#his status as crown prince forbids him to have a family (do we actually know who his birth mother is?) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ktheist · 4 years

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saving grace | 1

muses. duke!yoongi x lady!reader

universe. arranged marriage / minor traces of magic in history

concept. driven into a corner with the new king, seokjin, offering to marry you off to a prince in a foreign land and a persistent mother who would seize the chance of a lucrative marriage for her daughter, you’re forced with the only other option to secure your freedom ‒ enter into a beneficial agreement with the man who reaped the seeds of war, the duke of cralon, yoongi min.

words. 6.1k

warnings. mentions of war, it’s cliche and cheesy all in one package

index. 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / finale

“that’s not a reward,” you heatedly claim, somewhere in your periphery, the royal assistant flinches from your tone, “that’s banishment! you wish to banish me to another country where i’ll be of no threat to you because of the information i hold!”

“l-lady ___, please lower your voice.” jungkook, seokjin’s new advisor, tries to placate only to stagger back from a glare you shot.

the music and chatters is loud enough to drown a scream - and you haven’t reached that point of wanting to yell your heart out at this man. the area you are in - on the second floor on the veranda overseeing the ocean of people dancing in the hall - is secluded enough to give the king his privacy.

“now, why would i do that to my most trusted confidant?” the smile on seokjin’s face could not have been more dubious. though he may wear the crown and sit upon the throne, his crude nature is what he truly is.

it’s not a secret that seokjin is the son of a maid who rose to the top but it couldn’t have been possible without the help of the count’s daughter. he needed information but his status as a prince born from a mere maid, hadn’t allow him to attend the social functions nor received any acknowledgement from the aristocrats. it was you who offered to be his eyes and ears in exchange for moving into the royal palace once he becomes king after the siege.

“as i recall, you wished to live in a palace like a princess,” his voice is unusually high pitched, laced with mockery of what you can only assume is an attempt to mimic yours, “and it just so happens that the prince of aflar is looking for a bride - who knows, despite being the 12th prince, perhaps he’ll be able to rise as the king. that way, you’ll become queen.”

“i don’t wish to become queen! i wish to live a free life without my parents dictating who i should marry just because a lady cannot inherit the family title.” this time, the heel of your foot hurts from the stomp but the anger rushing through your veins allow forbids you from showing it.

“___,” he’s used to calling you by your name - of course, it’s been five years since you’ve known each other. five years after finding out the second prince’s true nature and regretting choosing his side every waking day of your life, “you wish to live in the palace but refuse to take lessons to prepare you as my queen - what would people think of the respectable lady who doesn’t have any prior relations to the second prince-turned-king suddenly living with him under the same roof?”

“there are thousands of servants living in the palace.” you plainly point out - he must’ve expected this if he doesn’t even bat an eye at your words.

“servants don’t go prancing around the palace looking for the king as they please.”

“th-that’s because you’ve been avoiding me under the guise of the workload left by the previous king,” the stutter is what brings about the sly smirk on his lips.

“my, then your reputation is already ruined,” he feigns a disheartened sigh, almost as though he truly cares, “it’s not like the servants are loyal to me so they’ll talk - they might even be talking now - if news gets out that we’ve been acting like lovers, your chances of marrying well has dwindled to zero. you ought to quickly find a marriage prospect to mend the mess you made.”

something in the way he pans out his words causes your shoulder line to jolt backwards - as though physically slapped by the truth of his narration. though not proven yet, and though the thought of having a man to call your husband would fix everything makes you sick - you can’t deny the simple-minded way of thinking of these aristocrats.

the fact of the matter is, it doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. whether you’re seokjin’s - as he had time and time indicated - lover. what matters is the double-edged sword you’ve forged for yourself.

one wrong move, and they’d believe seokjin if he’d called you his lover and then claimed you a traitor who tried assassinating him in his sleep.

but as of now, despite becoming the king, he’s still struggling with the lack of support from the aristocrats. and having managed to wedge your way into the top circle is possibly the only reason you’re still able to do whatever you want.

all of a sudden, a disarming smile curls on your lips - seokjin must’ve noticed if he’s trying to control the curiosity that flashes in his eyes before he sports a bored expression.

“very well, i thank you for giving your blessing for me to pick out any marriage prospect i want.” the smile stretches gleefully over your features as the man’s eyes widen at your next words.

“what are you-”

“i wish to wed the duke of cralon and head knight of the kingdom, yoongi min.”

“the min family is rumored to be the wealthiest family in the kingdom - perhaps far surpassing the previous king. one word from the duke and these filthy aristocrats will grovel at his feet,” the voice you use trickles with sweet honey while seokjin’s hands tightly grip the seat, “but for some reason he’s staying quiet after coming back from the war and finding out the king he serves has had his head cut off.”

“what are you trying to say, lady ___?”

it’s the honorific that tells you he’s speaking as the king and everything that allows him to sit on the throne. his features, when he’s glowering, is heartbreakingly beautiful.

that’s how it feels to be driven into a corner, seokjin.

“i never told you but the duke fancies me. every year, he sends me birthday gifts,” technically he isn’t the only one - it’s just a formality to maintain an amicable relationship between the houses of nobles but having been out of touch with the ways of the nobility, you’re almost sure seokjin isn’t aware of said ways, “but my parents wouldn’t allow us to meet because of his infamous reputation and i never had any interest in marriage,” the pleasant smile on your lips is a contrast to the man’s contorting features - he must understand where you both stand now, “but if i accept his proposal, the duke won’t stand and watch as the new king sends away his fiance, will he?”

when the king glares up at you but doesn’t seem to have anything to say, you thought that’s the end of it. thought you can curtsy and call it a night whilst devising plans on how to get the duke’s attention and make him fall for you within the limited span of time you have to show seokjin how smitten the knight is for you.

