Archive of Our Own

The sun is beaming bright the day they meet, a sharp contrast to the inside of the coach, dark as dusk as the horses pull it down the path, the wheels of the carriage skittering down roughly against tile and pavement.

The windows are shuttered with silk curtains, and Minseok’s already antsy, bouncing in his seat. He’s not used to sitting still for so long with nothing to do.

The life of a young prince is always rambunctious, being tossed around between all his lessons; gentility, falconry, tutoring, and his head spins at the thought of being in one place for more than a few hours. The carriage has been moving for a while now, enough to cause Minseok apt discomfort, enough for the city’s many familiar streets to turn into cottages, cottages to turn into trees and back again. He wants to see outside, drink up all the sights of what he assumes is a new place; unfortunately, his eyes are covered against his will, denying him the luxury.

Beside him his mother, the Queen, sits cross legged, her skirt running like a waterfall over the cushioned rear of the carriage seats. Minseok can smell her scent, the perfume of lilies, and the jeweled sleeves of her dress tickle his nose as she places hands over his face, obscuring his vision.

“Are we almost there yet?” he asks, swinging his legs.

“Soon,” she tells him. “We’ll be there very soon.”

“Why are we going there?”

“We’re visiting an old friend,” the Queen says.

“One of my own friends?” Minseok asks, pulling on his mother’s sleeve. “My friends can’t be old! I know all of them and we’re all the same age!”

“One of my old friends,” the Queen corrects, amused. “You’ve never met her before.”

“Why do I have to come then?” Minseok asks, swiveling his head. The Queen smiles, booping him on the nose affectionately.

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises,” Minseok pouts, wrangling himself free of his mother’s grasp. He crawls across the seat and pushes open the shutters, poking his head through the window.

“I’ve never heard of a child who doesn’t like surprises,” the Queen trills, gently pulling her pouting son downwards, before he gets a glimpse of anything more monumental than a green lawn. She makes him sit properly, ruffling his hair fondly until Minseok relents, crossing his arms grumpily, nose squished in discomfort.

“I have to decide if I like something, and if I don’t know what it is, then I can’t like it or hate it,” he sulks.

“You’re quite clever then,” the Queen replies. “Did Miss Seohyun teach you that?”

Minseok ignores his mother’s query. “Are we almost there yet?” He blinks, running his tongue over his teeth.

“Close your eyes. I'll check for you.”

“I don’t want to close my eyes. What if you give me a bad surprise?”

“I promise you’ll like the surprise,” the Queen says. “Don’t peek, Minseok.”

Reluctantly, he turns his head away, skewing his eyes shut. Minseok hears the unzipping of a blind, the soft glow of light illuminating the inside of the carriage. In a split second, it’s dark again, and the Queen pats his shoulder.

“We’re almost there. Sit tight for a few more minutes.”

Excitement bubbles inside Minseok’s stomach, the first time since the beginning of the trip.

There’s many things he expects to see as the carriage comes to a stop, jolting and clattering to an unmounted halt. Surely, Minseok doesn’t expect to be greeted with the striking grandeur of a castle, every bit as stunning as his own. His mother takes his hand as they rise from the backseat, and he curls up at her side out of habit.

There’s an usher on the ground who bows to the two of them as they exit the parked coach. Twin spires greet him, the doors of a pink castle built from rosy-colored stone, turrets lining the estate as far as the eye can see. Minseok’s shoes land on hexagonal tile, a stretch of a pathway that encircles the entire castle, leading back to a vast garden, shrubbery and greenery covering the entire square. Servants mingle in the courtyard; gardeners on their knees plucking weeds and potting little sprouts.

It’s breathtaking. Minseok has never seen a hedge trimmed in the shape of a human before, nor blue flowers. He reaches out to touch a nearby bush, one of many that line the paved walk into the garden, stretching down to form snakes and walls of waxy green. When he withdraws his hand, the royal carriage rushes away behind him, a tip of the hat from the coachman the only acknowledgement that is offered before disappearing into the distance.

“Welcome to Exodus, your Majesty,” the usher says, kissing the Queen’s hand. “It’s a delight to have you here today.”

“Please,” the Queen dismisses. “It’s my honor to be visiting. I assume the Duchess is aware?”

“Yes, your Majesty, right this way.” The usher turns on his heel, stepping towards the direction of the garden. “Please follow me.”

The Queen tugs Minseok along, to visible disappointment on his cherub face.

“Can’t we go inside the castle?” he asks, as they march down the path. “I really want to see what’s inside.”

“Perhaps later,” she replies. “That’s not what we’re here for.” A scullery maid drops into a curtsy as they pass, and the Queen shoots her a warm smile.

“I really want to see it! It looks so cool!” Minseok huffs.

“One day,” the Queen promises, stopping. She leans down, pinching his cheek. “I have something much better planned today. Besides, you can play in the garden! Wouldn’t that be fun? Much more fun than running around the hall all day!”

“Maybe,” Minseok supposes, running away from his mother’s clutch. He catches up to the flustered usher, who gently steers him back to the appreciative Queen.

“The duchess has been anticipating your arrival for ages, your Majesty. She got up at the crack of dawn, and she’s been sitting in the garden ever since,” he says, throwing his gaze over his shoulder.

“Really?” the Queen smiles, as Minseok runs into her, hugging her side.

“She was gushing about how she couldn’t wait. Our Duchess personally decorated the garden herself while waiting for your arrival.”

“I don’t see any decorations,” Minseok points out, grabbing the Queen’s hand. The usher laughs nervously, rubbing the sleeve of his red uniform, as he guides them down a few odd turns, swerving past neatly trimmed hedges and a burbling fountain, crystal clear water sliding down marble tiers.

There's a beautiful, gold-roofed gazebo in the middle of the estate; Minseok spots it immediately. A woman dressed in red and yellow sits under the shade, a young boy half-seated on her lap. The castle’s finest ceramic splayed around her on an ornate table, she waves frantically at seemingly no one as the usher approaches her, bowing deeply.

Minseok turns behind him to glance at his mother, the normally composed Queen’s face furrowed into an expression of delight. He swivels his head forwards again, focusing on the little boy. Their eyes meet apprehensively, and the child slinks backwards.

Murmuring something unintelligible, the Duchess eases her own son off herself, stepping out from the gazebo. The usher looks around, scratching the back of his neck.

“I’ll leave you two to your business,” he says, retreating with his head bowed. The Duchess composes herself, giving him a gracious nod.

“Thank you,” she says. She waits until his back is turned to bound down the steps, wrapping her arms around the Queen’s neck. Minseok’s gaze wavers as he watches his mother embrace a stranger, the two of them rocking bath and forth in the hug.

“It’s so good to see you again,” the Queen murmurs, eyes misty.

“Likewise,” the Duchess says, when they pull away. “It’s been far too long, a disrespectful amount of time.”

“I must say,” the Queen mentions, glancing around, “your castle is absolutely beautiful.”

“Oh, that? That’s nothing. But you! Your kingdom is so far away, I can’t imagine the length you must have travelled to come here! You must be starving, I know I’m hungry too, and you have to sit down too…”

“It was nothing! The carriage was comfortable.”

“Oh, but still! What kind of host would I be if I didn’t offer you drinks? Drinks...those are necessary, and maybe some food too!” the Duchess declares. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Plenty of breakfast,” the Queen laughs.

