The room was dark and ominous, dimly lit by the moon, when Jinyoung arrived.

"Father?" he whispered.

There was no response, and for a moment Jinyoung almost feared that he was too late. He took a step closer, his heart in his throat, when the person ensconced in the bed coughed weakly and murmured, "Jinyoungie?"

Jinyoung let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Oh, Father," he said and rushed the last few paces to sit at his father's side. Jinyoung clasped one of the old man's clammy hands between his warm, steady ones and gazed down at King Park Jinyoung I.

He didn't understand.

Two weeks ago Father was as hearty as he'd always been, even challenging Jinyoung to a game of hacky sack in the palace gardens on one cool, clear evening. Then Jinyoung left for Australia on a diplomatic visit, where everything went exactly as planned—until he received word that the king was suddenly gravely ill.

Jinyoung made arrangements to come back immediately, though he didn't let himself worry much. His father would be fine. They had access to the best doctors in the country, in the world even, and they could surely fix whatever was ailing the king. He didn't even know what illness they were dealing with; his father's aide had been extremely vague on the call.

Looking down at his father now, he couldn't reconcile the image with the man he'd known his entire life. The king was pale and perspiring, his lips were chapped, and he seemed smaller than Jinyoung ever imagined he could be.

"Father . . ." Jinyoung swallowed. "It's me, Father. It's Jinyoungie."

The king struggled to keep his eyes open. "Jinyoung-ah . . . you're home."

"Yes. What happened, Father?"

Father just shook his head between bouts of coughing. "I don't have a lot of time left," he managed to say.

"No," Jinyoung said, holding his father's hand tightly. "That's not true. We can fix it, Father, whatever it is. We'll fix it. You'll get better. What is it? What's wrong?"

"Listen to me," Father only said, trying to tug him closer. Jinyoung yielded, leaning down to hear the quiet request. "Listen. There's something . . . you must do before you . . . take my place . . ."

"No," Jinyoung repeated, already shaking his head.

". . . and become king."

"No, Father."

"Promise me," said the king, his eyes now b with tears. "Promise me, Jinyoung-ah, that you'll marry. For my sake . . . and for our country's . . . promise me that you'll marry soon and take the throne."

Born and raised a prince, Jinyoung didn't lose his composure often, but in that moment, faced with his father's sudden mortality, he did. Jinyoung buried his head in his dying father's chest, feeling all of three instead of his twenty-three years.

"I'm not ready," he cried. "I can't."

"You are," said Father, patting his head gently. "You can. You will, my son."

Jinyoung allowed himself a few minutes to linger in his father's embrace, trying to gather his emotions. Finally, he sniffled and drew himself up slowly. He rubbed his face and took a deep breath. "How long? How long do you have until—what is it, what's wrong?"

"Mo—" Father started to say before he was wracked with more coughing. Jinyoung hastened to give him some water while his mind also began to race. It sounded like Father was saying months, but he couldn't believe it. How could they possibly have so little time left?

"Jinyoung-ah . . . I want to see you married. I want to see you . . .  crowned. Before my time is up. Promise me."

"Father . . ."

"Please."

What else could he say to that? To a man's last wish?

Jinyoung took his father's hand again. "I promise," he said.

"Within three months."

Jinyoung felt his stomach sink. Three months and he would lose his father? Three months and he would be king. Three months and he would be someone's husband! Three months. It was an extremely short amount of time to begin a courtship, enter an engagement, and plan for a royal wedding. Forget finding his true love; love wasn't on the timetable. All the while he would also have to prepare for the crown—not that Jinyoung hadn't been preparing for it since birth, but there would be a process now—continue his official duties, and cope with Father's mysterious illness.

And grieve.

It was almost too much for him to handle, and Jinyoung wanted desperately to quit. Take back his promise, abdicate the throne, run away to a place where his world wouldn't completely turn upside down in three months. Wanted to say: You can't die. I need you. I'm not ready. I never asked for this life. And what about love? I deserve to be loved. I want to love.

He wanted to . . .

But he couldn't. He wouldn't.

Jinyoung closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his gaze held the solemn pledge of a picture-perfect prince.

