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mirror, mirror on the wall- who’s the fairest of them all?

over time, the queen had turned into a woman riddled with jealousy, obsessed with youth and worried about ageing. and when she managed to barter for an enchanted mirror, her vanity consumed her to no end.

for the mirror’s answer was always the same- the fairest was a maidservant in her own palace, by the name of eunkyung; the fairest woman was the one who had bewitched her husband, trapped him with child.

therefore, she always felt an uncontrollable rage towards the little boy. who says you need a proper reason to hate someone? sometimes a mere person’s existence was more than enough to make another fall into a fit of rage.

wooyoung’s mother often read him fairytales in the cottage, with woodland creatures also charmed by her gentle voice and presence.

she was always the fairest of them all in the king’s eyes- gentle, never judgemental. soft spoken and always kind. unlike the queen, she had no issue dealing with people lower in caste or poorer than her. eunkyung always wanted to heal people and make them happy- and in that happiness and love, came the son she dreamed of, wooyoung.

despite whatever people around him would say, wooyoung knew that the union between the king and his mother was love.

true love, unlike the arranged marriage of convenience between the current king and queen.

he knows some of the nobles secretly call him a bastard child, and he has to be frank about not getting along with all the other eleven princes and princesses before his birth- himself the twelfth and final child of the reigning monarch.

after his own mother passed, the king lost a piece of himself. everybody knew the real reason why, but it was a tacit recognition to keep it hushed, for the queen saw the maidservant with extreme disdain. 

it would be too obvious to send for a huntsman or assassin to terminate him, bring her wooyoung’s heart- the king would definitely suspect something. but it wasn’t against the rules to have a prince banished into the kitchens, just like his lowly mother, to scrub and cook and clean. it wasn’t against the rules to inexplicably forbid him to do princely things.

it most certainly wasn’t against the rules of the court to go out of her way to make a bastard child’s life a living hell.

his mother passed on when he was ten years old, and thus wooyoung mainly stayed at the elusive cottage in the woods. it was a cottage that the king had built in secret, where he hid wooyoung’s mother to protect her and shield their child- away from the venomous beasts and corrupt officials lurking in the palace. away from the most inwardly ugly of beasts, the queen.

the enchanted mirror now says that the fairest of them all is that half-blood bastard child. has been saying so, ever since his lowborn mother departed the world, of ill health.

“rubbish! i forbid you from speaking ever again-!” 

the queen hurls her crown at the mirror, grabs a candlestick and smashes it. the mirror starts to crack, yet taunts her with her growing haggard expression. cracks reflected onto her face, helplessly preserved with all sorts of magical powders and procedures. with all her obsession of staying youthful, she’d morphed into a creature consumed by greed and envy; she would never be considered fair, not by complexion, and never by justice.

out of all the royal stepsiblings he had, wooyoung was the closest to prince dongyoung, who was two years older than him. 

therefore, he couldn’t sit idly by and watch this marriage continue. he knows the betrothed prince and princess both have someone else on their minds, someone else they wish to marry- that this is nothing but a sham, a marriage of convenience to ensure that both kingdoms have a combined leverage over other neighbouring territories.

as his brother lifts the black face veil of his bride, per their traditional marriage garments, wooyoung finds his lungs gasping for oxygen as he shouts. his voice reverberates in the expansive halls.

“stop! we can’t let this happen! call off the wedding!”

the collective gasps and murmuring come at once, in the resplendent banquet hall.

“what is the meaning of this,” the queen rises, guards at her disposal, “how dare a bastard child interrupt the wedding procession-”

“please, my queen, do not call him that-” the king tries to soothe his wife, but it only irritates her, causes her veins to pop. “you are nothing but a useless fool! i birthed you eleven children and this is what you do to me. you have never looked at me properly, not even once after that despicable wench’s death- oh, how i wish i could curse that disgusting bastard child you favour, you biased, ungrateful-”

“pardon my manners, but i could help with that, my queen,” a cloaked figure steps into the center of attention, looking very much like a beautiful enchantress once the hood is pulled down. the mutterings and buzz in the court grow louder, and the royals about to be married are still in shock.

“who dares to speak before my court?”

“it is i, your majesty. the enchantress of the west, at your service- it is my daughter, that brought you the magic mirror.”

“so you are well aware,” the queen eyes her shrewdly, “and why might you be so eager to render your services?”

his brother has already extended an arm to shield wooyoung, aware of the pandora’s box that has been opened. the atmosphere is tense- the occasional whisper now, falling to a hush as the enchantress starts to have a dark glow around her, a large shadow of a silhouette despite no visible light source causing it.

“my queen,” the enchantress bows, voice raised with a hint of sarcasm, “why do you think there is already a mirror made, for finding the fairest in the land?” she turns to wooyoung, who’s hiding from behind his brother, mouth twitching into a cruel smirk. “and do i really need a reason to dislike him? we are on the same side of this situation, your majesty. i am no fool to whom this child was born to.”

while wooyoung isn’t one to shy away from confrontation or revolt against authority, the iciness in the air, the tangible dark, menacing aura floods the room- he knows this is dangerous. his gut churns with nervousness. dark magic is not something to be taken lightly.

oh heavens, what have i done?

then wooyoung gasps.

he remembers now- his mother once said that when he was born, there was a dark fairy that came to visit his cot. when royal babies are born, the king and queen would allow for magical creatures and fae to come and give their blessings. hence the fairy godmothers that some of his elder siblings have, blessed with beauty and intelligence.

but wooyoung was a half-blood, and his mother delivered him in secret in the cottage, with his father present. she didn’t want to make a fuss with any ceremonial rites, understanding the difference in power would cause tongues to wag.

eunkyung only wished that wooyoung would grow up to be a good and kindhearted child, because he just was. without any external influence or magic or power involved. that wooyoung would come into his own, with time. at his own pace. to be a good human.

she told wooyoung this story before, to not accept any blood red apples from strangers- she had found one in a basket by the cottage door. she threw it away at once when she found the green flesh was infested with worms when she cut it into pieces.

if i cannot rid myself of the fairest of them all, i can still make his life miserable.

this must be the same woman.

the woman who came with a basket filled to the brim with gleaming blood red apples, when his mother was terminally ill and barely left the bed. wooyoung had slammed the cottage door in the cloaked stranger’s face, yelled at them to leave. mama said not to accept apples from strangers. mama said to trust my gut, and everything about the stranger had felt wrong.

“you will regret this, you vile, wretched child,”

for this is only the beginning of the end.

he doesn’t know what horrible intentions these women have, what they have against him and his mother.

they had me, out of a bond of true love! his heart gallops as he packs the bare necessities to flee, mind screaming and wanting badly to retort.

but he bites it back, for his throat feels like it’s on fire, his right arm is hurting so badly. he only remembers seeing a blinding light at the tip of the enchantress’s staff, that it was aimed at him. he’s heard of ancient myths, that should you devour the heart of the fairest person in the land, you would be granted immortality. so he reckons this is precisely the reason why those jealous women have sought his mother’s existence.

he runs away on foot, not knowing how to ride, and not entitled to his own steed. wooyoung has barely any belongings in the castle, most of it nestled together with his precious memories with his mother in their little cottage. he shuffles between both sides, but only one feels safe.

but since we speak of fairness, child, i will grant you a riddle to break the curse- but i am willing to bet that the son of a wench shall not have a good end.

wooyoung knows it is not safe in his kingdom anymore. his father had given him a nod of acknowledgement, held back the queen from chasing him down and brandishing an army of men to seize him.

that castle couldn’t even be considered a house, much less a home.

finding solace in one rose he had plucked on his descent, it kept him company as he reached the cottage. the king had planted rose bushes for his mother, and he now has the biggest bloom for remembrance.

farewell, kingdom of the south.

according to the parchment scroll the enchantress had left behind, he has a chance to find a cure before the last petal falls.

his right arm is now marred with the permanent ink of a gorgeous flower, a tattoo of a rose on his right hand.

no matter how much soaps or strength or even mild magic spells he uses, the rose will not budge. 

it seems impossible to get rid of.

as petals drop and voices fade,

your bed within the earth will be made.

no mortal cures shall break this hold,

of magic inked in truth be told;

the only cure to wake your breath,

and save a silent soul from death-

is to press your lips against the cold,

claim the one thing that made you bold.

when the rose has wilted dry,

all that you love can only cry-

the poor prince that lies asleep,

as the ones you love continue to weep;

the antidote is pure and white as snow,

perhaps even glitters bright as gold,

maybe even stained a ruby red,

try hard, young prince, or you’ll end up dead.

so try your best and try your might,

or have an eternal dream of night.

word eventually reaches wooyoung that there will still be an annual ball in the north thrown three nights later.

the more wooyoung mulls over it, now always moving around like a clandestine shadow, the more he hesitates. going to a ball would risk his exposure to familiar faces- yet it is this same exposure that might lead him to a grand wizard or powerful sorcerer that could grant him a cure.

even if he sees the enchantress herself, he’s willing to throw away his pride, go down onto his knees and apologise. now left to the quiet, he feels lonely. it will only get worse with his exiled status. 

unlike the palace he comes from, the kingdom of the north is rumoured to have an extensive library of ancient texts. maybe if he doesn’t spy any magical folk, he will just steal into the library and see if they have books on how to undo curses.

he’s always wanted to attend a ball, but the queen would never allow him to- she’d assign him insane tasks like separating beans from ashes, and dismiss all the maidservants so that he wouldn’t have any help. the king had even prepared formal garments and a masquerade mask for him, as with every annual ball’s dress code, but wooyoung never got the chance to wear them. his mother had once given him a baby pumpkin, told him to whisper magic words into it and it would take him to wherever his heart desired, for one use only. 

maybe wooyoung will see if it works, three nights from now.

prince san’s parents had disappeared at sea, when trying to bring supplies to a neighbouring island that was wrecked by pirates. 

he doesn’t know what happened to them, and by kingdom law, he needs to ascend the throne by thirty, if they do not return in the next one and a half years. the throne cannot be barren, for the people will have nobody to rely on, no monarchy to protect them. there is a maximum of five years that a prince can be barred from inheriting the throne, and already time is running out.

thus, san embarks on preserving the already intimidating title the other kingdoms have bestowed upon him. the grand duke of the north. it is much colder here, he will admit, but that’s only during wintertime. if you reside in the north, the temperatures would be normal to you.

he’s always been morose, curt when it comes to socialising. his parents are no longer around, but with no bodies washed to shore, san still would like to think they’re somewhere out at sea.

but with each passing day, the hope diminishes. there’s the relayed message of the cargo aid reaching the land of strife safely, but no sightings of his parents.

it is going to be five years soon, and he has no choice but to take up the mantle of filling his parents’ shoes as reigning monarch. otherwise, this will not do- the purpose of a ruler is to provide for their people, to strive for equality and equity of the land; therefore san will not fail that very purpose. 

every year, the kingdoms all around may throw a few balls. but the masquerade ball of the north is for him to socialise, like it was planned years ago, to pick a suitable person to marry.

san’s parents had never been concerned once whether it was a peasant or commoner or a fellow royal their son would choose. they only cared about san’s happiness- for a good monarch would want his people and subjects to be happy, no matter if it were blue blood or a beggar.

in hopes that san would be able to find a partner of his choosing, these masquerade balls were inaugurated.

annual feasts were thrown at the kingdom of the north, and commoners and royals from neighbouring states would come, to make merry and give thanks for a plentiful harvest. crimes were low, and there was never once any reports of stolen items from the palace after these open gatherings. san’s parents respected the people, and the people in return respected and admired the king and queen’s benevolence and kindness. 

the mantra they abided by was noblesse oblige.

“oh, thank you, mama.” wooyoung finds himself murmuring, hands clasped in prayer as the pumpkin transforms into a little carriage, made for one. 

come home by midnight, little one, or the magic will fade away.

hearing his mother’s voice in his ears brings him some comfort, and wooyoung reminds himself to pick a rose from the northern kingdom to commemorate his mother. he’s managed to fit into the all white ensemble, black ornamental ropes decorating the top, fit for a prince. he wears his comfortable black boots, just in case he needs to make a run for anything. he decides not to take his white mask with matching black trim, for he’s not there to make merry or pretend to be someone he’s not. he’s just there to find an antidote, before the first petal of eight falls.

he just hopes he can find something of value, by midnight.

it is no good.

when the rumours spread that the northern kingdom had a gargantuan amount of books, they were not wrong. wooyoung easily finds the golden plaques directing him to the library, and his breath hitches when he sees the arsenal of books they have. shelves all the way to the ceiling. as if on cue, the lily bulbs detect his presence, and they glow, welcoming him. 

he runs in circles, trying to look for books pertaining to magic, to immortality or flower curses. but there’s too many books and words and pictures that it makes him overwhelmed and dizzy. not to mention, wooyoung’s racing against time. he can hear the faint orchestra in the background, sounds of chatter and glasses clinking. he sighs in frustration. if only he’d kept his mouth shut, maybe he would be in the adjacent ballrooms instead.

when creeping into the ballroom prior, wooyoung helped himself to some tiny appetisers that were delicious, a flute of bubbly liquid as his eyes scanned for any mighty presence. but all he saw was whimsy, cheerful celebration, typical people trying to speak to whom he presumes must be the prince. just from a stolen glance from afar, the prince exudes poise and grace- but wooyoung has no time for that.

the bookshelves here are endless, even with only the moonlight and the magical glow of the floral bulbs. he’s only skimmed through a couple of heavy books that he can reach, before he decides he needs to flee. he can hear the guards patrolling, and it’s best not to get caught.

this is hopeless. he doesn’t have the luxury of time to dawdle. he’s not here to socialise and find a princess to wed. he must make haste.

running down the marble stairs as nimbly as he can, wooyoung heads towards the rose garden. the queen of the north has been known to be an ardent lover of flowers, and the king had also planted rose bushes for her. drawn to the beautiful red blooms, wooyoung doesn’t realise he’s caught someone’s eye.

“good evening,” someone says from behind him, and wooyoung almost pricks himself as he snaps off the rose. “oh goodness, this can’t be happening,” wooyoung mumbles to himself, pocketing the flower, and grimacing when he sees the clock tower behind says six minutes to midnight. 

“is the ball not to your liking?” 

from just his garments alone, wooyoung can tell this must be prince san- the surviving heir of the northern kingdom. his mask shields most of his face, but wooyoung finds his voice to be oddly gentle, not at all intimidating like people have described him.

“i- i’m sorry, i…” wooyoung doesn’t really know how to explain how and why he’s here. he’s not even formally invited, and he’s literally tried to exploit this man’s resources. this is so unbecoming of a prince. and for heaven’s sake, he’s not even wearing a mask. thank goodness he barely makes any royal appearances- or else prince san would’ve known of his disgraceful status. “i have to go, your highness.”

“could i at least have your name?” san steps forward, when wooyoung takes a step back, ready to make a run for the back gates. it’s three minutes to midnight now. he fiddles with the locket he wears for comfort, swallows. he really has to leave, and quickly. even if the magic of the pumpkin carriage fades away, he’d still be midway through the woods, where he can easily conceal himself and trudge back at daybreak.

“i’m so sorry,” wooyoung hurriedly gives a curtsy, dashes off when he has barely a minute left.

“no, wait- please-!” wooyoung bulldozes through the vines by the gates, barely having the time to think twice as he dives headfirst and departs into the carriage. “i’m sorry your highness-!”

the bell tower tolls as the carriage whisks wooyoung off, unbeknownst to him that the locket has snagged onto one of the brambles.

all that’s left of the mysterious beautiful stranger is a silver locket.

in his haste to escape, he’d left behind his necklace, dangling by one of the branches. swaying violently with his abrupt departure, san takes it for safekeeping. maybe he will seek the advice of his butlers, and hopefully track down the stranger.

within the locket, bears the picture of a beautiful woman smiling as she carries a newborn baby in her arms. even if it is san’s wish to seek the identity of the man in his rose garden, the locket seems more of an important memorabilia- he wonders how he might return it, should its owner not want to have his identity revealed. it looks so sentimental. it looks well worn and cherished.

“prince san,” hongjoong looks at him disapprovingly, “you do not recognise this photo?”

“i know it’s rare to have photos taken, it’s a hassle to develop and the equipment must be imported,” san shakes his head, “i presume the owner should be at least quite well to do?”

