nasimiyu couldn’t become that in time. Maybe his impression of her so far was as wrong as he hoped hers was about him. For now, he left her to whatever thoughts this episode conjured, and hoped he’d be better prepared to explain it away later. Somehow. But surely she must understand that a royal king would sometimes have to use a heavy hand to manage… whatever Taehyung had done… a strict ruler was to be expected!

Seokjin strode away, knowing before he turned that Taehyung would disobey his command to wait. The man did whatever he pleased, rarely what was expected of him. Which was probably exactly what had set this off. How many times did Seokjin have to remind him not to make a target of himself, not to stand out, not to do anything that put him in the path of the king?!

“Where is he?” Seokjin asked the nearest servants, trusting they would unfortunately know exactly who he meant. It wasn’t any better for Seokjin to always be chasing after him when this happened, but what could he do about it?

“I’ll go,” Jungkook offered, stepping into Seokjin’s path. It was probably Jimin’s suggestion before he set out to find an appropriate physician since Seokjin calling the royal one for a servant would raise the eyebrows it was supposed to avoid.

Seokjin dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand and continued in the direction the other stable staff had pointed, because he had things he needed to say to Taehyung anyway. The frustration about his relationship with Nasimiyu blended together with the adrenaline of the moment he’d interrupted and nearly being struck in the face by his own father. His perfect features would have been ruined by that riding crop! But Taehyung had saved him from that at the expense of his hand and it was Seokjin’s duty to recognize that act of kindness –as well as whatever act of stupidity had caused this whole thing to happen.

Taehyung sat by the well in the far back corner of the stableyard, shirt and vest already off as he struggled to wind up the bucket. No one was helping him. Before Seokjin could take over, Jungkook nudged Taehyung out of the way.

The lecture Seokjin was prepared for died on his lips at the half-hearted smile Taehyung gave him. Split lip, a bruise already forming on his cheekbone, and red around a nostril made the smile pitiful. A hand or a boot must have preceded the use of the riding crop. Seokjin’s gaze dipped to Taehyung’s hand, a neat slice across the palm still bleeding where he’d taken the impact voluntarily. A regular riding crop wouldn’t have cut like that, but the decorative spikes on the king’s could apparently turn it into a rather brutal weapon. There were a few dotted lines on Taehyung’s arms as well, bleeding in spots. Seokjin nudged his arm to make him spin.

“Nah, I was wearing a vest,” Taehyung said, knowing what he was looking for. The faint scars of a particularly bad previous encounter were faded and shiny on his sweaty back, but otherwise his skin was just flushed. Probably that’s why King Dong-gun had moved onto other measures, supported by Taehyung admitted, “Pissed him off. Nicer material than what a stablehand should be wearing, you know? But my shirt is ruined,” he lamented, as if the cheap torn fabric in his un-injured hand was more to mourn than his own torn skin.

“What happened?” Seokjin sighed. He tried to find the energy to scold but failed again. Jungkook set the bucket of water on the edge of the well and Taehyung dipped his discarded shirt to use as a rag. 

Again with the cocky grin as Taehyung admitted, “I went inside again… I shouldn’t have been there and he caught me–”

“In my mother’s room?”

Taehyung’s mouth twisted and then pursed, puffing his upper lip up like he’d done since he was a little boy to evade punishment with a cute face. He’d forgotten to stop doing it once he grew up, probably because it still seemed to work for him. 

“You can’t go in there,” Seokjin said, doing his best to keep his voice calm. 

“I didn’t think he’d catch me–”

“Even if he doesn’t catch you, you can’t go in there,” Seokjin said again. “You can’t be skulking about the palace at all. You’re a stablehand. Your place is in the stables.”

The dismissive huff from Taehyung gave Seokjin shivers. It recalled a time when Taehyung was younger during which he absolutely refused to follow the rules. Seokjin could understand why he’d be bitter and angry and acting out, but it had been to his own detriment! He’d been sent off to work somewhere else and Seokjin had thought he’d never see the boy again –only to himself make the case to bring him back years later when the horrible working conditions Taehyung was in reached his ears. He convinced his father the servant boy would remember his place but–

“Every time you do that, you’re risking everything.”

“Everything I have? Or everything you have?” Taehyung asked.

Seokjin paused. It wouldn’t do him any good to respond emotionally, especially when his blood was still running hot from the encounter. 

Jungkook’s hand landed heavily on Taehyung’s shoulder. He simply let it sit there, a wordless warning. Taehyung looked up at him and a silent conversation clearly took place. Jungkook’s lids lowered slightly and he shook his head. Taehyung’s smug grin slid into one with a little more humility. 

“I appreciate the things you do to keep me here, hyung,” Taehyung conceded, going back to wiping his arms. “I’m not trying to cause problems.”

“Would you still rather be here than somewhere else?” 

“Yes.”

“That’s a question, not a threat, don’t look at me like I’m threatening you,” Seokjin insisted. “I understand how frustrating it is to be here–”

“You have no idea,” Taehyung mumbled.

“Aish, don’t interrupt me,” Seokjin scolded. “It’s a risk to both of us to have you here. I’m doing my best to keep you safe here. You chose to work with the horses.”

Taehyung’s hair flopped as he nodded, “I like working with horses. I just wish the riding didn’t suck.”

“I can transfer you to the stable at the country house.”

“The maids there are all old and unfuckable,” Taehyung scowled. “I don’t want to ride horses more than I want to ride women.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes. Even in the face of pain, Taehyung was so… Taehyung.

“If you want to stay here, you have to follow the rules. The same rules that apply to every servant in this house.”

“I know I know…”

“It’s a total coincidence I returned in time. What if I hadn’t? You’d be in worse shape than you are! It draws attention to you. We don’t keep disobedient servants around, so why will we tolerate it for you? And to go into the Queen’s rooms–”

“He only saw me because he was going in. Usually I don’t get caught–”

“You can’t go in there!” Seokjin shouted, finally losing patience. 

“You can.”

“Yes, I can because I’m the prince, but I don’t!”  

“Not ever?”

“No,” Seokjin said. “And any other servant would be flogged out of the palace for it.”

“I did get flogged.”

“But you kept your position. And you keep doing it! Stop going in there or I’ll have to move you. I do my best to make life as good as I can for you but you can’t throw it in my face. You have to follow the rules. Yes, you risk a great deal for me but you risk more for yourself!”

“A country house with no one to fuck,” Taehyung tried to joke.

“Death!” Seokjin cried. “You will be dead. I cannot save you from dead. Do you understand that? You are lucky to be alive at all, and lucky to be here where I can keep an eye on you and know that you are well fed and absurdly well clothed for your position, in a city full of beautiful women eager to fuck.”

“Jimin bought that for me,” Taehyung frowned.

“But I paid for it,” Seokjin countered. “Do you understand what I’m saying? You can’t keep doing this. You have the most to lose here. What am I going to tell my father when he’s slept this off and wants to know what the fuck you were doing–”

“You don’t have to curse at me,” Taehyung grumbled.

“Apparently I do to get it through your head! If you listened the first dozen times I told you the rules, I wouldn’t even have to yell! I was calm back then! You aren’t here as a favor to me ! I thought this was the right thing to do!”

“It is.” Taehyung’s voice was getting lower and softer with each response. He glanced at Jungkook again, who was clearly intentionally pretending not to listen to this conversation more than he had to. He always got awkward when people got yelled at, particularly Taehyung. What did Taehyung expect? Jungkook and Jimin and Hoseok and Yoongi were all going to tell him the same thing: you are lucky to be alive, stop pushing your luck.

“I can’t obviously play favorites with servants,” Seokjin continued more quietly. “So answer me: what do I tell my father about this?”

Taehyung wadded up the bloody wet rag in his fist and looked to the side like he wasn’t paying attention at all. Seokjin waited. 

“Tell him I’m an idiot. I went for a walk and got confused and opened the wrong door,” Taehyung said. “Tell him you beat me senseless to make sure I don’t fuck up like that again and I remembered my place and how grateful I am to you both for allowing me to work in the stables despite my background.”

Seokjin hated the monologue. Hated every word of it. It wasn’t his fault! He was doing the best he could given all the forces at play. So why did he carry so much guilt about it all? There were people to blame for all of this but he wasn’t one of them!

“Thank you,” Seokjin said, because it was the proper thing to say, and he just wanted the conversation to be over and the problem to be solved and for Taehyung to stop putting him in this position. “And… thank you for catching the crop.”

Some of that smugness returned to Taehyung’s grin as he said, “Had to do it. Your pretty face is your best asset and you need all the help you can get right now in love, huh?” The irony of Taehyung saying that to him –Taehyung who was so objectively pretty that noble ladies flustered and tripped when he took their horses, Taehyung who had inherited all the best features from his beautiful ladies’ maid mother and only the best from his father, Taehyung who kept his nails short and clean, his hair brushed, and his clothes nice so that he was constantly mistaken for a noble instead of common staff. 

Mistaken for a noble. 

“This isn’t working,” Seokjin sighed, shaking his head. 

“What isn’t?”

“You can’t be here right now,” he continued. “The risk right now is too high. Nasimiyu saw my father doing that and was clearly horrified –now what do I say that doesn’t make it sound like he just runs around beating servants– I can’t let you mess this up for me, Taehyung. Not when you aren’t even happy here.”

Taehyung’s brow knit as he stood, meeting Seokjin eye to eye as he insisted, “I am happy here! It was just a joke, you don’t need help–”

“It’s not your fault the part doesn’t fit you. Working with horses…”

“I like working with horses,” he argued. “Any other position I’d suck at. I’m sorry I caused a problem, ok? I’ll behave while things are um… delicate with your bride…”

Seokjin leveled a look at him.

Taehyung just widened his eyes, sliding fluidly into the sweet, soft, pleading role as he begged, “Please don’t send me away, hyung. I like it here.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Seokjin corrected. Because he didn’t, that was true. The stress was constant but Taehyung was a likable man, they’d even been secret playmates when they were small children. Only three years separated them. And they had painfully much in common, a shared loss of their mothers, a shared love of animals, maybe some other shared things it would be better of that they didn’t share but– 

“What if I find a place for you to go in Paloma?” he suggested.

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed, he hesitated before pointing out, “That’s a long way away.”

“But you said your dream was to raise horses there.”

“That was before I got to know the… delights Priva has to offer,” Taehyung joked. At Seokjin’s sigh he added, “The horses are world famous and supposedly the riding is the best in the world too but I don’t think the cities have much to them.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of fuckable women in Paloma.”

“Do you know any?”

“I don’t know anyone from Paloma,” Seokjin scoffed, which Taehyung also obviously knew. “But if I can find you a position as an apprentice with a horse breeder… it might be a happier life for you.”

“Away from you and all of my friends,” Taehyung pointed out skeptically. “It’s exile..”

“It’s security.”

“From your father? You manage him–”

“Or from Prince Hamisi,” Seokjin pointed out. 

That shut Taehyung right up. At least the stablehand had behaved while Prince Hamisi and Princess Simisola were in the palace but he seemed to not understand that their daughter still was, and she did not seem like a stupid, ignorant player. Her parents stakes were her stakes.

“It’s a big, ugly, dangerous game, Taehyung. You don’t know the rules of it. You don’t know the players. It’s important that no one thinks you’re in the game. I don’t want to be in it but I don’t have a choice, and neither will you.”

Taehyung nodded silently, staring at the ground, effectively curbed. 

“We both have everything to lose–”

“I just wanted to see her picture,” Taehyung mumbled. 

Seokjin’s heart twisted for the young man.

“I know.”

“I get it when you’re pissed at me for spying on balls or stealing wine or whatever, I know I’m not supposed to be in the palace, I get it. But I just wanted to see her picture. I was too young when she died. I don’t remember her face and when I go too long without seeing it, I forget what she looks like.”

“I know…” It wasn’t the first time Taehyung had told him this, though usually when they were drunk on wine. Seokjin had once tried to “borrow” the painting of his mom and her handmaid to get a copy made, but his father had caught him and it had been one of the only times Seokjin had truly felt his wrath. That room was not to be entered, nothing was to be touched, and even Seokjin wasn’t safe from the consequences.

“I’ll see if I can figure out a way to get a copy made,” he offered, not sure he could but desperate to offer something hopeful. “Just promise me you’ll stay out.”

Taehyung’s face lit up, “Yes, all right, I promise! And you promise not to send me to Paloma yet.”

“That’s two promises from me and one from you.”

“No, stay out of that bedroom and obey the rules,” Taehyung pointed out, counting on his fingers.

“And you have to stop calling me hyung.”

“The others call you hyung. Jimin does. Jungkook does.”

“Yeah but…”

“So it’ll be weirder if I’m your friend and I don’t,” Taehyung insisted.

“All right, fine. Just behave. Please? Here comes the physician. Behave. And make sure he cleans it well so you don’t get infected or anything.”

“I always behave,” Taehyung complained. Even Jungkook rolled his eyes that time, and smacked his lips, and followed Seokjin as Jimin handed the physician over. At least Seokjin’s initial assessment turned out to be true: Taehyung wasn’t badly hurt, though he was definitely going to be bruised and sore for a while. 

Seokjin wished he could hide under the care of a physician right now but instead he needed to check on his father and figure out what else he might need to say to Nasimiyu about it. Maybe it was better to let her think King Dong-gun just beat servants sometimes. Maybe that’s what she’d tell her father and they could just think he was a typical brutal ruler. It was better to keep attention focused on his father, right? Instead of letting scrutiny turn to Taheyung. Taehyung needed to follow the rules, but it wasn’t like the whole situation was his fault. He hadn’t asked to be born into his life any more than Seokjin. 

Honestly the idea of escaping it all to live with horses and a nice girl in Paloma didn’t sound like such a bad thing. Maybe Taehyung could stay here and Seokjin could go?

Ha. It was a joke. 

The king beat his servants. It wasn’t shocking to learn this but it was good because it was one more strike in the column of why he had to go. Only an asshole beat his servants. Only a shitbag needed to. The only time a servant needed physical discipline is if they were actually a criminal and then fine, handle it appropriately, but from what Nasimiyu and Dulce could gather, the stablehand was beaten simply for being in the palace. Not an offense worthy of beating.

This mattered to Nasimiyu because she saw another level of her path to victory paved. Servants who were well fed and properly paid and didn’t live in fear of being beaten over trivial things were happier; she could offer them that. She would . It would be easy to win the support of a household to her own ways when she provided them a much better way of life. Once the river started flowing that way, his own servants might help row the boat!

Her smug feelings about this left her unprepared for the next time she actually saw King Dong-gun. She did not often run into him; he seemed to keep to himself by and large, even taking many of his meals separately now that Prince Hamisi was gone. Not seeing him made it easier to hold onto that feeling of superiority detached to a real person, but when she happened to cross his path in one of the gardens several days later, her heart leapt into her throat in a way she would not admit to. 

King Dong-gun was no threat to her. He wouldn’t hurt her. She was the princess, destined to marry his own son in only a few short months–

Had he ever beaten Seokjin like that? She paused, directly in the path of the king, as this thought came to mind. Her parents would never have laid a hand to her like that; one nanny who had slapped her as a child had promptly disappeared. A man who beat his servants might also beat his son, especially one who was probably as infuriating a child as she suspected Seokjin had been –based on very little, she would admit but–

But obviously the King wouldn’t dare lay a hand on her. She’d be his daughter-in-law!

Ah, but that didn’t stop other fathers-in-law, and he was the King of Yeonhalbi! Who would stop him? 

Her father, obviously. Except he was far away, and would be further away once she was married, and if it came down to “stopping the king from beating my daughter” and “biding our time no matter what until time to execute the plan,” she already knew where her father would settle.

Seokjin? To Seokjin’s credit, she couldn’t imagine him being all right with his father raising a hand against her, but before she’d seen him intervene with the stable boy, she wouldn’t have expected he would actually do anything about it. What, make some jokes? But he had actually put himself right in the way of the next blow to shield a servant . Wouldn’t he do as much for her, his wife? And it had worked, at least in the moment. 

The idea of relying on her husband for protection left a bad taste in her mouth. So she strode forward to meet the King head on; he’d turned down a side path and was blocked from view by hedges. She spun around it, impulsively deciding to have a seat with the king and talk about whatever came to mind. 

But King Dong-gun wasn’t sitting alone. He sat in the middle of a cushioned iron bench, arms spread along the back with empty space on either side. 

Caddy-corner was Seokjin’s not-friend Namjoon, leaning forward in a small, uncushioned seat with his elbows on his knees as he monologued. He gestured a lot when he spoke, Nasimiyu had noticed, and his whole face got drawn into it when he was saying something. It made it really obvious when he didn’t agree with someone else, because his face would suddenly stonewall and he’d lean away, shaking his head even if he was smiling, like he couldn’t believe what you’d said. She’d seen him have several conversations like that with Seokjin, though they’d changed the conversation when she approached. She didn’t get the sense they liked each other very much and yet then they’d pretend to get along in front of her. 

To be honest, it reminded her of her relationship with her sisters…

Right now she seemed to have interrupted Namjoon explained an economics policy. King Dong-gun was listening, face a slight scowl and gaze on the ground, but he glanced up at her arrival.

And then to her absolute shock, the King’s face lit up.

“Ah!” he cried, throwing his hands out, “Princess, how nice to see you.”

Namjoon stopped in the middle of his sentence and looked at her and he looked annoyed at her interruption. Him! Annoyed! When he was in her (soon to be) palace! She now felt torn between the instinct to run away from the King looking so pleased to see her and stay exactly where she was to thwart this barely-noble’s rudeness at her appearance. He hadn’t been so rude before!

Next thing though Namjoon shook his head and laughed, “Your Majesty, you can’t hide behind the princess to avoid discussing these issues.”

It was wild that a little lordling would speak so plainly to the king. Nasimiyu half-expected that to be the next thing that set the King off and she was going to witness another beating, but this time with no Seokjin in sight to interrupt it. If he even would for Namjoon.

But the King laughed loudly, “Ah, you see through me so easily, Namjoon? I’ve heard all you have to say, you don’t need to repeat yourself, it bores me. I’ll tell you that plainly.”

“But the policies–”

“Not the policies, they’re worth considering, some of them. It’s the way you go on about them. You have no charm about it. Your presentation skills are lacking.”

Well, Nasimiyu wasn’t going anywhere now. To be perfectly honest, this was amusing. Namjoon’s expression was amusing to her as he clearly struggled between deference to his king and a strong disagreement at such characterization. Nasimiyu lifted her hand to her mouth to barely hide her laugh.

King Dong-gun noticed it too though and moved on in such a jovial fashion that he seemed like a different person, “You would understand if you sat through it, Princess! Some men are born to write and some to speak and some to rule. Namjoon here, brilliant mind, but best used in thinking thoughts to hand to others to sell.”

Namjoon let out a deep sigh and shook his head, “I took that suggestion to heart.” It clearly and obviously pained him to say this. “I had Mindeulle write that letter on–”

“Oh yes! I read that one. Rather liked it. She has a good hand, too.” 

Namjoon let his face fall into his hand. The King laughed. Nasimiyu couldn’t help it, she laughed too.

“I’d be interested in hearing what the pitch is,” she offered with a poorly restrained smile. She barely knew him, but his frustration felt both performative and sincere in just an amusing way, like they’d suddenly decided to put on a play just to amuse her. “Let me judge whether you are charming or a bore.”

“I’m the King, I’ve made my judgment,” King Dong-gun bellowed with obvious humor. What was going on?! Nasimiyu felt like she’d walked into a bizarre alternate world. Was this king really the same man who’d whipped a servant with a riding crop just days ago? She knew one man could be both but still, the difference was remarkable.

“Then let me learn from you both –what is a noble from Therepin writing boring missives on?” she teased. Namjoon’s crooked grin and head tilt seemed far more charming than boring. “And how does a King prefers such matters be proposed?”

“Short and to the point and after I’ve eaten well,” answered King Dong-gun. “But not too well or I’ll sleep. There’s no room for poetry in politics.”

Namjoon’s smile widened as he pressed, “So you do like my writing?”

“It’s not for politics! Your sister’s was better but she’s got enough brains to stay out of it, and here you go diving right in.”

“You’re the king of an entire country with diverse and far-reaching principalities. You can’t be expected to know about every on-the-ground thing that could improve our lives. It’s my duty to tell you about the ones we see in Therepin–”

“Yes, every single one?” the King demanded. “Pick your battles, Namjoon. You may have all the hours of the day to write those novels you send me but I’m only one man to read them.”

“Isn’t Seokjin helping? I thought he’d be involved–”

“Watch yourself.” The King’s warning was low and steady and sharp. Nasimiyu wasn’t surprised that Namjoon’s posture instantly stiffened. It was all jokes and laughs until then; obviously the King was comfortable with a great deal of familiarity with this distant distant relative, but there was still a line. And apparently that line was Seokjin.

This was fascinating to Nasimiyu. She found herself eager to learn more about this unlikely relationship between the two, and how Seokjin fit into it, and also how Miss Mindeulle’s and Namjoon’s letters differed. Someone who wrote well could be an asset to her someday. Something who thought well could, too. 

And someone who wrote poetry and looked like that …

Nasimiyu cleared her throat and sat up higher in the seat she’d taken opposite the table from Namjoon and the King as servants suddenly appeared with tea and small cakes. 

“I believe the Princess wished to hear about one of my proposals–”

“Yes, which? There are so many, we’ll be here all day. Well, I won’t. You have until I’ve finished my tea and then I have other things to do.” He waved his hand, unwilling to elaborate.

Nasimiyu smiled politely at Namjoon and said, “I don’t know what the extent of your proposals are. I’m coming into everything so fresh. Perhaps you can share about the thing you are most passionate about?”

“The list is too damn long!” King Dong-gun laughed. “He’ll be reading you union treaties for royal carriage horses and proposals for protected rights for the crabs under your feet in the docks before you know it!”

“It’s… I…” Namjoon looked oddly flattered by this teasing, and insisted, “I have written some proposals on conservation efforts, that’s true– protections for important habitats and the animals within them. Do you know that the Melestrom Crab has two claws, and one can be removed without harming the animal in any way and ground up to use as medication that treats infection– the trials are better than anything we’ve seen to date! And the claws grow back! But the lands are being irrigated for farming just on the Privan side of the border, and the crabs are being cooked in food. In stews! And way overfished, we’re going to drive them to extinction before we even fully understand the medicinal properties of their unique chitin.”

This was the closest Nasimiyu had ever come to orgasm just listening to someone speak before. That was the truth. The fact that Namjoon was so passionate about protecting wetlands and medicinal crabs was a riot and yet so educated , and the way he articulated the rationale and his suggestions for how to balance the needs of the fishermen with the protection of the lands was so refined –and it was just one topic! King Dong-gun wasn’t exaggerating, because while he did in fact leave after many more jokes about the crabs, teasing her that she would need to be firm when she was done or Namjoon would keep talking to her sleeping form, Namjoon just transitioned without her even noticing it to the plight of unprotected trade routes, and the unfair taxes on the middle class that were only increasing the wealth disparity, and then onto the importance of universal education in the other principalities.

“We have it in Marvono,” she immediately protested. “Don’t act like Therepin is the only aspirational principality, sir.”

“No no, I’m not saying that. But what about Rinsk? Destin? Paloma?”

“I notice you don’t mention Sartia. Is it because you don’t sound very Therepin, sir? You sound Sartian.”

“Do I?” He sat up straight, tugging at the cuffs of his jacket. It made him look nervous. They were a little too short, she noticed. Poor tailoring. 

“Your propositions so far are missing the conservative religious overtones I’d expect from Therepin.”

Namjoon sighed and rolled his eyes, “We aren’t all like that.”

“No?”

“I was educated in Sartia,” Namjoon admitted. “I have family there too, just not the noble ones, but I could still make it into the best schools. You’ve caught me there. But Sartian education combined with Therepin’s ideas of fairness and practical law and morality, the critical component of humanity in rule–”

“So long as that morality aligns with your religion,” she scoffed. “Should we all bow to a god only you can speak with?”

Namjoon waved his hand at her, “I don’t speak to any god. The foundation of the legislation is good –a group, not a single ruler, can’t you see that it’s actually a step away from monotheistic religious rule?”

“Oligarchy is no different if your leaders are all looking at rules that benefit them and theirs and their own beliefs.”

Namjoon’s mouth was open, he was smiling, but his eyes looked a little pissed.

“Next you’ll propose democracy, hm?” she taunted. “No, because you know that won’t work either, you still wind up with money making the rules.  Your oligarchy doesn’t replace the king, it just puts a fictitious god in place of a real man who thinks–” Fuck. She broke off, realizing the very almost treasonous thing she had almost said. “In theory,” she quickly added. “Obviously I’m not speaking of King Dong-gun or a replacement to his rule, which I assume you are also not sincerely proposing to the future Queen of Yeonhalbi.”

Namjoon’s face was looking very sweaty as he quickly assured her, “No. No, I’m not– I’m protecting the crabs, aren’t I? Oligarchy, you’re right, it’s not different than having a king, that’s not what I’m trying to replace. A fair and just ruler, that’s… I just want to promote the systems that work for Therepin and those that work in Sartia. Universal education, minimum wages, a basic cost of living to all souls–”

“You don’t have that in Therepin,” she countered. “Marvono has a minimum wage, though arguably not as well enforced as it ought to be, but Therepin does not. Sartia has universal education.”

“Therepin does too.”

“Through religious schools. The secular ones are private and costly.”

His eyes narrowed. His mouth opened and she could trace the pressure of his tongue sliding along his cheek.

“How do you know so much about Therepin?”

Ah. Ah ha ha. Nasimiyu wanted to crow with joy. He was impressed . That’s what that face was, she was sure of it. 

“Because I am a well-educated princess who is betrothed to the future king of Yeonhalbi,” she answered with all the grandeur she could muster. “It is my duty to know these things. I will read your missives but don’t think you will sneak theocracy into our rule. The king is above and does not answer to whatever gods you worship, even if you are free to do so privately.”

“I’m not even religious,” he insisted. Then laughed, “Uh, don’t tell my mother that, though, she’s still holding out hope I’ll come around. Anyway, it’s your husband's job to worry about most of these things. Isn’t the queen in charge of… balls? Charities?”

If he was trying to piss her off, it would almost work, except she thought he might actually be teasing.

“The queen's duty is between me and my husband, not for you to dictate. In the meantime, I’ll read those missives you and your sister sent. Have someone bring them to me.”

“You don’t even have any power yet,” he pointed out.

“More than you do, don’t be impertinent. Besides, my husband and I will be working together towards the kind of rule we want to have once King Dong-gun is ready to retire. I intend to be as involved as I can be until then.” He didn’t look impressed anymore. “Do you want my attention or not?” she snapped.

“Yes. I want your attention.”

It was not only her imagination, was it? That pause in the wake of his sentence? 

No, he must realize it too, because he cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably and rushed on, “I will have the papers sent–”

“Your sister’s too.” I want to know what a woman related to you is capable of as well.  

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“And Lord Namjoon. Don’t roll your eyes at me again. It’s rude.” She stood and turned her back so he wouldn’t see the expression on her face, even though it meant she missed his.

“Yes, Madam.”

Nasimiyu waved over her shoulder and strode off, mouth pursed into a tight line. Damn, listening to his mind work was really something! And looking like that! A girl could learn to love poetry where a king might not, if it was written by a mind like that. She couldn’t wait to see what his writing would actually be like and hoped she would not be disappointed by what might be the first of many, many things she was going to read by this uppity barely-nobleman. He better not try to get familiar with her like he did the king though, or she’d put him right back in his place. And probably enjoy doing it.

Nasimiyu’s good mood at learning that the King might be the sort of noble who beat servants –a common type, and not likely one to be well loved by his staff– had lasted a few days, but a week later she was sour again for reasons beyond Dulce’s comprehension. Maybe it didn’t help that Dulce wasn’t the type to ask what was wrong anyway, but usually Nasimiyu was quick to volunteer whatever was on her mind without prompting.

Except this evening that meant just snapping at Dulce to go get her something “edible” from the kitchen because the oranges the other maid brought were full of seeds that were too tiny to pluck out and got stuck in her teeth. Dulce figured the tantrum was related to her barely touching her food early. She hadn’t liked it.

What a luxury to be able to throw a tantrum just because you were hungry because you didn’t like the food. Dulce found herself once again having to ignore a privileged part of Nasimiyu that she couldn’t help but honestly! Dulce found herself wondering how many wars had been fought because the nobles pulling the strings didn’t know how to be a little bit hungry or just eat what they were given and instead got all temperamental just because their tummy was grumbly. Once you had to live with real hunger, you learned to deal with it. She couldn’t imagine what her parents would have done if she’d consistently turned her nose up at the food they put on the table.

 Even though she had an assignment right now –”get me something actually edible”-- Dulce found her mind wandering all over the place. If she tried to pinpoint the origin of her foggy mental state, it had probably begun that morning when she finally had some time and decided to read those letters she had stolen, the ones from the prince’s previous fiance whose existence she had still not mentioned to Nasimiyu. Not for any reason, just like she didn’t actually have a reason not to have read the letters yet, she just… hadn’t. 

But she’d read just the opening of one 

‘My dearest Seokjinnie’

And immediately felt kind of nauseated. Women really wrote like that to men? Weird. Awkward. Embarrassing. 

So she’d put it away and she hadn’t exactly been thinking about it all day but her focus had just seemed kind of loose the rest of the day. And despite how urgent Nasimiyu had ordered her off, fetching a snack for a hangry princess was not a consuming, fulfilling task.

Dulce’s mother had written letters to her father when they were courting. She remembered finding one when she was a little girl and reading it with a mixture of enrapture and horror. How odd to think of her parents as young and not yet in love. Later those words haunted her–

Oh. Maybe that was why she hadn’t read the letters yet. 

That made sense, even if the situations weren’t quite the same. Still, Dulce liked clear, obvious explanations. She liked her behavior to be practical because she was practical. For instance she didn’t tell Nasimiyu about the prior engagement because it would probably piss Nasimiyu off but there was no reason Nasimiyu should know about it without spies, so she’d just passive aggressively take this secret out on Seokjin without being able to directly ask him about it, and they’d slide backwards after the horse ride through the city the other day had seemed like a real step forward. 

For Nasimiyu. Which meant kind of a baby step. But a step! A mouse step. One little hop from a rabbit.

Dulce frowned at the jumpiness of her own thoughts as she reached the kitchens, largely quiet this late at night. Yes, the upsetting connection to the letter with her parents must be the cause of that. Maybe she was hungry too? Oh no, was Nasimiyu’s privilege rubbing off on her? Because she was well fed now, would she get all bitchy and sensitive too if she didn’t eat her fill at a meal? 

Just to make sure, she would avoid getting a snack for herself and refuse if Nasimiyu tried to get her to eat with her. She didn’t need to become dependent on food other than in a don’t-literally-starve-to-death way.

Unsurprisingly the kitchen was not quite empty. The occupants weren’t even that surprising to her as she moved towards the source of light to find the night staff: not only was it the cook Yoongi, not only was he not alone, but the prince himself was at the counter with an apron and a knife while his bodyguard and his valet and his tutor and that obviously troublesome stablehand lounged about. 

“Watch out for Tuga,” the stablehand called, pointing down. He must mean it for her, because no one else was walking, but Tuga the Tortoise was nowhere near Dulce’s feet. It was in the corner of the room, bashing his open mouth against a head of lettuce. The stablehand still looked a bit rough in the face after that beating from the king, but he didn’t seem to have suffered greatly from the ordeal as he lounged with his ass on the kitchen counter.

“Ah!” the prince greeted as if he had been waiting for her. “You’re here!”

Dulce pulled back a step, confused by that as she fumbled a curtsy the way an overwhelmed servant ought to, “Um… Your majesty.”

“‘Your royal highness,’” the tutor corrected.

“I don’t think royal address matters when he’s chopping onions in the kitchen like a scrub,” the bodyguard snickers seconds before opening his mouth so wide and shoving a fistful of food into it like a toddler. Dulce was stunned by the way the food bulged in his cheek. If she’d never met him before in her life, she would know by that simple act that he was a commoner and had known hunger. What was more surprising was that now he worked for the royal prince and hadn’t been forced to eat with better etiquette. Nasimiyu had taught her better manners and it had been boring as fuck. 

“I came to fetch food for the princess,” she said with another awkward curtsy. Maybe they were thinking the same thing about her and her curtsy. She could actually curtsy very well, thank you . But she’d heard people noticed her manners were a little too sharp and intimidating so she was trying to appear less confident. Although truth be told the wrong address for the prince was just a personal thrill.

“She didn’t like the dinner,” the cook sighed, shaking his head. “Her plate came back barely touched.”

Dulce admitted, “She didn’t. Or the oranges. Too many seeds.”

“They’re terrible,” he agreed. “Therepin is trying to make the seeds smaller but it’s worse, you can’t spit them out like good Marvono oranges.”

“Do you think she’ll like this?” the prince asked, motioning to a plate settled on the counter between the bodyguard and the stableboy. 

Dulce looked at it, not bothering to hide the uncertainty from her face.

“What …. Is it?”

“Well it’s–”

“Your royal highness,” the tutor mumbled. But he seemed the only one bothered by her casual tone and address. She wanted to sound casual. A little dumb. Non-threatened.

But when he leaned close and beckoned her with two fingers while licking red sauce off his lower lip, it was a little intimidating. She leaned instinctively away. 

He didn’t seem to notice and smiled as he explained, “I’m calling it–”

“No, let her name it,” the bodyguard suggested.

“Shut up, Jungkook,” the stablehand snickered. 

“Pizza,” the prince announced over them, with a flourish of his left hand. “It’s a baked simple crust with a tomato and oregano sauce on top, a layer of two kinds of melted cheeses, and then sliced sausage.”

Dulce looked at the concoction, if only not to look at the prince’s smiling face because he seemed so casual and happy and friendly about this weird thing he had just made. She looked at it.

“She doesn’t like it,” the bodyguard started to laugh.

The cook waved his hand, “It’s actually better than it looks.”

“It doesn’t look bad!” the prince protested. “Try it– hey!” The bodyguard had scooped up another piece of it to shove in his mouth, melted cheese leaving strings connecting his mouth and fingers.

“She doesn’t want it!”

“There’s another one almost ready,” Yoongi suggested, grabbing a mitt and a wooden tray. Dulce watched with non-zero interest as he slid the baking circle of food out of the oven grill and onto the wooden plate, then handed it to the prince who started to set it beside the other, then changed his mind, lifted it over Dulce’s head, and set it instead on the other side of her and the valet.

“Careful,” the valet laughed, “What if you dropped it on her?”

“I would never! You think I’m so clumsy?!”

“When you’re showing off,” the tutor grumbled.

Dulce watched with alarm as the Prince seemed to get very offended about this, his ears and neck quickly turning a bright red as he demanded, “Who am I showing off for? Hm? We’re all friends here!”

“I meant in the kitchen…?” the tutor suggested. “You get a strange energy in here. I’ve said it before.”

Dulce felt like she had walked into the middle of some stupid comedy show at a tavern. The way they all sat around speaking casually, the way they were letting the prince of Yeonhalbi play at inventing food that didn’t really look that interesting or remarkable, the way they let her walk right into the middle and changed the show to include her as if she’d hit her cue. This was not how a prince should act. He was an idiot, and these people were enabling, and this man didn’t stand a chance against the fate Nasimiyu had for him, the fate his own birth had bestowed upon him, whether to rule or be overthrown and killed. He was just some idiot who seemed happiest, from what she’d seen, when he was hanging out with the staff in the kitchen.

“Is there anything I can take for her?” she asked the cook, deciding to ignore everything else. 

“Not my pizza?” the prince asked, like a performer telling a joke, like he wanted a laugh.

Dulce didn’t give it to him, just admitted, “I don’t think she will be pleased with me bringing her an experiment. My apologies, um, your highness. Royal. Your royal highness.” 

“Ah, no respect,” he murmured. At her sharp inhale, his own face lit up, “No, not you! I meant– I don’t care about– I meant no respect for an artist and his craft.”

“You’re not an artist yet,” the cook said.

“I’m a work in progress. I’m learning.”

“We’re supposed to be learning Marvonesian food, not inventing that,” the cook gestured as he turned away. “Yes, I’ll make something else. She liked the quail risotto the other day, I already had some steeping for tomorrow but I can change the dinner menu… Dulce.”

She was confused by the way he said her name.

“Um, yes?”

“We have a few chefs who claim to be from Marvono here to make food tomorrow, a trial run. We can’t have another dinner like that one,” he said, clearly assuming she would know what he was talking about. Obviously she did. “But no one in the kitchen really knows Marvonesian food.”

“Oh.”

The valet laughed, “You have to actually ask your question, hyung. He wants to know if you can come try the food and tell us if it’s right.”

“Um…” This was suspicious. This was strange, wasn’t it?

“It was your idea to have trials,” Yoongi reminded her. 

“I’m not from Marvono,” she admitted. And then inexplicably added, “I’m from Paloma.”

Why? Why did she just volunteer that? A personal detail that might not matter but she still shouldn’t be giving those out! She wasn’t even thrilled they remembered her name, though she had learned by now it was considered incredibly rude to not learn the name of other staff. She liked to pretend not to remember anyone’s names sometimes. She wasn’t here to make friends and she certainly didn’t want to share intimate details, like where she was born.

It didn’t help that the prince and the stablehand looked immediately interested, the latter asking, “Is it true about the horses there?” while the former merely commented, “Oh, is that so? Paloma?”

“The horses are lovely and the riding is good,” she answered vaguely. 

“But you’ve lived in Marvono for a while, haven’t you? Long enough to become the Princess’ handmaid.”

“Well yes but… besides that I am not very good at um, tasting food.”

“Something wrong with your tongue?” the bodyguard asked, head tilting. He had such a baby face, it was easy to read his question at face value if you didn’t notice the glint of mischief in his eye. 

Well, Nasimiyu had told her to seduce someone.

“My tongue works just fine,” she assured him, lifting her nose the way Nasimiyu did, and therefore the way her lady’s maid should. “No complaints. I just don’t have discerning taste about food.”

“Discerning,” the tutor mumbled again. He reached forward to take the last slice of the pizza from the plate between the two and then shuffled backwards to lean against the wall. She eyed him, not liking the way he kept mumbling comments. But his whole face looked focused on his food as he groaned and said to the prince, “This is actually really good. I think it would be better if the part on the edge was bigger though so the cheese doesn’t slide off when you hold it up to bite.”

“Ah, more bread,” the stablehand agreed.

The valet too nodded, “Who doesn’t like more bread?”

“Yes, maybe the whole thing can be more bread, like more bread under it?” the bodyguard suggested. 

Just like that Dulce was briefly forgotten because apparently they were all very passionate about bread.

The prince waved his finger in the air as he nodded, and even though he had a mouthful of food, said, “Yes, ok, let’s try that. Do you like bread?” He looked at her when he asked it, hands poised on a bowl and a pile of flour, his chopped onions forgotten. 

“In Marvono they eat flatbread,” she answered.

His smile was absolutely disarming, “Ah, but you aren’t from Marvono! Do they eat bread in Paloma?”

“...Yes… but not with those things on it.”

“I don’t know anything about Paloman food,” Yoongi mused. He’d been busy in the background but now began to pile food on the cart again –several things Nasimiyu had liked so far including the quail risotto as mentioned. He was doing a good job positioning himself as the only cook Nasimiyu would want running the kitchen if he kept this up. 

“Me neither.”

“You don’t cook?” the valet asked. Dulce frowned, noting the way they all looked to her for an answer. Like they wanted to get to know her. She had no interest in that.

“No,” she answered simply. “I’m sorry I can’t wait for your experimental food, I need to perform my duty efficiently.” 

Oof, it sounded cold even to her. How odd to apologize for that to a prince! Shouldn’t he be angry about all these staff sitting around wasting time? But he just didn’t look or act like a prince in here, with his flour-streaked face and hands up to the elbows in dough and a splash of crushed tomato on the back of his neck somehow. 

“Will you take that one to the Princess?” Seokjin asked, only to hiss and shake his head, “No, it’s not quite good enough yet.”

“Does she like to experiment?” the bodyguard asked. “With food I mean–” He added, arching his eyebrow.

The string of language Seokjin let out was incoherent to Dulce. It was a different language, she was sure of it, but didn’t recognize it. The bodyguard looked pleased, but then complained when the prince shouted at him to go home already, and that it wasn’t his fault if his bed was cold and lonely and he wanted to stay here and make crude jokes but if he was going to be like that he could walk home right now.

“All right, all right, I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Not to me, to her!”

“I’m sorry for my um, joke,” the bodyguard grumbled, bobbing his head more like a curtsy than a bow. 

Dulce wasn’t surprised the bodyguard had made a joke a little too far for decency, but she did find it comforting that the prince had shut it down so instantly. No jokes about the princess, that was clear –at least not in front of her. How very… chivalrous male. Possessive, perhaps.

Dulce pretended not to get it and answered, “She only likes good food and she doesn’t really try new things often. It takes her time to get used to new things, even if they’re really good.”

She’d just meant to sound stupid about food and his dumb joke, but the speed with which the prince whipped around to her made her play back her own words.

“She just is slow for new things,” the prince repeated. “Yes, that’s just how some people are! Especially when there’s a lot of change at once. That’s why it’s so important we get the Marvonesian cook just right. It’s important for the princess to feel relaxed and safe and at home here. Food can be a real source of comfort.” Was he speaking to himself or Yoongi? Dulce wasn’t sure, but it just seemed genuine . It couldn’t be, right? He was the fucking royal prince of Yeonhalbi and yet he just seemed so completely out of his league trying to wow Nasimiyu, and the harder he tried, the worse he was going to do because that just wasn’t how it worked for her. 

But what could Dulce say? It wasn’t like she could give the prince advice on how to woo Nasimiyu. That wasn’t her place and it would be weird. It would be like playing with her food in a sort of fucked up way, right? She didn’t even want to think names for the prince and those closest to him, she definitely shouldn’t feel any sympathy for his struggles seducing the woman Dulce was fucking every few days. His struggles only mattered in that Nasimiyu needed to sell this romance so she wouldn’t look complicit when someone knocked him off.

Damn it was grim to think that while he was holding a plate of food out to her though, eyebrows tilted up as he asked,

“Will you try it before you go? Tell me what you think. The truth.”

“Um…”

If she kept saying “um” to play stupid and demure, it was going to become an actual vocal habit. How annoying.

“Come on, I care about your opinion,” he smiled at her. “I think you have good taste.”

Based on what? Based on nothing. He was trying to charm her. How stupid. What was he hoping to get out of talking to her like this? It wasn’t like the prince would earn affection from Nasimiyu for spending his late evening in the kitchen experimenting with food…

Would he? Dulce’s head tilted as she considered this. Actually, a noble doing normal shit sometimes did impress Nasimiyu because she was like that. But sometimes it didn’t! And Dulce realized she honestly couldn’t predict it. It was possible Nasimiyu wouldn’t give anything the prince did a chance, even if she’d be charmed by that same behavior in anyone else. Maybe Nasimiyu hated him simply because he stood between her and her goal. Or maybe Nasimiyu was trying to be like Dulce and harden her heart against what had to happen. Dulce couldn’t imagine having to pretend to fall in love with someone so you could kill them later and take everything they had. That was way more fucked up than anything she’d ever done. 

Was her hard heart towards the prince actually a sign Nasimiyu was just too soft for this whole scheme? 

Her parents would see it through no matter what. Either way, the man was fucked. At least if Nasimiyu genuinely fell in love with him, he could have some months or even years of happiness before he met his demise. Even though that happiness would be built on a lie and a ticking clock, that was better than a cold hard truth–

No! What was Dulce thinking? Of course it wasn’t. The cold hard truth was better, always better. 

And yet she took a slice of the “pizza” because she felt cruel to say no, like saying no was equivalent to stomping on the head of an innocent rabbit. He might be lying, or he might just be stupid, but Dulce had no reason to be cruel to him. Yet.

She took a bite, wincing as hot cheese burned the roof of her mouth.

“Ah, it’s too hot!” he gasped, pulling it out of her hand and away. The cheese stayed connected between her teeth and the pizza, trailing comically far so she looked like a fish on a line–

And Dulce laughed. She clapped her hand to her mouth, abruptly ripping off the cheese and then opened her mouth to blow around the piece of food, inelegant but critical to survival. The men in the kitchen had sprung into action as if she were some damsel truly in distress, not just a fucking handmaid who ate a hot bite of food. The valet held his hand out demanding she spit the bite, the tutor thrust water at her, it was absolute, unnecessary chaos, and Dulce’s eyes watered with the effort not to laugh again. No one had ever made such a fuss about her and for such a stupid reason!

“Is she choking?” Yoongi asked, as Jungkook slipped around her. Suddenly his hands wrapped around her body and then she really did nearly choke as she spun out of his grasp and held her hands towards them, keeping all these overly concerned men at bay.

“I’m fine! It was just hot! Don’t grab me!”

“You’re fast, are you a dancer?” the tutor asked.

“Huh? No.” She frowned at him and wiped at her mouth where it felt like stringy cheese still coated her lips.

The prince cut through the concern, asking, “Did you taste it at all?”

A memory crept up her back, standing in the kitchen with her grandparents, her grandmother tutting at her for being too impatient and burning her tongue.

“It’s too hot.” She sipped the water, cringing when her tongue touched the sore spot behind her teeth. “It’s um, good though.” Shockingly, she meant it. It was very cheesy, but that balanced nicely with the tomato and bread, which was a little chewy. She hadn’t gotten sausage in her bite but could already envision how that would add some body and further spice. 

“She’s just being nice,” Yoongi shook his head.

“No, I mean it. I don’t say things just to say them.”

“Yeah, you know, the other maids are all scared of her, they think she’s too quiet,” the bodyguard said with a laugh. Dulce frowned. She knew the other maids talked shit about her but if the prince’s servants knew that too, she wasn’t doing much better than Nasimiyu at this farce.

The tutor was the one to argue, “It’s a mark of competency in a servant. So many of those maids are too chatty, it reflects badly on their employers.”

“The gossip is out of control,” Jimin agreed.

“About me?” Dulce asked, both to play stupid (because obviously she didn’t care) but also to find out if there was anything worth knowing.

“Don’t worry about it, nothing important. The prettiest maid always gets gossiped about so I thought you would be used to it.”

Jimin’s answer led to a heavy, awkward pause, like he had just said something terrible.  In fact Jungkook looked at the prince like he expected the valet to now get scolded, as if complimenting her was the same level of offense as a dirty joke.

But in fact the prince did scold him, frowning, “She’s here for food, not flirting and flattery! Leave her alone!”

“Ah, I didn’t mean anything bad, she knows that,” Jimin said, quickly turning to her. In fact of everyone in this room, Jimin was the one whom she’d talked to the most, though not in any personal capacity. Just because they were often side by side walking behind their lieges. She’d gathered that Jimin was the sort used to casually charming anyone to get things done, smoothing over any blunders the prince made. He was always happy to offer guidance, eager to assist if Dulce had a question about where to get something or who so and so was. She would not have actually thought the comment was anything remarkable, just further practical advice from him. Dulce knew she was prettier than some of the maids, less pretty than others, depending on the things you liked in a woman. She also knew she appeared to be Nasimiyu’s favorite and that earned her shit from the other maids more than her looks. Another maid had once explained to her it was a serious thing to accuse anyone of being a favorite though, because it might imply something indecent, so maybe that was why Jimin mentioned she was pretty? 

It was the reaction to it that made her uncomfortable. Was it comforting if the prince ordered everyone to leave her alone because she was the princess’ maid? Yes, although it would make her task of seducing them for information harder. Not that she wanted to succeed at that in the first place. But the bodyguard was handsome and so was the valet. Well, all of them were really, but those were the two that could be most useful to her, she thought. And both seemed like they had success with the ladies, so it might not be repulsive to them. There were worse things than sex with an attractive man for information, though she’d feel bad if something went wrong and she had to kill them to cover her tracks… it stuck with you, killing someone you had fucked.

It wasn’t a good thought right now but the fact it made her stomach twist uncomfortably was valuable to notice. It was a good reminder that she was not here to get fond of any of these people. Greater good and all that, or at least, survival of her family. That was more important than any of these idiots who played in the kitchen inventing new foods late at night.

“The food for the Princess is ready,” Yoongi announced, nudging the card forward to interrupt the air of discomfort. 

“My apologies that we get a little… boisterous in the evenings in here,” the prince said. He wasn’t looking at her though, too focused on sprinkling a heavy helping of grated cheese on top of the tomato sauce he’d smeared around the bread.

“I’d hardly call this a den of debauchery,” she argued.

The stablehand slumped back against the wall and sighed, “Tell me about it…”

“Is there debauchery in Paloma? He wants to know–” the bodyguard began but the prince interrupted, “No, don’t answer that.” He shook his head and said with a modest smile, “My apologies for the burned mouth…”

It was like the damned rabbit all over again.

“Try more pepper or garlic in the sauce I think?”

“Ah, you do know cooking!” Yoongi cried.

She quickly corrected, “I don’t, not really, but that’s what my abuela– my grandmother always said. The bread and cheese are dense and bland on their own so the sauce needs to be good, right? I don’t know about food.” 

“Would the princess like it?” the prince asked. Dulce hesitated and he took that as her answer, continuing, “I understand. Not the woman to try an experiment. Thank you for humoring me.”

“Um, I can suggest two of the people who came to us to help with your taste test –a maid and a guard,” she offered. “I think they know a little more about food than I do.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Dulce gave an awkward little curtsy, grabbed the cart despite Jimin offering, and whirled it away. By the time she reached Nasimiyu’s room, she’d settled into a calm walk again, shaking off the terribly inappropriate feeling of the kitchen. The ease, the casual camaraderie, the warmth . That was not her place, those were not her people, and she should not be letting her guard down like that around them. It was ok to laugh around people you knew had to die, but not if the laugh was genuine.

Chapter Text

“Find him .”

That had been Nasimiyu’s command, given with the authority one would expect from the future queen of Yeonhalbi. And Dulce bit the inside of her cheek not to say anything because honestly, that tone was being used more and more with her lately, and she did not like it. What the fuck did she care if Nasimiyu was going to be queen someday? Yes, she cared about Nasimiyu in some unique and difficult to describe way, but it was actually in spite of that royal title. And yes, there was the whole blackmailing business, but Nasimiyu didn’t know a thing about that. For all she knew, Dulce was just besotted with her and, what, eager to be bossed around like a disobedient dog?

Not for the first time, Dulce considered that Nasimiyu thought she had domesticated Dulce.

She had not. 

Had she?

No, Dulce might not have done any murdering in a while but that was becaues the job at hand didn’t call for it yet, not because she’d bat an eyelash about it when necessary. Whereas Nasimiyu was all talk. She’d never killed a human in her life and never would with her own hands, only with whatever lofty, reckless laws she put in place that would crush the common man under the heel of her silken shoes. 

If Prince Seokjin came to Dulce with a better offer, would she flip? An offer that could ensure protection for her threatened family?

Ah, that was an interesting question. A very interesting question. It would be sad for Nasimiyu to die. Dulce didn’t want her to die, not even when she was feeling bitchy because Nasimiyu was being a bitch to her these last couple of days. Dulce cared about Nasimiyu.

But she didn’t love her. Definitely not the kind of love that made you put someone else before any greater picture… the kind of love that made you choose them over the lives of your family… the kind of love that made you set aside your dreams or fears or yearnings because those became tied up wholly in the other person…

It wasn’t anything against Nasimiyu. Dulce did not think she was capable of most kinds of love. Nasimiyu seemed to believe she was, or at least infinitely patient. And so after several days of being sharp and distant and aloof, she came directly to Dulce’s room early in the morning and said: “I have it on good authority the Prince is no longer in the palace. Find him.”

The valet was still in the palace. So were all three bodyguards. Either no one else noticed or no one was concerned the Prince was nowhere to be found, but after a quick search herself, Dulce thought this rumor Nasimiyu heard from ‘somewhere, it doesn’t matter’ was annoyingly correct. Also who the fuck was this ‘unknown source’?

And how the fuck was Dulce supposed to find an errant Prince with no advance warning and no clues of where he might be going? 

Dulce did not like to admit when things were impossible for her but this, this might be.

Nasimiyu wouldn’t hear of it though, and they had a row about it, and so Dulce decided to go out for the day and “search.” Nasimiyu could prepare to be disappointed. It wasn’t a bad errand anyway, even if it would be fruitless, because they’d been here over a month now and she hadn’t gotten to just wander the city yet. Nasimiyu kept her busy in good ways and bad, but at the end of the day, Dulce was someone who liked to be alone, even in a crowded city.

So she dressed in the dullest clothing she had, including a lightweight wrap in a warm brown color to make herself unremarkable and slightly obscured, and hitched a right on the back of a carriage headed down into the city. Once the place was hidden from view, she slipped from the carriage and continued on foot, free as a lark for one day. Finally.

Priva was laid out like most of the major cities Dulce had been in, with the nicer, more genteel areas clustered near the palace and along the main roads. It was a shockingly big city though, and every time she asked someone for directions to an inn or a restaurant or whatever other locale might help her get a better lay of the land than what was charted on the maps she’d memorized in the palace, she got a different answer. There were multiple seedy neighborhoods, dozens of cheap inns, and restaurants ranging from pots behind someone’s home with ‘the best soup you’re going to find’ on up to pristine restaurants perched on the tops of the tallest buildings with priceless views of the sunset over the water.

Dulce promptly gave up on finding the Prince. For all she knew he wasn’t even in the city. Maybe he’d gone to those creepy caves again, or maybe his father had sent him out to sea on some rushed errand, or maybe he actually was in the palace still and just very good at playing hide and seek. It would make sense; he’d grown up there. At one point he had allegedly been a child –in fact she’d seen the maternal letters discussing it. 

Who had he played with? Probably his brother. Maybe some of those boys who now served him. Other nobles. Probably not that Namjoon fellow who he was so tense around. It was odd, the way he acted then, not like there was actual danger but that at any moment Namjoon was going to say something mortifying. Which couldn’t be true because the Prince didn’t seem to get embarrassed about anything, even things Nasimiyu said he ought to be deeply embarrassed by. 

Dulce shook the thoughts from her head. It didn’t matter. Nothing about the prince mattered today. Nasimiyu had sent her on a fucked up goose chase and instead she was going to use the time for her own purposes because she didn’t get any time for her own purposes these days. Maybe she wasn’t a girl with hobbies or friends or greater ambitions than staying alive and finding some drunk joy now and then, but if she wanted time to get into some trouble in a foreign city, that was her right! And Nasimiyu had dared to say Dulce got breaks –yeah, just enough to train in her room so she wouldn’t be caught totally flat-footed if she needed to actually do something for once instead of just shuffling along behind Nasimiyu and pouring her tea and tying her dress and fingering her when she called for it. 

