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97-liners · 2 years

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royal advisor wonwoo x crown princess reader

themes: royalty au, elements of east asian fantasy but it’s just atmospheric and not plot-relevant, childhood friends to lovers, slight romcom, misunderstandings, awkward loser!wonwoo

words: 9.5k

warnings: centers around a wedding, there’s a creep but he’s not that bad, genre-typical violence is alluded to but not explicitly detailed, and like two swear words

based on this text post of mine:

a royalty au where you’re the heir to the throne and wonwoo is your shy (and lowkey bumbling) royal advisor��. he’s smart and always has his head stuck in a book but he’s also painfully awkward and clueless to how deeply in love with him you are. until your parents decide it’s time for you to get married. and suddenly you’re inundated by suitor after suitor, and wonwoo is quizzing them on their credentials and doubting their suitability for you, this one makes brash political decisions, this one spends too freely, this one has no tact for diplomacy. until one day, you turn to him and ask, “you’ve hated every single one of them. who, then, do you think i should marry?” and wonwoo blushes red and presses his lips together.

“--military campaigns of the past four years, supplying iron ore and–”

“Guh!” You jerk awake when you feel the gentle tap of an invisible finger against your cheek. Heart pounding, you look to the side to see your advisor, Wonwoo, frowning at you with a spent talisman on his desk. Wonwoo shakes his head very slightly, as if to tell you off for being rude.

The man sitting opposite to you hadn’t noticed the flagrant display of magic or your unceremonious awakening, however, and continues to drone on about politics, or whatever he’s talking about. You can hear cicadas buzzing from the verdant trees outside, and the silk robes layered on your body are starting to feel oppressively heavy in the summer heat.

You glance to the side again and make eye contact with Wonwoo, this time shooting him a desperate, pleading look. Get me out of here, you scream at him in your mind. Wonwoo rolls his eyes and shrugs, and you take that as permission.

“I apologize, Lord Sui,” you interrupt, folding your hands neatly in your lap, “but I’m afraid I’m not feeling well.” You sway slightly in a show of mock fragility.

“Oh, of course! Shall I help you back to your chambers?” He reaches across the table and places a hand on your arm, and you fight back the urge to grimace at the uninvited touch. From the corner of your eye, you see Wonwoo stiffen. “Allow me to assist you, your highness.”

“No need,” Wonwoo interrupts, rising to his feet. “I’ll escort her back to her chambers. Thank you for your visit, Lord Sui.” Your advisor bows politely, the very picture of decorum, but you can hear the irritated edge to his voice.

“Of course,” Lord Sui frowns. He doesn’t remove his hand from your arm, however, so you gently extract yourself from his grasp and stand, nodding your head in his direction. Lord Sui looks up at you hopefully. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow then, I hope–”

“Safe travels back,” you interrupt, folding your hands in front of your stomach. “I hope you were well-served by my staff.”

Lord Sui looks like he’s about to swear at you, and you raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. A second passes, before Lord Sui is lowering his head again into a deep bow. “This humble one thanks your highness for her audience,” he says, gritting his teeth like he’s tasting something unpleasant.

Later on while you’re walking through the gardens accompanied by Wonwoo, your heavy outer robes tossed over his arm, you ask him, “so, Scholar Jeon, what do you think about this one? Yes or no, should I marry him?”

Wonwoo laughs, a quiet, deep chuckle. “You made your disinterest very clear with your rudeness, I think.”

“I did, but I’m asking you.” You trail your fingertips along the decorative stone formations along the path, not caring if your white inner robes get dusty. The two of you are taking the long way back to your chambers, because the weather really is too lovely not to. It’s days like this when you really miss the freedom of your youth, when a perfect summer afternoon like this would have been spent sparring on the training grounds, or with the other children on the roof of the library shooting down kites with bows and cotton-tipped arrows.

“He was rude and pompous,” Wonwoo replies. “His grasp of military strategy is cursory at best, and his grasp of court etiquette is even worse. He touched you without permission,” he says, sounding very offended on your behalf at the last bit. “He’s lucky your father wasn’t present, or he’d be missing his hand.”

“I suppose this is what I get for rejecting all the good ones,” you smile crookedly. “We’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel with these ones. How many suitors have I rejected this summer already?”

“Lord Sui is the twenty ninth,” Wonwoo supplies.

“Twenty ninth rejection in a row,” you laugh. “No thanks to you, Scholar Jeon,” you glance at him. For the past four months, even if you haven’t personally turned them away, each of your suitors have been systematically dissected by Wonwoo’s sharp eye, sometimes even in front of the court. Each of their personal and political failings, no matter how minuscule, laid in front of them like a bill of faults. Nothing escapes Wonwoo.

“I want to make sure your suitors are of satisfactory quality,” Wonwoo replies.

“With your standards, I think you’re overestimating the position of my potential consort,” you scoff.

“It’s not just the prince consort,” Wonwoo says quietly. “It’s your husband. I think you deserve something better than what you’ve been offered so far.”

You soften at his tone. “Who, then, Jeon Wonwoo?” You turn toward him, halting in the middle of the jasmine-scented pavilion you find yourself in. “Who would you let me marry?”

At this, Wonwoo doesn’t reply.

Looking up at him, you plead silently with your eyes. Please, see me. See how I look at you, how I adore and admire you, Wonwoo. See how I love you. But for all his endless brilliance, your advisor still remains blind to this one thing.

“What about you, then, Wonwoo,” you press. Wonwoo averts his gaze when you take a step towards him. “If I were to marry someone like you… or if I were to marry you–”

“You flatter me, your highness,” Wonwoo interrupts you. He bows, deeply. “This humble scholar thanks her highness for her kindness.”

Your heart falls as he shifts into formal language. His voice is distant, cold.

“But,” he adds quietly, rising from the bow, “you needn’t bother yourself with such kindness. I’m simply doing my job.”

“A-alright,” you say. Despite the summer heat, you suddenly feel too exposed, like you’re undressed in the middle of the pavilion. “You… you can take your leave now.” You hold out your arms for your robes, and Wonwoo hands them to you, maintaining careful distance.