“oh goodness. seonghwa will have something to say about this. seonghwa-yah!”

at the call of his name, seonghwa comes over and inspects the locket, then he stares at san. “prince san. do you really not recognise the fairest woman in the land?”

“what! i don’t recall my teachers saying-”

“and you mentioned that the mysterious stranger was wearing it around his neck, and left this behind?”

“yes..?”

“oh my goodness, prince san,” seonghwa sighs, returning the locket with utmost care, “that’s the infamous love story of the south- that true love endures and it is very much real.”

“wait, so you’re saying that-”

“yes, prince san. i believe it is the exiled prince that you met last night,”

san himself searches high and low for the owner of the locket- but he only treads down the obvious paths weaved into the forest, missing the cleverly disguised cottage narrowly. after all, the cottage was built as a safe haven for wooyoung and his mother. if san were to find it easily when he has no clue who he’s looking for, an exiled wooyoung would’ve been captured and slain before he managed to get to the ball.

seeing a familiar face from his childhood, albeit more matured now, is somewhat comforting. he knows where this beautiful man hails from- so he knows that his identity has probably been revealed.

for how could wooyoung forget the face of an acquainted friend when he barely has any back in his own palace?

it is yeosang who volunteers to bring the exiled prince to the kingdom of the north. he recognises the woman in the locket- it is the same lady who had kindly cured his hand tremors when he got lost in the woods once, trying to chase down an unsettled byeol.

“prince san summons you to the kingdom of the north,” yeosang regally announces on horseback, “i’m not sure if you remember me, but your mother-” his voice softens, hand across his heart, “i am still grateful to her, and i am sorry for your loss. hence, i have personally come to reassure you that prince san means no malice. he simply wishes to see you again.”

“of course i remember you, yeosang. you stayed for two days, and we played with paper dolls when i was seven. but i- i have trespassed and-” ever since he lost it, his neck feels barren, the missing locket taking up a bigger weight than he ever imagined. 

wooyoung had kept on idly touching his neck, uneasy without it. he had retraced all his steps that the carriage took, stopping just before the northern borders- but to no avail. 

“and i do not wish to see anyone. i have been cursed, yeosang. i do not think it is contagious, but if-”

“just come with. prince san will help you, i promise.” then yeosang smiles, fond memories flooding back, of eating the little treats wooyoung’s mother had baked for them. “he has your locket, if that’s of any motivation.”

“i never saw his face fully, but is the grand duke of the north upset that i trespassed..?”

“do not worry, he is not,” another kind voice comes from behind, introduces himself as yunho. another looker from the north. “he wanted to come personally, but he feared his presence would scare you. i tagged along as a backup plan, just in case yeosang here isn’t the best at convincing you to return with us.”

“prince san is nice,” yeosang says once more, “he merely wishes you to retrieve your locket safely- he says it is alright if you do not wish to meet directly.”

“but i think you should,” yunho chirps, “prince san thinks of you as beautiful,” that statement earns him a glare from yeosang, as if to say please refrain from airing out the grand duke’s business, but yunho continues, “please give it a chance and greet him? he is a lenient royal, for he did not lose his cool even when your muddied footsteps were abundant in the library.”

“oh my goodness,” wooyoung goes pale at that. it was so dark, he barely looked at the floors. he was too engrossed with the time and seeking out books with immortal cures. “oh i- i am so sorry for that inconvenience- would your prince not hate me even more, for stepping foot and sullying places i do not belong in-”

“and still he does not bite,” yunho smiles now, extending a hand, “i take it as you shall pay him a visit now?”

when wooyoung reaches the palace gates, the first thing the butlers do is to usher him into a grand guest room, and send for some food and drink. dressed in their colourful attires, they’ve all been rather curious as to get a glimpse of the youngest prince of the southern kingdom- it is hearsay that he was the only one brave enough to stand up to their cold, standoffish queen.

when wooyoung’s long sleeves ride up as he prepares to eat, his identity is confirmed.

“the bearer of the eternal rose,” hongjoong gasps when bringing the stew and steaming rice to wooyoung, “so the curse is..?”

“i see that word has spread rather fast. it is very much real.” wooyoung smiles, “i do not know if there is a cure yet, but i beg of you, since he barely knows about my mother and our tragic fate, please do not breathe a word to prince san,” it is only a matter of time before the other butlers in waiting have come to know about wooyoung’s arrival. 

part curiosity and part selfishness, they trickle into the guest room one by one, thinking they’ve caught an opportune timing to get a look at the person san has been searching for. slowly, wooyoung comes to learn their names, tries to recognise them based on heights and smiles. it helps that each of them have a different colour scheme in the otherwise identical outfits.

wooyoung sees the stark juxtaposition between here and where he originated from- here, they are still clothed in fabrics of good quality, silky white blouses and slacks with coloured vests and coattails. back in the south, non-royals are only allowed drab fabrics and are usually scrappy and rough to the touch. no colours, just greys and dull browns that look more like dirt or mud than shades of chocolate or cocoa.

he thinks of it like snow white and the seven dwarves- but in this case, it’s prince san and his six beautiful butlers.

“as you all might have realised,” wooyoung coughs, addressing them in a row, “i have been exiled from my own kingdom, being a half-blood. and for… speaking up on behalf of others,” he sighs, “prince san has been really kind to just want to return me my locket- and i apologise for the mess i made in the library. it was dark, and i had no idea. thank you all, for so politely hosting me despite me committing such an unlawful act.”

wooyoung gives them a bow, and finishes off the rest of his meal.

the room drifts with tiny murmurs, before jongho takes a step forward, “if i might say something, your highness?”

“oh, please spare the formalities. i am but another person. what is it?”

“i heard the wedding got called off, if that’s of any consolation?”

a small bittersweet smile makes its way to wooyoung’s lips.

“then that is good news indeed. i hope for my brother’s happiness, is all.”

as san gets ready to meet wooyoung and vice versa, the rest of the butlers slowly trickle out, but one of them lingers. the one in yellow.

“but hopefully true love will break the curse, prince wooyoung,” seonghwa gently holds him, “it has to. we will all help you, i promise. you are safe in this kingdom.”

one thing wooyoung notices about the kingdom of the north, is that they acknowledge his princely status without question. his own stepsiblings back home are always afraid to even call him a prince, despite having the same king of a father.

here, they accept him. embrace him. do not look at him with disdain, with apprehension of being caught for mingling with him.

“if only it were so easy, seonghwa,” wooyoung hugs him, “it is but a dream, isn’t it? that true love doth break thy spell?”

everyone is excited to bring him to tour around the large palace, exploring nooks and crannies of the castle, for it is rare that they have a guest around their age. 

wooyoung notices that the butlers often go about their errands in pairs- marigold yellow and cherry blossom pink, pale cornflower blue and lilac purple, hydrangea blue and delphinium indigo.

sometimes, san’s family would host other royals out of diplomatic reasons or for political negotiations, so they all had to be on their best behaviour. needed to stay professional, ensure they were prim and proper. standing tall and straight and formal with their regal guests.

but despite wooyoung’s princely status and his upbringing in another kingdom, he never spoke to them in a snobbish or condescending manner- instead, he was still polite and on the contrary, eager to learn more about everyone.

even though the northern region is colder in climate, its kingdom stays warm and welcoming in its hospitality.

his meeting with san has been delayed due to some royal affairs, and wooyoung takes the time to walk around and explore. already, the butlers have been so darling as to bring him some books about curses and cures, and have secretly all mentioned to him about their own attempts to convince prince san to let him stay.

“it is not safe to have you in the woods like that,” yunho had encouraged, “especially with your delicate status… maybe it would be better to have you stay here.”

a day passes without any sighting of san.

the butlers have prepared clothes for him and have made sure his guest room has its own bath. when venturing into the hallways in search of an aide for water, wooyoung accidentally comes across san in his study. what made him turn, was his name- but given how soft the voice was, it probably wasn’t directed at him. and he’d know that voice anywhere. the voice from the midnight fantasy, when he was desperately trying to escape.

with a little palace tour, wooyoung has seen pictures and royal portraits of san- he takes after his parents, and is pretty much how you would envision a beautiful prince charming to look.

“hi, wooyoung. would you like to peruse my library?” then he heard something like a sigh, a grunt, “hello, wooyoung. i think it would be good if you stayed- maybe for a meal or two. hmm. sounds a bit distant. what do you think?”

wondering who san is addressing, wooyoung steals a glance past the door.

san’s talking to his cat.

san is picking the kitten, byeol, up and patting her head, pretending she’s wooyoung. his cheeks are all pink, shy even though there’s nobody else in his study. “good morning, wooyoung,” he tries again, as the kitten paws at him and meows, “is there anything you want to eat? i’ll get them to-” then san takes off his glasses, covers his face and lets out a muffled scream. “god, i am so hopeless. sorry, byeol. this practice is not going good. you should get to your breakfast, apologies,”

but when the kitten doesn’t move, instead happy to be on his lap, san tilts his head. “ah, you think we should practice more? okay, then. how about this- hi, wooyoung, i think it would be a good idea if you stayed for a while more since it could be scary to be in exile? and my guards at the borders hear that the queen is still angry, she’s mentioned hunting you down? oh gosh. that sounds wicked, even if it is not a baseless rumour. do you think i should also say he is safe in my kingdom, for the rules of the north apply here? what do you think, byeolie- is that better?”

when he’s met with more trilling and meowing, san feels satisfied. “alright then. with your blessings, i will ask him. later. i wonder if he’s up…”

the moment he sees san leaving his desk, wooyoung dashes back to his room.

thinking is one thing, doing it is another.

“um, hi- hello, prince wooyoung,” san starts, expression so terribly nervous and shy, when he finally finds wooyoung outside the kitchen, plate full of scrambled eggs and pancakes, berries on the side. “so we finally meet. here. your locket, it’s long overdue a return to its rightful owner. i apologise for keeping it from you this long,”

wooyoung almost gasps, seeing san up close.

he’s so beautiful, more beautiful than i remembered under the moonlight. why hasn’t he been married yet? where is his princess, or prince? now that the throne is empty?

“good morning, prince san- and thank you, not at all,” he beams, covering his mouth as he chews on his food, “your butlers have been such lovely companions. it’s a beautiful day.”

goodness, he is even more beautiful in the day. i wonder if i can get my words out? since the butlers have taken a liking to him too? might he stay if i tell him i will grant him protection within these walls?

“it is,” san mumbles back, a little anxious without his cat, “i would like to ask a favour of you?”

“yes, prince san. what is it?” wooyoung puts down the fork and knife, turns to him like an attentive kitty. the attention makes san flush- he’s never been good when dealing with pretty eyes. he’s lucky that he grew up around his handsome butlers, or he’d get a few heart attacks on the daily.

“i think… maybe it would be good if you rested and resided here for a while longer,” he tries to articulate his words, avoiding eye contact, “i understand you live alone in a cottage in the woods, and i think… it wouldn’t be wise if you lived alone in exile.”

“oh, fear not, prince san. i know the woods well. as for self defence, i’m good at-”

“please- stay,” san manages to get the words out, while staring at his boots, “i hear from my butlers you enjoy the library. please help yourself,” he looks up, meets eyes with wooyoung, who’s wearing a tender smile. it gives him some encouragement, like his suggestion has been well received. “and if you think you owe me, come tend to the roses for me, in exchange for food and lodging,”

he said that on impulse, remembering how wooyoung had took off into the night after nipping a red rose.

“my mother loved roses,” wooyoung softly says, “that’s a lovely suggestion, prince san. it would be an honour to stay here, perhaps a few more days.”

there are a lot of rose bushes here, for san’s mother loved roses too.

wooyoung settles nicely in the palace of the kingdom of the north. nobody mentions that wooyoung was only supposed to stay ‘just a few days more’.

unlike how the southern queen has a stern hold onto everyone, a rigid grip over what every person’s role is, things were freer here. everyone has an important set of duties to do, but otherwise anyone could help out as they pleased.

wooyoung was unable to enter their small royal library and ballroom back home, because the queen said he would dirty the places full of refined elegance. but his brothers and sisters taught him to dance, taught him to read and write. the king had gifted his mother a gramophone in the cottage, so he did get to revel in music as well, albeit in secret. away from the walls with ears.

san leans by the doorframe, watches as mingi and yunho dance with wooyoung in the ballroom, chatter and laughter drifting through the hallways.

mingi’s twirled the little one in small spins, leading him into yunho’s hold, the latter holding the small of wooyoung’s back as he bends backwards in an exaggerated dip. wooyoung moves with the grace and panache of a princess, and laughs in such a bubbly manner. san can see why his right hand men are undeniably charmed by him.

then, still bent upside down, wooyoung meets eyes with someone, who has his arms crossed, one brow raised in amusement.

“prince san! come, join us,” yunho warmly says when he spots the quiet figure by the door, a small smile on his face, “please carry on. don’t mind me,”

“p-prince san!” wooyoung stares at him, then flushes and bows, “oh, i’m sorry, i-”

“what, i’m not mad. dance away all you want, little prince,” san’s voice is always so gentle and warm, to everyone.

“oh. but i wasn’t allowed to,” wooyoung softly mumbles, head bowed, “the queen said half-bloods aren’t allowed in. my brother got punished for letting me enter, but i am unfamiliar with the rules here, so i-”

“that’s absolute rubbish. this is my palace, therefore my rules. you are free to come and go, as and when you like. are we clear, prince wooyoung?”

“yes,” wooyoung nods, “i just wasn’t aware if-”

is he mad? i swear i just saw him give mingi and yunho some look-

“is there anything else you want to try? that you were previously forbidden from?” san’s tone softens so much, that wooyoung feels his heart flutter. he almost makes a little noise when san looks at him so gently, in his princely attire, “anything at all, princess?”

“the piano,” he finds himself saying. it was his mother’s dream, but it would be too obvious by the sound, even if the king had given them a key to the music room. they wouldn’t be able to steal in there and tinker at the black and white keys without getting caught.

“prince san can teach you,” mingi says from behind, both butlers pushing wooyoung forward, “we shall take our leave. prince san, the grand piano is all yours.”

there wooyoung is.

spinning across the shiny parquet floors in all his glory, the book san recommended him in his hands. sometimes he dances with byeol, but today it is a hardback novel. he glides across polished wood, chandelier above his head glinting in the sunlight as the gramophone plays. san hears the beautiful swell of harmony of strings and woodwinds, the mellifluous harp taking a backseat as wooyoung hums and sings his own melodies, star of the ballroom even if it is broad daylight. 

for all the gloominess that has shrouded the kingdom of the north since the king and queen’s disappearance, wooyoung has been a warm bundle of joy that brightens up the entire palace.

wooyoung loops and swirls as he devours the romantic scenes in words, oblivious to san fondly watching him. he’s trying to remember the steps san had demonstrated for him, prancing about without a care since he has a book as an invisible partner. 

it’s only when san applauds him as the music tapers to a diminuendo that wooyoung jumps, going so red when he realises san has been silently observing all this while.

“oh, prince san- i hope you didn’t witness all of my foolishness,” wooyoung blushes, using the book to cover all of his face except for his eyes. “i must have looked an utter disaster-”

“you were lovely, wooyoung. your body adapts to music so naturally. please give yourself some credit, pretty princess.” he carefully plucks away the novel, sets it aside and switches the vinyl record. wooyoung thinks it’s cute that san calls him princess as and when, in a fond, teasing way- not at all derogatory or offensive.

the grand pas de deux, from tchaikovsky’s the nutcracker.

“may i have this dance?”

“oh, but i-” san thinks it’s so adorable when wooyoung gets shy, for he usually has no issue with voicing his feelings.

“stand on my feet, prince wooyoung. i’ll guide you.”

“but i’m heavy-!”

“this is an order, sugarplum fairy,” san smugly grins, and wooyoung only slaps his chest, “how dare you use that against me, prince san!”

but all san has to do is lift him by the hips, and wooyoung is now balancing on his shiny shoes, like a baby penguin.

“well.” wooyoung attempts to feign nonchalance, but he surrenders when he can feel san’s accelerated heartbeat under his palm. can feel the warmth of san’s palms seep through his nice garments and into the skin of his waist.