Ugh. Nasimiyu had totally fucking domesticated her. But not inside, just in practice, so fuck that, fuck her, Nasimiyu needed her more than she needed Nasimiyu! Assuming Nasmiyu didn’t know about the leverage with her family. Assuming Prince Hamisi was lying about actually knowing where Dulce’s family was.

Furious, Dulce stepped into a tavern for a drink, which she enjoyed tucked into a corner at the window, watching the lazy morning crowd inside and the bustling working crowd outside. People watching was a joy to her. She was good at this sort of thing, at guessing someone’s intentions based on the speed of their step, their occupation from the lines on their face and hands, or whether they were professional or personal acquaintances with the person they spoke to at the side of the road. She’d built a life out of noticing and trading on these observations, but because she enjoyed it besides being good at it. It was a way of sampling stories when she rarely had the money, time, nor patience to actually read a book.

The first time Nasimiyu had seen her with one, she’d joked, “I didn’t even know you could read much less would want to.”

Damn, she was such a bitch sometimes! And Dulce liked that about her. Had liked that about her. Still sometimes liked that about her.

No Nasimiyu today , she told herself and left the tavern, delightfully warmed by the dark beer. She’d skipped breakfast but her belly felt full now. They never served that kind of dark beer in palaces because it made you fat, which the nobles had decided was out of fashion at the moment. 

Well the day was young! She’d get more beer later. She liked beer. For now she set off down any street she chose, one hand holding the shawl over her head, the other resting against but not gripping the blade in her pocket. Gripping the blade prematurely made it too easy to pull it out on accident when anything startled you and there was nothing that blew the cover of a “pretty young maid” faster than pulling a dagger when it wasn’t needed.

How much longer could Dulce pass as a “young maid”? The question came to her unwittingly as she passed several rows of dress shops and hatteries or whatever the fuck the rich people called them and a few jewelry shops. Clearly she was wandering too close to the monied parts of town and took a side street, but the windows still had glass and it reflected her image back to her. Twenty-seven. It was good she didn’t smile because it prevented the crow’s feet beside her eyes that ran strong in her family and would age her up. All the women she could remember in her family had those, and deep creases in their forehead and beside their cheeks. Laugh lines, stress lines , they had all kinds of names for aging. Dulce didn’t care about aging or looking young except for how it served her.

Honestly she kind of looked forward to being old –assuming she lasted that long– and people underestimated her on the opposite end of the age spectrum. The ‘Buela ‘Ssassin . It sounded like an amusing adventure book, something that would be at home on the Prince’s absurd collection of books for overgrown children.

She passed a bookshop. And impulsively, because wasting time felt like triumph, in she went. I didn’t even know you could read, much less want to. It was stupid how much luxury Nasimiyu enjoyed without recognizing it! Of course Dulce knew how to read and had on the unusual occasion when an interesting book entering her hands coincided with free time.

There didn’t appear to be anything particularly special about this bookshop compared to any of the others. It was probably middling compared to the shops in the city, not frequented by the well-off but not quite the slums either judging by the decor. The shopkeep looked at her closely as she entered but deemed her unworthy of attention and went to help someone else. 

Dulce roamed the aisles, avoiding anyone else easily as the bookshop was not too crowded at the time of day. The titles on the spines of the books meant nothing to her, so she migrated towards a display with covers, but she had no way of knowing what might interest her. It wasn’t like she was actually shopping for anything anyway. She was killing time. The thing she was the worst at killing, it turns out! She felt suspicious. She shouldn’t have come in here.

As she turned away, curtains in the back corner caught her eye. Dulce didn’t have to be a frequent shopper to know what those dark red curtains meant. The porn closet, the expensive stuff, not what you just found doodled in the back of some old book while some student pretended to study or on cards stuck in between the pages of books passed around as if the fine literature was what had people all in a tizzy.

Well, why not? She was already here and suspicious, she might as well see if there was anything interesting. There might even be something she could take back to make Nasimiyu laugh –or maybe for her own pleasure! She could enjoy some raunchy illustrations as much as the next woman.

She slid through the curtain into the small closet stupidly without checking first to make sure there wasn’t anyone already in there. There was, and the small space didn’t leave much room to maneuver around, as the man was heading towards the curtain from the other side anyway and they nearly collided. Dulce craned her neck out of habit to look up at the person she was just about to run into–

The fucking royal Prince of Yeonhalbi. Prince Seokjin. Right there in the dirty books closet.

For a moment they just blinked at each other, the recognition obvious and instant. It was no surprise he launched immediately into a nervous joke.

“Oh, um excuse me, Miss. I think the merchant and I have a different understanding about what it means to take a leak…” He blink-cringed with his whole body. Dulce had never seen anything like it.

She had a split second to make her decision to play along as if they didn’t know each other. She remained silent, bobbed her head, but stood her ground –as in, she moved to the side so he could exit past her, and then took his place. 

In the porn closet. 

“Fuck ,” she muttered to herself. Of all the impossible fucking things Nasimiyu asked her to do… and she’d done it! She’d found the Prince! In a fucking porn closet in a random bookshop in Priva! It was absolutely absurd. As was the knowledge that he was now outside of the porn closet, which she was now standing inside. But of course she had continued into it because in the moment, her instinct was to keep going forward, not to turn tail and flee. Apparently that applied even when you ran into a royal prince in a porn closet! At least she hadn’t blurted out some half-assed lie that made her look ridiculous. 

Dulce didn’t want to appear shaken. She wasn’t! So what if the prince knew she was looking at porn? She was a young unmarried woman! Would it reflect badly on Nasimiyu? Well he definitely wouldn’t guess they were fucking now… 

She pretended to look at a few things in the hopes he would finish his shopping and then she could slip out after him and follow at a safe distance. But she didn’t actually know if he was buying anything or how long that would take, and he could simply vanish before she saw which direction he chose. So on second thought, she slid from the closet as well.

He was still in the shop, not far away actually, looking over a display of books that didn’t actually seem to interest him. He turned as soon as she stepped out, as if he’d been waiting for her.  To confirm it, he approached, looking nervous in a way a prince never should.

“Didn’t find anything that interested you?” he asked with an odd smile.

Dulce tilted her head and arched her eyebrow and adjusted the scarf around her head. She said nothing.

“Ah, well, um… me neither… looking for a gift for a friend– you know Jungkook, young man, big needs, um– is your Mistress here with you?” He looked around the shop. Ah, that explained the nerves.

“No.”

“Oh. Shopping for your own interests um– or hers! I don’t know…”

Dulce also looked around the shop as well. Now that she’d caught her breath, she noted something else odd: the Prince did not look like the Prince. He wore common clothes; not poverty, but maybe middle class: a low quality cotton shirt and a cotton brown vest and common pants and shoes that actually looked walked in. Not a speck of jewelry on him, and glasses; she’d never seen him in glasses at the palace except the time she’d spied him in his room, and these were thick-framed and clunky looking, not the thin-rimmed metal spectacles.

Her lips twitched before she asked calmly, already knowing the answer, “Where is your bodyguard, Ser?”

“Oh! Well, I can’t shop for a gift for him with him right underfoot….” Even as he said it, he shook his head, and she heard the curse under his breath. 

And Dulce realized she had accidentally done it. She had found exactly what Nasimiyu and Prince Hamisi had been hoping for: A secret –the Prince sometimes left the palace dressed as a commoner. A vice –the Prince shopped for pornographic material at this exact bookshop. A weakness –the Prince left the palace alone, unguarded, untended.

“And your valet?”

The Prince opened his mouth. He looked like a fool. Like a common, handsome, lying man used to not being questioned too closely, used to making problems disappear with a wave of his hand.

Would he try to have Dulce killed now? In his position, that’s precisely what she would do.

Drawing on every acting skill she had ever employed to get away with mischief as a child or adult, Dulce made her eyes very large and her lips very pouty and gasped, “I swear I won’t tell. Please don’t have me killed.”

The response was immediate and, from every sign Dulce knew to look for, utterly, confusingly, completely sincere.

“No!” he gasped and stepped forward, hands up as if she had the power here, or like he might be going to grab her arms. “Don’t think that, that’s not at all what will happen,” he insisted. He lowered his voice, glancing around as he stepped closer and repeated, “That’s not what’s going to happen. You aren’t in any danger from me, I promise on everything. In fact I have far more reason to fear you right now!”

“Why?” she asked, eyes wide, lip trembling for effect. Fuck, men were so fucking easy to manipulate. 

“Because…” He sighed slowly, and looked away, like he thought the line of his jaw and neck would have the same effect on Dulce that her big eyes and pouty lips seemed to have on him. It did not . “Because these days in which I escape my very important and very exhausting job of being…. Who I am… These days are important to me. So I’m asking if you can just find it in your heart to forget you have seen me here.”

She couldn’t help it. Dulce, who normally had such great control of her tongue, promptly asked, “Your pornographic material is that important to you?”

“What?!” The laughter erupted from his chest, a bubbling brook that broke through the branches of secrecy. His whole face lit up when he laughed, probably from mortification because his ears were now very quickly getting very red. “No! NO no no, I told you, that was for my bodyguard–”

She scrunched her forehead up and admitted, “That’s more suspicious than you just looking for yourself.”

“I…” He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re really dragging me over the coals here.”

“No. No, ser, I don’t mean to cast aspersions on your um, choices…” She froze, remembering who she was speaking to, and the role she was supposed to have. The line between playacting and sincere here was blurry at best. She started to curtsy–

He grabbed her arm, putting them right next to each other.

“Please don’t,” he whispered. He was awfully close. “I’m just another person out here.”

“Your disguise is not very convincing,” she whispered back. “I recognized you straight away.”

“Well… you’re more clever than the average person,” he suggested. “Besides, people see what they expect to see and no one expects to see that sort of man out wandering through a bookshop.”

“Particularly the pornographic part.”

He grinned and admitted, “I think you may be funny.”

“I’m not. That wasn’t a joke, it was the truth.”

He looked down at her, mouth twitching like he still wasn’t sure whether she was joking. She wasn't . She didn’t tell jokes, especially with princes who were going to die very easily now that she knew this about him. He’d never even see it coming. No one would. It was almost instinctual, the sudden impulse to point this out to him. He’d go out for a lark and never return and no one would even know where to look for him. 

“Your disguise isn’t very good either,” he whispered back.

“What?!”

She shook his arm off and took a step back, studying him more carefully now. No way was he suspecting that–

“You look like a noblewoman in disguise.”

She scoffed, “I most certainly am not and do not.”

“Agree to disagree.” 

“You don’t even have stubble,” she pointed out. “Your glasses aren’t chipped. Your hat is clean and not missing any threads.”

“You think lowly of commoners.”

“I do not, I just know they aren’t likely to have more than one hat.” Shit. Were they bantering ? Dulce let her shawl fall around her shoulders to be less suspicious according to this suspicious prince and said, “Your secret is safe with me, your… commoner. Enjoy your pornographic material.”

“I sh–” He had clearly been about to say I shall and cut himself off and Dulce turned quickly away not to laugh. Because she did not laugh, especially not when running into a fucking royal prince– Nasimiyu pulled this kind of shit too! What was with royalty who thought they could just put on a commoner costume and enjoy a life free of burdens and stress as a commoner for a day of fun? They had no idea what it was like to live as a commoner! A jaunty cap and thicker glasses didn’t do it!

Annoyed and glad to pretend to be rid of him, Dulce went back to browsing. She felt a sudden need to not make it seem like she’d only come into this shop for porn and then fled at his appearance, but she also wanted to see what he’d buy and where he’d go. So she slowly walked around the shop, listening for the door, trying to look engrossed in the meantime.

They ran into each other again at the end of an aisle. She thought he had done it on purpose, because he didn’t look surprised as he asked,

“What are you looking for?”

“Do you work here?”

His teeth were so white and straight when he smiled, eyes scrunching up as he laughed, “No, I haven’t gone that far, to get a job. I don’t know enough about books to get hired anyway. I like what I like and nothing else.”

“Um…” She pressed her lips together and glanced in the direction of the porn closet.

“No! Not that. I told you that’s for– no, I came here for something else.” He looked at her like he expected her to already know what that was. “The latest Kalamouche novel. Do you read those?”

“I don’t understand what that is. I don’t really get much time to read…”

“Oh. Um… right. Sorry, I forgot you’re…”

She gave him a wild look. He forgot. He forgot she was a servant and that servants have no freetime because they are busy earning their living by literally waiting hand and foot on people like him?

“Here, let me show you. The thing is, they have pictures so they’re quick to read.”

“I know how to read,” she gasped.

“I assumed that… uh, I would be surprised if Nasimiyu didn’t think education was important considering how strongly she talks about universal access.”

Well, Nasimiyu would be thrilled if he actually listened to the things she said! That was definitely more than she currently expected.

He looked so desperate for her to follow that she did. He led her to a table by the front that she had walked by because it was mostly empty, but he picked up one of a few books left and handed it to her. She recognized the title now from one of the collections on his shelf, though of course didn’t mention that.

“Um…” She opened it and flipped through. The art style was meaningless to her. It looked to be about a rodent. She wondered if that was why he liked it. She couldn’t tell much about the story from this book which was clearly later in the series, but he helped her out by suddenly launching into a premise for the whole thing. Though she knew this man very little, it sounded so completely like something he would like that she half expected he was writing them himself.

When she suggested this, he laughed, “No! I’m just lucky enough someone else does and I can enjoy them. They really amuse me. Do you ah, like stories like this? With pictures?”

“My lady doesn’t,” she admitted, mouth twisting.

“I didn’t think so,” he returned with his own uncomfortable smile. “But I asked about you.”

Her eyebrows raised. So did his, and she couldn’t tell if he was suddenly mocking her or equally as surprised or just mirroring her actions. It was a technique to get people to trust you. She knew that. Did he? He must. He was, after all, the royal prince. Was he possibly smarter than he acted or was it a fluke?

“I don’t know what I like,” she admitted vaguely. “I don’t read much.”

“Oh. Right. You came here for…”

“No! I didn’t actually know what was in there. I thought it might be valuable books.”

“Oh.”

“Not that I was going to steal!” she added, looking shocker and nervous and sincere, just to drive the lie home. “I was just curious.”

“Ah, yes, I see.”

He just believed her? But he must, because suddenly he looked incredibly uncomfortable again, before suggesting,

“Well I will buy you the first one and if you like it, you’ll have a whole series to love and it will make your birthday very easy!” He turned and grabbed a book from a shelf next to the table, continuing, “The new one just came out today and it’s nearly sold out, which is good. I always worry the author will stop.”

“Couldn’t you just patronize them yourself?”

“It’s incredible mysterious, no one knows who it is!”

Her eyes narrowed as she pressed, “But it’s not you.”

“It’s not,” he laughed. “I’d brag if I could draw that well! I don’t think I could imagine such a long story, either.” He had several books in his arms by this point, including a second of the new Kalamouche book. She tried to see what he was holding subtly, but he realized and showed her: a cookbook, a book on birds, a mystery novel, and a travel journal about Paloma. She frowned at that one and he explained, “For Taehyung.”

“The stablehand.”

“Is it the custom in Paloma to only call people by their titles?”

“No…”

“Oh. Is it just a struggle to remember our names?”

“No.”

He looked at her like he’d asked a question but he hadn’t so she waited too. 

“I understand it may take time for you to feel at home here,” he suggested. “But I hope no one is making you feel like you shouldn’t. You can call people by their names.”

“I feel uncomfortable with that until I’m friends with someone,” she suggested. “Otherwise it’s more professional.”

“Is it? It’s kind of…” He realized she was waiting for him to finish it. “Well if it makes you comfortable. Is there anything else I can buy for you while we’re here?”

“No, thank you.”

“I’m offering,” he said. “I do have um…” he leaned closer and whispered, “Nearly unlimited funds I am offering at your disposal.”

“The picture book will be enough. You shouldn’t even buy that. Is it a bribe?”

“A… bribe? Oh. Um, yes, please put in a good word for me but without telling anyone where I was or why.”

“Even my lady?”

“Oh.” He blinked, no doubt realizing the awkward predicament he had placed her in. 

“I thought that’s why you were buying me the book, as a cheap bribe.”

“No no, I thought you might like it.”

“Based on what? You don’t know anything about me. Ser.”

“Well you were nice to Lettie so I thought…”

Again the impulse struck her to say something without thinking twice about it and she admitted, “We eat rabbits where I grew up.”

“They eat them here too, Paloma isn’t special like that!” he laughed, not offended after all. She had not expected that to amuse him. “But don’t tell Lettie that.”

“You don’t think it’s important that she remember her place?”

“No. She’s a rabbit,” he said, as if this was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard.  

“Only people then?”

“Obviously not since we’re pretending to be peers right now,” he pointed out in that whisper again. “ You are the one who won’t call anyone by their name. Let me pay for the books and then I will release you to decide my fate.”

“Hm?”

“All I ask is that you read the book first and think of my simple request to guard this innocent secret and maybe if you enjoy the book, it will convince you…” He carried his selections over to the merchant’s counter, then called over, “Are you sure you don’t want anything else? I’m offering anything. Even…” He jerked his head towards the corner. “I won’t tell and I won’t judge.”

“No, of course not that. You just want a secret on me in return.”

He grinned and didn’t refute it, but did pull out a small leather money pouch and pay the vendor. He had another bag with him and tucked the books into it, but handed her the one he’d purchased. For her. 

As she reached for it, he pulled it back and insisted, “Promise me you’ll give it a chance.”

“What else will I do with it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know much about you, maybe you burn books for fun.”

“I don’t think Nasimiyu would have hired me then.”

“See, you do know how to use names,” he grinned, and handed the book over.

Fuck . 

He held the door for her, making it harder not to follow him straightaway. She hesitated, feeling that instinctive impulse to walk the opposite way, when in fact she couldn’t predict that because she didn’t know where he was going.

“Thank you for the book,” she mumbled, and bobbed her head, and set off to the left, just because it wasn’t the direction she’d come from. When she glanced over her shoulder, he’d watched her for a moment but turned right and started walking the opposite direction.

Dulce ran straight the fuck into another man. It wasn’t an important someone, not someone she knew, though she did recognize him from the tavern she’d had her beer in. He seemed to have been looking for her, though she thought he looked equal parts relieved and displeased to have found her. 

“Thought it was you,” the man said, looking down into her face. He wasn’t particularly tall, but certainly taller than her. Clean cut, dressed nicely, and with the sort of snobbishness that came from working for a good house –he was definitely staff, not yet another secret noble, but clearly someone who carried pride in their profession.

“Who am I?” she countered.

“You work for the princess.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen you. I work for Lord Abel. His footman.” Lord Noah Abel was an older man, very wealthy, very quiet, usually seated around the periphery. She did not recall seeing this man and thought that even if he worked for Lord Abel, he was not actually a footman.

“How lovely for you,” she said, and pushed past him. But he caught her arm.

“Come on, then, let me buy you a drink.”

“No thank you.”

“Yeah. It’s not everyday the handmaid for the princess is out wandering around and we’d like to make your acquaintance. Nothing nasty unless you’re into it, just let’s have a chat.”

Dulce rolled her eyes. She knew exactly this kind of chat. They weren’t going to assault her in broad daylight or anything –she’d break them first, for sure– but they’d try to get some useful info, probably make some threats to keep her quiet.

“You shouldn’t tell me who you are and who you work for if you’re going to try and shake me down,” she pointed out.

“Shake you down? No no, you misunderstand. We just want to buy a drink for the Princess’ pretty handmaid. Maybe we can be friends who help each other out.” He was gesturing to two men to come over. How fucking annoying. How did they know her without her ever noticing them? She was disappointed in herself. She rarely missed a face.

Unless they were just totally lying about who they were, which was entirely possible, and in which case she would feel much less bad about what she was about to do if the man didn’t let go of her arm. The men all seemed truly servants in a household but then, so did she, so maybe they were just as much conmen as she was.

Someone grabbing her arm almost set her off completely; the drag as the person tried to pull her off made her instinctively dig her heels in and prepare for a fight.

“Come along, darling, we’re late.”

She recognized the Prince just quickly enough to not break his arm, and let him whisk her off without a glance back at the men until they were near the end of the block. The Prince’s stride was long and she had to rush to match it. When she looked back, she saw the men looking disappointed and heading back up the street, maybe back to the tavern.

“You met trouble within seconds!” the Prince lamented with a shake of his head as he tugged her around the corner. 

“They said they worked for Lord Abel.”

“I didn’t recognize them…”

“Do you normally recognize servants? You don’t have to keep hauling me, we’ve lost them. Slow down!”

He did at her cry, dropping her arm at once and peering down as if surprised they were still together.

“Thank you for your assistance but you didn’t need to risk being noticed,” she said, crossing them so he wouldn’t grab her again. “Or getting into trouble yourself. It would have been worse if they recognized you.”

He arched his eyebrow and demanded, “I was supposed to just let men bother you?” It made him look strangely mature.

“I’m a single woman. Men are constantly a bother. I would have sent them off momentarily.”

“I beg your pardon, are you annoyed that I intervened?” he asked, holding his hands up. His bag of books was slung over his shoulder. He looked like an intellectual, definitely not the sort of person who could help in a fight with the thugs those men might actually have been. But maybe that was deceptive because he was very tall and broad shouldered and he was trained in at least some forms of combat.

But yes, Dulce was annoyed. She was annoyed that he’d hauled her off before she could figure out who those men actually were. She was annoyed that he saw what he’d been told to see when he looked at her: a small helpless handmaid. She was annoyed she’d been ‘saved’ before she got to get some of her frustration out. Honestly, she could use a few punches thrown. 

“You’re in disguise,” she reminded him. “You shouldn’t risk it.”

“I’m baffled that you think I could just look the other way while you met trouble.”

“They were hardly trouble.”

“There were three of them and you are– I couldn’t possibly have just pretended not to see.”

“How did you see? Weren’t you walking the other way?”

Now he grinned, “I have good instincts.”

“To follow me?”

“Well… it can be dangerous for a young woman to wander the city alone,” he argued. He looked uncomfortable with the fact she’d questioned it.

“I’m a servant, I often walk cities alone, and I can handle myself. Thank you for your um, assistance, but it’s not needed.”

“I do not doubt that, however… now I feel obligated to…”

“You have no obligation to me.”

“You’re my lady’s favorite maid. If you meet with trouble inside my own city, I’ll never forgive myself and neither will she.”

“I hardly think a serving girl is worth all that,” she snorted, realizing he might be obnoxiously chivalrous about this. “Please continue your day and don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”

The Prince looked like he wanted to argue but couldn’t think of a way to do it. Or like he was constipated. Either way, he didn’t move away, just looked to the side like someone else would walk over and settle this standoff for them. But she needed him to go about doing whatever he was going to do so she could follow him and find out what that was.

“I have a lot of things to do and I don’t need a chaperone,” she added.

“Right, of course, me neither, but…” She wasn’t sure if he actually trailed off or if she’d just stopped listening, because there was something odd happening to the side. Curious, she was drawn towards it, towards the low tremorous voice and the plucking of guitar strings, but even more so the small monkey wearing a velvet jacket and a hat that hopped around, extending an arm or leg here and there like a dancer.

Dulce had seen a monkey before. It had been a trained pickpocket and very clever thief working with a brutal owner who called himself The Dentist and kept fingernail clippings to show how many homes he successfully robbed without waking the owners. None of it made sense but he was crazy in a frightening way but also very dead now and that was definitely not his monkey –also dead, though that one not by her hand. 

The Prince must have misunderstood her stare, because he strode right over with an absolutely unnecessary hand on her shoulder to propel her along too.

“Ah, you don’t have these in Marvono or Paloma? This little rascal has quite a fan following,” he explained, smiling at the little monkey hopping and dancing around.

“He’s not very good,” Dulce said, not sure what else to say.

The Prince laughed, “He is for a monkey! Do you dance well then?”

“No, but I don’t claim to either. I’m not asking coin for it…” The monkey kept running up to individuals and tipping his little hat to beg. Dulce knew enough about street performers to suspect the man of overworking and abusing his monkey, or playing up the pitiful aspect of it for sympathy, though that didn’t seem to be part of his ploy. The monkey seemed happy and well cared for and cooperative, amused by anyone who gave it attention.

“Here, put this on your shoulder,” the Prince said, pressing a coin into her palm. “Oh, unless you’re afraid…”

“I’m not afraid of this monkey,” she argued.

“Well then…” His eyebrows rose and he smiled in an obvious challenge.zSo much like Nasimiyu! That ego, that taunt, like they were proving something about you, like they knew anything about you!

She squared her jaw anyway, determined to use this as proof she didn’t need his chaperoning today. Honestly, what sort of prince would suggest something like that about a maid?! And while alone!

“It’s inappropriate for you to chaperone a maid,” she told him, then pressed the coin to her shoulder the way he kept gesturing. 

“All right, you’re right, after the monkey, I’ll leave you to your fate.”

“Is your city really so dangerous?!”

“Ah… well…”

He broke off when she inhaled sharply at the scurry of a little furry creature right up her skirt! It crawled over her braid and onto her shoulder and tried to pry the coin from her fingers. The Prince looked satisfied and she realized he must give coins to this monkey all the time to know this trick. He clearly wasn’t scared and no one would guess it by looking at her either but, truth be told, she’d rather it get off now. It could bite her face off with its next move. Scratch her eyes out. She wasn’t afraid , she was just informed . 

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” the Prince cooed as if she was afraid. He held his arm out in front of her and the monkey leapt easily onto it, then lifted its head and gave a little bow to Dulce before clambering up the Prince’s arm and then down his body and back to deposit the coin into a little box by the man playing music. Very well, Dulce noted. She’d rather just listen to the music than watch the monkey.

“Are you all right?” the Prince asked, eyebrows pinching together with concern that felt a little teasing. “You said you weren’t afraid…”

“I wasn’t. Was that worth your coin to you then?”

He was definitely laughing at her expense as he insisted, “It was.”

“Good then, goodbye–”

“No, wait, now I’ve ticked you off and you’ll run home and tell my secrets,” he said, sliding quickly in front of her. “Let me bribe– I mean buy you something else first… a distraction… do you like squid?”

“Squid.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t eat squid. And I don’t need you to buy me anything else. I don’t even really like food.”

It was possibly one of the stupidest things Dulce had ever said in her life. She meant she did not share his obvious passion for the culinary arts! 

“Food is food. I’ll eat what I can get,” she corrected before realizing that sounded way too street for a handmaiden. “I don’t have particular tastes.”

He nodded through all of this, which is what clued her in to how much she was talking. Why the fuck was she saying so much?! 

“I heard this radical idea that servants can have opinions too.”

“You seem to surround yourself with those who do.”

He looked absolutely thrilled by what she had meant as an insult and agreed, “Yes! Don’t get me wrong, their opinions are sometimes terrible and wrong and meant to annoy me on purpose but… yes. I thought you might be like that for… for your lady.”

“Like what?” Dulce asked suspiciously. She doubted the Prince’s relationship with his “friends” was anything like her relationship with Dulce.

“Someone who isn’t afraid to speak their mind even to authority. The other girls seem more, um…” He glanced at the sky for the answer. “Hey, what do you call a potato that copies all the other potatoes?”

“Huh?”

“An imitato.” His face split into that wide grin, then his lips pursed like he was laughing inside his cheek, so pleased with himself.

Dulce flat out did not know what to say to this man who was the royal prince but was making jokes to a handmaid on the street. And while she wanted to feel like this was suspicious, like maybe he was the sort of man who’d prey on the staff, he very much did not give that feeling. If he was flirting with her, he was very bad and weird at flirting –which granted she and Nasimiyu knew but she didn’t feel like he was trying to make any obvious move on her. Did he really think street food and bad jokes would convince her to keep his secret from her mistress?

“Ah, it’s funny…”

“If you have to tell someone it’s funny…”

“Ha! I think you may be funny too.”

“I’m not. Not even a little bit.”

He laughed.

“No, that’s not a joke. I’m very…” She trailed off because even she knew it would sound stupid to insist no, I’m a very serious person. “I’m a servant. We don’t have time for jokes and laughter.”

“Well the other maids laugh a lot, that’s what I meant.”

“Yes they think you’re very charming.”

“Ha! But not you nor your mistress. You see? I think you are a window into her soul more than anyone else in her circle and that is why I want to buy you squid. Come on, then.”

“I’m not telling you her secrets.”

“Does she have any?”

“She’s an intelligent woman, I would hope she does but I don’t know them.”

Dulce was following him. She did it before she realized she was doing it. To fix it, she pressed,

“What about you, do you have secrets?”

“Not ones I’m very good at keeping apparently.”

An evasion? Or just a joke?

“Where were you going today?” she asked, to see what he’d say, and because apparently the Prince didn’t mind her asking questions like this, at least out here. Was this a unique opportunity to learn more about him than she’d ever be able to in the palace? Chances were that she’d already compromised his day too much anyway; he knew he’d been found, so he likely wouldn’t go anywhere or do anything further suspicious. He might just go back to the palace. 

But also she obviously couldn’t just walk around the city with the fucking prince all day. 

He was already ordering something from a little cart though, so she pulled her scarf up and went to stand somewhat near him, taking the opportunity to look around at the people on the street. It baffled her that no one seemed to even do a double-take. The prince lived right there in the palace! His disguise wasn’t even very good! Did people really just not know what he looked like?  But even if you didn’t know he was the royal prince, surely you could look at him and tell something was unusual, that there was something remarkable about him. Regular men just didn’t look like… that.

“Does no one really ever recognize you?” she asked suspiciously when he came back.

“Not that I know of,” he shrugged. “Not until you. Here, this is… it doesn’t matter, try it and then I’ll tell you.” He handed her a stick with two obvious sections of some poor little octopus and several fleshy looking pieces that must be the squid, all of it coated in a shiny red sauce.

“Is it spicy?”

“Are you a toddler? Are you allergic? Try it before you keep asking these questions!”

She scowled at him and felt like not doing it now that he’d ordered like that, but he was laughing too, like scolding was just a joke to him. The food was dripping, and he was now making quick work of his own, so she slid a first chewy bite off the stick with her teeth.

It was spicy, yes, but not remarkably so. Sweet, too, and hot temperature wise so that she had to blow around it on her tongue. Squid was chewier than she had expected, but not nearly as chewy as the octopus. She could feel the suckers on her tongue.

“It’s the texture, right? It’s strange. There’s another place that has it with sesame seeds and it’s delicious but you bite into it expecting the chewiness and then you get the little crunch from the seeds and it always shocks me into thinking I’ve broken a tooth,” he said, cheek inelegantly stuffed with food. His mouth puffed into a kiss as he chewed, and Dulce hated that that’s what she thought it looked like, but it did! He took bites with his whole face, like he was afraid for even a drop of sauce to escape.

“What do you think?” he asked. “Too spicy?”

“It’s not very spicy.”

“That’s what I think! It’s too spicy for my father so we don’t get much spicy food there.”

“That’s a shame. Nasimiyu likes spicy food.”

“Ah.” His eyebrows raised. He chewed his next bite, clearly thoughtful. “I knew that but… yes. The kitchen can do different meals for different people…” He grinned and waved his stick at her. “That is useful, thank you.”

“You already knew that, you said.”

“Sometimes it helps to be reminded. I have a lot going on here, you know.” He tapped his head, leaving some sauce on his hat. Dulce didn’t point it out because it didn’t matter. Suddenly he looked at her again and demanded, “Do you actually like it or are you just saying it? You can be honest. I’m not anyone important right now and even if I was, you wouldn’t get in trouble for being honest.”

That was definitely not true, but still she admitted, “I like the squid more than the octopus. The suckers are strange. The sauce isn’t very spicy though.”

“You already said– oh, ok, you’re disappointed.”

“I didn’t say that,” she frowned.

“All right, I know. But you’re doing this of your own volition. I’m not making you try a spicy food so if it’s too much and it makes you cry… it’s not my fault. You are your own woman.”

“Am I?”

“Are you afraid of spicy food? Does Paloma have spicy food? I’ve heard that. So does Marvono.”

She was following him. He was talking a lot, undeterred by her silence. He’d grown quieter around Nasimiyu these days, Dulce considered, like comments bubbled out when he couldn’t help but he spent a good deal of effort trying to help it. He didn’t seem to bother quieting himself with her. She was only a servant, after all, not his betrothed, he didn’t need to impress her. Which made it even stranger he was insisting on leading her to another food vendor several streets away. If this was a bribe, he was bad at it; he wasn’t even finding out what she wanted in exchange for her secrecy! He was just talking to her about food.

“I don’t remember much about Paloma. I haven’t been there in a long time and I don’t like to talk about it,” she finally said as he pointed to a shop that claimed to have Paloman food. She could tell by the display in the window it was all wrong. 

“Oh.”

He stopped walking and looked at her, which she didn’t appreciate.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Do you miss it? Or not miss it?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re very secretive.”

“I’m a maid. There’s not much to know,” she said, praying she wasn’t about to have to concoct some elaborate lie to get him to stop asking about her. “My name and my position, that’s all a servant needs.”

“No one in this conversation believes that but even if one of us did, I don’t even know your name. I mean I know what you’re called.”

“That’s my name.”

“Dulce? It’s your whole name? Two three?”

“Huh?”

“Oh, in um, in the local dialect, Dul-set, it means two-three. It’s similar.”

“Oh.” Dulce didn’t know that. 

The prince didn’t seem to have anything more to say about it. Probably her lack of conversation was boring him and that was fine because she wasn’t the one trying to make a party out of this anyway. They’d arrived at another stall though, another one the Prince seemed familiar with as he wove his way through the busy streets. He came back with two bowls of different things.

He handed her one and said, “Tteokbeokki, do you know it?”

“No.”

“Very fine Privan cuisine but, ah, my father doesn’t like spicy so…”

“Is it more squid?”

“No, it’s rice cakes in a gochujang soup… this stall is very good for Privan food, the real local stuff.”

“Not the stuff you serve at the palace, that’s what you mean by real?”

The Prince nodded, boldly stealing one of the rice cakes using a toothpick and popping it into his mouth. Dulce found this notable, that the Prince looked to the food the people ate in the city instead of what was served in the finest restaurants as “real.” Even being aware of the differences was something in itself. He wasn’t wrong, but how many nobles actually walked the streets and ate the same food normal people did and recognized it as culturally defining? Even Nasimiyu was picky about what she ate outside of home…

“It’s spicy,” he warned as she picked up a second toothpick and speared one of the round little cakes. It was chewy in her mouth, more of a solid effort than the squid, but less rubbery. The soupy sauce had a kick to it that built. It was nice! It took over her mouth but only barely touched her sinuses.

The Prince watched her closely before determining, “You don’t think it’s maximum spicy.”

“It’s good though,” she admitted. “I didn’t know you had spicy food like this here.”

“Be careful, it will build. We use gochujang in a lot of things… ah, well, not in the Main Hall,” he admitted with a smile and… a wink? She didn’t understand the wink but she didn’t ask because this was all so strange it was starting to feel normal. This was the royal prince of Yeonhalbi and it was looking like he was even less bothered by it than Nasimiyu was about her own title. 

“Is that gochujang too?” she asked, pointing to the small dish he had. 

“No, it’s chicken. It’s… it’s very spicy. I wanted you to try this but… what if you die? I want to say you belong to yourself and can decide for yourself but I can’t have that on my conscience.”

“Die from a flavor?”

“It’s really spicy.”

“Well I want to try it,” she said.

“I can’t recommend that.”

“You suggested it.”

“It’s not a challenge– ah, are you like that? Someone suggested it and now–”

“I’m not like anything,” she frowned, and reached forward with her toothpick to take a piece of the chicken like they were old familiar friends and she wasn’t taking food from the Prince of Yeonhalbi’s dish. Prince Hamisi would shit a whole brick house to see her right now!

“Do you have any brothers?” he asked.

She paused, chicken halfway to her mouth, and asked slowly, “Why do you ask that?”

“Ah, it’s just a theory… I wondered if women who have brothers are more likely to feel like everything is a dare.”

“What are you basing that on?”

“A guess,” he shrugged. “Am I right?”

“Is that why you eat like someone is taking your food away?” she countered. “You’ve never known hunger but that’s how you look.”

She worried that would wound him, though not enough to stop her from saying it. Instead it made him laugh. He crossed a hand in front of his face, laughing so hard at this.

“What? You say that to me? You think I act like it’s going away? Maybe I do! You think they let me just eat anything I want? It’s hard work looking fit like that. My tutors don’t let me eat shit! And we don’t get to use the right spices or not enough spices so I have to sneak all the good food in the kitchen. Then I come out here to eat and now you’re taking my food too!”

She’d just been about to finally put the chicken in her mouth because she was coming to realize that these tirades he went on seemed to be nothing more than a performance. A joke. She didn’t know whether he was trying to get a laugh in an awkward way or it was just how he spoke when he got fired up about something but it was all the same to her.

Except that particular comment made her pause. She doubted he meant anything serious by it, but he was the Prince, and as far as he knew she was a maid who had just taken his food. 

Just as quickly he said, “No, eat it.”

“I’m sorry. I–”

“No! No, I got it for us to share. Eat the chicken.”

He couldn’t actually mean that. That was so odd! Who the fuck shared chicken with their betrothed’s maid? She couldn’t even wonder if it was an attempt at seduction, some weird sick fantasy, because no one tried to seduce a maid with chicken, right? This wasn’t wine or juicy fruit or even jewels thrown at her feet.

It was the spiciest fucking chicken she had ever eaten.

It was already building from the first bite, but not yet excruciating, so she reached for another because the prince did. And another. He warned her to go slow but he wasn’t slowing down eating either, shoving chicken into his mouth like that little dancing monkey was going to run over and wrestle it away. Or maybe like he was afraid Dulce really would take it all.

They ate the chicken until it was gone, until their eyes were red and watering, their noses were watering, their lips were on fire.

The prince was laughing and crying, “Is it hot enough?”

“It’s a little spicy,” she admitted, wiping her nose with her sleeve. He was doing it too, laughing harder now, tears streaming down the sides of his face.

“Dulce! “

She hadn’t expected him to say her name, much less shout it. She looked up, startled. 

“How can you say that? You’re crying! Ah, it burns so much,” he laughed, wiping at his face. “Shit, my eyes!!”

“Did you get it in your eye?!”

“I’m going to go blind– Shit.”

“Are you serious or is this another joke?”

“Do you have a, um, handkerchief or something–” he asked, yanking off his glasses.

She dove away and, at the stall, simply grabbed a wooden cup of water, not caring who it belonged to. She smelled it and tasted to make sure it was water as she carried it quickly back, ignoring the shout behind her. Back at the prince, wiping furiously at his weeping eye, she slipped onto her toes, grabbed the back of his head and pressed the cup to his eye and ordered,

“Head back.”

To her surprise, he did it. Head back, throat totally exposed, supported poorly by a woman balanced on her toes. The water ran down across his eyes and down the side of his face and onto his sleeve. Once the cup was empty, she nudged his head up and let him take the cup.

“You can’t just steal things from my shop!” the man yelled, grabbing Dulce’s arm.

“It was an emergency.”

“That doesn’t mean–”

“So sorry, good man,” the Prince interrupted, blinking rapidly but wiping at his eye more slowly now, with a clean handkerchief he must have found in his own pocket. “I’ll pay you for the water. She’s right, it was an emergency.”

The man looked at the prince for a moment. The very same man who a moment ago had sold the prince food, as far as Dulce could tell. But it was obvious in his blink that he at least had a suspicion as to who this might be.

“It’s fine. It’s fine. Nevermind about the water.”

“I insist –ah, the chicken is so good but the spice got in my eye.”

“I’m so sorry–”

“Thank you, bye,” Dulce said, and this time she was the one to grab the prince’s arm and lead him away from the area. Quickly.

“I’m still half-blind,” he admitted.

“Is it better though?”

“Yes. Yes, I think you saved my eye…”

“What were you doing rubbing it after you ate spicy food?”

“I forgot… no, don’t turn the scolding on me, that’s my job…”

She kept them moving until they were several streets away. She had no clue where they were now.

“You’re faster than I expected,” he mused, then, “The man recognized me, you think?”

“I don’t understand, they’re just glasses. It’s not a good disguise! So why didn’t he recognize you before?”

The prince slid his glasses back on and looked at her. His eye was still very red and watery and he was blinking a lot and his face and neck were red and sweaty, but he did seem to be in less pain. 

He looked at her and admitted, “It was worth it. That chicken was so good, wasn’t it?”

“How can you say that?”

“At least it was only my eye. Lower back pain is the worst.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a real pain in the ass– ah, is the language– no, I think it’s ok in front of you…”

“Are the jokes how you cope with things?” she asked because why not, her whole reason for sticking around was to ask questions.

“Jokes as a coping mechanism? Huh… maybe,” he considered, looking up and wiping at the last tears on his face. “You know, it wasn’t the chicken that got into my eye, it was the tteokbokki. I think the chicken would have actually blinded me. It’s not just for coping though… I just think it’s good to laugh and word plays are funny…”

“Your staff don’t think they’re funny.”

“Oh they do, usually. Sometimes. They just are trying to break me of the habit because they know some people don’t…” He trailed off. They both knew who he was talking about. “But you do.”

“Me?”

“You almost laugh sometimes.”

“I do not.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t have a sense of humor,” she told him. “A maid doesn’t need one.”

“A maid also doesn’t have opinions on food either but you liked the tteokbokki and the squid and the chicken but not the octopus,” he argued. “There are hotter foods here –a special pepper. We’ll try it another time. It really will make you sick…I mean, not you, because you won’t think it’s that spicy. Just a little burn,” he teased. “But it’s not something you eat unless you’re comfortable vomiting in front of your dining partner and it burns on the way up as bad as it did on the way down–”

“I think you should go back to the palace. Your eye is still very red.”

He let out a deep sigh and shook his head, “No, I won’t go back for this, not yet. I don’t get to do this very often. I’m almost done crying.”

“Are you?”

“I’ll say I got into a fight. You should have seen the other guy, he was massive, but I was fast and quick–”

“I don’t even know where we are,” she admitted, looking around. She could find their way back, but it was better to pretend to be lost. Actually she had an uncanny ability to navigate, like she could feel which way was north no matter which way she got lost. That had saved her skin a few times, for sure. 

“I’m not going back yet.”

“You’re in pain and it’s leaving you disoriented. You look like you’re about to start shadow-boxing on the sidewalk.”

“Ah…” He let his hands drop which made her think he might actually have been about to do it. Surely not. This man was so strange ! He seemed too lanky and in poor control of his long limbs to be a good boxer; watching it would make her cringe.

“You want to go back?” he asked her. “I can escort you back.”

“No I don’t need to be escorted, you need to go back for medical attention–”

“Yes, all right. Let me show you something first. It’s on the way.”

Let me show you something. It’s on the way. Only a fool idiot girl would hear a man say that and think he meant anything good by it. Dulce was not a fool idiot girl. She was a grown ass woman on a mission, in a precarious situation right now with a poorly-disguised prince out and about in the city, and potentially half-blinded now. 

She was a spy. She was learning. She was trying to make sense of this incredibly strange man who seemed to pull a bad joke from his ass anytime he wanted to change the subject or break the silence. This privileged man who annoyingly played dress-up as a commoner for a day and was suddenly taking her on a gastro-tour of Priva instead of whatever his original purpose for coming into the city had been. She still needed to try and understand that.

So, for many reasons, when he gestured for her to follow and set off south even though the palace was north, she followed.

***

It was not in the direction of home. He wondered if she knew that; she didn’t know the city yet, but she seemed to notice things a lot so he didn’t want to assume she couldn’t tell they were walking in the wrong direction. But she didn’t say anything, just kept her gaze constantly leaping around, like she couldn’t quite stop the need to be always on alert in case her lady needed something. What an exhaustive state of being. He came into the city sometimes because he could turn off that role and responsibility, but walking next to her made him realize that even that was a privilege. She wasn’t here being anyone but herself, and in fact he may have made things harder for her by interrupting her day away from noble assholes. 

Once again he berated himself that he should have already parted ways for her. Of all the maids in the palace she probably could handle herself the best; at least she seemed competent and capable and a little intimidating despite her short stature. But what could she actually do in the face of men harassing her? He wouldn’t be able to sleep well tonight if he had just wandered her off and left her alone; it didn’t matter if that’s the sort of thing she dealt with every other day, today she had the poor misfortune to cross paths with him and so she was going to have to accept a little of his help in exchange for whatever he could glean from her that might help him in his efforts to woo Nasimiyu. The fact she was obviously a closet foodie and he could find joy in sharing some of his favorite local foods with her was just an added bonus. 

Not that he was thinking of Nasimiyu much as he led her through this little square and its performers and games. Despite the knowledge that this woman was a very close confidante of his betrothed, he felt an undeniable ease around her that did not apply to her mistress. Was it because she always seemed a little transparently confused by him, neither quite abhorred or amused? Was it because when he made dumb puns she seemed to note and judge them bluntly in the moment, letting him effectively distract from whatever he’d felt like distracting from? Was it just because impressing a servant, even a well-placed one, just wasn’t as important as winning the heart of his future love? Or was it because, like most of his friends, she seemed sparingly aware of rank and role? She seemed to have missed that schooling where handmaidens learned deference and to keep their eyes down and remain unnoticed until needed. She looked around curiously and asked questions or made quiet asides and she hadn’t blushed and giggled and run away when his friends were overly familiar with her in the kitchen. She wasn’t his, but as he spent more time with her, he was starting to feel like she was. In the sense of one of his friends who were actually servants and probably had to put up with them because their livelihoods depended on it but didn’t seem totally miserable about it!

He thought it boiled down to the feeling that Nasimiyu was disappointed him, but Dulce hadn’t expected anything of him and so was overall neutral on him. She wasn’t rude as a servant or anything but she just didn’t seem to care much that he was a prince and to be honest, he liked that in a servant. In a person, even! She didn’t smile or giggle like the other servant girls, she was utterly uncharmed by him and thus unlikely to help him much with Nasimiyu, but the way her lower lip pushed up and her eyebrows pushed in when he made a joke she thought was stupid was pretty amusing. 

Apparently the other servants around the palace were starting to call her Cold Cunt because she didn’t get along with any of them, hadn’t made a single friend, and didn’t do idle chatter. But she didn’t seem unfriendly to him, just unbothered. Her compassion when he got the gochujang in his eyes proved she wasn’t without feeling. Her insistence she had no opinions only to then hint at firm opinions made it seem more like she was merely a private person. Maybe shy!

Seokjin could understand that. And maybe she just didn’t like people or being around them much, which he could sort of understand too. He came into the city to be alone because he was nobody here despite the crowds, and when the noise and traffic got to be too much, he’d find a little cafe or bookshop to hide in for a while, or go for a walk on the sea wall and sit on the sand and stare out across the horizon his mother had loved so much. Being alone in the crowded city was different than being alone in his room. He liked both. 

Today he wasn’t alone though and that was ok. He was enjoying himself after that initial awkward encounter in the erotic section –look, he was a young man with needs! Needs he needed to be more careful about now that he was a soon-to-be-married man. He just didn’t want Nasimiyu and Dulce thinking about him in that light… some porn-obsessed, insatiable man…

But after that, with each opportunity in which they could have parted ways and did not, it became easier to trust the ease. For one day she seemed amenable to mostly forgetting he was a prince and he was mostly amenable to forgetting she was his future wife’s handmaid and it wasn’t like anything harmful was being done. They were watching a monkey dance. They were eating food. He was showing her around the Game Square.

“What is this place?” she asked him. “Are they celebrating something?”

“No, it’s always here. See, they perform or there’s food or toys to buy, or you can try your hand at any of those games to win.”

“What kind of games?”

“Do you like games?”

“No,” she predictably answered. Her face was stoic but she had very big dark eyes and they were looking all around, taking in everything. Seokjin only ever walked straight through here because it felt a little silly to be in a place like this on his own. He tried to envision bringing Nasimiyu here and realized he couldn’t predict whether she would like something like this. That was the thing, she was impossible to predict. If he could figure out the consistency behind what she liked or didn’t, he could better service her – in romantic affections! Not in– well eventually in–

“Look there,” he said, nudging Dulce’s arm. He didn’t have anything actually in mind, but they walked together behind a row of people lined up at various stalls trying to knock empty bottles over with a lightweight ball, or throwing darts, or even axes.

“What do they win?” Dulce asked him.

“Depends on the game. Why, do you want to play something? It costs to play but I have some money left.”

“No,” she said simply. But her ‘no’ was different from Nasimiyu’s no. It just felt like a no, not like your whole soul belonged in the trash with your suggestion.

Maybe he was reading too much into a no from Nasimiyu.

Maybe he wasn’t. 

They stopped to watch two men on unicycles juggling knives with fiery sticks in their mouths. The crowd had formed a circle around them –a wide circle, because their balance didn’t seem to be very good and they looked nervous which made the tossing of knives seem irresponsible in a crowd.

“You’re not impressed?” Dulce asked him.

“Hm?”

“You look angry…”

“Oh, I just think they’re stupid,” Seokjin admitted in a rush. Her eyebrows raised and he swore he saw the slightest lift at the corner of her mouth. “I mean! They are stupid to do this in the middle of the crowd like this, it looks like they might accidentally throw a knife at any second. Imagine we’re just standing here talking and suddenly–”

Her hand shot out. Seokjin gasped and leapt backwards, heart nearly bursting from his chest. His garbled shouts of horror and the way he curled away earned cries and panicked shouts from others as everyone leapt away from the point of danger.

Dulce looked at him like she hadn’t expected that reaction.

“You caught it?!”

She opened her hand. No knife. Her mouth did something funny then, pursing into a tight circle, twisting to the side, then frowning.

“Are you laughing at me?! Is that what you look like when you laugh?”

“I didn’t know…”

“Aish, you almost killed me! My heart is pounding in my chest,” he cried, boldly resting his forearm on her shoulder to seem casual and amused about the whole thing despite his breathless embarrassment. “Is this your humor? You think it’s funny to scare me to death? I don’t know how fast your reflexes are! My life flashed before my eyes and it was not impressive at all!” As his panic cleared, he realized she had just done something playful , she’d made a joke , at the same moment he realized she looked like she completely regretted it. “No! Haha it was funny. It was so funny.”

“You look like you’re having a heart attack,” she admitted.

“I know, you got me good!”

“I’m um… sorry…”

“No! Haha, I love a good joke. Come on, everyone is staring at me,” he said, and walked away. He didn’t miss that she looked concerned now and that was kind of neat. He never had expected her to ever look the least bit concerned at him and now this was the second time in a day. Apparently guilt made her a little visibly softer.

He stopped them again not far off so he could let his heart rate come down.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think about the fact you would be extra jumpy about um… death jokes…”

Her whole demeanor and apology was just about the funniest thing Seokjin had ever seen from her. It was like a small, quiet, stoic woman had opened a window and over-the-top dark humor had erupted out faster than she intended. 

“You made my heart race faster than any woman ever has!” he joked, waving his hand in front of his face, laughing harder to put her at ease so she wouldn’t think she had actually crossed a line. “I like it. I knew it. I knew you were funny!”

“I’m not funny,” she insisted.

“Making me think I was about to die by a knife to the face –it’s very cleaver!”

“Cleave– ugh,” she sighed. 

“You made me think I was going to die and you say ‘ugh’ to my joke!” he laughed. It wasn’t performative this time, not meant to put her at ease, he wasn’t thinking anything at all about it except that her shame about her joke was really funny. She looked torn on whether it was all right she’d expressed disgust at his joke and that was funny too! “You owe me a good laugh now! Now I see that you’re funny!”

“I think my attempt at a joke proved I’m not…”

“I’m laughing!”

“I think that’s called shock and trauma?”

“Attempted joke, attempted murder…” He shook his head, wishing he’d been able to think of a joke connecting the two. “Well at least now I feel safe. You won’t tell anyone about my secret because I’ll tell them you’re funny.” 

“No one will believe you.”

“Ah, you’re probably right…” he sighed, distracted because that twitch at the corner of her mouth was more pronounced this time. A smile. Probably relief that he wasn’t flying off the handle. Why would he? He could see the humor in an over-the-top joke! Just like he appreciated she hadn’t made him feel like too much of an idiot for reacting so loudly when he was pretty sure he was about to die! “Ok let’s see what else is here, you can make more jokes about how I die.”

“I… don’t think that would be appropriate…”

“Why? I’m just a normal man.”

“That’s still murder…”

“Oh.” He snickered. “Right. That’s true. Ah, look at that!” He went in closer to watch at a slatted rope ladder strung from the ground to a wooden pole across a bed of hay. The ladder connected at a single point on the ground and on the pole, so that when people tried to climb it, the ladder flipped and they were dumped down into the hay. “This game is harder than it looks because the ladder flips.” She just looked at him; he could practically read her mind yeah, obviously dumbass. “I used to try this all the time when I was a kid,” he told her. He didn’t know why, maybe because she hadn’t said anything in response. Maybe his brain was still jittery from the moment he thought she had just saved his life by catching a knife inches from his face. “I tried to get my parents to set one up for me to practice with at home.”

“They wouldn’t?”

“No. I tried building one myself but I never figured it out before I got hurt enough on it my parents took it down..”

“So you never mastered it? It’s not impossible to do.”

“It’s easier for women. Your center of gravity is low. My shoulders are too broad –ah, it’s a blessing and a curse.”

Dulce shook her head, brow knitted like she couldn’t believe he thought that and insisted, “A man can still do it. You just have to distribute your weight properly.”

“Yes but as you move? If I go this hand and this foot, it twists.”

“Then your weight is still too much in your back foot, and you aren’t holding yourself stable with your other hand.”

He crossed his arms and argued, not sincerely, “It’s impossible. It can’t be done. I’ve never seen anyone succeed.”

“Just because you haven’t seen it doesn’t make it impossible.”

“Then prove me wrong.”

“No,” she said simply, and turned to go. That final, unbothered ‘no.’ Belatedly she added, “You can also just walk right up the middle if your balance is good.”

“Now you have to do it,” he demanded. “Go on, I’ll buy your turn.”

“I can’t do it, I’m wearing a skirt. I’ll trip on it.”

“Walk up the middle.”

“No.”

“Come on, I’m buying all your food today,” he goaded. She shook her head. “Please. Dulce. I want to see this. I’ve never seen it. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for me.”

“There must be plenty of people in this city who can do it.”

“Including you!” he pointed out. “That’s what you’re saying, yeah? So come on! Let’s see it.”

“Why would I do that? I don’t want the attention.”

“I’ll keep you safe.”