“Thank you,” Wonwoo bows again, still speaking in formal language.

You can’t help but to shake the sinking feeling in your stomach and the regret that bubbles up. Why did you have to bring it up? Look, your brain supplies unhelpfully, you’ve scared him off again.

Wonwoo is used to watching you– after all, he’s been doing it since the two of you were children. Wonwoo, the son of your childhood tutor, accompanied you and the other royal children as you took your lessons. For as long as he can remember, the two of you have been as different from each other as two people could be.

Wonwoo had always been a weak and sickly child. He spent much of his time reading, holed up in the library and watching as you and the young lord Kim Mingyu would play outside in the afternoons after classes had adjourned. Wonwoo watched as you climbed trees and swung wooden swords and shot down apples with pebbles. And a few years later, Wonwoo also watched quietly from the side as you picked up your first real sword, saw the awestruck expression on your face as you admired the glint of steel in the sunlight. He was there the first time you fell off a horse, the first time you won an archery competition, the first time you cast a spell, and he was there when Mingyu received his army commission and all you could do was cry while your best friend rode off, a general in shining armor, while you were locked in a gilded cage and forbidden from picking up a weapon ever again.

And for as long as he can remember, Wonwoo has been in love with you. After all, how could he not? You shine, like the sun, and Wonwoo can’t help but to turn toward you and hope that some of your light falls on him.

Wonwoo remembers the way his heart thudded in his chest, clumsy and heavy against his ribcage, that night years ago when you appeared outside his door for the first time. He had been awakened by frantic knocking and when he opens his door, it’s you, holding a book in your hands. Your geopolitics tutor had given you assigned reading, and you just can’t seem to understand it, you explain, pushing your loose hair behind your ears. Your father had asked you to attend negotiations tomorrow, and you couldn’t think of anyone else who would help you, so here you are, still dressed in your robes from the day, standing in front of Wonwoo.

And when you drop to your knees to beg, Wonwoo’s heart drops too, because here you are, the princess, the future ruler, begging him to help you understand some ancient treatises. Before he knows it, he’s on his knees too, pleading for you to get up, because it’s not right– he can’t have a royal lowering themself in front of him, nothing but a commoner.

That very night as he helps you study and prepare for the upcoming day of meetings, Wonwoo has a realization: if he can’t give you his love, at least not in the light, he can at least give you his devotion. Throughout the years, as your personal scribe, as your assistant, and now as your official primary advisor, Wonwoo has devoted every breath, every heartbeat to serving you.

And occasionally, Wonwoo can fool himself into thinking that devotion is enough.

These days, it’s become a habit for the two of you to take tea in the peony gardens after your father holds court. You’ve grown into your position now, with more grace than anybody ever expected from you, and now you sit behind your father as he listens to the grievances of the commoners and negotiates with dignitaries. As usual, you keep Wonwoo with you at all times, and later over cups of tea and flower-scented sweets, the two of you discuss the happenings of the day.

It’s on one of these afternoons when the quiet peace that Wonwoo has made for himself is broken and the illusion falls away. There’s footsteps, the sounds of metal against leather, the jingling of steel, and then through the garden gates steps a soldier.

But it’s not just any soldier. Wonwoo recognizes that face in an instant— it’s Kim Mingyu, back from war after all these years. In an instant, you’ve jumped to your feet, the conversation and tea forgotten. Without a second thought to the delicate silks that float across your body or the jewels and flowers in your hair, like you’re a teenager again, rough and wild, you run across the garden and throw yourself into Kim Mingyu’s arms.

And once again, Wonwoo finds himself watching, lingering in silence, like a shadow. Wonwoo watches the way Mingyu’s tanned face splits into a radiant smile, the way his broad body fills out the ceremonial armor, the worn and well-used grip of his sword, the thin red scar that runs between the knuckles of his left hand and disappears under the edge of his leather vambrace.

Wonwoo watches, and he knows, with a sinking feeling, that this is it. Of course it was always going to end like this. How could he blame you for loving brave, dashing, charming Mingyu? Mingyu, the war hero with noble blood running through his veins?

And Wonwoo? He’s just a commoner, he’s nothing special. He doesn’t deserve you, and to even hope… to even begin to imagine a world in which you could love him back…

Wonwoo smiles to himself as he pours himself another cup of tea. He must have been delusional.

You know you shouldn’t be doing this. It’s against the rules, but it’s Mingyu, and how could you resist?

It’s been years since you last sparred with him, years since you last picked up your sword with intent, even. The muscle memory comes quickly, and you manage to parry a quick blow from your best friend, but your movements are sluggish and labored and your arms are already aching. It seems like Mingyu notices how out of practice you are, because he instantly shifts into a more relaxed stance and his movements become wider, easier. You grit your teeth, half wanting to chastise him for going easy on you, but then again, your teenage years are long behind you.

“Eat shit, Mingyu,” It feels good to cuss at him. It’s probably been years since the last time you swore, too.

“I missed this,” Mingyu says, grinning as he slashes with a light flick of his wrist. You block, again, but the action sends shockwaves up your arm.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were visiting?” Your swords clash again as he deflects your blow without even sparing an extra glance your way.

“Wanted it to be a surprise,” he grunts. “Your mother wrote.”

“My– my mother,” you frown, knowing where this is leading.

“She wanted me to come home. Asked me to court you, officially,” Mingyu sighs, easily tossing his sword from his right to his left hand. You prepare yourself as he adjusts his grip on his dominant hand, and then he strikes. You don’t block it fast enough. The flat of his blade bounces off the simple leather training armor you’re wearing, but it’s a heavy enough blow that it knocks the breath out of your lungs.

You wheeze. “You can’t be serious, Mingyu,” you laugh humorlessly as you fall onto your butt, sword held loosely in your hand. From the edge of your vision, you see a royal attendant move forward, undoubtedly ready to administer whatever medical aid they think you need, but you hold out a hand, stopping him in his steps. “That will be all,” you call out to the servants surrounding the training fields, indicating that you wish to be left alone. “You’re all dismissed.”

