Choi Minho was a young king, crowned as a child, raised in battle camps. The quiet, young king, who had won a losing war.

At the end of it, he had finally returned to his castle, lain in a soft bed for the first time in years, but he could not sleep, despite the comfort, security and peace.

He had fought and sustained injuries, killed men, dealt with betrayal and starvation, mourned the dead every night before he slept, watched his kingdom fall to its depths before his eyes.

But he had walked out of that terror, victorious…and betrothed.

To ensure his victory, he had to pay a price…he had to promise himself away to a woman he had never seen.

His promise had led to their triumph, but was also an alliance to ensure the future peace of kingdoms.

She was the means through which he could exploit her father’s armies and wealth, she would bear him heirs of pure blood.

That was all he had heard his advisors say, and that was all he had let himself think of her.

Her father seemed pleasant and he expected her to be the same, despite the murmurs, despite the strange glances he had gotten ever since the news of the betrothal had spread in his camp and through every kingdom.

He hadn’t realized when his thoughts had taken him, but he knew they had bothered him enough when he woke up, feeling tired rather than fresh.

He halted suddenly, for he had lived half his life in a war, and he knew when the air was off.

He avoided an arrow that grazed his shoulder and turned towards the balcony door he had just opened and walked away from, finding a cloaked figure standing, armed with a crossbow.

He had fought all kinds of men, to the point he could predict their every movement, their every intent, but the figure before him, dark and illuminated at their outline by the mild morning sun, stood revealing nothing, leaving no choice but for Minho to reach out to his sword without calculating any certainty.

The moment he had moved, arrows flew, pinning his sleeves to the wall and the figure had glided swiftly towards him, holding a dagger against his chin, stepping on his toes, and pressing against his limbs with their own to restrict any of his movement.

Rose colored lips, curved in arrogance, in victory, was all Minho could see under the hood that hid his attacker, and a scent lingered upon his senses, distracting him from the instinctive strategies growing in his mind to gain the upperhand.

“Your Highness-” A squire walked in after knocking, stopping in horror on sighting the situation, his expression inciting a soft chuckle from the attacker, who stepped off Minho’s toes, withdrawing the dagger. The hood fell the next moment, revealing lush, long dark wavy hair adorned with a simple gold band, arrogant eyes a unique green, mischief in full bloom in them and in her smile. “Greetings, Your Highness.” She curtsied elegantly, her eyes boring into Minho’s, who had not stopped gazing at her, forgetting completely that arrows still had him hostaged to the wall.

The arrogance in her mien faded and her smile simmered into a soft one, as she bowed again and walked out, leaving Minho gazing at her departing back.

The squire stepped towards Minho, pulling out the arrows, awkwardly conveying the news he had stepped in to deliver, “Your betrothed, Princess Taeyeon has arrived.”

It was at the breakfast table that Minho saw Taeyeon next, hair untamed in the traditional way they were tied, adorned in robes more fitting for a princess, her green eyes glancing at him now and then fearlessly, not once breaking away when their eyes met. It was Minho who always broke his gaze away, overcome by a strange, nascent feeling, which ignited curiosity within him.

He offered to show her the gardens and she took his offered arm boldly, eyes calmly roaming around the flora.

She was silent on purpose, Minho knew, silent in wait for him to break it.

“Was there a reason behind the way you greeted me this morning, my lady?”

“Took you long enough.” Taeyeon smirked, “Let me warn you, Your Highness, I do know my timing but I am a talker.  You can still walk out of this engagement, if you wish for a quieter wife. I will refuse in your stead.”

Minho smiled to himself in amusement, “Go on.”

“You may find it frivolous, but it was a test.”

“What did you conclude from it?”

“One, I rarely miss, but you dodged my arrow. So, you are skilled. Two, you waited and contemplated my next move. So, you are not a senseless killer. Three, you attempted to protect yourself instead of calling your guard and did not strike at me underhandedly despite having the opportunity. Foolish…but brave and honorable. Five…I have never encountered a man that has riveted me like you did. I was flattered by your gaze more than I could be on being serenaded by a thousand words.”

Minho couldn’t help but smile, “Your words are as fearless as your actions, Princess.”

Taeyeon chuckled, “I absolutely hate the feeling of carrying words unsaid. Words are a powerful weapon; a hundred suitors stand persuaded against marrying me.”

“Is this your attempt to persuade me as well?”

They reached the castle doors and Taeyeon let go of Minho’s arm, facing him with a mild, arrogant smile, “Have I succeeded?”

Minho stepped towards her and whispered into her ear, “Oh no, my lady, you have failed miserably.”

Like she claimed, Taeyeon indeed was a talker and Minho found days fly by in her presence.

He had been caught in her tales, in the deepening green of her eyes as she took aim during archery, in her unrefined, overflowing beauty, in the melodies of her laughter, in the scent of wildflowers that she wore in her hair.

She had eyes that held more stories than she could speak, a beautiful shade of innocent arrogance, whirling with both mischief and affection.

“Do we make a strange pair?” Minho couldn’t help but voice it finally while he strolled the gardens again with Taeyeon one evening, watching the rich sunset dousing their surroundings.

“We do.” Taeyeon answered, “You are a righteous warrior and you carry scars of your victories. I was told, you are a quiet, steadfast man, a man hard to please and I am…”

Minho smiled  when she trailed off in thought, “You are a beautiful, free willed lady, with music in her abundant words and a rebellion in her gentle heart…you are everything that I lack.” Minho caught her face tinting at his words, “And you please me very much.”

Minho chuckled softly when the air was quiet for too long, and Taeyeon finally retaliated, “Is it proper for a king to laugh at his queen?!”

Minho laughed, “I am glad, my lady, that I please you too.”

Finally the day came when Taeyeon walked to him, adorned by her elegant wedding attire, the wildflowers in her veil, the mild sun illuminating her…and Minho concluded he had paid no price for his victory.

There was modesty in her rebellious eyes, that conveyed the beginning of many a stories.

And when she stood beside him, promising herself to him, he knew in his heart, that he had been rewarded by the heavens…and perhaps, he had fought his wars only to meet her.

And when he was her’s and she was his, was when he finally understood what victory felt like.