“Your son?” the Duchess asks, glancing around. “Did he come with you today? I woke up early to set out some cakes for him.”

“You still bake? How wonderful!”

“Just a hobby for now, that the cooks in the kitchen are teaching me. I baked blueberry tartlets for your son...I just-” the Duchess’ words trail off as she looks around, her gaze falling on Minseok. “Oh my! Is that him? Your son?”

The Queen snorts.

“Little Minseok, why he’s grown so much, I can’t even believe!” the Duchess babbles, dropping into a squat. She pats her leg. “Come here, Minseok? Do you remember me? I used to hold you in your crib when you were just a wee,” the Duchess holds up two fingers, pinching the air, “child, and now look at you! You’ve grown like a stalk of bamboo, so tall and strong.”

Minseok shies away, looking at his mother for support. The child in the gazebo stares at the back of Minseok’s neck, dumbly and blankly.

“Be nice,” the Queen mouths.

“Children, right?” the Duchess says, as Minseok walks towards her, awkwardly hugging her shoulder. “Your son is absolutely adorable.” She pinches his cheeks roughly. “He’ll grow up to be handsome, indeed. It’s because he looks like his mother, not like his father.”

The Queen gawks in good nature. “Oh, you!”

“It’s true,” the Duchess mutters, standing up. In time, Minseok runs off to his mother’s side. “I’d like you guys to meet my son, as well.”

“Where’s the surprise?” Minseok whispers to the Queen as the Duchess turns, climbing the gazebo steps. “I want to see the surprise.”

“This is the surprise,” the Queen replies, folding her hands in front of her. Minseok’s face falls.

“I want another surprise.”

“Minseok…” The Queen’s face perks up brightly as she notices the Duchess approaching again, this time, with a young boy in her clutch.

“My son!” she loudly declares.

“Oh, he’s darling,” the Queen says.

“Go forth,” the Duchess whispers, prodding the young boy. His pale face blanches and he bows meekly, the Queen delighted.

“He’s so polite!” she says. “How old is your young one this year?”

Minseok finds himself sneering at the boy, who simply gives him the same glazed over look as he retreats back to the Duchess, the faintest hint of a smirk over his budded mouth. The kid is impossibly pale and small, and his clothing, a horrible ensemble of corduroy and ruffled silk; something his own mother would never let him be caught dead in, gives him an impossible haughty air of someone Minseok would very much like to jump on and beat up.

“Jongdae? Darling? How old are you?” the Duchess prompts, bowing her head to look at her son.

“I’m seven,” Jongdae squeaks out, trembling.

Minseok doesn’t remember looking so frail when he was seven.

“Do you hear that?” the Queen exclaims. “Minseok here is but nine. I believe you two would be excellent playmates. Don’t you agree?”

“Oh.” The Duchess coughs. “I very much do.”

Minseok’s eyes travel from his mother, to the Duchess, both of their faces twinned in scheming wonder as they smile at each other; suddenly, he doesn’t feel so good anymore, as the Queen goads him towards a watery-eyed Jongdae.

“Go on,” she says, prodding the back of Minseok’s blue tunic. “My son, Minseok...he’s just a little shy, after all,” the Queen mutters.

“I’m not shy,” Minseok complains, stamping his little foot on the ground. The Duchess laughs, grabbing Jongdae’s tiny, trembling hand as he hides behind the skirt of her tea dress.

“Don’t be afraid, Dae-Dae,” she says. “It’s a new friend.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of, darling.”

“He looks so big.”

The Queen breaks into a bright smile, ruffling Minseok’s hair. “There’s nothing to be scared of, sweetheart,” she says to Jongdae. “Minseok here is very kind, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“I don’t want to play with a baby.”

“Minseok!” the Queen blanches, simultaneously as the Duchess laughs it off, releasing her son’s hand to move herself a step closer.

“How about this?” she says, leaning down to Minseok’s height. “I’ll give you some of those blueberry tarts if you go play with Jongdae for a bit. Just a little bit, and if you don’t like it, you can come right back.”

“I don’t want blueberry tarts.”

“Are you sure?” the Duchess says, walking off to the little table in the garden. She returns with a handkerchief in hand, lifting the edges of the lace fabric to reveal a tartlet, dark purple filling shining against the glimmer of golden glazed crust. The smell of warm, browned sugar wafts towards Minseok’s nose, changing his mind almost instantaneously.

“I’ll play,” he declares, to the audible joy of his mother. “But only for a little bit.”

“Excellent,” the Duchess says, handing over the sweet. She pushes her son encouragingly, Jongdae stumbling towards Minseok reluctantly. “Jongdae, darling, why don’t you and Minseok go play? Go play, okay? Have fun!”

Jongdae pouts, a sickening look that makes even little Minseok’s stomach turn.

“Go on,” the Queen adds. “We’ll be right here by the time you get back. Time flies when you’re having fun!”

“Come on,” Minseok growls, jerking his head in a faraway direction. Jongdae takes a quivering step towards him, averting his eyes.

“You don’t know where you’re going,” he says sassily, wrinkling his nose. “This is my home.”

Minseok’s hands ball up into fists as Jongdae turns his nose up haughtily, passing him.

“Go have fun, children!” the Duchess cries, giving the two princes a little wave as they walk off into the garden. The Queen moves closer, standing by her side, a wistful look on her face.

“You think they’ll get along?”

“I hope so,” the Duchess says. “We would get plenty of time to catch up with palace gossip with each other, like the old days, if so.”

“Brilliant,” the Queen replies. “Absolutely brilliant.”

“I don’t want to play here,” Minseok says frankly. “This is gross.” His reflection ripples over the greenish looking water. Standing by the edge of the pond, the tops of his shoes barely skim the edge of the cesspool; well, it seems more like a miniature swamp as far as he can tell, an unsightly blotch in the middle of an otherwise pristine garden.

He half-expected to be led to a lavish playroom like the one he occupied in his own castle, but instead, Jongdae had shown him the way to an ugly, overgrown puddle, covered with a thin film of brownish moss. And of course, Minseok thinks, staring at Jongdae, who kneels down near the pond, this would be the weirdo’s definition of fun.

Swatting a bug off his face with the back of his hand, Minseok stares downwards, into the green pool, the ripples on the surface glinting in the sunlight. Something dark and shapely darts around in the water, and he makes a face.

“Must we play here?” he says, turning around to complain.

“Yes,” Jongdae says, crouching down to wash his hands in the filth; an action that Minseok makes no attempt to hide his reaction to. “I play here all the time. What’s wrong?”

“It’s icky,” Minseok says, spinning in a circle. There’s a ring of large stones arranged on the edge of the pond; he picks the cleanest rock to sit down on, frowning. A dragonfly flutters onto his lap, and he screams, brushing it off his pantalons.

He’s infuriated that Jongdae has the nerve to laugh as he perches himself beside him, knocking the dragonfly off Minseok with ease. The bug flits away harmlessly, the blue scales on its back iridescent in the yellow sunlight.

“You’re older than me, but you’re still scared of a little bug?”

“It’s not some little bug!” Minseok says back.

“Is too!”

