Yongsun opens her eyes, and the first thing she sees is the dusty curtain of the tent. She in the stale air that smells of smoke and death, and even forgets to grimace. The stench of war has become so familiar that she no longer remembers what it is like to feel the clean morning air filled with moist and traces of night frost.

The last big battle died down almost a month ago, but the metallic taste of blood still lingers under her tongue, and she feels it every time she wakes up.

The morning sun shyly makes its way through the creases, diluting the dense darkness of the tent. Yongsun gets up from her hard mattress - prickly and lumpy from the rotting straw inside - and stretches her limbs with a groan. Her body only recently got accustomed to wearing bulky armor for a whole day, and now almost nothing hurts after short sleep breaks, and the ugly and painful bruises have already turned into equally ugly, but not so painful yellow spots. Mother would be terrified, she thinks distantly, staring at her scarred and bruised thighs.

There are distinct sounds of an awakening camp outside. Clatter of armor, neighing of horses, hammer clangs, skirr of a grinder, muffled conversations, and even a rare laugh. Yongsun is invigorated by these sounds. Even though she slept for two hours.

She feels a layer of dirt on her skin, and more than anything else she wants to jump into the nearest pond and stay in there for at least half an hour, but it's late October, and Yongsun doesn't want to fall down with a fever in the midst of military action, so she had to be content with water in the basin. If someone told Yongsun a year ago that every morning she would have to wash her hair in a cold, silty-smelling water, poured into a battered wooden basin, and then wipe herself with a clout, dampened in the same water, as much as possible like some vagrant, she would have laughed in their face. Now she doesn't feel like laughing.

She shivers, but stubbornly soaks her hair in ice water and rubs them with a strange smelling yellow soap. Yongsun had always prided herself on her magnificent golden hair, that used to flow down her back all the way to her ankles. She would spend several hours caring for them, would always do it herself, not daring to let anyone near them. (Except for one person, echoes in her head, but she quickly brushes aside the painful thought.)

She sighs and rinses the soap off of her ruthlessly cut shoulder-length hair, now more resembling a straw inside her mattress than the golden waterfalls they once were.

"Your Highness." The guard stands at the entrance to the tent, his tall silhouette barely visible through the dense fabric, but Yongsun doesn't need to see him to know who it is.  

"Woosang," she wheezes and clears . Her neck and shoulders cover in goosebumps from the cold water, and icy drops trickle irritatingly down her arms and back. "Wait there."

"Your Highness, this is urgent," says Captain Woosang, his voice dripping with worry even more than usual.

"I'm sure my father can wait another five minutes for me to get dressed!" Yongsun snaps, which is so weird because she always thought of herself as a gentle, friendly and polite princess. But here she is, snapping at her subordinates with no reason, while tying her wet hair in a plain bun. "Or does he want me to walk around the camp in my underwear?"

"I'm not here about your father," Captain Woosang mutters as Yongsun ties the laces of her tunic. "A woman rode into the camp at dawn. Required a personal audience with you. She introduced herself as Hwasa and said that you know who she is."

Yongsun's heart skips a beat as she hears the familiar nickname, and her ribs painfully catch her breath, forcing a half-choked wheeze out of . She feels just like that July day in the gardens of Ahn's summer palace, when a girl with hair dark as night nailed her in place, like a butterfly, with only one sharp look of charcoal eyes.

"Tell her I'll be there soon," Yongsun replies dully after a long, lingering silence.

"She's waiting for you in my tent." Captain informs and then walks away. Yongsun hears his firm footsteps receding, and her legs immediately give way, and her heart jumps to .

She's here. She’s really here.

"Yongsun, will you stop?" Her mother hisses, and Yongsun immediately turns her attention to the prince sitting next to her and builds a meek expression, ignoring the soft, husky chuckle from the side where Yongsun was looking a second ago.

The prince is tall and handsome, with dreamy eyes and blonde hair. He has a clear ringing voice that gives Yongsun chills down her spine, and he himself is bright and beautiful, like the young spring sun. This is her future husband. It's probably rude that an hour after they met, she can't remember his name, but, then again, she has a legitimate reason for that.

Throughout the festive dinner in the gardens of Ahn summer palace she can't take her eyes off someone else entirely.

The prince's younger sister is not a bit like him. No one would have thought that they were related, if not for the same family colors of the royal Ahn family, beautifully decorating their attires.

Princess Hyejin turns eighteen today, and from her beautiful face with soft edges and bold eyes, it is clear who inherited all that impossible hubris the late Queen Ahn were once famous for. Her hair is blacker than a raven's wing and curls in large waves, falling on one shoulder, dark eyes, so sharp and dangerous, get inexplicably warm, when Yongsun catches her gaze, her brightly painted lips curl in a mocking grin now and then, and her bronze skin shines in the rays of the setting sun and the light of paper lanterns, making her look like a real work of art, and, oh gods, Yongsun just can't help but look at her.