“doesn’t need to be a proper ballroom dance,” san murmurs into his ear, swaying them as wooyoung rests his head on his shoulder, and san takes the opportunity to inhale his naturally sweet scent. “i just enjoy the small luxury of holding you, is all.”

“sweet talker,” wooyoung mumbles as he feels san’s hold on his waist tighten. san smells very warm and comforting too.

being with san makes his inner child happy- san is so patient with him, lets him recount and relive the short but beautiful moments he held onto with his mother.

playing catch, her throwing balls for him to bat, reading stories and making more up together, playing with shadows by the fireplace, baking.

after getting to know san a bit better, wooyoung decides to take him into the woods to let san understand him more too. he leads the way on foot, holding san’s hand as they venture into foliage.

they are close to the cottage when san gets his cheek grazed by some brambles. wooyoung takes him back to his first home, puts on a bandage and gives the covered wound a kiss. “um. my mother always said you should kiss it better.”

when he sees san’s eyes of enchantment, pink high on his cheeks, wooyoung tries to smile at the memory of her- but he only manages a wan smile. he quietly adds, unsure even as to why he’s baring his heart out to san, “and i haven’t remembered what a kiss felt like since she left me.”

the silence is heavy as wooyoung feels vulnerable saying it, but it does give him some relief. san’s eyes are always kind, even when the words spoken are not the nicest to hear.

“oh, my dear. that won’t do,” san kisses his forehead gently, soft and slow like all the time in the world was theirs. “a person like you was made to be loved, wooyoung.”

that was actually one of his mother’s last few words to him.

“sannie?” wooyoung softly knocks on his bedroom, spies the wrinkles in san’s forehead. judging by the stack of books and scrolls by his bedside, san is unable to sleep again. san looks restless, looks exhausted.

stormy weather makes him jumpy, for he recalls meeting the wicked witch when he was a child, recalls the tumultuous thunderstorm on the night his parents sailed on their ship in conquest of delivering humanitarian aid. both incidents had frightened him for good reason.

“oh. hi, wooyoung.” san is always endeared by how wooyoung gives nicknames to those he adores, and he is not spared from the prince’s affections. he takes off his glasses. “fancy seeing you awake at this hour,”

“there’s a storm outside,” wooyoung softly says, setting down his candle. “i sent for some mint and chamomile tea to be made for you. just in case i’d find you awake,”

“that’s sweet of you,” san invites him in, pats the edge of his bed to sit. then he frowns. “you’re squinting again, my dear. i shall send for the optometrist tomorrow. we need to have you made some glasses too,”

“oh, that’s okay,” wooyoung mumbles when he plops down by san’s side, “i tend to see you up close anyway. that’s not necessary,”

the blush doesn’t go unnoticed by san, and he keens at the thought of their close proximity. wooyoung has always been a beautiful creature. he says he takes after his mother- with a side profile like that, san can understand why the queen of the southern kingdom is envious. jealous, that wooyoung is gorgeous and just. the firstborn of the fairest of them all.

he lifts wooyoung’s chin so that their eyes meet, and wooyoung’s asymmetrical eyes sparkle under the flicker of the candlelight.

“you are so beautiful, wooyoung-ah.” his eyes glimmer as they widen. it’s the way his heart flutters recklessly, like the first time san dropped his royal title when addressing him, now sweetening the deal by saying his name so intimately. all the butterflies in his tummy. “and so are you, san-ah.”

the gap between them closes, san’s fingers still by his jaw. it feels silly, yet warm and lovely- because san’s eyes have softened considerably whenever he lays eyes on wooyoung. and wooyoung himself knows it. he recognises that softness, has promised himself to never exploit that kindness.

san’s eyes looks like the hidden chocolate truffles his mother secretly brings from the palace kitchens to the cottage for him, on a hot summer day. under the looming forsythia shrubs, fingers sticky with melted brown sweetness and molasses and toffee filling. with little flakes of sea salt on top to make them taste more spectacular.

“wooyoung-ah, i…” 

just before their lips meet, there’s a knock on the door, and they pull apart in haste. as if they’ve been jolted back to reality, idly touching at their nightwear, looking at the carpets. for some reason, it feels like they’ve been caught; when all it could’ve possibly been was maybe a little peck on the lips. gosh, so much for the ungodly timing. wooyoung rearranges his hair and san rubs at his neck, both looking away in the opposite direction.

the candlesticks flicker, as if a little breeze of giggles at their shyness.

“good evening, prince san, your tea is ready.”

“why, yes. thank you. please leave it at the door.” san clears his throat, rosy cheeks evident. “apologies, i-”

“please, san. i sent for the tea. allow me to fetch it,” wooyoung’s lashes flutter, and san just nods.

from then onwards, wooyoung always drops by, regardless of the weather. to kiss him good night.

next day, san insists he drinks the soup, in which he has ordered to have extra carrots added to the minestrone. a fresh loaf of warm bread sits between them.

“it’s good for your eyes, wooyoung. carrots will improve your night vision.”

“no it won’t!” wooyoung laughs, a full bellied laugh, “carrots are good for the eyes due to beta-carotene, but they will not improve my night vision, san. my mother once told me that it’s a myth spread during wartime- so if you have sufficient vitamin A, it won’t-”

when he sees san gazing at him gently, wooyoung realises what he’s done. “oh. i am so sorry,” he clamps a hand over his lips. “i’ve been running my mouth again. i- sorry, i apologise.”

“i think it’s good you feel comfortable enough to speak your mind,” san kindly says, chewing on the potatoes and carrots in the minestrone soup, “why are you apologising?”

he doesn’t know about the curse. oh. he doesn’t know that i am a sinner. bless them- for his butlers are indeed honourable men, promising not to tell. so prince san still doesn’t know i am cursed.

“oh, i just… i talk too much,” wooyoung bites his tongue, mindlessly stirs the tangy tomato soup, “i’ve been scolded many a time. for speaking. um, far too much,” 

“promise me to never silence yourself again,” san pouts at him, eyes stern, “you fill my halls with so much life. please do not deny me and my butlers such a beautiful privilege ever again.”

not knowing what to say, wooyoung goes as red as the minestrone and nibbles at the bread.

“go on, try it.”

today’s dinner comprises of soy sauce marinated crab and steamed rice, accompanied by twenty different types of banchan. that, alongside other meat dishes if seafood is not to wooyoung’s liking. san’s asked for the kitchen to prepare the crab, one of his favourites, and had all of it delivered into the drawing room for him and wooyoung to dine in private. the banquet hall is a bit too intimidating and spacious with its high ceilings and chandeliers. the drawing room feels more cozy and homely.

“but this is a delicacy,” wooyoung whispers, “i only got to eat it once for my birthday.”

“no matter, you may have it now. eat up, while everything is freshly prepared. mingi’s caught us the crabs, you know. don’t leave his efforts in vain. the side dishes for today have been selected by the other five. they nominated four each. tell me which is of your preference, and i will relay it- i am under the impression that they have laid bets as to who will get your taste buds right,”

would it be presumptuous of me to think that they really like me? because they treat me like family?

it always warms wooyoung’s heart, because in this palace, everyone is filled with so much love and good intention.

san’s already picking meat to pile atop of wooyoung’s rice, unwilling to begin eating until the other royal picks up his own chopsticks. 

“eat up, princess. we can’t have you weak in the knees when my men expect you to keep up with their shenanigans.”

“san-ah! please play with me!”

unfortunately, wooyoung’s energy is infectious, and he’s sometimes met with a whiny san, who just wishes to retire early to his chambers.

“san-ah, do you want to sleep together with me? i’m bored,”

“w-what! we are not… we-” san flushes at the implication, and wooyoung only laughs, gleeful to see him flustered. “san-ah,” he tries again, softer this time, “there might be a storm tonight. could i share half a bed with you?”

“oh, why of course,” san warmly responds, pinching his cheek cutely, “then you should’ve just said so.”

wooyoung only sticks his tongue out, dives into the quilts and makes himself at home.

san protects him in the day, so wooyoung will protect him in the night. that’s only fair.

if you managed to peek into san’s chambers, you might be surprised to see that san is the little spoon.

while he loves cuddling, able to see wooyoung’s doll face, his pretty features, hands across his waist- the latter loves to back hug him. wooyoung adores running his arms down san’s chest, loves laying his head between duck feathered pillows and san’s broad back.

so they alternate between lying face to face and spooning, as with sleep cycles, royal duties and personal commitments. always holding hands, even in a dream within a dream.

but san gives in first, of course.

for the little one will always make the big decisions.

wooyoung loves watching san sleep.

loves the way this big, hulking intimidating persona of the grand duke of the north, is just a tired overgrown kitty at the end of the day. loves the way san never lets go of him, even in his sleep.

“mmh? why are you staring…” san blinks away blearily, “good morning, my princess.”

“good morning, my darling,” wooyoung softly kisses his nose, and watches as san smiles, bright as sunshine peeking through the window. “why, what’s gotten you all smiley..?”

“when i wake up in the morning and see your face, wooyoung- i’m really happy,” san sleepily blinks, like a kitten expressing its love, “i’m glad.”

“oh, san…” his heart flutters when san smooches his cheek, “you make me really happy too.”

wooyoung is free to leave the kingdom of the north at any time, given that he is an esteemed guest, but he seems to have become a permanent fixture.

hongjoong and seonghwa watch over the princes from afar, as wooyoung leans his head on san’s shoulder as he reads. their days in the library are always one of childlike wonder, little moments in an elysium consisting of vast words and illustrations.

“prince san! what do you think about this?”

“this book is lovely. might i recommend you start from the first tome-” when he sees wooyoung on his tiptoes, struggling for the higher shelf, san only hoists him by the thighs instead of helping him to take it. assistance, rather than ridding him of independence. “better?”

“much,” wooyoung gently says, flustered by how easily the show of strength comes. san picks him up like a sack of potatoes.

“if you need a little lift for the other books, call for me. i am heading to the left to find a book on foxes as well as gardening,”

“oh, i-” wooyoung just trails after him, tugging at his sleeve, “could i tag along? please? your library is really huge…”

san’s expression softens at once, dimples appearing.

“certainly. this way, prince wooyoung.” then he adds, “if you see any book of interest along the way, stop me. we shall fetch your book for you at once, okay?”

“okay,” wooyoung nods back, and san internally panics when wooyoung grabs onto two of his fingers as they walk leisurely through unending shelves. his heart is going to burst- wooyoung’s acting like it were a hedge maze, a labyrinth; wooyoung thinks it is a valid excuse to say he’s worried of getting lost in the great big library. his muddied footsteps that one night would’ve been sufficient evidence.

san blushes when he catches wooyoung smiling dreamily, when looking at their two interlaced fingers.

“he’s in love, isn’t he,” hongjoong says, and seonghwa only sighs, “i’ve never seen prince san this taken, to anyone. he’s absolutely smitten- not even the most beautiful of royals have enraptured him as such.”

“because prince wooyoung is such a sweetheart,” seonghwa smiles as they fondly watch over the backs of both royals, “you know, he figured out san’s insomnia and worries so fast. took him some tea and went to his room, coaxed him to sleep. nobody’s quite done that before.”

“do you think..?” hongjoong starts, then shakes his head, “hm… prince san wouldn’t. he worries prince wooyoung would be burdened to rule half a kingdom with him.”

“you never know,” seonghwa quips, “it could be true love.”

“he…” now it’s hongjoong’s turn to sigh, “does the exiled prince know what the witch said to prince san when he was young?”

“not yet,” yeosang says from behind, giving them both a fright. he’s holding a tray of tea and some cakes and scones. “let us find a way to help, then. i find that they are both rather fond of each other.”

“how’s the tea cakes?” seonghwa clears their serving plates, pours them another round of assam tea. “would it be too malty, or too buttery?”

“they’re perfect,” wooyoung says cheerfully, putting away his book as san attempts to finish his page, relishes in a sip of tea.

“say,” hongjoong takes over, losing rock paper scissors to seonghwa, “are both of you dating?”

san almost spits out his tea, sputtering, “we’re- we’re friends! we’re… not dating,”

wooyoung just smiles, pleased by san’s flush.

today’s babysitting adventures involve royalty play fighting over macarons, two overgrown princes rolling around in the soft grass. they’re giggling as wooyoung tries to wrestle san, playfully biting him in a tussle for the last pink macaron. it’s a physical fight he will never win, but wooyoung tries anyway. 

most of the time, he wins because san lets him.

“i don’t recall prince san ever laughing this much,” jongho smiles as he looks at yeosang, “he’s been so quiet after his parents disappeared…”

“prince wooyoung complements his personality perfectly,” yeosang nods, also smiling as they watch on. wooyoung’s given up and is lying in a heap on top of san, playfully hitting him and attempting to snatch something. “look at them go.”

“they were made for each other,” jongho shakes his head, “we really need to intervene.”

“i truly think prince wooyoung might be the one,” yeosang stares fondly, “prince san’s eyes always soften for him, no matter what.”

“hey, have you guys seen-” yunho stalls when he sees wooyoung now scuffling with san in the grass, under the willow tree, “oh. will you just look at our lovebirds.”

the next thing they know, the other three butlers are on their way to watch, hiding behind the rose bushes, hearts softening at the pure hearted screeches of laughter and giggles. two once lonely princes, feeding each other colourful macarons, under the weeping tree.

“oh… our prince san,” seonghwa wails, pretending to shed a tear, “whenever he comes to this willow, he never smiles…”

“perhaps his memories are starting to be replaced by happier ones,” hongjoong grins, “he’s making so much progress, since prince wooyoung came.”

“i must confess i was skeptical of the presence of an intruder at first,” mingi admits, “but i have come to be rather fond of prince wooyoung. and look- he gives prince san some of his shine back, don’t you think?”

if this isn’t true love, then what is?

“prince san,” jongho smiles sweetly, “are you and prince wooyoung dating?”

when san erupts into a coughing fit, wooyoung only smiles wider, like a cat that’s got the cream.

“the palace maids say they have one less bed to make these days,” yeosang adds in, now facing san with an equally sweet smile, “i have noted that prince wooyoung often enters your chambers late at night, and does not emerge until morning.”

“we are not-!” san stumbles on, with ruddy cheeks, “we are not engaging in intercourse or-!”

wooyoung only howls with laughter at san’s vehement denial, not once stepping in. san looks like a strawberry now, ears red too. if wooyoung were to speak, he may not be able to control himself and instead fan the flames.

“nobody’s asking about intercourse, prince san,” jongho continues prodding, hiding a laugh, “we’re just asking if you’re seeing each other romantically,”

“so. are you dating?” yeosang adds, all his butlers taking turns to spring this question upon him. it amuses san mildly, that nobody is cornering wooyoung to answer. the smaller man sits opposite him, strangely pleased at the commotion. almost as if wooyoung himself is enjoying the chaos.

san attempts to send him a telepathic cry for help with his eyes, but wooyoung pays no mind, flutters his lashes at him. sends a wink his way instead. wooyoung sips his hibiscus tea and takes another bite of lemon tart, beams at san with all his pretty teeth.

“we are friends,” san mumbles, then nods, repeating the statement louder as if to convince himself. “we are just friends. good friends.”

his butlers eye him suspiciously, and when they turn to wooyoung for confirmation, he only smiles and says the lemon tart is delicious.

“what are you doing, wooyoung-ah?”

said prince has his balled fists by the sides of his face, highlighting the apples of his cheeks. “am i cute, sannie?”

“you’re always cute, sweetheart. what are you talking about?”

wooyoung tries again, like he’s been taught, pouting and folding his arms and coyly swinging his shoulders. same reaction. san remains indifferent! still says he’s always cute despite the extra effort.

with a little hmph, wooyoung does his habit of aggressively grabbing san’s arm with both hands, and plummets his face into san’s chest out of embarrassment. “y-your butlers say you like cute things. so i wanted to… oh gosh, forget it, sannie.”

“wooyoungie?” there it is, that soft tone, “look at me?”

“what about,” wooyoung’s puffing his cheeks now, flushed, “you’re so cute that you don’t even have to try, you know?”

“san-ah!” wooyoung is whining now, “you cannot say such things and assume i will be okay!”

san pinches his rosy cheeks, tucks the wavy strands of hair behind his ears. he pulls them into the entrance of the hedge maze, away from any prying eyes. if someone is looking for them, they’ll still be able to locate the two of them with a smidge of effort. 

san loves his long hair, but finds them disdainful when they cover wooyoung’s beautiful asymmetrical eyes that glow. “your hair,” he softly says, besotted, “it’s growing out.”

