Chapter Text
Dohoon remained kneeling in the palace garden, his knees pressed into the damp soil and his hands stained with mud. The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting golden glimmers that illuminated the sunflower petals. To Dohoon, the garden was not merely a pastime befitting a prince; it was his small kingdom, a treasured sanctuary he guarded with the same devotion with which one day he would protect his people.
From a distance, Junghwan watched him in silence. Yet he saw a different kind of beauty: the prince bent carefully over the plants, watering them as though afraid of hurting them, murmuring gentle words that only the earth seemed to hear. Junghwan, still young but already dressed in the royal guard’s uniform, stood straight and alert, though his attention was far from any threat. For some time now, his vigilance had become the perfect excuse to remain there, watching him.
“My father says I have to learn how to be a good husband…” Dohoon murmured as he carefully watered the sunflowers.
The words left his lips lightly, almost without weight, and yet Junghwan felt something tighten in his chest. Dohoon was only thirteen, but he already carried expectations far too heavy on his shoulders, plans decided by others long before he could choose for himself.
Dohoon had always been patient with flowers. The gardeners hired by the King had taught him meticulously how to care for them: the exact amount of water, the proper way to turn the soil, the little tricks to help them grow stronger and more beautiful. He listened attentively, memorizing every piece of advice, because from a very young age he had found genuine passion in gardening. It surprised no one to find the young prince there.
“Do you already know who you’re going to marry, Your Highness?” Junghwan asked casually.
He remained behind him, at a respectful distance, fulfilling his duty. Since childhood he had been trained to serve the royal family, and although he was the youngest soldier in the unit, there was something about him that inspired trust. Perhaps that was why the prince had grown more attached to his presence than to that of any other guard.
It was not an official title, but out of sheer habit, Dohoon had made him his personal protector. Whenever a “problem” arose, it was Junghwan he called for. And those problems were usually ridiculous: opening a jar of jam that was screwed on too tightly, reaching a book placed too high, accompanying him to the garden “because he was bored.” Even when other soldiers were available, Dohoon insisted on calling for him, and Junghwan never refused.
“With you, of course,” Dohoon replied so casually that Junghwan did not even recognize, in that instant, how wrong it was to think of such a thing.
The words lingered in the air, so simple, so innocent. A soft smile formed on Junghwan’s face before he caught himself, then he blinked, just for a second, as if waking from a dream.
“Your Highness, I… but I’m your soldier,” he replied shyly.
Dohoon turned to look at him. His smile was so bright it seemed to rival the sunlight, and Junghwan did not even notice when his own cheeks began to burn.
“That doesn’t matter. You always take care of me,” he said with the same natural ease, unaware of what those words were doing to Junghwan’s heart.
Junghwan swallowed.
“But that’s my duty, Your Highness,” he answered honestly, lowering his head slightly, trying to hide the warmth on his face.
Dohoon blinked, confused. His brows furrowed faintly before his lips formed a small pout, clearly dissatisfied with the answer.
“Oh, so I’m not handsome enough?” he said, touching his cheek with the palm of his hand “or maybe… you don’t actually like me?”
The gesture was exaggerated, almost theatrical, and yet it completely disarmed him.
“I-I never said that, Your Highness! Of course I like you, and I think you are-”
“Then I don’t see the problem, Shinyu,” Dohoon interrupted, laughing softly.
Junghwan froze. Dohoon’s eyes were far too sincere, and in that moment he felt small before him, not because of rank, but because of what stirred in his chest; at last, he smiled, letting his guard slip for just an instant.
A wave of warmth wrapped around his heart when Dohoon called him by that nickname he had created just for him, one only he was allowed to use. Despite the titles and the duty etched into his skin, a part of Junghwan wanted to believe, to cling to that childish, selfish hope. Even though he knew he was his soldier, that his only mission was to protect him, he could not help but wish, if only in silence, that one day Dohoon might be his.
Only a few years had passed, and yet everything felt different.
