Chapter Text
Dong, dong, dong!
The grandfather clock strikes twelve — polished glass slippers snug around your heels.
Tonight, you wear a dress as elegant as Cinderella’s, but unlike her, your dress doesn’t dissolve into a pile of rags. Your ride doesn’t shrink into a pumpkin. Nor does your chauffeur recast itself into an old horse.
This is your reality, the masquerade balls, sparkling champagne, glistening golden crowns and tiaras that sit atop each guest’s head.
It’s marvelous. Breathtaking in a sense that you wouldn’t be surprised if one were to say the whole ordeal was truthfully just a fairytale.
But it isn’t, because you especially, with a great degree of resignation, know that not all that glitters is gold.
♔ ♔ ♔
Your hand skims the cold railing of the overhanging balcony. And across the expansive foyer, you spot your husband with his back turned towards you — a silver mask covering only his eyes, bedazzling jewels pasted onto the cheekbones of his honeyed skin.
His physique is encased in a dark satin coat with a neckline that dips down to his chest, a low-cut shirt hidden under striped overalls, and your favorite part, a blooming white flower, plucked from the gardens of your palace, is clipped onto the breast of his suit.
Taehyung’s unusual fashion fits the aesthetic of tonight’s party: The Royal Crystal Masquerade.
Thus explaining the bejeweled crowns and shoes, the gold-rimmed invitations, and the gleaming white floors that have been polished to practically blind a person.
“Taehyung,” you whisper from behind; even with his mask on, Taehyung stands out to you like a diamond in a sea of orange sand. You don’t miss the way he stiffens slightly upon hearing your voice, before his arm circles your waist almost automatically. “I have duties to attend to tomorrow morning.”
Without finishing, he acknowledges your wishes with a light squeeze of your waist.
You stand there patiently as Taehyung ends his conversation with the other royals. The flash of a camera startles you momentarily, but this routine has been happening for nearly a year. You’re quick to compose yourself. Pasting on a ‘princess’ appropriate smile, you wave to the bashful photographer before returning your attention to nothing in particular.
And it is during these moments of tranquillity that introspection hits hard like a freight train.
A year ago, your family betrothed you to the Crown Prince. Prince Kim Taehyung of Seouliana, the youngest of the three Kim brothers, but the most suitable for this royal office.
Your engagement was not one made out of love but was built upon the promise of power.
The power between the two families was divided as such. Your homeland is rich in economy and resources, farmland, metal mines, and water reservoirs. While his homeland is populated by scholars of the highest class, intellectuals who have the will to make great strides but lack the assets to do so.
The unification of their children led to a global uproar. Wealth for the two kingdoms had extrapolated tenfold, rendering the other kingdoms wary. What was the legitimacy of this marriage? Was this a flaw in the system? Arranged marriages for unfair advantages should be punishable by death!
So, with tension rifling between borders, the prosthetic of your marriage had become ever more critical. It was then that Taehyung’s mother, the Queen, suggested you begin sleeping in the same room, “for convenience and practice,” she had demanded with piercing eyes.
You still remember the first night — bodies laying woodenly on opposite sides of the bed, your eyes blinking up at the ceiling for hours. It was awkward, slightly nauseating if you were honest because you and Taehyung were mere strangers before that.
He’s never struck up a conversation, he’s gone most of the day to attend to his many obligations, and on the rare occasion that you are present together, unless in public, you felt like a ghost to him. Unseen. Like a painting on the wall not worth stopping for.
Your husband isn’t a cruel man. Sure, he can be cold, distant, dismissive. But that becomes a given when you’re forced into a marriage with a woman whose birth date you do not even know.
Besides, that was many moons ago. You’ve come to realize now that what a year of proximity can do to two is quite surprising.
“Are you ready, my love?” Taehyung’s soft lips brush over the shell of your ear, waking you from your thoughts.
The primary purpose of your attendance was to quell the suspicions of the people and kingdoms. How? Photos. People crave physical evidence — Taehyung had put on quite the show with his affection today.
So with that done, there was no other reason to stay.
Smiling at Taehyung, you nod, hoping dearly that he doesn’t feel the goosebumps that rise from his touch.
A carefully crafted love story is what you remind yourself as Taehyung guides you out of the castle and into your car.
It’s dark outside. No one can see you. Still, Taehyung finds himself slotting his fingers between yours, a rush of boyish excitement the moment your fingers intuitively hold his back.