“it is,” wooyoung fiddles with his lucious locks, twirls them around his finger. he gazes at san, bashful. wooyoung is coy and sweet naturally, even when he doesn’t put in any effort at all. “do you like it better, the long hair?”

“you look beautiful in any way, precious,” san only murmurs, looking at him like he’s a marvel of the world, “but i rather fancy it long. i like the way it curls on its own, how it gets fluffy after you wash it,”

“oh,” wooyoung softly says back, shy at san’s intense gaze, “i like the way it looks now, too. my mother always said i looked sweet with longer hair, but the queen said boys should have short hair,”

“my love,” san gently tells him, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck, “your mother was right. she birthed the most beautiful child.”

“san…” wooyoung feels like his breath’s been stolen. and only san has ever made him feel this way. “i must have some bows made for you, young-ah. little red ribbons… you would be a vision in red. every colour of the rainbow, perhaps.” san continues to massage his scalp, and wooyoung thinks it’s unfair, how san always says these sappy things that have such an effect on him. “for my fair princess,”

“san-ah,” wooyoung pouts, lower lip jutted out enticingly, finger pressed against them, as if to emphasise how plush they are. feigning innocence, like a wounded kitty. “you always look at me like…”

“like what?” as if he didn’t know san’s eyes could get even softer, “like you love me,”

“because i do,” san quietly says, “you are the apple of my eye, prince wooyoung. maybe like a candy apple.”

“oh, prince san,” wooyoung whispers back, leaning into his personal space now, one hand against his cheek. the other hand roams, drags down san’s jaw, his neck, his shoulder- then it goes down is arm, tantalisingly slow, as languid as the mischievous quirk of the corner of wooyoung’s lips; wooyoung’s fingertips linger, creep down his bicep, his forearm. “you really beguile me to no end, san,” his voice is just the ghost of a hush, “i adore you, to the ends of this world.”

“oh, precious,” san warmly smiles, leans in to close the space, making their noses touch, “which one of my butlers have taught you to play so coy? i am inclined to think you enjoy teasing me so,”

“ah,” wooyoung breathes back, their lips almost touching now, “i learnt it myself,” san can see his lashes flutter, the glint of his sparkly asymmetrical eyes, “because i must confess, i love seeing you get flustered,”

“good heavens,” san replies between a shared breath, “i fear you might be doing things to me, wooyoung.”

“good, let us keep it that way,” as wooyoung tilts his head, arms looped around san’s neck, “i like that you only come undone for me, san-ah.”

“please, wooyoung- have mercy. spare me the agony of-” san’s eyelids are fluttering, beguiled by how wooyoung has him under a spell, bound under wooyoung’s spell. “unravel me, san. will you give me a k-”

“ah! s-sorry, prince san, p-prince wooyoung, but your meal has been prepared-! i’m sorry, i-”

like a spell that has been broken, san and wooyoung pull apart, pretending to have an ounce of modesty at the sound. the voice comes from a little girl, who’s the daughter of one of the young kitchen maids. as a single parent due to other kingdom wars, san’s parents had kept her employed in their castle even if she didn’t hail from the north, such that mother and daughter would have a roof over their heads and wouldn’t go hungry. 

“oh, our little aurora,” it’s wooyoung who goes over first and picks her up, “you interrupted nothing. don’t be silly,” 

“‘m sorry, my prince,” the girl softly says, as san comes over, pats her head to comfort her. “don’t worry, little one, nobody’s upset. please don’t cry,”

“you were… about to-” as she gestures a kiss with her little hands, san and wooyoung meet eyes, then look away, blushing. “that’s okay, we’re not upset,” wooyoung bounces her in his arms, and san holds her little hands to reassure her. “yes, it’s okay, little one. we’re not mad,”

“mama says, you must show it, if you love someone,” she tells them, covers her eyes with her hands, “aurora won’t look-”

“oh, that’s alright, baby.” san coos, “we can just take our meal now, since you’ve kindly come to fetch-”

“come catch us if you can, prince san!”

wooyoung pecks him on the cheek before san can retaliate, and runs off with the little girl, leaving a loud trail of giggles as they head for the dining hall.

“ah, so the learned cuteness fails,” mingi remarks as the scene unfolds, and yunho helps to complete his sentence, “but natural cuteness always prevails.”

wooyoung’s busy making little poses for san, by the rose garden that the duo like to tend to together. the butlers did give him a little nudge, to elevate wooyoung’s already potent charm.

“let’s go prepare their meal,” yunho grabs mingi’s hand. “i’m sure they’ll appreciate the privacy,”

their eyes are fond as they watch wooyoung smack san, both of them a heap of red cheeks and laughter, books and watering cans and damask roses forgotten. giggles by their lips, not a care in the world. “it looks like they’re meant to be- i mean, look at that.”

yunho sighs, “we’re going to have to push prince san to do something soon. time is running out,”

“right, the throne,” mingi sighs back, “only around a year before he has to become king.”

san used to be deathly afraid of the dark. 

when he was young, he tried to help a stray cat when it was raining, not knowing it was a wicked witch’s familiar. but the cat seemed to convey that the witch used her to do cruel things with her black magic, and san wanted to help and protect the cat. my name is byeol, the cat seemed to say through meows, please help me, prince san. i’m so hungry. i don’t get to eat!

“oh my, please don’t cry,” he had told the little kitty, “i will find you something,” he digs in his tiny trouser pockets, finds little rice puffs that he’d been saving as a snack for later. “here, have this first,”

“you-!” he hears a shrill screech, a long, wicked nail pointing at him, the darkness and lightning only make her talons and sharp pointy hat loom bigger over his small frame, and san stumbles into the ground, cat in his arms.

“it’s okay, byeol,” san gets back on his feet, mindful of the slippery slope due to the rain. “i’ve got you.”

“you who taketh the things of others,” the ominous voice echoes behind him, “shall never have a beloved possession to keep. ever.”

when the witch saw him trying to feed her cat, she assumed san was trying to poison or steal her familiar. 

to a certain degree, she wasn’t wrong. and because san was very small and shy as a boy, he couldn’t find the right words to explain the situation. at least, not when a woman in a large pointy hat and nails as long as dragon talons was hissing at him. when he tried to say something, there was so much thunder and lightning that it rendered him mute. but the little black cat needed his help.

prince san, please save me! the witch will cook me alive in the oven if she catches me! she will send her ravens to peck at me again, it hurts, please help me!

so san had sprinted back home, with the fear of a hansel and gretel situation for the kitten. sopping wet, with the dear little cat in his arms, back to his room where his mother had worriedly waited for him. 

“oh, my beloved boy. where have you been? mama was worried sick,”

he had related the incident to his mother, teary eyed, but his mother had soothed him, told him to pen it down and burn it. that those nasty words would then turn into ash, and he shouldn’t be burdened by them. she allowed him to keep the black cat, not at all burdened by superstition. you did the right thing, my love. you did a good deed.

the relayed incident was heard by hongjoong and seonghwa, who were also there as his butlers in waiting at a tender age. and soon, the other servants, all around the same age, had showered him with so much love and affection, that the threatening curse had been buried deep down.

san never heard byeol talk to him again, but the little kitten has always been a faithful companion. snarling at strangers as if to protect him in return. but even at first encounter, byeol really cozied up to wooyoung, meowing affectionately and following him everywhere. that had to be a sign, right?

“have you ever ridden a horse, precious?”

wooyoung only shakes his head. “my father took me once, in secret. when i was very young. i’m the only half-breed, so i don’t have a steed to my name,” wooyoung seems a bit embarrassed at this, ducks his head as his voice trails off. “sorry. i know it’s quite unbecoming of a prince-”

“wooyoung-ah,” san gently tips his chin up, “there is nothing to be ashamed of. will you let me teach you?”

san sits in front to handle the reins and control the horse's cues, while wooyoung sits pillion, arms across san’s waist. when they disembark in the woods, wooyoung takes charge. they lead the horse to spring water, securing the obedient mare before flitting off.

this is wooyoung’s domain, his territory- he’s familiar, for rounds of hide and seek with his mother made him a master of the verdure.

“i want to show you something. come here, san-ah,” after meandering through little disguised trails and hidden paths, they arrive by a small waterfall connected to a creek. there are blooms of purple water iris, home to resting baby deer and little bunnies. 

it’s a secret hideaway that wooyoung and his mother often found refuge in. a little elysium, a tiny wonderland for two.

the sycamore tree bears both their names on it, and now wooyoung uses a jagged rock to cave san’s name too.

“it’s beautiful, wooyoung,” san breathlessly says, in awe of the hidden gem deep within the unassuming forest, “i never knew of such resplendent beauty, hidden from us.”

“i know,” wooyoung beams, not realising san hasn’t once stopped staring at him, “mama and i used to sit here all the time. it’s cathartic. therapeutic even,” he tugs san down onto a sturdy log, and then he gets lost in san’s eyes.

“sannie,” wooyoung hands him a plucked dandelion, “make a wish, and then blow on it. it is said to grant wishes,”

“okay, princess. thank you,” san closes his eyes, hands clasped in prayer, and blows.

i yearn, for this love to come to fruition- if not, then may wooyoung find happiness, no matter where he goes.

they way san teaches wooyoung ballroom dancing, horse riding and basic piano lessons, wooyoung teaches san how to bat. how to skip stones. how to play hand drawn boardgames, the different species of wildflowers that bloom in abundance. teaches him of the magical flora and fauna deep in the woods.

wooyoung shows him what the little joys in life are.

“i really like you,” the confession comes one day, abrupt as they sit by the special log, deep in the heart of the woods. “i have feelings for you romantically, wooyoung.”

when wooyoung just looks at him, rosy cheeks and plush lips parted, san continues, “it is alright if you do not feel the same. i just… i wanted to you know where i stand. that is all,” the waterfall flows on calmly as birds chirp in the sky. the butterflies that flit past them, the serene sound of the water do little to soothe san, for wooyoung is still silently staring at him, asymmetrical eyes glassy.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t consider that my words might make you uncomfortable,” san whispers, looks away. “i… let me take you back to the palace, where you can retire to your chambers.”

“san,” wooyoung licks his lips as san tries to rise, two arms fastened around his bicep. “san, please stay.”

“if… your response is not a good one,” san clears his throat, looking anywhere else but at the apple of his eye, “please allow me to be selfish and take us home this instant.”

“san-ah,” wooyoung’s looking at him with such fond, sweet eyes, “why do you think so little of yourself?”

“i just can’t bear looking at you, knowing i can’t have you,” san whispers back, “forgive my greed, wooyoung.”

wooyoung only uses his hand to lift san’s chin, leans in to chastely peck him on the lips.

“and who says it’s wrong to be greedy?” he warmly looks at san, “i just… i want to be honest and tell you that my hesitancy is not because of you. i have good feelings towards you too, san- it’s just that,” he bites on his lip, “there’s something that i haven’t told you about, and i really should, but i’m afraid that if i speak it aloud, it will ruin everything.”

san thinks this might have to do with wooyoung’s arm. he always subconsciously rubs at his forearms, especially when he’s in a daze or deep in thought. even on warmer days, wooyoung refuses to wear clothes without long sleeves. he will simply wear them still, but leave the blouse unbuttoned. even as they sleep, san forgoes a top on hot summer nights, but wooyoung is fine to leave everything else exposed, save for the sleeves. 

maybe it’s an injury or some scar, san wonders, but he always draws a blank. or maybe it’s just a bad habit and he’s overthinking, too attentive to wooyoung’s little quirks.

“what could be this serious, my princess? and if it is, wouldn’t it be better to say it? such that two heads are better than one?”

“sannie,” wooyoung softly sighs, “these violent delights have violent ends- i should’ve never opened my mouth. none of this would’ve happened if-”

“wooyoung-ah,” san holds his hands tightly, “please promise me, to never ever say that again.”

“no, all this could’ve been avoided,” wooyoung shakes his head, pressing his lips into a firm line as he feels his eyes grow wet, “if i were on my best behaviour, maybe i would’ve met you properly, at one of your balls- we could’ve fallen in love like normal people, and i would elope with you, should my stepmother have something to say. we could’ve had a happy ending. we don’t have to be doing all this in secret if not for me and my stupid-”

“but it’s what i like about you,” san gently kisses his hair, “i like that you feel a certain way, with reason, and stick to it. i think you need that kind of backbone to be a good prince.” san continues when wooyoung only looks at him, not knowing how else to respond, “and who says we can’t have a happy ending?” san pats his head kindly, “tell me about all of it when you are ready. i promise not to judge, and i will be at your disposal, prince wooyoung.”

“oh, san, what did i do to deserve you-!” wooyoung hides his face in his chest, next to that heart that never wavers, and feels at peace for the first time in a long while.

“well… you existed.”

at some point in their relationship, wooyoung responds to the name precious. san would address him as such, and he blushed the first time he actually responded to it. hi, precious. do you have some time this afternoon? and wooyoung had turned, for he recognised the special soft lilt san reserves for him.

but at the back of his mind, wooyoung always recalls the curse emblazoned onto his arm. time is so very precious, for the petals are starting to fall with each and every day.

precious, like how san’s existence has become, deep in his heart.

at some point in their relationship, san responds to the name beloved. it had come one day, where wooyoung just said aloud, beloved, will you read me beauty and the beast? and san had responded, somehow. like he always knew that endearment belonged to him. 

but at the back of his mind, san always recalls what the witch told him. it always lingers, an unseen ghost that continues to haunt him. 

you who taketh the things of others, shall never have a beloved possession to keep. ever.

he desperately hopes, if there is one thing in the world he could keep, it would be a boy named wooyoung.

there’s a two-tiered cake made to celebrate wooyoung’s 100th day of staying with them in the northern palace.

sparkling fruit wines are served, alongside more splendid and decadent desserts. flooded by the outpouring of love, wooyoung gets so excited that he kisses each butler on the cheek to thank them for this lovely surprise and the delicious treats. the banquet hall’s also been decorated with streamers and flowers for the occasion.

it’s just a little peck, so everything moved so quickly like a fleeting vignette of laughter- yet it comes to a standstill when they realise one person isn’t smiling at all.

san has his mouth set in a straight line, jaw taut as he sets down his fork and leaves the rest of his favourite type of cake untouched.

“i… apologies, i have places to be,” he says in a soft but firm voice, eyes trained on the door of the banquet hall. “please enjoy the rest of it in my absence.”

there seems to be a dark cloud settled over them, as the butlers in waiting panic- prince san is upset, and this hasn’t happened in such a long time. then begins the flurry of apologies to wooyoung, stating that they’ve been too bold as to all be accepting kisses from a royal. prince san is not happy, and this must be why.

san never really gets angry to the point he yells or barks orders at them, unlike what a lot of insolent, bratty royals his age do. san just takes his own quiet time to regain his bearings, away from scrutiny.

“oh, hush. if anything, this is my fault,” wooyoung sighs, the forkful of cake no longer as sweet, “i will find him and apologise thereafter. please, do not feel bad, all six of you. let us finish the sweet treats like prince san intended. i shall take some to him later,”

wooyoung waits in san’s room by evening, with a pot of magnolia blossom tea as a peace offering instead. some leftovers of the afternoon teatime, he’s kept with the kitchen staff. as nightfall approaches, he stands by the window, gazes at the full moon.

then, he hears the door softly open and shut.

“sannie?” he subconsciously tugs at the navy silk, to conceal his arm as he turns towards the door. his silk robes fall ever so slightly, revealing the creamy skin of an exposed shoulder. “sannie, i want to apologise for this afternoon- i got carried away and-”

“i want to apologise too,” san quietly says as he back hugs wooyoung, hands around his waist, “i should not have lost any composure and dampened everyone’s spirits.”

“i never wished to upset or offend you, my prince. i apologise, truly. i’ve fetched you magnolia blossom tea, i…”

san only grazes his lips across wooyoung’s shoulder, his neck, all the unmarred exposed skin that tempts him; hands never leaving his waist. kisses the back of wooyoung’s ear, letting it melt into a gentle whisper. “thank you, princess. for your thoughtfulness.”