Mingyu joins you on the dusty ground, crossing his legs daintily and resting his sword across his lap. “She personally granted me three months of leave. I think she wants everything to be wrapped up by the Moon Festival.”

“I can’t believe she still hasn’t given up on…” you wrinkle your nose, “us.”

Mingyu just shrugs. “Maybe her highness is getting impatient. I’ve heard stories about all your suitors, even up north at the outposts.”

“Then,” you reply testily, “you must have heard about how they were all summarily rejected.”

Your best friend nods, his lips cracking into a grin. “Absolutely humiliated Lord Gui, I heard.”

“He shouldn’t have challenged me to an archery competition for my hand if he didn’t want to be humiliated,” you snort, rather impolitely. “I’m glad stories of his humiliations have traveled all the way to the border, though. It’s what he deserves.”

“What kind of man courts a princess by challenging her to an archery competition, anyway?”

You shrug. “Clearly the other approach didn’t work.” There had been gifts, chests full of silk and jewelry that you didn’t glance twice at. “One of them even wrote a poem about me. It was terrible.”

“What, you’re a poetry expert now?” Mingyu scoffs, and you extend your leg to kick his ankle in retaliation.

“Didn’t you hear? I’m cultured now. I’m being personally advised by the best poet to come out of the capital in decades.”

“Ah.” Mingyu tilts his head in the direction of the palace. “What about Scholar Jeon, then?”

“What about him?”

“Has he submitted his name for consideration yet?” Mingyu asks the question as easily as if he were asking what’s for lunch.

The question gives you pause. What about him, then? “Wonwoo, he…” pursing your lips, you look down and pick at the hem of your training robes. “I don’t think…”

“What, you don’t think he’s just as besotted with you as you are with him?” You don’t have to look up to know that Mingyu is rolling his eyes. “Come on, your highness, be serious.”

“I am serious!” You glare at him and kick him again.

Mingyu whines and withdraws his leg, looking at you with big petulant eyes. “Me too!”

“I asked him if he would be satisfied if I married someone like him, and he just… thanked me and spoke to me in formal language. It was terrible.” You grimace at the memory.

Mingyu scratches the top of his head. “Yeah, that’s pretty bad,” he admits. “Uh, have you considered that maybe he’s just awkward? Like, really, really awkward? And maybe a bit dull, too.”

“He’s smarter than you are,” you scoff, and Mingyu is quick to put a hand up in surrender.

“You’re right, he’s cleverer and wiser than I am, but when it comes to matters of the heart, it’s like watching a foal learning to walk,” Mingyu grimaces. “It’s terrible. The secondhand embarrassment gives me heartburn. But, if you trust me, you’ll believe me when I tell you that your feelings are returned.”

“That’s the problem, Gyu,” you sigh. “I do trust you, and I do believe that, but Wonwoo, he just.. Won’t open up to me. I can’t… I can’t do this if he’s terrified of me.”

“I think you should talk to him. Frankly and honestly. Throw away all the decorum,” Mingyu says, “and just tell him how you feel.”

“You say that like it’s easy.” You pick up your sword again, driving it into the group and using it as leverage to pull yourself back up. Your whole body smarts and the palm of your sword hand is stinging where you know there are blisters.

“Do it,” Mingyu stands easily and dusts himself off. “At least do it for me, so your mother will stop haranguing me,” he wrinkles his nose.

“Fine, alright, I’ll do it,” you huff, “but give me some time.”

“Promise?”

You hold out your pinky. Like you were children again, Mingyu links his pinky with yours, sealing the promise with a press of his thumb against yours. It’s not a contract, there’s no magic binding the deal, but it’s enough that Mingyu relaxes a bit, shoulders slumping.

“Good,” he says, “I’m tired of the two of you dancing around each other.”

Wonwoo is one of the few people in this entire palace complex that has access to your chambers 24 hours a day. It’s cause for whispers and glances, but you insist on it, and nobody dares to publicly question the character of the crown princess anyway.

Tonight, he carries with him a wooden lunch box filled with various summer pastries, cut and molded into delicate flower shapes. You hadn’t taken your dinner tonight, Wonwoo noticed, because you had been preoccupied with reports of failed crops in the southern river delta. It’s late, and most of the palace lights have been dimmed, so Wonwoo carries with him a lantern as well.

The wooden walkways are normally deserted, this part of the palace being off-limits to most staff, but there’s someone standing outside the doors of your quarters. Wonwoo frowns, footsteps slowing as he raises his lantern and casts the scene into light— a man, hunched forward and whispering to a maid. Something sparkles gold in his hands.

“-can’t,” the maid’s voice drifts as her tone rises in pitch, “unless you have the seal of her highness yourself, I can’t let you— Scholar Jeon!” Her face softens in relief as she makes eye contact with Wonwoo over the man’s shoulder. “Scholar Jeon, this person is trying to enter Her Highness’s chambers!”

The man turns around, and Wonwoo’s face sours into a scowl. “Lord Sui,” Wonwoo says flatly. “I thought the royal palace had sent you away.”

“It must have been a mistake,” he replies, straightening himself and fixing his robes. “The princess wasn’t in her right mind. I’m here to talk to her. You,” he points his finger at Wonwoo, “Scholar, is it? I trust you’ll have more sense than this maid here— unlock this door for me right this instant!”

“Apologies,” Wonwoo dips his head in a semblance of propriety, “but I can’t let you in without express permission from the princess.”

“What permission do I need,” he snaps, “I’m the Lord of the Chujie territory and I’m courting the crown princess. What right do you, a servant, have to be questioning me?”

Wonwoo doesn’t flinch. Instead, he sighs slowly, suppressing the enraged trembling of his hands as he pitches his voice low and cold and repeats, “I can’t let you in without express permission from the princess.”

“What makes you think you can speak for Y/N?”

Lord Sui’s lips curl in a snarl, and Wonwoo’s patience runs out. “You,” he says steadily and quietly, dripping with derision, “are not qualified to say her name.” He takes a step forward. “You are not qualified to speak to her or to set your dirty eyes on her, much less touch her.”

