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jinks050 · 5 months ago

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Guys, I need you to read this rn bc it is the sweetest thing I've read since joining Malevolent. And I am not saying that bc I love Noel(s).

it’s still Valentine’s Day in my time zone hush

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY EVERYONE!! I bring you an offering of a Charlie Dowd/Noel Finley fic. It’s very cute and I’m giggling over it anyway-

“Sixteen” by Grayscale Sparks

Charlie Dowd knew what day it was. He’s been through this day sixteen times with way more than sixteen daydreams.

He wasn’t stupid.

Harper’s Hill was a small town, a middle of nowhere stop right between somewhere important. It was times like this where Charlie would say that everyone knew each other, but that would be a lie.

Everyone, however, knew a certain teenage heartthrob.

Noel Finley.

The name sounded like a late night jazz club. It sounded like racing hearts and quick grins and-

“Charlie!”

Charlie jolted back to attention. “Huh?”

“Quit dozing off on me.” Noel said, giving his best friend a shove. “Are you thinking about someone special?”

Charlie’s face burned with embarrassment. “No. Shut up. Why are we here again?”

“I told you. I have a date.” Noel said. “Which tie?”

“Yellow.” Charlie muttered.

“I look shit in yellow!” Noel protested. Charlie rolled his eyes. He highly doubted Noel looked shit in anything. “You, however… okay, I see it.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Noel said. He added the yellow tie to his pile.

“I thought you looked shit in yellow.” Charlie said as Noel continued searching through the ties.

Noel grinned. “But you don’t. You’re coming with me.”

Charlie blinked. “I’m coming with you. On your date?”

“It's at the fair, dumbass.” Noel said. “We’re going to get you a date too. Double dates are all the rage nowadays.”

“Sure thing.” Charlie said. “And uh, blue. You look really good in blue.”

Noel grinned. “Thanks.”

After buying their new clothes, they went to Noel’s house to change. Hannah, Noel’s sister, was doing the same. Her mother was braiding her hair while she talked about a boy in her class she hoped to meet there.

Noel rolled his eyes. “Mason Fuller. You know him?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“Well if all goes right according to her plan, you’ll be hearing everything about him. She’s crazy about the guy.” Noel shook his head. “I don’t see the craze.”

“Like you're any better.” Said Noel’s younger brother, Tommy. He wasn’t planning on going with them to the fair. He was ten and therefore didn’t believe in Valentine’s Day. Charlie didn’t blame him.

“What are you talking about?” Noel protested, shoving his brother’s shoulder lightly as he passed.

Tommy shoved him back. “It’s always Charlie this, Charlie that, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie-“

“Shut up!” Noel squawked.

“Thomas, that’s quite different.” Their mother said lightly. The face Hannah was making said otherwise.

Noel, who was bright red now, pushed Charlie down the hall to his room. “Fuck, sorry. That dumbass.”

“No, it’s fine.” Charlie said faintly.

Noel talked about him?

Of course Noel talked about you, you’re his best friend. Shut the fuck up.

“Go change quickly.” Noel said. “We spent too long out.”

“Only because you insisted on getting coffee and, quote, enjoy the sunshine at the fountain for the whole morning.”

“Shut up, it was nice, go change.” Noel pushed his clothes into Charlie’s chest. “Shoo.”

Charlie changed in the bathroom, rolling his eyes at the yellow tie Noel had gotten him. Noel insisted on paying for both of them. He was working with his dad now, and confidently said that he felt like a proper adult paying for clothes himself. Charlie, who did not have a job, obliged.

Charlie folded his clothes and kicked Noel’s bedroom door with his foot. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” Noel said. He was standing in front of the mirror fighting with his tie. “Can you uh, can you help me out?”

Charlie tossed his clothes onto Noel’s bed. “Come here.”

Noel smiled weakly. “Dad usually helps me out but he’s at work so…”

“One day you’re going to learn how to tie your own ties.”

“No, that’s ridiculous.” Noel said. “I’ll always have you to tie them for me.”

Charlie bit his tongue and finished tying, giving it a little tug to straighten it out. Noel was an objectively handsome guy. Everyone knew that. It just so happened that Charlie had taken it upon himself to realize just how handsome he was a few years ago.

They were best friends. They did everything together. Noel was at his house last year, and had taken his shirt off in front of him to change.

Sure.

Yeah.

Everything went downhill from there.

It wasn’t Charlie’s fault that Noel was touchy and nice and flirted with anything that breathed. It wasn’t Charlie’s fault that Noel insisted that they were forever even if he had no idea what he was talking about.

Best friends forever.

It wasn’t Charlie’s fault he wanted more.

“Are you two ready yet? We’re going to be late.” Hannah shouted down the hall

Charlie didn’t realize he had stilled, gently holding Noel’s tie. Noel was staring at him, cheeks pink, eyes dancing across his face.

Charlie stepped back before he got any bad ideas.

“We’re coming.” Charlie called back, dusting the cotton and ache from his head.

It was, however, his fault for letting himself think Noel cared about him as more than a friend. That led to unwanted dreams and heartbreak.

Noel had a date with a girl tonight. Charlie had to keep that replaying in his head.

He wasn’t the secret lover that he craved to be. He was the wingman.

The sun was beginning to set as they made their way to the fair. It was a local affair, put on by highschoolers that begged the mayor of the town for funding. Something about morale.

Yay, Valentine’s Day.

Everything was pink and red and white and decorated with hearts and cupids. The whole thing was ridiculous, but maybe that was because the sunset and warm string lights made Noel look like a god.

He shooed Hannah off as soon as they stepped inside the fairgrounds, but not before lecturing her about being safe and coming to find him if anything should happen.

“You know, I trust her.” Noel said. “I just don’t trust that son of a bitch Mason.”

“Cute date idea.” Charlie teased. “Stalk your sister’s date. I’m sure your girlfriend won’t mind. What was her name again?”

“Shay.” Noel said. “And we’re not dating.”

“And where is she now?” Charlie asked.

Noel shrugged. “No clue. I told her to meet me here but I don’t know where she is.”

Charlie frowned, scanning the fairgrounds. “Shay who? I don’t think I’ve met her.”

“She’s visiting family from Boston.” Noel said. Not an answer. “Do you want to get some food?”

“What if Shay from Boston comes back?” Charlie asked dryly.

“Doubtful.” Noel said. “I didn’t think she’d show up anyway.”

“Hey, wait.” Charlie said. “Don’t get sad on me. She doesn’t even go to our school, so it’s not like you’d get to see her. And if she stands you up on your first date then she is not worth it.”

Noel didn’t look too upset, but Charlie knew he was good at masking his pain. “Yeah, I know.”

“Noel.” Charlie said. “Seriously.”

Noel chewed his bottom lip. “Yeah. I know. Uhm… Charlie? Since we’re here, do you wanna get some food or something?”

Charlie scanned his face, but had no idea what emotions were bubbling beneath the surface. Noel was a relatively easy person to read, especially since Charlie knew him for so long, but none of the expected emotions were appearing on those fucking sapphire blue eyes.

“Sure.” Charlie said. “Let’s get something to eat.”

Charlie had never seen Harper’s Hill as busy as it was that night. Then again, his only socialization was through Noel, and Noel preferred to hang out with him.

They passed kids from school, but didn’t stay to chat long. “Okay. Real food, or ice cream sundaes.”

“Finley, you’re killing me.” Charlie said. “Ice cream.”

“Perfect.” Noel said with a grin. “I was thinking exactly the same thing.”

“Let me pay, Noel. You’ve paid all day.”

Noel poked his shoulder. “No way, I’m treating you.”

“I’m not your date.”

Noel bit his lip quickly, and Charlie knew it was a physical sign he was literally biting back something to say. His heart fluttered, foolish thoughts running through his head.

Am I? He wanted to ask. Was this all for me?

But no, that was stupid. Ridiculous even. Laughable, preposterous, he could go on with the synonyms.

“What do you want?” Noel asked.

“Classic, extra chocolate. And no cherries.”

“The cherries are the best part, Dowd.” Noel said.

“Fine, keep the cherries.”

Noel smiled, and went up to the booth to order. Charlie took a moment to scan the rest of the fairgrounds. It was dotted with couples and groups of friends trying to get dates. People would assume the same of Noel and Charlie. After all, that was the intention. Double dates were all the rage, according to Noel, so no doubt they’d end the night with girls.

Charlie had kissed a girl before. She’d asked him out, so he took her to the theater. He kissed her before dropping her off back home, because that was what you were supposed to do, right?

He’d also kissed a boy before. Sloppy and quick behind the bleachers after a game, pupils blown wide with equal parts attraction and fear.

He’d thought of his best friend when he kissed that boy.

He thought about whether his lips would be chapped or his hands would be soft, and what they would feel like on his neck and his stomach and-

“Sundae coming right up.” Noel said. “What are you staring at?”

Charlie tore his eyes away from a spot he’d latched onto before he ran away with his thoughts. “Hm?”

“Earth to Dowd.” Noel said with a fond smile. “Let’s go sit.”

There were tables set up, close enough to the highschool’s jazz band. They were playing something peppy, and Charlie let the music sink into his skin, grounding his thoughts one note at a time.

Noel was watching him with that same fond smile when he finally came back to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Noel said, shaking his head.

Charlie moved the cherries from his sundae to Noel’s, and took a bite. Despite the winter chill hanging onto Harper’s Hill like death, Charlie felt warm and comfortable. He was wearing his father’s flannel lined coat, which was frankly ridiculous over his nice shirt and new tie. But at least he was comfortable.

Noel, that bastard, looked good as hell in a nice coat and scarf. He must have been cold, he’d always been sensitive to temperature, why didn’t Charlie insist he wear a better coat?

“You’re staring again.” Noel hummed. “Seriously, Charlie. What’s on your mind?”

And how do you tell him that it was him that was on your mind? It was always him, every waking moment. Every sleeping moment too. How was he to know that he was the only thing you thought of, the only thing you wanted, and it hurt like the fires of hell because he was the only thing you couldn’t have.

“Nothing.” Charlie insisted. It couldn’t have been further from the truth. Noel was everything.

“Look, Charlie.” Noel said, setting his spoon down on the obnoxiously pink tablecloth. “I wanted to-“

“Hey!” Both of them jumped at the sudden intrusion. “My friend back there wanted to say that you were really cute, and she wanted to ask you to dance.”

Sure enough, behind the girl in a red dress far too short for the weather, was a group of two other girls holding the arms of their friend, who was hiding her face in her hands with embarrassment. Charlie folded himself away, backing away from the conversation, disappearing.

Because of course.

Noel chuckled weakly. “I’m actually waiting for my date right now. Sorry.”

Her face fell. “Oh- oh. Okay. Uhm, what about you? Charlie right? Do you wanna dance?”

Noel bit his lip. He focused on his desert once more.

“Me too.” Charlie said awkwardly.

She backed off, going back to her disappointed friends.

“Why’d you tell her no?” Noel asked.

And at the same time, Charlie asked, “You’re still waiting for Shay?”

Noel’s eyes widened. “What? Oh- no. I’m- I’m not.”

“Oh.” Charlie said. “Then why say no?”

“Why’d you say no?” Noel countered.

“I have food.” Charlie said defensively.

Noel nodded. “Me too.”

Tense silence fell between them, and screw it if Charlie wanted to go chase after those girls for a dance just to get away from it. Noel teased him relentlessly for being bad with silences, for always needing to fill it with useless conversation. It wasn’t his fault Noel always humored his useless conversation.

He was about to open his mouth to start one of those useless conversations, latching onto the first thing his racing mind came up with, but Noel beat him to the chase.

“Wanna get out of here?”

Charlie’s heart lurched. “What?”

“We’re pretty much done.” Noel said, gesturing to their empty sundae bowls. “So… D’you wanna get out of here?”

“We have to wait for Hannah.” Charlie said mechanically.

“Right.” Noel said, leaning back, dejected.

Charlie Dowd was not a strong man. He couldn’t stand Noel’s pout, and Noel that motherfucker knew that. “But sure. Let’s go.”

Noel lit up brighter than the pink and white lights criss-crossed above the tables.

They threw away their trash and Noel led them through the crowds out to the edge of the fairgrounds. Into the treeline, there was a perfect parting where the soft lights of the ferris wheel glittered.

“This is definitely a makeout spot.” Charlie said.

“Good thing we found it first.” Noel said.

Did he hear himself? Did he know how crazy he made Charlie?

Charlie took a moment to watch the Ferris wheel and listen to the jazz that echoed just far enough to reach them. This was a disconnect from reality.

And call him foolish, but Charlie loved those. If he was faced with a world where he could love Noel Finley with no repercussions, would he be strong enough to say no?

Charlie laughed to himself, and turned to face Noel.

Except the bastard was in a tree.

“What the fuck, Finley?” Charlie called up the tree. “What are you doing?”

“The view’s great up here!” Noel said. “Come on”

“The things I do for you.” Charlie muttered.

Noel watched him climb up and ungracefully pull himself on the branch beside him.

“I-“ Charlie said, huffing. “Hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Noel said. “Look. You can see the fairgrounds.”

Charlie looked, and sure enough, Noel had picked the perfect branch. The whole fair was visible, much smaller from up high. The world glowed golden and red, creating a pleasant bronze from their branch.

“It doesn’t feel real.” Noel whispered.

“Hey, dumbass.” Charlie said. “What really happened with Shay?”

“What?” Noel asked.

“You heard me.”

Noel buried his face in his hands. “Ugh. Don’t talk to me. That was dumb.”