“No it’s not!” Grumpily, Minseok opens the lace handkerchief. The tart stares up at him, and he forgets about proving himself right, his mouth watering at the sight of the pastry. He brings it up to opened lips, teeth positioned for a generous bite. He can see Jongdae’s two eyes pressed into annoyed lines, and Minseok’s mouth stretches into an expression of satisfaction as he chews, making a genuine, albeit exaggerated show of the deliciousness of the butter and jam that coats his mouth.

“Can I have some?” Jongdae asks suddenly. “My mother doesn’t let me eat many sweets.”

Letting the words fly over his head, Minseok digs his finger into the center, pulling out a dollop of violet colored jam. Despite all his reservations, he feels the slightest spark of guilt as he watches Jongdae’s dumbstruck face morph into a mask of practiced hurt while Minseok kisses the sugar off his own hand. It makes him ponder for a while, longer than he would like, whether the taste of revenge would be even sweeter.

Minseok swallows his reply. He eats around half of the tartlet, passing the rest of Jongdae. The way his face lights up as he munches on the sweet is mostly obnoxious; a little heartwarming too.

“Wait,” Minseok says, he leans over, brushing the crumbs off the ruffles on Jongdae’s collar. “Just so your mother doesn’t find out.”

“Thank you,” he replies. They both hide their smiles.

There’s no food the second time they meet, and Minseok has to do with Jongdae’s character alone. He’s not sure whether he’ll make it through the day or not. He’s not very fond of the stupid pond that Jongdae keeps bringing him to either. It’s hot and wet today, the rim of the cesspool coated with slick mud, and Minseok nearly falls into the putrid water as he traverses the edge of the pool, trailing Jongdae’s shadow as he hops around.

“This isn’t fun,” he complains, scratching the collar of his sweater. Jongdae barely turns his head, lips bunched in concentration.

“Jongdae!” Minseok says, waving his hands to get his attention. “Can we please go play somewhere else?”

“Be quiet!” Jongdae hisses back, shushing a very taken-aback Minseok. “I’m looking for something.” He points downwards and as Minseok squints his eyes, focusing on the murky water, Jongdae switches positions once again, leaping to the other side of the pond.

“I don’t see anything,” Minseok concludes.

Jongdae huffs, kneeling down on the soggy moss in his breeches. “That’s because you’re not very bright.”

“Brighter than you!” Minseok says skittishly, approaching a tense Jongdae. “Will you at least tell me what we’re looking for?”

“...Okay, but you have to promise not to tell my mother.”

“Why? Is it that bad?”

“Promise?” Jongdae asks again, snaking his pinky towards Minseok’s open hand.

“Pinky promises are for babies.”

“You’re so annoying,” Jongdae says, leaning forwards onto the balls of his feet. He points his finger into the water, trailing the shadow of a drifting shape that bobs idly under a patch of yellowed algae. “I’m looking for those things.”

“That looks like a piece of poop.”

“It is a frog, Minseok. Haven’t you ever seen one before?”

Minseok places his finger on his chin, thinking of his mother’s apiary, the palace horses, or the circus tiger that lives in the dungeon of his castle home, rumored to eat condemned prisoners of the state. “No, I don’t suppose I have,” he finally tells Jongdae, who scoffs.

“You’re not very worldly then. When I catch a frog, I’ll show you.”

“You’re going to catch one of those things?” Minseok asks, eyes fixated on the blurred shape. “Why would you ever want one?” The look that Jongdae gives him makes him want to shrink back in his skin, a searing expression of disbelief.

“I’m gonna find my princess, of course.”

There’s nothing in Minseok’s mouth, so he resorts to spitting out air.

“My tutor taught me so. He read me a bedtime story about a girl who kissed a frog, and it turned into a prince, and then they got married and fell in love, happily ever after.”

“Those are just stories, Jongdae! Stupid silly fairytales.”

“Well, I know my tutor would only tell me things that are true. And I want to find my fairytale princess too, so I’m going to catch a frog, and it doesn’t matter what you say!”

“It’s all the way down there,” Minseok says. “There’s no way you’ll ever get it.”

“No…I will,” Jongdae replies, vaulting over a rock to reach the other side of the pond. “I read a book about frogs. Sometimes they come to the surface.”

“This is silly,” Minseok says, following nonetheless.

“You’ll be the one who’s silly when I have a princess, and you don’t,” Jongdae says back, blowing out a raspberry. He parts a grove of cattails floating by the side of the water, and gasps.

“What is it?” Minseok asks, poking his head around. “What?”

Wordlessly, Jongdae flicks his chin forwards. “I’ve found one,” he mouths.

Frogs are rather grotesque. It takes too much effort to catch one, and Minseok resorts to standing there helplessly as Jongdae reaches around, lunging and splashing the dirty water on his shirt sleeves. He manages to pull a rather unassuming amphibian off a stray lilypad, placing it on the speckled surface of a nearby rock for examination. As Minseok leans closer to watch Jongdae fiddle with the inert animal, he can’t help but gag, a tiny hint of bile working its way back up his throat.

Everything about the frog appals his senses. It has a horrible stench, something dirty and fishy at once, and the longer Minseok looks, the worse he feels. Beady yellow eyes stare back at him, coated with a whitish film that looks absolutely sickening. Jongdae picks up a little twig from the ground, prodding the frog’s skin; a greenish brown, and lumpy too, like moldy morning oats.

It croaks weakly in response, a string of slime hanging from its mouth.

“You look as green as that frog,” Jongdae says, completely unfazed.

“It’s so gross…” Minseok utters. “So...icky.”

“That’s because it’s been cursed. What if you're secretly talking to a princess, but you don’t know it yet? What if it’s secretly beautiful and really really rich? Then when the frog turns back into a princess, she’ll be really mad at you! It won’t want to marry a rude person, so what will you do then?”

“But it’s so ugly. It’s nothing like a princess!”

“Minseok, have you ever even met a real princess?”

“Well, no. But I have a good idea of them.”

Rolling his eyes, Jongdae peels the frog off the rock with a squicky sound. “I’ll show you whether or not it’s a princess then,” he says to Minseok confidently. He leans forth, puckering his lips, and the frog croaks weakly.

Minseok wants to hurl his lunch into the pond, as soon as he spies the trickle going down Jongdae’s arm. It dribbles off his elbow, spreading into a faint yellow stain on the hem of Jongdae’s shirt as he presses his mouth against the frog’s.

The painfully amusing sight afterwards is almost worth not seeing a beautiful princess manifest before his eyes. Minseok just wishes Jongdae weren’t so optimistic. As the two princes walk back to the gazebo, Jongdae doesn’t stop running his mouth about potential hypotheses of why it didn’t work.

“Most princes have to kiss more frogs to find the perfect princess,” he explains, as Minseok pretends to listen. Jongdae’s trail of thought is cut off by his mother, who gasps in horror, running down the path at once to greet the boys.

“Jongdae!” the Duchess cries, clamping her hand over her mouth. “Look at this dreadful mess! Imagine how the launderer will feel when he sees this!”

“That’s what you pay them for,” Jongdae replies, kicking at the ground with his shoe. A droplet of mud flies up, splattering on his already filthy breeches, and the Duchess shakes her head vehemently.

“He’s a cheeky one,” the Queen laughs, approaching the group from behind. She sips at a teacup in her hand, a cranberry scone in the other. “We’ve made a monster of playmates, haven’t we?”