...until the man himself steps out of the shadow without even a scrape of his boot against the ground. the duke is a man of many things but graceful had been far beyond your imagination. and yet here he is, in his knightly attire in black and hints of yellow lines on the sleeves and shoulders - a glaring contrast to his porcelain white skin and silvery grey hair yet perhaps what contributes to highlighting his crimson eyes. the color that’s rumored to be the curse of the goddess for the min family’s generational brute and violence that lead them to winning wars and coming back unscathed.

“your ma-” it all happens too fast.

he’s about to greet seokjin - whether it is with weighty contempt or newfound alliance, you’re not sure - with a hand on his chest and an uncaring glance your way. then you’re running towards him and before you know it, your arms are around his neck and your voice is pitched higher than you would like, “your grace, i’m glad you came back safely!”

you never thought someone could actually turn into stone in a split second but you don’t think the man in your arms is breathing at the moment. and you know exactly who’s fault that is - your own.

“please, play along,” in contrast to the high pitched tone from earlier, you curse yourself for sounding meek and timid - if your heart isn’t beating like a galloping horse and your body isn’t heating up like a baker’s oven, perhaps, you would have had better control of the situation, “my life depends on it and if we walk out of here alive, i’ll do anything you wish, duke.”

...was what you said but it all seems too far blown out of proportion, you might as well forego all your worldly desires and surrender yourself to the church and become a woman of god.

“perhaps, marrying the foreign prince would have been a better option after all.” you lament out loud, pressing the sleeve of your nightgown to your eyes but instead of being engulfed in darkness, you see a vivid replay of seokjin’s knitted brows and troubled expression. and if you’d just focus, you would still feel yoongi’s muscles underneath your fingers as you held onto his arm after flinging yourself at him whilst you make your way back to where you were standing - in front of the king.

pleasantries were exchanged while a dark cloud loomed over the three of you before yoongi excused himself and since you were clinging onto his arm, you ended up leaving as well. before you’d managed to conjure up a plausible explanation for your behavior towards a person you’ve never met. but right in that moment, leslie, your maid had called for you to inform you of the carriage waiting outside.

relief threatened to paint your features but you’d hid it with a dip before peeking at the crimson eyes that’d stared right into your soul. ‘letter’ you’d mouthed before leaving joining leslie in search for the carriage.

it’s been three days since then and there is not a single spot on the table perched in front of your window that isn’t covered with the thin bundles of papers leslie has presented you with when you ordered her to find out more about duke min. he isn’t particularly a social butterfly but his reclusive nature had extended to a point where only the butler is the only one who ever spoke to him. besides that, ever since he’d came back from war, he’d been swarmed with reports and the recent issue of missing goods from the iyesgarth port owned by the ducal house. none of which are useful for you to attract the attention of the duke for an exchange of protection.

“what was that, my lady?” at the familiar fluttery voice, your whole body shoots up.

“leslie!” the woman’s name tumbles out of your lips in surprise, “when did you get in?”

you didn’t even hear her enter-

“a few minutes ago while you were still snoring off,” she answers simply as she walks over, inspecting the teal dress she must have gotten from your closet while murmuring to herself about the ‘handiwork is terrible. we shouldn’t order dresses from vivian’s boutique anymore.’

it didn’t seem like she heard anything but if she did, leslie has always had a knack for going about her day as though she knew nothing. you wonder how much information she holds just from that uncaring personality of hers that allows people to feel at ease with knowing she wouldn’t tattle.

but this isn’t something you could let go, “leslie, how much did you-” but it’s her rambling that almost has you biting down on your tongue as you clamp your mouth shut.

“...won’t do. you need to dress pretty for the duke, my lady.”

almost as though the traces of sleep has flown out of the window, you’re crawling over the bed and grasping onto the maid’s shoulders for dear life, “d-did you say duke?”

an unsuspecting smile graces your lips once the realization that your unusual behavior, is caused by the news of the duke, “yes, he’s on his way here as we speak!”

it takes a moment for you to register her words. another for you to blink back at her as though waiting for her ever smiling face to fade into the dark before you finally wake up, wishing fullheartedly that this is all just a bad dream.

“my lady?” leslie cocks her head to the side, as though searching for your conscience that’d retreated so far back into your existence, she realizes she’s staring back at nothing but a shell.

“why...” the lowest murmur leaves your lips like a calm before a storm before a hurricane rages and whirls out of your entire being, “why is the duke coming here?”

“___! what did you do to summon the rage of the duke to our home!” your father, dressed unusually impeccably, stopped in the middle of ordering the butler and servants for when the duke arrives.

“m-me?” yes, you knew you had sounded utterly audacious for someone who boasted - and even blackmailed the king - about the duke’s affection for you, “i didn’t do anything!”

it was in that moment that the clamor of a carriage had echoed from outside. the sound of the horses neighing comes a second later. but nobody heard the footsteps of duke min as he tread towards the open doors of the mansion.

he wasn’t named grim reaper for nothing.

“my apologies for coming on such short notice,” at least he's rational enough to admit his fault.

you catch the sight of the tip of his fringes falling over his face as he bows, before you curtsy, head lowered and eyes fixed to the ground.

your mother had scolded you an earful about peeking while curtsying, “___! have some refinement! a lady does not peek like an uncivilized cavewoman!”

if you’d lived in a cave, you wouldn’t have to be constricted to such formalities in the first place.

“please, don’t apologize,” your father presses smoothly, unlike his frazzled self from just a minute ago - it must have taken him years to hone such composure as to not tremble under the duke’s crimson eyes, “we at the ___ manor, are honored to have you as our guest, your grace. though we are quite puzzled by your grace’s reason for coming here.”

