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The gilded mirror reflects a dichotomy Jimin isn’t sure how to resolve—the opulent clothes Wardrobe had chosen for him glitter in the light thrown from the chandelier, but his expression shows a nervousness that goes bone-deep.
“Oh, my word! Wardrobe truly outdid herself!” Jimin turns at Mrs. Potts’ fluting voice. Chip stands beside his mother, adoration in his eyes as he stares up at Jimin.
“You’re so pretty!” Chip says in a breathy voice. “Mama, will I be as pretty as Jimin someday?”
Mrs. Potts nuzzles her spout against Chip. “You’ll be the most beautiful, my love.”
Jimin kneels on the floor and holds out his hand for Chip to hop into. He cradles the small teacup against his chest. Chip’s porcelain is cold where the neckline of Jimin’s silk chemise dips to show off his clavicles, and it soothes some of the heat of his discomfort.
“I’m not sure I can do this,” Jimin says quietly.
“It’ll be alright, dearie.”
Jimin feels torn, and he’s unable to respond to Mrs. Potts’ reassurance. He’s not sure where his hesitation stems from, he just knows something about tonight has him feeling on edge. It’s a tipping point for them. Either tonight goes well, and their relationship progresses, or it doesn’t, and they remain in this weird limbo. Or they regress.
In all honesty, he’s scared, and he’s at war with his feelings. Over the months Jimin has lived at the castle, he and Jeongguk had been slowly building a friendship of sorts—saving each other’s lives was a great catalyst towards that end. Before then, they had hated each other, their tempers clashing constantly.
Jimin is worried, if tonight doesn’t go well, they’ll return to a state of animosity, which would make living here unbearable. He’s also worried about what could happen if things do go well. He and Jeongguk are on a path Jimin isn’t sure he wants to be walking, as romance is not something he ever put much stock in. That’s for other people, people who want to settle down and live a life of monotony. He has bigger plans, and being tied down doesn’t factor into them.
“Jimin?” Mrs. Potts has a sad, knowing smile on her face. With a jolt, Jimin realizes how selfish he’s being. There are other things at stake, things that go far beyond his distaste for conventionality. He has a chance to save the poor residents of the castle. Shouldn’t that be his main focus?
A quiet voice in his mind tells him no, it’s wrong for him to give up his autonomy for someone else, but he can’t help but feel the weight of responsibility. The lives of the people living in the castle are dependent solely on Jeongguk’s fate, and for better or worse, it seems Jimin has a part to play in their story. He can’t simply walk away.
“It’ll be okay,” Mrs. Potts repeats, and Jimin knows her words encompass more than the events of tonight. He knows she’s saying, whatever he decides to do, he is forgiven.
Jimin takes a deep breath and nods. He sets Chip on the floor and smiles down at both mother and son. “I’m ready.”
-----
Jeongguk looks resplendent in a coat of darkest blue. Tiny, gold threads in the brocade create a pattern of stars that catch the light of the hundreds of candles Taehyung had placed strategically; Jeongguk glitters like a nighttime sky, but the look in his eyes is brighter, lit from something within, as he gazes at Jimin.
“You are beautiful.” Jeongguk’s typical growl is gone, replaced by something soft and tender that makes Jimin’s heart flutter.
Jimin ducks his head to hide his blush. The servants had truly outdone themselves, planning everything down to the smallest detail—if Jeongguk is the nighttime sky, then Jimin is a sunny afternoon, dressed in silk of buttercup yellow, the fabric moving almost with a mind of its own, as if dancing with a gentle breeze.
It’s hard not to feel like he’s being pulled hither-and-thither by destiny, or simply the desires of others. He has come to love the friends he’s made since he came to live at the castle, and he wants to help them, but it’s hard not to feel some resentment. He didn’t ask to be their savior; he had only wanted to save his father from imprisonment and certain death.
A clawed hand slides along the curve of his jawline. The downy-soft fur on Jeongguk’s palm tickles his skin and Jimin can’t hold back his giggle, though it does nothing to ease the tension pulling his muscles taut.
“Jimin, will you look at me?” Jeongguk’s voice is like an approaching thunderstorm, low and rolling, and full of magnetism. Jimin can’t help but acquiesce.
Jeongguk smiles. A tip of one fang peeks over the edge of his bottom lip. Jimin focuses on it because it’s easier than looking Jeongguk in the eye. He knows what he will see there, and he’s afraid of it.