Lord Sui sputters, red-faced, “w-who do you think you are?”

“You’re lucky the princess, with her endless mercy, only sent you away after what you did last time,” Wonwoo continues, stone-faced. “If it were up to me, you would be missing the hand you touched her with right now.”

Pulling himself up to his full height, Wonwoo glares at Lord Sui with all the venom he can muster. “Now get out of my sight,” he spits, “before I call the guards on you and have you thrown in the dungeons.”

Wonwoo can feel the adrenaline running through his veins. He’s never spoken to anyone like this, much less a member of nobility, but something in him fills him with a rush of defiance.

Lord Sui turns puce. He opens his mouth, sucking in a breath. But, before he can get the words out or his mouth, his lips clamp shut.

“Mmmf—“ Lord Sui lets out a strangled yell, hands flying up to his neck in disbelief.

“That’s enough,” you say quietly, sliding open your door with your maid in tow. You’re dressed in only your nightclothes with your hair loose, but you’re gripping your personal sword tightly in your hand. “Lord Sui,” you dip your head slightly, “I apologize for my rudeness, but it’s late and I’m not receiving guests.”

“Mmmf-mmmgh!”

“Ah, yes, it was me who sealed your mouth.” You hold up a used talisman, the paper dissolving into ash between your fingers. “I hope you’ll forgive my transgression. The spell will expire in the time it takes for a stick of incense to burn. I’ve called the guards already.”

You turn toward Wonwoo, and suddenly the lantern and wooden lunch box feel heavy in his hands. “Come inside, Scholar Jeon.”

Lord Sui makes an outraged noise, but his lips remain sealed.

“Safe travels,” you nod again at him as you usher Wonwoo in through the door. “Thank you,” you smile at your maid, “that will be all tonight.”

“Wait, no, I was just going to drop these off,” Wonwoo tries to object, but then you’re tugging him across the stone tiled courtyard by the sleeve. Wonwoo feels his throat close up, like he’s having an allergic reaction— he’s never seen you in such an intimate appearance before. Your brow is damp and Wonwoo can almost feel the rose-scented steam wafting off your skin. You’ve clearly just emerged from a bath.

“Come on, I know you’re worried about what this looks like,” you laugh, “but worry not, nobody is going to question the crown princess’s maidenhood without risking their neck. Especially after you just defended my honor like that.”

At that, Wonwoo flushes red, all the way down his neck. “That’s not what I meant,” he mumbles uselessly.

“Come in! You shouldn’t have, really,” you say as you open the door to your private quarters and take the food out of Wonwoo’s hands. “Here, sit and eat.”

“They’re for you,” Wonwoo sputters, but you’re busying yourself frantically cleaning up your bedroom, fluttering like a moth around the walls.

“Sorry about the state of this,” you grab a handful of half-written letters and shove them haphazardly into a box under your desk. There’s a forgotten pot of tea on your desk and the remains of a few sticks of incense in a porcelain brazier, which you hurriedly shove the lid onto.

“You didn’t eat dinner,” Wonwoo tries to explain, but all of his previous confidence is gone now and his voice fails him. “I brought you food. I thought you’d be hungry.”

“Wonwoo,” you turn toward him with an expression of disbelief plastered across your face, “you can’t be serious. You were with me all evening. You didn’t eat dinner either. We’ll be eating together.”

“But—“

“I know there’s a rule against that, but I don’t really care,” you grin, laughing as you slide into a seat at the table in the center of the room. There’s a small stack of novels haphazardly pushed against the edge of the table, and as Wonwoo hesitantly takes his seat across from you, he catches the title of the one on top.

“‘The Cruel Emperor’s Requite, Volume 3’,” he observes drily.

“Oh,” you laugh nervously, clearly embarrassed. The wooden lid of the lunch box clatters against the table as you start removing the dishes inside. “I asked Mingyu to sneak me the latest volume. They’re… salacious, to say the least, but it’s a fun read, and I’ve been hooked by the plot.”

At that, Wonwoo resists the urge to tilt forward and slam his head against the table. The mention of your best friend has his stomach churning with ill-suppressed jealousy, and the thought that Mingyu has been delivering bawdy romance novels to you?

You lean across the table to place a tiny delicate porcelain cup in front of him and you fill it halfway with pale yellow tea. “The leaves are spring maojian, brought to the capital from the mountains last month. Here,” you place a dish next to the tea, “have an osmanthus cake.”

The lamps in your private quarters are warm and bright behind white paper shades, and Wonwoo can still smell the perfumed bathwater in the air. When you dip your head to sip your tea, giving Wonwoo a glimpse at the slope of your shoulders and the way the little hairs at the back of your neck stick to your damp skin, Wonwoo feels like he’s about to explode.

“Wonwoo?” You tilt your head and peer into his blank face. “Are you alright?”

“Uh,” Wonwoo responds intelligently.

“Try some of this tea,” you say, and because the part of Wonwoo’s brain that’s normally in charge of forming sentences is currently mush, he shuts up and drinks the tea.

When he looks up at you again, you’re wearing an apprehensive expression on your face. You twist your fingers in the hem of your sleeves, winding and unwinding the silk tape around your hands. It’s an anxious habit, Wonwoo recognizes. “Um, Wonwoo,” you begin haltingly, “do you remember when we were twelve and I fell out of a tree and died for a few minutes before Master Liu summoned my spirit and put me back in my body?”

Wonwoo nods. He remembers it vividly. You had been shooting down kites with the other children, and one of them had landed in the upper boughs of one of the pine trees outside the library. Of course you, brave, reckless, had volunteered to retrieve it. Wonwoo remembers sitting at the window, a book in his lap, and watching as you scaled the ancient tree. And he doesn’t think he can ever forget the sound of branches cracking, the small scream and the sickening thud of your body landing on the grass below.

As soon as he realized what had happened, his mind had gone fuzzy with panic, because you were laying there, so small, broken, and Wonwoo was just a child but he had to do something. So, he slid out the window and as soon as his feet hit the ground below, he was running toward you, panicked tears prickling at his eyes as he called your name.