"As you wish, Father. I promise that within three months I will marry . . . and become the king you raised me to be. I will . . . make you proud."

 

 

♚

 

 

"You're getting what?" Yugyeom asked, exactly as Bambam shouted, "MARRIED?"

Jinyoung rubbed his temple, feeling a headache coming on. "Yes," he said. "I am to be married."

"When?" Bambam demanded, right when Yugyeom sputtered, "B-but to whom?"

"Three months. And . . . I don't know."

Now they were speechless. After a moment, Yugyeom sighed and held his shoulder. "What are you going to do, hyung?"

Jinyoung didn't know the answer to that either. After leaving Father in the care of his nurses, he'd met with Jang Wooyoung, the Lord Chamberlain, to advise him of the king's condition and discuss state business. Jinyoung had known Wooyoung since he was a boy and trusted him explicitly.

Together, they'd come up with a plan to tell the House of Lords about the king's desire to step down in the interest of his health, though they wouldn't reveal the exact nature of it yet. Part of Jinyoung was hoping that his father could still recover, and Wooyoung agreed that they never knew what could happen in the next few months. Beyond that, it would cause unnecessary panic and destabilize the entire country if people thought their king was dying.

As the crown prince, Jinyoung would serve as de facto head of state while Wooyoung would direct and manage preparations for his official accession and coronation. These processes would be much more rushed than usual—but, then again, nothing about their situation was usual.

Then there was the matter of his marriage. Unlike with issues of the state and the royal household, the Chamberlain couldn't assist Jinyoung there, except to remind him, unhelpfully, that the bylaws of their country indeed required him to be married before ascending the throne. Jinyoung, who of course knew the bylaws by heart, also knew what he had to do, but how he was going to do it was another question.

How was he going to find someone he could marry in a few months?

It wasn't that Jinyoung had never dated before or had zero experiences with affairs of the heart—not that his heart was a big factor here, since Jinyoung had decided to approach this whole thing as pragmatically as possible. It was the only way he could go through with it. But he wasn't in a relationship at the moment and could not come up with any realistic spousal prospects. He had a small number of friends and only a slightly larger pool of acquaintances, but how many of them happened to be someone who a) had noble blood, b) could withstand both the public scrutiny and the private vetting that would come with being the king's potential partner, and c) wanted to marry him at all?

Would he be desperate enough to hold a ball like Cinderella's prince? Draw a name out of a hat? Go outside, point to the first person he sees, and get down on one knee?

He'd been pacing back and forth in his study, ruminating on the absurdity of those options, when Yugyeom and Bambam had burst in, having heard that he was home. For a moment, Jinyoung simply stared, grateful that he hadn't gone with the last idea—merely the image of proposing to either of them had him thinking he would rather renounce the throne. But he saw their excited little faces and heard their eager greetings and couldn't help but feel a little relieved that they came.

They were some of his closest confidantes, his cousin Yugyeom and Yugyeom's best friend Bambam—a Thai prince so uninterested his family's business that he actually spent most of his life in Korea. They grew up together here in palace, and while Yugyeom and Bambam were much younger than Jinyoung and had their own special relationship that he never completely comprehended, they all loved and respected one another very much. Even if Jinyoung wanted to kill them sometimes.

(He probably could, as the crown prince. Anyway.)

He'd filled them in on what happened and what he must do. But . . .

What are you going to do, hyung?

"I haven't figured that out yet," Jinyoung said, finally.

Yugyeom frowned. "You don't have a lot of time." When Jinyoung just looked at him, Yugyeom murmured, "Sorry, hyung. Not helpful, I know."

"I know!" Bambam suddenly exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "I have the answer right here." He unlocked his ever-present phone and started tapping away at it.

"What are you doing?" Yugyeom asked curiously. "You're not searching something like how to get married in thirty days, are you, because I don't think that's going to help us here. Probably."

Us. Jinyoung almost managed a small smile, wondering how this became an us problem instead of just his problem. But that was classic Yugyeom, always the most empathetic person in the room. And—he glanced at the other boy, lips curling a little more—also classic Bambam, who didn't believe there was anything out there he couldn't find in his phone. It was sweet and naive, how they were trying to help him, but Jinyoung didn't think Bambam could actually find him a consort in a just few clicks.