“Wait until I get you home!” the Duchess chastises, shaking Jongdae’s limp arm. “This is more than a fair bit of trouble you’ve gotten yourself in!”

“We were kissing frogs-” Minseok starts, but the withering glare from Jongdae is enough to shut him up, to let him know that this is their secret, from now on.

They can’t afford to make the long trip more than twice a month, but Minseok relishes the excursions to the other kingdom. Every moment of it, from the time he steps foot in the wretched carriage, to playing around in the palace garden with Jongdae, his new...although he’d never admit it, friend. He supposes he can call Jongdae his friend now; after all, they had gone to each other’s eighth and tenth birthday parties, although Minseok remembered not writing down Jongdae’s name on his invitation list at all.

“I have a plan this time,” Jongdae says, as they walk towards the pond. He’s dressed in shorts and a collared shirt for the day, stained with a splotch of clotted cream from their brunch of scones, a far cry from Minseok’s stifling royal jumper and linen slacks. “We are going to find the ugliest frog in the pond today, and kiss that!”

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Minseok starts.

“Why not?” Jongdae asks. “After all, the most ugly things have the most inner beauty.”

“But most of the time,” Minseok points out, “they’re just plain ugly.”

“I swear!” Jongdae says, running up to the pond and gazing into the all-too familiar water. “My tutor Junmyeon read me Beauty and the Beast last night! He told me that the reason the enchantress made the Beast so ugly was so no princess would ever like him.”

“Well,” Minseok says, quirking an eyebrow, “that sounds like you.”

Jongdae splashes him with a handful of the pond scum, enough to make him sputter pathetically.

“You better not say that again,” he warns Minseok, who picks a speckle of dirt off his sleeve. “I’m not ugly! My mother tells me I’m handsome all the time!”

“That’s because she’s your mother! She has to tell you those things.”

“...I’m telling on you!” Jongdae threatens, his voice rising an octave as he kneels down, his legs brushing against the pond bed. “I’ll get my princess to swear revenge on you too, for extra effect!”

“That’s if you ever find her,” Minseok cackles. “How many of those frogs have you kissed so far, Jongdae?”

“...Maybe fifteen?”

He blanches as Jongdae reaches into the water, pulling out a docile brown polliwog with lumpy skin.

“Please be a princess, please be a princess,” Jongdae cries as he squeezes his eyes shut. One hand holds up the frog, the other crosses its fingers, and he leans in, planting a big, sloppy kiss on the unreceptive animal. As soon as he’s done, it drops like a dead weight back into the pond.

“Are you okay?” Minseok asks, cocking his head to the side. He waves a hand in front of Jongdae’s catatonic frame.

“I don’t feel very good…”

“Poison toad,” the nurse says, bowing to the Duchess as she enters the infirmary, taking slow steps into the dimly lit visiting hall. For once, lines mar the Duchess’ usually youthful face as she kneels down by her son’s bedside, placing a hand over Jongdae’s cold, clammy forehead. He lies still in the sheets, his lips parted, face pale.

A young nurse with a tin pail in his hand rushes over, bowing. “Good morning, your grace,” he announces.

“He’s not gravely ill, is he?”

“No, nothing of that sort,” the female nurse replies, waving her hand slightly. “A little poison is all.”

“A...poisoning?” the Duchess swoons.

“Nothing worse than eating spoiled food, is all,” the male nurse buts in.

“So, poisoned toad?” The Duchess thinks, biting the corner of her lip in distress until a bead of blood bubbles to the surface. “That’s almost preposterous. I can’t begin to imagine how he’d get exposed to such a strange thing!”

“Perhaps the pond?” the female nurse suggests, heading over to drape a cool towel over Jongdae’s lulled head. “He’ll be up and running in no more than two days. I’d suggest you not lose sleep over this.”

The Duchess reaches over, taking Jongdae’s hand in her own. “I suppose there would be toads in the pond, I haven’t checked. But you wouldn’t be silly enough to mess with those, would you, Jongdae?”

From his bed, Jongdae grumbles gruffly, and the two nurses laugh.

“Did you know the average person has to kiss twenty eight frogs before they find their soulmate?”

“I...that sounds really suspicious, actually.”

“It’s true,” Jongdae asserts, glancing at a highly skeptical Minseok.

“You shouldn’t be reading those fairytales anyways. You’re almost thirteen now!”

“I like stories,” Jongdae shrugs. “Besides, I’m almost there too. I’ve kissed at least twenty now.”

“Didn’t your mother tell us not to play by the pond anymore?”

“Well...yes.”

“So why are we even walking that way? Let’s go!” Minseok says, grabbing Jongdae and pulling him off in a different direction in the garden. His grip is shaken off, and Jongdae skips past him playfully, nearly tumbling into an indifferent servant, busied with trimming hedges into the shape of stars.

“Lighten up!” Jongdae says. “She told me that a while ago!”

“So you mean to say you’ve been disobeying her for a while,” Minseok corrects, amused.

With the slightest glance spared behind their shoulders, the two of them both turn towards the pond without a moment of hesitation.

Jongdae’s nose skims the bushes as he peers into the distance. The Queen and Duchess are but two colorful splotches in the distance, the faint sound of their lively laughter and conversation trickling into the open air.

“They’re still drinking tea,” Minseok says.

Jongdae grabs his wrist. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

They run the rest of the way wordlessly, trampling the garden path. Their newest victim is bright green, smooth-skinned. Jongdae kisses it, as always, whispering praise to the clueless poor thing, trying to exorcise the long lost princess underneath. When he’s done, he passes it to Minseok, who makes a face as he grips the slippery thing in his hand.

“I already regret kissing this,” he says.

“You haven’t even kissed it yet.”

“I forgot how nasty this was.” Minseok pecks the frog. Nothing happens. No glitter, no sparkles, and definitely no princess.

“Well,” Jongdae heaves. “Lucky twenty eight. It’s only your first one after all.”

The older he gets, the less he visits.

Fifteen and sixteen bring the onslaught of diplomatic work, and endless kingdom management lessons that make his head hurt more than the sword fighting or jousting competitions he takes part in. He even falls off his horse during one particularly horrid match in the rain, his stallion losing it’s footing on the slippery ground. Minseok’s ambivalent to complain about a broken leg, long as he gets to miss the arduous two-hour history lectures with Seohyun.

Soon, his once weekly trips to the second estate turn into months, and monthly trips space themselves to once or twice a year at most. Minseok’s mother still visits the Duchess ritually, but he doesn’t tag along often. It simply wouldn’t be fair; Jongdae’s of age fourteen, old enough to have his own excursions too; learning to ride horses, partaking in botany, and poring over history manuscripts.

The Duchess sends Minseok rose pastries and good wishes each time the carriage pulls back to the castle. On the rare occasions he does see Jongdae again, they head straight to the pond, nasty as ever, and talk while kissing all the frogs they can catch, hoping to find their happily ever after, no matter how inconsequential it is.

“Are you up to twenty eight yet?” Minseok asks.

“I don’t really kiss frogs when you’re not around,” Jongdae replies, dropping a mild-seeming amphibian back into the water. “I just think, if I find my princess, you should be there so I can rub it in your face.”