The palace walls remained the same, but Junghwan was no longer the youngest soldier in the unit, no longer that boy who had learned to hold a sword with still-inexperienced hands. His bearing had changed, his shoulders were broader and steadier, and his name now carried a different weight within the palace walls. His position had officially risen, becoming Dohoon’s personal guard by direct request of the King, not merely of the prince.
Everything had become easier once it was declared that way. The King had put formal words to something that had been happening in silence for years, and even so, it felt strange to him. Dohoon had insisted that they not tell his father how well they got along, as if that bond, obvious to everyone, were something that needed to remain hidden.
Despite the fact that the King knew perfectly well that since they were children, Dohoon had always called for him at the slightest inconvenience and then kept him by his side longer than necessary. It always happened the same way. Junghwan stayed with him under any excuse the prince gave, as if he did not want to be alone.
That afternoon, Dohoon had summoned him while Junghwan was having dinner in the wing reserved for the soldiers. The message was brief, delivered by a page who offered no explanation. When Junghwan arrived at the prince’s private dining room, he found Dohoon seated with a deep frown, ordering the other soldiers to leave. There were no smiles, only a dry sharpness Junghwan had never heard from him before, and that was what unsettled him the most.
Junghwan remained still as the soldiers withdrew one by one, closing the doors behind them. The silence that followed was heavy; Dohoon did not look at anyone, his gaze fixed on the floor, not daring to lift it yet. His fists were clenched, and his breathing was uneven. Dohoon was seated with his back to him, so Junghwan could not see his expression.
“Junghwan…” Dohoon spoke with a subtle, demanding tone, motioning with his hand for him to come closer.
Junghwan obeyed, stepping to his side and maintaining the straight posture expected of a royal guard. In that instant, his heart began to pound. Dohoon never called him by his real name; he only did so when he was angry, whether jokingly or in earnest. The nickname he had given him since they were children always left his lips with a softness that made him feel cherished; this time, it did not. He called him by his true name, his voice low, strained. Junghwan could not identify that tone at first, but he did not like it at all.
Then Dohoon lifted his gaze. His eyes, once full of life and a nearly shameless joy, had lost every trace of light; they were red, slightly swollen, and a wet sheen gathered at the corners, the result of tears that had not yet fully fallen.
“My father has engaged me to Princess Moka,” Dohoon said, trying not to sound as broken as he was, but it was impossible.
The words broke as they left his mouth, and small tears surfaced once more. Dohoon wiped them away with the back of his wrist in a quick motion, as if trying to erase the evidence before it was too late. Then he stared at him, waiting for something; an objection, a shout, an impossible plan. Anything that would mean Junghwan would not accept it so easily, that he would rebel against the fate already written by the crown.
And Shinyu only felt a sharp pang in his heart; he squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, he did everything he could to form a smile that would not look so false. His chest ached, but he could not allow himself to show it, not in front of the prince he had sworn to protect.
“I’m happy for you, Your Highness,” Junghwan said with difficulty, trying to sound sincere, heartfelt.
Dohoon’s eyes widened slightly. For a second, he swore he saw them glaze over even more, but he quickly hardened his expression, forcing it to remain neutral, as he had been taught since childhood; he knew immediately that this was not the answer he wanted to hear, not after so many years; he looked hurt, and Junghwan hated that he could not say something different, something that might save him.
But Dohoon was a proud prince; a prince raised never to beg. He would never ask him to say more, at least not directly.
“I suppose you don’t know her very well yet, but I’m sure she’s a good person. There must be a reason your father chose her as your fiancee.”
The words came out tense, clumsy. There was nothing better he could think to say, and that made him feel miserable. Dohoon let out a dry laugh, turning his gaze away. Hearing that from his lips felt deeply ironic.
“I don’t want to marry her,” Dohoon replied, his voice a little sharper than before.
The silence that followed was brief, but heavy. Without thinking, Junghwan spoke, betraying himself. He needed to hear it, even though he knew he had no right.
“Then who would you want to…?”