“ah, you’re welcome.” then he tilts his head to the side, kisses san’s head where it rests on his shoulder, “who knows how many more full moons we will get to spend together?”

when he says this, san lifts his head, pivots him around by the hips. wooyoung is pliant under the moonlight, and gone is his usual siren-like gaze, only a look of full doe eyes taking its place.

“come to bed, darling.”

“yes, let us.”

he allows san to escort him in a bridal carry, both of them indulging in it despite the short distance. wooyoung fetches the teapot by the bedside, pours san a cup of tea. offers it, and the temperature has cooled nicely, still warm and easy on the palate without being scalding. san reckons the soothing herbal infusion of magnolia blossoms tastes like wooyoung’s personality- a delicate, sweet aroma with distinct subtle notes of ginger and citrus.

“try some,” he drinks exactly half of the cup, and offers it to wooyoung in return. they are equals, the way san has his counterpart’s heeled boots made higher, such that in the day, they stand eye to eye. “oh, this is nice.”

“it is.”

nobody comments if the niceness pertains to the floral notes of tea, or intimate details laden in such tender moments. intimacy doesn’t always have to be physical or sexual- sometimes it’s all in the little things, the small moments shared like a clandestine secret.

once the tea is sipped in silence and done, the candles get blown out and they settle on their sides, in preparation to sleep.

“i know i said no restrictions apply to you in my kingdom, but could you promise me just one thing, wooyoung?” san’s voice is gentle, as he plays with wooyoung’s hair.

“what is it, beloved? tell me,” wooyoung rubs at san’s arm, loves when the latter always seems to relax at his touch.

“please don’t… go around kissing anyone else,” san sighs, speaking in hushed tones, “or at least, if you want to kiss someone else, wooyoungie. do it where i can’t see? they say ignorance is bliss-”

“sannie?” wooyoung gives him a pleading look, cradling his face, “i’m sorry for upsetting you. i promise, i was really happy today, so i got carried away-”

“kissing one person on the cheek is impulse, yes- but kissing six of my men in consecutive order, that is something else entirely,” san sulks, defeated at the hands of natural cuteness, “that’s called unfair.”

“oh, my dear. i realised at the third, but if i were to stop, that would be unjust to the other three, no?” wooyoung pacifies, amused by how faux serious san is taking this, “hm. then i guess your actions were warranted. however!” san pauses for dramatic effect, relents into a big pout. “you… forgot the most important person.”

“my love, my beloved san,” wooyoung says even softer now, melting as he moves closer to san, “i couldn’t find you, which is why i waited here for you, in your chambers earlier than usual. believe me when i say i looked for you in your endless gardens, even the cellars and the attics, but you were hidden away, like buried treasure…”

seeing that san has calmed and they’re back to usual, wooyoung makes a mental note to tell the butlers bright and early the next morning that everything has been quashed. they needn’t be worried any further.

“fine! i went into hiding because i was a little upset,” san continues pouting, “because really, how could you forget the most important-”

wooyoung carefully presses his lips to san’s smooth skin, leaving a long, wet smooch on his cheek, where his dimple resides. presses his plush lips so deeply into san’s skin, that it makes a loud kiss noise when he parts.

“oh gosh. i wasn’t- well. i certainly was not expecting that,” san blinks, feeling his face grow warm, “goodness, my angel. you have such a way of taunting me,”

“mm, better now? i’m sorry, sannie- i jest. i did look for you… i just couldn’t find you, you know,”

“your chambers,” san suddenly says, shy, “the most dangerous place is the safest place.”

“dangerous?” wooyoung’s eyes sparkle now, inching closer to kiss him again, “now you’re saying i’m dangerous?”

“because you disarm me, wooyoung-ah,” san whispers to him, kissing his nose and holding him tight with a smile, “you are a danger to my sanity.”

the weeping willow was planted when san heard the news his parents were lost at sea. unable to be found.

but now, he often resides under the same elegiac tree, accompanied by an elegant presence. mesmerised instead of melancholic.

“prince san,” wooyoung suddenly says, as they share warm chocolate fudge cake. afternoons have often become like this, looking into each other’s eyes and spending time together. each butler brings them a surprise of a sweet treat- a daily surprise dessert paired with a suitable tea blend. today’s pot is of second-flush darjeeling.

do you think it’s possible to fall in love with someone when your eyes meet? i think it’s possible, prince san.

“what is it, prince wooyoung?”

wooyoung hems and haws, then unclasps the locket around his neck, nestles it into san’s open palms. his own hands are lain on top, their hands cupping the little silver locket. “if one day, something does happen to me,” wooyoung hesitates, “i would like for you to keep this safe for me.”

you’ve always had me, in the palm of your hands.

san frowns. “and why should any harm come to you? my butlers are here, and so am i- where does this worry stem from, my dear? would it reassure you if i assigned you a bodyguard-”

“no, i-” wooyoung bites his lip, feeling his arm tingle as a reminder, “just in case, san.” 

“hm. then should i have you locked away high in my clock tower? i’ll have you grow out your hair, and i shall climb it to meet you,” san jokes, cheeks pink, “oh, wooyoung-ah, wooyoung-ah, let down your hair! i certainly do think you would look handsome, still,”

“don’t be silly, san,” his voice is small, but he always smiles, whenever he thinks or hears from san. “it would reassure me greatly if you took care of my locket.”

he secures it around san’s neck, like he’s knighting him, and san kisses his hands when the deed is done.

“if that is your wish, prince charming, then i shall safeguard it for you.”

“butter rice cakes,” wooyoung suddenly says while they tend to the rose bushes. he uses his fists to squish san’s cheeks. “my beloved butter tteok,”

“butter… tteok?” san repeats, confused, but always willing to go along with the smaller man’s inclinations. “my mother used to make them with me when i craved something sweet and savoury,” now wooyoung is mimicking taking a bite of san’s cheeks, grinning from ear, “you look like that snack. it’s yummy,”

“y’wanna eat me?” san mumbles through squished cheeks, and wooyoung feels san’s face warm, like a preheating oven. with that, wooyoung playfully leaves a long wet smooch onto his cheek. always, at the spot where his dimple appears.

“my great big red delicious,” wooyoung softly purrs, now having taken to calling san different types of apples- ever since the latter called him the apple of his eye. “my ruby-red envy, so big and juicy, just to my liking.”

“oh, stop that, wooyoung-ah. i will go redder,” san tries to pretend to shove him aside, unable to hide his smile, “my little honeycrisp,”

“but i like it when you turn red,” wooyoung pouts back, “i think it’s very cute, sannie.”

“ambrosia,” san just loves tucking wooyoung’s hair behind his ears. he thinks it’s so sweet, intimate even if it isn’t inherently sexual. “my little ambrosia apple, a gift from the gods,” he watches wooyoung flush, returning him a wicked feline grin. kisses the little dot by wooyoung’s left cheek, under his eye.

“p-prince san-!”

“i like it when you turn red too- i think it’s very cute, wooyoungie.”

measure for measure, in this labour of love.

the other servants are pushing and nudging san to make a move. “he is still a guest here, my lord!” 

“prince san, please-! you have to take the initiative! you are the grand duke of the north!”

“um. well. hi, wooyoung,” san lamely says, much to the groans of the servants behind him. and when he turns around to shoot them a glare, they just silently exaggerate gestures at him, as if wooyoung himself isn’t there.

“hi, san.” wooyoung smiles, always feeling very warm in san’s presence. everyone here is so nice. all the people working for san are all kind and sweet. just like the bunch of nosy rascals behind, endearing in nudging san forward. everyone here has such a disarming smile.

san is very shy, they’d all taken turns to tell wooyoung secretly, in their own ways, please give our prince a chance. he really likes you. and we like you very much too.

thus, the incessant shenanigans they have tried to initiate, with trial and error. wooyoung welcomes it all, for it finally feels like the semblance of a family. that they squabble and whine and fuss, but everything is always done with good intentions.

he reckons this is what found family must feel like.

“prince san, please!” seonghwa frowns, “you said you would do it!”

“you can’t back out now, we’re already doing up the cake-” mingi’s also pouting at him, and jongho takes the chance to also add in, “we already polished and brought out the fine china and silverware-!”

“hush, you people,” san is about to whine, but halts when he realises wooyoung is taking the sight in, amused. “let’s not-”

“we already changed the flowers for the centerpiece,” yunho cheers, and hongjoong tells him, “your outfit has also been ironed and is ready for tonight,”

“will you guys- please-!” san is evidently flustered, both hands up in surrender, as if he could physically stop their nonstop encouragement. “please, prince wooyoung will feel burdened to accept if you keep pressuring him like that-”

“accept what?” wooyoung tilts his head, and then everything quietens. he has an inkling, but he needs san to say it.

“how is it pressure,” yeosang softly says, hiding a smile as he looks at wooyoung, “if our princely guest has already had his dinner attire fitted this morning?"

“y-yeosang, please! what did i say about-” wooyoung is pink in the cheeks, now addressing san. “and if we’re having dinner-” he gives him a bright smile, “i think it would be nice if we had a dinner for eight,”

san softens at wooyoung’s thoughtfulness.

“why, of course. i was just thinking the same.”

the other six men in the background let out a large collective sigh.

san has his hair done up, face dusted with glitter and rouge so he looks ‘more presentable’. someone has even secured two little orange bows in san’s hair, in a bid to make him look less intimidating. but wooyoung knows how terribly soft san is, especially when he smiles with those dimples.

prince wooyoung looks pretty for you, seonghwa had chided, it’s only right that our prince san looks pretty for him too.

dinner is held by the long banquet table, where san and wooyoung sit at the head and foot of the rectangular table. the rest of them sit three by three, on the longer sides of the table.

dinner goes smoothly, with what feels like a family gathering, of warm chatter and laughter and delicious food.

however, when it comes to desert, the butlers of the palace scramble to remove their chairs, quickly fuss over san and wooyoung as the plates and main courses get cleared by the other servants.

“you two are sitting too far apart,” yunho says, and they hurriedly clear everything, until two chairs are arranged side by side, right before the yellow and pink flower arrangement in the middle. “there. fit for a king.”

“we’ll ask for dessert to be served now,” hongjoong sweetly says, and san catches jongho saying something like it’s not our fault if there’s only one spoon!

“a strawberry cake with white chocolate cream, especially for our two princes,” seonghwa announces, followed by mingi, who brings little glass cups. “special pudding, made with milk of corn, caramelised with special gold dust.”

“two pieces of yakgwa for tasters,” yeosang sets down two tiny pieces, followed by a pot of tea. “and some rooibos tea, infused with vanilla bean. enjoy, your highness,”

to their chagrin, the two princes mainly had their dessert in silence, communicating through shy gazes and accidental brushes of their fingers only.

the blush is attributed to the rouge dusted on from earlier.

the six heads that peep from behind the entrance of the banquet hall groan in unison.

he’s slowly starting to learn the reins of how to be a good ruler.

when san is about to leave for a diplomatic trip, he makes sure to already see wooyoung the night prior, so he can leave at the crack of dawn, without any hesitation. he’d kissed wooyoung’s hands, promised him to come home safely.

“san, san-ah!”

he stops the horse at once, dismounts.

“precious, what are you doing here?” wooyoung’s burgundy cloak flutters as he runs over, lantern swaying frantically in his hold. the sun has yet to yawn and fully stretch its arms to announce its awakening. wooyoung should be in bed, sleeping. “it’s still so early in the morning?”

“i know,” wooyoung huffs, putting the lantern down, “for you. on your journey.” he presents san a little flask, and a small box wrapped in cloth. it’s still warm. “apple pie and earl grey masala chai.” then he looks at san with his sweet doe and siren eyes, “i made them with ambrosia apples and… there’s also butter tteok,”

“oh, my love, you shouldn’t have…” san’s eyes gaze at him lovingly, one hand on his food, the other beckoning wooyoung for a hug. wooyoung’s hairpin today is a silver barrette with rubies.

“i wanted to,” wooyoung says into his chest, san embracing him warmly, hands reluctant to pull apart from his waist, “a little sweet treat for your sweet tooth.”

“alright then, i will eat it well. thank you.” san kisses his hair, “go back to sleep, precious. it’s still cold, you know.”

“be safe, beloved,” wooyoung tiptoes to kiss his cheek, “come back safely in one piece.”

“if it’s my wooyoung’s orders, then i will have no choice but to do just that.”

even if i get lost, san muses, wooyoung’s love will guide me home. like a cosmic clue in the vast sky- he will aim his arrow, and escort me home. just like the wind in my ears, the roses that bloom where he goes.

wooyoung stands by the gates, lantern by his feet as he watches san departs on his steed, his figure suddenly retreating. san only manages a short distance, before he turns back, hongjoong and seonghwa and the rest of his guards staying ahead. this puzzles him- the sun is starting to rise, the weather looks perfect. so why..?

“ah- prince san? did you leave something behi-”

“this mustn't do,” san mumbles to himself, before he dismounts once more, rushes to kiss the crown of wooyoung’s head. “don’t look at me with those eyes, honey.”

“w-what..?”

san seems to debate with himself internally, then takes a deep breath, slips off one of his rings and slides it onto wooyoung’s thumb.

“just as i have your locket- please keep this ring safe for me, prince wooyoung. it suits you well, like it was made for you. and please make sure you eat and sleep well in my absence,”

you have become the heart of my kingdom.

“oh. that i can do,” wooyoung lovingly pats san’s head, smiles while taming the stray strands caused by the wind. “i shall await your return, then. your wish is my command.”

while san is away, wooyoung busies himself with the rest of the butlers in waiting. teaches them how to make butter tteok, while they teach him tea pairings and the ideal notes to complement different sweet treats. since he knows more about cooking main courses from time spent with his mother, now he’s learning how to bake more things. 

sweeter things, rather than bland or spicy.

be it in the kitchens or library or hallways, the butlers are eager to start sharing childhood stories of san, finally telling him the reason why san is so apprehensive about his ascension to the throne. that he still hopes his parents are still out there, somewhere, even if it’s been years.

that san has always hoped to find true love, even if it may seem impossible.

“but you sensed his fear of stormy nights, even before anyone told you,” mingi pats his shoulder, “prince san has been sleeping a lot better now.”

“the ring that you wear,” yunho points to the signet ring on wooyoung’s thumb, “do you… know what it means?”

wooyoung shakes his head, “he just said it was something pretty for me to safeguard. suited me. because i… i once gave him my mother’s locket- my most precious possession- to safekeep, just in case. you know, with the curse of the rose and all else unknown,”

as wooyoung rubs at his inner arm, the two butlers exchange glances, then each take one of wooyoung’s hands. 

“dear prince wooyoung… please promise to stay by our prince san’s side?” mingi looks at him, wide eyed and sincere, nodding at his fellow butler in waiting to go ahead.

“what’s with-”

“the ring bears the insignia of the kingdom of the north’s coat of arms, your highness. so, there are two ways this ring could be of importance- first, you either give it to someone to grant them a royal pardon. or,” yunho takes a deep breath, smile wry, “or, second, should prince san’s parents call for him to be wedded to someone, by arranged marriage- he can veto that decision. he is able to overrule that decision, by giving away his signet ring.”

wooyoung feels like his heart has stopped.

“in other words,” mingi exhales, both of their hands tightening their holds over wooyoung’s, “prince san has every intention to marry the bearer of his ring. he has already chosen.”

as his heart pounds away, fluttering with abandon, wooyoung subconsciously lifts his sleeve. three pairs of eyes look at his right arm- and see that there are only five petals left.

good heavens. but if this is true love-

wooyoung doesn’t have the heart to think any further, of all the impossible possibilities. 

the coolness of the silver ring now burns into his skin.

when san triumphantly returns- with a beautiful lavender rose for wooyoung, a species named angel face roses- wooyoung is already waiting for him by the main palace gates.

“prince san!” he waves excitedly, as the warm rays of the sun caress both their skin. “sannie!”

san disembarks, and nods at his guards to take his steed back to the stables. he stretches out his arms, “where is my welcome back hug, precious? did you miss me?”

wooyoung smiles brightly as he runs into san’s arms, feels san tuck the meticulously thornless rose at his left ear. “i always miss you when we’re apart, my love.” then he softly says into the crook of san’s neck, “did you sleep well? i heard there was a mild thunderstorm where you were headed for,”

“oh, wooyoung-ah,” san pats the back of his head gently, inhaling his sweet scent, “i never sleep well when i am away from you.”

after san’s twin tower butlers have been the bearers of heavy news, it has been weighing on his mind. it bogs him down, just like the silver chrome bracelets he wears on his ankles so they will not leave his body. it’s far too important to leave them behind anywhere. the signet ring on this thumb now feels terribly hefty.

he puts one side of the silver bracelets onto san’s wrist, takes a deep breath.