Taehyung gently removes the mask that adorns your face in the back seat, placing it to the side before taking his own off. He pulls you closer to him by the hip, plants a chaste kiss on your shoulder.
“Tonight was exhausting,” Taehyung mutters, nose nuzzling into the side of your head like an affectionate tiger. You feel yourself sink into his arms. “Sorry for leaving you alone for so long.”
“It’s alright,” you sigh, eyes glancing at the chauffeur. With too much at stake, you can never let your guard down — all things that have ears to listen have mouths to speak as well. “I assume you were busy discussing the new trading tariffs? Do the Min’s have an objection against the decision?”
The Min Kingdom is notorious for being violent, approaching conflicts with force rather than reason. It was only fitting for you to feel somewhat cautious.
Chuckling, Taehyung pinches your hip. “Yes, but that is none of your concern,” he whispers. “The crown that I wear will protect you…”
Taehyung was never too fond of political talk. But he was too smart for his own good, he knew his way around these situations like a fish in water.
Soon enough, you figured it was only in his nature to inherit this position of such high power. And lately, it seemed as if his mind was occupied by other thoughts.
Intuitively, Taehyung holds you a bit tighter. “…I will protect you.”
♔ ♔ ♔
The eucalyptus oil separates itself from the warm bathtub water, creating a glossy sheen over your skin that peeks above the liquid.
With your eyes shut, you allow yourself to bask in the soothing scents. The masquerade has tired you out completely. The balms of your feet are scarcely swollen from wearing those delicate glass slippers.
“Mind if I join?”
A low baritone flutters your eyes open. Glancing sideways, you see your husband standing by the side of the bathtub. Gone is his crown and the crystal jewels that had decorated his defined features, in place, is a silk bathrobe.
“Not at all,” you smile, watching as his lips quirk to mimic yours. Slowly, Taehyung pulls the string of his robe. It slips off his broad shoulders, pooling onto the floor. You try your best to keep your gaze rooted to his face, eyes not straying south no matter how much they want to.
Taehyung stands there, mirroring your state of complete nudity. He steps into the tub from behind and sinks so that you’re nestled between his legs, the back of your head resting on his exposed chest.
Taehyung lets out a quiet sigh. He places his palm over your belly button, thumb gently caressing your skin under the water.
Oddly enough, this isn’t the first time you’ve seen each other naked, nor is it the first time you’re sharing a bath. Though, it’s never a sexual endeavor, more so an orchestrated plan to fool the residents in and around the castle.
The walls in this palace are thin. No one is to be trusted when your lives are on the line. A single rumor, false or not, can spread a thousand miles if one is not careful enough.
When Taehyung first proposed the idea, you were truly confused. Because before, he’s not so much as spared you a glance.
It was somewhere along your third month of marriage that Taehyung had started to notice you. It wasn’t anything particularly grand, but to you, it meant so much more than he could have ever imagined.
“Your dress looks wonderful,” Taehyung said, shocking you from your current activity: scenic painting (the royal gardens and surrounding mountains that dwarfed it was a sight to behold). “T-the dress, and you. You look wonderful.” He stuttered uncharacteristically.
Trying to tamper a smile, you turned back to collect your paintbrushes. It was uncommon to see your husband while the sun was still up; usually, he was out and about, tending to the people of his land or hidden between the walls of the palace conference room.
“Thank you,” you replied, rising from your stool. A summer breeze streamed through, pushing your hair over your shoulders and hiking your dress up by the slightest. As you examined him, the unfamiliarity of the situation struck you.
Taehyung stood a meter away from you, wearing his dark cloak adorned with Swarovski crystals that swirled into intricate designs. His arms were kept behind his back, holding something that you couldn’t quite catch.
Still uncertain of his sudden presence, you tilted your head. “Is something the matter?”
“Ah, no…” he chuckled bashfully, and when he revealed the gift hidden behind his back, a gasp escaped your lips. “This is for you.” Coyly, Taehyung handed you a small bouquet of fresh flowers — purple lilacs blended with white hyacinths, wrapped in a soft cream mesh.
“What for?” you took the bouquet curiously.
“Our three-month anniversary,” a docile smile tugged at his lips, eyes shimmering. But then, as he had suddenly realized something, Taehyung cleared his throat, smoothing his cloak.