“You know perfectly well, Shin Junghwan. Have you already forgotten?” Dohoon answered quickly, not letting him finish.
The world seemed to stop. Shinyu tensed in place, unable to move. He was not prepared for that answer, and perhaps he never would be, because he was not ready to let him go… but neither was he ready to fight against a fate he had always known would separate them.
He was not ready to watch someone else take the place he had silently desired for so many years. Dohoon looked at him again, and his expression softened just slightly, as if seeing him there, so close, his heart refused to harden completely. The tears were still there, shining dangerously in his eyes, and for the first time in a long while he looked… defenseless, vulnerable in a way Dohoon rarely allowed himself to be. Junghwan had not seen him like this in years. The prince had learned to hide his emotions behind polite words and practiced smiles, as was expected of someone destined to rule.
“Junghwan…” his voice came out almost in a whisper, barely audible to him. “How would you feel if I married her?”
The question landed like a blunt blow, and Junghwan swore he felt the world tilt beneath his feet. He knew what Dohoon was doing. He had always been like this, searching for answers without daring to ask them outright, hoping someone else would speak the words he could not bring himself to say, perhaps out of pride… or fear.
The mere thought of Dohoon marrying someone he did not know, a princess foreign to his world, now forced to share his life, his title, his future, made his stomach churn. But Junghwan was no one. He was just another soldier in service to the crown. He had no right to voice what he felt, even if Dohoon had always made it seem so easy.
“Shinyu?” he repeated, using the familiar nickname, drawing his attention back.
That nickname, paired with that almost childish hope, as if he still believed Junghwan could save him.
“I would be happy for you, Your Majesty,” he smiled.
A rehearsed smile, learned through years of hiding truths. It was hollow and awful, the same one he wore before the court.
“Happy…” Dohoon repeated.
His eyes widened slightly before dropping his gaze, and a brief, ironic laugh escaped his lips. His hands tightened hard against the tablecloth.
“Yes, Your Majesty, there would be no reason for me to feel otherwise,” Junghwan replied, almost by reflex.
It was a lie, and they both knew it.
“And why am I not happy at the thought?” Dohoon asked.
His voice began to break, slow and treacherous. A knot formed in his throat, making it difficult even to breathe.
“Pardon me? I don’t know, Your Majesty, I would assume that–”
“I wouldn’t be happy,” Dohoon interrupted. He lifted his gaze to him, filled with a pain Junghwan could not ignore. His eyes filled with tears once more before he looked away again, as if he could not bear to hold that gaze any longer. “Not with her, Shinyu, not with someone else. You know that well. I wanted–”
His voice faltered. Dohoon bit down hard on his lower lip, unable to release the final words.
Junghwan lifted his gaze. He knew what he meant. There was no trace of annoyance or frustration left on Dohoon’s face now; it had all vanished, leaving only a sadness heavy with longing, a desire Junghwan recognized all too well. A desire only he could return… and yet one he could not accept, no matter how desperately he wanted to.
The King’s orders were law. If Dohoon's father had decided on that marriage, then it would be so, and Junghwan would never oppose it, even if it meant breaking himself in silence. He had always been honest with Dohoon. With him, he had never known how to pretend; in fact, he had never needed to. But this time he could not allow himself that honesty. He must not. And so he held that false smile for one second longer… until it finally broke.
“I’m sorry… that I cannot do anything to help you at this moment, Your Majesty,” he replied, pressing his lips together, holding back the words he had kept buried for years.
That was enough for Dohoon to break down in tears; but there were no sobs, only tears falling one after another, uncontrollable, sliding down his face while his lips remained tightly pressed together. A raw, deeply wounded smile appeared on his face; he still refused to accept what he had just heard.
“Yes… I suppose you can’t do anything,” he finally said, his voice broken. “Thank you for your help, Junghwan. You may leave.”
He looked away, turning his face to the other side, giving him his back.
“Your Majesty, I–”
“You may leave, Junghwan,” he repeated, interrupting him, a little louder this time. “Tell the other guards not to come in.”