“You don’t even know what that means,” she countered, and her lips pulled into a tight line. 

“Maybe I can’t catch a knife or climb this ladder but I’m not completely incapable. Show me how it’s done and I’ll…” He looked around, trying to think of a good reward. “I’ll buy you whatever you like as a prize. And we’ll run away before that child running the thing makes a big deal about it.”

She gave him a look. Her eyes rolled up to look at the sky. But she hadn’t walked away yet. He wasn’t sure which part of his offer enticed her, or if she was just playing at modest. She also could be lying, he considered. And now he was calling her bluff.

“Fine,” she said. “And then you have to try it too.”

“What? No no, I’ll look like an idiot. What if I land funny? I could break my neck. I could break my glasses and then everyone will know who I am!”

“All right. I’m going home–”

He grabbed her arm, “Fine. You show me first and if you do it, then I will too.”

“Slowly, like a… you do one leg and the opposite hand at a time and keep your weight high and slightly off,” she said like he was already on the thing.

“You first. My good man!” he called to the child running the thing, who was no doubt being watched over by a frightening adult nearby. “Both of us will try. What do we get if we succeed?”

“A pat on the back,” the smart-ass kid said. At Seokjin’s arched eyebrow, the kid laughed, “Ya, you think you can do it? If you do, you get your money back or you get a toy but isn’t it more important to impress your lady friend?”

“We’ll do it,” Seokjin said and handed over the coins. Then he rubbed his hands together and pretended to stretch his arms and legs as he guestered Dulce to go first.

It was truly the strangest thing he’d ever seen.

Dulce rolled the waistband of her skirt to lift the hem a little higher. Her eyes narrowed when someone whistled. Seokjin glanced to see who but people weren’t really paying attention to them so it was hard to identify unless he wanted to miss what she was doing because without any further hesitation, she put her foot in the middle of the next rung and then the next and then the next and walked like that right to the very top where she grabbed onto the pole.

“What the fuck,” Seokjin murmured. She’d moved like a cat, like a smooth, unbothered cat walking along a narrow fence top. There had been no hesitation in her step. She made it look easy! Like the ladder was actually anchored well. Her hands had been in the air for balance, and she was quick to grab the pole at the end as if she’d only held off the inevitable tumble until she could reach something secure. But she had done it like it was nothing, just right up to the top.

“What was that?!” he cried as she slipped down between the rungs and then picked her way through the hay to return to him. “Are you a handmaid or a cat? Is that what they teach you in handmaid school?!”

“There’s no such thing as handmaid school.”

“No?”

“They just toss you in and you sink or swim– you already knew that,” she interrupted herself. There was a darker shade to the tops of her cheeks and around her eyes, Seokjin was sure of it. Either from exertion or the shouts and claps that her success had won, he couldn’t say. “It’s your turn.”

“This is a test for whether I have enough dignity not to embarrass myself in front of you,” he suggested. “I hope you’re ready for the secondhand embarrassment. I won’t be embarrassed, it will be all on you because you’re the one I’ll wave to after I fall.”

“Don’t fall. Just take your time to shift your weight but not so much time that you start to shake. Make your hand and your foot work together. Move your weight like it’s another limb.”

“Your assumptions about my coordination are…” The reality that he was about to embarrass himself again was settling in. He didn’t look at her, knowing he’d be blushing because he hadn’t thought about how everyone would be watching now that she had so easily succeeded. “Hold my hat.”

He approached the rope ladder and already felt like an idiot as he planted his feet on the bottom rung and gripped further up with his hands. His long arms and legs made him look ridiculous, he knew that. His broad shoulders made the ladder look even tinier. And despite Dulce’s ease, the ladder was wobbly as hell. Seokjin muttered curses under his breath as he struggled from the first step to coordinate his opposite hand and feet to work together. It was too easy to overcorrect when the ladder began to wobble.

“Too slow,” she called. “You can’t do it if you don’t believe you can do it.”

He lifted his foot and hand, slammed them down further up and did his best to stay calm and shift his weight for balance. He didn’t fall. But he looked up and saw how many more steps it would be.

Damn.

He did it again, slowly but surely. And a third. The wobbles got stronger as he got higher; his heart leapt into his throat at the strong teeters. Every second felt like he was going over.

Six rungs. He made it six rungs! That was one more than halfway to the top and felt like real success. More embarrassing was the little yelp he let out as he suddenly found himself clinging upside down to the ladder. There was no graceful way to save it except to let go and land with a scratchy thud in the hay cushion below –which was not nearly as cushiony as he recalled from childhood. 

Everyone had moved on when it was clear he wasn’t going to make it, but he celebrated his own achievement, telling Dulce before she could be disappointed, “I think that’s the best I’ve ever done!”

“Oh!”

Her raised eyebrows and neutral expression he thought were an attempt to be supportive, which had him laughing, “You can pretend I did well!”

“You made it more than halfway. That’s well.”

“I did your technique.”

“But then you overcorrected,” she nodded. “You lean too far when you wobble.”

“Is wobble the technical term?” he asked. 

She suddenly pulled back and blinked –he’d never seen that expression on her before– and said, “I don’t know. It’s…a word.”

“It’s just a very silly word for a serious maid to use.”

“Well falling ass first into a pile of hay is a rather silly thing for a, um… person to do,” she countered. “Can we go now?”

“I knew you would be more embarrassed about it than I am!”

“I’m not embarrassed –I shouldn’t have let you goad me into–”

The child who’d taken their money ran over calling, “Wait! Don’t forget your prize, lady.” He thrust a little cheap wooden statue into her hand. 

“A hedgehog,” Seokjin said, tilting his head. “That’s cute.”

“Do you want it?” she asked, holding it out. Quickly she added, “I have nowhere to keep something like this.”

“You don’t even get a bed in the servant’s wing?” he asked, belatedly realizing how kind of shitty the joke sounded.

“I do, for sleeping in, not for filling with wooden statues of hedgehogs.”

“Well you only won the one.”

They both looked down at it, but then he glanced at her face, curious why she seemed so odd about the thing. Didn’t even a maid find some pride in a prize she won? Not that the trinket was anything remarkable but she had done something impressive. Really, really impressive. Scary impressive.

“How did your balance get that good?” he asked.

“I wanted to be a cat when I was a little girl.”

“Are you… making another joke?”

“You can’t tell if I am or not?” she asked. She pocketed the hedgehog. If she had been going to throw it away, he would have kept it, but he was glad to see her keep it after all. “You also promised me something if I embarrassed myself like that.”

“You didn’t embarrass yourself, you did it! And I even covered for you, right? No one will remember how smoothly you did that because they’ll remember me falling on my ass.”

“You still have hay in your hair.”

“Where?” He ruffled his fingers through it, chasing out a couple tickly pieces. Maybe it wasn’t surprising that she didn’t reach up to help, but she was a maid so he wasn’t sure if that was a sign she was still uncomfortable around him or just careful. She handed him his hat, which he slapped on, then sighed deeply, “All right, my word is my bond. What do you want?”

“That.” She pointed to a little bakery-cafe they had already passed, but at his nod they doubled back. He wasn’t sure why she had even noticed this place or what drew her to it, but the smell of coffee and baked goods floating out of the door was indeed a draw.

“All right, anything you want,” he conceded. They stepped inside and a rush of relief rolled down Seokjin’s spine. It wasn’t just nice smelling; inside was a little darker, calm and quiet. After the busy bustle of the ladders, it was wonderful to feel a little more private. Only then did it occur to him he usually would have sought out a space like this much sooner in the day. It was welcome now.

“I don’t know what to get,” she admitted as they stepped up to a counter. “Don’t you have opinions about it?”

“Ah. I see. You need me to guide– all right. We want that pie,” he impulsively told the baker. “Do you have forks? We’ll eat it here. And… two chocolate coffees. Yes?” He glanced at Dulce but she was just looking around the cafe like she wanted to memorize it. 

The woman told them to have a seat and she’d bring it out; Dulce picked a table in the corner by the glass window.

“This is a nice place,” she mused. She got this airy note to her voice when she was impressed, that’s what Seokjin thought it meant when her voice did that. 

“Do you, um, like places like this?”

“I don’t go into places like this,” she said. 

“Oh. Not even with Nasimiyu?”

“She likes…” She trailed off.

“Ah, please tell,” he chuckled under his breath. “You see everything so you can see I am… rope ladders are not the only thing I would appreciate your unique perspective on.”

“She likes busier, more active things,” Dulce answered. 

“Like balls.”

“Yes. Or busy dinners with lots of people to talk to. She likes to be in the thick of things.”

“Not a quiet bakery-cafe. Does she like pies?” Seokjin asked as the woman brought it over and set it down on the table along with two small plates and forks. 

“Tarts. Pies with custard filling, not fruit. But you should learn these things from her.”

He sighed and nodded, “I know. I don’t mean to put you in an awkward place. I know your loyalty is to your lady, I just want to make sure I do everything I can for her to be happy here. We want the same thing, you and I, so anything you can tell me helps us both…”

Dulce seemed to consider this for a moment, meticulously spooning a mixture of filling and crust onto her spoon before she suggested, “Sometimes it’s difficult to predict what will make her happy. That’s not your fault.”

He nodded at this but inside something relaxed. So that was true! He wasn’t wrong she was hard to predict if even her own maid said that! He tried to think of other things to ask, if Dulce was willing to answer them, but she beat him to it, asking him ,

“What kind of things do you like?”

The question sounded so careful, so innocent. She took a bite of the pie and then went very still.

“Oh, is it bad?” he asked, and quickly took a bite to see. But no, it was incredible. “Oh!” he groaned. “Oh, that is a very good pie. Oh .”

“It is,” she agreed and dropped her face as she smiled. “Maybe you like it a little more…”

“Don’t tell Yoongi, this is better than the pies at home! Ma’am! Miss! What spices are in this? What kind of apples?”

“She’s not going to give you her secrets,” Dulce shushed him. Shushed him!

The woman tossed her head as she carried over their two mugs, “She’s right, you like it, you buy more.” She sounded so gruff and annoyed with them, it really didn’t match the otherwise quaint atmosphere. Or the smile she gave Dulce. The instant camaraderie between them made Seokjin wonder if they knew each other, but nothing else seemed to indicate that they did. 

Not wanting to be less charming than Dulce, Seokjin agreed, “All right, I want two more to take with me. Have you got them?”

“Yes, I’ve got them, I’m a baker, aren’t I?” the woman said and turned to box them up like this was a great inconvenience. 

“What did I do wrong?” Seokjin whispered to Dulce, who looked positively amused.

“How would I know?”

“Do you know her?”

“No, why would I know her?” Dulce looked genuinely confused. 

He couldn’t explain to her why this amused him, to see confirmed that he and his friends weren’t the only ones who found Dulce charming in some unusual way. He wouldn’t be able to explain it. But apparently you either got it or you didn’t, and this baker got it, and it seemed most of the other servants didn’t. Nasimiyu obviously did. He figured if he pressed Dulce on it, she would clam up, and he liked this easy conversation with her.

So he just picked up where they had left off, “To answer your question, what do I like… Food.”

“Yes I did notice that.”

He winked and clicked his tongue and pointed his finger at her, “You’re clever. Um… reading. I like games –even that rope ladder thing– even when I’m bad at them. Although I like the more when I’m good at them.”

“Doesn’t everyone? Do you mean you’re a sore loser?”

“I’m a prince, I don’t lose– shit, I didn’t mean to say that outloud,” he laughed, looking around, but no one was close nor listening. “Hm. Animals. Comfortable clothes. Oh, I’m supposed to be answering impressive things, wait, let me take those back. I like charity and education and–”

“And seeming impressive?”

“Am I not impressive?” he joked. He rested his chin in the dip between his thumb and forefinger. She raised her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth pulled back in a look of completely fake agreement. “You are brutal, Dulce.”

“I’m not someone you need to bother impressing so what does it matter?”

“Secretly I agree with you but publicly… I have an image. An important one. A role to play, a duty to take seriously. Maybe I like to play as hard as I work, but what’s wrong with that? Does Nasimiyu play?”

“Hm… in her own way, yes.”

“Oh? What way is that?”

She leaned her chin on her hand. It was the most casual posture he’d seen from her. She slid a bite of pie into her mouth and chewed and he could have sworn she looked very happy even without a smile. He felt it, like with a bunny that might not actually smile the way a human did but you could still feel the smile. Was a place like this really such a nice thing for a maid? But to be honest, he kept forgetting she was a maid, while also not forgetting it because she was Nasimiyu’s maid, but forgetting it in the sense that someone like her did not have the time nor money to sit in a bakery-cafe in the afternoon and drink chocolate coffee and eat a pie. She looked at home in a place like this. It didn’t seem right that some people were born to be in places like this and some people weren’t.

“Why did you get a whole pie?” she asked him before interrupting herself, “Never mind.”

“Oh. Why not?”

“I forgot,” she admitted. She wrapped her hands around the mug even though it was shockingly hot; Seokjin didn’t want to grab his own mug the same way yet. 

“Forgot what?”

She wouldn’t answer. Seokjin wondered if she meant that you’re a prince and if so he felt pretty smug about that. If nothing else came out of today, at least Dulce would understand he was approachable and non-threatening, maybe even a nice man, and hopefully that would win him a champion with Nasimiyu. Unless Nasimiyu didn’t like nice men? But he just felt faith in Dulce right now and her ability to sway Nasimiyu’s opinion. He got the feeling Nasimiyu listened to Dulce as much or more than he listened to Jimin. 

“We can’t eat all this.”

“Not if you don’t believe in yourself,” he scoffed. “Be confident. Move one foot and one hand at a time.”

“I’ll do my best…” She looked at the pie like she wanted more but wasn’t sure if she should. He took it upon himself to slice and serve them each another massive piece.

They lapsed into silence. Seokjin was happy to eat and drink. His back was to the room but he could see out the window and felt sheltered from the bustle of the street, even when that bustle would briefly come in, usually to buy bread. He felt like they’d discovered a real gem in this place. He had never noticed it before but it was quaint and Dulce was such good company that he grew quiet. The need to fill the silence gradually settled in him, buried under a lot of pie and coffee. She didn’t seem to mind at all when he stopped talking. Maybe she was relieved, and the thought made him smile to himself. Well he would give her a break now.

Eventually they were nearing the end –they hadn’t quite finished the pie but nearly, so when the baker brought over the two additional pies in boxes, he wedged the leftovers in with one of them. The baker told him the amount owed, and he dug into his pocket for his coin purse.

“Oh,” he said, when his hand closed around the empty bag in his breast pocket. “I used my last money on the ladders…”

“You’re making a joke right now.”

He grimaced as he pulled the bag out and turned it over in his palm. A single small coin fell out, not nearly enough. The baker looked scandalized.

“You–”

“Don’t yell,” Dulce interrupted the woman, perfectly calm as she fished into the pocket of her skirt. “Give us a moment.”

“Can you?” Seokjin asked, starting to sweat. This had never happened to him before. He never carried much money on him when he went into the city so it wouldn’t cause him trouble, but he also never spent as much as he had today, buying two of everything, so many books, the games, the monkey. He watched as Dulce fished a much rattier coin purse from beneath the table and dug around inside. “I’ll pay you everything back and then some when we get back to the palace,” he vowed.

She didn’t comment but handed the woman the coins –literally everything she had in the bag, that was obvious. Nasimiyu must not pay her as well as he expected! The baker took the last coin from Seokjin’s hand and turned away, not looking happy even though she’d got her money.

“I’ll get your money back to you,” he assured Dulce again. “Ah, it’s embarrassing… I’m glad I didn’t know until the end or I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the pie. I promise I’m much better with money in my real job.”

“What would you have done if I didn’t have the money?”

“Washed dishes, I guess.”

“Do you know how to do that?”

“You’ve seen me in the kitchen, you know I do! Yoongi makes me wash dishes, I don’t get to just make whatever mess I want and leave it.”

Her chin lowered as she mused, “That’s not true though. You can do whatever you want. He can’t actually order you around.”

“Why not? That’s his space, not mine.”

“It’s all your space. Everything is. The whole city. If you told her who you are, you could have all of this and more on credit and–”

“No.” He said it simply, to see how she would respond to a taste of her own medicine. He pushed up from the table and took over managing the pie boxes into the bag he’d been carrying their books in all day, even though it meant taking the books out. She just watched, and didn’t seem particularly bothered by his no. She didn’t even argue. A no was a no with her, and it apparently worked both ways.

It took some finagling so the pies wouldn’t spill, and the bag would be awkward to carry, but there it was.

“I could tell by your look you didn’t think I’d figure it out, but this works fine,” he announced, carefully sliding the strap over his shoulder. 

“I didn’t say that.”

“Are you impressed? I’m good at puzzles.”

She didn’t answer that either which he took to be a silent ‘no.’ 

They left the bakery-cafe and now that it was getting later in the afternoon, he considered that he should probably lead her back to the palace. He turned to find the right way when suddenly Dulce bumped into his side and lifted a boy right off the ground. He was probably around ten, scrawny, a little wiry, and only a head shorter than Dulce, so it was rather impressive.

“Don’t go putting your hands in people’s pockets,” she told the lad who was obviously startled.

Quickly his shocked look twisted into a scowl as he cursed her out, “Let me go you fucking cunt.” He twisted and tried to break free but her grip on his arm looked painfully tight.

“Empty your pockets.”

“I didn’t take anything.”

“Uh… is there anything missing?” she asked Seokjin, propelling him into motion. 

He didn’t even check, just shook his head, “Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“I told you, you fucking crazy bitch ass witch!”

Dulce gave the boy a hard shove away. He scowled at her once before taking off down the path.

“He had his hand in your pocket.”

“Ah there’s nothing in there,” he shrugged and began to walk. “I don’t come into the city with anything valuable.” He was stunned not to have even felt it but he supposed you weren’t a very good pickpocket if you got caught doing it –except the boy had underestimated Dulce. 

“You don’t care at all?” 

“That a child tried to pick my pocket?”

“He did take something, I’m positive. Your empty coin purse maybe? You barely looked.”

Seokjin shrugged, “He must be desperate to try, so if he finds a coin in there the baker missed, good for him.”

“I don’t think he’s desperate, you just look…” She trailed off again and began walking.

“I look what? Still handsome in my disguise?” he joked.

“Easy to pickpocket.”

“Why? What makes me seem like that?”

“Just… you do,” she shrugged. He almost asked if she had experience as a pickpocket but stopped himself in time. He wouldn’t judge her for it! Hoseok would have a fit if he asked someone that though, even a maid, and he didn’t want to offend Dulce.

Instead he asked, “Have you had a very interesting life?”

“Why would you ask a maid a question like that?”

“How does a woman born in Paloma become a maid to a Marvonese princess?”

“Luck,” she shrugged. 

“You seem like someone who’s had an interesting life.”

“I haven’t.”

“Yeah, I haven’t either,” he sighed, then amended, “I realize I’m very fortunate in my birth and all of that. I’m not too dense not to recognize how lucky I am in so many ways… Ah, forget I said that…” How mortifying. He wasn’t thinking clearly, he realized. There was a violin playing outside a house, and his belly was full, and it had been a good day despite his unexpected partner for it. “Sometimes I don’t think through what I’m saying,” he admitted.

“I’ve noticed.”

A smile. A kind smile, small though it was. She was very lovely without a smile and even lovelier with one. Her face looked softer with it, younger.

Her smile quickly disappeared as more instruments abruptly joined the violin, suddenly enough to startle them both. They turned to look as the doors of a house opened to shouts and a man and woman dressed nicely and covered in flowers stepped out. 

“What’s happening?” Dulce asked, stepping to the side as a roar ran up the street. She looked genuinely concerned as shutters flew open on the upper levels of the buildings around them and people leaned out of windows shouting and throwing things.

“A wedding,” Seokjin realized, face lighting up. These spontaneous celebrations were something he’d only stumbled across once; unlike the serious, dignified affairs of the nobility, the common folk of Priva made a real riot about weddings. “That’s the bride and groom,” he explained, pressing back against the wall. The music was now so loud though he had to lean down so she could hear. It helped that she was looking up, eyes wide and curious as the street came alive. The roars of applause and shouts of blessings were drowned out by the noise as the groom swept his bride into his arms and began to dance down the street with her. In kicking off the dance, others joined in, old couples, young couples, neighbors and strangers.

Dulce held her hand out, palm up, and Seokjin followed her gaze skyward as flower petals rained down, thrown by the conspiring friends from the upper levels. It was such a sudden and shocking expression of communal joy. Seokjin didn’t know if everyone in the area even knew the couple who had just married and were being ushered down the street, led by the band playing music. 

For one brief impulsive moment Seokjin got carried away. He wasn’t thinking straight, he blamed it on the full belly and the music and the ease he felt after a day in Dulce’s easy company. 

“Do you want to dance?” he asked but his voice faltered halfway through as he spotted several people he recognized from the palace –other staff, no doubt about their own day, but he needed to not be seen by them.

He needed to especially not be seen by them dancing around a wedding parade with his betrothed’s maid.

He felt bad to interrupt the moment because Dulce still had this starry look on her face, but he nudged her arm and motioned with his head, “We had better go.”

Thankfully, Dulce didn’t seem to have heard his question. She didn’t argue with his new suggestion, just nodded and followed him like that was the plan all along. The joyful celebration faded behind them, music softening to a whisper, as he led her up a different street, and he felt something sad creep in, the tragedy of a moment ending too soon. It would have been nice to join the parade for a little bit and live in that bubble of joy for a while longer. Although at least the interruption had spared him the embarrassment of asking his betrothed’s maid to dance. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t been. Too much good food today.

He was tired now, and he thought she might be too. They had walked a lot. There’d been a lot of unusual moments, even for a day he went into the city which was already supposed to be out of the ordinary for him. 

Based on nothing, he thought she might enjoy the sea walk, and they were close to it anyway.

“It’s less crowded up here,” he told her as they took the stairs. “It won’t get us all the way there but it’s a straight shot.”

“We walked all the way here?” she realized.

“Ai, yeah, my legs are going to be too sore for my dance practice tomorrow,” he lamented. Then, because he had a dream she would appreciate it, he asked her, “How do nudists dance?”

“No.”

He started laughing at her shut down and because her lips twitched and because he firmly believed she was really not as serious as she claimed to be. So he ignored her ‘no’ and answered anyway:

“Cheek to cheek.”

“It’s terrible.”

“You’re trying not to laugh, admit it.”

“If you brought me up here to push me off the wall and that’s the last thing I hear–”

“Wha wha why would I do that?” he gasped. On second thought, just to reassure her, he nudged her in front of him so he could walk on the side of the sea, even though there was a wall and a low fence and then a little bit more wall in a serious effort to keep anyone from meeting an untimely end. “Just don’t push me off,” he joked. 

She must not have heard though, distracted by the late afternoon sun lowering over the water. Nightfall was still a long way away. Sometimes he stayed out into the evening but he’d be at dinner tonight and his father and most of the palace wouldn’t even know he had ever been gone; they would assume he’d just holed up in his room for the day, which he also did on occasion. Sometimes he escaped the palace into the cozy space he’d made for himself in his bedroom; other times he wanted to escape even himself and went into the city. Today he’d only been halfway successful in that and yet…

This was nice. The bag was awkward to carry but the breeze was cooler up here even though the sun was hotter too. Dulce had looped her shawl over her head and hair again, which was probably for the best since they were more likely to be spotted by nobles up here. It wasn’t off-limits to common folk as longa as everyone behaved, but the presence of guards enforcing the peace made it one area of the city nobility felt more comfortable venturing beyond their own walls.

“I’m sorry I prevented you from running any of your errands today,” he mentioned after several minutes of peaceful silence.

“I wasn’t doing anything in particular. Just exploring.”

“There’s a lot to see in the city. I hope you enjoyed it and that you’ll have more opportunities to find things here.”

“My lady is marrying the prince so I suspect I’ll be here for a long time.”

He felt the need to clarify, “Sorry, I don’t really expect you to keep this all a secret from her. You have my permission to do whatever you want but I hope you were going to do that even without my permission. It’s my own fault for getting noticed. I just hope she can understand the need to get away sometimes. Or maybe she’s never felt like that. Sometimes people are born the way they’re supposed to be born and sometimes people have to figure it out. She seems like someone who was born to it.” 

He stopped talking, realizing he was saying too much. Again. 

“I can be a better ruler and understand people better if i get to go out and see how they live,” he tried again. He wondered if she believed he was that selfless. It was true. But it was also true that sometimes he just wanted to be nobody in the world. He wasn’t thinking about how to be a prince when he snuck out, he was thinking about how to not be a prince at all.

Dulce didn’t say anything for a while and he bit back the urge to say more just to cover his own ass he’d left exposed. After a few minutes, the urge subsided. She didn’t seem to expect him to talk and fill the silence or entertain her but he got the feeling she had listened to him, and maybe heard more than he meant her ot hear.

Eventually she said, “Don’t try so hard to impress her. You can’t make her do or like anything she doesn’t want to. You just have to give her a chance to warm up on her own.”

She wasn’t the first one to suggest that. He knew he tried too hard, and his way of trying could be off-putting. It was frightening to have to just wait and hope ; it was more comfortable to think he just had to figure out what the magic thing to say or do would be to impress her. He was charming! People thought so! He just had to show her–

But nothing he’d said or done had impressed Dulce either, and yet he’d just spent the majority of a day watching her gradually warm up to him. She’d even joked with him! He didn’t feel revulsion from her and sometimes he thought, perhaps overconfident, he even amused her. Maybe maid and mistress really were similar in that way, and it would just take time and faith.

Or maybe nothing would make any difference and he was in for a lifetime of his wife thinking he was obnoxious and incompetent. 

“You don’t think it’s hopeless?” he asked, feeling like it was.

“You said climbing that ladder was impossible and then you saw me do it,” she pointed out.

“Ah.” He nodded, lips pouting. “That is a good point. You are very wise, Two Three.”

“That’s not my name.”

“You can call me one.”

“One what?”

“The number one! Was that a joke?”

“No… I just didn’t understand…” She actually frowned and refused to look at him as he slapped his hands and laughed. He genuinely couldn’t tell with her and he couldn’t decide which was funnier, that she’d made the joke on purpose or that she’d followed the set up accidentally.

“You can call me Jin,” he suggested.

“I’m not calling you anything except Your Majesty.”

“It’s supposed to be Your Highness– ah, but you already know that.”

“I might already know that,” she admitted. Her gaze flickered briefly to him and then back out to sea. “If anyone asks, you didn’t see me today, wherever you were.”

“Ah. Really?”

She gave a slight nod. He wasn’t sure that was the truth but assumed she meant it as a kindness, trying to assure him that he didn’t need to worry his days like this would be interrupted.

“I won’t give you away if you change your mind,” he promised her. “I won’t even tell anyone you made a joke.”

“You ought to be more careful about wandering around the city. If something happened to you, how would anyone even know?” she pointed out.

“Well I suppose whoever did it would brag about it a little.” He grinned to soothe over the dark humor and added, “See, I think about these things too.”

“But it’s worth the risk to you?”

“Better to risk it for a little life than never really live at all.”

“Is… that from a book?” she asked slowly.

Which thrilled him as he quickly explained, “Yes, it’s from the wise, intelligent, compassione mouth of–”

“So that’s a no.”

“Seokjin Kim.”

“Hm.”

He laughed. Actually Dulce made a very funny straightman to his comedy. They could be a funny act together, if they were so inclined. If they were different people. If they each had a different life.

He did not quite want the walk to end, but it had to. He could see the staircase up ahead he would take to make his way through his secret entrance back into the palace, and obviously she couldn’t return with him. Even he wasn’t stupid enough not to predict that scandal –and that she was the one who’d be hurt worse by it.

But the day had been better with her along for it, he was certain of that, and equally as uncertain how to tell her that in a way that wouldn’t make her uncomfortable. It wasn’t that he didn’t know there was a power dynamic here, no matter how much he had hoped to ignore it for the day, no matter how much he attempted to ignore it with the other staff he cared about and considered his friends. That was always the problem, that he didn’t have an equal, not really. Someone who understood him, nope. Someone he could be himself around, not yet entirely, and yet today felt close to that. He was still figuring her and Nasimiyu out but the fact he understood Dulce a little better now seemed like a step in the right direction of the merging of their households.

“It’s been a pleasure, but here we must part. Will you be able to make it back safely from here?”

“Yes, I know the way. You have a secret way?”

“Of course,” he said with a bob of his head. “But I’m afraid I must keep some secrets.” He hoped he sounded cool and mysterious but suspected he did not. He also suspected there was not much point in pretending to be anything he wasn’t to Dulce. She had this look in her eyes like she could see right through you and also that she didn’t really care. That was exactly it! This look like that’s how you are? All right then, if that’s what you want to be. She hadn’t even harassed him about the erotica section, not really. She could have. At least he didn’t think she knew about the cards he’d purchased, hidden now between the pages of one of his books.

His books! He completely forgot he had the new Kalamouche to read! The whole reason he’d gone into the city was to get it for himself and it had completely slipped his mind until right now. It reminded him that he had the book he’d bought her too, and he dug it out of the bag and handed it over, adding,

“I’ll have the money I owe you sent over.”

“Don’t forget.”

“I won’t!” he laughed. “ Don’t forget . I spent all my money on you today–”

“All the money you had with you. I spent all the money I have in the world.”

“I promise I will not forget. Tell Nasimiyu to pay you better, it wasn’t very much.”

“Maybe I have a secret lavish lifestyle you don’t know about.”

“As you showed me today, anything is possible,” he conceded. Then waved at her like they were old friends. It left him feeling like a child but that wasn’t anything new. 

It did feel odd though to turn his back on her and head off and just leave her standing there alone. Not that he didn’t think she was capable; in fact today had taught him that Jimin’s suspicions might be right, she was exceedingly capable as a maid. Overqualified. Like me , Jimin had said with a cheeky grin. 

He wasn’t going to tell his friends about seeing her today though, he decided as he pulled his cap lower and took the long way round to the stables to change clothes in Taehyung’s room. At least not the whole thing of it, maybe just that he’d run into her– no, they didn’t need to know that either. 

He ought to be exhausted and avoided anyone he could as he made his way back to his rooms with pies and books in tow, but actually he wasn’t. He felt refreshed as he closed his bedroom door, and grabbed his book, and went to let his furry friends out to roam while he read. The seabreeze had really rejuvenated him.

***

It was late by the time Dulce returned. She took her book and the hedgehog statue to her room where another maid told her Nasimiyu wanted to see her as soon as she got back and then turned her nose up, probably because Dulce appeared to have just had the first holiday among the staff.

So Dulce went by Nasimiyu’s room, where the princess sat reading an adventure story on the sofa. It was something she and Seokjin could talk about, reading, though Dulce didn’t know that they enjoyed the same stories. Nasimiyu might not be able to get past the pictures in the adventure stories Seokjin read.

“Well? Did you find him?” Nasimiyu asked. “Where did he go?”

To a bookstore and a porn closet, Dulce thought. To eat street food and cry a pepper out of his eye and lose at a silly ladder game. To eat almost an entire pie and spend all my money and then to a wedding and then for a walk along the sea. And then through the stables, into the staff house through a window and out the other, the most obvious and poorly hidden secret path from the palace.

“I didn’t find him,” Dulce admitted. “But it turns out he was in the palace the whole time. A new book he wanted was released and he hid in his room to read it. He spreads rumors that he’s gone so no one will disturb him.”

“Oh.” Nasimiyu’s face scrunched up. She had clearly not considered this. “What kind of book?”

“I don’t know, Simi, I can’t really read…”

“You brat,” Nasimiyu laughed. “I know you can read, I said that one time as a joke …”

“You know I don’t have a sense of humor.”

“You’re the fucking funniest person I’ve ever met, now where were you all day? If you couldn’t find him, why didn’t you come back? It was so fucking boring around here today… well, I did have a good time this afternoon bowling with Mindeulle and Lidmila.”

“I kept looking. You told me to find him. And I’m tired now so I’m going to bed, goodnight.”

“What?” Nasimiyu laughed. “Just like that?”

Dulce waved over her shoulder. Nasimiyu found it amusing, thank goodness. She let Dulce go without anything further. She was in a good mood then. She must actually have had quite a lot of fun with her new lady friends.

Good. Because Dulce was tired and didn’t feel like doing anything right now except picking the flower petals out of her hair from the wedding and going to sleep. She couldn’t have started reading that book Seokjin bought her if she wanted to. Well, only the first chapter.

Chapter Text

The energy shift in the palace as the day of the masquerade ball approached was impossible to miss. Lady Zselyke explained to Nasimiyu that decorations would take place the night before, as they slept, so that the morning of the ball they would awake to a world transformed, and that everything would be taken down in the wee hours after the ball ended and day broke so that not a trace of the festivities lingered. Everything and anything could happen in that one day, and while “it will pale in comparison to the tawdry affairs the King and Queen used to throw… that’s for the best, and it will still be the best moral ball this city has ever seen!”

“What precisely does she mean by that?” Nasimiyu asked the girls the second Lady Zselyke had left them that morning, off to tend to preparations. 

The way the girls’ faces lit up as they leaned in and motioned her close gave Nasimiyu the instinct to back off, but she instead leaned forward.

“I hard they used to hire people to have sex in dark corners,” Lidmila whispered. “You know, to be suggestive.”

“I heard they didn’t need to hire people to have sex in dark corners because they put aphrodisiacs in all the food so people just did it,” Afua said with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“I heard the masquerade balls were always just screening events for a massive… you know … that took place in a private chamber–” Çiğdem began.

“Excuse me a moment, with the King and Queen ?” Nasimiyu clarified, eyebrows reaching the sky. Honestly she wouldn’t have put such debauchery past the king except that he seemed allergic to anything wild and fun like that and more about hunting and money and unnecessary wars. But to hear the queen –of whom she had heard words spoken as though she were nothing but a pure and innocent angel– included in such things and for the girls to repeat such things shocked her.

“Yes!” they squealed as Miss Tasa, a recent addition to their teas, scoffed, “ No . Those were just rumors. My mother says there was no such thing.”

“Sounds like your mother wasn’t invited.”

“Can you really envision the king and queen involved in something like that?”

“My mother would cry to hear anyone repeat rumors like that about the queen,” Lidmila insisted. “I don’t doubt there’s debauchery when everyone’s got masks on and can pretend the rules don’t apply for a night, but really, to say the King and Queen were behind it…”

“Just the king then,” Çiğdem conceded.

“Say what you will about the queen but no one questioned his devotion to his wife,” Afua agreed. “He’s never even remarried. I doubt he was doing things with other women…”

Nasimiyu found their inability to use the proper name for things obnoxious at best. It tempted her to push them over the edge. Just ask a direct question “ so you’re saying the King fucked around? You’re saying they conducted a massive orgy behind the ball?” and try to get them to sound like adults when they spoke about raunchy things.

But she didn’t, because also there was this impulse in her to protect such an innocent side of them. They would have to grow out of it fast now that they were out in society –and several made no secret they had hopes of growing out of it at this very ball.

“It’s not a time to throw yourself away,” Miss Tasa insisted. “Just because you can .”

“Everything is a secret but nothing is actually a secret,” Lidmila agreed. “Don’t do anything you don’t want following you the next day.”

Çiğdem rolled her eyes,  “It’s very obvious, isn’t it? There’s always a wave of babies born so many months after a ball.”

“Is there?”

“Well… it seems like it…”

“That would be more babies born in…” The girls broke off to count on their fingers. Early August would mean babies born in–

“But masquerade balls usually aren’t had in the summer,” Afua interrupted. “Usually that’s a winter thing. The summer balls are usually maskless. People behave better when they have to show their face.”

“Why the break from that tradition now then?” Nasimiyu asked curiously. No one had said to her that there was anything odd about the ball being a masquerade. 

No one had any guesses they were willing to admit. When Nasimiyu crossed her eyes and stared them down, as she often did when they expressed hesitation to be honest with her, they fidgeted and eventually crumbled 

“Well–” Çiğdem started, but Lidmila interrupted, “I’m sure it’s just to make the ball as exciting as possible.”

Nasimiyu nodded, “All right. Çiğdem would you like to take a turn with me and say what you were about to say–”

“She just meant–”

“No, don’t–”

“She only means it’ll be so much fun for everyone to–”

“It’s gossip,” Nasimiyu surmised. “So tell me. Do you think I can’t handle the gossip or that I don’t deserve to know what’s being said?”

All the girls looked at her with wide, panicked expressions.

“If you’re to be my close social circle, I need you to be my eyes and ears,” she added, more gently.

The girls looked at Lidmila, who sighed gravely before admitting, “The gossip is that it’s in the hopes that masks will help you and the Prince become a little… a little more at ease with each other.”

“Why?” Nasimiyu asked. “The problem certainly isn’t his face– not that there is a problem! We simply are private with our courtship. Ours is a lifelong partnership, not a… a spectacle.”

“But people enjoy a spectacle,” Çiğdem offered with an apologetic look. “It might help to give them a little bit of one.”

“You’re sick,” Tasa snorted. “You just want a front row seat at the drama.”

“I do not! I know there’s no drama. I mean it purely for political reasons! People come alive at a good love story,” Çiğdem insisted. 

Nasimiyu leaned back in her chair, grinning. When Lidmila glanced at her, she nodded, not only as if unbothered by this gossip but as if it were all a part of her plan. In a way, it was. There was a fine line to walk, perhaps, between seeming like a cold-hearted shrew and a woman not yet won over, but she had no doubt how important a victory over peoples’ hearts it would give her if the kingdom watched her fall in love with Seokjin. Show, don’t tell. Love at first sight was forgotten, it was shallow and easily broken. But the romance of falling in love, bringing everyone along for it, it would be a masterful move. 

That was why she had been slow to warm to Seokjin. No other reasons.

“I take your suggestion to heart,” Nasimiyu assured them. “Thank you for your honesty. I admit I may seem a little shy in my affections… it’s… flustering, to be face to face with the Prince’s charm. I haven’t acclimated yet.”

The girls all swooned.

“Perhaps the masks will help with that,” Nasimiyu conceded, then sighed, “Or perhaps they’ll make it worse. You don’t think it’ll make him bolder and more charming do you?”

“Oh dear, it might…”

The girls tittered about this possibility and how Nasimiyu ought to handle it and did their best to tease out of her what her costume for the night looked like –but Nasimiyu was distracted, her attention caught by the event she had anticipated when choosing this place to set down for tea: Namjoon and Mindeulle exiting a particular meeting room after their daily morning lectures. 

Because apparently, even when not in Therepin, the two good citizens met with other Therepins in the capitol and spent at least an hour, no more than three, in lecture. The topics ranged from whatever someone felt motivated to give a lecture or lead a discussion on –politics, literature, art, the latest results of some test. Often they were religious, which Nasimiyu had absolutely no interest in, but her curiosity simmered at joining on another day. Maybe a day in which Namjoon was presenting.

She didn’t want to seem too eager though. It was also the reason she didn’t wave for them when they rushed out of the room with the rest of the Therepins. Namjoon was still speaking with someone but Mindeulle noticed them right away; at least Nasimiyu thought so, the back of her neck tingled like they had looked over.

A second later, Lidmila waved her hand and called, “Miss Mindeulle!”

“Honestly, don’t shout!” Tasa gasped, touching her arm. Lidmila looked mortified, but the damage was done; many heads had turned to them. At least Mindeulle did come over straight away and looked pleased to have been hailed.

“How was your lecture?” Nasimiyu asked her kindly, fishing for an invitation.

Mindeulle, to her surprise, sighed, “Boring today, I’m afraid. It got my brother all riled up though, I think he’s going to speak tomorrow and lecture everyone on the virtues of his lengthy counter-argument….”

“What was the topic?”

“Boring,” Mindeulle said again with a short wave of her hand, instead asking, “What is the topic of this party here? It seems much more friendly.”

“We’re talking about the masquerade,” Afua said, as if it was a secret and not the exact thing all the young people around the palace were talking about.

“It’s so nice you’ve arrived in time for the ball!”

Mindeulle nodded eagerly, “I agree, and I’m equally as glad my brother didn’t know about it before we got here or he might have had us take a detour so we’d miss it.” The girls all giggled about it, understanding the implication that it took Nasimiyu a moment to catch up to: that her brother didn’t necessarily trust her at a potentially debaucherous ball like a masquerade.

Maybe his ears were burning, because he came over as well, in time for Nasimiyu to ask safely within the flow of conversation, “Is it true, ser? You don’t enjoy a masquerade?” 

“A what?”

“A masquerade?” Lidmila repeated, and Nasimiyu was not the only one confused why he’d be confused by the word.

“Ah! The masked ball, right. No, I don’t care– Mindy, you don’t actually propose to argue against me if I lecture–”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Mindeulle asked. “I disagree with you.” Now Nasimiyu considered that Mindeulle’s cheeks were flushed and her energy was maybe not a result of excitedly escaping lecture and joining a gaggle of girls giggling over a ball. But her attention was torn three ways: between that observation, and the dash of excitement that Namjoon was going to speak in the session soon, and the dash of shock that he cared so little for balls that he couldn’t even give a whole breath to them. 

Nasimiyu liked balls. And she suspected Namjoon would cut a good figure at one, though now it dawned on her she didn’t know why she had expected that. Simply because h e was handsome? But he could be inelegant in a situation like that…

She stomped right over Namjoon and Mindeulle speaking and asked, “Do you dance, Lord Namjoon?”

“Dance? No,” he scoffed at the same moment Mindeulle answered gleefully, “He does! Though he doesn’t like to admit it.” Her accurate prediction of her breather as he fulfilled that prediction made the ladies laugh and appeared to fluster him.

“Perhaps if I worked at it,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand, as Mindeulle insisted, “He works very hard at it in secret. To impress whom, dear brother?”

“Eh, uh, no one,” he said which made the girls laugh again but Nasimiyu didn’t think he was being cagey. To her, he looked distracted. Still thinking about the debate with his sister from a moment before. Mindeulle slid easily between the topics but Namjoon was slow and clumsy to transition.

To test her theory, she prodded, “Surely you are at least going to the ball though. Wouldn’t it be a deep offense not to?”

“Of course he’s going,” Mindeulle said. 

“Uh–”

“Does your morning lecture linger in your attention?” Nasimiyu asked quickly.

“Yes.”

“Yes you’re going to the ball?” Lidmila pressed.

“Um…” He laughed and shook his head. “Next you ladies will ask if I have my attire ready and who gets my first dance.” He cast a rather crooked grin at Nasimiyu that had something sharp behind the eyes, as if he knew she’d been trying to trip him up –and succeeded. 

For a brief moment, Nasimiyu felt a connection with him, as if they were the only two adults present, grinning over some foolishness that went over the childrens’ heads. For a brief moment, Nasimiyu felt her heart start at the idea of having Namjoon’s first dance at this ball he wanted so little to do with. 

Then Mindeulle reached around Nasimiyu to whisper loudly, “ I think his first dance is already spoken for.”

“Mindy… It’s not… ah…” he broke off. Nasimiyu didn’t know what that meant, or why he was suddenly rubbing the back of his neck as if it was hot from the attention. 

Çiğdem looked almost predatory as she pressed, “So… it is or it isn’t?” Afua kicked her shoe, no doubt to remind her how furious the mamas would be if any of the girls arranged their own first dances without maternal approval.

Nasimiyu didn’t need the maternal approval of course, but as a betrothed woman, her first dance was set. No blush of seeing the men vie for her attention or finding sneaky ways to try and secure it ahead of the ball. Certainly Namjoon wouldn’t be among them.

Not that she wanted him to be! It was impossible to tell if he actually could dance or if his sister was just taunting him. Was he better or worse than Seokjin? How was Seokjin actually?

In a fit of mercy, Nasimiyu decided to undo the tangle she had started, and instead suggested, “Tell us what your lecture was on, that we can share what’s on your mind if it’s not a ball. We have minds that benefit from intense debate too.” She glanced at her companions, who all conveniently looked away. Lidmila’s eyebrows were clearly raised as she stared down at her hand. They were caricatures of young women who did not give a flying fuck about a Therepin lecture and just wanted to gossip about the ball and first dances.

“It’s a morality debate,” Namjoon explained, face lighting up at the opportunity. “How do our intentions affect a moral assessment of our actions? If I didn’t mean to cause harm but I still do, does my action get a pass–”

“No, don’t guide her in your framing,” Mindeulle interrupted. “Stop that right now! How can we be held morally accountable for consequences we have no control over?”

“Because you are a young woman and the decisions you make don’t have the same far-reaching–”

“Ha!” Mindeulle practically shouted, very unladylike. Nasimiyu’s eyebrow quirked with interest. She knew Mindeulle was not always as soft spoken as she seemed, but she hadn’t heard her shout like that before. “ That is already immorality on its own. Sex should have no bearing on morality. Women are as capable of damage as men.”

“Well that’s true on a personal level,” Namjoon muttered, as if he’d forgotten himself. Suddenly he cleared his throat and corrected, “But we can’t give powerful men – or women, all right – a moral pass just because they couldn’t be sure things would turn out this way or that. They begin an immoral war and those who are killed in it condemn the war for its consequences–”

“Surely this great man could have predicted the likelihood that men would die,” Nasimiyu interjected. “Was it a worthwhile risk? Death itself may not be immoral–”

“If loss of life of those who have no true choice in whether they risk it for a war isn’t immoral, then what is?” Namjoon demanded, leaning forward like he was going to reach forward and grab Nasimiyu in his protest.

Fuck, did she wish he would.

But just as overwhelming in the moment was Mindeulle arguing, “Yes, that’s exactly my point, the king’s intentions were to preserve or to risk! That is where the morality should be determined. He judges an action is worth it because the risk is low. The result is worse than he feared. Is he to be condemned–”

“Depends why he took the risk,” Nasimiyu suggested.

“We can’t know the outcome of our actions, we have to do the best we can with the information we have,” Mindeulle insisted, to which Namjoon argued, “There’s no practical application of that. You have dead children lying in the streets and you want to insist that’s moral because the leaders did the best they could?”

“What dead children?” Lidmila gasped as the others covered their mouths and tittered.

“Ah, sorry, sorry, ladies, I’m sorry, I got carried away,” he said, tone instantly shifting.

“Did you predict the outcome of getting carried away?” Mindeulle teased.

Namjoon glared at her, “It doesn’t matter, I upset them.”

Nasimiyu was fascinated every time she saw them interact. It was certainly nothing like her relationship with her own sisters. Just as fascinating, the way they were with each other seemed to carry over to Seokjin as well; the poking, the teasing, even that element of rivalry and respect. It was obvious Namjoon and Seokjin had known each other a long time. 

Frankly, when Namjoon apologized to her, she found herself offended. She didn’t want apology. She wanted to keep talking! She wanted to suggest the possibility of an act being amoral and see what he thought of that. Did everything have to be good or evil? Was it possible for an act to have no moral bearing whatsoever? What about morality that changed by the context, or by the judge! 

“Is this the sort of thing you often debate in those lectures?”

“Ah, no, no,” Namjoon insisted. “Sometimes they are calmer. We aren’t supposed to get so…”

“Rowdy,” Mindeulle suggested as Lidmila offered, “Passionate?” Nasimiyu eyed Lidmila’s face and wasn’t the least bit surprised by the admiration she saw there leveled at Namjoon. What young lady wouldn’t be captivated by him: tall, handsome, strong, intelligent, kind. A few days prior he’d shown Nasimiyu a tiny plum bonsai tree he traveled with always. A tree! What a gentle soul… but strong in his convictions and in his body…

“You ought to come to one of the lectures,” Mindeulle, blessed MIndeulle, suggested. “All of you are welcome, of course.”

“Oh, I don’t think my mother would let me–” Lidmila murmured.

But Nasimiyu feigned a casual demeanor and said, “I can attend, if you think it’s valuable and I’m welcome.”

“Of course you are,” Namjoon agreed with his sister. Well that sealed it for Nasimiyu.

Still, she added, “On the terms that you, ser, also attend the masquerade with the same degree of respect with which I’ll attend the lecture.”

“Ah…” He sighed and looked away, bemused. “I didn’t realize balls were so important to you.”

She didn’t like the way he said it. Maybe he meant it playfully or maybe it was a serious jab. Either way, she looked down her nose at him and argued,

“Socialization, culture, music, costume, beauty– are those things not also important? To cast aside grievances and differences for one night and simply enjoy good food, good dance, and good company?”

“You state your case very well,” Mindeulle mused.

Namjoon too looked amused and shook his head, “Very well, I will take the ball as seriously as I do my studies, and look forward to your thoughts when you join our morning lecture. Mindeulle can suggest which one is good for a lady.”

“Why does that sound like an insult?” Nasimiyu said without thinking, eyes narrowing.

“I meant no insult,” he insisted as he stood. Then paused, in light of his recent morality defense, and added, “But if I hit a mark, you have my apologies.”

With a bow, he turned to go, only waving over his shoulder as Çiğdem called after him, “You never did answer us about the first dance!”

“Cigny!” Afua gasped and grabbed her arm. “Shouting that after a man… what will your mother think?”

“I’ll tell her I didn’t mean any harm.”

“Oh dear, maybe you ought to all come to that lecture,” Mindeulle laughed. 

“Do you really debate your own brother? In front of everyone?”

“It depends whether the old men manage to shut me up,” she told them, and Nasimiyu found her admiration for the girl growing. Mindeulle was feminine and delicate and charming and sweet, yet she had a sharp mind and apparently knew when and where to strategically use it. The fact that the king himself read letters written by her! Nasimiyu was desperate to read them now; she hadn’t yet got around to it, though several sat in her room as previously requested. She’d read Namjoon’s and marveled at his mind. Perhaps she did Mindeulle a disservice not to equally marvel.

Oh dear. Was Nasimiyu herself being sexist?! Was it only because Namjoon had a certain charm– but Mindeulle had that charm as well! She considered the woman now, trying to be fair, trying not to overlook her. It was easy to see nothing more than a beautiful simple young woman.

Maybe that was on purpose.

“What about you, Miss Mindeulle?” Nasimiyu asked. “Do you like a masquerade?”

“I’ve never been to one! I’m taking my costume very seriously though. I do hope you like it, Princess.” There didn’t seem to be anything meaningful behind the smile except kindness and excitement. One moment she’d been passionately debating with her brother on philosophical matters; now she shifted easily to enthusiasm for fine dresses and social affairs.

Nasimiyu felt a growing certainty that Mindeulle absolutely must be a permanent part of the Privan court. Left to Mindeulle’s choice, she believed the woman would stay. How to convince Namjoon… a different matter entirely. Unless they both stayed.

Mindeulle was still staring at her, as if waiting for an answer. 

“I’m sure I will,” Nasimiyu assured her, and looked away to Lidmila’s gentle smile. She reached for her forgotten tea and a cookie to hide her fluster as Mindeulle lamented, “It’s very low cut. I suspect my brother will be furious. That will be part of the fun!”

“Careful you don’t catch the wrong type of man,” Tasa gasped. “And at your first masquerade! We should stick together at the ball.”

Çiğdem snickered, “Absolutely not! I shall be too busy dancing.”

“With who?!”

“It’s not a very good masquerade if I already unmask, is it?” she joked, which earned giggles and titters.

Suddenly Mindeulle reached out to gently touch Nasimiyu’s hand and said, “Don’t let my brother make you feel guilty for enjoying fun. He’s not familiar with the term.”

“Fun?”

“Yes. He’s a great bore. I thought you might have noticed.”

“Actually I find you both very entertaining company,” Nasimiyu insisted.

“Oh Lidmila, you’ve spilled your tea!” Afua cried as the ladies fluttered around her, grabbing napkins and mopping it from her skirt.

Lidmila herself only smiled, “I’m such a goose sometimes. Don’t fuss over me, it’s only a small spot.” It was, in fact, a very large one. “I agree with the Princess, we’re so glad to have you in our company these days! I believe this will be the best masquerade Priva has ever seen!”

Mindeulle echoed, “I am grateful to be here as well. I believe the company is the best there has ever been found in Priva.”

Nasimiyu didn’t know whether to admire or repel at the sudden cheer from all sides. It felt artificial. It all felt fake and she couldn’t figure out why but it was exceedingly uncomfortable now. She felt like she’d missed something. She looked around but Dulce wasn’t with her today, subjected to this fakery. No one had been fake a moment ago, had they?

Oh, were they just all getting competitive over Namjoon? Or possibly even herself, if it seemed like she was playing favorites? That thought flattered her. But of course, these social interactions could determine the standing of these young women in the future.

Graciously she agreed, “Yes, I believe the ball will be one to remember, and that Privan society continues to improve with such wonderful minds. I’m glad to have arrived at a time like this!”

But she didn’t think her speech had quite the elegance of either Mindeulle’s or Lidmila’s and it wound up leaving a salty taste in her mouth for the rest of the afternoon.

And also, there was nothing wrong with liking balls. Honestly, her esteem of Namjoon took a hit because of that.

Seokjin was making such a big show of re-enacting his favorite parts of the latest Kalamouche novel to make Jimin and Jungkook laugh that he didn’t notice when Dulce entered the kitchen. 

There was no way to ever predict which evenings she’d show up; just because Nasimiyu turned her nose up at dinner didn’t necessarily mean Dulce would be the one sent to fetch her more food later that night. 

Seokjin hadn’t had the time to hang out in the kitchen recently either. Despite his best efforts to stay out of it, he’d been pulled into more of his father’s work lately; nothing remarkable, but while so many of the typically present advisors and nobility were still off at the beaches of Sartia, the councilroom needed filling out with more bodies as they discussed important but boring things like trade embargoes, taxes, public works projects that needed to happen before the weather turned, policies that were coming under fire either from noisy nations like Therepin or random nobles who’d found a way to benefit personally from a change. And while normally he might fight to stay disengaged, Seokjin was trying harder to be the prince Nasimiyu thought she was marrying. It was no secret she desperately wanted into the councilroom and had no right to be there until they wed. He might as well garner some respect in there by the time he could finally allow her in by his side.

But it was exhausting. It was zapping precious resources in his mind that ought to be dedicated to figuring out a way out of the impending ball –the one he had no realistic hope of evading because it was in honor of his betrothed. 

At least, thank fuck, it was a masquerade. Even though everyone there would obviously know who he was even with a mask on, he still felt a little protected. He’d insisted on it with Zselyke when she was planning the damn thing and, to his surprise, he’d won. Despite it being the wrong season for it or whatever. Who cared? Why did a ball even have a season? 

“The assassination attempt,” Seokjin said, pushing up from his seat. He wobbled a little thanks to the alcohol warming his blood. He took a step forward and then lunged, brandishing a spoon like a sword, then just as quickly spun and pretended to have taken the sword in his gut.