“The Queen,” his mother, “told me that I ought to get you something. And that you should announce it on your socials? I’m not exactly sure.”
Realization dawning, you nodded. A publicity stunt. “I’ll do that.” Rushing to grab your phone, Taehyung’s arm had caught your waist, spinning you towards him.
Your body twirled only to crash into him. “It’s not a rush,” he said softly. “You can do that whenever.”
His face was so close to yours that you froze, heart lurching out of your chest as his gaze dipped from your eyes to your lips, then slowly back up.
“I-” unable to breathe, your grip on the bouquet tightened, eyes zeroing in on the tiny mole stamped on the tip of his perfect nose.
You were stunned with how you felt your heart hammering so violently against your ribcage, engulfing your ears. You were even more stunned when you felt yourself drowning in Taehyung’s smell, the fragrance of lavender and a rich woody scent clouding your senses.
But just as fast as it had happened, the moment ended. Clearing his throat for the second time, Taehyung released his hold on your waist and took a hesitant step back. “I must return to the conference room.” He stated, looking around like he was searching for someone. There was no one there except for the two of you.
“You- okay…” you nodded, flattening your hair. He disappeared moments later, a shy smile coloring his lips as he waved to you over his shoulder.
That was the first moment you had seen something more in him.
Often, you’d discover your mind wandering back to that day. How it was the first time he stood so near to you, the warmth of his body, fragrance of his skin — like warm lavender — carving profound into your memory. You hadn’t expected such a simple act to leave such an imprint.
You also remember thinking what, if anything, had just happened.
And from that point onwards, you’d learn so much more about Taehyung. His little peculiarities and jests. What irritates him, what he cherishes, despises, craves. He’d attempt to come home earlier, to enjoy dinner with you when possible. It was pleasant to know he was making an effort. But tucked in the back of your mind, you also knew he was doing this out of responsibility. You were no different.
As time passes, what you learn becomes what you know. For example, you know now that Taehyung only asks to join your baths when something heavy occupies his mind.
“Is everything alright?” your hands clasp over his that rest on your stomach.
Humming distractedly, Taehyung wavers your question. “You say you have a thing to attend to tomorrow?”
“Elementary School opening ceremony,” you offer, knowing not to intrude on his thoughts.
“As expected, my beautiful wife and the soon-to-be queen is a saint.” Even if this is his attempt to evade your questioning, you think your heart skips a beat, cheeks heating up in a manner that’s thankfully hidden by the dim lighting of the bathroom.
“I guess I’ll have to spend my day all alone,” Taehyung plasters a faux sulk.
“Do you not have duties tomorrow, as well?”
“No,” he shakes his head, damp hair strands matted against his forehead, “I’ve cleared my schedule for you — was hoping to go for a picnic. The weather has been quite lovely recently, hasn’t it?”
“It has.”
“And I’ll be enjoying it all by my lonesome….”
You snort. “I won’t be gone for the entire day, honey. Only until the afternoon.”
It’s strange, you think, that these terms of endearment slip so easily from your lips.
“Then we’ll have a picnic when you return.”
“You’ll cook for me?” you muse whimsically.
Chuckling, Taehyung buries his face into your shoulder. “I don’t know how to…” he murmurs, lips teasing by your collarbone. Once more, does your heart complete a little flip. “I was going to ask one of our royal chefs to prepare us something,” Taehyung confesses.
“That’ll work too.”
You feel him smile into your skin. “Then it’s a date.”
You and him? You were cut from the same cloth. Woven and stitched together through a meticulous plan for selfish intentions. With this in mind, it becomes easy to find solace within one another, connect, understand, empathize.
But that was it — you were a single line from his list of thousands of commitments. You could understand each other on a level others wouldn’t be able to. But like a wave that crashes before reaching the shore, it never really means anything more.
Craning your neck, you place a delicate finger under his chin. “Honey,” you sigh, lifting it softly, “just tell me what bothers you. I can read you like an open book.”
“I…” Taehyung hesitates, realizing that he can’t slip past you so quickly, “just some disputes with the royals. The media has been especially harsh — circulating several tabloids to paint us in a negative light, tarnish our reputation.” He exhales deeply before saying his final words. “They want us dead, my love.”
Your hand drops from his chin. “Why?”
Taehyung simply shrugs. “I suspect it’s the work of the Min Council. They’re displeased with the tariffs.”
“Then I was right to be worried!” you exasperate, brows crimped as you abruptly swivel to face your husband.