Junghwan’s heart felt a stab of guilt, driving itself insistently into his chest. Even so, he bowed, though Dohoon was not looking at him.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he answered without reproach.
He walked toward the dining room door with heavy steps, and when his hand reached the handle, he stopped. He turned his head one last time to look at him, but Dohoon still refused to look back. Junghwan wanted to say everything in that moment, to confess how long he had wished to be by his side. But he couldn’t.
With a soft sigh, he turned the handle and left the dining room, closing the door behind him. When the loud sound of the door shutting echoed through the room, Dohoon finally allowed himself to sob freely.
Junghwan had left him alone, just as Dohoon had feared from the very beginning.
The echo of the impact rang loudly in the empty dining room before dissolving into a heavy silence. Dohoon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table in front of him, and with trembling hands covered his face. His shoulders began to shake violently, accompanied by small, disordered spasms that betrayed everything he had been holding back.
He cried silently at first, as he had been taught to do. Then the air began to leave his lungs, and the sobs escaped his chest without permission. His breathing turned uneven as he tried uselessly to calm himself. The mere idea of having to marry a woman he did not love suffocated him. It filled him with a bitter rage that burned his throat. But more than anything… his heart ached in a deep, cruel way.
Dohoon knew his father would not accept it if he told him in that moment that he did not want to marry his fiancee. It would not be enough to say that his heart already belonged to someone else.
Much less if that someone was Junghwan.
God, Dohoon was not stupid. He knew perfectly well that a relationship with a soldier, with him being the crown prince, would be poorly received. It would spark whispers, scandals, and with both of them being men… that only made everything worse. The hypocritical morals of the court, the image of the crown… everything was stacked against him. And yet, a part of him screamed to tell his father and his stupid nation to go to hell.
Dohoon struck the table with his closed fist, not hard enough to make a sound, but enough to make his hand burn. The physical pain was insignificant compared to the one tearing him apart inside.
He wanted Junghwan to be the first to speak, the first to tell him that he loved him too.
Dohoon had left his love exposed for years, in small gestures, in direct words. He had never hidden from him, never pretended he felt nothing. Why wouldn’t Junghwan do the same?
He was afraid that he had imagined all of this on his own, that he was the only one who felt something.
Dohoon let himself sink further onto the table, resting his forehead against his arms. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that could erase the memory of Junghwan’s back walking away. Despite his title, he could never force him, and it was not pride that held him back.
Dohoon knew his word was law.
If he confessed seriously, without the laughter or playful tones he usually used to protect himself, he feared Junghwan might feel obligated to return his feelings, to say what Dohoon wanted to hear simply because he was the prince and could not refuse him.
And that… would be the worst thing of all. He did not want an answer born of duty, nor another love forced by a crown. He wanted Junghwan to choose him from the deepest part of his heart. He wanted him, free from hierarchies, to feel the same affection he had been carrying since the day they met.
The first time Dohoon spoke with his fiancee, he immediately noticed how beautiful she was. It was not an ordinary beauty; it was almost ethereal, carefully polished by nobility. She had large, bright eyes the color of light honey under the sun, a slender figure, full and exquisitely cared-for lips that always seemed on the verge of a smile, and features so delicate that her mere presence commanded respect. Her posture was nothing but pure elegance. She was a goddess, in every sense of the word, and he was certain that any man could fall in love with her just by looking at her.
Any man who liked women, of course.
Dohoon watched her with admiration, with a courteous distance. He did not feel the nervousness of someone in love, much less desire in his gaze, only respect toward her.
His father was speaking with his future father-in-law in another room, negotiating the fate of both of them as if they were discussing land. They had been left alone together in the sitting room, insisting that they should get to know each other well before the wedding, as if affection could be forced through polite words alone. Dohoon had always known that, sooner or later, he too might be forced to marry out of duty rather than love. His own parents had been the result of an arranged marriage, and growing up watching them argue had taught him to hate forced love. That was why he had promised himself he would try to fall in love before being compelled to bind himself to a stranger. But his heart had been cruel to him. He had ended up falling in love with a man, and as if that were not torture enough, that man was a royal guard. He had tried to pretend that feeling did not exist, but with time it only grew, forcing him to hide it like a sin. Lately, his emotions were dangerously close to the surface; it was becoming harder and harder to conceal them now that his future was beginning to be negotiated.