Minseok makes a face. He makes the same face again when the carriage pulls away from the castle, Jongdae standing on the ground, waving to him until Minseok can’t see the red of his cardigan in the distance anymore.

Minseok sees green all over the place at home, reminding him of Jongdae. Once in a while, he gets envelopes from the embassy, waxed with a silver seal. When opened, they reveal a blatantly inelegant scrawl transcribed all over parchment paper that never fails to make him smile, whining and complaining even in prose.

He keeps Jongdae’s letters in a wooden bookcase.

”Happy seventeenth, my dear!” the Queen says, pulling Minseok into an embrace outside the castle grounds. The tip of his nose brushes against her silvery hair, and he smiles, relaxing into the hug.

“Thank you, mother,” Minseok says, shaking her arms off of him. He pulls out a burnished pocket watch from his vest, clicking his tongue sharply. “I can’t stay long, though. I have statecraft talks in a few minutes, and I need to make it to the athenaeum quickly.”

“Forget the conference,” the Queen says, holding on to her puzzled son. She examines him from a length, and Minseok’s worried that there’s something on his face. “It’s your birthday, sweetheart. Just relax on this special day. Nothing should be bogging you down like this. It’s preposterous, and if I were you, I’d dutifully miss it.”

“I just can’t forget about something like this...I practiced my speech for hours!”

“I know,” the Queen says. “Your steward told me so.”

Minseok flushes red. “You don’t mean he heard…”

“The frustrated screaming, yes.” The Queen straightens her posture. “But that’s not what I meant. It’s fair time you get a break too, and you’ve been working so hard.”

“I enjoy it,” Minseok says genuinely. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I mean that I arranged a surprise for you today, my dear, so you better not go to that talk instead.”

Realization hits him quickly. “Oh?” Minseok asks.

The Queen nods proudly. “I’ve already sent a caller to Seohyun’s door. He’ll be there at any second to let her know, and you can put your books aside too.”

The ride feels a lot shorter now that he’s older. Minseok admires the shape of the vaguely discernible buildings, coupled with the artful arrangement of green trees in the countryside, as the carriage jumps, criss-crossing over miles of road. His legs ache as he walks into the palace. The garden looks brighter, lusher than in his memories, and the castle is pinker too.

“Welcome!” the Duchess says, intercepting him in the courtyard. She presents a platter of flowered sugar cookies, waving them in front of Minseok’s face.

“It’s lovely to see you again,” the Queen says.

“Likewise,” the Duchess smiles. “Your son, Minseok. He looks like a king now. He’s grown mighty.”

“Yes,” the Queen beams proudly. “Today is his seventeenth!”

“Happy birthday, then!” the Duchess says. Minseok pries a cookie off the tray. “Take another cookie if it’s your birthday, sweetheart. Really, take them all! And what kind of person am I to forget a gift for you? Seventeen is truly a monumental age, isn’t it?”

“Really?” Minseok chews slowly, deliberating.

“Why, of course! It’s the cusp of childhood and adulthood, how could it not be! Here, have some more,” the Duchess says, handing Minseok two more cookies, that he fumbles in his hands. “My, I hope my Jongdae follows your example as he grows up. I certainly can’t picture him looking so refined in two years. He’s still crying and acting up every other day, really! You need to hang around him some more, like you did when you were children. Those letters simply aren’t doing it! We need you to instill some old-fashioned good influence in him!”

Minseok swallows. “I wish I could’ve, but I simply don’t have the time these days.”

“Is that so?” the Duchess says, surprised. “Surely, you could make time for him! You two were the best of friends when you were children, always playing in the dirty, muddy water and such, do you remember?”

“I could never figure out what it was you two were doing,” the Queen says, adding her own commentary. “It was like you were playing a game of who could get their clothes the dirtiest.”

“Oh, bless the poor washermen,” the Duchess cries. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of grime that can hide inside a black shirt.”

“No, I remember. I really do remember,” Minseok says, wistfully, spinning a full circle. His eyes sweep across the estate. “Where is Jongdae? I'd like to greet him.”

“Silly me!” The Duchess smacks her own face. “I was doing all this remembering, and I still forgot. He’s...somewhere...”

“A wild spirit perhaps,” the Queen asks. “Does he like to wander off?”

“Oh, he’s a little ditzy,” the Duchess replies, clearing her throat. “Jongdae! Dae-Dae! Where are you!”

There’s audible rustling, from somewhere, a voice that comes from the bushes unnervingly.“Mother! I keep begging you not to use that nickname!”

“Why not?” the Duchess says. “You better come out from wherever you are, or I will use it again!”

“Coming!” the disembodied voice groans back. “Please stop.”

He’s almost unrecognizable. Tousled hair with a leaf sticking out from it, bright irises hidden under long eyelashes, and the familiar curved mouth, a smile almost evading him; Minseok does a double take.

“You’re bitter that I've reached your height already,” Jongdae says, grin turned teasing. “I can hear the frogs croaking in agreement with me.”

“It could be that,” Minseok says, pulling off his dress socks and stuffing them in his loafers. He wades into the pond, until the greenish water reaches mid-calf, and bends over.

“I stole one of my mother’s socks,” Jongdae says, holding up a pair of sheer hosiery.

“That’s absolutely awful,” Minseok replies, making a face.

“Not quite. I can make nets. It won’t be so messy, anyways.”

“Since when did you care about mess?”

“People grow up,” Jongdae replies, basking in the sunlight. He’s sprawled himself across a boulder as he talks, golden rays beating down to cast a glow across his face. “Maybe you shouldn’t be in that pond. My mother says they found a dead body in the moat of some castle a few kingdoms away.”

“You’re gonna be the only dead body around here,” Minseok warns him, throwing a look over his shoulder at Jongdae, who sits up straight, startling. “Besides, how else would I find my princess?”

“Take the sock,” Jongdae says, throwing bunched up pantyhose. Minseok fishes it out of the water.

He nets two frogs, one green, the other olive.

“Please be my princess,” Jongdae coos to one of them. “I have a good kingdom, and I can make you happy.”

The frog makes a burbling sound. Minseok snorts.

“Surely there’s something else you’d rather kiss than that...animal, right?” he asks, holding his own frog up to gently puckered lips. “Have you ever practiced yet?”

Jongdae looks at him quizzically, eyes sparkling mischievously. “Perhaps. The stable girl doesn’t look too willing though.”

“At least it’s a stable girl, not an actual horse, Jongdae.”

“True. I don’t like spending time around her though. She smells like the barn, and horse droppings. The worst of all is she’s not good fun, like you are.”

“Really?” Minseok says through a blush, and gritted teeth. “What do you mean by that, then?”

Jongdae hums in response. “Junmyeon says to say what you mean, and mean what you say, Minseok. It’s simply an aphorism.” He throws his head back, laughing wittily at his own joke as he grips the frog firmly in one hand.

Jongdae truly has a brilliant smile; the kind that splits his cheeks in two.

Minseok can’t help but beam back.

Minseok meets his first real princess but a year later. It’s not the way he imagined, in the confines of a swamp. He sees her wandering in the castle on his way to jousting practice, flanked by half-a-dozen bodyguards. He catches a glimpse of her face; she even smiles at him a little bit. Her grin is cold, icy, so unlike Jongdae’s open beam, that Minseok is almost disconcerted.