Your breasts bounce with the current of the water, and unintentionally, Taehyung’s eyes catch sight. He gulps.
“N-nothing will happen,” Taehyung stammers over himself, eyes looking heavenward. “I promise you.”
“I’m certain of that.” You huff, oblivious to your husband’s internal struggle. Unthinkingly, your hands reach over to rake through his hair, pushing it back to reveal his forehead. Taehyung stifles a quiet whimper. “But their baseless threats impose stress, and I don’t wish that upon you,” you say, frowning.
“Love, I—”
“Let me help,” you interrupt, and Taehyung is taken aback by the sudden rosiness of your cheeks. His mind meanders to impure thoughts, goosebumps waking with each possibility. But the two of you have never crossed that line before, and Taehyung doesn’t want to assume…
“Help me how, love?” he settles for something innocent. “I’d rather not start a war with—”
Your frustrated groan cuts him mid-sentence. “Not in that way. I want to help you….” trailing off, you trace the rim of the tub with your fingertips, “relieve your stress.”
For a moment, you’re both completely still. All you can hear are his deep, weighted breaths. And your own.
“Are you sure?” Taehyung asks lowly, carefully. Pupils dilate with each blurring second.
“Yes.”
Then, with his caramel orbs trained on yours, his hands slide down to the curve of your hips. Taehyung lifts your body to straddle him properly, your heat coming in direct contact with his bare, muscular thigh.
He holds you there, not wanting to make the next move. This is a first for you both, and you realize now that Taehyung is giving you a choice. A choice to back out, to change your mind, and he’ll pretend you never said anything. From the second those words had left your lips, it was clear that he wanted this. He wanted you to help. So now, without breaking your gaze, you shuffle to sit closer.
The difficult part is done. You’re both already naked. But you still think this has become too intimate. The hand around his nape pushes his head down to rest on your shoulder, rid of eye contact. This is better, you decide — less intimate, less likely that you fall for something that won’t be reciprocated.
Your fingers trail down his abdomen, submerging underwater. The breaths in your ear grow heavier as you trace the unruly curls leading down to his cock.
Taehyung hisses when your thumb runs along the slit of his head, your other hand searching for his balls, waiting until he hardens. It doesn’t take long.
He’s thick in your grip, veins pulsating and needy. And when your hand begins to move, his hips buck against you, instinctively fucking into your hand. The bathtub water splashes harshly following his movements, spilling over the edge and onto the polished floor.
Your hands move languidly, stroking him.
You feel your insides turn at the throaty groans that leave his lips. Taehyung aches to lift his head, to look you in the eye while you jerk him off. He just knows you look beautiful with your glossy skin and parted lips. But you had forced his head down for a reason, settles on gripping his trembling fingers on the edge of the tub.
“Fffuck,” Taehyung ripples, voice low and guttural, “my love, you- your hand feels so good.” He bites softly on your shoulder to muffle his moans, knuckles whitening with each second. “I d-don’t think I’ll last long.”
Now more than ever does Taehyung want to kiss you. You’ve never kissed. He realizes how strange that sounds now. But when your hand lowers to caress with his balls, squeezing and massaging, all thoughts dissipate as his hips thrust up harshly. “Nghh—!” Taehyung cries, water sloshing out of the tub like a tidal wave. Your pace speeds. Sloppy motions. Thumb pressing onto his swollen, angry head with each thrust. Your full attention is directed to the man you straddle; on making him feel good.
“Love, I—” Fuck does Taehyung want to kiss you stupid. “I’m c-close,” he gasps, eyes screwed shut before he fixes on sucking a hot spot into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Tongue swirling, teeth grazing. Fuck. “You’ll always help me when I’m s-stressed, right?” he says, voice husky, “right?” You nod, kissing his wet hair.
And as his tongue slides down the column of your throat, your back arches involuntarily. The folds of your cunt gliding along his flexed thigh. “Taehyung,” you moan, biting your lip to stop yourself. This is about him.
“Say my name again,” Taehyung groans next to your ear, his girth twitching in your grip. It sends shivers down your spine, and you wonder if he knows how much he affects you. “Love.”
And with a final moan ripped from your husband’s lips, his orgasm erupts. Sultry curses echo inside the room before he spurts his seed into the tub, coloring the water a translucent white. It doesn’t end there, with you helping him ride out his high, signing your praises, his forehead digging into your shoulder until his orgasm slows.