“You asking out a city girl? Yeah it was.” Charlie said. “You’re asking to get your heart broken.”

Noel looked up, as if he was surprised at what Charlie had said. “Uh. Yeah. I know I am. But that’s- fuck.”

“What?” Charlie asked.

“Nothing!” Noel said quickly.

“Noel, you’re being weird.”

“So are you!” Noel protested, voice high. Defensive. Noel sobered. “Charlie.”

“What?”

“Shay isn’t real.”

“What?”

“I- fuck. I made up the story. I wanted to- this is going to sound really dumb.”

“You wanted to pretend to be cool with your fake girlfriend?” Charlie asked dryly.

Noel rolled his eyes. “Charlie, I know you’re smart. Put the pieces together.”

“I don’t know where the pieces are. It’s dark” Charlie said, heart racing. Conclusions were dangerous. Conclusions put a boy in jail under terms of a falsified burglary because his rich daddy didn’t want the news to spread. Conclusions were not made for Charlie Dowd and Noel Finley. “Use your words.”

“I wanted to go to the fair with you.” Noel said quickly, words stumbling over each other in the rush to get out. Noel looked like he was ready to jump off the branch. Charlie felt like he was going to fall.

“You did?” Charlie asked quietly. He wondered if there were any more pieces.

“Yes.” Noel muttered.

Charlie grabbed his arm, just in case the bastard really was going to jump off the branch. He knew Noel wasn’t above that, but he’d be damned before he let this go.

“Why?”

“Do I have to have a reason?” Noel asked quickly. “You’re my best friend.”

“Right.” Charlie said, letting his arm drop. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Noel bit his lip.

Charlie felt like his chest was being unraveled. “You’re going to bite through your lip one day.”

“CanIkissyou?”

Charlie jolted in surprise. “What?”

Noel folded over, head in his knees.

“No, no. What did you say?”

“Nothing.” Noel said, voice muffled. It sounded thin with panic, and Charlie could barely hear over the pounding in his chest.

He wished he could hear the music from the fair, he wished he could see Noel’s face, he wished this were real goddamnit.

“Noel.” Charlie said evenly, trying to get his desperate thoughts back in line. “Did you… ask if you could kiss me? Because if so… yes.”

Noel was slow to un-bury his head. His whole face was red from embarrassment, but his eyes were wide. They were far enough from the fair so the gold glow didn’t make them green. Good. He looked better in blue.

A heart beat, and then Noel was lurching forward to kiss Charlie as if he’d take back his permission. As if.

There was no fucking way he’d take back his permission any time soon. With one hand, Charlie cupped Noel’s face, and with the other he balanced them on the branch so they wouldn’t fall to their deaths.

If Charlie died before he got to properly kiss Noel Finley he’d be pissed.

But oh.

But here.

Charlie broke out into the stupidest grin, and hey it was kind of hard to kiss while smiling so wide, wasn’t that crazy?

Noel pulled away, but Charlie kept his hand cupping his face, fingers just barely in his curls and hey maybe he could sink his hands in his hair that was new, that was a possibility.

Charlie was buzzing with excitement. Screw fireworks, this was a time bomb. But fuck if it wasn’t decorated in pink glitter and heart stickers because this is what youth felt like. What the fuck was he saying? Didn’t matter. Noel mattered. Noel right here, he asked if he could kiss Charlie. That was real, that mattered.

“Yeah?” Noel asked.

“Speechless.” Charlie said breathlessly. No spoken words could convey the sparkling of his mind. “Come here.”

Noel obliged. He tasted the color of champagne bubbles and sapphire lakes and echoes of jazz and real this was real this was real.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Charlie.” Noel whispered against his lips.

Charlie couldn’t contain his giggle. Sixteen years and he’d never felt this alive. If he fell he could snap his neck. Wasn’t that crazy? Wasn’t this fucking wild?

Noel was kissing him.

“Happy Valentine's Day, Noel.”

If Noel told him they were floating in the clouds rather than sitting in a tree, Charlie would believe him.

So yeah, he could believe in forever.

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #malevolent fanfic #charlie dowd #noel finley #original noel finley #dead boys #MIAs #Paper Moon #Clay Pigeons #I'm gonna do a poll for their ship names in a moment just making sure I cover the bases #Ok going nuts now #MY GOSH GRAY THE SUBTLE HINTS TO THEIR CONFESSIONS #Noel saying Charlie would look good in yellow- love/hate you for that bc of what we know later on into Chuck's life #AND THE PART WHEN HE HELPS TIE HIS TIE YOU /j #love when writers get creative with the subtle references to the future events that change the original characters forever #I love Noel's family especially his little brother (im the youngest in my fam and lemme tell you that is spot on writing)#Noel having to fight every urge to flat out say he wants to kiss Charlie when Chuck had already done it and fantasize about it being Noel #that got me the most. Not just Charlie was willing to go fuck it to find out who he is really attracted to and realizing Noel really is #his gay awakening and he has to thank him for being the first one to love him back with no issue and he has to hold that in his mind foreve #And the mentions of gold and green to the dreamlike look the outskirts of the fair to their makeout spot alluding to the dreamlands and Has #OOOOOO I WAS GOING NUTS AT THAT COMPARISON THAT HAS YET TO BE REALIZED FOR YOUNG CHARLIE when I read that #also Noel climbing up the tree to avoid outright telling Charlie they should kiss was hilarious esp how Charlie reacted like def how I deal #plus the ice cream scene was super cute too #ok im done overall A++ work no notes

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thedensworld · 2 months ago

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Queen From Wonhwa | J.Ww

Pairing: Commander Wonwoo x Princess Reader

Genre: Historical, Romance, Thriller

Word Count: 18k

Summary: The conflict between the royal family had dragged you to join an alliance with a fallen royal, who held personal vendetta to the Silla royal family.

Hwarang was established in the mid-6th century, comprising elite young men from noble families, the yangban class. Among them was Jeon Wonwoo, one of the finest combat trainers in the Silla Kingdom. As the appointed combat instructor, Wonwoo stood as the pillar of strength and discipline, entrusted with training the kingdom’s future warriors. His eyes, sharp and unwavering, followed the Crown Prince Seungcheol as he readied his sword for a swift strike in their ongoing training session.

"Good job, Seja," Wonwoo complimented, his voice steady as Seungcheol’s sword clashed against his, signaling the end of their practice.

The other royals, including Seungkwan, the young prince, and the Daegun—other princes like Dokyeom and Chan—were also in the midst of their training.

A sudden clatter interrupted the session. Chan dropped his wooden sword, eyes wide as he spotted someone at the entrance of the practice area. His excitement was palpable, and Dokyeom, equally enthusiastic, followed suit. The two rushed toward the figure standing at the gate.

"Sister!" Chan exclaimed, his voice full of wonder as he rushed into the woman’s arms, followed closely by Dokyeom, who was beaming with joy.

The woman—Princess Y/n, the fiancée of Jeon Wonwoo—had returned. Seungcheol watched the scene unfold with furrowed brows, his voice cutting through the air as he gave an order to the two princes.

“Daegun! Back to practice, we still have time left,” Seungcheol commanded firmly, though his eyes lingered on his sister.

He shook his head, his lips curling into a slight, bemused smile. "She's back."

Wonwoo, ever the soldier, remained still, eyes fixed on his trainees as Seungcheol spoke further.

"Wonhwa has dismissed. She has no reason to be away,” Seungcheol added, his tone casual but laden with underlying meaning. “Her supplies must have been all used up by now."

Wonwoo remained silent, his gaze never straying from the royal siblings. But his attention was divided now. The moment he spoke, his words were succinct and unwavering: "She's my fiancée."

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Are the two of you actually going to get married?"

"As long as the bride doesn't run away again, maybe we will," Wonwoo replied, his voice deadpan, though there was an edge of humor in his eyes.

Seungcheol chuckled, clearly entertained. With a quick motion, Wonwoo redirected everyone's focus.

"Enough chatter," he called out, his voice strong and commanding. "Back to training. Let's keep the discipline."

With that, the royal family of Silla returned to their practice, the clashing swords and the disciplined rhythm of training filling the air once again, the tension of their personal lives hanging just beneath the surface.

As the training session came to an end, Chan immediately ran toward you, who had been watching from the sidelines. His enthusiasm was evident as he approached you with a wide smile.

"Are you going to live with us now that you're not training again, sister?" he asked eagerly, his eyes full of curiosity.

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his straightforwardness. "How do you know?" you responded, your voice soft but with a hint of playful challenge.

Chan grinned, clearly pleased with his own knowledge. "I overheard the guards talking. They said Wonhwa was dismissed, and Hwarang is now only for men."

Wonhwa, the training program for women, had been designed to provide education in culture, politics, social etiquette, and combat skills. You had spent three years immersed in the rigorous program before it was dissolved due to internal conflicts. Hwarang, a military force for young men, had been formally established by your father, the King, after the dissolution of Wonhwa.

Before you could respond, Seungcheol, the Crown Prince, approached you. His eyes met yours, and the unspoken tension between you two seemed to charge the air. You gave a slight bow, acknowledging his presence, but the moment felt heavy, like a storm cloud hanging overhead.

"How are you, Ongju?" Seungcheol asked, his voice polite but carrying an edge of formality.

Your response was measured, your gaze steady. The tension between the two of you was palpable. It was no secret to those watching that Prince Seungcheol and Princess Y/n shared a cold, distant relationship.

There had long been rumors that King Seongdeok favored his daughter over the Crown Prince, despite you not being part of the direct succession line. This favoritism had fueled whispers of a strained relationship between Seungcheol and you, something that lingered in the corridors of the palace, even though neither of you ever spoke of it openly.

As the onlookers exchanged glances, the silence between the royal siblings felt like the calm before a storm. The past was never far behind you, and the weight of royal duty made every glance, every word, carry the burden of history.

"I see you're here for training as well, Seja." You spoke, your tone light but with an underlying sharpness, knowing well that Seungcheol had long passed the age for Hwarang training.

You glanced at Wonwoo, who had approached, his presence unmistakable. The way he carried himself, the badge on his shoulder—it was clear he was now the official trainer for Hwarang. His position made him more than just an observer in the training ground; he was the one who guided them.

"I heard you're skilled with the sword. Can we see you spar with Seja?" Seungkwan piped up, his voice filled with innocent excitement. As the younger brother, he seemed oblivious to the tension between you and his older sibling. You smiled in response, amused by his enthusiasm.

Taking the sword from Dokyeom, you turned your head towards Seungcheol, your expression one of quiet determination.

Wonwoo watched closely, noting the way you held the sword. The ease with which you gripped it, the focused calmness in your stance—your confidence spoke volumes. The rumors of your swordsmanship were true, but seeing it firsthand made them all the more impressive. You were a master in combat, and it wasn’t just the sword that made you formidable.

"I didn’t know they taught swordsmanship in Wonhwa," Seungcheol said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I thought they only taught you how to pour tea." His words, meant to sting, seemed to land right where he intended.

You felt the subtle jab, but your response came with a practiced smile, hiding the flicker of pain beneath it. "I understand, Seja," you replied, your voice tinged with calm authority. "Since you never received any training, I can hardly blame you for not knowing."

The tension hung thick between you two, but you did not let it show. With a swift movement, you raised your sword, eyes locked on Seungcheol, ready for whatever came next.

Wonwoo, standing to the side, couldn’t help but be entertained by the exchange. The subtle, yet clear animosity between you and Seungcheol was something he hadn’t missed. He found himself amused, watching the interaction unfold. Perhaps he should stay for the entertainment—if only to ensure neither of them ended up with a sword in the other’s chest.

"Princess Y/n, Commander Jeon is here," your lady-in-waiting announced, her voice barely above a whisper as the doors swung open. You swiftly adjusted your gown, ensuring it was draped elegantly around you, just before Wonwoo, the man you were set to marry in a matter of months, entered your chamber. The air between you both felt thick with unspoken words, and you could feel the weight of four years pressing down on your heart.

It had been four long years since you last saw him, back when you were preparing to join the Wonhwa training—a decision that had sparked a wave of change not just in your life, but across Silla. At 18, when most young women were expected to embrace marriage, you chose a different path. Your refusal to wed became more than a personal choice; it was a declaration that would resonate through the kingdom and challenge centuries of tradition.

As the only princess and the king's sole daughter, your rejection of marriage at the prescribed age marked a profound turning point for the women of Silla. Your words had ignited a shift in thought that could no longer be ignored: "Women have the right to serve their country just as men do, even after the age of marriage. For too long, marriage has hindered our service to the kingdom. If marriage requires the same devotion as military service, then let men bear the burden we have carried for so long."

Your declaration had not only shocked the court but also forced a reassessment of laws that had been in place for generations, forcing many to reconsider the boundaries of gender roles in Silla.

"How has the military been treating you, Princess?" Wonwoo asked, his voice steady and respectful, yet carrying an undertone of genuine curiosity.

You raised a brow, surprised by his question. "And you, Commander? How have you been?" you replied, your tone remaining neutral. You gestured for your attendants to leave, signaling that this conversation would be more private.

Once the room was clear, Wonwoo met your gaze and spoke again. "If I may ask, how are you, Princess?" His voice was measured now, careful, as if testing the waters.

You exhaled softly, taking a moment to consider his question. "The military is... challenging," you said, the words coming out slowly, as you weighed their significance. "Wonhwa was an education for militant women. Now, I find myself... reduced to a figurehead in a world of men." Your tone remained calm, but the weight of the words was heavy.