“It was real?” Jimin asked, eyes going wide, egging him on. “Who did it?”

“Kalamouche,” Seokjin informed him. “Staged! To what end? It’s so dramatic, to try and pull something like that off!”

Jungkook, perched on the counter as only he was allowed by Yoongi, grinned and prodded, “Why do you think he did it?” 

Seokjin saw the way he and Jimin looked at each other and answered dramatically loudly, “Conspiracy! Drama! Pity dick, I think, to be honest–”

“Pity dick?” Yoongi asked. “I thought he was in love with a woman.”

“Yes, no, that one,” Seokjin said, gesturing to Yoongi with a flair that made Jungkook laugh, “He meant pity-puss.”

“I am a dignified royal prince I would never say that–” Seokjin deadpanned, hand pressed to his chest. The sight of the spoon reminded him of his play, and he continued, “He’s bamboozled the court, his lady love swoons at his alleged death, and then he’s able to surprise her with his life–”

“At the masquerade,” Hoseok guessed.

“Just so!” Seokjin agreed, brandishing the spoon at him. “The royal court is none the wiser to their true intentions because everyone believes his death! People see what they want to see–” He broke off to do a flurry of shuffles, jabs, and parries with his spoon–

Only to stumble at the sight of Dulce standing quietly to the side.

He wasn’t quite embarrassed, but still flustered to hide it, “Speak of the fox, who moves on silent feet sneaking into our kitchen!”

“We weren’t speaking of foxes,” Jungkook corrected.

“Why do you betray me thus?” Seokjin demanded with a laugh, reaching out and clapping his bodyguard on the arm. “I’m trying to move us past my performance with the spoon. Read the room, Jungkooka.”

Dulce simply stood there, waiting for him to finish. When she stood still, she became like a statue. He didn’t understand. The more he tried to stand still, the more he became aware of needing to blink, or an itch on his neck, or hair tickling his ear, or a muscle twinge in his foot. Suddenly breathing took physical effort.

Yoongi addressed her before she said anything, asking, “Did you come for food for the Princess? You didn’t come for a few days so I didn’t put a cart together already.”

“Only something small,” Dulce answered him but stayed standing on the far side, as if hesitant to enter their circle. She always did that and frankly Seokjin understood. He felt comfortable when it was just this particular group of folks in the familiar corner of the kitchens but otherwise he had no interest in breaking into an established social setting. Earlier in the day he’d come upon Nasimiyu sitting with her ladies and had needed a minute to gather his strength to go say hello –to his own betrothed sitting in his own gardens. Someday he hoped she would be an anchor, and going to her anytime, anywhere would feel like going home. But for right now, she was not that to him.

“Wake up,” Jimin said, clapping his hands not far from Seokjin’s face. He blinked and shook his head and realized he had spaced out. Dulce had been coaxed into the kitchen and now inspected Yoongi’s workspace as he stepped away to pull together “something small” for the picky-eating Princess. 

“I’m awake,” Seokjin bumbled and batted JImin’s away and crossed his arms and leaned against the counter.

“I want to know more about your theories on Kalamouche,” Jungkook demanded, and Hoseok laughed, “Yes, show us again how that went? Drin will be so impressed with your spoon technique!” 

But Dulce was asking Yoongi a question so Seokjin ignored them with a wave of his hand so he could hear, “What are you making?”

“Why, does it look familiar?” Yoongi countered, and Seokjin felt a small jolt that Yoongi would speak to her that flippantly. It sounded rude to him. 

Dulce’s indifferent response made him realize that actually Dulce might be in the kitchen much more frequently than he was. He wasn’t always here. He wouldn’t know if she was here on nights he wan’t, talking to Yoongi or the other kitchen staff.

He realized that must be the case as she answered, “Barely.”

“Ouch.”

“Ah!!” Seokjin gasped. “A joke! Is that what just happened? Are you two making jokes in the kitchen?”

“It’s not a joke, she’s insulting my cooking,” Yoongi snickered.

Dulce argued, “I’m not, I just am not sure it’s successfully Paloman, what are you putting in it? Something doesn’t smell right… why are you cooking that anyway?”

“Does the Princess like Paloman food?” Hoseok asked.

“No,” was Dulce’s definitive answer, like maybe this had been discussed before.

Yoongi waved off the suggestion, “I’m just experimenting. I’m trying to create something I saw once…”

“Tamales,” Dulce clarified. “But your filling needs to be cut up more finely or it’ll poke through the masa too much and they’ll fall apart. Did you even use cumin and paprika?”

“They’re in there.”

“Not enough then, I can’t smell them….”

“Is that why you have all the corn husks?” Jungkook asked, pointing to the basket. Seokjin had thought they were just leftover from cleaning corn earlier in the day but Jungkook’s curiosity made him curious too.

“You explain it,” Yoongi gestured to Dulce. Her eyes narrowed with such a transparent lack of amusement that now Seokjin was certain she must come to the kitchen to speak with Yoongi regularly. He’d thought that much outward display of emotion was limited to–

To what, the time they’d walked through the city together and he’d worn her down?

His own thought embarrassed him. He kept quiet to listen as Dulce begrudgingly answered, “You fill the masa, that’s the cornmeal mixture, with meats or beans or vegetables and wrap them in the cornhusks to steam. It’s not that different from your dumplings.”

“I don’t need to cut the beans up though,” Yoongi said. “Or… do I?”

“Whatever you want,” Dulce answered and stepped back. Yoongi waited. Seokjin waited, watching them both. 

“How would you do it?” Seokjin asked her, trying to nudge her.

“I wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t what?”

“Be making tamales. I don’t really care about food.”

Seokjin scoffed and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, “How can you say that? I know it’s not true! You have big opinions– probably it’s killing you right now to know he’s making them in a way that’s not right!”

“Why does there have to be a way that’s right? Rules about food are…” She trailed off and Seokjin crowed with happiness that she’d briefly engaged. 

“Stupid?” he guessed.  

“You should know the rules before you break them,” Yoongi shrugged. “Some of the rules keep you from poisoning yourself with undercooked food.”

“No one’s going to die if the beans are whole instead of roughly chopped,” she answered. Seokjin couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled at her clever but not very subtle way of making a suggestion.

To tease her, he cried, “Wah! You can’t say that around me! Now you have condemned me to death!”

“What?”

“Huh?” Hoseok asked, also leaning around and not seeming to understand at first Seokjin was playing. 

“Yah, now I’ll choke to death on a black bean! Life is full of dramatic irony! It’s why Kalamouche is such a work of art, it perfectly mirrors the absurdity of real life!”

“Oi, you’re spending too much time with Namjoon,” Yoongi grumbled with the clear intention of riling Seokjin further. He’d come to the kitchens to complain about his distant cousin many times. His not-so-subtle requests to fill the menu with seafood and mint chocolate desserts had been ignored, and only led to merciless teasing when it was pointed out he also hated mint chocolate. Would be worth it he had grumbled and slunk away, wish unfulfilled.

Jungkook, restlessly shelling walnuts even though Yoongi had told him he didn’t have to, snickered, “Kalamouche isn’t a work of art.”

“He’s not a fan,” Seokjin sighed. 

“I am, but I enjoy it for what it is.”

“Which is what?” Seokjin demanded.

“Funny. It’s pretty funny sometimes.”

“You should keep those cornhusks soaking in water until you’re ready to fill them,” Dulce said quietly to Yoongi, as if no one else would hear. 

“I washed them off.”

“It makes them more pliable and less likely to crinkle or tear if they soak.”

“Ah ah ah, it sounds like you know something about cooking,” Seokjin said, leaning in closer. 

Dulce yanked up a knife and Seokjin leaned away with a nervous laugh.

“Even a numbskull can chop beans,” she insisted. 

“Oh I thought you were going to make a joke about throwing the knife instead of catching it,” he said, obviously alluding to their time in the city– which no one in this kitchen knew about. To keep from raising questions, he quickly added, “Do you know how to use it? The sharp side goes down,” at the same moment she insisted, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t know how to use a knife?” Jungkook asked, eyebrows raising.

“I… do? To chop beans? Yes…” Dulce’s head tilted the slightest bit, a quirk of confusion Seokjin hadn’t seen before. 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Yoongi said. “I can do it.”

Just as quickly, Dulce settled the knife and began roughly chopping the pile of black beans, jaw set as if she was ultimately annoyed by the joke that she didn’t know how to use it. 

The joke had to end because it was obvious she did. The quick way she rocked the knife and turned the cutting board was obviously a strong skill. She slid the knife to keep beans from escaping. All activity in their corner of the kitchen froze in admiration of the skill.

Dulce glanced up and their gazes caught; just a coincidence, because he was leaning close watching her. 

“You’re very good for someone who doesn’t know anything about cooking,” Yoongi mused.

“I… it’s just chopping beans…” She looked at Yoongi, and then back at Seokjin.

“She’s not a professional! A professional knows not to look away from a knife while cutting–” Seokjin teased. “Agh!” he cried out for her when she chopped too close as she turned the board. The blade slides right into the meat of her palm. He felt it, even though she didn’t say anything at all, just set the knife quickly to the side and pulled away from the food.

“Shit,” Yoongi said for her as well.

She shook her head and admitted, “I don’t suppose a professional cuts themself just chopping beans… it’s not my place… I was showing off…”

It was so fucking endearing. Seokjin reached for her without thinking, yanking the handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it to her palm as red began to seep from the cut.

“Ah, here, let me,” Jimin suggested diplomatically, reaching Dulce at nearly the same moment.

“I’ve got it.”

“It’s all right,” Jimin said, and slid his hand beneath Seokjin’s to nudge him away. He winked at Seokjin, so Seokjin winked back. But actually he was annoyed and wished he’d nudged Jimin right back off.

“What, she cut her hand, I can’t help–”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be holding hands with a maid in the kitchen,” Jungkook suggested.

“I should just let her bleed to death?”

“It’s really not a bad cut,” Dulce insisted. “I won’t die.”

“Oh, take her right to the healer. A maid isn’t any good without a hand,” Hoseok gasped, looking quickly away as the handkerchief began to show the blood.

“I’ll take her right away,” Jimin offered, but Dulce tried to turn away from him and take the handkerchief herself, insisting, “It’s all right, I can take myself.”

Jimin turned with her and pressed, “Allow me.”

“Don’t trouble yourself. It’s only a little scratch.”

“Ah, that’s not a scratch,” Hoseok murmured, regretting his glance.

“Only a scratch,” Seokjin repeated. “This is a scratch? What does a true wound look like to you? Let him take you in case you faint.”

“I won’t faint.”

“It’s all right to need assistance,” Seokjin said, a little more pointedly. “Are you embarrassed? Who hasn’t cut themself in the kitchen when confronted with my distracting face?”

“That’s… not….”

“It’s a joke,” Jimin assured her. “You’re worrying the prince, if you don’t let me escort you he’ll insist on it himself and do something dramatic like carry you through the halls–”

Dulce’s eyes went wide as she admitted to Seokjin, “I thought that part in Kalamouche was mortifying. I would have fallen on my dagger if I was lady–”

“Mortifying?! It’s romantic!” Seokjin laughed. “What do you mean, mortifying? Ah now I want to know what you thought of everything– you read it? I want to know how you read it. I think your mind is strange–”

“Are these beans good now? I’ll mix them with the chicken –not the pork ones though, yeah? Maybe some rice in the pork ones,” Yoongi mused, and looked to Dulce. Everyone seemed to forget she was bleeding, even herself.

It gave Jimin the opportunity to take her hand and nudge, “All right, Dulce, walk with me. If you feel faint, lean on me. I’m stronger than I look.”

“I don’t doubt that,” she murmured, letting him pull her away. Seokjin was sure she let him, and a little surprised she gave in with such a little fight, and even more surprised by the compliment. 

They were at the doorway when Yoongi called, “I’ll send the food to the Princess!”

“I’ll take it,” Jungkook offered, swaying a little when he got to his feet. 

“There are other servants.”

“My shift’s done anyway, time to head home. Warm bed and all that…”

“Whose warm bed?” Hoseok teased and Jungkook just wiggled his eyebrows. Delivering a tray was certainly beneath Jungkook but he wouldn’t be dissuaded, and Hoseok went with him too because he’d started to sweat out the alcohol and wanted to bathe.

Yoongi returned to his tamale project in the silent wake of their departure. Seokjin filled a pot with water at his direction to soak the corn husks in like Dulce had suggested.

“She definitely knows how to cook,” Yoongi mused.

“It’s a shame she cut her hand.”

“Not sure that was an accident,” Yoongi snickered. “You were watching her face too closely.”

“Ah, I did distract her, you mean?” Seokjin grinned, and stroked his cheek. Yoongi didn’t even look at him, his attention focused on the mixing of ingredients. 

After a pause, Yoongi admitted, “I don’t know what I mean. Except I think she’s the type of person who doesn’t like to be noticed and then you stand there and stare at her too closely.”

“What does that mean?! Me?”

“I don’t mean anything,” Yoongi quickly corrected. “You just seem very comfortable and more familiar with her lately.”

“I was thinking that about you,” Seokjin argued. 

“Ah well we talk about food sometimes. I noticed she doesn’t want to help unless you do something badly in front of her and then she has a hard time not stepping in.”

“So it’s your fault she cut herself then. You goaded her.”

“She should just participate,” Yoongi argued.

To that Seokjin agreed, “She’s slow to warm to people, even in spaces she’s obviously welcome.”

“Well I wouldn’t say our little kitchen parties are a normal experience for servants. Definitely not in Marvono. The other staff that came with the Princess talk about the Prince’s temper and the Princess-Mother’s strict rules about behavior…”

“You’re saying they aren’t as fun as me,” Seokjin grinned.

“I’m saying you don’t know what it’s like because even when you’re shy, you’re the prince. You don’t know what it’s like to be like us. If we fuck up, at best we’re fired and out on the street. Could be in a jail cell or on the executioners’ block.” Yoongi pointed out.

“Well you know all about that,” Seokjin taunted. “Are you saying your brush with death made you cautious?”

“The life does that. It either beats it out of you or you decide ‘fuck it’ and go out in a blaze of glory–”

“The life of being a commoner?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi confirmed with a shrug, like it was no big deal after all. “When life sucks you’ve got nothing to lose, but she seems happy with her position. Maybe she’s just careful about risking it. We’re still your people. Your betrothed still isn’t sure about any of us so her staff are careful too.”

Seokjin thought about this. Mindlessly he swirled the cornhusks around in the pot of water, enjoying the rippling feeling against his fingers. 

“Do you have feelings for her?” he asked, the question slipping from his tongue before he could stall it.

“Do I?”

“You answer a question with a question?”

Yoongi sighed, “I don’t know why you’re asking me that. I just told you, I don’t think she wants to be liked. I don’t think she wants to be known. She’s a loner.”

“Like you.”

“I’m not anymore,” Yoongi argued. “You wouldn’t leave me alone and I had to adapt.”

Seokjin’s grin grew wider as he taunted, “Admit it, you like us.”

“You’re all right.”

“You’d be lonely without us.”

“There’s a difference between lonely and alone.”

Seokjin didn’t even respond to that bit of wisdom because oh how deeply he knew that to be true. At balls, for instance. Surrounded by dozens or hundreds of people, women asking for a dance at every turn, drinks and conversation all around, and yet he never felt more alone, or less like he belonged. But other times, curled up in his bedroom with a book or a puzzle and just his animals and the sea breeze for company, he felt perfectly content. Not lonely at all. Sometimes he thought he could live his whole life in that room and be perfectly happy.

“She’s a sweet girl,” Yoongi said. “Too sweet for the likes of me.”

“She is sweet…” Seokjin considered. Yes. She was. She just didn’t want you to notice it. Nasimiyu didn’t seem like the kind of princess who would value sweetness. She wanted her servants strong and crisp and Dulce was those things too but…

But there was something about Dulce that just seemed very lonely. Even as Nasimiyu’s favorite. She seemed to be someone who liked being alone but Seokjin felt saddened by the idea that hers was a lonely life of service. She deserved closeness with others, to whatever degree she wanted. He thought she wanted to be comfortable here in the kitchen, he just felt like that was true.

In that case, maybe she and Yoongi were perfect together.

And Yoongi hadn’t said he didn’t have feelings for her.

Seokjin tried to picture it. He highly respected and trusted Yoongi, even knowing his political background. Youth , Yoongi had chalked those days of activism up to, and now lived a quiet but stable life in the kitchen. With any luck he really would be running the whole thing soon; his campaign of figuring out what foods kept Nasimiyu happy seemed to be going well if she was only sending for evening snacks instead of entirely new meals. 

Of course Nasimiyu would be devastated should Dulce fall in love and settle down as someone’s wife… and Seokjin ought to want Nasimiyu to have whatever she wanted…

But even if that was other people’s lives and happiness?

Ah, he struggled to concede that. He didn’t think that was right. Nasimiyu could stay friends or work out something else if Dulce still wanted to be both wife and employee, but Nasimiyu’s needs weren’t more important than Dulce’s happiness.

Of course all of this was just alcohol-fueled speculation on his part. Just a thought triggered by how carefully but increasingly familiar she was entering their “kitchen parties.” A thought triggered by how curious she had looked when they’d happened upon that wedding in the city after they’d run into each other in a closet of erotica. Just a thought triggered by how startled she had seemed when Seokjin took her hand to stop the bleeding.

She deserved that kind of companionship. She was a sweet girl. She deserved to have someone take care of her, to not always be on her own. 

But who? Yoongi? Jimin, who had rushed to volunteer walking her? Jungkook who teased her and didn’t stick around long after she left? Taehyung who raved about her looks and might have an interest in taking her home to her people in Paloma?

“She needs her One,” Seokjin chuckled to himself. One Two Three , it would be perfect. Who was her One though?

Yoongi just snorted, “You’re drunk. Either go to bed or help me stuff these tamales, I’m going to be doing this all night.”

“How many are you making?”

“Three batches.”

“How many are in a batch?”

“About sixty…”

“And with that I wish you goodnight,” Seokjin said with a sweep of his arm and a low bow. Yoongi laughed and called for other staff to come help him. But Seokjin did stay for a little longer, trying to think whether any of his friends could be a good match for sweet but shy Dulce, but struggling because he couldn’t really see any of them working quite right….

Dulce wasn’t quite sure what made a pussy pretty, because the ones she had liked didn’t seem to have any real consistency between them. Not that her roster of conquests was anything too remarkable, below twenty with men and women combined, which was low considering her advanced age, lack of attachment, high-stress job, and ample opportunities. Forming attachments was the hard part for someone like her, but casual sex? Easy when she wanted it. She just didn’t want it as often as some, maybe more than others. Hard to say for sure. She didn’t really compare notes.

At least not after two different women had told her she was too repressed. 

Nasimiyu was one of them, and it was never clear whether she meant it sincerely ( relax, Dulcie, tell me what you want ) or a taunt ( prove me wrong.) The infuriating part of course was that Dulce was the first woman Nasimiyu had ever been with, the only woman, and Dulce was the one to teach her so very many things, so who was really the repressed one?

It was just that Nasimiyu was a quick learner. And confident; that ego of hers and her apparent ease with Dulce made her very good at it all. On the rare occasion she did something unpleasant or unwanted, a flicker of remorse or embarrassment would flash across her face and then be suddenly gone. Only a few times in their relationship had Dulce felt like Nasimiyu really exposed herself in any vulnerable way, but she didn’t hold that against her. She knew Nasimiyu felt like she had a role to play, even in the bedroom with Dulce, just like she knew that Nasimiyu knew it was a role she played. They played along that Nasimiyu was the one in charge, that she demanded her pleasure or chose when to graciously give it. They played as if it was their arrangement that Dulce followed Nasimiyu’s lead, but it was just that, just a play. 

A title didn’t matter when Dulce took hold of Nasimiyu’s head and held her mouth in just the right place until her eyes rolled back in pleasure. 

“Don’t stop,” she gritted out, back arching off the bed, legs twitching as she tried to hold herself still under the flicks and slather of Nasimiyu’s tongue. The twitching got stronger, her body begging for a break, clit stabbing tendrils of too much pleasure up through her center until the involuntary bucking pulled her away. The gasped groan hurt leaving her throat as she curled forward, but Nasimiyu pushed her back onto the bed and slid over her body to wipe the mess of Dulce’s orgasm from her lips onto Dulce’s neck. Even that touch made Dulce shudder but Nasimiyu continued, as if preening Dulce back into rest.

“My turn?”

“Not yet,” Dulce told her, slowly stretching out her legs. She let her eyes close and relaxed, embracing the numb mind that followed after the onslaught of pleasure. 

Nasimiyu mumbled something unintelligible, then complained, “I’m desperate now…”

“Hm, just wait,” Dulce said. Her arms and legs popped as she stretched them as far as she could. Nasimiyu playfully pinched at her nipples and Dulce batted her away, “Just give me a minute, I’ll take care of it.” 

“Liar, you’re going to fall asleep.”

“When have I ever fallen asleep after cumming?”

“You came harder this time.”

“Yes.”

“You went too long without cumming,” Nasimiyu continued. “I don’t think you’ve cum in a while.”

“Hm.”

“Do you get off on depriving yourself? That seems true,” Nasimiyu mused and Dulce smiled with her eyes closed. That was somewhat true. Dulce did enjoy making Nasimiyu cum without necessarily letting her return the favor. Sometimes she took care of it herself later, remembering the way Nasimiyu had looked and sounded and tasted. Other times she just made herself move on unsatisfied. It kept her sharp. Orgasm made her too… lose. Lazy. Soft.

Besides, there was power in sex, and it was better she keep the scales balanced this way. There was a vulnerability she felt in letting someone else make her cum; she liked to control whether that happened or not with another person. 

“Maybe,” Dulce said, eyes cracking open. “Maybe I’m just selective about when I let you see me like this.”

“Yeah? Then who else is seeing you like this?”

“Hm.”

Nasimiyu’s eyes narrowed, an obvious uncertainty whether Dulce was teasing her or not. Nasimiyu didn’t like to share, something she made no secret of in the time Dulce had known her. Even though there had never been some exclusive relationship established, even though Dulce didn’t ask anything like that of Nasimiyu, they had known each other only a short time before Nasimiyu’s jealous narrow gaze traced her shadow at the tavern they used to meet in.

Thinking about it made Dulce warm again. It was nice to feel wanted. She suspected the scarcity of her response was what kept Nasimiyu interested in her anyway. If she’d been easy and simple and bubbly and drowned Nasimiyu in affection –much as Nasimiyu wanted the attention– she’d have been dropped in a moment. Don’t try so hard , she had told Seokjin, and she thought that was the best advice she could give. Maybe Seokjin had already made it impossible for himself simply because he wanted Nasimiyu so badly. 

How were the two of them going to work, even temporarily? Dulce let her gaze roam across Nasimiyu’s body reclining next to hers, every inch of it beautiful. Every inch of it accessible to her right now. She reached out and thumbed her bumpy dark nipple and Nasimiyu grinned proudly. She caressed the breast, trailed her fingers down the warm skin of Nasimiyu’s belly, she slid her fingers down through the dark curls between Nasimiyu’s legs, glistening with obvious need. Nasimiyu was no less obvious, quick to widen her legs and try to rock against Dulce’s stroke.

She couldn’t see it. He’d be so brazenly eager in his worship of Nasimiyu’s body, that she was sure of. Would Nasimiyu look at him with that same increasing frustration and desperation? No doubt her mouth would look pretty around a cock but Dulce preferred her lips swollen from sucking on a less invasive sex. Nasimiyu might laugh at his cock. She had a hard time picturing Nasimiyu intimate with a man, though knew she’d had at least two lovers before Dulce. Had they ever figured out how to touch Nasimiyu just right, like Dulce had? Would Seokjin’s own eagerness to master Nasimiyu’s pleasure be a further obstacle in his attempt to win her affections, or would that be the secret for him? Nasimiyu liked to pretend she was so independent, so tough, so controlling, especially in the bedroom, but it was an act. She was the kind of woman who wouldn’t admit it but needed to be held after you made her cum hard and then pretended like it was a favor she was doing for you. She demanded to be the best you ever had.

Seokjin would probably love that.

“Come here,” Dulce said, sliding her hands across Nasimiyu’s inner thigh. 

“Yes?” Nasimiyu asked, cocking her eyebrow knowingly.

“I’m not done,” Dulce said. Sometimes it was hard to bite back the smile, like in the face of Nasimiyu’s obvious frustration. “Unless you’re so needy–”

“I’m not,” Nasimiyu scoffed. “It’s fine. This is what I mean about you go too long, it’s hard to work you loose–”

The lecture was too much, Dulce laughed. 

“All right, princess,” she teased, and tugged on her thigh. “Let’s see who gives first.”

Nasimiyu’s eyes lit up as she lifted higher, settling herself over Dulce’s face. 

“Wait.”

“Wait… for what?” Nasimiyu asked. Dulce didn’t answer her, just gazed and admired, spreading Nasimiyu’s pussy with her thumbs. “Oh, you like it?”

Dulce lifted up to lick, appeased by Nasimiyu’s deep sigh.

“Looks like I’ll win…”

She didn’t have to see Nasimiyu’s glare to feel it as the princess herself leaned forward and nudged Dulce’s legs wide apart so she could reach with that bossy tongue of hers. 

It was a draw. And afterwards Nasimiyu draped herself across Dulce in the bed, teasingly calling her “my little doll”, acting like she’d managed the whole thing so well. It made Dulce fond again, smoothing over some of the recent wrinkles between them. How did others not see so easily through the front Nasimiyu put up? Even her own parents didn’t seem to understand the blend of hard and soft that made up their daughter. They doubted her in the wrong places; they ignored her in the ways that might have drawn them closer together.

No doubt Seokjin wanted to be this for Nasimiyu, and that would have a tragic conclusion no matter what. Who would be this and more for Nasimiyu once her false marriage came to an end? Would Dulce still be here…?

No. She couldn’t be. She’d be gone before Nasimiyu turned the tables and Dulce reached for a hand that was no longer reaching for hers. She wouldn’t haunt the hallways and closets and kitchens of this palace a moment longer than she needed to. Right now she felt ambivalent about thinking of life after, life beyond, but as the sweat cooled on her skin, she already felt some of that restlessness return.

What was she doing here?

Was she really so afraid of Prince Hamisi’s threat?

Was Nasimiyu what kept her here?

Her day walking the city (with the Prince, not that it was relevant) had awakened a restlessness in her. She was beginning to feel like she was intruding. She knew too many people here now and too many people knew too much about her. The cook Yoongi shouldn’t be exploring Palmoman cuisine. Jungkook shouldn’t wink at her when he passed her in the hallway. Jimin shouldn’t sidle up next to her while they were working and chat like they were old friends.

The Prince definitely shouldn’t have grabbed her hand when she cut herself. 

She looked at her palm now, at the bandage she’d taped there. The other maids insisted she wear gloves, that the cut was too gruesome for service. Slipping with the knife was supposed to have been her escape from the kitchen, the plan hatched as soon as she realized she had stepped too far into the Prince’s circle. 

That was a slippery slope, the one leading into that group. Those people were too simple, too easy to get along with, too diverse in tastes and temperament so that it was harder to feel at odds than it was to fit in.

Dulce wasn’t here to fit in. She wasn’t here to get familiar. Most of those people were probably going to die. Prince Hamisi would be ruthless in the turnover when Nasimiyu took over; anyone that close to the Prince would be considered a potential threat. 

Honestly, the alternative was bad too. They clearly genuinely cared for him. The thought of them keeping their positions in this palace without the Prince at their center… it was tragic…

“I can’t believe you faked an injury. That’s so…” Nasimiyu snickered, taking Dulce’s hand and brushing her fingers over the bandage. The caress was a thoughtless one; it hurt. Not that Dulce would say that.

“So Kalamouche,” Dulce mumbled. She’d read the second and third books now as well, since they were in the palace library. Kalamouche was always doing brainless things like that to get out of trouble. Hurting himself, saying something embarrassing or wrong, making jokes when he should be serious, anything to distract, smooth over, or escape a situation. He was quite obviously inspired by Prince Seokjin. 

Nasimiyu either didn’t hear her or didn’t notice, just mused, “Speaking of fake, I have your dress.”

“My dress?”

“I bought you one,” Nasimiyu grinned, sliding her hand up Dulce’s side in a lazy caress.

“A dress?”

“For the ball. And a mask, obviously.”

“The… ball?”

“The masquerade?”

“It’s not for servants.”

“So don’t be a servant,” Nasimiyu said, and stretched out on her back. Now it was Dulce’s turn to trail her fingers around the mounds of Nasimiyu’s breasts. Her dark skin goosebumped and Dulce’s mouth was drawn to it. “I swear people won’t even recognize you once you let your hair out of that braid and put a mask on, but if they do, no one’s going to pitch a fit.”

“The other servants will.”

“So fuck them. I mean, not actually fuck them, but who cares? Tell them I told you that you had to.”

“Yes, love hiding behind my lady’s skirts–”

“I know you do,” Nasimiyu grinned and leaned in. “Come on, it will be fun. It’s not a party without you.”

“I can’t party at this thing.”

“Why not ? No one will know who you are. They’ll be too drunk to remember anyway.”

“A party with nobles…” Dulce grimaced.

“We’ll make our own fun. You’ll have fun dressing up. Going in disguise.”

“I already am in disguise.”

“You have to. I insist. It’ll be dull as fuck–”

Dulce’s hissed “shhh” cut Nasimiyu off in a second; her face must have shown the gravity of that shush, because in looking at Nasimiyu, Dulce saw in the mirror over the fireplace that the bedroom door was cracked and that someone stood at it listening. No doubt they could see her and Nasimiyu in bed together. Who knew how long they’d been listening but even just hearing what Dulce had just said was enough.

“Dulcie–”

Dulce leapt from the bed, grabbing Nasimiyu’s robe and pulling it around her shoulders as she sprinted at the door, knowing the person would see her coming and run. 

They slammed the door and took off. 

She yanked it open and leapt out, not stopping to think about whether guards would be out there or not. She knew if the eavesdropper got away right now, she’d be fucked; she couldn’t tell who it was to chase them down later. 

The good news was, they were slow, far slower than Dulce. She darted around the corner in the direction of the footsteps and caught the person as they rounded the next corner:

A palace servant, not one of Nasimiyu’s. Dulce didn’t even remember his name, though certainly knew it was not someone who should have been peeking into Nasimiyu’s room in the first place. 

She slammed him into the wall easily and he let out a yell that would bring people running. She punched him in the face to startle him into silence while demanding,

“What the fuck were you doing, spying on a Princess’ bedroom?”

“Got an eye full for my trouble,” he spat. “How’s Prince Seokjin going to feel knowing his betrothed’s a whore fucking her maids?”

“He’ll slit your throat for slander.”

“And you– what are you?” he demanded. He was tall but clumsy, awkward in his motions. Afraid of her, even though she was smaller. Either the situation or her obvious rage had him ready to piss his pants despite his attempts to sound threatening. “What are you really?”

“The wrong person to fuck with.” She yanked the silk belt out of the loops of the robe. “Why were you looking in her bedroom?”

“None of your business.”

“Someone ordered you? Or you’re just a fucking pervert?”

He decided not to answer that and just began to shout again and try to push her off, but she clung to him like an angry cat 

“HEL–”

Dulce was faster than his voice. She had hoped to get more information out of him, just in case he was working on someone else’s command. It would look suspicious when he didn’t return if so but the risk was too high if she didn’t act fast.

She looped the belt around his throat and leapt behind him, yanking hard enough he fell backwards. Just as quickly she turned again so she could quickly tighten, twist, and tie off the belt around his throat. He tried to scream but couldn’t. He tried to fight but it was no use. 

Despite the ease with which she could do such work, it wasn’t a joy to Dulce. It was a means to an end for her, killing someone. In this case, to protect Nasimiyu, to protect herself, and to protect any other women, for that matter, from this man who peeked into their bedrooms at night. 

She was doing a good thing. Doing a bad thing wouldn’t have slowed her down, but it helped her to justify it as she wrestled him until there was no more wrestle left in him, gone with the life and breath she’d robbed him of.

Winded herself, there was no time to waste on the cover up. It was a miracle no one had come by yet. She grabbed hold of his feet and dragged him as quick as she could back around the corner to Nasimiyu’s room, where the Princess waited in the ajar door with horror on her face. She opened the door as Dulce dragged the body in, then slammed it shut behind and leapt away from the results of Dulce’s work.

“He saw us!”

“And heard me,” Dulce confirmed. She eyed Nasimiyu and thought she looked a little faint. “Wouldn’t say why he was looking into your room in the first place–”

“Did you hear something ?” they heard through the door. Both froze, as if someone could see through it. Nasimiyu looked ready to yell but Dulce shushed her and leaned against the door to listen.

“He knew when the guards patrol the hallway,” Dulce realized. “They’re back at the end of the hall.”

“That was so close, they would have seen you–”

“They would have seen me fighting off a man sneaking into your room,” Dulce said. The cover formed in her head, although damnit, she’d strangled him with the belt. That wasn’t how a princess would defend herself against an intruder; it required a ruthless commitment. A stab would be better, but then how two explain the ligature marks left around the man’s neck? Slicing over them would be too gruesome; Nasimiyu might actually faint at the blood. She looked a little like she wanted to faint now.

“What do we do now?” Nasimiyu asked, gaze fixated on the lifeless man. 

Dulce looked around the room. She looked at the body. She tried to calculate what would be most believable. Nasimiyu was a complication actually. Dulce wasn’t sure how well she could hold up a lie under pressure. Last time they’d been in a situation like this, she’d done a shit job of it…

Dulce slipped the robe off and handed it to Nasimiyu, explaining, “Play dumb and seem panicked. Can you do that?”

“Yes…”

“Put the robe on. I’m sticking him in the closet. You’re going to notice your robe is missing the belt, go to check the closet, and then…”

“But who killed him then?”

Dulce shrugged, “I don’t know. They’d better figure that out, hm?”

“What if someone innocent gets framed?”

“They won’t,” Dulce assured her without knowing if it was true. “Put that on.”

“But why am I only noticing the belt missing now?”

“Yes, why? Don’t get complicated.”

“I… I was…” Nasimiyu was distracted by Dulce dragging the body to the wardrobe. She had to hoist the tall man up, arms flopping all over. It was hard to fit him in with the clothes, but Nasimiyu dragged most of them out and hurried them to the actual closet. Then she helped Dulce get the door closed, and stood awkwardly in the center of the room while Dulce quickly dressed.

“I fell asleep naked and woke up cold. It’ll fluster the guards so they won’t ask more.”

“Good,” Dulce nodded. “I’m going out the window. Give me a few minutes, then open the wardrobe and scream like a dead body has fallen on you.”

“He was a bad man, you think?” Nasimiyu asked, looking once again to Dulce for assurance. For a woman who moved so confidently through life with her privilege a crown on her raised head, she did not handle ambiguity well. It came from not being used to getting her hands dirty in this sort of thing. 

Could Nasimiyu have killed the man if she’d been the one to catch him? Could she have done it to protect herself? Could she have done it to protect Dulce?

Dulce didn’t want to answer that. She dressed in haste, tying the last knots as she scoped out the wall she would have to scale and the roof she’d dart across to get to the courtyard and then go to her room from there. Someone might see her up there. She needed to not move like herself.

“Good men don’t crack women’s bedroom doors in the middle of the night,” Dulce pointed out. “Good men don’t blackmail women.”

“Good women don’t lie to their betrothed and plot his overthrow…”

“His death,” Dulce reminded. 

Say it. Say what this coup will really mean. That body in the wardrobe is only the first that will happen in the palace to support you.

Nasimiyu let out a deep breath, “I’m ready. Go quickly. I’ll count to a hundred.”

“Count to three hundred. You’ll count faster when you’re nervous,” Dulce argued, then was gone out the window before Nasimiyu even got to three.

Honestly, someone who trembled the way Nasimiyu did at one dead body shouldn’t be in charge of the lives of millions. That’s what Dulce thought anyway as she scaled the roof in the moonlight. Though she supposed someone had to do it, and better a sweet woman like Nasimiyu than someone to whom a dead body was nothing. Maybe Dulce’s rationale was backwards, she realized. 

Well, Dulce was no sweetheart and no great thinker. There was more blood than this on her hands. And somehow she’d still sleep tonight and wake in the morning and with any luck the fucking guard wouldn’t wander off from Nasimiyu’s room ever again.

The guard rotation had been significantly increased, but Seokjin still spent the greater part of a day patrolling the palace himself. 

It wasn’t right that this had happened to Nasimiyu. Not in what should be her new home. Not when he didn’t have a fucking clue who had done this or why.

Wearing down the marble flooring wasn’t getting him any answers though. She’d been moved to a different wing completely, one she was allowed to pick herself in an attempt to lull her back into a sense of comfort. It was crucial that they not only make clear they were taking this seriously and would figure out what had happened and who was a danger to her, but also that she find a way to feel happy and comfortable here again.

Or, well, maybe for the first time.

That she had chosen the late Queen’s wing as her own should not have been a surprise. Seokjin had told her she could pick any wing. If not now she would have had her pick once they married anyway. Still, it was a bold choice. Seokjin ignored the titters and whispers when she made her selection, but was relieved when she at least agreed to leave the late Queen’s quarters alone, choosing instead the second full size suite. While his mother’s room had a window to the sea and a window to her favorite garden, Nasimiyu’s was blocked off entirely from the sea with all windows centering around a small private courtyard. 

Because Nasimiyu had easily agreed not to disturb the other master suite –”my family maintains it as an homage to my late mother and brother so if you would please–” “I understand and I’ll make sure my staff do as well”-- he had not bothered discussing it with his father. It was all quickly done, because obviously Nasimiyu couldn’t spend another night in a room where such an attack had happened. 

His father had been summoned when the attack happened, even though it was the middle of the night, but he’d ultimately put the handling of the situation into the hands of Seokjin and the chief of palace security and gone back to bed. 

Not for another night and day, once Nasimiyu was all settled in the new wing, did his father send for him to join him his private sitting room.

Seokjin was one of only five people allowed in the room despite its intended purpose as an intimate reception room. King Donggun kept most receptions formal, preferring the less personal receiving room closer to the throne room. Here he accumulated the things not fit for his sparse and cold bedroom (which Seokjin had not seen since his mother’s death, when he’d gone to his ailing father’s side to beg him to cling to life) but also not fit for the public gaze; the things only his head valet, two maids, and his chief aide could look upon. And his son.

Seokjin, hands clasped behind his back, gazed upon the paintings lining the walls of his father’s private reception room with the same blank stare he always did. As an adolescent he’d been agog at the detailed oil paintings of sex. So so so much sex. Men with women, men with men, women with women, groups of them all tumbled together, sometimes with masks on their faces and nothing else, other times casual and unabashed in their exposure. On shelves beneath the debaucherous gaze of these paintings were statues and vases much the same, interspersed with the heaviest, most expensive gems to be found in Yeonhalbi arranged as casually as pebbles. Some were in jewelry, a few pieces of the late queen’s but mostly the king’s own. Crowns he refused to wear and kept only for display. Necklaces, rings. This wasn’t his dressing room; he had far more jewels there in a vault the size of a room kept under constant guard.  

Other darker oddities taunted Seokjin from their corner shelves, from where they’d given him nightmares as a small boy: a shrunken head and a necklace of nails taken from a foreign people his grandfather had exterminated in order to claim their island and its resources; a mummified hand taken from a mountaintop in Paloma where ancient people did such things to their dead, shortly before the ritual site was ransacked for the gold and jewels that funded his great-grandfather’s sea voyages; a strange long-legged sea creature preserved in a jar that had sucked the face off his great-grandfather’s youngest son on one such voyage; a tiny pair of leather shoes belonging to the youngest child of the previous royal family the Kim family had wiped out when they ascended the throne; more things, each as distressing as the former. Seokjin felt these trophies like a hand around his throat, an homage to the complicated grasp of power that came with being a leader. The people who mummified their dead had done so to young children as well; the exterminated people had tortured their enemies before turning them into trophies. Were these customs brutal or misunderstood? Was his family right to have put an end to those people, or just another spiked hand punching down at the same weak people? Would he commit atrocities to one people trying to help another when he was king? Did you know you were committing atrocities at the time and do it anyway? Did you have to?

“See anything that calls to you?” King Donggun asked as he entered the room wrapped in a silk robe shot with gold and a heavy jeweled belt that dragged the ground. 

“Why do you keep these things?”

“Why do you keep your animals? Your books. Your wood carvings.”

“They bring me joy,” Seokjin answered, afraid of his father saying the same.

His father smiled up at the paintings and said, “Some of those bring me joy. They remind me of a time in my life…” He chuckled. “We shall see if your masquerade lives up to the ones of my time.”

“It’s still your rule.”

“I am but a shadow of the king I once was,” his father sighed. Before Seokjin could offer empty words, he raised his hand, “Once your father… well. I will not scandalize you with the details. One of my sons was born with the lust of a wild beast like his father and the other turns bright as a tomato as a hint of fucking. You know which son you are.”

“Yes…” Seokjin said through gritted teeth. All right, look. He had lust! He was no virgin. He longed for a healthy, happy sex life. Just because he wasn’t launching himself headfirst into orgies like his father allegedly had… “Allegedly.” It was true.

Though to make the rumors even his own father endorsed more complicated, to Seokjin’s knowledge his father had not been close with anyone, even briefly, since the death of his mother.

Seokjin avoided looking at the paintings too closely, not interested in knowing whether his mother or Taehyung’s appeared in them. Taehyung believed they did. A brutal fight had ensued after that, Taehyung had been sent away…

Seokjin had never bothered to look closely for the truth either way.  

Instead he gestured to the macabre collection and pressed, “Do those bring you joy, father?”

“Hm.” His father strode to one of the shelves and lifted a bleached skull with a hole in it. Seokjin didn’t remember whose skull it was. He wasn’t left in ignorance for long: “This man tried to assassinate my father. Yes, it brings me joy that we survived.”

“Isn’t life enough of a trophy? Why the skull…?”

“A trophy? These aren’t trophies. How… peasant,” King Donggun frowned. “ Those are trophies,” he said, pointing to the animal heads hung on the wall around the door. There was a reason Seokjin always walked backwards out of the room, and it wasn’t propriety. Anywhere else he would ignore the rule about not turning his back to the king but here he’d rather not see the animals, robbed of their lives, stuffed up and made up to look like a mockery of life. 

When he was king, he’d have the heads taken down and buried. Even the elephant, allegedly the very last one of its kind.

Imagine being proud of that legacy.

“What’s the difference?” Seokjin mumbled.

“Those animals look strong and fierce and wise! I’m proud of those! This… this is all a man is. Bones. Bones and breath and a pinch of something that evaporates when he dies. How easy it is to end someone’s life. In the end, what’s the difference between my father and this man who tried to kill him?”

“Higher bone density from a better diet?” Seokjin quipped.

“My father outlived him,” was the answer his father gave. “In his tomb, my father is no more than this skull and sludge by now. But we told people he was more than this and so people saw in him more than this. They see in me more than this. They see in you the potential to be more than this. Even in death, we will never be ‘just bones.’”

His father tossed the skull and Seokjin yelped to catch it and then yelled again and set it hastily down on the desk. He could happily go his entire life without touching the bones of another person. That was just not an intrinsic need of his. He understood what his father meant, but frankly he didn’t want to think about bones at all. He didn’t want to think about what his legacy would be, or the need to get started building one since he didn’t have anything significant to his name to date that could help him transcend being more than “just bones.” By now his brother had been a celebrated military commander. Honestly, if left to his own thoughts, Seokjin didn’t much care about legacy or transcending. If his life were his own choice, he’d live it the best and happiest he could and not worry about what anything thought of him later. He’d die and someday be nothing more than that skull, no more or less able to reap any of the benefits of having left a legacy. 

But he didn’t want to think about death. He didn’t want to think about absence and loss and the pain of those he left behind –assuming by then he would have someone to leave behind, someone who would mourn his death. 

Nasimiyu?

Not if she was killed first!

The thought made his stomach cramp painfully. 

No. He wouldn’t allow it. He understood the ever-present risk of assassination as a royal, and as his betrothed, Nasimiyu was taking on that danger as well. But he wouldn’t allow her to be hurt, he couldn’t. He’d already lost so much in his life, he couldn’t lose his wife, too.

As if reading his thoughts –or perhaps following his own macabre path as he stared at the dead things collected in the room– his father asked, “How is the search for answers on whatever that business was in the Princess’ room?”

“The business,” Seokjin repeated, face lowering into a serious stare. It sounded mocking to his ears. “The business where someone snuck into my betrothed’s room to do her harm–”

“Well we don’t know what he was doing there,” the King pointed out. “Or who killed him and then stuffed him in the cupboard like an out of style robe.”

“Appa…”

“It’s an odd business, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Seokjin could agree with that much. 

“No leads?”

“None yet,” Seokjin admitted. “Servingman Bak was just a regular servant. No one has found anything in his background yet that shows him with any association with Marvono, any hard feelings towards us, any political or social affiliations other than loyalty to our house. He has a father with some medical debt, so there could be bribery involved.”

“You’re looking at him as an attacker, but what if he’s the victim? He’s the one who ended up dead,” his father insisted. He motioned to the skull. “Your grandfather put the hammer in him. Who put the hammer in your servant?”

“He must have deserved it, he had no reason to be in Nasimiyu’s bedroom.”

“Ah, now you sound like a Prince. Confident even when you have no reason to be,” his father grinned. Seokjin didn’t like it. He recounted his own words and tried to calm that defensive flash of anger. 

He would not let harm come to Nasimiyu. From any direction.

“The corpse could be a warning to you,” his father suggested, sinking down into a chair at his table for Baduk. “Someone letting you know they have access to your betrothed.”

“Yes, we’re increasing security around Nasimiyu.”

“Or someone trying to cast doubt on the Princess,” he added. The look he gave Seokjin was far too entertained for Seokjin’s liking. “The servant was strangled with her silk belt, yes? You’re sure she didn’t do it?”

“Appa!”

“If it was in self defense, we wouldn’t lift an eyebrow, but then why hide it–”

“Don’t say another word about it, it was not her.”

“You know this how?”

“You didn’t see how shaken she was by the whole thing. It wasn’t an act. She’s always so reserved and– and she’s not good at hiding the truth from her face,” Seokjin added, unwilling to admit he had briefly wondered the same thing in the early hours this morning, exhausted by another night of searching that had returned nothing but robbed him of all sleep. Quickly he had banished those thoughts. 

Sowing those doubts might be exactly what someone had hoped to do though. It was diabolical, but it made more sense than any other working theories. What, someone had seen a man break into Nasimiyu’s room, killed him instead of alerting a guard, then hidden the body in a closet? Maybe a maid had done it and been afraid of retaliation, but what maid could possibly be strong enough to take on a much larger man like that? Besides, their reactions had all seemed sincerely frightened and without deceit when the inspector had walked each past the body.

A warning to Nasimiyu… perhaps. But if so, it seemed to have missed any specific message; she claimed not to have any knowledge why someone would leave one of the Prince’s dead servants in her closet. Wouldn’t it be her own servant if they wanted to send her a message?

Who would do something so diabolical and–

“Namjoon,” Seokjin muttered under his breath.

The king’s eyebrow quirked as he smiled, “Keep your accusations private, my son. That’s a serious thing to level against your own cousin.”

“He’s smart enough to do some twisted–”

“To what motive?” the king asked.

“Ruining my happiness once again.”

“Yes you seem so very happy,” his father chuckled, and began to set the board. “He must be beside himself with envy of your arranged and awkward nuptials.”

“Awkward! Appa–”

“Anyone with eyes can see you two haven’t warmed to each other yet. If he wanted to ruin your engagement, he wouldn’t need a dead body to do it.”

“Your words are unfair–”

“Unfair? Truly?”

“They’re unkind.”

“Ah, well. It’s not my nature to be kind. But flirting with your betrothed isn’t the same thing as tucking a dead body into her wardrobe–”

“So you admit he flirted with her!” Seokjin cried and whirled on his father, even though it meant dead animals in his periphery. The whole time his father had denied Namjoon’s culpability in the whole affair. His father was far too fond of Namjoon, and Seokjin had never felt that more than when his fiance succumbed to Namjoon’s charms and his father had said it was his fault.

“A happy woman can’t be flirted away,” his father said, that old refrain. “A smart one knows she can keep her husband happy and flirt on the side if she wants.”

“An unfaithful queen is punishable by death–”

His father waved his hand, “You’re chasing whisps, my son.”

“He flirted my fiance away and then didn’t even marry her as if that was proof of his innocence.”

“Did they fuck? I never heard… seems like a poor deal for him if he earned your eternal hatred and didn’t even get to fuck her.”

Seokjin hissed and looked away. It was obvious his father had set the game for the two of them but he didn’t feel like joining right now. He was already miserable about Nasimiyu and exhausted by the hunt without any obvious leads, and now his father was turning over old hurts too. Would there ever be a day he didn’t cringe at the letter she’d left him detailing how deeply her love ran for Namjoon? Making sure he understood that her love for Seokjin could never compare, that any feelings she’d had for him were before she understood what it truly meant to be in love?

Maybe Nasimiyu could mend those wounds but she did not yet seem interested in the task.

His father was watching his face. Seokjin turned away again but his father offered,

“You dodged a poor match with that one. You want me to put it plainly? She was a weak mouse, too easy to crush under your heel. Princess Nasimiyu is made of stronger stuff. Namjoon isn’t in the way of your arrangement with her.”

“He is.”

“From what I’ve seen, he seems to be trying to keep his space. If you’re that insecure about it, send him away. Ah, but that would mean sending Mindeulle as well…” The king gave him a knowing smile and made his first move in the game.

“I don’t have the authority to send anyone away,” Seokjin countered, debating whether to sit, wanting to go, struggling to resist his father’s attention even when it was painful.

“I’ll allow it. Say the word! But Mindeulle goes too–”

“What’s that to me? Why do you say it like that?”

His father paused. Slowly he clasped his hands over his belly and leaned back.

“Do you wish I had chosen her as your betrothed instead of Nasimiyu?”

“No,” Seokjin said quickly. “Why would you ask me that? I’ve known Mindeulle her entire life. She is barely an adult– practically my younger sister–”

“Is that so? I thought about it…”

Seokjin froze. He really, really didn’t know what to say. 

“I have my reasons I didn’t pursue the match. Do you demand to know them?”

“No.”

“Good.” The king nodded, satisfied. “It doesn’t matter anyway. You are not a good match. You may think you are because you are alike in many ways, but she would have soothed and softened you into a clay for her brother to shape. Do you see?”

Seokjin nodded. Mindeulle was all the good things her brother was not, but of course Seokjin could see the wisdom in what his father said. He hadn’t hoped for a marriage with Mindeulle. He’d never thought of it at all. She had seemed so childlike until only the last couple of years, and his fondness was a deep but innocent love. He held her in high regard despite her unfortunate high opinion of her brother. She was the only reason Seokjin could tolerate Namjoon’s presence. 

“You have to work for your marriage just like you work for your throne and your title and your kingdom. You would have been afraid to fight with Mindeulle. You would have spoiled her and she would have spoiled you. Princess Nasimiyu is a challenge. She will make you stronger. Unless…”

“Unless what?” Seokjin asked when his father didn’t continue.

“Unless you allow Namjoon and Mindeulle to come between you.”

“If you’re worried about it, father, why don’t you send them away?”

“Because you cannot let other people repeatedly take what is yours, Seokjin. I cannot solve all of your problems. You must appeal to your wife. You must learn to work alongside the people you like and the people you dislike all the same. Your marriage must be able to withstand whatever temptations or circumstances or troubles come your way because you will never be able to predict them. Your marriage must be stronger than any person, any feeling, any word, do you understand?”

“Was yours?” 

He hadn’t meant to ask it. The words simply rolled off his tongue, that troublesome habit of his. He genuinely didn’t know if it would anger his father, though certainly it wasn’t the sort of question a son should ask.

“Yes,” his father answered calmly. “Yes, it was, Seokjin. Beyond anything you could understand.”

“Well.” Seokjin didn’t know what else to say. He hadn’t meant to attack his father’s marriage anyway. He was just tired and confused and afraid for Nasimiyu’s safety. “Well I can’t stay any longer, I have to continue the search for whoever threatened my betrothed, unless you have any leads for me.”

“I do not. But come, stay for a game with–”

A knock at the door preceded the king’s valet stepping in and bowing, “My apologies, the ‘visitors’ are ready to be greeted.”

“What visitors–”

“Spies,” the king sighed with a wave of his hand in Seokjin’s direction. 

“Spies? You just told me you don’t have any leads–”

“I am certain it is unrelated to your closet body issue. Not even good spies, but troublesome stubborn ones. Destin.” His father’s lip curled as he named the principality he liked least of all. Poor, distant, uneducated like Paloma, but not quiet about it like Paloma. Probably because their land was far less suitable for farming or any other sustainable industry. Every so often on cycle Destin activists made it to the capital and staged protests but they were always quickly shut down.

“What do they want?” Seokjin asked.

“Oddly enough, they won’t tell me yet. Unusual for Destin, eh?” his father actually looked amused by it. “So I am going to ask them myself.”

“Be careful,” Seokjin suggested impulsively as his father abandoned the barely-touched gameboard.

The king laughed, “I’m not the one to be concerned about. But Seokjin, a word of advice. No matter what, do not delay the masquerade.”

Seokjin’s face remained neutral, but actually that was exactly the meeting he was off to next, to let Lady Zselyke know the whole thing needs to be called off.

“Why not?” he asked carefully. “There has been a serious threat–”

“You do not know what has happened. If we overreact to every threat, we will be seen to live in constant fear. Besides, you’re likely to get your leads from the ball, if there are any to be found.”

“You think so/.”

“There’s something about putting on a mask,” his father said, grabbing one on display and holding it over his own face for example. “We become nobody. We become everybody. A king can be nothing. A servant can be queen.”

“And an assassin could get right up to Nasimiyu without any guard–”

“Well they already did,” the king pointed out. “Didn’t they? The truth is we are always on the cusp of death and no guards or walls or sword-training can truly prevent that. You have to convince the world that’s not true. Convince them we are not easy to kill. Have the ball without fear. Now I am going. I doubt you wish to linger in this room without me. You always were easily frightened…”

Seokjin bowed to his father and exited ahead of him without another word. 

Have the ball without fear!  

Truthfully such a thing wasn’t possible. It was simply a matter of more fear or less. Different kinds of fear. Fear his betrothed might be murdered or fear he might step on her toes and she’d wish to murder him.

No, he couldn’t make jokes about this.