“You’re eighteen,” the Queen tells him, setting one of her veined hands on his shoulders. “You’ve reached the age of courting.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about it,” Minseok answers, dropping his eyes to the floor. “It’s a little uncomfortable.”

“It’ll be fine. It’ll go smoothly, I assure you. I’ve arranged you a date with her,” the Queen says. “She won’t bite you, and if you can get this to work, it would be excellent, in perhaps...forging an alliance or two.”

Minseok feels sick at the thought of his affection being pawned off as a political tool. Despite it, he finds himself in the grand room a few hours later, chatting up a girl who looks surprisingly, even less receptive than he is. She sits in a chair opposite him, her hair done in a soft twist, her body almost swallowed whole by her green tulle dress.

“Princess Irene from Reve,” the herald announces, before disappearing, leaving an unfortunate Minseok alone. He looks around the room, his voice drying up at any attempt of conversation.

“Are you a frog?” he manages to say, the lame joke escaping his lips.

“Sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Are you a frog? Because, you’re a princess.”

“Oh. Heh.” The corner of Irene’s mouth twitches. “I’ve read that book too, when I was younger. But it’s nothing like that. I simply like this shade of green. Reminds me of spring. And frogs. That too.”

Minseok can’t help his disappointment. The color reminds him of how bitterly he misses his childhood; Jongdae too. It’s gutting really, he thinks. Jongdae would’ve laughed, at least snorted, fired back with one of his witty remarks.

“You can stop with the jokes,” Irene says abruptly, when he makes another one about teeth and crowns. “I don’t think I’ll ever like you.”

“Is my humor really that repulsive?” Minseok replies, cheeks reddening.

“No. I’m just not into this marriage stuff. And it’s nothing personal either,” she adds quickly. “But I can give you a position in my court, if it saves both of us.”

“Surely…”

“I mean it. I have my eye on another,” Irene says. “Another princess.” Her voice falters, eyes wary. “With all due respect, my prince, you don’t like me, right? Or else, that would be complicated.”

Minseok laughs airily. “What are you thinking of?”

Minseok is surprised by the frequency news travels around the kingdoms. Rumors travel faster than mail, but even those are in short supply around the palace these days. When Jongdae’s letters become spaced out, coming monthly instead of weekly and then at spontaneous moments throughout the year, wishing him happy eighteenth and nineteenth, Minseok finds himself reminiscing again, staring out the window blankly, watching carriages pass into the courtyard, peering out at his own family’s more modest garden.

Two summers pass in the blink of an eye, and at once, Minseok’s ready for coronation, in his twentieth year. It’s hard to fathom, the thought of an entire kingdom becoming his own. He’s whisked away in the dead of the night hours before the coronation ball, half-asleep as maids pat his face with powder and do his hair, dressing him in a ornate white ensemble, with far too many fiddly clasps adorning the front for his liking.

Minseok is duly unexcited to have the weight of a crown, nor the responsibility of a whole nation hanging over his head.

His mother allows him a peek at the lavish decorations she commissions for the dance; crystals hanging off the balusters, giant chandeliers dangling from the sloped roof, and an embarrassingly large grazing table covered with gleaming food; the likes of which can be smelled from the busy kitchen all the way from the other side of the castle.

He bats an eye at it all.

“The whole kingdom will be here tonight for your crowning!” his mother declares, her voice echoing off the grand windows in the ballroom. The Queen, moments away from tears, takes a pause, gazing at her son longingly. “You’re all grown up…and soon you’ll be king.”

“Right,” Minseok says, letting himself be pulled into a rather uncomfortable hug, the Queen’s lace dress scratching against his cheek.

“Aren’t you excited?” she asks.

“I am,” Minseok swears.

“Good,” the Queen says, picking up the edges of her gown as she descends the staircase. “The first guests will be arriving soon. I’d suggest you go out and escort them in. They’d be clamoring for a princely greeting.”

“Who did you invite?”

“Oh, the usual. You know what that means.”

“Of course.” Minseok runs his hand down the marble banisters. “I don’t suppose that excludes…”

“They were the first ones I invited. You haven’t seen him in a few months! You must be itching to. Tut-tut,” the Queen says. “I spy a carriage in the distance. You better go to them. They could be anyone.” With a wink at her unblinking son, she takes off, whisking herself to the palace kitchen to examine the quality of tonight’s serving dishes.

A sigh leaves Minseok.

His thinking is interrupted not long after, making him desperately wish for a little peace. Minseok startles at the sound of the magistra at the top of the staircase, fumbling noisily with her megaphone. He turns, and immediately, the woman drops into a low curtsy.

“Your future majesty,” Luna says. She stares at him through greenish eyes, obscured by a curtain of coppery brown hair. “I mean, your soon to be majesty, if that’s what you prefer. Soon to be majesty sounds better, though.”

“I’d wish you wouldn’t say that,” Minseok sighs, walking down the steps to welcome the first batch of guests.

“You look enchanting,” Minseok says, offering his gloved hand to Jongdae from the ground below. Jongdae takes it, descending the steps of the carriage with the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks.

“Shouldn’t you be saying that to all the ladies instead?”

“Practicing,” Minseok explains, and Jongdae rolls his eyes affectionately. He’s dressed in a teal ensemble with a green ascot to match, the faintest hint of pink dusting across his cheeks as he enters the ballroom.

“She really went all out, eh?”

“A far cry,” Minseok says. “I heard she might have asked the cooks to grind diamonds into the pastry puffs.”

“Crunchy,” Jongdae remarks, climbing the stairs to the top of the ballroom.

The magistra of ceremony jovially takes his announcement card, tipping her bowler hat at Jongdae in courtesy.

“Good morning, Luna,” Jongdae says, folding himself into a bow. Luna curtsies, hands holding out an invisible skirt as her checkered trousers swish around her legs.

“You look ravishing tonight,” Jongdae tells the blushing girl, kissing her hand.

“Likewise, Prince Jongdae. Not too bad yourself.” Her eyes shoot up, and down, chewing the corner of her lip. “Very dashing. The color suits you.” She extends a hand, running sleek fingers down his suit jacket, and then staggering back into a swoon as Jongdae winks at her.

“Some praise, for a lady as well dressed as yourself,” he shoots right back. Luna’s dopey look shines straight through her eyes.

Something flares up inside Minseok as he watches, suppressed as quickly as it blooms. Jongdae busies himself chatting up the flustered magistra, and Minseok leaves them, mood dour. He pivots towards the grand doors instead, ready to welcome the two young countesses loitering outside the castle.

The party is in full swing by the stroke of evening. Real princesses mulling around that do hardly anything to pique his interest, Minseok relaxes by the edge of the room, a glass of seltzer in his hand as he mingles with a viscount and a peppy baron.

“I like this music,” Chanyeol, the count, tells him. The baron, Baekhyun agrees, downing a flute of sparkling wine; the fourth one of the night slipping down his throat.

Minseok finds the diminutive orchestral playing in the background quite boring, and he bites his tongue. “Have you two danced tonight? I hear this new tune is popular for waltzing.”

“No,” Baekhyun replies, snaking his arm into Chanyeol’s, pulling him gently to the ballroom floor. “That’s actually a good idea, really. If you don’t mind, the two of us will be off.”