But he could not refuse his father when the entire kingdom seemed to hang by a thread. He knew this union would benefit both nations. Rumors of war were growing, and forming alliances with other kingdoms provided security and peace. Even so, it was almost impossible for him to fully accept it.
Why did he have to sell his life, his desires, his heart, for the sake of the nation?
No one would thank him for it. The people would celebrate the union, the nobles would toast to peace… but no one would think about what he wanted. And it was not selfishness, it was simply… why did he have to sacrifice his happiness for this?
They were both seated on the sofa, uncomfortable, separated by a prudent distance. They had already been formally introduced. Now silence stretched between them, and Dohoon only wished for this torture to end.
He had always been introverted. Thinking of conversation topics was difficult even under normal circumstances, but it was even more so when he had no desire to speak at all. He did not know what to say to lighten the atmosphere.
Finally, he stood up carefully, smoothing the fabric of his clothes automatically, and tried not to interrupt his fiancée’s thoughts too abruptly. When he glanced toward the balcony of the room, a quick idea formed.
He extended his hand toward Moka, wearing a polite smile, hoping she would take it. When he noticed the confusion on her face, Dohoon became aware of how strange the gesture must have seemed.
“There is a garden downstairs. I thought we could go for a walk, if you don’t mind,” he said, trying not to let his voice betray the shyness and anxiety building in his chest.
The confusion on his fiancee’s face softened. A delicate laugh escaped her lips before she accepted his hand. She stood carefully, taking his with gentleness. They walked together toward the exit of the room, Dohoon’s hand above, holding Moka’s just enough to guide her.
When they crossed the threshold, he thought that perhaps it was not appropriate to keep holding her hand. So he let go, careful not to make her uncomfortable.
“Is it very far from here?” she asked; her voice was soft and delicate, like everything about her.
“Don’t worry, the walk is short… and the garden is beautiful,” Dohoon replied, offering a small smile.
He extended his hand forward, yielding the way with a courteous gesture, while his treacherous heart thought of a certain person who had accompanied him through that garden throughout his entire adolescence.
When they reached the garden, Dohoon forced himself to pay attention to each of her reactions. His best way of getting close to people had always been to observe them in silence, to judge them by the details others overlooked. The garden was his refuge, the only place where he did not feel like a prince but simply like himself. If someone could understand that place, perhaps they could understand him too… or so he told himself, clinging to it as a small hope.
Because Shinyu understood it perfectly.
They walked along the stone paths of the vast, carefully maintained garden; neatly trimmed bushes, softly colored flowers, and medicinal plants growing alongside ancient rosebushes. Birds perched on the marble fountains, so accustomed to the calm of the place that they no longer fled at the presence of humans.
Moka walked slowly, observing everything with great attention, as if she were afraid of missing a single detail. Then she stopped right in front of a particularly beautiful flower, pale in color, almost white with pink undertones. It was a flower Dohoon cared for with nearly obsessive devotion; he did not allow anyone else to touch it.
“It’s a Stargazer lily,” she murmured, leaning in slightly to observe it more closely, without touching it. “They don’t grow in just any soil.”
Dohoon blinked, a little surprised.
“That’s right,” he replied. “They’re delicate. They need partial shade and moist soil… but not too much.”
Moka smiled, visibly excited.
“My mother used to say that stargazer lilies symbolize promises that are not made lightly,” she added. “That they only bloom when someone tends to them with true patience.”
That was enough for something in Dohoon’s chest to loosen, and a small smile appeared on his lips.
“You’re right,” he said. “They’re not flowers for just anyone.”