He went to speak with Lady Zselyke and the royal guard to see what could be done to make the ball safer without it being obvious they were afraid. That they were in fact easy to kill. That underneath their luxurious clothing and heavy jewels, the royal family was in fact nothing but bones too.

Chapter Text

The noise of the ball did not rush Nasimiyu, though she could hear it all the way to her new room in the palace, that impatient roar of partygoers antsy for the dancing to begin. 

But it wouldn’t begin, not until she descended the stairs in her gown –unannounced, because this was a masquerade after all, but everyone would know it was her– and kicked it off. That was unavoidable anyway, and since she couldn’t truly reach for anonymity, she went instead for awe. Her skintight gold gown looked nearly painted on and showed off the wealth of Marvono, not only in its gold and jewels but its beautiful princess, the blood flowing through her veins since birth that carried such intelligence, such elegance, such compassion, such natural command of power. She hooked her leg and admired the way her skin carried that golden tone through the slit, gold powdered all over her body, even visible through the gaps in the dramatic mask laid across her face and woven into her hair so that it truly looked a part of her. She wasn’t just wearing a mask themed for the sun, she was the sun, with golden rays fanning out from her thick hair until softening into the feathery cape around her shoulders, a thin gauzy fabric that covered her otherwise exposed back. Diamonds and flecks of gold affixed to her skin made it uncertain where dress ended and skin began unless you were blessed enough to touch her. Everyone would notice this look, everyone would remember it, no expense had been spared and Nasimiyu took all the time she wanted to gaze at her own beauty in the tri-mirror around the podium. This was such a nicer room than her previous one. This was, after all, one of the queen’s former rooms, her second bedroom. Someday Nasimiyu would take the first but the second left nothing to complain about. The mirrors everywhere gave her such a wonderful view of herself at all times.

“I suppose we’ll make our own fun tonight,” she drawled to Dulce, who had tucked herself behind the screen ever since Nasimiyu helped her slip into her own gown. Her plea that they not make it known to the other servants that Nasimiyu was showing her this “favor” meant Nasimiyu had dismissed the other maids a while ago after helping her dress and now kept the party waiting, ostensibly for her own vanity.

When Dulce didn’t answer, Nasimiyu sighed, “Are you still sulking? I thought this could be something you enjoy . You get to be someone else for a night.”

“I don’t.”

“No one will recognize you, trust me,” Nasimiyu insisted. “Come on, let me see you.”

“You went too seriously with this.”

“I thought you liked shiny things?” Nasimiyu grinned. She tore herself from her reflection and sauntered around the screen to see what was left to do.

“Knives. I like shiny knives.”

“Well then it’s perfect,” Nasimiyu beamed. Dulce slowly turned from the vanity and gave Nasimiyu a glare lacking all amusement –Nasimiyu could feel it, even if she couldn’t actually see Dulce’s eyes through the blind mask. Elaborate brassy gold hammered flowers and faux-lace completely covered everything above her mouth, with golden skeletal hands wrapped across as if holding it there, or maybe shielding her eyes from some ghastly sight. A crown of narrow shiny spikes radiated out from her hidden face, ensuring no one would get too close to this goddess of death. Her hair long and curling down to the small of her back was frankly a physical disguise on its own, even without the shocking red lipstick Nasimiyu had forced on her, and should anyone see her without the mask, the dark makeup rendered her further unrecognizable.

“I can’t move in this,” Dulce complained, scratching at the high lace around her neck that held the gauze cape in place.

“Well then take the cape off–”

“I meant the whole dress,” she corrected. The cape was a mercy because Nasimiyu knew Dulce would complain about the low cut of the dress. She scratched at the beaded lace angled on her shoulders and along the plunging neckline of the bodice.

“Stop scratching like a farm animal.”

“I can’t walk.”

“Dulcie,” Nasimiyu snickered.

“Why can’t I have a skirt like yours?”

“I taught you how to walk in a gown like that. Lift to step and once you’re moving, it’ll stay clear. I have to do the same.”

“Can’t I just wear pants…” Dulce grumbled.

“No. I’ve dressed you the way I want to look at you all night.” End of story. Nasimiyu turned away to do one final check of herself. 

“Everyone else is going to be looking too–”

“The dress is all black. You love solid dull colors so stop complaining.”

“But it’s sparkly–”

“Yes, it’s expensive . So try to play the part tonight, hm?”

“What part is that, Woman Who Doesn’t Belong–”

“My beautiful dark plaything,” Nasimiyu grinned. “I can’t see your dagger gaze through the mask but I feel it.”

“Good.”

Nasimiyu drew close, charmed by her sulking, charmed even more that she was getting her way despite every complaint Dulce had lobbed her way. At the end of it all, Dulce still stood here in this beautiful gown with this fierce mask and those bold red lips. She cradled Dulce’s face.

“My beautiful little shadow, tonight you will haunt the ball. No one will know who you are, they’ll never guess. Only I will get to peel these layers off later tonight and ravish the woman behind it all.” She pushed Dulce’s shoulders back to get her to stop slouching so miserably. “Something to look forward to since I have to behave and not join in any of the orgy fun that might happen.”

“Yes how miserable for you.”

She appreciated Dulce’s quip. She appreciated that Dulce didn’t bring up what Nasimiyu had also thought of: an orgy ball was actually a perfect time for Dulce to seduce any of the Prince’s party like they had talked about weeks ago, that order Dulce had balked at after Nasimiyu regretted making it anyway. She hungrily eyed how easily Dulce’s heavy breasts could slip from the bodice. The body was familiar to her now but the game of displaying her and getting her all to herself later was new. A game she would lose if Dulce decided to join an orgy but she was clearly too miserable to even consider it. 

“I look like a moldy creampuff,” Dulce sighed.

“ What? ”

“Nevermind. Don’t you think the skeleton hands are a little on the nose?”

“That’s what makes it so good. Now I’m going to start this thing. Follow close behind, I want you to praise me later over what a good job I do opening the thing with the prince despite whatever dance step he’s about to make up..”

Nasimiyu took a few steps away but Dulce hadn’t praised her yet, so she paused and looked over her shoulder, wanting it without having to ask.

Dulce must have sensed it, but she said nothing, just looked at Nasimiyu with her obscured gaze until Nasimiyu got tired of waiting and left. She knew Dulce knew she looked amazing and she didn’t need empty flattery but still, Dulce ought to have praised her, it was just the right thing to do. 

It left her sulky as her party of attendants fell in lines around her to escort her to the ballroom wing. The anonymity bit was such a farce and while Nasimiyu was working with it, she thought the contradictions were stupid. Obviously everyone would know who the prince and princess were when they had to open the dancing together. Why even bother with masks at that point? She didn’t appreciate some big game of adult make-believe, she wanted to actually shed her name for a night and do whatever the fuck she wanted… Alas, only in her dreams. Or until she ruled the place and could write her own steps…

An entire wing of the palace existed purely for balls and Lady Zselyke was correct that the transformation would be breath-taking. Nasimiyu had been through it days ago and yet wouldn’t have recognized it if not escorted right to the main ballroom with its two full wrap-around balconies looking down on the largest dance floor she had ever seen. The party spilled out from the ballroom into several additional, smaller rooms with more intimate entertainment –food, music, tables with card games, sofas to lounge on. That’s where people find each other to fuck she thought with no lack of longing as they marched past them. Guests and staff in the hallway parted as she moved through them; she barely glanced at those on the spiraling staircases who gazed over the railing at her in open admiration. She felt the hush and murmurs like a heavy hand stroking pleasantly down her back. 

Inside the main ballroom, her party stepped back and left her to stride unattended down the center of the floor to where Prince Seokjin stood on the far staircase, exactly where he said he would be. She would have recognized him anyway. His broad shoulders and stiff way of standing set him apart from those around him in a way she hadn’t noticed until that moment. He was speaking quietly with someone beside him who she didn’t spare a glance on because it wasn’t anyone important.

Instead she stopped before the stairs and waited for him to notice and come to her, and took the opportunity to look around and see who else she might recognize. Lidmila with her mask of pink cherry blossoms was instantly obvious, standing close with Afua in a generic blue something and Çiğdem with a slightly bolder mask of dozens of orange and black monarch butterflies that matched the bright colors of her gown. Nasimiyu glanced the other direction and suspected recognition of a few others but already she was bored with the exercise. She did not see Mindeulle or Namjoon yet.

She felt the moment Seokjin looked down at her, even though he stood yards above her on the stairs. She was glad he’d caught her looking disinterestedly to the side and not like she was waiting on his recognition like that. 

Slowly she turned her gaze up to him and tried not to smile too smugly as he walked slowly, heavily down the stairs. She had already known the theme of his outfit but had to admit he pulled off the silvery white silk suit better than she had envisioned. Gold and white embroidery wove through the pattern of the silk vest and at the bands creating the puffs of his silk-sleeved shirt and a massive diamond pin sparkled above the lacy ruffle at his throat. Maybe it was the fact that two-thirds of his usually goofy-expression was hidden by the ornate crescent moon mask that made the final third –his jaw and lips– look more handsome than usual. His hair slicked back from the mask, exposing the single long dangling earring in with a star-shaped diamond sparkling almost as brightly as the ones scattered across Nasimiyu’s chest and arms.

Seokjin bowed low at the waist, then held his hand out to her and greeted, “Mysterious stranger–” Oh for fuck’s sake, don’t ruin it “--your beauty surpasses that of a thousand suns. You are radiant.”

Realizing it was her turn, she wavered for a moment before offering primly, “I thought you were supposed to be disguised? No one will mistake your true identity, Your Highness.”

“Yes yours… either…” he murmured, eyes clearly trailing up the length of her body. She appreciated the slack-jawed look, understanding she too had surpassed his expectations. Good. Just because she did not want this man didn’t mean she didn’t want his admiration. 

She teased, “I believe everyone is waiting for us to begin the dance?”

“Right, yes. Right. Uh… Yes.” He reached up as if he was going to remove his mask, or possibly a hat he wasn’t wearing, then laughed at himself. Flustered. Just how she liked her men. And women, frankly, but Dulce was impossible to fluster. Did she even think Nasimiyu looked good or was she just too busy sulking about her own dress? What a bitch. So far this ball was a steady stream of disappointments.

At least she saw Lidmila and the other girls animate as she took Seokjin’s hand and allowed him to lead her to the center of the dance floor, currently empty. He raised his hand and suddenly the low music that had been playing stopped. 

“My friends,” he called in a volume Nasimiyu didn’t know he could do without cracking. “Welcome. May tonight be a night to remember… or forget, as needed.” Chuckles stole around the room and Nasimiyu’s eyes widened in surprise. Was it just polite or did people actually think he was funny? It must just be polite. “Allow me one dance with my betrothed, who we honor tonight, and then let us forget our names, our titles, the dreadful hangovers we’ll no doubt have tomorrow, and enjoy ourselves!”

Nasimiyu was so stunned by his princely managing of it that she hesitated when he touched her hand to motion her further up the dance floor so they could begin.

“Are you all right?” he asked, voice so strong she didn’t recognize him. For a moment, she had the wild thought that wasn’t actually Prince Seokjin at all, he’d traded someone else in to pretend. “Don’t worry about anyone watching, just focus on me.”

No, it was the same Seokjin, and she didn’t appreciate the patronization.

“I’m not bothered by the attention,” she assured him as they took their positions facing the same direction a short space apart. “Mind my dress as we dance, the fabric is delicate.”

“Yes of course.”

Damn she hated a Minuet. It was the most boring, stiff dance, and she loathed that it was still the traditional first dance of a ball in Yeonhalbi. Obviously they didn’t follow that trend in Marvono. She felt like an idiot as she and Seokjin took small steps in circles around each other, sometimes facing together, at other times away. Occasionally they touched hands but otherwise just passed close, like two idiot birds circling each other. Even the music was grating and obnoxious and it dragged on forever.

As soon as they took their final bows, Nasimiyu was ready to spring away, but Seokjin caught her quickly with a hand against her back as the room applauded. Other couples bustled quickly onto the dance floor as the first free dance was announced, after which dancing would be a changing roster, and probably less and less structured as the night went on.

“May I have your first free dance now as well?” he said close to her shoulder.

Her surprise must have been obvious. Obviously her first dance belonged to her betrothed, and technically as many after that as he wished, but she was free to dance with whomever she wanted otherwise. He did not strike her as someone who enjoyed a dance and she had expected to find a more suitable partner for the first dance in which she had a choice. Possibly one Namjoon Kim, who had vowed to be here after she had been so attentive during the Therepin session she’d attended a few mornings ago; he’d teased her for saying nothing, but she’d been too enamored with the whole process to speak out yet and could only remind him of his vow to be here and equally as attentive .

She didn’t see Namjoon though and the music was beginning and Seokjin was looking for the answer he technically had the right to expect.

“Yes of course,” she agreed. “Be careful when you touch me, I’m covered in diamonds.”

“I noticed.” His hand pressed hers as they both stepped away in time to the music, then bowed, and then his shuffled quickly to the dance hold. It ought to have been swift but they didn’t have experience dancing together and fumbled their hands and spaces a bit. She was sure she lost some diamonds in the bump and silently wished they hadn’t unanimously agreed not to practice ahead of time, as had been strongly encouraged by Zselyke and Seokjin’s etiquette guides. Because he was a full grown man who still needed those apparently. 

Seokjin at least moved her gracefully through the steps without bumping her into anyone. Once they were moving, her dress swirled around their legs, making it easier not to step on and letting Nasimiyu feel more radiant each time she spun. His hand felt heavy on her back and hers felt awkward in his but his steps were on the beat and as they moved into and out of dance hold repeatedly, she was able to figure his motions out enough to smoothe it over.  Just like she learned the little push meant he wanted her to turn this way or that, even though he hinted at it a beat too early and it caused them to misstep the first two times. When he stopped her to gently dip her, she didn’t understand what he was doing and overbalanced; if his arm hadn’t tightened around her, she would have hit the floor.

“Shit.”

“Keep the steps simple,” she insisted. “We haven’t rehearsed anything elaborate.”

“Yes of course.”

From there they essentially repeated the same few steps. It wasn’t impressive to anyone watching them, but at least he did well at them; his confidence made him more graceful and the joy of well-done steps soothed Nasimiyu’s frustration. She preferred dancing more freely than a traditional waltz but it was years better than a Minuet once she could relax and trust Seokjin would stick to what he knew. Simple but decent, that was better than she expected.

He pulled her into a close hold as the song ended and she could see the sweat trickling down from his temples, far less appealing but she tried not to hold it against him.

“Princess,” he grinned, and bent over to kiss her hand which she didn’t like but stopped herself from pulling away from. “I will leave you for now. Thank you for the dance. May I request another later?”

“Yes, of course…” She trailed off, watching the other couples around her relax from their final steps. Including Namjoon, bowing and turning instantly away from his first dance partner: Miss Çiğdem. More surprising than the fact she’d gotten her first dance with him after as far as Nasimiyu knew they’d barely ever traded a word except that time they’d all discussed the ball together, was that the look Çiğdem gave his back was confidently hungry, open-mouthed, eyes narrowed through the swarm of butterflies. Not that Nasimiyu was surprised she was hungry for the man, she could certainly understand, and the girl certainly had more of an edge to her than the other young women in her party but still. What did she truly know of that sort of hunger? Didn’t she at least know better than to brazenly display it like that? Though frankly, it made Nasimiyu like her a little more.

But more importantly: how had she managed to be Namjoon’s all-important first dance?

Not that it could have been Nasimiyu. Of course, she had to dance with Seokjin. 

Had Namjoon seen them?

Surely he knew they had finished closed by.

And he hadn’t thought to ask her for the next dance? But he was perfectly all right accepting a first dance with Miss Çiğdem?

Nasimiyu brushed past several men trying to get her attention to ask for a dance with barely an excuse, “Apologies, I need a drink.” It was true though. She took a glass of wine from a roaming server and longed to settle in one of those side rooms with Dulce; they reminded her almost of the old taverns they used to frequent so long ago, back when they were free and things were easy and she could drink as much as she wanted and behave however she wanted and feel confident her parents wouldn’t know the next day because no one paid any attention to her anyway. No one except Dulce.

And where was Dulce now? She better not be hiding. She better not have failed to come. For all Nasimiyu knew, Namjoon was off asking her to dance too! Why not, if he was just going to choose the most illogical dance partners…

Lidmila, Afua, and Tasa descended on her, wrapping around like a shawl, bubbling over with giggles and praise piled at her feet like offerings. Nasimiyu plastered on a smile to match the brightness of her crown.

**

If Dulce were the sort given to hyperbolic statements, she would swear this was the worst day of her life: forced to attend a ball “in disguise” as a noble but unable to actually do anything fun because tomorrow she had to go back to being the dutiful handmaiden. A reverse Kalamouche. Nasimiyu was right that people looked curiously at her, and several dared to approach, but she simply walked away unbothered. Not many approached though, probably a combination of her off-putting demeanor and this ghastly outfit Nasimiyu had dressed her in.

Moving in the gown was itchy and impractical. She had a knife strapped to her thigh for security but the truth was that if something happened, she was going to die, because no threat was going to wait while she ruffled up all the layers of this fucking terrible skirt Nasimiyu had forced her to wear. Forced. Begged. Insisted. Whatever. Dulce would have rather worn iron manacles. That would have been less of an annoyance than ruffles and crystals and lace . Yes, it was black, thank you so much, Simi! But every move she made caught the light, and the macabre tone of her mask seemed to intrigue people more than put them off like she had hoped when first slipping it into place.

“Madame, you are eye-catching–”

She promptly turned away and walked the other direction, snagging another glass of wine from a servant with a tray and knocking it back. She regretted not clarifying with Nasimiyu how long she had to stay here. Probably Nasimiyu had to at least see her so she had a defense ready. She briefly considered going to one of the more intimate rooms but quickly realized it would leave her with even less escape. Besides, she’d be too tempted to join the card games at the table and swindle everyone out of their money. Old habits die hard and it was more fun anyway than treading water around the upper balcony of the ballroom. 

“Well well,” a voice crowed right at her shoulder. She immediately took a step away but the person darted ahead of her like he’d expected it. When she turned in the opposite direction he leapt there again and the audacity of it gave her mind the hint it needed to recognize him by his annoying behavior.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, dropping her voice even before Taehyung lifted his ornate ceramic and gold tiger mask to reveal the wink and the devilish grin hiding behind it. The gold and black suit he wore nearly matched hers in expense, leaving her wondering who had sponsored his evening here. Her money was on the Prince, though probably for less perverse reasons than Nasimiyu. There was an obvious difference here in that Taehyung clearly wanted to be here.

“Could ask the same of you.”

“Nevermind, you’re here because you shouldn’t be.”

“You’re very quick. And you are here because… your lady insisted,” he guessed. “But did she choose your gown or did you choose this…?” His gaze fixated obviously on her cleavage. She immediately flicked his chin and he laughed. “She did.”

He grabbed two more glasses of wine from the passing waiter and traded her empty. She wondered if it was obvious the glasses were small pours, and if that was for money or safety reasons. She’d been led to believe this ball would be a spectacle of debauchery but it seemed tame so far. No brawls, no tits, no bawdry tunes, just a lot of rich people in diamonds and feathers and furs pretending they didn’t recognize each other and having a dance.

“It’s boring, isn’t it?” Taehyung asked, leaning against the railing with her. “It’ll get more exciting later once everyone is drunk but the real party is afterwards. You should come. Although your lady won’t be there.”

“Will the prince?”

“Absolutely not,” Taehyung laughed. Suddenly he leaned obnoxiously close. “Oh, so you can sort of see through there.”

“I’m not actually blind.”

“Is it supposed to mean something? The spikes and the skeleton hands, I mean. It’s pretty creepy.”

“I don’t know. I wear what I’m told and go where I’m told.”

“Ok then I’m telling you to come to the after-party later. Your costume is nice though. I would have thought you’d be in something like that.” He gestured to a circle of ladies whose bodies spilled over with pastels and lace and gemstones. 

“Why?” Dulce couldn’t help but choke out.

“To blend in. You stand out looking like this, you know. It’s too sexy.”

“It is not.” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and give him the satisfaction.

“I thought the princess kept you around because you seem good at your job but I guess she likes to look at you too, hm?”

“Don’t you have some noble wife to seduce and get chased out of her chambers by her irate husband in the morning?”

Taehyung’s laughter rang out over the music, earning them unwanted looks. Dulce dropped her face but the spikes ringing out from her stupid mask ruined any attempt at disappearing into the background.

“It’s happened once or twice,” he admitted. “How could you tell?”

“Lucky guess.”

“Go ahead, say it. I’m alluring.”

She turned a blank stare to him, obscured by the mask, but he leaned in close enough to kiss and squinted to see her eyes through the metal and mesh.

“Damn,” he muttered. “You’re stone cold, huh? You get flustered in the kitchen sometimes–”

“No, I don’t–”

“But it’s not me doing it, at least that’s obvious.”

“I don’t get flustered. You all are just…”

“So charming?”

“Very odd.”

That made him laugh too. His hand pressed to her back and she straightened to object to his nudge, but he muttered,

“You’re drawing attention just by standing here. Let’s move along.”

“I’m not the one drawing attention.”

“I’m flattered but it’s not me, Miss Skeleton Hands– hey, do you know how to dance?”

“I don’t dance.”

“You couldn’t have given me a less surprising answer,” he teased, very comfortable with her by this point. She wasn’t stupid; she realized he was leading her to the stairs down to the dance floor. “What if I teach you?”

“No thank you. I know how. I choose not to.” 

He paused with her at the top of the stairs, taking in the dancing partners swirling around the dance floor.

“Tell me, Dulce from Paloma, are you the sort who wishes they belonged here? Don’t you want to pretend with me for one dance that we do?”

She had no weakness to this sort of sentimentality. She spied Nasimiyu dancing with Lord Teo, whom they’d hunted with in the caves, and wondered why Nasi had agreed to that dance, and if it was as obvious to her dance partner as it was to Dulce that the princess kept glancing at another couple. The question was, who was she watching: the Prince, partnered with a woman covered in sunflowers? Or Namjoon, not far off, dancing with someone dressed as a purple sheep?

“I don’t want to belong here,” Dulce said. “But I will dance with you, in exchange for a favor.”

“What favor?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Taehyung grinned, cheeks disappearing behind the tiger mask, “You think I’m that desperate for a dance?”

“Then don’t take the offer.”

“I’ll take the offer,” Taehyung quickly agreed. “I think I’ll enjoy being indebted to you. Do you really know how to dance though? I didn’t think they taught maids that kind of thing.”

“Or stablehands.”

He didn’t say anything to that, a clue that she may have poked something. Questions for another time. 

Dulce didn’t love to dance. It didn’t bring her any joy. But she had learned the steps to many popular dances years ago, on a rumor that it would help her grace and flexibility for fighting. True or not, the steps stuck in her head, and it came in handy on the occasion she needed the disguise to get close to a target. For now, it would suffice to try and ensure Nasimiyu saw her without her actually approaching in a way that would make people suspect she was the handmaid in disguise. Which maybe didn’t really matter except that she looked so ridiculous in this garb, she wouldn’t be able to live down the embarrassment tomorrow.

“I don’t know fancy steps,” she admitted, on second thought, as Taehyung swept her into his arms. It was a shock; she hadn’t been in anyone’s arms except Nasimiyu’s for a long time.

Damn if his grin wasn’t smooth as he assured her, “Don’t worry, I’ll move you with my hands, you just hold on.” A lesser woman would have been charmed. Good thing Dulce wasn’t a lesser woman. She did not need any entanglements with any of these men until she knew how to use it.

**

After sweating through every second of his two dances with Nasimiyu, Seokjin was ready to retreat beneath a table cloth and hide for a few hours at least; hopefully when he emerged, the ball would be over. He’d done it! But barely. He had been underprepared for what she would look like. So much skin, more than usual, dotted with diamonds and gold like she really had pulled the light of the sun down and around her body for the ball. She moved with such grace and poise, only ever fumbling when it was his fault, he knew that. 

He didn’t crawl under a table but he did try to hide in the back garden, except Mindeulle found him as if she knew exactly where to look.

“It was a guess,” she admitted with a giggle from behind her elaborate, heavy-looking silver mask with the small horn protruding from her forehead.

“You’re going to kill someone with that,” he couldn’t help but laugh and bat at it, as well as the elaborate white feathers that fanned around her head like a cloud.

“I think that’s what oppa is hoping for, that no one will come close to me, and it’s working , Seokjinnie-oppa.”

“Impossible, it’s only working because you’re out here looking for me instead of at the ball. Slow down so the men can approach you! They’ll be intimidated by a beautiful woman they don’t recognize.”

“And then I’ll swing around and accidentally stab them,” she sighed and pouted. “Please come dance with me so the other men will want to.”

“Ah, it’s like that?” He knew it was though, that everyone would take notice of anyone he or Nasimiyu danced with tonight. He had hoped to avoid gossip by not dancing with anyone else, but dancing with his own cousin, no matter how distant, surely wouldn’t provide much. And he was sympathetic to what she said, that a dance with him would give her an immediate boost in attention. “All right,” he conceded, “But promise me you’ll only take dances from good sort.”

“Who are good sort?”

“Hm… ask me each time and I’ll give you a thumbs up or thumbs down,” he suggested, offering her his arm. He thrilled at the idea she would look to him for that kind of guidance instead of her stupid brother. He might not be great at social matchmaking but surely Namjoon was far worse! At least Seokjin actually knew just about everyone at this ball, assisted by Hoseok and Jimin always just out of reach and ready to find out if he didn’t. Not that he asked, because he didn’t care, and he wished they would both go away and enjoy themselves, but they insisted they didn’t care to dance, they were here to serve.

“Ok, oppa. But first, our dance!” She tucked her other hand under her chin and seemed so happy and sweet about it, he couldn’t have said no after that. Anyway, she knew the limits of his skill, having stepped in to practice with him a few times in the last week. She was only ever kind about his short-comings.

As he waited for the song to end so he and Mindeulle could start fresh –clearly fine by her, since it meant longer she stood beside him– he surveyed the dancers on the floor. Nasimiyu wasn’t on the dance floor; he didn’t see her anywhere. 

“I think my brother is hiding too, you’re both terrible,” she teased, also looking for close companions. So no Namjoon, and his father wasn’t here either. It probably meant King Donggun had already planted himself in one of the side rooms for drinking and gambling and would probably stay there all night and then rail about what a boring party it was tomorrow. Nothing like the glory days of a good ball…

It was a short list of people Seokjin cared to look for, but he did spot Jungkook dancing with someone he didn’t recognize from the back. His bodyguard had been overjoyed when told to attend as an “undercover” guard and not hover around Seokjin, who had no doubt the ladies were lining up to dance with the handsome bodyguard in the rabbit mask Seokjin had gifted him with. He’d been too excited to complain about the rabbit theme.

Speaking of gifts, Seokjin had funded Taehyung’s entire outfit as well, and the younger man certainly hadn’t spared any expense on that ridiculous tiger costume. Taehyung looked naturally good in noble wear, there was no getting around that, but the addition of the tiger mask made him look downright predatory. One of my sons was born with the lust of a wild beast like his father and the other turns bright as a tomato as a hint of fucking. You know which son you are. Seokjin knew his father had been talking about Seok-ho and yet… when the shoe fits, you’ve found your woman, as the fairy tale alleged. He could only send up a silent plea that Taehyung not get into too much trouble tonight, nothing that Seokjin would have to cover up tomorrow. He certainly looked on the path of it with the sultry way he moved around the woman he’d snared for this dance.

Seokjin’s gaze narrowed as he looked at her now, a small, lithe pillar of black that struck a familiar chord. He tilted his head as the woman turned, but her mask nearly fully covered her face, and she was a distance away. But… could it be… he wouldn’t put it past Nasimiyu to sneak her maid into the party, and all dressed up, but Dulce didn’t seem like the kind to dance, did she? Surely that wasn’t her out there, being swung around in Taehyung’s grasp. On retrospect, Seokjin had felt certain since their time in the city that, had he asked her to dance, she would have said no.

He gestured to Jimin, curling two fingers, and leaned down to pose, “Who is that dancing with Tae?” 

“You don’t recognize her?” Jimin countered from beneath his horned faun mask. 

“Is it really though? I didn’t think she’d dance…”

“It’s a masquerade. Maybe she’s someone else tonight,” Jimin shrugged.

“Who?” Mindeulle asked, leaning around to hear.

“Nobody,” Seokjin waved his hand. “The music is changing. Are you sure you want this?”

“Don’t be silly, let’s dance. Or at least only your usual level of silly.”

Mindeulle tugged him out to the dance floor where a space naturally cleared for him. He was distracted, watching Taehyung lead Dulce off to the side, the two of them whispering close together. Taehyung held his hand out and gave Dulce a look again, clearly asking her for a second. A second dance! Honestly, the gall Taehyung had with women.

Nasimiyu walked in between, her hand on the arm of a goat; Seokjin didn’t know who it was. Nasimiyu looked radiant of course, and he wasn’t surprised to see Dulce had spoken the truth: Nasimiyu liked balls. He’d never hope to keep up with her, so he’d better be used to her dancing with others; it didn’t bother him now other than the twinge of guilt over another thing he would have to force himself to be for her. But that was a marriage, wasn’t it? Being a good sport about the things they liked that you didn’t?

“Oppa?” Mindeulle called, sliding her hand up his arm.

Dulce had been cajoled back onto the dance floor. 

The music began and Seokjin rushed to keep up with it. At least Mindeulle was a kinder partner than Nasimiyu; when he tripped to avoid stepping on her gown, she only smiled and hopped to catch up; when his arm went the wrong way, she ducked under it and laughed about her horn nudging his elbow; when he spun her away, it was comforting to see her smile and know she’d come back. It really did drive home how hard things were with Nasimiyu. He hoped that by the next ball things would be better but… it didn’t matter if it was stupid to hope. He had to. He didn’t have a choice. But he dreamed of things being as easy with her as they were with Mindeulle, or even as easy as they’d been in the city with–

The song ended and Mindeulle sank into a low curtsy, which he returned with a bow. Before they could even get off the dance floor, Mindeulle was approached by another, a young man Seokjin knew to be harmless. He gave her a thumbs up that had her giggling and left her to it, instead curious to know whether Taehyung would in fact take Dulce a third time. For a dance. A third dance. 

But the woman on the dance floor with Taehyung was not Dulce, instead some new hapless victim to his charm. 

Sure, he’d hinted it himself before, but now that he knew Dulce more through their city and kitchen escapades, he didn’t think they’d be a good match. Taehyung was too flighty for her. He knew Taehyung had a good heart and even suspected he’d settle down quickly if he fell in love, but it just seemed like a risky thing to encourage with his betrothed’s maid, right? Dulce deserved companionship but maybe not with someone secretly so complicated in royal affairs. She deserved simple, straight-forward, and good.

“She’s going upstairs,” Jimin said at his elbow.

“Who?” Seokjin was not looking for her, but decided that actually giving her the warning not to fall for Taehyung’s obvious charm would probably reap better rewards than telling Taehyung, who would only take it as a challenge. Her dark dress was like a sparkling pool of ink moving up the stairs; he missed whatever Jimin said and set off to intercept her.

He almost lost sight of her as she disappeared around the balcony while he took the stairs two at a time, but after a moment he saw the gold spikes and met her at a table of cold cuts and cheese. She wasn’t eating anything, just surveying what was there.

“The dessert tables are on the next balcony up, if that’s what you’re looking for.” He impulsively grabbed a piece of cheese as she turned her face to him, so it wouldn’t look like he’d just come over to talk to her. Her mask gave him a start though and he didn’t hide his shock at the macabre bronze skeleton hands covering her eyes. “Ya, what is that?!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Can you see through that?” he demanded, lowering himself to her level and trying to look through the mesh. He could just vaguely make out her blink, not helped by the lower lighting in this corner. When she didn’t answer, he laughed, “Might as well have covered your mouth too, if you aren’t going to use it.” He suddenly realized how close he was to her blood-red lips. He heard Jimin clear his throat and quickly clarified, “To speak. Or eat.” He leaned away and popped the cheese in his mouth and regretted it instantly; it would give him bad breath. 

After a pause, she said with those shockingly red lips, “You aren’t supposed to recognize me.”

“I don’t. I’m just a stranger wanting a bite of cheese and your… skewers are in the way.”

She coughed. She lifted her hand to her mouth and looked away and if Seokjin didn’t know better he would have sworn that was a laugh.

“Did you just… laugh? At my joke? Ah, did you come prepared to the cheese table with your own toothpicks–”

“I just need a sip of wine,” she countered. “The cheese is strong.”

Seokjin didn’t hesitate to dart to the side and grab two glasses from a passing waiter, in case she was serious about it. He handed her one and watched her sip. It felt strange that the red lips curling around the wine glass were the same that had sucked down melted chocolate that other day.

“Thank you,” she belatedly said. Then, “Good bye.” 

“No, wait.” He reached for her arm but pulled it back before touching her. “I had a reason…” He trailed off, now that she was a step away but close enough for him to admire– to see. Just to see. The way her sequined bodice curved down a voluptuous chest, drawing the light into the shadow of her cleavage. The way the lace collar curved across her throat and collarbones, gauzy fabric ghosting across bare shoulders surprisingly toned, a testament to her hard work. How fucking terrifying her mask was with those skeleton hands, hard across the soft round chin and those lips.

“Hm? I don’t know where my lady is,” she answered a question he hadn’t asked but should have. “She made me attend as a lark but told me not to hover.”

“And she wished you not to see anything while you’re here?” he fumbled, trying to think of what to say.

“I can see.” Her lips twitched, the faintest gesture. “Sort of.” 

It was his turn to laugh now and tease, “That was almost a joke. Be careful, lady.”

“I’m not–”

“Joking? Or a lady? Tonight no titles are real, we are all equals.” He meant it to be a humorous jab at his own opening introduction of the night. The fact she’d seen him do that felt embarrassing now. The whole thing felt embarrassing. He just felt embarrassed about something, he wasn’t sure what. Maybe how light and fluffy and delicate his outfit was next to her heavy, serious, dark look. He thought he must look empty and stupid when she looked so…

“Are the hands representative of the life of servitude?” he quickly joked. “You’re worn down to the bronze bone serving those who deck themselves in gold and diamonds–”

“I think that would be a bit on the nose, even for my lady.”

“On the nose? Or hovering just over it?” he argued, leaning this way and that as if observing her nose beneath the thinnest finger bones. He saw her dark lashes blink in the space behind her mask and it suddenly felt too intimate; he backed away.

“I believe she themed me as the shadow of death.” Nope, still too intimate, he didn’t know why he noticed the way her tongue pressed between her teeth and her lips remained parted to pronounce ‘death’ but all the wine he’d chugged since arriving was definitely going to his head.

“Yes, perfect, first thing I think every time I see you.”

Her head tilted curiously, a rare gesture and such a precious glimpse past her typical stoic response. 

Worried he’d offended her, he quickly corrected, “No, I think of… sugar.” He didn’t need any throat clearing from anyone else to know that was not the right answer to give your betrothed’s maid, even when she was in disguise as the lady of death –though Jimin hadn’t reacted; where had he suddenly disappeared to and when? Seokjin was on his own. “I meant pastries. Food. I wanted to suggest that you don’t um… mingle too much with Taehyung.”

“Oh?” She didn’t make sounds like that, so he figured he must have really surprised her, maybe not in a good way.

“Obviously your business is your own and I love Taehyung,” he stammered out. “I have no doubt he’ll be a good partner for someone. Someday. But right now he’s, you know…” He gestured with his glass of wine and hoped she’d figure it out. She just stared at him and it turned out it was even more unsettling when he couldn’t see her eyes. Like looking at a wall. A mask. He hated it. Even her normally neutral, guarded expression wasn’t this cold, her warm eyes were always alive even if her thoughts were beyond his reach. “A tiger.”

“Yes. I know animals.”

“No, I mean, metaphorically.”

“I’m a simple maid, I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt when he’s just playing around,” he blurted out. Her posture shifted, she leaned back, but didn’t step back, and he didn’t know what that meant but, as always, assumed he’d said the wrong thing. “Apologies, I obviously don’t know the sort of things you are interested in. Maybe that’s of interest to you, I just wanted to extend you the courtesy of clarity. If you just are looking for a dance partner, I’d be happy to–”

“Good evening,” Jungkook crooned, sliding neatly in between them with his back to Seokjin. “Will you dance with me, sweetheart?”

Seokjin was gratified that Dulce seemed as surprised by this sudden intrusion as he was –or he read that into the way she tossed her hair and then grabbed her spikes and stepped backwards. She didn’t answer, and yet she didn’t resist either when Jungkook grabbed her arm and simply walked off with her.

“Heya! Jungkooka! What the–”

“Here is a mint,” Hoseok said, pressing it into his hand. “Don’t eat the cheese, you’ll need to dance again. Maybe you should attempt to get close enough to kiss her tonight?”

Seokjin stared at Hoseok, confused by the rapid turn of events. Kiss Dulce? No, that thought was stupid and gone in an instant, obviously he meant the princess, Seokjin was just all twisted round for a moment. Jungkook had come out of nowhere, and Jimin was gone– no, Jimin was back, sipping a glass of wine as Hoseok fluffed Seokjin’s collar and sleeves. 

Seokjin blinked at him before puzzling together, “Did you get Jungkook to take her away on purpose?”

“You should concern yourself more over who the princess is dancing with,” Hoseok answered for him. “And the fact that it’s not you.”

“I was going to suggest Jimin dance with her. Or you. With Dulce, not with the princess,” he quickly clarified. “I don’t know that Jungkook is any better than Taehyung…”

“You don’t need to worry who Dulce is dancing with,” Jimin pointed out.

“No, I’m not worried , I just don’t want her to feel– it’s easy for someone to take advantage of a woman in her position in a place like this. Noblemen are predators. She’s not used to it. The power dynamics– I’m surprised Nasimiyu has her wandering alone like that.”

Jimin’s grin was mocking under his mask as he teased, “Dulce’s mask is as clear a fuck off as the princess could arm her with, I think.”

“It’s fucked up, isn’t it?” Seokjin readily agreed. “Such a dark mask for–” He abruptly broke off. For a pretty girl was not the thing to say right now. “Yes, well, you’re right. I should be dancing with my betrothed! So… where is she? On the dance floor? Let’s go see.”

**

Nasimiyu practically limped off the dance floor for her first real break since the ball had begun. Her feet ached and she couldn’t even say she was really enjoying all the dancing because most of it was so refined and proper. There had only been one wandering hand, just now, and she had promptly ended the dance and within seconds a guard descended on the man and hauled him off. She hadn’t asked for that but appreciated it nonetheless, a reminder of what Seokjin had told her before it all, that she would be closely guarded so as to make sure her safety was a top priority. Which was annoying but also a little welcome because Dulce had killed the man peeping in her bedroom but they still didn’t know whether he was just a peeper or had been sent by someone.

It was yet another reminder though that she was not able to cut loose at a ball yet, not until her position was secured and she knew all the players and pulled the strings of this court herself. What this ball was teaching her so far was that the people of Priva were far more boring and proper than she had been led to believe. From what she could see, dress was more conservative –ostentatious, but less skin showing than either her or Dulce, which was awfully boring. No brawling yet, nothing indecent, no drugs in sight, though she didn’t know what might be going on in the side rooms. She longed to go peek but, in the absence of freedom to do that, she was at least determined to get a dance with one Namjoon Kim. So she could lord it over him that he was here and quite possibly having fun. 

Nasimiyu took the glass of wine and endured more introductions and greetings but realized quickly that as long as she was alone, people were going to want to talk to her. She spied Lidmila across the dance floor and quickly made her way there. It was undeniable the way the girl’s body language lit up as Nasimiyu tugged her arm to get her to step back into the shadows with her.

“Princess, are you tired? There’s a sofa, I’ll ask if we can sit there…” Lidmila suggested, motioning to one of many velvet sofas lining the wall. They were all full of people –which seemed like a bad sign for a ball anyway. Nasimiyu was surprised that Lidmila had offered to do something so confrontational and was not surprised that she hesitated to execute. 

In that moment, Mindeulle brushed past them and went boldly up to a group of young men and asked them to clear the space for the princess. They did, though not without requests of dances which all three brushed off with “later” and then promptly collapsed on the sofa, Nasimiyu in the middle.

“My feet are aching,” she admitted.

“You’ve danced every dance so far!” Lidmila pointed out. “I’m not surprised. Do you want me to send someone for food?”

“No, I’m not hungry at all.” It was only a partial lie. Part of her would love to slink off and gorge, but she knew food would slow her down, make her tired, give her a pooch in this dress, and she didn’t want to rest too much yet. Not until she got her dance with Namjoon to gloat. “Has anyone seen–” She almost forgot herself and asked after Dulce. She’d been stunned to see her take to the floor earlier with a very handsome man and Nasimiyu couldn’t wait to tease her about it later, but realized she had almost outed her whole scheme to these girls, who wouldn’t expect to see a simple handmaid dressed like that and roaming freely. 

Lidmila filled in the blanks herself and instead rattled off the dances her other friends had partaken of so far. 

“I saw Çiğdem had your brother’s first dance,” Nasimiyu mused, glancing at Mindeulle. 

Mindeulle tittered, “I’m just relieved it wasn’t me! I thought for sure he’d ward off everyone for each of us when he suggested it but then he told me he’d changed his mind. I was… surprised, I’ll admit.”

Lidmila fidgeted like she wanted to say something but held back. Perhaps it was a blessing that Mindeulle suddenly gasped and promised to be right back before darting away.

“Was there something on your tongue?”

“It’s not important. It’s nothing.”

“Lidmila, you can tell me.” Why not? A little gossip never hurt anyone, and while Nasimiyu didn’t live for it, she’d rather know it than not.

“She won’t say so, but I think Lord Namjoon might be Çiğdem’s penpal from Therepin.”

Nasimiyu froze. That couldn’t be possible. She did recall Çiğdem playing coy about who her penpal was but it seemed unlikely that Lord Namjoon would have the time to spare writing letters to a silly little Miss in Priva.

“Afua had the same look you do,” Lidmila admitted. “But she won’t tell any of us who it is and they had the first dance together… It’s odd, isn’t it? And she teased him so boldly when we saw him in the garden that day.”

“That she did,” Nasimiyu admitted and felt something unsettling twist inside her. It wasn’t possible. Lord Namjoon would not be charmed by that kind of a simple girl. A young girl! Younger than his sister! It wasn’t possible.

Nasimiyu followed Mindeulle’s path and, it shouldn’t have been a surprise, landed on exactly the man they were discussing. The siblings spoke close together for a moment though it was impossible to guess the tone of it from this distance.

Nasimiyu would ask him bluntly about it when they danced. She’d be able to tell if he was lying.

“Has he danced with you?” Nasimiyu asked.

“Wth me?! No, of course not! He has danced though.” I’ve noticed. “Didn’t he ask you to save a dance? I thought for sure he would.”

Before Nasimiyu could respond, Mindeulle turned and tried to pull her brother towards them. He followed at first, until within a short distance. Close enough it was shockingly obvious when he met her gaze, then pulled away from his sister and disappeared into the crowd.

“Uh!” Nasimiyu gasped. She demanded of Lidmila, “Did you see that? He’s avoiding me!”

Lidmila touched her arm and insisted, “No, I think he’s avoiding Çiğdem and me because I’m her close friend…”

“He danced with her .” Nasimiyu hated it the second she said it; it sounded so bratty. She was the future queen of Yeonhalbi, she was not sulking because some man with his head up his ass hadn’t asked her to dance yet and was instead chasing after a girl barely out. It was disgusting. She’d just have to stay busy so he didn’t think she was waiting for it –though if he was avoiding her, he might be relieved!

Mindeulle slid back into her seat and apologized, “Please excuse my brother’s sudden… flight. I don’t know what’s gotten into him, unless…” Nasimiyu could feel Lidmila hold her breath on her other side.

“The penpal,” Lidmila whispered as Mindeulle sighed, “Maybe he’s worried about– I mean that maybe he’s trying to keep his distance so there isn’t a repeat of last time.”

“Last time?”

“The former betrothal that fell through? I swear my brother was innocent in it but as I’m sure the Prince has told you, he has a hard time believing it and… well, my brother can be so oblivious sometimes and flirt without meaning to, truly–”

Lidmila squeaked like a mouse and went very still but Nasimiyu didn’t have time to think about this. She was far more interested in this confirmation of the rumor that Prince Seokjin had a betrothal fall through before her. 

Mindeulle suddenly looked nervous and touched Nasimiyu’s arm. “You knew about it, didn’t you? He told you? I didn’t–”

“Of course I know,” she assured her. “But not that your brother played a part in it.”

“He didn’t! At least, not on purpose... My brother did nothing to encourage her fondness…” She looked nervous about it though, like she didn’t quite believe her own words. “I don’t want to be a gossip. I just meant– I just don’t want you to think he’s keeping distance because he doesn’t like you.”

The implication being… that he did? Or just that he was afraid of appearing to? Or afraid of Seokjin thinking he was trying to meddle? How offensive; Nasimiyu could make up her own mind about Seokjin, Namjoon had no influence over that. How dare he act like he did! 

“Well he can keep his distance, I’m not bothered either way,” Nasimiyu assured her. “If he and the Prince think I’m some helpless little girl who can be lured away, they’re fools!”

Lidmila and Mindeulle spoke over each other, insisting, “I’m sure they don’t think that!”

“The Prince knows better than that!”

“Maybe Lord Namjoon is only afraid of getting too attached.”

“Well I certainly wouldn’t want to tempt nor disappoint Lord Namjoon by something as irresistible as a courtly dance,” Nasimiyu scoffed. “Come, Mindeulle, I’m sure you’re the better dancer of the two of you anyway.”

She stood and held her hand out to Mindeulle, only to be surprised by how shocked Lidmila and Mindeulle both looked.

Immediately she frowned, “Don’t tell me no one ever dances with same sex partners.”

“But you can’t take the man’s role,” Lidmila cried, leaping up. She leaned close and explained, “The gossip… people might say terrible things about you and the Prince–”

Mindeulle rose only a beat after and assured her, “It’s not a problem. I’d be honored to dance the man’s part with you, Princess.”

Nasimiyu didn’t know whether this was a big deal or not, but decided she didn’t care. She was mad. Or embarrassed. Or offended. Or something . None of it mattered, she was going to dance with the least annoying member of the Kim family and if people wanted to shit an envy stone, they could. These people were boring her and if two women at the ball shook them up then so-fucking-be it. 

She handed her empty wine glass to Lidmila, slid her hand into the crook of Mindeulle’s arm, and strode to the dance floor.

**

She’d managed to escape the dance floor after her turn with Jungkook. He’d been so chivalrous during their dance that it felt like a joke and she’d internally rolled her eyes multiple times. If he was disappointed, he’d found comfort quickly in the form of another woman in a mouse mask who Dulce was sure he’d danced with already. So it was looking like a good night for him then, if she and Nasimiyu were right about his appetites. 

Nasimiyu seemed to be having a good night too. She’d danced just about every dance since the beginning, even one with Mindeulle Kim, which had set the crowds murmuring, which she would love. It also led to several more same-sex partners boldly stepping onto the dance floor. Probably Nasimiyu was thrilled to have made a point on top of the murmurs. Probably she was going to be insufferable tomorrow complaining that admirers wouldn’t let her sit out even for a dance, even though she would have been furious over anything less than clamoring for her hand at every change of the dance.

Dulce hovered at the railing of the second balcony again, looking for Nasimiyu to see who she was dancing with now. A small part of her was annoyed she had danced with Mindeulle, even though Dulce knew she couldn’t be the one to make a statement with the Princess like that. The last thing she needed was more attention. Already she stood out too much; too many men had asked her for a dance and she’d mutely turned them down, not wanting them to have even her voice to recognize her by later. 

And yet some folks had recognized her so easily. Jimin appeared at her side now, holding out a glass of wine, and it felt reminiscent of Taehyung’s approach earlier.

“Jungkook interrupted your glass earlier,” Jimin offered. Only now did Dulce consider that Jimin and Jungkook, like Taehyung, were both fully dressed for the masquerade –not simply, as if they were there to work, but elaborately, as if they were there to enjoy.

“Do you try to hide who you are tonight? Or does it not matter if people know you’re the Prince’s valet?” she asked curiously.

“Ah, he’s like the Princess in that, I guess. He wants us here to enjoy ourselves but we’re sort of working too.”

“And to intervene if he needs an escape?” she suggested, having seen it happen earlier. People congregated around the Prince as much as they did the Princess, except he looked even more miserable about it.

“Yes exactly.” Had he signaled for an escape from her earlier? Jungkook had slid in so quickly, she considered. But the Prince had approached her … Jimin continued, “It’s good you’re in disguise, though. You’re too… intriguing tonight. If people make the connection, they’ll continue to harass you in the daylight now that they know you can look like this. I’m wearing a mask but you’re wearing a costume .”

The way he said it was borderline offensive. She understood he meant more than the dress, more than the skeleton hand mask with its skewers. Layers and layers of costume, in fact, layers he didn’t even know.

“You and your friends had no difficulty recognizing me.”

“We actually know you, why wouldn’t we recognize you?” You don’t though and you never will.

She tried to think of something clever to say to redirect but suddenly Jimin tensed beside her. She followed his gaze and realized Jimin had placed himself well to see Prince off to the side, next to a tall table further back; he hadn’t simply struck up conversation with her for the fun of it, she was just where he wanted to be.

The Prince was never alone, but this time Namjoon and Mindeulle were with him, and while she didn’t know what led to this moment, there was an obvious tension between the two men. It looked like Mindeulle was trying to settle it but they were ignoring her, shoulders back, knees loose like they were ready for a fight. The Prince even had his hand on his hip, as if reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. Anyone else, Dulce would have figured they had reached the drunk brawling portion of the evening; the alcohol had flowed steadily for hours now. She didn’t know if they were the drunk brawling type though; they didn’t strike her as such. 

Jimin took a step forward to intervene but Nasimiyu cut in front of them, a beacon of shimmering gold as she strode confidently towards the pair. Now Dulce too thought she might need to intervene because Nasimiyu as likely to turn up the heat than diffuse the situation. 

Almost the second she reached them, Nasimiyu turned away again, having said no more than a sentence to the men. Dulce couldn’t hear, but she could see the surprise on Seokjin’s face –and the mask of neutrality on Namjoon’s. When Nasimiyu turned away as quickly as she’d come, the Prince followed her without hesitation. All the way downstairs to the dance floor.

“She asked him to dance?” Jimin narrated with obvious surprise. “I didn’t think she’d… do that.”

“Isn’t it normal for a betrothed couple to dance together many times?” Dulce asked. Then added, so as to sound stupid, “I don’t know balls.”

Taehyung materialized at her side and teased, “Really? None? No balls?”

Jimin’s sigh between his words was the only indication he’d heard Taehyung as he clarified, “It’s perfectly normal, they could dance only with each other all night. I didn’t think she would choose to dance with him though.”

Dulce thought of several things she could say. She knows her role. Or she knows what’s expected of her . Or even maybe she’s more fond of him than you think.   She opted to say nothing. Always better too little than too much.

That was clearly not Taehyung’s policy. His hand slid along her back, high enough his fingers brushed bare skin through the gauze.

“Speaking of dancing.”

“I danced with you once,” Dulce cut him off. “ We are not betrothed.”

“Cold,” Taehyung laughed. Dulce didn’t miss Jimin’s bemused grin. “But I wasn’t asking you for anything so official. Come to the afterparty with me and Jimin.” Dulce turned her masked face to him, secretly amused when he twisted this way and that in an attempt to see an inscrutable expression behind it. 

“Tae…” JImin sighed.

“I’m talking about sex,” Taehyung said. “Just to be clear. The afterparty is more fun than this. We’ll drink, we’ll feast, maybe take a little magical lix, and then you, me, Jimin… we’ll have a time of it.” Ha. Magical elixir? Dulce knew all about it. That would for sure lead to a night “of it.”

“Taehyung, stop,” JImin laughed, sliding his hand over his masked eyes. 

“Come on, we agreed she’d be a hot third, you’re just the one pussy-footing around it. Someone else is going to snatch her up first. The men are circling like vultures.”

“They aren’t.” But even as she said it, she saw a man glance her way as he passed.

“They are, drawn like moths to your dark beauty,” Taehyung assured her, leaning close. 

Dulce was honestly not too surprised by this. It was clear Taehyung was a bit drunk. She had no doubt that he enjoyed a quite prolific life of philandering. Was she surprised Jimin was tangled up in it as well, to the point they’d scout partners together for a threesome? Not really, no. Nobles got into things because they were bored and privileged; servants got into things because they were frustrated and desperate for an escape. A buttoned-up servant like Jimin could easily be even wilder than Taehyung wearing his flirty smile for all the world to see. He was certainly handsome enough to get into trouble.

Taehyung leaned dangerously close, his warm breath seeping under her mask. Until Jimin gave him a gentle shove away.

“Leave her alone, she’s not interested and he’ll be pissed anyway to know you bothered her.”

“What? I’m not bothering her. Am I bothering you, Dulce?” She didn’t answer that and he laughed, “Consent is important to me. Silence means no. See? She’s unbothered.”

“Not a good sign for your threesome plans,” she couldn’t help mumbling. Both men heard and laughed with delight, Jimin even louder. Catching belatedly onto what Jimin had said, she added, “Who will be?”

“She’s a big girl. She can turn me down if she wants.”

Jimin touched her arm and though he’d done it before, it felt strangely more intimate this time as he pressed, “ Do you know that? The Prince is very… keen on balance of power. He wouldn’t want you to think you don’t have full autonomy in your interactions with us.” 

“Ah, Jimin, don’t use that voice, you know what it does to women.”

Dulce closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. She was neither bothered nor unbothered. On one hand, they were both handsome men, and she did feel an odd sort of security with them. She hadn’t realized that until this moment, but they were familiar to her by now, and while she wouldn’t claim to know them well, she also didn’t worry there was anything more sinister behind their motivations than a desire to stick their dick into someone. She wouldn’t hang her life on the balance of trusting them, but sometimes a horny man was just a horny man. Did they really find her alluring? She thought that was a joke but Nasimiyu insisted, –others too had insisted– she had her own sort of appeal, that she was acceptably attractive. It probably wasn’t that deep. They just wanted to fuck and clearly weren’t worried about the consequences tomorrow other than their Prince wanting to ensure she hadn’t been coerced.

On the other hand, they were probably both going to die within the next two years, at least partially driven by her hand. She knew of an assassin, they’d crossed paths a few times, rumored to fuck her targets before every kill. Certainly plenty of others had used seduction as a means to get close enough for it. Dulce didn’t feel any softness in sex but still, that just seemed so terrifyingly callous. 

