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foxymoxynoona · 1 year

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To Kill A King (Chapter 11)

Banner and linebreaks by the talented @awrkives

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

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

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

“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.

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