Jimin’s heart speeds up triple-time, beating against the confines of his ribcage like a trapped bird. Jeongguk must sense his discomfort, for he steps closer, like he’s shielding Jimin with his body.
“There’s no need to be frightened. It’s only me.”
Jimin does look at Jeongguk then, and the expression in Jeongguk’s eyes is just as painful as he had expected it would be. He’s not sure he could ever bear to erase the love written there, if that’s what it came to. To keep Jeongguk from being hurt again, Jimin isn’t sure he’s not willing to hurt himself. He’s having a harder time telling himself it’s only because he wants to help.
The truth is, Jimin is finding it harder to fathom a life without Jeongguk in it.
“I am not afraid,” Jimin whispers through lips gone numb. A blatant lie, of course—Jimin is terrified, for, in Jeongguk’s eyes, Jimin sees the reflection of his own feelings.
Jeongguk sweeps him a bow and holds out his hand. “Then will you please join me for dinner?” Jeongguk’s eyes are bright with mischief, and Jimin laughs at the memory of their first night together. He’s surprised they had never come to blows in those early days.
The joke helps him relax, and Jimin takes Jeongguk’s hand, interlocking their fingers together. “I would love to.”
-----
The food is exquisite and more plentiful than anything Jimin has ever seen before. It makes him feel guilty. In his old life, the dinner (which had five courses that began with a cheese soup, and ended with a lemon soufflé), would have been enough to feed him and his father for a month.
Jimin feels a pang of sadness and longing—he misses his father so much. He tries to bury it, though, resolved to have a good evening. The servants had put so much effort into everything, and Jeongguk has been on his best behavior—Jimin doesn’t want to ruin their evening with his melancholia.
After their meal has been consumed, and the dinnerware has been whisked away, Jimin and Jeongguk retire to the balcony to enjoy a glass of wine. The air is crisp with the smells of late-winter: snow, ice crystals hanging from the eaves, and the wild, winter roses that cling to the castle walls. Facing west, they watch the sun sink below the horizon, painting the sky first in hues of pink and red, then blue and purple. The moon rises high above their heads, giving everything a shimmering glow, and Jimin feels magic begin to tingle along his skin.
Somewhere, a violin begins a sweet hum, and suddenly, Taehyung and Namjoon are there to lead Jeongguk and Jimin towards the grand ballroom. The grand doors open before them with an excited creak, and Taehyung and Namjoon bow them through. Jimin responds to Taehyung’s smile with a small one of his own before Jeongguk pulls him to the center of the floor. Above them, the flying buttresses meet like hands clasped in supplication, and the cherubs on the ceiling watch them with gleeful, greedy eyes. It’s like the castle itself is praying, the enchanter’s spell lending sentience to wood and stone and paint.
Jeongguk’s left hand falls to Jimin’s waist, and his right clasps Jimin’s left, raising it to his lips to press a gentle kiss to his knuckles. Just as the music swells, the plucky notes of a piano joining the violin’s sweet legato, Jeongguk steps into the waltz. Jimin clutches to him tightly, already feeling dizzy, his mind heady with the glow of candlelight, the smell of Jeongguk’s cologne, and the shifting of Jeongguk’s muscles as he expertly leads Jimin through the steps.
Caught in the spin, everything else falls away until all that’s left is Jimin held fast in Jeongguk’s arms. He has nowhere to go but to follow Jeongguk; he has nowhere to look but into Jeongguk’s eyes, and in them, he sees a world of possibilities. Into their dark depths, Jimin sinks farther and farther—he’s drowning, and he thinks, it might not be a bad way to go.
-----
Jimin’s head is still spinning, even as the waltz comes to an end, even as Jeongguk leads him away from the ballroom.
Jimin’s thoughts are still whirling, even as he realizes Jeongguk has brought him to the west wing, even as he’s encouraged to sit in a plush chair, and a glass of wine is pressed into his hands.
Jimin is still reeling, even as he absentmindedly looks around Jeongguk’s room and notices it looks different; it’s cleaner. Most of the debris had been cleared away, and the torn panels on the wall have been patched over.
“Jimin, are you okay?”
Is he okay? Jimin isn’t sure. He feels like he was just thrown into a whirlpool, and the person who came out the other side doesn’t feel like someone he knows; he doesn’t know himself, everything he thought he once wanted suddenly inconsequential in the moonlight that casts its glow over Jeongguk.