"Yet, you are the only woman in history to have changed the laws," Wonwoo remarked, a hint of admiration in his voice. "The marriage age, the limits on women's education and careers—all of these restrictions were lifted because of you."

You gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. "Perhaps," you replied. "But it was only because my father is the king." The acknowledgment of your role in the changes didn’t sit easily with you.

Wonwoo smiled faintly, almost as if understanding that the title of "Princess" did not define you. "And yet, Princess, you stand as a symbol of defiance and progress."

You felt a slight warmth at his words, but quickly masked it with a more guarded expression. "What brings you here, Commander?" you asked, your tone shifting to something more formal, as the conversation inevitably turned toward your future.

He studied you for a moment before replying. "May I not visit my soon-to-be wife?" His words were careful, though the undertone of them hung in the air, too charged for comfort.

Your expression faltered for a brief second before you regained composure. "Enough, Commander. You know this marriage will not happen." You dismissed his words with a wave of your hand, but inside, a part of you was unsettled.

He held your gaze, quiet for a moment, before speaking again. "You said that four years ago, Princess, and yet here we are, only months away from the wedding."

You let out a quiet sigh, the weight of the truth pressing in. "I am not the same person you knew," you murmured, your voice softer than before, laced with something more vulnerable.

Wonwoo paused, his expression softening as he took in your words. "Perhaps, Princess. But I never truly knew you." The words hung in the air, a quiet confession that carried more meaning than either of you realized.

It was the truth, you thought. No one had ever truly known you—not your father, not your mother, and certainly not him. You were merely a title, a pawn in a game too complex to fully understand. And perhaps, in this moment, that was the one thing you shared—an unspoken acknowledgment of the distance between who you were and who the world expected you to be.

You first got to know Wonwoo during your first solo trip to Hanju Province at the age of 18. It had been an act of defiance, a way to escape the suffocating expectations placed upon you. Your father, the king, had sent him to find you after your previous lady-in-waiting reported your disappearance. At that time, you believed no one would bother looking for you; after all, you were merely the daughter of the king's concubine, not his legitimate wife. But your assumptions were proven wrong when you came face to face with a familiar figure—a military soldier who had taught all your brothers sword-fighting, archery, and martial arts. He stood before you, unwavering, claiming that the kingdom had been searching for you.

"You know that being my husband will be difficult, right?" you asked, your voice laced with jest, though you already knew the marriage would never happen. You had your own plans—plans that involved running away long before the wedding day arrived.

Wonwoo nodded, his expression unreadable. "I realized that. But being married to someone else, someone other than you, would be even harder." His words caught you off guard, a blush creeping up your neck as you turned your face away in feigned indifference.

You shook your head, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "If position is what you're seeking, Commander Jeon, then you should reconsider. I'm just the daughter of a concubine, not a princess worthy of a powerful alliance."

Wonwoo’s smile remained, softening as he gazed at you with a mixture of admiration and something deeper—something unspoken. He knew better than to believe the narrative you spun. "A concubine's child who plans to run away at midnight on your wedding night, with a horse waiting to carry you to Myeongju, and then cross into Japan? You know you're more than that, Princess."

Your eyes widened in shock, your carefully laid escape plan revealed before you could even act on it. Wonwoo chuckled lightly at your taken aback expression, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "You forget, Ongju, I developed the military strategy of Silla—the same strategy you’ve mastered in your training. You thought I wouldn't notice? I might have misunderstood your heart, but I know how your mind works."

Misunderstood your heart, huh?

You crossed your arms defensively, challenging him with a raised brow. "Then tell me, what's the real reason, Commander Jeon? Maybe I’ll reconsider my little escapade, after all."

There it was again, the challenge in your tone. The same defiance that had always marked you, the same sharp wit that never let anyone underestimate you. And though his gaze softened, there was a glint of determination in his eyes—he wouldn’t back down so easily.

Days later, Wonwoo was resting at his residence, savoring a rare moment of peace, when a commotion outside his chambers shattered the stillness. Moments later, his servant entered, bowing deeply as they announced your unexpected visit at an unseemly late hour. Wonwoo's brow furrowed in confusion.

"At this hour?" he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. His tone carried a note of alarm. "Is she alone, or has someone accompanied her?"

"She is alone, Commander," the servant replied hesitantly. "There were no guards with her."

Wonwoo's unease deepened. His residence was far from the palace—a treacherous journey, especially for someone unguarded at night. A flicker of dread crossed his face as he signaled for you to be let in. As you entered the room, Wonwoo's sharp eyes immediately noticed your red-rimmed eyes and the faint trembling of your frame.

Without a word, he dismissed everyone, his voice steady but firm. As the doors closed, you stood before him, your composure cracking beneath the weight of your grief. Wonwoo crossed the room swiftly, his hand instinctively resting on your arm, his voice low and gentle.

"What’s happened?" he asked, though his words faltered when he heard the sound of your muffled sobs. Without hesitation, he pulled you into an embrace, his arms a safe haven against the storm you carried.

You pulled away after a moment, wiping your face, your voice barely above a whisper. "My mother..." you began, struggling to maintain your composure. "The queen poisoned her... and the king is blind to it."

Wonwoo froze, your words slicing through the silence like a blade. His expression darkened as the gravity of your revelation sank in.

"The queen?" he mumbled in disbelief, his voice taut with restrained anger.

You nodded, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "She accused my mother of black magic... as an excuse to kill her. It's nothing but a fabricated crime to justify her hatred."

Wonwoo clenched his jaw, fury bubbling just beneath the surface.

"What about Chan?" Wonwoo asked after a moment, his concern shifting to your younger brother, whom he knew you cherished deeply.

"I left him under Prince Jisoo’s care," you replied, naming your stepbrother, Dokyeom’s elder brother. "I trust him to ensure Chan’s safety."

The two of you arrived at the concubine's residence, where your mother had lived. Wonwoo stood still, his gaze fixed on the grim scene before him. Guards carried your mother’s lifeless body out of the residence while palace staff meticulously inspected her chambers. The air was thick with whispers and accusations, all revolving around one word: black magic. It was the alleged cause of your mother's death, a stain on her name that spread like wildfire.

“It’s the queen! I know it must be her, Commander Jeon!” you had cried earlier in his residence, your voice cracking with grief and rage. You had witnessed your mother’s final moments—her collapse following a refreshment you suspected had been sent by the queen.

Wonwoo’s voice was steady but low as he asked, “What reason would the queen have?”

You bit your trembling lip before replying, “She feels threatened by me.”

Wonwoo glanced back at the scene, his jaw tightening as inspectors began removing items from your mother’s chambers. Among them were forbidden objects—items associated with the practice of black magic. These, they claimed, were evidence of her guilt. The murmurs around you grew louder, but Wonwoo’s resolve was firm. He believed you. He had met your mother on several occasions; she was a woman of grace and dignity, not one who would consort with dark practices.

“Exile,” you said, your voice hollow yet resolute. “She wants me exiled. This was her plan all along.”

The weight of your words settled heavily on him. To him, it felt like a game of politics played with the highest stakes—your life. And now, with your mother’s death, it seemed as though the queen's schemes were nearing completion.

The rumors spread swiftly, infiltrating every corner of the palace. Servants whispered about the daughter of a supposed black magic practitioner, speculating that you might share her guilt. The court’s whispers had turned into accusations.

Wonwoo found himself standing behind the ministers during an emergency meeting in the throne room. The tension in the air was palpable as the king presided over the gathering. Everyone of importance was present—prime ministers, the chief of palace staff, and even Buddhist elders summoned to weigh in on the grave situation.

“She has been a rebellious royal from the start,” one minister began, his voice laced with disdain.

“She defied the royal decree by refusing marriage at the age of coming and choosing instead to join the military program for women,” another added.

“She has shown clear disdain for her fiancé, Commander Jeon,” someone else chimed in, their tone accusatory.

“Your Highness,” one of the Buddhist elders spoke gravely, “we believe that the princess’s behavior is a direct result of black magic’s influence.”

The king’s grip on his armrest tightened, his knuckles whitening as his patience wore thin. The audacity of these men to speak ill of his only daughter, here in his court, was more than he could tolerate.

“Are you implying,” the king thundered, rising from his seat, “that my daughter’s bravery, her accomplishments, and her vision for this kingdom are nothing but the result of sorcery?” His voice echoed through the hall, silencing the murmurs. “How dare you! How dare you call my daughter a witch!”

The room fell deathly silent, save for the sound of the king slamming his fist against his chair. His fury was a tempest, swirling around the court as everyone lowered their heads in fear.

“No one is permitted to utter another word about this case until the truth is uncovered,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “If I hear even a whisper of this outside these walls, whoever is responsible will face the full weight of my wrath. Do I make myself clear?”

The ministers and officials nodded hastily, their faces pale.

“Dismissed!” the king barked, waving his hand sharply. The room quickly emptied, but the tension lingered like an unshakable shadow.

Unexpectedly, Wonwoo was summoned to the king's residence. The air was thick with an unspoken urgency as he entered the grand room. The king, seated at the center, waved his hand, silently commanding the attendants to leave. Within moments, the two of them were alone, the heavy silence punctuated only by the crackle of the brazier.

“Commander Jeon,” the king began, his voice steady but laden with sorrow. “I want you to lead an investigation, alongside the Hwarang.”

Wonwoo stiffened, his military training keeping his emotions in check as he absorbed the weight of the order.

“I want this case resolved, and the truth revealed. I cannot accept what has happened, nor can I let the lies about black magic tarnish her memory,” the king continued, setting his cup of tea down with a trembling hand. His face, though stoic, betrayed the grief he felt.

Wonwoo watched as the king’s gaze grew distant, as if the memories of the past had taken hold of him. He knew this wasn’t just about palace politics—this was personal.

“When she was born,” the king said softly, almost to himself, “I threw a grand feast. I was ecstatic to have a daughter—a daughter born of the woman I loved more than anything in this world.” His voice faltered, and he drew a shaky breath. “Y/n has always reminded me of her. And now…” He trailed off, the weight of your mother’s death hanging heavily in the room.

The king looked directly at Wonwoo, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I cannot let harm come to Y/n. She is the only piece of her I have left. She is just like her mother—courageous, kind, and unyielding.”

Wonwoo felt his throat tighten. The king’s words revealed a vulnerability he had never witnessed before—a father mourning not only the loss of a woman he cherished but also fearing for the safety of the daughter she left behind.

“I will find the truth, Your Majesty,” Wonwoo said, his voice firm with determination. “I will not let any harm come to the princess.”

The king nodded, his expression hardening into resolve. “Good. I trust you, Commander Jeon. Ensure that this investigation uncovers the truth, no matter how deeply it is buried. And keep Y/n safe. If anything were to happen to her…” His voice broke, and he did not finish the thought, but the weight of his unspoken words was clear.

Wonwoo bowed deeply. “You have my word, Your Majesty.”

As he straightened, he caught the king’s gaze once more—a silent plea in the eyes of a father clinging to the last thread of his love.

"I know your deep desire, Princess Y/n." Wonwoo's words during his last visit echoed relentlessly in your mind. What did he mean by "deep desire"? His words seemed layered, carrying a depth you couldn’t immediately decipher. How did your desires intertwine with his plans? And why did they serve as the foundation for the marriage the two of you were destined to have?

"Join an alliance with me, and I’ll help you," he had said.

You were still pondering his intentions when your lady-in-waiting entered your room hurriedly. "The king wishes to see you, Ongju," she announced.

Without delay, you made your way to the king’s residence. As your presence was announced, you stepped into his private quarters. The room smelled faintly of ink and sandalwood. Your father sat at his desk, penning a poem while one of his attendants poured tea for both of you.

You bowed deeply, standing before him.

“Sit, my daughter,” he said, gesturing to the seat across from him.

The air felt heavy with unspoken emotions as you took your place.

“I am as shaken as you are by what has happened, Ongju,” the king began, his tone somber but steady. “But as the ruler of this kingdom, I must be fair and just.”

You swallowed hard, unsure of where this conversation was headed.

“I have ordered an investigation into your mother’s alleged association with black magic,” he continued, his eyes scanning your face for a reaction.

You clenched your fists under the table and took a deep breath. “I swear on my life, Your Highness, my mother was not involved in such practices.”

The king set down his brush, his face lined with fatigue. “I can only speak after the investigation yields its results. In the meantime, I need you to stay low and avoid any actions that may draw unnecessary attention. This case involves you as well, and I want no further harm to come to you.”

His words were well-meaning, but they did little to quell the storm within you.

“And,” he added, “your marriage is approaching. I expect you to prepare yourself for it.”

You felt a pang of disbelief. Your mother had just died, and yet your father still clung to the idea of your marriage as if it were the only thing tethering your future to safety.

“I refuse this marriage,” you said softly but firmly, your voice carrying a note of defiance.

The king’s movements froze, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You can’t refuse, Ongju. If you do, the court will turn its judgmental gaze upon you, and rumors will spread. You must consider your reputation.”

“What reputation, Your Highness?” you countered, your voice trembling with frustration. “I am merely the daughter of a concubine. My presence holds no real weight in this palace.”

The king’s expression softened, though his resolve remained. “Is it Commander Jeon you do not like? I can find another suitor if that’s the issue.”

You shook your head, bowing respectfully. “It is not about Commander Jeon or anyone else. I simply do not believe marriage will bring me happiness.”

For the first time, your father’s expression shifted into something you hadn’t seen before—an almost pleading vulnerability. “You are my only daughter, Ongju,” he said quietly. “Tell me, what would make you happy?”