Taehyung pants heavily, chest heaving while you bathe in a bath of his cum.
The water that’s left ends at his hip, floors flooded, reflecting the light from the ceiling. His silk bathrobe left discarded on the floor is soaking — the tone of the fabric dark.
The bathtub water masks your sex that’s dripping wet. But Taehyung seems spent. And if you’re honest, you were exhausted as well.
Gingerly, you lift a hand to his tensed back, easing the taut muscles. “I’ll ring the chambermaids.” You whisper. Taehyung hums lazily in response. He turns his head to leave a delicate kiss on your shoulder. His disheveled mess of hair curls beautifully around his face, sticking to his skin like wet fabric.
Taehyung becomes vulnerable in your embrace.
At this point, you recognize how dangerous this is — your attempt to mask the intimacy becomes vain when you feel him pull you closer, unconsciously tracing his nose along your neck.
Your husband is drained, you remind yourself. He doesn’t grasp the magnitude that this situation holds for you. So the only solution you see fit is to suppress, quell whatever threatens to erupt from your delicate heart.
Whether they want you dead or alive, the world doesn’t see what happens behind closed doors. They can call your love fake, calculated, forged, because what’s said is true. Well, almost. You’re not so sure how to describe what you feel anymore.
♔ ♔ ♔
Taehyung splays down onto your lap, his crown falls off the top of his head, rolling away on the plush gingham blanket. You catch it before it travels too far.
“How unprincely of you,” you giggle, finger distractedly tracing the thick muscle of Taehyung’s neck. You set his crown to the side of the blanket before resuming your line in your novel.
“Hey,” Taehyung murmurs, playing with the hem of your dress, “pay attention to me.” He lifts his arm to grab your book, closing it before tossing it aside. “You’ve been gone for half the day.”
“And I’m here now.” He pecks your arm that leaves gentle touches along his neck. The crystal bowl of hand-picked strawberries had emptied itself five minutes ago.
“But you’re reading,” Taehyung pouts, “I want to talk to you.”
Rolling your eyes, the smile that slips across your face feels nice. Warm. Like it’s meant to be there. “Well, my Price, what would you like to talk about?”
“Anything. Everything. You.” Slowly, Taehyung raises himself from your lap. The silver medallion on his chest reflects the golden sun, diamond buttons that line his coat twinkling elegantly.
The epitome of beauty is what your husband is. You find yourself getting lost in the caramel dessert that poses as his eyes. “What’re you thinking about, my love?”
When you shrug, Taehyung’s arm slinks around your waist. He rolls over you, locks you between his forearms and thighs that support his own body up. As he inclines closer, his nose touches the tip of yours, and your heart stutters for a beat.
Taehyung’s eyes flicker down to your lips. “Let me tell you what consumes my mind,” he says softly. A wistful breeze ruffles his midnight hair like a scene plucked from a romance novel. Taehyung leans in, hot breath fans across your chin, eyes half-lidded—
“Prince Kim Taehyung!” A voice booms from the palace gates, startling you and Taehyung from your bubble of two.
Scowling, his head snaps in the direction of the gates. He doesn’t care to move off of you, instead opting to strangely lace your fingers with his and place them above your head. The royal announcer stands by the door, uniform prim and proper, nonplussed. “Yes?” Taehyung grinds out.
“The Queen has requested your presence in the palace conference room,” the announcer speaks loudly.
“Oh.” The grip around your hand tightens — a cue. It’s a known fact that Taehyung and his mother don’t get along. The reason is simple: she’s selfish.
As if that was not already obvious from the fact that you were thrown into an arranged marriage that only served her wealth and that of your own family.
She’s selfish. Your family is selfish. It’s what keeps them on top — the metaphorical pyramid they refuse to crawl down from.
You recall how he once told you — comfortable in your bed, Taehyung’s head pressed to your chest, listening to your heartbeat — a story from his childhood.
He was a teenager at the tender age of 15. Still grasping at concepts of life like any young boy would.
His mother had dragged him to a royal ball. A ball where kingdoms were meant to introduce their heirs and network with others to make peace between the borders.
This one kingdom, Linesteria, was famous for its abundance of limestone and minerals. Taehyung’s mother had this dream to build their palace out of the stone from this kingdom, deeming that it had the best quality and she would settle for no less. The only problem was that the rulers of Linesteria were stingy, didn’t want many others to use their land resources.