“san.” 

“yes..?” san thumbs at the engravings of the silver bracelet, “this is…”

“when my mother knew she didn’t have long left to live, she had these forged for me.” wooyoung stares at him with determination, “my mother intended for them to be as dowry. her blessings for the person i intend to marry.”

well, wooyoung’s a bit straightforward like that, hence the curse from the beginning of time, condemning him to seek refuge here in the north- for simply speaking his mind.

san’s mouth is agape, colour flushing into his cheeks, down to his neck. the delicate chain around his wrist sits heavy.

“i-” he pauses, “wooyoung-”

“i know what your ring stands for now, san-ah,” wooyoung holds his face, pouting cutely, “so i guess i could give you something of equal measure, as your dear friend.”

now it’s san that sulks, pouty as can be as he tries to explain himself, “now, wooyoung. you know i- that’s not my intention, i just-” he looks away, ears red, “i… please, don’t do this-”

do you think it’s possible to fall in love with someone when your eyes meet? i think it’s possible, prince wooyoung.

“wooyoung, please,” san whines softly, crumbling into defeat when wooyoung only laughs, enjoying this idea of a friend way too much. “you know i don’t just mean a friend, i…”

“then what do you mean, san-ah?”

“my mother always said you should marry your best friend,” san mumbles, the gaze of asymmetrical eyes too distracting, “wooyoung-ah, towards you, i-”

it always feels a bit like magic, when he stares at wooyoung, feels all his worries melt away. he squeezes his eyes shut. he can’t do this- san doesn’t want to break his own heart; he’s been cursed to be unable to keep anything beloved him.

“hey. it’s okay, san.” wooyoung is so gentle when he cradles his face, “i also feel a certain way, towards you. you don’t have to define it, beloved.”

this is cruel. it feels like he’s dreaming, when he stares at san, feels san literally soften when their eyes meet. he can’t do this- wooyoung doesn’t want to break his own heart; he’s been cursed into an eternal slumber, and now only four petals remain. it’s getting harder to speak, harder to walk.

“i just love being with you,” san quietly says, pressing their foreheads together. “i guess i am afraid of what might happen, should i say some things aloud.”

“i love being with you too,” wooyoung smiles, bittersweet, “i too, confess that i’m afraid of the repercussions, should i speak of the impossible truth.”

is all really fair, in love and war?

four petals left.

wooyoung knows that his body is starting to deteriorate, because he catches himself unwittingly nodding off. that he has sudden bouts of drowsiness, feeling faint. the rose is at its halfway mark, and fear is starting to creep up on him. he thought he might be able to outrun fate- but it seems to be catching up, like a slow hazy fever.

after san reads the tragedy to him, by the gazebo overlooking the blooming wisteria and swans, wooyoung realises that san and him, they are not hades and persephone. they are not romeo and juliet. not pygmalion and galatea.

they are orpheus and eurydice.

orpheus, who does his best to bring eurydice out of the underworld. he’s lost her, but due to his devotion and softness of songs, he was allowed a chance to take her back into the world of the living. wooyoung thinks it’s a little too coincidental, that eurydice should mean true judgement, of fairness and wide justice.

orpheus looks back not out of mortal frailty- orpheus looks back at eurydice out of love.

and in any retelling- whether he looked back because she tripped, whether he looked back because he couldn’t hear her and wonders if he’s been tricked, or out of sheer desire to embrace her, forgetting the rule of both of them requiring to cross the threshold of exiting the underworld- orpheus looked back because he loved eurydice to no end.

he loved her, with everything he had.

he looked back, in every retelling, because his love for her compelled him to turn.

and wooyoung starts to wonder if hades had given orpheus an impossible task; that orpheus would have lost eurydice either way, because he loved her. did hades let him go on a sinonical, tragic quest, because he understood the pains of love? or was it because he was a god and never understood the finiteness of mortal love?

now, wooyoung feels like eurydice. 

his voice and strength is leaving him. he can’t call out to san any longer. san wouldn’t know if he’s there, if he’s still cursed. a little bit like the little mermaid, whose voice has been stolen, his legs turning to jelly with each fall of a rose petal.

and san, his beautiful, benevolent san, is doing his utmost best as orpheus, to pull him out of a destined death.

but it is okay- for in the end, when orpheus meets his fateful end, their souls will reunite and be entwined once more for eternity, there in the underworld.

“i, um. i have something for you, wooyoung.”

he can see san is really excited about this, eyes wide and glimmering with adrenaline.

“what is it, san-ah.” a smile always comes naturally when he looks at san. “you look like you anticipate my reaction.”

“indeed, i do.” he steals out of the dining hall, comes back with navy velvet in his hands.

wooyoung’s at a loss for words.

san’s made him a little diamond tiara.

“i’m sorry to say this, but your stepmother was a terrible person. i heard you never got your coming of age crown.”

wooyoung feels tears well up in his eyes. at eighteen, he should’ve been granted a small crown, as all of his siblings did for their coming of age ceremony. but his crown somehow came broken, sabotaged and therefore thrown into the fire. he doesn’t even need to guess who ruined it.

coincidentally, there were ravens circling the palace overhead on the same day, and his ceremony was cancelled rather than postponed. the queen was big on superstition, so the king attempted to have another made for wooyoung, but it never came to fruition.

“prince san,” wooyoung sobs, “you didn’t have to- this is so pretty-”

“almost as pretty as you,” san gently arranges it on top of his hair, “almost. happy valentine’s day, your highness.”

when wooyoung still doesn’t know what to say, san only laughs and pats his back soothingly, “i chose a tiara for myself too, you know. i find crowns to be so heavy and a little tacky, if i might add. so for yours i-”

wooyoung just kisses his cheek for the lack of words, face a splotchy mess. 

“-i added rubies,” san falters, “oh. you just-”

“san. you have touched my heart in a way no other has,” wooyoung softly hiccups, pouting, “i do not know what else to say.”

“you don’t have to say anything,” san simply states, dimples slowly appearing, “i am just happy to have touched your heart. now, dry your tears, precious.”

“sorry, do i look very ugly now?”

“you silly kitten, you are always beautiful,” san pinches his nose cutely, “i have a painter over, to have our portrait drawn.”

“i do not know what the future holds for us, wooyoung. but i hope you hold the memories of today close to your heart, as i do.”

despite sitting side by side, san had ordered for the painter to have their portraits done on two separate canvases. so that they wouldn’t have to fight over who gets to keep the complete picture.

wooyoung smiles so hard that his cheeks ache through the session, although he was fidgeting and wanting to stretch instead of sitting still. the painter watches the lovebirds as the painting progresses, how wooyoung cutely massages san’s thigh, how san will rub at the small of wooyoung’s back. how byeol comes and goes, takes her turn to sit in each prince’s lap before disappearing. “relax,” san softly tells wooyoung, “your eyes might disappear if you smile so hard.”

“coming from you,” wooyoung holds in a laugh, “sometimes i wonder if you can see me, for your pupils disappear when they land upon me.”

for i have fallen in love, with just a gaze from you.

once they’re done, san massages wooyoung’s cheeks and his calves, both of them wriggling their limbs to aid blood circulation. he pays and dismisses the painter, thanking them for their efforts. then he hands the scroll of half their couple painting to wooyoung. 

“here. your part of the portrait,”

wooyoung numbly accepts the scroll, rolled up and tied with ribbon, not daring to ask for san’s side of the painting. i want to keep your painting, san. i don’t care that i’m wearing a tiara, or whatever occasion this is. my time is limited. i love you, san- so deeply. i want to remember you forevermore.

“are you sure,” wooyoung swallows, “this is mine? you didn’t open it to check?”

“yes. i know it’s yours. open it and look at it when you feel blue, will you? it’s such a beautiful day today.” san had sounded so certain, looked at him so tenderly, that wooyoung didn’t have the heart to question him. he’s more than happy to already have half of this silly couple painting.

“yes, i shall.” wooyoung softly murmurs back, “today has been beautiful, indeed. i will never forget it,”

when wooyoung reaches his own chambers, his heart collapses on itself. he’s never going to love another person in this life, in the afterlife, in any other.

he’s staring at the watercolour portrait of san in his shaky hands.

san had given him his own counterpart of the painting, kept wooyoung’s portrait to look at for himself.

i love you dearly, wooyoung. and i hope that no matter what comes our way, you will remember me forever.

wooyoung has tears brimming in his eyes- happy tears- as he scurries into the kitchen after carefully keeping san’s portrait in the little safety box with his jewellery and tiara. 

he’s tempering chocolates, making them with dried fruits. and an extra batch, with hazelnuts. he knows san still dreams of some kind of ferrero rocher chocolate, something an envoy brought to the kingdom on a diplomatic voyage.

he’s on a mission to create the most delicious sweet treats. he’s going to make so many chocolates that san complains of a tummy ache, whines that there’s too many flavours to choose from.

because what else is valentine’s day, if not to bestow sweet things upon your special sweet person.

san is always so, so whiny and pouty when wooyoung limits his chocolate intake, citing health reasons- but partially also to have san all sulky. san is so endearing when he pouts, with those melty eyes as he says please, wooyoungie- can’t i just have one more bite of chocolate? 

and how could wooyoung ever say no to that silly man. gibberish of him being a beastly prince, as the other kingdoms rumour him to be- what utter madness. san is perfection, the apple of wooyoung’s eye. 

he’s a shy cutie pie that acts intimidating to keep his kingdom safe. only beauty, no beast.

“hi, sweetheart,” wooyoung knocks at san’s study, “do you have some time to spare for me?”

san takes off his glasses, puts down the quill. caps the bottles of inks. “i always have time for you, wooyoung. and you know that,”

“might i introduce you to an assortment of chocolates?”

“chocolate!” san’s countenance perks up at once, eyes disappearing into crescents, “did you get me chocolate, my love?”

“i made them,” wooyoung corrects, diffidently proud, “it took a few tries, but it should taste fine,”

chocolates, shaped into bite-sized squares, because san likes them that way. and little chocolate cookies that wooyoung calls snow sand, because they’re little crisp langue de chat cookies that sandwich a decadent creamy chocolate filling. with some powdered sugar to make it look like snow caps of mountains.

“oh, wooyoungie, you are so precious,” san carefully lays down the box, then picks wooyoung up by the thighs to spin him in a circle, “thank you so much.”

“happy valentine’s day, sannie,” wooyoung pats his head, smooches his forehead, “thank you, for existing.”

“wooyoung, where did you put the- wooyoung-!”

san’s voice is frenetic as he sees wooyoung lying on grass, face almost grazing cobblestone.

he’s fainted by the rose bushes, and san runs over to take his pulse, check if he’s hurt. while he doesn’t seem harmed physically, save for some bruises on impact, his pulse is weak, but there. wooyoung’s face has drained of all colour, his lips turning blue. san quickly carries him back to the palace, calls for the royal doctors to attend to him quickly.

it is only during the full body examination, that san sees the inked rose branded upon wooyoung’s arm. he doesn’t know how to feel; as wooyoung lies on his bed, looking so peaceful as he rests. like he’s been frozen in time, caught in an eternal slumber.

judging by the somber and grave expressions of his six butlers, they have been complicit in understanding the reason for wooyoung’s recent fainting spells. the increasing bouts of fatigue. but they have been sworn to secrecy, and none of them will meet eyes with san or say a single word about the eternal rose.

the butlers heave a huge collective sigh of relief when wooyoung wakes, prepared plenty of herbal remedies and nutritious bland food.

“i owe you an explanation, prince san,” wooyoung weakly says as san helps him to sit upright, and he gives the butlers a thankful nod, “please do not blame them. i forbade them from uttering a word to you. forgive me, san-ah, for you had a right to know that i am cursed,”

“no, this is all my fault,” san cries, “when i was young, i offended a witch- i took home byeol.”

he goes on to softly explain the story, as with his exacerbated fear of thunderstorms.

“and she has cursed me, to be unable to keep a single thing beloved to me. and thus- this is happening to you, because of me-!”

“no, san, you’ve got it all wrong,” wooyoung cups his face, “i offended an enchantress for speaking the truth and stopping my brother’s wedding. they have hated me and my mother even before i was born- it was the perfect opportunity to get rid of me. this is not your fault, do you hear me? it is mine to bear.”

he manages to hush san with a small kiss, offers him water.

“allow me,” wooyoung drinks from the same cup, “to explain from the beginning.”

wooyoung sends for hongjoong to retrieve the folded parchment.

“look, san.” he runs a finger down the lines of the nursery rhyme, “it says no mortal cures shall break this hold. and the things that i have pressed my lips to, when they’re served cold, have definitely been bold.”

san reads the taunting lines of the sinister poem, brows deeply etched with confusion and concern. “this reads off as very intense, my love.”

“i often thought the enchantress has been dangling a treat in front of me, giving me hope for a cure. but it is no use, san.” wooyoung offers him a wistful smile, “you have asked me, why i often go to your library to read up on immortal cures, even when i do not care for it. this is why,”

san studies the riddle carefully, frowns. “what if you’re focusing on the wrong part, wooyoung? what if this is not about the mortal part, but the white and golden and red part?”

“san, i’ve even tried biting into golden elderflower berries, when they’re known to be poisonous. i’ve tried three drops of red viper venom that gleams gold- all i got was four days of high fever and vomiting. i’ve even procured cold armadillo blood mixed with golden unicorn dust and white dried scales of a siren, one of the alleged ancient cures for all ailments. i collapsed with overwhelming pain and hallucinations. if that isn’t bold enough, then there must be no cure, san.” when san is still trying to gather his words, wooyoung holds his face tenderly, “i’m sorry for not telling you sooner. i didn’t want my baby to worry. see, stop frowning, san-ah… i knew you’d react like that, that’s why i-”

“no- what do you mean there is no cure,” san whispers, “you are joking, wooyoung. if you haven’t tried everything, then-”

“hush, san,” wooyoung gently massages his taut muscles, “it’s okay. don’t be upset, sometimes things are just meant to be. it’s okay,”

“it’s not okay, wooyoung. it’s not, it’s not okay!”

at the sight of his lover’s face of anguish, wooyoung finds himself distraught- this is the kind of face and expression he never wishes to see from san. it’s like his heart is irreparably broken.

“san, i’m so sorry for not telling you earlier, i-” wooyoung’s eyes are brimming with tears, voice hoarse, “darling, i’m so sorry.”

“my love, please.” san always lifts his chin when he looks away, “don’t be sorry. if i were you, i would’ve done the same. i wouldn’t want to burden you. isn’t that right?”

when he looks at wooyoung hurting, san hurts too.

and then the tears come, free falling down wooyoung’s face.

“san- when you look at me, oh goodness, heavens- you have this… this face you make, when you look at me, and-” wooyoung halts to hurriedly wipe away his tears, “you make me feel like i could do anything, like i am infallible; and yet- yet i am so powerless when it comes to this, that i can’t- that i-”

“oh, don’t cry, my beloved.” san holds him close, wooyoung’s sobs muffled against his chest, and san allows his own silent tears to drip, “i will do anything within my power to find you an antidote, i promise you.”

“if there is no cure, and i fall into an eternal slumber,” wooyoung clutches his face, eyes so expressive in their sorrow, “will you promise me to give up, and bury me by the lake, where the swans are? or under the weeping willow? san, promise me to take someone else as your partner, so your kingdom will have a pair of monarchs?” san’s expression has hardened, and wooyoung aches. “my love, promise me-”

“i cannot promise you that, wooyoung,” san says back honestly, eyes glassy, “i’m sorry. i cannot make good on my word,”

“san, listen, please-”

“no.” san’s voice is firm with devastation, “i cannot do that.”

“will you at least find another lover, for the sake of your people? your kingdom?” wooyoung’s voice grows fervent, “you have to reassure them. you must-!”

“i…” the light in his eyes is long gone. “how could you ever ask of such a cruel favour from me, wooyoung?”

both of them don’t even realise their breaths had been held, eyes interlocked into a gaze so deep, the close proximity for a waltz of two. a pas de deux.