Soldiers greet her with short bows, and Yongsun hardly finds the strength to nod back while heading to the captain's tent. The withered grass that got covered with a thin layer of frost overnight crunches under her feet, the pungent smell of burnt rice, metal and medicinal herbs from the infirmary fills her nostrils, and Yongsun thinks that she is still sleeping and having some weird dream. Insignificant things, like scratches and dents on the officers' armor, are imprinting in her memory with painful precision, and she desperately wants to stop and close her eyes for a moment to calm down, to catch herself and count to ten, but she stubbornly walks towards the captain's tent, not paying attention to the pounding in her chest and severe shortness of breath.

Never before in this long year of war had Yongsun felt so tense and frightened as she does now, ten paces and three breaths from her.

Yongsun is glad she agreed to stay in Ahn Kingdom until the end of the summer, though not for the reasons she should be happy about. No matter how rude it may sound, she is completely indifferent to the attention that the courteous and infatuated prince gives her. She is not even a little worried about state affairs her future father-in-law talks about at breakfast, lunch and dinner. She is not in the least interested in the traditional methods of embroidery that courtiers share with her.

She wakes up every day for just one fleeting smile from Princess Hyejin.

They sit opposite each other during meals, and no one except them notices their glances. Hyejin has a serious face, but her eyes, which are usually so sharp and cold, are filled to the brim with amusement and sunshine when she looks at Yongsun. There are whole royal family at the table, and - only occasionally - ambassadors and guests of honor, but Hyejin's eyes are only for Yongsun, and Yongsun's smiles are only for Hyejin. 

Sometimes, when the fierce summer sun mercifully hides behind the wadded clouds, and the wind erases all the sharp corners of the scorching rays, they walk in the beautiful royal gardens, and Hyejin shows Yongsun her favorite flowers, and Yongsun weaves wreaths of daisies and dandelions for her (yellow suits Hyejin, and Yongsun's chest tugs sweetly every time she flaps her eyelashes from under the delicate petals of her wreath, dashingly thrown over her head) . The afternoons on these quiet days are filled with Hyejin's low voice, her raspy laugh and the dizzying scent of yellow lilies.

One warm evening they sneak out of the palace and into the town, disguised as their maids. There is a festival in the town, musicians play songs unfamiliar to Yongsun, and bonfires are burning on the central square, competing in brightness with the moon and stars, and people are getting close to the fire and exhilarating music, and everyone are dancing, wriggling around the bonfires, forgetting all worries. The smell of honeyed smoke, spicy food and sweets is much more intoxicating than the sip of young wine from the huge steer horn that the owner of the local tavern have offered them, and Yongsun thinks she has never felt freer and happier than now, hand in hand with Hyejin, lost among ordinary people at the summer festival. They stand at a distance from the circle of dancers, silently enjoying the joyous atmosphere and the company of each other. Yongsun awkwardly tries to hide her golden hair under her robes while trying to bite off her caramel apple, when suddenly Hyejin's warm fingers close under her chin, and the next thing she feels are Hyejin's soft lips on her, the luscious taste of caramel and sweet wine. With a trembling heart Yongsun leans forward, kisses back impulsively, locks arms around Hyejin's neck, and feels her guttural laugh on her lips and chuckles in return.

On her last night at Ahn's palace, when the stars are especially bright and the moonlight washes away any sadness from the upcoming parting, Yongsun allows Hyejin to stay in her quarters for the night. They are shy and do not quite know what to do, they just do what they think is right, and Yongsun chokes with an overabundance of sensations and emotions. She holds Hyejin in her arms, feels her violent tremble and desperate sighs and frivolously thrown whispers of love all over her body, and the whole night is filled with stars and Yongsun and Hyejin.

Inside the tent, one of the captain's subordinates is guarding the uninvited guest, his hand quivers impatiently on the hilt of his sword, and his face is contorted with anger. The guest herself is sprawled on a shaky chair in the most insolent way, throwing one leg over the other, as if she's sitting on a throne of gold and gems, and smiles a devilish smile at the enraged guard, clearly teasing him in her favorite manner, but as soon as Yongsun steps inside, a sharp look of dark eyes rush to her, and a smile creeps from beautiful full lips.

"You are free to go, soldier," Yongsun says, not taking her gaze off the girl on a chair. "Leave us."

"But Your Highness, I have an order from Captain Woo–"

"And now you have an order from me." Yongsun's voice is harsh and rude again, but this time she doesn't find the strength to be ashamed. "Get out."

They are left alone, and Yongsun has to gather all her willpower into a fist so as not to rush with an embrace on the figure standing opposite her, wearing men's armor and worn out boots made of bad leather, with a boyish hair dyed light brown, damp and shining in the dull light of burning candles and the sun, that makes its way into the tent through the cracks with great uncertainty, as if not daring to interrupt their privacy.

"You're out of your mind," Yongsun shakes her head because, yes, it's really Hyejin. No makeup, no expensive robes, more like a homeless boy than a princess, but this is undeniably her.

"Maybe," Hyejin replies, and that's her voice. Painfully familiar and completely unfamiliar at the same time, as if not a year had passed since their last meeting, but a whole century. "I couldn't wait any longer."

"If anyone here finds out who you are– If my father sees you–"

"Don't worry, unnie," Hyejin waves her hand, getting up from the chair. Yongsun realizes that she doesn't want her to come near her. She doesn't know w