"Done!" Bambam said after a few minutes, looking up smugly. "I just signed you up for Purpl."

"Purple?" Jinyoung and Yugyeom echoed, glancing at each other.

Bambam rolled his eyes. "Not purple, Purpl."

Jinyoung stared at him.

"I don't get it," Yugyeom said slowly.

"P-U-R-P-L," Bambam enunciated. "Purpl. Here, look." He held up his phone, turning the screen toward them. A bright, garish wall of violet suddenly assaulted Jinyoung's eyes.

 

 

"It's a dating app," Bambam explained, "for young, single royals and nobles worldwide. I think some politicians and chaebols might've sneaked on here too, not sure. But it's basically the dating app for, well, people like us."

Jinyoung had no idea what to say. Next to him, Yugyeom looked similarly dumbfounded.

Bambam, on the other hand, was nearly bouncing. "Don't you see? This is it! You can use this to find your husband!"

All of a sudden Jinyoung's headache returned. "I don't know, Bam-ah . . ."

"Just give it try, hyung," Bambam whined, shaking the phone at him. "Go on a few dates, meet some people. What do you have to lose?"

What a loaded question.

My father, Jinyoung thought. My country.

Everything. He would lose everything, and disappoint his father's last wish, if he didn't keep his promise.

He had three months and no better idea at the moment.

"Okay," he agreed with a sigh. "Tell me more about this . . . pur-plup."

"It's Purpl!"

 

 

♚

 

 

Jinyoung met Bambam and Yugyeom in his study again the next morning. He posed for photos per their direction—turning this way and that to catch the light, casually leaning against the tall stained glass windows and holding books as props—and tried to pretend he wasn't doubting every single moment of this charade. Still, he let them upload his pictures to the app and watched as they swiped through candidate after candidate, citing one reason or another when they "hearted" someone or passed.

They showed him, too, the profiles of these "young, single royals and nobles worldwide," but after the fourth, fifth, sixth . . . they all blurred together and Jinyoung would only hum noncommittally each time, leaving Bambam and Yugyeom to play matchmaker gleefully. What difference would it make, he thought, whomever they picked? He'd accepted that he would marry for duty, not love, so it didn't matter much if he was paired with any Tom, , or Harry.

"Well, Harry is dating an American actress right now, so you're of luck," Bambam commented when Jinyoung said as much. "And I don't know any Toms or , but hey, what about Mark?"

"Zuckerberg?" Yugyeom asked, trying to peer at the screen. "He's on here?"

"Not Zuckerberg," Bambam said blithely, "Tuan!"

Jinyoung sat up a little straighter, his interest piqued for the first time.

"No way," Yugyeom said.

"Way," Bambam mimicked, tilting his phone to show them. "Mr. Son of POTUS himself."

 

 

Jinyoung knew Mark Tuan, who would have been one of those people he'd placed in the "pool of acquaintances" category when going over his marital prospects yesterday, if he'd thought of him at all. Why hadn't he?

Well, Mark wasn't technically a noble, so maybe that was the reason, but surely being the third child and eldest son of President Raymond Tuan counted for something? He was American royalty, for all intents and purposes, and Americans loved their current First Family, even more than they loved the Kardashians. (Yes, Bambam made all of them keep up with the Kardash' whenever they had free time.)

"He's hot," Bambam said.

"Pretty," Yugyeom agreed. Jinyoung thought so too, but he didn't say anything as Yugyeom swiped to see more photos. "Looks like he has a sense of humor, which is good. Who's this guy in half his photos, though?"

"Dunno," Bambam said, "best friend? Boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend?" Yugyeom laughed. "Why would he put pictures of his boyfriend, ex or not, on his dating profile?"

Bambam shrugged. "Does any of it make sense? Why would he put pics with his best friend?"

"I would put pictures of us on my profile," Yugyeom said matter-of-factly. "If I had one."

"Aww," Bambam cooed. "Me too."

Jinyoung coughed as they spontaneously performed their secret handshake, which hadn't been secret to him—or anyone in the palace—for at least fifteen years. "Guys . . . matter of national importance here."