“i have to be cruel to be kind, san,” he tries to smile, but all his eyes know is to well up with added wetness, san’s face like blurred watercolour. “you will be a fine ruler, my beloved. for what is the difference between death and an eternal sleep? san, listen to me and take back your signet ring- forget me, when the last petal falls. be good and-”

“then, will you take back your locket, and your mother’s bracelet?” san challenges, tone haughty but expression bittersweet, “if you take them both back, i will allow you to return me my ring.”

the bearer of the rose remains silent.

“but i have long ago chosen,” wooyoung softly says, after a long pause, and san gently says back, “as have i.”

as wooyoung takes time to rest and regain his strength, san embarks on herculean tasks. the labours of this love.

the labours of their love.

wooyoung and san hadn’t known what to say, when the royal physician said he couldn’t find anything wrong with wooyoung physically or mentally- he’s aced all possible basic cognitive tests, blood work healthy. and yet, his body seems to decline in a manner unaccountable for by science or medicine.

it’s like his energy and voice will start to deplete, even if there doesn’t seem to be any form of sickness in his body.

so there isn’t any medicine or herbs that the physicians or doctors can prescribe.

in other words, there is no known cure.

“san-ah. come here. i need to tell you something.”

“what is it, my dear?”

“i’m deeply in love,” wooyoung softly says, faintness of a rising blush coating his cheeks as he holds san close, “and i have a dream- one that i do not know if it can be fulfilled, my love.”

“oh, precious,” san grabs his hand, kisses it. “tell me. i will make it happen- i will not stop until i make it happen.”

“san-ah,” wooyoung whispers, eyes misted with tears, “i want to get married when i am well again.”

“…what?” he blinks when wooyoung pats his head, looks at him lovingly, as he plays with his nape. “we can always-”

we can get married now, if you want. i can make it happen. right this instant.

“no, not when i’m sick and deathly pale and my voice is leaving me,” wooyoung looks away, his core essence taken away from him, and san doesn’t have the heart to deny that. 

“okay. then, when you get well- let us have a wedding. a small one? will that be enough?”

“san-ah,” wooyoung smiles so wide, like a flower blooming in the sun as he holds in his laugh, “you haven’t asked who i intend to marry.”

“oh!” san blinks at him in repetition, evidently flustered, “i- well, sorry- i assumed that you- i’m so sorry,” wooyoung only panics when san looks taken aback, crestfallen. like the existence of another romantic partner never crossed his mind. like such a thought of a third person has never occurred to him. like there were only two of them, in this world.

“wooyoung, i-”

“san-ah, please. i was just teasing you, beloved.” wooyoung tucks the distressed strands of fringe that have fallen from san’s neatly combed hair, tucks them behind his ears. “sorry, my darling. i jest- i didn’t mean to throw you off kilter like that, my apologies. it’s just in my nature to tease you, please don’t think otherwise of me,”

“so… does that mean, ah- that, um. we-” san gestures between two of them, and here it comes, wooyoung’s little cackle of happiness. “that you want to-” san just looks so, so adorable when he makes that little scrunchy face and blinks twice, thrice. “so you-”

“yes, san. i want to marry you. it’s you or nothing, for me.”

“oh, have mercy on me, precious. you scared me.” san pouts, whiny when wooyoung makes grabby arms. “i’m sorry, san. forgive me. let me give you a hug- i love you so,”

san makes such a cute kitten-like noise when they embrace into a great warm hug. wooyoung’s laugh has become more mellow, softer. delicate and brittle, but still precious nonetheless.

“i love you just as much, if not more, wooyoung.”

when in pursuit of something, san is relentless.

the riddle mentions white encased with gold, and san immediately thinks of the immortal golden goose in the east.

within two days, he manages to locate said golden goose that lays a golden egg.

they carefully poach it, and feed it to wooyoung- but the rose remains permanently inked onto his skin.

“it’s the curse, san. lift your head- this is my own undoing. do not give me such an elegiac look, i beg.” he frowns when he sees san furrowing his brows, “stop it, san. my heart hurts when i see you without a smile.”

“but how can i smile,” san grimaces, “when i look at you fading away?” then he rises abruptly, “i must consult the books. there must be a cure. i promised you, wooyoung. i will go to the ends of this earth, to hell and back- i will find you that antidote.”

“san, san-” wooyoung pleads, “there are things in this universe that are not in our control. i live under the sword of damocles- we cannot go against mother nature, against dark magic. some things are-”

“are you giving up, wooyoung?” san quietly says, “is that your way of telling me-”

“i would never, san- it’s just- if i get my hopes up every single time and have my own heart broken, perhaps i deserve it. it is my penance; but for you, san, my beloved- you are innocent. why do you have to suffer when it is my own-”

“darling.” san’s tone is stern, but his eyes are kind.

“yes,” wooyoung’s voice is barely a whisper, like he feels ashamed to be seen by san- his beautiful san, who is so perfect with nary a flaw; and himself, loud and opinionated and bubbliness fizzling down into nothingness. “san, please-”

“i love you, wooyoung. until we have exhausted every single option, our hearts will break, but together. you aren’t alone. you never are.”

“i know,” wooyoung mumbles back, teary when he sees san’s red eyes, “it’s just so unfair that the person i love has to go through this when i-” he lets out a small sob, “i love you, san. i don’t want you to hurt if i can help it.”

“but we need you to get better,” their fingers intertwine, “if not how are we going to get married?”

it stings, for whenever san brings up marriage, wooyoung’s face will positively light up. if he ever loses this light, san may never recover from it.

“yes, i- i must get better,” wooyoung tries to say, so evidently mustering up the energy to speak it into existence, “i have to be able to stand upright and marry the love of my life.”

“good,” san kisses his hair, “let’s keep looking forward to that.”

“wooyoung, make a wish,” san tells him one day, dandelion in hand. “i found one on my way back. please, make a wish, princess. it will come true,”

wooyoung smiles at the fond memory of them in the woods, takes the dandelion. “thank you, san.”

may san always live a life full of health and happiness- please always protect his pure heart from all the evils of this world.

then san disappears for another four days and three nights. he emerges, face and arms laden with little cuts, and wooyoung feels his heart ache.

“oh, san,” he goes to get the first aid supplies as fast as he can. “sit down and rest, please.”

“these superficial wounds can wait. hurry, bite into the apple, wooyoung.”

san’s ventured into the garden of eden this time. 

a golden apple, with creamy red flesh. 

there were a whole lot of snakes and spiders and shadows and therefore much more screaming than san would like to admit, but he managed. with a sheepish expression, he offers the golden apple plucked after resisting all sorts of temptations. the leaves of the tree were white like snow, so the colours did align with the description of the antidote. this has to mean something.

he doesn’t tell wooyoung, but temptation there in eden, like siren song, comes in the form of your greatest desire- and all he could see, was wooyoung in a dapper outfit, smiling, waiting for him by the lake with a twinkle in his eye. and thus, like a fever dream, san knows what outfit wooyoung will wear when they get married. they will honour the tradition of the kingdom of the south’s face veil during weddings. san dressed in white, and wooyoung in black. 

“i’m so sorry, san,” wooyoung says so sadly, as he munches on the apple, right arm still bearing a rose with three petals, “but if it offers any consolation, the apple is sweet. try it, dear,”

“not as sweet as you, honey.” san manages to steal a bite, then a peck at the corner of his lips. they continue biting at the apple in silence, stealing gazes full of longing. then they wash off the sticky red juice, and wooyoung tends to his cuts.

“remember to kiss it better,” san softly tells him, and wooyoung nods, smiles his beautiful smile, and makes good on his word.

not even a golden fleece, the white wool of a revered ram spun with gold dust, is enough to undo the curse. 

wooyoung aches, not for the way the curse cannot be undone. it is almost set in stone now, so he has come to accept it, mostly resigned to fate. all he can do is hope it takes longer for the end to come- for him to spend all of his remaining days with san and the rest of his sweet butlers.

what makes his heart ache the most, is that while san is brave and strong, san is a scaredy cat at heart. he fears ghosts and loud noises. doesn’t like thunderstorms. and for him to have travelled to innocuous areas and supposedly haunted places, it makes wooyoung’s heart break into pieces- not only were they futile, but they also made him live through something unpleasant, again and again.

wooyoung tells him it’s an impossible task. he reasons the enchantress must’ve wanted to teach him a lesson- to always have hope, and be let down by a sisyphean task. to have the sword of damocles dangle over his head, taunting him with every waking minute.

almost like it’s a warning at the back of his head, to hold his tongue and think before he speaks, or it will be cut off.

when wooyoung gets weaker, there’s no more play fighting.

san carries him around, to help him conserve his energy. no longer lifts him by the thighs, instead opting for a piggyback or bridal carry for maximum protection and security.

they sit by the lake behind the palace, hidden in the little gazebo with wisteria that his father built for his mother, so that they could watch the swans together.

and now, san watches the swans with wooyoung.

“how many babies do you think they will have,” wooyoung murmurs, head resting on his shoulder, as san finishes reading to him, “do you think i’ll still be here to witness it?”

the warm oranges of the sunset makes him glow, makes wooyoung look a little more like his past exuberance.

“don’t be silly. of course you’ll be around. we’re going to get married,”

wooyoung’s hold tightens around his arm. both hands, clutching tightly.

“i hope so, san. let’s get married here, by the lake.”

“of course,” san gently kisses his hair, “if my darling wants that, let’s get married by the lake.”

when he’s down to the last two petals, wooyoung decides to make an escape. 

he doesn’t want san to see him frail and weak; he wants san to remember him as someone strong and beautiful. remember only the good times that they spent together, where all they shared was love and joy and nothing hurt.

like a tale as old as time, if wooyoung is not sleeping by his side, he always drops by, regardless of the weather. to kiss san good night.

but the night he chooses to leave for good, it is not just to say good night- it is also to say goodbye.

wooyoung goes into hiding, back to the cottage with the help of the good natured aides in san’s court. he leaves san with a tear-stained kiss, a curt written note by his bedside.

when san rouses, the empty bed already fills him with a sinking feeling of dread. like he saw it coming, but hoped it wouldn’t come to pass. they were going against the inevitable right from the beginning, fighting fate.

dear my precious san,

when you see this, it means that i have left.

please do not look for me, san. i wish for you to remember me as young and beautiful, not fragile and mute; please remember that i love you so- thank you, for leaving me your portrait. i love you, to no end, come heaven or hell. i wish for you to forget me, to be a king that your court will be proud of- as i always am. do not be saddened by my departure. everything has been my decision, and in a way, my fault.

please, san-ah. do me a favour and live well.

i love you, always remember that.

your beloved wooyoung.

and san is torn between a dilemma.

on one hand, he thinks he has an inkling of where wooyoung might be. he thinks he would be able to find him. and if where he thinks is wrong, san won’t hesitate to embark on a tireless search effort on his own. this is his own personal matter, hence he refuses to call for reinforcements. he will pursue wooyoung relentlessly on his own, should the situation arise.

on the other hand, wooyoung is human.

wooyoung has his own pride, his dignity. he has made a decision, and san wishes to honour that. wooyoung left, in the dead of the night, after kissing him good night, goodbye; so it has to be an intentional choice. and he loves wooyoung so much, that he wants to honour that choice.

once, his mother told him that if you love a person, you need to let them go- and if they are the right person for you, they will find their way back to you. you will somehow find each other again, someday, somehow.

and now san desperately wants to believe that.

wants to believe that wooyoung will come home to him one last time, for a proper farewell, one last swan song.

the only thing that san is certain of at this point, is that they are both deeply, irrevocably in love with each other. 

that much, he knows is true.

he needs to see san one last time.

time is running out, for himself and san.

the rose petals are falling faster. the days are wasting away before san has to ascend the throne.

while it is fine if san becomes king alone, he believes the people will feel more reassured if he had a companion to helm the kingdom. good things always come in pairs.

his own heart aside, san has to do something, for the betterment of his people. he is the heart of the kingdom now, and he cannot let his own people down.

perhaps this is the last time they will have a ball.

it will be the final gala he will have with his people as their beloved prince.

time is running out.

the bearer of his signet ring is quietened into hiding.

maybe it is time for an arranged marriage, one month down the line. a prince or a princess- it doesn’t matter anymore. there are so many marriage proposals that come his way, but he has turned them all down.

and now, san doesn’t know what to do.

maybe wooyoung might come- and then everything will work out. san just wishes to see him one last time, and then he will find a way to get his priorities straight, for the sake of the throne. his parents would want that. wooyoung would want that.

otherwise, what would san have been living for?

wooyoung makes use of the messenger dove that yeosang gifted him when he took him back to his cottage weeks ago. he’s heard of prince san’s final ball before he claims the throne. wooyoung sends the dove, asking for one of the butlers to come pick him.

he’s dressed in the same outfit, the one that was given to him by his father, the one he first wore when he met prince san. the clothes are now baggier on him, and his throat hurts despite all the water and honey he drinks. with every sip, he remembers san’s honeyed voice, remembers how san has this drink prepared for him daily to help his throat, after discovering the rose on his arm. san, and all of his undying doting and sweetness.

they’ve sent jongho to escort him to the palace, with their fastest steed. everything else will be left up to the universe.

“prince wooyoung, how have you been?” jongho politely asks, as he tells wooyoung to hold tight. 

“holding up,” wooyoung softly says, resting his head on jongho’s back, “how is everyone?”

“the palace has faded into gloom and despair again without you, prince wooyoung,” jongho sighs, “we respect your decision and we all pray for your health- but everyone misses you terribly. i even miss when you come to bug me in the middle of the night,” that earns a chuckle from wooyoung, who lightly smacks him. 

“as prince san says,” jongho gently tells him, “you were the heart of our kingdom. you still are.”

wooyoung’s heart aches, and aches.

“it’s good to know that i will live on, in the form of a precious memory.”

without wooyoung, the plentiful forsythia shrubs look like they are weeping, under the willow.

san has lost weight, his face gaunt. he is listless, even though the ball should be one of laughter and music and dance and chatter.

jongho kindly carries wooyoung to the weeping willow, where there’s a bird’s eye view to the balcony by the ballroom.

prince san no longer smiles, as suave as he looks, his lips pressed into a cordial smile. friendly, but no longer happy. it is his duty, his allegiance to the people that he is forced to do this- and he will see it to the end, just like his parents have. 

but it feels wrong, to sit on the throne without a certain someone by his side. his smile no longer reaches his eyes.

prince san, prince san!

when san looks for the voice, he’s startled. 

byeol is talking to him again, for the first time in years, more than a decade. he squats at once, patting the cat. “byeol? oh heavens, can you hear me? how have you been, my friend? why-”

no time to explain, prince san- please! the weeping willow! now!

“what?” 

hurry, there’s no time!

turning to face the balcony, he would recognise that silhouette anywhere, by the forsythia flowers.

san runs down what seems like endless stairs that lead from the ballroom to the main entrance.

“wooyoung, wooyoung-ah!”

it’s getting harder to stand. wooyoung is getting dizzy, his tongue feeling numb, heavy like lead in his mouth.

“p-prince san,” he whispers out, immediately leaning his weight on san when the latter rushes to embrace him.

“you came,” san presses their bodied together, holding him so tightly wooyoung feels like it’s okay to depart from the world like this. “you’re here, wooyoung. i didn’t want to disrespect your feelings and privacy, so i never-”

“i know,” wooyoung smiles, lashes fluttering as he tries to blink away his fatigue. all he does is rest more and more these days. he’s so sleepy, and it’s not even midnight yet. “thank you, san.”

“i hope you didn’t think i wasn’t searching or thinking of you, young-ah,” san whispers back, now putting their foreheads together as he sits, wooyoung lying in his lap for more comfort. “i have never forsaken you; there isn’t a moment that passes without you infiltrating my thoughts, my heart, my soul-”

as the world around them fades away, somewhere in the background, his butlers notice what is happening from the ballroom and usher all the guests out to close the castle gates for some privacy. 

it is a tender time, and the six of them make sure the lanterns are all lit so that everyone finds their way home. then they retreat into their own rooms, huddled in prayer for a happy ending. it would be so selfish and cruel to not give the star crossed lovers their own intimate moment, knowing close the end is.