“Not at all,” Minseok says, actually rather glad to see off their departure. His focus is only on one person tonight.

Jongdae sits faraway, on the opposite side of the hall, swamped by a sea of dancing gentry. His back pressed up against the wall, Minseok barely catches a glimpse of the blue suit. He’s disappeared to the tables for most of the excursion, opting to eat pastries all evening with a girl in a striped tights, Lady Wendy. They’d make a pair, the two of them, with similarly boisterous laughs and easy smiles.

Something smacks against him uncomfortably. Minseok jerks his stare away.

“Good day,” Princess Irene says, tapping one of his epaulets with the back of her fan. She’s dressed in a sheath gown, pink lace trailing down her coltish figure. Finery draped around her neck, she does a full pirouette playfully, coming to a dramatic stop.

“Good day to you as well,” Minseok says respectfully. He folds into a deep bow, and Irene responds with a curtsy that almost has her on the ground before she rises.

“Congratulations on your coronation.”

“Likewise,” Minseok says, before covering his mouth in horror. Irene simply laughs, turning away.

“Don’t worry.” Dark hair falling down her back as she walks off to the top of the ballroom, Minseok watches, entranced.

“Wait,” he says, chasing her up the stairs.

Irene stops dead in her tracks. She peeks out from behind her coral-colored fascinator, the corners of her red mouth upturned. “I don’t suppose you’d be bold enough as to ask for my hand in marriage today, your Highness.”

“Hardly,” Minseok replies, amused. The back of Irene’s dress sweeps the marble steps as she descends the staircase.

“Should we dance to make those around us green?” she asks mischievously. “I’d hate to draw attention to myself after all.”

Minseok’s eyes wander over his shoulder. “I suppose I can’t refuse an offer like that, my Princess.”

Irene gives him a knowing smile, closing the distance between them on the ballroom with a few clacks of her jeweled heels. Minseok reaches for her, his lips brushing against her cold knuckles as he brings her pale hand to his mouth. There’s whispering among the aristocrats near them as Irene settles against him, so close her breath scratches against Minseok’s ear. His hands clasp hers, one of his arms snaking to her back as they sway around on the dance floor, passing by the sea of billowing dresses and tuxedos.

They make a show of waltzing over to the appetizer table.

He can feel Jongdae’s gaze practically searing into his back. Jongdae’s dropped mouth is a sweet victory, even more so when he gets up from his plate of lobster claws, leaving Wendy munching on a tower of pheasant wings alone.

Minseok is too aware of Irene loosening beside him, white teeth flashing as she grins cleverly, and then twirls herself out of his reach, disappearing behind a cluster of fawning princesses; a convenient occurrence just as Jongdae saunters over.

He wastes no time at all.

“May I have this dance?” Minseok asks, extending his hand. Jongdae turns, the chandelier lights glinting off his face. He looks absolutely wondrous in the pale glow of the ballroom, crystal lights shimmering over his features, and for a moment, Minseok forgets to breathe.

“Absolutely,” Jongdae says, sliding his hand into his.

They step onto the floor together, landing into the first figure.

“That green ascot makes you look rather like a frog,” Minseok says.

“Stop talking right now,” Jongdae replies as he’s spun around.

“What’s wrong with frogs?” Minseok asks, suddenly feeling adventurous. “You’ve kissed plenty of them.”

Jongdae grimaces, missing a few steps as he stifles his embarrassment. “We don’t talk about it. In other news, it’s hot in here.”

“So it may be.” Minseok shuffles forwards. “Maybe you’ve been eating too much all night. I hear spicy foods get you. Alcohol does too, especially combined with such an extravagant kind of feasting.”

“You noticed.”

“You cleared off half the table in your gluttony. How could I not?” Minseok cries, twirling him all the way to the corner of the ballroom.

The doors are shoved wide open to let the breeze flow through the grand room, and they both think the same thing at once. A single glance into Jongdae’s mischievous eyes, and then around the inconspicuous patrons.

They both slip outside, running out of the castle.

The fountain is burbling as they skip down the cobblestone path. It’s the closest thing to a pond in Minseok’s palace. The two of them sit down on the marble basin, admiring the view. From the outside of the castle, the comforts of the ballroom seem a world away.

“I forgot to congratulate you on your new kingship,” Jongdae says.

“Please, don’t,” Minseok replies. “Nothing to congratulate me on if I’m not looking forward to it anyways.”

“That’s unfortunate. I just thought...it was funny how we’re all grown now, and you’re about to have a whole kingdom. I half-expected your mother to pop out of nowhere and place the crown on your head.”

“I’d almost prefer that,” Minseok says, “over all this extravagance.”

“You don’t like parties? But all your birthday parties were so fancy! Remember your tenth? You had a ten-tier cake. With ten different flavours of frosting, and ten colors of marzipan.”

“It’s not the same. This feels more like a show.”

Jongdae hums. “I’d like this kind of show. When are you getting coronated?”

“Soon,” Minseok says. “Tonight.”

“How long do we have to celebrate the rest of our princehood?”

“A while,” Minseok says weakly. “I’m not sure how we’d celebrate anyways.”

“I really missed you,” Jongdae blurts suddenly. “Remember when we used to kiss frogs?”

“A simpler time,” Minseok reflects.

“Because we thought they’d turn into princesses?”

“Which was before we found out how awful actual princesses are,” Minseok finishes for Jongdae. They share a laugh.

“I really, really missed you,” Jongdae sighs. “Did I ever tell you how many frogs I got to kiss?”

“No?”

“Twenty seven. One off.” Jongdae holds up a finger, before letting it drop into his lap. “Still haven’t found my princess yet, so I’m betting the house on the last frog.”

“Seems awfully risky,” Minseok muses.

“All or nothing.” Jongdae picks himself up from his seat on the edge of the fountain, crouching down in the grass. “I bet there’s probably frogs around here too, waiting to be freed from their curses.” He scours the lush lawn of the castle, before pointing at an inconspicuous patch of grass.

Minseok watches, astounded.

“It’s slimier… and grosser than I remember,” Jongdae says, returning with a croaking polliwog in his hand. He has the grin of a triumphant, stupid man on his face, and Jongdae holds up the frog victoriously, sitting down to show it proudly to Minseok, who wrinkles his nose in response.

“This is absolutely disgusting,” he says, sticking out his tongue.

He notices Jongdae staring at him. “You used to do this all the time with me.”

“Maybe we were always disgusting. Maybe I just forgot.”

A smile creeps onto Jongdae’s face. “So,” he asks, proffering the compliant frog, “do you want to kiss it first, or should I?”

“I think I’ll pass, really. Can’t have a sick stomach when I go up there in front of all those nobles.”

“Fair point.” Jongdae holds his nose. “Why does it smell so strange?”

The frog makes a sound, offended.

“Careful,” Minseok says. “That’s your future princess.”

“I’m beginning to think,” Jongdae replies, “that if this doesn’t work, I may never find her.”

“If she’s not here, then she’s somewhere in there,” Minseok says, gesturing to the ballrooms. “You could meet her tonight, if you weren’t so busy putting your mouth over all those snacks.”

“If I had known you would be so mad,” Jongdae scoffs, pulling up the sleeves of his blazer, “I would’ve danced with you a little longer.”