The Queen had forced Taehyung to converse with their heiress. Threatening that if he did not kiss her by the end of the night, have her fall in ‘love’, she’d have him sleep in the doghouse (and not metaphorically).
Taehyung hadn’t known what to do. On the one hand, the embarrassment of sleeping in an animal home to a 15-year-old boy was deadly. On the other hand, Taehyung didn’t want to court a girl he didn’t even know or care for. It just didn’t feel right.
But this was his mother. He should trust her judgment, shouldn’t he? So Taehyung did. He used his charm and intellect to sweep her off her feet. And later that night, the heiress ran back to her parents, demanding that they spare their precious stones and minerals to the Seouliana Kingdom.
After the deal was done, Taehyung thought that that was it. He would never have to see her again, his mother got what she wanted, and he didn’t have to sleep in the doghouse. But boy, was he wrong. The next thing he knew was that this same heiress requested his hand in marriage. Taehyung was only 15!
He told his mother, who didn’t bat an eye, telling him to simply “marry her, their kingdom is rich. You’ll be swimming in gold, my son.”
Taehyung was utterly dumbfounded. Did his mother not care for how Taehyung felt? What if he had liked someone else? What if he wanted to be with someone else? Would he always have to fulfill her wishes then?
Taehyung was furious. He remembered that he had stormed off to Linesteria Palace out of spite and tattled the heiress the whole story. Why he had gone up to her in the first place and why he had to say the things he said. It was all out in the open.
She was as heartbroken as a 15-year-old girl could be. And although she did not want him anymore, the heiress had opted to spread the nastiest rumor throughout all kingdoms. Taehyung doesn’t know how she managed to do it, but his reputation and ego were damaged for a good couple of years. He couldn’t even walk into a restaurant with his friends without receiving multiple glaring side-eyes. His childhood had become filled with sniggering comments and nasty rumors.
He doesn’t remember anymore what that rumor was precisely. However, what he does remember, burned deeply into his memory, is that his mother did not care one bit.
It drags you back to the statement: not all that glitters is gold.
Your family, his family, was undoubtedly a glittering mess under the spotlight; jeweled clothes, crowns, shoes that all reeked of wealth and tainted power. But they were not golden. They are made of the stickiest, filthiest, nastiest tar imaginable.
Taehyung is not like them. You are not like them. This you’ve come to learn after a year or so of marriage. The only thing you’d like to thank your family is for guiding you to him.
Taehyung’s focus returns to you. His eyes narrow at the announcer, and to placate him, you bring your entangled fingers to the flesh of your lips, kiss his knuckles gently. You give him what you hope is a reassuring nod.
“Okay,” he says without looking, the worry between his brows had simmered, “tell the Queen that I’ll be there.”
♔ ♔ ♔
“Epsom salt or eucalyptus oil, your highness?”
From your cushioned seat by the vanity, you glance at your waiting lady through the mirror’s reflection. “Eucalyptus oil. Thank you, Abigail.”
“Of course,” the younger lady smiles before unscrewing the cap of the frosted glass bottle. She pours the translucent golden liquid into the tub, creating a glowy plume above the water.
Usually, baths were saved for special occasions: before a grand gala, after a gruesome event, in preparation for a royal’s birthday party. Hence, it would have surprised your waiting lady when you asked her to prepare this bath had she not joined a few others in mopping up the wet mess of you and your husband.
You became a blushing mess the moment Abigail broached the subject.
Still, you thought it was only appropriate. Taehyung has been working so hard lately, you wanted him to return to his chambers and be met with a special surprise.
“Are you planning on sharing a bath with him, your highness?” Abigail asks, a playful lilt to her tone as she walks up behind you to help with your jewelry.
You bite your bottom lip to mull a smile. “Perhaps,” you shrug, not giving anything away. Or so you think.
“I’m assuming that’s a yes then.” Abigail unclasps your silver necklace and places it in the tray. “You won’t make another mess, right?”
“Abigail!” you gasp, followed by a soft chuckle. Abigail is a sweet girl, one of the few staff members you trust. She was also born into the palace, as her mother was the Queen’s waiting lady.
“What? It took forever to clean up last time,” the younger smirks, “I was just making sure…in case I need to request for more towels.”
“Don’t be silly — there are enough towels here already. And what about you?” You wiggle your eyebrows through the reflection, “a little birdie told me that you and Seungmin have been spending a lot of your free time together.”