“reason.” the duke echoes, it seems the only thing delicate about him is his features but you’d be lying if you said you don’t find the low gruff of his voice thunderous to your heart.

a short silence lapses as though he’s sifting through his memories and finally letting his gaze travel to you - though his tone doesn’t seem to harbor any murderous intention, those crimson eyes that seek yours render your body cold. you clasp your hands together out of needing something to hold onto as you fix him one of your schooled, noble smile.

“i wish to speak to the eldest daughter of this house,” he says simply, “about our engagement.”

that same smile on your face falters into a pressed line.

“my, my,” your mother laughs, royal purple fan that’s been fluttering over his face now being lowered to her lap, “what troublesome rumor has spread about our beloved ___.”

the slightest twitch on her pristine smile tells you otherwise. but you can’t challenge her genuinity - not in front of the yoongi, at least.

and to be truthful, the more pressing matter - one that plagues your very talk as of now - is the fact that the conversation pertaining your supposed blessed marriage had only been attended by seokjin, jungkook and you - there were guards but you doubt any of them were interested in gossips about a count’s daughter’s affairs.

...could seokjin be the one to have spread the rumor?

before you can even come to a plausible conclusion as to why the king would do such a thing, you’re brought out of your train of thoughts by the woman covering your hands that are on your lap, grasping onto them tightly - at first glance, it would appear she’s genuinely concerned for you, “how do you plan to take responsibility over daughter’s wounded reputation, your grace?”

it’s commendable how your mother is still able to let her lips stretch over her face as though the man’s red eyes aren’t piercing through her skull like a spear. you’ve always known she was a scary woman - she wished to pass on her legacy onto you and perhaps that was why you would always end up huffing and trudging back to your room every time you tried to tell her you didn’t want to follow such path.

her ways were effective but you weren’t looking to gain something out of another’s suffering.

“mother!” your voice bounces over the walls, “his grace’s reputation is also tarnished by the rumor, how could you ask him to take responsibility as if it was his fault?”

the woman stares down at you with her signature glare but after years of being on the receiving end of it, you’d grown a spine or two, “silly child, who’s going to marry you now that the rumor of your engagement with the grim reaper has spread far and wide?”

“mother!” it almost comes out a chide at the word she uses to describe the man sitting right across from you.

“d-dear wife,” your father is sweating bullets from his seat as he bravely speaks up, “why don’t we let the duke and ___ discuss this matter privately? it is, after all, their reputations that are on the line.”

“theirs?” your mother’s hiss causes your father’s shoulder line to shrink back.

yoongi’s reputation may have been borne by only him but for a lady, everything you do reflects on your family name. that, you understand and for once, your mother’s outburst is well-founded.

the roots of rage almost tangles around your ankles as well - but the uncertainty of the source of rumor lingers on your mind.

it is the moment when the door shuts behind the butler after your parents which required a lot of pleading from your father, do you allow yourself to feel the heat of yoongi’s eyes on you - if looks could kill you’d be dead for simply and foolishly meeting his gaze.

“your grace, i apologize on my mother’s behalf... my mother, she’s only worried about my future like any mother would,” the head that’s held up high, the shoulders that line straight and the schooled smile on your lips - does well to conceal the inner turmoil inside you. but when all you receive is a steel gaze and a pin-drop silence, you’re forced to change the topic, “i was in the middle of writing you a letter.”

in other words, you mean to say you’re too hasty, duke.

unlike you, the man has his legs crossed languidly, his sword - said to be forged by the spine of the devil himself - is leaned next to his foot, almost as though ready for him to pull it out of its sheath if you so much as move, “i thought you would chip a nail writing me one so i decided to spare you the pain and pay you a visit, my lady.”

the underlying mockery in his words does not go past you yet it takes a moment for it to register - he looked like a straightforward man based on the menial conversation he shared with seokjin and you as a witness.

but it’s true what they say about judging books by their cover.

“that’s very considerate of you, your grace,” the smile you force on goes against the normal order of nature but the man doesn’t seem fazed. his crimson eyes fixes themselves on yours as though trying to take a peek into your soul and find out your darkest secret. if there’d been any trace of humor, it’s all vanished into thin air now.

“your grace, i told you my life was on the line that night. and you helped me regardless of who i was - i’m thankful for you. there’s no way i’d start a rumor of us being engaged and trouble you further,” you begin, capturing yoongi’s gaze with yours - where you get such courage for someone who’s about to spew half-truths, you don’t know, “but that night - it was because seok- his majesty was about to marry me off to the 12th prince of aflar because i’d offended him with my words.”

“so he does whatever he wants just like his father,” his eyes glazes over you, as though picturing the new king at the back of his head as you speak. the matter of what he came for no longer as pressing as he made it out to be - dare you say, it was just an excuse to for him to come barging in.

“no!” the hurried denial warrants a narrow of eyes from the duke - as though wondering why the lady whose pleas were ignored, is defending the very person who’d ignored them. you only wanted a way out - not breathe the flames of an uproar from the nobles who chooses to remain neutral, “what i mean is, i’m sure his majesty will understand if you let me stand by you for a short while - i promise i won’t get in your grace’s way.” the last part is added as an afterthought when his eye twitches just the slightest bit as though displeased by the thought of some lady sticking to his side like glue.

the silence that lapses between you is tangible as your body screams to be released from the frozen state you’re in - you couldn’t move a finger even if you’d wanted to, at least not until yoongi seems to finish thinking.

“what exactly did you say to the king to have him want to send you away for good?” comes the million gold question.

this is it. you know he’d catch on but you’re not so prepared to give an answer. you’re not sure if the hesitance shows in your face but you doubt your mastery for hiding your emotions is as spectacular as his.

and so, with a tilted chin, you set a resolute gaze upon the duke, “the missing shipments from the port iyesgarth,” you state, noticing the curious raise of brow, “how are armwells doing these days?”