The room fell into silence, the question lingering in the air. You opened your mouth, but no words came. Because, deep down, happiness wasn’t something you were focused on. Your mind was preoccupied with fear—fear of the queen, fear for your brother Chan, fear of the same fate that had befallen your mother.

After a long pause, you blurted out, “A sword.”

The king blinked, surprised. “A sword?”

You nodded, regaining some composure. “A strong, sharp, and powerful sword. That’s all I need.”

A faint smile touched the king’s lips. “I’ve heard of your mastery with the sword during your time in the Wonhwa. If the group hadn’t been disbanded due to internal strife, you might have been a leader among them.”

Your heart stilled at his words. Did he truly believe that? Had your father ever said something similar about Seungcheol, the crown prince?

The question clawed at you, especially since Jisoo had recently confided something that echoed in your mind. “Seungcheol can’t fight with a sword,” Jisoo had said. “He’s not the one you need to worry about. He doesn’t have the strength. But the queen…”

Jisoo had gripped your shoulder that day, his voice lowering to a grave tone. “The queen will do anything to secure his throne. Anything—including what happened to your mother.”

Jisoo’s words haunted you now as your father spoke. “You have great potential, Ongju. Many believe you could one day lead, even without being in the line of succession.”

The weight of those words pressed down on you, but they did nothing to ease your fear. The queen—her ambition, her cunning—was the true danger. She would stop at nothing, and you knew it.

“Stay vigilant, my daughter,” the king said, his tone gentle but firm.

But vigilance wasn’t enough. Your heart thudded in your chest as one thought consumed you: Was the deep desire Wonwoo was implying truly this feeling? This burning, unspoken ambition that lingered in the shadows of your heart—the desire to rule the kingdom?

You sat by the window of your chambers, the pale moonlight casting long shadows across the room. Wonwoo’s words lingered, ambiguous yet purposeful.

"Join an alliance with me, and I’ll help you."

What alliance? Help you with what? Did he mean to protect you from the queen or guide you toward something greater?

Your thoughts were interrupted by a faint knock at the door.

“Ongju,” your lady-in-waiting whispered, “Commander Jeon has sent a message. He requests your presence in the gardens.”

You hesitated, your heart beating faster. It wasn’t unusual for Wonwoo to seek you out, but tonight felt different. There was a weight to his recent words, a significance that you couldn’t shake.

Rising from your seat, you made your way to the gardens. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and damp earth. Wonwoo stood under a lantern’s glow, his figure tall and commanding.

“Commander,” you greeted, your voice steady despite the questions swirling in your mind.

He turned to face you, his expression unreadable. “Princess Y/n,” he said, his tone carrying a mix of formality and something more personal.

There was a moment of silence, charged with unspoken thoughts. Finally, he stepped closer, his eyes meeting yours.

“Do you understand now?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Your breath caught. “Understand what?”

“The deep desire I spoke of,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “It’s not just ambition, Ongju. It’s purpose. A purpose only you can fulfill.”

You stared at him, his words striking a chord deep within you. Purpose. The word felt heavier than ambition, more profound. Purpose wasn’t just about power or ruling; it was about responsibility, about rising to meet the challenges that others could not.

“Why do you believe in me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, almost vulnerable.

Wonwoo’s lips curved into the faintest smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Because I’ve seen what you’re capable of. And because I know that without you, this kingdom has no future.”

His words were both a compliment and a burden, wrapping around you like a cloak you weren’t sure you were ready to wear.

“Do you think this is what I want?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He didn’t answer immediately, but when he did, his tone was steady. “It’s not about what you want, Princess. It’s about what the kingdom needs.”

And with that, he bowed slightly and stepped back into the shadows, leaving you alone under the moonlit sky with the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest.

The queen’s private chamber was dimly lit, the faint scent of incense lingering in the air. Crown Prince Seungcheol sat across from the queen, his hands clasped tightly together, betraying the calm facade he tried to maintain. The queen watched him intently, her sharp eyes missing nothing as she delicately sipped her tea.

“You seem restless, my son,” the queen began, her voice smooth yet probing. “A ruler cannot afford to show unease, especially in these turbulent times.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. “I am aware, Mother. I simply... I find myself questioning—” He stopped short, unsure whether to reveal the vulnerability gnawing at him.

“Questioning what?” The queen set her cup down, leaning forward with a calculated softness. “Speak plainly.”

He hesitated, then exhaled deeply. “Am I truly ready to rule, Mother? I have been trained for this my entire life, but I cannot shake the feeling that I lack the strength or the decisiveness required. Father’s shadow looms large over me... and the court whispers about my shortcomings.”

The queen’s expression hardened slightly, though her voice remained calm. “Who dares to whisper such things? You are the crown prince, the future king. Your authority is not to be questioned.”

“But they do,” Seungcheol countered, his tone edged with frustration. “They compare me to Y/n, of all people. They say she possesses the qualities of a ruler—courage, intelligence, and the ability to command respect. Even Father...” His voice faltered, and he looked away, ashamed to meet her eyes.

The queen’s gaze sharpened at the mention of you, her expression unreadable. She stood and moved to stand behind Seungcheol, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Your father is a sentimental man. He lets emotions cloud his judgment, especially when it comes to that girl and her late mother.”

Seungcheol’s fists clenched. “But what if they are right? What if I am not enough to uphold Silla’s legacy? I have no skill with the sword, no military prowess like Y/n or Commander Jeon. How can I inspire loyalty in the people when I doubt myself?”

The queen’s grip on his shoulder tightened, her voice dropping to a firm whisper. “Listen to me, Seungcheol. Leadership is not about swinging a sword or marching into battle. It is about strategy, control, and ensuring that power remains where it belongs—within our family. Do not let the court’s foolish admiration for Y/n distract you. She is a threat, not an ally. And as for your father, he is blind to what must be done.”

Seungcheol glanced up at her, his insecurity mingling with confusion. “What must be done?”

The queen leaned closer, her voice a venomous whisper. “You must solidify your position as the rightful heir. That means eliminating anything—or anyone—that stands in your way. Trust me, my son, I will guide you. Together, we will secure your future.”

A heavy silence settled over the room as Seungcheol absorbed her words. His mother’s unwavering confidence in him was both reassuring and suffocating. Deep down, the doubts still lingered, gnawing at the edges of his resolve. But for now, he nodded, letting the queen’s words anchor him.

“Thank you, Mother. I will do what is necessary,” he said, though the conviction in his voice wavered ever so slightly.

The queen smiled, a triumphant gleam in her eyes as she placed her hands on his shoulders. “Good. Remember, Seungcheol, weakness has no place on the throne. You were born to rule, and I will ensure that you do.”

As the crown prince left the chamber, his heart felt heavy. The weight of the crown seemed more daunting than ever, and in the deepest corners of his mind, the question still lingered: Am I truly enough?

"Seja..." Seungcheol slightly inclined his head toward Wonwoo, who stepped aside to make way for the crown prince. The pathway was dimly lit, the faint flicker of torches casting long shadows on the park. Seungcheol’s gaze lingered on the commander, curiosity simmering beneath his composed exterior.

“It’s rather late to visit the palace at this hour, Commander Jeon,” Seungcheol remarked, his tone measured but laced with subtle inquiry. His words hung in the air as his eyes shifted to the figure standing quietly behind Wonwoo.

You.

The two of you locked eyes, a brief but charged moment that didn’t escape Seungcheol’s notice. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of something—resentment, perhaps, or something deeper and more convoluted.

“Ongju...” Seungcheol acknowledged your presence with a slight nod, the formality of his gesture betraying none of his inner turmoil.

You bowed respectfully. “Seja.”

“I offer my condolences for your mother’s passing,” he said, his voice softer now, though it carried the weight of protocol more than sincerity.

“Thank you, Seja,” you replied, your voice steady but laced with the exhaustion of grief.

Seungcheol’s gaze shifted between you and Wonwoo, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he observed the unspoken tension between the two of you. There was something in the way you stood—close, but not too close—that unsettled him. Something he couldn’t quite place but disliked nonetheless.

Clearing his throat, he straightened. “Ongju, I wish for you to maintain a low profile during the investigation,” he said, his tone edged with authority. “This is for your sake, as your brother.”

A beat passed before he added, “And also for the sake of your late mother.”

Your lips parted, but no response came. The weight of his words, or perhaps the weight of the circumstances, seemed to anchor you in place.

Seungcheol watched you for a moment longer, his chest tightening as he took in your expression—guarded, resilient, and yet fragile in a way that made him want to look away.

Jealousy stirred within him, raw and bitter. He hated himself for feeling it, but there it was. You, the daughter of a concubine, the half-sibling he’d never quite known how to regard, commanded attention in a way he never could. You bore the strength of a warrior, the sharpness of a strategist, and the charisma of a leader. And though he was the crown prince—the one destined to rule—he couldn’t ignore the whispers that dared to compare him to you.

“Ongju, remember,” he said, his voice tight as he forced his emotions down, “your actions reflect on the royal family. Do not give them more reasons to talk.”

With that, he nodded once more and turned to leave, his steps brisk as if eager to escape the suffocating air of his own insecurities.

Behind him, you and Wonwoo stood in silence. If Seungcheol had glanced back, he might have seen the fleeting look of determination in your eyes or the way Wonwoo’s gaze softened ever so slightly as he glanced at you.

But Seungcheol didn’t look back. He couldn’t bear to. The jealousy and doubt simmering within him were enough to carry him through the long, lonely walk back to his residence.

"First, we need to ensure Chan’s safety. He shouldn’t be anywhere near the Queen’s reach. I’ll have one of my most trusted Hwarang escort him to a safe location—somewhere even her spies wouldn’t think to look."

The day Chan was sent away was one of the hardest you’d ever faced. Watching your little brother climb into the carriage with a Hwarang soldier by his side, you struggled to hold back tears. His wide, innocent eyes looked up at you, confused yet trusting. He didn’t understand why he had to leave, why he couldn’t stay with you. You knelt in front of him, smoothing his hair and forcing a smile onto your face.

"Be good, Chan," you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. "This isn’t forever. I’ll come for you soon, I promise."

"Why can’t you come with me, Nuna?" he asked softly, his small hands clutching at your sleeves.

Your heart shattered, but you managed to keep your composure. "Because I have to stay here and make sure everything is safe for you. But don’t worry. You’re with someone I trust, and they’ll take care of you."

Chan nodded slowly, his innocence only making the pain worse. As the carriage pulled away, you stood there, your hands clenched tightly at your sides. Wonwoo, who had been standing silently nearby, stepped closer.

"You did the right thing," he said quietly.

"It doesn’t feel like it," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo didn’t respond, but his presence alone was grounding. You couldn’t afford to let your emotions control you—not when there was so much at stake.

Returning to the palace, you threw yourself into work, hoping it would distract you from the ache in your chest. Your father had tasked you with assisting him in managing a pressing political issue with the government. It was a rare opportunity, one that you were determined to make the most of.

However, to your dismay, the King insisted that Seungcheol work alongside you.

The tension between the two of you was palpable the moment you entered the meeting room. Seungcheol leaned against the table, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. As you took your seat, he let out a low sigh.

"I didn’t know the King was sending a scholar to handle matters of state," he remarked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

You shot him a sharp glare. "And I didn’t know the Crown Prince would approach this meeting with the grace of a petulant child. Perhaps I overestimated you, Seja."

The staff in the room shifted uncomfortably, their gazes darting between the two of you.

Seungcheol straightened, his tone hardening. "Be careful, Ongju. You may have studied politics, but theory is far different from reality. I’ve been working in the field while you’ve been... buried in books."

You felt your temper flare, and before you could stop yourself, the words were out. "Oh, yes, I forgot. While I was being trained academically, you were busy getting married and... indulging yourself. Forgive me for thinking I might actually have something to contribute."

The room fell deathly silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade. The staff froze, their eyes wide with shock. Even Seungcheol looked taken aback, though his expression quickly darkened.

Before the situation could escalate further, Jisoo stepped into the room. "Enough," he said firmly, his tone commanding.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable. "Ongju, a word."

You clenched your jaw but followed him out of the room. Once you were alone, Jisoo turned to face you, his usual warmth replaced by sternness.

"That was reckless," he said bluntly. "Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?"

"He was belittling me!" you protested, your voice rising.

"And you played right into his hands," Jisoo countered. "Seungcheol has the Queen behind him. You may be the King’s daughter, but you’re not untouchable. If you keep provoking him, you’ll make yourself a target."

You looked away, frustration and shame mingling in your chest. "I can’t just stand by while he questions my abilities. I’ve worked too hard for that."

"I know," Jisoo said, his voice softening slightly. "But you need to be smarter about this. Use your knowledge, your training. Don’t let your emotions get the better of you."

You nodded reluctantly, his words sinking in.

"You're going to get married so, this isn’t just about you," Jisoo added, his voice dropping to a serious tone. "If you’re going through with this, you need to make sure Commander Jeon is safe. The Queen will see him as a threat—if she hasn’t already. And you know what she’s capable of."

The thought sent a shiver down your spine.

"You need to protect him, Y/n," Jisoo continued, his eyes locking onto yours. "If you truly care for him, you’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe."

The weight of his words settled over you like a heavy cloak. You nodded slowly, your mind racing with thoughts of Wonwoo, the Queen, and the danger that loomed over all of you.

"I understand," you said quietly.

Jisoo leaned back in his chair, his expression softening. "Good. Just... be careful. You’ve always been strong, but strength alone won’t be enough this time."