"Oh, sorry, hyung," Yugyeom said.

"So?" Bambam asked, passing his phone to Jinyoung. "Mark Tuan. What do you think?"

Jinyoung thumbed through Mark's profile, but his mind was already moving past the meager offerings it held. He already knew that Mark was handsome; he didn't need the app to tell him that. He knew that Mark was quiet but friendly whenever they met, and Jinyoung knew that he was attracted to him.

Was any of that basis enough for a marriage?

No, but it was a start.

Jinyoung tapped on the heart button and watched it bloom on the screen.

"It's a match!" Bambam squealed, snatching his phone back. "He hearts you too."

Jinyoung smiled, closed-lips but—surprisingly—pleased.

 

 

♚

 

 

There was no way any meeting between the Crown Prince of South Korea and the First Son of the United States could have been an entirely clandestine affair, but Jinyoung still didn't expect the number of reporters, paparazzi, and miscellaneous royal family enthusiasts who greeted them at the entrance of the restaurant.

"How did they even find us," Jinyoung muttered as they were unbuckling their seatbelts.

Mark raised an eyebrow before glancing around them. "I suppose this isn't the most covert vehicle of choice," he said lightly. His Korean was accented but quite proficient.

Jinyoung deflated, remembering the national seal and flags on the hood of the limousine. "I suppose not. I'm sorry, maybe I should have—"

But Mark only smiled and slid his fingers atop Jinyoung's easily. He gave them a brief squeeze. "Don't worry about it. Come on."

Surprised by Mark's touch, Jinyoung simply followed him out of the car. The cameras started flashing as soon as they alighted, the clicks of the shutters amplifying the shouts of the crowd.

"MARKEU! MARKEU! OH MY GOD MARKEU I LOVE YOU."

"JINYOUNG-AH YOU'RE SO HANDSOME."

"ARE YOU DATING? EXCUSE ME, DISPATCH HERE, CAN YOU CONFIRM?"

"I CAN'T BELIEVE MARKJIN IS REAL."

"MAAARK MARRY MEEE."

Smiling and waving came as automatically to Jinyoung as breathing, so that was what he did. He noticed, however, that Mark only nodded politely in a few directions before heading straight into the restaurant. Jinyoung wasn't sure if he should be impressed by how cool Mark seemed or dismayed by his utter Americanness, so he just finished his last round of greetings before following suit.  

The cacophony outside became nothing more than a slight buzzing as they ventured into the heart of the restaurant, where a table was already waiting for them. Of course, they would be the only patrons here tonight. Jinyoung was the one to invite Mark out, so he'd planned the date. With the guards stationed by the door and the lone server quietly taking care of them, slipping in and out of the room as needed, it was sure to be a private and intimate event.

Jinyoung had thought it would be best that way, for them to get to know each other better, but now, sitting down across from Mark, he wasn't so sure. They'd made a little small talk in the car on the way here, but dinner conversation was a different beast—especially one with romantic aspirations. Plus, Mark had caught him off-guard a few times tonight already, and he just didn't know what to expect.

It turned out he didn't have to worry. They chatted easily in a mix of Korean and English about a wide range of topics, from interests to studies to politics and beyond. Mark was attending international trade and diplomacy seminars at Korea University and delighted in teasing Jinyoung, a proud Yonsei alumnus, about the recent humiliation at KoYon Jeon.

Aside from that, each was patient and attentive when the other paused to search for the right word or struggled to grasp a meaning. Lapses between conversations were comfortably silent, especially as they enjoyed the scrumptious food and flowing wine, and toward the end of the evening, Jinyoung was pleasantly flushed and feeling like he was having more fun than he thought was possible.

"I have to ask," he decided to say during a lull, a little coyly if he admitted it to himself.

"Mm?" Mark hummed, propping his chin up on a palm. He swayed forward ever so lightly and Jinyoung smirked, surprised that cool, American Mark was more of a lightweight between the two of them.

"Your Purple profile—"

"Purpl," Mark tried to correct him, only it came out more as a, "Ppppflt."

"Yes, that," Jinyoung agreed. "Don't laugh, but I was browsing it with my friends—well, my cousin and his friend, who's also my friend, I guess, they both are—anyway. They were the ones who signed me up for it, incidentally, and we, um, we were looking at your profile."