“impossible,” the frown that etches itself on his face is another kind of heartbreaking beauty. leaning back against the chair again and consequently allowing you to let out the breath you never knew you were holding, he continues, “the armwells own the warehouses. why would they steal shipments from merchants who pay them plenty just to leave goods in their warehouses?”

“the answer you’ve been looking for is right there,” the smile that blooms on your face is a pleasant one and the knit of yoongi’s eyebrows is all heartbreakingly adorable. “their spendthrift son has been gambling away the money and however much they make over the warehouse fee is starting to not be enough.”

there’s a light in his eyes that shines with doubt and with that, births the shadow of, dare you say, plausible confidence in what you’re saying.

“the goods from the shipment are being sold in the black market,” those crimson eyes follows your every movement as rise from your seat, hand clasped together in front of you - a habit you’d developed to appear small and unsuspecting, “ask around for a franny.”

franny is baron armwell’s alias. he couldn’t go around selling stolen goods under his name because the authorities - namely, the duke as part of his line of work after coming back from war - would catch on. it had just so happened that isabelle armwell, a lady you occasionally talk to at gatherings was sporting a long face at the debutante ball. she was spilling every single family secret after a trip to the washroom and a consoling hug.

with a heavy heart, you wave at the girl with the brightest blue eyes and blonde locks that flows past her bosom in waves. she’s wearing a light blue dress with minute diamonds pooling around the hem and dispersing up her waist. it’s been exactly five days after the duke min’s visit and over one week of celebrating the knights’ victory.

“___, i didn’t think you’d be here!” her beaming smile reminds you of the smudged makeup and tear stained eyes you bore witness just a month ago.

“why would you think that?” you blink despite having an inkling of where this conversation is going-

“well, since the rumors of you and duke min’s engagement...” she fiddles with her fingers from what you can only assume to be jitters. of course, a lady her age who’s just debuted into society would be curious of how you tamed the beast laying dormant.

to be frank, you did not.

“-remains a baseless rumor.” you speak rather loudly, hands on your hips as you steal a glance at the throne where seokjin sits, his eyes already on you, “i’m not sure who started it but duke min and i are-”

“lady ___,” a familiar guttural voice greets you from behind you. isabelle’s shock-stricken gaze that’s fixed at something - or rather, someone - past your shoulders is enough to confirm who the bearer of your doom is.

and true enough, standing before you, in the min family’s signature black suit and maroon undershirt, is none other than the devil himself. as opposed to last time, there’s a suave smile on his cherry pink lips - perhaps, nothing more than a show - and his silver hair is swept back, revealing his round visage and making his otherwise soft feature appear sharp and clean.

“your grace,” you dip down, dress lifted midair just below your hips before coming up and noticing the man also in the middle of standing back straight after bowing, “for a moment there, i thought it wasn’t you, but a shapeshifter who looked like you and attended this ball.”

if there’s anything you know - and you know plenty - about the duke of cralon, is that he rarely shows his face at balls and parties. even the ones held by the previous king.

the first time you met him was purely coincidental but not unprecedented. granted, the ball was held to celebrate the victory of the winter knights in the war. if there was any celebration duke min would attend, then it was that one. and he did attend.

but for him to appear at a regular ball held by the new king...

“alas, it is i and not some monstrous shapeshifter - i was hoping you’d spare me a dance, lady ___.” a gloved hand extends your way, hovering in the air as you scrutinize the man’s uncharacteristically smiling face - as though he’d found humor in your underlying tone.

his motives are unclear but the fact that you have his attention must mean your lead has lead to a fruitful discovery.

“why, this will pour oil to the flames,” you murmur under your breath - low enough for only him to hear and yet slip your own hand in his.

“so you’re friends with lady armwell,” the mellow tune of the cello pours into the room as a new song begins.

the feeling of the hand on your waist is unsettlingly gentle and careful - almost as though he’s fearful that your bones may break if he held on tighter.

“she only tearfully told me about the her brother’s unmanageable gambling habits, the information i gave you was out of my own findings - i can find out a plenty of many things for your grace if you choose to help me shake his majesty’s eyes off me,” you search for those crimson eyes as he twirls you around once, “i trust it’s been helpful to your grace, but if you are still unconvinced of my expertise-”

the bells of chuckles that drums in your ears are the last thing you expect to hear - quite frankly, the chances of gaining a threat for whatever reason is much higher than bearing witness to the duke’s laughter.

“there’s no need,” this time, his hair doesn’t brush over his eyebrows when he shakes his head, “you’ll make a fine fiance, ___.”

the lack of honorific doesn’t entirely go past you but that isn’t a material matter at the moment.

did he just said... fiance?

“your grace, unless my ears are-”

“yoongi.”

“p-pardon?” the warmth on your hip and hand seeps into you as he directs your body to move with the melody of the instruments, reminding you that there are hundred pairs of eyes on you and if the lady were to stop dancing all of a sudden, then there is no doubt of a new kind of rumor surfacing.

but judging from the way he dips his head and his hot breath fanning the shell of your ear, you can almost hear the squeals and gossip that will fill tomorrow’s tea party, “since we’re engaged, shouldn’t we at least call each other by our names?”

words die in your throat, as does the music. you barely notice the hands that held you falling away as you watch the man take a step backwards and lower his head - so much for formalities after deciding to forego it just five seconds ago.

“i’ll send a letter tomorrow notifying my visit in three day’s time.” with that, you’re left staring like a fool at the black and red insignia engraved on the back of his jacket.

it is a moment later that isabelle and the other ladies begin to crowd you, that you finally come to your senses.