Today was the wedding day. You sat still as the servants carefully applied colorful powder to your face, their gentle touches a sharp contrast to the storm of emotions brewing within you. Draped in the heavy, ornate wedding gown, you stared at your own reflection in the mirror, whispering to yourself, "You are ready for this."

Whispers had rippled through the palace when you declared your decision to marry Commander Jeon—especially when you insisted the wedding be arranged without delay. It was a decision made with an urgency few understood. Yet here you were, an hour before the ceremony, your heart steady but your mind racing.

The last time you saw your groom was a week ago. He had invited you to his residence for tea, a quiet meeting where you discussed your future. Would you remain within the palace walls, or would you stepawayy with him beyond the capital?

"Why must I leave the palace to live with you?" you had asked, a touch of defiance in your tone as you sipped your tea. "Shouldn't you be the one to follow me, Commander Jeon?"

Wonwoo’s calm gaze met yours, and for a moment, the soft rustle of the wind outside seemed louder than the silence between you.

"Because you would be safer away from here," he said quietly.

Your hand paused, the delicate porcelain cup just shy of your lips. The words lingered, heavy with unspoken fears. You set the cup down, studying his expression.

"You noticed," you murmured.

He nodded, his composed demeanor unwavering. "I am aware of the dangers, but that is not the only reason I suggested leaving."

The stillness stretched, a quiet understanding forming between you. Wonwoo didn’t press further, instead reaching for the teapot, refilling your cup with a slow, steady hand.

"I will ensure you are safe," he promised, his voice calm but resolute. "Think about what you want—where you wish to be. Leave the rest to me."

In that moment, surrounded by the warm scent of tea and the gentle light filtering through the wooden screens, you felt something rare and precious—security.

Now, staring at your reflection, you recalled that feeling. Amid the palace’s whispered schemes and the lurking shadows of betrayal, you were about to marry a man who saw through the veils of deception that others wore.

You lowered your arms slowly as the ceremony unfolded around you, the murmurs of the crowd blending with the soft music that filled the grand hall. For the first time, your gaze met his, and everything else seemed to fade away.

The grand wedding was a spectacle—an event fit for the King’s only daughter. Nobles, officials, and foreign dignitaries filled the palace, their excitement palpable. The King’s affection for you was evident in the lavish celebration, a grand feast prepared for his people beyond the palace walls. Laughter and music echoed, a shared joy that seemed to ripple through everyone present.

But amidst the grandeur, you stood beneath the ornate canopy, your eyes locked with his. Your heart raced—not with fear, like the frantic pulse you’d felt when evading a palace guard on a late-night adventure, nor with the wild rush of adrenaline that came from facing danger in the forest. No, this was different.

Your heart’s rhythm was a steady, reassuring beat. A quiet promise whispered beneath the surface: Everything will be alright. You are safe.

And somehow, the resentment you once harbored for him—those unspoken grudges and unhealed wounds—seemed to melt away, leaving you with a sense of calm you hadn’t expected. Standing there, with him watching you just as intently, you felt something shift within you, something that kept you grounded, not out of resistance, but out of trust.

The room was bathed in the soft, warm glow of candlelight, their flickering flames casting gentle, wavering shadows on the silk-draped walls. The faint scent of jasmine hung in the air, a calming fragrance that only seemed to heighten your awareness of the moment.

You stood near the window, fingers lightly tracing the intricate embroidery of your wedding gown. The weight of the heavy fabric was a constant reminder of the day’s grand celebration, the laughter, the cheers, and the vows exchanged. Yet now, in the quiet solitude of your chamber, the world outside seemed a distant memory.

The door creaked softly as it opened, and you turned, catching sight of Wonwoo stepping inside. He had changed out of his formal attire, now clad in a simple, dark robe that contrasted with the light of the candles. His gaze met yours, steady yet unreadable, a quiet intensity in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Silence stretched between you, thick and charged. Your heartbeat quickened, but it wasn’t the same fear or anxiety that had gripped you in the past. This was different—a fluttering warmth, a delicate anticipation that made your palms slightly damp.

“You must be tired,” he finally spoke, his voice a soft murmur, breaking the quiet yet somehow deepening the intimacy.

“A little,” you admitted, your voice steady but your heart racing. “But not enough to want this night to end.”

A faint smile touched the corners of Wonwoo’s lips, and he stepped closer, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet. When he was only a breath away, he reached out, his hand brushing against the loose strands of your hair. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant.

“Did you… did you mean it?” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur. “When you said you’d keep me safe?”

“I did.” His answer was immediate, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a sincerity that made your breath catch. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Warmth blossomed in your chest, a sense of security that you had long forgotten. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a brief moment, savoring the closeness.

Then his fingers moved, gently tilting your chin up, and you opened your eyes to find his face mere inches from yours. His gaze flickered, searching your expression, as if seeking permission.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned forward, letting your lips brush against his—a tentative, delicate touch that seemed to ignite something within both of you.

Wonwoo’s hand slid to your waist, drawing you closer as the kiss deepened, the softness giving way to a quiet passion. His other hand cradled the side of your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek.

Time seemed to blur, the world beyond the room fading away. All that existed was the warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm, and the quiet, whispered promises shared between breaths.

When you finally parted, your foreheads resting against one another, a gentle smile graced his lips. “We have a long journey ahead, but… tonight, it’s just us.”

You smiled back, your own worries and fears melting away in his warmth.

Just us.

And with that, the night unfolded—soft touches, quiet laughter, and whispered confessions beneath the soft glow of candlelight. In his arms, you found a solace you hadn’t dared to dream of, a tenderness that promised a future beyond fear and doubt.

"It will be hard for a pregnant woman to lead the upcoming project." The minister’s assistant’s voice cut through the meeting chamber like a blade, his audacity stirring a ripple of tension across the room. You raised a brow, your gaze snapping to the man who dared to make such a bold, presumptive statement barely a week after your wedding. Pregnant? You weren’t even with child, but the mere suggestion of it was enough for him to undermine you.

Your gaze slid to Seungcheol, who sat at the head of the chamber, his composed expression barely shifting, save for a slow, almost imperceptible nod. He agreed.

"Isn't that why the Princess Consort has yet to resume her duties for the Moonlight Event?" you countered, your voice calm but edged with a subtle challenge. The words weren’t just a retort; they were a pointed reminder. Seungcheol’s wife, the Princess Consort, had recently given birth to a daughter—a fact you knew all too well.

The assistant stiffened, his expression faltering. Seungcheol’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent, his gaze meeting yours. The tension in the room thickened, an unspoken clash of authority.

"She has just given birth... to a daughter," you added, your gaze never leaving Seungcheol’s. The implication was clear: if his wife could be granted leniency due to motherhood, then there was no reason for anyone to cast doubt on your capacity to lead.

The minister cleared his throat, desperate to steer the meeting away from the growing unease. "Given the considerations presented," he announced, his voice slightly strained, "Ongju Y/n will continue to lead the project related to external affairs."

A polite smile graced your lips as the meeting concluded, but beneath it, a fierce determination simmered. You were not just a princess, not just a wife—you were a leader. And no one, not even Seungcheol or his silent approval of the assistant’s slight, would diminish that.

"That was bold," Jisoo remarked, falling into step beside you as you walked back to the office. His voice was calm, but the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement.

You cast a brief glance at your older brother before your gaze shifted to the training grounds, where Commander Jeon—your husband—stood tall, addressing the new Hwarang recruits with his usual unwavering demeanor.

"I have no reason to fear him," you stated plainly, your tone edged with defiance. "His mother is the true snake."

Jisoo’s expression shifted, his amusement replaced by alarm. "We shouldn’t speak of the Queen in such a manner," he whispered urgently, his voice barely above a breath.

You stopped in your tracks, turning to meet his gaze with unwavering determination. "Yes, we can. And we will. We will speak of the Queen however we see fit—especially when I become Queen."

Jisoo’s eyes widened slightly, your words rendering him momentarily speechless. His usual composure faltered as he studied your face, searching for any hint of hesitation. But there was none.

Not waiting for a response, you resumed your stride, your steps swift and purposeful. From the training grounds, Wonwoo’s sharp eyes caught sight of you—your figure moving with fierce resolve. He watched you, a faint sense of awe mingling with his curiosity. In that moment, you looked like someone prepared to set the entire kingdom ablaze if necessary.

He had known you possessed a spark, but now it was as though a fire had been ignited within you.

And as he observed you, a quiet thought settled in his mind—had he, perhaps, been the one to light that flame? Or had he merely uncovered a side of you that had always been waiting to burn just like his plan?

Wonwoo rode out of the capital under the cloak of night, the rhythmic thud of his horse’s hooves a steady companion on the quiet, moonlit path. After ensuring you were safely asleep in your chamber, he slipped away, the chill of the night air biting at his skin as he traveled for two hours beyond the bustling city.

His destination was a secluded village nestled among misty hills—a place few knew he frequented. Here, he wasn’t Commander Jeon, the King’s esteemed military leader. He was simply Wonwoo, a son of the fallen Jeon Kingdom. His colleagues here were not Hwarang warriors or palace officials but the remnants of his bloodline—the left Jeons.

These were the people who had survived the brutal Silla invasion, who had fled with nothing but their lives and the shattered pride of their fallen kingdom. His uncle, a former commander of the Jeon Kingdom, had raised him among these survivors, forging him into a man who bore the weight of two identities. Wonwoo was taught not just to survive but to excel. He mastered politics, combat, and military strategy under his uncle’s strict guidance.

The fall of the Jeon Kingdom was a story written in blood and ash—a once-proud realm crushed beneath Silla’s might. Yet in the shadows of this village, the Jeons lived on, rebuilding a life far from the eyes of the conquerors. Wonwoo was their hope, their quiet vengeance, a man who had clawed his way into the very heart of Silla’s military—becoming a Commander of the Hwarang, the elite force of the kingdom that had destroyed his home.

Tonight, as he dismounted his horse and walked among his kin, the whispers of old stories and the weight of his lineage pressed heavily upon him. Here, he was not just a commander—he was a prince without a throne, a leader of a scattered people who saw him as a symbol of resilience and a future they had not given up on.

"Looking good after a marriage, Wonwoo..." Jungkook, his cousin, teased with a grin as Wonwoo dismounted his horse, the familiar warmth of the hidden village greeting him. The moonlight bathed the settlement, its humble houses a stark contrast to the grandeur of the palace.

Wonwoo's lips curled into a faint smile as he approached Jungkook, handing over the reins. But before he could reply, a familiar voice rang out, full of excitement.

"Commander Jeon!" Chan’s voice cut through the crisp night air, and moments later, the boy came running, his small frame colliding against Wonwoo in an eager hug.

Wonwoo’s expression softened. "How are you, Prince?" he asked, ruffling the boy’s hair.

"I miss my sister. Did you bring her today?" Chan looked up, eyes wide with hope.

Wonwoo shook his head, the gentleness in his gaze unwavering. "She’s been busy these days, but I promise to let her know you miss her."

The sound of steady footsteps approached, and Wonwoo turned to see his uncle, Donghyuk, stepping out of the main chamber, his weathered face breaking into a subtle smile at the sight of his nephew.

"How’s the wedding? Are you staying tonight?" Donghyuk asked, his voice a mix of concern and pride.

Wonwoo gave a slight bow before falling into step beside his uncle, leading them toward the quiet of the residence. "I can’t stay long. I’ll leave before dawn. But I wanted to report on our progress. I’m working hard on our plan, Uncle."

Donghyuk nodded, his expression one of cautious approval. "Good job, son. Your parents would be proud. We’re getting there."

Behind them, Chan laughed brightly, already engrossed in some playful banter with Jungkook. Yet as Wonwoo stepped into the residence, the warmth faded, replaced by the weight of his hidden duty. The shadow of their shared legacy loomed ever closer, and he knew that each step he took brought them one step nearer to their long-awaited retribution.

Wonwoo settled into the dimly lit chamber, the heavy scent of burning incense mingling with the damp, earthy aroma of the secluded residence. His uncle, Donghyuk, leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze fixed on his nephew. Jungkook stood by the window, his playful demeanor replaced with a serious expression.

"You've done well," Donghyuk began, his voice a low rumble. "Marrying the Ongju—King’s only daughter. Our bloodline finally has a foothold in their palace."

Wonwoo’s expression remained unreadable, his jaw tense. "Efforts had paid. She trusts me more than she realizes now. And soon, she will trust me enough to do anything I say."

Donghyuk’s lips curled into a thin smile. "Good. You must keep her close. Make her see you as the only ally she can rely on. If we are to bring down the Queen and the King, we need someone on the inside—someone who can move freely, make decisions without suspicion."

Jungkook’s voice cut in, sharp and direct. "But what about the King? He is no fool. Even if the Queen falls, he may stand in our way."

"That’s why we need Seungcheol," Wonwoo stated, his voice cold. "He despises the King’s power over the court, and he resents me. But his jealousy toward his sister can be useful. I will manipulate their strained relationship, turn it into a wedge between them."

"And then?" Donghyuk asked, his gaze sharpening.

Wonwoo leaned forward, his eyes glinting with a darkness that matched the room’s shadows. "Then we use her. With her as a pawn, we can dismantle the King’s power and take the throne."

A silence settled over the room, thick and heavy. Finally, Donghyuk chuckled. "A Jeon as Queen of Silla. Poetic justice, wouldn't you say?"

Wonwoo didn’t respond, his expression cold and calculated. The warmth he showed you—the gentle touches, the soft smiles—were all part of a carefully woven lie.

"We will avenge our people," he declared, his voice low but laced with resolve. "And Silla will fall by its own greed and betrayal."