“You’ve upset her,” Jimin said, reaching around to shove Taehyung back another step. “We’re sorry, Dulce. Just ignore us.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, please accept our apologies. The Prince won’t be happy to know we harassed you– please don’t let it change your comfort around us.”

“He’ll have us beheaded if you stop coming by the kitchen,” Taehyung quickly added but didn’t look even a bit serious about it. “He’s protective of you.” That sounded different than what had been said earlier; not he’s worried about power imbalance but he’s protective of you.

“Me specifically?”

Jimin waved his hand, “Don’t worry about it. He gets that way with ducklings.” Dulce’s eyes narrowed, though they couldn’t see it. She wasn’t anybody’s duckling. These two were spinning her in circles, she realized. She didn’t know why they’d even brought up the Prince. What did he have to do with them flirting with her? He was down there, swinging Nasimiyu around the dance floor. It looked so elegant from up here. Dulce thought he must be a good dancer; he looked good to her. Nasimiyu must have thought so too. She’d requested this dance. Jimin wasn’t the only one surprised.

“Let’s see how the night goes,” she said. Probably Nasimiyu would call for her anyway when she left the ball and she’d spend her night in bed with the princess. But if not… or if Dulce didn’t feel like going at her beck and call, maybe couldn’t be found… it had been a long time since she’d been with a man. Could she relax enough to enjoy it? Nasimiyu would be pissed … but Nasimiyu didn’t own her. Nasimiyu hadn’t domesticated her. Nasimiyu had told her to fuck them! 

Taehyung and Jimin both looked surprised; the beat of shocked silence was almost enough to amuse her into a smile. She’d injected the right amount of teasing in her response then. 

Taehyung quickly leaned in again, “I have an idea where it’ll go. Can I–”

“No, you already had your dance,” Jimin interrupted. He held his hand out to Dulce. “May I?”

Dulce wordlessly put her hand into his.

Chapter Text

His father hadn’t come to the ball at all. Seokjin felt simultaneously relieved and offended. He’d thought his father was just in the side rooms and gone in search of him, eager for a break from the young women vying for a turn with him on the dance floor. And also to let some of the alcohol settle in his blood after he’d nearly come to blows with Namjoon. It wouldn’t have gone that far. He’d thought about taking it that far, but it had only been a thought, because he had asked Mindeulle to dance and Namjoon had suggested he ought to dance with his own betrothed more and his sister less, obviously a jab that Nasimiyu had not dance with him again since the first two sets.

But suddenly Nasimiyu had swooped in like a phoenix, taken him for a dance, and then spun off again to be swallowed by a cloud of young women. His head spun from it, he was so relieved she’d asked him to dance. That had to mean he wasn’t fucking it up too badly, right? 

He wanted to let their dance linger and let the alcohol work its way out so he went in search of his father, as if that had ever once cooled his head. But he didn’t find him at any of the gambling tables like he had expected to, not in any of the lounges at all. A chance encounter with cousin Zselyke confirmed: he hasn’t made an appearance yet.

It was an insult. It was offensive. It could be taken as a slight against Nasimiyu if anyone noticed. It was offensive to him too. Zselyke was clearly offended. King Donggun loved a party, so why hadn’t he come to this one? Seokjin had half a mind to march up to his father’s wing and demand an answer. He’d never missed any of Seok-ho’s parties. Wasn’t Seokjin good enough?

He didn’t want an answer to that. 

Instead he stuck to the shadows as much as his shimmery white costume would allow and climbed all the way to the third floor in pursuit of sugar to soothe. He passed a brawl being broken up by guards on the way and couldn’t decide if it was better for things to start breaking down this late in the night –did that mean people were having fun and would talk about it for ages to come?-- or worse –were people bored and overly drunk? And the Nasimiyu element of course, did she like a proper party or a wild one? He would have guessed proper until she wore that … How was he to know either way though when frankly he hated all types of parties? 

He passed on the glass of sugar champagne, handing it over to Hoseok.

“Are you about done with the party? You’ve done well so far, I’m very impressed,” Hoseok praised. His current babysitter. Jimin had left his side earlier –to dance with Dulce, as a matter of fact. For some inexplicable reason. Taehyung had danced with her. Jungkook had danced with her. Yoongi was the one he wanted to have a dance with her, if that was the path to seduction! He knew the kind of fun Taehyung and Jimin got up to after these parties, Jungkook too. They didn’t need to drag sweet Dulce into that debaucherous filth. If she had wanted to go then… then that was a different matter but she didn’t. He felt sure of that after how shy she’d been in the porn closet. 

“Speak of a demon and a demon shall come,” he muttered with amusement. Or meant to mutter. Apparently he said it loudly enough to be heard because Dulce looked up from the table. Instead of her soft brown eyes he was met with that ghastly skeletal mask. Had Nasimiyu been afraid of competition? Did she have a dark humor? Did she find this sort of thing appealing and it was just a side of Nasimiyu that Seokjin hadn’t seen yet? Why had she dressed her handmaiden as this instead of a butterfly or a flower or a fluffy animal like most of the other women here?

Realizing she might think he meant she was a demon (all right, he’d meant that a little, but not sincerely), he hurried to correct, “You finally found the dessert table? You’ve been too busy dancing, I noticed. I didn’t know you danced at all.”

“I’m… adequate.”

“Do you enjoy it? Dancing?”

“Do you?”

“Not really,” he admitted with a grin as he grabbed a small silver plate to pile with treats. The table overflowed with them –cakes, cookies, pies, parfaits in little crystal glasses. Guests appeared to have been shattering them when they finished; glass shards sparkled on the floor like a sea of knives under the flickering glow of the dimmed chandeliers up here.

Catching himself, he added, “But my betrothed does, so now I do.” He habitually searched for the sparkle in her eyes that he had begun to suspect was amusement but again, nothing but that metal mask. “And so do you, even though you won’t admit it. You’ve danced too much to deny it.”

“I was asked.”

“You can tell my friends no.” He wasn’t sure if she’d danced with anyone other than his friends, actually. But he considered now how close Taehyung and Jimin had been standing to her, whispering something, as he followed Nasimiyu to the dance floor. How close to her Jungkook had stood when he’d asked for the dance. How close Taehyung had held her earlier for that first one. He felt compelled to add, “Please understand that you can. You are under no obligation for anything stupid they might suggest. You can say no to anything and if they bother you a single hair further, let me know and I will handle it.” She gave a slight bow of her head, a slight curtsy, and looked back to the table. 

Did that mean Jimn and Taehyung had not propositioned her for anything more? 

She looked up at a shout behind them, followed by a crash and the shatter of glass. Someone screamed fire! as a candleholder was knocked off the wall but before anything even caught, someone else had stomped it out. It was just a bit of drunken chaos and yet Seokjin stepped closer and in front of Dulce out of instinct. He looked around but didn’t see any guards within reach to throw the drunk revelers out. All he had to do was glance at Hoseok who nodded,

“I’ll handle it.”

To keep Dulce from worrying, he nodded towards the table, “It’s quite a spread, isn’t it?”

“Is your cook friend the one who planned this?”

Ah, asking about Yoongi? That was… good. Great!

“Not this part,” he admitted. “He doesn’t like sweets much.” He didn’t know why he’d said that, it wasn’t completely true. Yoongi didn’t like them as much as he did maybe but that was a different bar. “I think the food is the best part of a ball. What about you?”

“This is my first ball.”

“Oh. Right, of course… you just look the part, I forgot…” She lifted her glass of wine in her free hand from the table, and in turning profile he could see how long her dark hair reached, all the way to the small of her back. The ends curled starting around her shoulders without the braid, and her black dress made it more obvious there was a brown hue to her hair; it caught the candlelight like embers glowed in the strands.

“No wonder you braid your hair,” he mused. “It’s so long, it must get everywhere. Doesn’t it strangle you while you sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Then why let it grow so long?” She looked up at him, or her mask did, and he lamented, “Ah, it’s a real hassle not to be able to see your eyes to know whether you’re amused or angry. Don’t cut your hair, you don’t have to do what I say, it just seems impractical.”

“It is.”

“Yes but you’re beautiful. Not everything has to be practical. If you cut it now I’ll cry and shave my head in penance,” he corrected himself. He didn’t think that things had to be practical. Why had he said that to her? But she always seemed so efficient, so practical, no room for opinions or fun, not even a celebration of her own beauty –and yet she let her hair grow long. Braided and out of the way usually, but long. What did it mean? What did it tell him about her? He wanted to understand her. 

She was just looking at him –well unless her gaze was elsewhere, but her face was turned up to his. His inability to read her made him suddenly uncomfortable, and he grabbed a tiny tart from the table and shoved it into his mouth. It was more delicious than he had expected though and his amazement was sincere.

“Oh, by Royal Decree, you have to try this,” he said, holding one out to her. But her hands were full with the wine glass and a plate, and even he could see that if he set one single thing on the plate, it was going to overbalance. Which filled him with an instant and embarrassing warmth, to realize she had loaded the fuck up with desserts. It was like she thought she’d never get to taste one again. She loved sweets, it was so obvious, there wasn’t a single way she could deny it now. None of the delicate eating of the ladies either. It was endearing, he was so charmed, he was so happy to see her eating well.

So happy, in fact, that he forgot himself, and held the tart to her lips. He fed her. He fed his betrothed’s handmaiden a small tart. Probably surprised, she bit it from his fingers; the transferral left a glob of raspberry filling on his thumb which he quickly sucked away with his tongue. There was a drop on her lip as well and he was so flustered by this point that he reached out to wipe it away. Her tongue darted out to catch it first. His thumb brushed her tongue.

“Ha! I’m not a pastry, sweet as I am,” he blurted out in an attempt to smooth it over. He yanked his hands away and blindly grabbed something else from the table. A cream-filled puff pastry that he grabbed too strongly; his fingers sank in, popping cream all over his hand. “Ah, huh, I suppose this is more than I should lick off in decent company… um…” He stood there, helplessly with his hands covered in cream.

Dulce set her plate and glass down, lifted a napkin from the piles tucked in among the desserts, and wiped at his hands. Even dipped it in her glass –which he now realized was water, not wine. And he, like a lump of fool, just stood there and let her clean his hands, like he was a helpless toddler who’d never eaten a puff pastry in his life.

Then, without commenting on it at all, she folded the towel up and set it beside her glass on the table, and took another raspberry tart from the serving dish. As if none of that buffoonery had happened.

“These are very good.”

Instantly he crowed, “Ha! An opinion!”

“On tarts. Nothing more serious.”

“Why not?”

“Opinions in a maid are... impractical.”

“Ok, let’s agree, something doesn’t have to be practical to have value. Take, for instance, my face. Fierce on a battlefield? No. Feeding the poor? Only looks. Impressing my betrothed? Not even.” Ah, he shouldn’t have said those. His jokes were running away with him. But more than that, mentioning his betrothed felt awkward right now.

“You’re wearing a mask.”

“Hm?”

“You’re wearing a mask,” Dulce reminded him.

“Everyone is. Didn’t you notice?”

She didn’t say anything, just looked up at him. He smiled, not only because he’d made a funny joke, but because it was one of those jokes with depth. Everyone had masks. Not just at a masquerade. Every day . There were few who weren’t wearing masks, pursuing some agenda, concealing some motive, performing a role they hoped they could fool people into believing they were good enough for. It was a profound thought, and he wished someone like Namjoon was here for him to patronize with it.

“Yes.”  

He looked down at her bronze shield and considered too that masks could look like many things. He felt most himself wearing pajamas in his bedroom, or his glasses disguise into the city. When did Dulce feel most herself? With her hair braided or undone? She suited even this fancy performance. No wonder probably nobody suspected she was actually a maid. She didn’t look like a maid or act like a maid. She looked striking like this. Maybe she’d been born into the wrong life, and she should have been at balls like this all along. Maybe she was happier like this.

“I’m very observant.”

Her comment cracked through his thoughts and laughter bubbled out.

“You spoil me with your jokes,” he laughed. “What a treat. Will I get one for every tart I feed you?”

“Do not feed me more tarts.”

Oooops . Yeah. He should not be hand-feeding any woman anything , but especially not his betrothed’s handmaiden. Not that anyone would recognize her. He didn’t recognize her. He hated that mask. He wanted to rip it off and see what her expression actually showed, even when her reactions were so subtle you had to look close and doubt you saw anything. He had the sudden impulse to ban masks forever. Wouldn’t this party be better if he could actually see the response to his attempts at charming?

Not that he was trying to charm her! No, obviously not! And even if he had been, she wasn’t charmed by him, she was humoring the future husband of her lady. She was just standing there, gaze hidden behind the fingers of death. 

“You know, I have a pair just like that,” he said, suddenly reaching up to touch one of the hands. She flinched. He hadn’t seen her flinch before, she was always so unmoved. It  compelled him to hurry and clarify, “Skeleton hands I mean. Except mine aren’t bronze or gold or anything special. They’re just bones.”

“In your… hands?”

“Yes, exactly.”

He held his hands up as if to show her. And even though he couldn’t see her face, he could feel her confusion as she lifted her hands. Relaxed, fingers spread, palms up like a surrender, the pairing with the death mask and her captivating dress of shadow, she looked like a vision of beautiful death. She was going to haunt his dreams like this, he was sure of it. He couldn’t believe Nasimiyu had wanted her to wear something so low cut but she must have paid for and approved this costume.  

“Ah I see you have a pair just like it,” he joked, flustered by the stupid bumbling of his own dumb brain. “We are the same, you see. So much in common. So may I have a dance?” The words rolled off his tongue without thinking, or maybe thinking of the dance he hadn’t asked for in the city, the dance that really wasn’t appropriate for either of them to take now, the dance that ought to be allowed only here, only now, because this was a masquerade and nobody was themself. No one was a king or a prince or a princess. No one was a handmaiden. They were all just masked bones.

Still, he had not in his wildest dreams expected her to actually rest her hand in his, palm up like she’d never held a hand or accepted a dance before, and say, “All right.” 

He spent the entire walk to the dance floor expecting her to change her mind. Or for one of his friends to materialize and steal her away, but Hoseok was the only one he’d seen and Seokjin had thrust Dulce’s plate at him to hold so she wouldn’t lose her desserts. Or maybe he himself should have been the one to realize maybe this was not the best idea. It would bring attention to her that she didn’t want, and if she was recognized, the gossip would be a nuisance. They’d squash it. But Nasimiyu might be angry. But Nasimiyu had danced with so many people tonight, it wasn’t like Seokjin was keeping track. What did it matter? Surely if she had even an ounce of possessiveness in her, she’d prefer he dance safely with her unassuming handmaid than some noble woman actually out for interference. She was the one who had dressed Dulce like that and brought her here! He was duty-bound to look after Dulce.

“Lots of waltzes tonight,” he mused as they took up space on the dance floor. He hadn’t considered she was much smaller than many of the noblewomen he typically danced with –certainly shorter than Nasimiyu and Mindeulle. It meant a much more comfortable position for his arms as he lifted her hand in one and pressed the other to her back. Her hair tickled his fingers and palm and he didn’t know the proper thing to do about it. It felt overly intimate to touch her hair.

“It’s my favorite dance,” he added. And because he felt comfortable with it, added, “Because I can look good doing very simple things.” She didn’t smile but he didn’t expect her to. Her hand was light in his as he pulled her into motion, doing his best to be mindful of her skirt, which flared out much further than Nasimiyu’s.

He started with simple steps in case she wasn’t as practiced, because why would she be? She had looked elegant dancing with Taehyung and Jungkook but maybe they were just better leads than him. But she flowed easily through a spin he sent her alon, with the pleasant discovery that he didn’t have to worry as much about bashing in her face with his elbows because she was shorter and because those skewers were a sharp reminder to lift his arm high enough.

“You could kill someone with that mask.”

“Hm?” Her simple remark caught him off guard. He hadn’t expected a response, certainly not an airy one of confusion. Was the dancing difficult for her? Was she concentrating? He wished he could see her face to know for sure –or at least know if it was something that showed on her face. 

He fumbled the step, thinking too much. He quickly tried to recover, brace both of them for the impact of her running into him. But she didn’t. No collision occurred. Her step merely adjusted and continued as his had done, even though they were dancing backwards now. 

“Um.”

She must realize they were backwards as he awkwardly laughed and tried to figure out how to fix it.

“Ah…” He went for it and did another wrong step. She followed. She shouldn’t have been able to follow it, it wasn’t proper dancing, she couldn’t read his mind. …. Could she? No. But he was reminded of her climbing the rope ladder with so little effort.

“Are you sure you aren’t part cat?”

“Why do you ask that? I’m just following your lead.”

Yes, to a fault. She followed him so well he wasn’t even consciously thinking of leading anymore. He stopped worrying about mistakes as he realized that she just adapted to them anyway. It was unreal. He hoped Hoseok was seeing this because he’d be amazed, and also probably a little pissed because they were definitely doing a lot of wrong things.

He couldn’t help it, he began making mistakes on purpose. It didn’t make her stumble. When he spun her out and let go, she simply took a step forward like she fully expected he would tell her what to do next, and while that was what a dance partner should expect, it felt like an odd trust to him right now. When he started to turn her one way and instead shifted to the other, she shifted her weight and flowed right through it. He couldn’t stop grinning, it was so funny to dance badly with her like this.

“Are you trying to make me fail?” she asked. 

“You dance like no one I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted.

“You don’t know these steps? Ah, that’s because I’m making them up just for you.” He slid her to the right and to the left and then pulled her backwards by her waist. She even went like that, blinded to any danger he might trip her with but trusting he wouldn’t. Not even Nasimiyu had extended him that courtesy; she’d been easy to fall back into step with because she never wavered, but it did leave him flat-footed to catch up a few times and when he’d tried to pull her back like this she’d simply stayed in place. 

“And you match every one,” he grinned. “Isn’t it fun to make up our own steps, One Two? Ha. one two, turn,” he said, turning her. “One two, turn.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I think you like being spun,” he countered, taking a wild guess because her lips twitched every time he did it, her hair and skirt fanning out behind her. “Do you like the rush? I imagine it’s a rush but no one has ever spun me.”

She suddenly dropped her hand to his waist and planted her foot and swung him around her as the post. And it was a rush, both the speed of the swoop (not at all the proper time for the music) and the joy of how remarkably wrong it was. He laughed and spun her back, seizing the lead again and stepping her quickly through another pair so they wouldn’t get stuck in one place. He slid and she followed.

“Don’t make it harder for me. I already shouldn’t be here,” she complained. 

“Admit it, you’re having fun,” he teased. “Let’s see how fast we can go, if you trip just grab on and I’ll lift you.”

“Wait–”

But he took off with her in his arms and she didn’t hesitate as they bolted up the side of the floor in more of a foxtrot than slow waltz. It was chaotically wrong for the music. He felt like he was playing. It shouldn’t matter! They should be allowed to break the rules of dance at a masquerade, especially this late in the evening.  

They skidded to a stop, her skirt festooning around them both, and he laughed, “Admit it, you would have–”

“Ah, thank you, beautiful stranger,” Nasimiyu cut in, sliding right up to them. She glanced down at Dulce with an expression Seokjin missed because he was too shocked that Dulce’s blood red lips at curled up into a smile, he swore on his life that they had. It was instantly gone, so fast he almost doubted it, but he was sure . Nasimiyu’s smile felt like a sharp poke as she asked, “Mind if I cut in?”

Admit it, you would have enjoyed dancing at that wedding. We shouldn’t have been in such a rush to get back. We should have just followed the joy for as long as it would carry us. You would have smiled, wouldn’t you. You would have laughed. Maybe there was cake at the end of it.

“Yes, of course, Princess.” Seokjin knew he sounded clipped but it was only an awkward transition. It was just a dance. He didn’t need to feel guilty. He didn’t mean to sound annoyed. He was drunk, not disappointed. Dulce smoothed it over; she took one step back and evaporated, like she really was made of shadow and fluff. 

***

It was Lidmila who had actually trapped Namjoon, and probably she didn’t realize what she had done because it was awfully clever. But she’d stepped forward at just the right moment to block him in, and Nasimiyu took the opportunity she saw to lean in on his other side so that he bumped her when he stepped back. 

“Lord Namjoon,” she drawled, looking up and away, disinterested. “I wasn’t sure you’d grace us with your presence tonight.”

“I… I gave my word,” he pointed out.

“And that means something to you?”

“Of course it does.”

“Oh. I also thought you had given your word that you would take the ball seriously, but you don’t seem to be.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve been here for hours.”

“Yes.”

“Dancin, drinking, socializing, not even sneaking off to the lounges to–”

“Hide from the women?” she teased.

He was red-faced and sweaty but she didn’t assume it was a credit to her; he seemed slightly drunk, or maybe just winded from dancing.

“I’m not hiding from anyone.”

“And yet you come to a masquerade in my honor and you don’t even say hello, much less give me an opportunity to turn you down for a dance.”

“Oh. Well… hello.”

She leveled a look at him that earned a bashful grin as he lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck. If he was trying to avoid flirting with her, it was a bad move to rub his neck like that; he must know what a gesture like that signaled to a young woman. Not that she cared, but… Mindeulle said he didn’t know what he did but Nasimiyu thought he couldn’t be that stupid, her little sister just had too much faith in him.

He looked like he wanted to leave but Lidmila stepped to the side to set her empty glass down, accidentally blocking him in again. Bless her as an agent of fate! 

“Hello. And?”

“I’m afraid I cannot ask you for a dance however,” he admitted, “honored as I would be.”

She was both shocked and thrilled by his blunt dismissal. She said nothing, merely arched her eyebrow, curious if he would really stick with such a strong turn down when they had been sociable up until now.

“Because… I promised Miss Lidmila’s mother I would ask her for the next dance.”

“ What? ” Lidmila squawked, not the least bit ladylike. She turned a face of absolute horror to Nasimiyu, but Namjoon grabbed Lidmila’s arm and dragged her away. 

There was no way Lidmila didn’t actually want to dance with Namjoon, not after the longing looks Nasimiyu had seen all the girls toss his way. Which meant that look of horror must mean she feared she was interrupting something, interfering, she knew she was being used as an obstacle by Namjoon and didn’t want Nasimiyu to think so– which meant she was noticing Nasimiyu’s attention leveled at Namjoon, harmless or not. And if even Lidmila, pretty little bird-brain, noticed, then others must be. Certainly Mindeulle, who maybe had meant her earlier explanation as a warning.

Fuck.

Nasimiyu still wanted an explanation about that, or to see what else she could subtly glean from Mindeulle about this previous betrothal. But in turning to find her and not look at Namjoon pulling Lidmila onto the dance floor even though the previous song was still going, she noticed a very peculiar sight. 

Her little shadow of death handmaiden was dancing rather ridiculously with the royal prince of Yeonhalbi.

Nasimiyu didn’t feel the need to explain her thoughts or feelings. Namjoon had rejected a dance with her. Seokjin wasn’t trailing after her. And Dulce was dancing with a prince. She had dressed Dulce so beautifully to please herself , not anyone else. Certainly not the Prince, who was smiling too big, he looked like a fool. Or maybe she, Nasimiyu, looked most the fool of all, standing here beside the dance floor with no present partner.

It took only seconds to interrupt Dulce and Seokjin’s dance and claim him as her dance partner instead. She wondered if Dulce had hoped she was coming to claim her . But right now she needed to be seen on the arm of the royal prince, the man who was going to marry her, the man who already made clear he placed her above all else.

“Are you enjoying the ball?” she asked as the music changed to a quadrille. Boring! Such a boring dance! Why were the dances at this ball so fucking boring?! They settled into formation with three other couples. One of which was Namjoon and Lidmila. Even more boring!

“My only complaint is not to dance with you more often,” Seokjin answered quickly before she took a turn around the man next to her. They moved all the way around the circle and now she wondered if his answer had been a joke about this kind of dance, in which partners were traded. Namjoon said nothing as he handed her around to his other side. She turned her nose up, not wanting to speak with him either then, if he was such a brat he couldn’t have a single dance with her.

She found herself back at Seokjin’s side and he quickly asked, “Are you enjoying yourself?” She stepped into the circle, back near the other ladies, and swayed side to side with a hand in Seokjin’s and a hand in Namjoon’s. Which meant Namjoon had switched the order. Must have, because he and Lidmila should be a couple further.

“Very much so,” she assured Seokjin, pulled back to him for a turn in his arms. Anyone watching would have remarked on how she beamed at him, she was certain. 

She bit back her groan as she did the fancy footwork, the stupid hops, for everyone moving around in a circle. This was the stupidest dance. She was going to strike it out of fashion. If she’d realized it was a quadrille, she wouldn’t have agreed to it. Her tits bounced painfully with so little support as they pranced together into and out of the other couples. 

The figures changed and suddenly it wasn’t Seokjin’s arms around Nasimiyu, it was Namjoon’s. She tried to look nonplussed as he walked her through the same steps Seokjin just had. But when he pulled her close for the slow circles, he sighed,

“Please don’t be offended, Princess. I just want to remain respectful.”

“Dancing with me is disrespectful? Who, pray tell, are you disrespecting right now then?”

She didn’t get an answer; she was handed off to next in the circle. Stupid, stupid dance! It made her furious. Namjoon’s rejection made her furious. Seokjin’s delicate outfit made her furious. Dulce dancing with a royal prince like she had any right to made her furious. Mindeulle watching them from the side of the dance floor made her furious. Lidmila not putting her foot down and just telling Namjoon no if she wanted or telling Nasimiyu yes if she wanted made her furious!

She’d had too much to drink, she knew that to be true. She held her drink well, so she knew no one else suspected that such hot feelings were running through her veins with all the wine. She felt flaming right now, bright , and she needed something more than this boring ball to amuse her. The music was too slow. The dances were too slow. Time was moving too slowly, she was going to be stuck in this uncomfortable courtship with Seokjin forever at this rate.

The song ended but Nasimiyu threaded her fingers through Seokjin’s and leaned close to kiss him –not indecently, just a soft kiss like she adored him most in the world– and asked, 

“Can we go somewhere else? I’m tired of dancing.”

“Ah… yes? Yes, of course, where would you like to go? We can–”

“To my room,” she whispered in his ear, then pulled away and tried to look innocent. “Is it too soon?”

Even with his mask on, his slack look of surprise was obvious. He was gobsmacked. For a brief moment she thought he was going to lock his knees, clench his pearls, and run away. Instead he shook his head, dislodging a thought, and pressed his hand to her back.

“Yes, of course. Your wing will be much more private for a rest.”

That was not what she meant and she wondered if he misunderstood or was only pretending to, because Lidmila was hovering close and Namjoon was only just behind her. Nasimyu didn’t know where Dulce was but it didn’t matter. She could find her own entertainment tonight. It was time to move things along here.

At first people kept trying to intercept them. Nasimiyu was done with it. The further from the ballroom they walked, the more done with the whole thing she felt. At home she had enjoyed balls so much and this one felt like she’d been bounced around a cage with ony a few people she enjoyed. The attention wasn’t the right kind. The music was wrong, the food was wrong, the fights were stopped too quickly, the fun people tossed out. There was no entertainment! 

“Nasimiyu, are you all right? Are you ill?” Seokjin asked, working to keep up with her stride.

“I’m very well, thank you. It’s been a lovely ball.” Her heels clicked and she lifted her skirt to keep from tripping on it in her haste. 

“Would you like me to fetch your maid–”

“No I would not like you to do anything with my maid,” she snapped.

“I…” He nearly tripped on his feet. “If you– are you upset– I did not mean to insult you by dancing with– I thought you intended her to blend in and that you would feel better about her safety knowing–”

“I’m not upset about it,” she assured him after letting him ramble for a moment. He was indeed flustered and she didn’t know if it was the topic or the fast pace after a dance. If he had such bad stamina, this would be a quick night.

But a quick night still secured the image of them leaving together in everyone’s minds. A quick night still put him at ease about their engagement. A quick night could maybe still give her a relief she desperately wanted right now. He’d better!

They reached her wing but when Seokjin took a step towards her sitting room, she grabbed his arm and pulled him to her bedroom on the right. 

“Nasimiyu.”

She gestured and the guards pushed her door open. Good, more witnesses to Seokjin following her inside.

“Nasimiyu,” he said again, holding out his hand. She took it but only to pull him close to kiss. She crashed her mouth to his, only to laugh when their masks clashed.

His gentleness surprised her as he carefully worked her mask off, untying it by her ears and lifting it off the hooks along her hairline. She hadn’t expected him to know how to get it off. His calm was so heavy it slowed her down too. She undid the ties at the back of his head and tossed his mask to the side.

He looked so serious and concerned. She didn’t know what to make of that when she just wanted to fuck already while her blood was still hot. 

“We don’t have to rush anything,” he told her. “My dancing with anyone else is no reflection on my devotion to–”

“Don’t you want me? Or do you have some principle to wait until marriage?”

“Of course I want you,” he breathed. “And I… um– I don’t have any personal rule about waiting until marriage to–”

“You have experience, don’t you?” 

He hesitated before nodding, lips pinched. Clearly afraid of her response to this. Thank fuck. She had no desire to be pawed over by some virgin.

“Maybe your last betrothal?”

His eyebrows raised and he ventured carefully, “What do you know…”

“Next to nothing except that Namjoon had some hand in– Lord Namjoon had some hand in taking what was yours.”

“Ah, well…”

“He won’t this time.”

“I’m relieved to hear that,” he said with a crooked grin that affected her more than she had expected –more than not at all . “Ah… if you want to know more, I can–”

“I don’t. And I don’t want you to ask me about my experiences either, it’s private. But I’m not some wilting flower either, Seokjin. If you’re to be my husband and we’re as good as married, I don’t see why we have to wait until we’re actually married to seek each other out. Does that shock you?”

“N-no.”

“Then if you want me, I’m yours to take. Do it now.”

Only a brief hesitation preceded him reaching for her, crashing his mouth against hers. It was too much lip and not enough caress but Nasimiyu leaned into it anyway. He wasn’t so bad, was he? She didn’t love him but he wanted her and his hands were firm against her back. He had danced adequately. She could begrudgingly admit he was handsome and that he kissed better than she had anticipated. His lips were very soft. 

“You’re shedding,” he murmured, sliding his hands along her jaw. She didn’t want the touch, it was overly romantic, it felt too loving , and she leaned away anyway in shock at his words. “Diamonds,” he clarified. “Gold.”

“Let’s not make a fuss of undressing. You do yours, I’ll do mine, or we’ll never get out of these things.” 

She meant it to be serious, blunt, but he laughed.

“Don’t miss any of those things in your hair. I don’t want to die on our first night.”

“Poo, are you so easy to kill?”

“I’m weak to you.”

She turned away so he wouldn’t see her annoyance. She strode to her vanity and pulled off jewelry like water beaded to her skin. She worked the sun rays out of her hair and unfastened her shoes and let the cape fall carelessly to the floor..

“You’ll have to undo–” She broke off as she turned to call for help. He’d shed clothing much quicker, vest and shirt gone, boots gone, only his tight silk britches in place. Straining, she noticed. His broad shoulders were more toned than she had anticipated. More surprising were the outline of his abdominals. She had expected a thin, noodly prince, not lean muscles. 

His mouth hung open, eyes lidded as he carefully undid the catches on the back of her dress. She watched him in the mirror, bemused at his concentration, wanting to think something mean but it was hard to be unkind when someone looked so reverently at you as he did, pulling the sleeves off her shoulders and tugging the dress down to her feet. She had little on beneath so when she turned, it was nothing but panties and naked gold-flecked skin he looked up at.

“My god you’re beautiful,” he murmured, warm hand sliding up her leg as he stood. 

“You aren’t going to make a joke of it?”

“No.” He didn’t have to lift her chin much to kiss her. She felt the admiration in the embrace of his lips. He didn’t stop as her fingers worked at the front of his pants, undoing the hidden button and tugging them down his hips. She wondered if he was going to be shy about nudity, he seemed like the sort.

He stepped away and pulled his pants clean off, red-eared, red-cheeked, chest flushed, but not hiding his half-hard cock. She couldn’t remember ever finding a cock attractive but at least it was large and looked healthy.

“That will do.”

She meant it seriously, sexily, but he laughed and looked to the side, shy once again, “Ah, yes, well… I’m hoping so. You would say it like that…”

It annoyed her for him to be shy now. This didn’t have to be some sentimental thing just because it was their first time. If he was hard, he could just get on with it, and she waited for him to grab her and do so. He had no charm about it, no guile, there was nothing teasing in his look of admiration as she slid her hands up her chest to cup her own breasts.

“Well?”

“Right. Uh… do you want to, um… I don’t have a condom with me, you see, so we can–”

“I don’t care about a condom, Seokjin. You’re to be my husband in a few months anyway. If you get me with child before then, lucky for you.” It would stick, she’d see to it, but she could flatter him with empty words, sure.

“I…” He blinked at her. 

“Come on, then, aren’t you going to touch me at least?”

He drew close but looked like he wasn’t sure where to put his hands suddenly.

“I thought you said you’ve done this before.”

“I have but… ok, I’ll kiss you first…”

“Then do it. You’re going to make me think you don’t want this.”

“I do,” he assured her, sliding his arms around her. “I do, Nasimiyu, I want it very much.” He kissed her harder and stepped backwards with her towards the bed, his cock pressing between them impossible to ignore. Probably he wanted her to grip it but she didn’t yet. She didn’t feel like handling that right now; if he wanted release, he was going to have to earn it. 

He pressed her down into the bed with more kisses. It was all right when they were on her mouth but she was impatient with them anywhere else, which he seemed to quickly pick up on. She let her legs fall apart until he reached down to tug her panties off. He looked like he was moving through water, every action was so slow. At least he looked like he admired what he saw. He better!

“I can be a lot to take,” he said, giving her what ought to have been a smug look but was just sheepish. 

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“I want to make sure so I’ll warm you up first–”

“You don’t have to narrate to me, just do it.”

She assumed he meant with his fingers. Why not? Every man before him had only ever meant that. But after the next kiss, he ducked suddenly lower and the next kiss was between her legs.

“Oh!”

“Is that ok?” he asked, looking up at her through eyebrows, expression serious. He was never this serious. He was much more handsome when he was serious.

“Yes. I just didn’t think– it’s fine. Get me off that way and I’m sure I’ll be ready to take you.”

“I think so too,” he agreed, but now he did sound smug, which annoyed her. She wanted to snap at him but worried anything she could say would just sound stupid while he was licking her like that. His tongue wasn’t as good as Dulce’s . Neither were his fingers. But he seemed eager to please and when she closed her eyes and just let him do what he wanted with a few commands here and there, she found it carried her right up to the edge.

“Yes, there you are, there you are, just let go,” he murmured and she realized he was watching her face. Awful. 

“Shhh,” she complained, “You’ll ruin it– ” She broke off as his mouth latched onto her again, sucking without any seeming break to breathe this time. His tongue flicked her clit finally one time too many and she orgasmed with a gasp, fingers digging into her own thighs.

“There you go, princess– ah, shh, sorry, I’ll shut up…” He interrupted his own talking. It was unnatural for him to be so quiet but it's’ what she wanted lest he make any of those ghastly jokes. Especially right now as she grasped at this first orgasm, trying to lose herself and the whole evening into it. Just all right, nothing shocking, but it was nice and she was just relieved it had happened. A part of her had worried she might not be able to orgasm with Seokjin with how much she generally disliked him. Thank fuck for alcohol and his adequate tongue and finger work.

His fingers worked her open further as he slid up to kiss her, expression still so serious, like eating her had been some religious experience for him. Quiet in the bedroom after all, hm? That was probably for the best with him, though she preferred Dulce’s energy and authority. 

“I’ll give you a minute to recover,” he told her. “Or… or that can be it.”

“That better not be it. And I don’t need a minute.”

“Ok–”

“You know how to actually use that or do you just get by because it’s big?”

“I’m sure you’ll let me know,” he chuckled.

“Shh – ohhh .” She hated her own voice. She hated her own moan. She hated how good and snug and filled she felt as he sank into her. She hated that this annoying man had such good dick and she hated that his stroke game proved much better than his dancing. Fuck, the stretch was delicious. 

“Is that ok?” he asked, eyebrows upturned.

“Don’t coddle me like that. Just…”

“Just?”

“Just fuck me.”

“As you wish.”

He curled over her and she closed her eyes and thought maybe we can make this work after all…

***

This evening was taking a strange turn. Dulce wandered the late hours of the ball, fuzzy with some strange mixture of confusion and anger and… and… whatever else. She was simultaneously too drunk and too sober. 

Seokjin asking Dulce to dance was strange.

Her agreeing was strange.

Her enjoying it was even more strange.

Nasimiyu interrupting their dance in an obvious pout that she was not being included was not surprising at all, but Nasimiyu kissing Seokjin the second the dance ended was strange.

Nasimiyu leaving with Seokjin was strange. She had that slant to her body. Dulce knew that slant well. But… could this really be the night? Probably Nasimiyu would part ways with him before she got to a bedroom. Or stop before it got too far. She despised the man! She had made it excruciatingly obvious tonight that her attention was trained on– 

Lord Namjoon. The very man who approached Dulce outside the lounges. Also strange. And bad timing. Dulce was not in the mood to deal with anyone right now. She wanted–

“Wine?” Namjoon offered, handing her a glass. She eyed him warily as she took it. This wasn’t the wine that had been served around earlier though; it made her eyes water as she lifted the glass. 

“What is this?”

“It’s wine. Eh, strong wine.” He knocked his glass back, then shuddered and shook his head. 

Lord Namjoon, whom she had never spoken to in her life, approaching to get drunk with her, strange. What bizarro world had Prince Seokjin spun Dulce into?

Maybe Lord Namjoon didn’t know who she was. That suddenly made the most sense. He thought she was just some mysterious cast-off stranger floating around the party, and that was why he gestured for her to join him in one of the lounge rooms. And Dulce went because why not? That’s all she was right now. 

“Do you like the music here?” he asked her as they settled on a sofa he had cleared with a gesture. The act made him feel predatory and while she wasn’t nervous in the slightest, she was suspicious. What was she going to learn about this mysterious man who Nasmiyu’s parents had been so concerned about?

Oh. Recalling that put her even more on her guard. She had not done a good job of distracting Nasimiyu from this man, that was true, but it was also impossible. To keep her away would only make him more alluring to Nasimiyu. She wanted things she couldn’t or shouldn’t have. She didn’t want the things thrust upon her, like a perfectly good prince, or a life of wealth and privilege, or– 

He was looking at her, waiting for an answer, so she answered vaguely, “I suppose.” She wasn’t listening to it much at all, some man on a piano. The room had dimmer lighting and the smell of sex on the air, burned by candles along the walls and copious alcohol flowing. People spoke low and close to each other. The young women had said people fucked at these parties and Dulce suspected it started in here. Was this the sort of man Lord Namjoon was? And did he know whom he had brought in here?

“I’d ask you to dance but I don’t think you enjoy it any more than I do,” he admitted. “Did your lady know you were here before she interrupted your dance? She must have paid for your costume.” Well so much for that theory then.

“Yes.”

“Hm. To what end?”

“Hm?” 

“Why did she dress you up and send you to a ball, but not at her side?” 

Dulce didn’t answer and thought he must be an idiot if he expected her to. Maybe he didn’t because he continued,

“She’s clever. Possibly one of the most clever women I’ve met and I’m sure she was up to something. Were you meant to distract the Prince so she could spend time with me?”

“Your ego must be a great pride to your–”

He let out a noisy sigh, “Fine, it’s not that, I’m reaching. I’m just worried. I don’t want to cause any complications for their engagement but I think by giving her space she views it as a challenge.” Dulce said nothing since that was precisely true. “But if I don’t give space, Jin thinks I’m a threat. It really wasn’t my fault what happened before.”

“I’m a maid. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But you’re also close with her.” He tipped back the dredges of his wine. Not much a sip and savor sort, this Lord Namjoon. “And you’re right, they’ve left together, so maybe I was worried for nothing.” He sighed and looked around. “I hate these things. I don’t enjoy dancing. I don’t enjoy gambling. I can’t even dance with someone without it suddenly being a thing people are gossiping about, and after the whole debacle, that gossip will be enough to sink me… It feels like everyone’s always watching me.”

The man was either paranoid or an egomaniac. He was popular, that was true, but Dulce didn’t think it was in a negative way. Was he just trying to manipulate her sympathies right now? 

“Sorry,” he chuckled, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I’m horny and lonely and spilling my thoughts to…” He looked at her and clearly rolled his eyes at himself. “A ladies’ maid.”

“No one knows who I am unless you keep announcing it,” she pointed out, emboldened by the masquerade and unconcerned right now if he thought she was rude or out of place. He was the one who’d pulled her into here.

“That’s true. No one in their right mind would look at you and think you’re a maid. Isn’t that funny? You’re easily one of the most beautiful women here and you spend most of your days, what, scrubbing the princess’ laundry? How many social levels are between us but anyone who sees us right now will just think I’m trying to win favor from a beautiful stranger and probably they’ll doubt I deserve the attention you’re giving me.”

She sipped her wine. “I’m not interested in flattery.”

“All right, then I’ll skip it. Do you want to fuck? If you’re so sure your lady has no feelings for me and won’t be bothered?”

It was slimy. It was well done. Dulce looked at him and genuinely couldn’t tell if he was manipulative, opportunistic, or just an asshole.

“And what of my own feelings?”

“Ah, is your heart taken by another?” he sighed dramatically. “Maybe by the prince’s valet? Or Taehyung, who he stupidly keeps around here?”

“Why is it stupid?”

“Nevermind. Tell me, who has your heart, mysterious lady? Which man? Or, not a man? Perhaps your very own lady?”

“I thought you were supposed to be intelligent.”

He gave a short huff, “Yeah yeah. Not right now. Right now I’m… bored. My sister already went to bed so I don’t even need to watch out for her but the night’s too early to go to bed since I dragged my ass all the way here and put this stupid costume on. Can’t go to the afterparties without besmirching the good Kim name. ”

“There are many women here I’m sure you can seduce.”

“Yes, but none as beautiful as you. None as motivated to keep their mouths shut about it. I have a reputation to maintain too.”

“One that doesn’t fuck maids, I gather?”

“One that doesn’t fuck anyone. And I suspect you’re the sort who isn’t going to tell her lady who she fucked either, right?”

“I am conveniently close to power for you.”

He rolled his eyes, “Ah, it’s fine then. I guess you really are in her confidence if you think someone can use you to get to her.” Damn she hated people like this who twisted their words around you. Dulce was clever but she could also recognize when she was mentally outmatched.

“I don’t think she’ll be pleased with you for going after her maid.”

“Yes but I don’t need her to be pleased with me, you see? You’re discreet. Someone sees us together right now, tomorrow they won’t know who I was speaking with. But it’s good if people see me leave with someone. Ah, I may have gotten into a bit of trouble with a– nevermind.” Dulce couldn’t tell, did he just naturally want to share or was he stringing her along to manipulate? It wasn’t going to work. She wasn’t interested in him. Not that she was interested in anyone! But Namjoon, Taehyung, Jimin, they were all interchangeable to her. Any one of them might fuck her and it might be good or it might not, she didn’t care as long as it served some purpose. She didn’t have any purpose to fuck Namjoon other than relief, if she allowed it, which she wouldn’t.

“Forget I said anything,” he grinned at her, and settled back against the couch with his arm along the back of it. Close enough that if she tilted her head, she could stab his with her skewers. “Am I making you uncomfortable? I can leave.”

“No, it’s fine. You act as a good barrier to others.”

What purpose could fucking Namjoon serve? She doubted this opportunity would present itself again. She could still meet up with Jimin and Taehyung later, or just go down that path another day. They seemed casual about it; it was good to know she might have an easy time fucking information out of them without much preamble.

“Well. It’s good they’re getting closer anyway,” Namjoon said. “Isn’t it? Both our lives get easier once they’re married and in love.”

“Why does yours?” she asked. Then quickly added, “Mine is unchanging. I serve no differently.”

“Because I think she’s going to be an amazing queen. She’s… bright and inquisitive and curious. She hears out my ideas. You serve a remarkable woman.”

“Who is in bed with her betrothed right now.”

“Yeah, which one are you jealous of?” he laughed. The surge of rage blinded her for a moment and had she less control, she might have lashed out. Instead she remained still as he chuckled to himself and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, I understand your position. Who you want doesn’t ever matter. Ideas are more important than some sexual gratification, right? The world can be better and those of us willing to take up that task have to stay true to it. Nothing I believe in is worth throwing over for an… entanglement. That was true before. That will always be true.”

He was rambling. Did he really want to fuck or was he just looking for someone to listen to him? That seemed in line with what she had seen of him so far. A devout scholar all the unmarried girls pined for who was in fact undersexed, what a trope.

“Sorry,” he laughed suddenly. “It’s just always running up here.” He tapped his head. “Hence the… proposition.”

“So you’re confident enough to believe you’ve caught a betrothed princess’ eye but in practice not above pursuing a maid–”

“That makes me sound sleazy, huh? Suppose I thought you might be in a similar state as me. Frustrated and– anyway, I’m not looking at a maid right now. Masquerade, right?”

Dulce eyed him from the side of her mask. He was a noble, likely to be selfish. Probably he thought he was getting something to blackmail her with out of this –but with who, Nasimiyu? Nasimiyu might be mad but hey, she’d encouraged Dulce to fuck for information. It was part of the job. It’s not like they were a couple, after all. Nasimiyu was a princess currently fucking her future husband. Dulce was just an assassin masquerading as a maid masquerading as a mysterious noblewoman for an evening. And if Nasimiyu did get a little jealous, well… so what? She had Seokjin to comfort her. She’d wanted that comfort so badly she couldn’t even let Dulce finish her dance. And why had the prince asked her to dance in the first place?! After feeding her a raspberry tart. He was as much an asshole as Nasimiyu was. Assholes. All nobles were selfish, arrogant, thoughtless, reckless assholes who occasionally threw a masquerade so they could fuck servants without being embarrassed about it.

“Noblemen are selfish lovers,” Dulce said, curious what response she’d get from Namjoon.

“How many noblemen have you been with?”

“How many maids have you been with?”

Namjoon leaned across her, one arm on the arm rest, and stared into her eyes. He could see them through the mesh mask, he was close enough that she knew the eye contact was genuine. 

“This one isn’t a selfish lover.” He lowered his mouth to hers, masks bumping. Her was tied on too tightly to budge but his did, lifting higher as he settled more heavily on her, arms sliding around her, kissing her right there in the lounge for anyone nosy enough to look over. Dulce didn’t need to feel anything from the kiss to know that he was very skilled and most women would melt beneath him. It was enjoyable, anyway. He was handsome and at least knew how to kiss well. 

She slid her hands up to grab his hair and bit his lip.

“Ah, ok,” he hummed. “It’s like that?” He tried to push her back on the couch but her spiked crown bumped and her skirt was too full.

“Don’t fuck me in the middle of the–”

“Right right, sorry,” he murmured. “Getting carried away… I’m a little out of practice…”

She found that hard to believe, but played along, exaggerating her flushed state as he pulled her to her feet and they walked quickly from the lounge.

“Do you have a room?” he asked her.

“No.” 

“Uh… I’m sharing a suite with my sister…”

“The garden?”

“You’ll let me–”

“Isn’t that what people do at a ball–”

He suddenly grabbed her and pulled her close in the hallway, mouth hungrier against hers by the minute, needy in a way she would not expect from a man she’d only really spoken to this once. But it made obvious one thing was true: he was desperate to fuck. 

He barely let go of her so she could lead the way out into the gardens, and down a few paths until they found a nook isolated enough for them both. Apparently Namjoon wasn’t as worried anymore about being seen though it was unlikely anyone would recognize them in the low light. He sat on the bench and unbuttoned his pants but she scoffed,

“I don’t do that, you’ll just leave after.”

“I won’t, you have my word, but it’s fine. Come sit in my lap, think you can take me already or do I need to warm you up?”

“See, selfish.”

He grabbed her roughly and yanked her down to the bench but then, forgetting his own unbuttoned pants, crawled under her skirt, lifted it right over his head in one move. 

Only to laugh, “You have a knife!”

“Oh–”

“How were you going to reach this if you needed to?” he demanded, unfastening the clip and tossing it to the side along with his own mask.

“In case any handsy nobles harassed me.”

“But how are you going to use it? Do you even know how?”

“I’d figure it out.”

“If you stab me, you won’t get to finish.”

“I’ll finish first.”

He laughed, clearly unbothered, and dove back beneath her skirt, pushing her legs apart. She leaned back and closed her eyes and choked on a sigh. 

It was bad. It was bad that she couldn’t see him as tongue and fingers unfurled her. It was bad that she couldn’t see him, could only feel that it was a man’s hands touching her right now, a man’s mouth sucking at her clit. It made it too easy for someone else’s image to sneak in. Seokjin crouched between her legs in the dark garden, moaning into her pussy about how sweet she tasted–

She abruptly pushed him away to confirm his face. He looked bewildered, face messy and hair disheveled. 

“Something wrong–”

She grabbed his vest and pulled him onto the bench and pulled his cock from his unbuttoned pants, hot and heavy in her palm. It seemed Lord Namjoon had many blessings in life. 

He practically snatched it from her hand and dug a condom from a hidden pocket, rolling it on as he ordered, “Take your mask off.”

“No.”

“It’s cutting me when I kiss you.”

“Then don’t kiss me.”

He unbuttoned the lace at her throat and kissed there instead, hands dragging at her dress to pull into his lap where he had to slot himself into place while she tried to press down the volume of her skirt crushed between them. See? So impractical for fucking!

Their coming together was fast, frantic, too drunk, but not drunk enough. She forgot who was beneath her , just grabbed his broad shoulders and bit back the moans at the thrust of him deep into her body. He felt good, she’d give him that. He didn’t just mindlessly rut into her the way she’d half expected. His hands and lips were busy trying to drag pleasure from her that she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing, though it was difficult to hold herself to that. He felt good, he moved well, he smelled nice even after an evening of dancing. His mouth tasted like wine and raspberry tarts when he kept forgetting not to kiss her–

No. No that was someone else, someone whose mouth she didn’t know, and didn’t want to know, and it wasn’t her fault if things blended together in her mind as she rode this broad-shouldered man. He managed to wrestle one of her tits from her bodice, his mouth dragging at her nipple in a way that felt so foreign, it made it easy not to think of Nasimiyu and what she was doing right now. Possibly this very same thing. With someone else beneath her, or above her, or behind her. He worshipped her. She despised him. And they were going to be married and he was going to die and Dulce was part of making that happen. And he’d fed her raspberry tart and spun her on the dancefloor over and over as she got drunker and dizzier, even though it was the wrong move, because he thought she enjoyed it. 

She did.

Seokjin shuddered beneath her and grunted against her neck, arms locked tight around her as he came, cock nudging her deep, deep, so deep, mouth hot on her skin– 

No, no! Not Seokjin, Namjoon. 

It was too late. Her orgasm shoved her from behind, leaving her no time to catch herself before she fell. Instead she leapt off his cock, making him cry out at the shock as she collapsed heavily beside him on the bench, cunt clenching around nothing as her orgasm fizzled into dust. Interrupted. A failure. A shame that left her gasping and twitching.

“What’s the hurry?” 

She didn’t say anything, just shook her head. He gave her a smug grin, “See? Not selfish.” He tugged the condom off his softening dick, knotted it and tucked it into his pocket. A cautious man. A proud man who saw her orgasm and thought it was his accomplishment. It was. It wasn’t. She wished she had just let herself enjoy it. She knew she couldn’t.  

Once everything was tucked away, he settled back against the bench and closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. 

Dulce just sat there. She felt… strange. Weary. Simultaneously spent and unspent. 

After a few minutes, Namjoon reanimated. He leaned down to give her a kiss she hadn’t expected.

“That mask is almost as lethal as you are,” he complained, rubbing at his nose as he stood. “Thank you for that. Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Satisfied?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t I walk you back inside?”

“No, I’m all right.”

“If you’re sure…”

She nodded and waved him off and he went. It let her sit on the bench for a moment and catch her breath as her stomach turned. She hadn’t wanted to cum with him. She was glad she’d interrupted it but it didn’t change that she had. She refused to think about why. She didn’t like the loss of control. She was slipping. This whole night had been nothing but slipping and she didn’t like it. It was Nasimiyu’s fault for making her come to this, for dressing her up, for acting like she was some silly little plaything. My little doll. She hated Nasimiyu right now. Everything was Nasimiyu’s fault. If not for Nasimiyu, she wouldn’t even be here.

And now, where to go? She was tired of the whole thing now. Orgasm had sobered her when she didn’t want either of those things. Honestly if she’d been less weary, she might have gone to find Jimin and Taehyung. Have a crazy end to her night, get further drunk, do the magical lix, have that threesome, embrace the chaos, ride off into the sunset in the morning, stop caring about anything–

Fuck. Fuck, was she starting to care? Better not be.

Maybe she should do that part in the morning, then. Disappear. Prove she didn’t care about anyone or anything. 

The other part of her considered just curling up here to sleep and let whoever find her in the morning and deal with it then. Her whole body felt sticky and numb and fuzzy and she was ferociously hungry. She’d never got her plate of desserts back from the tutor and the loss made her want to cry but she couldn’t go all the way back to the masquerade for them. She just couldn’t.

Her only hope was if there were any still in the kitchen. It was worth a shot. If she got some desserts, she’d feel better, and then she could figure out what to do because she felt like she ought to be doing something. Leaving. Getting away from this place. But she couldn’t get this dress off by herself, and she couldn’t go to Nasimiyu’s room for help because she might not be alone or she might not even be there. Would they have gone to her room or his? Dulce’s guess was Nasimiyu’s. Shit, if they went to his room, she’d see the animals and that would be the end of it. The thought almost made her smile.

The kitchens were still busy. She had been an idiot to come here. She entered through a side door and immediately backed out, but unfortunately not before detection.

“What are you doing here? Dressed like… that?” Yoongi asked. 

She hesitated. The last thing she wanted was another man involved in her evening, and yet there was no one else. She didn’t know Yoongi well, only in the context of kitchen visits, but he also seemed so nonplussed that it made him feel trustworthy in the way she could use right now.

“Can you help me get out of this?”

“Eh… you coming onto me?”

“No.”

“How did you get into it?”

“My lady. But she’s… occupied.”

His eyebrows raised. “Ah. By the prince, I hope.”

“Yes.”

“Well that’s great. Yeah, you need something to change into I guess. You want to sleep here too?” He stepped away from the kitchen and she followed, not sure where they were going. “I don’t have a private room but everyone’s working right now.”

“You have clothes that will fit me?”