“it it true? you’re engaged to the duke of cralon?” lady irene’s beaming smile is far too close for your liking.

“calm down, lady irene. don’t make a-”

before lady krystal manages to finish her sentence, you already find yourself slipping past bodies and out of the ball room. your destination is unclear but you saw yoongi take a left and that could only mean that he’s heading towards the garden instead of the double doors of the exit.

lights line the tall walls surrounding the palace but you wouldn’t have spot the grey locks that appear almost white if not for the moonlight. the crimson dragons on either side of the shield symbolizes the min family’s pledge to protect the crown. the fact that he’s wearing this and not the official knight outwear means he’s not here as the head knight but as a-

“your grace,” you send a prayer to the goddess for the sternness in your tone but it easily dwindles down and hits the ground as you’re met with the echoing footsteps of the duke who doesn’t seem to acknowledge your presence.

your temple throbs as the image of the duke’s handsome features come unnervingly close to you whilst he whispers-

“yoongi.” you almost scream.

it is settled knowledge that the duke of cralon possesses inhumane abilities that helped him and his predecessors win wars for the kingdom, cearis. if his unfailing reputation isn’t enough, then you’ve already seen how you would be completely helpless in his undetectable presence that night when you failed to notice him until he presents himself to seokjin and consequently you.

but in your haste to right the wrong, you’ve forgotten the possibility of abruptly calling his name ending up with your face buried in his chest when he whirls around to face you.

with cheeks that feels like they’re surrounded by a thousand suns, you quickly clear your throat after taking one step back. his raised eyebrow, however, tells you he thinks nothing of the minor mishap just now.

still, you meet yoongi’s gaze with a pair of knitted brows and a distraught tug in the corners of your lips, “i believe there’s been a misunderstanding, your grace,” the briefest lift of eyebrows as though he is painfully aware of the way you address him, doesn’t go unnoticed by you though you wish it would, “when i asked if i could stand by your side, i did not mean as your fiance - it makes me think you don’t trust me enough to believe that it wasn’t me who spread the rumor.”

“i do believe you,” he says simply, “but wouldn’t you say the rumor plays in your favor, ___?” there he goes again, addressing you informally, “since everyone saw us dancing together, they’ll feed into the rumor. it doesn’t matter if the king doesn’t buy into it. as of now, his position is vulnerable and if he were to break two lovers who are mad for each other apart and marry the other off in the name of political gain, the aristocrats won’t sit still.”

“so just now...” you trail off, the image of isabelle and the other nobles’ fallen jaws flashing at the back of your mind, “it was a return of favor because i helped solve the mystery of the missing shipments?”

“you don’t seem pleased,” his eyebrows begin to knit together.

“how can i be when i was not consulted of such plans prior to this?” the silence that lapses between you is no different than back in the parlor in your mansion, except yoongi seems to consider your request more seriously this time judging from the hard lines set upon his otherwise smooth forehead.

“then, what would you have suggested, ___?” the blinking red doesn’t seem too menacing now that he’s staring at you with genuine concern.

sighing, you curse yourself for admitting the truth in his words, “your grace is correct that the rumor gives us an advantage. however, next time we are to make a public appearance, i’d like to have a say on how it’s to be executed.”

his gaze lingers on you for the longest time - you’re not sure whether he’s debating on foregoing your investigative expertise or whether he should reveal to seokjin that this is all a faux. but what he does next could never have crossed your mind in the list of things he duke yoongi min could be thinking.

“i understand,” the figure in front of you dips to a bow, a gloved black hand levitating midair as a shadow casts itself over his gentle features and contrasting glowing eyes, “my apologies for acting without taking your feelings into consideration just now, lady ___.”

the title returns in his mouth yet your chest caves in displeasure. you’re not too fond of him calling you just by name but you’re not any glad that he’s back to using that honorific.

“v-very well, you’re forgiven,” you force out after realizing you’ve made him wait long enough, cheeks warm as you place your hand in his, eyes fixed on his lips that presses against your knuckles - they really are as soft as they look.

a halo encases his body when he stands straight. and if it weren’t for his abrupt remark, you would have pondered on the faintest hint of smile on his features, “now then, may i ask another favor from you, ___?”

another one? right after you assisted him in finding out the culprit?

“your grace may, though please bear in mind tonight doesn’t count as you returning the favor so you’ll be owing me two public appearances.” you shrug as casually as possible.

“that’s fair,” he nods a little too nonchalantly before getting to the point - and perhaps a tendril of regret wraps around your heart for agreeing without hearing his request first when he utters his next words-

“i wish us to call each other by our names - it’s suffocating to be so polite.” he sighs, hand ruffling his silvery tresses like a child tired of the etiquette lessons forced on him and not at all like the man that had you on the edge of your seat back in your mansion.

“th-that’s-” the words teeter on your tongue but refuse to leave your mouth as you fumble for a reason to object but the longer you stare into those indecipherable eyes, the emptier your mind gets and the harder your heart races.

“r-reasonable,” you stammer out, the flash of anticipation across the duke’s face leaving you no choice but to add, “yoongi.”

note. hello!! i’ve been working on this for a month or so (whew) bc i got super into historical au’s and just wanna write something without prince and princesses as the main leads and this happened!! hope you guys enjoyed it and are looking forward for more. drop your @ below if you want to be included the taglist!

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imagine-that-one-thing · 4 years

Text

Her Majesty. || One.

Her Royal Highness.

My life has been pretty good, well, as good as can be expected for someone of my reign. My childhood was spent at the manor, running in and out of the gardens and exploring each and every room the manor had, including the ones that were regarded as private.

My closet was constantly adorned with the latest and most modest fashionable pieces and I was lucky enough to receive an utmost education. By the age of five, I was considered bilingual. I grew up alongside the elite; I played amongst the seats of parliament, the rulers and the soon to be rulers of Great Britain and the world.