“You gave me a protective charm,” you tell him hesitantly. Wonwoo remembers reaching into his robes and grabbing the jade tablet, pulling so hard that the cord hanging it around his neck snapped, and placing it in your hands. It wasn’t a powerful charm— it was just the simple kind given to children to protect them from danger, and Wonwoo knows now as an adult trained in magic that it wouldn’t have done anything. But as a twelve year old child, it was all he could think of when faced with your unconscious body and the blood seeping through your robes.

“Wonwoo,” you begin quietly, reaching a hand under the collar of your robes, “I’ve worn it every day for thirteen years.” And then you pull out that jade tablet, carved into the shape of gnarled peach boughs and inscripted with tiny runes.

Wonwoo blinks. “You kept it? It… it’s not…” he licks away the dryness on his lips, and tries again. “I can have an artificer prepare something much more powerful for you if you’d like, your highness.”

Immediately, Wonwoo knows that he’s said something wrong, because you look sad as you tuck the jade tablet back under your collar where it rests against the bare skin of your chest. “No, Wonwoo,” you shake your head, “that’s not the point. I don’t wear it for protection. I wear it because you gave it to me when I was dying.”

Something hurts in Wonwoo’s chest. He supposes that this is what unrequited love does to a person— it squeezes at his heart, twisting until every last drop has been pressed out. Wonwoo is so in love, he thinks he could drown in it.

“Um. So.” You chew your lower lip anxiously. “Wonwoo, you know that I value your presence in my life very much, don’t you?”

Wonwoo stares at you.

His lack of response doesn’t faze you. “Wonwoo, can I tell you something?”

Oh no. This is the part where you break Wonwoo’s heart, where you tell him that you’ll be marrying Kim Mingyu and living happily ever after, without Wonwoo.

“I have to go,” Wonwoo blurts out, clumsily rising to his feet.

“Huh?” Your mouth is slack and your eyes are round. “But your tea—“

“I have… I just remembered, I need to send some letters,” Wonwoo says lamely, offering you the worst excuse of all time. He cringes at your incredulous expression- you’re clearly not fooled.

“At this time of night?!”

“I have to go!” And then Wonwoo is making his way through your courtyard as fast as he can without inciting suspicion. He walks and walks, furiously keeping his face impassive, until he locks himself in his room and collapses face-first into his bed and lays there, motionless, wallowing in misery and self-pity, until he falls asleep.

It was supposed to just be a regular ride in the royal woods. You’re not even dressed for a hunt, and you’re supposed to have tea with your grandmother, the empress dowager, this afternoon, but of course when Mingyu is involved, nothing can go as planned.

Three hours after you depart for a leisurely morning ride, the two of you return, muddy and exhausted, with a dismembered wyvern carcass split between your horses. You’re scowling and Mingyu is pouting, and the monster flesh is starting to attract flies in the heat.

“I hate you so much, Mingyu,” you scowl, swatting away a fly attempting to land on your gore-spattered cheek, “if we just left the wyvern where we killed it—“

“C'mon, what kind of hunter doesn’t take their catch home,” he immediately whines.

“We have grounds staff for that! Just dismembering the carcass took us most of an hour!” The two of you are approaching the stables now, and you’re acutely aware of the horrified stares of the servants who are unfortunate enough to have been standing along the path. You reach up to wipe at your face with your sleeve, but you only succeed in smearing the monster blood sprayed across your face.

“Whatever,” Mingyu rolls his eyes. “I‘ll be competing in the exhibitions for the moon festival, we’ll see who’s laughing then.”

“I’m not even laughing now, I’m just—“ you look around and lower your voice before continuing, trying to at least pretend to act the part of the princess, “I’m just pissed that you went behind my back and made a mistake and now you’re putting an arbitrary countdown on my relationships!”

(Right. That was the whole reason Mingyu had asked you to go riding with him in the morning, before it ever came to monster-hunting and butchery.

When you set off with your best friend, you have a quiver full of arrows and a freshly re-stringed bow, and the woods are misty following the previous night’s rainfall. “I don’t know how many strings you had to pull to get me alone,” you grin. “What’s the plan? Do you want to hunt pheasants, or do you just want to ride?”

“Um,” Mingyu scratches the back of his head. He looks nervous, which is never a good sign. “About that.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Mingyu?”

He looks to the side, avoiding eye contact like a guilty dog. “So. The reason I was able to get you alone. I have something to confess.”

“Mingyu!” You tug on the reins and bring your horse to a stop, dawning horror spreading across your face. “What did you do!”

“I might have…” he chews his lip, before blurting it all out, “I might have accidentally thrown my hat in the ring.”

“What?” You blink at him, dreading his response.

“Your father requested a private audience with me yesterday, and I was nervous because I was alone with the emperor!” Your best friend’s voice pitched up in a near hysterical whine. “I thought he was going to send me and my men out west, but instead he told me that court etiquette typically required a gift of ten taels of gold but he’d waive that for me, and…”

“…and?”

To his credit, Mingyu looks distraught. “And I thanked him and accepted his offer! And now… and now your mother thinks I’m taking you on a ride to court you.”

You feel a dull headache beginning to throb behind your brow. “Kim Mingyu, you need to go to my father and withdraw your proposal. My mother would never let me refuse.”

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, “but I’m scared your father is going to throw me in a dungeon, or worse, into an administrative job.”

“I’ll make sure you get smuggled back into the army with a new identity if he does,” you tell him, but his expression doesn’t change.

“You need to tell them, today, that you’re going to marry Jeon Wonwoo,” he whispers even though the two of you are the only ones in the vicinity.

You choke on air. “W-what are you talking about?!”

“Tomorrow,” he explains, “is when he’s bringing the matter to the court. And that’s when it’ll be publicly announced.”

“I can’t just spring this on Wonwoo,” you sputter at him, “it’s not fair for him either!”

“Then what are you going to do? Let him learn about it himself tomorrow when it’s announced?”

“I’m going to talk to my father myself,” you tell him, full of confidence, “and stop all of this. Nothing will change between me and Wonwoo.”)

