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Her bare footfalls ring through the silent corridors, loud even to her own ears. The ground is cold under her soles, but it's the safest to move around like this. She’s already playing a dangerous game, the Royal Consort stealing through the empty corridors of the palace, but she needs to see her. Sooyoung won’t be thrilled by her sudden appearance, by the threat Jinsol seems to carry everywhere she goes, yet Jinsol can’t stop herself from ducking into unused servant corridors and bedchambers to lead her to the Knight’s Chambers.
Heart beating in her throat, she stops before the door. She lays her ear on the door and listens for anyone who might be in the middle of visiting Sooyoung. But only a low rustling comes from inside, so she takes a chance and opens the door.
Jinsol slips into the room, and the cool moon-lit castle is immediately exchanged to the warm golden hues of Sooyoung’s bedchamber. Sooyoung’s wide-eyed surprise melts into a frown once realization settles. But her disdain is betrayed by the slight curve of her lips and the glint in her dark eyes, always a tell if Jinsol pays enough attention.
“Jinsol,” Sooyoung hisses. She pushes herself up on the bed, probing her body with her elbows. “What are you doing here?”
“Seeing you, obviously.” Jinsol pushes away from the door.
"Has anyone seen you?" Sooyoung’s voice turns serious, inspecting Jinsol’s face.
"No," says Jinsol.
It's suffocating to hide from everyone. To watch her back just to steal a kiss from the woman she loves; to hold her hand and tell her she loves her. It's a different kind of hell, to do all of this with a fake smile stretched on her lips with the Prince, to mediate kingdoms that are on the brink to crumble on their own. And the Prince, sadist to the core, loves to play Jinsol like she's a puppet.
Jinsol's sure he knows something is up. That he has his suspicions. But she also knows Sooyoung is one of his favourites, despite coming from the Kingdom of Erealdan. Because Sooyoung sells herself easily, bright smiles and confidence — keeping on her facade even when the Prince parades around with Jinsol hanging from his arm like she's only a pretty accessory, not an important piece in his little plan.
But he's a bastard, pulling Jinsol into impromptu kisses, acting like a lovesick fool in front of everyone, to then go and chase his desires with the maids. It doesn't matter for Jinsol — she just wants the same freeness, the open secret. That seems too much to ask because, behind closed doors, the Prince has already laid down the ground rules.
Sooyoung peers out of the window, the darkness a heavy quilt over the outside world. The moon hangs low on the sky, stars spattered on like paint on a canvas. She turns back to Jinsol, face still shuttered, still far away.
Jinsol steps closer, unsure about the odd wall Sooyoung keeps between them. It sits heavy in her stomach — the anticipation to finally see Sooyoung, after keeping her an arm’s length away ever since the arrival. She thought Sooyoung shared this with her, having caught her dark eyes following her during the days, always in her periphery like a ghost. But Sooyoung looks reluctant, and Jinsol would’ve never imagined their outside roles to sweep into their bedrooms. Yet, Sooyoung straightens her back, a knight ready to serve her princess.
“At this time? The Prince—”
“The Prince is out and about. Having a blast with his bed warmers,” Jinsol says. It’s hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice, but she tries, for Sooyoung’s sake. Sooyoung’s face stays stoic, and for the first time in a while, Jinsol feels unwanted. She shuffles from one foot to another. “Do you… do you want me to leave?”
Sooyoung settles the book she was reading on the nightstand.
“C’mere.”
Sooyoung opens her arms wide, the shuttered expression crumbling with familiarity. Jinsol knows. This is Sooyoung, the person she's known since they were kids. The Sooyoung she's fallen in love with, even when love was never meant to be a thing for her. She tumbles into her arms, a tight embrace suffocating her, solid arms wrapping around her. Slightly, she feels the stutter of Sooyoung’s heartbeat, quick like she's been running. It's the same for Jinsol; it has always been the same.
Jinsol snuggles closer to Sooyoung. Her fingers play with the soft material, finally resting in this foreign place. The scents, the food, the people — all of them are foreign, all of them are strange. Her only anchor right now is Sooyoung, pretty with her dark hair and darker eyes, long lashes fluttering closed once Jinsol catches her staring. Sooyoung is familiar, achingly so.
"It's been a long time," Sooyoung huffs. She burrows her nose into Jinsol's soft locks and takes a long inhale. "I missed having you like this."
"You were about to send me away," Jinsol nags, not even fighting the bitterness in her tone. As an apology, the embrace tightens around her body, and Sooyoung is so warm in this unloving castle, so alive, it’s easy to forgive her. "But I missed you too."
Sooyoung hums under her, and Jinsol basks in the warmth of her body. Sooyoung is only wearing a soft linen shirt, despite the permanent cold that seems to set over the kingdom. It keeps the feeling of home, the spring storms and the summer heat, Sooyoung riding out with her to the forest and dipping into the chilly water of the river. When Sooyoung kept her company in the library, nose stuck between old, dusty books as she devoured anything she could learn — just to piss off her mother, just so the servants could whisper arrogantly behind their hands. When Sooyoung helped her out with her stupid experiments, usually ending up in failure, and she always took the blame for them.
Sooyoung keeps the homesickness at bay, but the more Jinsol tries to find whatever they had at home in her, she comes out empty-handed. Because this Sooyoung is more guarded, less open for her -- even when they promised each other that nothing would change.