Buckingham Palace was never my favourite place of residence but I can't complain too much, growing up we seemed to bounce from residence to residence depending on the season and what duties obliged to be satisfied. My favourite accommodation is encompassed by 100 acres of gardens, Hillsborough Castle in County Down, a short distance from Belfast. The only times we visit the castle are when my parents are in Northern Ireland which proves to be scarcely ever now. As a child, we used to visit and have vacation time down there, essentially for me to explore the gardens and to get lost in them for hours.

I remember the groan of my security team when they'd have to stand and watch me play in the gardens endlessly for hours and chase me around until I was tired out.

Then there's Windsor Castle, established on an immense hill next to the River Thames, 20 miles west of London. In my personal opinion, it is still better than the palace or manor as I call it. Then again, it's essentially because I don't spend as much time at Windsor, my time spent at Windsor is normally during Easter, during Royal Ascot and the Order of the Garter in June, and during Christmas, it really depends on my parent's schedules.

Despite the endless travel, the odd childhood perspectives, things have been relatively tranquil and wonderful.

Up until now....

I stand amongst the crowd-pleasers of royalties, dukes, princes, princesses, duchesses, baronesses, you name it, they're all gathered here this evening at the request of my mother and father, mainly my mother and her divine interests informal meetings in the palace. A lot of people would find joy in hosting events, me on the other hand, I am not a fan of it. I have been apart of hosting events from since I could walk. I remember when I was younger I would sneak away from the maids and the staff and peer over the edges of the stairs to look down at everyone gathered in their beautiful dresses and suit and ties. I used to dream of the days it was me. Now that it is me, I would do anything to go back to being the same little girl who ran freely amongst the gardens for hours and didn't have to make sure whether she was wearing the right hat for the right event or not.

"Kensington Palace can now publicly announce additional details about the forthcoming tour of Belgium this spring. We now know that the tour will begin on Sunday 10th April and conclude on Saturday 16th April. The visit to Belgium will allow us to continue a relationship between two Royal Families by meeting The King and Queen. This tour, coming shortly before the abdication, will also allow, Princess Anastasia Annette Leanor, Duchess of Edinburgh, to begin her royal duties as soon to be, her royal highness, Queen of England."

I stare at my Father as he announces the plans for the next few weeks, plans that are about to change my life. By my father, the King of England, expressing his abdication means that I will be reining sooner than I had thought, sooner than I had wanted. I stand statue-like, unaware of how it is deemed okay to announce the news without telling me first. I am sure they had to go through the Kensington Palace publicist or whatever the hell he is.

Then again, the King outranks everyone and can deem anything acceptable.

I hadn't intended to begin my royal duties so soon, in fact, I don't want the duties of Queen at all.

Everyone has this impression that having a royal title is a blessing and an achievement everybody who isn't born into it desires. Every girl dreams of becoming a princess and wearing the tiara, but royalty isn't about carrying a crown and parading around in lovely gowns that cost more than the average apparel. Being born into royalty and not having a typically normal life, in my opinion, is more of a curse than a blessing.

Having a title of any sort has forced me to grow up quicker than others, my tea parties weren't like every other average youngsters' tea party, mine was surrounded by teddy bears and a security guard who had to watch my every move. I'm held to higher standards than most and there are days I wish the standards of which I'm held to, would be diminished. I don't want to have to follow royal protocol for every occasion or to make sure my hair is brushed for the Queen on a Sunday morning breakfast. I don't want to constantly have a security team following my every move. I don't want to have to use hidden tunnels to get around the palace or to get to town without being noticed. I don't want my claim of Queen.

My title, although it will become quite powerful, it is a title I don't wish to represent. I just have no choice. I have to keep the family name alive within the monarchy.

While my father continues to speak to the guests around me, I can't help but feel overwhelmed. I had always assumed I'd be the first to know about my father stepping down from the royal obligations and I didn't expect to be told publicly. I thought I would be told in private, perhaps at dinner or on one evening when before my Father goes to bed. It would have been more courteous to tell me in another fashion, but the king and queen deemed this to be more suitable. Sometimes, the king and queen forget their royal responsibilities shouldn't cross over into parental duties. As parents, they should have told me in a better way.

My father finished his speech and everyone goes back to mingling and discussing everything possible— the only genuine thing about these events is that there are normal conversations, sometimes. I always manage to eavesdrop on a few conversations that are interesting.

Due to royal protocol, I put on a smile and a brave face; I politely exchange words with those at the event and do everything that my parents have instilled in me to do.

I smile graciously as my father and another prince come towards me. For a moment, I think about travelling in the opposite direction, but I know I can't, it would be too informal and cause too much of a scene.

God forbid if the princess ever makes a scene.

"Anastasia," my father grins, giving me his signalled glare that is a good indication that he wants for me to stay and not run off like my thoughts are wanting me to.

"Father," I respond courteously, my eyes side-eyeing towards my security guard who is observing intently as he stands with his back to the wall, his hands folded in front of him as he stands tall with nystagmic eyes. I swear his eyes never miss a beat.

"Princess Anastasia, it's an honour to see you again," the prince, who I'm sure my father is trying to play matchmaker with, greets me.

I hold back the heavy sigh that's desiring to escape my lips and I force myself to proffer him a genuine smile, "It's nice to see you." I lie through my teeth to save myself from having to listen to my father to express his disappointment in me.

"I hear you're becoming Queen. Every Queen needs a King by her side."

"Actually—" I begin, but I stop when I see my father's eyes narrow to crinkled stilts and his lips purse into a fine line. I am forced to bite my tongue on my true thoughts, "Actually, every good Queen needs a well-fitted crown," I half-heartedly joke, attempting to recover from the fact I want to tell him a Queen doesn't require a King, it's merely just suggested a Queen has a King.