Her eyes widen slightly before she scowls at the door. “Who’s the ‘little birdie’? Is it Seungmin? Because I swear to God I will—”
“It’s not Seungmin. But it’s someone I’m not allowed to say, or else they won’t make me those butter cookies I like.”
“Then it’s Liam,” Abigail deadpans, “he’s the only one who knows how to make those cookies you like.” She swirls her body around as if to leave the room, only to halt and turn back suddenly, like a light bulb had appeared above her head. “Oh! Speaking of baked goods, I forgot to mention that today, the Town’s Baker brought you some fresh bread. But…” Abigail frowns at you as she trails off.
“But it was attached with a message from the Min Council?” you offer, earning a quiet giggle from the girl.
“No, not the Min Council, your highness. But from your parents.”
“Oh,” you straighten, “and…what did it say?”
“Well, I didn’t read it because I know how to mind my own business,” Abigail says. You raise an eyebrow, at which she swats a dismissive hand. “But Seungmin is both nosy and loudmouthed, so it might have slipped out that your parents are asking you to visit your kingdom over the holidays, along with Price Taehyung…to help ‘show the people what love looks like’.”
“To keep up appearances for their sake.” You translate, the words not sounding foreign on your tongue. “Write back to them saying Taehyung is busy. We can’t go.”
“A-are you sure, your highness? This is your parents we’re—”
“I’m sure,” you cut her off, agitation building but not directed to the younger, “they’ll do nothing but reprimand me for being too cold towards Taehyung, for inciting the media.”
It wasn’t that you feared your parents, but the thought of having to put up with them, paste on a pleasant face to not anger them, it all seemed too tiring.
Your parents had never contacted you other than when they needed you to benefit themself. And normally, refusing their command was synonymous with the highest degree of disrespect. But now that you were under the protection of Taehyung, you honestly couldn’t care less.
Abigail takes this the wrong way.
“You know that I never doubted your love,” she offers softly, “I can see it in the way he looks at you, your highness. It’s the same way my father looks at my mother: like she’s strung all the stars in the sky for him.”
As close as you are to her, there is only so much she knows, so much that you can reveal to her. If Abigail believes that Taehyung loves you, he must be doing a job well done. You simply smile fondly. “My parents don’t understand, my dear. They see the world through polluted lenses — if you don’t bring them any money, you are of no value.”
“I’m sorry,” Abigail squeezes your shoulder, sympathy melting her features, “I’m sorry you have to live through this, your highness. You deserve so much better.” And if you weren’t so caught up in your feeling, you might’ve heard the quiet click of your bedroom door shutting, the faint slipper-clad footsteps that stop right before the bathroom entrance.
“What can I do? Selfish and greedy people will always remain that way. You can’t change something they refuse to acknowledge. If you are born with a certain mindset, spend time with people who believe the same, who will feed your thoughts to make you think that you’re right, then it becomes hopeless, Abigail.” And you hope this conversation ends here.
Dwelling about what could never be never did anyone any good.
Abigail seems to pick up on this wish. “I’m rooting for you.” She says before walking to the door, hand clutched on the lever.
“Often, I feel like the object that represents power and purity,” the crown, “is the dirtiest thing of all. It can cloud your judgment like a visor.”
As you say this, your gaze lands on your tiara, perched on a velvety cushion beside your dressing table. You’ve always had a love-hate relationship with it. The crystals shimmer in the light, representing your privilege to have been born into this life of luxury.
With all the power these crowns wield, you would think that freedom was an instant afterthought. But in reality, freedom does not seem to be an option when you are being watched by so many people, critical and unrelenting with their expectations.
“Well,” Abigail smiles, pushing the door handle, “if it does you any good, I think you’re wonderful, your highness. Like when- oh!” Abigail jumps upon opening the door, “P-Prince Taehyung,” she gives him a low bow. Your fingers wipe the collecting tears. “How long have you been standing here?”
“Not long.” Taehyung’s eyes flicker to your figure by the vanity. He has his crown clutched in his hand, holding it away from him as if the adorning gems were made of poison.
“Taehyung,” your lips twitch, and the effect he has on you doesn’t go unnoticed by Abigail.
Taehyung nods. “I see you’re getting ready for a bath. I’m afraid I…I won’t be joining. I’ll need to return to the conference room. Please enjoy your time, though.” Something solemn flickers across his features, but it disappears the moment he clears his throat.