"Where were you this morning?"

Wonwoo's focus shifted to you as you stepped into his office, a commanding presence in the kingdom's staff uniform. The external affairs badge sat proudly on your shoulder, and a stack of books rested in your arms. You looked every bit the charismatic diplomat, a stark contrast to the serene, angelic figure he watched sleeping just last night.

"You're staring," you noted, crossing your arms and tilting your head, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

Wonwoo sighed, feeling a faint tension in his chest as he shook off his thoughts. "Your father summoned me regarding your mother's case. We found proof."

Your eyes widened, the books slipping slightly in your grasp. "Really? My mother... she wasn't at fault, right?"

Wonwoo nodded, reaching for a scroll on his desk. He unfurled it with a practiced ease, revealing the findings of months of investigation. "We uncovered a potential motive involving the Queen, but we still need a witness. I believe the Queen has ensured that everyone involved in your mother's death is either silenced or loyal to her."

A sharp breath escaped your lips. "Is the Queen going to be sentenced?"

Wonwoo's dark eyes lingered on you, his expression careful. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "She might."

Your knees buckled, and you sank onto the cold stone floor. Relief and shock washed over you in equal measure. You had always suspected the truth, yet seeing it confirmed felt like a blade twisting in your chest. Your mother was murdered—accused of black magic by the Queen, all to tear you away from any claim to the throne.

"You look... startled," Wonwoo remarked, his voice softer now, tinged with something unreadable.

You shook your head, wiping a faint trace of moisture from your eyes. "Was it because of me?"

Wonwoo's brow arched slightly. "What do you mean?"

"The Queen killed my mother. Was it because of me?" you whispered, a tremor in your voice.

A brief silence hung between you before Wonwoo spoke, each word measured. "There's no specific motive yet. But it seems she wanted to secure our Seja's place... and to do that, removing your mother's influence was necessary."

"And that influence... was from me."

Wonwoo’s gaze softened, but his voice remained steady. "It was not your fault."

But in the quiet that followed, you weren’t so sure.

That night, the moon hung low, casting silver light over the palace gardens. Wonwoo waited by the secluded pavilion just outside the palace walls, his figure blending with the shadows. His eyes scanned the path until he saw you approaching, wrapped in a dark cloak to avoid attention.

"You came," he said, a hint of relief escaping in his voice despite himself.

"Of course," you replied, pulling the hood away from your face. The moonlight touched your features, the cool breeze tousling your hair. "I need to know more... how can I secure justice for my mother?"

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened, his expression serious. "The only way to ensure justice is for you to take a stronger position in court. As long as the Queen’s influence over the ministers remains, any accusations against her will be buried."

You frowned, your fingers nervously toying with the edge of your cloak. "But I’m just a princess—no real power in the court’s decisions." The tone in your words showed a vulnerability he had never heard before.

"Not yet," Wonwoo corrected, his voice firm. "But if you strengthen your alliances, build trust with the right ministers, and show them your capability... you can turn the tide."

"And you... you’ll help me?"

Wonwoo met your gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Always."

Your shoulders seemed to relax, and there it was again—that smile. Genuine, grateful. A warmth spread in his chest, a feeling he tried to deny.

"Thank you, Wonwoo..." you whispered, stepping closer. "I... I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Wonwoo felt his breath hitch for a moment, your proximity disarming him. He nodded, forcing his voice to stay steady. "I’m just doing what’s right."

As you turned to leave, the shadows seemed colder without you. Wonwoo stood there for a moment, watching your figure disappear into the moonlit path. His heart pounded against his ribcage, his mind racing.

She trusts me.

But for the first time, the thought didn’t bring satisfaction. It brought guilt.

"It's not a sin to stare at your wife," Jisoo's teasing voice seeped into Wonwoo's ears, pulling him back to reality. Wonwoo shifted his gaze from you, where you stood across the training grounds, back to Jisoo and Seungcheol, who were sparring with swords.

"I'm not staring. I'm monitoring," Wonwoo muttered, adjusting his grip on his sword. "One more round," he added, signaling another bout. Jisoo groaned, wiping the sweat from his forehead, while Seungcheol got back into position without complaint.

Laughter echoed from the other side of the field—your laughter, light and melodic. You stood beside the younger trainees, Seungkwan and Dokyeom, showing them proper sword techniques and gently calming Seungkwan, who was rubbing his head after a clumsy blow from Dokyeom.

"Are we going to witness another spar between the Seja and Ongju?" Dokyeom asked innocently once the session ended.

You raised an eyebrow, your gaze shifting to Seungcheol, who was catching his breath after sparring with Jisoo. Meanwhile, Jisoo was already sprawled on the ground, panting.

Seungcheol straightened, gripping his sword again. "I'm always ready, Ongju," he declared, determination flaring in his eyes.

Wonwoo's gaze remained fixed on you. He noticed how your fingers wrapped around your sword—different, more resolute. As you drew it, the sunlight caught the blade, revealing a stunningly ornate weapon with your name engraved on it, adorned with delicate floral patterns. It was new.

A murmur of awe spread among the onlookers, Seungkwan and Dokyeom exchanging excited whispers as they watched. Your skill was undeniable, each movement calculated, each step confident. Yet, Wonwoo noticed you were holding back, your strikes precise but never too forceful.

Yet as the spar continued, something changed. Your strikes grew sharper, your eyes more intense. Seungcheol’s defense faltered under your relentless assault, his sword flying out of his grasp, clattering against the stone floor. He stumbled, gasping for air, and there you stood—your blade inched away against his throat.

"Enough for today." Wonwoo's voice cut through the tension as he swiftly stepped between you and Seungcheol, his hand gently pushing your sword down.

Your eyes, fierce a moment ago, softened at his touch. You took a deep breath, sheathing your sword and looking away.

"You shouldn't let your emotions guide your sword," Wonwoo whispered, his voice low but firm. "It only leads to regret."

You clenched your jaw, your gaze fixed on the ground. "It wasn't emotions... It was control."

Wonwoo’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, the words weighing heavily between you both. And yet, beneath your calm facade, he could sense the storm raging within.

"Draw your sword," Wonwoo instructed, his voice steady as he unsheathed his own. The training field lay quiet and empty, a canvas of fading sunlight catching on the polished blades. It was just the two of you, shadows stretching long on the ground.

"Seja let his emotions get the better of him earlier," Wonwoo continued, guiding you through a familiar technique. His movements were precise, controlled, each swing calculated. "And you almost let yours take over too."

Your swords clashed, the sharp ring of metal slicing through the silence. You adjusted your stance, trying to mirror his movements, but his expertise made it feel like a dance you struggled to keep up with.

"Emotions are a luxury in the field," he reminded you, his voice low but firm. "You should let your head lead everything—your mind should be your weapon, not just your blade."

You gritted your teeth, pushing against his strikes. "I'm from the women's military, Wonwoo. What do you expect?"

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Women are quick learners. They’re agile too. You have an advantage."

In a swift, fluid motion, he twisted his wrist, catching your sword at an angle and pulling your arm. The force made your weapon slip from your grasp, and before you could even react, your body collided with his. His arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you as you let out a surprised squeal.

Your breath hitched, your chest pressing against his. For a second, you were close enough to feel the rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth radiating from him.

"Are you messing with me?" you murmured, your eyes narrowing at the faint grin on his face.

"Perhaps," he replied, his voice teasing but his gaze unwavering. "But remember—losing focus, even for a moment, can be costly."

Your heart raced, a mix of frustration and something else entirely swirling within you. But instead of pulling away, you found yourself staying there for just a heartbeat longer, caught in the quiet, lingering closeness.

"Argh…"

Wonwoo’s pained groan filled the quiet training field, and you couldn’t help but burst into a fit of laughter, your giggle light and melodic.

"You’re right," you teased, leaning back slightly while still caught in his hold. "Losing focus for even a moment can be costly."

Wonwoo glanced down, seeing your foot firmly planted on his, the sharp ache radiating from the spot. Yet, despite the pain, a chuckle slipped from his lips.

"Noted," he muttered, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and mild exasperation. "But I didn't think you'd take my lesson so literally."

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Oh? I thought a great commander like you would’ve been prepared for any surprise attack."

Wonwoo’s smile widened, and in a swift move, he leaned closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear. "Careful, princess. Provoking your instructor might lead to more intense training."

A faint blush crept up your cheeks, but you maintained your defiant smile. "Is that a threat, Commander Jeon?"

"A promise," he replied, stepping back and letting go of your waist, though his eyes lingered on you for a second longer.

From the upper balcony of the palace overlooking the training field, the King stood silently, his sharp eyes observing the scene below. His stern expression softened as he watched you and Wonwoo. His beloved daughter, always so fierce and resolute, now laughed freely in the presence of her husband. The sound of your laughter, carried by the gentle breeze, reached his ears like a soothing melody.

Beside him, his trusted advisor cleared his throat softly. "Your Majesty, it seems the princess has found comfort in Commander Jeon’s company."

The King’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Comfort? Perhaps. But more importantly, she seems happy."

He had been wary when you insisted on marrying Wonwoo, even more so when the marriage was hastened. There were whispers—speculations that you were driven by something more than love. Yet watching you now, eyes bright and smile unwavering as you bantered with Wonwoo, the King’s doubts faded.

"She has always been strong," the King murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "But even the strongest need someone who can match their strength... and soften their heart."

Wonwoo’s gentle laughter joined yours as he leaned closer, whispering something that made you swat at him playfully. The King chuckled under his breath. His daughter, who once stood as a fierce warrior on the battlefield and an unyielding presence in court, was now a young woman in love—blissfully unaware of his watchful gaze.

"Perhaps Commander Jeon is the right choice," the King whispered, his tone more certain now. "A man who can make her smile so freely might also be the one who can protect her in ways even I cannot."

The advisor nodded but remained silent, recognizing the rare moment of a father’s quiet pride and relief.

Below, you stood with Wonwoo, his voice low and urgent. "The confrontation with the Queen is tomorrow. My team found the black magic tool in her chamber. The same type used against your mother. This is our strongest evidence yet."

Your pulse quickened, and you leaned closer. "So it’s true… she used black magic to murder my mother?"

"It seems so." Wonwoo’s tone was steady. "But you need to be wary of your brother. He might act impulsively. The Queen is his mother, and if he feels cornered—"

"You’ll be there," you whispered, your voice laced with trust.

Wonwoo’s grip on your back tightened slightly. "Yes, I will. But I need you to be ready for everything. This is the moment of truth. Tell me…" His voice softened, his breath brushing against your ear. "What do you want to be?"

Silence settled between you. The wind seemed to hush, the distant hum of the palace growing faint.

"A queen." Your voice was unwavering.

Wonwoo’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. His hand moved in soothing circles on your back. "I thought so. Then we will make sure you become one."

Above, the King’s smile only grew, watching you two so close, completely unaware of the quiet storm brewing in his own palace.

The next morning, Seungcheol stood by the palace balcony, staring at the distant mountains. The crisp air did little to calm the storm in his chest. Rumors of the Queen's chamber being sealed and whispers of dark artifacts found within had shaken the palace. His mother denied everything when he asked, her voice steady but her eyes avoiding his.

"Seja."

The familiar voice of Commander Jeon pulled him from his thoughts. Wonwoo approached calmly, his expression unreadable.

"You seem troubled," Wonwoo remarked, leaning casually against the railing.

"Of course, I am," Seungcheol replied sharply. "These baseless accusations against my mother… They disrespect the royal family."

"Accusations are dangerous," Wonwoo agreed, his tone neutral. "But avoiding the truth can be even more dangerous."

Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

Wonwoo’s gaze stayed on the distant courtyard where you stood, speaking with some palace staff. "Loyalty is a fine thing, Seja. But it should never blind you."

"My loyalty is to my family," Seungcheol stated firmly.

"As it should be." Wonwoo turned slightly, his face thoughtful. "And family is not just by blood. It's about those you protect, those you stand beside… those you trust."

Seungcheol’s grip on the balcony tightened. "If you're here to lecture me—"

"Not at all." Wonwoo’s voice was calm, almost warm. "I'm simply reminding you that loyalty to the wrong person can cost you everything."

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched. "You speak in riddles, Commander."

"Do I?" Wonwoo finally looked directly at him, his eyes steady. "I speak only of ensuring that those we care about are safe. And that means making difficult choices."

Seungcheol said nothing, his gaze shifting back to you, watching as you laughed with the staff, a bright presence even in the tense atmosphere of the palace.

Wonwoo's voice softened, almost a whisper. "It would be a shame if someone tried to harm her... or use her."

Seungcheol’s breath caught. "Who would dare?"

"Who indeed?" Wonwoo stepped away, his tone light again. "Be careful, Seja. The palace is full of secrets. And those who survive are the ones who choose their allies wisely."

And with that, Wonwoo walked away, leaving Seungcheol in quiet turmoil.

The grand hall was filled with tension as the King sat at the head of the chamber, surrounded by ministers and royal advisors. You stood beside Commander Jeon and his investigation team, the air thick with anticipation. The evidence of the Queen’s dark practices lay displayed—charms, sigils, and artifacts pulled from her private chamber. Wonwoo’s voice was steady as he presented the findings.

"After extensive investigation, we have uncovered these items in the Queen's chamber. The symbols match those of forbidden practices."

Whispers erupted among the ministers. Some looked shocked, others whispered among themselves, and the King’s face darkened with disbelief.

"This is a grave accusation," one minister dared to speak, "Are we certain of their authenticity?"