The prince chuckles, "I'm sure they'll see fit to your crowning needs."

"Mhm," I hum, "it has been nice seeing you, but I'm afraid I have to cut this short, mum," I begin before I clear my throat, "The Queen," I correct myself, recovering from my small mishap, "Asked me to do her a favour." I politely dismiss my father and the prince who I can only assume is wanting to slither himself closer to stepping up his title.

I swallow hard the moment my father and the prince walk away and I finally have a minute to breathe and process the things that have occurred.

As I glance towards my guard, it dawns on me that now that I will soon be reigning Queen, it will be expected of me to-be-wed and find a man that is suitable enough not only for my own personal needs but suitable enough for the royal monarchy. Essentially, I have to locate Prince Charming, literally.

I make my way around the crowd of individuals and wander out of the ballroom area, "Princess," I hear my name being called but I don't want to turn around and face the music. "Princess," the voice again summons and I can't help but disregard him.

"Princess Anastasia, stop right there," the tone of voice my bodyguard uses causes me to stop, and it's not out of fear or because of the fact he only has to say one word before the whole palace is in lockdown and I can't move. It's because I know that tone of voice anywhere, it's sincere and it's laced with nothing but concern.

I turn around on my heel as my bodyguard shifts his eyes around, "Where are you going?"

I lift my shoulders into a shrug. I don't really have a destination, it was more so me hammering my heels against the marble flooring until I found some common ground where I could ultimately breathe again. "You know you can't roam the palace right now."

"Yes," I sigh, "I know, I know the rules and the protocol and the safety precautions," I murmur with a heavy breath.

His eyes relax and he takes another glimpse around to make sure we are alone before he clears his throat, "What's wrong?"

I inhale a deep breath and blow out slowly, "I can't talk about it here," I respond in a whisper, my eyes already beginning to gloss over as the rippling thoughts of everything hits me all at once.

He nods and examines the area around us, "Come with me," he instructs, tenderly urging his hand in the small of my back before escorting me away.

We stay reserved as we walk a few halls and pass several doors to various quarters while he keeps his integrity and stays alert.

We stop at the all so familiar place of the balcony, he opens the doors and enables me to step out before he is right behind me and closes the doors. "We aren't allowed here."

"Never stopped us before," he responds, "You're safe, everyone is down in the West Wing, this is the East, there's a guard right below us. I'm trained for a reason, you know?"

I nod and chuckle, I am aware he is trained for a reason, the man is trained in the use of firearms and unarmed combat, advanced driving and emergency first aid as well as close protection basics; I have all faith in him. "I know, I trust you," I respond courteously.

I trust him, there's a reason he's my bodyguard, he's intelligent, he has swift reflexes and he knows every position of every security member in every residence of ours. Let's not forget I have seen him practising with the 9mm Glock 17 pistols— the man is more accurate than my father— and my father has quite the shot.

"What's the matter? Congratulations on becoming Queen soon."

"That's what's the matter," I grumble, attempting to dismiss the lump in my throat that is threatening to suffocate me. "I can't do it."

"You can, Anastasia, have faith in yourself."

I shake my head, "There's too much involved with it. I don't think I can physically do this." It's easy for someone to say they want to be a Princess or a Queen because it's made out to be a glamorous lifestyle but it comes with harbouring a lot of stress and responsibilities.

"You can, you're just freaked out at the moment."

"No," I stare down at the space between us, "I can't. You don't get it."

I can't really expect anyone to understand what's surging through my thoughts at the concept of reining a country.

"Anastasia, I will never fully understand this world, but—"

I cut Harry off, promptly, "There are no buts, Harry, they're already wanting to marry me off to a royal Prince!" I raise my voice but immediately apologise for my tone.

"It's okay," he benevolently takes my hands with his, and I feel him draw me that little bit closer. "Is that why you were side-eyeing me when that Duke or prince was talking to you?"

I nod my head, feeling defeated and lost. "Harry, they're going to want me to get married."

Harry grows withdrawn for a moment, his eyes fading to grey as he comes to realise just what I'm trying to tell him. Me becoming Queen abolishes mine and his relationship.

He's not royalty.

The monarch and the people wouldn't regard him fit for King.

"Well, do you want me to propose now or later?" Harry questions in a joking way. His humour perhaps being the only thing to come to mind with this matter.

I roll my eyes, "Even if we were ready, we couldn't."

"And why not?" Harry questions, cocking his head to the side and waiting for my response.

"Harry, my father is already trying to introduce me to a Prince."

Harry lifts his shoulders into a shrug, "Well, I'm charming, I think I fit the criteria."

Despite his attempts to alleviate the mood; I'm not delighted. "Harry, this isn't a joke. You're my bodyguard, not a prince."

"Who the bloody hell cares? I'm just as worthy as dating you as any other man, title or not," Harry mutters, pointing out the fact he's just as legitimate as any other man.

I know he is, I know he's deserving of dating me whether he has a title or not, I don't care about any of that, but my family and the people do.

"I know," I breathe out. "But the monarch won't approve. Duties of the Monarch is to ensure the succession by having children. I have to get married to ensure the succession which means I have to have a king."

"So, I can be King consort or Prince consort, whatever the bloody hell it is."

I'm not sure why he isn't concerned about the fact our relationship is about to be thrown into turbulent mayhem. Him marrying me would throw everything into a prominent mess.

When I don't reply to Harry's comment, he takes it as his queue to speak again. "I need to get you back to the West Wing."

"I don't want to go back and finish my duties."

"I know, but you have to," Harry informs me, his voice sweet-sounding as he grants me a meagre but comforting grin.