"Oh?" Mark said, feigning surprise. Endearingly so, Jinyoung thought, as if he didn't know that was how they were on this date to begin with. "Were you? And what did you think?"

"I thought . . . you were exceedingly good looking."

"Thank you," Mark giggled. "You too. I liked your picture . . . with the glasses. And the book! You looked like such a cute nerd."

"Want to know a secret?" he whispered. Mark nodded. "I am a cute nerd," Jinyoung flirted, making Mark laugh again. Jinyoung was emboldened. "Speaking of the pictures . . ."

"Mm."

"Tell me the story behind the one with face drawing."

Later, Jinyoung would remember this moment as the point when it all went wrong. At the time, however, he was only hoping to show his interest, hear a funny anecdote, and deepen their connection.

Instead, Mark's pretty face crumpled.

"That . . . that picture . . ." Mark paused, and dear god, was he crying? Why was he crying? "My . . . my boyfriend . . ."

Boyfriend?

"Not boyfriend," Mark corrected himself gloomily, sniffling. "Ex-boyfriend. He . . . he—"

"No," Jinyoung hurried to say, already regretting his poor attempt at playful banter. Bambam was going to be so disappointed in him when he found out. "Please, you don't have to—I shouldn't have asked."

But it was too late. The floodgates were open.

"He drew on my faaaace," Mark wailed, "when I fell asleep. H-he used to do things like that all the time, and I hated it but I loved it and I l-loved him . . . I loved him so much."

"O-oh . . ."

It was his fault. Jinyoung accepted that, so he spent the next forty-two minutes consoling a drunken, brokenhearted Mark and listening to Jackson this in English and Jackson that in Korean—and even Jackson something in Mandarin, he was pretty sure—and resenting a man he'd never even met for leaving such a deep impression on his date.

That was all Mark would ever be, Jinyoung realized as he handed over his monogramed pocket square, watching Mark blow his nose into it noisily. The cool, playful Mark he'd gotten to know over the course of the evening seemed to have disappeared; in his place was someone Jinyoung could not reach. There would be no second date, no courtship, no royal engagement and marriage for them—not when Mark was clearly still so gone for his ex.

It was a pity, he thought, after dropping off a still-blubbering Mark and his very unimpressed bodyguard later that night. Jinyoung wondered if Mark could have been the one, if time had been on their side.

 

 

♚

 

 

"What on Earth did you do to Mark Tuan?" was the first thing Jinyoung heard when he woke up the next morning. He opened his eyes blearily to see Bambam march into his sleeping quarters, followed at a more languid pace by his Yugyeom-shaped shadow.

"I don't know," Jinyoung answered after a moment. His throat felt dry and scratchy, so he cleared it a few times. "What did I do?"

"'America's First Son leaves restaurant in tears with Crown Prince,'" Bambam read off his phone. "'Mark Tuan, twenty-four, son of U.S. President Raymond Tuan, was spotted dining with Prince Park Jinyoung Friday evening. According to eyewitness reports, the handsome pair began the date in high spirits but mere hours later Mark was seen escorted out in tears.'"

"Christ," Jinyoung muttered.

"There are pictures!" Bambam continued. "See? And look, hyung—check out these netizen comments:

'Heol, Mark's eyes are red and puffy, but he still looks handsome. ㅋㅋ [+17,805, -102]

'I think Prince Jinyoung rejected him. ㅠㅠ The American boy was crying and clinging on to him, but our Jinyoung was very cold. [+12,463, -6,315]

'This is a national disgrace. How can the future leader of our country behave like this? [+9,592, -3,488]

'Poor Mark. Fighting! [+9,274, -71]—'"

"Enough," Jinyoung said, throwing a pillow at Bambam, who was taking a little too much pleasure in reading out the numbers of up- and downvotes.

Yugyeom caught the pillow in midair, saving Bambam's carefully styled hair. "People are calling you a bully, hyung," he said pointedly, gently tossing the cushion back on the bed. "They're saying you broke Mark's heart."

Jinyoung sighed. "It was already broken." He scooted up to lean against the headboard and told them about the events of the night. "Remember that guy in his pictures? Ex-boyfriend."