The moment you see Wonwoo, however, your confidence falls away and your plan completely leaves your head. He turns away from his conversation with a stable hand when he hears the sound of hooves. First, he sees Mingyu, and furrows his brow. And then he sees you, covered in blood, and his face falls with abject horror.

“What did you do,” he hisses, turning on Mingyu and fixing a glare on him.

“I swear, it’s not my fault,” Mingyu blabbers, clambering off his horse. You’re already on your feet leading your horse to the stable hand when you hear the edge to Wonwoo’s voice and realize that he’s truly pissed.

“What do you mean it’s not your fault,” he hisses, “you’re supposed to be the soldier here, why is her highness covered in blood?!”

“I can hear you talking about me,” you remark, crossing your arms. “I’m fine. It’s not my blood.”

“It’s not– that doesn’t help,” Wonwoo sputters, ears flushing pink. “You’re still covered in blood!”

“I need to get washed off, Wonwoo, I need to request an audience with my father,” you tell him. You grab his wrist and start making your way back to your quarters. He stumbles a little bit but quickly manages to regain his footing.

“What are you talking about? Your father isn’t receiving any visitors today,” Wonwoo tells you as he follows behind you, letting himself be pulled by the wrist.

“It’s urgent!” The deeper into the palace complex you go, the more stares the two of you receive— you, the princess, dirty and covered in dried blood, dragging your respected advisor behind you.

“What is it? He’s resting for the evening, but I can bring it up Minister Choi this evening if you need.”

“It’s not… it’s nothing that Minister Choi can help with,” you sigh miserably.

“Tell me what you need help with, then.” Wonwoo furrows his brows, an expression of concern written across his face. “Anything you need.”

Chewing on your lip, you make the sudden decision to take a sharp detour through the chrysanthemum gardens and into a narrow walkway into a secluded part of the garden, behind a cluster of trees and some large decorative rocks.

You stop abruptly, and Wonwoo, caught off guard, walks right into you.

“Ouch,” he mumbles quietly, rubbing at the spot in his shoulder where one of your hairpins jabbed him.

“Wonwoo.” You twist anxiously at the ties of your riding robes. “Um. I don’t know if you’ve heard about this. Maybe there have been rumors, or maybe not.”

“What are you talking about?”

He’s watching you, carefully, almost like he’s afraid of you.

Impatient, your swordsmanship master used to chide you. Your greatest strength, when it comes to armed combat, is also your greatest weakness— you’re too reckless, you act too quickly. You think you know what your opponent’s next move will be, and sometimes you’re right, but sometimes you’re wrong.

“Kim Mingyu is courting me,” you tell Wonwoo, the words directly bypassing your brain as they emerge from your mouth. “He spoke to my father yesterday, and it’s going to be official tomorrow.”

Wonwoo stares at you, silent.

“I can’t marry Kim Mingyu,” you continue, voice rising in volume, not caring about eavesdroppers in your panic. “I can’t marry him, because I’m already in love with someone else.”

“Oh,” Wonwoo says, and for a split second, you think he’s going to argue. But then he schools his expression back into the placid mask that he wears every day in court, your faithful Scholar Jeon.

“I’ll send for some servants to draw a bath for you,” he says, bowing deeply. And then, without looking up at your face, he turns and walks away from you, leaving you speechless and with the deep sinking feeling that you just made a huge mistake.

That night, Wonwoo has a dream. It’s not just a dream, though, it’s a memory— one that he’s re-lived in his head so many times, it still feels as fresh as the day it happened.

It’s ten years ago. It’s your fifteenth summer, and Wonwoo’s sixteenth. You’re still a little too loud, a little too brash— a child, still, not yet burdened with the responsibility of the title of Crown Princess. You had spent all summer sparring with Mingyu, hunting low-level monsters in the woods, and practicing your archery.

It’s the morning of the annual hunt, a chance for noble cultivators across the kingdom to show off their skills, and you’re finally old enough to participate. The only event that the administrators would let you compete in was the archery competition, so you had practiced for weeks, until your fingertips were bloody and your vision blurred.

Wonwoo sits with his father at the side, along with all the other spectators, hands folded neatly in his lap. He watches as you line up with the other contestants and raise your bow, knock your arrow, and draw back the string.

And then, you hesitate and lower the bow. Wonwoo sees you turn your head to the crowd, eyes moving back and forth, like you’re searching for something— until your eyes lock with Wonwoo’s. There’s no question about it, Wonwoo knows you’re looking directly at him. You’re terrified, he realizes. And so Wonwoo does what he can, and he smiles at you, something small but reassuring, or at least, as reassuring as he can make a smile.

When you see the smile, you exhale slowly, visibly relaxing. And then you turn back to the target, bow raised and drawn, sharp eyes focused on the target, and you let your arrow fly.

It lands in the center of the target. A perfect shot.

The air shifts and swims, glittering like sunlight does when it shines through leafy branches, and then Wonwoo’s dream changes into something else, another memory. This one is even clearer— it’s replayed in Wonwoo’s mind thousands of times since it happened, sitting in his thoughts, heavy, like a stone weighing on paper.

It’s the night of your twentieth moon festival. The first chill of autumn is starting to permeate the air, cutting through Wonwoo’s fancy new robes that you had ordered for him just for the event. It’s his first year as your personal scribe, barely three months after your father had given you the title of crown princess and officially designated you as his heir.

The whole palace is celebrating the feast in the banquet halls, but Wonwoo is standing with you on the roof of one of the minor pavilions away from the festivities. The full harvest moon is bright and warm, almost gold tonight. The tiles beneath Wonwoo’s feet are slippery, but you promised him earlier that he wouldn’t fall, and he can’t bring himself to be too worried. Not when you’re smiling at him like that.

In your hands, you hold a paper lantern that Wonwoo had painted with a pair of white rabbits earlier. Wonwoo holds a matching lantern, painted with a pair of wood ducks frolicking near some reeds.

“Let’s release them together in three,” you whisper, grinning in the flickering light of the lantern, “two, one.”