“do you love me, san-ah,” wooyoung whispers, life wasting away as he speaks, “because i have always loved you.”

“i have loved you since the beginning, young-ah. i hope you have always known it.”

“i do,” wooyoung smiles, tenderly tracing his cheeks, “i just wanted to hear it again.”

“please, please-” san’s tears are pelting onto his face like raindrops, “you promised never to be apart from me-”

“will you remember me,” wooyoung rasps, trying to catch his slowing breaths, “by looking… at my… painting,” he tries to take something hidden inside his clothes, struggles. san helps him through hiccups, “oh my goodness, you can’t- wooyoung-! you can’t do this to me-!”

san’s half of the portrait has been crumpled, inks blurring. just from the warped watercolours, san can already imagine wooyoung in hiding, in the dark- silently sobbing in his cottage as he holds san’s counterpart of their couple portrait.

“d-don’t… cry, love-” his fingers shake as they try to wipe away san’s tears.

“no, please, wooyoung, please-!”

“i love you, san.” wooyoung breathes in his arms, so shallow and soft that san only catches it by his ear, cradling wooyoung’s limp form tightly to himself, ever so dear. “precious, please don’t leave me. please, i am begging you-”

“i’m- sorry, b-beloved,” wooyoung’s lashes are fluttering, but no longer accompanied by his sweet laugh. all there is, is his limp arm with a thorny stem, rose shedded of all petals; the final petal fallen at his inner elbow, surrounded by the rest of the other petals. 

“i… l-love you.”

there are no words that could possibly describe how distraught and agonising the despair of losing wooyoung is. as wooyoung lays in his arms, like a lifeless doll, san feels the equivalent of his own heart being ripped out from his chest- feels himself let out an animalistic howl, a desolate wail. he doesn’t care who is staring at him. doesn’t care that the rest of his butlers are also silently shedding tears and comforting one another when they hear his cry piercing through the silent night.

into an eternal slumber, when the last petal falls.

“wooyoung, wake up,” he tries to smile, “hey. let’s go play in the forest again. let’s have another banquet, a dinner for eight- you’d like that, wouldn’t you? i won’t pretend to fight you for the last scoop of tiramisu, wooyoung. the pancakes and berries are all yours, bite-sized. wake up, please- wooyoung-ah, we haven’t gotten married yet. wake up, i beg of you. we haven’t watched the sunset and sunrise more. we haven’t asked for our parents’ blessings,” san feels like he’s been broken- so this is what orpheus had felt, when he lost eurydice. 

twice.

but he remembers what wooyoung had pointed out, when they both felt bittersweet over the greek tragedy.

eurydice, dying now a second time, uttered no complaint against her husband. for what was there to complain of, but that she had been loved?

“hey- it’s not funny, precious,” san tries to shake him gently, putting on a brave front as he rocks wooyoung’s body back and forth, “what happened to you? wake up- we haven’t watched our pink roses bloom yet. and the angel face roses- you said you would grow lilac roses with me? what about our plans for apple trees? our ambrosia apples.” he looks almost maniacal, smiling and shaking wooyoung, willing for him to wake.

“and the cygnets, the baby swans- there are three eggs, wooyoung-ah. the swans are going to have three babies- you said we would feed them together. wake up, please? this is not funny, you know? oh gosh, is it because i didn’t look for you? because i’m sorry. will you wake up, now? i said sorry- i will kiss it better, precious.” san feels his voice go hoarse at his rambling, but the words won’t stop. he can’t stop pleading with wooyoung, as ironic as it seems. “don’t sleep, i got us new books, young-ah. i’m sorry i forgot to tell you about them. you’ll like it. they’re all happy endings- and we can have your butter tteok while we read. i’ll ask for a cherry pie, we can have whatever tea you’d like. are you mad because i forgot to tell you? sorry, my love. come back to me, wooyoungie. wake up and scold me- i promise i’ll do anything you say! we’re getting married, remember? you said-” 

it’s almost as if he can feel wooyoung growing colder and stiffer in his arms, but he refuses to believe it. he’s in denial, but san doesn’t care. wooyoung has always said he’s warm, warmer than a fireplace. body heat should be more than enough, right? isn’t that right, wooyoung?

“wooyoung,” san gently wipes away the tear stains on wooyoung’s face, his own tears rolling down his cheeks, mixing with san’s. “i love you, so very much. an eternity wouldn’t enough to describe it,”

then he kisses wooyoung, on the lips.

feels the coldness of wooyoung’s body, like he’s kissing a corpse. but he doesn’t care- everywhere is burning and stinging, and his eyes are rubbed raw, the least he could do is kiss his lover goodbye one last time.

“my beloved,” san softly murmurs into his mouth, a tremble in his words as he grasps at nothingness, “my beloved possession that i may never keep.”

san doesn’t know what to think. should he have a glass coffin made, for wooyoung to be preserved in, as he rests for an eternity? even death would not be as painful as this. but he somewhat promised. and the throne is waiting for him, like a vice he can never escape.

“i love you, wooyoung.”

it feels like an eternity as the weeping willow sways in the cool gentle breeze. like the tree and the fallen forsythia flowers weep for them as well.

but wooyoung looks like he’s at peace. like he’s no longer worried, living in fear. no more pain or fatigue. he looks just like a doll, so sweet even in an eternal dreamless sleep. san wipes away his tears and snot, calms his own tremors when he gently arranges wooyoung’s hair with his fingers, parts them nicely and tucks the fringe behind his ears.

he carefully picks wooyoung up, carries him to his personal chambers for privacy. maybe wooyoung is just tired- the journey must’ve been long and taken its toll on him. his pulse is slow and weak, but it is still there. it must be exhaustion- it has to be.

when morning comes, wooyoung still lies still on san’s bed, sound asleep.

“wooyoung-ah? it’s morning, my love. time to wake up,”

but there’s no response.

for an entire week, wooyoung lies in his bed, an elegant unmoving creature. like his body has entered some sort of self preservation, where he even rejects the food san tries to feed him. the butlers take turns to pay him visits, and san spends most of his days by wooyoung’s side, talking to him, reading to him. still dutifully puts on different hair clips for wooyoung daily, changes the flowers by his bedside. all the flowers in the world, and they still paled in comparison to wooyoung’s austere sleeping beauty.

for the first two entire days after the ball, san refuses to budge in case wooyoung rouses, and only until they need three of the butlers to haul him out to eat does he realise how weak he feels without food or drink.

san has ten days left, before he needs to perform the official coronation rites.

the dread of picking a partner other than wooyoung has become very real. he has an obligation to fulfill. but it just feels amiss. so very unjust, incorrect.

“i love you as always, wooyoung. make sure to wake up and scold me- at least on coronation day, because you are still the devoted bearer of my signet ring. come and stop my wedding, okay? i will continue to wait until the night of the ninth, before finalising anything.” he kisses wooyoung’s forehead gently, eyes softening, “i love and trust you. i know you’ll come around to stop my wedding, if such an unwarranted event were to take place.”

there are rules and clauses of that ring, but none of which mention what to do if the one wearing it has been condemned into an eternal slumber. for who on earth will show up to veto san’s wedding, if the bearer of the ring is peacefully asleep?

“i’ve put on your red ribbons today. you look lovely, as always. i’ll get some paperwork done and i’ll be back, princess. oh dear, i don’t know how my cut reopened- must be a paper cut. i didn’t stain your clothes, did i? see, i am but a mess without you, wooyoung. i need you here to take care of me. when i am back, make sure you’re awake to kiss it better, okay?”

san kisses wooyoung once more, deeply, and it feels so wrong, that wooyoung is not laughing when their lips meet- wrong that wooyoung doesn’t turn pink and swat at him and tell him to stop being gross and romantic. wrong that wooyoung doesn’t try to play hard to get, bite on his lower lip in coquettish retaliation just because. 

so terribly wrong that wooyoung’s hands do not wander, down his neck, his back, his waist; feels wrong that wooyoung’s not chattering away and smiling at him, oozing with so much life and joy. so, so wrong that wooyoung isn’t baiting him into another kiss, making grabby hands to be hugged and held and carried.

the worn paper holding the antidote flutters by wooyoung’s bedside.

to press your lips against the cold,

claim the one thing that made you bold.

it just feels wrong that wooyoung’s lips wobble, for the slightest gasp of air.

“wooyoung? what- oh my goodness, woo-”

then the shiver of an inhale, cold hands grabbing at his arms. 

“s-san..?”

his arm is tingling- and the petals seem to be restoring themselves; but never mind that, something else more mind blowing is happening.

san’s heart is glowing from inside his chest.

as the golden light gets stronger, san feels his heartbeat accelerate. he himself is taken back by the radiance encased within his being. “oh heavens, w-what- what is going on?”

as it shines, wooyoung feels himself regaining consciousness, regaining strength. the cure of the curse springs to mind, the words there in plain sight when he turns his head.

the antidote is pure and white as snow,

perhaps even glitters bright as gold.

maybe even stained a ruby red-

san’s royal robes and mantles are white, a drop of blood on his sleeve from where he’s nicked himself and he-

san has a heart of gold.

the antidote all this while, was before his eyes.

the one and only cure in the world for him, has always been san.

good news come in pairs.

bright and early after the day that wooyoung has woken up, a messenger dove comes for san.

it’s his parents, and they’re alive.

they were marooned due to a shipwreck and a tempestuous storm, and they had no other form of communication to call home- apart from the signal flares that indicated the successful voyage of humanitarian aid. after earning the trust of the uncivilised people inhabiting the land, they got busy with teaching them language and communication, and only after then were they able to rebuild what was salvaged from the war-torn and looted island. with no indication of time, the years passed by with hunting and gathering, as well as hiding and fearing for safety.

but alas, by a stroke of good luck, they managed to encounter people of the sea, who kindly sent this messenger dove back to the kingdom of the north, with some estimates of their location. with that, san has dispatched an army of men to sail forth and locate them safely.

as wooyoung had once requested, they say their official wedding rites by the lake, where the swans watch over them with their little cygnets. on his right forearm arm is now a perfect eternal rose, in full bloom with its eight enchanted petals.

wooyoung stands at the makeshift altar by the gazebo, sheer face veil unable to mask his bright smile. his eyes shine, curved into crescents. san is so overwhelmed with joy that he starts to tear up; wooyoung looks so ravishing in his black fitted suit, the coat a deep v-line cut with gold embroidery of his own royal emblems, layered with an inner white shirt with lace and ruffles at the front. the back has a cut out resembling a heart- the same white ruffles adorning the edges of the trim. the end of the heart tapers into the lower back, held together by ribbon, resembling the functionality of a corset. his six butlers have been so helpful in expediting everything, elated to finally have a jubilee celebration.

wooyoung looks even more beautiful than the vision he saw in the garden of eden. he’s wearing his diamond tiara too, and it makes him looks like an exquisite collector’s doll.

“oh, darling,” wooyoung softly croons, melting when he sees san standing at the beginning of the carpeted aisle leading to the gazebo with his mouth agape, both of them never once dropping their smiles. san looks so handsome in an almost identical outfit, the golden embroidery on his white coat of the northern kingdom’s emblems, and his inner ruffles and lace are of black. the heart cut out at the back accentuates his broad shoulders and tiny waist, ribbons fastened tight.

san is crying tears of happiness as he slowly makes his way down the aisle to greet wooyoung, stopping halfway to wipe his tears.

“oh san, my love,” wooyoung can’t bear watching his lover tremble as he sobs, so full of euphoria and gratitude and happiness. “my beloved sannie, don’t cry,” he says a little louder, and when san only bursts into sobs, unable to believe that this is actually happening, wooyoung abandons his position by the altar and meets him halfway.

it’s almost instinct, the way san will grab him by the thighs, support him by his bum; wooyoung laughs as he leaps into san’s arms, desire unbridled and flower bouquet tossed to oblivion, lifting his own veil when san hoists him up so that they can kiss. it’s really sweet, as san’s six devoted butlers shower them with cheers and sniffling and generous scatterings of flower petals.

wooyoung kisses him so deeply, that san thinks he might’ve surrendered all of the oxygen he has within. he puts wooyoung down only after an eternity, and wooyoung reverts to modest and demure, coy under the veil that only shows his eyes.

“oh, the rings, my love,” san suddenly whispers, breath stolen now from taking wooyoung in, rather than from his rosy lips. as if on cue, they find byeol sitting by their feet, her collar bearing a little velvet pouch with both rings.

“my sweet baby,” wooyoung praises byeol, giving her little scratches and head pats, “thank you, sweetheart.”

an ordained witness from the village has come to solemnise their wedding, and san’s cat uses her head to bump him towards the altar at the gazebo.

“oh good heavens, you are so beautiful,” san beams at him, showing all his cute teeth, as he holds out his arm for wooyoung to take. san is so shy, all of a sudden, marching down the aisle sinking into him that this is very much real, and wooyoung feels himself start to cry. san himself is still so teary, it makes his heart swell. “oh please, sannie- you look so handsome, don’t cry, my love.” 

when they stand at the altar, and san takes a moment to get a proper look at his beloved.

san reaches out to remove his face veil, mindful of the chain with jewels that drapes across his cheekbones, a bigger diamond resting against the bridge of his beautiful nose. san’s hands are shaking, and somehow that warms wooyoung’s heart. makes him smile, because it means he’s not the only one who can’t stand still, feeling all jittery with the butterflies and the heart palpitations and wanting to shout to ease his nerves.

“sannie, sannie-” wooyoung gently reassures him, holding his hands, “let me do it for you, okay?” he finds himself shedding a tear, at san’s pure heart, “yes please, darling.”

“hey, wooyoung, don’t cry,” san laughs, as wooyoung takes off the veil himself, caressing san's gorgeous face, “says you.”

per custom, they start deeply bowing to each other, the two of them end up in playful competition to see who bows lower and longer, as a sign of greater respect for the other.

“prince san,” wooyoung loudly whispers and smacks him, “you’re going to end up bowing to me from the floor if you keep this up.” despite saying this, wooyoung matches his gesture of deep commitment and respect, until they both stop with limits to flexibility.

“i’d gladly be on my knees. you are so, so beautiful, little prince,” san murmurs, sliding on a gold ring onto wooyoung’s fourth finger. he had ordered them to be made the night wooyoung carved his name into the sycamore bark. mama and wooyo and sani were here. san had left the rings to byeol for safekeeping, such that wooyoung would never have found it even if he snooped about san’s chambers. not that there’s anything else to hide for the matter. 

“so are you, san. you are beautiful, inside and out.”

since these are just an official gesture to initiate the ceremonial rites, it isn’t as lavish as what other royals may have in their respective kingdoms. they plan to have a slightly more formal one when san’s parents are back to officiate their marriage- and hopefully, also invite wooyoung’s father to come bear witness as well.

their six butlers have hereby signed and declared themselves witnesses, as both royals exchange rings.

“i hereby take you, jung wooyoung, as my husband. i welcome you to our union, and you are now a part of the northern kingdom,” san softly says, which earns him a playful smack to the chest, “will i become the grand duchess of the north then?”

san only laughs, “you can be anything you want with me, precious- a duchess or princess or king. i don’t mind,” 

“i hereby take you, choi san, as my husband. thank you, for your warm welcome to the kingdom of the north, and for taking me as your husband,” wooyoung loudly says back, pleased when san blushes because of how loud he’s announcing it. the gold rings fit perfectly.

“my love, please…”

“what about? i’m very happy, because my wish came true. thank you, my sweet husband.” wooyoung presses their foreheads together, making a little self-satisfied noise, and almost purrs when san chases his lips.

“please, husband,” san whispers so softly, still his prince charming with a heart of gold, “just one more kiss…”

they’ve always been opposites that attract, two halves of a whole. forged with the pure white of solid devotion, unyielding loyalty made of gold, and the ruby-red desires of the human heart. 

i now pronounce you, prince san of the northern kingdom and prince wooyoung of the southern kingdom, as lawfully wedded from this moment onwards.

“i don’t need any title,” wooyoung shakes his head cutely, eyes brimming with so much adoration, breathless post-kiss as he gazes at his beloved, “i just want to be yours, san.”

san looks at him, eyes so uncontrollably fond, filled with molten affection as he leans in to kiss his precious person once more, “then that you shall be, wooyoung.”

and they lived happily ever after.

in this lifetime, and the next, and any other lifetimes to come.