"My team has verified them," Wonwoo stated confidently. "This is no fabrication."

The doors suddenly burst open, and Seungcheol stormed in, his eyes blazing with fury. "Fabrication? That’s exactly what this is!" he shouted. "This is a scheme orchestrated by them—by her and her husband!"

The room fell silent. The King leaned forward, his face unreadable.

"Seungcheol," his voice was low, "mind your words."

But Seungcheol was beyond reason. His gaze fixated on you. "You have always been a thorn in my mother’s side. And now you bring this falsehood to tear our family apart? Have you no shame?"

You stepped forward, your voice unwavering. "Are you underestimating my husband's professionalism?"

"Professionalism?" Seungcheol scoffed, unsheathing his sword. "This is a coup disguised as justice!"

Before anyone could react, Seungcheol lunged forward, his sword aimed directly at you. Gasps erupted across the chamber.

But Wonwoo was faster. In a heartbeat, he moved between you and Seungcheol, his own sword drawn and his body acting as a shield. Metal clashed with a resounding ring, and Wonwoo’s steely gaze locked with Seungcheol’s.

"Seja! I order you to stop, or I will take your crown prince title for tainting the palace with your recklessness!" the King’s voice boomed, his authority undeniable.

Seungcheol’s face paled, his sword trembling against Wonwoo’s. The room was frozen in silence.

"Step back, Seja," Wonwoo's voice was calm, but his gaze held a quiet warning. "Do not mistake your anger for righteousness."

Seungcheol's breathing was heavy, his rage and desperation clear. But the weight of the King’s words sank in, and slowly, he lowered his sword, stepping back with a glare that could burn through steel.

You exhaled, your hand clutching the back of Wonwoo’s sleeve. Wonwoo’s sword remained up, protecting you until he was certain the threat was gone.

"Escort the crown prince out. He will remain under supervision until this investigation is concluded," the King commanded, and the guards moved immediately.

Seungcheol’s gaze lingered on you, a mix of betrayal and fury, before he was pulled away.

The King’s voice returned to its composed, regal tone. "Commander Jeon, proceed with the presentation. This matter will be judged without bias."

Wonwoo gave a respectful nod, his hand gently touching yours in a silent reassurance. The investigation continued, but the room had already felt the tremor of a family on the edge of a storm.

Later that evening, you were summoned to the royal chambers, the air thick with uncertainty. The King’s advisors had left for the night, but the weight of the day’s events lingered heavily in the silence. As you stepped into the dimly lit room, the King was seated by his desk, papers scattered in front of him. He looked older tonight, wearier than usual, as if the pressure of the crown were beginning to take its toll.

"Ongju," he said softly, his eyes lifting to meet yours. "Come sit with me."

You approached cautiously, wondering what new twist this complicated situation would bring. The King motioned for you to sit across from him, his expression serious.

"I have been thinking," he began, his voice low but steady. "You have shown great strength in recent days, and your actions have proven you are no longer just my daughter."

You blinked, uncertain of where this conversation was headed. The King studied you for a moment, his gaze thoughtful.

"Do you understand what I mean?" he continued, his voice almost hesitant. "The whispers... they are growing louder. There are those who believe that Seungcheol is the rightful heir, that he is the only one worthy of the throne. Yet, there are others who look at you and see the same strength in you. You are the daughter of a king—your bloodline is noble, and your actions have proven your capability."

A tightness formed in your chest as his words hung in the air. You had known the politics of the court were always about power, but to hear your own father speak of succession, especially now, made everything feel more real.

"You are considering... me?" you asked quietly, unsure of how to process what he was implying.

The King nodded, his face serious. "I am. It’s not just about blood, but about what you can offer to the kingdom. What you’ve shown today, in the face of threats and uncertainty, it’s not something Seungcheol has done. He is... impulsive. He acts with his emotions leading him, and that could be dangerous. You, on the other hand, have a steady hand. You know when to act and when to hold back."

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking in. The throne was no longer just a symbol of power—it was a dangerous position, one that could bring enemies closer than ever.

"Seungcheol has the Queen’s backing," the King added, his voice dropping into a more guarded tone. "And you’ve seen the lengths to which she will go to secure his place. Her supporters are pushing hard for him to take the throne, and there are whispers in the shadows... that if I am not careful, I may lose everything. Not just the throne, but my life."

Your heart quickened. The Queen’s influence was vast, and her supporters, many of them still deeply embedded in the palace, were a force to be reckoned with.

"Your mother’s death was only the beginning," the King murmured, more to himself than to you. "The Queen will stop at nothing. I have tried to keep her at bay, but her reach is long. If Seungcheol takes the throne under her influence, he could be just another pawn. The court will be hers to control."

The King looked at you then, his eyes softening. "I need you to be ready. You must prepare yourself. You are not just a daughter of this kingdom—you are the future of it. If you want to be the one to wear the crown, you must take it. But know this, my child..." His voice faltered for a moment, something raw seeping through. "There are dangers ahead. Many will try to destroy you before you even get the chance to rule."

You nodded, a chill settling deep in your bones. The path before you was dangerous, fraught with enemies both outside and within.

"I won’t let them take what is rightfully yours," you said, your voice resolute. "I will fight for this kingdom, for you."

The King reached out, taking your hand in his. "I know you will, my child. And I will be here to guide you. But remember—being the heir to this throne is not a privilege. It is a responsibility that weighs heavier than anything else."

The weight of his words crushed down on you, but there was no turning back now. You had already made your decision. Whatever it took, you would do whatever was necessary to protect the kingdom—and yourself—from the shadows that loomed ever closer.

"You must prepare for what is to come," the King added, his voice thick with the gravity of the moment. "You and Wonwoo both. He is your strength, and you are his."

You nodded, a silent promise forming in your heart. With the Queen’s forces lurking in the background, and Seungcheol’s volatile nature, the game of thrones had only just begun. And you would be ready.

The news spread like wildfire across the kingdom, swiftly moving from the royal court to the streets, and every corner of the kingdom buzzed with whispers. The King’s announcement that you, Princess Y/n, were now considered a potential successor to the throne, alongside Crown Prince Seungcheol, sent shockwaves through the kingdom.

For years, it had been a given that Seungcheol, backed by the Queen’s influence, was the clear heir. But now, with your name officially in the running, the political landscape was thrown into chaos. Supporters of the Queen saw it as an affront to her carefully laid plans, while those who had quietly hoped for your rise whispered that this was the beginning of a new era.

In the royal court, tensions flared. Ministers and advisors who had once been steadfast in their loyalty to Seungcheol were now divided. Some saw the King’s decision as a brilliant move to balance power, ensuring that the kingdom’s future would be in capable hands, no matter which path it took. Others feared that it was the beginning of a deadly power struggle, one that would tear the kingdom apart.

Among the nobles, debates raged. Some secretly hoped for Seungcheol’s downfall, seeing your rise as a way to bring back stability. They admired your calm, measured approach and saw it as a stark contrast to Seungcheol’s emotional decisions. Others, particularly those loyal to the Queen, viewed your claim as a direct threat to their own power and wealth, and they would do whatever it took to ensure you were never crowned.

The people, meanwhile, were divided. Some viewed you as the beacon of hope, a princess who had shown courage and strength despite the odds. Your involvement in your mother’s case, your unwavering determination to protect the kingdom, made you a symbol of a new, more just rule. Others, however, still saw Seungcheol as the rightful heir, the one groomed for the throne from birth, and they were hesitant to accept any challenge to his position.

The Queen’s supporters were particularly vocal, spreading rumors and making it known that they would not tolerate such a disruption to the throne. They accused you and Wonwoo of conspiring to undermine Seungcheol, even going so far as to say that your actions were merely a way to avenge your mother’s death, a personal vendetta that should not influence the fate of the kingdom.

Inside the palace walls, the pressure mounted. Seungcheol’s reaction to the announcement was swift and volatile. His pride, already wounded from his earlier confrontation with you, flared up again. He felt betrayed—not only by his father but also by the very court that had once rallied behind him. It was one thing for you to challenge his position indirectly, but now the King’s words had solidified your place as a contender. This wasn’t just about a title anymore—it was a threat to everything Seungcheol believed he was entitled to.

As the whispers in the court grew louder, the inevitable became clearer. The Queen’s treachery could no longer be denied. The evidence—irrefutable and damning—had been laid out for all to see. The black magic tools found in her chambers, the dark rituals she had orchestrated in the shadows of the palace, and the bloodstains of countless plots woven to ensure her son, Seungcheol, would inherit the throne had all been uncovered. The King, with great reluctance, had no choice but to order her banishment from the palace.

The Queen was stripped of her title, her wealth, and her influence. Her supporters in the court were purged, one by one, as the King acted swiftly, making an example of anyone who dared to question his decision. The Queen was sent outside the palace, cast into the cold and unforgiving world, her once grand power reduced to nothing more than whispers in the wind.

Seungcheol’s reaction was expected, though no less shocking. He was enraged. His mother, the one person who had always stood by him, had been torn from his side, and he could not, would not, allow it. He stood before the King, sword in hand, his face twisted in a fury that had never been seen before.

“Father,” Seungcheol spat, his voice a venomous whisper. “You’ve betrayed her. You’ve betrayed me. This is not justice—this is a political game, and you are a fool to think I’ll sit back and allow you to take everything from me.”

The King stood resolute, his gaze unyielding, though the pain was visible in his eyes. “Your mother’s actions were not of justice, Seungcheol. She tried to seize the throne through deceit, through murder. I cannot allow her, or her supporters, to hold any power in this kingdom.”

Seungcheol’s grip on his sword tightened. “Then I will take what is mine by right. I will not let you destroy everything I’ve fought for. You’ve destroyed my mother, and now I will destroy you. I will take the throne by force if I have to.”

The room went silent as the tension in the air thickened. The King, with his final breath of resolve, turned to you. “Princess Y/n... You are now the only one who can take the kingdom forward. Seungcheol’s rage will only burn everything in his path. We have to stop him.”

But even as he spoke, it was clear that the kingdom was on the brink of collapse. Seungcheol’s plan was already in motion. His supporters, loyal to the Queen, were rallying around him, and whispers of a bloody coup began to spread.

As Seungcheol gathered his forces, plotting his revenge, he turned to the one person he believed could take the throne from his father—you. In his eyes, you were now the only option left to secure the kingdom’s future, even if it meant eliminating the King in the process.

“You, Princess Y/n,” Seungcheol said, his voice cold and calculated as he faced you one evening in the royal courtyard, “are the only one who can stop this madness. I will not let my father destroy everything. He has chosen to destroy my mother, and now, I will do what’s necessary to take what is mine.”

He stepped closer, his sword at his side, but there was no threat in his posture—only an eerie calmness. “The King is weak. His time is over. You will either stand with me, or you will stand with him. I will take the throne. The question is whether you’ll be by my side, or if you’ll watch me burn the palace to the ground.”

The choice was placed before you. The kingdom was teetering on the edge of chaos. The King, your father, was desperate to maintain control, but Seungcheol’s anger and thirst for justice were undeniable.

And there, in the silence of the night, as the storm clouds gathered on the horizon, you knew your answer.

To take the throne now meant to fight a war—one that would tear the kingdom apart. To stay loyal to the King was to risk your life in a game of politics, where enemies lurked in every shadow. But to align with Seungcheol, to stand at his side, meant betraying your own blood, your own father.

The path ahead was unclear, but one thing was certain: the battle for the throne was about to begin. Whether you would rise as the future queen or fall victim to the flames of war, only time would tell.

The weight of the world pressed against your chest, each breath a struggle as you stood alone in the quiet garden under the pale moonlight. The cold metal of your sword felt like ice in your trembling grip, and your vision blurred with tears that you could no longer hold back. The scent of fresh earth and damp leaves filled the air, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging within you.

You didn’t want this.

Not the crown. Not the power. Not the throne built on blood and suffering. A sob escaped your lips, raw and desperate, as your knees buckled, and you fell to the ground. The sword slipped from your grasp, the metallic clang echoing in the darkness, but you didn’t care. Your hands covered your face, and your shoulders shook with silent cries.

"I don't want this... I don't want any of this..." The words spilled from you, muffled by your own palms.

You felt a presence before you saw him. Wonwoo’s warm, calloused hands reached for you, gently pulling your hands away from your tear-stained face. His touch was steady, but his gaze betrayed a deep concern, an emotion you hadn’t seen before in his sharp, calculating eyes.

“Y/n…” His voice was a whisper, soft yet pained. He crouched before you, his dark eyes searching yours, and the sight of your tears seemed to shatter something within him.

“I never wanted this... I just wanted... I just wanted to protect them... to protect you...” Your voice broke, and you felt your chest tighten again. “But... all I see is blood... blood on my hands, blood on my family...”

Wonwoo’s jaw clenched. For so long, he had been the one with a plan, the one who held his resolve like an unbreakable shield. But seeing you like this—vulnerable, broken—every calculated thought he had ever harbored, every whispered promise of revenge, crumbled. His ambitions, his hatred, even his own thirst for justice seemed insignificant now.

“I never wanted to lie to you,” he whispered, his fingers gently trailing along your cheek, then falling away. “But everything I’ve done, everything I planned… it started long before I met you.”

A cold sense of dread washed over you. The weight of his words pressed down, making your breath hitch. “What are you saying?”

Wonwoo’s jaw clenched, his gaze shifting to the moonlit garden before he spoke again. “I wasn’t just a simple commander in Silla’s Hwarang. I was born as Jeon Wonwoo, the crown prince of the fallen Jeon Kingdom—overthrown and destroyed by Silla’s forces.”