The kingdom is unforgiving and cold. Jinsol hates being here, hates the Prince and the royal family. Hates the people who hate her people, and who makes her feel like a keepsake, like a trophy over her land. She hates feeling like she's an impending casus belli, to keep the war raging on if she as much as steps out of the lane. She hates her own people, who gave her away like she’s nothing, like she’s not a person. And in the middle of it, Sooyoung is mum.
She hums under her breath as Jinsol rambles, and Jinsol knows she's not listening.
"Do you miss home?" Jinsol asks. Sooyoung's face doesn't show anything.
"I do miss home," Sooyoung starts, then stops. Then begins again, "But we should make ourselves comfortable here. We're not going anywhere for a while."
It's not what Jinsol wanted to hear. Not the easy acceptance from someone who fought toe and nail against the engagement, who promised Jinsol they'd get out of here.
"Sooyoung—”
Sooyoung sits up, pushing Jinsol off of her. She looks alert, eyes clear and trained on the door as she listens to imaginary footfalls. When she finally calms down and realizes no one is out there, she collapses against the hard mattress with a wince.
“We’re not at home, Jinsol,” Sooyoung whispers, but her arms circle around Jinsol’s waist. “We’re not playing hide-n-seek from your parents.”
“We’re alone.”
“For now.”
The hand on her waist is warm, fingers wrapping around the soft material of the nightgown like she wants to keep Jinsol close. Yet, Sooyoung feels far away, and Jinsol doesn’t know if she’s allowed to try and reach out for her.
“People are talking,” Sooyoung says, tone tight. Her whole body is a tight bow, ready to shoot. Jinsol’s eyes find hers, but Sooyoung is quick to look away. “They noticed you keep going missing in the middle of the night.”
“The prince is also missing, haven’t they noticed—”
“They plan on attacking. I overheard them talking.”
Jinsol’s heart stops for a moment. Reignites. Beats again.
Between the beats resides a hollowness that robs her from speech for a moment, that makes tears burn behind her eyes. Sooyoung looks at her, and her face mirrors the same feelings, but what Jinsol picks up is guilt. She looks guilty like she was — they were — the cause of all of it, like they aren’t the victims of the circumstances.
“I don’t care,” Jinsol says, hushed in the silence of the night, but she finds it rings true, despite everything. “The kingdom, for you.”
“Your people, for me.” Sooyoung’s voice is acidic, burning Jinsol’s skin. She hates this, hates Sooyoung’s unreadable face and stupid self-sacrificing tendencies.
“My people who sold me off,” Jinsol says hotly. She grabs Sooyoung’s hand and laces their fingers together. “For you, who stayed.”
“You’re not making sense, Sol.” Sooyoung pulls away, letting Jinsol’s hand fall uselessly on her lap. She stands tall and lean; the Sooyoung who once promised her the stars now stands there with resignation in her eyes.
“Oh, because you do?” Jinsol spits. “Keeping hurting isn’t going to make you brave or resilient or anything.”
“Neither does sacrificing your family.”
Jinsol sees Sooyoung, tries to make sense of her. She tries to make sense of the sudden change, the slight curve of her back, the bags under her eyes. She tries to make sense of her jagged state and the thin purse of her lips. Sooyoung still doesn’t look at her, opting to stare out the white night, the snowstorm raging outside.
“You want to stop.” Jinsol’s voice is small, candlelight in the wind. “You want to give up on us.”
All Jinsol did all her life was giving up. Born a royal, she has stripped away from free will during her birth and people kept demanding from her, until she became only a vessel of her former self — until Sooyoung, piece by piece filled her up with want again, until she made her hungry for more.
“I don’t want to be the cause of the death of many,” Sooyoung says finally.
“If not us, they’ll find a way to start the war again. You know that.”
Sooyoung nods. She understands, but the thing is with Sooyoung — she won’t budge. Jinsol realizes she's decided long ago. Maybe even during the ride here, surrounded by the enemy, maybe when Jinsol first came to visit her and giggled in the face of danger. Jinsol was born to be wingless, but Sooyoung’s were cut off.
Jinsol feels cold. A cold that seeps into her bones and makes her teeth chatter, a cold to accommodate the void growing in her chest and let the warmth of the small flame of her love die.
She straightens her back, lays her hands over her knees. Sooyoung doesn’t have to see the hurt in her eyes.
“Do they know? Does the Prince know?” she asks, but the answer is obvious.
“Yes,” Sooyoung says, back facing Jinsol.
There it is — the baggage she hasn’t asked for. The lives of many resting on her frail shoulders. Somewhere, deep down, Jinsol knew the end was near. Sooyoung’s conscience wouldn’t let her run away, wouldn’t let her take the leap the both of them needed. Jinsol has never been afraid of the dark, never feared the reveal of their relationship — standing here, with only a title that is too heavy for her, she has little else to lose.
And yet.
Jinsol stands; the slight burn in her throat needs a little time before it lets her speak. Sooyoung is still facing the window, but Jinsol catches her eyes in the reflection. This time, it is Jinsol, who turns away.
She clears her throat. There are so many things to say, and none of it feels right in her mouth. So she opts, “Goodbye, Sooyoung.”
Jinsol feels like a ghost as she moves through the small room. When she passes by Sooyoung, she catches her hand and gives it a tight squeeze. It’s hard to stop the crumbling when Sooyoung still cares when she’s still demolishing and tender. Jinsol’s hand stays limp in her hold, and Sooyoung is quick to let her go.
The door behind her closes with a soft click, but it sounds deafening in the middle of the silent night. Jinsol moves along the corridor, turning and walking blindly, her bare feet cold and shaking, with no fire to warm her up.