Chapter Text
Blinding lights flickered through the auburn and elegant hall, cutting through the rows of chairs and tables where reporters were armed with microphones, pencils, and notebooks. Around the sea of lights stood tables draped in stitched ivory sheets with blue lace through the middle. In the middle of each table were decadent silver centerpiece placed in the middle with an arrangement of blue and white flowers high enough to graze the ceiling of the hall. At the front, three figures stood in front of the array of sweets, food, and decoration. On the left stood an older woman, dark hair that cascaded down to her waist, her fierce, determined gaze contrasting with the simple cotton blood and black slacks she wore. Next to her stood a man, rigid, his shoulders tense beneath the sharp grey suit he wore. His deadpan stare locked on the crowd that hovered. Shutters were heard through the room and blocked the sound of classical music from behind. The strobe lights caught the male's slack jaw, and the thick, slanted brows shadowed in glimmers of white in his unwavering eyes
“Mr. Park, is it true that Park Sunghoon is engaged?”
The man’s brow creased a fraction. His lips thinned microscopically before turning to the interest of the night.
Sunghoon stood apart from them. He was smaller than the two beside him, yet his presence towered over the room. He wore a black suit pant and a long white dress shirt that tucked tightly at the waist, and at the bridges of his forearms were sleeves rolled carelessly. A loose blue tie hung crookedly from his unbuttoned collar— a stark, rebellious contrast to the perfection displayed by the two standing beside him. His hair was effortlessly parted at the top, framing thick brows and a high-bridged nose with a distinct mole at the crease. His lips were in the shape of two moons that met with a crater in between, plump and dark rose. His jaw was sharp and cut through the slight roundness of his cheeks. He stared ahead of the reporters, his gaze steady, unreadable, and sharp enough to slice through the frantic noise of the room.
The father stepped forward, cutting through the shouting press. “Any plans of engagement will be announced in January.”
A low guttural chuckle came from the lips of his father. “Tonight, we celebrate Sunghoon’s twenty-first birthday. Please, enjoy yourselves.”
White camera flashes painted the walls, casting long, distorted shadows of three figures on the podium. The father flickered his eyes to the birthday boy, giving a sharp, imperceptible nod. Move. Sunghoon didn’t have to be told more than once. He turned from the crowd and down the steps, vanishing into the wings of their home.
The air inside the private office was thick, quiet, and plastered with the chill of a winter storm. Bright, harsh lights illuminated the minimalist landscape: concrete floors, white empty walls, and black furniture devoid of a single drop of color. The only evidence of a family hung over the black couch. The portrait depicted the three of them in their royal court attire. His father wore a velvet-red court suit that was engraved with stitches of fine gold thread, heavy gold tassels dangling from black shoulder cuffs, and a gold crown rested squarely on his head. His mother was the picture of Eden—soft, pale skin, grey eyes, and unwavering, regal expression. She wore a peach dress, the corset finely beaded and woven with a cascade of were white, pink, and yellow stones. On top of her wavy hair stood a silver crown glittering with pink and yellow diamonds etched onto it. Sunghoon stood in the center of the portrait, dressed in identical black-and-gold velvet court attire, devoid of the red color his father wore. In the portrait, his eyes held a faint glimmer under the surface of those unwavering eyes— a piece of the truth he owned. In the portrait, there was no crown on his head.
The quiet air shattered as Sunghoon let the heavy door slam shut behind him.
“So…” His voice was quiet, a dangerous vibration under neath each syllable. He swiftly removed the loose tie from his neck, his eyes locking onto that frame. “Engagement?”
His mother moved forward, a genuine concern softening her grey eyes. “We were meant to tell you after the celebration, Sunghoon.”
Sunghoon’s gaze darted from the picture to the man leaning his back against the couch. His father’s eyes pierced right through him.
“It’s not up for discussion,” his father said. The voice was cold, flat, and absolute. There was no changing this.
Heat suddenly rushed up Sunghoon’s neck, turning the tips of his ears crimson. He tightened his grip on the silk tie until his knuckles turned white. “I’m just supposed to marry whoever you choose?” His jaw tensed, his unwavering eyes suddenly reflecting the embers of a brewing wildfire.
His mother stepped close, grabbing his empty hand and giving it a soft, grounding squeeze. The touch was rare and warm, dwindling the embers in Sunghoon’s gaze. His father stood up, his massive frame instantly towering over Sunghoon. The overhead light cast a dark shadow of his body that completely swallowed Sunghoon, forcing the young prince to step back.
“You will do what is required for the monarchy,” his father commanded, closing the distance between them. “It is your responsibility as the rightful and only heir.”
Sunghoon clenched his teeth, narrowing his gaze.
“Our job is to uphold the crown, present a flawless front, and remind the world of our power,” his father continued. His heavy hands came down on Sunghoon’s shoulders, squeezing with a crushing, suffocating grip. “That is your only job, Sunghoon. Whether you agree to it or not.”
A strange, unfamiliar warmth flicked deep within his father’s dark brown eyes— a sudden, desperate fire. “You are a park. You cannot change that, even if you want to.”
His father pulled away with a heavy exhale, his shoulders slacking. Sunghoon minted his icy and unwavering stare, his posture rigid, completely resigned to the bleak future laid out before him. The command of control slipping from his grasp. He looked down at his mother, rolling his shoulder back to feel a sense of control.
“When is this happening?”
His mother guided him over to the couch with a gentle gliding movement. She sat him down, lacing her fingers through his on top of her thigh, “You just turned twenty-one. You will marry exactly one week after your twenty-second birthday.”
A sudden, sharp pressure registered on his palm. Sunghoon realized he was the one squeezing his mother’s hand too tightly, his internal panic and loss of control leaking through the grip.
“You have until the end of December to find someone,” she whispered, ”or we will choose for you.”
Sunghoon never craved the warmth; he preferred the cold. It was the reason he liked to skate. The biting wind in his face, the thrill of unshackled chains, and metal blades gliding through an endless, frozen track. On the ice, he was free and beautifully numb. But here, with his mother's hand wrapping his, he felt a desperate, foreign urge for a campfire— something soft, auburn, and cracking with protective sparks. He leaned closer, seeking a rare moment of comfort, and rested his forehead on her shoulder.
“In June, the engagement party must be held,” she murmured against his hair. “Then, the training for the future princess will commence.”
Sunghoon let out a shaky, warm breath against her shoulder.
“However, there is a condition this year, Sunghoon.”
At the gravity in her tone, Sunghoon pulled, searching his mother’s grey eyes. There were no tricks there. Only devastating truth.
“The public has not supported or cared about the monarchy in years.” She thinned her lips, choosing her next words with care. “Your father proposed we align with them to save the image of the crown.”
Sunghoon's breath hitched. “How?”
His mother stroked her thumb over his trembling palm.
“You must marry a commoner.”