I profoundly sigh and pout my blossom-pink lips, "are you going back into security mode?"

"I have to, sweetheart," he kisses my forehead, "someone has to keep you safe," he adds with a wink.

I roll my eyes at him, "Can I get a kiss?"

He hums for a moment, a cocky smirk dangling in the corner of his lips. "Am I allowed to kiss the soon to be Queen?"

"For Christ sake, kiss me," I mutter through a faint chuckle before he mildly lures me in and kisses me, leaving me with that syrupy-sweet aftertaste, "Thank you," I murmur against his orchid-pink and satin soft lips before he puts distance between us.

"Come on, Princess, it's time to go back," Harry opens the door for me and I step back inside, his hand clasping to the small of my back and guiding me until we reach areas we can be viewed.

The moment I'm compelled to go back to my princess obligations and we are recognized, Harry retreats to his bodyguard temperament after a swift "good luck," before watching over me.

♔♔♔

As the night goes on, I fake my way through smiles and laughter, the infinite questions and remarks about my soon to be title being nothing but bothersome to me. But, I take it all with a grain of salt.

Who would have thought my world would feel as though it was crashing down on me the minute the notion of me becoming Queen came into play?

When the manor is only holding a few guests, I'm told I'm permitted to leave the ballroom and do as I please— which is sleep. I grin towards Harry and his lips curve upwards gradually. He's not permitted to bestow much emotion when he's on duty, but every now and again I can get a smile out of him, at least half of one. "You seem pleased," Harry notes as he moves away from the wall and takes my side.

"I'm happy to have my royal responsibilities over with," I respond as he opens the door for me, "You should be happy too, your guarding duties are over," I add, reminding him of the fact that for a few hours, he isn't my guard but just another person.

Harry snickers as the door closes behind him, "My duties don't finish until you're in your bedroom safely."

"Harry, I highly doubt anything will happen between now and the bedroom." I can't deny the fact I find it ludicrous that I have to be escorted to my bedroom but I do understand the reasoning behind it. We can never be too certain that someone hasn't wandered off through the palace to stir some sort of trouble.

"Princess, you never know."

I know he's right, he seems to always be right. "Harry, I hate when you call me princess."

"Sorry," Harry clears his throat, "But, you know I have to unless we are entirely alone."

I nod with a small exhalation, "I know, have you heard any news about my next event?" I question, remembering I haven't touched base with anyone on what event is next. I customarily have an itinerary and I'm not joking, I get one monthly from the publicist team.

"I haven't, but the head of security has also been busy and hasn't told me about the big events. Isn't it the trooping of colours?"

"No," I shake my head, "That's in June, darling."

"I can never remember. I'll have to see. I do know we travel soon, they're getting the other ten guards prepared to travel," Harry informs me.

Each travelling experience is endured by a Royal Navy doctor and 8-12 British bodyguard, and sometimes private secretaries add to the entourage along with our press officer and communications chief, it just depends on the circumstances.

"Travelling with you is such a bore." I roll my eyes as we round a corner and his arm drapes around me while we are no longer in the view of anyone besides the head of security, who is monitoring the security cameras. He's the only one who knows about the relationship between Harry and I and it's for obvious purposes.

Harry scoffs, "How is it a bore to travel with me?"

Travelling as a royal, is a bore, period.

There are so many damn rules that have to be followed. Growing up, I was never permitted to fly in the same aircraft as my father; two heirs should never fly on the same flight together so that the royal lineage is protected. Even though my father was King and I was the heir, he still never signed off on me being on the same flights as he.

He has to oversee everything and seldom grants permission.

I can't help but raise a brow at Harry's question, surely he knows that he isn't the simplest person to travel with. When we tour, he is similar to a hawk; he is ten times more vigilant than what he is now. "Can't do anything with you hovering over me, can barely sightsee."

Harry lifts his shoulders into a shrug. He knows that he hovers, but it is part of his job description as part of the Royalty and Specialist Protection. "Love, it's my job to keep you safe and as a boyfriend, it's my honour to make sure you're protected."

"It's still boring."

"Well, I'm sorry it's dull. Maybe we can change that a bit? I'll see if we can sightsee after greeting dignitaries." Harry suggests but I know better than to believe him when he says we can change it a bit. He can't substitute direct schedules and orders.

"Coming from the man that hasn't changed his cologne in six years."

"Oi, be nice," Harry snickers as we reach my bedroom doors and I turn to face him. "It's a good scent," Harry defends his cologne of six years.

I hum with a smirk before I lean up and kiss his warm cheek, "Want to spend the night and leave through the secret door in the morning?" I offer but Harry shakes his head.

"I can't, love. I have to go report to the head of security," Harry informs me as he takes a swift look around to make sure we are alone, "Goodnight, Anastasia, have a good rest and try not to stress, okay?"

"There are no promises, being a princess is hard," I half-joke with a wink, his hands travelling to rest on my hips.

Harry sneers and flicks lint off his suit, "Being your guard is hard," Harry chuckles, "Goodnight, I love you."

"I love you, too. Don't get your ass chewed by your boss," I can't help but grin, knowing very well and good he isn't going to get his ass chewed about anything, but it is fun to speculate the concept of it happening.

Harry is too good at his job to get his ass chewed, the man is everywhere, he is always, and I mean, always, watching. I don't think anything manages to get past him when it comes to me.

Even when he is off duty he is cautious and making sure that nothing is out of the ordinary.

Harry rolls his eyes at me before he kisses my forehead, "Goodnight, Princess," Harry turns from boyfriend to security guard within an instant before he leads away from me with his tall erect posture— leaving me with just my thoughts as I enter my bedroom— that although considerably spacious and decorated is dull and hollow.

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