“They’re kitchen scrubs but yeah.” The room around the corner was small and had two bunks in it. It reminded Dulce of her servant's room. She compared them both to Nasimiyu’s room and felt a spark of fiery rage of injustice catch and then fizzle. She was too tired right now.

“Hey, are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Something happen?”

“No. A ball is just not the place for me.”

“Me fucking neither. You look right though. Nice, I mean.”

“I want this gone.”

He helped her out of the dress with only a slight twitching of his lips, didn’t even comment on her tits and lack of underwear but also didn’t exactly avert his eyes. The clothes were bland, beige, poorly fitting but they covered her. They shoved her dress into an empty sack along with the mask, grimacing at the way the spikes stuck out. He found a smaller bag for her jewelry. She’d have to sneak back barefoot tomorrow, the heels would look too suspicious with her clothes. She did her best to wipe the heavy eye makeup off with a wet towel.

“Quite a transformation,” he mused.

“Thank you.” 

He hadn’t asked further questions about why she’d dressed up, or how it had gone, or why she might look almost on the verge of tears. She wasn’t. She had no reason to cry. She’d danced. She’d gotten dick. She was a little drunk but not badly. The plans were progressing. 

He looked at her feet and sighed, “I don’t even have a second pair of shoes to offer you.”

“That’s ok. Thank you for your help.”

“I’ll extract payment in the kitchen, don’t thank me yet. But hey, if you would rather sleep here it’s fine with me as long as you don’t mind sharing a bed when I get a break in a couple hours.”

She considered it. The other option was to walk barefoot through the castle, avoid being seen by anyone while lugging her bag of dress and spikes, hide that under her own bed, and sleep listening to the complaints from the other maids. Her makeup was smeared but not gone, her hair was down, she smelled like alcohol and perfume and probably sex too. They’d know where she’d been. 

But she’d need to gather her things if she was going to light out in the morning. It was looking more alluring by the moment.

He touched her arm, a gentle nudge towards the bed. “Just sleep here. I promise I won’t pull anything.”

“It’s all right?”

“Yes, Dulce. It’s all right.”

She didn’t make him offer again.

***

Seokjin lay awake, gaze alternating between Nasimiyu sleeping beside him and the silk canopy above her bed. To say this was not how he had expected the night to end was an understatement. The whole night was a hazy mixture of moments and touches and music and skewers he couldn’t quite make sense of yet, though he wasn’t drunk. He felt drunk. Okay, he was a little drunk. Drunker than he would have liked to be his first time with Nasimiyu but maybe it was for the best because he thought the alcohol might have helped him not fuck it up. 

They’d really done it. He glanced at her again, at the cloud of her hair rising up from her pillow. Beautiful. Men had followed her every step tonight and yet he was the one she’d pulled close and kissed and brought to her bedroom. Yes, he was her betrothed but it still felt like an undeserved honor. She was as forthright with her wants as he had expected and he thought he hadn’t disappointed her. He just wished he could remember it a little more but maybe that wasn’t the alcohol, that was being drunk on Nasimiyu and the heat that came just from getting to touch her. He would have settled for a dance tonight. A kiss. Instead he felt like he’d got everything and he didn’t understand what he’d done to deserve it.

But he wouldn’t let her down now. He wouldn’t take for granted that she had allowed him this great leap forward in their relationship. If she could just not regret this tomorrow, and not slide back, everything could be ok. Dulce was right, Nasimiyu just needed time to warm up to him, was that it?

He glanced at the shadowy pile by the window of Dulce’s boots and clothes. She had dressed here before the ball obviously. It was an odd piece of her to see in his betrothed’s bedroom. He wondered again about their dynamic but more than that, he wondered what Dulce had done after he and Nasimiyu left. He didn’t know whether to hope his friends looked out for her so no one else bothered her, or hope they left her alone because they might be the bothersome ones. He felt a deep guilt to have left her before they’d even concluded their dance. He felt like he’d left something behind at the dance, an important task undone, a dangling thread that needed to be pulled. Something in the oven. 

He couldn’t fall asleep because he’d had sex with Nasimiyu and she was beautiful and incredible and going to be his wife, he was going to spend the rest of his life with this amazing woman. And he couldn’t fall asleep because he had this growing ball of dread in his stomach that he’d left Dulce in trouble. He didn’t know that. She was capable. It was just a ball. Her safety wasn’t his responsibility. Probably she had gone to get her dessert plate from Hoseok. Maybe she was sleeping in her own bed right now.

But she needed her boots, didn’t she? And she couldn’t come get them because he was in here. Lying naked in bed next to Nasimiyu. He felt very naked next to her. 

He needed to piss, that’s why he got out of bed. He tugged his underwear on afterwards, and fetched Dulce’s boots. He overbalanced and dropped one at first, and out fell a knife with a jeweled handle. A necklace with a locket was wrapped around the sheath, tangled up in the jewels, and for a moment he had the nosy impulse to open it. Who did Dulce wear in a locket down her dress everyday? Nasimiyu? Her family? A lover left behind in Marvono? Maybe she had followed that lover to Marvono in the first place?

He didn’t open the locket. Instead he carried the things to the door and stuck his head out to hail the attention of the nearest guard.

“I need you to take these to the room where her maids sleep.”

“I don’t know where they sleep.”

“Well figure it out, good man! Don’t spill the things inside. I know what’s there and if anything is missing, I’ll come for you.”

The guard rushed off and Seokjin scurried back to bed. He’d orgasmed hard earlier, the results leaving a wet spot he brushed against. Back out of bed, he got a towel to drape over the spot, then curled up again, and this time felt more at peace. She was probably already in bed and now she had her boots and locket and pretty little knife back. He felt better knowing she carried that. She was capable and probably she could carve up a man as well as she’d been cutting those beans in the kitchen. He hoped she’d never need to though.

Nasimiyu flipped in her sleep and a hand arced, slapping him in the face. He chuckled. 

“On the nose, Nasi dear,” he murmured and settled her arm gently by her side. He held her wrist for a moment, embracing the warmth of her skin against his. The sex was so good. It would only get better as they learned the things they each liked. They were going to be happy, weren’t they? Now that she was accepting him?

He drifted off, mind swirling with Nasimiyu’s moans and gold-flecked skin bouncing on top of him and raspberry tarts staining red lips that almost smiled and a beautiful storm cloud spinning around him and skeleton hands that wrapped around his throat until the music stopped.

Chapter Text

“You’re not listening to me.”

Dulce looked up at Nasimiyu’s complaint but didn’t wipe the boredom from her gaze. Boredom wasn’t the right word for how she felt right now but it was what she wanted to feel and what she wanted Nasimiyu to think she felt.

“Sorry, you were saying something about ‘his cock that hit just right’?”

And Nasimiyu had the audacity to let out that peel of laughter, “You aren’t jealous, are you?” She reached over to pinch Dulce’s chin and Dulce couldn’t even bat her away or she would look jealous.

The movement made Nasimiyu’s robe gap, showing off the soft curve of her breast. Dulce’s gaze flicked quickly away, but not before Nasimiyu noticed. She adjusted the blanket and grinned.

“He appreciated those as well.”

Dulce didn’t even nod but rose to investigate a noise at the door that had not actually happened. Nasimiyu had been like this for a day and a half now, the tone of her comments sliding from genuine surprise to raunchy recaps as she “recovered” in bed. Dulce had found her still sleeping the afternoon, after leaving Yoongi’s bed to collapse back in her own –only to shortly get chased right back out of it by the head matron berating her for being lazy when there was work to be done. What work? Nasimiyu slept soundly and Dulce almost crawled into bed with her, thinking her solitary slumber was evidence that she had misunderstood what Nasimiyu and the Prince leaving the masquerade together had meant–

Until Nasimiyu sat up and gasped, “He made me cum so hard. I’m… stunned.”

Dulce had decided work was welcome after all, certainly preferable to letting Nasimiyu drag her down into the bed for salacious details. It didn’t matter, the details came all the same, Nasimiyu clearly eager to share as much of her experience as she could remember, all with that tinge of disbelief. It had obviously never occurred to her that the Prince could be good at sex and she was not sure what to do with this revelation.

Then came a brief bout of anger as she ate the dinner Dulce brought to her room as requested; she must be drunkenly misremembering things in her hungover state. There was no way he’d been that good. Oddly not comforting to Dulce. Not that she needed comfort, but she didn’t think Nasimiyu needed to share this part of her experience so openly. Was Nasimiyu really so callous? Or mean? Or worse, just stupid?

Maybe something in her face showed her annoyance. Maybe Nasimiyu just felt so good that her impishness returned. Or maybe the Prince’s dick was so good it had confused Nasimiyu’s mind, made her forget what was going on here, why they were here in the first place.

Dulce made the mistake of snipping at her, “Your parents will be pleased to hear about this. Maybe now that you had such a great time with him, you’ll take your own plans seriously.”

“Who’s going to tell them, you? Are you spying on me for them?” Nasimiyu asked. It was unclear whether she was serious or not though because she smiled as she said it and then called for a bath. 

Now Dulce genuinely didn’t know if Nasimiyu was just still so rocked by sex with the Prince that she didn’t realize she was still droning on about it, or if she was just trying to make Dulce jealous. It felt like Nasimiyu kept watching her, waiting for her to snap something even more foolish. That would be very like Nasimiyu. It would be a double victory for the princess: a good orgasm and a jealous lover. If Dulce was even still her lover. Probably not now that she’d had a taste of something better than what Dulce could apparently offer, if even a full day later Nasimiyu was still enchanted. Once upon a time, she’d gone on about Dulce’s tongue for days, but that felt like a long time ago…

Of course there was no one at the door yet. Dulce huffed with annoyance not to be relieved of duty yet.

“Are you telling the other girls about this?” Dulce asked as she wandered back to Nasimiyu.

“What do you care what I’m saying to the other girls?”

Dulce shrugged, “Is this the hearstruck confession of a besotted little girl or–”

Nasimiyu’s reaction was instant: “I am not a hearstruck–”

“Or is this your way of fueling rumors about how in love with him you are? If so, I don’t know why you’re telling only me. Do you want me to gossip?”

“I’m telling you as my…”

Dulce waited, curious where that was going to go.

“So you know what act you’re following,” Nasimiyu grinned, trying to look playful. It only annoyed Dulce further. Nasimiyu expected her to hear all this and be what, goaded into trying to outperform the Prince? On second thought, that sounded exactly like something Nasimiyu would do, with no understanding at all of what it would feel like to the other person. By that line of thinking, the Prince had merely joined the same rank as Dulce as the Princess’ plaything, and now she had two of them to try and pit against each other. 

In some small part of her mind, Dulce recalled a similar joke ages ago, when minor jealousy was a sexy, compelling game between them. She even vaguely recalled a similar taunt in the opposite direction, when Nasimyu had demanded to know whether Dulce was spending her time with anyone else and Dulce had countered why, afraid you can’t compete? To which Nasimiyu had quipped I’m a princess, I’ll destroy the competition and then earnestly tried to make it true. There had not actually been anyone else at the time but Nasimiyu had been jealous of the way the bartender poured Dulce’s drinks and it had been funny to watch her stutter so angrily about it. In hindsight, probably Nasimiyu had known there was not actually any competition for Dulce’s bed at the moment or things would have gone differently, but the Princess’ jealousy and entitlement had felt like a play at the time. 

This exact situation months ago might have made Dulce laugh. At the very least, it wouldn’t have bothered her and now, for some reason, it did.

Dulce tried to draw on that old demon-may-care attitude as she countered, “Who says I’ll follow anything? If you’re so satisfied–”

“You are jealous!” Nasimiyu cried. She rose quickly, not caring that her robe gapped wide, and grabbed Dulce’s arms. “Dulcie…”

Dulce loathed the gentle smile Nasimiyu gave her.

“You knew what we came here to do,” Nasimiyu said, lowering her voice. Dulce could not believe she was serious right now. Being patronized was too much to layer on top of the annoyance simmering beneath her skin. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better. You have to just endure.”

“What’s going to get worse?” Dulce asked, feeling like it was a safe question as she worked to control her face. She didn’t need to hear any more about the Prince’s dick or stroke.

“I’ll have to fuck him a great many times.”

“How lucky for you that he’s good at it then.”

“Yes, I know! But it doesn’t mean this is any less important to me.”

Fuck, Dulce hated Nasimiyu in that moment. But she kept her face neutral and remained still as Nasimiyu slid her hands up to caress Dulce’s face. 

“It’s not like I’m telling him anything about you. He was just a good lay. You are that and so much more to me, don’t forget that.”

A dumb little part of Dulce longed for Nasimiyu to explain that further. What was Dulce to her? Genuinely. What were they? What were her true deep feelings about Dulce, and were they feelings of convenience and familiarity or something durable and lasting? Did she love Dulce? Did Dulce want to be loved in that way by Nasimu?

But she wasn’t. If Nasimiyu had suddenly said that she loved her, she wouldn’t have believed her. And what were Dulce’s own feelings towards Nasimiyu? She didn’t want to try and put those into words either. It was… complicated. Messy. Nasimiyu meant something to her, she cared, but to look closely at how deep those feelings ran would only open her up to a sort of pain that Dulce had no interest in. She had long ago decided her feelings must not ever run that deep, and ignored any evidence to the contrary, such as that she had followed Nasimiyu here and remained by her side for all of this. It was just the blackmail, that was all. She didn’t believe Nasimiyu could feel anything profound for her either. Love . A farce. An ideal. A dream spoken of in stories that nothing in real life could ever compare to, because no one could ever love someone else as much as they loved themself. When push came to shove, they would always choose their own needs over the other person.  

Notwithstanding that time Dulce protected Nasimiyu at her own expense; that was a fluke and damn was she paying the price for it.

“Dulcie,” Nasimiyu sang softly and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Am I really bothering you talking about him?”

Dulce quickly rolled her eyes and assured her, “No. I just worry you’re forgetting what lies ahead. Are you going to give up on your throne for a good orgasm?”

“A great orgasm,” Nasimiyu corrected. “But no. It will be a loss but…” Her hands slid down Dulce’s neck and shoulders to brazenly caress her breasts, thumbs stroking Dulce’s nipples. The fabric of her gown and bindings dulled the sensation. “Care to remind me that I’m yours?”

Seriously a farce. Dulce knew Nasimiyu would never truly be hers. The whole thing reeked of Nasimiyu playing dolls with people and Dulce wanted no part of it. People like Nasimiyu got everything they wanted and could grab for more or toss what they tired of with a flick of the wrist, even when those things were people. If Nasimiyu thought this was fun and playful, she was completely missing the mark. Dulce was not in the mood.

“I have work to do today and you have a massage,” Dulce countered, stepping away. She didn’t miss the flicker of disappointment on Nasimiyu’s face, which gave her a small comfort because it seemed genuine, though probably only about rejected sex.

“What work?” Nasimiyu demanded. “What’s more important than me?” She laughed in a way that poorly masked her feelings were hurt. 

Dulce had to think fast because she didn’t actually have anything in particular planned.

“I’m going to have a look in the Queen’s chamber,” Dulce decided.

Nasimiyu tilted her head and demanded, “Why? Suddenly now?”

“Why not?” Dulce countered. “No one is allowed in, why not?”

“Seokjin made it sound like it’s just because he and his father want it kept exactly the way the Queen left it,” Nasimiyu said, tugging her belt around her and looking to the side in thought. “You think there’s something in there?”

“Only one way to find out. I was planning to go during the masquerade while everyone was busy but since someone made me go…”

Nasimiyu cracked a smile, “Sure, blame me.”

“I am.”

“Fine, I don’t regret it. You were a beautiful shadow. Let me know if you find anything interesting.”

Dulce didn’t expect to, but agreed with a short nod. Then, because it felt right, she added,

“If I had known depriving you of good orgasm would make you hungry for the Prince’s help, I should have done that ages ago. It would have saved you some lectures from your mother and father.”

“Don’t you dare,” Nasimiyu gasped. “I said he’s not replacing you.”

“You said he must replace me. Unless you mean to dangle between us–”

“Damn I would love to dangle between you,” Nasimiyu sighed with blatant heat. “But I don’t want you anywhere near each other.”

Dulce quirked an eyebrow, finding strength in this shift of tone in this conversation, and pressed, “Why not?”

“Because you’re mine,” Nasimiyu grinned. She took hold of Dulce’s chin again, but with her fingers crooked, gripping Dulce’s chin more aggressively. “I don’t want him to know what a treasure you are.”

“But you want me to know what a treasure he is?” Dulce snorted. 

Nasimiyu let go of her with a laugh, “You wouldn’t think he’s a treasure with your vast experience, he’s just impressive compared to the men I’ve had before, that’s all. You never sound like you’ve enjoyed fucking a man anyway.”

Dulce didn’t respond, more because it instantly made her think of fucking Namjoon. That was a mistake, she could easily admit it. She was mad at herself about it, mad to have done it, mad to have cum, maddest of all that she had undeniably been thinking about the Prince when it happened. She had been drunk! Her thoughts were safely unknown but definitely fed the guilt she felt as Nasimiyu praised Seokjin. She didn’t need Nasimiyu providing real details to a brief, drunken fantasy that shouldn’t ever be thought of again.

Nasimiyu was going to be pissed if she found out about Namjoon. The good news was, she highly doubted Namjoon was going to tell anyone he’d fucked a maid, so that secret would die with them.

“No? Are you thinking of someone now?” Nasimiyu tittered.

“I’m not, but you can’t seem to stop thinking about getting fucked by a man–”

“Ha!” Nasimiyu threw her head back. “I think you’re jealous. Don’t be jealous, my sweet Dulcie. Tonight let’s fuck until all we can see and taste and breathe is each other.”

“You’re that sorry?” It was a joke. Nasimiyu’s smile was as radiant as the sun, like now she felt safe and happy to play along.

“I’m so sorry, Dulce. I didn’t mean to make it sound like a man’s cock is better at pleasing me.” She leaned her face in, trying to kiss Dulce, obviously thrilled when Dulce turned her head away so it wouldn’t happen. She didn’t mean it playfully; she didn’t much feel like kissing Nasimiyu right now. Nasimiyu who couldn’t go an hour without raving about the Prince’s cock and soft lips and how reverently he had sucked at her tits.

In retrospect, it made Dulce think differently about Nasimiyu cutting in on her dance with the Prince. It had felt so pointed at the time and Dulce had been mortified to get knocked back to her place, but now she wondered if it had actually been pointed at the Prince, or else she had imagined it completely. Maybe Nasimiyu had just been drunk and focused on what she wanted to happen next and she would have cut in on any dance, as was her right as the betrothed.

“Are you worried he’s noticing me?” Dulce asked to poke at the curiosity. Nasimiyu went very still, nose still pressed playfully to Dulce’s temple. “Are you worried he’s the type who preys on helpless maids?”

“Maybe I was. His father had those wild appetites supposedly.” Nasimiyu pulled away, the whole play chilled by the conversation. “I’m less worried now that I’ve seen how devoted Seokjin is to me. But do keep your guard up, hm? He had no business dancing with you. I think he was just trying to get my attention and he shouldn’t play those kinds of games with me because I’ll crush him, but if he does anything that seems predatory to you…”

“I can defend myself,” Dulce assured her.

“No, don’t defend yourself. Well, I mean, don’t let him rape you. But if if you feel like he’s… coming on to you… we can use that, right?”

Dulce paused and asked carefully, “Are you asking me to seduce him?”

“Absolutely not. He doesn’t seem like the sort but if he is, we ought to know that, right? It will make what happens easier. If women are a weakness for him… I mean, women besides me.” Nasimiyu winked, apparently confident that the prince only had eyes for her.

Dulce didn’t respond. She felt all twisted around by this as new doubts and confusions laced through. Nasimiyu made a painfully good point, actually, and Dulce was grateful Nasimiyu didn’t press her with further questions. Has he said or done anything that made you feel like he was preying on you?

No.

Yes?

No. Their time in the city didn’t feel predatory. Their conversations at the masquerade didn’t feel predatory. Their dance felt inappropriate but playful… the feeding of the desserts felt…

Inappropriate. Was the Prince friendly to the point of obliviousness, not realizing that these actions were inappropriate towards the maid of his betrothed? 

Or was he just very, very good at subtlety? After all, the handmaid of the Princess might feel comfortable tattling to her mistress… or she might really not. What royal princess would believe her maid in a story like that? The maid could lose her life for speaking up. How many times had servants been abused by those in power because there was no protection for them? People like Dulce were in all ways the playthings of the nobility, powerless in most ways to protect themselves if it came down to their word versions a nobleman’s, much less royalty. Prince Seokjni could do whatever he wanted to a maid and what could she do about it? Maybe he was just feeling Dulce out. 

Any ambivalent feelings evaporated.

This was a job. It was time to do it and get out. And if she exposed a predator in the meantime, great. But she was getting too tangled. The stranded of the spider web were starting to pull at her wrists and ankles and it was becoming less clear how many spiders there actually were.

The masseuse had arrived for yet another massage which Dulce was not interested in remaining for. A massage looked incredible; it was an experience she’d never had and never would, and one Nasimiyu got at the snap of her fingers. She could have them daily, if she liked. Whatever she wanted, she could have. A prince, a handmaid, her meals brought to her so she could rest and recover from a party .

Lord Namjoon was apparently the only thing Nasimiyu couldn’t have. For now at least.

That didn’t give her a feeling of victory she would have liked. The regret and embarrassment of that escapade paled in comparison to this nagging worry she had now that the Prince was working her and she hadn’t even noticed it. Nasimiyu wasn’t going to notice anything; she was too pleased by his cock, her ego too stoked by what had at least looked like the absolute devotion she wanted.

But if he was so completely devoted to Nasimiyu, why had he fed Dulce a tart and wiped the excess from her lip? Why had he asked her to dance? He’d barely danced with anyone else, so why her? Was he a well-meaning idiot or a mastermind? Were Dulce and Nasimiyu actually playing right into some plan of his ?!

Bolstered with renewed determination to figure out this man –strengths (womanizing), weaknesses (spice in the eye and unguarded trips into the city) and all– Dulce went to see whether the late Queen’s chambers were full of sentimentality or darker secrets kept by the King and Prince Seokjin.

First she needed to figure out a way in without the guards stationed outside of Nasimiyu’s room seeing her and frankly anything was better than thinking about Nasimiyu, the Prince, or Lord Namjoon right now so Dulce went to find a way in even if it meant she needed to scale the outside of the palace.

Seokjin had been floating on clouds since the masquerade and didn’t intend to come down anytime soon. Especially not when the next time he saw Nasimiyu at dinner she gave him a small smile and a tilt of her head as a greeting. It felt personal. Intimate. It was a gesture referencing a private night they now shared between them, that’s how he felt, and he couldn’t have been more relieved. 

He’d done it. He’d finally hooked Nasimiyu. All it had taken was one night of really effortful, selfless sex. Worth it! There wasn’t even a whiff of a complaint from him about it. No man in their right mind could have a complaint about sex with Princess Nasimiyu, possibly the most stunning woman he had ever laid eyes on. 

He thought Nasimiyu was acting shy around him. He had no particular type of woman he preferred to others but Nasimiyu acting shy was just so novel that it left him giddy. Had he really impressed her that much? She had seemed impressed but he had worried at the time he was just seeing what he wanted to see. He wanted to impress her.

His father noticed it too though, musing as they crossed paths with Nasimiyu on the way to a council meeting, “She seems taken with you for the first time since her arrival.”

“Yes. She does, doesn’t she?” Seokjin gloated.

“Your ball was a success then.”

“Yes. You might have even enjoyed yourself.”

“I doubt it,” King Dong-gun said, and those were the only words they ever traded about it. Sure, Seokjin would have loved to demand an answer from his father: where were you; why didn’t you go? But no answer he got would make him feel good. Nasimiyu had made him feel good though. He finally felt great about Nasimiyu.

His mind ran away with him as he sat in the council, specially called to discuss the recent “guests” from Destin and some new developments in the principality. A disruption to a supply chain, unclear if it was intentional, intel said it was a Rinsk mining operation accidentally blowing up too close to the road but a minority political contingent in Destin was trying to take credit.

“Pathetic,” King Dong-gun shook his head. “Can’t even adequately stage their own rebellions, they just try to claim credit for mishaps? Pitiful.”

Seokjin nodded, gaze blank, mind wandering down a lovely train of thought: what could he do that would convince Nasimiyu for a repeat of that night? Maybe… a picnic along the seawall? No, that seemed like something Dulce would enjoy–

The rogue thought of Dulce shocked Seokjin worse than someone calling on him to deliver an opinion. He had no opinion and couldn’t hope to form one when a ball of those spikes Dulce had worn around her head suddenly unfurled in his gut.

No, no he had not forgotten about Dulce, and her spikes and black layers, the raspberry tart on her lip, the surprise on her face as he’d flung her badly around the dance floor, the laugh he’d nearly pulled from those red lips–

But he was not supposed to be thinking about that. He was trying very hard not to think about that. He had a fiance. A fiance who had finally let him into her bed and that was precisely and entirely what he was going to think of, Destin be damned for now. Destin wasn’t going to distract him from the mortification of his inexcusable behavior towards Dulce at the masquerade, but focusing his energy appropriately on Nasimiyu could be a penance. He never should have had that much to drink. He should have been clearer in his intentions with Dulce.

Not bad intentions! Protective! Friendly! He was just looking out for her. His disappointment that their dance was interrupted was just… just stupidity, or just playfulness because he knew it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to dance together. 

Which was good! He had no reason to dance with her again. He had a fiance. She would be his wife soon– Nasimiyu would be his wife soon. All his dances would be hers until she said otherwise, and she would never allow him to dance with her maid and it had just been a bit of fun. He had just wanted the victory of making Dulce laugh, that was all. Because they were not-quite-friends. As opposed to Nasimiyu, who was his bride, and now his lover, who looked so beautiful moving with him as they made love…

That drop of jam on Dulce’s lip–

Nasimiyu Nasimiyu Nasimiyu –

“Your Highness,” interrupted his thoughts. “Your opinion?”

Fuck. Seokjin pushed both women from his mind and tried to concentrate. Which didn’t work well but at least trying to save some space for Destin was so boring that his brain turned to the pure carnal distraction of remembering sex. Which had happened with Nasimiyu, not Dulce. As it should. Finally! 

By the time he was finally free from the council –having contributed nothing useful– his body was almost as restless as his mind. He was too scrambled to think of the next right move with Nasimiyu.

“Let’s spar,” he suggested, nudging Jungkook. “I should work with Master Drin anyway.”

Jungkook snorted, “Yeah, you should. It’s been a while.”

“You think I’m rusty?”

“I think you’re getting rusty,” Jungkook confirmed without a moment’s hesitation.

“We shall see! I have a new zeal for life. I may be unstoppable.”

“Just because you got laid?” Jungkook laughed. Jimin cleared his throat and shot Jungkook a look and motioned for him to shut his mouth. Hoseok, a short distance down the hallway, heard and looked scandalized.

“You don’t need to shout it from the rooftops!” he gasped, hurrying over. “It’s obvious enough.”

“What? Is it?”

The rolled eyes made him laugh. The relief made him laugh. He laughed all the way to his quarters to change into clothes that were easier to move in. He laughed all the way out of his room, deciding to take the long way to the training yard so he could enjoy a proud stroll through his mother’s favorite garden. Sort of a spiritual I did it, Eomma, I impressed her, are you proud? Well… it was sexual… she might not want to know about that, actually…

That wasn’t what made his smile falter though. What made his smile finally falter was stopping short on the main path because Dulce was strolling along, a blade in one hand and a flower on a stalk in the other.

They both froze. Dulce swung the flower and blade behind her back. Her brown eyes went wide, her lips parting, her whole expression one of shocked innocence he immediately knew she had always faked when caught red-handed. Seokjin opened his mouth, not sure what to say. A jolt ran through him at the sight of her and he found himself at a complete loss for words.

I did something wrong. That’s the thought that rushed over him so fast it made his head spin, the undeniable flush of mortification that he’d made a mistake and was now face to face with the person he owed an apology to. The same feeling as when he’d broken Eomma’s favorite vase trying to fly a kite inside. The same feeling when he had forgotten Delphine’s birthday that first year they courted and had to rush to make it up to her. The same feeling when he’d defensively been a little too hard on Seok-ho’s life choices shortly before he’d left for the military tour from which he would never return. 

Yes, Seokjin carried some guilt in his life. More than those things, but he worked hard not to sink too deep into it all and always pushed serious thoughts like that away –this time physically motioning with his hands to distance himself from the guilt he felt looking at Dulce with her sweet face turned up to him. Innocently stealing flowers from the Queen’s garden. Innocently dancing with him at the ball. Innocently looking the way she had in that dress with those spikes…

Surprised by the gesture, Dulce took a step back, head tilting with transparent confusion. 

“Ah! Ah ah,” he said, quickly trying to correct it if it had looked like he’d pushed her away. He had, though not actually touching her. Of course he wouldn’t touch her. It would be inappropriate to touch her.

That twist in his gut made sure he noticed the way his tensed under another wave of guilt. But he hadn’t done something wrong! He’d… he’d just had sex with his betrothed! Which he was supposed to do!

But after feeding Dulce pastries and twirling her –being twirled by her– around the dance floor. 

The impulse to draw her close and apologize was overbearing but he didn’t understand why. For leading her on? Maybe he had done that. He shouldn’t have done those things with the handmaid of his betrothed. She must know he’d spent the night with her mistress; he hoped to the moon she hadn’t come into the room while he was there and hoped it had been one of the other girls if anyone.

But why not? She was going to see a lot of that now! 

For fuck’s sake, it made him queasy. 

She understood, didn’t she? That he hadn’t spent time with her with any intentions other than friendly? He could only feel friendly towards her. He was engaged to a princess.

“Um,” he stammered, pulling at his ear. Jimin brushed past him, trying to grab his arm, but Seokjin felt like something needed to be said. He couldn’t be dragged away right now. He was looking at her face, searching for any hint of confusion or betrayal she might feel, any misunderstanding he might have accidentally caused by his earlier behavior towards her that could have led to her being hurt by him fulfilling his duty with his betrothed.

Dulce didn’t help him. She just stood there, dark eyes giving him nothing to work with. The light hitting them made the brown shade look like it glowed from within.  

“Did you get your shoes back?” he asked.

“My… shoes?”

It was the most awkward thing he could have referenced, but there was no stopping himself now: “Yes, your boots? And there was a little blade–”

“I have my boots,” she said, face showing a flicker of confusion. 

“Ah, good. I had them sent– but you never know. Yes, those,” he confirmed as she lifted her gray skirt just enough to show the toes. He clapped his hands. “Well that’s good, I didn’t want you to be without your boots after you… changed.”

She gave a small nod and he felt like she was leagues away. He searched her face for her to say anything –confirmation that she was bothered, or that she was unbothered, or that maybe she didn’t know after all. 

No, but why would she be bothered? Why was he worried about her being bothered? She had never done anything that made him think she forgot her place. That was only his own fault.

“Yes, well… all right then.” He gave her a nod. She kept her back to him as he finally followed JImin’s pleading face past her. He froze just past her though and turned. “You don’t need to hide.”

“Hm?”

“Take whatever flowers you like. Please, I insist. If anyone gives you trouble, tell them I gave you personal permission. I mean personally gave you permission. In a purely professional way.”

Jimin coughed and suggested, “Your Highness, we are late for your arms practice.”

Dulce just blinked at him, then gave a single short nod, and that nod felt like she’d twisted a blade in his ribs. He didn’t care to analyze why. That sense of a mistake being made was too loud to hear through and without another word he moved quickly away from her, leaving her alone in his mother’s favorite garden to gather whatever flowers she liked. He didn’t even know she liked flowers. Why would he know that? That was the sort of thing to know about his betrothed. Who he’d slept with, as he was supposed to do.

Dulce liked his mothers flowers?

Stop that.

Why did he feel like he should hide the success of his relationship with Nasimiyu from Dulce? Like she’d judge him or hate him or… no, it made no sense.

Even worse was that neither Jimni nor Jungkook said a word about it, meaning it had looked too awkward to comment on. He’d just been caught off guard, that was all! Staff always saw more of you than you might have liked, and now that was true of Dulce. He’d have to get used to Dulce potentially coming in while he was still in bed with Nasimiyu in the mornings, if she continued as Nasimiyu’s maid. As, not if. As she continued to be Nasimiyu’s maid. The thought of Dulce walking in to find him in bed nude with Nasimiyu just seemed… the thought of her changing the bedding afterwards…

He’d sent word ahead to Master Drin, so his sword trainer was already in the yard, wood and blunted blades lined up on a table for their practice today. Usually Seokjin would chatter and procrastinate at the beginning of any lesson that would leave him sore and bruised, but today he dove right in. Master Drin hadn’t even finished saying what they’d be working on and Seokjin was already grabbing a blade and stretching his arms and legs as he moved to the ring cleared for them. 

“Aye, you’re that eager?” Master Drin laughed.

Seokjin grinned, “Yes, wear me out, Drin. I won’t make it easy on you.”

“Ah, a fighting spirit! I love to see it. Men can get better or worse after they’ve been with a woman, glad to see you’re–”

“Wah wah-woah, hold on?”

Master Drin just laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, “No need to blush like a young girl, you know gossip runs fast around the palace and the taverns, and after you and the Princess started off on the wrong foot…”

“Are you saying the whole palace–” Seokjin broke off, feeling a fresh wave of mortification. “Who’s gossiping? Gossiping about me? You’re listening to court gossip–”

“The maids, probably, it’s usually the maids who give it away. Good for you, man, now that you’re flustered, practice blocking. An enemy won’t wait for you to stop blushing!”

“What kind of enemy is making me blush–” Seokjin started, but Master Drin dove at him without further ado and Seokjin had to focus quick.

It immediately became clear Master Drin had thrown him off with the gossip on purpose, not aware Seokjin had already been thrown off on the way here. It made focusing extra hard, but Seokjin pushed himself harder than usual because he wanted the confusing mix of thoughts and feelings gone . There was nothing confusing going on right now. He was the crown prince, he’d finally won his way into his betrothed’s bed, he was going to marry an incredible woman, and together they would rule. It was as perfect as if his father had written it out himself. Everything was wonderful. 

His blade bounced off Master Drin’s shoulder, earning him praise, “Yes! Your fire is strong today, Seokjin.”

Seokjin was winded and unable to think of a witty comeback in the moment; he just blinked and nodded, shoulders heaving as he readied himself for the next move.

“Fucking serves you well–” Master Drin broke off as Seokjin dove at him, landing another touch. 

“You’re going too far,” Seokjin warned him. “Are you drunk now? Mind your tongue.”

“Ah, I see, I see. Your love is pure,” Master Drin teased. Seokjin shuffled quickly, lunged, spun, but he’d veered too far into annoyance and Master Drin easily parried and tapped. He drew closer to pat Seokjin on the shoulder, “There will be those saying worse about your wife on the battlefield, you know. Better learn to ignore anything the other person says now.”

“I don’t need to hear it from you. You go too far into my private business.”

“You’re going to be the King. You don’t get to have private business,” Master Drin laughed.

“You seem to know a lot about having a crown and a wife for someone without either.”

Master Drin glowered, “God saved me from both. Now that I’ve got you mad doing exercises, let’s see you spar with Jungkook now that you’re sloppy. Don’t hold back, Jungkook.”

Seokjin hated practices like this and regretted coming now. Not sparring with Jungkook, that was sometimes fine when he felt like getting the shit beat out of him, but ones where Master Drin played mind games with him.  Especially when it led to him getting the shit beat out of him by Jungkook.

Except Jungkook seemed oddly sympathetic this morning and teased as they circled each other, “If you hadn’t slept for thirty-six hours after the party, you could have been in the gossip circles too.”

“I don’t gossip.”

“You gossip like an old maid,” Jungkook laughed and lunged. Seokjin twisted away, his blade bouncing off Jungkook’s to divert it. “Come back to the kitchen tonight, you can hear what people are saying.”

“About me?”

“No one cares about you,” Jungkook joked. Frankly, Seokjin didn’t know which was true, but figured what Master Drin said probably was. It would be easier for Nasimiyu as his bride and the future Queen of Yeonhalbi if the people liked her and accepted her, so hopefully the gossip was headed in that direction. “Hobi had to pay people to gossip about you,” Jungkook added.

“With whose money?!”

“It’s what our taxes pay for,” Jungkook said.

Seokjin’s eyes narrowed as he circled Jungkook. “You didn’t come up with that joke. Yoongi did.”

“Ah. Yeah.”

“Joke thief.”

“I’m not stealing any of yours.”

They clashed together for a busy moment, swords clanging, light armor stretching and clinking. Master Drin called Jungkook’s touches and gave Seokjin some pointers, then added,

“Less giggling like girls, more clanging of steal.”

“You started it. Gossiping in the sword yard… honestly, it’s an embarrassment to your craft!” Seokjin insisted. No one laughed at the joke, not that he’d expected it. Belatedly Seokjin realized his tone was off. He didn’t really sound like he was joking. His own laughter sounded forced. 

“You seem pissed,” Jungkook said before crouching quickly down as Seokjin lunged at him.

“I’m not.”

“Too tired? Need a break? Wore yourself out after–”

“You’re going too far too. What’s wrong with everyone today?” Seokjin demanded before a burst of strength caught Jungkook off-guard and knocked him back a few steps. In almost every way Jungkook was stronger but Seokjin was strong too –even remembered a day he had been the stronger of the two!-- and taller and this time had the element of surprise.

But Jungkook caught him by the arm and swung him around–an odd move for sparring, and laughed at himself, “Shit, I reacted on instinct, sorry.”

It was enough to lift the oppressive weight from Seokjin’s shoulders for a moment, Jungkook laughing at himself and apologizing for grabbing him like that. Seokjin could be comfortably magnanimous again.

“Yes all right, you’re carried away. Break for a moment and breathe.”

“There’s no breaking on the battlefield!” Master Drin called from where he himself was getting a drink of water.

“Good thing I don’t intend to be on one,” Seokjin called back as he and Jungkook went for water as well. Sweat dripped down Seokjin’s hairlines and down the back of his neck. He felt the echo of blade collision up through the bones of his arms and shoulders.

The break was a welcome one but lasted only a few minutes before Master Drin chased them back. Seokjin felt calmer this time, which made it easier to block and even to get a few touches in. Jungkook walloped him pretty hard on the thigh but he got Jungkook back on the shoulder which was a more impressive touch anyway.

“I think you danced too much at the ball,” Jungkook laughed as he leapt away from Seokjin’s next attack. “You’re spinning too much.”

“I’m in the mood.”

“For dancing? Hoseok will be happy to hear that–”

“Never for dancing,” Seokjin laughed.

“I thought you did well though,” Jungkook panted as they took a step back and circled each other again. Seokjin always felt good when he put Jungkook through the paces. Unfortunately, he always tired sooner and so even with a strong start, Jungkook wound up putting him in his place sooner or later. And to think he used to hold back his true strength in arm wrestling competitions to give this whelp a boost of confidence when he was younger!

“You danced more than you ever have before,” Jungkook continued.

“Are you worried I’m coming for your dance queue?” Seokjin laughed. He pointed his sword, “Ha! Is that why you cut in with Dulce?”

He didn’t know why he said it. The impulse to mention her jumped ahead of his better thinking and he made a joke about something he didn’t feel like joking about.

Jungkook didn’t notice his instant regret and played along, “Nah, Jimin told me to distract her so she wouldn’t be in the way of you dancing with the Princess.”

“She’s not in the way of anything, she doesn’t need you descending on her,” Seokjin said through a forced smile. Thinking about it now reawakened that protective impulse in him. “You have plenty of women,” he continued. “Don’t take this as a challenge but don’t go bothering my betrothed’s favorite maid. You, Taehyung, Jimin, you’re all harassing her, just leave her alone.”

Jungkook waved his hand, “Stop wasting time, you don’t have to tell me to leave her alone, Yoongi’s on her anyway.” 

He lunged forward and Seokjin stumbled backwards, too slow to gracefully block. Yoongi’s on her anyway.

“Hey, what does that mean?” Seokjin asked, ignoring Master Drin shouting at him to get his head out of his ass. “Yoongi is on who? What?”

Jungkook snorted and hissed through his teeth before laughing, a whole series of reactions, “I don’t know, maybe he’ll give you details, he wouldn’t tell me shit. All I know is she was leaving his room in borrowed clothes the morning after the ball.”

“Who was?”

“Dulce.”

“Nasimiyu’s maid?”

“Is there another one?” Jungkook laughed.

“You weren’t in the palace the morning after–”

Jungkook laughed harder and covered his face, “Ahh, I spent the night here too… don’t ask for the details, pervert!”

“I’m not asking for any details!” Seokjin cried. And bit his tongue before he almost did ask for details –specifically about whether Jungkook was serious that Dulce had spent the night with Yoongi. Yoongi hadn’t been at the ball. Which meant Dulce would have had to seek him out after she left… which… ok, that’s what he’d hoped to encourage. Good. Great! She and Yoongi were close enough that she’d left the ball to– she had claimed she hadn’t been enjoying herself anyway. She’d gone to find the cook and they had… surely not in the dorm room he shared with others but… but apparently that’s how things worked for staff, or they found a dark corner to do that kind of thing… her dress was so big and dark, Yoongi could have practically hidden beneath it in some hallway nook to… to…

“Gah!” Seokjin complained, “Why did you tell me that much?! I don’t want to know what you fools are up to when you aren’t working!”

“I didn’t tell you anything!”

“Stop gossipping and fight me,” Seokjin scolded, and crouched, and exploded towards Jungkook with a series of jabs and swipes that made the younger man rush to keep up. 

Dulce and Yoongi… that wasn’t true, was it? Maybe it was. Good! Good for them both. That was good. Dulce wouldn’t be lonely… but Yoongi was quiet like she was… but maybe she preferred that. She’d be happier with someone calm and quiet like her, as opposed to someone like… like Jungkook! Like Taehyung or Jimin. They were loud like he was.

Not that he was factoring himself into this in any way–

Though he had a bed he could have taken her to, not some dark corner–

Not that he was wanting to take Dulce anywhere! 

And Yoongi, Yoongi was a great man. He was a great catch for a handmaid. They had a lot in common. Like food. And being quiet. And–

No, but had Dulce really let Yoongi have sex with her? Surely that would be the gossip, if she’d been sleeping in Yoongi’s bed in that ridiculous dress–

Well no, she would have been naked. And left in borrowed clothes… 

The energy surging through Seokjin earned cheers and shouts from Master Drin and Jimin and a nervous hiss from Hoseok. He and Jungkook traded blows harder and faster than normal. Seokjin felt stronger suddenly, like he could take on anyone! He wasn’t entirely in control of his arms and legs but they were doing what they were supposed to, running through the familiar motions drilled into him by this point in his life. 

Even Jungkook looked surprised, but also thrilled. They hacked at each other until even Jungkook was panting for breath, and then Seokjin’s tight grip on his mind slipped, just enough to think of Yoongi helping Dulce out of that big gown. He wasn’t tall enough to lift her out. It was a ridiculous thought. An unwelcome thought. Seokjin did not actually know how Dulce got into or out of that gown and he would never know, only Yoongi would know, and that was fine and good because Seokjin had a woman, a betrothed, an amazing Princess who’d let him into her bed and that was where he belonged. It was great if Yoongi could take care of Dulce now. A weight off Seokjin’s mind. She wouldn’t be lonely and he could guilt-free focus his thoughts on Nasimiyu. His future wife. Exactly right. 

It was the thought of lifting Dulce out of that dress for some reason that broke his concentration just long enough for Jungkook’s slice to break through. Seokjin should have blocked it; Jungkook clearly expected him to block it. Since he didn’t, the blade jabbed him hard, right in the ribs, and even a blunt tip was still painful. 

“Yeow!” he shouted, letting his sword drop and grabbing at his ribs as Jungkook yelled almost as loudly and dove forward. Seokjin’s hand was bloody too; belatedly he realized he’d developed and ripped open blisters at the base of all four fingers without even noticing.

“Send for the healer–”

“No no I’m fine,” Seokjin groaned, resisting the impulse to play it up. He didn’t want to be fussed over right now. He didn’t even care if Nasimiyu strolled by and saw him right now. He just wanted to be alone in his room with his furballs.

So he clapped Jungkook on the shoulder and assured everyone, “I’m fine. Good match. Master Drin, farewell, I am done for the day.” Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok all bubbled around him, concern making them annoying. “I’m fine, leave me be. Time to wash and rest. If you want to be useful, have someone draw me a bath.”

“Shit, hyung, I’m really sorry,” Jungkook mumbled as Jimin ran ahead.

Seokjin shoved his head playfully, “I”m fine. It’ll just be a sexy bruise, that’s all. I kept up with you today, huh?”

“You did…”

Seokjin nodded and headed towards his room. Yes, everything was good. He felt like he’d cracked an egg too aggressively on the side of the bowl and shards of shell had fallen into the food. But it didn’t matter. You could eat egg shell. It wouldn’t kill you.

His own thoughts didn’t make sense. 

“Should we stop by the kitchen for ice?” Hoseok asked.

“I’m not going there,” Seokjin snapped, then added more gently, “Ah, I am tired, don’t make me walk even one step extra…”

“I’ll go,” Hoseok offered and disappeared, leaving Jungkook to escort Seokjin back to his room so he could lie on the ground and let his animals run all over him. It was the only thing that would do right now. Lettie tucked herself against his neck and Seokjin let out a deep sigh and tried to make his mind empty once more.

All traces of the masquerade may have been wiped from the palace in the wee hours of the morning, but for a week it was all anyone could talk about. Nasimiyu expected five days to have been enough time to find other things to gossip, but when she accepted an invitation to lunch at the Aukem estate, she found it was still the primary topic. Especially once the food was done and Nasimiyu was left to wander out for a stroll and rest in the garden with the other young ladies.

“Do we want to play croquet?” Miss Lidmila asked. Nasimiyu didn’t much like croquet but would have been game for it just to have a break from the discussions of hair and dresses and dance partners. Her nod was drowned out by groans of complaint from the other girls though –Çiğdem, Afua, Tasa, and Mindeulle joining for the first time. It occurred to Nasimiyu she ought to make friends with some young married women, seeing as she would be that soon, but for now she sat on the bench and listened to Miss Tasa fret about whether the croquet mallet would give her blisters.

“Well don’t hit so hard,” Çiğdem snapped, grabbing a mallet on the side of the lawn and giving it a rather impressive swing. Just as quickly she tossed it down and announced, “I don’t want to play silly games like that.”

“Are you… all right?” Mindeulle asked gently. Çiğdem gave her such a scathing look that even Nasimiyu touched MIndeulle’s arm in comfort.

Lidmila leapt up and threw her arm around Çiğdem, leading her away from the group to whisper quietly together. 

“I think the masquerade did not go so well for her,” Afua told the remaining group with a grimace. “She hasn’t left her house until today.”

“Something bad happened?” Mindeulle asked more kindly than Nasimiyu would have after receiving that look.

Without Lidmila there to protectively interrupt, Nasimiyu had a sudden realization that she might be able to get some answers out of innocent Afua and pressed, “Was her mysterious penpal at the ball?”

“Oooh she has a mysterious penpal?” Mindeulle gasped.

Tasa looked instantly scandalized and scoffed, “She says she does but I think it’s all stories. There was certainly no one hovering around her at the ball.” 

“I think that’s why she’s upset,” Afua pointed out.

“So the penpal was there?”

“She won’t tell us anything,” Afua answered. “But she’s in such a mood today and like I said, she wouldn’t leave her house so…”

Nasimiyu saw the way Mindeulle’s mouth twitched but didn’t have time to ask about it before Çiğdem and Lidmila returned and Çiğdem apologized for snapping.

“It’s forgiven. It sounds like you had a time that wasn’t what you had hoped,” Mindeulle said gently.

Çiğdem’s teeth clenched so hard Nasimiyu could feel it in her own. The girl glanced at Lidmila, who gave her a soothing smile and rubbed her hand. 

“That’s right, it wasn’t.”

A tense silence followed. It was clear Çiğdem was still aiming the bulk of her dislike towards Mindeulle, who clearly felt it herself but was not sure what to do about it.

“Let’s play,” Nasimiyu suggested, rising and going for a mallet. At her suggestion, no one dared to say no, and even Çiğdem was shuffled along as Lidmila called for a servant to set the hoops and the girls selected their mallets and balls. 

“Did I do something?” Mindeulle whispered to Nasimiyu once the game was underway and the group was spread across the lawn. 

Nasimiyu meant it as a joke when she asked, “I don’t know, did you flirt with her penpal?”

“I don’t think I flirted with anyone,” Mindeulle insisted. But the connection suddenly made Nasimiyu recall Lidmila’s guess that Namjoon might have been Cigdem’s penpal –which Mindeulle might know the truth of! Though she looked remarkably confused now, and they were already talking about penpals, so surely if she had something to tell about her brother then she wouldn’t look so confused.

“Nice one!” Lidmila called to Afua, so loud and close by it made Mindeulle and Nasimiyu both startled. Lidmila slid suddenly between them, taking the Princess’ arm and smiling at Mindeulle.

“Is the game all right?” Lidmila asked Nasimiyu. “Do you like these sorts of games? Tell me truly. I know you loved bowling but the set I ordered hasn’t arrived yet, the maker is taking forever!”

Nasimiyu didn’t think truth helped in this situation and so offered diplomatically, “The game is fine, it’s a lovely day for it.”

“That’s exactly how I feel about it!” Lidmila beamed. “The game is all right but it’s the day and the company that make it lovely. Is it your turn?” she asked Mindeulle.

“Oh, I think it is…”

Nasimiyu gave Lidmila a curious look, not sure if there was something pointed in what she’d said, but Lidmila just smiled brightly at her and watched Mindeulle take her turn, then released her arm so Nasimiyu could take hers.

The game continued easily, with some giggles, some conversations, not much effort. At least the sunshine was nice, even if it made the girls a little wilty, calling for servants to carry parasols above their heads. Nasimiyu didn’t bother; she liked the way her skin felt hot to the touch, even the glisten of sweat on her upper lip and the back of her neck. There was so little to expend effort on here; it made her long for horseback riding, and sparring in the backyard of the house Dulce rented a room in, and getting carried away and going upstairs to fuck through the hottest parts of the day–

“My penpal is real !” Çiğdem suddenly shouted from across the lawn. Tasa, yards away and talking to Afua, turned bodily away from Çiğdem with a clearly dismissive toss of her head. “Stop whispering about me, you bitch !” Çiğdem shouted.

Gasps from around the yard were almost as loud as her shout, but she didn’t leave it at that. Çiğdem took off at a sprint for Tasa and Nasimiyu just stood there, torn between disbelief that Çiğdem would actually strike Tasa and a curious impulse to see what would happen.

Lidmila dove between them and looked like she might get plowed down. Mindeulle caught Çiğdem around the waist and spun her so she was facing the wrong way, and that was enough time for Lidmila to grab Çiğdem’s arms. Their servants shuffled around, chasing them with the parasols like farcical set dressing, but no doubt they were listening to every word.

“My penpal is real !” Çiğdem shouted again, beginning to cry. “He’s real! Why did you even invite her, Lidmila?”

“Invite who? Tasa?” Lidmila asked into Çiğdem’s face, stroking her hair in an attempt to soothe her. Nasimiyu drew closer to make sure Mindeulle was all right after that manhandling. Afua and Tasa stood beside each other still but Tasa looked angry at this outrage directed her way, and Afua looked on the verge of tears to even be in the same yard as this drama.

“His sister ,” Çiğdem sobbed out. “That’s my penpal, I know you guessed it.”

Mindeulle made a small chirp of a noise beside Nasimiyu and looked instantly around at the servants. 

“Maybe we should take this conversation inside,” Nasimiyu suggested.

She saw Lidmila nod and try to nudge Cigdem towards the house, but she was crying too hard to be budged, not unless Lidmila was willing to body her along, which she wasn’t. 

“But why are you bothered that his sister is here? Isn’t that good?” Lidmila tried while grabbing at Çiğdem’s hand, which she kept wrenching away, like she knew it was an attempt to lead her. “Besides, you got his first dance, didn’t you? Isn’t that good too?”

Çiğdem gave Lidmila a scowl, “You mean because you danced with him too?”

“I tried not to! I only didn’t want to be rude–”

“I don’t care that you danced with him,” Çiğdem sniffled, pushing away from Lidmila. “I don’t care that Nasimiyu danced with him too, she’s got a fiance. I care that I found him fucking someone in the garden. ”

Mindeulle let out a strangled cry and grabbed hold of Çiğdem so tightly that the other girl had no hope of fighting her off, though she did try. Nasimiyu grabbed Çiğdem’s other arm and they hauled Çiğdem back towards the house. The language was so shocking from a young lady that Nasimiyu had to bite back her laugh at everyone’s gasps. This felt like a stage performance, all of it.

“That is not something you can just shout!” Mindeulle scolded.

Nasimiyu readily agreed, already thinking of the damage this would do to Lord Namjoon’s reputation as every servant present carried the accusation away, “There’s a time and a place but perhaps you are mistaken–”

“I’m not mistaken!” Çiğdem yelled and then crumbled into sobs. 

Apparently the commotion had all been enough that mothers came flocking from the back door as they reached the house, Çiğdem’s among them. She swooped her daughter up, demanding to know what had happened, but no one wanted to say and so her assumption that it was some rogue croquet accident went unchecked. Lady Aukem was just as concerned and dragged her daughter along to help comfort and explain, and somehow Mindeulle got caught up and pulled along inside –but Nasimiyu, Afua, and Tasa were encouraged not to worry and to continue with their game.

“Who cares about croquet?” Tasa huffed. “I can’t believe she yelled at me like that. I think she was going to hit me, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Afua murmured.

Nasimiyu brushed off, “I doubt it, but you were gossiping and taunting, weren’t you? You should take more care how you treat people who are clearly upset. If you bait a bear, it’s your own fault if the bear swipes you.”

Belatedly Nasimiyu realized Tasa had hoped for Nasimiyu to share her scandalized outrage. She glared daggers at Nasimiyu and decided to take her leave, off to demand to her Mama that they depart.

Afua looked nervously at Nasimiyu and pressed, “You don’t think this will ruin Çiğdem, do you?” Nasimiyu hadn’t even considered the potential hit to Çiğdem’s reputation, only to Namjoon’s, and now felt terrible about it. That was true, a young woman talking about broken hearts and secret penpals and fucking in the garden would be far more punished for it than the man doing any actual heart-breaking and fucking.

Although Nasimiyu thought Çiğdem must be confused because it did not seem likely that Namjoon had gone off to fuck someone in the garden. He’d been too preoccupied with avoiding Nasimiyu to strike up an affair with anyone there; Nasimiyu was sure of it. And he didn’t seem the type for a wild clandestine affair like that, either. Wasn’t he too busy reading and writing and pontificating to the King?