Your blood ran cold. “The Jeon Kingdom… the one that was… massacred…”

He nodded. “My family was killed. I was only a child, taken in by my uncle who survived the invasion. He raised me in the shadows, trained me for one purpose—to take revenge on Silla’s royal family. To bring justice for my people, my family… for everything we lost.”

“Revenge…” you echoed, the word like ash on your tongue.

Wonwoo’s gaze fell, guilt clouding his sharp eyes. “I infiltrated Silla, rose through the ranks, and became a commander. I built connections, watched the court, and gathered allies. And then… I met you.”

You stepped back, your voice wavering. “So… you married me for your plan? To get closer to the throne? To manipulate me?”

“Initially, yes.” His voice was firm but laced with regret. “That was the plan. To use our marriage, to use your status, to bring down the queen and weaken the royal family. But…”

He took a step toward you, his hands trembling slightly. “But everything changed. You changed everything, Y/n. The moment I saw you fighting for your own place, for your own justice… I saw something beyond vengeance. I saw someone I didn’t want to hurt.”

Your heart raced painfully in your chest. “And now? Are you still trying to use me? Are you going to kill the king? My brother?”

Wonwoo’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “No. Not anymore. I won’t hurt you or your family. Not if you don’t want it.”

A bitter laugh escaped you, tears stinging your eyes. “Not if I don’t want it? Wonwoo, everything is already falling apart! The queen is exiled, Seungcheol is desperate, the kingdom is on the brink of chaos—and I’m a pawn in your game!”

His expression twisted with pain. “You’re not a pawn. Not to me. Not anymore.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks, and his thumbs gently wiped them away. “But everything is ruined, Wonwoo. I’ve hurt people. I’ve done things I never wanted to. And it was all for a lie…”

“It wasn’t a lie,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “Not for me. Not anymore.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” his hand gently resting on your cheek, wiping away the fresh tears. “We can stop. We can let it go.”

You stared at him, your breath hitching. “Wonwoo… after everything… you would stop?”

His eyes darkened with a thousand emotions, but he nodded, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “Yes. If it means you won’t cry again, then I’ll stop. I will walk away from everything.”

A sob escaped your lips again, but this time it was softer, almost a breath of relief. You leaned into his touch, letting his warmth ground you, letting his calm voice silence the chaos in your mind.

“But… Seungcheol… the King… the court… they will never stop. They will turn on us… they will—”

“Then we will face them together.” Wonwoo’s voice was resolute now, a fire in his eyes. “Not for revenge, not for power… but for you. For us.”

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder, your tears soaking into his robes. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, a quiet promise in his embrace. The sword lay forgotten on the cold ground beside you, the moonlight reflecting off its blade—a faint glimmer in the darkness.

And for the first time, in the midst of this chaos, you felt a flicker of hope.

The king had fallen under his own son's sword in the dead of night. By dawn, the news spread like wildfire, leaving the kingdom in turmoil. Whispers filled every corner, from the bustling markets to the quiet courtyards. The ministry acted swiftly, stripping Seungcheol of his title as crown prince, a desperate attempt to maintain order. But instead of breaking his resolve, it only fueled his rage. Seungcheol’s ambition turned merciless, his gaze now fixed on one target—you. The only obstacle between him and the throne.

The grand hall was a storm of frantic murmurs, ministers and generals speaking over each other, panic evident in their faces. But your voice cut through the chaos with the clarity of a blade.

"Evacuate the people outside the capital at first light," you commanded, your voice unwavering. "Prioritize children, women, and teachers. All military units must be prepared for combat. I will face Seungcheol myself."

Silence followed your words, the ministers exchanging uneasy glances, but none dared to challenge you. Your presence, a commanding force, anchored them in the midst of chaos.

"I’m going with you." Wonwoo’s voice rang out, steady but tinged with a desperate protectiveness. As Commander Jeon, his duty was clear, but as your husband—an even stronger bond pulled him toward you.

But you shook your head, your expression resolute. "No, Commander Jeon. Your responsibility is to ensure the safety of our people. They are your shield, and you are theirs. Trust me to do what I must."

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened, his knuckles pale as they gripped the hilt of his sword. "Y/n—"

"Don’t make this harder than it already is," you whispered, forcing a faint smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. "You taught me to lead with my head, not just my heart. So that’s exactly what I’m doing."

Wonwoo’s gaze softened, a storm of emotions swirling within him—fear, anger, and something far too close to grief. But he knew better than to argue with you now. Not when every second mattered.

"I will protect them," he promised, his voice low but fierce. "But promise me… you won’t take unnecessary risks."

"I promise I will do what I must. For this kingdom. For our people."

As the grand hall emptied, the heavy doors groaned shut, muffling the frantic echoes of preparation beyond them. But in the stillness that followed, you remained—standing beneath the vast banners of the royal crest, the flickering torchlight casting shadows across your resolute face.

A familiar warmth wrapped around your wrist, pulling you from your thoughts. You turned to see Wonwoo, his dark eyes fierce yet softened, a contradiction of fear and longing.

"You don’t have to do this alone," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but each word weighed with emotion. "Please… let me stand by your side."

"You already are," you whispered, your free hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "Wonwoo, if something happens to me—"

"Don’t." His voice broke slightly, his grip tightening on your wrist. "Don’t talk like that."

"You taught me to face reality," you countered gently. "And the reality is, I might not come back from this. Seungcheol is driven, and I cannot guarantee—"

"I don't care what he is," Wonwoo interrupted, his other hand coming up to rest over yours against his cheek. "Listen to me. I never told you this… but I never planned to love you. I never planned for you to become the one person I cannot lose."

Your breath caught, his confession hitting you like a tidal wave. You had known him as a strategist, a man of unwavering resolve—a man who always seemed to know what he wanted. But in this moment, he was simply Wonwoo—the man who held your heart.

"Then don’t lose me," you whispered, leaning forward until your foreheads touched. "Stay alive. Protect our people. That’s your promise."

"And you?" His voice trembled, his hands now cradling your face. "What do you promise me?"

"I promise… I will fight with everything I have. And if I must fall—" you hesitated, your voice thick with emotion, "—I will fall knowing I loved you."

Wonwoo’s lips captured yours, desperate and fierce, a kiss that spoke of everything he couldn’t say. A promise. A plea. A goodbye he refused to give.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads remained touching, your breaths mingling in the tense silence. His eyes, dark and intense, held yours.

"I will come back to you," you whispered, the tears you tried to hold back finally slipping free. "I swear it."

"And I will be waiting," he whispered back, his thumb brushing away your tears. "No matter how long it takes."

As you pulled away, the cold air rushed between you, but Wonwoo’s warmth lingered—an invisible shield around your heart.

You turned, walking toward the door, the weight of war pressing upon your shoulders. But with each step, you held onto his promise, like a faint light guiding you through the darkness.

Wonwoo led the people to the hidden village where the remaining Jeons lived. His uncle listened intently as he explained the chaos that had erupted in the capital—the king’s fall, Seungcheol’s betrayal, and the abrupt turn of their once carefully planned revenge. The weight of bloodshed hung in the air, a bitter reminder of how far vengeance could twist one's soul.

“It’s over,” Wonwoo whispered, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “Enough of this revenge. We’ve lost too much.”

His uncle placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, a silent understanding passing between them.

Days turned to a week, and the village grew restless. News from the capital was scarce, tension simmering beneath the surface. The people prayed for peace, for the safety of their loved ones. But Wonwoo’s heart remained in turmoil. He found himself pacing at the village's edge, eyes fixed on the distant forest path, hoping for any sign of you.

Then, a rider arrived from the capital, his horse covered in dust, a royal emblem on his chest. Breathless and weary, he delivered the news.

"The Choi clan has fallen. The queen’s allies have been defeated. Seungcheol has been overthrown."

A collective gasp swept through the crowd, joy and relief spreading like wildfire. Mothers hugged their children, elders whispered thanks to the heavens, and even the warriors smiled with pride.

But Wonwoo remained still, his heart pounding against his ribs. “And what of the princess?” His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed his fear.

The messenger smiled, “The capital is now secure, and the coronation of the new queen will be held in a month.”

Wonwoo’s vision blurred for a moment, the tension flooding out of him in a rush.

“She’s safe! My sister is safe!” Chan’s voice pierced the air, and he jumped up, hugging anyone nearby.

But Wonwoo’s relief was silent. He closed his eyes, letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. A faint, shaky smile crossed his lips. You were safe.

“Commander!” his uncle’s voice snapped him back.

Wonwoo’s expression hardened with determination. “Prepare the people. Those who wish to return to the capital can do so. Our warriors will guide them for protection.”

“Yes, Commander!”

But even as his people moved in a flurry of preparation, Wonwoo was already mounting his horse. His grip on the reins was tight, his gaze locked on the forest path.

“I’m going back to her.” He spurred his horse, the powerful beast surging forward, hooves thundering against the ground. Trees blurred past him, the cold wind biting at his face, but none of it mattered.

His thoughts were filled with you—your fierce resolve, your gentle smile, your warmth.

“I’m coming to you.”

The gentle hum of the projector filled the spacious lecture hall, casting a soft, warm glow over the screen at the front. Jeon Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, his steady gaze meeting the curious faces of his students.

"And that's where our story ends," he concluded, a faint smile crossing his lips. "The tale of the Queen of Wonhwa and the turbulent rise of the Jeon family."

A hand shot up among the students. "Professor Jeon, how was their life after that? Did the queen live happily ever after with Commander Jeon?"

Wonwoo's smile deepened, but there was a subtle wistfulness in his eyes. "History is often silent on personal happiness. There isn't much evidence detailing their private lives. However, what we do know is that the Queen's reign marked a significant shift. Women's education began to establish itself as a formal part of the kingdom’s policies, and her son—later known as one of the most strategic kings in military history—led an era of unparalleled strength and prosperity."

The students whispered among themselves, a mixture of awe and curiosity in their expressions.

"So, was Commander Jeon the father of that legendary king?" another student dared to ask, leaning forward.

Wonwoo chuckled, "Historical records are unclear, but there are many who believe so. After all, the Queen’s most trusted advisor and protector was none other than Commander Jeon."

"Professor, do you think they loved each other?"

Wonwoo paused, his gaze drifting momentarily to the window where a gentle breeze rustled the leaves outside. His voice softened. "Love can be found in many forms—through trust, sacrifice, and shared ideals. Perhaps that is the greatest mystery of their tale."

The bell rang, and the students began packing their things, chattering about the lecture as they filed out. Wonwoo stood by his desk, collecting his notes, his fingers lingering on the worn pages of his lecture book.

As the last student left, a familiar voice broke the silence.

"I think you make it sound more dramatic each semester."

Wonwoo looked up to see you leaning against the doorframe, a playful smile on your lips.

"Perhaps," he admitted, his expression softening. "But you have to admit, it keeps them interested."

"Did you tell them about how the Queen and Commander Jeon would sneak out of the palace to share mooncakes under the stars?" you teased, stepping closer.

Wonwoo laughed, shaking his head. "That's not historically verified."

"Neither is their undying love, but you mentioned that."

"Touché." He leaned back against his desk, his smile lingering as his eyes met yours. "Shall we get some dinner?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Dinner? Or mooncakes under the stars?"

"Why not both?"

You laughed, taking his outstretched hand. Even after centuries, the story of the Queen of Wonhwa and Commander Jeon lived on—retold in history books and whispered between two souls who somehow always found their way back to each other.

Wonwoo closed his leather-bound lecture book, tucking it under his arm as he walked beside you. The hallway buzzed with students rushing to their next classes, but his focus was entirely on you.

"I'm just saying, your administrative policies seem overly strict," Wonwoo remarked, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Strict?" You turned to face him, your expression a mix of disbelief and amusement. "Wonwoo, I’m trying to maintain academic integrity, not run a summer camp."

"And I'm saying that micromanaging professors' attendance reports isn't maintaining integrity. It’s just paperwork chaos," he shot back, his tone teasing but his words pointed.

"That's because some professors treat their classes like optional gatherings. I’m ensuring consistency," you defended, crossing your arms.

"Or you’re turning the faculty into a military academy," he quipped.

You stopped walking, your gaze challenging. "You sound like you're worried you’ll be the first to break the rules."

Wonwoo chuckled, stepping closer. "I'm the model professor. It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s the others who’ll run for the hills the moment they hear about your new policies."

A faint smile tugged at your lips, but you tried to keep your tone stern. "Well, if they do, at least we’ll know who’s not serious about their roles."

"You really do enjoy being the strict dean, don’t you?" Wonwoo leaned slightly, his teasing gaze unwavering.

"I prefer 'responsible,'" you corrected, turning back to continue walking.

"Of course, Madam Dean," Wonwoo replied with a playful salute, easily matching your pace.

"Don't you 'Madam Dean' me," you muttered, but you couldn’t hide the smile forming.

"Won't I be hearing that a lot when you take over the dean’s office officially?" Wonwoo teased, his voice light but proud.

"Yes, you will. And you better address me properly in meetings," you retorted, feigning seriousness.

"Fine. But don’t think I won’t bring up your paperwork obsession in the next faculty gathering," he warned, earning a light glare from you.

"You wouldn’t dare."

"Try me," he challenged, the mischievous glint in his eyes making your heart skip a beat.

"Maybe I will."

"Good. I love a challenge."

And as your bickering continued, anyone passing by could see it—two professors locked in a playful, spirited exchange, each word carrying a mix of familiarity, trust, and something far deeper.

The end.

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