Work Text:
you stare upon the bustling, castle ballroom. live music from the various string instruments fill your ears and the queen's ball, with all its carefully placed gold decorations, marble pillars, and perfectly vetted guest list, seems to not have spared any expense to be anything less than perfect.
adhering to that pattern of opulence, you find yourself impeccably dressed to the nines. donning the most expensive ball gown in your possession to best blend in, you take on a seemingly nonchalant attitude and tuck yourself away into a corner, intensely aware of every move made by the king and queen sitting above you.
that damned monarchy. the one you vowed to destroy after they took everything from you.
once upon a time, your father was a baker for the castle. despite your mother dying from childbirth and his low wages, he did everything in his power to ensure you, his only child, would have a better life, even if that meant stealing from the king and queen. at first it was simple items, like leftover bread and berries, but as the disparity between his wages and work grew, so did his thieving confidence. he was eventually caught and immediately beheaded, subject to being named a "traitor of the court."
your father was all you had, and it was unfair that one man had the power to take away everything you've ever known with a snap of his hand, barely getting his hands dirty in the process. you were barely 10 years old and you were left to fend for yourself.
but now the tides would change. tonight, you would be the one with the power; judge, jury, and executioner.
so far you've spent the night surveilling intensely and waiting for the perfect time to strike, tracking every miniscule movement occurring above: from the queen yawning to the king's shifty eyes tracking his subjects that occasionally flit innocently towards you. but, any minute now, the daytime guards would switch out for the evening ones, with the process leaving the two completely vulnerable for a small window of time. that's when you would attack.
it was a plan more recently developed, but made possible by years of hard work and dedication. after you heard of your father's sentencing, you fled your small home in fear they would come after you next. solace was found in your father's closest friend and his coworker, the castle's pastry chef. she took you in and your last ten years were spent grueling to get where you are now, from chef's assistant, to governess of the royal children, to a lady of the court. you've worked hard to earn the trust of the royals; and it would finally pay off tonight.
suddenly, breaking you away from drowning in your treasonous thoughts, a warm, masculine hand rests on your bare shoulder. you feel fingers sweep your curled hair away from your decorated ear and seconds later, a deep whisper makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. your body stiffens from the direct contact, but you keep your composure intact.
“my dear y/n, i couldn't help and notice you seem to be so lonely over here…care for a dance?”
spinning around, you saw it was prince jaeyun. putting himself into view, he bows and offers his hand. bowing with his perfectly tailored navy suit and flawlessly gelled hair, the prince was the picture of everything charming and gentleman-y, but you wanted nothing more than to spit in the man's face who seemed to always get in the way of your plans. naturally, hence your anti-royalty stance, you were enemies: there was nothing you felt more than hate for this man who, countless times, has thwarted your plans.
you once were seconds away from poisoning the queen's morning tea when jaeyun and his little menace of a dog, layla, suddenly appeared, sweeping you and your plans away on a palace wide, day-long hunt. you spent the whole day steaming over your missed opportunity and the desire to grab one of the men's rifles and take it to sim jaeyun's perfect slope of a nose.
another time, you finally were able to corner the king alone in a room with his back turned to you, and in the process of reaching towards your dagger, jaeyun bursted in the door, rambling on about his afternoon promenade in the town gardens, and as a result, now-then his tanned skin.
if you believed in good luck charms, sim jaeyun was the complete opposite of one. and here tonight, right when your plan was about to unravel, here he is again. he is seemingly innocent but something deep down inside of you knows that he might be on to you, that there is something behind his light eyes and golden retriever exterior, but you couldn't be so sure. yet.
dammit jaeyun, not now. thinking fast, you try to make up an excuse to weasel out of the situation that would only bring attention to yourself. shaking your head and bowing, "apologies my prince, but i'm not feeling so well at the moment. it seems best for me to skip dancing altogether tonight-"
but its like your words go in one ear and out the other. his smile only grows as he again gets near to your ear and whispers. you try to fight a shudder through your entire body and focus on his words, “come on love, be civil. y'know y/n, everyone’s watching…”
despite his words, you could hear the thinly-veiled snark in his tone and see the obvious smirk on his face. he was egging you on of course, waiting for the moment you finally snap. he's always been suspicious of you, after all. and as of recently, it's like he's made it his life mission to catch you when you finally slip up.
considering the situation though, he was right. his calloused fingers take your chin from your bowed form and slightly tilt it up, where you finally meet his blazing stare but most importantly in your peripherals, see the pondering look from his parents gazing on you two.
suddenly an idea comes to you. scrap the current plan, come at this from another angle.
you wanted the kingdom to fall and so far, your strikes from the outside have been futile. but there was a possibility for it to be destroyed from the inside by taking advantage of the prince. maybe it was immoral, but the key to the kingdom's downfall may lay within the royal family itself.
so the role of lovestruck-by-prince maiden you would play.
you took his hand slowly, a sly grin donning your face, and you pray it comes off more seductive than cunning. "apologies, of course, my grace. i wouldn't want anyone thinking otherwise."
joining the other couples on the ballroom floor, a new sensation seemed to take over your mind and flood over your thoughts of rebellion: you hated everything about this. you hated how perfectly his hand fit in yours. how the risk in the way he placed his hand on the hip of your ballgown, only inches away from the dagger hidden in your petticoat, felt like a million wildfires set ablaze in your chest. how the glint in his eyes that you couldn't tear yourself away from just seemed to invite more trouble as the seconds passed.
it was all so, so terribly wrong. but why did it feel so right?