You let go of the bamboo scaffold and laugh in delight as it rises, floating into the silvery night. Wonwoo releases his lantern too, and watches as it hangs in the air for a moment before being caught by the wind to join yours.

“Wonwoo, you have to make a wish.”

I wish we could be like this forever, Wonwoo thinks. He looks down at you, at your closed eyes and clasped hands held to your lips. He’s so fond of you, it aches.

“I wish for the health and safety of the kingdom,” you murmur against your fingers. “May our lands be blessed by the Goddess of Mercy.” You open your eyes and look up at him. “What did you wish for?”

Wonwoo grins crookedly. “I’m not telling you.”

“Fine,” you laugh. You’re twisting your fingers into your sleeves. “Wonwoo,” you say softly, taking a step closer to him. Wonwoo’s breath catches in his chest— you’re so close, he can smell your rose-scented bath powders on your skin.

“Yes, your highness?”

“We’re… we’re friends, aren’t we?” There’s an edge of uncertainty in your voice. A hint of something fragile.

“Of course,” Wonwoo replies. Then, in a softer voice, he says your name— your personal name, the one that you haven’t been called by in public since you were a child. It’s the name Wonwoo only calls you in private, away from the formalities of palace life.

You bite your lip. “Wonwoo, can I ask for a wish from you?”

Anything, Wonwoo thinks. Anything for you. But what he says is, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Can…” you suck in a deep breath, like you’re gathering your courage, “can you kiss me?”

For a moment, Wonwoo feels like his heart has stopped. His mind is racing, a thousand thoughts a second. There has to be an explanation, something logical. You’re the crown princess, you’re kept under careful watch, scrutinized wherever you go, Wonwoo reminds himself. At an age where most people are flirting, giving and receiving gifts and engaging in late-night dalliances, you’ve been locked up in the palace. It’s only natural that you would want to experiment, and Wonwoo is likely the only person your age that you trust.

It’s an explanation that makes sense. It’s solid— at least, solid enough for Wonwoo, so he acquiesces.

Your eyes are closed and your lips are slightly parted, like you’re wishing on a lantern again, waiting. Wonwoo leans forward and carefully brushes his lips against yours, like the faint touch of a dandelion seed, barely perceptible.

He tries to withdraw, but you reach out and fist your hands in the front of his robes, almost desperate. You open your eyes and look up at him dazedly. “Again,” you whisper. It’s an order, but Wonwoo would have complied even if he wasn’t your personal scribe and you weren’t the crown princess.

He kisses you, this time firmer. It’s not like the careful touch of his lips against yours before. This time, you kiss him back and press into him, warm and soft, searching, hungry. Wonwoo’s head swims. He can feel his heart thudding in his chest as his mind is emptied and replaced only with the way you taste, the way you feel, you, you, you.

No. No, this is wrong. Wonwoo breaks the kiss and takes a step back, gasping sharply as he regains control of his senses. Suddenly, the air feels a little too hot and the rooftop feels a bit too exposed.

“I—,” Wonwoo’s voice breaks in his panic, all words leaving him. “I, uh,” he stammers.

You’re still looking up at him with that dazed, almost drunken expression on your face. “Wonwoo,” you say his name like a request. “Wonwoo.”

His brain starts working again, and immediately, it begins to panic, filling every inch of Wonwoo with anxiety and dread. This is all wrong. “Thank you, your highness,” he bows, automatically shifting into formal speech. “I’ll take my leave.” The moment the words come out of his mouth, he’s already cursing himself in his head. Dumbass. He couldn’t be any more awkward if he tried.

Wonwoo scrambles off the rooftop, cheeks pink, heart pounding as he leaves. He’s almost out of the courtyard when he looks back at you one last time over his shoulder. You’re still standing on the rooftop, arms held at your sides, looking oddly small and slumped in your festival finery.

You look sad.

Bong. Bong. Bong.

The scene dissolves, snapping to black in an instant.

Wonwoo wakes up to the sharp sound of the morning bell and yellow sunlight filtering through his window shades. It’s morning already, and Wonwoo is slowly beginning to realize his mistake.

“Oh my god.” He buries his face in his hands. “She’s been in love with me this whole time,” he groans into his palms.

Your father is holding court today. You’re seated in your usual position, on the dais but off to the side, a position befitting your rank. Wonwoo isn’t here yet, which does nothing to settle the anxious butterflies in your stomach.

“Stop that,” you hear your mother hiss at you from her seat beside your father. You look up at her, and then you follow her gaze to realize that she’s glaring at your lap, where your hands are anxiously crumpling the fine silk ties of your sash.

Immediately, you smooth out the fabric and place your hands against your thighs, flat and still. The anxiety doesn’t abate, however, so you worry at your lower hip with your teeth while your father discusses something with his Minister of Justice.

Maybe you thought too much of your relationship with Wonwoo. Maybe he’s quitting the job and moving to the countryside to focus on scholarship. Maybe he hates you. Maybe you should just accept your fate and marry Mingyu.

Your mind is blank as the proceedings of your father’s court continue. All you can think about is the impassive expression on Wonwoo’s face as he bowed and walked yesterday after you had stupidly blurted everything out to him.

“And lastly,” your father announces, gathering his papers on his desk, “there’s the matter of my daughter’s future.”

“Twenty nine rejections,” one of the nobles sniffs, disdain dripping in his voice. “That’s twenty nine grudges against the crown.”

“The relationship with the southern warlords is already strained,” someone else says, “and with the recent affair with Lord Sui, well…”

“Settle down, both of you,” your father’s chief advisor orders as he thumps the edge of his folded fan against his table. “May I remind you all that Lord Sui attempted to intrude on her highness’s personal quarters at night? Her highness was merciful to only seal his mouth and throw him from the grounds.”

You glance up at your father’s chief advisor and give him a grateful smile as your father clears his throat and brings his hand down to the table. “Regardless of the decisions made on previous suitors, I have news of a new suitor, a promising candidate. His grace, Kim Mingyu, has put his name in for consideration.”

A murmur goes through the court. You can see them nodding in approval, whispering to each other like this is a favorable tariff proposal and not your future husband.