“I just feel a little woozy,” Jimin says weakly. He sips at his wine. “Dancing always makes me feel dizzy.”
“Let me get you something to help you feel better.” Jeongguk moves aside—Jimin gasps. The glow hadn’t been coming from the moon, but rather, the enchanted rose in its glass bell jar. Jimin’s thoughts come to a halt, and all he can do is stare at the rose, his gaze tracking a wilted petal as it peels away from the stem and see-saws to the table.
“How can you stand to have that thing around you every day?”
Jeongguk returns with a moist cloth soaked in herbs, and a tonic. He follows Jimin’s line of sight and sighs. He sets the tonic down on a nearby table; he hands the cloth to Jimin, encouraging him to press it against his forehead. Instantly, Jimin’s headache is appeased, the pounding in his temples lessening.
Jeongguk is slow to speak, and when he finally does, his voice is leaden. “In all honesty, I can’t. It’s a constant, painful reminder of what I stand to lose. I can’t be rid of it, though, so I have resigned myself to its presence.”
“Have you tried to destroy it?”
A short bark of laughter tears from Jeongguk’s throat. “In every conceivable way. I tried to toss it over the balcony railing. I tried to cut it. I tried to burn it. I even tried to magic it away, but I nearly killed myself, instead.” A short, distressed growl rumbles through Jeongguk’s chest. “Perhaps it would’ve been better if I had succeeded.”
“Don’t,” Jimin says. He reaches out to grasp Jeongguk’s hand. “Please, don’t speak that way. I can’t bear it.”
Jeongguk smiles down at him, though, this time, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You cannot deny your life would be easier, if you hadn’t met me.”
A month ago, Jimin would have agreed emphatically. Today, Jimin isn’t sure of anything. “None of us can know how our lives will go. Maybe I was meant to find you.”
Now, Jeongguk’s smile is sad. He purses his lips together and looks away, his gaze falling again on the rose. “Look at me, Jimin,” he says, his words a mere whisper. Jeongguk brings his hands up to his face, turning them up-and-down. He touches his fangs, then the fur on his cheeks, then the horns on his head; his tail twitches, whacking against the side of Jimin’s legs. “Look at me,” he repeats, his voice harsh. “I am not meant to be.”
Jimin is about to respond, but his words are cut short by a faint knock on the door. He and Jeongguk turn to see Namjoon peeking his head in. Jimin is immediately concerned. The servants hardly ever bother them here, and the clock hands on Namjoon’s face are pointed at six-and-twelve, a sure indication he’s alarmed about something.
“Your Highness? I regret to disturb you, but—”
Jeongguk growls. “What is it?”
Namjoon wrings his hands together. “A strange report has come in from the guards along our border. There’s a disturbance in the forest. An old man—”
Jimin rushes forward and picks Namjoon off the floor. He clutches the little clock in his hands and has to resist the urge to shake him. “An old man? Did they say what he looks like?”
“I am sorry, sir,” Namjoon whispers. “It appears it is your father.”
Jimin practically throws Namjoon aside in his haste to get to the other side of the room. Jeongguk’s mirror rests face-down on the bureau. Its gold façade looks innocent enough, but Jimin knows its secrets. He grasps it in his hand and turns it to face him. “Show me my father!”
In a bright glow of green light, Jimin sees his father kneeling in a pile of snow. Wind whips around him, and his coat flaps in the gale. There’s a blueish tint to his skin, and as Jimin watches, his father bends forward and coughs hard enough, Jimin can see the retraction of his chest. Before the vision fades, Jimin can see shadows, shadows with glowing eyes, flickering at the edge of the clearing his father rests in, and knows in his heart, his father is not long for this world if he’s not rescued.
Jeongguk’s bulk feels like a wall of heat at Jimin’s back. “You must go to him.”
Jimin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I know,” he whispers. He turns to look at Jeongguk. There are so many things he wants to say, and no time to say them. “May I?”
Jeongguk nods. His jaw clenches. Jimin thinks he’s trying to choke back tears. “You’re no longer my prisoner; I release you.”
Jimin doesn’t waste much time. He runs to the door, his coat billowing behind him. At the threshold, he stops and turns to look at Jeongguk. “I will leave your mirror.”
“Take it with you. That way, you will always have a way to look back and remember me.”
“I will return,” Jimin says, lacing his words with a promise. “Do you understand me? We will see each other again.”
Jeongguk touches his fingers to his lips and waves Jimin away. “Go.”