“It shows that you cherish them,” she commented, turning toward him. “It’s not common to see a garden this alive. Most princes simply inherit them, but this one feels… loved.”
Dohoon lowered his gaze, a little embarrassed.
“I spend a lot of time here,” he admitted. “It helps me think. Sometimes… it’s easier to take care of plants than people.”
“I think that says good things about you.” Moka laughed softly; it was warmer than mocking.
They continued walking, and she kept pointing out flowers, commenting on small details: how some represented hope, others farewells, others patient love. She spoke with genuine emotion, as if simply sharing that moment filled her heart, and she mentioned that she had always imagined tending a garden with someone someday, watching it change with the seasons as it grew.
Dohoon listened in silence, a faint smile on his face. For the first time since all of this had begun, he felt a little less tense. Discovering they had things in common, even small ones, gave him a strange sense of relief. The garden before them, her enthusiasm, the way she spoke of the future as if it were something certain… all of it made him think that perhaps she would not be such a terrible fiancee after all.
But that thought came accompanied by a sadness he could not push away. Moka seemed genuinely happy about the whole arrangement. When she spoke of falling in love as they got to know each other, she said it with such sincere hope that it hurt Dohoon. It sounded romantic, yes… and also naive. Despite being a year older than him, he was convinced she had never experienced real love, and that made him feel sorry for her. It was not her fault that she believed she would have something beautiful, something worthy of a fairy tale. But it was not his problem either.
He regretted not being able to give her the love she longed for, the one she dreamed of cultivating like the flowers in the garden. Even so, he promised himself he would treat her with respect and kindness. He hoped that would be enough for her to feel satisfied. He had always been good at acting.
Moka stopped again, this time not in front of a particular flower, but in the middle of the path. She turned toward him carefully, her hands clasped together in front of her dress. For a second, she hesitated, taking a deep breath before daring to say it.
“May I tell you something, Your Majesty…?” she asked softly.
Dohoon nodded, unsure why his chest tightened immediately.
“I’ve always imagined what this moment would be like,” she began, with a shy smile. “Walking through a garden that wouldn’t belong only to me… but one shared with someone special. Thinking that someday, when everything is calmer, we could come here without obligations… perhaps just you and me.”
She paused briefly, as if carefully weighing the thought before continuing.
“I like to think that the future doesn’t have to be cold just because it was decided by others,” she added. “I believe that even in an arranged marriage, something real can grow.” Her eyes shone. Not with nervousness, but with hope.
“Maybe we won’t fall in love all at once,” she continued, “but I’d like to believe that, with time, you could feel comfortable with me. That we could laugh together, share silences… take care of a garden.”
Dohoon listened with a gentle expression that failed to reflect the chaos forming inside him. Because while she spoke of the future, he thought of Junghwan.
He thought of Shinyu standing beside a castle column, always attentive to him. Of the way he looked at him when he thought no one else was watching, of the quiet certainty of his presence. He thought of his restrained smile, of his low voice telling him everything would be all right, even when it wasn’t. And without realizing it, he smiled. It wasn’t a wide smile; it was one that slipped out, small and intimate… a smile that was never meant for Moka.
“I…” she spoke again, blushing slightly as she noticed his expression. “I hope I’m not saying too much. I just wanted you to know that I’m not afraid to wait.”
The silence stretched on, and Dohoon took far too long to respond. But when he finally did, he slowly lifted his gaze, forcing himself to leave Junghwan behind in that moment.
“It’s… a very beautiful way of seeing our future, Your Majesty,” he said at last, his voice soft, carefully measured. “I’m glad to know you think that way.”
He smiled again, this time more practiced, proper.
“I think we could… get along well,” he added with feigned happiness, perfect courtesy, worthy of an exemplary prince. “I’ll do everything I can to make you feel comfortable here.”
Moka lowered her gaze, clearly blushing.
“That makes me very happy, Your Highness.”