And this claim that Namjoon was her secret penpal… that couldn’t be true either, could it? He didn’t seem the type either to be writing love letters to a barely-out idiot girl in Priva. Nasimiyu just couldn’t see it. If Çiğdem hadn’t met face to face with him before, it was more likely someone else writing and using his name–

Although Çiğdem had gotten his first dance.

It was a mystery, and one Nasimiyu suddenly wanted resolution to before she even thought of leaving. She escorted Afua inside and to her parents, then went in search of the others.

Çiğdem’s mother had already packed her up and hauled her away, but Lidmila and Mindeulle both looked distressed as Lady Aukem bustled around, offering tea to try and rectify this sudden unsupervised implosion of their afternoon hosting.

“I think I will return to the palace now,” Mindeulle said through a haze. Belatedly she curtsied to Lady Aukem and Lidmila. “Thank you very much for inviting me today.”

Lidmila gave Mindeulle a sympathetic look that turned quickly into a frown as Nasimiyu suggested, “I’ll ride back with you so it’s only one trip for the coach that brought us here.”

“If you’d like to stay a bit longer, we can have our coach carry you home,” Lidmila suggested under the approving nod of her mother. Nasimiyu hesitated, wondering if she’d get anything more out of Lidmila than she could out of Mindeulle –because she desperately wanted to know if there was any merit to what Çiğdem had claimed. 

But she decided Mindeulle would be most likely to have the newer info, and also she looked more shocked right now by things anyway, so Nasimiyu insisted –but not before suggesting Lidmila call on her soon at the palace, what she hoped was enough of a placating offer of friendship. Maybe not, Lidmila still looked unhappy as she waved at them from the front step even after Nasimiyu assured her the lunch and croquet had been lovely. Poor Lidmila, she cared so much about being a good host for things like this but she lacked the guile to actually closely manage anyone, especially a loose cannon like Çiğdem.

The coach pulled away from the drive but Nasimiyu held her tongue at first. Mindeulle looked out the window, closed off from her in a way that surprised her. She looked stricken.

“Are you all right?” Nasimiyu finally ventured. 

Mindeulle slowly turned her face towards Nasimiyu and said with a sigh, “I’m afraid this will all make you think so poorly of me and my brother.”

That struck a chord within Nasimiyu.

“I would never consider your brother’s behavior a reflection on you. You are your own person.” 

Mindeulle didn’t look convinced as she pleaded, “My brother is wonderful. I don’t think there’s merit in everything Çiğdem said. My brother is not her penpal.”

“You’re sure of that? I mean, not that I doubt you but… are you and your brother so close you’d know for sure? My sisters and I have secrets we don’t share with each other.” 

Mindeulle looked hurt and pursed her lips for a moment, as if deliberating what to say. 

“I… I suppose he could be… but I really don’t think he is! We met Çiğdem on a previous visit but my brother didn’t remember her at all. This isn’t the first time he’s been accused of writing letters he didn’t write –and I believe him.”

“When was the first time?”

“I… I’d rather not say…”

“Mindeulle, you can tell me. I believe you that he didn’t write them but it is an odd accusation to have happen twice… but he’s also a known letter-writer, if someone saw a way to benefit from that,” Nasimiyu pointed out, trying to cloud her own suspicion.

Mindeulle tugged at a ribbon on her skirt before admitting, “Maybe Prince Seokjin already told you… the former betrothal that fell through… she claimed Namjoon wrote her letters to win her heart– but I promise on my life, he never did! He would never do that to Prince Seokjin.”

Nasimyu bit back any retort and pointed out, “All right, I believe you. Everyone knows he writes long letters and is eloquent, he could be framed that way. But he agreed to the first dance with Çiğdem.”

“Yes… To be honest though, I think he just didn’t understand how important the first dance is. I mean, someone had to be his first dance, didn’t they? No, I’m sure they aren’t having a secret affair!”

Nasimiyu nodded like she agreed, but it all gave her an unpleasant twist in her stomach. Mindeulle clearly adored her brother and wouldn’t want to see him in a negative light. Not that there was anything really immoral about being a penpal with a potential love interest… but if a prior penpal had been a girl betrothed to the Prince, and the most recent penpal had reason to feel jilted –which Nasimiyu could understand because Namjoon had not seemed at all interested in Çiğdem in any way– then that was a bad pattern. Selfish. Careless with women. If he had been Çiğdem’s penpal and acted so coldly towards her at the ball as what Nasimiyu felt like she’d seen, that was painful. Had he just changed his mind? Was the reality of Çiğdem not what he had hoped for from her letters?

Or was Mindeulle right that Namjoon really wasn’t the penpal, possibly in either scenario? Nasimiyu didn’t want to just agree with her only because she hoped it to be true. It was true that a powerful, well-connected person could be taken advantage of. Was there someone who benefited from framing Namjoon in either scenario?

“As for the other thing Çiğdem accused my brother of… there’s simply no way, Princess. That he was… I can’t even repeat it. It’s a lie!” She’d gotten herself so worked up again, tears leaked from her eyes.

“I’m sure it is,” Nasimiyu agreed, eager but unsure how to soothe her. “I was with Lord Namjoon for much of the night, he did not seem to give any particular woman his attentions.”

“Exactly. He’s dedicated to his ideals. There isn’t a woman in his life and certainly he wouldn’t be so… crude… Çiğdem is just upset. Someone has tricked her. But she can’t spread such gossip like that! Every servant there will repeat–”

“We will squash any rumors as soon as they arise,” Nasimiyu assured her without thinking much about it. “I’m sure he has someone who can account for him anyway.” Although it wasn’t her nor Prince Seokjin. Maybe Dulce would know though; Nasimiyu didn’t know what she’d done after Nasimiyu left the ball. She hadn’t asked. Maybe Dulce knew what Namjoon had been up to.

Maybe Dulce could also figure out more about this penpal business too, in both instances. If someone was trying to frame and use Namjoon, that was important to know! Did Namjoon think someone was doing that? Did he really not know a first dance was important? Everyone knew it was. Surely he wasn’t so dense…

But having sex in the garden… that was wild in a way Nasimiyu could not see Namjoon being. She couldn’t envision him letting go that way, not even while drunk. She didn’t believe that, and so it made her doubt all of the accusations. Honestly, she believed even Mindeulle’s blind devotion of her brother more than she believed Çiğdem’s dramatics.

Eventually she managed to soothe Mindeulle, though the girl ran off as soon as they were at the palace, no doubt to warn her brother about all of this. What Nasimiyu would have given to be a fly on the wall and learn the truth! 

With nothing else to do since she had intended to be away for the whole afternoon, she wandered back to her room, thinking to take a bath and change clothes since croquet and the episode had left her sweaty. Just before she began to undress though, an urgent knock on her bedroom door preceded one of her maids slipping in.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, a servant from the Aukem house is here, she claims she has a letter that must be delivered immediately and directly to you.”

“A letter?” Nasimiyu repeated. It was an odd new development on such a mysterious day, so she went to the door to accept the missive. She even gave the girl a few coins as a tip before dismissing both girls.

“I’ll bathe alone,” she said, eager to be left so she could open the mysterious letter. As soon as the door closed she tore it open.

Please forgive that I do not address this note in case someone else sees it although I have instructed Veva to place it directly in your hands. I had hoped we could speak before you left but we did not get the chance.

C’s claim that she saw N with someone in the garden is true. I did not want to say so in front of M and the servants as M was already so upset and it’s not something you talk about on the lawn! I took to the garden towards the end of the ball as I waited for my parents to say their goodbyes because the drinking and dancing had become too much for me. However I heard sounds which I hurried away from as soon as I realized what they must be! Shortly after I saw N return from the garden and fixing his clothes.

I’m mortified to write this to you but I must because C saw who he was with. I’m a goose about things and I don’t know what to do with this knowledge but I thought you must know because she described the gown of the woman though she doesn’t know her: layers and layers of black, black around her neck, gold hands over her eyes and an array of gold spikes out from her head. You see why I must tell you!

Could she be wrong? But I saw N and your maid speaking close together not long before and I recognized her so I believe C. I don’t want to be a gossip but I think you must know if it’s your own maid who attended a ball in disguise and got involved in this!

Am I right to tell you this? I’m so afraid you’ll think badly of me but I must do what I think is best. Please write back and tell me you know I only have your best interests in my heart.

-L

Nasimiyu read this note with a detachment that made her struggle to understand. But not once did she doubt Lidmila’s honesty. There must be an explanation. There must be. 

Because surely Dulce had not gotten confused and thought that when Nasimiyu said fuck Prince Seokjin’s staff for information she meant fuck Lord Namjoon. Because surely Dulce had not fucked Namjoon in a dark corner of a garden where apparently all sorts of people had wandered by. Surely Dulce had not failed to mention this fuck in the many days since the ball.

Nasimiyu burned the paper and went to wash the sweat from her skin and think.

Finally, success! It had taken Dulce several days to figure out the cleanest way into the Queen’s old chamber. She kept getting interrupted –the head of Nasimiyu’s maids found her skulking around the hall and threatened to whip her (which would not have gone well had that bitch tried); Hoseok stumbled upon her when she was poking around the back of the palace looking for the escape path that must exist from a queen’s chamber (he wanted to compliment her dancing, which was so mortifying it chased Dulce away more than the fear of being caught); the Prince caught her lurking in the Queen’s favorite garden, and she’d had to quickly make it look like she was stealing flowers instead of scoping out a way to climb the wall, or if maybe the secret passage let out here instead. Of course she had no proof there was a secret passage, but rich people always had secret escapes in case someone attacked their house in the night and she didn’t see why it would be any different for the Queen.

She couldn’t find it though. And ultimately the only way she found to get into the late Queen’s chamber was to spill a bow of soap in front of the door to give herself an excuse to linger just as the guards were changing and then slip through the door while they were distracted greeting each other and prepare to play stupid if someone heard the door close and came to see why she had gone inside. She’d even left the towel there in the middle of the soapy water so it would look like she just went to fetch more.

Inside, Dulce paused with her back pressed to the door for a breath to see if her entrance caused any reaction. She scouted for a hiding place just in case, but the suite was full of them. She’d thought the Prince’s room was already massive but even just this entrance room for the Queen was far larger than Dulce’s entire childhood home, all lavishly decorated with bright jewel tones in the wallpaper and furniture and huge paintings on the walls in gold frames and even a huge fresh flower display on the serving tray by the window.

That struck Dulce as immediately eerie. A writing desk had a stack of unopened mail. The flowers didn’t have a single wilting petal. No layer of dust revealed that the sofas hadn’t been sat on in years. The room looked still occupied and well tended to, as if the Queen was just off somewhere at the moment but would return soon.

No commotion had begun at her entrance, so Dulce moved silently through the rest of the suite. The first door off the hallway gave way to a study with books lining only one wall; the other two were buried beneath paintings of flowers, the fourth a wall of windows that cast a muted light through sheer curtains. Several easels stood around the room, each buried by splotches of paint, carts of pallets and cups and brushes connecting them. Dule didn’t know the Queen was an avid painter and wondered if that meant the ones on the wall were hers. In looking close, she realized they weren’t all only flowers. There were people among the flowers, sometimes small boys playing on the petals, sometimes a tanned feminine hand wrapped around a stem, one of two masculine hands cupped, blossoms streaming between his fingers like a waterfall.

Dulce had no real understanding or appreciation of art, but she found herself drawn to the paintings and thought it could be a nice afternoon to study them more closely and see what they revealed of the painter. The letters the Queen had written to her son already existed as such a personal glimpse into her mind, but these paintings were another layer. Were they here because the Queen had considered them private? Had she found fault with them and not wanted them displayed? It made Dulce wonder if other paintings around the palace were the Queen’s. She’d find a way to ask –not because it was important, she just wondered. Of all the things said about the Queen, she’d never heard the woman was such a talented painter.

There was something intriguing about the private legacy a woman left behind when she died, Dulce considered as she moved further through the suite to the Queen’s bedroom, changing room, and bathroom. Priva had a very public memory of the Queen, probably very different than how her husband or sons remembered her, now only one son. But what about the part of her that didn’t belong to kingdom, husband, or child? The paintings seemed to be that, but was there more to her than that?

Dulce wouldn’t even leave that when she died. Her whole profession meant leaving no trace of herself anywhere. If she died tomorrow, only Nasimiyu would remember her, and for how long? How well did Nasimiyu really know her anyway? What was there even to know? Dulce feared Nasimiyu would only remember her for how she had served her –sexually, conspiratorialy, whatever– but what else really did she let Nasimiyu see? What else was there even to see? She couldn’t imagine telling Nasimiyu all the mundane stories of her childhood and family, the heartbreak of leaving, those early years when she was lost and aimless, moneyless, nameless, jobless –nothing but - less .

The bed was huge and the most comfortable looking cloud Dulce had ever seen. The impulse to dive face first into it was hard to deny and yet she did, picking her way around the edges of the room instead to see what other personal things still waited for an owner who wouldn’t return. Both nightstands held mountains of books and discarded jewelry probably worth more than a year of Dulce’s pay, just sitting there as if they had only just been cast off before bed. She had no doubt the closet was going to leave her agog if this was the casual treatment of such jewels. The temptation to filch someone was strong, but she resisted, certain that would be noticed. It looked like great care was taken to preserve these rooms as alive.

She turned her attention instead to the walls: more art, as well as many statues and vases lined up on shelves. It looked like Prince Seokjin was not the only collector in his line, though the Queen had gravitated towards books and art. Dulce suspected she had not painted all of these, not only because the style was so different (although what did she really know about that?), but also because the Queen was in some of them. The Queen with first one baby, then two small boys. The King and the Queen in a more casual portrait, both smiling , which looked odd on the king. A portrait of all four of them, arms around each other. The older boy, maybe around twelve, looked so serious, but Prince Seokjin was smiling, leaning heavily on his mother’s arms wrapped around him, like he’d been in the middle of telling a joke. The artist had even captured that his hair stuck up in the back. The king had his hand on the older boy’s shoulder and fingers at his wife’s waists, both of them smiling fondly at the boys. It was a photo of joy and love and looked nothing like the state of the royal family now. How sad.

The hairs on the back of Dulce’s neck prickled. She spun just as the wardrobe doors on the far side of the room opened and Taehyung unfolded himself from inside.

“Hello, Dulce.”

She bit back a curse. There was no escaping that she’d been caught, and little comfort in the obvious conclusion that he wasn’t supposed to be here either.

He snickered, “It’s time for our favorite question: what are you doing here? ”

“Snooping,” she boldly admitted. “I wanted to see what’s in here since the Princess isn’t allowed.”

“Ah, she sent you? Or you’re just curious on your own?”

She gave a slight nod and let him draw his own conclusions. He carefully closed the wardrobe doors, adjusting the collection of robes inside that had been shuffled by his probable leap inside when he heard someone enter the rooms. 

“You came out because you realized it was me?”

“Yes,” he admitted, no lie in his grin as he admitted, “I’m not supposed to be in here either.”

“So why are you?”

“To cause trouble.”

“If that was the case you wouldn’t be hiding.”

“To admire the art,” he amended. 

“You like… art?”

“Sure.” His answer made it sound like a lie. He clasped his hands behind his back and strolled casually over, gaze roaming across the wall until it landed in the upper left quadrant. Something there made him smile. He lifted his finger to point. “That’s my mom.”

Dulce followed. The painting showed the Queen seated on a sofa with a woman standing just behind her, her hands familiarly on the Queen’s shoulders, one of the Queen’s hands on hers to hold it there. Her dress was simple but more stylish than that of a servant and she had jewelry on, and brown hair that hung long and loose around her shoulders.

“They were friends?”

“My mom was her first lady’s maid,” Taehyung explained. “Like you are for the Princess. And yes, they were the closest friends.”

Dulce studied the painting, looking for Taehyung’s features in the woman. They were similar. She could see the family resemblance. He wasn’t a direct copy of her but their mother-son connection was pretty clear once you knew to look.

“She passed away? I’m sorry for your loss.”

Taehyung nodded, “I was seven. She got sick and the King and Queen had the best doctors take care of her but…” He trailed off with a shrug. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“What about you? Are your parents living?”

“I think so.”

“Ah, it’s like that, huh? They weren’t good to you? Or…”

Dulce gave him a wary look, not sure what other options he was hinting at or why he was asking so much and answered, “I don’t know. Families are complicated and I needed to go.”

“Families are complicated,” Taehyung agreed with a chuckle that seemed to hint he meant a great deal by it.

“Like your father,” she guessed, seeing as a dead mother wasn’t complicated.

“Yes, a living bastard.”

“Right.” She felt like Taehyung’s way of pretending he already knew everything might be useful to mimic back to him. 

“To me, at least,”  Taehyung added. “He loved her. At least there’s that.”

“Yes, that’s something.”

Taehyung stared at the painting with such intense longing, Dulce could see this loss had greatly impacted him.

“Why do you stay here, living under the shadow of it then?” Dulce asked. Not that she expected everyone to take her tactic of running away and never putting roots down again, but it seemed strange to remain here under a constant reminder of this loss.

Taehyung gave her a startled look. His gaze roamed her face for a moment, then he cracked a smile.

“Was it obvious or are you just very good at noticing things?”

Dulce had no fucking clue what he was talking about but bluffed, “I’m very good at noticing thing.”

Taehyung gave a slow nod, then let out a slow, steady breath.

“Did you tell anyone?”

Immediately her hand slid into her pocket, to the knife tucked inside, her muscles tensed in preparation for a fight. That was the question you asked before you tidied up loose ends. She didn’t know what she’d just stepped into, but he wouldn’t believe her if she played stupid now.

He continued, “I know I’m kind of reckless about it. Seokjin’s not in any danger from me. We fight sometimes but he’s my only real family left and I love him, I’d never be a threat to him or his birthright. I don’t want it. It would be nice not to live in the stables anymore, though.”

Dulce swallowed and tried to keep her breath steady as she followed his words carefully. Seokjin’s not in any danger from me, I don’t want his birthright.

Holy shit, she quickly realized the misunderstanding, and what Taehyung thought she had already figured out.

“But people might pit us against each other. I don’t know if that’s true that anyone would ever prefer an illegitimate son to the heir, but there’s an easy way to make sure, right?” Taehyung grinned, and pantomimed slicing his own throat. “Nasimiyu might see me as a threat. What do you think?”

“Undecided,” Dulce said when it became clear he expected an answer.

He nodded, puffing out his lips in thought before asking, “Any chance you want to run away with me to Paloma? That’s where Seokjin threatened to send me if anyone finds out.”

“You’d be bored there,” she warned.

“I like horses.”

“And balls and wealth.”

“Not more than I like being alive,” he argued. He could tell by her face she was not interested in going to Paloma. He sighed again. “Fuck. I don’t want to leave.”

The poor idiot. She actually felt sorry for him. He was his own downfall in this case; she hadn’t figured it out until he confirmed it. An illegitimate royal son who was bad at keeping secrets was not safe for Prince Seokjin.

“Why do they let you stay here in the first place?” she asked. He hadn’t lunged for her yet but she kept her hand on her blade anyway, not letting her guard down for a moment. Sad and desperate men could move quickly.

“Hyung? Because he loves me, or he feels a responsibility to me, I’m not sure which it actually is. He tolerates me.”

“But the King… you said your father loved your mother.” Dulce felt revulsion for the King boil in her stomach. Every reference she’d heard about how much he loved the Queen nauseated her now. No such thing. Love was less real than the noble hamster in those stories the Prince loved so much.

“So I’m told,” Taehyung confirmed.

“By whom?”

Taehyung snorted and shook his head, “It’s a fair question. I’ve doubted it too. Seokjin tells me. The Queen told me herself. Never the King but he won’t say anything about her at all, just keeps these rooms and paintings exactly as they were left. I think he has a secret painting of my mother hidden somewhere but I’ve never found it. Seokjin says he’s never seen it either.”

“But…” Dulce tried to understand this. “The Queen told you…”

He laughed, “I know. Families are complicated, right? My mother died when I was seven but I kept living here until the Queen died when I was ten, then my father sent me away. She had always been like a second mother to me and told me almost every story I know about my mother. She always told me that no matter what I heard from anywhere else, I should know that my mother had loved me and that my father does too in his own way… a very secret way,” he snorted.

“So he had an affair with the Queen’s handmaiden that was approved–”

“They both had their someones,” Taehyung corrected. “Seokjin says they loved each other and I believe the King’s grief was real when the Queen died. I remember his grief when my mother died too and it looked the same to me. The Queen had her own someone special. And those rumors about their orgies, I believe them. I think they were very open with their odd arrangement to a circle of people who kept the secret well enough that it’s only ever seemed like rumors. Maybe no one wants to admit they weren’t close enough to the Royals to know the truth.”

“There could be other children then.”

“From my father? I suppose so,” Taehyung nodded. “I’ve never heard of any that seemed legitimate but the world is full of secrets, even right under our noses.”

“Who was the Queen’s someone else?”

Taehyung pointed to another painting on the wall, a portrait of a woman familiar enough to Dulce to be recognized.

“That’s Lady Aukem.”

“It is.”

“I admit her portrait in here is odd, but how do you know–” 

Taehyung beckoned her to follow. It struck her that his energy about disclosing all of this was very strange. He didn’t seem fearful at all; if anything, he seemed relieved. He led her to one of the nightstands and gently eased the drawer open.

Inside was a smaller painting, Lady Aukem sitting in the Queen’s lap, their arms around each other and faces pressed together. One could convince themself it was a painting of friends, that Lady Aukem’s kiss on the Queen’s forehead was one of platonic affection, that the Queen’s arms around her waist were friendly, but Dulce tended to believe the truth was obvious. Beneath it in the drawer was a paper with pressed flowers, and beneath that one more, a drawing of Lady Aukem reclining on the bed, nude.

“I’m sure there were more but I bet the King had them destroyed, or maybe the Queen did to protect Lady Aukem, or maybe Lady Aukem has them. I’ve been meaning to sneak into their estate and look but I haven’t pulled it off yet,” Taehyung admitted. “And to be honest, I don’t care about it that much. I’m more interested if there’s another painting of my mom somewhere. This is the only one I know of.” He eased the draw shut again, gaze flickering back to the painting on the wall.

“Your father sent you away when the Queen died?”

Taehyung’s face took on more of an obvious hurt, “Yes. I don’t know if I reminded him too much of my mother and the Queen wasn’t around to insist anymore, or if he worried I was a threat to Seok-ho and Seokjin or what. We don’t talk, ever. But Seokjin brought me back after Seok-ho died. I don’t think our father likes me here, but Seokjin gets his way sometimes.”

Dulce didn’t find it that surprising that Prince Seokjin apparently wasn’t worried about Taehyung trying to seize the throne, considering he didn’t seem to want it very much anyway. And he seemed like the kind of nostalgic person who would want a blood relative close, especially after he’d lost his mother and elder brother. But she did also very much believe that if Nasimiyu and Prince Hamisi knew about Taehyung’s blood, they’d have him killed in an instant to eliminate any threat to Nasimiyu’s line being the future.

“So,” Taehyung said, leaning against the foot of the bed, arms crossed. “How long have you known? Or how did you figure it out?”

“A while,” she bullshitted. “It didn’t seem right to me that you were a stablehand.”

“Yeah well you don’t exactly seem like a maid either.”

“The difference being that I am ,” she quickly corrected.

“Well I’m really a stablehand. I just happen to be other things too. My mom didn’t seem like a maid either, that’s what people said about her. She was beautiful. She seemed more like nobility. I guess you have that in common.”

Dulce didn’t understand his intentions for saying that, whether he was trying to flatter her, or revealing a creepy motivation for his prior propositions, or simply pointing out a perceived similarity. Maybe he was even wondering whether she too was embroiled in an affair, and in that case he’d be right.

“I’m flattered, but I don’t have a whiff of noble blood,” she answered honestly. “My family are Paloman nobodies.”

“Why didn’t you  confront me when you figured it out?” Taehyung asked. He gave her a careful look. “You going to blackmail me?”

The obvious answer to give was, “I thought about it.”

“It depends what you’ll ask for. I haven’t got much but my brother might pay–”

“You’re more likely to have me killed for knowing it, now that you know I know,” she countered.

“Ah, I see. I didn’t think of that. You didn’t tell me yet whether anyone else knows.”

Dulce watched him. Taehyung watched her.

“We’re at a standoff,” he laughed. “If your Princess knows about this, I’m as good as dead. If I tell my brother you know, you’re as good as dead. We could dream we get paid off and sent to a farm instead, but I know what the farm is, you’re smart, you know what the farm is too.”

“Yes.”

He nodded, hands still visible, body relaxed into his sitting position, as if making a point he was not threatening.

“I like you a lot, Dulce. I think you’re someone who keeps a secret. I think you may already keep a lot of secrets. I happen to be very good at keeping secrets too.”

“You’re suggesting a truce based on mutual trust,” she immediately suggested, and failed to keep the derision from her voice. 

“No? You don’t trust me?”

“I’m a young maid, I don’t trust anyone. We aren’t equals here.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows raised, “Ah, no? But you could blackmail me for a lot of money, and all I want is to continue living here as a stablehand. I think I have more to lose.”

“A life is a life and either of us could die as soon as we leave here. You mean that yours is more valuable–”

“No, only that it’s mine,” Taehyung interrupted. They sized each other up. Taehyung sighed, “Look, we can both get what we want here. If you just keep this secret, then nothing changes for me. I don’t want you knocked off, you’re one of the most interesting people in the palace.”

“What do I want?”

“You tell me.”

“Mutual blackmail,” she understood his new proposal. 

“No. I’m telling you, I am going to trust you to keep my identity a secret because I’m more valuable to you as blackmail than dead. Anything you think Prince Hamisi would pay you for this information, I’ll pay more. Just let me know the bill. Money. Introductions.” He arched his eyebrow and added, “Marriage.”

“Marriage,” Dulce repeated.

“Oh, is that your choice? Ok, I could do worse than you. I don’t think anyone will think twice about a stablehand and a maid–”

“Are you ever serious about anything?” Dulce interrupted. “There’s a risk of mutual destruction here.”

“Or mutual gratification.”

Dulce couldn’t help it, she rolled her eyes, and Taehyung laughed and admitted, “I didn’t think you’d take me up on that anymore than the orgy. Anyway, there’s Yoongi in your heart, huh?”

“There’s no one in my heart,” she clarified.

“Cold.”

“Alone doesn’t mean cold,” she argued. “But fine. Your secret is safe with me. You can buy me off.”

“Name your price.”

“I’ll think about it,” she evaded. “But what’s my reassurance you won’t put a hit on me tomorrow?”

“Hm…. my own feelings for you aren’t enough–”

“No.”

He laughed, “Damn, you’re so… practical. All right, how about this. You can buy my silence too.”

“With what money?”

“Not money,” Taehyung clarified. He pointed, “I want that painting of my mom, far more than I want a crown or a life here. But if I take it, the King will know it was me. You’re clever and inconspicuous, though. You agree to help me get that painting. The possibility that we pull it off outweighs the risk to me that you’ll sell my secret to Nasimiyu. Look in my eyes and you can see I mean it.” He leaned forward, making them very wide. 

Dulce would never be so stupid to assume she could read people accurately, without fail. Such an idea was folly. But she was good at it, in general. And she believed what Taehyung said. And to be frank, he deserved a painting of his mom.

“Why don’t you just have someone make a copy?”

“Do you know how long it takes to make a copy of a painting that big?!” he laughed. “How am I going to sneak someone in here with all their supplies for that long?? And I can’t carry it off on loan because it’ll be noticed. If one bend in the curtains is off, the King notices. This is his shrine to them both.”

“Why wouldn’t his shrine to your mother have more than one painting of her in it?”

“Maybe it’s the only one that exists in the world,” Taehyung suggested. “Just because he’s the king doesn’t mean he should get the only copy.”

Dulce gave a short nod, “I agree with you, in fact. I’ll help you. If you have me killed, you don’t get the painting.”

“If you have me killed, you don’t get whatever painful sum of money you’re going to ask of me so you can live out the rest of your days not as a maid.”

That thought made her pause. Just how much money was on offer here? How much money would the King and Seokjin pay to protect a royal bastard and could Taehyung really convince them it was better to pay than simply to kill her? She’d have to put together a fail-safe; if they killed her a letter got sent and everything came out… The whole thing relied on assumptions of the value of her life and the value of Taehyung’s, neither of which might ultimately matter to a king who loved his gold. But had he loved Taehyung’s mother more? Could this whole thing really bank on the King’s desire to hold onto the son of a woman he had loved in secret, and Taehyung’s longing for a painting of her so strong he would convince them that Dulce’s life was priceless?

This seemed like a wild, rotten deal, but Dulce decided to keep her guard up and accept. And if she did come into a large sum of money… could that sum of money buy the safety of her family more than this secret would buy it from Prince Hamisi?

Dulce wasn’t an idiot. Prince Hamisi had no reason to keep his promise once he had what he wanted. Probably there would be some new request. No matter what she did to appease him, there would always be a new threat. She’d known that in the back of her mind for a while. She needed to either move her family or eliminate the real threat to them. 

It was a lot to think about. But for now, Dulce nodded and shook Taehyung’s hand when he offered it. And gave a slight sigh at his wink. Was this persona of his sincere? Was she an idiot if she felt like it really was? Could people ever actually be what they seemed?

“Come on, I’ll show you the secret passage out of here,” he suggested. 

Dulce gasped, “I knew there must be one!”

“Yeah there is. Good for you to know as you think of how to help me get the painting.”

“You seem more sure than I am that I can help you.”

“I just have this feeling about you, Dulce. I think you’re capable of a lot more than being a maid.”

“I think you’re probably best off sticking to horses.”

Taehyung’s laughter echoed down the secret passage that connected the back of the late Queen’s closet to an ivy-covered rock walk alongside the path down to the caves. The passageway actually continued further and Taehyung confirmed it would take you into the caves, and therefore further down the mountain, a clever quick escape from the whole city if the queen ever needed it.

Not until she was (briefly) alone in her servants dorm did Dulce sit on the side of her bed and let out a long, deep breath.

Fuck. She’d discovered that the King and Queen both had approved affairs, the King had an illegitimate son who was living in the Palace in disguise, and she knew about the Prince’s secret trips into the city. She had everything she needed to hand over to Nasimiyu and Prince Hamisi to uphold her end of the deal, really. Didn’t she? 

“Damn I am good at this,” she murmured, ignoring how much of it had been sheer dumb luck. She spent another moment in contemplation to confirm what she had not really debated at all: She would not be telling Nasimiyu or Prince Hamisi anything. At least not yet.

But she was going to figure out how to heist away a painting.

Chapter Text

Seokjin surveyed his outfit, futzing with the high collar as Lord Sciurus pawed at the back of his hair and then his ear. Seokjin flinched and brushed him away, so the squirrel clambered to the other side and grabbed his earring. Seokjin gave in to his demands for attention and handed him another nut from the bowl at hand, which Lord Sciurus was more than capable of getting himself. At the crack of Lord Sciurus breaking into it, raining shell dust all over the shoulder of Seokjin’s dark blue jacket, the piggies came running into the room in a line and circled around Seokjin’s feet. He crouched down so they could run beneath his hand. Nutmeg decided she needed extra attention and put her little paws in his wrist to press it to the ground so she could nibble the end of his thumb.

“I already fed you all,” he reminded as Ginger ran through his legs. He’d taken breakfast in his private atrium, alone except for the sound of happily munching animals, as he wanted to be. He wasn’t spending as much time alone lately and it was exhausting him, to be frank. The masquerade, sparring, court, it felt like he had been pulled more wholly into the center of things than ever before Nasimiyu arrived and he wasn’t feeling superb about it. Obviously he knew it was coming, that there had been an expectation he would be stepping into royal heir role years ago and he hadn’t really; that getting married would be a sign to people he was ready to take his preparations as someday-king more seriously; that Nasimiyu herself believed she was coming here to marry a future king in more than just title. 

But dammit, he was tired!

And that was why he hadn’t gone to the kitchen lately, or the dining hall, and requested breakfast in his room. Not because he was avoiding one Yoongi Min of the kitchens. Why would he avoid a cook? Preposterous. 

He just wanted to make sure his sugar gliders Coco and Nilla were getting enough socialization. He had an animal handler who helped care for his pets so it’s not like they were ever alone any more than they wanted to be, any of them, but still. He knew he was their favorite and he didn’t want to be neglectful of them just because he had a fiance and a kingdom to learn how to run and a cook to avoid–

Not that he was avoiding Yoongi! He just didn’t know what to say to him. Well, he did know what to say to him, but he knew it was going to sound awkward because it wasn’t any of his business to ask Yoongi if he and Dulce were together now but also she was his fiance’s favorite maid so maybe he had some right to make sure Yoongi understood not to… you know…. Hurt her or get her pregnant too soon or something–

Seokjin curled his hand around the pouch hanging around his neck that Coco and Nilla had snuggled down in. Obviously it was great that Yoongi and Dulce had found each other. Great match, those two. He’d called it! It was a good development and he could be happy for his sort-of friend in a totally normal, not weird way, because what was there to be weird about?

So when his animals formed a guild to insist they had not been fed enough fresh treats this morning, Seokjin made sure Coco and Nilla were snug against his chest and set out for the garden to fix the delicacies himself, even though it ran the risk of running into Yoongi. Maybe he would luck out and this was a day off for Yoongi –although, come to think of it, he wasn’t sure Yoongi actually ever took days off.

Edmund caught up to him when he left his room, which wasn’t ideal because he wanted to be alone. He tried to just ignore the young bodyguard’s presence, wishing it was one of the older ones because they talked less. Jungkook was always his favorite, even though he talked a lot, but he was off. He took days off, why wouldn’t Yoongi?

Today was definitely not that day. Seokjin’s basket was only half-filled with crisp lettuce and swollen cucumbers and a few last straggler strawberries he’d found tucked behind the leaves when Yoongi strolled by with an empty basket of his own.

Seokjin expected Yoongi to realize he’d been avoiding him and quiz him on it immediately, but instead the cook just gave a nod in his direction –no bow, but it’s what Seokjin preferred, and they were mostly alone except for a few gardeners at the far end– and crouched to inspect the zucchini swelling from their spiky vines. He waited for Yoongi to say anything, or maybe voluntarily bring up Dulce and predict the questions Seokjin might understandably have about such progress in Yoongi’s life. He said nothing. Just selected two zucchini.

“Hey,” Seokjin called after only a moment. “Is that the only hello? Since when do you pick your own vegetables?”

“I’m trying a Paloman recipe and the zucchini need to be crisp but the gardeners brought mushy ones to me yesterday. They don’t want to waste the vegetables but I care about the quality of the food.”

Seokjin’s eyes bugged as he repeated, “A Paloman recipe? You’re using the royal kitchen for such private things?!”

It was ridiculous and Seokjin knew it as soon as he said it. They used the kitchen to make their own dishes all the time! And there was nothing out of line about Yoongi experimenting with new foods to feed the palace.

Yoongi’s eyebrow arched as he pushed up, and Seokjin hated the casual way he answered, “Well, the Princess requested it.” Seokjin’s embarrassment evaporated immediately –he never felt the need to hold onto it for long anyway– replaced by curiosity.

“Nasimiyu asked you to make it?”

“Yes, some dish her maid told her about. She asked me a few days ago to figure out how to make it.” He thought about it, then shrugged, “I think the maid’s birthday is coming up, maybe? I don’t know. I said I would try but it’s hard if I can’t just ask the maid about it.”

“By maid, don’t you mean Dulce, who we both know?” Seokjin laughed to sound casual about it too, because Yoongi was always so casual even when he cared a lot. Cool. “Why are you calling her like that, you think I don’t know? You can be forthright with me.”

This time Yoongi’s brows lowered and Seokjin felt like he’d hit on something directly, though the narrowed gaze was directed at two zucchini he compared in his hands.

“You know… that we both know Dulce?” Yoongi clarified with a glance.

“I know that you and Dulce are… I’m the royal prince, you don’t think I know everything that takes place under my roof? I know you two are together now. You don’t have to hide it from me! Did you think I would begrudge you a relationship?” For a moment, his words sounded sincere even to his own ears. They were sincere! His own thoughts were confusing him. Why wouldn’t he be thrilled for them? Unless Yoongi was only playing with her, which he clumsily tried to ferret out now, but perhaps Dulce wanted to be played with….? Seokjin decided to look closely and select the best zucchini for his animals, too.

For a long moment Yoongi didn’t say anything at all and Seokjin realized he must have made the shyer, quieter man uncomfortable. That wouldn’t have stopped him. He hated all the secrecy required for his life. People should feel free to be out and open, at least about their loves and affections. People took secrets too seriously. Life wasn’t made for secrets and shame. 

“You think I’m in a relationship with Dulce,” Yoongi clarified slowly. “And you care.”

“I don’t care.”

“You sound like you care.”

“I care because– ah, you’re my friend, and she is Nasimiyu’s favorite, so I want everyone to be happy.”

Yoongi nodded like he’d expected this answer. He had a way of always seeming like he knew everything which Seokjin envied because it would be a very admirable trait on the throne. King Dong-gun did the same, actually. Seokjin ought to figure out how to emulate it.

“I see. You’re asking because you want to be a supportive friend and make sure your people are happy.”

“Wait wait,” Seokjin interrupted, waving his free hand. “I’m not asking anything.”

“You want to know if I’m having a relationship with Dulce.”

“I didn’t ask that, I already know and I’m saying I support–”

“I don’t have a relationship with her,” Yoongi said. “Not any more of a relationship than you do.”

Seokjin shook his head and assured him, “I know she stayed with you after the masquerade. You don’t have to hide your relationship from me.”

“Do you have me watched? Or her?” Yoongi asked and for a moment his voice had almost an edge to it. It harkened back to how Seokjin had discovered about Yoongi’s political activities in Marvono in the first place, when he’d innocently been enjoying his day in the city and come across the cook meeting with a shady character in a side alley. He’d overheard more than Yoongi ought to be talking about in an open location –which Seokjin gave him an earful about, before demanding to know everything so he could decide whether Yoongi being in the palace was a security risk. He knew he ought to just turn him over immediately, but he’d already grown fond of the cook and wanted to decide for himself. A copious amount of alcohol later, Seokjin had what was probably mostly true about Yoongi’s youthful passion to make the world better. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d been told everything, but between that and just enough poking into the environmentalist group Yoongi had been a part of, Seokjin didn’t have further concerns. Yoongi was retired now anyway, content to cook and drink –as he had been telling the man in the alley in the first place. I don’t do that kind of thing anymore, sorry. Seokjin had thought to himself good, because you clearly aren’t good at it anymore if you’re so easily found out!

Seokjin frowned at the accusation and insisted, “Neither. But when she leaves your room the morning after in the middle of the palace, people notice–”

“What people?”

“Jungkook,” Seokjin huffed, annoyed with the questioning, like he’d done something wrong. “Why are you so upset about it? I’m saying I don’t care!”

“I’m not upset. She slept in my dorm that night, that’s all.”

“You don’t have to be shy about it,” Seokjin insisted. Now that it was out in the open, he was determined to get the confirmation. “I’m saying I support it.”

“And I’m saying nothing happened.”

“Then why did she sleep in your dorm, huh? Women just wander by to spend the night in a crowded room with a bunch of men for fun?” Seokjin laughed as he said it, it was such a ridiculous suggestion.

Yoongi shrugged, “I offered. She needed help getting out of her dress.”

“Ah! Yes, helping a woman out of her dress, famously not a thing you do before–”

“She said the Princess had put her into it but that Princess was busy now with a certain Prince.”

Seokjin’s mouth wavered, trying to find a joke that wouldn’t come as his neck prickled with a flush. 

“I helped her change and stash the dress. Probably she didn’t want the other maids to know she’d been at the ball. Servants hate when other servants step out of their rank just as much as nobles do.”

“And then you asked her to spend the night before that’s what any friend would do.” Seokjin meant it sarcastically, but Yoongi either didn’t pick up on it or ignored it.

“She seemed a little… off,” Yoongi said with a shrug. 

Seokjin blinked and looked at the vegetables in his basket. He ignored the hiccup in his chest.

“What do you mean off ?” He felt very serious suddenly, like he couldn’t even pretend to be casual or playful.

“I thought maybe someone had been bothering her.”

“Why did you think that?”

“You have a lot of questions for someone who doesn’t care about any of this,” Yoongi mused, and Seokjin realized he had mindlessly followed Yoongi down two rows of the garden by now. 

“I care if maids are being harassed in my palace.”

“She said no one did. Maybe she was drunk or just sick of being around nobles,” Yoongi suggested. 

“She didn’t say anything to you about it?”

“Do you mean before or after we fucked?” Yoongi asked. Unfortunately Seokjin’s face seemed to do something against his will, because Yoongi grinned. “I told you we didn’t.”

“Now I don’t believe you!”

“We didn’t. But I’ll be sure to update you on any fucking I do in the future.”

“I don’t care who you fuck unless it’s– unless it might interfere with–” Seokjin broke off, not sure how to finish his own sentence in a way that didn’t sound strange. “Unless a member of the staff is being harassed. Then I need to know.”

“Well I’m not harassing anyway.”

“But you think someone else was?”

“I don’t know. She said no and she’s seemed fine again since the ball. Isn’t it enough to just be tired of the whole thing? She doesn’t belong there.”

“Yes…” Seokjin trailed off, thinking and also trying not to think too much. It made perfect sense that by the time Dulce left the ball, she was exhausted. And Nasimiyu couldn’t help her undress because she was undressing him . And she hadn’t wanted the other maids to know, so she’d needed a place to sleep.

The start Yoongi had given him with the suggestion someone might have bothered Dulce after Seokjin left and was no longer there to protect her was soothed. A lightness inflated his chest at learning all of this. Jungkook’s assumption had been wrong. Yoongi was not in fact in a relationship with Dulce, they had not even fooled around unless Yoongi was lying to his face, which he didn’t seem to be because why would he lie about something like this?

“Well you should just know you have my full blessing if you wish to pursue something romantically with her,” Seokjin said magnanimously. 

“.... Thanks,” Yoongi said with an undeniable slowness to the single word. “You have a rat poking out of your necklace.”

“Not every small animal is a rat!” Seokjin glanced down to see Nilla peeking her little head out the bag and he decided it was time to take his gatherings back anyway and let them eat and run around before he needed to go do Princely duty things. 

“If you say so.”

“I do say so. Good luck with your Paloman food. Let me try it too when it’s done, I insist.” 

Yoongi waved his hand like he was the prince here and assured him, “I figured you would. Come by and you can help me make it if you want.”

That was tempting. Dulce’s birthday was coming up, hm? He tucked this nugget of knowledge away. How old was she anyway? He wondered if she’d make a fuss if he gave her another of the Kalamouche novels as a gift. She’d probably wonder how he even knew it was her birthday coming up and he’d say something smooth about just knowing things.

He whistled as he walked off with his basket, morning sun warming his skin. He preferred the winter but summer could be nice too, couldn’t it? He whistled and whistled–

And stopped when he crossed paths with the woman herself in the yard, near the kitchens. 

“Lovely morning, isn’t it, fair Dulce?” he grinned, and continued on his way, resisting the urge to look back and see if she was flattered or confused or annoyed by the greeting. He worried he’d give away that he knew her birthday was coming up. Maybe Kalamouche was too generic, since he could just let her borrow the rest of them. Or maybe she’d like owning them herself? What was an appropriate birthday gift for a maid when you were the prince? 

***

Well the Prince certainly seemed to be in a good mood. And why wouldn’t he be? Dulce hadn’t been with Nasimiyu in a couple days now, banished to other odd jobs for no reason other than that the head matron was a bitch and maybe believed the rumors swirling that Dulce had snuck into the masquerade. Dulce had expected Nasimiyu to notice and call her back, but probably she was still too head-in-the-clouds over the Prince’s massive cock. 

And Dulce, to be honest, hadn’t minded the break. She’d spent the time thinking about heisting the painting as she cleaned silk slippers and pounded period stains out of underskirts, even though that ought to be a job for the laundresses. Dulce didn’t care for now. Mindless work was such a holiday from having to always be on alert and dealing with people. What a treat to be able to let her mind wander to something as exciting as a heist. With any luck, she wouldn’t even have to kill anyone.

But now she’d been summoned back, and if the Prince’s whistling and jaunty walk were anything to go by, Nasimiyu would be in a satiated good mood as well. Probably she hadn’t even noticed Dulce was out of sight for a few days, and she’d launch right into another nauseating monologue about sex with the Prince and Dulce would let her mind wander back to the way her arm burned scrubbing fabric against the washboard because that was preferable. 

Dulce knocked on Nasimiyu’s door, where she’d been told the Princess had retreated for “letter writing and refreshment.” She noticed the dirt on the bottom of her skirt, since she’d been watching sparring in the yard when the matron sent for her, and tried to kick it off before deciding she didn’t care. Nasimiyu wouldn’t notice anyway. At the lack of response, she opened the door and dragged the overladen cart inside. 

Nasimiyu sat inside at the desk near the window, actually writing letters after all.

“Hello,” Dulce called. “I’ve brought your refreshment, Princess.” She closed the door behind herself, proud of the proper address even though it wasn’t actually proper at all: a maid should never address her lady without being spoken to first, and use an honorific, not simply a title. She hated that she knew these things. She expected Nasimiyu to turn around and correct this faux pas with a bemused roll of her eyes.

Instead Nasimiyu continued to write something on her desk and just called over her shoulder, “Nice of you to show up.”

Dulce had expected this, though not in that tone, and pointed out, “I don’t control the schedule. Take it up with your head maid. She had me doing your laundry and shining your shoes.”

“Yes, you’ve ruined at least two pairs.”

“It’s almost as if I am not a maid,” Dulce quipped, parking the tray beside the table. 

“Oh, should I have Mirta reassign you to something you’re more suited for?” Nasimiyu asked. “Like… fucking nobles? Oh, but you’re already doing that, even without orders to.”

If Dulce was less good at what she did, perhaps this sudden barb would have elicited some visible response in her. Instead she felt an internal jolt telling her she needed to be on alert: she noted the edge to Nasimiyu’s voice, and the tension now obvious in her shoulders, and the way the princess still hadn’t turned to look at her. Anger. Dulce let this acknowledgement ease her around the nervous twist in her stomach that somehow Nasimiyu had found out and was, as Dulce had expected, angry. 

She kept her voice neutral as she leaned against the wall beside the desk, hiding any nerves or concern, and argued, “I believe your words were ‘You’re pretty and it’s the easiest way to get information from men’ as you commanded me to fuck for–”

“His staff !” Nasimiyu hissed, leaping to her feet. “Not fucking Lord Namjoon !”

Dulce gave her an innocent look and demanded, “Why, is Lord Namjoon off limits for some reason?”

“You know why.”

“I do not. He is a noble close to the Prince. You wanted to know about the previous fiance and Namjoon’s involvement–”

“Oh, you’re on a first name basis?”

“I think titles are ridiculous,” Dulce snapped, bothered by this whole conversation. So had Nasimiyu been the one to command her to laundry for several days? As what, punishment? She’d known Nasimiyu would be upset to learn this but honestly, it was so juvenile. “And so is your response. It’s sex. You have it too.”

“With my fiance .”

“Then what are you so bothered about Namjoon for?”

Nasimiyu grabbed Dulce’s arms and shoved her back against the wall, and Dulce let her spend this emotion, curious what Nasimiyu would actually say about it once her tantrum ended. She’d always found the limits of Nasimiyu’s violence amusing. She’d never had a physical fight in her life and Dulce didn’t think she’d be capable of it. Now she seemed intent on walking a thin line between truth and lies. Why not just admit she was obsessed with Namjoon? 

“It’s not part of the plan,” Nasimiyu said.

“ Everything is part of the plan,” Dulce countered, painting her own behavior with a broad, favorable brush stroke. “You have no reason to be bothered by my techniques to get information–”

“You knew you shouldn’t fuck Namjoon–”

“Why? So you could fuck him for information?” Dulce pressed. “Your parents were right, he’s distracting you.”

She hadn’t actually intended that to be the magnitude of attack Nasimiyu clearly took it for. She was just hot under scrutiny about a thing she felt secret shame over, and didn’t like that Nasimiyu was resisting her perfectly logical explanation about it. But Nasimiyu ran even hotter at this accusation and bashed Dulce back against the wall again and then delivered a harsh slap across the face.

This was not like Nasimiyu at all. Nasimiyu had never lashed out at her like that .

“How dare you accuse me of that,” Nasimiyu hissed. “I have my purpose for Namjoon and it is not to waste him now with some drunk fuck with a maid at a masquerade. He will be part of my cabinet once I am queen–”

Dulce’s eyebrows raised as she asked carefully, “Are you going to marry him once the Prince is dead?” 

“I didn’t say that! But his mind–”

“Is probably clever enough to work you for a chair by your side–” Dulce began to point out. Nasimiyu moved sharply again as though to strike but Dulce didn’t flinch. Never flinch. The flinch gave power to the other person’s threat. Even if they struck you, a lack of response made their assault look feeble.

“He’s not working me . I’m trying to work him and he’s avoiding me! He’s being accused by spoiled brats of ridiculous dramas when he’s far too busy thinking about the future of this nearly ruined country to bother with some eighteen-year-old,” Nasimiyu said, spinning away. Dulce had no clue what she was talking about and just watched, waiting. Nasimiyu seemed wild with anger in a way Dulce had never been truly in the crossfire of. Always before it just resulted in Nasimiyu half-jokingly asked if Dulce couldn’t just take care of the problem person for her. 

“He’s brilliant,” Nasimiyu continued, “and he’d be an incredible mind to have as part of my cabinet if you don’t go around fucking him–”

“That’s bullshit. He chose to fuck me and I’m sure there are plenty other women too. If fucking distracts him from his own policies then why do you need him? You’re not mad about that, stop lying to us both.”

“What do you know, what I’m mad about?!” Nasimiyu whirled on her. “You know me so little you thought I wanted you to fuck him . I told you to fuck Jungkook or Jimin! They’re–”

“What? Lower staff, like me? Appropriate for sex with your maid ?”

Dulce hated Nasimiyu in that moment, for blaming her instead of Namjoon, for putting him on a pedestal, for being jealous of him . 

“It’s not about that! I fuck you, don’t I? And I’m far above some lord –”

“Then what is it? I did what you told me to, I fucked for information with my disposable body.”

“That’s what you do .”

“That is not what I do,” Dulce snapped, getting as into Nasimiyu’s face as she could with the height difference. “You forget? I’m an assassin , not a whore. I’m not even a spy and yet you have me sneaking around this palace listening for drama about failed betrothals or the weaknesses of a royal family that don’t even hide them. If you just had a fucking conversation with your betrothed that idiot would lay it all out for you! But the only part of him you’re interested in is the part that can sexually serve you–”

“Jealous?”

“Are you jealous?” Dulce interrupted. “Of Namjoon, not of me. I’ve been by your side for years and–”

“Because my father is blackmailing you,” Nasimiyu snorted and turned away and crossed her arms like a sulking child.

Dulce let that hang for a moment, to give herself time to settle the internal chaos of that one confession.

“You know,” Dulce said slowly. “You know your father is threatening my family… and you didn’t do anything.”

“You don’t even like your family, you abandoned them years ago, and all he’s asking from you is to serve me. That’s not a hardship so what does it matter?”

“No? Do you want to go pound the period stains out of my skirts and shine my shoes?”

“You didn’t have to do that. You could have come to me when Mirte told you to do that. But you didn’t. Why not?” Nasimiyu spun with a fierce, cocky smile, like she already knew the answer. Dulce had wanted to lay low for a bit. She had expected Nasimiyu to be angry about Namjoon.

“I needed a break from you,” Dulce said. It was a weak answer though, and Nasimiyu seemed to gain strength from it, as if she saw some victory looming in the distance and could now reach for it.

“Because you knew what you had done. You knew I would be furious that you fucked Namjoon. You knew that–”

“That you have feelings for him?” Dulce pressed. It sounded ridiculous to say. She felt embarrassed for Nasimiyu. How embarrassing to have feelings for someone, especially in Nasimiyu’s position, but in anyone’s really. It didn’t even matter if the feelings were real or just infatuation, it was obvious now that Nasimiyu believed them to be.

“I do not .”

Dulce didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to rattle off the evidence of it: the trailing after Namjoon at the ball, the obsession over whom he danced with, and even before that, the obviously calculated attempts to be in his path, to strike up conversation. She saw in it now much of the same behavior Nasimiyu had when they’d first met, and suddenly this princess in disguise was constantly in the tavern, constantly the next table over, constantly offering to buy a round.

“Be careful. Having feelings for someone doesn’t mean they’re returned and it’s more likely to land you in shit.”

“Yes, because you’re such an expert at feelings,” Nasimiyu scoffed. “You’ve never let yourself feel anything for anyone.”

Part of Dulce wanted to confirm that. What a lovely way to be. She wanted to be like that. She wanted Nasimiyu to believe she was like that. And yet for reasons she could not explain, some strange weak part of her suddenly felt like the opposite was true, like she needed to prove Nasimiyu was wrong and claim victory for herself. Nasimiyu thought she knew her so well, that she was nothing but a cold, unfeeling machine? She didn’t know her at all. 

“Then why did I stay behind?”

“Because my father is blackmailing you–”

“No,” Dulce interrupted. “That party in Lair that you insisted on going to because you wanted to part of that ridiculous short-sighted cult–”

“It was a political group , and they had good ideas! They wanted to change the world–”

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about because your death is the way they want to change the world, your whole family’s death and everyone like you,” Dulce interrupted. “They’d have slit your throat in a heartbeat if they knew who you were. But you wanted to be a hero and I told you it was a bad idea but you insisted on going and it got raided just like I said and there you were right in the middle of it.”

Nasimiyu wasn’t looking at her, rightfully shamed by this instance in which she had been so pig-headed and wrong, and tried, “ We got caught–”

“No, you got caught. I could have escaped easily because I knew to plan my exit the second we walked in and you were too busy throwing yourself into it, like somehow you could convince them to make you their queen anyway. You were slow and stupid and instead of saving my own skin I stayed to protect you.”

“Which was ridiculous. I was perfectly fine. My father paid a small ransom–”

“To himself! He was behind the raid!”

“No, the Brothers of Sunset were–”

“Everyone knows the Brothers of Sunset are funded by the royal family of Marvono,” Dulce sighed, deeply annoyed with just how blind Nasimiyu could be. 

“That’s a rumor. The Brothers of Sunset sold you to my father.”

“They didn’t need to. Open your eyes and look at your own family.”