“Does anyone have any objections to this arrangement,” your father asks, his voice booming over the noise. Your breath catches in your chest. This is your chance to speak up. This is your escape. But you remember the way Wonwoo turned away from you yesterday, like how he’s turned away from you time and time again over the years. And anyways, at least you like Mingyu. You’re tired of the constant game of cat and mouse, the constant rumors and gossip and the endless stream of insincere men begging for a sliver of your favor.

“Wait!” The side door bursts open, nearly falling off the hinges.

In unison, every head in the large hall turns to face a very disheveled Wonwoo standing at the door. There’s a long awkward silence as everybody stares at him.

“Wonwoo?” You gather your skirts and scramble to your feet, not caring that you’re drawing attention to yourself, or that you just called him by his personal name in front of all the members of your father’s court. “Wonwoo, what’s going on?”

Wonwoo’s eyes are wide and frantic, his mouth silently opening and closing as if he’s suddenly realizing the spectacle he just made of himself.

“Scholar Jeon,” your father raises an eyebrow in Wonwoo’s direction and you can almost see the way he freezes up, like he’s caught in the midst of a death ray.

“Wonwoo,” you repeat, stumbling towards him, “it’s okay.” You’re not sure what he’s here for, but you know that you’ll do everything in your power to make things okay for him.

“I—I’m submitting myself for consideration,” Wonwoo announces to the crowd but he’s looking directly at you, as if he’s speaking to you and only you. “For the crown princess’s hand in marriage.”

There’s more murmurs, more scandalized titters. Whispers about how he’s just a commoner, whispers about the lack of decorum.

“Wonwoo.” You’re not sure if you’re hearing him correctly.

He falls to his knees in front of you and lowers his head, and you gasp in shock. You try to pull him up, but he doesn’t budge.

“And,” he says, “I’m here to beg for her highness’s mercy and forgiveness. This humble servant has been a fool for all these years.” He raises his head and looks up at you.

Wonwoo’s body is like a tense, tightly strung bow, trembling with anxiety and terror.

“You’re a fool, alright,” you breathe out in a quiet whisper that only Wonwoo can hear.

Your father clicks his tongue in irritation. “Scholar Jeon, you do realize this is all quite unconventional and inconvenient, do you?”

Wonwoo’s face is flushed bright red, all the way down his neck. You know he’s quiet and shy by nature, and to come bursting in and create the biggest spectacle the court has seen in years must take an absurd amount of courage and energy, but Wonwoo is unwavering. He flashes the tiniest smile at you. “Do you want to marry me?”

You nod at him. “I accept,” you say quietly, and then in a bigger voice, “I accept. It’s him.”

The room explodes into raucous yelling, but over the din, you hear your mother clapping her hands and laughing, voice pitching near hysterical. “God, finally, do any of you know how difficult it is to host thirty suitors here? Thirty! And on the thirty first try, finally!” She turns to your father and grips his arm. “Darling, this is the last time. You need to let this happen.”

Your father, on the other hand, looks bewildered at the mixed reactions of the court. Minister Lee is waving a fan in the air, shouting about Wonwoo’s scholarly qualifications, while Lord Guan is pointing at Minister Choi and ranting about construction of a mountain pass for spice trade routes.

“Do you think anybody would notice if we left for tea,” you turn toward Wonwoo. He’s still on his knees, wearing a dumbfounded expression on his face as the room devolves into chaos at the recent development of events.

“Get out of here, you two,” your mother waves a long sleeve in your direction with a scowl on her face, “before you somehow incite a riot.”

“I think that counts as a dismissal for the day,” Wonwoo says.

“Tea,” you decide, tugging Wonwoo up by the hand. “And just a fair warning, I’m going to ask you to kiss me. Are you going to run away?”

“No,” Wonwoo nods, self-assured. “I’m done running.”

extra:

“They kept calling me your highness,” Wonwoo complains as soon as the door is closed behind him. “And your handmaidens bowed to me, like I’m some kind of royalty.”

You sit patiently on the bed, still veiled behind red silk. “That’s because you are royalty,” you reply. “You’re the prince consort now.”

“Does it ever get any less awkward?”

You hear the clinking of gold and jade as he removes his belt. You shrug at him, but the action is lost under the silk that you’re still draped in. “Don’t ask me, that’s how I’ve been addressed since I was born.”

“I suppose I won’t be able to hide away during conferences anymore,” he sighs.

You grin. “Nope, you’ll be forced to accompany me for all social events now, darling husband.”

“How do you make that sound like a threat?”

You hear something that sounds suspiciously like paper rustling.

“Wonwoo!” you lift a corner of the veil and peer out into the bridal suite. At your desk, Wonwoo jumps and looks at you, only slightly guilty.

“Yes?”

“Did you bring work to our wedding night?!”

Wonwoo puts down the scrolls in his hands. “You have work tomorrow,” he says, “and you haven’t appointed a replacement for me, so I assume I’ll still be accompanying you.”

“That’s beside the point,” you exclaim incredulously, “Wonwoo, I know you’re nervous, but you can’t just hide behind work, and especially not on our wedding night!”

He opens his mouth like he’s about to argue, but then, evidently, he thinks better of it. “I’m sorry,” he says, shoulders slumping. I feel like I’m about to lose my mind.”

“Come here, Wonwoo.” You remove the veil and toss it to the side before patting the bed.

He takes a seat next to you. The mattress dips slightly and you scoot closer, until your thighs are touching. You can see his neck starting to flush a dark blotchy red as he looks down at his hands.

“Wonwoo.” You tilt your head and smile at him. “One wish, anything you want.”

He turns his head and blinks at you. “Anything?”

“You’re a prince now. You can have anything you want.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?” He’s smiling now, shoulders slowly slumping into something a bit more relaxed than his ramrod-straight posture from earlier.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Is that so bad? Seducing my own husband?”

“I think I’ll claim my wish now,” he says quietly, fondly. “Can you kiss me?”

And you do.

#sorry guys leaving it untitled because i'm sick of this and wanna just dump it and forget about it lol #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #97.writings #97.yn

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