"Ooh," Bambam said.

"Mark's still in love with him."

"Aww," Bambam said.

"That's sad," Yugyeom added. "Poor Mark. He probably needs time to heal."

Jinyoung smiled wistfully. "It's the one thing I can't afford to give him."

"You're right," Bambam said, rolling up his sleeves and unlocking his phone. "Sorry, Mark, but we can't waste any more time. Forget the netizens, hyung, we need to find you another man."

 

 

♚

 

 

That man turned out to be Choi Youngjae, the young Marquis of Mokpo. Slightly hungover, Jinyoung had left the matchmaking entirely up to his friends, and Yugyeom had chosen this time.

 

 

"Because he has a puppy," Yugyeom had reasoned.

Presently, Jinyoung was face-to-face with that puppy, which Youngjae insisted join their date.

"I can't leave without her," Youngjae said from his doorway. "Coco needs me."

"Um," Jinyoung said, taking a step back into the hallway when 'Coco' growled at him. "Sure."

"Awesome," Youngjae said brightly. He shifted the dog into the crook of his arm and with his free hand shut the door behind them. "Let's go~!"

After the disastrous restaurant outing with Mark a few nights ago, Jinyoung had decided to go for a less intimate venue. They would likely be seen no matter what, and strolling along the Han River seemed like a fun but safe option—especially with Jinyoung's disguised bodyguards trailing a few meters behind them. He hadn't factored in the dog originally, but taking her for a walk on this beautiful day was actually . . . nice.

"Isn't she precious," Youngjae gushed, watching as Coco pranced ahead of them.

"Quite," Jinyoung agreed diplomatically. Coco was now chasing after a squirrel about her size—possibly a tad bigger than her. She had guts, he'd give her that.

"I'm sorry she was a little weird earlier," Youngjae said. "But I think she likes you. I'd shown her your pictures before and she approved."

Jinyoung laughed politely, thinking Youngjae was making a joke. When he met Youngjae's eyes, however, the latter appeared to be serious.

"We had a bad experience," Youngjae explained, "Coco and I. I was dating this guy I really liked, but when I brought him over for the first time, she went crazy."

"Did she," Jinyoung said nervously, trying to keep an eye on the dog while giving Youngjae his due attention.

"Totally. And then he freaked out. That's how I knew he wasn't the one, you know? Coco has this sense about people, and if she didn't like Jackson then he wasn't meant for us."

"Jackson?" It was a name embedded in Jinyoung's memory since he'd heard all about Jackson for nearly an hour in at least three languages. Perhaps Jackson wasn't an entirely uncommon moniker—Jinyoung wasn't sure—but what were the chances he'd hear about two different Jacksons in a matter of days? In Seoul, of all places? In their circle?

"My ex," Youngjae said, pouting. "He was really funny and we always had a good time, but he didn't like my dog."

"Ah." Jinyoung nodded, filing the notes about this Jackson away for examination another time.

"Yeah. Something must've been off with him, you know? Coco's perfect. There's my princess!" Youngjae skipped forward to scoop her up, and Jinyoung couldn't quite control his grimace while they exchanged puppy kisses. Youngjae was adorable and, in her own way, Coco was too, but observing the scene in front of him, Jinyoung could not imagine ever kissing Youngjae—and he thought about how absurd it was, trying to picture himself in a dog's place. But if this relationship were to go anywhere, and he really needed it to, would he have to fight Coco for Youngjae's affection—to be first in his heart?

It would be a battle lost before it even began.

The thing was, ever since he connected with Mark on dating app, and then enjoyed most of their evening together, Jinyoung had allowed a small part of himself to hope for a marriage that wasn't entirely loveless. At least, he'd thought, there should be potential for passion down the line, after they got the official business out of the way. At least, he'd hoped. At least.

"Want to hold her?" Youngjae suddenly asked, presenting Coco to Jinyoung like the cub from Lion King.

Jinyoung smiled and shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Oh." Youngjae looked at Jinyoung thoughtfully before tucking Coco close to his chest. "I see."

"I'm sorry," Jinyoung said, and he truly meant it.