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the inkling of disappointment. “No worries,” you lift from your stool, crossing the floor to where your husband stands. Abigail leaves at this time. Your hands find purchase on his chest, sliding up the thin material of his shirt. It could be nothing, but you swear you feel Taehyung tense under your palms.
Taehyung thinks you look beautiful in moments like these: dark satin bathrobe, hair pulled up in a loose bun, face bare and fresh. Almost like you’re ready for him, waiting for him. But that’s not the case, is it?
“I’ll be back late,” Taehyung whispers, a stiff nod of his head before he slips out the door.
♔ ♔ ♔
The sun is long gone when you feel his body dip down onto the soft mattress, the fragrance of warm lavender and fresh clothes signaling his arrival. Your back is facing the other way.
Taehyung is a cuddler. No one knows this — no one except you, a victim to said cuddle monster.
That’s why it stuns you when he doesn’t reach for you. When he doesn’t wrap his arm around your body and pull you close. When he doesn’t stuff his face into your hair and sigh happily. You suppose this meeting with the Queen has tired him out. Because no more than three seconds later do you hear the noises of his quiet snores.
You rotate your body, giggling softly as your eyes scan the mop of wavy hair that sits on his head. Instinctively, your hand reaches out to smoothen it. But you find yourself hesitating, pausing right before you manage to touch it.
Perhaps you should slow down.
A thought that crosses your mind as your fingers twitch to feel his soft locks.
It’s a chore to constantly remind yourself that Taehyung, as much as he is your husband, is only your husband out of responsibility and acts a certain way for the public eye. No one wants to get executed, Taehyung included.
Your chat with Abigail had provided the perfect reality check.
So even as you tell yourself that this is how it’s meant to be — that Taehyung does not owe you anything other than to act as the doting husband in front of the public eye — you can’t seem to ignore the low burning ache that spreads across your chest.
You’ll chalk it up to consuming too much sugar. Damn Liam and his devastatingly delicious butter cookies. Because that’s got to be the reason, right?
♔ ♔ ♔
Something is wrong.
Call it wife’s intuition, but the seed of doubt that had planted itself from the start turns out to be correct.
“Have I done something to upset you?” you ask one morning at breakfast — voice kept leveled, careful not to alert the palace staff.
Cocking a brow, Taehyung doesn’t look up from his plate of eggs. “Not that I can think of,” he doesn’t call you love, “why?”
Acrimony crawls up your throat. If you hadn’t done anything wrong, then pray tell why on earth is this man acting so cold. This sudden one eighty-shift in attitude has given you the ultimate whiplash. You eye him bitingly, contemplative like you’re trying to decipher the DaVinci code that has taken form as your husband.
“Nothing,” you mutter under your breath, deciding whatever he hides is pointless. Pushing back the seat with a screech, you rise. “Pardon me,” you mumble bitterly. He doesn’t look at you as you exit the dining room, finding the contents of his breakfast far more amusing.
It’s been a week since the masquerade, meaning it’s been a week since your picnic together. Within this same week, Taehyung hasn’t so much as touched you in bed. Or anywhere, for that matter. He hasn’t called you ‘love’, nor has he accompanied any of your baths after you had made it so evident that the door was left open to him.
It’s not that you want him to, but more for the appearances you ought to be keeping.
You should’ve known the second he left the bathroom that night that something was unusual. Taehyung was rigid, hesitant. You recall the gaze in his eyes like you had said something wrong to hurt him, even if he tried to mask it. But you don’t remember ever doing such.
When you’re locked in the confines of your room, to act this way becomes a different story. But when in public? Vulnerable to the eyes of your palace staff? He should at least have the decency to look at his wife.
You still don’t know what had gone down with the Queen, rendering you just as confused because usually, he’d tell you everything. There’s a growing suspicion that Taehyung’s current state is a direct result of whatever she had told him. But if he chooses not to confide in you, so be it. You’ll let him. You’re no push-over. You just pray to the stars above that the public or the members of the Min Council don’t catch a whiff. Because if they do, well, you’re done for.
You’re gone by the time Taehyung peers up from his breakfast. He hears the clacker of your heels against the hard tiled floors, probably off to do the many activities you keep yourself busy with. A small amount of guilt festers in his chest. He doesn’t do anything about it, though.