“Don’t talk anymore. Kiss the girl,” Minseok says, nodding his chin towards the frog. He pats the fountain surface beside him, and Jongdae takes a seat, holding in a hopeful breath. The night air seems to shimmer magically, the frog gleaming in the dim illumination of the courtyard.

“I love you, and please be a princess,” Jongdae chokes out. “Also, please marry me when you change, because I’m not sure anyone else will.”

At once, he leans forth, pressing a big, sloppy peck on the frog’s foamy lips. They both wait, dumbstruck. A gurgling sound escapes from the animal, that rattles even Minseok.

“What in the world?” Jongdae asks, horrified as the frog begins to convulse in his hands. He flails around helplessly as the polliwog starts to wiggle around, trying his very best to get a good grip on it’s slippery skin.

“Let go of it!” Minseok cries.

“I can’t!” Jongdae wails, fighting for control. He stands up, stumbling backwards awkwardly as the frog hops midair, splashing into the fountain.

“Be careful!”

“I’m trying to,” Jongdae groans, pawing at the water. The frog swims around the basin in taunting circles, evading his grabby hands.

“Leave it then,” Minseok says. “It’s just a frog!”

“My princess.” Jongdae speaks melodramatically, throat scratching with longing. “Come to me…” He lunges forth in a sudden jerk, with far too much confidence in his broken sense of balance.

Minseok catches him at the right second, wrapping his hands around the bottom half of Jongdae’s torso. It works, preventing him from getting sopping wet.

His foresight can’t prepare him for the unfortunate consequence of pulling someone into his lap. Nor can it for inevitably kissing them accidentally, the top of his lips bumping against Jongdae’s teeth ungracefully, leaving the both of them sputtering as they pull apart almost as instantaneously as it happens.

“I am...so sorry,” Minseok manages to get out, desperation creeping into his voice as Jongdae stands, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

His stomach practically hits the ground when Jongdae breaks into a sprint down the path, escaping into the castle without him.

He doesn’t have the resolve anymore. Minseok sits there for what feels like a blisteringly long year, before peeling himself from the confines of the fountain. He supposes he should chase, put up a big fight or a dazzling display of vigor to get Jongdae back, yet as he walks back towards the ballroom, he’s unaware as to which direction he should even start.

Slipping past throngs of dancing couples and pretentious looking princes, he scales the stairs two at a time, reaching the bumbling magistra, who sits on a stool, daydreaming and completely neglecting her job. Minseok taps her on the shoulder gently; she falls over on the chair before transitioning into awkward half-curtsy.

“Your...Highness!” she all but shrieks. Unfolding herself, Luna steps back, a morose expression on her face. “What is it? You look awfully pale.”

“I’m afraid I’ve lost one of my guests.”

“Lost? Why, how can you lose someone if you don’t own them?”

“Have you happened to see Jongdae, perhaps? Just in the last few minutes.”

“Strangely, I thought he was with you…” Luna says, rubbing her chin in concentration. Minseok’s skin crawls with his impatience. “He ran inside like a madman a while ago. I’m sure he’s somewhere in the ballroom, you will probably just have to search.”

Minseok turns his gaze out at the swarm of gowns and suits, ashen faced. “You wouldn’t happen to know which direction he went?”

“Beyond me,” Luna shrugs. “Perhaps I should call him.”

“Please...don’t do that,” Minseok pleads, his hands stretched out. The horror that pervades him when Luna brings her bugle to her lips nonetheless, playing a little ditty; it’s overwhelming.

“Ahem!” she says gravelly, clearing her throat. “If there is a certain Jongdae in the ballroom, they would do good to reveal themselves now, especially since his royal Highness, soon to be Majesty, is awaiting him.”

“That’s not formality,” a snub-nosed marquess gripes from the ground. Luna sticks her tongue out.

The crowd swells, and then parts like a sea, diverging to make a single path from the stairs down the arched doors of the ballroom. There’s rustling, a fair bit of shoving and pinching of extremities.

Luna turns. “He’s not in here, your Highness...soon to be Majesty.”

“I understand,” Minseok says, bowing his head stiffly. The trumpet ditty plays once again as the crowd dismisses, ringing hollow in his ears. His outfit stifling, he heads towards the balconies, in desperate need of fresh air.

"Of course you would find me here.” Jongdae barely turns, his elbows draped over the banister. It overlooks the western face of the castles, the windows thrown open to reveal a dark-bluish sky, the faint beginnings of night setting over the land.

“Of course you would be here too,” Minseok mutters out of the side of his mouth. He takes a place beside Jongdae, who shuffles away to make space. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have.”

“No...I’m sorry. It was an accident, and I understand. I didn’t mean to run off there. I was just really...I didn’t know what to do about it.”

“You hated it, didn’t you? Did you really expect a princess after all those frogs?”

“Maybe not.” Jongdae places his hand on top of Minseok’s, feeling his breath catch in his throat. “Can I, your Highness?” he asks, gaze softening.

“Do what?” Minseok replies, glancing around cluelessly. Jongdae’s hands snake upwards, cupping his face.

“Don’t worry, your Highness,” he whispers.

The kiss is much sweeter the second time around. Sparks jump between their lips, and feeling bold, Minseok leans in, threading his fingers into Jongdae’s hair.

They both giggle when they pull away.

“I like this,” Jongdae tells him afterwards, whispering the words into his ear like a stolen confession. “Is it too soon to say that?” he babbles, squeezing Minseok’s hand. “I mean, I’ve only kissed you once, but I’ve known you for so long...it seems awfully easy to say, which it shouldn’t be, because really, really liking someone is such a big deal but still...I do.”

“It should be easy,” Minseok says. “It should be easy to say, because if you’re absolutely sure of something, you don’t need to think about it. It just comes right out.”

Jongdae looks at the ground. “Oh.”

“I’m sure of it too,” Minseok continues, nudging Jongdae in the side playfully. “I like you too.”

“Kiss me again,” he asks. “Frogs are slimy, and I’d rather kiss you.”

“It would be a shame then,” Minseok says, levying a peck to the corner of Jongdae’s mouth, “if my mother would walk in on us right now.” He feels stiff fingers curl around the back of his neck, drawing him in as Jongdae turns to reciprocate, absolutely enamoured.

“I don’t know about that,” he tells Minseok, lips moving in the small space between their faces. “Imagine a political alliance. Think about that. Our kingdoms, together, I’m not sure either of our mothers would complain.”

Minseok captures him with yet another kiss. “You’re looking too far. The idea, it’s...enticing but we should just enjoy ourselves for now.”

“In what way?” Jongdae teases, letting himself be edged up over the railing. One hand snakes across Minseok’s shoulder, caressing his back. “Your majesty?” he hums fondly. “Is this very kingly behaviour?”

They’re interrupted by the deafening sound of Luna’s horn.

“The coronation is starting in five minutes,” she declares rather unspectacularly, to a chorus of confused murmurs, people snapped out of their indulgent dazes as they await her announcement. “So everyone...be there!” she threatens, frowning at the passive gentry.

Sliding their hands together with a smile, Minseok leads Jongdae back to the ballroom.

“Maybe kissing frogs did lead me to my happily ever after all. I may have not gotten a princess, but I got a king instead.”