Before she could say anything else, Dohoon noticed movement in the distance. He immediately recognized his father, with his firm bearing and discreet crown, walking alongside the King of the other kingdom, Moka’s father. Both were conversing animatedly, but upon seeing them together in the garden, their faces lit up with satisfaction.
“It seems we didn’t need to worry so much,” the foreign king remarked with a broad smile. “You look… very comfortable together.”
Dohoon felt a slight jolt, followed by unexpected shyness. He hadn’t thought they were being watched. Part of him was glad to see them; another part wished he’d had a little more time before being judged.
“Father,” he greeted, bowing slightly.
Moka made a quick curtsy, still flushed.
“I didn’t know we were being watched,” she admitted with a nervous laugh.
“We didn’t want to interrupt,” the king replied, pleased. “It’s comforting to see that the future appears promising.”
Dohoon smiled again, but then he felt his father’s gaze. It wasn’t proud or warm; it was fixed, as if he had noticed something out of place. The king said nothing at that moment. He simply looked at him with contained severity, perhaps sensing an invisible crack in his son’s facade.
“It’s a benefit for both kingdoms, Dohoon. I don’t understand why you look so unhappy about it. You should be glad to be doing something so important, or at the very least, pretend to be a little excited about it.” His father’s voice echoed firmly inside the royal study, a space far too large for such an intimate conversation, and he wondered how many kings had sacrificed love and free will for the sake of a nation in that very room.
Dohoon sat across from the oak desk, his back straight out of habit alone. Sometimes, he believed his father saw him as nothing more than that: another piece on the board. He didn’t doubt that the King loved him… in his own way, of course. But it was a love measured by the benefit his existence could offer. As the sole heir to the throne, his fate had been written long before he could understand it: he had to marry, secure alliances, and offer stability to the kingdom. A queen at his side was not a desire. It was a requirement.
But why couldn’t he marry a guard?
The question burned in his mind insistently, even though he knew the answer perfectly well; it had been drilled into him since childhood in countless ways: hierarchy, image, tradition, legacy. Junghwan was not of noble blood, he had no kingdom to offer, no legacy to give. He had only his loyalty.
Though they were worlds apart in status, Dohoon couldn’t help but think that happiness should matter more than any treaty. If the decision were his to make, he would probably never agree to something like this. Unfortunately, it wasn’t.
“Why should I be excited about it?” he finally replied, after several minutes of silence that felt endless.
He rested one hand against his cheek, his elbow propped on his father’s desk, an almost childish gesture that contrasted sharply with the crown that would someday weigh upon his head.
“She’s kind, and I’m glad to see we share some interests, but I don’t know her at all. She’s a complete stranger,” he continued, his voice lower. “I mean, I’m glad… but I’m not excited about it.” The sharp sound of papers hitting the desk cut through the air with controlled force, abrupt enough to make Dohoon blink in surprise. The documents lay scattered in front of him: agreements, royal seals, commitments.
“Then you’ll have to get used to it quickly,” his father said, rising slowly from his chair. He walked around the desk with firm steps, stopping in front of Dohoon. His gaze was hard, as if measuring every expression, searching for weakness.
“I don’t want the girl to think you don’t want to marry her,” he added, “so make sure you pretend better from now on.”
The word pretend lodged itself deep in his chest.
“Is that clear?”
Dohoon felt a knot form in his throat. He wanted to say that pretending wasn’t fair, that he couldn’t keep smiling when he felt hollow inside, that there was someone who looked at him as if he didn’t need to be a king to deserve love.
“Yes, Father,” he answered at last, his voice obedient, and not even he believed it.
The King watched him for a few more seconds, as if making sure there was nothing left to discuss, then nodded, not entirely satisfied. He returned to his desk, gathering the papers as though he had just concluded a minor matter.
“You may leave,” he said. “There’s much to prepare.”
Dohoon rose slowly. He made a proper bow, one that had been ingrained in him since childhood, and when he turned to leave, the weight of the door felt heavier than usual as he opened it. He sighed as he walked through the long corridors of the castle; he was on the verge of losing the only life in which he had ever imagined himself being happy.